12 midnight, Sunday, October 4th: I am taking a hot eucalyptus bath to wash off the shit smell. What a day!
Earlier that day...
1.00pm, Sunday, October 4th: After being invited to an evening potluck, I throw some sausage, beans, corn and tomatoes into a crock pot so that a good soup will be ready when I get back from my planned hiking trip. I put Baz, my dog, into the car and hit the highway.
1.30pm: I stop at the I-94 Lake Forest Oasis for a bite to eat, on the way to find a nice spot to hike, I am not sure where exactly I am going so I stop at the travel kiosk and pick up a brochure for a place called Independence Grove in Libertyville, Illinois. It's only about 10 more mile up the road so I head that way.
2.00pm: At the main entrance to Independence Grove, the attendant tells me pets are not allowed in the main park but they have a 23 acre dog park on the other side of the grove and she kindly provides directions.
2.15pm: I park in the lot for the Dog Recreation Area and pay twice the daily fee, not having anything but twenty dollar bills and the fee is only $10. I gladly put the $20 in the envelope and into the slot, trusting that the extra money is going to a good cause. Walking through the front gate, I am immediately impressed at the spaciousness of the park - it is a much nicer place than the place we normally take Baz near our house. I let Baz off his leash and as usual, he runs directly to the water and jumps in. After a few minutes in the lake, I call Baz and put him back on his leash to explore more of the park. We walk down a heavily forested trail that circles the small lake and there are plenty of other dogs there. When we reach a clear meadow, I let Baz free again, and he joyfully chases several other dogs, following them back...to the lake.
2.30pm: Knowing Baz, I start walking further down the trail, knowing he will soon notice my absence and begin to follow, as he does. I am thoroughly enjoying the walk, being completely under the trees but still seeing the blue sky and white clouds peak through. Baz runs ahead for a while, playing tag with other dogs, then runs back to me at full speed in a flash, just to make sure I am still around and goes tearing off in the other direction...he loves his free time off the leash!
3.00pm: Baz has plunged himself into the lake already at least 5 times as we walk the perimeter of the lake and before I know it, we are back at the front gate. "Let's go around again," I tell Baz and he gladly follows. A friendly dog owner has thrown a tennis ball too far out into the lake for her little chihuahua to reach it and Baz excitedly paddles out to get it and back again with then ball in his mouth. The young lady expresses thanks after I finally get Baz to drop the ball.
3.15pm: We find a small trail leading off the main trail and are soon walking along the side of a river. We walk completely alone for a while, the solitude and quiet soothing me, despite the fact that the trail is growing increasingly muddy. I hear voices ahead and we catch up to a man and woman with a small labrador puppy named Sam, who looks just like Baz as a puppy. Baz and Sam play with each other, jumping in and out of the river, both of them running up to the man and the woman and myself, putting their muddy paws all over my pants. I don't mind a bit. Baz jumps into the river by himself and swims the entire width of the river to the other side, making me nervous for a moment. Right when I think he is going to emerge on the other side where I won't be able to get him without swimming the river myself, he turns around in the water and heads back towards me. I comment to the couple that he looks like a little otter and as he swims, Baz opens his mouth several times, thinking that the stray leaves floating towards his mouth are food. Adorable!
3.30pm: I realize I have to use the bathroom so we head back to the front gate of the park. I put Baz in the back of the car and walk over to the public bathroom, putting my car and house keys into the pocket of my sweatshirt. As I finish my business, I hear a slight tinkling sound of keys and see, now, in front of me, seeming to be slow motion, the keys falling from my pocket down into the toilet. I stand there in disbelief. It is a true latrine, nothing but a toilet mounted ontop of the floor, a hole at the bottom of the toilet in the floor, about 3 feet of space between the hole in the floor and the waste in the dark recesses below. Tears well up in my eyes for a moment. How fucking stupid! Then I see the glimmer of the keys as they are floating on the top layer of the muck. I get onto my knees and stretch my arm down into the toilet, but the basin of the toilet blocks me from being able to extend my arm down...my fingers are at least two feet away from the keys. Noooooo! I walk outside the latrine, looking around at the calm and peaceful people walking around with their dogs on such a gorgeous day. No one even notices me...thank goodness. I walk to a tree and break off a limb with several bends and curves at the end. Back in front of the toilet, I feel flashes of hope and despair as I think I have the keys on the branch but then, no, the keys disappear, completely out of site, sinking down into the muck. FUCK!!!!
3.45pm: I walk back to the parking lot, seeing that the car has steamed up with Baz inside it and I start to panick, oh my goodness, the windows are all rolled up. I go around to each of the 4 doors and they are all locked. I see my cell phone laying in the car in the cup holder. What else can go wrong? I see a couple and their young baby, people I had seen walking on the trail earlier and tell them my situation, sounding very stressed. The gentleman allows me to use his cell phone. The only thing I can think of is to call AAA to have the car towed all the way back the 40+ miles home. I get on the phone with AAA, they look up my membership using my name and address. I tell them the full situation and that my dog is locked in the car and I need someone out to help me immediately. The AAA rep says that he will have someone call me back, can he get a number that I can be reached on? I tell him that I am on someone else's cell phone and I agree to wait. For at least ten minutes, the gentleman, his lovely wife, and their little baby girl, who cries occassionally as the poor kid was tired and wanted to get home, all wait patiently as I use their phone, and they sit in their car waiting to leave. As I am pacing, listening to the annoying hold music, I pace back over to the car to check on Baz and consider that if a tow truck isn't here soon, (as I have had to wait 2 or more hours before with AAA service), I am going to break the window to get Baz out. With the cell phone in my hand, I once more walk around my car, checking each door again and come to the back hatchback door in the rear. It opens!
3.59pm: The AAA rep comes back on the phone and tells me that he has dispatched a local locksmith and the estimated time is...two hours. I hand the cell phone back to the gentleman and try to give him a twenty dollar bill but he refuses and is so kind and polite that I want to hug him. He and his family drive off and I wave goodbye to them. After taking Baz for a short walk, I crawl through the back of the car and unlock the other doors and sit down in the drivers seat. I pick up my cell phone and notice that the GPS navigation system has been on the entire time that I was out hiking and that there is 10% of the battery left. No, no, no!!!
4.15pm: The locksmith company calls and asks exactly where I am. I give them the best directions that I can, not knowing the area. My cell phone is beeping at me while I talk to the man, indicating a low battery. I hang up with the locksmith, who ends the call saying they are in Zion and it will still be at least an hour before they can get to me, to make me a key to start the car, which would enable me to drive home. I look at the cell phone battery status and decide to brave a call to my boyfriend, Dan, who is in California on a business trip. I blurt out the situation, feeling embarrassed and stressed, not to mention rushed to talk to him before my time runs out. I have a nervous cry with him for a few moments and he gives me some encouraging words as he always does in his sweet manner, and I notice that the cell phone cigarette lighter charger is lying on the floor of the car. YES!
4.25pm: Already knowing that my cig lighter charger does not work unless the key is turned in the ignition, I try anyway. Nothing. I check on Baz in the back of the car and then see a lady and an even older lady getting into their SUV with their dog. I tell them the situation and ask them if they can let me charge my phone for a few minutes. They do. For about ten long, kind, unselfish minutes. They give me a bag of treats for Baz. Again, I want to hug and show my love. They drive off and I return to my car. At least I have the comfort of being able to sit in the seat.
4.35pm: Back in my car, Dan and I exchange text messages about whether anyone we know has spare house keys, so that if and when I finally get home that evening, I will be able to get into the house. The only person who might is the contractor who recently renovated our kitchen. But I am already resolved to break into my own house if necessary. Dan asks if I want his father to drive all the way out there and pick me up. I say no. The cell phone starts beeping again...low battery power. I close it and decide the only thing I can do now is choose to relax.
5.30pm: After sitting in the car for some time looking at the incredibly beautiful blue sky with sincere appreciation, I allow myself to think, what can I learn from this situation and of course, it comes to me quite quickly. I have already been shown kindness by several people. I didn't realize how much more kindness was on the way. I send Jerry, the kitchen contractor, a text message to ask him if he had a key to our house. He calls me back (no, no, no, my battery is dying again) and tells me that he thinks the key is in his truck, but his cousin has borrowed his truck and won't be back until tomorrow. I tell Jerry thanks for checking and end the call quickly, again, resolved that if necessary, I will get into the house somehow. I send a short text message to the friend who invited me to the potluck saying I won't make it. The kind message I receive back is so appreciated.
5.45pm: I let Baz out of the car and we walk around the lake for a few minutes, both of us grateful to stretch and relieve ourselves. I notice a young couple leaving the park, getting ready to get into their car. I tell them my situation and they are both immediately sympathetic but also they laugh and allow me to see the humor in it. The guy's name is Kurt and his girlfriend, Jessica. We chat casually as we wait for my cell phone to charge. I apologize several times for taking so long, but also have the aim of getting more of a charge onto my phone this time. Baz and their dog greet each other, but their dog, a mastiff, charges at Baz and they get into a little scrap. No one is hurt. Jessica suggests, why don't I take Huxley for a walk around the lake, and Kurt, you take Baz and Richard down the highway to get them something to eat. I am stunned at the offer and almost decline, but I don't. Kurt drives with me in the passenger seat, Baz in the back of their car, and we go through the McDonald's drive-thru. When we get back my phone has 3/4 of a charge, and my tummy is full. Right as I am getting out of their car and thanking them both profusely, my phone rings. The locksmith. It is going to be another 90 minutes before they get there. That means 7.30pm. Kurt and Jessica express their empathy and ask if there is anything else they can do. I tell them that they have been so kind already and it is not a problem for me to wait here in the car for the locksmith.
7.00pm: The sun is setting and it is getting colder. Every time I get out of the car to give Baz some exercise, I am eager to get back into the car to warm up. I allow myself to empathesize with the stories of people who have been stranded in the wilderness for days, as I am getting a bit stir crazy. I find a booklight that I took on a recent camping trip in the back of my car and some Spanish lessons in my dashboard that I threw in there one time, and never put them in the house. I start reading the Spanish sentences and the English translations when I see headlights entering the now empty parking lot. I jump out of my car, thinking it is the locksmith...it is a park ranger. He asks me what I am doing out here and I explain and at first, he seems rough and hard and irritated, but about five minutes later, he seems more casual and asks if he can get me anything and I say no, explaining the kind people who have already helped. He says that I have to be out of the park by 10pm so the locksmith needs to hurry up. I say, believe me, I agree. He drives away.
7.30pm: No locksmith. I call AAA and ask for a status. They keep me on line for a long time, apologizing, saying that this incident will not count towards the 4 occurrences allotted per year with my membership.
8.30pm: No locksmith. I am lonely, cold and irritated. It is pitch dark. I am in an empty parking lot off a highway, no one around. A few text messages to my boyfriend, my potluck friend, and a couple others keep me going. I decide to call the locksmith directly as I have the number from when he called me earlier. As I am on the phone with him, the ranger pulls back into the parking lot. The ranger asks me how it is going and I tell him I am on the phone with the locksmith now. The locksmith, who sounds drunk, says he is on the way from Zion, and I say, you told me that hours ago, and he says that AAA made him stop at other calls on the way. I say, can you give me a firm ETA as to when you will be here, as I have been waiting 4 hours now. The man says it will just be another twenty minutes. I don't believe him.
8.45pm: No locksmith. The ranger has stayed in the parking lot with me and has been chatting with me. He asks casually if I paid for the daily fee for the park earlier, and I think he is checking on me to make sure I did it. I say yes, I paid, I even put in a $20 because I did not have the correct amount. He sorts through all the envelopes he has retrieved from the dropbox, takes mine out, gives me the twenty back and says, you've had enough of a rough day. Tear up the window tag and don't tell anyone I did that.
9.00pm: No locksmith. The ranger says, do you mind if I call the locksmith. I say, not at all, I would welcome it. The ranger calls and is very firm and forceful, hangs up. The ranger says, yeah, he sounds drunk. AAA calls on my phone right after and says, the locksmith says he is two blocks away now. The ranger drives out to the entrance of the parking lot and turns on his flashing lights so the locksmith can see where we are.
9.10pm: The locksmith finally arrives after two more calls from the ranger who is now just as irritated at AAA and the locksmith as I am. The locksmith, who obviously has had a bit to drink, is so pleasant that I have no choice but to converse with him kindly. He has his teenage son, Jeremy, helping him out. Jeremy keeps me in conversation, which is good, as it distracts me from his father tearing my car apart, to find a secret code that will allow him to make the car that will start my electronic ignition. It is apparently not as simple as just duplicating the key.
9.30pm: Jeremy asks, if you lost your keys, how are you going to even get into your house when you get home. I said, I will have to break in. He says, if we had a strong magnet, you could get them out of there, it would be just like they float up magically, if we had a magnet strong enough, like a super magnet. I politely give a fake laugh and say, yeah, wouldn't that be nice. His father says, we have a retractable magnetized pole but it is only 3 feet long. I say, oh, that's not long enough. The ranger says, lets tape it to a branch or something. The locksmith gets into the back of is truck and within a few minutes, with another metal pole and the magnetized pole duck taped together, hands me a 6 foot long tool.
9.45pm: The ranger says, I will hold my flashlight for you, but I am not getting no where near that toilet. I can't believe he is even coming with me, in the dark, to stand beside me with the flashlight. We enter the latrine and I put the pole down into the pit, swirling it slowly around in the muck, pulling it up every few minutes to see if anything is on it. I don't have much belief that it will. Then, I feel something heavy on the pole. I lift it up. It is a dog poop bag that reeks like nothing I have smelt before. The ranger and I both walk out of the latrine to get fresh air to keep ourselves from retching. We laugh about it as if we have been buddies for years and he slaps me on the shoulder and says, ok, let's go back in.
9.55pm: I swirl the pole around the muck a few times more. Again, something heavy. I lift the pole up and something glimmers. Metal? I become more careful now, as if it is the keys, I don't want them to fall off. The end of the pole ascends slowly through the dark pit, the ranger asks, you got something?, I am quiet, methodical, I pull the pole out and into the beam of the flashlight. It is my keys. My car key. My house keys. My KEYS! I can't believe it. I say it aloud: I can't fucking believe it! The ranger laughs and says, alright! He walks me down to the lake where, the keys still hanging onto the the magnet at the end of the pole, he suggests rinsing them off in the lake. We walk back to his patrol car and he gives me some hand sanitizer and we put the keys on the ground and squirt sanitizer all over them.
10.05pm: When I get back to the parking lot, the locksmith has my new car key ready, although I don't need it now, but without he and his son's help, I wouldn't have my house keys either so I gladly pay them the $120 service fee. I get the name and business card of the ranger, thanking him sincerely for his help as he stayed with me for more than an hour, helping me out. I extend my hand to thank him, he laughs and says, I am not shaking that shitty hand, but have a safe trip home. He says, I was glad to help.
11.00pm: I walk into my house, using my house keys to unlock the front door. The Jewel frequent shopper keychain tag still smells awful. I don't care. I open the door to the smell of the sausage corn chowder in the crockpot. I really had hoped to make it the potluck but on my drive home, I again asked myself, is there anything to learn from this experience? And as before, but even more evidence of it because of the multiple occurrences of unselfish kindness, the answer is obvious. Over a bowl of warm, steaming, delicious chowder, I know that I have been taught a valuable lesson about how important small acts of kindness between people are.
12 midnight: Soaking in the tub. I ask myself, in the future, no matter how shitty my day might be, how kind will I be to someone who might need just the smallest gesture? Thank you to the couple and their baby girl for letting me charge my phone. Thank you to the lady who gave Baz an entire bag of treats and let me charge my phone. Thank you to Kurt and Jessica who took me to get some food and let me charge my phone. Thank you for the text messages from Dan and others that alleviated the stress of the sitation. Thank you to the Park Ranger (name omitted as he risked his job when he tore up my permit and refund my fees) for his comradery, conversation and humor. Thank you to the locksmith and his son, Jeremy, for allowing me to lighten up when I really wanted to be angry and irritated. And thank you, Spirit, for whatever reason, allowing me to be open to all of this in a way I have never felt before in my life.
by Richard K Allison
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Haiku 24
A breath of fresh air!
- haikuing throughout the day -
To keep my Self sharp.
by Richard K Allison
- haikuing throughout the day -
To keep my Self sharp.
by Richard K Allison
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Haiku 22
your teacher, my friend -
spiritual guidance for us...
a golden compass.
by Richard K Allison
spiritual guidance for us...
a golden compass.
by Richard K Allison
Monday, September 21, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Haiku 18
She made him too much.
Then, watching leaves float away,
She blasphemed...Self first!
by Richard K Allison
Then, watching leaves float away,
She blasphemed...Self first!
by Richard K Allison
Friday, September 11, 2009
Haiku 17
Moon shines on a lake;
Reflection disturbed by rain.
The moon above? Calm.
by Richard K Allison
Reflection disturbed by rain.
The moon above? Calm.
by Richard K Allison
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Haiku 10
Tall, majestic, true.
Graceful in sound and movement.
An elk becomes man.
by Richard K Allison.
Graceful in sound and movement.
An elk becomes man.
by Richard K Allison.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Haiku 9
penguins in winter.
when the cold wind feels so harsh,
a fin to hold tight.
by Richard K Allison
when the cold wind feels so harsh,
a fin to hold tight.
by Richard K Allison
Haiku 8
skinny hippie soul...
dancing on the table - like -
hummingbird in flight.
by Richard K Allison
dancing on the table - like -
hummingbird in flight.
by Richard K Allison
Haiku 7
"the power of love
heals what you think it can, sir,"
crowed the rooster thrice.
by Richard K Allison
heals what you think it can, sir,"
crowed the rooster thrice.
by Richard K Allison
Friday, August 21, 2009
Haiku 6
"Climb Tiger Mountain,"
the peasant said to the thief.
"'Old Whore' lives up there."
by Richard K Allison
the peasant said to the thief.
"'Old Whore' lives up there."
by Richard K Allison
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Haiku 2
love is substantial.
you...a great whale in my pond.
me...just a small fish.
by Richard K Allison
you...a great whale in my pond.
me...just a small fish.
by Richard K Allison
Sunday, August 16, 2009
30 days of HAIKU
I challenge you to come up with a poem a day for the next 30 days! Yeah, you! Bring it on. Mine are gonna be soooooo much better than yours. To make it easy, I am gonna focus mainly on haiku, but if the Muse so inspires me, I might throw something else up there.
As a primer, a haiku is a traditional form of poetry from Japan, consisting strictly of 17 syllables, or "on." Most Japanese haiku translated into English don't retain the 17 syllables so writing in English, some argue isn't really haiku, but that's what we'll go with, as it is our primary language. In the English variation, the poem is usually represented on 3 lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively.
The challenge...begins...now!
As a primer, a haiku is a traditional form of poetry from Japan, consisting strictly of 17 syllables, or "on." Most Japanese haiku translated into English don't retain the 17 syllables so writing in English, some argue isn't really haiku, but that's what we'll go with, as it is our primary language. In the English variation, the poem is usually represented on 3 lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively.
The challenge...begins...now!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Great openings to your favorite books
Here's the opening to one of my favorite books, The House of the Spirits, by Isabel Allende:
Barrabas came to us by sea, the child Clara wrote in her delicate calligraphy. She was already in the habit of writing down important matters, and afterward, when she was mute, she also recorded trivialities, never suspecting that fifty years later I would use her notebooks to reclaim the past and overcome terrors of my own.
What's your favorite opening to a book? I want to know!
Barrabas came to us by sea, the child Clara wrote in her delicate calligraphy. She was already in the habit of writing down important matters, and afterward, when she was mute, she also recorded trivialities, never suspecting that fifty years later I would use her notebooks to reclaim the past and overcome terrors of my own.
What's your favorite opening to a book? I want to know!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Focus on the Novel: Character Descriptions & Sample Scene
Character Descriptions for Antelope Canyon
Toby Hunter: Lonely. Searching for the something missing in his life. Well-respected by all but himself. Carries guilt about not being around to save his parents when they were killed when he was 16. Now, 25, his right hand trembles uncontrollably at times. Unaware of his own anger that seethes just under the surface. Born in Hannibal, Missouri, but raised in Santa Fe, New Mexico since the age of two. Very light sleeper. Sheriff of Santa Fe. Very active and a practical joker with his friends. Having an affair with the wife of the mayor of Santa Fe. Thin, wiry and muscular with very curly dark brown hair. Outwardly confident and charming.
Logan White: Insecure. Superstitious about being born on All Hallow’s Eve as he believes it caused him to be born two months premature. He looks 20, although he is 31. He was the deputy under the current mayor, with no ambition to become sheriff, so he is still deputy, under Toby Hunter. While Toby exudes masculinity, there is a softer quality to Logan. Falls in love with an African-American woman. Toby’s best friend for about the last 8 years.
Rabbit Ears: A Navajo two-spirit, meaning he is spiritually respected as someone who is both male and female. 18 years old now, at 10 years old he was forced into a Christian missionary school, where he lived in a dank, windowless basement with his fellow students. His father rescued him from the school only to cast him out of the family a couple of years later for sexual indiscretions with a Navajo warrior. At 16, his father nagged him about wearing too few clothes around the home, his father feeling that a young man should dress and act like a warrior, not like a naked child. His father never believed the shaman’s notion that Rabbit Ears was sacred because he was a two-spirit. Rabbit Ears’ mother died a couple years after he was born.
Lance: Painfully shy 16 year old Anglo boy. His father is the only Baptist minister in predominantly Catholic Santa Fe. His father is ostracized from the city after an affair with an underage girl. Deeply conflicted about his religion and his budding homosexual desires. In school, he gained the nickname “Head in the Clouds” because of his height, about 6 feet 3 inches. Closer to his mother than his father. Shaved blond hair when the story begins, as his mother had to cut off all his hair due to lice.
Sample scene. POV character: Lance.
Lance watched his mother through the back of the tent: her attention was not upon Lance’s father but upon the almost naked man that he and the Navajo boy had found. The sight unnerved him yet he did not turn away. He felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned around, surprised to see the Navajo boy behind him. The boy motioned for Lance to follow.
“Where are you going?” Lance asked, following close behind.
“On the path.”
“Back home?”
“No, I cannot go back home.” Lance felt a similar conflict within himself due to his father being shut out of the church. He had overheard his mother threatening to leave.
“Why not?”
“I am forbidden.”
“Why?”
“I fell in love with a married warrior,” Rabbit Ears said, walking on, his long hair flowing behind his back, his slender body silhouetted against the soft pink glow of twilight. Lance continued to follow him, not really sure if was leaving his parents or not.
Lakai, the bear cub, chased a large bumble, trying to catch it in his mouth. The two boys laughed aloud simultaneously: the bee teased the bear cub, buzzing around his nose and flying off to safety at the last moment. Lakai jumped frantically, snapping at the air with his teeth. The bear cub ran a few paces to keep up with the bee in the air before jumping around, snapping his jaws, and pawing at the air. When the bear finally tripped into a mud puddle, the boys fell onto the ground themselves, laughing heartily.
“My belly is hurting,” Lance said. Rabbi Ears had tears running down his face from laughing so hard. For a moment, they sat on the ground, quietly trying to catch their breath.
“My own brother said I was no longer his brother. He was the one who taught me how to use the bow…how could I not be his brother? I am not allowed to return home.” Rabbit Ears stared at his feet as he spoke.
Lance did not know what to say. Because of his father’s mistakes, his friends had stopped talking to him; he was no longer the teacher’s favorite. He had no one to talk to but his mother and father. Lance felt Rabbit Ears lucky just to have a brother. He had no one.
“We can be brothers,” Lance said but immediately felt foolish for saying it aloud. Rabbit Ears smiled, reached over and rubbed his shorn head.
“Yes,” Rabbit Ears said and before Lance could react, Rabbit Ears unsheathed his knife and drew it across the inside of Lance’s forearm.
“Aihhhh! Why did you go and do that?!” Lance watched as Rabbit Ears performed a similar cut on his own arm. Rabbit Ears let the blood flow freely while Lance clutched the wound to cinch the bleeding. Rabbit Ears closed his eyes and began to sing in Navajo. The song grew to a howl when Rabbit Ears grabbed Lance’s arm, rubbed it hard against his own, mixing the blood together. Lance howled along with the Navajo boy, as a sharp pain sped from his forearm all through his body. His toes curled in pain; he gritted his teeth. Rabbit Ears still pressed their arms together, the blood smearing across their forearms like paint, the singing pounding in Lance’s ears. But then, the native melodies drifted away like smoke and white spots appeared before his eyes. Lance fell over, unconscious.
When he awoke, Rabbit Ears sat beside him, staring intently at him, as if he had been waiting patiently. Behind them, Lakai rolled around in a fresh pile of bison dung. Despite the still throbbing pain with the cut exposed to the open air, Lance smiled looking down at the fresh wound on his arm: he imagined he could feel Rabbit Ears’ blood pulsing through his own veins. It was a strange yet wonderful feeling.
“You are my brother now,” Rabbit Ears said, “my brother of blood.”
Toby Hunter: Lonely. Searching for the something missing in his life. Well-respected by all but himself. Carries guilt about not being around to save his parents when they were killed when he was 16. Now, 25, his right hand trembles uncontrollably at times. Unaware of his own anger that seethes just under the surface. Born in Hannibal, Missouri, but raised in Santa Fe, New Mexico since the age of two. Very light sleeper. Sheriff of Santa Fe. Very active and a practical joker with his friends. Having an affair with the wife of the mayor of Santa Fe. Thin, wiry and muscular with very curly dark brown hair. Outwardly confident and charming.
Logan White: Insecure. Superstitious about being born on All Hallow’s Eve as he believes it caused him to be born two months premature. He looks 20, although he is 31. He was the deputy under the current mayor, with no ambition to become sheriff, so he is still deputy, under Toby Hunter. While Toby exudes masculinity, there is a softer quality to Logan. Falls in love with an African-American woman. Toby’s best friend for about the last 8 years.
Rabbit Ears: A Navajo two-spirit, meaning he is spiritually respected as someone who is both male and female. 18 years old now, at 10 years old he was forced into a Christian missionary school, where he lived in a dank, windowless basement with his fellow students. His father rescued him from the school only to cast him out of the family a couple of years later for sexual indiscretions with a Navajo warrior. At 16, his father nagged him about wearing too few clothes around the home, his father feeling that a young man should dress and act like a warrior, not like a naked child. His father never believed the shaman’s notion that Rabbit Ears was sacred because he was a two-spirit. Rabbit Ears’ mother died a couple years after he was born.
Lance: Painfully shy 16 year old Anglo boy. His father is the only Baptist minister in predominantly Catholic Santa Fe. His father is ostracized from the city after an affair with an underage girl. Deeply conflicted about his religion and his budding homosexual desires. In school, he gained the nickname “Head in the Clouds” because of his height, about 6 feet 3 inches. Closer to his mother than his father. Shaved blond hair when the story begins, as his mother had to cut off all his hair due to lice.
Sample scene. POV character: Lance.
Lance watched his mother through the back of the tent: her attention was not upon Lance’s father but upon the almost naked man that he and the Navajo boy had found. The sight unnerved him yet he did not turn away. He felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned around, surprised to see the Navajo boy behind him. The boy motioned for Lance to follow.
“Where are you going?” Lance asked, following close behind.
“On the path.”
“Back home?”
“No, I cannot go back home.” Lance felt a similar conflict within himself due to his father being shut out of the church. He had overheard his mother threatening to leave.
“Why not?”
“I am forbidden.”
“Why?”
“I fell in love with a married warrior,” Rabbit Ears said, walking on, his long hair flowing behind his back, his slender body silhouetted against the soft pink glow of twilight. Lance continued to follow him, not really sure if was leaving his parents or not.
Lakai, the bear cub, chased a large bumble, trying to catch it in his mouth. The two boys laughed aloud simultaneously: the bee teased the bear cub, buzzing around his nose and flying off to safety at the last moment. Lakai jumped frantically, snapping at the air with his teeth. The bear cub ran a few paces to keep up with the bee in the air before jumping around, snapping his jaws, and pawing at the air. When the bear finally tripped into a mud puddle, the boys fell onto the ground themselves, laughing heartily.
“My belly is hurting,” Lance said. Rabbi Ears had tears running down his face from laughing so hard. For a moment, they sat on the ground, quietly trying to catch their breath.
“My own brother said I was no longer his brother. He was the one who taught me how to use the bow…how could I not be his brother? I am not allowed to return home.” Rabbit Ears stared at his feet as he spoke.
Lance did not know what to say. Because of his father’s mistakes, his friends had stopped talking to him; he was no longer the teacher’s favorite. He had no one to talk to but his mother and father. Lance felt Rabbit Ears lucky just to have a brother. He had no one.
“We can be brothers,” Lance said but immediately felt foolish for saying it aloud. Rabbit Ears smiled, reached over and rubbed his shorn head.
“Yes,” Rabbit Ears said and before Lance could react, Rabbit Ears unsheathed his knife and drew it across the inside of Lance’s forearm.
“Aihhhh! Why did you go and do that?!” Lance watched as Rabbit Ears performed a similar cut on his own arm. Rabbit Ears let the blood flow freely while Lance clutched the wound to cinch the bleeding. Rabbit Ears closed his eyes and began to sing in Navajo. The song grew to a howl when Rabbit Ears grabbed Lance’s arm, rubbed it hard against his own, mixing the blood together. Lance howled along with the Navajo boy, as a sharp pain sped from his forearm all through his body. His toes curled in pain; he gritted his teeth. Rabbit Ears still pressed their arms together, the blood smearing across their forearms like paint, the singing pounding in Lance’s ears. But then, the native melodies drifted away like smoke and white spots appeared before his eyes. Lance fell over, unconscious.
When he awoke, Rabbit Ears sat beside him, staring intently at him, as if he had been waiting patiently. Behind them, Lakai rolled around in a fresh pile of bison dung. Despite the still throbbing pain with the cut exposed to the open air, Lance smiled looking down at the fresh wound on his arm: he imagined he could feel Rabbit Ears’ blood pulsing through his own veins. It was a strange yet wonderful feeling.
“You are my brother now,” Rabbit Ears said, “my brother of blood.”
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Focus on the Novel: Antelope Canyon
I am about 4 weeks into the novel writing class I am taking. It has really forced me to up my game in regards to a novel I have been working on for some time. For those that I have briefly mentioned the project to but have only given you bits in pieces, here's a clearer synopsis of the story, based on an assignment I had to do for class.
Antelope Canyon
The city of Santa Fe, New Mexico in 1879 is growing rapidly. The Plaza is rarely seen without new construction projects. Young sheriff Toby Hunter watches as his beloved hometown turns into something he no longer recognizes.
At the age of 16, Toby’s parents were killed and for a short time, he was thought to have killed them. A Navajo elder helps to bury his parents, a favor Toby never forgets. Now, almost a decade later, Toby is beaten and left for dead by an outlaw who could be the same person who murdered his parents. Hours before, the criminal killed a traveling magician who was staying at the Widow’s Saloon in Old Santa Fe. In order to finally clear his own name, Toby must track down the assailant before he has even recovered from a broken jaw and a couple of bruised ribs.
Toby sets out in pursuit of the criminal aided by a posse of close friends as well as his best friend and deputy, Logan. On the trail, they soon find out that the killer is a woman and she is stalking two young boys, one a Navajo, the other the Anglo son of Santa Fe’s only Baptist preacher.
Rabbit Ears, the Navajo boy, meets and befriends Lance, encouraging him to join him on a trip to a sacred canyon. Lance, having been ostracized from Santa Fe Baptist Church along with his father, due to the minister’s infidelity with an underaged girl, is easily persuaded to follow his new found friend.
On the trail, accompanied by Rabbit Ears’ pet bear cub Lakai, the two boys soon find they have much in common: they both desperately need to escape from the world of their parents. Lance finds himself profoundly conflicted with his own budding sexuality and a growing love for Rabbit Ears, a situation in great opposition to his family’s religious beliefs.
Meanwhile, on the heels of the criminal, Toby and Logan come to blows over Toby’s petty jealousy that Logan has brought along his girlfriend, thereby jeopardizing the success of the venture, in Toby’s opinion. Logan aptly points out that Toby is upset because he cannot openly love Carolina White, the wife of the current mayor and ex-sheriff of Santa Fe, the man who gave Toby his job as a lawman. Unknown to Logan, the Mayor, and others, Toby and Carolina have been having sexual encounters in the abandoned casita where Toby’s parents once lived.
In the open wilderness of the desert, Toby finds himself dealing with the loneliness and anger over his parents’ deaths for the first time since it happened. The parents of the young boy who has run off with the Navajo accompany the posse in fear that they will never see their son alive again.
As circumstances push them all towards Antelope Canyon, a violent storm brews on the horizon, saturating the ground with water causing a massive runoff to occur. Miles from the origin of the storm, the canyon lands seem peaceful and quiet but flood waters speed across the ground unbeknownst to the two boys in love, the assailant or Toby and his posse.
The boys reach the sacred canyon where Rabbit Ears leads Lance to a hideout only he knows about, while the criminal spies them from a distance. Toby observes the outlaw descending into the ground, into the opening of a slot canyon, and follows. The flood hits with a devastating fury, sweeping through the canyon slot, and taking everyone in the vicinity of the canyon along for the tragic ride.
Antelope Canyon
The city of Santa Fe, New Mexico in 1879 is growing rapidly. The Plaza is rarely seen without new construction projects. Young sheriff Toby Hunter watches as his beloved hometown turns into something he no longer recognizes.
At the age of 16, Toby’s parents were killed and for a short time, he was thought to have killed them. A Navajo elder helps to bury his parents, a favor Toby never forgets. Now, almost a decade later, Toby is beaten and left for dead by an outlaw who could be the same person who murdered his parents. Hours before, the criminal killed a traveling magician who was staying at the Widow’s Saloon in Old Santa Fe. In order to finally clear his own name, Toby must track down the assailant before he has even recovered from a broken jaw and a couple of bruised ribs.
Toby sets out in pursuit of the criminal aided by a posse of close friends as well as his best friend and deputy, Logan. On the trail, they soon find out that the killer is a woman and she is stalking two young boys, one a Navajo, the other the Anglo son of Santa Fe’s only Baptist preacher.
Rabbit Ears, the Navajo boy, meets and befriends Lance, encouraging him to join him on a trip to a sacred canyon. Lance, having been ostracized from Santa Fe Baptist Church along with his father, due to the minister’s infidelity with an underaged girl, is easily persuaded to follow his new found friend.
On the trail, accompanied by Rabbit Ears’ pet bear cub Lakai, the two boys soon find they have much in common: they both desperately need to escape from the world of their parents. Lance finds himself profoundly conflicted with his own budding sexuality and a growing love for Rabbit Ears, a situation in great opposition to his family’s religious beliefs.
Meanwhile, on the heels of the criminal, Toby and Logan come to blows over Toby’s petty jealousy that Logan has brought along his girlfriend, thereby jeopardizing the success of the venture, in Toby’s opinion. Logan aptly points out that Toby is upset because he cannot openly love Carolina White, the wife of the current mayor and ex-sheriff of Santa Fe, the man who gave Toby his job as a lawman. Unknown to Logan, the Mayor, and others, Toby and Carolina have been having sexual encounters in the abandoned casita where Toby’s parents once lived.
In the open wilderness of the desert, Toby finds himself dealing with the loneliness and anger over his parents’ deaths for the first time since it happened. The parents of the young boy who has run off with the Navajo accompany the posse in fear that they will never see their son alive again.
As circumstances push them all towards Antelope Canyon, a violent storm brews on the horizon, saturating the ground with water causing a massive runoff to occur. Miles from the origin of the storm, the canyon lands seem peaceful and quiet but flood waters speed across the ground unbeknownst to the two boys in love, the assailant or Toby and his posse.
The boys reach the sacred canyon where Rabbit Ears leads Lance to a hideout only he knows about, while the criminal spies them from a distance. Toby observes the outlaw descending into the ground, into the opening of a slot canyon, and follows. The flood hits with a devastating fury, sweeping through the canyon slot, and taking everyone in the vicinity of the canyon along for the tragic ride.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
With or Without Muse
One of my muses has always been music, particularly the band U2. As I am reading the book "U2 by U2" now, I am finding comfort in so many similarities related to the creative urge and the creative struggle.
I find this passage from Bono particularly interesting:
"The lyric [to "With or Without You"] is pure torment. One of the things that was happening at the time was the collision in my own mind between being faithful to your art or being faithful to your lover. What if the two are at odds? Your gift versus domestic responsibility?...I was at least two people: the person who is responsible , protective and loyal and the vagrant and idler who just wants to run from responsibility. I thought these tensions were going to destroy me but actually, in truth, it is me. That tension, it turns out, is what makes me as an artist. Right in the centre of the contradiction, that's the place to be...
"...If I had cut loose, what would have become of me?...All of the people whom I looked up to as writers, they'd all done the same. Nothing had stood in the way, they had acted with abandon, and had lost marriages, bands, friendships, all in pursuit of the muse. But the muse is taciturn and can abandon you, leave you with nothing. My muse makes different demands...
"So that song ["With or Without You"] is about torment, sexual but also psychological, about how repressing desires makes them stronger. The most important line is probably 'And you give yourself away.'"
Do you relate to the pull between domesticity and wild abandon? How do you manage that tension?
If you are an artist, has the Muse's need for wanderlust taken you to places you would rather not have gone? Was it worth it?
I find this passage from Bono particularly interesting:
"The lyric [to "With or Without You"] is pure torment. One of the things that was happening at the time was the collision in my own mind between being faithful to your art or being faithful to your lover. What if the two are at odds? Your gift versus domestic responsibility?...I was at least two people: the person who is responsible , protective and loyal and the vagrant and idler who just wants to run from responsibility. I thought these tensions were going to destroy me but actually, in truth, it is me. That tension, it turns out, is what makes me as an artist. Right in the centre of the contradiction, that's the place to be...
"...If I had cut loose, what would have become of me?...All of the people whom I looked up to as writers, they'd all done the same. Nothing had stood in the way, they had acted with abandon, and had lost marriages, bands, friendships, all in pursuit of the muse. But the muse is taciturn and can abandon you, leave you with nothing. My muse makes different demands...
"So that song ["With or Without You"] is about torment, sexual but also psychological, about how repressing desires makes them stronger. The most important line is probably 'And you give yourself away.'"
Do you relate to the pull between domesticity and wild abandon? How do you manage that tension?
If you are an artist, has the Muse's need for wanderlust taken you to places you would rather not have gone? Was it worth it?
Monday, April 6, 2009
Great sentences (or paragraphs)
Lately, I have felt an urge to return to the basics of creative writing. In this mindset, I have noticed wonderful little nuggets of writing in the everyday "literature" of our lives: emails, blogs, Facebook statuses, etc. Today I came across Barry Shaeffer's Facebook blog about his recent trip to Nepal. I quote from it here:
"Daai?"
"Yes?"
"Cinema?"
"Yep. Cinema tomorrow."
"Lollipop?"
"Yes, lollipop tomorrow at the cinema."
Repeat ad infinitum ad nauseum.
Source: Barry Shaeffer, Blog post “This Little Light of Mine”
That little passage tells so much in so few words. Beautiful.
What great writing have you recently come across in your daily life?
Feel free to post a sentence or a paragraph here.
"Daai?"
"Yes?"
"Cinema?"
"Yep. Cinema tomorrow."
"Lollipop?"
"Yes, lollipop tomorrow at the cinema."
Repeat ad infinitum ad nauseum.
Source: Barry Shaeffer, Blog post “This Little Light of Mine”
That little passage tells so much in so few words. Beautiful.
What great writing have you recently come across in your daily life?
Feel free to post a sentence or a paragraph here.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Little Girl Lost
Today I am working a piece entitled "Little Girl Lost," which is focusing on a female archetype that illuminates our own life struggles through a journey from innocence to maturity amongst harsh or repressive institutions. After studying Alice in Wonderland extensively for my English thesis, I have seen this archetype show up most recently in the film Pan’s Labyrinth; the first book in the His Dark Materials trilogy, The Golden Compass; and in the recent Michael L. Printz Honor award winner, The Book Thief. In their creations, Guillermo Del Toro, Philip Pullman and Mark Zusak have provided readers with intelligent and rebellious young girls as reflections of ourselves. Have you enjoyed any of these incredible works of art? If so, what have you learned from Ofelia, Lyra or Liesel that you could share?
Monday, March 2, 2009
Blogging: Writing about Writing?
As a writer with a new blog, I have been visiting other writer's blogs to help refine and focus what I want the world to see about me. It seems like writer's blogs fall into 2 camps: those that write about writing (and their original works appear in other published formats) and those who post their work for free on their blog site, poems, short stories, even novels. My own blog started off as a place to post some of my poems and short stories and is now evolving into a place to write about my writing. I am seeing the value of being paid for my literary work as well as the benefit of having an editor's contribution to the final product. But I also don't want to lose out in receiving immediate feedback from creative inspiration.
Other writers, what are the pros/cons of these approaches? Feel free to share your own experiences with me.
Other writers, what are the pros/cons of these approaches? Feel free to share your own experiences with me.
Living in the Void
The spiritual leader at a community I belong to likes to use the phrase, “living in the void.” This notion resonates with me so much lately as I continue to move deeper into a life as a writer. After 17 years of full time work with the same company, I changed to a part time schedule in September. Let me tell you, the first couple of weeks, I was struck by an unexpected insecurity that made it feel like I was walking on water but that at any moment, I would sink below the surface. Who did I think I was that I could walk on water? In the current economy, I was opening myself up to greater risk in being laid off by going part-time, wasn’t I? And considering my history of cancer and the need for healthcare, which keeps me tied to a corporate employer, wasn’t I being foolish, losing the benefits of short term and long term disability? And the reason that I was doing all of this…to concentrate more on my writing and to make up the loss in my hours at the company through income I would make in my writing. What the hell? Was I crazy? I had not had anything published since college and even then, it was 3 or 4 poems in various university literary magazines that paid me nothing.
Months into this experiment, I don’t feel any more confident about my job security or the scary possibility of a cancer recurrence, and I have come to the hard realization that I won’t be immediately paid for my writing. In fact, these couple of months have felt unstructured, unfocused and without much “work” to prove the loss of self-worth that my previous corporate identity allowed me. But I am more comfortable sitting in this place, sitting in the void, to use my spiritual leader’s words. I lived in the void going through my treatments for brain cancer, trusting that I was making the right decisions based on the information from my doctors and other experts. Perhaps, the experience of a health crisis prepared me to be able to take on the risks that I am living in now. And ironically, it was the health crisis that spurred me to make such a radical change (at least it was radical for me), as I was forced to realize that I am not going to live forever, and maybe not even as long as you.
It was in college, when I was studying for my Creative Writing degree, before I took the path of safety and security in the corporate world, that I first picked up the Tao Te Ching. It taught me how to let go of the religious structure that I grew up with, with all of its neat answers and to live in the complexity and contradictions of life. I remember hearing a friend’s interpretation of his own reading of the Tao: that it was the space between life’s moments that provide the real meaning, those times of waiting for the next great thing to happen. It is the moment between breaths. It is the time between moments. I started to notice these gaps, to allow in the undefined, unknowable mystery of them, to sink into the nothingness of them; I was surprised to find myself comforted.
It is these open spaces that have taught me the most and have allowed me to move forward in my life. As I sit in the void of my current situation, of no longer being the “corporate man” and not yet having the credentials of the writers I admire, I trust that although I will sink below the surface at times and not be able to see where I am or where I am going, that it will be the lessons of the void that guide me.
What lessons have you learned from living in the void? Please drop me a line. I would love to hear.
Months into this experiment, I don’t feel any more confident about my job security or the scary possibility of a cancer recurrence, and I have come to the hard realization that I won’t be immediately paid for my writing. In fact, these couple of months have felt unstructured, unfocused and without much “work” to prove the loss of self-worth that my previous corporate identity allowed me. But I am more comfortable sitting in this place, sitting in the void, to use my spiritual leader’s words. I lived in the void going through my treatments for brain cancer, trusting that I was making the right decisions based on the information from my doctors and other experts. Perhaps, the experience of a health crisis prepared me to be able to take on the risks that I am living in now. And ironically, it was the health crisis that spurred me to make such a radical change (at least it was radical for me), as I was forced to realize that I am not going to live forever, and maybe not even as long as you.
It was in college, when I was studying for my Creative Writing degree, before I took the path of safety and security in the corporate world, that I first picked up the Tao Te Ching. It taught me how to let go of the religious structure that I grew up with, with all of its neat answers and to live in the complexity and contradictions of life. I remember hearing a friend’s interpretation of his own reading of the Tao: that it was the space between life’s moments that provide the real meaning, those times of waiting for the next great thing to happen. It is the moment between breaths. It is the time between moments. I started to notice these gaps, to allow in the undefined, unknowable mystery of them, to sink into the nothingness of them; I was surprised to find myself comforted.
It is these open spaces that have taught me the most and have allowed me to move forward in my life. As I sit in the void of my current situation, of no longer being the “corporate man” and not yet having the credentials of the writers I admire, I trust that although I will sink below the surface at times and not be able to see where I am or where I am going, that it will be the lessons of the void that guide me.
What lessons have you learned from living in the void? Please drop me a line. I would love to hear.
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Holy Spirit of MILK
I was trying to write a poem for my father, who has been on my mind a lot lately, to reflect my admiration for him…why? Well, just recently, I went to see the movie MILK, and as with most other gay men who grew up not really knowing who Harvey Milk was, until recently, I was very moved by the story. When Harvey admits to himself, to paraphrase, “I am forty years old, and I haven’t done anything with my life,” it had a specific resonance with me in regards to turning forty myself this year and sometimes feeling, what have I done for gay rights? It seems like this is the time to be counted and recognized as an upstanding, moral, contributing member of society, who happens to be gay, just like Harvey Milk was. I wonder, sometimes, what can I do? (Even when I know that there is more that I can do.) Has my coming out made any difference, even to my own family, for example, when I send my dad a copy of a reading I did at church this past year for Gay Pride and the only response I get back is “thanks for sharing?” Thanks for sharing!? After all the emails I receive from my dad about his political views and religious perspectives, that’s the only thing he can say. I felt insulted. Cheated. I wanted more.
But I had already gotten more: at the family reunion, about 4 years ago, in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Let me paint the picture for you. My boyfriend and I drive up to the community center where it is being held and my dad’s brother is being lifted out of the back of a run down pickup truck in a recliner, carried into the meeting hall by a band of my cousins. (I found out later that my uncle had just had surgery on both of his knees, but it didn’t take away from the absurd opening scene to the redneck family reunion). We enter the meeting hall to see it decorated with red, white and blue for Memorial Day and several of my first cousins singing old time religious hymns. We settle uncomfortably in the meeting hall into some open seats and anxiously await when it will all be over. After we all eat, it comes the time for each of my dad’s siblings and himself to introduce their respective families. Knot in my stomach. My dad’s most religious brother (who, as a preacher years ago, called me out during the middle of a church service as needing prayer for my underage drinking) introduces his three sons, their beloved wives, and each of the kids. Next, the most redneck, beer-drinking heathen brother introduces his kids. The sisters introduce their children.
And then it’s my dad’s turn. Oh my god, I can’t breathe, he is just going to say my name and nothing else. Nothing about my partner. Or “This is Richard’s friend.” He introduces my older brother, his wife, kids. My brother Clark.
“And this is my son Richard, in from Chicago, with his life partner, Dan.”
What? What? Did I just hear that? I was stunned. Shocked. Embarrased. Proud. My dad, a lifelong Republican, a career military man, a hunter of wild game, a sports enthusiast, a stern disciplinarian, had just stood up in front of his entire mostly fundamental, religious, Southern family and introduced me and my gay partner. Me, his middle son, a lover of literature, a sensitive writer, a lifelong liberal, a peace-loving soul, a man lover! I felt chills running down my back and gave a quick sideways glance of pleased shock to my lover as my first cousins, the Allison Family Singers, started singing one of those religious songs that I grew up with, that I cut out of my consciousness for years, but this time, as they sang, “There’s Power in the Blood,” I felt a little something, a familial connection because of what my father had just done and I felt that the shivering sensation of redemption and validation that I was experiencing was not unlike the Holy Spirit that my father often refers to.
I felt the same type of shivering sensation, of validation, of redemption, of wanting and needing to do more, when I heard Sean Penn recite Harvey Milk’s haunting premonition: “If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door.” Hearing that, seeing the horrible fate that befell Harvey Milk and yet all the good that has come from his legacy, sent shivers through my body at the movie theater.
Again, I felt moved by the Holy Spirit. I think even my dad could relate to that.
But I had already gotten more: at the family reunion, about 4 years ago, in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Let me paint the picture for you. My boyfriend and I drive up to the community center where it is being held and my dad’s brother is being lifted out of the back of a run down pickup truck in a recliner, carried into the meeting hall by a band of my cousins. (I found out later that my uncle had just had surgery on both of his knees, but it didn’t take away from the absurd opening scene to the redneck family reunion). We enter the meeting hall to see it decorated with red, white and blue for Memorial Day and several of my first cousins singing old time religious hymns. We settle uncomfortably in the meeting hall into some open seats and anxiously await when it will all be over. After we all eat, it comes the time for each of my dad’s siblings and himself to introduce their respective families. Knot in my stomach. My dad’s most religious brother (who, as a preacher years ago, called me out during the middle of a church service as needing prayer for my underage drinking) introduces his three sons, their beloved wives, and each of the kids. Next, the most redneck, beer-drinking heathen brother introduces his kids. The sisters introduce their children.
And then it’s my dad’s turn. Oh my god, I can’t breathe, he is just going to say my name and nothing else. Nothing about my partner. Or “This is Richard’s friend.” He introduces my older brother, his wife, kids. My brother Clark.
“And this is my son Richard, in from Chicago, with his life partner, Dan.”
What? What? Did I just hear that? I was stunned. Shocked. Embarrased. Proud. My dad, a lifelong Republican, a career military man, a hunter of wild game, a sports enthusiast, a stern disciplinarian, had just stood up in front of his entire mostly fundamental, religious, Southern family and introduced me and my gay partner. Me, his middle son, a lover of literature, a sensitive writer, a lifelong liberal, a peace-loving soul, a man lover! I felt chills running down my back and gave a quick sideways glance of pleased shock to my lover as my first cousins, the Allison Family Singers, started singing one of those religious songs that I grew up with, that I cut out of my consciousness for years, but this time, as they sang, “There’s Power in the Blood,” I felt a little something, a familial connection because of what my father had just done and I felt that the shivering sensation of redemption and validation that I was experiencing was not unlike the Holy Spirit that my father often refers to.
I felt the same type of shivering sensation, of validation, of redemption, of wanting and needing to do more, when I heard Sean Penn recite Harvey Milk’s haunting premonition: “If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door.” Hearing that, seeing the horrible fate that befell Harvey Milk and yet all the good that has come from his legacy, sent shivers through my body at the movie theater.
Again, I felt moved by the Holy Spirit. I think even my dad could relate to that.
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