A Special Privilege

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I work in Washington, DC, the capital of the United States of America. I have to pinch myself sometimes as I look around when I take a lunchtime walk. Is this real? Do I really work here? I should not take my good fortune that my office is in such an amazing location for granted.

I don’t work for the government, nor am I a lobbyist. There are some who believe that everyone who works in the city must be one or the other. I’m just a guy who works in a non-profit organization that is based on Capitol Hill, in the heart of what some claim to be the most powerful location in the free world.

Yesterday I was invited to attend a presentation that was held in one of the office buildings that is used by the House of Representatives. As I walked to the meeting from my office, I crossed the grounds of the U.S. Capitol. Despite all the rhetoric — especially these days leading up to an historic election on November 4 — I remained awed by being on the grounds of such an important, historic place. I actually was humming the National Anthem as I was walking along, watching tourists from all over the world stop and take photos, asking cops for directions, and staring at the glory. I tell ‘ya, this place is stunning.

To my right was the national mall and the Washington Monument. What a commanding view. It brought many memories of a happy childhood climbing the 897 steps inside the Monument to the top (can’t do that any more), walking into the Capitol Building itself without an appointment (can’t do that any more), and flying a kite on the mall (you can still do that.) Unfortunately, with all the security in the area, it’s not as picturesque as it once was, with all the fences, signs, cops, road blocks, and barriers.

Another memory I had was that my parents told me that they met by literally bumping into each other on the west steps of the Capitol Building. I owe my very existence to that chance encounter.

The rambling and echoing hallways of the Rayburn building, with the bronze signs indicating the locations of committee hearing rooms, continued to inspire me, a “participating” U.S. citizen. Not that I forgive them, but I can understand why legislators get drunk with power when they walk those hallways, and sit at tables on risers above the rest of the floor.

As I returned to my office, I took a different route, past the Library of Congress and the U.S. Supreme Court. What crossed my mind is why this upcoming election is so important — to try to change the wrong-wing decisions of the Court by having a President who will appoint justices who interpret the U.S. Constitution with more of an open mind, with fairness to everyone (including me, a gay guy who loves another man and wants our relationship to be able to be recognized in civil law as our civil right.) So yep, this election will be important for that, and for much more. But that’s the extent of where I’ll go in expressing my political opinions on this blog. There are many other blogs that blather about all that.

I truly am privileged to work in such a special city. I shouldn’t take it for granted. Few have the ability to walk out the door every day and see such important places where history continues to be made.

The Lonliness of Dying Alone

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My blog posts of late have indicated the fullness and vitality of loving life. And I really do believe I am most blessed by God by having a wonderful and supportive life-mate in my partner, a caring and humongous family, and terrific friends — some of whom I have known since I was three years old. I’m even more blessed by my additional “brothers” in my cherished “AZ”, Clay, and UTBR. Blessings continue with my relationship with a huge band of seniors whom I have come to adore and spend a lot of time with. However, that’s what I’m blogging about today — my senior pals, most of whom live lonely lives ’cause their kids forget about them.

Mabel called at 4am the other day. She’s one of my senior friends who like many others, lives alone. She has two daughters who live in distant states. From time to time, I do some household repairs for her, have her join my aunt and me when we do our weekly grocery shopping, and sometimes just sit and listen. She’s among a close group who serve, in a way, as another adopted “family.”

Whenever the phone rings at 4am, it is never good news. Mabel sounded very concerned — she said that she heard a loud “ka-thump” in the apartment above her. She thought that her upstairs neighbor fell. She tried calling him and then knocked on his door, but there was no answer. She was afraid that she was overreacting, and didn’t want to call the security station at her retirement community because she had been admonished once for “bothering them.” (I don’t know the full story; nonetheless, she is reluctant to call them.)

Mabel has a key to her neighbor’s condo, but didn’t want to go in alone. She was afraid. She called me. I got up, got dressed, told my partner what was going on. He sighed and asked me to send him an email at work later to let him know what happened.

A few minutes later, I had arrived at Mabel’s apartment. She and I knocked, then opened her neighbor’s door. We found him in his bedroom. He had collapsed. He wasn’t breathing and there was no heartbeat. I called 9-1-1 and the community’s security station. While in the kitchen by the phone, I saw a “DNR” (do not resuscitate) order posted on the refrigerator. Responders were there in a flash, and I pointed out the DNR order. They understood, and just turned it over to the cops. Mabel’s neighbor died. Alone.

The cops who came were outstanding in their calmness, professionalism, and compassion. They explained what happens when someone dies alone. They conducted an investigation, but knew that nothing sinister happened. Mabel’s 90-year-old neighbor who had been living alone for over a decade had a cardiac arrest. Mabel cried, held my hand, and just wanted to talk. She was frightened. I just sat with her for several hours until the coroner arrived and the cops said we could go.

The man’s daughter who lives about 50 miles away arrived, breathless. “I talked to him last week on the phone,” she said tearfully. That wasn’t the time to criticize anyone. A week is a long, long time when you’re alone.

My partner wonders why I call about 15 people every day when I get home from work. They have no one else to check on them. No one else to call. They’re alone. It’s so sad. Nobody should be alone in the world, nobody.

If you have family or friends who live alone, give ’em a call, if nothing other than to say that you’re thinking of them. Give them an ear to share a story, a thought, a memory, an idea. Send them a card on their birthday and at other times too — I go “card crazy” sometimes by sending cards for no reason at all, other than to say, “you’re important; you’re thought of today.” (I really ought to by stock in Hallmark.)

Being alone doesn’t mean that one has to be lonely. Who knows, when you call someone living alone, you might learn something! I sure do. I learn a lot about life, about love, and about things that enrichen my spirit, my knowledge, and myself. I am a much better man for the richness of the souls whose lives are intertwined with mine.

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

Improving the Harley’s Comfort

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I have ridden my new Road King over 2,000 miles since I got it at the end of May. During that time, I have found that my back ached after riding, even for fairly short distances, and especially after a long ride. I was having to hunch over and lean forward when I rode with the stock handlebars. My wrists ached also, and my hands went numb due to the position my hands were in on the stock bars. The residual soreness in my back and my wrists lasted for days. Aspirin was becoming my “best friend.”

Working closely with the outstanding Parts Manager at my local Harley dealer, he measured my reach, height, and looked carefully at my body position on the bike. Using those measurements, he found some bars in an after-market catalog that he thought might be better. He placed the order for me. When the bars came in, he had the service department clamp them onto my bike so he could make sure the bars were right for me. They seemed to fit well. But the Service Manager at my Harley dealer said they wouldn’t install the bars because the bars were not made by the Motor Company. (Grumble, grumble… but the service dept. at my Harley dealer is known to be rather poor, anyway.) Moving on, the Parts Manager went with me to a custom motorcycle shop up the street to introduce me to them, and to discuss how to make these bars work with the “fly-by-wire” electronic throttle.

The new bars have a 1″ (2.5cm) higher “rise” and a 3-1/2″ (8.9cm) longer pull-back. I picked up the bike yesterday after the installation was complete, and rode 80 miles. I led a ride today and rode about another 80 miles. Tonight, I have a huge smile on my face because I am not sore in the least bit! I knew the fit could be made better. I now sit up straight with my arms slightly bent. My wrist angle is perfect, too. No soreness or numbness. Terrific!

You also see me in this pic with yet another new helmet. It was made by Seer, which is the helmet worn by CHP officers. It was painted to match the color of my Harley. It is a 3/4 helmet, giving me an open face, but full protection around my head. Worn with protective eyewear, this helmet works great, especially on hot days. It is cooler than a full-face helmet, which I will wear when it is colder.

I’m a happy Booted Harleydude, and much more comfortable on my bike while riding, due to the new bars, new helmet, and am always really comfortable in my Chippewa Firefighter Boots.

Life is short! Wear your boots! (and be comfortable, too!)

The Importance of Touch

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This photo is not my partner and me, but it could be. We both believe in the intimate feeling of touch. When we greet, it’s through touch, often including a full bear hug embrace. When we sit near one another, our hands intertwine, naturally. Heck, I’ll even play “bootsie” (that’s “footsie” but since I always wear boots, I have adjusted the term.)

Saturday morning is my favorite time of the whole week. We don’t have to rush to do anything (usually), and this time of year when I have a summer recess, I don’t have to run out to meetings or public hearings first thing in the morning.

As dawn awakens us naturally, my partner and I just lay next to one another in bed and watch the sun’s glow light up the trees. We feel each other’s touch, from shoulder to toe. Often, we just lay there holding one another without saying a word. This is incredibly important to both of us. It is a way we continue to show our love for one another, and to enjoy each other’s warmth and tenderness.

How blessed I am to have a man who enjoys cuddling as much as I do. A man who shares his deepest thoughts and ideas during these times, when we have quiet but often future-shaping conversations. But most of all, I appreciate that I have a man who values the importance of touch. Our touch with one another often expresses more than words can ever convey.

Next time you see someone you care about, greet him or her warmly with an embrace, the touch of a two-handed handshake, and a big smile. Life is short: show those you love that you love ’em.

Messy, Messy (but fun!)

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I have a very wide diversity of interests when it comes to boots and leather. The only boots I don’t like are rubber boots, ropers, and Chelsea (dress) boots. (Well, I also find absolutely no use for boots that go above the knee). Other than that, you’ll find pretty much all other types of boots in my collection and on my feet.

A while back, someone whose photography on an on-line forum called “Boots on Line” reached out to me via email. He’s a rather private individual, and I respect his privacy. I admire him a lot though. We have much in common, except sexual orientation, but that’s neither here nor there. I have a partner and I’m not interested in any other guy for reasons other than making and keeping friendships. And even though my friend is straight, he isn’t narrow-minded.

“Bamaboy” is a very creative man in his photography and his skills with Photoshop. His photos are “legend” in some circles. He has been best known for photos of various tall boots in mud, with mud, around mud, and with dried mud. I know it sounds messy, but every now and then the boy comes out in both of us, and we take a walk in our boots through mud. (Not together; I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him face-to-face.)

Bama sold me a pair of his most well-used boots. They are 18″ black Wesco Harness Boots. They show a lot of character from all of his “Muddin’ Fun”. I received them in June, but had not had much of a chance to return them to their previous “enjoyment” until today. I went for a ride, stopped near a stream, and, well… got a little messy. See the pics that I took today at this link. It was fun! My internal “little boy” played for a bit.

Then I rode home, cleaned the boots, my bike, my clothes, and anything else upon which mud fell. I even scrubbed the kitchen while I was at it.

We all have times when we remember fun we had as kids, and every now and then as an adult, why not enjoy it? I sure did.

Life is short! Wear your boots! Enjoy and live life to its fullest!

Arrested!

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As threatened in yesterday’s blog post, when my partner arrived at home yesterday, I arrested him. The charges? Being kind, gentle, sweet, and thoughtful. For giving me the very best birthday present I could ever want — being “biker-napped.” For being my soulmate and best friend, for caring, and most of all, for forgiving my faults and weaknesses. Heck, I’m still head over bootheels in love with my guy, 15 years and going strong.

So when he got out of his car, right there in the garage, I read him his rights and gave him no choice but to surrender. He willingly obliged. I had my way with him, and he with me, and we both laughed and had a heck of a lot of fun.

Now don’t get me wrong — the handcuffs didn’t come out. I don’t get into bondage scenes. But he called me, “Officer, Sir” throughout our playtime and kept asking me if my “baton” were registered with the state. These times of spontaneity don’t happen often, as much as perhaps they once did. But when he’s “up for it” (which he was!) and I’m relaxed and being playful, we sure can have a great time!

Then he was surprised with a wonderful home-cooked meal, with all of his favorites. A lasanga that I baked fresh, accompanied by a salad fresh from our garden with a dressing that I make and he enjoys. I even made some yeast-raised dinner rolls that take hours, but the time is well invested to see his enjoyment and smile. We finished it off with a home-made lemon meringue pie, which he loves. He made this all possible, with my chef’s kitchen and his care in supporting me as I built our house (and turned grey in the process.)

I love my man. I am so blessed.

Life is short! Be joyful, show those you love that you love ’em.

Uniform Redux

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I blogged last week about uniforms, which are part of the leather fetish community. Many guys who enjoy leather also enjoy uniforms. I can say the same thing.

I decided today to break out the duty belt and show what it looks like on my CHP uniform. I realized all past pics on the CHP Uniform page of my website didn’t show a duty belt. So here it is again.

As much as I’ve said unkind things about stock Dehner Boots being made of cheap plastic and custom Dehner Boots being too expensive, I still really like the style of Dehners. There are many copy-cats, but none exactly the same. So for the new series of pictures, the Dehners came on. They look great. I just admire their appearance with a uniform.

I’ve kept the CHP uniform on most of the day, and am looking forward to “arresting” my partner when he gets home from work. His offense? Being way too good to me for my birthday, in arranging for me to be “biker-napped”, and also for being so forgiving. I would forget my head if it weren’t screwed on — and he knows it. He just adds reminders to our list and that helps.

Now, to think about the plan of “attack” te he…. or should I say, “grrrrrr!” Now, where did I put that handcuff key?

Crossing The Bridge

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Day One of my “Staycation” found me fulfilling a promise to someone who I befriended 25 years ago but with whom I had lost touch until she Googled my name and contacted me a few months ago. She and I had become friends at an organization where she worked and where I “cut my volunteer teeth.” We became close, but then as I got busy with a job that took me traveling around the world, and she changed jobs so I didn’t see her at the place where I had been volunteering, we drifted apart.

That’s how things go in life — you meet people, form a bond, have fun, but then as life changes, you promise to keep in touch but, alas, sometimes that doesn’t happen. Of course it’s easier today with email, but still you have to put effort into it.

She lives about 90 miles (145km) East of me, on the other side of Maryland’s Chesapeake Bay Bridge. This bridge is huge — when the first two-lane bridge opened in 1952, it was the world’s longest steel structure at 4.3 miles (6.9km). It still serves as the only major overwater connection between the two halves of Maryland, my home state, which is divided by the Chesapeake Bay. A second parallel bridge opened in 1973 and has three lanes.

Usually the “old” two-lane bridge has east-bound traffic, and the “new” three-lane bridge has west-bound traffic. Today, however, authorities had closed one lane of the two-lane bridge, so they reversed one lane of the other bridge to go east-bound as well. And that’s the lane that you get routed to if you use an electronic toll device, called “Easypass,” which I have — attached right to the front of my Harley.

It was kinda spooky to be riding my bike in one lane with two lanes of oncoming traffic immediately to my left on this large bridge. The maximum height is 186 feet (57m), which if one has a fear of heights, can be daunting. (Fortunately, as a skydiver, heights don’t really bother me — it’s the landing LOL!). As long as you look forward and where you’re going, you don’t really see that all there is below you is water.

I found my way to my friend’s business. She operates a little café in a small, rural town among corn fields and farms. She fed me lunch, we caught up about our lives, how they have changed, what we’re doing, our past dreams and current realities. I suspect we’ll be in regular communication again, as I will be doing a website for her cafe to give her business an internet presence.

A very pleasant day and a good ride. Nice weather, light traffic, warm sunshine, but most of all, the rekindling of a friendship.

Life is short: Enjoy! Oh — wear your boots! I did. (Though I can’t say the gang of retired cops I bumped into at a gas station in Stevensville were booted. It was very disheartening to see retired cops riding big motorcycles with a full-face helmet, shorts, and sneakers. Uggghhhh… just stupidity. Oh well, I don’t ride with them; it’s their skin they’ll lose when someone hits them. And of all people, they ought to know better!)

Birthday Wishes

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I am the most blessed man in the world. While today is my birthday, it’s not a milestone, yet it’s nice to know that people remember.

Yesterday, I got a huge “shout-out” on an on-line board on which I participate from a number of really great people. It was initiated by a great friend who I met through that board, and who has been very thoughtful and with whom I have enjoyed developing a warm friendship.

But even before that, the morning began with a phone call to my cell, which I missed because I rarely keep that infernal contraption with me. My dear friend “AZ” sang a sweet birthday song to me, which I have saved on my voice mail and have listened to several times. Despite what he says, he has a beautiful voice.

I also got to speak on the phone with my wonderful friend Clay in Calgary, which was terrific. He is such a great guy. We could talk for hours, though he was at work so I couldn’t be on the line too long.

Then the family began checking in. I received several calls and many birthday cards from my siblings, nieces, and nephews. Each one had a special sentiment and brought warm thoughts to my mind.

Last night, we had a “snuggle night” where we turned off the TV and computer, and my partner and I turned up the 7.1 surround to listen to some beautiful piano music that I got on a CD from my brother as a birthday gift. The CD was recorded in Rome, but the music was a compilation of various works from classical to jazz. It was great! My partner and I just lay in each other’s arms, and I enjoyed a long back scratch. (That’s all I ask for my birthday.)

At dawn, my partner and I awoke, and lay peacefully looking out our windows the tall trees in the back yard, marveling at God’s handiwork. A bright red cardinal dropped by and said “tweet tweet”, which we take as “happy birthday.” Then the squirrels did their gymnastics routine. Certainly they would win the gold if they were allowed to compete in the Olympics. Then I enjoyed another long back scratch…. (smile).

As I was preparing breakfast, the doorbell rang… one of the sweet ladies who I look after who lives in the retirement community around the corner from us came over with a cake, and a card signed by some 40 of “my LW crew” — friends, all, whose lives are intertwined with mine. I had already received more that 50 individual cards in the mail from this gang — these are the folks to whom I send cards throughout the year. I treasure their warmth and friendship.

It’s just gonna be a great day. I can feel it.

Life is short! Wear your boots! Tell those you love that you love ’em, very much. I sure do.

Leather: Moving In It and Moving On

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I am summarizing this two-week series of postings about leather and the leather life with some of my own personal reflections. Tomorrow I will move on to other topics. I hope you have enjoyed the commentary and pieces lifted from my Complete Guide to Leather Gear.

What possessed me to write that Leather Gear Guide and this series? Primarily, I wanted to share knowledge I had gained over the 30 years or so in which I have been enjoying leather. Several email messages related to that Guide and this blog series have said something on the order of, “I wish I had that information when I was getting into leather….”

Those messages, along with some others, have indicated to me that there are fewer younger guys who are getting into leather. And that’s rather obvious by what I have seen in attendance at major leather events such as IML and MAL: we’re mostly all middle-aged and older men. There are few young men filling the ranks when us older guys move on. Go to a leather bar in a major U.S. city these days (except, perhaps, San Francisco) and you seldom see anyone in leather, except for perhaps a leather vest. Not even boots. So many shorts, sneakers, and sandals… sigh. Since bar business has declined, many leather bars have closed. Some have morphed into general gay bars, expanding the clientele into “y’all come”. I understand that they need to do different things to stay in business. I don’t begrudge them for those changes. So I shouldn’t complain about a lack of leather when the attendance is from a broad gay population, many of whom aren’t into leather. That’s fine, I’m not into what they’re into.

I know that as I have aged and have settled into a permanent, monogamous relationship with my partner, I just don’t have the interest in going out any more, even to major leather events. Most of those events are “model and pose” weekends for the once-a-year leather set anyway. Man, you wouldn’t believe how one once-a-year queen raised a ruckus last year during Mid-Atlantic Leather when he was “caught” in public space on a short video clip I took. (It’s sad that so many guys have to live in the closet and aren’t “out” in their leather gear.)

When I was younger, I generally didn’t go out much to leather bars anyway. When I was first getting into leather, we were just learning about AIDS and HIV. It was very scary to think that you might be exposed to a disease that would kill you rather painfully. And at the time, the authorities weren’t really sure what was causing the disease or how it was spread. Studying microbiology at the time, I knew enough about the subject to be appropriately frightened.

Another reason why I didn’t go out that much was/is that I have always been a morning person, and fade quickly when the sun goes down. Even with a “disco nap,” I still can’t manage to stay awake much past 10pm, and that’s “early” for the bars. (Frankly, I have never understood why leathermen don’t go out until 11pm or later.)

The final reason, most relevant today, is that I am not interested in meeting other guys for sex; I get all I want at home, thanks. I don’t need a venue to meet the next trick. My partner isn’t social, and doesn’t want to make friends. I don’t go anywhere without him, so if he doesn’t want to go out, I don’t go. I haven’t really missed much, anyway. No biggie.

HOWEVER, that does not mean that I do not enjoy my leather gear! Heck, I have put a lot of money into buying it, having it custom tailored to fit me, and getting certain changes made to accommodate interests. These changes include pockets on chaps and reflective stripes on breeches for motorcycle riding, and certain other adjustments which I won’t describe, but make the gear more enjoyable for certain activities with my partner.

I wear my leather often in autumn, winter, and spring. I don’t wear it as much in summer, just because it is warm and makes me sweat. It goes without saying, though, that I wear boots all year ’round. I wear my leather when riding my Harley. I wear it when I go out grocery shopping, visiting family and friends, and to meetings. I go to A LOT of meetings in my community, and it is quite common that I may have on a pair of leather jeans, a vest, and boots. That’s my “signature.”

On nights after work or weekends when I am not going anywhere, I may choose to wear one of my uniforms. Just because. I like uniforms, they are comfortable, look good, and may “encourage” some spontaneous encounters with my partner. (smile.)

In summary, leather is great gear: it lasts forever if you take care of it. It is forgiving for those of us whose builds have changed over time. It has a great utilitarian purpose, in providing protection for motorcyclists and against the elements. And it’s just fun!

Life is short: enjoy your boots and leather!