Scenes From A Vacation

So, here's a quick photo-tour of our time in the Northwest. 

As always, you can click 'em to emBIGGERate 'em.

My father lives very near, very near, the Canadian border, in a small farming community.  I mean, it's so close that one wrong turn and the Mounties demand to see your passport. This is a view of Mount Baker rising behind one of the farms.

Speaking of Canada, with their gay marriage and health care, this is the Freedom Arch at the border, and a view of the Canadian flag, done flower style.

In the harbor of Bellingham, I found the name of this boat particularly suited to me, as I often don't give a Flying F. After spotting this, I went in search of the Asshat and the Fucktard, to no avail.

This is the City Center of Tacoma, right across the street from a delicious Mediterranean restaurant we enjoyed. Tacoma is very reminiscent of San Francisco, so it holds a special place in my heart. Old buildings, streetcars--albeit new ones--and a waterfront.

In Tacoma, we saw an exhibit of Chihuly glass--if you've never seen a Chihuly exhibit, what are you waiting for?? But I was stunned that so much of his gorgeous glass pieces could be found on the streets and on freeway overpasses.

A piece of Chihuly glass. I love the reflection  of the overhead lights and how it looks like stars.

Another Chihuly. Many of his pieces are inspired by the handwoven blankets of Native Americans.

 The Tacoma Union Station, now a US Courthouse with a lobby filled with Chihuly glass pieces.

 Mount Rainer, as seen from the Chihuly bridge overpass.

 The street art. Row upon row of Chihuly artwork on a pedestrian bridge from the City Center to the waterfront.

 These are some of the fabrics created by Chihuly and then used as inspiration for his glass pieces.

 And what's a visit to Seattle without braving the crowds, sights and smells of the Public Market.....

....or getting all touristy and going to the Space Needle.

 I loved the views from the top of the Space Needle, looking out at Seattle. I was not so fond of looking down.

 The beautiful Snoqualmie Falls are just about 45 minutes from the craziness and traffic and noise and fun of downtown Seattle.

 The town of Snoqualmie had a railroad museum. Carlos loves railroad cars and railroad travel. I, however, was more taken by the rust and decay of the rail cars and found many--and I mean many--shots I had to take of rust and ladders and numbers.

So, there's a brief tour of some of what we did and saw and smelled and tasted and touched. farmland to city, waterfalls to trains. A little bit of everything, I guess!

Home Is Where The Dirty Laundry Is

Home.

At last.

As always, the vacation is fabulous, but coming home is just as nice.

Especially, it seems, after running around Northwest Washington for over a week, and seeing just about everything.

Let's start with air travel. Hate it/Love it. I love the actually flying part--except for the feeling of being cattle in a  boxcar--but I hate the waiting and the delays, which began instantly. Our flight out was due to leave at 10:15 AM and didn't depart until 12:45 PM. That was sort of okay, because we have a layover in DC of some three-and-a-half hours which was cut to about thirty minutes. Except that our flight out of DC was delayed 90 minutes.

Flying. Pfffft.

On the way back, our flight to Houston was delayed because that plane was coming from Newark, and some hurricane or something was causing all sorts of havoc, and we would have missed our connection in Houston. So, the ticket agent rebooked us on another flight from Seattle to Charlotte, and then from Charlotte to Columbia. Nice. Except it didn't leave for five hours.

I know.

Sad to say, the only flight arc that was on time and the least bit enjoyable was the flight from Charlotte to Columbia because it was, literally, a sixteen minute flight from, as the captain said, "wheels up to wheels down."

The poor flight attendant offered beverages as soon as we were airborne and as soon as she served them she came around to collect, them and we were down.

Headed home.

To pets who went nuts and suitcases of trinkets and dirty clothes. But I've got one more day till back to work, so that's my task.
Laundry. And making up our absence to Tuxedo.

I'll have some photos to share as the week goes on--I took about 300......Oy!--but these few are some of the high points.

High points! Get it?!?

My new favorite drink, The Lychee Cooler:
Yazi Ginger Vodka, Soho Lychee liqueur, muddled mint, fresh lime, ginger beer, ice.
Hea-ven!

Mad About Town

Well, since I'm away, I thought I'd offer up a little tour of Smallville [real name: Camden} for those of you--and I'm assuming that's all of you, who've never been here.

The Kershaw-Cornwallis House,
just south of town.

Camden is the fourth oldest city in of South Carolina, and is actually the oldest inland city, with a population of roughly 8,000. In total area, Camden is 9.8 square miles, of which 9.6 is land, and 0.2 is water.

Like I said, Smallville.

The Robert Mills-designed Courthouse is now
Camden's Visitors Center. Mills is most famous
for designing the Washington Monument.

In 1730--yes, almost three hundred years ago-- Camden became part of a township plan ordered by King George II, and was laid out in 1732 as the town of Fredericksburg in the Wateree River swamp--just south of present-day Camden.

Beautiful downtown Camden.

When King George III ordered eleven inland townships established along South Carolina's rivers, few of the area settlers chose to take lots surveyed in the town, choosing the higher ground to the north, and the Fredericksburg township soon disappeared.

In 1758, Joseph Kershaw, from Yorkshire, England came into the township, established a store and renamed the town Pine Tree Hill. Camden became the inland trade center in the colony, and Kershaw suggested that the town be renamed Camden, in honor of Lord Camden, the champion of colonial rights.

One of my favorite buildiungs in town,
it's now a music store.

In May 1780 the American Revolution came to Charleston, and that town was captured. Afterwards, Lord Charles Cornwallis and 2,500 of his troops marched into Camden and established it as the main British supply post for the Southern campaign.

The Battle of Camden, the worst American defeat of the Revolution, was fought on August 16, 1780 in Camden, and the Battle of Hobkirk Hill was fought by 1,400 American troops led by General Nathanael Greene and 950 British soldiers led by Lord Francis Rawdon on April 25, 1781. The latter battle was a costly win for the British, and forced them to leave Camden.

Camden City Hall.

Camden, though not involved directly with the Civil War, did send a few generals into battle, most notably a Hero of the American Civil War, Richard Rowland Kirkland, who is interred in the Old Quaker Cemetery.

After the war, in 1885, Camden became a place where rich Northern families would spend the winter. The town became associated with many equestrian activities, and is now the home of the third oldest active polo field in America. In the winter, more than 1,500 thoroughbreds call the field home. For that reason, Camden is known as the ‘Steeplechase Capital of the World’.”



The Main Post Office.

 The Carolina Cup is an annual event held on either the final Saturday in March or the first Saturday of April, with the first race held on March 22, 1930; the Cup has been held every year since, with the exception of 1943 and 1945 when a little old thing called World War Two got in the way--why we had the Cup in '44 is not known.

The races have become a South Carolina tradition, and normally draw crowds of over 70,000 spectators to Camden. as we live on the rod to the racecourse, we see most of these people driving, and walking, to the Cup.

The Cup has become a premier social sporting event at Springdale Race Course, which is also home to the Marion du Pont Scott Colonial Cup held on the third Sunday in November.

It's a big deal in Smallville.

And so, y'all, there's a little history, and a few pictures of Small.....er, Camden.


Springdale Race Course, a 500-acre venue for racing and training.



The Cup.



Leaving.....On A Jet Plane

We couldn't have timed this worse if we tried. :::smirk::::

After a summer of hot, humid days, and sultry nights, and just as the weather turns less sticky and more cool, Carlos and I are off on vacation.

We're winging our way from the depths of the South, to the farthest reaches of the North--and I'm not talking about MGB®'s home. We're going to visit my father, who recently relocated to the far Northwest, and will be back in the Sultry at the end of the month.

I was thinking of taking the laptop, but then I decided I'd rather not, and just have a Blog-cation, too. I do have some things planned, if Blogger cooperates, and will have new stuff for you upon our return.

Play nice. 

Household Art

Finally getting some of the art back on the walls.
The photo--click to really emBIGGERate--is of a window shade that I found at a winery in Amador County, California. The desk is Carlos' , from eons past, while the Bible is mine--yes, mine--and is an old family Bible. The statue on the right is called Twisted Kitty, and is made of wrought iron. i found her in a furniture store in the Mission District of San Francisco.

This is one of the many pieces of Asian-inspired art we have in the house; there's something about these things that Carlos and I both love. It sits high on the wall in the sunroom, and you can only see it when you enter the room, so it's kind of a pleasant surprise.

My mother used to do something called Tole painting, which is a type of folk art. She learned to do this from her sister, and my mom spent years painting anything and everything. This is one of the few wall-art pieces of hers that I have and it sits in the kitchen where I can see it, and smile, every day.

And, of course, this is an example of living art. The most beautiful cat in the world, Tuxedo.

Feeling Peachy

Whoosh. That was rough. It was sleep and run to the bathroom. Drink and run to the bathroom. Use the bathroom, then.......run to the bathroom.
But I'm feeling all peachy now....just no more trunk peachy, you know?
Thanks for all the well-wishes. While Carlos was at work, a team of nurses tended to me. tuxedo slept on one side, Max Goldberg on the other, while Consuelo Roca Jones chewed on my toes--Thanks for giving her the idea DD! Tallulah, however, was that drunk nurse, the kind that passes out on a gurney all day, and Ozzo wouldn't come near the cats!
But.....all better now, so let's get this Blogger started!

Friendship

I think I'm a pretty good friend. And, a pretty good long-term friend, too. I have friends I've known for over....gulp......thirty years, and even though I now live clear across the country from some, we can pick up a conversation like we just had margaritas last night.

I count my friends, true friends, good friends, on maybe one hand, if I leave out Carlos and my family, and his, now my, Tia Gloria. And there isn't anything I wouldn't do for them, nor, do I believe, anything they wouldn't do for me.

Now, all my friends haven't been that way. As a gay man, I've lost friends who couldn't 'deal with' my being gay--whatever that means. I remember coming out to a friend, who said, "Hey, that's no big deal. Makes no difference to me" and then never spoke to me again.

His loss, I say now, though at the time I wondered if I should tell anyone else my secrets.
But I did, and those other friends, when I came out, said things like "Duh" and "I knew that" and "So?" And our relationships never changed. Well, except for one, or two.



One friend, I'll call her Meg because, well, that's her name, seemed perfectly fine with my gayness, my gay-itude, my gay-ology, even though she's Catholic. But then she's the kind of Catholic who believes in pre-marital sex with numerous partners and birth control; at least until she had children. Then she became the arch-Catholic, religious zealot right-wing Republican.

And, yet, I still considered her a friend. After I moved to Miami we would correspond occasionally though emails, and would have rousing discussions on politics; that was fun. I love a good conversation/debate/argument. But, when I began talking about marriage equality, she suddenly changed. Her "religion" wouldn't allow it.

And she wouldn't, couldn't, didn't see that her religious viewpoint should have no bearing on the laws in our country. When I explained that gay couples can't marry, aren't entitled to the Social Security benefits, sometimes cannot inherit, the same rights and privileges and benefits breeders like her take for granted, her answer was to say, "Well, it sounds like all you're concerned with is money."

I reminded her that in many states, gay couples have no legal rights to visit one another in hospitals, make health care decisions for one another; many things that aren't about  money.

Her response, literally, was, "Well, you and Carlos could always adopt one another."

That sealed the end of that friendship. If she couldn't, wouldn't, didn't understand that two men, or two women, could love one another and deserve the same dignity and respect as heterosexual couples, then we couldn't remain friends. How can you be a friend to someone who considers you 'less than'.

Cut to a year or so later, and I was email chatting with Meg's sister, Cheri, another lapsed, now vehemently radical Catholic. It was about the time Obama was running for president, and when marriage equality was legal in California. The conversation turned to politics and gay marriage, and again, of course, she disapproved for religious reasons, even though as a single gal, she'd been a wee bit promiscuous, and had even dated  a married man.

When we argued gay marriage, and she is oh-so-against it, I replied to one of her emails, "We're here, we're queer, we're getting married in California."

And she responded, because she thought I meant Carlos and I were getting married, "Good luck with your fake marriage."

I know! And I replied, "I remember being at your wedding and wishing you all the joy in the world, but you can't do the same for me?"

"Whatever," she said.

And the friendship door closed there, too.

I say this because I've been thinking a lot about friendship lately, mainly about Carlos and his circle of friends he had long before there was a Carlos-and-Bob. And he has recently gone through his own sort of trifecta of friendship scenarios of his own.

Carlos wants to start a non-profit group so he can do HIV education and presentations in rural areas of South Carolina where HIV and AIDS are on the rise, but rarely talked about. He talked with friends and colleagues about it and everyone was supportive.

One friend that he's known for years, who can be quite selfish, and quite to himself and about himself, suddenly, out of the blue, sent Carlos a free laptop to use in his work. No questions, no money; just a friend helping out a friend, no questions asked, and nothing needed to be reciprocated.

Right after that, another friend with whom he used to work, was passing through South Carolina and came to stay with us for a day or so. They picked up their friendship liked they'd just seen each the day before, not six years before. The conversation, the in-jokes, the pet names. It was fun to see this rekindling of a friendship.

But then he had the other kind; a de-kindling, of sorts, if you will.

He and another friend from Miami have been great friends, for going on twenty years, or so, and have always joked and teased and played. But apparently, he took the joke too far, and sent her an email about feces. Poop.

This, apparently, for his friend, was enough to end things. It was disgusting, she said.

Inappropriate, she said.
I'm done, she said.
Goodbye, she said.

Over a poop mail.

So, all this got me to wondering. How do you define friendship? How valuable is it to you? And are there any rules that, if broken, would end a friendship? Is it something you value, or something you use until you no longer need it and then toss it aside?

Goodby Cruel Chair Rail.......

Finally! The living room painting project is complete, and I think it looks mah-velous. We changed our paint choices about four times before settling on Rugged Suede and Grey. The first brown was too dark, though I liked it, and the first gray has too much green in it. This brown is lovely, and the gray has more blue in it, and they work so well together.

As I'm apt to do, I wanted something different. So, as I was painting out the trim, from brown to ivory, I brought the trim color down from the crown moldings about two inches and up from the baseboards the same amount. Then, with my trusty ruler, I measured down from the crown about and inch-and-a-half, and taped a half-inch piece of painters tape all the way around the room leaving a half-inch gap between the crown and the tape. i did the same to the baseboards, only the gap was three-quarters of an inch.

Then the painting began. The long wall, er, the art wall, as that's where our watercolors will go, went Rugged Suede, while the other three walls went Gray. And the results, i think, are beautiful, and more importantly, Carlos likes it, too.
Now.....to the hallway and beyond!