On The Road Again

Actually, I just returned. Was visiting family and friends back in Buffalo and the surrounding Indian-inspired named towns. I have plenty of stories to blog about and will get to it ASAP, but for now the fridge is empty and I need to hug and kiss my dog.

Here's a photo I lifted off of Facebook that shows the recent demolition of my old elementary school. Brighton Elementary School will one day be known as Brighton Square Senior Citizen Apartments. If I really wanted to come full circle I could wait about another 15 years and move in to one of god's waiting rooms. Although the cold air I'm sure acts as a preservative, I have no desire to spend my retirement years living back in the place I started. Gives me the willies just to think about it.

Snow What?

Mr. Man loves the snow. Not so much the puddles of wet watery slush that gather at every street corner. Once he realizes they are a problem he will happily let me lead him to a drier spot to cross the street so his delicate little pads don't have to be dipped in the ice water.


But once he gets to a snow covered dog run he becomes the rough-housing teenager again, and tonight he found more than a few willing playmates. The best was this black mop of a poodle mix, well equipped to roll around in the snow for hours. Obviously, Riley is recovered from surgery.


The snow is wet and heavy, perfect for snowman making, and there are sculptures and snowmen all over both sides of Stuyvesant Park. I will see if I can document them with a camera tomorrow. Meanwhile, I couldn't resist getting someone to snap a pic of me next to this impressive fellow. Must be 7 feet tall.

For the record, this is certainly not a blizzard. A fairly big snowstorm (for Manhattan) to be sure. But I grew up in Buffalo and I know from blizzards. We had two real blizzards in my lifetime, in 1977 and in '85. After relocating here to NYC, I was well-prepared to survive the Blizzard of '96. Reports are that the high winds that would have made this a blizzard are actually behind the storm and rolling in tomorrow. Which will suck. But it's not a blizzard.

This is a blizzard.

Photo of a house almost completely buried in snow in the aftermath of the "Blizzard of '77" in Western New York. Photo taken by Jeff Wurstner. Tonawanda, New York on Parker Boulevard between Brompton Road and Elicott Creek Road.

Upon Reflection

It was a bit of a whirlwind visit to my ancestral homeland but in spite of that, there were many interesting twists. I'm still digesting.

I'm happy to report that Cat is alive and well and thriving. Cat didn't fare very well as one of two cats at my niece's home, so he became a permanent resident at my parent's house. Surprising as my father has never shown an affinity for cats. But he's a fine looking fellow with a borderline dog-like personality. Best of all for a couple of older owners, cat doesn't need to be walked or have his poop picked up. And he wisely co-operated and allowed my parents to locate his litter box all the way down in the cellar near the furnace. Cat is fully grown and filling out, and the only danger that lies ahead for him is he may become Fat Cat some day. We tend to over-feed our animals.

The family is looking a little worse for wear. Everyone is in acceptable health, they just look a bit ragged. Pale and in desperate need of some moisturizer and a spa day. I honestly have been feeling very insecure about my own rapidly aging face, but next to these people, I'm gorgeous.

I didn't get to spend very much time with my niece this trip. We made plans to go see Avatar during the afternoon on Christmas Eve. There were only six people including us in the theater during our show time. Granted, it was 3:30pm on Dec 24th in suburban Buffalo, but I'm not seeing Titanic numbers here. I liked the film, but I don't think it's by any stretch a blockbuster. It tries to be too many things (War picture, Love story, Sci-Fi Action) and ends up diluting it's own impact. My niece simply said parts of it were silly and she didn't like the prolonged war and death sequences. If you don't appeal to teenage girls, can you do Titanic numbers? I don't think so.

On Christmas night, I got the strangest, most unexpected present of all. My brother ... hugged me. In the forty (mumble) years that I have been alive, that has never happened. I'm still trying to figure out what it means.

Dogs Don't Fly At Christmas Time

Before we even go there, let's just get two things out of the way.

I don't have a driver's license. I live in NYC and when my license expired after I had been here close to five years I sort of let it happen. At the time, I was militant in believing that I would never leave New York City and would never need a license. Besides, I always hated driving. I thought it was a necessary evil that was no longer necessary and was happy to let my license lapse.

And Pet Airways does not fly to Buffalo. Nobody flies to Buffalo unless they really have to. Sorry Buffalo, I couldn't resist.

But I wanted to take a little longer Christmas holiday this year since I am not working full time and I am just a lowly cog in the great machine. I thought it would be nice to take an entire week and spend some quality time with the family. I last visited home during the summer for my brother's 50th Birthday, and while I found everyone seemingly hale and hearty, I am mindful that both mom and dad are now 78 years old. Knock wood, they both seem to be doing just swell. Mom still holds down a part time job, working a cash register at a discount department chain store. Dad was working part time up until recently, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he found another part time job in the next couple of months. I personally wish they would work less and travel more, but they have their reasons for why that doesn't happen and I respect their right to make that call. Besides, I seem to be the only family member that developed wander-lust. And even though I've been in the same New York City apartment for 20 years, If I could afford it I would travel all over the world. Well, except India. And the Middle East. And Alaska would be the very last state after I visited all the rest.

In any case, what I really wanted to do was visit home and bring Riley with me. First, if I was going to be gone a week, I didn't want to spend all that time, particularly Christmas, without my dog. Second, my mom loves dogs. And she hasn't had one in the house for many many years. They have Cat now, and I can't describe how unexpected that development was, but mom is a dog person. I thought bringing Riley might give her a much needed fix, and Riley could spend a week being spoiled and fussed over by someone other than me. Also, as much as I try to deny it, Riley really is about the cutest most loving dog I've ever seen. When he's not destroying your bed linens.

So I set about making inquiries as to which airline, or really any mode of travel, would be the best and cheapest to get me and Riley from New York City to Buffalo. Turns out, you can't get there from here.

The train was out straight away. Amtrak doesn't allow animals, even as cargo. Period. Some of the major air carriers don't take pets, and the ones that do are talking about small animals that can fit in carriers and slide under the seat in front of you.

Some, like Delta, will in fact take your pet as checked baggage, but unfortunately the only direct Delta flights to Buffalo I could find are on their commuter partner, and those are much smaller planes that can't take medium to large dog crates. Continental was my last hope, as it seemed on their web site that they had some sort of pets as cargo shipping service. But when I called them originally they flat out refused to take Riley because I described him as a Pit mix, and they "only fly Pit Bulls as puppies". Fucking bigots.

And when I called back two weeks later and made another inquiry, the reservation agent helping me first claimed that it would cost $250.00 EACH WAY to fly Riley as cargo, and then backtracked and claimed that they didn't fly Staffordshire Terriers, which is what Riley's breed is, kind of, unless they were under 20 lbs. Which sounded suspiciously like Pit Bull racial profiling if you ask me. And at that point, there was no way I could afford a ticket for me, at around $325 and then add another $500 for Riley. Not counting what it would cost to buy him an "airline approved" plastic kennel as well as a veterinary visit so that he could have a doctor's note clearing him to fly. It all became far too expensive for a week in Buffalo.

This being New York City, AKA Scams R Us, I got some information about where I could secure the documentation and a harness to try and pass Riley off as a service dog, but 5 minutes in to the flight that bit of subterfuge would surely disintegrate when Riley would likely jump up on the service cart and gorge himself on bags of blue tortilla chips.

So as it stands now, my week in Buffalo has been cut to 4 1/2 days. And Riley will be spending four nights in a local kennel, which kills me every time I have to leave him there. Not that they don't take good care of him, or that I have any doubts he will be fed and walked. But the kennel cage he sleeps in has a concrete floor, and Riley sleeps in a bed. My bed. With me.

I'm going out this week to get him a big fuzzy blanket, which I will stink up real good between now and Christmas. And then it's going in the cage with him, so at least it will be soft and smell like home.

That Darn Cat!

As I reported from my visit to Buffalo, my arrival was precluded by the daring escape of one Fritzee the cat, who ran out when some friends of my niece left the door ajar. My niece took a stoic approach, and while they placed a newspaper ad and checked the animal shelter for lost cats, she decided that the cat was gone for good and quickly secured a new kitten to take it's place. This may have something to do with how she processes loss, and could be some insight in to her current difficulties, but that's another post.

Truthfully, I didn't see much chance that Fritzee would survive on the outside very well. She had been de-clawed, which meant hunting her own food would be next to impossible. Indeed, the only time she saw the outside was in a carrier to the vets' office or wherever my niece would take her. Making things more difficult, while my niece has spent many many days and nights sleeping at my ancestral homeland, Fritzee had only been there for a week or two the year before, and was completely unfamiliar to the neighborhood, the smells and whatever visual clues she would need to survive and find home. Although it's not like my old neighborhood is home to coyotes or bobcats, a house cat without claws could meet a terrible end any number of ways.

So it was with great surprise that I learned after a phone conversation on the 4th of July that at 5 am that morning, 13 days after going over the wall, Fritzee the cat found her way back home safe and sound. As my father related, both he and my niece were awakened by a cat loudly meowing. They assumed it was the new kitten, but after locating him they realized it was coming from outside the house. Indeed, the cat was outside my niece's bedroom window. Some trick considering she was sleeping on the 2nd floor. Apparently, there was some debate and disbelief that this could possibly be Fritzee, but when they removed the screen from the window, the cat leaped in to the bedroom. And they quickly realized that miraculously, Fritzee had survived and returned home. Even more remarkably, a cat with no claws had somehow made it up to the 2nd floor roof overhang to find the correct window. Somehow, either by climbing a tree or a fence or up on to the garage, she had made it back. She had obviously been fed, as she wasn't starving or dehydrated, and she was also clean. So a human being was more than likely looking out for her, but what the circumstances were, where she was, or how she came to leave will forever be a mystery.

As it stands now, my niece and her two cats are all living happily with my parents. Fritzee and my niece will probably be returning to her home in time for school to start, and the fate of Cat, the kitten without a name, is undecided. That's because Cat has turned out to be so wonderfully goofy that my father has admitted he's grown kind of fond of him, prompting my parents to consider making Cat a permanent resident. Either way, both cats are now safe and sound and have a nice home. They just don't particularly like each other right now.

Report From Buffalo

Found a quiet moment this morning as the niece had to get a quick orthodontist visit. The teenage braces have wiggled loose and need an adjustment. Currently, there's a brand-new kitten curled up behind my back in the computer chair. He arrived yesterday afternoon after a visit to the ASPCA in search of a lost cat that escaped from mom and dad's house in a bold move I first used almost thirty years ago. That is, wait for an open door when nobody is looking and run like hell. The cat belonged to the niece, as does the brand new kitten, so clearly she has moved on from this crushing blow. I have to admit, although teh kittehs are not my first choice of pets, this 2 month old boy is pretty cute. Typically, he loves me. As I have always said, I'm aces with kids and animals, it's the damn adults I can't abide.

Much high drama has broken out in my ancestral homeland, as the niece and her dad have taken their ongoing discord to a whole new level. She has temporarily decamped for grandma and grandpa's house while phone calls are made, State Troopers have been called in, counselors are summoned, and everyone takes a week or so to calm down and decide how to get this kid out of high school and in to college without ending up pregnant or a drug addict. During one discussion I did in fact offer to take her in. I was already on the verge of becoming a foster dad to a troubled stranger, so my own niece didn't seem so crazy. But of course, I totally knew grandma and grandpa would sooner die than agree to a separation that far. I thought it needed to be offered anyway.

My brother's 50th birthday celebration was a low-key affair, dinner at a nice (for real!) restaurant, a little ice cream cake and some well-wishes. I finished the night by pointing at him and laughing while quietly and cruelly observing:

"You're old."

He smiled.

On Location

A little travelin' music as From The Ashes relocates for a brief weekday visit with the family in bucolic Tonawanda, NY. That's suburban Buffalo in case you don't feel like Googling. My brother turns 50 years old this week. As Roseanne said "I don't mind you getting older, but why do you have to take me with you?"

Although considering I could technically have been already dead or dying by the time I reach 50, my birthday will be triumphant and heroic, whereas my brother is just getting old. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Leaving On A Jet Plane

I'll be heading back to New York City and my Castle High Atop Second Avenue early this evening. I should be sitting on my couch by 9:00 and masturbating by 10:00, as it's been a week since I've had any "personal" time and I find myself hungrily eyeing well-muscled teenagers whenever we pass them in the car. It's dirty and sad but there you have it.

I'm very glad to see that my parents seem well and healthy. It won't always be so but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, and I'm in no hurry. I'm also glad to report I didn't need to avail myself of the AA meeting list I brought with me. I never really thought that my parents bore very much responsibility for my alcoholism in the first place, beyond simple genetics. I suppose you could make a case that some of the underlying issues that helped my drinking take root might be traced back to my childhood, but I am a firm believer that blaming your parents for your failed adulthood is a uniquely American exercise in not taking personal accountability for your actions.

I started drinking, I kept drinking, I took drugs and I lost control of it all, assuming I ever really had it. Maybe at some point along the way I was compensating for or covering up something painful or hurtful that was instilled but ultimately, I was hurting myself and when I finally faced that truism, my road became easier and clearer. I enjoyed quite a bit of clarity this week.

And some surprises. Had you told me before this week that both of my parents absolutely loathed George Bush and the current administration, so much so that they are both not only for, but actively for, vociferously for and voting for a black man for President of the United States I would have felt your forehead for fever, but that is indeed what is happening. And from all that was said this week, short of Barack Obama actually joining the Taliban and declaring jihad on the Town of Tonawanda, there's not a thing that John McCain and the Republicant's can do or say that would change their mind. And if they reflect the sentiments of most semi-conservative, disaffected, lower-middle class Americans, I'm ready to call this a win for Barack and tell John, Sarah and her slutty teen aged daughter to fold up their tents and go home.

Greetings From Buffalo

I spent a bit of my time this weekend helping my technophobe family work out some of their computer problems. Aside from the aforementioned internet service I decided my Mom couldn't go another minute without I also took a look at her printer, which she insisted wasn't working. Last time this happened she had gone so long without using the printer that the ink had simply dried up. I doubted she would make that mistake again as she clearly knew it could happen. She didn't. This time somehow the printer that's hooked up to her machine was no longer the default printer on her system, so nothing would print unless you manually forced it to, something that wouldn't be figured out in a million years here. I tweaked her settings and all was well.

This afternoon I took a ride out to my younger sister's home deep in the suburbs of suburbia and helped her renew her anti-virus software and sign herself up for an online poker site. While i was there I re-assured her that the computer wasn't a magic tunnel whereby someone could reach through and pluck her credit card information from her purse and that as long as she didn't sign up for anything by using her credit card, chances were pretty slim that she would be charged for anything she didn't want. But apparently her desire to play poker online superseded her fear of The Internets.

Yesterday I had the great pleasure (seriously) of going out to breakfast with my Dad and three of his four brothers. They apparently meet twice a month on Saturday to argue about who among them has more money, who among their acquaintances has died or is hospitalized, and generally dish the dirt on missing friends, relatives and each other. An activity I as a gay man was quite comfortable with. Considering my dad's six brothers and sisters are all still living and the oldest one at the table that day was (I think) 85 years old, I considered it a privilege to be included. I'm thrilled to report that all of them (while wrinkly) seemed to be in good spirits. My 85 year old uncle was eager for his once a week bowling league to begin next week. Encouraging. Will I be bowling in 40 years? Will they have an old gay single seniors league by then?

One Crisis Averted

Arrived safe and sound at Buffalo International Airport (HA!). The flight was delayed almost an hour as they "replaced and installed a part" before take off. Good thing I'm not afraid to fly at all.

I lasted exactly one day before I cracked and installed a new internet service provider for my parents. Apparently, nothing was wrong with the old service provider except that there was some kind of billing snafu and when my mom tried to settle it with the helpful NetZero customer service rep in New Delhi, she ended up getting her service cancelled. Let's hear it once again for outsourcing US jobs, people PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT! Mom decided that since she was getting an all-in one cable/phone/internet package "soon" that she would just do without until then. AS IF! In any case, once I doped out that the equipment was all fine I signed them up for 6 months of dial-up service at $10.00 a month, and presto sex-change, we were back in business. Which instantly made me the coolest uncle ever for my poor AIM-deprived 14 year old niece. That, and some mall-crawl time where I let her spend $50.00 maximum on whatever she wanted since her birthday was earlier this month. She wisely headed straight for the sale rack and also had the sense to pick out something for the upcoming fall school year, rather than something for now that woud be no good in a couple of weeks. Her good genetic heritage was shining through.

I've been in touch with a few people from work, and it seems that they are moving forward getting paperwork filed with the intent of reopening, but it could be as long as two more weeks. Still no word on when or how we would be compensated for the current lost wages. My dad slipped me some spending money the day after I got here, which at 46 years old is a little sad. But I took it anyway. Somehow, I figure they owe me. Someone must.

Wave Your Little Hand and Whisper So Long Dearie

Planned for a longer post but I'm pressed for time. I went to a Gay-A meeting almost every day this week, and I'm leaving with a printout for some WNY meetings should the need arise. I'm hoping while I'm gone the mess at work gets somewhat straightened out or at least resolved so I will know for sure if it's time to move on when I get back. If you want to leave comments, I will get them in my personal email, and as god as my witness, I will find a way to update the blog while I'm gone, but it may be even more sporadicer (hee) than usual.

Ready as I'll ever be.

Noooooooooooooo!

I am officially on vacation. The difference between yesterday and today being that I don't have to go in to work at all for another entire week, but this time it was scheduled on the calendar. And I still haven't been paid, so it's a vacation in the broadest sense of the word. It's hardly very relaxing to be off work and not really know how or if you are going to pay the rent in a week.

But I had planned a nice long visit with my family in Buffalo, and tomorrow I fly out of JFK for a quick flight across the state. As if my stress level isn't high enough, I got a rare evening phone message from my mom last night, informing me that they no longer have internet service AT ALL, so maybe I would want to bring my laptop. As if the fucking thing magically hooks up to some internet satellite orbiting Buffalo. I called her back this morning to gently explain that a laptop doesn't do any good if there's not at least some wireless network to hook up with. Then I told them they were evil people and I didn't appreciate this sick plot to drive me mad. And I wasn't really kidding. What the fuck am I supposed to do without internet service for an entire week? Seriously, if I had known I would have shortened my visit by several days. There's absolutely nothing for me to do after 2-3 days in Buffalo, and I can only entertain myself so much as my now kind of elderly parents repeatedly nod off and finally go to bed for good at midnight.

I haven't even left yet and all I can think about now is how much this is going to suck. And that sucks.

I'll say goodbye tomorrow.

UPDATE: I got a couple of work e-mails suggesting that the powers that ain't me seem to have expectations that we'll be re-opening. I'm still doubtful but ... also, I may have figured out a way to get a dial-up connection in to my Verizon account. Say a prayer.

Reunited And It Feels So Good.

I just got back from spending my first Thanksgiving with my family in several years. It was delightful. Seriously. I arrived Thursday afternoon. They had already eaten but there was plenty of food left for me. Just as I finished my dinner my grand-niece (good god!) arrived, at which point my brother and his wife (grandma and grandpa) were done for. Particularly my brother. My grand-nephew is actually the younger of the two, and trust, he got plenty of attention. But it's the girl that reduced my brother to a useless pile of goo. She's started talking and she's in that hysterical phase where she goes from baby talk to complete, adult sentences. She was a little standoff-ish with me at first, but warmed up eventually. Our relationship was cemented when I played Sully to her Boo. Screaming and running ensued. Nothing makes an infant love you faster than being willing to make a total ass of yourself. I got some great pictures.

I also spent lots quality time with my much loved niece. She's twelve now going on 21. Even before her mom died, we shared an uncanny bond. And time apart and dearth of visits don't really seem to affect that. We've had some rough patches, especially when she tried to see how far she could push me, answer: not far. But that's all water under the bridge, and now we take up where we left off no matter how long it's been. When she was younger, I used to think I reminded her of her mom. As she's gotten older, I'm starting to think our bond is because we share a lot of traits. She's moody. I get moody. When she's off from school on a weekday she watches Charmed and then back-to-back ER. It's spooky I tell ya. We popped out on Friday and saw Happy Feet. We had a great time. I got the impression that certain members of my family bring in outside candy and "pop" to the movies. I couldn't impress upon her enough how vital popcorn and Milk Duds, as well as other non-nutritious over-priced concessions are to the movie going experience. The movie itself, only so-so. But the musical numbers were great. We walked home having a nice chat through what was apparently Harlem, Tonawanda, as my mom was waiting for us at the door, about to dash out the door searching the roadside for our lifeless bodies. In a car, of course.

I ate far too much and in addition to the Thanksgiving feast there were multiple helpings of pasta with mama's sauce (my grandmother taught her), stuffed artichokes, apple and chocolate pie. The racist "humor" was kept to a minimum. It turns out my dad thinks that George Bush is an idiot and an embarrassment. Guess that explains the election results. They lost the vaguely bigoted white middle class elderly vote. We spent an inordinate amount of time talking about poop. Ours, each other's and our animal's. I helped mom and dad decorate outside for Christmas.

I got back to New York around 11 pm. Jet's babysitters left a note saying he had behaved well and after skipping food the first night, was bribed by some raw egg in his bowl to eat the next. He was so excited to see me he ran around my legs peeing as he wagged his entire lower body. I didn't mind in the least. It was the pee of love. I petted and hugged him until the entire living room floor was covered in dog hair. And some pee. I took him for a long walk and then tended to my neglected Stoli bottle. I woke up several times during the night just to sit up and give him a couple affectionate pats. The dog, not the bottle.

Much thanks for the holiday E-mails and comments. They were most welcome.

She's Plumb Tuckered Out

It doesn't happen too often, but occasionally at my job we have an all staff meeting. It needs to happen when we're closed, and they've picked before we open. I of course would prefer after we close. So it was that I got up this morning at 5:30 am. So that I could walk the dog around 6 and leave for the meeting around 7 am. That would be 0700 to some people. To me, it's "hit me in the head with a shovel o'clock". Two hours later, I did manage to stumble through a 1/2 hour of cardio at the gym and then stopped back home to grab some grub and walk Jet again.

Then it was back to work for my regular shift. On Sundays I'm supposed to be on the sales floor but I'm finding we're usually so busy that I end up spending most of the day on a register. 70 thousand dollars is a lot of storage and shelving.

The nicest part of the day was when I was on my lunch break. I mentioned that I was planning on going to Buffalo for Thanksgiving, but I wasn't looking forward to putting Jet in a kennel. That's when one of the people I work with that commutes from Jersey offered to house and dog-sit for free, in order to have a weekend in the city with her boyfriend. SWEET!

I'm booking my plane tickets tomorrow. But now I'm going to bed. The Duchess is exhausted.

Snowstorm

I just got off the phone with Mom and Dad. I've been trying to reach them since hearing of the snow storm that hit Buffalo late Thursday. I figured something was up since their machine wasn't even picking up when I called. As it turns out, the storm did quite a bit of damage. No one in my family has electric power. My brother has hooked up a generator so if it gets really bad Mom and Dad will go there. Nobody has heat or lights. A tree limb came down in my parents' back yard and caused an electrical fire. Traffic lights are out as well, making driving a little dicey. My Dad is throwing snow into the refridgerator, trying to keep the food from going bad. Official estimates are that power will be restored sometime next week. Mom and Dad de-camped to the unaffected casino in Niagara Falls last night. It's sort of like their second home anyway. The rest of my extended family is safe and well. Buffalonians are from hardy stock.

Why do I think I'm gonna love this show?

Why are these people allowed to reproduce?

Meanwhile, Back In Nickle City ...

News reports from my native Buffalo concern a man facing animal cruelty charges. Apparently, while visiting an acquaintance he suddenly and impulsively decided to quick-fry 5 six week old kittens in a pan with hot oil and pork chops. Clearly, this man is absolutely crazy. Everyone knows kittens are surprisingly not tender, and need to be boiled in a stew pot with carrots and potatoes.

Holiday Sign-off

I'd forgotten how pretty a foot of snow on the ground looks. I have to admit, despite a slew of problems and decisions facing me after the new year, it's good to be home. Or as close as I'm likely to get to that abstract (to me) concept. Mom and Dad appear to be in good health. My niece is whip-smart and a fabulous dresser (What more could a GUncle* want?). I'm surrounded by memories, both good and bad, thankfully, mostly good. The room I'm in right now is outside the boys' and girls' bedrooms that we grew up in. It's fairly large, and currently being used to store toys and games that my niece has no room for at her house. There are various (unfinished) art/craft projects scattered about and furniture pieces that currently don't have a home. There's a computer desk and my mom's aforementioned woefully slow desktop PC. I've managed to squeeze out whatever speed is left in the creaky processor and noisy hard drive, making checking my e-mail and composing this missive tolerable if not quick. The desk is surrounded by casino games (for Mom) and puzzle and Barbie games to entertain my niece. Everywhere in every room including this one there are family photos in and out of frames, on the wall and tucked into other photos. They are of my father's fairly large family and my sibling's and our (limited) progeny. I will miss my sister this whole week. Thankfully, as the years pass the mourning becomes more wistful and less a painful ache.

Directly behind me is an alcove that I briefly moved into as an older teenager. Preferring the lack of real privacy to the symbolism of moving from my childhood bedroom. It's been filled as well with unused furniture and more pictures. Most of them are of my sister but there's an 8x10 of me tucked in there as well. I don't believe I've duplicated the smile beaming out from that photo in many, many years. But I want to, and that counts for something I guess. There are ceramic and fabric angels scattered around the pictures as well as several candles in holders of glass and brass and other decorative settings. Yet another preference I'm only now realizing I may have unconsciously brought from home.

At the center of the alcove and indeed by default the focal point of the space, sits a 3 foot tall orange glass vase. I remember the why of picking it out if not the when, but I'm thinking I was a young teenager. I vaguely recall paying for it myself and I'm absolutely certain I picked it out alone. At first blush now, a case could be made that it's hideous. Judging by it's display here amongst treasured photos it seems my folks disagree. And so do I. It was a gift freely given, because I wanted to brighten up not just Christmas, but every day in this home we shared. And I thought that it was beautiful. When I turn around and see it sitting there, and the memories of Christmas' past and family gatherings and those we have lost come flooding into my heart and soul, to me, It still looks beautiful.

Have a Merry Christmas everyone and a safe, happy and joyous holiday weekend. I'll speak with you again after the holiday.

*Gay Uncle

Greetings From Buffalo

It was about as painless and easy commute to the airport that I've had in years of travel. Who knew the most effecient and easiest mode of travel between Penn Station and my castle high atop Second Ave. was to walk? I left almost a full hour later than planned but arrived at the LIRR platform a serendipitous 5 minutes before my train was departing for Jamaica. I pulled into the station in Queens and found I had an hour and a half to complete the final leg of my journey to the airport. I found myself happily dialing up friends and family, smugly relating how I was planning on casually making my way toward my listed terminal.

Of course, I hadn't counted on my carrying an expired non-driver's ID getting me pushed into a line of suspect travellers that were sent through metal detectors, interviewed and scanned again with a detector wand. I hadn't counted on my luggage being swabbed with some sort of cloth device and having said cloth loaded into one of those new-fangled "sniffing" machines. I most certainly didn't expect the machine to emit a series or warning beeps, at which point my "Safety" inspector began stomping her feet and swearing at, I assume, the prospect of having to actually do something. And I definitely didn't have an answer when I was informed that my luggage had tested positive for explosives. I resisted the urge to offer a theory that me and mine tend to test positive for things (THANK YOU! I'll be here all week!). But after answering a series of what seemed to me completely lame questions and having my suitcase and man-purse opened and emptied, I was set free to explode whatever I intended to.

All of which still left me with plenty of time to buy a newspaper and bottle of water and relax for a few minutes before my flight began to board. So here I am, safe in the bosom of my passive-aggresive family. I've been told I look good "now" as opposed to last time I visited when I "had them worried". Oh.

Expect regular updates, in between me trying to breathe some life into mom's tired old PC. I don't think she's run a window's update ever and it looks like her anti-virus software hasn't been updated since my last visit.

I hope all your travels this week go as smoothly as mine did. Minus the suspected terrorist part, of course.

Coming Out, Again. (Pt. 1)

Last year. I had scheduled a trip back home to see my family in Buffalo. I believe it had been at least a year since I'd seen them. I try to make the pilgrimage at least annually, but I confess there have been times when two summers would roll by before I broke down and booked a weekend. Most people at least make it home for Christmas every year. But in my business that has been largely impossible. Lately, my brother and his wife and a couple times mom and dad resorted to making the trip in to Manhattan in the fall. The weekend consisted of visits to the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island and a Yankee game. But it was nice to see them, if not tiring and mind-numingly boring.

On this particular visit home, I had resolved to disclose my HIV status to my family. It was time. When I was first diagnosed one of the issues I wrestled with was when or how or what to tell my family. I got the best advice from my friend Neo I ever got. Wait. Don't tell anyone anything until you're ready. Of course, I got this advice after I told Neo almost immediately. But in keeping with the spirit of the rule, I was already ready to tell him, knowing I would get the support I needed. Disclosing to the family, however was a dicier issue. I couldn't be sure of the reaction I would get and more importantly, I couldn't control it. Control freaks no like the unknown.

The basis for my fear was rooted in my coming out. It was sometime after my 18th birthday, but before my 20th. I wish I could be clearer. I wish my memories were more intact. All I'm left with are vignettes. Scenes of things that took place in a place at a time. They are not rooted on a specific timeline, but rather take place "before this" but "after that". I have long since given up being frustrated by what is.

But I remember the catalyst. I got my ear pierced. Now mind you, I'm not so old that this was a radical act. I clearly remember many sport stars and celebrities wearing an earring. Although I am old enough to remember that two pierced ears was out of the question. But I also knew that in my family, in the household I grew up in, this would not be well received. We did not get wild haircuts. We did not get tattoos. And we most certainly did not get an earring. In other words, I picked a fight. And a fight is what I got. And so it was, that a night-time conversation ensued between me and my father at the kitchen table. I wish I could remember all that was said but most of those memories are lost to me. I remember trembling as I struggled to get the words out. I remember him asking me finally if I was gay.

I remembering responding softly "I think so, yeah."

I think he walked away.

I'm not sure how we ended up out on the front porch as our argument got progressively more heated. I was getting more angry and hurt. I said something aggressive and confrontational. And then he slapped me across the face.

"That is it!" I screamed from the lawn. Too angry (and secretly hoping) to care that the neighbors heard. "I'm leaving this shit hole and this time I'm never coming back!" I screamed and sobbed all at once. I left the house enraged and immediately began calculating where to go and who to call. I started scheming as to how I would return to sneak my clothes away and any possessions that were outright mine. I was making a list of everything I paid for that I could take. I wasn't even sure where I was walking to at this point. I felt betrayed and rejected. My father didn't love me. Again.

About 45 minutes of wandering the neighborhood in every direction I still wasn't more than three blocks from my house. My father pulled up in his car.

"Tom."

"I've got nothing to say to you. Leave me alone!"

"Fine, just stop walking and listen. I'll follow you all night if I have to."

And I knew that he would. So I stopped.

"I'm sorry that happened. I was surprised and shocked and I should have handled it differently. I lost my temper and I wasn't thinking. Come home now. If you still want to leave you can but do it right. Not like this."

" I'm not even sure where to go now."

"OK. Get in. You don't have to talk if you don't want to."

I climbed in the front seat and folded my arms. My eyes were filled with tears. We headed for home as I sat silently. After a few minutes I did have one thing to say.

"That's the last time you're ever ever going to hit me. The next time I'll hit you back."

And it was.

That night, I heard both my parents in the middle of the night. Sobbing in their bed.

A few months later I moved out.

to be continued...