Tick, Tick, Tick...

When we were at Chico Hot Springs Resort, Ron and I stayed at the resort on Wednesday to recharge. Both of us were suffering from jet lag and the very long drive from Moscow to the resort. We had a nice day doing nothing, and decided in the afternoon to take a walk up to a small reservoir above the resort. The day was pleasant, and the walk was just what we needed.

When we got back to the cabin, Ron noticed what he thought were small spiders on his pants. I immediately identified them as ticks. He removed five of them from his pants, and I told him that we should check for ticks before going to bed. We didn't give any more thought to it. Later that evening my niece told us that she'd removed a couple of ticks from my grand-niece. I urged her to take Gracie to her pediatrician as soon as she got back home.

Ron began having fevers and chills on Friday. At first, he thought it was a cold because one of the kids had a cold. But it was a very odd cold because he didn't have sniffles or anything. I'm not Nancy Nurse (well, Nancy, but not nurse), but even I could tell he had a fever. I didn't connect his fever to ticks, because I thought the incubation period for any of the tick fevers would be longer than a couple of days.

When I really got worried was on Monday, when Ron told me he had a rash. I knew then that he, indeed, had one of the tick fevers. I used my Blackberry to search, and thought it was probably Colorado Tick Fever, or Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. I didn't think it was Lyme Disease, because it is much less prevalent in the West.

Ron went to see his doctor yesterday, and his doctor diagnosed it as Lyme Disease and put him on a broad spectrum antibiotic. Ron should know in a couple of days if he really has Lyme Disease. In any case, the treatment has started early. His fever has gone away, and we're very hopeful for a good outcome.

We're Home!

Just a short note. We got in late last night after trekking all the way across the United States. I'm already savoring all of those Frequent Flyer Miles. I'm glad to be back home.

Aunt Virgie and Uncle Harry

Yesterday morning, we went over to Mom's to say goodbye and to pick up Grace. We headed out from Mom's about 11 a.m. We took Idaho SR 6, the back way through Potlatch and Emida. We drove through Potlatch, Princeton, and Harvard, (very) small towns that I hung out in during high school. When we got to Emida, I drove around the town, looking at the homes where my uncles and grandpa used to live. Without putting too fine a point on it, the zoning ordinances in Emida are different than the zoning in Wheaton.

Aunt Virgie and Uncle Harry live a couple of miles outside of St Maries, Idaho. My cousin, Jeannie and her husband John were also over. Aunt Virgie is probably one of the world's greatest cooks. She turns potato salad into a world class dish. I know this, because she makes the world's greatest potato salad. She also makes a mean cole slaw. Fried chicken, ham, baked beans, corn relish, and pickles finished off the main course. John and Jeannie brought some orange rolls, which were festive, and easy to consume.

Aunt Virgie doesn't believe in any half-measures, so she had fixed three desserts, just to make sure that we didn't fly home hungry: chocolate pie, rhubarb crisp with ice cream, and mincemeat bars. They all have their merits, and I had a couple of servings of each, but the rhubarb, I think, slightly edged out the other two on the ultimate satisfaction index, although other diners present might disagree.

We did lots of talking about the kids, and segued into stories. Harry brought some snow pictures of this winter. They had more snow this winter than any other winter. One of the ski lodges nearby is still open on weekends. Spring has been very late this year. From winter, the conversation shifted to Alaska and fishing. More pictures and more stories. Uncle Harry uses a cane, now, and Aunt Virgie is slowing down a bit, too. It's always a joy to visit them and Jeannie and John. I'm happy we were able to see them.

We headed out around 5 p.m. for Spokane, taking the back roads through Rockford and Opportunity. We're staying at the Ramada Inn at the airport. Grace is already flying home to Chicago, and we'll be heading out in a couple of hours.

We're Back in Moscow

We got back into Moscow late yesterday. Today, we've been visiting Mom, and eating too much. The biggest challenge of family reunions is getting enough exercise and avoiding food. I've not been particularly successful doing either. Tomorrow, we're headed up to Uncle Harry and Aunt Virgie's for some more visiting, then on to Spokane. Grace is flying out early Monday, and we're flying out around 10 a.m.

Pattie had some excitement getting back to civilization. Her car broke down completely yesterday, as she was getting prepared to drive through Yellowstone to Billings, and a 6 p.m. flight. She had to wait three hours in Emigrant for a tow truck, and then Katherine and John took her on to Billings. They thought about taking the northern route through the park, but the pass was closed because of snow. Spring is late this year....

Ron was ill yesterday, and is not feeling well today. We aren't sure what it is. I think he's exhausted. It's clearly time for us to be home.

Don't You Mean Huge?

Katherine at
Mammoth Hot Springs
Visitors Center

No, we're talking more than huge here, we're talking Mammoth! Monday was our first foray into Yellowstone Park. As a general rule, getting our family to head out on safari is akin to herding cats. It's possible to do, but it takes a lot of effort. Happily, both Pattie and I can be highly directive when the situation calls for it.

Transportation is something of an issue. Ron and I can only put 1500 miles on our rental car before it gets very expensive. I think Pattie's car is the same, but she has less to travel to get back to Billings, where she flew in. We're flying out of Spokane, which is a long ways from Chico Hot Springs Resort. In any case, Ron and I wanted to be squired around in somebody else's car. We ended up in Pattie's land yacht, which is comfy, even if its transmission is about to fall out on the highway.

Joe, Karen, CJ, and Gracie

We had a caravan, Pattie, Ron, and me in the pace car; Katherine, Grace, and John in the middle; and Karen, Joe, and the kids ending the procession. Around 11 a.m. (after a very nice buffet breakfast) we headed out toward Gardiner, Montana, which is the northern entrance to the park. Gardiner is about 30 miles from Chico Hot Springs. Of course, I wasted no opportunity to take pictures on the way to the park. Shutterbug Man here. In fact, brothers and sisters quake with fear when they see me with the camera. The scenery is high mountain country, and every mountain has to have its picture taken.

Gardiner is a small town where every hotel and motel greets the traveler with a No Vacancy sign. Even the scrappiest hotel is full up with tourists anxious to have a room near the park (at least on Mondays). The main street winds in a big S down one side of the river, then across the bridge, and past the town's backside to the Roosevelt Arch at the park's entrance. I think the town fathers designed the road that way so that all the town businesses would have maximum exposure to all them dudded up Easterners headin' into the wilderness to see the bears and bison.

Misty lake at Mammoth

We headed into the park up to Mammoth Hot Springs, about five miles into the park. About five hundred yards into the park we ran into our first traffic jam - tourists obsessing over some elk. I knew it was going to be a long day, me wanting tourists to have a magnificent experience in the park, and my Inner Loop Beltway evil persona. I did a lot of muttering throughout the day.

Our first stop was a bio-break at the Mammoth Hot Springs Visitors Center. The center is very nice with activities for kids and some interesting exhibits about the early explorers of the park. The restrooms, though, were the big attraction. By this time, it was about 1 p.m., and time for lunch. We grabbed some fast food for the little ones (and big ones), but I opted for ice cream. After all, I'm on vacation. One restroom later, we headed up to the hot springs. They really are pretty cool.

Yellowstone Park sits on the top of a huge volcano. The center of the park is the volcano's sunken caldera after the mountain blew its big top 640,000 years ago. The area is still quite seismically and thermally active. I guess I knew all of this, but the scale of the activity seen in the park is remarkable. Everywhere you look you see some steam rising from a bubbling pool. The place is amazing (okay, I'm not on top form with my adjectives, this morning).

Surreal Mammoth

Mammoth Hot Springs is a huge, simply huge, formation that covers hundreds of acres. It's a series of vents, hot springs, and ponds that are heavily mineralized and have formed calcite formations. The active areas are highly colored yellows, oranges, and browns. The other areas of the springs are a dead white. The contrast is startling, and walking through the mists could seem like a vision from Dante or Milton. The scene is surreal, except that it's very real.

Simply Mammoth

After Mammoth, we headed up into the park to see what we could see. We drove the north loop of the park, along the way seeing some bison and moose. Throughout our stay in the park, we've driven past a meadow that we now call moose meadow because we have seen a mother and baby moose. This is a great time of year to visit Yellowstone because so many animals are having babies, babies all over the place!

Bison

Senior Tourist Moments

Dallin points out what happens to naughty little boys!

I was all set to write in here yesterday, when I decided I'd better call my daughter, Mary, about when and where we were all going to get together in Yellowstone Park on Wednesday (today). She said, "Joseph's getting off work in a few minutes, and we should be on the road in half an hour." Shocking news for me!

I was in the resort's front lobby, and checked their reservation, and sure enough, it was for Tuesday night. For some reason, it had been in my head that they were coming in on Wednesday, and I'd made plans with the rest of the family according to that (very flawed) line of thinking.

I quickly hiked back up the hill to our cabin at the top of the ridge above the resort, huffing and puffing as I went, because the altitude is much higher than I'm used to, and I was walking a little faster than I usually do up the hill. Or maybe it's just that I'm easily winded, or windy as the case may be.

Intrepid Explorers

I got back to the cabin, made a dramatic (of course) entrance and proclaimed that we were changing plans for the day, indeed! It ended up that Ron, John, Grace, and I went in our car, and Kat and Pattie were going to catch up, even though Pattie couldn't start her car because it was dead. She's having some major problems with her car (an aside, she, Katherine, and Grace are taking Pattie's car all the way to Jackson Hole today - does that seem like a good idea? Pattie thinks that as long as her car is parked downhill, it will start..., but I'm not convinced that's going to take care of the "thunk" every time her automatic transmission shifts gears. Buick, American Made.

Beryl Spring

In the end, Karen and Joe stayed at the Chico Hot Springs Resort with CJ and Gracie. It seems the kids needed a nap, and Mom and Dad needed one, too. The rest of us set off for Old Faithful where Joseph and Mary and the kids were going to meet us at 1 p.m. As a plan, it was flawless (implementation is everything).

On the way down to Old Faithful, we stopped by the Beryl Spring. Notice the boiling water. The minerals color everything in interesting ways. Where the hot springs are active, the ground is vivid oranges and browns. Otherwise, the ground is a white calcite-like crust. It's a giant shroud, and the landscape looks dead. There's a marked contrast between the saturated meadow greens, the multi-colored fountains and fumaroles, and the white steaming death in between.

Dallin, Eliza, Matthew, Mary, Molly, and Andrew

So here is Mary and the kids. (Joseph is away, getting some ice cream.) Dallin is the oldest followed by Eliza, Andrew, Matthew, and Mollie. Here we are at the Old Faithful lodge. We had all met at the Visitor's Center. Mary, Joseph, and the kids were somehow very easy to pick out in the crowds.... The kids travel very well, and the parents have kid transport down to a fine science. It was cute and informative to watch.

Faithful Old Faithful

Old Faithful was predicted to erupt at 2:05 p.m. In the meantime, we chatted, and finally hustled outside to stand with the throngs to watch the eruption. The kids were awed (so were the adults), and afterwards, as the geyser was still spewing steam and water, but was almost spent, and the crowds were leaving quickly for the parking lot, Dallin kept proclaiming, "But it's still erupting!" Obviously, Dallin will grow up watching all the closing credits at the movies, because it isn't over until it's over!

Thousands of people were watching. It's an interesting group experience, it kind of reminds me of some of the crowd scenes in Independence Day, although this viewing had a much better outcome. This is not quite like a sporting event, and the thrill is different than seeing a geyser in a book. I guess it's an interactive, vicarious thrill, if there is such a thing. A few people clapped when it was all over, a fitting end to an awe-full experience.

Mud Pot or Day Spa?

Oh, but wait, there's more. From Old Faithful we headed up the road to the Paint Pots. I find hot mud particularly inviting, and this area has a couple of interesting features. In the spring, the mud is thin because of the run off. It gets quite thick in the summer. As the mud erupts in the pits, in some places it forms cones. The mud in the spring is less colorful, but still, it all looks like a witches cauldron. Perhaps Dick Cheney uses mud from these Wyoming mud pots as a plaster to keep his smile permanently in place. Lynn probably uses it, too.

After the Mud Pots, we stopped along Firehole Drive to see some falls, and some chipmunks! Then we hit the road back to get home in time for the family's reservation at 6:30 p.m. Frankly, my bottom was turning into lead. Ron and I decided to have dinner in the grill with Mary's family (I couldn't get a dinner reservation for them at a reasonable hour), then the whole family gathered in our cabin's front room for the rest of the evening. We had a grand old time of it.

Joseph and Eliza

It is a little awkward, in that I don't know Mary that well, and I am, in fact, shy. Happily, the kids provide a built-in topic of conversation, and bless Karen's heart, she jumped right in and got that conversation started!

It's difficult to express my gratitude to be able to see Mary and Joseph and the kids. I loved holding and playing with the little ones, and I enjoyed the small talk and banter with Mary and Joe. Joe Wallace made lots of points with the boys by bringing out some of CJ's toys, and Ron ended up playing with the boys. It got a little wild, but Molly was in the middle of it, just watching and laughing. She was very amused by the antics of her older cousins.

Molly, Gracie, Matthew, Andrew, CJ, Eliza, and Dallin

Here's a picture of all seven cousins from youngest to oldest, one cousin for every year for the last seven years. The couch was just wide enough, almost as wide as CJ's smile! Eliza was a little tired. I think all the kids were just about ready to go home and sleep. The adults had kept them up until 10:30 p.m. I hope the day will come soon when Mary will tell me what Joseph thought of this new family. It's different, but very happy.

This morning everyone gathered again, this time for breakfast. I got up to a rainy day and made a run to the general store in Emigrant for English Muffins, paper plates, cups, and apricot jam. I'm a big apricot jam fan. We had lots of other supplies on hand, and cobbled together a respectable "continental" breakfast for seventeen big and little ones.

In the course of the conversations, I had a short exchange with Joseph about the Church (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). He and the other Joe had also talked some about Joseph's mission in Germany. I have such a mixed emotional and intellectual Church tie that continues to remain strong over the decades. I want my kids and grandkids to have a strong faith, but I want them to be happy, too, and ultimately I believe in my heart and soul that happiness should trump faith. I believe Happiness here and now is much more important than happiness after death. My prayer is that Mary and Joseph will want their kids to be happy here and now.

Little Critter

A final note: Andrew asked me this morning if Ron was married. I replied, "Sort of." Andrew asked me what I meant by that. I didn't know what to tell this four-year old, and I wasn't sure what Mary and Joseph had told the kids about Ron and me. So I waffled, and I regret that waffling. I apologize to Andrew and his parents, and I apologize to Ron. I told Andrew that Ron had a friend, and Andrew replied, "I hope he gets married and has children." For the record, while marriage may be in the cards for Ron, I think that he'd rather play with kids, rather than have them. And Andrew, I'm the friend that Ron someday might marry, should that opportunity arise, and should our society decide to honor the very special friendship that he and I have shared for twenty-five years. Because, Andrew, Ron loves me, and I love him dearly, and I'm sincerely sorry that I didn't tell you the whole story.

Clark's Crossing Family Restaurant "Fine Dining" - Not!

Oh oh. We were tooling down I-90 crossing mountain passes, driving through rainstorms, racing the shadows and a shrouded sun across a vast landscape where high plain meets Rocky Mountains. Ron and I had left Moscow around 9 a.m. and headed south on Highway 95 to Lewiston. At the bottom of the hill we turned left up Highway 12 toward the Lolo Pass.

The weather was cloudy and rainy, and fog floated above the Clearwater River. It was a time and place so unlike the hustle of Washington, DC. Vacation, I'm really on vacation. The road winds along the river, which is high from spring runoff. I'm thrilled to be here in this place.

We head up the Lochsa (Wild and Scenic) River and run into several parties of rafters, canoeists, and kayakers. Brilliant sunshine punctuates the clouds. It's breezy and cool, and again, I wonder, "Why did I ever leave this place?" Not that I'm complaining or anything about my urban, fast-paced, incredibly important life in our Nation's Capital.

We're following the Lewis and Clark Trail (Nez Perce Indian Country) all the way up to the Lolo Pass. The scenery and river are incredibly beautiful in this late spring. The river is high. The flora radiates a young unsullied green, the first beauty of spring.

We eventually get into Missoula. Check out Famous Dave's. The pork sandwich is to die for. Sure, FD's is a chain, but the barbeque is some of the best I've had. And I KNOW barbeque. We hit I-90 at Missoula. It's just at the edge of the mountains, and provides some beautiful panoramic views of the plains colliding with the mountain foothills. I'm becoming like my Mother, although she would have insisted we stop to take pictures. I couldn't stop telling Ron how beautiful everything is. He was working on a sudoku puzzle. We come from different cultural experiences.

So I see this sign on the freeway near Livingston, Montana saying, "Clark's Crossing, Fine Dining." It's about 7 p.m., and Livingston is where we turn off on Highway 89. I suggest to Ron that we eat in Livingston. We end up at Clark's. Fine Dining means fried. The staff is friendly, the coffee is good. Fine Dining = Fried. With that information, you'll go a long ways.

After dinner we headed on down to Chico Hot Springs. We got lost in the midst of an incredible hail storm (very scary!). We stopped at a crossroad store, and some local color (I'm mean, we're talking about grizzled cowboy, who happens to be the "pool boy" at Chico Hot Springs) gave us directions here. Finally, a very long day had come to an end.

A personal note to Tim: Tim, I AM taking pictures, and I promise you that they will get posted here. I promise!!!!

I Have Gas

Rather my Mom had too much gas! It seems that my sister washed and gassed up my Mom's car last night, and the gas pump didn't turn off. Ummm, gas everywhere. More to the point, Mom's gas tank was filled completely, and she was worried that when the day warmed up, the gas would expand, and she'd have gasoline all over her carport.

That's where her dutiful gay son (SuperGay) sprang into action. I went over to Mom's about 6:15 this morning, she handed me the keys, and I took off on a very scenic drive north on US-95 almost out to the Palouse junction. I drove past the house I lived in during high school. The land is so green, the sky was a ghostly gray, and tendrils of fog descended down the hills into the fields, creating a scene out of some movie featuring elves and a Druid or two. Spooky.

Busy Day Downtown... Photos to Follow

I'm in a very cosmopolitan mood. Sex in the City has opened, and I'm a long ways from the urban mix here in Moscow, Idaho, which isn't to say that Moscow doesn't have its sophisticated moments. Here at the hotel, we're in the middle of the 1953 Moscow High School reunion. Ron's in the room taking a nap. I'm in the bar, being Cosmo Boy.

Today has been laid back and busy, all at the same time. We headed out to breakfast at the Breakfast Club with Kat and several of her friends from Gritman Medical Center. I had met most of these friends before (although I hadn't met Dina who has two chihuahuas and a mixed Pug Italian Greyhound). The put on a very tasty spread at the Club. I ordered a half portion, and was quite satisfied being only half a pig.

I asked the women about my former wife's sister-in-law, Judy, who works at the hospital. Jeannie left breakfast early to go to work, and within a few moments, she called Kat to tell her that Judy was working in the Emergency Room. So after breakfast, Ron and I walked over to the hospital to see Judy.

I've always had a special kinship with Judy. We both married into the same family, she more successfully than I. Her kids are all grown up. Her youngest has just enlisted in the Marines to be a jet engine mechanic. Her oldest daughter just had a baby. Two sons are back in school, and one is helping his father with the farm. Judy is still the pert, cute women that Mark married over thirty years ago. She has aged graciously and well.

Afterwards, Ron and I wandered to Sweetpeas and Sage, a flower shop where I buy flowers for Mom. I wanted to meet the owner. Kathy has a disarming smile and apparently speaks her mind. We had a delightful conversation with her before we headed off to the Farmers Market, then on to Mom's.

We visited with Mom for a while, then Ron and I took a long walk around Moscow's business district. We had lunch with Mom, then Kat called and invited us to her studio. She shares a studio at the "The Barn" in Uniontown, Washington. The Barn is an old dairy barn that has been made into an artist's dream - studios and a gift shop! I love Kat's watercolors, and purchased one, and bought some of her cards, as well. We visited with the shop manager, then came back here to the hotel, which is where I'm writing this, and being very cosmopolitan.

Just in Case You Didn't Know...

I was married 35 years ago today in Logan, Utah. My, how circumstances change. Ron and I are at the University Best Western in Moscow, Idaho. We arrived yesterday, after various adventures with Frontier Airlines and Thrifty Car Rental at the Spokane, Washington airport (GEG). Happily, Ron was there to protect and defend, and my blood pressure remained in check (I think).

So I have several pieces of advice for gay men: You probably should think twice before getting married. Be prepared for "minor" flight delays on Frontier Airlines. Read the fine print on your rental car contract. We discovered that where we wanted to go was outside the franchises driving area, so we had to wangle a different contract. The information is available online, but in VERY FINE PRINT (as the representative admitted) and it's on a LINKED page, rather than the regular contract page.

As I mentioned, Ron did his best to calm me down, and get me back to my happy (yeah, right) self.

We did some fearless driving and saw some beautiful thunderheads. I took a back road between Colfax and Palouse Washington on the way to Moscow. It's this winding, beautiful country road, and I wonder (sometimes) why I ever left. (See, above, the first sentence of this blog entry.)

We got to Moscow just in time for dinner. Mom is in good spirits, and very happy to see us. We had a nice visit with Mom and Katherine, then we came back to the hotel and crashed.

Pictures. I promise.

Silver Daddies

ManHunt, move over. I'm checking out Silver Daddies! I'm never sure whether to be giddy, appalled, or dejected when I go to Internet hookup sites. Certainly, it's the easiest place to see assorted body parts (lots of headless torsos, and miscellaneous penises). I even question my own motives for having profiles on these sites. Admittedly, part of it is the excitement of new meat. But I really have to say that the most exciting sex I have is usually much closer to home.

These sites offer a platform for male fantasy, irrational male fantasy. I mean, fantasy not supported by fact or experience. For example, there's the guy who demands a face pic, but doesn't have one in his profile. What's that about? There's the 54 year old who is interested in guys up to age 28. How many hits does he get on his profile? Virtually every profile on ManHunt says the guy is into group scenes, but mention an orgy and most guys get queasy quick. Finally, with some of those pics that guys post, where is the fantasy? We're talking about some major buzzkill here.

Okay, I'm through complaining. I will say this about Silver Daddies, I'm certainly seeing more of myself, there, and I like that. On ManHunt, I'm an outlier. On Silver Daddies, I'm in the middle of the pack.

Happy, the Social Butterfly

Eric@Rehab

I send Ron away to camp, so that I can be the whore of Babylon. Well, not quite. This is Eric who is the manager of Rehab, the Bar not the intervention. Tim and I went out to dinner on Saturday night in Silver Spring. We had a nice Mexican dinner, complete with margaritas, then we decided to hit up Rehab. We got there about 9:30, and the place was totally dead, except for the bartender, and a dancing mechanic from the Chevron station (don't ask).

We sat on the patio, nursing a couple of margaritas. I figure if I start on a type of drink, I don't particularly want to change for the evening. I don't want any strange chemical interactions. We talked to the mechanical dancer, and another couple joined us on the patio. I felt like a total loser. I mean, the night was looking like a MGMC experience.

Shortly thereafter, this guy walks up to the back entrance of the patio, stands on a chair, and looks like he's wrestling something. He gets of the chair and walks inside. Then Eric makes his entrance, stands on the chair and does the same wrestling act. Evidently, they were working a bad switch that had shorted out, resulting in ambient light only on the patio. This was not necessarily a bad thing. It reminded me of the backroom days, when you couldn't see what was happening to you. Not a bad thing.

Eric came over and Tim and I started talking with him. Tim snapped the picture with his iPhone, and because the light was so low, the picture is pretty fuzzy. Happily, Eric is not. He's the club manager, and is real nice guy with a very expressive face.

After we finished our drinks, Tim took me home. I immediately hitched up my shorts, and headed back to Rehab (each step is a journey). I got back there and introduced myself to the guy who had first wrestled the errant light switch. His name is Travis, and we had a far-ranging conversation about religion, finance, boyfriends, and sex, pretty much in that order. Travis is a mainstay at the establishment. He told me he'd been going there nearly every night for the last couple of years. I'm not going to rush to any conclusions, connect any dots, or roll my eyes too much. He's a very nice social guy....

I should mention Friday night. Perry and I took carryout from Suporn's. He had Pad Thai, I had Woon Sen noodles. We also had appetizers. We brought the food back here, and had a very nice meal. Of course, we headed over to Baskin and Robbins (just beyond Rehab) afterwards. Ice cream perfectly ends an evening.

Well, it didn't quite end my evening. I was online about 10:30 p.m., and got a message from Mike on ManHunt. His date for the evening fell through, and well, he came over for a very satisfying visit. He left around 7:30 a.m., and Perry and I went to breakfast at the Silver Diner. From there we moved on to the Home Depot garden store so I could get two flats of pachysandra (see previous blog entry).

The universe spins its mysterious ways. I'm always rather amazed at the tangled skein of uncoordinated activity that, nevertheless, ends up appearing purposeful and planned. Weird. Just plain weird.

So yesterday, Beth had a picnic and invited Tim and me (and several dozen other people). I took Happy's Famous Potato Salad, which was a hit, although I made about twice as much as I needed to. Oh, well, you can never have too much potato salad. Below is a pic of Beth and Doren. Doren is a square dance caller who has been a guest caller for DC Lambda Squares several times. I met Beth's mother, who is made some delicious baked beans. Juanita rose to the occasion with her tomato pie. Leo cooked the hamburgers.

Many of the guests were former square dancers, or people who go way, way back with Beth. She has deep roots in the area, and nurtures those friendships. I'm a little wistful about that, and happy that Beth has such a group of friends and family. I'm glad I could be at her picnic.

Doren and Beth

Farmer Happy

Spindly, but full of potential

One hundred forty-four pachysandra plants later, I have four rows of spindly plants firmly heeled in along the fence. I've already started talking to them, but I haven't named any of them yet. Some of the plants were robust and hearty, others much less so. I'm just hoping that they don't all die on me. As chronicled in other blog entries. I've been waging war on Virginia creeper and poison ivy. Roundup, mulch, and pachysandra have been my weapons of choice. Around the patio, and in one of the side beds, pachysandra has begun to crowd out creeper and English ivy, which is exactly the desired effect. I wouldn't mind crowding out some of the violets, either. These are man-eating violets, not the little sissy things that you find in other people's gardens, rather monster violets that are all plant, no flower, and that march relentlessly down the garden path.

This weekend has been fabulous gardening weather, very cool mornings and warm afternoons. I haven't done this much garden stuff for about a decade, and I know why. My green thumb is pretty black, as in if I plant it, it will die. But I'm ever hopeful of the baleful experiments that I perform in the side yard. I was moved to do all of the stuff because I discovered poison ivy in the yard last fall, then this spring, the Virginia creeper just exploded, and was preparing to take over the earth. Mindful of my duties as a World Citizen, I was determined to prevent that from happening. Also, it's been a hoot to be outside on very pleasant days, and just enjoy the experience of it all.

Don't expect me to become a gardener, though. Just expect me to take on some daft projects, push through to the end, and then pray for divine intervention that something will actually grow. Gardening is a religious act for me, because I'm such an inept horticulturalist that any resulting good from my acts must be attributed to some higher force much greater than I. Or maybe some malevolent spirit out there doesn't particularly like Virginia creeper, either.

Today, It's All about Mulch

I've had a pile of mulch sitting out in front of my house for three or four days. Today, I borrowed a wheelbarrow from Perry, and I spread the mulch on the side "yard." It isn't exactly a yard, because it's been taken over by Virginia Creeper, poison ivy, and violets. I sprayed the creeper a couple of times to knock it down, then spread mulch this afternoon.

I enjoy moving the mulch pile. I filled the wheelbarrow about twenty times, each time dragging the barrow over the curb, down some steps to the yard. It's fenced on two sides, and deeply shaded. One of the reasons for mulching is that it slows down rainwater on the way to our neighbors' basements. I figure that mulching is a neighborly act.

Party Hardy in West Virginia

The Homolands of Hardy County

I mean to say "Party hearty in Hardy County West Virginia." Half of the Finance Guys and his husband and the girl upstairs decided to have a Cinco de Mayo and Schlüggënhäüsën party, or something like that, at their country estate in the West Virginia homolands in Hardy County. An incredible number of gay men (and lesbians) with gun racks live in the neighborhood. The woods are full of them! And they all like to decorate. The headquarters of the Gay American Yuppie Supremacists (GAYS) Movement is located exactly 3.4 miles from this spot (check your odometer, do not use your GPS) on SR 259. This is an exceedingly scary neighborhood, especially for straight-talking FBI agents.

Not a Bear Den

Here's an example of a well-appointed post-information economy home. It has Internet service, but no cell phone service! You can tell it's a gay household because of all the subtle earth-hued colors. These colors are no longer confined to the large lesbian community in Takoma Park, Maryland. Gay decorators have magnified this trend, and it is especially evident in the hollows of West Virginia occupied by post-urban weekend dandies. In fact, the Gay Supremacists are everywhere. Their homes blend in so well with the countryside flora, that it's difficult to tell what is a gay home, and what is a bear den. Sometimes, they are one and the same.

Negotiations Going Badly

All gay households have a dog (or a cat, or neither). This little dog is a schnaudle, not a poozer. He's a fierce little chappie. The Rhodesian Ridgeback wanted to be friendly with Mr. Schnaudle, but the affair ended quickly and badly. Mr. S has a territorial Napoleonic complex. Mr. Ridgeback, being a perfect guest, retreated. This is the first time that I've seen a Rhodesian Ridgeback. The dog, Ariel, is beautiful and friendly with a long sloppy tongue. The scrappy chappie is Winston. Winston likes to be cuddled, petted, and cooed over when he isn't protecting his patio from roving Ridgebacks.

Marie Claire, Carlos, and Joe know how to throw a party. It was complete with taquitos and piñatas, befitting a Cinco de Mayo theme. I never quite figured out what the Schnuggen Huggen was all about, but I'm retired, so I don't need to think anymore.

Cinco de Mayo Hosts: Marie Claire, Joey, and Carlos

These are the three main minds behind the GAYS Movement. They cleverly disguise their social agenda as a "Cinco de Mayo/Schnuggen Nuggen Party," but it's more than that. Look at the glee in their faces, the earnestness in their foreheads, and the intelligence writ upon their brows. This is fierce competition in the marketplace of ideas, indeed. From left to right, Marie Claire, Joey, and Carlos.

Happy Affirming His Sexual Identity Politics

So what did I learn from this social experiment in West Virginia? I learned how to stuff a piñata. I have dexterity that I never even knew about. It is a truism, that every day of retirement is a learning experience, full of opportunity for those willing to grasp it. Did you know that you stuff a bull piñata through his hind end? This is SO gay! This simple act affirmed my identity politics (every act is political) while I accomplished a social good. Gay parties really do enrich the cultural fabric of rural West Virginia. I don't think this is a matter to be taken lightly, either. Hardy County would be culturally, economically, and politically impoverished in some small, but not insignificant way, had I not taken the longer road, and driven in a "green" hybrid car along the back roads to this ultimately welcoming (after all, I did get lost a couple of times getting there) social enclave of other (so-called) dissolute people (not that there's anything wrong with that) like myself (hey, I hang out with people like me!) and stuck my finger up the rear of a bull piñata purchased at Target. The arrow has come full circle!

So hats off to you three, Marie Claire, Joe, and Carlos. Ron and I thoroughly enjoyed the party, as I'm sure the other guests did. We had a swell time!

Oh, the Adventures of Travel

I left my brother's home in Boulder at before 8:30 a.m. on my way to the Denver Airport. I could take the tollway, or go down US 36, then I-270, and I-70. I heard early on the radio of a traffic accident near the Vasquez Boulevard exit, but didn't think much of it, because I had given myself an hour and a half to get to the airport.

As soon as I exited on to I-270, the traffic stopped. A sign overhead said "Vasquez Blvd 2-1/2 Mi." The time was 9 a.m., and I was thinking I have plenty of time. The radio played lots of country music about lonely men in pickup trucks, country women who reveled in their taste for beer and bad judgment about transient relationships, and myriad country artists who evidently (from the lyrics) had some acute alcohol problems.

Sitting in the traffic (it was now 10:08 a.m., and boarding was at 10:30 - I was still 15 miles from the airport), I was beginning to wish that I had an acute alcohol problem. I felt less depressed after turning off the radio, but I needed the company to stay awake because of my own lack of sleep. What a dilemma!

Finally, I passed the traffic accident, and sped off to the airport. Normally, I fill up the tank in the rental car, but this time, I kissed the gas station at the Peoria Street exit good-bye as I sped past, and raced to the Thrifty car lot at the airport. Those 10 miles of Peña Boulevard seemed interminable. At dropoff, I told the woman that I was caught in traffic and couldn't fill up the car. (So Thrifty, I expect to receive a charge from you for a half tank of gas.)

The clock was ticking, but I was on my way to the Northwest terminal on the Thrifty courtesy van, full of other passengers who had also been caught in traffic. I entered the airport terminal only to find out that the TSA security lines had all been shut down because someone had entered the security area without going through a checkpoint. (Did he parachute in? Was he smuggled in with someone's luggage? Was he concealed in a handbag?) By this time, I was well past my plane's boarding time. The line eventually reopened, and it moved quickly (considering hundreds of people were in front of me) through the checkpoint.

I had resigned myself to going to a Northwest agent and rebooking my flight, but I took the train out to the C Terminal anyway, if only to gaze at an empty airport lounge and customer counter. To my surprise, my flight was still boarding (this was 40 minutes AFTER the plane was supposed to be in the air). I hopped on board.

The rest of my tale isn't very exciting at all. I had an hour layover in Minneapolis-St. Paul, and enjoyed a Ben and Jerry's there. One item of note is Northwest's peculiar boarding system. The airline boards all pre-boards and first class, then lets everyone else board all at once. The first couple of times I hated it, but at Minneapolis, I lurked near the ticket counter, and was the second passenger down the gangway after first class boarding. Cool!

The flight to Washington proceeded without incident. My taxi driver was a native Washingtonian. He's been hacking for 42 years. He'd also worked as a doorman at the Marriott Wardman Park Hotel, where we're having our international square dance convention (DC Diamond Circulate) next year. You still have time to learn to square dance. We had a great conversation. Ron had a hot meal waiting for me. Life is good.

Boulder at Last

The Thrifty guy's economy car this time, is a Jeep. In my book, that's better than a Hummer, but not much. I drove from Denver to Boulder in rain, not heavy, but the road was dark, and I wasn't real sure how to get here. That's never stopped me before.

When I got into Boulder, it was well after midnight, and I hadn't a clue how to get to my motel. I pulled into the first open gas station (gay men do ask for directions) and the nice woman behind the counter drew me a map and sent me on my way. It wasn't a very good map, and it was three stoplights instead of two. I figured that Boulder isn't so big that I wouldn't eventually find the motel, and I did.

I'm staying at a Quality Inn and Suites on Arapahoe Avenue. It's a very comfortable room decorated in Rocky Mountain style. I'm not exactly sure what that style is, but I recognize it when I see it. We're talking about fish and bears, dark browns, leathers, and wood grain everywhere, not to mention the mirror that is framed in faux tree branches. This is an upscale Quality Inn: the breakfast is the same (lacking), but the accommodations are just fine.

One scary note, this sign is outside my room: NOTICE - THIS PROPERTY IS LOCATED IN AN AREA SUBJECT TO SUDDEN AND SEVERE FLOODING. IN CASE OF FLOOD EMERGENCY BE PREPARED TO EVACUATE QUICKLY TO HIGHER GROUND. It's raining here, and has been all night. I'm on the ground floor. Is this the beginning of a bad TV movie starring me in my final role?

Sudden Death

I've Been Bustling Around

I'm off to Colorado this evening to visit Steve and Lesley, but I have lots to do before I go. I've already run two loads of wash, and I'm packing (lightly - a duffel and a backpack). The weather is not too promising right now; I'm hoping that I have no flight cancellations or delays. I'm getting into Denver very late, as it is.

The weather has been nasty. A ManHunt buddy was supposed to come over for play last night, but the stormy weather scared him off. I gave him a raincheck. That's the other thing about these trips out of town, I miss the boys at home. I'm sure the men of Boulder have their own charms, but I like the warmth of familiar arms.

I'm missing Ett's C1 club tonight and John Marshall's Advanced club tomorrow (and a Harvest Festival Hoedown committee meeting on Thursday (pity)). I'm taking my computer, and I'll be on the TAMinations web site reviewing C1 calls. I promise.

I'm looking for Ron to make his morning appearance, shortly. Then, we're off to Dr. Bonecrusher. Originally, I had a 9 a.m. appointment, and Ron at an 11 a.m. appointment, but I think they both got changed to 11 a.m., at least that's what the receptionist said as I left the office last Monday. I may try to get in a gym workout, too, but that's not looking too good. I haven't decided how to get to the airport, probably by Metro if I can cajole Ron into taking me to the Wheaton station. I hate getting places by plane, but it's better than walking.

Brian, Kent, and Michael Are the Consummate Hosts

I have no idea why we say "consummate" host, although in the context of the Three Marys*, consummate might be appropriate. I'll leave that up to etymologists, social historians, and the denizens of the religious right who are protecting sacred marriage between one man and one woman.

When Michael, Kent, and Brian host a workshop, they always have a lot of food. It isn't necessarily gourmet food (although gourmet items always appear on the spread), but it's great energy food to keep troops moving over long distances while carrying heavy equipment. Today, Kent baked a vegan gluten-free cake. It had mysterious marks on the top, about which he was questioned, perhaps Satanic rituals? No, simply the cooling rack, at least that's what he told us. Truth? Or fiction? You decide.

Michael, bless his heart, showed up with coffee. He knows that my attention deficit order kicks in when I square dance. He's classy, too, because he uses a tray under the coffee service. How about that? I haven't seen that since well before my mother died.

Between today's tips - we did dance - I perused the library. I was intrigued with the title, Greek Homosexuality. Isn't that a little xeno- something? I mean, what about Bulgarian homosexuality? Why do we always pick on the Greeks? And what is French passive, anyway? Does Sarkozy look passive? Is he even French? What do they call it in Poland? I wonder what Mrs. Sarkozy thinks about the Poles and the Italians.

My square dancing wasn't too bad. And some of the calls are beginning to sink in. I got stumped by the sequence Passover and Cross, then Roadkill. I didn't know that you could do Roadkill from a Passover and Cross ending formation, but it makes sense, if you think about it.

*From the French, Trois Maris, which when translated into Roman Catholic = Three Marys.

Ridden Hard, Soaking Wet

I wish, and often wishes come true. So after that episode, Ron is busy in the kitchen frying vegetables for a Moroccan Ratatouille - a recipe he found in the Washington Post. Ever since he retired, he has spent lots of hours in the kitchen, and I have been the chief beneficiary of his chopping, frying, and stirring. Ah, it's a very good life, considering the breadth of activities that have gone into today.

It seems that a lot of my life comes down to food and sex; well, food, sex, and square dancing. All three have their attractions, and sometimes, I get to blend all three into one seamless activity. I'll let you fill in the details. It can be done. I'm grateful to have some wonderful boys in my life who love great food, great sex, and one who's a great square dancer. I don't know whether you know, but square dancing is full of exceedingly sexy guys! Just pulling your leg!

Today's other simple pleasures included a visit to the Silver Diner, cutting herbs in Tim's herb garden, a gym workout, and a nice walk in the neighborhood. Yes, I can really get used to being retired. I think it's a great idea.