You Oughta Know

I don't want to make this a political blog, but the further we get in this never ending Democratic primary the more it becomes that way.

I guess I'm a strange sort of woman. I don't support Clinton. I never have, and I likely never will. This is not because I don't think she would be a strong leader. Or because I think that the office of the president should be held by a man, but because I can't abide by two families running the White House for 28 years.

It's that simple for me.

During the course of this campaign, I've become more and more discouraged by the Clinton's. I once supported them. Strongly.

But as I thought about who would most move us--as America--forward, I hate to say that Hillary Clinton wasn't the first to come to mind. I think I'm a strong woman working my way to the top, so I had to stop and think about my reasons for opposing Hillary.

I am so proud that women in America have made it so far. When I was a child I wanted to be the first female president, and I thought as a child of the 80s I was already too old--that it was a pipe dream.

Maybe for me it was. I drank too much in high school and in college, and I made too many enemies. But now I see that at 30 years old I'm going to vote against the first chance we, as women, have at being at the top. And I mean the very freaking top.

Well, you know what? I did. Because I don't think she's what she makes herself out to be. Is she a strong woman? Of course. Is she a smart, capable leader? No doubt about it. But, I don't think that a strong woman has to make herself out to be any more than a strong woman.



I recognize that I'm very set in my thoughts, but then there's Hillary Rosen describing her support for Clinton:

Hillary's campaign is still going for every woman who has spoken up in a meeting and was greeted with silence only to have a man say the same thing and be praised. It endures for the mothers who are taking care of their children and their parents and their home and has no time to take care of herself. It endures for women who are so scared to see her fail because of what it may say about their chances in life. And yes folks, it resonates for all the women who have seen the younger guy come along and get the promotion even though she has worked in the company loyally for years.

I disagree. Hillary's campaign isn't "going for every woman who has spoken up in a meeting and was greeted with silence only to have a man say the same thing and be praised" and it doesn't "endure for for women who are so scared to see her fail because of what it may say about their chances in life".

I've been the woman who spoke up to see a man say the same thing and be praised. But Hillary's failure has nothing, and I mean nothing, to do with my chances in life.

Strong women who aren't Hillary Clinton exist. I am offended that someone would suggest that my chances in life are diminished if Hillary Clinton isn't elected.

Don't play the gender card with me or with the American public. Women are better than that. We're fast. We're bright. And we're at the top.

Hillary, don't play to this kind of madness. You're smarter and women across this country are smarter than that.

L.

Coyote Ugly

As I've probably mentioned before, our house backs up to Reservoir Park, which while home to a small park known for its seclusion and a location for closeted gay men to meet is really just several acres of woods surrounding the Little Rock reservoir.

From our back deck, you'd think we lived in rural Arkansas. It was one of the reasons I loved this house. It's literally in the middle of the city, surrounded by woods. The best of both rural and urban worlds. So I thought until I met our neighbor, J.

J. is a middle-aged, I suppose single, woman. I met her Monday as she was picking up sticks in her front yard, which adjoins our front yard. She was extremely nice mentioning that she was sorry she hadn't come over to introduce herself. I also apologized for not saying hello earlier and we eased into a quick conversation about the neighborhood.

J.: Do you like it here?

Me: Yes, we really do. We love the privacy, but also the accessibility to the rest of the city. And we've found that the neighbors are extremely nice.

J.: Yes, we're lucky to have a nice neighborhood here. Have you seen much wildlife?

Me: Oh, yes. I've seen some raccoons, rabbits, an opossum, and Dave saw a big black snake last week.

J.: And there are deer that walk the fence behind all our houses. You'll see them in the fall. But you know there are also coyotes.

Me: Um...What? Coyotes?

J.: Yes, for a while I was hearing some howling in the woods, and I just thought it was neighboring dogs, but a friend of mine--a big hunter--was over late one night and he heard them, too. He jumped up, walked out on the deck and said, "J. those are coyotes, and it's a pack of them." Since then, I've seen one in my front yard. They look like big German Shepherds.

Me: Really? So, I should keep the pets inside? Good to know.

So, here's the thing. Now every time I hear a sound of a large animal in the woods, I'm convinced it's a coyote coming to get us. If I actually see one up close, I'll surely have a heart attack. I have an affinity for nature, but Steve Erwin I am not.

L.

Multiply Life By The Power of Two

Sorry about the lack of blogging lately. I was at a conference the better part of last week, and then to the lake for time with my brother and his family.

Let me tell you this: Four-year-old twin boys will wear your ass straight out.

I don't spend much time with my brother since he lives eight hours away. But we talk frequently, and I thought I was pretty much caught up on his life. Right up until I walked in to what it means to have two four-year-old boys talking to you...constantly.

They're super cute, please don't misunderstand. They're cute kids, with cute personalities, and they love each other more than I thought possible.

But, hell, do they also love moths. And the game of pool, which they call "checkers." And swimming. And Mommy. And Oreos. And Dave. And jumping off the boat. And running around acting like jet skis. And Lori. And Linsley. And Ya Ya. And fishing.

And moths. And "checkers." And swimming. And Mommy. And Oreos. And Dave. And jumping off the boat. And running around acting like jet skis. And Lori. And Linsley. And Ya Ya. And fishing....you get the point.

They love everything over and over and over again. And it will wear you the hell out.

Just when you're at the end of your rope, they walk up to you and give you a hug like you've never had before. A hug just because they want to show you they love you and as they run off as you hear them say:

"Friend, come play with me".

"OK, Friend, let's play".

If two little kids calling one another "friend" doesn't brighten your day, then you're dead inside.

L.

Anyhow, I Love You

I spent the past weekend on a lake with Dave. We sat on the porch, basked in the sun, ate bar-b-que, basked some more, grilled chicken, watched a movie and listened to the neighbors laugh and carry on about their neighbors.

It was a delightfully easy weekend.

But, for some reason each moment we shared together caused me to think about gay and lesbian couples across this country. We didn't do a single thing this weekend that differentiated us from those same couples. And, nothing those couples did affected our relationship.

With each small moment that Dave and I sometimes take for granted I thought about couples so much like us, but yet, so different. Couples who can't choose to marry, simply because the state won't allow them to do so.

Dave and I aren't married. Not because I don't want to marry him or because he doesn't want to marry me, but because we have a nice little life squared out here on our 1 acre lot, and marriage, for us, doesn't change that life.

If Dave asked me to marry him tomorrow would I say "yes?" Of course I would. I love him. And I will love him unconditionally until the day I die. But because marriage is an option for us, we don't necessary have to choose it.

Ring on my finger or not, we'll be together. Just as long as we can both hold out. Maybe that's death. Maybe it's not. But we'll be right here beside one another. Always. It's not so simple for so many of our friends.

Can you imagine not having the choice between simply living together, which while not recogized by law or church is still a bit like being married, and actual marriage?

Dave and I can choose, at any moment of the day, to drive to the courthouse, get a marriage license, get a judge and make this thing "official." It's that simple. It's really that simple.

But for so many people in this world it's not that simple. They don't have the opportunity to have what Dave and I can have at a moment's notice. It requires a freaking State Supreme Court decision.

Really? Love has to be decided by a State Supreme Court? Does that really make sense to anyone who has ever been in love?

I'll top this off with this question: Has any love you've ever experienced been affected by the love of gay men and lesbian women?

You may have some serious religious problems with it--problems with which I happen to disagree--but has your love, and I mean your love really been affected?

If so, then I'd say gay and lesbian marriage isn't the first of your problems.

L.

Love Is All Around You

Thousands of gay and lesbian couples will now be allowed to marry in California. How wonderful. How absolutely delightful that people who love one another can marry. If only they could do the same in Arkansas.

It's amazing to me that we even have to engage in these types of discussions. It seems so clear to me that every man and woman who chooses to marry, be that they marry another man or woman, should be allowed to do so. Gay and lesbian marriages do not, under any circumstance, affect the marriage rights or traditions of straight marriages. If anything, it strengthens marriage and, just possibly, also strengthens love we all know to be possible in the world.

It's always so delightful to see other people in love. It's such an interesting sight. Two lovesick people pining over one another when you're just starting to feel old, and maybe just a little bored, can make you think about why you love the one you're with.

They can make you think back to the time when you were also so lovesick, and cause you to remember what was so delightful in those butterflies in your stomach and the thought that "this just might be the one."

And sometimes, just sometimes, you find that you're just in love as you were 10, maybe 20 years ago. You've just put it on the back burner for other things--like the mortgage payment or a decision about what to have to dinner.

But sometimes you're able to see past the fight and the "you're not getting what I'm saying" moment to recognize that the person on the other end has been there. Always. Unconditionally loving you from moment one.

Life can sometimes be so boring. But love, real love, while occasionally too normal is always heartwarming and delightful.

Congratulations to my gay and lesbian counterparts in California. Hooray for you! It may surprise you, but some of us in Arkansas are behind you. 100 percent.

We support you. Even though our state doesn't recognize your love, many of us living here do. We really do. Congratulations. From the bottom of my heart.

And call me when you start to get bored. Love is all around you. Sometimes you just have to be on the lookout for that small piece of inspiration.

L.

Life Always Leads You Back to Southwest Arkansas

Have you ever seen "The Legend of Boggy Creek?"

Probably not.

It's a movie about a possible Big Foot-type monster at Boggy Creek in Fouke, Arkansas. Of course, growing up not so far from Fouke, I heard ample rumors of the "Fouke Monster."

In fact, we would drive to Fouke for world-renowned catfish at a lovely little restaurant that sat directly on the swamp, which also, of course, was the place that the Fouke Monster was reportedly seen.

The problem is that since we moved into our new home, I spend an ample amount of time outside. It's been quite nice out, and we have a lovely table, which is more than conducive to smoking, which I do quite regularly.

One of the selling points for me was that our house backed up to Reservoir Park. You can't see the reservoir or the park. All you see are woods. During the day, it's lovely. It's in the middle of the city, but when you're sitting on our back deck, you might as well be in Fouke. It's delightful.

While I spend much of my time worried about snakes coming out of those woods, when you're sitting outside alone after dark, it's more than just a little strange.

For example, I was sitting here thinking about the fact that I really should just go to bed when I heard leaves make the sound that only a human can make. Two large steps followed by two large steps.

Having grown up in the middle of town, which was also a bit country, I know the sound of an animal. Animals sound like two quick steps followed by two more quick steps. But a human takes two large steps followed by two more large steps. Trust me. If you've ever lived in the country you know this.

What I heard were two steps followed by two steps and, of course, figured someone was about to approach me and slit my throat.

Not surpirsingly, it turned out to be an opossum. I guess I don't so much know about the country after all.

But for more than just a second, I thought it might just be the Fouke Monster, or a homeless person spending the evening in Reservoir Park, coming for me.

Sometimes those childhood fears come flooding back.

With a vengeance.

L.

Some Doors Just Open For You

Well, I made it past 10 p.m. In fact, now it's 10:45 p.m. and I'm still sitting at this computer.

But, I just read a blog post of a friend of a friend saying that she knew she was sharing a house with someone even though she lived alone. She moved into said house and tried to keep a certain door shut. The door would open on its own. One day she made a pact with whatever it was opening the door--if she'd keep the door open, the force wouldn't scare her intentionally.

Boy, do I know what you mean. I've always thought that I could feel a certain presence, but since my father died, I always chalked it up to him. You know, just checking in from time to time.

Here's why I had to pop back over for a post before bed:

About two years ago, my mother and some of her friends arranged for psychic readings. I was the youngest, by about 25 years, in the bunch, but I couldn't pass up the chance for a personal reading.

I've always been so intrigued by the idea. First, what could be the harm? Second, what if there really was something to it? Now I could know.

The psychic set up in a guest house behind the main home for the readings. She specifically asked if there was a place outside of the main area so that she could get an accurate reading. It made sense to me. If there are a bunch of people in one place, and she's trying to tap into one of those people, other "outside" people just might get in the way.

One by one we all went to the guest house. As each woman walked back in to the home we got a quick synopsis of what happened, "Yeah, she hit some points, but I'm not sure that they're all right on the money" or "Nah, she was way off."

I was the fourth person to go. I walked into the guest house and sat down. The psychic started laying out playing cards--not Tarah cards--but regular playing cards. Apparently, each card means something. Of course, I'd decided long before I stepped in that room to answer with nothing more than a "yes" or "no."

She started placing cards on the table. Soon after she started saying things that were absolutely true. "You're in love." "You're not married." "He's a great guy." None of these things, while true, were all that difficult to figure out, so I was still a little skeptical.

Then she said, "Your father has passed away." Of course the answer was "yes." "He passed away suddenly," she said. "You didn't say goodbye." "Yes," I responded just a bit stunned. This wasn't just a logical question that could be deduced by certain things. Things like not wearing a wedding band or looking like a young, lovesick girl. This was something unusual.

At that point, she turned her head to the right and looked at an open closet door. "I'm sorry, I need to shut that door." She stood up, walked over, shut the door, and came back to her seat. "I'm sorry," she said again,"Someone wants to communicate with me. They're trying to come in through that door."

Well, by this point, I was more than just a little freaked out. "I don't like to channel people. I don't like the feeling, and that's not what I normally do," she said. "But, someone wants to communicate with you through me."

Wow. What do you say to something like that?

She went on about her card procedure. She told me that my father was proud of me, that he liked the man I was with, and that my job prospects were glowing. She stopped once again to shake off whatever it was that was "trying to channel" and only charged me half price.

But I couldn't get my mind off that door.

Here's why: For two solid years I had a reoccurring dream.

I walked into a room. The walls were burgundy. Across the room there was an open ceiling-to-floor window with long white, sheer drapes. The drapes blew into the room with a small, quiet, cool summer breeze. Directly to the right of the window was a rocking chair that rocked to and fro with the breeze. I walked in the doorway, looked at the window, then the rocking chair and crossed the room. I sat in the chair feeling the breeze across my face and stared at another partially cracked door. It wasn't the door I'd entered. In fact, the door I'd entered was no longer there.

I'd sit, rock, and stare that this new door. "Should I go see what's in there?" I'd think to myself. "Surely it's just a closet." I sat and rocked for what seemed like hours.

Finally, I stood, walked over to the partially opened door, opened it, and then....I'd wake up. Every time. Just as I was about to see what was beyond the door, I'd wake up.

What a pain in the ass! For two years I had this dream. On again, off again. Sometimes I'd have it three or four times a week. Sometimes I wouldn't have it for months. One day, I interviewed for a job in DC. I got the job, packed up my stuff, drove to my hometown, packed up 18 years of stuff in what was by then a vacant house because my father had died and my mother had moved to Little Rock, said goodbye to my grandmother and moved to Washington, D.C.

To this day, I haven't had that dream again.

L.

What Do You Say When There is Nothing to Say?

I really have nothing to say, but I'm trying to burn 20 minutes before 10 p.m. so that I can go to bed so here's a little post about my weekend.

Life can be so strange and so uplifting sometimes.

Just about the time I realized I was sad, I was happy again. The clouds cleared. The weather was a beautiful 65 degrees with a slight breeze and almost chilly. It felt like a late September day when the summer has finally broken and you're expecting the leaves to start turning. To put it in Arkansas, or maybe Southern, terms it was football weather.

Of course, in such beautiful weather Dave and I painted the last remaining room in the house. I spent the morning at the grocery store, mid-day watching "Iron Man" at the movies, and the afternoon making homemade lasagna.

Let me tell you this. Don't ever make homemade lasagna. Was it good? Sure. Was it good enough to spend four hours making everything, including the marinara, from scratch? No.

On the other hand, if you like comic book movies, and I must admit that I do, Iron Man is actually quite good. Dave and I have a theory: Any movie is better for having Robert Downey, Jr. in it. The guy is nuts and clearly has some consistent drug problems. But he also has some serious comedic timing. And it's impeccable. Have you seen "Zodiac?" It's a perfect example. He's good at what he does. And if he does a little coke on the side, well, so be it.

I also talked to my dear friend in Costa Rica. You know someone has "gone local" when they tell you they don't notice the burn pile outside their window anymore.

Well, Turner, when you come back to these good ole United States, we finally have a guest room painted for you. There's an annoying street light outside and no blinds on the window, but you might notice there isn't a burn pile either.

L.

Keep Smiling, Keep Shining, Knowing You Can Always Count On Me

May 9, 1997


That's the day my father died.

It's a strange thing for me to be sitting here, so seemingly normal, 11 years later.

It's been so terribly difficult. There have been so many hard, dark days. Yet, today I stood on my deck and wondered about the beauty of the clouds. I stood and thought about who I am. Who I want to be. Who would make my father proud.

It's then that it hit me. He would be proud of all that I am. All that I could be. And I see him in everything around my life.

Just as soon as I start to get sad, a whiff of honeysuckle blows across my face. Just as soon as I start to think that things could be so different, a breeze russels the leaves in the background. Just as soon as I think I'm alone, the crickets start blazing with song.

I'm not alone. He's with me every day. It's a sad day for me. It's a sad week for me. But, at the end of the day, at the end of the week, what I have are memories of a proud father.

A father who loved me for me. A father who never expected more than who I could be, yet held those expectations so high that I could reach beyond the stars.

Dad, tonight is for you. You were a lovely man. I loved you dearly. I still love you dearly. One day we will meet again. And, when we do, we will laugh at my life. We will laugh at these days. We will enjoy the smell of honeysuckle together.

I miss you. I love you. And I will do all I can to continue to make you proud. Just keep smiling down upon me.

L.

Misery and Gin

As many of you are probably well aware, I spent the better part of my college years holed up in a smoky little establishment called Maxine's Tap Room.

Maxine was the proprietor of this establishment and words can’t quite describe her. You had to know her to know her and it has come to my attention that today is her birthday.

Maxine had an uncanny ability to make you feel right at home while also making you think she hated you, your entire being and everything you ever stood for. She would show you her diabetes-ridden foot like she was your thoughtful grandmother worried about her disease and the next minute call you a bastard and light a cigarette.

Anthropology classes should have been taught in that bar. It was there that I really learned that everyone, no matter their social status, was a welcome addition to the party. Sorority girls sat next to the local radio announcer who sat next to the guy with the minor cocaine habit who sat next to the English professor who sat next to the college alums reliving their college days.

It didn’t matter if you were with a crowd or alone looking for a place to wash down the troubles, you were welcome to smoke a cigarette and down a beer. In fact, as many as you wanted. Maxine’s was the kind of place where judgment was left at the door and for a few hours we were all in it together. Maxine sat right there in the mix of everyone. On that same stool. Every. Single. Night.

Maxine died about two years ago, and I liked the old bird so much that I drove three hours to attend her funeral. In prime Maxine fashion, everyone told their favorite funny memory, Jed Clampett, an old timer who played guitar in her bar from time to time, sang “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain,” we all went to the graveside, then the bar was opened at noon. As Margariete, the woman who took care of me as a kid once said after the funeral of one of her friends, "You know who would have enjoyed today? Maxine."

Maxine, you and your bar gave me some of my most treasured college memories. No matter how far away I move, or how many nonsmoking, trendy wine bars I now frequent, I’ll always return to the Tap Room and my roots for Miller Lite and a $5 pack of Camel Lights.

So, here’s a bleach-tainted beer in your honor, you old bitch. Happy Birthday.

L.

Does Fort Worth Ever Cross Your Mind

What fun! Sometimes there's nothing in this world better than a weekend with your oldest friend. It raises your spirits and causes you to think twice about the level of your alcohol consumption. Here's a virtual round of Pisco Sours on me!

Thanks for having me. I had a great time! Now, get on up here!
L.