The New Year

2011 has arrived with a renewed sense of self and my place in this world.

I've spent far too many years being something I'm not. I'm not one to wear black, smoke, or wax on about poetry or indie films. I don't care for roller derby, or raves, or wearing matching t-shirts for any reason. I don't get "hip." It's not that I'm too old, it's just that these things aren't me.

I want to wear boots from L.L. Bean and plaid shirts. Eating pizza brings me happiness and as much as I want to be more fit, I'm not going to eat celery all day and starve. I want to hear Christmas carols sung by Bing Crosby not the latest pop group that will be forgotten in a few months. I'm tartan not mod. I'm burgers over fillet. I'm primary colors over neon.

Making art brings me joy at every level. Making MY art; not what others want to see. Trends in arts are not for me. I'll create what I like and you should do the same.

This life is short. I want to fill my days with people and things that I deem to be uplifting and full of quality. As the saying goes, "Quality not quantity." I've looked into the past and have seen things I don't like. No regrets, per se, but too much time spent with people that don't feed me on an emotional or spiritual level. As others have told me, I'm an emotional sponge. My "sponge" has absorbed too many bad emotional habits and I'm ready to break free. Bad habits are for teenagers and I need and want to embrace being a man.

Saying I want to be a man has so many connotations. I fought for too long not to be "manly." I shaved my chest and dressed too young for my age. That was a mistake. I like my bald head and my hairy chest. I love the fact I can hang out at bars or in a bookstore any time I want. I'm thrilled that my voice gets deeper the older I get. I'm even okay with a few extra pounds when I used to hate feeling fat. I enjoy the fact that I can be anything as a man: masculine or feminine. Rough or soft. Playful or serious.

I like me. Maybe I like being me for the first time in my life.

Happy New Year, indeed.

Christmas Pudding

After years and years of putting it off, I finally made Christmas Pudding.

I used the recipe from Malcolm Hillier's Christmas, which was published in 1992.

 His recipe isn't as complicated as most, and he uses butter instead of suet. I replaced the candied fruits with dried cranberries and kept the golden raisins. After steaming the pudding for 3 1/2 hours, I removed the pudding and allowed it to cool. As soon as the pudding was cool to the touch, I doused it in brandy, wrapped it, and stored it in a cool dark place.

The pudding can rest this way for months as long as it gets occasional baths in brandy. This particular pudding will be eaten on Christmas Eve with joy and lots of hard sauce while sitting close to a roaring fire.

The Holidays

Celebrate what you will, but my celebrations surround elements of Christmas and Yule. Give me Dickens over myths, and Santa over Saints.

I collect Father Christmas, ornaments shaped like stars and snow flakes, and all kinds of sleigh bells. I crave fruit cake and rum, roasted root vegetables and goat cheese, chocolate, spice, and apples.

Things that are old and brassy appeal to me. I don't enjoy the modern decorations that want to make this festive season into a design contest for the Winter Olympics with stylized trees and snow flakes. Give me old and gaudy over new and plastic in all things.

I like late winter nights looking at the lights reflecting off snow, buildings, and ponds. White string lights should be up all winter, not just between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day.

My decorations for this season are often left up late into January. I don't understand those who literally rip everything down the morning of the 26th and act like the season never happened. I also don't understand those that drift from mall to mall and sale to to sale. Give me a gift that will last over something cheaply made and bought at 4:00 am.

Call me "trad" or old fashioned; I don't care. I know what I like in my holiday celebrations and respect your celebrations in all their forms.

Enjoy the season.

On having plans and planning to read.

We fall into things when we don't have a good plan. I'm very bad about this. I can't fully blame my mental issues because I've never had the goals that I see others have. In high school, I heard so many talk about wanting to teach or go into medicine. I just wanted to read more books. I knew college was what I wanted, but I didn't have a clue about majors and minors and grad school and this and that. I just wanted to read more books.
After a failed attempt at college, I came home and worked in a library. I got to read more books.

In 1994 I went back to college and declared an English major so I could read more books and graduate with something other than a degree in liberal arts. I still didn't have a plan.

I worked in libraries three more times after college. I got to read more books.

The last library job ended on a sour note. The management changed and things became tense. I worried and stressed and lost sleep. I left that job as soon as I could. I went to work for a corporation. It wasn't a dream job, but the pay was a little better and my weekends were free again. I could have a social life and read more books.

Management changed two years ago. I knew things were going to be difficult when I was called on the morning of Christmas Eve to answer a question about work. Mind you, I had my gallbladder removed the day before and had someone staying with me to make sure I didn't have any complications, pain, or bleeding. The manager on the phone never asked about my health or the holidays. I knew I should have started job-hunting then, but I didn't have a plan.

Things happened that kept me in place: my mother's illness and death, the need for my benefits to continue, and excuse after excuse for staying and thinking it will get better. Sometimes things don't get better. I don't read like I used to. Stress has eaten away at me.

Now there is a plan. I'm learning to cope. I fall a lot and there are no training wheels unless you count therapy. I need to finally learn how to deal with difficult situations and difficult, even cruel, people.

This lesson will only make me stronger and make the move to Chicago easier. As for Chicago, I'm planning on reading more books.

The Brighter Side.

When I'm in the midst of melancholy, I too often forget what I have around me that is good and wonderful: My partner who nods and smiles, who wraps himself around me in the mornings; my pets who annoy me greatly but give me great comfort; My adopted sister Christy who paints and finds beauty in everything; My friend Matt who is my coach and cheerleader. He gives the best bear hugs. He really is the best; The people in Indianapolis that I can truly call "friend;" the Indianapolis Museum of Art; My dad who is making a new life for himself. I'm very proud of him; The friends that have come my way through the Internet. They have made me laugh and cry. Many of these friends are helping us make the move to Chicago more smooth; My artistic talents that I need to foster more and more; The people that are my chosen family; The magic and mystery of Hallowe'en and Yule.

I could go on for a long time about these things. Writing them and saying them makes me realize that the good far, far out weighs the ugly.

Changes.

Things change. That is the one constant in this universe. Blink and something around you will be altered in some way. A leaf has blown into your path. A cloud moves. Your emotions shift.

Since Thanksgiving of 2008, the world has shifted and changed in ways I never imagined. Relatives I once trusted became distant and cold. I had my gallbladder removed 2 days before Christmas. The management changed at work. Months later in 2009, my mom found out she had cancer and was gone in nine weeks. Work became progressively more difficult.

2009 bled into 2010.

I journeyed to New Mexico, Chicago, and New York.

We made the decision to move to Chicago and placed our home on the market. Another huge change.

Big changes. Little changes. Ups and downs. Work and money woes. And then it all came crashing down.

Around Noon on August 11th, I cracked under the pressure and had a good old-fashioned nervous breakdown. Had this been fifty or sixty years ago, I would have checked myself into a sanatorium for some rest. Now under the care of two doctors and a therapist, I glue together the pieces.

My psychiatrist diagnosed me with cyclothymia. After much discussion with him, I now realize how that has impacted my life for decades. Anxiety, mania, and depression have walked with me every step of the way. I can recall bad episodes as far back as first grade. Moods swing. Interests wax and wane. The cycle hasn't been stopped yet.

I feel embarrassed and ashamed. I'm sorry for any grief I've caused. I know I've pushed away good people and let in some bad.

I know my father is having a hard time grasping this. I know that my partner is fatigued, worried, and scared for me.

I've relapsed once, and to be perfectly honest, I can feel the same pressures building up again. The medicine I'm taking has to be carefully titrated and it's very apparent I'm not where I need to be yet.

The one change I can see clearly is slowly but surely being lit at the end of this tunnel: the move to Chicago.

I'm hoping for good changes. I know they are out there. I know they are coming.

Indianapolis IN USA

June will mark the 10th anniversary of my move from Seattle to Indianapolis. Those 10 years gave me the chance to become very close with my mother before she died, the chance to meet so many friends, the chance to meet Scotty, and the chance to rediscover myself.

Indianapolis has been good to me in so many powerful ways. Having said that, my love for Indianapolis has waned. Indianapolis has a chip on its shoulder about its location, its geography, its lack of dynamic public transportation, its far-too-invasive Family Friendly atmosphere, and its fear of change.

There are troubling things here: A huge lack of respect for education, libraries, and the arts. The fear of the outsider. The myth of “Hoosier Hospitality.” The fear of being “too” anything (too showy, too tall, too diverse, too big, too alive, etc.). The embracing of all things easy and comfortable.

There are also amazing things here: The Indianapolis Museum of Art. The Eiteljorg. The downtown canal. Crown Hill Cemetery. Massachusetts Avenue. I could go on and on about the places I enjoy and love.

Indianapolis doesn’t like change and doesn’t like to be pushed. I don’t either. I’m like a cat when it comes to changes.

Thanks to a small group of friends, I’ve been pushed, and my fear of change is going away. I can’t wait to see what the next 10 years will bless me with as I travel to new horizons and redefine the meaning of home.