Dear Bobby

Yesterday while talking to a group of domestic violence survivors, I mentioned how you inspired me to live life in the reality that each moment is precious; that I'm not guaranteed tomorrow. I told these ladies that I was sure you'd give anything for the chance to return ONE more day to do some of the things you hadn't done. Looking into their faces I could see hope and that spark that happens when people actually recognize how fleeting life really is.

We're almost a month away from celebrating the one year anniversary of your death. I think I'm going to invite the "guys" to join me in a yearly ritual of celebrating your life. I think it would honor your memory and help comfort us.

We'll always miss you, but I wanted you to know that even in your absence, you're impacting lives.

Keep passin' the open windows...

- Mobile post from my iPhone

I’m Reminded Of Wise King Solomon

Mexican singer Paquita la del Barrio (translation: Franny from the block) aka Francisca Viveros Barradas (62) was recently quoted as saying that ‘she would rather see a child die on the streets than adopted to a gay couple’. Pretty strong words of course, but it got me to thinking about wise King Solomon and the story of the two women – both mothers – who brought one child to the king claiming the other was trying to take her baby. The story alleges that Sollie asked that the child be brought before him, unsheathed his sword and announced that he would chop the child in half and give each mother a portion of the baby in question. In that instant, the REAL mother screamed, ‘Give the child to her!’ highlighting the desire of any RESPONSIBLE PARENT (the preservation of their child’s life). A parent will always seek to have their child given the opportunity to survive and be happy – well, any good parent that is. Paquita is not the first person to feel this way – the reality is that Mexico (and a great number of folks in other countries) feel this way. Personally, I would sooner have my child raised by Chavez and Castro inside a devil worshipping monastery than to see him die in the streets, but hey, that’s just me. As gay parents I can tell you that we love our son with everything we’ve got. We support him – emotionally, spiritually and financially – and we encourage him to be a responsible, caring and happy member of society. I recognize the fear that gay parents will somehow make their children gay, but if this were the case, my God-fearing-married-for-47-years-Pentecostal-parents would have somehow turned out ALL straight children – they obviously did not. Sexuality is not taught. The only potential difference between our son and that of a boy raised by a heterosexual couple is an ingrained sense of tolerance and respect for diversity. Sadly, the REAL damage to children raised by same-sex couples is done by people like Paquita, who show these children what intolerance, prejudice, ignorance and hate sound and look like. I can’t change the world, but I can make a difference in the life of our son. He will understand that for all that we provide for him there will always be those who feel they can do it better, but the hypocrisy of it all is that they don’t offer to help the masses of dying children, they only spew hate and judgment and are ready to cry out like the other mother in the Solomon story – CUT THE CHILD IN HALF.

Keep passin’ the open windows…

Puerto Rico 2010

I've enjoyed a fabulous vacation with my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and my pumpkin, Evelyn Maldonado, in Puerto Rico. All that was missing was BD and the Minnie to make my trip PERFECT. Once I'm settled I'll post pics and tell stories. Until then...



Keep passin' the open windows...

- Mobile post from my iPhone

Location:Cll Lucero,Caguas,Puerto Rico

Packing, Puerto Rico and Padding

It’s no secret that I’ve put on considerable weight in the last 18 months. Long before I bought the tickets to Puerto Rico, I knew I wanted to do something about my size – for my mental health if nothing else – and started back at the gym a little over two weeks ago. Needless to say, I’ve lost less than 5 lbs, mainly because I added exercise to my daily regimen, but I never changed my diet. To keep it real, I wanted to maintain some “thickness” and I thought that if I modified my diet and also added exercise, the weight loss would be pretty drastic. As it turns out, 40 ain’t just a number folks! A man with my previous metabolism easily dropped 10 lbs in two weeks by just hitting the gym. Well, as I began trying on clothes for my pack to Puertorro, I realized that NOTHING – no exaggeration here – NOTHING fit me anymore! Bathing suits that currently grace my Facebook pages or appeared on my blog barely come over my knees and virtually all those HOT summer pants with the slightly sheer air, now threaten to sever me at the thighs. To be clear, no previously worn bottoms can come over my hips and behind and certainly nothing can meet at the waist and button. At first the complete horror of it had me panic. BD squirmed as I cussed and jumped around like a sausage on springs. He’s always supportive, but it’s hard to call a bathing suit a liar; it was clear I was “swole”! I wanted to start a full-scale bonfire of bootylicious attire in the middle of my bedroom floor, but I accepted my reality. I’ve now purchased a few outfits to wear while in Puerto Rico for the next week, but intend to modify my diet AND hit the gym hard when I return from beaching myself in Puerto Rico. I have hope that I will be NYC beach ready by summer. I don’t think that I’m bothered about being heavy, I’m more concerned with the realization that my body feels so drastically different – from the outside and the inside (no pun intended). If I could literally slice off my love handles and belly I would probably be alright. Well, life goes on. The young become the old and the thin get a little chunk butt going. LOL In a BIG PICTURE kind of way, I’m blessed…I have a beautiful family, an amazing partner , a gorgeous son and love that abounds. Part of my padding is love…for that, I’m grateful.

Keep passin’ the open windows…

En Guerra Avisada No Muere Gente

There is an old Spanish proverb that says that, “En guerra avisada, no muere gente.” The direct translation is, “People don’t die in wars they are warned about” or more clearly “no soldiers will die in a scheduled war.” Now, what I suspect the saying was intended to mean is that if you are privy of the dangers around you, you are less likely to suffer a catastrophe from them. If there’s one thing I absolutely HATE is when I warn family and friends of something and they ignore me only to find themselves in the middle of Lake Shittybottom. I think we can all agree that you DON’T have to experience all things to understand them and some experiences and their nasty consequences are best learned vicariously – LEARN FROM OTHERS, RATHER THAN SUFFERING THINGS YOURSELF. So, in final recap, live by the brilliant Boricua proverb, because “en guerra avisada no muere gente.”

Keep passin’ the open windows…

59 Weeks; 417 Days; 10,008 Hours; 600,480 Minutes

**PLEASE CLICK TO ENLARGE PICTURE BELOW; VERY INTERESTING FACTS INCLUDED**

It isn't easy
It's an addiction to be fought each day
With each day I feel stronger
I wonder how I ever engaged in such a destructive behavior
I now look at smokers and feel so sorry for them; I see my former self

I actually paid top dollar to be poisoned
The gum doesn't cover the wretched stench
Bleach doesn’t remove the nicotine stains – to your teeth, your furniture or your clothes
Children – your own and those that look up to you – are learning from you; don’t encourage smoking with your actions

I want a cigarette every day
I don’t smoke
I am an addict
I am a winner
Mind over matter

59 weeks…417 days…10,008 hours…600,480 minutes

Keep passin’ the open windows…

I'm Still Here

Good times and bum times
I've seen them all and my dear
I'm still here.
Plush velvet sometimes
Sometimes just pretzels and beer
But I'm here.
I've stuffed the dailies in my shoes,
Strummed ukuleles, sung the blues
Seen all my dreams disappear
But I'm here.
I've slept in shanties
Guest of the WPA
But I'm here
Danced in my scanties
Three bucks a night was the pay
But I'm here
I've stood on breadlines with the best
Watched while the headlines did the rest
In the Depression, was I depressed?
Nowhere near.
I met a big financier
And I'm here.
I've been through Gandhi,
Windsor and Wally's affair
And I'm here
Amos and Andy,
Mahjong and platinum hair
And I'm here
I've been through Abie's Irish Rose,
Five Dionne Babies
Major Bowes
Had heebie-jeebies
For Beebe's bathysphere
I lived through Brenda Frazier
And I'm here.
I've gotten through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover
Gee, that was fun and a half
When you've been through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover
Anything else is a laugh.
I've been through Reno
I've been through Beverly Hills
And I'm here
Reefers and vino
Rest cures, religion, and pills
And I'm here
Been called a pinko commie tool
Got through it stinko by my pool
I should have gone to an acting school
That seems clear
Still someone said, "She's sincere."
So I'm here.
Black sable one day
Next day it goes into hock
But I'm here
Top billing Monday
Tuesday, you're touring in stock
But I'm here
First you're another sloe-eyed vamp,
Then someone's mother,
Then you're camp
Then you career from career
To career
I'm almost through me memoirs
And I'm here.
I've gotten through "Hey lady, aren't you whoozis?
Wow, what a looker you were."
Or better yet, "Sorry, I though you were whoozis.
What ever happened to her?"
Good times and bum times
I've seen them all and my dear
I'm still here
Plush velvet sometimes
Sometimes just pretzels and beer
But I'm here.
I've run the gamut A to Z
Three cheers and damn it
C'est la vie.
I got through all of last year
And I'm here
Lord knows at least I was there
But I'm here
Look who's here
I'm still here.

Dedicated to all my friends who wish they could be...