Who Really Needs Fixing?

Friday was D-day. De-sexing our dogs. It's the right thing to do. It's what's expected from a responsible dog owner. We knew going in that it was an eventuality. What we didn't know was how hard it would actually be when the time came. I had made the arrangements. I knew the time was fast approaching but I'd find a reason to put it off until I found Spencer "acting out" with Sophie. I jumped from the lounge chair and ran for the phone to call the vet and get the soonest appointment. I had been told that if you waited until after she went into heat that her chances for developing breast cancer significantly increase. It's so hard to imagine that the puppies that we just got a while ago could be able to enter that phase in their lives so quickly. The appointment I originally made was meant to be a time we'd both be available and I thought that the best day would be a Friday so we'd have the weekend to watch them. It turned out that I had to work and Mark was responsible for getting them there on his own. The day of the procedure we both questioned why we were even doing it. It seemed so cruel. Here they are, first thing in the morning, happy to see Mark and ready to play. Instead, Mark is gathering them up to take them for surgery. It feels a bit like playing God. It's not like they'll be roaming the streets. At 9:30 that night it was time to collect them. At the vet's I found out that there was a complication with Spencer. He had difficulty breathing on his back during the procedure which made it a bit more challenging but it went well for both of them. They'd been sleeping but were eerily quiet bringing them home which should have been expected considering what they'd been through and the sedatives they must have been on but it did remind me of bringing Oscar home on his final night. The tone of the evening was decidedly somber and we were seriously questioning our decision. I thought I would have a sleepless night but I actually fell right to sleep. It was a memorable sleep. I dreamt so vividly and my dreams had a common theme. Torture. I woke up wondering how my subconscious could even conjure up the images. In my first dream I slowly ripped apart a hummingbird. Limb by limb. It was still alive so I crushed it with a brick. Anyone that knows me knows I love every living thing. I've even had a pet spider living in the shower and I did everything to make sure the water stream never hit his web. I didn't name him ( in case he did end up down the drain ) but I couldn't bring him any intentional harm. So how could I have this dream? I had many others but the last one stayed with me when I woke up. I dreamt that I was in a German torture chamber and a Nazi had me secured to a table. There was a myriad of frightening accessories available for any procedure he deemed appropriate and the possibilities were overwhelming me. There was someone on the table next to me identically manacled. Was it Mark? The Nazi came over to me and in the classic manner we are all familiar with from the movies he very calmly told me that I was to be punished and the infraction was to be carved by knife into my torso. He asked if I preferred script. At that point a seven foot tall transvestite with a bozo wig, a few missing teeth and wildly placed lipstick ( the color of azaleas which I thought was an interesting contrast to the red hair ) suggested my accepting Tylenol. I asked whether I should take it before or after the procedure. He/she was emphatic that I consider taking it beforehand. Mercifully I woke up in time to avoid my unnecessary procedure and my first thought was that Sophie and Spencer weren't as fortunate.

Cesar Millan Needs to Pay a Visit

The challenge of training two puppies is an enormous one. We knew that going in but we didn't know what the issues would be. We couldn't ask for cuter, more lovable and loving dogs but they definitely come with their share of issues ( or are we creating those issues? ). From day one it was evident that these dogs are like night and day. Perhaps that should have been their names considering their colorings. Sophie is gregarious and initially started by being the alpha dog. That seems to be in question now because as we get to know them we see that Spencer has a sneaky side that loves to taunt Sophie and get her riled up. The most immediate training issue when we brought them home was potty training. It was evident that they had a more casual environment at the ranch where they were born. We needed to set ground rules from the get-go and so we focused on creating a schedule that they could count on. We got them to head towards a we-we pad inside at first and then we brought it out to the back yard so they would transfer their target outdoors. Spencer pretty much got it right away. We would be outside for hours with them waiting for Sophie to follow Spencer's lead to no avail. Finally we'd head back in and within five minutes Sophie would have gone. You can't say she's not been well trained. It would be a bull's eye if we painted a target on the we-we pad. In a disciplined manner she would wait ( and still does ) to go until she was inside thinking that's what she's supposed to do. What else can we do? I'm about ready to demonstrate myself that the back yard is the goal. Another issue is their sudden decision not to go for any sort of walk. It started out OK. We'd put on their harnesses which they didn't like but they tolerated it and they tentatively would walk around the block. We knew things would be new and there would be apprehension but one day Sophie dug in her heels and refused to go further than our front lawn. Eventually Spencer shadowed her behavior and now it's like pulling teeth to get them down the street. Once we reach the corner they know they're halfway home and they bolt. As small as they are it's a challenge not to get your arm pulled out of it's socket holding on to their leashes. Perhaps I should be grateful that they at least know where home is! We've now stopped trying. We know that's not good; it's not going to get any better that way but it's so laborious and seemingly ineffectual. The result is two wound up pups in the early evening when you'd like to wind down and relax a bit, perhaps watching a little television. I'm reading "Cesar's Way" now by Cesar Millan. According to Cesar all will be cured with the calm/assertive attitude I need to develop. Well, if I was working with a dog I didn't have to live with I'd be able to be calm/assertive. Instead I become a stress mess and as Cesar reminds me, my " energy" is quite detectable. We're being used. We're being manipulated. We have been trained to do their bidding ( those treats they love so much give me 30 seconds to think ). It's really us that needs obedience school. At least I wouldn't complain about wearing a harness.

Starr Lores

I just blogged a day or two ago about an experience I had going through an old trunk at my Mom's. There were many things that I found that I neglected to acknowledge although I did mention finding old art of mine that reminded me of my level of creativity so many years ago. Specifically there was a framed piece of mine in that trunk that wasn't a painting but a large photograph. It was an assignment I had while attending San Jose State. The assignment dealt with self promotion. During that period of attending the university I befriended an art student. He was a year or two older than me and I was attracted to his talent, gregariousness but mostly an incredible confidence of which I was sorely lacking. He was also my first gay friend and being older than me and very popular I was introduced to a new world that I'd already accepted but knew so little about. David Starr was his name and he was willing to help me with this project. The photograph ( David choreographed and photographed it ) is of me laying on the diving board of a pool reading a magazine that was open to a page that had an ad in it. The ad was of me holding a magazine that had an ad of me holding a magazine that had an ad of me...you get the picture. It was called "Avancement De Soi"; self promotion in French. I loved David's flair for the dramatic and although I don't remember for certain I can't help but believe that he had some influence on the title. Finding this piece was a revelation; one of those missing things in your life that from time to time you ponder as to it's whereabouts. It was a mystery solved but what I didn't expect was all the memories finding it conjured. David would take me "out" for a drink and though I'd been to a few gay bars prior to David, I was a wallflower fearful of getting noticed or approached yet I wanted to observe and know more. Going with David threw me into the center of things and there was no hiding place when in his entourage. He would walk up to the best looking guy in the place and say the boldest things. I remember one time he walked up to a great looking guy that most would think unapproachable and say" I bet those clothes would look great rolled up and tossed in the corner". I would have a sense of awe, embarrassment and admiration at the nerve. David actually spent a lot of time that evening with that guy. At the time I lived in Santa Clara and after finishing school I moved to San Francisco . As things always do, our relationship changed and though David moved to the city as well and I would see him occasionally we didn't have the relationship that we did in school. The confidence that David had manifested itself into his career interests and though I wanted to emulate that I knew it would be a battle for me and a natural evolution for David. I was right. He did great things as a stylist and his clients were the socialites of San Francisco and beyond. I remember him naming things in his cosmetic line like "Drop Dead Red" for a lipstick and he would name things after his clients. One day when I was walking in Union Square I saw David on the corner. He had his two dogs with him and he was looking up to a billboard with a satisfied smile on his face. The billboard was of him ( I'm talking about a huge billboard that faces Union Square! ) and I knew at that moment that he knew he'd made it. I didn't approach him. I wanted that moment to be his. I know I would want to drink it all in if it was me. I really wish I had approached him, though. I thought about it later and regretted it for years. It had been a while since I'd seen David and I asked someone about him when I saw that his Bush Street salon was no longer there. The person I asked told me that he believed that he'd died of AIDS. I was so upset because I would never have the opportunity to tell David what he meant to me, what influence he had on me in those early years. I would think about him on occasion after that - a fleeting thought or memory would come to me. The other day I shared the find of the photograph with my friend David Urban from San Diego and told him for the first time about David Starr. I received an e-mail from David later telling me that on a whim he googled David Starr and he thought I should do the same. I immediately did and found shockingly that the story I'd heard years ago was false! David had moved to Rancho Mirage, had a partner and a thriving career. Unfortunately I also found out he'd had a massive heart attack of which he did not survive. Wow. All the years I would spend time in the Palm Springs area. I bet I walked by his shop a dozen times. I even had a gallery showing in Palm Springs and I would have loved for him to attend. I could have had my opportunity I'd regretted missing those years ago and didn't know it. David, writing this and putting it out in the universe is the best I can do. Can you feel it?

Where Did That Guy Go and Can He Come Back?

Over a week ago I spent the day with my Mom in Sacramento. I recently promised that I would absolutely save a day a month that would be just for her and unless a natural disaster occurred I would honor that day. It has made an enormous difference in how we now relate to one another on a daily basis because she now can count on when my next visit will be. That has alleviated so much pressure and I'm actually able to enjoy the day and even look forward to it. Having a specific time to expect me allows my Mom to prioritize the projects that she would like to see completed. The major one on the list was the garage. I showed up a bit late so we jumped right into it when I arrived. I'd already made a bit of headway the last time I was there but there was still a lot to do. Mom has been in an eliminating mood and it's forced her to look at a lot of mementos and weigh their value. She recently found a collection of letters that belonged to my Grandmother that she had never before gone through and there was correspondence in there from the 1920's and earlier. We started making a "donation" pile, a "garbage" pile and a "to save" pile. I was glad to see Mom wasn't shy about the garbage pile and I actually had to have her think about saving a few things she was ready to let go of. A few things I, myself couldn't part with ( and now I'm mad I let myself bring them home because I'm trying to eliminate as well ). How in God's name did I feel sentimental about a percolator ( yes, before coffee makers were around ) that I remember as a kid? We were on a good pace, making great headway. Looming ahead was the infamous trunk. As a kid, I always wondered what was in it. It's so ancient and heavy in appearance. When I'd asked the answer was always " in there? Oh, just this and that". There were trunks on top of that trunk that we had to go through first and I personally felt the contents were not at all trunkworthy. Perhaps my anticipation of "the trunk" was skewing my judgement. With the trunk finally accessible I started opening it. Mom said, "honey, why don't you wait until I'm not around anymore to go through that". I told her that I wanted to go through it while she was around so that I could get answers to any questions that may arise. With that we continued. The first thing I got to see was my Mom's wedding dress which was beautiful. There wasn't any particular mystery but there were some wonderful pictures. Under all that was a shock. All sorts of artwork that I had done in high school and my early years of college. There were two scetchbooks filled with my ideas for paintings and such and I was so shocked to see how current and usable the ideas were! I was also so surprised to see that there was a strong tendency toward textile design that early on. I had never considered that as an option to pursue in school ( didn't really ever think about it ) and now I realize how different my life would have been if I had considered that as an option so many years ago. All this was amazing yet it also made me quite sad. The designwork was fearless and bold. I suddenly was aware that as I got older I was influenced by so many things that altered the direction of my work. When did it change? When did my work lose that edge? Don't get me wrong. I'm very proud of my lifetime body of work but there was a point when I took into consideration what would be "marketable". "I'd better paint things people would understand and want to hang in their home". I think that was a mistake. I want that naive, unafraid kid that was willing to" go where no man's gone before" back. I want to continue where I left off...except better. The one thing that's great about this discovery is that I now have the ability to take those raw ideas and realize them with the skill I've developed all these years. It was destiny to go through that trunk at this point in my life and find the old me because lately I've been searching...searching for my work to MEAN something. What could mean more than to finish a sentence - a thought - a concept from a lifetime ago?
What a wonderful day that turned out to be. I'm so grateful I didn't let my Mom talk me into waiting until "later" to go through the trunk. We sat on the garage floor for hours and I got to share in the many memories that the trunk items sparked. We had a lot of laughs and tears and I will forever hold that day close to me. I love you, Mom.

Organizing My Thoughts On Organization

I had a recent epiphany that I must share with all of you! It occurred to me that an organized person isn't necessarily defined by whether he has achieved it but rather by whether he is bothered by disorganization or not. There is a difference! You see, I truly believe that I am an organized person. You may not be aware of that considering it hasn't been applied to every part of my life and environment. The difference is that I think about it all the time and the areas that have yet benefited disturb me. I actually fantasize about it...the perfect scenario or the ideal problem solver. There are factors that inhibit the ideal solution such as space and expense. Both are issues for me. I have one space that is a success. It is a small closet in my bedroom. My home was built in the 50's so closet space is at a minimum and there are several closets throughout that house my clothing but this one closet...I'll just stop to look at it and sigh. It is truly a work of art. It houses my shoes and pants and some shirts. One section has cubicles for my shoes; one shoe per cubicle. The shoes all face in the same direction with all heels out. They will always have a place to come home to. You couldn't mess this closet up if you tried! All the pants are hung by shade - light to dark, the shoes, casual to dressy. I have my short sleeved shirts in this closet and above ( by color ) I have the less worn t-shirts neatly folded. I recently had company that saw this closet and they haven't stopped talking about it. I burst with pride listening to them express their admiration to others. It's an awesome achievement by any measure and I'm their hero. I don't take this responsibility lightly. I now have to apply it throughout so it's known that it was no accident. I have heroes of my own; two, in fact. First, my sister. She lives my organizational dream. I idolize that about her. It is no passing phase with her. It is her lifestyle. I'm trying to make you proud. Second is my friend, David. I have been recently privy to his tales of organizing his garage for storage. No written word has given me goosebumps the way his e-mail did when he described his plan of action. I salute you, David. How could you be anything less than my best friend? A thought about not maintaining that organization; it's like having a beautiful flower in a vase and not adding water when it gets low; watching the blossom slowly wither from lack of attention and care. I hope you all can benefit from my enlightenment ( lol ). Happy blossoms to all!