DIARY DAY FEBRUARY 4, 1018
7:00 A.M.
Up at seven on this Sunday morning. It’s still pitch black outside, but I awake anticipating the events of the day. I feel happy about this day, spending it with my husband, as I do most weekend days. I’m a 70 y.o. gay man; I have spent most of my life living a lie (to myself and to others) trying to be heterosexual. I was married for 26 years to a warm and caring woman and 20 years ago I declared my true self. I stepped into a new life of freedom I had believed to be impossible. I still revel in these days of being in the same house with my husband, sharing the same space, working together, touching him, hearing his voice, laughing. So, yes, I anticipate this day at home with no outside agenda.
I have my coffee, put wood in our wood-burning stove and sit on the couch binding a lap quilt to give to some child in a local school program or to the local women’s shelter for battered women.
The quilt was pieced by a woman from Ft. Wayne who died in 2015. Her husband brought her unfinished work to a quilting retreat I was leading. I spent time thinking of who she might have been, even though I never met her. She was very creative, had an eye for color and was inspired to try intricate paper-piecing quilting projects. This lap quilt is a simple scrap design, multi-colored with black sashing and border. Two small 1 1/2 x 2 1/2 inch rectangles of complementary colors but different designs were sewn together, flanked on all sides with the same black fabric as used in the sashing and borders. I added a dark red fleece backing and binding made from my scraps reflecting a variety of colors to enhance her main design. She gave many of her quilts to charity and I think she would be pleased to know this one is going to a similar cause. I am energized to get this one finished.
8:00 A.M.
Our 1880’s German wall clock chimes. As I look up I notice it’s getting lighter and we have a thin blanket of snow covering the ground. This is a welcome sight. If we get enough, we’ll sled the wood we cut yesterday up to the house from the back woods. All is still quiet in the house. Another cup of coffee and more binding.
This is a peaceful, quiet time for me. I note that as I get older and am made aware of current mass shootings at schools and other venues, listen to the chaotic and idiotic political news coming from Washington D.C., realize that the values of our country seem to be going in the direction of less concern and care for fellow human beings and more concern about large business earnings, less tolerance of people of differing colored skin, less tolerance of religious beliefs different from the popular Western version of Christianity, and feel more threatened by a backlash against gay, lesbian, transgender people, I feel more anxiety. Quiet times and pulling away from the felt unsettledness seem more important and needed.
8:45 A.M.
Time for a break. As I was binding, I thought of friends present and past. I frequently consider my habit of letting friends go as I move on in life. Should I keep long distant friendships alive somehow? Should I write notes? Should I concentrate on present friends and people I bump into more frequently? It takes a lot of time and energy to communicate. I, again, resolve to think about them, carry them in my heart and mind, but not to write or make phone calls. We do not have internet access at the house, so Facebook and other current computer means are not an option. I have this inner drive to keep creating – something – anything. My life, time, energy gets shorter through the years and I feel as though I must remain focused on what feeds my soul. I feel as though I have a lot of creative energy inside wanting to come out. I must make that my focus.
9:00 A.M.
It’s snowing harder now.
I hear my husband rattling around in the bathroom, then in the kitchen. He comes into the living room where I am, says “Good Morning!” and we kiss. I ask how he slept and we talk a bit before he reads. His morning ritual is reading Jung along with poetry to start the day. I’m working on a crossword puzzle. I try to keep my mind active and I’ve determined to work on crossword puzzles. I judge myself as doing horrible on some, this was one of those. I ask for help when I get stuck, but I work at not asking until I decide to give up on a word. It’s sometimes frustrating and sometimes rewarding. I think it’s important to keep trying. I ask his help on a couple words and we work this one together until he leaves to attend the chickens in the barn.
12:15 A.M.
We make and eat scrambled eggs with hamburger for brunch along with home-made orange/persimmon tea cake. I go on to draw out possible sketches of three rooms in the house to re-organize our library/book room, sewing room and quilting room. I need more space to do my quilting. I’m trying to save/keep an antique 1890’s oak bed in one of the rooms, but I’m running amuck in space. More planning to do.
1:45 P.M.
We eat soup while the squash is warming in the oven. I take pictures of some of my 1882 and 1890 reproduction design fabrics to place into the computer so I can test-view quilt designs using the fabrics I have. I complete those and I still have other fabrics to photograph. We break to eat our squash and to view an old “Gunsmoke” TV series off DVD’s my husband gave me for Christmas. “Kitty Caught” (1958) is the name of this episode. I enjoy these “old friends” I grew up with. I must have watched these shows religiously as a boy. Around 1952-53 Dad brought home our first TV. Everything was in black and white, no color in those days. That’s all anyone had in my rural farming community. I was 8 years old in 1955 when the series began. I remember doing chores after school, feeding the sheep, pigs, cows, chickens (whatever we had at the time), hurrying to get through supper and excited to watch “Gunsmoke” and other westerns of the time. It was a way to see other people and places I had never seen.
3:00 P.M.
I resume photographing fabric and finish by 4:30 p.m. Getting the lighting just right to record the actual color of the fabric was sometimes difficult. I’ve been appreciating the sunshine and light coming in through the window as I took these pictures.
4:30 P.M.
I spend time catching up on my daily journal and work another crossword puzzle. It’s warm and pleasant in the house. I’m comfortable and happy.
5:45 P.M.
I bring in wood for the stove to cover night-time heat. At night we get up at different times to check on the fire and feed it if necessary. It’s always when we get up to pee. We wash dishes together. He washes. I dry and put them away. We choose not to get a dish washer. Being forced to hand wash our dishes seems to slow us down enough to enjoy the moments of life and living. In a way it’s a reality check to keep us grounded in the present, to feel the temperature of the water, handle the dishes we’ve hand-chosen from antique stores, to enjoy the results of craftsmen and women of the past who designed patterns, added color, were creative in shapes of the plates, etc. I think of past families who may have used these dishes and the heritage of history I hold in my hands. Connections of what and who used to be.
We also have a large window above the sink where we view the side yard, flower gardens I’ve created through the years, a picket fence I made and a walkway out to the white barn lined on both sides by hosta that grow in the spring and summer, and the woods beyond. We see the seasons of the year, the weather of sunshine, snow, rain, wind, watch the squirrels, birds and occasional raccoon. I look for our stray black cat we’re attempting to befriend who lives in our barn. I don’t see him today.
We eat the soup my husband made today. We listen to a BBC broadcast about African American History. It’s a special program of BBC World Service.com/witness. I learn that in 1914 the first surgery on what was then called a “Blue Baby” was actually coached by an African American who was the only one in the world who had researched and practiced this type of surgery on dogs. The white surgeon he coached received all the credit and accolades for this groundbreaking surgery, without any credit given to the African American. This same man went on to train other white surgeons and again was never acknowledged for his skill, expertise, research and knowledge. He trained white surgeons by day and by night (not being invited and included in the social gatherings of his white students and colleagues) was asked to “serve” them their cocktails and hors d’ oeuvres.
7:15 P.M.
We watch a DVD on our computer of a French film by André Téchiné entitled (“Les Roseux Sauvages”) “Wild Reeds”. It is about four teenagers during the French/Algerian war for independence and how it affects them. One boy is dealing with his homosexuality, one girl is coming of age, one boy’s father is killed in the war and another boy’s brother is killed. It is wellwritten and produced. Some of the themes are understood only by French audiences who lived through the time. I have some difficulty understanding the nuances of the film because I am unaware of the history.
10:00 P.M.
We get ready for bed by putting soup that had been cooling on the stove into the refrigerator, re-wrap hamburger and put it into the refrigerator, take our vitamins of echinacea, vitamins C and D, fish oil and multi-vitamins. We brush our teeth and are in bed by 10:30 p.m. We religiously kiss each other three times as we settle into bed. It’s so good to lie next to him, to feel secure and safe, to know I am loved and to love this man who gives me life, meaning, happiness, expands my world, encourages me to follow my heart, supports me, and that I have the opportunity to give some of these same gifts to him. It feels as though he is my life and sometimes I wonder what will become of me if I lose him. It feels as though there will be nothing left. But for now, I rejoice in the fact he lies beside me.