Yearly Archives: 2010

Math Project: Home Remodeling

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Some faithful readers of this blog may recall that I bought a fixer-upper house a few weeks ago and had begun the process of cleaning it up and renovating it so that I could return it to the rental market for a community hero. Usually when I get involved in renovating a house, I do a lot of the remodeling work myself. I enjoy it. It is good exercise, and allows me to use skills that I otherwise don’t get to do.

Further, doing remodeling well offers many practical applications to apply math knowledge and skills, which I enjoy demonstrating to questioning younger members of my family who have asked, “why do I have to learn that stuff?”

Well, “that stuff” such as geometry and algebra sure come in handy when you’re trying to compute the correct cut for angles for window frames, for example. Measure twice, cut once — and correctly! Or when you’re estimating materials required for a project.

Regretfully, the broken leg that I am dealing with sure puts a cramp in my style. But I am not letting it get me down. I sent two young members of my family over to that house last week to get some measurements for me. And they had to be precise so that I could order the correct materials and supplies for contractors to install.

These math-avoiding great nieces needed to do a “practical” project for their eight-grade math class. Their open-minded, creative math teacher accepted a proposal from my great nieces (via me) to compute the requirements to replace a non-load-bearing wall that was in sore need of repair. This wasn’t a simple project. Computations of size, shape, depth, and odd-angle dimensions had to be developed that would determine the number of studs, nails, and gypsum (wall board or Sheetrock®) as well as electric outlets, switches, and wiring required to be put inside that wall.

I admit, I “cheat”: I have a computer program that does a good job of estimating materials for projects like this. But “what if” we went back to the “olden days” and had to figure this out manually? How is math applied? Well… I am pleased to say that my great nieces figured it out. It took them a while, but they were proud to give me the results of their calculations, which I accepted and used to phone in an order for materials to be delivered to the job site.

I got the correct amount of materials for a contractor to install based on my great nieces’ work, for which they earned an “A” for their school project. The contractor finished the installation yesterday and told me that he had very minimal waste and scrap. Good goin’, girls!

I’ll figure out how to do this renovation project even if I can’t do it myself or see it in person for a while.

Life is short: teach while you find alternative methods to get things done.

The View

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Looking out my kitchen window is so beautiful…this is the park we built in the forest behind our house, and the view from our kitchen window after yet another snowfall. This snow was of the variety that it clung to every branch, twig, and trunk and looked amazing.

This view is among the reasons why I love to spend hours in my kitchen cooking various things for my partner and me to eat, baking goodies for my elderly friends, and otherwise enjoying creating culinary delights. In nicer weather, my partner spends hours in the forest, just watching.

The cardinals decorate the trees much like Christmas ornaments. The squirrels play “catch me if you can” or “where did I hide that nut?” and the Baltimore Orioles twitter a happy little tune while flashing their orange wings against black bodies. What a sight.

Life is short: love its beauty.

Dealing with Disappointment

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Yesterday, my partner brought me to the medical center where my right leg and ankle were evaluated. New x-rays revealed a slight displacement of the fibula. The foot and leg were still somewhat swollen, and were all colours of the rainbow… yellow, green, blue, red, and even black.

Oh crap… no cast yet. The doc said that I still have to wait for the swelling to go down and have more x-rays. He had a technician wrap it again in another splint-plus Ace Bandage, this time double-wide to prevent me from twisting it which, hopefully, will inhibit further bone displacement.

He introduced that word that I didn’t want to hear — “surgery.” He didn’t say that I had to have surgery yet, but he did say that surgery may be required if the displacement of my fibula worsens.

How am I dealing with this news? Well… of course I am disappointed. I wish my partner wouldn’t dwell on it. I’ll survive. Perhaps I will not get around for a while in two boots, but I will eventually return to a routine. It just will take longer to get there.

This situation with my ankle and leg is bigger than I thought it would be, and requires major reorganization of a lot of my life. It affects work. It affects my ability to care for my beloved elderly aunt and my senior pals. It affects my voluntary positions. It affects my community advocacy. It affects my minimal social activities, such as being able to attend meetings of my motorcycle club.

I am reorganizing my life, and I will make the best of it. I am not happy, but then again, matters could be much worse. I’ll live. I have a partner who cares for me, a family who loves me, neighbors who help, senior pals who keep me company and well-fed, and I live in a safe, warm, comfortable home. Really, if I have to deal with a broken leg, at least I have caring company and a nice place to recover.

Now… where’s that damn broccoli? I have some deer raiding the bird feeder and perhaps, if I aim well… [splat]

Life is short: keep smiling — they’ll wonder why.

Broccoli and Nuts

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Tales of this gimp’s ongoing recovery from the broken leg, while bootless….

I mentioned that senior pals brought us a lot of food last week. Most of what they prepared was in containers that we could heat in the microwave and enjoy in one sitting. Though I must say that Mrs. K just went crazy — she prepared a type of goulash that was delightful, but very filling and was in a huge container! I finished it at lunch yesterday, and my partner and I had two full servings for dinner last week. I just wish she didn’t put broccoli in it. Oh well, I just picked it out. (Broccoli and I never got along… ever.)

And who woulda thunk that broccoli would be added to corned beef? I can understand why it was in potatoes au gratin, but not mixed in with corned beef. (And yeah, I also picked out the cabbage. That doesn’t work well when your digestive system is on overdrive.)

The doc warned me that the prescription pain pills have a bad side effect: constipation. I haven’t been taking the pain pills very much, and the good news is that… I don’t have that problem. Thank goodness for small favors.

I also muse, “what is it about nuts in everything?” Okay, I understand why nuts were in the brownies that my neighbor made for me, but why were nuts in the pasta casserole? Nuts make me go nuts… so it’s no additional nuts for me! (If you get what I mean — LOL!)

One of the things I am learning to handle is not preparing my own meals. When I cook, I know what is in everything I am eating, and thus can ensure that I don’t have any unwanted “post-effects” caused by reactions to compounds in certain foods.

I love to cook. When I built our house, I worked with our architect to design my dream kitchen. It is large, spacious, and has a commanding view of our park-like back yard. I have spent hours cooking away, singing, and enjoying time preparing meals for my partner, my friends, and family.

Now that I cannot physically stand up for more than a minute or two at a time, I cannot prepare meals. I suck it up and say “thank you” and enjoy what food has been prepared for me. Besides the omnipresent effervescent casseroles that seem to multiply more quickly than the rabbits in our forest, we also have foods in the freezer that I made a few weeks ago. We are doing fine, food-wise. I long to return to the time when I can prepare our meals — and leave broccoli on my partner’s salad, and nuts in the bird feeder!

“What, time to eat?” … my partner calls me to the table. I hop in and get settled. He says, “oh, there were some side-dishes in some smaller containers. I heated one of them… hmmm, what’s inside? Why, it’s broccoli and nuts!”

Life is short. Just smile, and eat your vegetables. Mom would be proud!

Gimp Tales

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It has been a whole week since I fell and broke my leg. This is the longest time I have gone without a pair of boots — or even one boot for that matter — on my feet. It also is the longest period of time I have gone without wearing a pair of leather jeans. I’m livin’ in sweats and comfy flannel shirts.

I am still resting with my right leg elevated. My partner puts ice on it every few hours. I have not had to take prescription pain medication except when I first go to bed for the night — that’s when the pain is worst. Otherwise, the pain is manageable with regular aspirin.

My partner has been heating the casseroles that were prepared for us, and preparing other meals. My appetite is good, but I am being careful about not eating too much because I am not getting any exercise (except if you call hopping to the bathroom on crutches exercise!) I have been drinking my milk, too! The doctor recommended making sure I get lots of calcium in my diet. Since I can’t eat leafy green vegetables, I have been drinking milk and taking a calcium supplement.

Yesterday morning, as my partner and I were waking, snuggling closer together, and watching the sun begin to rise and make the trees glow a bright orange, we heard this strange sound. It sounded like scraping. It was not a snow plow, but the noise persisted.

My partner got up, put a robe on, and looked out the front window. He saw four friends of mine — all cops — who were shoveling the remaining snow and ice from our drive and walks. I have participated in helping these guys with some motorcycle training, and rent a house to one of them. It was so nice of them to come over and do the rest of the snow cleanup for us. While they were there, the county snowplow came. They cleaned up the snow and ice that the plow pushed across the front of our drive.

By then, I had hopped into the kitchen and brewed a big pot of coffee. My partner heated up some sweet rolls that one of my elder pals made for us. I invited my friends inside to warm up. They graciously accepted, though my partner wasn’t all that happy to have visitors when the house was such a mess.

Overall, I think my partner truly appreciated the “hunky help” — as did I! My partner was awfully sore from the work on Saturday afternoon with the manual shoveling that he did. And don’t let me mislead you — my friends were not in motor boots and uniforms. They were off duty, and came over to help us out of the kindness of their hearts.

Sunday afternoon, the doorbell rang. My partner exclaimed, “now what?” One of my friends had gone around to see some of my older pals for whom I do “that time of year” volunteer work. Yep, it’s tax-time! My friend brought me ten envelopes with information that I need to begin to prepare income tax returns for my senior pals. That sure kept me busy the remainder of the afternoon and evening! I even filed my own personal income tax returns and anticipate enough of a refund to get a certain pair of boots that I’ve been thinking about. (Even though my leg is broken, I am still a Bootman at heart!)

As I was writing this post on Sunday night, the doorbell rang again. It was our next-door neighbor, who baked me some brownies. My partner is growing more and more irritated with that doorbell and visitors, but he just has to accept that my life is closely intertwined with so many others. After all, my community is my life, and our home.

I go tomorrow (Tuesday) to get a cast on the leg… and a prognosis for how I will be able to be more mobile and how long I’ll have to reorganize my life in order to fully recover. Wish me well!

Life is short: remember to smile. I have lots to smile about, as my heart is warmed with each email I receive, each telephone call, each visit, … sniffle, sniffle. And thank you, loyal blog readers, for your caring concern, comments, and emails. I appreciate it very much.

Boots Are My Footwear

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Not that long ago, someone sent me an email and said, “I have been reading your blog and website, and you say all the time that you only wear boots. Is it true that you don’t own even one pair of shoes, like trainers?” He was from the U.K., where “trainers” means “sneakers” here in the U.S.

I replied with a simple but honest answer, “yes, that is true. Boots are my footwear. I do not own any shoes of any sort, and have no intention of having any.”

He replied the next day saying, “I find that unbelievable. You say that you work in a management position in an office. You lead some sort of organisation in your community. You gave a eulogy recently at a funeral. You must wear shoes on those occasions!”

My reply was factual: “I have been wearing boots as my exclusive choice of footwear since I was at least ten years old, and probably before that. Because everyone who knows me — at the office, in the community, and everywhere else — has only seen me in boots, they expect nothing else. Granted, I ride a motorcycle and have a reason to wear solid, protective boots for safety’s sake. But boots are on my feet at all times (when I am awake, healthy, and physically able to walk), not just when I’m on my motorbike. For more formal occasions, I wear dark (black or black cherry) cowboy boots with a normal heel and semi-rounded toe. I do not ‘overdo it’ by wearing boots made of exotic skins or colours or that have high heels or sharp ‘X’ toes with a suit or in a formal setting. Wearing boots is just who I am and how I have always dressed.”

My correspondent replied with a different line of questioning, “so what do you wear to the gym?”

… well, that presumes that I go to a gym. I replied by saying, “I use the swimming facilities at a University near me, and can walk barefooted between the locker room and the pool. I do not engage in physical activity there that requires use of sneakers. While I enjoy walking a lot, I have boots that are quite comfortable for walking as exercise.”

The guy with whom I was communicating replied by saying, “thank you for your explanation about wearing boots all the time. It may be a difference of culture or experience. While I like how boots look on some men, I would never think of wearing a pair of boots except only on the most informal occasions. I would not wear them to work, or with a suit. I would expect a mature man such as you would share the same perspective. I have learned that this is not true. It is very interesting to me. Thank you.”

I thought that was a civil reply to a discussion of different perspectives. I have found this line of inquiry to be similar with some men in my own country (the U.S.) as well. There are some guys who would never think of wearing boots at all, and some who might own one pair of boots that they may wear once or twice a year on informal outings. Some men wear boots more often. I realize I am on the extreme, by wearing boots exclusively and refusing to consider, much less actually wear, shoes.

Thanks, G, for your insights and for your permission to post this message on this blog.

Life is short: wear your boots!

When "They" Are Wrong

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The proverbial “they” got the weather forecast all wrong for the area where we live in Maryland, USA. On Friday, “they” were predicting that we might get 1″ (2.5cm) of snow. The big storm was supposed to stay south of us.

“They” were wrong. It began to snow at 9am, and snowed all day. “They” kept changing the forecast, upping the amount of snow expected for our area each hour. “They” finally issued a winter storm warning after noon. Heck, we already knew that.

Here I am with a broken leg, and a disabled partner. My beloved partner is doing the best he can to take care of me, do our grocery shopping, AND shovel the snow from our drive and walks. He cannot operate our snow blower. It is too big, heavy, and hard for him to handle.

There I was… inside, with a tear running down my cheek, holding myself up on crutches watching him work. Man, I feel so guilty. I wish I could help him. He is working so hard. My partner said that we had 7″ (17.5cm) of snow when he got out there in the late afternoon… and snow was still falling when he came in.

Bless him… nary a complaint nor whimper. His first question when he came in the door was, “how are YOU?” The least I could do was heat hot water for some cinnamon herbal tea to warm him up.

This too shall pass, but I’m feeling rotten.

Thank goodness that neither he nor I have to cook dinner. We still have about a dozen casseroles that my senior pals brought over during the week. That was so sweet of them. And they’ve been calling all day, as well. They knew that I would have a lot of trouble sitting still, so they have been calling me to make sure that I didn’t do anything stupid, like try to put weight on the broken leg or worse — go outside. I swear they have bugged our house, because they “overheard” my thinking. (No worries, I obeyed doctor’s orders to remain indoors, leg up, and on ice.)

Life is short: show those you love that you love them, because when they love you, they’ll do anything for you, even if it hurts.

Update: Someone sent me an email to ask, “why don’t you just hire a teenager to do the shoveling?” Man, I wish that were possible. Unfortunately, one of the few downfalls of living where we live is that the teenage kids who live in our area have no work ethic. They don’t lift a finger to do any work around their own houses, much less work-for-hire to do manual labor like shovel snow or mow lawns for other people. That’s quite different from how it was when I grew up, but is a sad fact about the poor work ethic that parents have accepted in their children today (in this area).

Two Guys on a Harley

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I belong to a Harley-Davidson motorcycle-related discussion forum on the internet. Recently, someone posted this question:

Would any male motorcycle rider make a trip (say a few miles) while allowing a man to ride (seated) behind them on the their bike? Or vice versa?

You can tell from the way the question is worded that it is already prejudged against two guys riding together.

As of the time I was writing this blog post, there were 30 replies. There were three types of responses:

1. “Only in an emergency” such as this: I would ride a guy ONLY if his bike was broken down. I would need an excuse to spout verbally.

2. “Give a ride to share the fun” such as this: I have given those less fortunate to own a Harley or any bike for that matter the thrill of being on one. Takes a few days for them to get the grin off their face…lol. None of them had any issues with their ego and I am comfy with myself.

3. “Incredulity” such as this: back in time it was normal to see two guys on a bike…..man how times have changed. Other related statements included riding with male family members (family doesn’t count) or two males riding in Europe — apparently it’s not an issue Across the Pond as some people make of it here in the U.S.

This thread of dialogue is, to me, a demonstration of the ongoing tension felt by straight guys who are insecure with their own sexuality and gender that they feel that they have to demonstrate the hypermasculine male image on a Harley, which means never carrying a male passenger unless the passenger is your son or nephew, or a friend who had an emergency. There were, unfortunately, a number of homophobic responses to that discussion — and some who even said that they were proud of their homophobia. Pity their small little minds….

In my opinion — it shouldn’t matter if a guy rides as a passenger on a Harley being driven by another guy. My partner and I rode all over the country that way, and never once — even in the Bible Belt where homophobia is omnipresent — did anyone say anything. We weren’t waving the rainbow flag or strutting around in our chaps (without any other clothes on), but we also weren’t hiding the fact that we were very close; staying in the same hotel room; speaking with words like, “our”, “us”, “we” and so forth. It was pretty clear that we were not related (such as brothers).

I think the on-line Forums tend to bring out the most outspoken, and do not necessarily demonstrate the majority of the thinking in the country, or the world for that matter.

My perception: secure men don’t care. If you worry about whether anyone is going to question your sexuality or gender by giving a male passenger a ride on your Harley, then get some professional help to work through your gender identity issues. Secure straight men as well as gay men have it figured out already.

Life is short: stop worrying about what other people think, and be yourself.

This is a photo of me with a friend. I couldn’t find one of me and my partner in digital format that would illustrate the point of this post.

The Brother Who Happens to be Gay

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I haven’t blogged about this in a while, but since my family has taken over my blog (thanks, sisters, thanks brothers), I thought I would return to writing my own pieces, and describe a bit of what it is like for me to be the “brother who happens to be gay” in a large family.

I have a very large family. Sometimes, too many to count. But seriously, if you count my siblings, their spouses, their children, and their children’s children, there are 159 people ranging in age from zero to 68. And that’s just my immediate family. My father came from a family larger than that — so if you include my aunts, uncles, first cousins, first cousins once removed, and first cousins twice removed, we’re closing on 400 people.

Do I know all these people? Well… some better than others. I know who they are and their names because I took on the responsibility of keeping my father’s family tree and genealogy. So at least I know who my family members are by name, date and place of birth, current location, and relationship back to my paternal grandparents.

When it comes to my immediate family — my brothers and sisters — we have an ongoing, healthy adult relationship. It took a while for that relationship to develop. Being the youngest, my twin brother and I were always treated as “the kids” and it took a long time for our older siblings to accept the fact that we were adults. I “came out” as gay when I was in my early 30s. Some of my family accepted me as being gay right away when they found out, and others did not. In fact, some said that they knew it all along and were just waiting for me to say something. Those who were more reluctant to accept that I was gay had interference from their respective spouses. Yeah, there are some of my brothers or sisters in-law who don’t speak to me unless they have to. Yet there are other in-laws who are as close to me as one of my own blood siblings. It varies.

I think what helped to develop a positive, adult relationship as a gay man, and a gay brother, with my siblings, their spouses, and offspring was an example taught by my mother when she died. It took her a few years to accept that I was in a relationship with a man. But once she accepted that, she grew to love my partner. When she died, we found a note where she designated my partner to be a pall bearer at her funeral — the only “son-in-law” so designated. That made a powerful statement.

I live a positive, up-beat, normal life with my partner, who I treat as an equal and as a spouse. As readers of this blog know, I am well-connected in my community and do a lot of civic work. My family recognizes that and values my contributions. They have supported me all the way in various “campaigns” and in some big events such as our annual Thanksgiving pot-luck or “Spring fix-it-up-for-senior-safety” gigs.

They’re there for me, as I try to be there for them. I show up at their kid’s school plays, football games, birthday parties, or other important events in their lives. We are intertwined. We are family.

It’s not easy being the “odd-ball out” as some people have described being a gay brother among a large family of heterosexuals. But I am not treated as being odd, or unusual, or “different.” As our family continues to grow and move along life’s highway, I am considered as one of those who contributes to our growth. I provide various ways for us to keep in touch through the internet, email, websites, and so on. But my family also works at keeping in touch and together.

I know that I am very fortunate to have a family like I have. I have heard from gay men who have been ostracized and excommunicated from their respective families. I feel very sorry for them. Most of the time, the negativity directed toward them was not their fault. Often, organized religion plays a very negative role in disassociating family connections. (That’s why I personally have a lot of trouble with the term “Christian” when people who claim that title act with bigotry, hatred, and hypocrisy.)

I am not saying that I have all lovey-dovey relationships with each member of my family. Some of us are closer than others. That’s going to be the case in a large family. I am, admittedly, closest to my twin brother J, but then again, you would expect that. But what I can say is that I have earned the respect of each member of my family, and even if they have personal reservations about homosexuality, they realize that “it” is among their lives and they have gotten accustomed to having a brother who happens to be gay. Not “the gay brother.” To me, that’s the difference.

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

Sister Act

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Guest blog by R, G and C, BHD’s triplet sisters

We figured if our brothers could get into the act yesterday, that we could, too. We are four years older than BHD and J, and are fraternal triplets. That means that while we share the same date of birth, but have enough physical differences that you wouldn’t call us identical. We think similarly, and oddly enough, we each have married and have had five children a piece — two of whom share the same birthday, and three of whom share the same date of birth (figure that one out!) These coincidental birth dates of our children were not planned, but happened by serendipity.

If you ask BHD, he would insist that we were put onto this earth to torment him and J, his twin brother.

Never! They were put on earth to torment us! We couldn’t have boys over without B and J giggling behind the curtains, or putting fake spiders in the drink glasses. It was no wonder that we would pretend to chase them around and jump out to startle them in the upstairs hallway.

As we have grown up — speaking for ourselves, because our little brothers will always be our “little” brothers — we realize that our brothers are pretty good people. Some of us have moved apart, while R and BHD live in the same area. Regardless of our physical location, BHD has worked hard to keep us together by implementing internet technology as long as 14 years ago when he created an email distribution list for the family. Now he runs a website for our family to post messages, pictures, and updates about what we are up to. It even integrates with Facebook.

As much as we had some sibling arguments when we were kids, we have become close friends in our adult lives. In particular, we’ll never forget that BHD saved G’s life. Literally.

We know this is not a family blog, but we have seen how much fun J has playing with BHD’s blog, so we thought we would chime in together and say, “we love you, little brothers!” Catch you in the ether! And BHD — don’t go chasing little old ladies any more. You’re not as young as you used to be! (Alas, good deeds never go unpunished, do they?) We look forward to seeing you on your Harley and in those boots at our family reunion in July!

Life is short: love your brothers; they need all the help they can get.