January Offers Little to Look Forward To

The colored lights are coming down. The extended family has scattered to distant homes. The parties are over, replaced by the drudgery of endless routine. It no longer seems proper to indulge in sugar cookies. No wonder this time of year heralds the arrival of my annual winter depression.

Traditionally, the depression starts on New Year's Day, the day upon which there is officially nothing left with which to look forward.

All we're left with after the holidays is darkness and cold. Oh, there may be a flicker of something to live for, like that exciting Sunday when friends gather round to enjoy the annual television event that enraptures and unifies the nation. I'm talking about, of course, the season premiere of Downton Abbey.

This year we also have the Winter Olympics to look forward to.

Ok, if you know anything about me, you know that my interest in the Olympics pretty much matches my interest in all other sports. That is to say, I'm not interested. Primarily, I'm annoyed that the games preempt my favorite TV shows.

I've tried various ways of averting that dark void which consumes me in January and February. Armed with an official diagnosis of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), I've tried sitting in front of a special light box which helps my brain create the same chemicals as the sun. For me, it also triggers migraines.

I've tried taking walks on my lunch hour - getting sunlight and exercise at the same time. That works pretty well until there's a storm and the sidewalks ice up, putting my actual bones at risk.

Well-intentioned friends always point out that the days are getting longer. Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's still cold. The grass is still brown if not covered with snow, and the deciduous trees are still leafless. I suppose the good thing about leaving the house on dark mornings and returning after the sun goes down is that you never have to see the brown grass.

Spring seems so far away. There are no holidays until Memorial Day, unless you're lucky enough to work someplace that recognizes Martin Luther King Jr. or President's Days. I am not in that lucky crowd.

The one thing that has worked consistently is to plan a winter vacation to a place that, by Colorado standards, doesn't have winter.

I've gone to San Diego, California, for a few days every winter since 2000.

It works best to plan the trip for February because the season's endlessness seems even worse than January. Plus, if I start planning right after Christmas, I'll have all of January and part of February to look forward to the palm trees and beach and 60 degree temperatures. By the time I come back, there are only a few more weeks of winter.

My annual vacations to California don't stop the winter blues, but they sure help. Meanwhile, I've decided it's ok to eat sugar cookies all winter long.

Holiday Enjoyment Threatened by Annual Annoyances

Twinkling lights. Sugar cookies. General good will. There are lots of reasons to enjoy the month of December.

But I find myself feeling gloomy this year and I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's that Black Friday shoppers are tasering each other at BrawlMart. Maybe it's because I put my little tree up in my new living room and it just looks sad.

Every year, there are a few unavoidable holiday occurrences which threaten all the seasonal cheer I so delicately nurture. Would it be possible, for the sake of sanity, to avoid the following?

• Heavy metal versions of Little Drummer Boy. 
• Gift exchanges at the office. 
• The work holiday party. 
• People who think that wishing someone "happy holidays" is akin to declaring war on Christmas. 
• People who talk on the phone while they drive - not specific to this time of year, but offensive the whole year through. 
• Secret Santas. 
• Obnoxious Christians who want to cram their distorted version of the faith down everyone else's throat by "reclaiming" the "reason for the season." 
• Loud renditions of Silent Night 
• Barbra Streisand's version of Ji Ji Ji Ji Ji Ji Jingle Bells. 
• Really, any version of Jingle Bells. 
• Beautiful songs like Oh Holy Night slaughtered by popular singers.
• Treating the delightful song from the Sound of Music, My Favorite Things, as a Christmas tune. It's not. 
• Lists. End of year and other kinds ... including, yes, this one.
• Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer - any version. 
• Snow - in spite of the purported desirability of a "white Christmas," all it really does is mess up travel when people most want to achieve distant destinations.

Wow. A lot of these have to do with music. There must be other issues tied up in here. I never said I didn't harbor multiple issues. Well, lest you think I'm nothing but a Scrooge, let me just say that there are some lovely holiday lights up in my neighborhood and I'm planning to enjoy them. Have a good month and try to find the joy where you can!

Postblog From Asia: A BillsWeek List

I’m feeling pretty well traveled and rather well versed about what’s going on in Asia. This after spending a few days in Hong Kong, a half hour looking at Taiwan from 30,000 feet, and three hours sitting in the United Airlines passenger lounge of Narita International Airport nibbling chicken nuggets and drinking diet coke (so technically I can say I’ve been to Tokyo). Regarding the political situation or economics, I’m happy to give my lengthy opinion to anyone who asks even out of the most restrained or merely courteous interest.  

In this very special edition of BillsWeek, I offer some observations from a recent trip I took with Clyde, my globe-trekking boyfriend:

• Hong Kong has great Italian food. We also ate Spanish and Thai food. I’m happy to report that we turned our noses up at every McDonalds we passed, though we did succumb to a couple of Starbucks along the way.
• If you are lounging by the hotel pool and haven’t taken your shoes off before putting them up on the chair, an attendant will appear from nowhere and very politely insist that you put a towel under your feet.
• You see a lot of white men with younger Asian women but never Asian women with younger white men. The women, however, always seem to be paying.
• There are Starbucks and 7-Elevens everywhere – unless you really want one. Then they are nowhere to be found. Just like home.
• I was worried about Americans being boorish slobs in Hong Kong. I’m happy to report that Australians are worse. I’m sure they never take their shoes off by the pool.
• Hong Kong is serious about this bird flu stuff. If you cough or sneeze at the airport, you may be approached by a health official to have your temperature checked. I don’t know what happens to you if you have a fever but I wonder if you are whisked away never to be heard from again. irport, you may be approached by a health official to have your temperature checked. They are ser
• Netflix is not available in Asia.
• Vapid skinny women are the same everywhere.
• The Today Show on Australian TV is a little less stupid than the American version. But the male host seems to be on every program at all times of day. Or is it just that all the male hosts look the same? And by the way, is it a little odd to be getting Australian TV in Hong Kong? I usually turned the channel to CNN.
• Hong Kong has more malls than anyplace I’ve ever seen, and they are all underground on the way to the subway. Clyde calls them mall traps.
• As at home, mid-November finds exclusive high priced stores and little street markets alike gearing up for Christmas with tacky red and white do-dads and depictions of snow.
• Victoria Harbour smells just like the waterfronts in New York, San Diego, San Francisco, Baltimore, and anyplace else with access to the ocean.
• I know I’m not very sophisticated, but I like my meat butchered, wrapped in plastic, and not in any way, shape, or form resembling the living thing it once was.
• And by the way, the Boeing 787 non-stop flight home was awesome! It was great to touch down in Denver approximately four hours before we left Tokyo.

So anyway, if you have any questions for me, be sure to ask. I’m more than happy to share my expertise. And by the way, sumo wrestling was on TV in the Tokyo airport, so there was more than just chicken nuggets to be had there.

Globe-Trotting Boyfriend Inspires World Travel

I could follow my boyfriend to the ends of the earth.

And that's not just passionate hyperbole.

Clyde is actually going to China, Thailand, Viet Nam, and Qatar in the next few months for his job.

When he called me last week from Beijing, it blew my mind to think we were as far away from each other as it is possible to be while still on this planet. As a genetic Nebraskan, naturally, I wanted to know what the weather was like over in China and what he had been eating. In case you're wondering, the weather was cold, and as for food, I was sorry I asked. Clyde's vivid descriptions of the crunchy insects and wriggling sea creatures for sale on Beijing streets left me a little queasy.

Nausea not withstanding, as Clyde's significant other with available PTO, I am in the enviable position of tagging along occasionally. So next month, I'll be accompanying him to another part of China, Hong Kong.

It's been 10 years since I stepped outside of the United States. Usually, my universe exists between central Denver and suburban Highlands Ranch where I work. I go to California once or twice a year and occasionally venture into the foreign lands of Wyoming and Nebraska.

Clyde says Hong Kong is a good first place to visit in Asia. The city-state welcomes people from the west and signs are often in English so you can get around with less chance of getting lost.

I am excited about my first trip to Asia, but I'm a little nervous too. Clyde assures me there will be plenty to eat that doesn't wiggle on the way down. But what clothes should I wear? I'll probably want to avoid the usual American outfit of short-shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops. What will it cost to use my iPhone? What about jet-lag? What if the Chinese don't like me?

This is an incredible opportunity to see a distant place with someone who's already familiar with it. In return, I have offered to sweep Clyde away for a weekend in Nebraska. Can you believe he's never been there?

Getting into the "Spirit" of Halloween

Around the big old houses in my neighborhood which tend to be spooky anyway, skeletons are springing up in front yards and witches are flying suspended in trees.

My decorations, like my home, are considerably more modest in comparison. I am thinking of picking up a cheap plastic ghost to hang on the screen door.

My boyfriend has already put three pumpkins on the front step. Combined with the occasional ghostly cat in the window (see photo) and the dead leaves I tend not to sweep away, they could create an eerie ambiance if you squint just right.

I'm not a big Halloween lover. I always thought the depictions of death and violence were, well, scary. I don't like being scared. Real life is frightening enough, what with supervolcanos and congressional gridlock and the like.

Because some past Halloweens have overlapped  with personal experiences of illness and death, I don't particularly think fake cemeteries in front yards are funny.

But I'm in the minority.

Perhaps its the skeletal appearance of trees recently shed of leaves, or the longer, darker nights, but this time of year, people seem preoccupied with the specter of death. In Mexico, Dia de Muertos mocks it with colorful celebrations and comic ghoulishness. In some Christian traditions, less fun of course, All Saints and All Souls Days solemnly commemorate those who have passed on.

Most of us in the U.S. mainstream culture, however, dress up in fanciful costumes, drape fake spider webs around our homes, and give lots of candy to children.

As a child, I happily participated in Halloween traditions. Every year, I wore a cheap plastic mask through which I could barely breathe, the condensation building around my mouth until I had to lift it away from my face. I blindly felt skinned grapes which I was told were eyes and ran my fingers through cold spaghetti which felt like brains. I scrupulously avoided apples and popcorn balls which could be laced with razor blades. I watched the Charlie Brown Halloween special hoping year after year that maybe, just maybe, this time the Great Pumpkin would show up for Linus, but he never did.

Frankly, what I enjoy most about Halloween is that it kind of kicks off the holidays for the rest of the year. After trick or treat, it's only a short stretch to Thanksgiving, followed by my birthday which ranks high on the celebration scale, and Christmas, of course.

This year, however, I'm in a new home where neighbors go all out with the spooky decorations. I have to consider the possibility that there will be children knocking at my door expecting candy. I should probably up my game a little and get into the, quote, spirit of the season. I had better get that plastic ghost on my door.

Some People Aren't People People

Apparently I'm not a people person.

I sort of knew this already, but it feels somehow different to have it confirmed by someone else. It came to my attention when a new employee was marched around by a supervisor to meet everyone in the office. When they got to me and Michael, my coworker, the supervisor explained that if the new guy had any questions, he'd better ask Michael because Bill is not, "a people person."

Hmmm.

Well, I am an analytic introvert, so I had to think about it for a minute before I decided I was insulted. By the time I had a witty retort, they'd already walked away.

Even if he was just kidding, the comment kind of touched a nerve.

In my family, being good with people was highly valued. With all the medical, education, and mental health professionals in the family, my dad wondered why I was his only kid who worked in a corporation just for money. It's not that I didn't try teaching school and working in the ministry. I just ended up, for a variety of reasons, working in corporate America and spending more time with computers than with other human beings.

I may not be the most effusive person in the world. I know I have a reputation for being "standoffish" and "aloof." Part of this is because I don't care to hang around the water cooler and gossip or discuss last night's reality TV. Don't even ask me about the local sports teams. I usually keep my mouth shut when others pointlessly blab their political opinions. I don't express every thought I think or feeling I feel. I'd rather get to work and get it done so I can leave early, not that that ever happens.

Also, I'm shy. It's not that I don't want to talk to you, it just takes time to get up the gumption.

I'm actually an extreme introvert but that doesn't mean I don't care for people or that I can't interact. It certainly doesn't mean I don't have feelings.

But I'm not unfriendly. I've cracked the odd joke or two. I certainly wouldn't mind answering the questions of a new employee.

You know who's not good with people? That jerky supervisor.

New Home Ready for People to See

Regular readers are aware of the challenges I've faced this summer in my new (old) home, somewhat beleaguered with unexpected "issues."

Well, I've tackled many of the issues and my domicile is becoming more livable. It hasn't been a smooth, or cheap, process, but I am moving bravely forward.

For example, the guest bed has been delivered, in plenty of time for the first overnight visitors. Or, well, actually just one visitor. One short visitor (the person being short, not the visit). Turns out the bed is a lot smaller than I expected. Don't ever order a sofa-bed from a catalog. On the upside, Charles the cat has claimed it as his own and covered it with fur.

The prominently empty wall in the living room now has a canvas photographic print which brings out and brightens the colors in the room (wow, I almost sound like a decorator). I still hope to secure an original piece of art from a well known artist - or at least an artist that I know well.

Ants and wasps have been properly subdued. Some other insects continue to challenge. Charles likes to watch spiders. They flourish under his gaze. Miller-moths really bring out his inner wild hunter, but as far as I know he has yet to catch one.

I'm in the process of figuring out where to put my Christmas tree when the time comes.

I still need things like candles and throw pillows (not too many - one can go way overboard with throw pillows).  Please don't give me these things - I want to pick my own. Thank you.

I'm still aghast that there are no drawers in the kitchen - that's right, NO drawers - I do have a system of hooks and canisters for organizing everything.

I haven't been able to get a handle on are the outside chores. My "garden" and patio are overgrown with weeds, or at least I assume they are weeds. How do you tell what's good and what to pull? Some of those invasive species are really pretty. I've done some weeding but the more I do the worse it seems to get. Fortunately it will soon succumb to winter and I won't have to think about it for a few months.

I still don't understand how my furnace works. It's a long story, but the short of it is I'd better learn before it gets cold.

The bump in the garage floor that scrapes the bottom of the car is still there and always will be. I've learned to drive around it, but there's a problem. It seems to be moving from one side of the garage to the other.

The good news is that I'm ready to invite people over to see the place. If you're in the area September 28, 2013 at 7:00 p.m., stop by for the official housewarming party. It promises to be a fabulous event. Or at least, there will be some food set out. Just let me know if you're coming so I'll have enough chips and salsa. And please, no gifts. I want the house warmed with your presence, not your presents.

Making the "A" List

 I've never been in the "A" group.

When I was a kid, I was strictly a B student. Socially, I was either a loner or a music/theatre nerd. Notice how I spell theatre? That's how theatre nerds spell it.

As an adult, I've rarely rubbed elbows with the "A" Gays, a status conscious caste of gay men - their expensive fashion, cars, homes, and "A" list parties hold little attraction for me. My idea of a good party is to eat pizza and listen to music from the '80s. Come to think of it, I have a lot of parties by myself.

Anyway, being an "A" lister was never something to which I aspired. Until a business trip a couple of weeks ago when I had to fly Southwest Airlines.

If you've flown Southwest, you know what I'm talking about. On a normal airline you can reserve a seat ahead of time, indicating your preference of window or aisle and choosing whether to sit at the front of the plane where it's less bumpy or in the rear where you're more likely to survive a crash. On Southwest, they don't assign seats. You have to compete with other passengers while being herded onto the plane like cattle.

In order to avoid a total stampede, Southwest thoughtfully divides the passengers into three groups. When you get your boarding pass, instead of a seat number, it tells you whether you're in group A, B, or C. The A group gets to board first. The B group boards after the A group, and the C group is just pathetically out of luck, destined to fill up the middle seats, sitting crammed between two other passengers with their elbows turned inward towards their ribs.

For the first flight, I did everything right, at least what I usually do for a normal, assigned seat, airline. I logged into the Southwest web site the night before and printed my boarding pass. Out came a piece of paper with a great big C on it. Good grief! All the A and B passes were already gone. What if I'd waited to check in until I got to the airport? Could I even get on the plane?

The next day at Denver International Airport, I had to watch while the A group lined up and slowly boarded, their huge carry-on bags promising to take up even more room. Then I watched as the B group, slightly more lackluster, did the same. Then the Cs were called. My group of sad sacks. C stands for clueless, I thought. Those not savvy enough to get their boarding passes adequately early.

I'm not a very competitive person. I hate sports and I don't strive to be the first to have the latest anything (technology, car, what have you). But you'd better believe that for the return flight, I logged in exactly 24 hours before takeoff, the soonest they allow you to do it, and got an A boarding pass. I was not going to be in the Clueless group again.

My next flight isn't until November but I've already made my reservation. As I booked the ticket on the United Airlines website, I went to the graphic of the 787 Dreamliner plane and clicked on the most convenient looking aisle seat. There will be plenty of stress on that long flight. Wondering where I'm going to sit will not be part of it.

Teachers: It's Back to School Time

Teachers on Facebook are whining about going back to work after having a few weeks off during the summer.

Someone I know who works in the public schools wonders what the rest of us, who didn't get the summer off, must think. Since I used to be a teacher and now work in the corporate world, I feel qualified to address her concern.

I understand the whining. Sure, I'd like to have summers off, and two or three weeks at Christmas - sorry, winter break, and many other major holidays now that you mention it. But as much as I enjoyed school teaching, I think I'll hold on to my office job.

Unlike most teachers, I spend most of my work day sitting down. I take my lunch when it's convenient, and if I return a few minutes late, all hell will not break loose.

Since I'm not a teacher, I can go to the bathroom when I need to go - I don't have to wait for a break between classes if I'm lucky enough to get away from students who need me.

When I have a doctor's appointment I can usually slip away for an hour without much problem.

I may not have summers off, but I do get some paid time off which I can take any time during the year. I actually enjoy vacations in the off season when the kids are all in school.

I work in a comfortable office in my own private cubicle. I can pick my nose without being seen. I can make a quick phone call to the cat's veterinarian. I even listen to the radio sometimes while I work.

My office is safe. There is no gang activity, and very little violence.

I don't have to deal with parents and politicians who think my job is easy.

My office has plenty of  paper and pens. I don't have to bring supplies from home because there's not enough in the budget for what I need..

And while we're at it, not all teachers get the summer off. Besides summer school, many teachers go back to further their education on their own time and on their own dollar.

So if you hear teachers whining about summer ending, give them a break. During the school year, sometimes they have to hold it all day.

Reality TV Not Real Enough

I don't watch "reality television." It's not realistic enough.

Catching just a glimpse of The Bachelor, I notice, for example, that the participants are impossibly good looking - they don't look like anyone real that I know. Not that my friends aren't good looking. But they are real.

I have enjoyed a couple of episodes of the Amazing Race, thanks to my friend John. Those contestants at least travel to real locations around the world, though they don't spend any time learning about where they are. They just eat the food or do whatever disgusting task they are assigned before moving on to the next location.

I do not understand, for the life of me, the appeal of following characters like the Kardashians or Honey Boo Boo. Who cares about these people? I'm more interested in watching my neighbors, who are real people, come and go. And some of them are quite good looking.

I want reality TV to reflect, you know, reality.

I have some great ideas for reality shows that reflect actual lives like mine.

How about one called Rush Hour? It's a game of suspense, where contestants have to choose the fastest route home from work at 5:00 p.m. Think about the skill it takes to deal with a traffic jam. Can you anticipate which lane will move the fastest? Do you take the next exit and risk taking side streets all the way home or stay the course in case things loosen up? A little side game could be called "Find the Radio Station that will Give a Traffic Report First," or just "Find a Radio Station" if your public broadcaster is having a pledge week. Throw in some extra drama, like what happens if the gas tank is almost empty. Or you really have to pee but it's at least 20 minutes til home. Or ethical dilemmas: what if your cell phone goes off while you're just sitting there? Is it ok to answer it if the car's not moving? At the end, the exhausted winner gets to have dinner with the family.

I should do a pitch to the networks. I have tons more.

• Computer Races - see how much work you can get done while software updates automatically install on your computer followed by a mandatory restart. If you win, you don't have to redo that project you forgot to save.
• Dishwasher Wars - how creative can you get in order to cram everything into the dishwasher no matter how full it gets. If you lose, you have to do the extra dishes by hand.
• Pill the Cat - now there's a reality show, full of drama and action, suspense, and tears (yours or the cat's). If you lose, you have a bloody finger and a resentful cat. We could film this one at my house, twice a day. 
• Is He or Isn't He? Is She or Isn't She? - Everyone has a neighbor, coworker, or relative who might be gay, but no one is sure. You can't tell just by looking anymore. These days, anyone can wear any kind of jewelry anywhere on their body, not to mention bright colored or plaid clothing. Tattoos and bodyscaping (shaving various areas of your body) are no longer indicators of orientation.  Some people won't define their sexuality one way or the other. There is no prize in this game, because chances are you'll never actually figure it out.
• Elevator Mind Games - Get into an elevator on the top floor and push the button for the bottom floor. Subtract points every time you have to stop to let people on or off. Lose double points if someone gets on and rides just one floor instead of taking the stairs.

It's not that I don't like looking at beautiful bodies on The Bachelor. It's just no match for true reality.

Pledge Drives Annoy Blogger

Pledge drives are SOOOO annoying, especially when you're driving.

Of course I'm talking about those beg-a-thons public radio stations put on about four times a year.

For days and days and days, regular informative programming, sometimes the only news I get, is interrupted by interminable requests for money, punctuated by an infinitely repeated toll-free number for making a pledge.

It’s endless.

And no matter what they tell you, one thing that doesn't end the pledge drive is making a pledge. They make it sound like if they just reach their goal for that hour, they'll stop. But they never do. They just set another goal.

During those endless pledge-drive days, I'll go to extremes to avoid listening. I may go as far as changing to a (gasp) commercial station or just driving in silence.

I'm not saying we shouldn't support our local public radio and television stations. I just wish there were a less annoying way for them to remind us that we need to support them.

I'm sure the public radio people hate delivering the excruciating upbeat chatter as much as I hate listening to it. Who cares if Glen in Castle Rock just became an evergreen partner member? I'm sure that if there were a better way to raise money, they would.

It might help to look at the up-side to pledging. Sometimes they give you stuff if you donate enough. I have a couple of cool public radio coffee mugs. I even have a tote bag. It makes me look smart when I use it to shop. 

I really like public radio when it's not pledge drive time. It's about the only source of broadcasted information that doesn't wallow in breathless sensationalism. National Public Radio in particular delivers balanced, well-crafted journalism.

Oh sure, there's the occasional annoying feature about some obscure musician that I just don't care about. I can live without the insipid sharing of recipes, especially at holiday time.

But nothing good comes free in this life. If I have to change the channel for a few weeks every year, then so be it.

Hmm – I suppose if you wanted to make a substantial donation to BillsWeek, I could send you a coffee mug.

With Gay Rights, It's Personal

I didn't realize just how invested I was in the Supreme Court's rulings until I learned that they had struck down key components of the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) and effectively killed California's Proposition 8 which outlawed LGBT marriage. While I have always been in favor of equal marriage rights for everyone, it wasn't something I thought I was personally invested in.

But whenever these gay rights battles rage, I take it personally. Most straight white people in this country probably haven't suffered the indignity of having their basic civil liberties voted on. But the "tyranny of the majority" is no academic matter when your neighbors can take your rights away, be it related to legalized marriage, hate crime legislation, immigration, voter identification, and so on. When nine people in Washington get to decide on whether you are entitled to something that most people take for granted, it's hard not to feel like you are under attack even in this free country of ours.

Today, things went our way. But there are still people out there who hate us enough to wish us second class status or worse. I have just a few things to say to them:

1. My right to freedom and equality outweighs your right to the "freedom of religion" you are claiming. What you really want is the freedom to impose your religious beliefs on me. That's not freedom. That's what the Taliban does.

2. GAY MARRIAGE IS TRADITIONAL MARRIAGE. Or, proponents of same sex marriage are fighting for access to traditional marriage. It's really not very radical to want what everyone else has. Early in the gay rights movement, it was common for LGBTs to claim that they didn't want to emulate marriage, that alternative models of partnership should be considered. Now that was radical. How times have changed.

3. Isn't it illogical that the people who condemn us for being unable to sustain committed relationships are the same ones who go out of their way to prevent us from having access to the institution which enshrines commitment? Marriage contributes to stability to society. There is little doubt that the 1,000 or so rights that automatically come with marriage strengthen a family, regardless of the parents' genders.

4. My gay marriage (if I ever get to have one) is no threat whatsoever to any straight marriage anywhere. Divorce, domestic violence, the economy - all are more of a threat to a straight marriage than whether two dudes or two chicks down the street are joined in matrimony.

We aren't there yet. There are still states, including Colorado, where gay marriage is illegal.

But, as a result of today's rulings, more than ever before, my boyfriend and I, while not making any commitments just yet, can consider the very concrete possibility that we may someday have the federally recognized option of actually getting legally and officially married.

Rethinking the Hermit

Remember the old hermit in the cartoons who lived in a run down cabin deep in the woods? With his long beard and bare feet, he eschewed contact with other people, keeping company with only his shot gun and moonshine. People from the outside world would occasionally run across the old coot but would retreat in a hurry when confronted by his surly aversion to hospitality. He was a holdout from the pre-modern world, living off the grid, beyond the reach of telephones and other technology which might link him to others.

You'd rarely think about why he ended up that way. Perhaps he was abused as a child. Maybe it was a life-style preference. Maybe he was just plain crazy.

He was almost always a man. You didn't hear of many women living alone in the woods, unless they were crazy old witches who ate lost children.

Even though his was not a glorified existence to which one would aspire, I've often fantasized about being a hermit. I enjoy my time alone.

It's not that I'm antisocial - ok, yes it is. I like to turn the phone off so it doesn't interrupt whatever I'm doing. I hate to be bothered, especially when the call is from a telemarketer or one of those increasingly annoying charity groups that will just happen to be driving their truck through my neighborhood and want to pick up my castoffs.

But I could never live out in the woods. Too much quiet makes my ears ring. I like the sound of traffic. I need 24 hour access to a supermarket, where my preferred time to shop is 4:30 a.m. - when no one else is there. I require convenient take out food - which I take home and eat alone.

I'd be more of an urban hermit.

Perhaps in the 21st century, most hermits are urban. You might see them out and about, but they don't make eye contact. They close the shades in the middle of the day so they don't have to see you through the window. City hermits may or may not guard their moonshine with a shot gun, but they might have multiple locks on the front door.

I'd only be a mediocre hermit. I don't always yell at visitors, just kids when they throw rocks at my window. I don't brandish a shotgun - just, occasionally, my middle finger. I drink Diet Coke, not moonshine.

Choosing solitude has its risks. I've heard stories about the mummified remains of urban hermits found sitting in reclining chairs, the television still turned on to the channel they were watching years ago when they died. 

No risk of me isolating to that extent. I'd prefer to think I'll die with a little more drama, leaving a vast fortune to my cats, much to the annoyance of my human loved ones, and zealously guarding my stash of Diet Coke with a flick of the finger to the end.

You Just Have to Set Priorities

I thought I'd take a break from ranting about my new house and all its problems. Even I have trouble complaining that much. Instead, with the move behind me, I thought I'd step back and focus on what's really important.

For example, I think my life would be better if I was more attentive to my spirituality. I've been told that you don't really get the full benefit of meditation until you do it for at least an hour a day.

See, you have to make room in your life for what really matters.

Of course health is important too. Without health, you have nothing. My doctor says I must exercise a half hour a day to ensure heart health.

In addition, a good diet which requires fresh vegetables and lean meats also promotes health. It's too expensive to eat out for healthy food all the time, so you'd best prepare your salads and chicken breasts at home. Between the shopping (which you do more often because fresh stuff doesn't keep) and meal preparation time, that averages out to about 45 minutes per day.

If you have a lawn, you probably spend a couple hours a week keeping it nice and that's good exercise.

And rest. You need plenty of rest. The average adult requires way more sleep than they usually get. Eight hours is usually not realistic, so let's say seven hours per day.

And of course you have to work. It's just a given that we spend a minimum of eight hours per day at our jobs. If you live in a metropolitan area, you probably spent at least an hour in the car driving to and from the office daily - more on days when you have errands to run or evening activities to attend.

This is the stuff that matters.

I don't know what the recommended time is that you spend with your spouse and/or kids. My feeling is that most people cut back on this to accommodate more urgent activities. Of course if you chauffer a couple kids around to music lessons or soccer practice, that eats up some hours.

And at some point the laundry needs to be done.

And then there's the more optional stuff. Like Facebook. You can live without it for one day, but you can really fall behind if you're not careful. It takes time to read all the posts about the kid of someone you don't remember going to high school with. And if you click links to articles about creeping communism in the Obama administration, and videos of the most adorable kittens ever, you've been on line a good hour. And that doesn't include Instagram, Pin Interest, and the other stuff you have to check.

And be honest: you know you spend at least two hours a day watching television. It's imperative that you check the weather for tomorrow and keep track of who's getting voted off whatever reality program your office mates are into.

It seems like a lot, but we can have it all if we really try. You just have to set your priorities. And of course you have to make everything a top priority.

Screw it. I'm going to order a pizza.

New Home Continues to Build Character

Friday on my lunch break, I wandered around the Home Depot garden center with a glazed look in my eye. I picked out some heavy duty work gloves, but I wasn't sure what kind of little diggy thing to buy for planting flowers. I don't even know what those diggy things are called. I also needed a big clipper thing for cutting back dead branches. Have you ever been to the Home Depot garden department? It's huge! Completely overwhelming.

I appreciate a nice green space. I love a good stroll in the garden or a romp on the grass. I enjoy seeing trees and flowers and nice landscaping. But I'm an "appreciator," not a "doer." I'm nearly as handy with garden tools as I am with regular tools, which is to say, not very handy.

As a teenager I mowed the lawn for the family home. I hated it. I sneezed and sniffled over row after row of grass, only to have my dad tell me what a terrible job I'd done. I wasn't good at edges, apparently, or something. I never quite got it.

What I did very consciously know was that when I grew up and lived on my own, I would NEVER mow a lawn. I would live in apartments and condominiums where that was done for me. For that matter, I looked forward to the time when I would never again lift a snow shovel in winter.

I've completely succeeded. I haven't mowed a lawn since the 1980s and I've only shoveled snow once in my adulthood, and that was to keep my mother from going out and doing it herself because the snow removal guy was late.

Last week, I gazed out the large picture window in my new living room. The shrubs were looking pretty mangy and the weeds were starting to proliferate between the front door and the patio. I wondered when the lawn and garden service would be out to clean it up. Since my house is legally a condo with "common area" upkeep reportedly provided by the homeowners' association, I just assumed this would be taken care of.

As I looked around at neighboring condos, I noticed that the vegetation in front of some looked very tidy and well groomed.

At what point do you suppose the obvious started to dawn on me?

I excel at denial. Plus, I've been busy dealing with the inside of the house, like deciding where to put towel racks in the bathroom (there are none) and what color to paint the bedroom. After about three days of a little thought percolating in the back of my mind, it finally occurred to me that I might be responsible for my own landscaping.

Rage grappled with panic for control over my response to the situation. Rage pooled around the growing list of frustrations with this place and how some of these "little" details should have been but were not disclosed to me before closing. The panic was simpler: I simply didn't have a clue what to do with those half dead bushes out front. Paving them over seemed the best option.

I sought out a friendly neighbor for clarification. I found her seated amongst her own bushes, clipper in hand, pulled weeds littering the sidewalk. I asked her what I already knew.

Turns out that to save money, this very casual and laid back HOA decided a while back to limit the lawn service and for each person to keep up their own little areas themselves. In addition, the snow removal service was eliminated. Everyone just "pitches in" when it snows.

Newly trimmed bushes - there's me in the window
and Charles inside the front door.

Recourse?

I could kick myself black and blue for not asking the right questions, although who could have known all the questions which should have been asked?

I could consult a lawyer and sue someone, which would cost everyone a lot of money and accomplish very little.

Or I could suck it up and deal with it. Hence my lunch time visit to Home Depot.

Early Saturday morning I was outside with some clippers and my new gloves, snapping off the dead parts of a couple scroungy bushes. With satisfaction, I admired my work. It looked a lot better. At least now I don't have to be embarrassed when the neighbors look my way.

I guess I'd better pick up a snow shovel at some point.

Character, Character, and More Character

My new home continues to impress me with examples of its distinctive character.

Previously in BillsWeek, I discussed a few of the property's features about which I had failed to ask before purchasing. I struggled with a number of disconcerting surprises including:

• The total absence of drawers in the kitchen
• The knob on the back door which comes off in your hand if you turn it the wrong way
• The bump in the garage that scrapes the bottom of my car

My intention was to view each newly discovered foible as a sign, not of a bottomless money pit which languished most recently as a cheaply maintained rental, but of a finely aged and well lived in home of great character. Instead of being annoyed that I have to organize all of my forks in a canister on the counter, I choose to revel in my kitchen's unique charm.

But appreciating my house's character is getting harder to do. The problems, I mean characteristic attributes, just keep coming.

• One of the window air conditioners that the previous owner so generously left behind is not only too filthy to ever use,  but is also apparently the ideal habitat for a community of wasps. I didn't know this until I pulled the appliance out of the window onto my bedroom floor.
• The home security system alarm goes off whenever my cat Charles jumps onto the window sill. Ok, strictly speaking, that's more about the crappy alarm system than the house, but it's still annoying.
• The floor beneath the washing machine is uneven. I know when it's reached spin cycle because the living room floor vibrates at Richter scale 4.8.
• The bathtub bottom is covered with cute little plastic fish stickers that are supposed to keep you from slipping during a shower. I hate them. I think they look trashy. Every now and then I try to peal one off. Whenever I succeed, I not only have a sticky fish in my hand, but a few chunks of enamel. My bathtub is pockmarked where the finish is chipping away. I am afraid to take a bath because little tub shards sticking to my nether regions is not conducive to a relaxing soak.
• Charles' favorite window is in the kitchen above the sink. He leaps from the floor below, banking off the counter near whatever food I'm working with, into the window. Not only does it startle me, but I hear my late mother's voice decrying the unhygienic practice of allowing animals in the kitchen, let alone on the counter.
• Ants. Millions of them. So many ants. If you were to make a movie about ants taking over the world, it would look like my dining room floor. Ant poison? They laugh, devour it, and move on to the cat food. I've received some suggestions from Facebook friends about how to deal with this problem. Next up is the thing you plug into the wall which uses the electric power lines throughout the house to somehow vibrate them away. If that doesn't work, an exorcism might not be out of the question.

I don't regret buying this house. I can't regret it. I'm stuck with it. The best thing to do is take responsibility for my new property and deal with each issue as best I can. And I strive to see the positive side. It's still bigger than my old place, and I like the wood floors. I have a washing machine with a spin cycle. I got to buy a new swamp cooler which I will enjoy when the weather gets hot enough. I love the neighborhood. And it's nice to have a kitchen window.

Does anyone want a couple of used air conditioners?

New Home Riddled With Problems, I Mean, Character

The move is complete.

I accept your hearty congratulations.

I'm all settled in my little ranch style house/condo/4-plex/residence.

Well, not completely settled. I'm still moving some furniture around, looking for just the right arrangement. I've purchased a swamp-cooler which I have to set up before it gets hot. I'm figuring out how to cope with how quickly cat liter spreads across those hard-wood floors.

The cats are figuring out the best places to sleep (Lily on the big pillow under the coffee table and Charles on the DVR because it's warm).

To be honest, the honeymoon period has been a little rocky. There are a number of things I didn't check before purchase which I now wish I had:

This is what a kitchen with no drawers looks like

• There are no drawers in the kitchen - not one. Don't know how I missed that. 
• Not all the windows have screens. 
• Not all the windows had locks. They do now. 
• The neighbors can hear the alarm every time I set or unset my new home security system. 
• The slope by the garage door scrapes the bottom of the car, unless you go just the right speed and turn in/out at just the right angle. 
• The neighbors can hear my deluxe surround sound system. 
• The neighbors can probably hear me go to the bathroom. 
• The knob on the back door comes off in your hand if you turn it the wrong way. 
• Front blinds don't go all the way down - rather one side does and the other doesn't. I see custom shutters in my future. 
• Because of the way they are arranged, you can't open the dishwasher and reach the cupboards at the same time - makes it a challenge to put dishes away. 
• The front screen door doesn't close all the way unless you pull it shut - no big deal unless you have cats. 
• The combination washer-dryer doesn't dry, it only washes. 
• Where is the furnace? Why does the heat come on when the thermostat is set to off?

Granted, I can live with most of these problems or fix them. But I admit to wondering whether it was wise to move out of a perfectly functioning domicile with working shutters.

The answer is clear when I go back to the old condo which I am preparing to rent out. I walk into the empty living room and say, "Boy, is this place small." The new (older) place is bigger. The bedroom is actually a bedroom, not a combination bedroom-office-laundry room. So what if there's a big burnt spot on the living room floor which had been covered up by the realtor's staging furniture. That just adds to the character of the place. Yeah, that's it. Character.

One Year Later

One Year Later

It seems strange

That we can't share

All that has happened in your absence

Our lives go on

Birthdays, travel, illness

Thanksgiving with an empty seat

We remark on what you'd say of this and that

When your dog died we grieved for you

How odd it was to disassemble your home

To learn more about you as a veteran

Yet of necessity, we turned off sentiment so we could fill that dumpster in the driveway

Nearly a century of belongings whittled down to fit a shelf or a box

I don't think you're really gone

This impulse to pick up the phone and call with news

The strong desire to give you my new address so you can find me

Wherever you are your wisdom comforts

Love lives on

Lists Key to Moving

Note to readers: sorry to inflict all this moving drama on you, but be warned, it's going to last another couple of months.

There are millions of things to do when you buy a new home and prepare to move. In addition to securing the mortgage, struggling to understand realtor lingo, managing inspections and appraisals, and fantasizing about color palates, there are all the little details to take care of. There is no way anyone can remember everything. The solution:

Lists.

Not a list. Many lists. There's a list for the old house, the new house, a list of what ridiculous things the mortgage lender still needs (last week it was an accounting for every address I've lived at since the 1970s), a list of what needs to be done prior to moving day ... and don't forget the list of regular life things that have nothing to do with the move but must be dealt with regardless, such as getting the cat's medicine refilled.

One list has a note on it to check another list.

Here's a sampling of what's on my lists - and I've only just started:

• Line up movers
• Change address at post office
• Change address for all accounts
• Start planning house warming party
• Move cable
• Figure out what to do with cats during move (tranquilizers?)
• Call Xcel
• Fix garbage disposal old place
• Inspect (replace?) furnace old place
• Find out what kind of filters to buy for new place furnace
• Figure out what to do with those old electronics I don't know where to recycle
• Treat wood floors at new place before moving in
• Get boxes
• Measure new garage to see if car will fit
• Find out how to treat wood floors
• Find a property management company for the old place
• Start boxes for Goodwill
• Change address at work
• Insurance home and car
• Voter registration
• DMV car and driver's license

I remember now why when I last moved in 1997, I swore I would never move again.

When I last moved, I kept all my lists on paper legal pads, noting items with a ballpoint pen and crossing tasks out when completed. How quaint that was!

Now I have an iPhone, something which is new in my life but which I'm finding quite handy. The lists reside primarily in the app called "Reminders." It's nice to be able to whip it out of my pocket and add something when I think of it, and it's nice to have access to my lists when I need to obsess about all that needs to be done. When a task is completed, I can gleefully delete it.

And yet, I'm afraid I'm missing something. Some little task that if I don't do it, will wreck the whole move. If it's any comfort, I don't think anyone's move goes 100 percent perfectly. I think you just have to hold your nose and charge ahead. Speaking of noses, all the dust from moving likely will cause my allergies to flare up. Better put tissues on the list.

Movin On Up? Part II

Who says I'm not flexible? My very specific fantasy of living in a high rise with a balcony quickly succumbed to the reality of space limitations, parking restrictions, and cost per square foot. The long and short of it is that I'm not moving to a deluxe apartment in the sky, but a rather middle class ranch style domicile at ground level with a garage.

I was just about to give up on finding a better place to live. There is nothing wrong with my current abode of 17 years. It's a little small, but it's paid off and very cheap to maintain. Sure, I'd like a guest room sometimes. Other times, I'm glad I don't have one. The places I looked at last weekend with my handsome realtor, Glen, were either too small (and expensive), too much "fixer upper," or were snatched up by someone else before I had a chance to even think about it. In some cases it was all of the above.

I was exhausted after one day of looking but as I prepared to email Glen to forget it, I noticed he sent me a couple more listings.

Cut to Monday: I found myself digging through files for financial statements, signing endless forms, asking for time off to attend a closing next month, and talking on the phone multiple times with Glen and Michelle, my mortgage lender lady.

Caught in a whirlwind of paperwork and a frenzy of describing the new (to me) residence to friends, I had an attack of "ohmygodwhathaveIdone."

I've spent the past few days talking myself out of a continuous anxiety attack. Fact is, I have a little money to invest, and this is a good investment in a nice neighborhood. I'll enjoy the extra space and hardwood floors, and did I mention the garage?

So what if it's not the penthouse portrayed in the opening of Green Acres. I wouldn't look good in Lisa Douglas's flowing gowns anyway.

Movin on Up?

When I was a little boy, my dream was to live in a big city apartment. I'm sure that dream was born of watching TV because there were no big city apartments in Kimball, Nebraska, where I was born.

I thought the opening of Green Acres was fabulous when Eva Gabor swept back the curtains to a view of the Manhattan skyline. I, also, adore a penthouse view. I sympathized with her character, forced to live in the country with a bunch of bumpkins when she could be shopping in the city.

Later, when I was six, my favorite TV show was The Courtship of Eddie's Father, where a little boy lived with his handsome dad (Bill Bixby) in a cool high rise with a balcony and a housekeeper. That's what I wanted.

Of course I ended up not glamorously in the sky but on the ground floor between the mailboxes and the laundry room.

When I moved into my condo, I planned to stay about a year. I'd build up a little equity, save some money, and then move to Capitol Hill where I really wanted to live. That was 16 years ago. 

In the early 90s, I rented a roomy two bedroom apartment in central Denver with huge closets for $350 a month. It was Heaven. But by the time I was ready to buy, the real estate boom had taken hold and I couldn't afford to live in my own neighborhood.

I was forced to invest in my current property on the far away southeast side of the city (ok, it's 10 minutes from my old apartment, but that's light years in urban neighborhood terms).

I'm still in my "starter" home. Of course it's much nicer than when I moved in. The avocado green kitchen is gone. The flowery 1970s decor in the bathroom has been replaced by subdued gray walls, a blue granite counter, and elegant silver fixtures. My pad is nice now. But there's no balcony.

It's not just the building I'm thinking of changing. It's the neighborhood.

There's nothing actually wrong with my neighborhood. It's as safe as any in the city. There are plenty of stores and public transportation. The population is interestingly diverse. I love watching the South Asian men play cricket in the park across the street, for example (and it's not because of my interest in sports).

But Cap Hill has history, architectural diversity, a larger Gay population, a more urban feel, and tall buildings with balconies.

I have reached a point where if I'm going to move, now would be a good time. I have a little cash for a down payment and the interest rates are low. I'm not sure I'll do it. But I would sure like to fling open the shutters and see something besides the neighbors carting laundry.

Keeping Up with Communications Technology

My current cell phone was purchased in 2010 under protest. I didn't think I needed it. My previous cell phone was just fine. It allowed me to call someone and receive calls.

It was an improvement over the one before which took two hands to hold and only worked if you stood in a certain place outside, holding your elbow exactly the right way. That one was so primitive it practically required a crank to use, and was worthless in the isolated parts of Wyoming where I sometimes go.

I'm old enough to remember when having a phone in the car was something of a novelty, reserved for the very rich and possibly mobsters.

Anyway, the cell phone company refused to fix the newer phone that I liked, and insisted that I procure yet a newer model, which I did.

My new phone could make and receive calls, but also had texting which I wasn't sure I would ever use. Turned out that while certain female relatives rarely returned phone calls, they did respond to texts. A convert, I now text more than I talk.

But at three years old, my texting cell is a dinosaur in phone time. When the protective case broke a while back, I went to the special mobile device store to get a new one. The young, technically gifted employee sadly shook her head and said they didn't make that model anymore. It looks like it may be time to upgrade again.

Because of brilliant marketing and planned obsolescence, I am now probably going to have to buy one of those things that are way more than just a phone.

I don't want to surf the net. I wouldn't know what to do with an "app" if it hit me in the head. I suppose I might take a picture, but not a video. I just want to make phone calls and send texts. Yes, I work with technology every day at my job. But at home I want my computer to be my computer and my phone to be my phone. I suppose it's possible that, like texting, once I have "apps" I'll enjoy them and wonder how I ever lived without them.

I must admit I'm still impressed when I'm in the car with someone, and a question no one can answer comes up, and within seconds Google has given us the answer - in the car! Truly these aren't phones anymore. They're portable computing and communication devices.

Dating Interferes with Sleep - Is It Worth It?

Once or twice a year, I might go on a date.

I thought by my age I'd be either comfortably settled with someone or too old to care. Neither is the case.

In fact, I have a couple of online personal ads posted. They are old and dusty, lying unused save for the occasional update when my weight or hair (amount or color) changes.

Once in a while an ad gets answered by an impossibly good looking 25 year old in someplace like Nigeria who needs me to send him some money so he can escape persecution... you get the idea.

So personal ads don't work for me. Problem is, I don't know what would work. I'm too old to go clubbing - I'm asleep by 9:00 and bars don't heat up until 11:00, or so I'm told. I don't meet potential dates at work - everyone there is way too young, straight, or married. I used to meet boyfriends at church, but I've been going to the early service lately which is mostly the domain of senior citizens, for the moment just a little too old for me.

Gay men my age don't seem to be available. Like me, they have busy lives and limited time. Careers are in full swing. Many have elderly parents, or children and grandchildren to care for. Most have dogs and cats which take priority, as well they should. They, and I, are not interested in wasting time on someone with whom we know it won't work.

I'd rather be alone than tolerate someone who I discover on the third date is, for example, a Republican. And face it: I'd rather get a good night's sleep than stay up late getting to know someone who turns out to be allergic to my cats.

Why should I even try at all? While I'm happy and well-adjusted as single, I don't want to be alone all of the time. I occasionally desire human companionship - someone to share experiences with.

Is the effort to find such a relationship worth it? When it's 8:30 and I'm sleepy and the cats are curling around me on the bed, I'm not sure it is.

I don't need a boyfriend or husband to be complete. But it might be nice to find someone who could squeeze in alongside the cats.