This is for Sheila

The great and glorious Sheila O'Malley has been taking us all on a winsome trip to teen crush land with her expose on the career of Ben Marley, the quintessential 70's cutie. And I have been awash in heartthrobitis, revisiting my crushes on David Cassidy, Bobby Sherman, and a whole slew of dark haired/light eyed/lithe bodied boys. Here is the story of the day I was stamped with this particular lust.

Junior High. Seventh Grade. For weeks through the summer I was freaking out about PE. I was a chubby boy - chubby might be too kind a word for it - and the idea of getting naked in front of a bunch of other boys was terrifying to me. My pudgy, stretch marked body had never been seen by anyone since a visit to the pediatrician when I was 8. Now I was 13, and as an only child, I had no occasion to either be naked in front of others, or for that matter, to see others naked. I was excited about having the opportunity to see other boys naked, but I was also a little nervous about getting an erection in front of them. I approached the whole thing with such heightened emotion. This was going to be awful! This was going to be awesome!

Back in 6th grade, at the end of the school year, we were taken on a field trip to the Junior High to see our future home, and the boys were ushered into the locker room. It was all one open space, with the lockers around the perimeter of half the room, wood benches in rows, and a big open white tiled shower area with about 12 shower heads placed a few feet apart. We happened to be given the tour right when a class was showering, and I remember seeing lots of white butts and wet bodies in the shower - ten seconds of flesh that thrilled me (no question, I was gay) and freaked me out (my own big white butt would be added to that tableau in short order).

Now comes the second day of the school year, and we have to suit up for the first time and play dodge ball or whatever. I manage to get changed into the uniform - the jock strap was tricky but I figured it out - and we duly did our calesthenics and ran around the field. As the minutes ticked away I knew that "Hit the Showers!" was coming and there I would be, naked, in front of all those other boys, and certainly the object of scorn, derision, laughter. A nightmare.

Well, I panicked. We were back in the locker room and everyone was pulling off their uniforms and going into the shower, and I just thought nobody would notice if I skipped the shower and got dressed. Wrong. As the showers came to an end and dripping boys started to return to the lockers, one of the boys figured out that I hadn't taken a shower, and he said, "Hey - he didn't take a shower!" Suddenly we were in a scene from Lord of the Flies, and I'm Piggy. It's a SERIOUS situation. My heart is pounding and all attention is on me. At first I denied that I skipped the shower, but I soon felt like I would be torn to shreds if I didn't do something, so I said, "Well, I don't care, I'll take another shower, no big deal!" and I quickly got naked. Lots of boisterous laughter and all eyes on me. It was everything I feared about PE and boys magnified to an unbelievable degree.

So now, because of my stupid decision, instead of being just one of 60 boys in the shower, I am naked and alone in the shower and being looked at and laughed at (all the rest of the boys had finished and were toweling off). Agony. But the punishment wasn't over yet. The showers turned off just as I stepped into the white tiled scene of my humiliation. This caused another wave of mean-spirited laughter. Someone pointed out that there were two shower heads that had an independent turn valve, and it was all away at the other end of the showers. I basically had to waddle the wet slippery white tile catwalk naked in front of all the other guys to get to the right shower. I am dying at this point, having an out-of-body experience, pretty much planning my suicide for later that day.

As I approach the manual shower, I take in for the first time the fact that there's another guy there. He's a 9th grader, a member of the track team or something, and he's showering up. He's about a foot taller than me. And he's a man. Most of us 7th graders were still boys. I walk towards him (by now the laughing boys have turned their attention away from me and are getting dressed) and get to the manual shower next to his. I try to turn the shower on, but can't - it's too tightly closed. And this boy, this man, this god, reaches over and turns on the shower for me.

At the moment of my greatest shame and humiliation, a prince came to my rescue. It was just a moment of courtesy to him, a good deed, but it meant so much to me. I said thank you, and he said, "No problem, man."

And he looked in my eyes and smiled at me.

And I showered next to him.

And from just a foot away I looked at his truly beautiful body, his glistening white skin, his robust patch of dark pubic hair, his lovely dangling penis, his big balls, his wet dark hair, his crystal blue eyes, his ass, his feet, his calves, thighs, arms, armpits, and chest and abdomen and nipples, rivulets of water running down the valleys and byways of his topography, his utter perfection, his complete comfort with himself, his sweetness, his kindness. And I fell in love, forever, with him.

Never knew his name, never saw him again.

Okay, I'm better now.

Okay, I'm sitting here seething. And I'm pissed that I'm pissed! I've become one of those cranky bastard old men neighbors that has a cow over everything that goes on in the neighborhood that "just isn't right." Okay, so I'm sitting here singing along with Annie Lennox, all's right with the world, and this young couple are walking their two dogs in the park across the street, and just now, BOTH their dogs took craps in the park right in front of my window - and the humans looked at each other, and giggled, and walked away without picking it up. So I leaped up, pounded on the window, they looked over at me, and I shouted, "You have to pick that shit up - PICK IT UP! COME BACK AND PICK UP YOUR SHIT!" Of course they didn't, they just kept walking. Goddamn SHITS!

I mean, it's in the park, not my property, but still - IT'S MY PARK NOW, FUCKERS!! Don't you be going to church and brunch, then come home and take your dogs out for a CRAP in MY PARK! Jesus would be just as pissed. Jesus would rub that shit in your faces, you shits.

Breathe, Stevie. Breathe. It's all right.

Okay, I need to adopt another M.O. regarding this. But I had visions of standing in my front yard with a hose and giving them a good drenching the next time they DARE to sully MY park! Can I set up some sort of automatic mace-spraying contraption I can work remotely?

Perspective, Stevie honey. Mellow. It's all right, really. I can't SEE it from here, and there's probably some park maintenance crew that will come along and pick it up anyway. But my heart bleeds for the world that two such selfish BASTARDS exist.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Sigh. Now Annie Lennox is singing a dirge. Oh Annie, we are too tender for this world.

I feel better now.

My eccentric neighbor (hooray!!)

Now let me talk you through what you're seeing here. It's a man about 90 years old on a motorized low rider tricycle. There's two little dogs tied to the bike - they trot smartly along side the bike. There are three large birds, one on his shoulder and two on a contraption made out of pvc pipe. He's got an Evel Knievel helmet on.

Needless to say, I LOVE MY NEIGHBOR MAN!!!!!

Evidently, BG doesn't give a damn

It's time for the Sunday soccer game across the street, and BG has seen it all before. What was a thrilling experience for him just three weeks ago is old hat now. Too bad. I love having a ring-side seat. The field was empty when I started reading Sheila O'Malley's Skyward Part 2 and by the time I was experiencing an emotional meltdown-in-a-good-way, the guys started in with their hilarious warm-up exercises. So bouncy! So gangly! So utterly faggy-in-a-good-way! I especially love the sideways skipping and the leg twitching - so Twyla Tharp. I think there's a famous Monty Python skit - the League of men with funny walks or something - and I get twenty minues of that. Lovely!

Then there's Gus, the old codger whose participation skares the hell outta me. He's actually pretty good, and the other guys don't hold back around him (okay, they hold back a little, but not enough to screw up their game). But when he falls - oh my - the slow-motion roll to the ground gives me palpitations. So far, no broken bones, no ambulances called. But really, can we make it through the Summer without a disastrous kerfuffle? Hang in there, Gus! And if you have to break something, please do it on a Sunday when I'm outta here.

Ooh, the clouds are rolling in from the North

Check out the big shadow being cast on the mountains by the big wet cloud moving in. I know I'm overdoing it with the pictures of the mountain view from my desk, but I'm so awe-struck by the dramatic changes that go on. Tons of blue sky. It's a gorgeous day. About 50 degrees now. A perfect day for daydreaming about Ben Marley.

Spring is just around the corner . . .

It's barely perceptible, but the straw-yellow lawn of the park across the street has a slight green tinge. BG noticed, too. He was bouncing around here last night like a Spring chicken. It seems also that my road, which was recently re-sidewalked and repaved, boasts fresh new paint markings. "Do not park here!" screams the yellow curb.

I met my neighbors today. They're so nice - a gay bearish couple named Jones and Chris, mid-thirties, who have five male dogs whose names escape me, and who confirm that the neighborhood is "Awesome!" I'm so glad! With BG and me, this is now definitely a gay enclave. Can tiki-torch backyard barbeques be far behind?

Storms a-comin'

We just had about a half hour of hail, and it dusted the mountains with a sprinkling of sugar. Love it when the cloud bank rolls right up to the edge of the mountains, but doesn't go any farther. Rain and snow predicted for Tuesday.

BG on the Case

Here's BG vigilantly fulfilling his new role as Captain of the Neighborhood Watch, Montgomery Park Precinct. He keeps his eagle eye on all of the doings, from soccer games to (expecially) dog parades. And when a van parked illegally in front of the house yesterday and a huge rambunctious family began to disgorge themselves , I thought he was gonna have a hissy. He seems to have memorized the parking code violations. "Six-oh-two in progress, over." He's aching for a walkie talkie.

View from my PC

I just took this while seated at my computer. It's the game these guys apparently play every Sunday morning. What an insanely fabulous view to enjoy while blogging! I mean really!

Yesterday there was a sweet little birthday party being held under that large evergreen. Balloons and everything. But I hadn't unpacked my camera yet.

Early this morning I took my huge handmade wooden rocker (a steal on Craig's List) outside to the back patio and enjoyed the sun, the breeze, and the birds chirping. And the yapping of the Chihuahua next door. The dog finally calmed down, or else her human let her inside. Whatevs, it was lovely.

Chores for today: rubbing my new retro dining set (also a steal on Craig's List) with revivifying orange oil; finding my iron; storing a few boxes of records in one of the bedroom closets; and just enjoying being home.

The Sandia Mountains from my house

This is what the Sandia Mountains looked like from my house tonight. They're called the Sandias because it means "watermelon" in Spanish, and that's the typical color of them at sunset.

I'm all moved in. I have the living, dining, kitchen and my bedroom unpacked and livable. There are two more rooms to unpack (one has trash bags full of clothes and the other has boxes of records/office crap). The guest room is empty - for now - but will soon hold a bed in the hopes that I can entice people to come visit me. This means you!!!

The living/dining area looks really nice, I think. It's as if the furniture I've had all along, which wasn't quite right in the various apartments I've lived in the past few years, is exactly right for this house. I couldn't have planned it better. Even the wall color in the kitchen matches the stuff I have in the living room. It's all so wonderful and the feeling of rightness is intense. Sigh. I'm very glad indeed to be here.

We closed on Friday and my friend Sheri and I came over to the house just to make sure the keys worked. At the precise moment we arrived, a rainbow burst through the clouds and shone brightly for exactly two minutes, then faded away again. It was awesome. I didn't have a camera but it's indelibly etched in my mind as a big "Welcome, Stevie!" from the Universe. Thanks, Universe!

I moved on Saturday. It was an intense day. I cleaned behind the movers, scrubbing and vacuuming as soon as they lifted things out of the way. There was a little moment of panic when we arrived at the house. The city is redoing all of the sidewalks and driveways on my street, and my particular driveway had a canvas cover over it, and three flashing roadblocks. But I jumped out of my Beetle, moved the roadblocks and canvas, and guided the truck into the carport area. It was fine. Whew! I was dragging on Sunday, but I pulled it together enough to invite Ande over for pizza. Very nice. Then the cable guy came and got me online again, which was kewl.

I took Monday off to run errands and unpack. Then today I lined up about a half dozen chores for myself and hosted a couple of people from work for an informal housewarming. Just lovely. It's official now. I'm here, and I'm at home. It's good.

Tomorrow it's back to work and some semblance of normality. But my mind is on the new house and the life I hope to carve out for myself here.

Moving Day!

Well here I go. The movers will be here in an hour and I'm about to pack up my PC. My cat is freaking out a little so I'm gonna try to make him calm by taking a minute to mellow out. Hopefully he will visit me shortly, at which time I can sweep him into his kennel and put him for safe keeping in the car during the hullabaloo.

Movin' on a Sunday Afternoon

Okay, Saturday. But it's coming. I'm moving into the little house next weekend, and am spending Martin Luther King, Jr., weekend packing and cleaning. I'm so ready. Mentally, not actually. My next task is to wipe out the oven cleaner that I sprayed last night (ugh, unpleasant job). Which is why I'm taking a couple of minutes to blog right now. Avoidance behavior. I don't expect to get any deposit back from this apartment, but still I'm making a sincere effort to get it clean for my own sense of satisfaction. Much to do. I bought my dream shower curtain liner yesterday at Bed, Bath & Beyond. Yes, I have a dream shower curtain liner. It's one of those water-resistant fabric ones in motels, not the plastic one that sticks to you in the shower or sticks to itself in mildewy folds. Heaven. I also got a new door mat (sort of tradition with myself when I move) and a lovely pair of pink rubber gloves for the aforementioned stove cleaning.

I just love imagining the possibilities of the new place while sitting in the old place.

People at work keep saying I should have a housewarming party, but I'm hesitating: first, I just don't want to subject my cute, clean little house to the damaging effects of a rambunctious crowd, at least not right away; and secondly, I don't want an avalanche of crappy little crap things. Maybe if I wait until Spring and ask people to bring me garden tools and things I need like plungers and mops and indoor plants. Would that be appropriate? Gift cards from Home Depot would be incredibly welcome. Or cash, frankly. What I really want is for people to drop by in ones and twos, I give them a quick tour, they hand me a rake or a hoe with a bow on it, and then they leave. Sort of like a real estate open house with a gift policy. "Hi, hi, it's great you came, this is the living room, isn't it cute, thanks for the shovel, and do you really have to go so soon?" Two minutes tops per person. A house cooling. Chilly reception, stingy crumb- and drip-free eats (crudite without the dip), bottled water, and a quick departure. Seven to nine AM on a Sunday morning. A pre-church thang. Take your shoes off before entering. Don't touch anything. No number twos. Lower your voice. Reverential, like you're visiting a Tibetan shrine, m'kay? Tiptoe. Then out.

All right, maybe I'll have a real party. The Pergo can take it. Rental tables and chairs in the back yard, and delicious eats from the oven. Beverages of many lands. A nice Saturday afternoon in late February, when it's a little warmer, and possibly a volleyball tournament in the park across the street. But the no-shite policy still goes, damnit!

Two weeks until I move to - gulp - my house!

Here's the inspector checking the dishwasher. The inspection went well, but there's a couple of things the seller needs to fix - among them, the vent over the stove doesn't vent to the outside, no, it vents back into the kitchen! Now what exactly is the purpose of that? According to the inspector, it's a legal way of doing it in New Mexico. Well I asked for it to be vented outside. Shouldn't be too too difficult a job, right? We'll see, I suppose. Also the dryer exhaust pipe wasn't hooked up. So those would've been two surprises I would not have been delighted to discover once I moved in. Thank you, inspector man!

I'm a little freaked out, of course, but mostly terribly excited. The only other thing we're waiting for is the appraisal, but I feel pretty confident that it will be good.

Okay! Deep breath!

Cookie and Alex - a Family Fable

Yesterday was the shared birthday of my mother Henrietta Brisk and her father Alexander Brisk. First a quick rundown of the people in this pic: It's my Mom and Dad's hastily planned wedding in a chapel by the Pacific, the bride (Cookie) front and center, with her sister Sheila on the right, and her parents (Kathryn and Alex) on the left. In the back is my Dad's best friend Forrest, his stylish wife Jan, my spiffy Dad in Navy dress whites, Sheila's husband Edgar, and my mother's favorite relative, Aunt Lollie (my grandma's sister) in a gorgeous hat. Do you see my dad's white gloved hand under my mother's right breast? And look at the way my mother is clutching her sister's hand. I just love the way mom and Sheila have their heads tilted in the same direction, like a sister act from the Catskills. Very sweet. I'm in the picture, too - actually, I'm the cause of all the folderall. That's me, behind the bride's bouquet. In six months, I would be born "premature." But that's another story.

This is about Cookie and Alex.

For years they thought their birthdays were two days apart. Alex had celebrated his birthday on December 27th his whole life. Kathryn was due to give birth in late December. According to family lore, Kathryn "kept her legs crossed" until the 27th, then "pushed like hell." But no such luck. The kid was too stubborn to make an appearance on the 27th. Two days later, little Henrietta was born. It was December 29, 1923. Twenty years later, Alex's birth certificate was unearthed from some dusty steamer trunk and, amazingly, it turned out he was born on December 29th as well, in 1898.

Nobody ever called her Henrietta. She was too small and too cute for such a big name. From the start she was called Cookie, because "she was sweet as a sugar cookie." She was more like a ginger snap, really. She was small and cute, all right, but she was also smart as hell and brave, too. She took no prisoners, little Cookie. Like a petite but ruthless queen, she emphatically spoke her mind, much to the delight of the family. She had moxie.

Alex was as proud as could be. He had five sisters, four of whom were older, and Kathryn was seventh in a family of ten. Everybody lived in Brooklyn so what with the various spouses and children, not to mention Kathryn's parents and Alex's mother, there were usually forty or fifty people gathered at the frequent family events. The Brisks and the Ezechels had grown up next door to each other in Mamaroneck, New York. Many of Kathryn's older brothers were dear friends with Alex from the time they were kids. The Brisks were Russian Jews (Father Brisk didn't speak English) and the Ezechels were half German Jewish, half Italian Roman Catholic. Their families had emigrated to the US during the great influx of the late 1800's, coming through Ellis Island to America, where it was said the streets were paved with gold.

Everyone was loud, funny, talkative, and had a zest for life. It was the roaring 20's and they exemplified the times - they were enthusiastic, ambitious and always ready to have a good time. There was a great deal of food and a great deal of fun whenever they got together. They made their own entertainment. Alex would recite "Casey at the Bat" complete with hand gestures and hilarious schtick; Kathryn sang in a rich contralto and mimicked Catherine Cornell in scenes from "The Barretts of Wimpole Street." Her younger sister Edythe was a contortionist who had appeared in Vaudeville. The carpet would be pulled back and Edythe obligingly performed her amazing Dance of the Seven Veils while older sister Janis pounded out "The Shiek of Araby" on the spinet. A conga line was always a possibility, and the sisters could be persuaded to demonstrate the latest dance steps from Radio City Music Hall. It was big, rambunctious fun in those days - the Kaiser had just had his ass kicked in the war to end all wars, and the future was brighter than ever.

Uncle Arthur was the big shot of the family. He was the first to become successful and rich, and he liked big gestures - taking the entire family to Coney Island, for example, or to the Hippodrome, and buying all the popcorn and cotton candy they could eat. He'd show up at a family block party with a huge Genoa salami, and they'd rotisserie the whole thing over a fire in a trash can, cutting hunks for all the kids in the neighborhood while the spit was still turning, encouraging the boys to dip the hot, salty, greasy chunks in good German mustard, he'd say, "To put hair on your chest!" Dressed in dapper duds and head held high, Uncle Arthur was the center of it all. Alex was plenty smart and full of hustle, too, but hadn't made it big yet like Arthur had, so it rankled him when Arthur would pull him aside to patronizingly deliver words of advice.

At one memorable family gathering, Uncle Arthur was grandly complimenting the meal, especially the soup, comparing it to the nectar of the gods (he was quite full of himself). Cookie, who was 4 at the time but very tiny for her age, was seated in a high chair at the end of the table, where everyone could see her. She may have looked like she was two years old, but she had the mind of a six-year-old, and she saw that her father Alex chafed under Arthur's heavy handedness. After Uncle Arthur had finished his pontificating, everyone stopped chattering and they turned their attention to the delicious food. Alex put a bowl of soup in front of his tiny daughter and, in his booming voice, asked her, "How's the soup, Cookie?" With all eyes on her, she fed herself a spoonful, swallowed it without expression, then said in her clear little voice for all to hear, "It stinks!"

It is from moments like this that reputations are made, that opinions are formed which last a lifetime, and the terms of a relationship established. Pandemonium ensued, everyone laughing and chattering at once, marveling at the audacious little child, reenacting the moment, slapping Alex on the back and congratulating him on having such a remarkable child. At first Uncle Arthur turned beet red, his face blowing up like a balloon, then he saw the humor and began guffawing loudest of all. He swept little Cookie out of the high chair and onto his shoulder, and proclaimed Cookie the wisest and most audacious little girl in the world. Cookie, for her part, accepted the cheers and accolades of her laughing, admiring family, and Alex about busted from pride - his tiny daughter had skewered the head of the family, something he had wanted to do but couldn't.

In letting the hot air out of Uncle Arthur in front of the whole family, Cookie had secured a place of great importance in the eyes of everyone there, most of all in the eyes of her father. In a family that appreciated chutzpah and moxie, not to mention impeccable comic timing, Cookie had scored a huge hit. And so had Alex. It was the start of a unique father-daughter dynamic that was built on mutual admiration and respect as well as love. They were kindred spirits.

Here's to you, Cookie and Alex - Happy Happy Birthday!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!

To Sheila and Alex
and Chrisanne and Jackie
and Beth and Tracey:

Much love and many thanks
for your friendship, ladies!
I appreciate you.
xxxx Stevie

My house is a very very very fine house

Almost every Saturday since I've lived in Albuquerque, I go to a local branch of the library. Mostly I order books online and pick them up, so the trip to the library can be quite brief, but the drive from my apartment is lovely. It's along a winding residential street that ends up at the little park pictured above. Adjacent to the park is the library, a public swimming pool, tennis courts and a senior center. And across from the park is a plain little adobe style house that looks just like the rest of the neighborhood surrounding the park. My happy Saturday ritual involves getting a large coffee and an almond croissant, picking up my books, and parking somewhere near the park so I can sip my coffee, flip through the books, and watch soccer teams practicing or big dogs scampering around. And I think, "Ahhhh. This is a really nice place. It would be nice to live around here." And then I go to the supermarket or whatever. But I look forward to my sweet Saturday mornings.

Three months ago, this little house came on the market. I wasn't thinking about buying a house - I was thinking about getting the hell outta Albuquerque, maybe moving to San Diego or the Virgin Islands or Chicago or New York and finding another job. But I had it in the back of my mind that it sure looked cute.

Then a couple of weeks ago my friend Ande said that her mother's friend wanted to sell the house three doors down from Ande's and was I interested? I thought, "Hell yeah, but there's no way I could qualify for a loan - after all, I have no money, and there's a mortgage crisis." Ande and I have planned on spending our golden years near each other: drool buddies with dogs and cats all around. It's a cool property. It's also a total mess, an enormous checklist of (pricey) things to do that would stretch into a good four or five years. But I made a call to a mortgage broker out of curiosity and learned that I could indeed qualify for a loan, but not one that included some money to spend on fixing up a fixer upper. The job I supposedly hated had paved the way to getting a mortgage. Silver lining time.

While contemplating the house near Ande and spending hours making and prioritizing the to-do list of necessary changes, I went as always to the library and suddenly thought, "Huh. What about that cute little adobe place?" A few minutes later, on Realtor.com, I went through every single listing of property for sale that I could qualify for in all of Albuquerque - more than 500 listings - and realized what a bargain the little house was. According to the listing, it had been completely remodeled. Not just cosmetic changes but things like a new roof, windows, floors, electrical, stucco, landscaping, appliances. From what I could tell, the asking price didn't include a big markup for all the labor that went into fixing it up, just the cost of a "before" house plus the materials needed to make it an "after." The pictures of the interior looked surprisingly fresh - crisp and clean. Quite a difference from the place near Ande, and from almost all of the other places I scanned online.

I found an agent and took a look at the house on Friday and just loved it. Not "I NEED it" or "I WANT it" but just a simple, "This is the place." There was no pounding heartbeat or butterflies in the belly. Just a floating, bobbing in the water feeling like I was being supported by the Universe in a loving way. The river of life was flowing and I was right where I was meant to be in the current. Ahhhhhhhhh. Yesterday I took Ande to see it, and she loved it, too, and over lunch we had a conversation about what was best and she agreed with me that this little adobe place was a much better choice than the house down the street from her, so with her blessing I made an offer and it was accepted and I'll be moving in a month into the house.

I feel completely at peace about getting this house. Just a sense of "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh." Relaxed. Like it's a good thing. The whole thought/feeling process around it simply unfolded naturally and comfortably, like a lotus blossom.

It's more than just buying a house, or this house, of course. It's a commitment to staying in Albuquerque, of possibly sticking with my job if I'm not able to find another federal job here in town. There are doors closing, but there's no gulping sense of loss or fear around that. I'm taking a chance, and closing doors, and the sensation is one of complete acceptance.

In the past, buying a house was a roller coaster of emotion - excitement and dread, and always an undertow of "What the hell have I done?" Decisions hastily made, a world of unknowns hiding around every corner.

The sense of calm I'm feeling now I've had just once before, and it wasn't around buying a house. It was in the early stages of my friendship with Ande, almost 20 years ago. We were office friends, definitely more than that, truly sympatico, but our social time was limited to after-work Thai dinners a couple of times a month. Then we both started to feel comfortable in the relationship. And something happened, I don't remember what, but a moment came when I said to myself, "This friendship is going to be forever." Not, "I want this friendship to be forever" or "I need her" but just a simple realization that we were floating together in a sea of tranquility. That sense of bobbing in the water again. And that Ahhhhhhhhhhh feeling came over me. It's like I sense in the deepest part of me that it's right. There is no fear. There's just okayness.

My dream for this house is simply that I enjoy the peace and sweetness of being there. I have no lofty self-improvement agenda like I usually do around big decisions in my life ("Now I'll exercise every day" or "Now I'll get out more and be happy"). No goals. No to-do lists. Just Ahhhhhhh. Can it be that I'm home?

OMFG!!!

View Larger Map

I just made an offer on this house. OMFG!!!

The other one, near Ande, was a combination of too expensive and too much work.

This darling little place I've been eying for months. It's on the route between my apartment and the library, so I look at it every Saturday. It's desperately perfect - been completely renovated inside and out, and is a steal, to boot, because it's frankly just right for one person but would be considered a no-go by a couple (the master bedroom is tiny and there's just a half bath attached). HOWEVER! There's a bonus room that's good size and would make a perfect bedroom for me. So for me, it's a go-go!

If you pan around in the picture, you'll see it's across the street from a lovely park, and there are the mountains in the distance. A block away is the library and the (gulp!) senior center, where my membership just got stamped eligible, having just turned 50.

So there's no Ande nearby, but everything else is hunky dory. I should hear soon if the seller accepts or counteroffers. Honestly, I didn't think I could qualify for a loan, but times are hard right now and any meat that waltzes through the door smells fresh!

UPDATE (Saturday 4:00 pm): I GOT IT, I GOT IT! WAAHOO! I GOT A GREAT DEAL ON THIS LITTLE GUY, AND I'M MOVING IN AROUND THE END OF JANUARY, SO PACK YOUR BAGS, LADIES!! IT'S HOUSE PARTY TIME!

Quote of the Day

"I feel that when you are wounded - yes, sometimes you lose perspective, and you find yourself freaking out in line at the bank, or flying into a rage because the printer won't work - but I also feel that you can be more aware of the beauty of life, its fragility and complexity." - Sheila O'Malley

My gorgeous friend Sheila. She's a magnificent person. And she's being challenged right now. We've all been there. We all think we understand, or try to. But those of us who have been there a few times at least, we also know that it's really a private journey, a solo act in a one-woman show, and all the rest of us can do is love. Love. Because that's all there is. There are no magic words - just a beautiful friend who lives in our hearts and minds. And whom we flood with love.

Citrus Retreat

I'm in the midst of a five-day holiday devoted to all things uplifting. Yes, it has something to do with President-elect Obama (hallelujah!) and the general sense that the Earth has started turning in the right direction again. Swirls of change are blowing through my heart, too, and I thought I would give myself a retreat-like experience. At home. I once went on a retreat to Ojai with my cousin Katy and the fondest memory was of attempting yoga on a mat in a forest glade. It was beautiful, but I, of course, was the only one sweating, so the little mosquitoes found me, and to the distress of the instructor, I was the only student twitching and slapping while everyone else peacefully struck one pose after another. It was one of those "let's all get naked and shimmy up an oak tree!" moments that just reminds me how out of synch I am with normal people. So this retreat is homebound, happily and gladly. I am my own spa assistant.

The theme is Citrus Schmitrus.

Day one was a thorough scrub-down of the entire apartment and my little car. Once I got everything gleaming I lit an army of lemon-grass and sage candles and filled the apartment with wafts of invigorating scent. Ahhhh. So nice. Then I cranked up the stereo (is that what they're stilled called?) and am in the midst of an Annie Lenox/Patti LaBelle/Tina Turner marathon. Pure heaven. Then I took a long, long shower with Whole Foods' Grapefruit body gel and shampoo, then slathered on their grapefruit lotion. Even Anita Bryant would think I was heaven-bound now. Never have my elbows been so smooth and moist.

Days two and three found me plowing through an enormous pile of dirty laundry using citrus-scented detergent and static dryer sheets. God, I love Whole Foods. Also, I've been thread-and-needleless for a couple of years (Targetphobia) but I am now armed with the needed items and am ready to sew on a few buttons, mend a few blown-out crotches and generally bring back to life a number of discarded garments that I once liked to wear. The goal is a closet full of folded, ironed, wearable clothes - estimated to be completed by the end of the day. Now we're really talking heaven.

The cuisine for the retreat has been Golden Door Spa- style, with lots of veggies and sushi rice. Last night I tossed up a ginger-saturated chicken curry that was so damned good. It's just a reminder that I can take the time to cook delicious things for myself and the whole experience is a pleasure, not just the shoveling-into-the-gaping-maw part. How amazing is it to garnish my own dinner plate? I mean, all right, it's a little pathetic, but it's mostly a delightful "I'm worth it" moment. Funny what a sprig of mint can mean.

Even BeeGee the cat got into the proceedings, with a daily head-to-toe damp towel rubdown that seemed to refresh him as much as my astringent soapings, and some new chewies I found which guarantee fresh cat breath. We're both feeling perky and charged up.

So far my retreat sounds more like I'm reenacting Scarlett Johanson's role in The Girl with a Pearl Earring. Minus the bee-stung lips. But there's been non-scullery action, too.

The weather here is perfectly gorgeous - mid-50's or so, with the golden leaves about mid-drop. I've had the pleasure of taking a daily walk through the neighborhood to admire the leaves and take deep droughts of clean Albuquerque air. And there's been a daily drive up into the mountains so I could enjoy the scenery and feel comfortable about singing along in full blast Merman-mode without disturbing the neighbors.

What's on the agenda for today and tomorrow? I'm seriously considering getting out a box of Touch Of Gray for Men that I bought a year ago and chickened out trying. I mean, what the hell? I'm also going to slather on some Olay Regeneriste tonight. And there's a cucumber in the fridge ready for some slices on the eyes (does that really work?), or in the alternative a salad. Also, there are two more federal jobs I'm going to apply for, one here in Abq and one in San Diego, and they both look great to me. Applying for federal jobs is a multi-hour ordeal, and to get it right is quite the satisfying experience. It's a definite step in the right direction, an uplifting move. What else? I'm not sure, but I'm feeling anxious to get out there into the world and see what's cooking. Maybe a gallery show. Maybe even a movie. Dare I dream?

Yes, I dare to dream. I dare to whirl in a different direction. I dare to don clean, mended clothes and venture out into the light. With dewy moisturized skin and a big toothy smile.

Life is good.

Fifty

Tomorrow I turn 50. Years. Old. My oh my. But I don't feel 50. Sometimes I feel 70. But mostly I feel around 42-43, whatever that means. I do feel wiser with each passing year, not wiser in the sense that I know more, but wiser in the sense that I understand myself better, and I certainly have been working on accepting myself more completely, through self-directed efforts, and also through responding to challenges that have been placed before me. This is an a-ha birthday moment. I'm glad to be here, with a sense of optimism intact, and dreams swirling around my head. I'm a lucky dog.

I'm getting taken to brunch tomorrow by my best friend Ande, then we're gonna do early voting! So that seems like a very auspicious way to celebrate. Ande has promised to make a batch of her world-famous ultratart lemon squares, so we'll sit around her house all afternoon, eating lemon squares and being crushed by all the dogs and cats in a typically boisterous group hug formation. Then we will go howl at the moon (a new tradition).

I plan to spend Sunday applying for jobs. What could be a better gift to myself, right?

So here's to all us half-century kids who keep on plugging away - Madonna, I want your thighs, girl!!