Yearly Archives: 2009

Memories of Thanksgivings Past

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Tomorrow, Thursday November 26, is Thanksgiving Day here in the United States. Traditionally, Thanksgiving is a day for family, food, and football.

My first ten Thanksgivings were spent on my mother’s family horse ranch in Oklahoma. I remember when I was a kid that family all would gather in the kitchen on Thanksgiving morning. Mom would bake some fresh cinnamon buns and then put a huge turkey in the oven to roast. She would have “assignments” for all of us kids to help prepare the rest of the meal, from appetizers to yams & veggies to pumpkin pie & desserts and everything in between. While our family kitchen wasn’t huge, somehow 10 or 20 of us would manage to find a place to “be” in or near the kitchen as we proceeded through the day’s rituals. We would talk, joke with each other, laugh, share stories, and continue that bond that made us a family. I remember those days fondly.

When things got too crowded in the kitchen, some of us would go into the parlor and listen to my grandmother play the piano, sing old-style hymns in her soft lilting voice, or listen raptly as she would tell us about life on the Choctaw lands of her youth. Some of the guys would turn on the television to watch football games. That was a big deal, because we didn’t have television in rural Oklahoma until 1963. Before that, they would either listen to the radio or go outside and toss the ball around among each other.

For me, not being a football kinda guy, I would saddle up my horse and join some family members for a ride in the soft forest and hills of Kiamichi Country (Southestern Oklahoma.) We would pick mistletoe and listen to the crunch of fallen leaves under the hoofs of our horses or our boots when we got off to water the horses or hike a bit.

Yes, I have very fond memories of Thanksgiving in Oklahoma, where I spent every autumn of my childhood while my father was in Europe for his work.

At 3:00, we all would huddle around the telephone in the parlor and listen for my Dad to call. This was a big deal — a super long-distance call from Europe to rural Oklahoma was not an easy feat. But Dad always made it happen, and took time to speak with each of us and let us know he missed and loved us.

After sharing our call with Dad, the family would gather in the dining room, parlor, or porch to have dinner. Family included my grandmother, my mother’s sister and her children, as well as most of my siblings and their spouses (and later, their children). Our challenge was that with such a large family, we all could not be seated at the same table at the same time. There were some years that we had some 40 people gathered for Thanksgiving dinner. However, my family never forced the youngest children to have to sit at the “kids table” away from the others. We had a fair and even method of distributing the seating, so that some years us little kids could be seated at the main table, while other years, we got to toss rolls at or to each other while seated out-of-sight on the service porch. I never felt mistreated just because I was about the youngest child among our clan.

I recall that my grandmother would be asked to say grace, and she would do so in a firm but soft manner. We all would hold hands and when she was through asking for God’s Blessings, we then went around the room and each member of the family would be asked to say why they were thankful this year. This process could take a long time, but it was welcome, warmly appreciated, and valued (though the rumbling of stomachs could be heard as the process rolled on, so those toward the end of the Thanksgiving chain were compelled to make it brief.)

I remember one year, in particular, when I was feeling rather left out and ignored that one of my sisters spoke up during our round of Giving Thanks and thanked me — little guy me — for doing something for her. I was shocked and amazed, because not an hour earlier we had been engaged in one of those typical sibling rivalry arguments. Her singling me out for thanks really proved to me what family is all about, and that we can forget squabbles and appreciate each other, and love one another. Truly, I was blessed with a wonderful family and I don’t forget. I will never forget. I can’t forget (they won’t let me!)

Things today have changed, morphed, moved, and rearranged. I will blog about this year’s Thanksgiving at our home tomorrow. Check back.

Meanwhile, whether you celebrate U.S. Thanksgiving or are from somewhere else in the world where Thanksgiving is not your holiday, I request that you remember to Give Thanks — to your spouse or partner, your parents and grandparents if still alive, your family, your friends, and to God. There is much to be thankful for, and we should remember that…

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

Turning Fetish Gear to Functional Gear

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Sometimes there are differences between men’s leather gear designed specifically for function — such as for warmth and protection for a motorcyclist — compared with fetish leather designed to have a certain sexual appeal, but not necessarily serve a functional purpose.

Most of the time, the differences in leather gear designed for function vs. fetish are minimal. If you buy quality leather garments made custom to fit by a reputable leather crafter, such as Mr. S., 665Leather, Northbound, or similar — then you will find double-stitched and reinforced seams, thick thread used throughout, and quality hardware (such as on waist closures or buttons.)

However, one of the biggest differences on leather gear made for function vs. fetish is snaps. That is, on leather gear that I have bought from fetish gear retailers, they seem to go overboard on the snaps for shirt closures and (IMHO – worse) on the fly of leather jeans or breeches.

Snaps are designed to … um… “unsnap” rather quickly. For a leatherman who meets the right guy … well, he wants that to happen. And the guy wearing such fetish gear probably wears it only to those events held a few times each year, and otherwise, leaves it in his closet or trunk.

For me, on the other hand, I wear my leather gear almost every day. I wear it when I get home from work and on weekends. I wear it when I ride my Harley, and I wear it even when the weather is not suitable to ride my bike. I just like to wear it. I have made a rather large investment in my gear, so I choose to wear it often. I have long gotten over worrying about what other people might say or think. They don’t (say anything) and if they think something, at least where I live, they keep it to themselves.

Back to the topic: leather gear with snaps is not very functional. When worn while operating a motorcycle, stresses are placed on the fly when one swings his leg over the saddle to get on or off the bike. Stresses are placed on the front of a shirt when turning a motorcycle or man-handling it into a tight parking space. Snaps do what they do — they unsnap. Sometimes in the most embarrassing of places and at the wrong times.

When I was confined at home due to the flu recently, I spent some time conditioning all of my leather gear and organizing it. I looked carefully at each garment. I decided that there were three items of leather gear that I very much would like to wear while riding my Harley, but because of the leather-fetish-snap issue, I have not been able to do so. Turning, bending, or twisting as one naturally does while operating a bike would cause the snaps on the pants or shirt to pop open. Not good….

I took those items — my blue leather short-sleeved shirt, my naked leather jeans, and my cheap CHP leather breeches — to a luggage/leather repair shop to ask that zippers be installed to replace all those snaps. When this work is done, I will be able to wear these garments again without concern about them popping open at the wrong time in the wrong place.

This is a word to bikers who like leather: it is a good idea to have custom leather gear made. Some of the best leather crafters serve the leather fetish market. But if you are arranging to have leathers made custom anyway, press further as you create your order to ask about closures at the fly and on the front of a shirt. Ask for zippers instead. I think you will be happier with the end results. Also, it is less expensive to have zippers installed when a garment is made than having them retrofitted later.

Life is short: wear your leather!

Local Bad-Boy Biker

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I am known rather well in a senior living community which is located very near where I live. I sorta joke that I live on the “outside of the asylum looking in,” but perhaps it’s the other way around. When I go there, frequently I am on my Harley. All of my friends and neighbors know that I love to ride my bike, even in cold weather. I just leather up and go!

I received a phone call about a month ago from one of my senior buds who lives over there saying that his friend was turning 90, and had been talking about wanting to do something “outrageous” on her birthday (which was yesterday). The last thing she wanted to do was go to some lame birthday lunch “with a bunch of old biddies” (her words.) She wanted to go skydiving. She wanted to try bungee jumping. Her doctor and her children promised her head on a platter if she ever did those things. Lacking the permission to jump from on high, she wanted to ride with a “bad-boy biker on his Harley.”

Well, I don’t know how “bad-boy” I am, but I am a biker, and I have a Harley. On the appointed day at the appointed hour, I showed up in the parking lot of her church on my Harley, decked out in leather from head to boot (helmet was fiberglass, but who’s counting?) This is the place that my friend who was arranging this surprise thought would have the most “dramatic effect.” We were fortunate because rain was predicted earlier in the week, but we were graced with a sunny and pleasant (55°F, 13°C) day.

My friend’s friend came out of church surrounded by several of her friends. They parted the way, and she saw me idling at the curb. I revved the throttle. The Harley roared and returned to its grumbly growl.

She lit up!

The only problem was, she was wearing a dress. It wouldn’t quite work for her to crawl on the back of my bike for a ride. However, anticipating something like this might happen….

I put the sidestand down and opened the TourPak. I pulled out a jumpsuit that one of my sisters let me borrow. The birthday girl jumped into it, zipped it up, then hopped (literally) onto the back of my bike! Spry as a Spring chicken and ready to rumble! It was all I could do to get the spare helmet out and help her put it on before she was coaxing me, “come on, let’s go!”

I put my helmet back on, restarted the engine, revved it for effect, and off we went.

All I could hear for the next few miles was, “let’s go faster!” By the way she was grabbing me (especially at first), I thought I was going fast enough. I picked out some nearby less-traveled back roads with curves and nice scenery, so I couldn’t go that fast anyway. We rode for ten miles, which I think was plenty. She loved it.

Happy Birthday, M! What sheer joy that you brought to MY life!

Life is short: share the love!

Purpose of Buckles on Tall Boots

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I received an email recently with some questions about boots with pull-tabs vs. buckles. Within my answer, I explained the purpose of a buckle closure on tall boots, such as Wesco harness boots. Here is what I said:

There are three reasons for a buckle at the top of tall boots.

First, the buckle closure allows the leg opening at the top of the shaft to be expanded to accommodate the calf. On most men, the calf circumference 6 – 8″ below the knee is one to two inches wider than the circumference just under the knee (which is the height at which you want tall boots to be). Thus, you can open the boot shaft as you pull boots on over jeans or leathers, then buckle the top to tighten the fit under the knee.

Second, the buckle closure will hold the boots up high on the leg and they won’t sag (too far). Boots that sag a lot can cause folds of leather that can rub against the ankle and cause sores. It’s best to have boots that are held up by a mechanical method (such as buckles), so they won’t sag.

Third, when closed snugly, top-buckled boot shafts will hold jeans, leathers, or breeches inside the boots so when you sit down then stand up, you won’t have unsightly bulges of fabric or leather above the knee. That is, it keeps the lines between the fabric or leather and the boots “clean” and have a neater appearance, as shown above. That appearance is desirable by those who wear jeans, leathers, or breeches inside boots. Seldom, if ever, do you see a motorcycle officer with baggy breeches at the knees.

Buckles at the top of boot shafts to hold jeans, leathers or breeches inside them is important if you ride a motorcycle. A motorcycle operator frequently bends and extends his or her knees when stopping, starting, and riding. (And buckles are far better than a laced boot shaft closure, because laces can easily come undone when blown in the wind, and are a pain in the butt to keep re-tying.)

Warning! I see that Wesco now defaults to offering only boot pulls, not buckles, on tall custom-made harness boots. If you want buckles as shown in the photos of some of my Wesco Harness boots here, you have to specify that you want buckles as a special instruction, and be prepared to pay more. This is why I strongly recommend working with and through a competent, quality Wesco Boot reseller. They know what real Bootmen require, and know how to explain it to Wesco so they get it right when placing an order and save you money, too, by giving a good discount on the MSRP.

I hope you find this information helpful if you may be considering buying a pair of tall boots and are wondering about having a buckle (or two or more) on the shaft, instead of pull straps.

Life is short: wear your boots!

Demonstrated Love

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Yesterday, I went through the family rituals of saying goodbye to an aunt at her funeral. She led a very difficult life. She bore four children, the last two having significant developmental disabilities.

Rather than complain about the burden of caring for two severely disabled children, it was an observation pointed out during her funeral that she received her children as gifts from God, and that all she did for her who life was demonstrate her love for her children and all others.

I listened to the Priest during the funeral, and thought: “you know, he’s right. Every single time I visited my aunt, I could tell that her children required a lot of help and attention. She calmly, quietly, and consistently did whatever she needed to do, and she always did it with a smile and genuine loving care.”

She never once said, “see what I’m doing” or “woe is me.” She just loved her children every single day. She helped them learn and re-learn simple tasks to be able to function. She worked with them to help them develop into good, loving, people, as limited as they are in mental functions. My aunt among all of my father’s 21 siblings was, I think, number one in showing what love really meant, and was the epitome of someone with a caring heart.

I am sad that my aunt died, but we are all relieved. Her last nine years were very difficult, with many medical setbacks, pain, and suffering. But never once did she complain. She loved and loved and loved, and we loved her back. Warmly, calmly, quietly. She served as our family’s inspiration, and we always remember that.

I guess she noticed, because she left a note to request who her pallbearers should be, and in her note she said, “I want [BHD] to serve as one of my pallbearers, because his love, caring, and compassion is so evident. That’s who I want to carry me into the Church, and carry me Home.” Man, I cried so hard… I didn’t know she noticed.

Life is short: show those you love that you love them. May my aunt rest in peace.

Another Pair of Boots Bites the Dust

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These are Kenneth Cole “n-different” boots. My brother wanted me to wear “dressier” boots if I couldn’t wear shoes (which I just can’t) so I got these as his gift. Read about the gift process here.

I have tried to wear them several times. Unfortunately, the boots are very uncomfortable. Every time I have worn them, I have developed blisters on my heels.

I have tried a number of things to fix the problem, such as installing gel insoles, wearing moleskin on my heels, and thick socks. Nothing worked. After trying to wear them once more and getting blisters again, I finally admitted that these boots are crap and have to go.

My brother convinced me to donate them to charity. So they’re gone! Good riddance. High-end style name-brand does not guarantee quality or comfort.

Life is short: wear real boots!

On Whose Shoulder?

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Why does it matter to some people that I am in a committed, confirmed, loving relationship with a man?

Why is it that some people get so upset and all a-twitter? That they make up lies and ululate that two men in a committed relationship are having wild orgies at night and are pedophiles by day and axe-murders in between?

Why does it matter if I awaken and rest my head on my man’s shoulder, and enjoy a warm snuggle as we watch the sun rise and turn the trees to gold outside our bedroom window?

Why do others raise such a fuss if two guys build a home together and live a quiet, productive, and comfortable life?

Why is it that some want to see us fall apart or fail? That they resent that our relationship has endured longer than theirs that ended in divorce?

Why is it that some people think that our life together somehow negatively affects theirs? Their marriage? Their children?

Why can’t people just let others live and let live?

Sometimes, I just don’t get it.

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Nothing bad has happened, and nothing is wrong. I am lamenting openly after reading some really nasty stuff on some conservative blogs, in the local newspaper in articles about pending legislation in the District of Columbia, and that I hear from time to time on television.

I live a solid life, within my financial means and within the law. I contribute to the welfare of society and my neighbors. I work, pay my taxes and my bills, and do unto others as I would have others do unto me. My partner does exactly the same.

So why is it that some people think that because us two guys love one another, live together, and have a decent life that the world will end and that for some reason, their marriage is at risk?

I take pity on them, pray for them, and continue to remember that they best way to demonstrate that these people are wrong is to continue to live as we do: quietly, comfortably, and well. (Living well is the best revenge).

Life is short: love who you love, care for your neighbors, and accept.

La Famiglia

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Family is family and blood is thicker than water. Despite years of long-term differences with the UltraCatholic branch of my father’s family tree, we are together again, arm-in-arm, consoling each other as we grieve over the death of one of my father’s sisters — my aunt — who passed away on Monday after a very prolonged, painful illness. (Note, this is not the aunt for whom I care and about whom I write often. That aunt is actually my father’s sister-in-law, not a blood relative.)

My aunt had been in poor health for a very long time. I visited her on occasion, but did not have much quality time with her because often she would nod off or be unable to follow a conversation. Our lives and our worlds were very different. She cared for two severely developmentally disabled children all of her life (when I knew her), and that ongoing, strong and heartfelt care took every ounce of energy from her.

Her husband worked hard to provide for the family. He was very devoted to his wife and children. My aunt worked very hard, as well, though her work was unpaid, but was evident in how her children were enabled to live as happy a life as they could in their respective circumstances.

My aunt’s husband (my uncle) passed away in February of this year. At the time, my aunt was severely ill and we didn’t think she had much longer to live. But she proved once again how strong she was, and lived nine more months (to the day) after her husband passed.

This Friday, the family gathers. We attend the viewing, the funeral, and then all go over to my cousin’s house to visit. Regardless of differences in political beliefs, or how shunned and hypocritically I have been treated by a large branch of the family tree who were taught by their Catholic upbringing that I live in sin because I love and live with another man — we put that aside for a day. We listen, we talk, we share, and we retell childhood stories and share memories of our lives over decades of time. It is our bonds of family and shared times together that hold us close today.

I’m glad that my partner and I cleaned the house last weekend, as we have three unexpected out-of-town house guests who are here for the funeral — a brother and two cousins. My partner is just muttering; he doesn’t like to have people around, but on occasions when family calls, then dislikes and discomfort are put aside. Perché? — la famiglia. Lei non disputa con Natura di Madre, così Lei punteggia disputi con la famiglia.

Times like this remind me that blood is blood and family is family, and as my father taught me at a very young age: family comes first. My Dad will be watching, and I will honor him. I will honor his sister, as well as pay respects for the greater good of la famiglia.

May God care for my lovely aunt, reunite her with her devoted husband, and bring peace and comfort to all.

Life is short: show those you love that you love them, even if they measure their love for you differently from how you measure your love for them.

A Date for Mrs. P

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When you work with and befriend seniors, there are times that predicaments present themselves that can be befuddling if not distressing. Such an event occurred on Sunday.

Mr. & Mrs. P, a sweet couple whose devotion to one another was always inspiring and fun to observe, live down the road and around the corner from me. Mr. P would ask for my help from time to time as he tended his gardens, and realized that he couldn’t do what he once was able to do, such as thin the iris corms or trim wayward growth from the hydrangeas. It wouldn’t take but a half-hour every now-and-then to help out. Then I would go inside and enjoy a chat over some lemonade and cookies that Mrs. P would have freshly baked.

Mr. & Mrs. P were among the first to attend our annual Thanksgiving pot-luck events which we began to hold in 1999. They would arrive early, insist on helping in some way, and were the defacto hosts — welcoming others, smiling, singing, playing piano, laughing, and sharing their boundless good spirits with all. I always got such a charge out of every minute I spent with them. I felt regret and remorse that their two grown children only visited once each year, and each time they came, it was like, “oh boy, we’re here! Aren’t you happy to see me?” They seemed to ignore their parents otherwise, as they tended to their children and their busy lives. Nothing — absolutely nothing — is more wrong than ignoring parents who cared for you and brought you up. (Okay, enough of this rant for now!)

Last December, though, I got that dreaded phone call. Mr. P had suffered a cardiac arrest and died suddenly. Mrs. P was as strong as she could be. Both of her children came, and one stayed a week after the funeral. After her daughter left, I began to call and check in on Mrs. P more regularly. Mrs. P is a strong woman, and not alone in this world. She has built a good group of friends who began to take her out, get her involved in activities, and even go on a nice cruise this past May. Mrs. P will make it.

She had told me a couple weeks ago that her church was holding a dinner-dance this past Sunday. That dance is held every year this time. She and Mr. P would go every year, and have a marvelous time. This year, she said, she would go with some of her friends.

But she called me on Sunday morning and said those words that were hard-to-hear, “I don’t want to go to a dance with a bunch of widows.” She didn’t come out and ask, directly, but I could hear it in her voice. She wanted me to take her.

Gosh, what a dilemma. I was still feeling weak and not completely recovered from the flu. It would require dressing in a suit (yuck). It would require pretending to move to the beat of music (believe me, when most people go “cha-cha-cha,” I go “stumble-fumble-crawl”.) It would require finding the energy and internal resolve to get over my loathing of dressing up and dancing. Man, this caused me to fret quite a bit!

My partner was no help. “Just tell her that you’re still getting over the flu and can’t go.” or “just say no. You can’t say ‘yes’ to everybody for everything.” But my heart was tugged so very hard.

I thought, “man, this is a horrible time for my twin brother to be in Europe and my best friend (brother-in-heart) who is a great dancer to be so far away in Arizona.” I got into the shower, mentally preparing myself … knowing that by the time I picked up Mrs. P, I would have a huge smile on my face, even if strangled with a tie and confined in a suit.

As I was getting out my clothes and my partner was refreshing my suit with a steamer, I got to thinking about this nice guy I met a few weeks ago when I was doing my annual senior safety smoke alarm project. He was new to the area and our group. He said as he left that day to keep in touch, and that he really wanted to help out. He loved working with seniors and they sure seemed to warm up to his happy-go-lively spirit.

I took a shot — I found his name and number on the volunteer lists and gave him a call. I explained the situation. He was thrilled to be asked, and said that he loved to dance, particularly ballroom, but didn’t know where or how to find such opportunities. It was like he had absolutely nothing else to do.

I called Mrs. P and explained who D was, and was honest with her — that I really am not a dancer, and trying to dance makes me very uncomfortable. Also, I could say honestly that I still was recovering from the flu and didn’t think I had the energy to try to dance or even stand for a long time. I promised to come over and be there when D arrived to provide the formal introductions.

I did that. D looked great in a suit that set off his muscular physique, and Mrs. P looked radiant in a dark blue dress. I pinned on a corsage that I thought to pick up. She beamed. She seemed to bounce lightly down the sidewalk on D’s arm as he escorted her to his snazzy black Dodge Charger. To be honest, tears welled up in my eyes as I saw them leave.

Mrs. P and D both called me on Sunday evening, and said that they had a great time and enjoyed each other’s company. They each said how nice the other was, and how much they danced: every number! Whew! I couldn’t have done that!

Ordinarily, I am not a matchmaker. I am very glad, though, that this situation worked out the way that it did: a win-win-win for all of us. And yep, Mrs. P has a date for our Thanksgiving event, too. How sweet….

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

Mooning the Neighbors

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Continuing with relaying stories related to the “upside” of being down with the flu for a week….

Yesterday, my partner and I were feeling better and thought that with our big Thanksgiving event looming closer, where we will be entertaining about 100 guests throughout the day, we should get serious about doing some housecleaning.

I had on a pair of Wrangler jeans that I have worn for years, a t-shirt, and a my Chippewa Firefighter boots that are very comfortable for hard work (even vacuuming!) We moved some furniture to vacuum behind it, and even rolled up sides of area rugs to chase those darned dusty bunnies that lurk under there.

As I was moving the living room sofa back into its place, I bent over and when I stood back up, my partner broke into hysterics. I looked down and was aghast — my pants had fallen down. Right there with the front window curtains wide open.

I knew that I lost weight when I was sick, and I still have not regained much of an appetite. Apparently, I have lost so much weight that my jeans just fell down. I knew that I was drawing the belt a notch tighter, but even with that… this is ridiculous.

I weighed myself and found that I have lost 15 pounds. I still have a long way to go, but losing 15 pounds in one week is fairly dramatic. However, this is encouraging me to keep on a reasonable eating regime even more, and with more exercise as I regain my strength, things may work out for the better. And to think, this was caused by getting dreadfully ill.

My next step is to go speak with my regular physician. I have some underlying health conditions that affect my weight and what I can eat. There are many things that are helpful with dieting that I cannot eat — most vegetables, diet-oriented substitutes, spices, and oils. If I can find a way to control what I eat and be able to eat things that do not make me sick otherwise, then I perhaps can find a breakthrough to this weight yo-yo situation that I have had to live with for years.

We’ll see…

Life is short: keep the momentum!