The Singing Gardner

Since my fingers no longer function due to the MS, I do all my writing with the use of voice recognition software. I speak into the headset and the words appear on the screen of my computer…like magic. My office needs to be quiet in order for the software to work. So washing machines, vacuum cleaners, lawnmowers; each is my nemesis. But the other day as I was sitting to write this piece, the sound of on edger out in the park outside my window caught my attention. Actually it was the operator of the edger that I noticed. As he worked, he sang. In a booming baritone voice he sang out loud. I'm not quite sure what the song was because the lyrics were in Spanish. But the song was so beautiful, and the singer so sincere that I'm sure it was a love song.

I fancied myself on the Via Veneto listening to a gondolier serenading his lovebird passengers. We went to Venice once, back in the days when I could still walk. We had dinner in a tiny restaurant that we found by wandering through the alleyways. We gorged ourselves on beautiful meats and pastas while an old dog slept on the floor in the corner. After dinner we made our way back to the hotel. We were surely lost but how lost can you get in Venice? Eventually everything leads back to St. Mark's Square. We were happy wandering hand in hand on tiny sidewalks, over picturesque bridges. And then we heard a little bit of heaven. In a tiny church, a choir and orchestra were performing Vivaldi, so we sat on a bench outside. The stars twinkled over our heads, water lapped the sides of the canal in front of us and the music flew over the windowsills and embraced us with eternal affection.

Thank God for the singer who sings without regard for who might be listening.

Watch

I thought I lost my watch yesterday.

Twenty years ago Tom gave me a wristwatch for my birthday. It was a beautiful gold Hamilton watch with a classic face. In those days I was in the habit of losing wristwatches; I must’ve misplaced three watches since I’d been living with Tom. The Timex I had been wearing that winter disappeared- I know not where. So when Tom gave me my new Hamilton, he said, “Watch where you put it. This is no Timex”. I’ll be careful, I promised.

I remember that winter distinctly, we moved to San Diego and the three of us, Tom, Skip (our dog) and I moved into a one-bedroom apartment. It was an exciting time full of new possibilities. Both Tom and I were starting new jobs and exploring our new city. Since our furniture was stored in a Mayflower warehouse somewhere, we slept on the floor in a sleeping bag while we scoured the new city for our house to be. On the first night in our sleeping bag, Tom gave me my birthday present. The new watch.

After my grandmother died I ended up with one of my grandfather’s old pocket watches, it was a classic old Elgin that didn’t run any more. I took it to several jewelers who agreed they couldn’t make it run again. I don’t know if that was literally true, or if jewelers today don’t know what to do with 75-year-old pocket watches. My new Hamilton has a face nearly as attractive as that old Elgin.

I’ve kept my lovely Hamilton lo these many years, changing the bands from time to time and the battery annually. In the last couple of years I’ve worn it on my wrist with a flexible band that stretches over my hand, since I no longer have the dexterity in my fingers to buckle a more traditional leather band.

Yesterday as I prepared for bed I noticed my watch wasn’t on my wrist. I checked the bathroom counter near the sink and I checked my nightstand. I checked the dining table-no watch. My heart began racing. I must have panicked for about 30 minutes. Finally I found it. It was just below my elbow all the time, hidden by the sleeve of my sweater. Since it was one of those unusually cold evenings in Southern California, I was wearing a sweater, an unusual garment for me. I was flooded with relief.

I don’t have many appointments any more; I don’t need to get any place at any particular time. But the thought of losing my watch left me shaken. After all- I had promised to be careful.

The Circle Game

When I was a boy we spent many Christmas holidays at my grandmother’s house 5 miles from home. Uncle Ralph or Uncle William would have decorated the tree in the most tasteful way. Flocked all white with pink lights or a slender green tree with red lights and red ornaments standing in the curve of the staircase and stretching from the first to the second floor. It was different from our Christmas morning at home where we tore through the wrapping paper with excitement. Here we sat in our Sunday best and took turns opening presents.

When the Uncles were responsible for dinner it would be something extravagant-and late. Like Yorkshire Pudding and Roast Beef at 9 PM. So we children were left to entertain ourselves until dinner. And one of our favorite toys was a tin chicken that laid little wooden eggs when the tiny lever was turned. There were also card games, Chinese checkers and pick-up-sticks. And then maybe a baked Alaska for dessert or cherries jubilee.

Last weekend my husband and I stopped in at my sister’s to visit them and our grand nieces, who were visiting for the weekend. Imagine my surprise to find the little ones playing with an old tin chicken that laid little wooden eggs. My sister had rescued it and saved it for the next generation 50 years later. The little girls didn’t care much about the historical implications; they just delighted at the way the eggs popped out. It made me mindful of Joni Mitchell’s thoughts on the passage of time:

And the seasons they go round and round

And the painted ponies go up and down

We’re captive on the carousel of time

We can’t return we can only look behind

From where we came

And go round and round and round

In the circle game

Swimmng Lessons

When I was eight years old my parents took me to Pauley Pool for swimming lessons. The public pool was probably 50 yards long but to a skinny little eight-year-old it could have been 1000. We lined up along the edge of the pool as instructed. I was shivering so much I’m surprised my swimsuit didn’t fall off. A very tall man in red trunks told us to jump in and swim to the other side. I thought to myself, “are you crazy?” The other side was very far away. Fortunately a rope with little buoys attached to it connected our side to the other side. This was obviously intended as a lifeline for me. So I jumped in, grabbed hold of the rope and started pulling myself across the pool.

The irritating man in the red trunks began pointing at me and shouting: “let go of the rope”. I thought to myself, ‘as long as you’re standing on dry land and I’m here in the water, I think I’ll hang on to the rope.’ He kept shouting and pointing, I kept pulling myself along the rope. When I got to the other side I pulled myself out of the water.

Later that day when I was finally dry and warm, I told my parents that I didn’t want to go back to swim lessons. I knew it would mean forfeiting the two dollars already paid, but I just couldn’t face another near-death experience. I was surprised that they put up no argument and just said ‘okay, maybe another time’.

The irony of this little story is that a few years later I joined the high school swim team, and swam the eight hundred freestyle and the 200 individual medley in competition. I still shivered sometimes but I swam a lot faster.

Scary Mask

Scary Mask

Ever since Cain and Abel, brothers have had a complicated relationship with each other. When I was a boy my parents kept a Halloween mask in the hall closet. It was a mask of a native North American, with a very big nose, a wart on his cheek, a prominent chin, and it scared my brother out of his wits. My brother was probably five or six years old and had trouble recognizing that when the mask was on me, I was still the one behind the mask. So he would follow me to the closet door where I would reach in and slip the mask over my head. When I turned to face him he would scream and run crying -like the banshees had just knocked down the door.

I would laugh with glee. I don’t know why as his brother I got such pleasure out of torturing him. I know it’s not a new dynamic. Tomes of psychological texts have been written about the brotherly bond. Now mind you I was the older brother, twice his weight and a foot taller. But I still took glee in dominating him. When we wrestled, as brothers invariably do, I would pin him to the floor and laugh out loud: “a ha”.

The miracle in this story is not just that we both survived, but that as adults he seems genuinely fond of me. When we visit each other today he bends over to kiss the top of my head. When I was coming out, I came out to him first. He was great with me, and encouraged me on my journey. I officiated at his wedding; Tom and I were at the hospital for the birth of their daughter. Maybe the writers of Genesis knew that at the core of jealousy is love and affection. Maybe they knew that a brother can be the best friend a guy can have.

Coming Out

The news has been rife lately with stories of young LGBT people killed in acts of violence, or by their own hand in the midst of fear or despair. As this is National Coming Out Day, maybe we can double our efforts to make this a safer world where people can come out.

It was almost 30 years ago that I told my parents I was gay. I remember how frightened I was, not because my parents were close-minded or cruel. I was scared because I thought I knew the life they wanted for me, and I was about to tell them I would be choosing a very different path to happiness. I didn’t know how they would take the news. I guess I had to prepare myself for the possibility that they would disown me. It didn’t seem likely, but it had happened to many of my peers.

I took a boyfriend, Mike, to stay at my gay Uncle Ralph’s house for the weekend. Uncle Ralph lived about 3 miles from my parents’ house, and I had not planned to see them during that trip. While out to dinner at a restaurant in Palm Desert, we just happened to bump into my parents. Needless to say, I was flabbergasted. What are the chances? So I made up some excuse about being in the desert for a meeting and promised I would call the parents the next day.

Six months later, I had a new boyfriend, Perry. I know- if you called me a slut you wouldn’t be the first.

I took Perry to Uncle Ralph’s for the weekend and we were having a nice relaxing time, sitting by the pool, enjoying each other’s company- when my parents stopped by. Uncle Ralph greeted them in the driveway and escorted them to a little table poolside. I cowered in the kitchen and tried to figure out what I was going to say. Perry put his arm around my shoulders and said something very loving and supportive. I don’t remember what it was he said, but I remember my teeth were chattering and my hands were shaking.

Finally, we all sat down together. I told my parents I wasn’t trying to avoid them and that I had come here with a boyfriend. My mom observed that even animals in the natural world sometimes mate with the same gender. My dad was curious about how the physical mechanics work for two men. I told him I’d send him a book. We embraced and then Uncle Ralph brought us some lunch. Later that same week my mom asked me on the phone how I had met such a nice man. I told her the truth; I picked him up at a church event.

Ewing and Geri Got Married

My parents got married in 1947 in the old Methodist church, which was later purchased by the FitzHenry’s and became a funeral parlor by the time that Dad died years later.

Their multi-tiered wedding cake was baked in Pasadena, California, and Mom's little brother William borrowed Dad’s convertible to go and pick the cake up. (I think the car William drove that day was a 1935 Buick Phaeton that Dad had rebuilt with his brother Carl, the best man.) Unfortunately, there wasn't any gas left in the car by the time William came back and Dad got to it. So he ran out of gas on his way to the church. Fortunately Dad was not afraid of walking. Everyone got there eventually and the nuptials took place without further ado.

They had a reception at the ranch house with cake and punch. Uncle Ralph and Uncle William had planted pansies all around the outside of the house. The ranch house was only seven years old at that time and a gleaming architectural jewel. Lots of neighbors attended including Carter Lodge, he was the partner of John Van Druten, and they lived on a ranch next door. Van Druten wrote the play Bell, Book and Candle and several other Broadway hits. Carter represented the Hollywood glitterati that day.

Millions got married that year as men returned from the war and resumed the ceremonies of normal life. But this particular wedding was important to me and my brother and sister, who arrived too late for the wedding, but in time to benefit from the marriage.