Today, as I walked from my hotel down Market St. toward my office in the Financial District of San Francisco, I was in awe. On every light pole, in so many store fronts and even banks and the US Post Office hangs a rainbow flag. The very symbol of LGBT Pride. In this city, it is a symbol that LGBT people are seen, respected, and welcomed. They hang the entire month of June, known as Pride Month. As a Midwest girl who is still shocked to see rainbow flags displayed on any business in her home state of Michigan, seeing so many of them proudly hanging as far as you can see hit me right in the gut. It’s a feeling few can understand, and I doubt I can even describe accurately, but it boils down to knowing that here, in this city, during this month of the year, my difference is celebrated not hushed or swept under the rug.

I have been a lesbian all my life. Fact. I know it’s shocking to some who meet me for the first time, but in general I fit the stereotypical image they have for lesbians in their head, except that I do not wear flannel. Well not much. My sexuality has not been a real issue in my life since my family finally came to terms with it well over 20 years ago a year or two after I was forced out of the closet my senior year of high school. Their initial reactions were typical of parents in the mid 1990’s actually. They told me they loved me but wanted to be sure I knew what I was ‘getting into’ with this ‘choice’. They were fairly quickly educated on the language and word choice issues, and eventually came to accept both the fact that I was born to love differently than societal ‘norms’ and the partner I chose to spend my life with. My father even states with pride now that he has 4 daughters. Only 3 of us are related by blood, the other is my wife Jennifer.

After leaving life in Small Town America and finding a place where I could blend in a bit more easily as an out lesbian who refused to hide in a closet and did daring things like hold my wife’s hand while walking down a public street, I also found places where there were many more ‘like us’. I shopped LGBT owned café’s and bookstores. I attended PRIDE events and felt at home in a sea of weird, oddly dressed, misfits who all had one singular thing in common. We were societal outcasts because we loved differently. But over the years as society began to accept that LGBT people were not out to convert their children to a lifestyle, or pedophiles who would infect you with AIDS and instead just wired a little differently in the area of attraction and love, those same businesses I once frequented were no longer needed. It became okay to go to dinner and a movie with my wife and not be asked to leave for no reason other than we were clearly more than just friends. I could buy books and stickers over the internet, or at the large bookstores more conveniently located near my home.  And, I no longer needed to attend a PRIDE celebration to feel like I had a community who didn’t judge me.

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Somewhere along the way, the once thriving LGBT subculture was lost as we became mainstream. I always thought this was a good thing. But today, as I walked in to the office, I realized just how much I miss that feeling of acceptance you get when shopping an LGBT targeted business, eating in a café owned and operated by a gay couple, or attending a PRIDE event filled with thousands of people from every walk of life all celebrating their one common difference. I miss feeling like I belong, and it wasn’t until I saw all those flags proudly flying that I realized how misplaced I sometimes feel at home where rainbow flags are seldom seen. Every once in a while, it’s nice to be reminded that we are here, we are queer, and we are welcomed with open arms. So, I challenge you, my friends and family, to show your support in some way. Change your profile pic, find a meme and re-share it showing your support in some way. And, if you dare, stick a rainbow flag outside your business or home this month to let every LGBT person who so often feels unwelcomed and unworthy, that you support them and their right to love differently.

Personal Journal ... Why do I need one of those?

My 10 year old nephew, a kid now stuck in the middle of what will certainly be a messy divorce, has been asked to keep a journal. I’m not certain if he asked for one first or if it is the result of him being asked to remember what he does and where he goes when spending time with each parent. These things will of course be requested of him when custody arrangements are considered eventually. But in any case it has occurred to me that simply giving him a bound journal-type notebook and telling him to start keeping a journal isn’t really enough information. Does he understand what a journal is? Has he ever kept one in the past for personal or school reasons? How exactly do you explain to a 10 year old boy what he should be writing and how often it should be done? The obvious purpose in is his parent’s eyes would be to have a log of his activities while they are not with him, but there is far more to it than that. Journaling is more about recording how you feel about things, but not in a literal sense. Now how do you explain THAT to a 10 year old?

I was probably about 11 or 12 when I was first asked by a friend to start keeping a journal. (Thanks Stacey!) I had no idea why, and quite honestly hated doing it much of the time in the beginning. Eventually my nightly routine of scratching out a few sentences about what I had done that day grew into a few paragraphs and eventually into multiple pages over time. Those pages were filled with little things about where I had gone, who I had been with, and how I felt about events. At the time, writing in a journal seemed silly but looking back on it now it is one of the best habits I ever picked up. Writing is a release for everyone who does it; even those who claim to hate it and not be any good at it. Writing is like everything else in life, with practice comes greater ease of doing and a journal can be quite beneficial to improving one’s ability to write. For those who keep hand written journals, it also helps to maintain and improve handwriting skills. I use to benefit from this, until blogger arrived on scene and I began to type journal entries rather than hand write them. My handwriting has suffered greatly at the loss of those journal entries as well! :-(

Having kept a personal journal off and on for most of my life now I guess you could say that I am partial to the belief that everyone should keep one at some point in their life. For those who claim they are “dumb” or “pointless” I would challenge them to recall what they did on January 1 the year they turned 14. For those who keep journals, that answer could be found by flipping through the pages of an old journal on the book shelf. Even if they did not record an entry on that specific date, reading through the entries just before and after the date in question will often trigger memories we have long since forgotten. Trust me on this; old journals can shed a lot of light on fuzzy memories and help us to more accurately remember important times in our lives.

Sure many of the entries found in an adolescent journal will be filled with rants about how unfair it is that we had to spend the day cleaning our room, or why we can’t go over to a friend’s house, but even those entries serve a purpose. At the time we write them, they help to release the anger we are feeling and move past the petty nature of the issue. When we are older and reading through those old entries, it might help us to remember what it was like being a kid again with no control over many things in our lives and feeling picked on because we were asked to do certain chores. This can be an invaluable tool in dealing with our own children who will undoubtedly feel the same anger and resentment toward us when we ask them to clean their room and tell them they cannot do something they have asked permission for. The benefits of keeping a journal are two fold, one for releasing our feelings while we are having them so that we can move past them, and two for remembering what happened to us and how we reacted to the everyday events of our past life.

With that said how do you begin to write a journal if you never have before? What do you write about, how much do you write, and how do you know if you have written too much? Here’s a few simple rules everyone, no matter the age, should follow when writing a personal journal.

1) It is YOUR journal, nobody else. That means you write whatever you want, about anything you want, and as much as you want. A general rule of thumb is to start by listing something you did that day, in detail, and how you felt about doing it. The rest will begin to flow naturally from your brain to your paper.

2) Not every journal entry has to talk about your feelings or what tasks you did during the day. I often write about things that stir up my emotions, good or bad, but have nothing to do with my own personal life. It is fun to go back through old journals from high school and read about my take on a political or news event and why I agreed or disagreed with it. Even some book and song reviews found their way into my journal entries over the years. Apparently I was never really a New Kids on the Block fan though I had just about every cassette tape they released and knew all the words. I pretended to like then just so I could keep up with my friends at school … who knew?

3) Write like no one is reading! It is your journal of your personal thoughts and feelings. You should write like nobody but you will ever read it, don’t worry about the spelling or grammar mistakes you may make, just write. It is however important to keep in mind that if not protected your journal may well find its way into the hands of someone who will read it. Make sure you don’t exaggerate the truth in your entries; you may one day have to defend them!

4) Write every day! The best way to make journaling a habit is simply to write every day, even when you think you have nothing to write about. If you sit down to write and nothing comes, turn on the radio or TV for a few minutes and write a few paragraphs about the song that is playing or the show that is on. Often times beginning with some sort of a journal prompt will lead you to write about things you didn’t even know you had in you. That is how I managed to note in an old journal my feelings toward NKOTB. By the end of that journal entry I had written something far more profound about how we tend to do things we don’t really like just to fit in at school. I was 13 and didn’t realize what I was writing at the time. However, as an adult looking back with a new perspective it is clear that I was very anti-crowd-following even back in junior high but knew some times we must hide behind a mask to protect ourselves from ridicule.

5) Have fun with it! Write about things that make you happy, and sad, and mad, and feel guilty. Write a song or book review, draw a beautiful picture of something stuck on your mind, or just doodle a carton about your silly brother/sister. Write about what you enjoyed about your day, and what you hated about it. What you are doing is logging where you have been, what you have done, and how you felt along your journey. It will help you to release those feelings before they fester into a larger issue, and it will be fun to look back on in your adult life and remember what you loved and hated about your childhood!

I HATE FALL !

Here we are again, summer sunlight slowly fading into cooler fall days and taking with it that positive summer energy. Summer is not yet over, but it is clearly fading fast as the days get shorter and the nights cooler. The calendar flips to September tomorrow and those who have not yet will return to school early next week. Not far off are the familiar sights and sounds of fall, changing colors of the trees, apples and cider, pumpkins, and football games. I hate the fall!

“Why?” you ask. It is a valid question many before you have pondered, and it probably does deserve an answer. That will come later.

I don’t know what it is about the changing of seasons from summer to fall that triggers it, but every year without fail I find myself here. My mind drifts off to days gone by, remembering school days, friends, and social events of my youth. Some of the memories are pleasant, not all of my childhood is a bad memory, but in general I am reminded of how happy I am that those days are now behind me! There isn’t much coincidence that it was September when I began to write a novel that has many parallels to my past experiences and that of many friends when they were in high school. And there isn’t much coincidence that it was September when I finally got my courage up to face the demons I left locked in the closet when I walked out of LC and never looked back. There probably isn’t much coincidence that it was in the fall two years ago now that I finally faced the remaining demons head on and laid to rest all of that unfinished business. All of it was triggered by memories from my youth, and of time spent with friends whom I still miss today. These events have become some of the more positive outcomes of fall for me, but it is still one of my least favorite seasons!

For me, fall signals the end of many things. It is of course the end of sunshine and warm days, of bike rides and days at the beach. It is the end of freedom as children return to classrooms and staff to their jobs. The end of camping trips, vacations, and lazy walks under the star lit sky. But it’s more than that for me. It seems to be true in my family that with the fall weather, arrives another kind of end. From as far back as I can recall there are incidents, many of them life ending, that happened or at least began in the fall. From the death of a friend in a house fire decades ago to the news or progression of a terminal diagnosis far too recent to write about here, there is a definite pattern of things ending along with the summer season. Maybe they have all been unlucky coincidences occurring in the days between the end of August and the beginning of January. Maybe it is nature’s way of reminding us what fall really is, the beginning of the end for many things. Let’s face it, things die in the fall. The trees lose their leaves and look dead for months on end. The grass turns first yellow and eventually brown as it dies off. The flowers that once thrived in the summer sun wilt away, many never to return. Fall is death. So maybe it is not the time of year I dislike but rather the constant reminder that to everything, including our own human lives, there is a season. One day each of us will face the fall season of our loved ones lives, and of our own. Maybe that is the only reason why I HATE FALL!

And so … I vote we skip fall this year and move directly to Winter! Anyone else with me?

In reality, it will be a few more months yet before the snow arrives for me to play in and while I wait for it I will have to suffer with the wet cool days and nights known as fall. Spring is my least favorite season because of allergies and the inevitable slow melting of snow resulting in a muddy wet world. Fall isn’t much better. Rather than the melting of snow to create the mud, we now just get rain, and more rain, and quite often, even more rain. Dark grey clouds replace the sunny summer skies, the sun begins to hide itself from us, and it is not uncommon to have days where you never really see it at all. I will spend the next few weeks riding the motorcycle as much as is possible before it has to be parked for the winter, and we’ll try to get all those outdoor projects completed that we talked about doing back in May and June. We won’t succeed, we never do!

Meanwhile, I wait for the arrival of truly cold temperatures, those cold enough to turn the rain into snow and dump feet rather than inches to coat my world white. The snowboards are at the ready, the rack takes only minutes to attach to the car top, and our gear can easily be found and loaded for that first winter adventure. I am not yet ready for the snow, but give me two more weeks of these grey skies and chilly nights and I will soon be there!

The heck with it, skip Fall and just BRING ON WINTER! … I’m over all the reminders of death already!

Why I stopped Writing ...

I’ve heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing with them something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return.

Well I don’t know if I believe that’s true
But I know I’m who I am today
Because I knew you!

Some time back in 2009 I lost my drive to write, or more accurately my passion for writing. It happened gradually over time, first with the slowing of written posts on this blog, then eventually with the abrupt lack of any posting of any kind here. I used the excuse that I was working on a new writing project at first. Then that I was posting things on Facebook instead of keeping in contact via this blog. In reality, though I was working on a new writing project and I was posting on Facebook more and more, they were just excuses both to you and to me. So what really happened?

I finished Unconditional during the winter of 2009, all but the final formatting revisions and minor tweaks had been completed and turned over to the one person who I needed to “approve” of the changes. I was biding my time by beginning a new project, still unfinished to date, and searching for a new direction to take that project in. I’m not certain when exactly, but shortly after getting the approval to publish my changes to Unconditional my writing began to taper off significantly. First this blog suffered, then the project I was working on, and eventually even those posts on Facebook became fewer and farther between. My drive was fading fast and by the fall of 2010, it was gone all together.

As most of you know, in September of 2009 my family got word of a late stage cancer diagnosis. In light of that news, and because the project I was working on involves “The Big C”, I stopped working on it completely. With that, I stopped writing. I haven’t written much of anything since then, not even those lengthy e-mails I have become famous for among my friends and family. Sure there have been a few of them over the last year or so, but very few. It would seem that when I needed an outlet for my emotions the most, I stopped writing completely, something I have always used for that much needed release.

I’ll be honest, I never really understood why I stopped writing, just figured I wasn’t interested and would eventually find the time and pick it up again. I was wrong. Something else happened that fall, something far more significant to my mental state and previous need to use writing as a means of emotional release. Part of my writing Unconditional and the conversations it sparked between me and my friends and family were based solely on my need to work through some baggage I have carried with me since high school. Who knew that writing could become the best form of therapy for me?

The rekindling of a friendship with Jack, the common ground that was found with my own family and that of my spouses, the loss of my maternal grandfather, and the news that my mother-in-law has terminal breast cancer all slammed into my world in just two short years. It created a world wind of emotions to deal with and, for the first time in as long as I can remember, those emotions were dealt with in a positive way that did not result in me retreating from my long held beliefs and simply hiding from the world. Instead, I faced them head on, with some help of course, and worked through what needed to be worked through. The stuff that didn’t matter as much was forgotten and moved past and I learned more about myself and my friendships in a few short months than I did in the previous 20 some years combined. And I did it all without writing! No blogs, no long winded e-mails venting to a friend, not even a significant journal entry. Yes I do still keep a hand written journal. I know, how archaic of me.

Instead, I took a new outlook on life, the freedom from baggage that I didn’t even know had been weighing me down for more than a decade, and used it to help form the support system my family needed. I stood strong to anchor them during the loss of my grandfather, and in the wake of the cancer diagnosis. I held tight to my firm belief that everything in life, the good, the bad, and the seemingly insignificant all happens for a distinct reason. I am not one who believes that every little detail of life has been pre-planned by some almighty deity, but there are some elements to that theory I believe hold water. It is far too coincidental that certain people seem to come into my life at just the right moments or that I cross paths with someone for only a moment and feel like I have known them my entire life. My faith in what many call a “higher power” does not follow the rules of any single organized religion, in fact I am in general opposed to most if not all organized religions because of their great propensity to promote nothing but hypocrisy. However, I have learned over time that certain events and people I have met along my path thus far have in fact been for a reason far greater than my immediate understanding at the time. It is my job to discover what their reasons may be so that I can learn from each what I need to know and integrate it into the remainder of my journey.

This outlook has made it easier to deal with the ups and downs of life, especially over the last three years in my immediate and extended families. It has allowed me to see that much can be learned and good can come from tragedies. Had I not lost people in my life previously, or gone through the pain of separation from close friends and family I would not be where I am physically today, nor would I be there mentally. Even through the pain of watching a loved one slowly fade away to a disease that cannot be cured and barely controlled most days, there are lessons to be learned for all. The strength it takes me to rise from bed each day is miniscule compared to that of a person who takes great effort simply in lifting their tired bones from the bed each morning. To them, seeing another day, no matter how filled with discomfort or lack of energy is a gift not a burden. They willingly rise each morning eager to take in every experience that life has left to offer them, and crawl back into bed each night wanting to repeat the process again the next day. We can all learn a bit from those who view each day, no matter what may happen to them along the way, as a gift. And I, having now witnessed this first hand through my mother-in-law’s struggle with cancer have been given a gift that no money could buy. She inspires me to wake each day and learn something new. To experience life until there is nothing left to experience. To roll with the punches and all that will be thrown my way. And to always remember that in life, everything both good and bad happens to us for a reason!

So how does this relate to my passion for writing and why I have not done much of it in the last three years? I lost my passion when I rid myself of the baggage I was carrying in my relationship with Jack. My drive to write in the past was tied to those emotions left raw and hidden from view. When I finally managed to stand up and face them, to admit that I was wrong about some things and clear up some misunderstandings between us, I no longer felt the need to express myself with written words, verbal was suddenly an option for me. It is fair to say that Unconditional was the first and last book I wrote because I needed to. I needed to write back in 2007 and what became of it was Unconditional. After finishing it I began a new project, the one dealing with “The Big C” that still remains unfinished and very much untouched since mid-year 2010. I will one day resume work on that project, but for now it has been shelved in favor of a new story, one that is being written not because I NEED to write it, but more because I WANT to.

I have once again found my passion for writing, my inspiration if you will, and it is still very much linked to my relationship with Jack. However, I now realize it is because he inspires me to do many things in life and his encouragement of my writing is just one of those.

Stuck Again!

Rock to my right, hard place to my left, and solid brick walls both front and back! That’s about where I sit these days and no matter how hard I look and how much I try to wriggle free, it doesn’t seem to be making a difference at all.

I’ve spent more than 15 years trying to build a relationship with someone, countless hours dedicated to spending time with them, helping them out whenever I could, and hoping that one day the reward of at least their tolerance would arrive. I’ve known for a long time that it never would, enter the rock-and-hard-place scenario. I am still asked to do things, offer assistance, etc. for someone who is so two-faced with me even I get fooled occasionally by their “nice side”. I would love to say no, refuse assistance to them every time I am asked and use a phrase that goes a little something like, “why would I help out someone who so clearly despises me until they need my assistance? Go use someone else!” Unfortunately, doing that would simply make the situation worse for all concerned. See this person happens to be a family member on my wife’s side and while at times we would both love to tell them to “kiss off”, it is impossible.

As a person who has more than once vowed to never be used again, and who refuses to tolerate others bigotry, I find myself eating those words where family is concerned. There are issues with both sides of the family, to one degree or another, and in all cases it will not improve nor go away. With the holidays rolling around again this year, my wife and I are wrestling with the same two choices we face each year, where to spend our holiday and how much of the baggage that comes with it are we willing to deal with. I know all families have their issues, and none are ever perfect, but just once it would be nice to have the end of the year holidays happen without all the family drama and misc. other crap that comes along for the ride.

We have talked about changing family traditions, admitting that with the youngest of us now over the age of 30 it is time to act like grown-ups and make new traditions for the holidays. I suspect that will be the case next year, and it is time to get the parents on board with this decision. Where we spend our holiday next year will be uncertain for a while yet, but one thing is very concrete, I will remain jammed between this rock and hard place biting my tongue and smiling as I continue to offer assistance when asked, anything else will only make the situation worse.

Legacy

Legacy

We buried him today
Laid to rest with those who have passed before him
Not far from where he once called home
He’s now reached that final goal
And our healing process begins

Life goes on without him there
To wipe our tears
To quiet our fears
To offer up a big ole hug in hopes of easing our pain

We know he is with us
In the giggles and laughter of his grand children
Some yet to be heard
In the smiles of his children
Those related by choice and by blood
And in the legacy he left behind
With each and every life he touched

We know he is watching over us
Making certain we listen
As he whispers words of wisdom most will never hear
Like echoes on the wind
They’ll brush past our ears
Sink slowly into our heads
And become second nature in our times of need

A piece of all of us was buried today
A piece we can never reclaim of ourselves
But in its place we each carry a piece of him
A parting gift to cherish forever
Knowing his legacy will live on through us

In rememberance ...

I don’t remember the first time I met Tom Brenner, other than it was sometime in the fall of 1995, but I distinctly remember that uneasy first impression I got when he walked in. Tom had a presence when he entered the room, a rough exterior coating that teddy bear underneath, enhanced by what was probably a long day at work. I remember being growled at when my wife introduced us the first time. It was not a mean growl, just that low muttered sound of “hello” as a courtesy to the unknown person he most likely viewed as a threat to someone he was protective of. I don’t recall ever being afraid of him, but I suspect that is exactly what he was going for on our first meeting.

I’m not certain how many of us actually knew the real Tom, but I believe we all got a glimpse of him once in a while over the years and a few of us were lucky enough to get a good look at what he was really all about. My opportunity for that was this past Memorial Day weekend when my wife and I were in Tennessee to visit the Brenner clan. For a few hours Friday night, I saw a side of Tom I hadn’t in years past. It was the Wise Old Man and Father Figure who spent the evening talking about various subjects and offering his advice on how to handle situations we were facing. He let his guard down, assisted by the wine I’m sure, but I got a chance to see the real Tom and how he viewed the world, even if only for a few short hours.

He was a man who put family above all else and whose definition of family was quite broad. Not everyone he knew or considered a friend was also family, but those he knew well, and their families, were certainly included. It was that night I learned that I too was his family! By this point I had known Tom for almost 15 years, and had always viewed him as just Justin, Jenny, Drew, and Cassie’s dad. He was almost always pleasant toward me, sans those few bad days we all seem to have, but I had never really sat down to get to know him any deeper than that. My loss!

I’ve always known that Tom was the kind of guy who would tell you like it was, like it or not. He would give you the shirt off his back in an instant and then find a way to buy you 5 more if he thought you needed the help, all without ever asking. He put his family first and considered all his close friends and their family’s part of his own. He lead with his head, always conscious of where he was going and what needed to be done when he got there, but his heart made the decisions. Tom was a good listener and a strong shoulder to lean on for anyone who needed it, and that is probably what most of us will miss about him.

In those few short hours last May, what I learned most about Tom in our conversation was that he was a simple man, with only one goal in life yet to complete. He had seen all of his children graduate from high school, something he was very proud of, and had instilled his work ethic and values into them as best he could. Now he was looking forward to his next goal, to make his way back to the place he loved to be most, back here to Michigan, the place he still called home. While I’m sure this was not the way he had it planned, Tom has reached that last goal, he’s coming home.

A man wise beyond his years, willing to share of himself and all that he had, Tom Brenner will certainly be missed by those who knew him best, those who called him family, and those who benefited from his generous ways. I enjoyed what little time we had together over the past few years and was looking forward to our next encounter, whenever that may have been. It is with a heavy heart that I allow the news to sink in and realize our next encounter will, God willing, be many years from now. I know he won’t be far, and his presence will certainly be felt many times over the coming years as he checks in on us, but he will be missed!

Thank you for allowing me to be part of your extended family, I listened, I learned, I grew, and you will be missed Tom!

More Than Just Another Monday

Today seemed like every other Monday when the alarm went off at 6:10AM. I stumbled to the bathroom, managed to get dressed, grab my bag, lunch, and keys, and find my way to my car through swollen eyes barely open. The commute to work was uneventful and filed with frustrating moments in traffic jams while listening to radio DJ’s banter on about one thing or another in between the music they play so infrequently between 5am and 10am weekdays. My morning routine was the same today as it has been on 98% of every Monday morning for the last 6 years, and yet today is not like every other Monday morning and there can be no other Monday morning like today again.

Exactly 14 years ago today, my wife and I exchanged vows in an intimate commitment ceremony that will forever serve as my wedding day. It was almost a full year after we first met in June of 1995 and exactly 4 months after I first proposed to her on Valentines Day 1996. There was no church, no minister or Justice of the Peace. There were no flowers, no dress, no exotic location, not even a single witness, unless you count the cat. It was just us, two hearts very much in love who knew that this relationship would stand the test of time and be a forever partnership. And that was all we needed then, and now.

Because we live in Michigan, one of the many states who have forever entombed bigotry and discrimination in our state laws and constitution, we can not be legally married. One day that barrier will fall, like so many unjust laws before it already have, but it will change nothing from our past. A license will be applied for and granted, a certificate will be issued, signed, and made official with a short ceremony lacking in all the traditional pomp and circumstance that could make it a wedding. One day, probably about 6 years from today, there will be a vow renewal ceremony that will provide our friends and family the chance to share in the recognition of our small commitment ceremony 14 years ago today and all the joy it has brought us over the years. It is our hope that by then we will also be legally married in Michigan, but I won’t hold my breath. In any case, today Monday June 14, 2010 marks 14 years spent with my soul mate, best friend, partner, and wife Jennifer.

Happy Anniversary!

Every once in a while we all need a wakeup call …

I know we all get busy, wrapped up in our own issues and daily lives and before long we are so entrenched in what we have going on that we forget about some of the more important things in life. We worry about having a nice house or car, maybe a new wardrobe or at least a pair of shoes, and keeping up with the latest in technology. We spend all our time making money so we can spend it, or so our spouses can spend it for us, and hoping to one day have enough saved up to retire and begin to enjoy life for a change. But what if we never get to retire? What if by the time we make it to retirement age and status all we have left is that nice house, car, and wardrobe with no one left to enjoy life with?

That’s the type of wakeup call all of us needs right here, right now. I got mine in a few stages, spread out over about a two year span. The beginning of it was back in the fall of 1997 when a face I hadn’t seen in over a decade popped up in a web search for something I thought was completely unrelated. It set off a chain of events that made me stop and think about a lot of unresolved issues from my past, things I thought were buried so deep they would never surface again, and people I had walked away from a long time ago. It also began a process of finally dealing with things I had refused to previously, aligning my memory of my history with what really happened, and writing a book I never thought I was capable of.

That process, facing my fear, reconnecting with an old friend, resolving some issues in my past, and writing that book helped me to take a closer look at what was really important in my life. I had forgotten about Jack and our friendship years before and he wasn’t the only one from my past I had walked away from, he was just the one that was most important for me to reconnect with. Rebuilding that bridge allowed me to reconnect with others, to reach out to some, and to accept others who had reached out to me. It gave me a chance to begin to put my priorities in the right order beginning with family and friends rather than the very tight circle I had been spinning in for far too long.

I also came out of this more comfortable with myself, my past, and my future than I ever thought I could be. I managed to find a place I am comfortable with in the universe, and discover ways to let go of all those things I know are out of my control in much the same way that those who are Christian claim to “turn it all over to God”. I’m not certain how much of that came from reconciling those issues, from the process of writing the book, or from simply spending time with Jack again, but it was something I would need about a year later.

The final stage of my wake up call came in the fall of 2009 when we learned that my mother-in-law has breast cancer. She is a relatively young 56 year old woman who takes care of herself and follows the recommendations of semi-annual mammograms. Sadly, you get what you pay for and in her case, a free screening meant nobody cared enough to read the films. She had been complaining of symptoms after the screening in February and eventually could no longer ignore them. In September she sought a second opinion and learned that she has stage IV invasive ductal carcinoma (breast cancer spread to the lymphatic system with lesions on the skeleton). While the entire family is angry that she was not diagnosed sooner, she simply moved forward with treatment and an attitude that she will beat it. It’s impossible for us to know how far the cancer advanced between February and September, and that is for the lawyers to argue in court one day, but we do know the diagnosis wouldn’t have changed though we could have possibly caught it while still a stage III.

As I wrapped my head around the news that someone close to me had been given a potentially terminal diagnosis, I retreated into my own world asking one question over and over. What if it were me? Hearing someone you know given a diagnosis of cancer in any form tends to do that to most of us. Luckily, I had already begun to prioritize things in my life and remove some of the non-essential things, be those material items, excess drama, or surrounding myself with negative attitudes. The cancer diagnosis was simply the catalyst to complete that phase of my life.

I shelved a writing project I was working on, hopefully I will come back to it one day but for now it sits about 1/3 of the way completed, I made a decision to eliminate the negativity and drama from my life, and I did just that. I severed all ties with the Dykes on Bikes (DOBD) Drama Queen group I had been riding with because I was tired of the high school drama that came with it and the way the group as a whole made both myself and my wife feel. I chose to walk away from their narrow view of the world and allow them to wallow in their own self pity for being single, poor, uneducated, unemployed, and lesbian. Each member of that group feels sorry for themselves for at least one of those reasons and I think it’s safe to say their attitude is that the “straight world” owes them something. I completely disagree and think they all need to grow up, shut up, and take responsibility for their own lives and the poor decisions that have landed them where they are now. But I digress!

My purging of negativity and drama extended to family encounters as well, from both my family and Jen’s. I respectfully decline invitations to go places where certain members of Jen’s family will be in attendance, as does Jen, because it simply isn’t worth dealing with their crap. Jen and I still attend family functions on both sides when possible, but I do not feel bad for missing out on things because we choose not to deal with a situation that will most definitely turn ugly. Family is not perfect, it never was nor can it ever be for either of us, but family is family. Often it’s better for all of us to not speak for a while rather than speak words that will irritate or offend the other. That’s my new approach to family on both sides and it will continue in force with the new arrival in a few weeks. The news of a 4th niece (nephew is still possible last I heard) was the last straw, the third was hard enough to stomach, and while I am certain I will love them no less than their three older sisters, they will see me just as little as the first three have. I refuse to bite my tongue any more than is absolutely required and the mandatory family gatherings are about all I can take these days.

My priorities are now in order, I go out of my way to help those I can when ever I can, and I approach every situation with a little more laid back approach. I know that every event in my life, great or small, has a purpose and I accept the challenge of figuring out what that purpose may be daily. I also except the challenge of ensuring that if my next tomorrow never comes, I have lived each moment in a way that I am content with, said all I need to say to those around me and that I care about, and never left a situation unresolved whenever possible. While I never claim to be perfect, if I can at least do my best to make sure that I leave this world with all those I care for and about knowing how important to me they are, and never parting ways angry, I can accept that as my legacy.

To quote a friend of mine "Live for the here and now, tomorrow will take care of itself!"

So about that blog post I promised to write …

Dear loyal readers,

I have not forgotten about you, or your interest in this blog, my life, and my writing. However, I have been far too busy for far too long to keep up with this thing. I have been writing all this time, but most of it has either been for my eyes only, not even shared with my wife if you can believe that, or has been in the form of a FaceBook (FB) status update or comment. Many of you are on FB and my FB friends list so you have not been kept too far out of the loop, though certainly not exactly included in all the goings on of my life since last fall. Let this post serve as the catch up for all those important things I have not yet shared, and I promise to update this thing a little more regularly going forward. Notice I said a little more regularly.

First off for those of you who do not yet know, my mother-in-law was diagnosed with stage IV ductal breast cancer last fall, round about the time I stopped posting my writing. See the coincidence here? Thee were other factors in my silence, like the completely unhealthy group I was in the process of terminating my membership with, a few work related issues, and the occasional life event I still choose to remain silent on. In any case, she is doing well, responding well to treatments, and having very few side effects of her treatments outside of the standard loss of hair. And for those who have not been through this, or watched someone go through this, let me just state that when I say loss of hair, it includes hair in places where you didn’t know hair grew.

Dealing with the diagnosis, the tests, the staging process, and the new schedule that would be applied to my life as my wife stepped up to be by her mother’s side as much as possible through this whole process has taken some major and minor adjustments. One of the first things to get pushed aside was my writing. It was in part because I didn’t feel much like finishing a story about a boy who leaves home right after high school with the intent to never see his father again, spends 20 years building a life for himself with no contact between the two of them, and then stumbles upon a relationship with him again through a twist of fate only to learn that his father is terminally ill. This story was conceived and the first 20 chapters or so written long before last fall’s news hit and it is in no way related to my mother-in-law’s diagnosis. Yet writing it just didn’t sit well with me any longer and I lost interest in writing all together as the weeks dragged on.

I did not stop writing all together though, but digging through the archives of the blog you’ll certainly notice a HUGE gap in entries beginning toward the end of last summer and lasting for what has become nearly a year. I can’t say that many things were written in that time period, but I can say that what was written was almost always merely me venting frustrations about one thing or another and eventually found its way into the recycle bin. On occasion I came up with a piece of something I hung onto, something that I managed to make general enough to post. But, as the archives make blatantly obvious, those were very few and quite far in between.

So, what else have I been up to over the last 9 months … sadly the answer is not really all that much. I have completed more classes and currently have just four left to obtain my latest degree, a Bachelor of Web Development. So long as they don’t cancel any classes on me I will be done with it next March! Then what I’m not certain, but there has been some consideration about going for a Masters Degree … time will have to tell that tale because for now I am focusing on SUMMER VACATION and those four remaining classes next year.

Life has really been all about family, friends, school, and work … in that order for probably the first time in decades. Having a potentially terminal diagnosis of someone you know, no matter how well you know them, is certainly a wake up call to get your life and priorities in line. It has been the catalyst for me purging all the drama and “fluff” from my life, hence exiting the DOB fiasco and no longer surrounding myself with their drama, negativity, and poor choices. I can’t even say the departure was amicable, I’m not certain they are capable of that from a local or national standpoint, but it was not a total waste of time. That group, the drama all last summer, and the eventually process of exiting their gang (and I mean that in every sense of the word) was something I needed to do. It served as a reminder of why I have not been active in the LGBT only culture since my early college days at Oakland, and why I will refrain from getting involved again in the future. It was a definite wake up call that there are two distinct versions of LGBT Equality and the activism that is required to achieve it, I am not interested in their tunnel vision of the world or what true equality is! I am also thankful that organizations like Triangle foundation, Michigan Equality, and Affermations exist and understand both how the world works and what needs to be done to achieve true equality for all, including LGBT people.

So there is the recap of my last 9 months. Reality check, Cancer, Exiting the Drama Queens (DOBD), eliminating as much drama from my life as possible, family, friends, work, school, and writing. Now that the purging of drama process is complete, or nearly, and school is out for the next 4 months, I’ll try to write more!

Much overdue post about a much overdue leave of absence

The sun has gone away for the season and the wacky weather is preventing me from enjoying anything to do with snow and gravity induced enjoyment. So ... Jen and I are headed SOUTH this afternoon for a week in the Florida sunshine. I may write while I'm away, I may not. I will have some sort of recap when I return however ... and I'll try to get it posted here on this far too often neglected blog of mine. Facebook just seems to win out on updates most of the time and I'm working out a better balancing act for the two. Forgive.

Angered and Offended buy a simple question!

Every once in a while I am reminded in a very blunt way how others view the world. More specifically, how they perceive both me and my family. Months and even years go by with countless interactions between us not once allowing their true opinion to slip out. Consciously or subconsciously, they manage to hold their tongue or refrain from asking a rather blunt question that alerts me to their true feelings. Then one day, with a single question, I am reminded, and offended all at once. It makes me take a second look at the relationship with them, the things I do to help them out and often just because I want to. I makes me wonder why I bother, why I spend the time and often money to make their lives just a little better.

I can not simply walk away from them; too many people would be hurt in that process to make it worth while. I can’t even stop offering my assistance without hurting two innocent lives that deserve so much more than they would get without me there. So I keep quiet for now, hold my tongue a little longer while I work out a way to make this work. My priority list has been adjusted, a conversation will need to be had eventually, but for now I simply refuse to go out of my way to help any longer. Their true colors have shown through once again and, this time I won’t forget.

Gone Away Again

And so I'm off to mend my friend
Tucked securely inside my shell again
This cozy dark place is comforting
All snug and warm
Safely hidden from the outside world

I come here often it seems
When the seas get rough
And the skies appear to open up
In here where it's safe
To ride out the storm

Another storm has come
And will not pass soon it seems
So for those who wonder where I've gone
Knock a little on top of my shell
Or maybe just yell
I may not answer right away
But I promise to poke my head out again some day

SHANE 09

How did you celebrate YOUR Freedom this year?

Friday 7/3/09
With the sun fully up and the sky finally blue after almost a solid week of overcast and rain, Jen and I loaded up the bike, double checked the straps on the luggage, and headed out on the bike for a much needed mini-vacation about 11:00 AM. Our first destination was lunch, but with only 58 miles on the trip odometer since the last time I filled the tank, we hit the expressway and headed toward Port Huron figuring we would get lunch and gas all in one stop. With the wind at our back and traffic a little light once we made it out of Flint on I-69, we managed to hit Imlay City around 1PM and filled our tummy’s with warm Big boy food while we watched the sky turn overcast through the windows. The sun was peaking through the cloud deck every so often, and it was clear that there was blue sky up there beyond those gray clouds, but it was also clear that we were riding into the remainder of the overcast cloud deck as we headed east.

After a quick lunch stop at Big Boys, a fuel stop across the road, and some time to put on the long sleeve t-shirts before climbing back onto the bike, we were ready for the next adventure. We made it to Port Huron and through the confusing interchanges of I-69, I-94, and M-25 before slamming into a line of cars stopped for what would be a long stretch of red lights. It was the Friday before a major holiday and M-25 is a major route from the metro Detroit area to the Thumb, we were in Holiday traffic at 1:30 PM.

We finally managed to make it out of Port Huron, north of Lakeport, where we toured a State Park neither Jen or I knew existed, and won’t be returning to, and realized that we had finally left the traffic behind us on our journey farther north. We stopped at a couple of roadside Parks along M-25 between Port Sanilac and White Rock and cruised along the country scenes while M-25 flirted with the shoreline of Lake Huron and the sun played peek-a-boo through the thick cloud deck above. Eventually we made it to Harbor Beach and turned inland on M-142 headed for a quick gas stop and our final destination for the night.

We arrived at the hotel in Bad Axe, checked in, and were unpacking the duffel in our room by 5:30PM, right on schedule. We checked out the accommodations, stretched our legs and backs for a bit, made a quick Walmart run for some items that had been left behind, and stopped into the Gathering Place, attached to the hotel, for some dinner. I managed to convince Jen to join me in a quick game of pool in the game room after our meal, which I barely won, and we each tried our hand at an old school Elvira pinball game, neither of us was very good at that either. The pool was crawling with loud children so Jen and I opted to forgo the evening dip and simply retire to our spacious room, it was by far the largest hotel room I have ever stayed in and could easily have accommodated an additional king size bed along with all the furnishings that were in there already.

Saturday 7/4/09
Jen dragged my butt out of a surprisingly comfortable bed around 8:30 AM, she had been up for at least a half hour before I even opened my eyes, and we managed to hit the road by 9:30. This time we were headed home, via the long route, and from Bad Axe drove north on M-53 to Port Austin, which looked like a neat little country town we would like to go back to, but we didn’t dare stop for all the people crawling every which way. Port Austin was the center of the Thumb’s 4th of July activities, including the parade that was to happen at 1pm, but at just before 10AM there were so many people every where you looked that Jen and I decided not to stop and instead headed west out of town along M-25 toward Port Crescent State Park. We made a short stop at a roadside park just outside of Port Austin and wandered down the sandy path for a photo opportunity of the shoreline and offered our assistance to another biker family who wanted their picture taken along the lake. While Jen and I were getting ready to climb back on the bike, the two bikers who asked us to take their picture wandered back up to their bike and eventually got up the nerve to ask if they could take my picture. He wasn't looking for a goofy pose next to my ride but rather, a shot of the back of my jacket, where my Dykes on Bikes Detroit patch is sewn. They LOVED the patch and he wanted to take the photo back to show off to the rest of his biker friends.

I stood still, smiling the whole time, for the photo and eventually Jen and I did manage to climb back on the bike and ride off toward Port Crescent State Park. After a short cruise through the campground, which both Jen and I agree we would NEVER stay in due to site size and absolute lack of privacy, we headed over to the day use area for a little time off the bike and in the sun and sand. Yes, sand. We didn’t hike all the way down to the beach, but we didn’t have to because the wind has blown layers of sand over the boardwalks. So much so that it looked like Mother Nature had installed the worn handrails and fence posts in the dune paths herself. It was a beautiful day to build a sand castle along the beach and stand knee deep in Lake Huron as the waves splashed up to your waist, but Jen and I opted to view it from a platform above the beach and snap a few shore photos instead.

After a potty break and a slow cruise through the rest of the day use area, we headed back to the main road and westward on M-25. Not long after leaving Port Crescent State Park, we came to a screeching halt on the highway and waited patiently for the white tail deer to decide which direction she wanted to cross the road in. The car in front of us spooked her mid crossing and she was clearly confused about the safest direction to go. Once the path cleared I rolled forward slowly, keeping a careful eye for any movement on the roadside while we slowly passed the area the deer had just entered, and where I suspect she came from as well. I was not about to tangle my motorcycle with a 150+lb deer, that would not have ended well for either Jen or me.

Not too far up the road, we pulled into the Sleeper State Park campground and, though the ranger told us she couldn’t allow us to drive through the campground, I made a somewhat intentional wrong turn and managed to cover one of the loops to the campground. We were once again checking out layout and campsite size, for future reference. As much as I was tempted to, I didn’t dare cross the path of the ranger again and venture to the other side of the campground. Instead, Jen and I headed across the road for a stretch/snack break in the day use area along the shores of Lake Huron.

We parked, grabbed the packable cooler, and headed up the boardwalk to a nice platform that overlooked both the beech and the forested hillside and dunes. It was a beautiful spot for a picnic lunch, or snack in our case. My watch said it was just about noon when we stopped but since we had to forgo the planned breakfast stop in Port Austin due to the crowds, my tummy thought it was much later than that. We snacked, stretched, and watched the flocks of Cedar Waxwings and robins fight off the large family of chipmunks from the berry bushes along the hill side. We even snapped a few pictures of a chipmunk munching down on a cracker that I dropped on the ground and decided to toss his way. It was too cute to pass up.

With our energy partially restored and knees in full working order, Jen and I climbed back onto the bike and headed out to M-25 once again. This time we were in search of a lunch spot hopefully not too far down the road. That’s where the trip got a little scary and I was reminded just how quickly things can get dangerous while riding a motorcycle. Traffic was clearing on M-25 and I was preparing for a right hand, up-hill turn out onto the roadway when my finger slipped from the clutch lever and I popped the clutch, with the forks already turned to the right, Jen on the back seat, and the 50+ lb duffel on the rear luggage rack.

I immediately put my right foot down, stood up off the seat, and did my best to straighten the forks while applying the front brake to keep the bike from rolling in any direction. I’ve done this before, even with Jen on the back, and we saved the bike. This time, the combination of the pavement angle, the weight of the duffel, and me never explaining to Jen that she should try to counter balance the bike by sliding her weight to the high side of the bike, were too much. We didn’t manage to save it. It was like a bad dream, helplessly watching in slow motion as the bike laid itself muffler side down. It was propped up in the rear by the packed saddle bags, which saved the mufflers from damage, and the passenger peg which folded itself up nicely under the weight of the bike. As I lay on the ground under the bike, it took at least a full second for my brain to remember what I should do. I slid out from under the bike, thankfully not pinned under it’s weight, and killed the engine before looking back to check on Jen. She was okay, not visibly uninjured and sliding herself away from the bike. We survived our first crash!

I jumped to my feet, asked her once again if she was okay and quickly realized that two cars had stopped on the road to be sure that we were alright. From seemingly out of nowhere two gentlemen arrived at my side to heft the bike from its pathetic side down position and help me place it in its much more majestic side stand down with forks turned and parked position. I could have done it myself, by using the laws of physics and a little technique they taught me in my motorcycle safety class, but I was thankful for their help none the less. While Jen and I collected ourselves and I adjusted the mirror that had been badly knocked out of position in the fall, I checked for obvious damage. We were on the side of the driveway and out of harms way, I took my time getting back on that bike. My nerves were shaken; I didn’t know what I had done wrong, why I had popped the clutch in the first place. I was concerned that I would do it again and the next time Jen and I wouldn’t be so lucky. I was well over 100 miles from home, the bike was barely scratched, both Jen and I walked away, though not entirely uninjured we would later discover, and I had no choice but to confront the fear and climb back on the bike.

Jen, trusting in me more than she probably should have at the time, took a deep breath and climbed back onto her seat. I waited for her thumbs up to let me know she was settled, started the bike, and slowly pulled out on to the road. I was driving far more careful than I had in months, listening to every sound the bike made, watching for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. It was then that I realized what had caused me to pop the clutch starting the catastrophic chain of events pulling out from the state park. My clutch lever was sloppy! Had I ever checked that before? The bike was still almost brand new, but with close to 8,000 miles on it the clutch cable had stretched and a simple adjustment would have prevented that fall.

Not far up the road, I’m not certain it was even 5 miles to be honest, I pulled into a lakeside resort that offered lodging and a restaurant that looked open for business on the national holiday. As Jen and I climbed off the bike I again walked around looking for damage. What I found was a little bit of fluid that had spilled out of the engine and onto the chrome of the air cleaner cover, I presumes oil but suppose it could have been gas as well. I explained to Jen that it was normal and did not mean that the bike was damaged. Motorcycle engines are designed to remain in the upright position and when laid on their side, it’s common for them to leak a bit of fluid. There was no puddle, there was barely any fluid at all to be perfectly honest, but it was just enough to washed off some of the filth from the chrome and make it almost shiny again. That's the only reason I even noticed it.

I also discovered that I had scraped up the end of the brake lever, the bottom of my driver peg, and the tip of the passenger peg when the bike went down, but that was it. No dents, no dings, no serious damage at all. In fact, all the damage I did do could easily be explained as simple flying debris on the highway, they really are that superficial! Lady luck was certainly watching out for us on that trip as it could have been so much worse. Even the injuries Jen and I sustained, a twisted ankle for Jen, a bruised knee and pulled right arm for me, could have been so much worse. My bike has a dry weight of just less than 700lbs. It was not dry, and it had an additional weight load of close to 100lbs with the duffle and saddle bags. Add in hot engine and exhaust parts, there could have been so many more common injuries, but we were lucky.

We collected our nerves over lunch while we watched the children playing in the pool and the waves roll in on the distant shore of Saginaw Bay, then paid the bill and headed out to the bike for the final stretch toward home. We were in Caseville, still a good hundred miles from home, but it was time to make tracks, trade the scenic shoreline vistas for farmland and open prairies, and once we hit Sebewaing, to eventually head south toward home once again. With an emergency stop to watch a mother mallard duck parade her ducklings across the road, then turn back to the shoulder where they came from and hide in the weeds, and gas stop just north of Frankenmuth where we stretched, refueled with a bit to eat, and quenched our thirst with some cold drinks, Our trip was rapidly coming to a close. We decided to head home the quickest route that did not involve the expressway. Just north of Flint, I changed my mind, made a quick right turn, and hopped on I-475 to complete our journey home. After two solid days on the bike and close to 350 miles logged, I was ready to be home and park the bike for a day or two while my tail bone and my now aching right arm healed.

All in all, we logged roughly 350 miles and a total of 10 hours on the bike over a two day period. We enjoyed the scenery, the wildlife, and the hospitality of rural Michigan. It was a welcomed break from daily life and an excellent way to celebrate our freedom on Independence Day weekend. We’ve even talked about a modified version of the trip this fall when the color begins to pop. It should be a beautiful ride along the shore of Lake Huron and Saginaw Bay with the trees in full fall colors.