While it wasn’t any fun being confined to home during the period of recovery from my broken leg, at least I had a good excuse. I couldn’t walk, and Mother Hubbard partner wouldn’t let me go out at all, period, for any reason except to the doctor for scheduled follow-ups.

Now that I have returned to work and am resuming a more regular personal schedule, the demands on my time have skyrocketed. Turns out that several organizations that wanted to hold meetings and have me attend during the time I was laid up with the broken leg decided to postpone their meetings until I was better … and then schedule their meetings all at once.

This week, I have been to four meetings in three days, and I’m already feeling quite tired. How did I get myself into this? Yeah, I know: that word “yes” has something to do with it. I really have trouble saying “no” when I have no specific reason (like a broken leg.)

I educated three groups that they can do quite well without me, so I am weaning off regularly attending their meetings. There are others, though, in which I serve as an officer or as a leader or as a past-but-sage adviser and to which I have made commitments. I am backing one county and one state political candidate and serving as their webmasters, and we have to meet to get their sites updated. So I’m there at all these non-work-related meetings. Tonight I have a family dinner, followed by three meetings on the weekend, caring for my aunt, and so on will keep this “former” hobbler moving.

I am trying not to get my hopes up too high, but I hope the doc says that I can get back on my Harley when I have my next visit with him today. That’ll be wonderful. Then to find the time to get the bike checked out and me on it… and not offend my partner too much with my more frequent absences. He has grown accustomed to my being home all the time, and likes it. He dislikes it when I’m gone. Now I’m gone more… and more… oh brother. Such is my life.

Work has been hellaciously busy, too, so all day I work-work-work and barely have time to eat the lunch that I bring with me. But that helps keep me occupied, and feeling productive.

I am not completely recovered. I still am sore and am moving slowly. However, I am wearing two boots and walking on my own, fairly well, without limping. I’d say I’m at 95%.

If you send me an email and I don’t reply… don’t take it personally. I literally just don’t have the time to respond to email quickly. I will, eventually. Thanks for your patience.

I was reading a recent article titled Myth of the ‘gay lifestyle’ justifies bias by LZ Granderson (CNN post no longer on-line). He made many good points about the fact that there really isn’t a difference between how gay couples and straight couples live. He made many other good points, too.

His life with his partner is different from ours. His partner pays for a gym membership, while my partner works out with gym equipment at home (we abhor ongoing expenses). He has adopted a child; we don’t have children.

My partner and I are different from other people in other ways, but that doesn’t have to do with being gay. I thought I would describe what a typical weekday is like for my partner and me.

I naturally awaken between 4:00 and 4:15am. My partner rises and goes to a bathroom down the hall where he keeps all of his messy shaving stuff. That leaves the master bath available for me. I use it, brush my teeth and wash up, and perhaps take a quick shower. Ten minutes later I am getting dressed for work.

I go to our kitchen and prepare breakfast and lunch for both my partner and me. I usually cut slices from a home-made loaf of bread. I toast some bread for breakfast. I make sandwiches and add some lo-cal snacks like cereal and breadsticks. I fill two small plastic containers with juice. I add a cup of yogurt to my partner’s lunch, too. I may prepare an egg or muffin, fill glasses with OJ, and sit down for a moment to enjoy my breakfast. I leave my partner’s breakfast for him on the kitchen table.

I get the paper from the drive and leave it on the kitchen counter next to my partner’s lunch, then go back up to my home office and get busy with things like a small consulting practice, or answering constituent email. My partner rushes in, embraces me and gives me a kiss goodbye. I work for about another half-hour, then leave myself.

We both commute into the city and work all day at our respective jobs (which are far apart enough that we have never met during the day). Being frugal, we don’t “go for coffee” or eat lunch at restaurant. We eat our own lunches and enjoy snacks we’ve packed for ourselves.

On my way home from work, I stop by my aunt’s home to check on her, and perhaps visit with some of my elder buds. By the time I get home, my partner is just arriving as well. I change clothes to the typical jeans, t-shirt, and boots and prepare a home-cooked dinner. While dinner is cooking, I call some older friends to check in with them. I serve dinner promptly at 6pm. We talk about the day and enjoy our meal media- and phone-free. During this time, I may also bake a cake for a friend’s birthday, another loaf of bread, or both. I enjoy multitasking in the kitchen.

On a typical evening, after dinner I head out to a community meeting. I am involved in a variety of activities and groups. I leave those meetings so I can be home by 9pm at the latest, even if the meeting has not ended. My partner and I then go to bed.

If I have a “free” evening (i.e., no meetings), my partner and I will relax in our basement. He may watch something he has recorded on our DVR, while I slave away at my computer — answering more email, reviewing plans, updating candidate websites, keeping abreast on the latest local news, and so on. I shut all that off by 8pm and curl up with my partner to have some “us time.”

Since we do not have children, our lives are different from the gay guy whose story prompted this one. We don’t go to a gym before work. We don’t dine out with friends, and we avoid shopping for anything other than groceries. Sure, that makes us different from other couples but our differences from others have nothing to do with the fact that we are gay. We are frugal home-bodies. We enjoy our home and reap the benefits of not spending money at gyms, restaurants, or expensive gadgets like smartphones.

Our typical weekday is similar to a typical weekday of any couple who work for a living. Kinda boring, isn’t it? I have no idea what those who think that “the gays” are out to impose their “gay agenda” on everyone else. They are afraid of what they don’t know. They are afraid to admit that perhaps our life is just as normal and sane as everyone else’s. Face it, they’re just afraid. When fear controls thinking, bad things happen.

Life is short: enjoy your life, however you live it.

Crime happens even in the nicest places, and even where you feel the safest: at home. Don’t let me frighten you — I am okay. I am peeved, but I am okay. Here’s what happened.

On Monday night, I left my truck on my driveway in front of my house instead of inside the garage. The garage door makes a heck of a lot of noise when it opens. My partner had the day off on Tuesday, so I thought I would be a good schnook and park my truck on the driveway so I could avoid opening the garage door in the morning when I left for work so my partner could sleep later.

When I went out to my truck at 5:30, I clicked the remote to unlock it. I opened the back liftgate, where I had remembered that I left my backpack. It wasn’t there. I thought that was odd, but perhaps it was in the back seat. I went to the passenger side and opened the back door, and saw a slew of paper all over the seats and floor. I then opened the front passenger door and saw more papers thrown all over, and the storage areas open.

Then it finally dawned on me: DAMN! I’VE BEEN RIPPED OFF BY A THIEF!

What was strange, though, was that the thief actually dumped my backpack into my truck — thus why the papers were all strewn about. He/sh/it left a portable flash drive and even my umbrella which was in the pack. But the pack was gone. It was inexpensive, but was a gift from my partner to me because he knew that as I was first returning to work, I couldn’t carry a briefcase.

As I looked around, I noticed that my console storage area was open and empty. I don’t keep much in there but a tire pressure checker and a couple of CDs. The thief left the CDs. I guess he/sh/it doesn’t like Linda Ronstadt or the Doobie Brothers. No accounting for taste in thieves.

Upon further inspection, my glove compartment was open, but everything was still intact, including and expensive pair of sunglasses that belong to my partner.

I grumbled, woke my partner and vented, then realized that there wasn’t anything that could be done about it, so I just went ahead and drove to the Metro.

It was there that I noticed that my cane was stolen. Who would take a cane? F*$&! I just walked slowly and carefully to the Metro and then to my office from my destination station. It really wasn’t a problem, but I am still very puzzled about what the hell would a thief want with a cane? Perhaps he/sh/it has a need greater than my own?

My partner was peeved that the cane was stolen, as he searched hard to find just the right one for me, and bought it as a gift to aid in my recovery. Now both of his “recovery gifts” — the backpack and the cane — are gone.

It’s my fault for leaving those things in the truck. But at least I didn’t leave anything else of greater value to be ripped off.

I hope the thief rots in hell. Meanwhile, I’ll just park in the garage, leave more lights on, and pray for he/sh/it’s soul.

Update: the thief must have developed a guilty conscious because when I arrived home yesterday afternoon, I found the cane propped up against my garage door. No one saw a thing. Weird….

Life is short: sometimes, it’s not fun, either.

Sunrise is my absolute favourite time of each weekend morning. Some may think that I’m crazy, awakening as the sun comes up, especially each day a few minutes earlier as we approach the summer solstice. Nonetheless, I have always been an early-bird.

I have often written about weekend sunrise time. That’s when I will softly snuggle close to my partner, lay my head on his chest, and click the remote to open the blinds and draw the shades so the floor-to-ceiling windows in our bedroom reveal the glorious trees in the forest just outside. It truly is a magnificent, dramatic sight. Because I built our house, I designed and built our rear bedroom wall entirely of glass so our view would not be blocked by gypsum or wires.

Watching the squirrels jump from branch to branch, and scurry up and down the trees is delightful. How much energy they have! We love watching them play “catch me if you can.”

The green leaves are randomly jeweled by the bright red feathers of cardinals, orange-and-black feathers of Baltimore orioles and redwings, and even the occasional blue, green, or yellow finches. The birds add a special sparkle not only with the colors, but also with their songs of joy and merriment. Heck, I even enjoy the sparrows and wrens. What they lack in color, they make up for in song. “Hmmmmmm” Can you hear that? It’s our friendly humming birds stopping by the nectar feeder. Amazing how they can hover in mid-air.

The diversity of the trees (14 different species) adds to subtle differences in shades of the leaves and their bark. Especially as the sun rises and grows from a hint of orange to brilliant yellow to bright white.

Ahhh… sunrise. How much I enjoy viewing the brightening of a new day. New hope. New horizons to conquer. New things to do. To live, to love, to share.

Alas, I am alone this weekend, as my partner is away visiting his mother. I still watched the sun rise on our forest before getting out of bed this morning. I have to admit, though, it wasn’t the same. There is something special about holding the one you love as the day renews.

Life is short: Enjoy the sun, enjoy the day, love life.

My goodness, almost exactly two months ago, I was writing about being blasted by multiple winter storms that relentlessly pounded our area with huge amounts of snow and strong winds. I was confined at home with only a splint on my broken leg, scooting around on my butt when I had to move. It was frigidly cold, gray, and awful-looking outside.

How things have changed so quickly! For the last week, we have had record-breaking heat. Temperatures in the 80s and 90s (27 – 32C) and bright sunshine. Tree branches that were gray and looked lifeless last week are now leafing out quickly. Pollen from trees, grass, and flowers has skyrocketed. TG I’m not terribly affected by seasonal allergies. I am walking, albeit slowly, on my own two feet! Woo-hoo!

Once again, as is typical of the DC area, we have gone from Winter to Summer, with nary a hint of Spring in between. The calendar may say Spring, but the heat, humidity, and sunshine say different. Sure, we will get a storm that will cool things off, and we may even get a few more days of cold-and-dreary, but for the most part, Spring has fully sprung into Summer and we’re out and about, on our Harleys, and havin’ fun!

… thus is my continued optimism, as I still can’t ride my beloved bike just yet, but soon enough… I’ll be booted and on the saddle of my trusty iron horse once again. Meanwhile, I am enjoying the warmth. I also am enjoying seeing my solar array at home producing more power than we’re using, so my electric bill is a negative number. I always like that!

Warm regards!

You know the old saying, “tell me a story and I’ll tell you no lies.” Well, you know how that goes.

For my first major foray back into my community life, I chaired a meeting last night with a civic group. There are three factions within the group, each of whom have various reasons for being so passionate about their position. I like passion: it demonstrates that the person is seriously concerned and it is not a petty matter to them.

However, I also get highly irritated when people lie, and pretend they aren’t. They give you this look like, “believe me, I am telling the truth,” but all other mannerisms give them away — the darting eyes, fidgety hand movements, and stammering speech.

You’d figure if any profession can tell a good story and make it sound believable, it would be a lawyer. But last night, I caught a lawyer in a series — not just one but several — outright fibs. He claimed certain details as fact, when there was no proof. He cited figures that sounded implausible, and another person speaking after him proved that the lawyer could write the next edition of How To Lie With Statistics. What blew it was that he cited research from someone who I know personally. I know my colleague’s work. My colleague wouldn’t have said that. To prove it, I called my colleague right then-and-there and put him on speaker phone. The lawyer turned white as a sheet.

I wasn’t born yesterday. I can just tell when someone is trying to twist the truth to make something come out in their favor. Their problem was that they do not realize that I’ve been around the block once or twice, and know a few people. The look on that guy’s face when I called the author of the paper from which he was quoting — and the fact that I had the author’s phone number in my cell phone’s directory — was exceptionally amusing.

Look, if you are going to make a statement in public, certainly back it up with facts and figures. But also make sure that those facts are supported and can be verified independently. Otherwise, it will catch up with you and could work against you.

Lyin’ eyes and darting gestures will also always give you away.

Life is short: speak honestly (and stop flailing your hands!)