Remembering My Mom

Vic wrote about his mother and invited his readers to do the same. I took the bait. Thanks Vic for writing about your mom and for giving me permission to write about and try once again to sort through my mixed feelings for the woman who, along with my father, gave me life.

The woman who fed, loved, clothed, protected, suffocated, enraged, humiliated, funded, manipulated, nurtured, plotted, prodded, pleaded, hushed, screamed, sulked, drank, lied, laughed, washed, ironed, taught, shopped, sewed, painted, baked, welcomed, whispered, invested, persisted, pleased, delighted, dazzled, drugged, entertained, enabled, soothed, comforted, calmed, reassured, remembered, forgot, refined, accepted, congratulated and within the past year showed me one way to die with relative dignity.

In my birth and in her death we were close. There were bleak and dark times in our shared decades, but much illumination too. Well that's about all I can handle now, but it is a start. Thank you for the prompt to remember one of the women I have loved and will always love.

Blessings of Brotherhood

A couple of weeks ago I had a wonderful experience that I wanted to share with you. I was buying some stuff at a store and noticed that the cashier who was about to ring up my purchases looked like a friend of mine, which gave me warm feelings toward him even though we'd never met. But I decided to treat him as a friend and not a stranger. Our eyes locked as I walked up to the counter and said "How are you?" as if we were old friends.

We both smiled. His facial expression matched my hopes. He looked back into my eyes as if we did know each other.  Debit or credit, he asked. I said debit and, as if I had seen him in a variety of different shirts and ties over the years, I said, "You know that shirt and tie really look great on you. You ought to wear that combination more often." Our eyes again locked and he said, "Well thanks, bud, I will." He handed me my stuff and I said "Have a good one" and he said "You, too." It was probably over in less than a minute, but it was one of those sweet moments I hope I'll always remember.

Today when I saw the real friend that this guy reminded me of, I wanted to give him a big hug and say, "I love you so much." But he doesn't like hugs and I don't usually tell straight guys I love them, so we just talked about our weekends.

Later today I saw another friend. This time he was the one who kept making eye contact. As we talked I noticed his white teeth, his full lips, his neatly trimmed beard, the way his shirt hung on his shoulders, and then right in the middle of the conversation a kind of miracle happened. He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.  I've always felt affection toward this man--another happily married fellow--but today he was the one who physically touched me. What a blessing.

I'm curious about the experiences you, my moho friends, have with your straight friends. Do you also restrain yourself? Do you also find that sometimes a friend's touch is like a gift from God himself?

My thanks to my toes, and you, and you, and you, and you

As I awakened on this Thanksgiving morning of 2010, I thought of my toes and other things I'm thankful for on this cold wintry day in Salt Lake City.

Toes - They're the farthest or is it furthest from my heart, yet they still live. Their nails grow much more slowly than my fingernails. I keep them in the dark almost year round, only letting them out a few days in the summer or a few minutes a day when I shower. They must love it when I swim when they're not only free from sox and shoes, but when the gravity and the weight of body they usually endure are all topsy turvey and wonderfully different. Thank you toes for supporting me. For helping me balance. For giving me perspective about those I care about even when you're far from my heart physically, I still love you. I rely on you. I'm grateful for you. Thank you, toes.

Pipes - I'm grateful for you, too. You pipes in my walls, and in my yard and under my street and your cousins the wires in the air and underground, copper and fiber, all of you. Without you, taking a drink or taking a dump would be so much more difficult. I couldn't write these words as easily and effortlessly save them in the cloud, the cloud wouldn't even exist, nor would the orange "publish post" button, if not for you, dear pipes of all sizes and functions. Like my toes, you are hidden, but like my toes I rely on you so much. Thank you. Thanks for water, heat, electricity, television, telephone, and all that is online. Thanks for quietly and almost flawlessly carrying away gray water and worse. And thanks to all the people behind all the pipes. I sometimes think of myself alone in my home with my loved ones, but we are not alone, we are connected to so many necessities and much more thanks to you, our dear pipes, and those who maintain you and make possible the contents you carry.

ABCs and QWERTY - In the beginning, we're told, was the word. If so, then in the pre-existence there was the alphabet. I'm grateful today for alphabets and words and the expression, and creation and communication they make possible. I learned the QWERTY keyboard in junior high. It has served me so well though the decades. I'm using it at the very moment I write this, and you could not so easily read my words without it. I did not have to form the letters with a pen or pencil. I did not have to find the bin and then find the letter made of lead in reverse and then place it in a tray and then find the next letter and the space and the ink and the paper, the press and the labor, the drying time and distribution. No, all I had to do was press a key and my fingers knew exactly where it would be thanks to QWERTY. For letters, words, keyboards and sentences, paragraphs, typewriters, computers and broadband, I am grateful this day. 

Fingers - Just because I wrote of toes first, did you really think I would fail to mention you, my ten good friends? Thank you for your beautiful functionality. Thank you for your length ratios which, like my counter clockwise hair sworl, are a physical indication of my great challenges and gifts as a bisexual man. Thanks for all you do. Ringman for working with that extra weight of gold more than three decades now. Thank you all for helping with so much everyday. Thank you for letting me touch and feel. For helping so much with buttons, zippers, keys, driving, holding and so much more. For being an integral part of so many handshakes and hugs, caresses and the holding of hands, pets and more. Thank you for working as a team. Please accept my apology for sometimes forgetting you. I try to clip your nails weekly, but as you know, I sometimes procrastinate. In this weather I should make sure that you get lotion and wear my gloves out in the cold. Thank you for all you've done, all you do, all you will do. Thanks, my fingers and thanks for the fingers of others who have touched and served me in countless ways.

FAM - Thanks to mom and dad, grandpas and grandmas, a dear wife, caring offspring, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews and nieces. And those of you who read these words, you, in my book are also family. We are all brothers and sisters, are we not? Like the family members I have listed above, you have helped and loved me, each in your own way, and I appreciate and love you, too. How can that be possible when so many of us have not met face-to-face and we hardly know each other, if at all? Well I've never met two of my grandparents face-to-face either. They were dead long before my birth, but I still appreciate them. I appreciate you, too. Not in the same way, of course, but in an important way nonetheless. I can write without readers, but what a difference it makes to write knowing that someone will read and a few will comment. Thank you for that and much more my moho fam. 

Well it is time for me to rise and shout, even though I'm much more red than blue in my Salt Lake County/Utah County affiliations. No matter where you live, north south, east west, East coast, or Alaska, overseas, or Texas, rural Utah or Hawaii or New York City, I am thankful for you. Thanks for writing and reading, being my Moho bros and sisters. I hope you enjoy your Thanksgiving today, that you give thanks and find that the thanks you give are thanking you back. If you're here in frigid Utah may find joy in the warms that protects you. If you are warm Texas, Hawaii or San Diego, may you be especially grateful for the warmth of climate.

Again and again, thanks to my toes, and you, and you, and you, and you.

Seeking Warmth in Winter

I shoveled the first big snow of winter this morning. Later as I swapped my cold boots for dry shoes, I looked at my unmade bed and thought about how nice it would be to snuggle with a loved-one on a wintry day like today. I thought first of my wife but then remembered how my occasional attempts at seduction have been rebuffed for years now.

Being bisexual in my attractions, a few other women then crossed my mind--warm, wonderful, funny, beautiful women I know. They're not alike in shape, age, hair color, eye color or personality, but they are all friendly, perhaps even a slight bit flirtatious. But they're off limits. All of them are married.

But in the realm of fantasy I can also think of men I would like to snuggle with and here's where my Kinsey 4-5 scores are evident. Whereas I think of a few women I know who I'd like to spend a snowy day indoors with, I can easily recall a dozen men throughout my life who would make fine snuggle partners, in my dreams anyway.

1. Junior High Crush #1 - I've seen and talked with him as an older man, and there's still some fire there. He's no longer tall and lean and his brown eyes are obscured by thick bi-focal glasses now, but they still twinkle.

2. High School Crush #1 -  I still think of him, too. Not as he is now, but as I remember him walking the halls or studying in the library almost four decades ago. When I hear the Carpenters sing Superstar I can still see this handsome young friend as he was in his prime.

3. High School Crush #2 - We still do lunch sometimes. He's bigger, kinder and every bit as appealing now as he was when we were teens. Maybe even more so because he's a better listener.

4. My Summer Job Crush - He was a blue-eyed, freckled redhead. We never really talked much, but we both said hello to each other almost everyday for a whole summer. I wish I'd struck up a conversation and I would today if he crossed my path. I wonder if the thick red hair has faded to white by now.

5. College Crush - We studied, talked, ate and volunteered together. I attended his missionary farewell and his wedding reception. I haven't seen him in decades but every once in a while I'll notice some one's shoulders  or their mischievous smile and think of him. 

6. Early Career Crush - He lives out-of-state now, but he's still a pleasant memory of my younger days. His thick silver hair, and clean-shaven face in online photos are not quite as appealing as the thick brown hair and full beard I admired in person, but his dark brown eyes appear unchanged.

6. My Mid Thirties Crush - Because we were in group therapy together, he knew some of my issues and I knew some of his. He knew I liked him, and I knew he didn't like me as much, we both knew it. We had lunch a few years ago. Whereas I've become more liberal and accepting he seems more conservative and excluding. 

7. My Late Thirties Crush - Every once in a while I'll search online for this man with the piercing blue eyes and the boyish enthusiasm for life. I wonder what's become of him. I wonder if he's maintained his idealism.

8. My Early Forties Crush - I've already written on this blog about the handsome curly blond with slate blue eyes. I thought I was totally over him until I found him on FaceBook and felt a thrill when he confirmed my invitation as an online friend.

9. My Late Forties Crush - Perhaps I'll write of this another time, but not now.

10. My early Fifties Crush #1- see #9.

11. My Mid Fifties Crush #1- see #9.

12. My Mid Fifties Crush #2- see #9.

So there you go. When the weather gets cold outside, I think of my good wife and the physical intimacy we once shared, but I also think of these other women and men. If any of them were available and willing, I'd welcome them into my bed, that is if I was also available. Even with all these qualifications and perhaps because of them, I'm not likely to abandon these memories and longings--just like Lancelot could not imagine a season to let go of his love.

If ever I would leave you
It wouldn't be in summer.
Seeing you in summer I never would go.
Your hair streaked with sun-light,
Your lips red as flame,
Your face with a lustre
that puts gold to shame!

But if I'd ever leave you,
It couldn't be in autumn.
How I'd leave in autumn I never will know.
I've seen how you sparkle
When fall nips the air.
I know you in autumn
And I must be there.

And could I leave you
running merrily through the snow?
Or on a wintry evening
when you catch the fire's glow?

If ever I would leave you,
How could it be in spring-time?
Knowing how in spring I'm bewitched by you so?
Oh, no! not in spring-time!
Summer, winter or fall!
No, never could I leave you at all!

(Lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner) 

Helping and Being Helped

Years ago, someone I didn't like very much at the time taught me something I'm now so glad he showed me. I don't think his intent was to teach, but teach he did. It wasn't through his words but what he did. He offered his time, talents and means to help someone who had once helped him. He did this year in and year out. It wasn't a flash in the pan. I wasn't paying much attention for a long time, but eventually I couldn't help but see that he was showing devotion, not with words but action.

Now he and the person he helped are gone, never to be seen again in this life. But his example of service lives on. I've sometimes reluctantly helped someone, based on the way I remember he helped. As I've tried to help out someone who now clearly needs my help, I've sometimes thought of my old friend with new-found appreciation and respect.

How did he do it, year after year, on hot days like today, driving in a car without air conditioning? How did he manage in the cold of winter in a broken down car without snow tires? How could he be of good cheer when the one he served was sometimes difficult, when he knew that no matter what he did, the eventual prospect was death?

Today as I worked in a similar situation, I was blessed with some insights. My old friend was able give because others had helped him when he was vulnerable. He had grown from weak to strong, but in his strength he had not forgotten those who had pioneered and sacrificed on his behalf. I thought of such things today. Where would I be without the help and sacrifices of those who have loved and supported me? As a young man, I viewed the future as an endless supply of days. Now with perhaps a majority of my lifetime behind me, time seems more valuable. So when I try to help out someone who is more than 30 years my senior, I realize just how swiftly the seven, eight or nine decades of a human life disappear.

So what does this have to do with the life of a Moho? Maybe not so much, but maybe it can be illuminated through these lyrics from Garth Brooks and Kent Blazy:

Sometimes late at night 
I lie awake and watch her sleeping 
She's lost in peaceful dreams 
So I turn out the lights and lay there in the dark 


And the thought crosses my mind 
If I never wake up in the morning 
Would she ever doubt the way I feel 
About her in my heart 


If tomorrow never comes 
Will she know how much I loved her 
Did I try in every way 
To show her every day 
That she's my only one 


If my time on earth were through 
And she must face the world without me 
Is the love I gave her in the past 
Gonna be enough to last 
If tomorrow never comes 


'Cause I've lost loved ones in my life 
Who never knew how much I loved them 
Now I live with the regret 
That my true feelings for them never were revealed 


So I made a promise to myself 
To say each day how much she means to me 
And avoid that circumstance 
Where there's no second chance 
To tell her how I feel 


If tomorrow never comes 
Will she know how much I loved her 
Did I try in every way 
To show her every day 
That she's my only one 


If my time on earth were through 
And she must face the world without me 
Is the love I gave her in the past 
Gonna be enough to last 
If tomorrow never comes 


So tell that someone that you love 
Just what you're thinking of 
If tomorrow never comes

The Men in My Life

I don't really know when I started to notice them, the men in my life. It was probably before I could talk. The first men I noticed were my dad, my grandpas, uncles and neighbors. Sometimes they'd whisker me. That made me love my mom's soft face, but later I would hunger for their whiskers again. I would long for their whiskers so badly that any whiskers would do. Maybe that's why I loved that old song Razor Face so much as a teenager. Maybe that's why I'm still fascinated by beards and sideburns, even as my own fade from brown with a little red, to grey with a lot of white.

What I felt as a small child, as best I can remember it anyway, was safe and protected. As I grew a little older, I found that boys, especially older boys, could sometimes be mean, but they weren't men. They were just boys.

When I started to become a man myself, I sometimes doubted myself. I might look like a man. I might have a man's voice and his strength. I might even be manly to some, but am I just pretending. It took a long time for me to understand that a man can still sometimes feel like a child. That that's OK sometimes.

I've been blessed with so many good men in my life. Men who have helped me learn and grow and be myself. Even mean men who have helped me learn what I wanted to be, because they were jerks. That also took a while to figure out.

I've never had a lover man. But I sure have had some good friends. I've had a lot of crushes on men over the years. I still do. But I don't crush on everyone. Some men and just there and I'm pretty chill about it. They might be friends or acquaintences, neighbors or quorum brothers, even some bloggers I've never met. I'm comfortable around them, for the most part, because they're just part of the environment, with only a little bit more presence than furniture. I'm glad there are many of them. They make life stable and comfortable.

But then there are the men who mean something more. We may or may not know each other, but these are the men I notice. Sometimes I feel that here in the blogosphere, too. There's sometimes just something about the way a fellow writes that intrigues me. I work with some of these kinds of intriguing men, too. I go to church with some of these men. I have some friendships with some of these men. I notice when they're around, and sometimes when they're not. I notice what they wear, and whether they've shaved, and if they seem happy or not, and how they smell and what they say and don't say.

I notice their eyes and their voices. Sometimes when they talk my mind wanders. I sometimes hear the sound of their voices more than I listen to their words. This can be dangerous in the workplace. I might miss something I really do need to know.

There was a time when I thought I don't want to feel this feeling, I don't want this buzz, this attraction. I can't handle it. I don't want it. I want it to go away. I guess that could happen to me again someday, but I'm glad I've gotten used to this something, this quality that is as life affirming as water, food, breath, shelter, warmth or beauty.

And so my thoughts circle back around to shelter, safety, protection. Is that what I feel when I'm sitting alone like the guy in the Steve Walker painting, alone but not all alone, feeling the spirit of those I love and those who love me?

Not Saying Much

It's not that I don't want to talk. It's not that I can't or won't. I guess if I asked myself some questions that might break the ice a bit. How am I doing? OK, some days better than OK. I'm not getting as much exercise as I used to, but I'm shoveling a lot more snow. Maybe it's a wash.

Am I counting my blessings? Sure. A job in this economy. A fine family. The comforts of religion and somewhat clear thinking. The comforts of hazy thinking, too. Friends near and far, known and unknown, past present and future, gay and straight and some in between like me. A dog and a cat, a desk and a rug, a warm home and warm memories. People I care about and people who care about me. Things not to take for granted. Health, pharmaceuticals, books, music and laughter. Smiles, my own and those of others. Ten fingers, ten toes and connections from all of them to my brain. Mind, heart, soul. The ability to talk and listen, see and sense, write and read, maybe even some math if there's a calculator nearby (oh Sarah, if I'd only had real math teachers like you in my youth) , light, shadow, color. Notes, letters, pencils and pens. I can count blessings and it's easy to lose track of the count.

Well I said I wouldn't say much, and I haven't, but I've said more than I thought I would. The fingers can still hit the keys, that's not too bad for a cold Sunday night in December.