Three

I missed the past few days on purpose. They say that things happen in threes, usually bad ones if you belong to a superstitious Jewish family like mine. According to Pagan or Wiccan belief anything you do comes back to you threefold. I've been traveling the past few days, mostly for work, but a little for pleasure. Three kinds.  

For someone that claims to not like children I sure am finding myself surrounded by them. And I've come to realize that I am actually quite comfortable around them. I met Ivy in Los Angeles. She's a bundle of joy with the most gorgeous full head of hair. And she smiles. We hung out and chatted over a burrito in Rondondo. 

In Vancouver I met Ian. He's a gorgeous Irish redhead who sat in my lap, held my fingers tight and stared at me. He let out the biggest, deepest sigh. The kind that Tyson makes when he is just so relaxed. He camped out in my arms while his mom and I caught up on life. Olivia, the greyhound, observed quietly from her spot in front of the fireplace. 

Tyson (my Boxer) has a rather large family. Frankly I'm jealous given my sad history and so I live vicariously through him as a member of his family Facebook group. Sometimes I can't keep up with the posts, comments, and invitations to family gatherings. By chance I fell in love with a little girl named Kaija who is the image of Tyson. Her pictures could be of him. She does the same things he does. And so it was inevitable that his mom and I became Facebook friends. When I learned that her human husband's name is Tyson and her favourite food is wine I knew it was meant to be. Turns out Kaija is Tysons niece. I arrived at Kaija's house and knocked on the door. It opened and I was greeted by a whole lot of crazy. I was in love. We hugged, we played, I bit her cheeks, she nipped at me and brought me her ball. We drank champagne and wine, ate oysters, risotto and home made sauerkraut. We had never met before but we hung out in the kitchen talking non-stop like old friends. 

Tonight I went to Merle's place for Shabbos.  I always see them when I am in Vancouver. We've been friends for so long that I don't remember how we met. She has twins and I believe it is my job to spoil them. Our text messages back and forth about the difference between what they want and what they need could start a comedy gig. Finally we agreed that I would take the kids to a toy store and they could pick out something they wanted. They did. We broke the rules (nothing needing batteries, nothing over $5) and we went home to build and play with our toys. We had Shabbat dinner, with a friend I have not seen since Merle's wedding in 2003. We laughed that we couldn't even remember the year. We hung out and played and caught up and though we don't see eachother often, it's like we are always together. 

Dogs make the best friends. And dogs make the best friends. Get it?

I played with some babies, I met old and new friends, and I loved up a beautiful Boxer. 

Keith tells me that sometimes my posts are crap. This one may just be one of those but that's OK. These three things have made the last three days so much fun and totally rewarding. 

Sometimes life is just that simple. Simple enough to write about it. 

42.59 - 61

Making babies

There are two common questions any (gay) couple is asked; first is "when are you getting married?", and the second is "will you have / do you want children?".

This post is about question number 2.

I had never given too much thought to having kids; for me it was an aspect of straight life that I didn't see me being a part of. I think however that if I were to have children I could be a decent father. At some point in my life I did ponder what it may mean to have children. This may have coincided with many of my friends suddenly becoming parents but frankly I don't really remember. What I realized at the time was that if I were ever to have children of my own that I would want them to be biologically mine. That immediately ruled out adoption. It occurred to me that the reason for me wanting children was quite selfish. If I were to have any, it would be to continue my line, my name, my genetics and to give me an opportunity to part way with my knowledge and experience. And be remembered. 

I am the end of my name, my sister didn't have any kids and even if she did they would not have been Reiters. I have no other siblings, no cousins. My mother was the last of hers too. Does it matter? 

I considered too that the world is filled with children in need of a home and that having one of my own for the sake of it was not that critical. I wondered about bringing a child in to a world where so many existed without a loving home. I mourned the only desire I did have, to experience that feeling of holding your newborn in your arms for the first time. 

I have a friend that used to continually remind me that I would never know the love of a child if I didn't have my own. This may be true. Yet I know what it is like to look after someone that is wholly dependent on you, to love them with all your heart, lie awake watching them breathe when they are sick. Many do not understand it, but even more do. And unlike children, to live with the knowledge that you will have to say goodbye. Because our fur children don't live forever. 

I hear that parenting can be the most rewarding experience, ones greatest achievement. But from the outside I also see the emotional drain, the frustrations, the inability to hold an uninterrupted adult conversation and the huge change of priorities. The older I get, the more selfish I am with my life and my time. I enjoy being able to determine my own time, to come and go as I please, to vacation when and where I want, to be quiet when I need to be quiet. Am I missing out?

If it weren't for me, my mother could possibly be homeless. She has depended on me for most of my life. I have supported her financially since I was in my teens. I resented her for this for a very long time. I wanted a mother like my friends had. One that took an interest in my life, that met me for lunch, that I did not have to parent. Have I resisted the idea of children because I felt like I already had one? 

I worry about growing old, being alone and not having someone to look after me or stand at my bedside at the end to say goodbye. But that is not a reason to have kids, nor any guarantee that they would do it. 

Straight couples choose not to have children. Gay couples are having kids of their own. Adoption allows for multi-cultural family units. And soon the only question we may be asked is "when are you getting a dog?"

42.58

Be careful what you wish for

When I was a kid there was no internet. I still remember when it first arrived in South Africa, this box that beeped and spluttered and connected us to an online encyclopedia that I didn't quite understand. Cordless phones were kinda new, I'd only seen them on Dallas and only one friend had a set. One of my first cell phones had an option for SMS but it wasn't active and I didn't quite know what it could do. It seemed revolutionary that I could send a message to a friend who also had a cell phone. But in the movies they did all of these things. 

On a Saturday afternoon I would often walk to the corner store, buy myself a snack, and then spend the afternoon lying on the couch reading a book. Life feels slower then. 

These days I always feel rushed from the minute I wake up till the time my eyes close. I dash between errands, while watching something on TV that I recorded on the PVR. If it's not there I google it and am bound to find it somewhere on the Net. Every 8 seconds I check my phone in case something in the world has changed. During work hours (which is always) I check emails and prioritize which I need to respond to first while watching new ones come in, take phone calls, write reports and switch between open windows, run errands, and check my phone every 8 seconds in case something in the world has changed. And I make coffee. 

When I started at my first job we had an intranet. We could send messages to anyone inside the company. We were not linked to the outside world. For that we used a Fax or Telex. I had a cellphone but it didn't work everywhere. When I travelled I was off the grid. I had a laptop but it was offline when I wasn't at my desk. It was off when I wasn't at my office. 

Imagination is what drives the world. Art imitates life? Or does life imitate art? We dare to dream the future and only through those ideas does the future become reality. 

There are movies that predicted where we would go, like Star Trek or A Space Oddysey. The ideas spurned a world of handheld communication devices and portable tablets. There are those that eerily predicted future events, Super Mario Brothers with the World Trade Center disaster or Poltergeist in the death of its star character via a baseball poster. There are movies that speak to conspiracy theories or alternative ideologies like The Matrix that is supposedly based on real research into the ideas of the parallel universe. 

I don't know about you, but it's been a while since I saw a movie that shook me. Or read a book that enthralled me. It seems that nothing is new and yet everything changes. We are spinning faster than ever before and yet I feel stuck in a race that only gets longer. 

I read somewhere this week that Generation X is giving up on social media. I also read that they are fed up with the millennialis. I have no doubt that some past generation were fed up with the X's too. 

I'm writing this on a tablet in an aeroplane that's about to shoot through the sky. While I write I switch between my email and Facebook and a magazine I am reading while at the same time reminding myself that I downloaded the latest episodes of Shameless and I had better watch them. 

Somewhere in a parallel universe someone is watching me, thinking that the future sure looks exciting. 

42.57

I'll show you mine, if you show me yours

I remember a friend of mine finding her younger sister and neighbour naked under the covers giving each other "injections". They must have been about 5 years old and it was innocent. 

I remember "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" at preschool. It too was borne of innocence and curiosity.  

My mother tells the story of my sister and I in the bath together one night. Suddenly I looked down at my sister, who was about 18 months younger, grabbed both her legs and pulled. As her head went under water I declared, "Look Mommy! No penis, don't worry it will grow". 

There was no internet when I was growing up. We couldn't google things we needed to know. We had to find out the traditional way. Natural curiosity about the opposite sex in terms of what makes us different soon gives way to sexual attraction and more intense needs. As a teenager I had my fair share of experiences with the opposite sex that was likely a little more nerve-wracking than the experiences of my guy friends given that deep down I wasn't fully vested in the heterosexual encounter. My first same-sex dalliance was a lot more exciting, thought granted I was at an advantage having had years of self-exploratory experience under my so-called belt. Though today I still prefer watching straight porn.

I have gay friends that have never touched a vagina. If you've seen "The 40-year old Virgin" then that applies to some straight men (or women) too. As a teenager the concept of virginity applied to heterosexual sex only, so if a gay man never slept with a woman he was a virgin forever. I was not going to allow myself to be that! I did what needed to be done. Interestingly the term virgin originally applied to sexually inexperienced women only. Today the definition has widened considerably. Today we have Google, so I wonder if there is a need to "show you mine, show me yours" when you can see anything you need to online? 

I have a gay friend that has never slept with a woman but wanted to. This was easily accomplished via Craigslist. The world is a different place today, things are more acceptable, or accessible than they were ten years ago. Or maybe they always were, but in a different way. I'm sure our parents thought we had it so much easier than they did. There is definitely more openness in terms of sexuality and experimentation, without judgement or label. And if a gay guy wants to touch a vagina, or a lesbian wants to feel a penis, maybe all they have to do is just ask. Just like in the videos below....

42.56

Poetry 4

Unannounced

Slowly it creeps in once more,
Unannounced and leading to feelings of
Failure,
Demotivation, and
Always sadness.

At times when things seem to go so well,
When dreams reach a peak,
And when friendships are reassured,
I feel it near,
Destroying my inner strength.

Despite my will to fight it,
It grows stronger and more constrincting,
And it always makes me want to
Run.

20/5/93

42.55

All that I need

When Keith and I emigrated to Canada we had our house packed up and the contents shipped about 8 weeks before us. We kept 2 cups, 2 plates, 2 knives and forks, some towels and linen. Friends lent us a blow up mattress and a TV. The house was empty, we ate out a lot and we lay on the floor at night and watched TV. And frankly, it made no difference to me at all. I realized that not only could the entire contents of my life fit in to a truck, but also that I could quiet easily live without it all. I say "I", because I am not sure that Keith would agree. 

We move a lot. Each time we move we get rid of stuff and while it always amazes me at how much we accumulate I am grateful that we don't hoard or have too much sentimentality attached to things. It still amazes me each time we move that our entire life can fit into 50 boxes and the back of a truck.

When I was younger I had a far greater attachment to things. I remember traveling to London (England, not Ontario) a lot for work and I would always make a point of going to Old Bond Street to buy myself something from Prada, or Versace, or Gucci. I needed just one thing. While I wanted just one Prada something, I have a friend who would rather have 17 Old Navy other things. As I've gotten older I have found myself needing less and less. 

I walk around shopping centers, rarely mind you, because people annoy me and there is always a slow-walking line ahead of me, but I do it sometimes and I marvel at the amount of stuff everywhere. There are shelves filled with things. Racks lined with 5 different colours or versions of the same thing. Why? Why does there need to be so much stuff. Why do we need this? Where does this all come from? I can't fathom how there is a never-ending source of stuff to make all the stuff in all the stores that we think we need. There are no worse words I can hear than "let's go shopping".

I had coffee with my friend Gabriella today and this is exactly what we spoke about. She used to be a nomad, moving from place to place with just a few things and loving it. Not knowing where the next adventure would take her, but always on an adventure. Then she bought a house and settled into it and got some stuff. She sold the house this week and moved out, got rid of as much as she could (surprised at how much there was) and down-sized to a bachelor apartment. She told everyone not to buy her stuff for Christmas. She plans to travel and go on some adventures. While we were talking I was reminded of our empty house in Parkhurst before we left South Africa. And how much I did not miss any of the stuff at all. 

I have three pairs of jeans, two smart pants, a bunch of shirts and some shoes. Most of my tee-shirts have holes in them because they rub up against my jeans buttons. I still wear them. I know people that have hundreds of the same thing, things that have never been worn, enough to throw out and not miss it, and they still buy more. The more we buy, the more the shelves and racks get filled so that we can carry on. Is it economics? Does it allow people to keep their jobs? Does it create child labour? Is it all necessary?

Sometimes I sit in front of the TV paying half attention to what's on and surfing the internet. I wonder to myself what I can browse and maybe buy myself something. I can never think of anything I want. Ask Keith and he will tell you that I never want anything. When I do, it's something specific and I take months to actually get it because I know I don't really need it and I hate shopping. It took me 5 years to get an iPad. 

Life would be interesting to observe, before all the stuff came along.

The stuff of my life are the people in it, my dogs, and food. It sounds cliched but I know without a doubt that its true. 

42.54

Poetry 3

Varsity Wall

The echoes fill the building,
They bounce off concrete walls,
And amid the smells of morning feet,
The incessant noise of hurrying feet,
Education calls.

I sit alone yet part of them,
A group of people who
(some would rather be elsewhere)
Share a common goal.

And yet some day,
When degrees are held,
And roads diverged,
Most cherished friendships (from these echoes)
Shall linger still.

17/3/92 

42.53

Poetry 2

In God we trust

Events.
Experienced to learn from.
(the details become clearer much later)
But during is when belief falters
And then need be reassured.

In times of need for guiding hands,
One looks for something meaningful
In a God that we all trust.
Or do we?

1/6/92

42.52

To Tracey. A Birthday Tribute.

I remember the first day I met you. I was living in that rented house in Norwood and had a bunch of people over for a braai. Neil brought you along. I think it was love at first sight though initially we were a little weary of each other. I don't quite remember how the friendship blossomed, because it feels like there has never been a time that we weren't friends.

When I try to think of the best memories, my favorite moments, the things I want to write about, my mind floods and I can't stop the slideshow to be able to write about them all. There are a lifetime of them.

In one of my darkest moments, you packed your bags and flew with me to Plett to get away from everything. We snuck in to the Beacon Isle every day and marinated under the sun in tanning oil (much to Carla's dismay). My favorite part was sitting on the roof outside our bedroom after everyone had gone to sleep, smoking, chatting and looking at the sky.

 

I remember lazy Sunday afternoons at your place watching movies, snuggling under blankets and playing with Nala and Simba.

Ah, the days of the Token Date. If I remember correctly this was a work function, I have a memory of us standing outside smoking something other than a cigarette. I may be wrong. Remember that New Years at your house, ice cream and the picture in the bathroom......

Always did love a good SCREW.....

And your laugh.......

Your love......

 Your friendship.........

 Your support......

The quiet moments.......

 And don't forget.....
- (free) burgers at the Multichoice canteen,
- hanging out with your family in Boston, rushing to the train and eating my peanut butter snacks before I even got back to my hotel,
- hucking on the phone for hours,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEAUTIFUL

I love and cherish our friendship and am grateful to know that you are always there

42.51

Poetry 1

When I was younger I loved Jim Morrison. The Doors were introduced to me by my friends Wayne and Lee. I had posters and flags on my wall, tee shirts and pants and read his books and poetry. At University I shared a flat with Lee's brother Gary. He wrote poetry. Jim Morrison wrote poetry. And so I decided I would write poetry too. I have a notebook filled with the morbid writings of a teenage adult. I've decided to post a few over the next few days. 

Dad

Memories of days long past

Begin to fade.

The mental picture crumbled 

long before. 

Yearnings for a father stronger grow

Beneath the 

Anger

and frustration.

Outward strong I seem to be,

Yet inside flow tears of sorrow

for someone I can't 

remember. 

8/5/92 

42.50

When opposites attract

"Why do we choose partners so different from ourselves? It's not fate or chance or cliches like "the heart wants what it wants". We choose our partners because they represent the unfinished business from our childhood. And we choose them because they manifest the qualities we wish we had. In doing so, in choosing such a challenging partner, and working to give them what they need, we chart a course for our own growth."

I read this and wondered if it is really true. We aren't all the same, we don't act the same way so that should imply that the statement is true for some but not for all.

Along the same lines is the belief that when you are annoyed with someone it is because they are (or their behaviour is) a reflection of your self. Again, true sometimes but not always. It's enough to pause and think though, because when you do you may just realise something important.

Some partnerships are made to be, perfect compliments. Some are polar opposites that similarly perfectly compliment each other. Often what we see on the outside is not the same as what goes on, on the inside.

The most challenging part of a relationship is the fight. For many years Keith and I never fought. My previous boyfriend and I fought all the time, we screamed and shouted at each other, we slammed doors and even once used fists; it was a passionate interaction. I remember once being woken up in the middle of the night to shouting because he was upset and just couldn't wait till the morning to "discuss".

In the beginning I was afraid to fight with Keith, I didn't want our relationship to end. Over time I slowly learned that our foundation was strong enough to withstand a fight, and so I started to speak up. And so did he. We are both lucky that we communicate and we do it pretty well so major fights are generally unnecessary. There are a few things that we always fight over, and when the fight happens it often feels awful but we have learned how to deal with each other and always get over it. I have learned that when I am annoyed to hold my tongue, and then bring up the issue at a calmer time when we can discuss it like adults. I have learned that I can speak up if it's important enough to say. I am able to wait. Keith can't, he says what he needs to say when he feels it. Sometimes I respond well, other times I don't. We deal with it, we move on. Sometimes we bicker in front of friends, most of the time we play fight. Our nephew and niece, Louis and Natalie, have the funniest fights where they scream loving things at each other. Once, Keith had a dream about us fighting, and woke up upset with me. And proceeded to be upset with me for the rest of the day.

Keith and I are not the same, we are as different as we are alike. But we understand each other. I have certainly learned from him. He grounds me. And in many ways, he has given me the things I didn't have in my childhood.

But he is not my only partner. I have partners in each of the people that are a part of my life. And just like in a relationship we fight, we discuss and we learn from each other.

This is for all my partners, whose qualities I love and whose lessons I learn.
 
42.49

Feeling guilty about spreading a cold even when I didnt

Today's post was coined by Christina, who has a cold. She is married to Brooke, who has a cold. Christina's mom Vera has a cold too. Keith has informed the world of Facebook that he has man flu. I had a cold. Apparently I am patient zero. 

Merle just messaged me to warn against bringing my disease to Vancouver when I visit week after next.

It's winter. 

Everyone has a cold. In fact it would seem that my entire New York office has been sick, and so I blame this on them. Somehow the germs must have made it towards me via teleconference. 

I went for a massage in Mexico and the masseuse leaned in and breathed into my ear and over my face. I am not sure if she was trying to be seductive but I guarantee she did not get the anticipated response. The only thing that rose during that massage was me off the table and out the door. OK it wasn't a door, it was a curtain. 

I went to Mexico and back in an plane. People sneeze, cough and splutter. On me. Which is why I always sit at a window. Against the window. Looking at the window. 

If you get sick, remember I will always be there for you, wishing you better via Facebook. 

42.48

Pasword-protected

I am reading a book that contains the following sentence:

"If you password-protect a laptop that lives in your house, aren't you mainly protecting your privacy from the person or people you live with?"

Interesting question, that. We generally password-protect our devices for security reasons, to prevent unwanted access or because of company policy. These days one requires a password for pretty much everything and you either end up having to remember a thousand of them, or re-using the same one over and over. I use a password manager so I only have to remember one password and frankly don't even know the one to get in to my bank account anymore because it's set to change routinely. I know all of Keith's passwords because they are mostly similar or the same and because I generally set things up for him. He doesn't know mine, not because I am hiding them from him, because I would tell him, or he could figure out most, but because as I just pointed out I barely know half of them myself anymore. 

I access my phone and iPad with a fingerprint and can't remember the backup password. Christina and I came up for a solution to that......

When a phone buzzes in our house, we don't look at it if it doesn't belong to us. To me it isn't even about trust, it's about respecting other people's things. I don't go rummaging through Keith's drawers when I am looking for something. I ask first. He has yet to say no, and I will always ask. How do I know that it has nothing to do with trust? I was cheated on a long time ago. I remember his phone buzzing constantly. Had I have looked I may have seen an offending message and done something about it, rather than suffer the embarrassment (all ego) that did finally ensue. Did that experience make me any less trusting? Nope. I still don't check when Keith's phone buzzes. My friend Christina has a different tone for different people, so her husband knows exactly who is messaging her. I think mine is a duck sound but I cant be sure. 

Should we turn off all security when we arrive home, so as to maintain full transparency? I don't think so. But frankly I don't think that the sentence that started this post is true. In the context of the book I am reading it is, because the wife murdered the husband. Because she didn't know the password to his computer. Well, that's not why she murdered him. But I digress. 

I think that the futuristic, electronic world that we live in has created a larger sense of distrust by virtue of our need to protect our thoughts, tweets, pics, emails blah blah blah from those that should not see it. Because it also protects us from those that can. I also think it's OK to have secrets. It's OK to keep some things to yourself. I have a friend that asks too many questions, but never shares. I have a friend that asks too many questions and over-shares. I have a friend that tells me nothing. I am pretty much an open book, but I don't tell everyone everything. None of it is about trust. 

42.47

To Hamlet. A Birthday Tribute.

When I was in Std 9, or what would be considered Grade 11,  I wrote the following poem that was published in the annual school yearbook. On the occasion of your 3rd birthday I dedicate this second Shakespearean publication to you. Happy Birthday Hammy!

To pee or not to pee, - that is the question:
Whether 'tis problems of the bladder to suffer
Or the pain of stones in the kidneys,
Or maybe to take help from a group of Urologists,
Who by treating pains end them? - To sleep, to suffer,
No more, and by a sleep to say we end
The pain and the thousand natural ills
The flesh is heir to 'tis a Cystoscopy
Devoutly to be wish'd. To end - to sleep;
To sleep! perchance to dream: ay, there's the doctor
For in that sleep of anaesthesia what dreams may come.
When with his sharp knife an incision he makes,
Must let him look: there's the stone
That for so long did block the pipe;
And who could've bore the pain and anguish of obstruction?
The surgeon's deftness the stone's release,
The pangs of despised surgery - my worries ended,
The fair surgeon! - Genius in all your incisions
Be all your operations remember'd!

42.46

About last night

I'm a little late with yesterday's post and so today will be a double whammy! As Robert Burns said, 

"The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley," 

We picked up Tyson from Uberdog where he vacations when we are away. This is an amazing place, an old greyhound racing station (I believe) where the dogs roam around freely all day long, they can run and play, swim and sleep in a big barn together. Every day the caretakers upload pics of the day to their website and invariably any pic of Tyson is of him mid-air like a Springbok. 

When we collected him we were told that he had thrown up and seemed a little under the weather. We put him in the car and trekked back to the County and he seemed OK, sleeping most of the time.  We picked up Troy from his luxury B&B (he's gotten too old for the ranch and prefers a more tranquil stay) and soon arrived home. Tyson was his usual exuberant self, running around in the snow and attacking Troy's ears. 

Later in the early evening, after dinner, Tyson was fast asleep in my lap. Suddenly he jumped up and started gagging as if he was going to throw up and then collapsed on his side. We thought he had had a seizure and I quickly rushed him to the emergency vet. By the time I got to the vet he was back to his normal self and wanting to play with a huge Great Dane in the waiting room. 

We ran a bunch of tests, took X-rays and after deciding not to leave him there we returned home around 11pm. Keith and I spent the night watching him, first in the bed and later me sleeping on the floor next to his bed with one hand on him the whole time. He got up almost every hour so it was a pretty restless night for everyone. 

He's OK today, a little spaced out but probably from the lack of sleep. We (our vet, who I trust implicitly) don't think he did have a seizure, and I hope that is the correct assumption. He may have pancreatitis which can easily be treated by adjusting his diet. 

I may not have children, and you may not have pets. Or maybe you do but you don't think of them as children. But I do. When my kids are sick I am sick. When they don't sleep neither do I. When something happens I think the worst. When they need treatment money doesn't matter. 

42.45

Walking down the gay aisle

I read an interesting article today about resolutions, written in terms of gay men and this paragraph made me pause:

Calm Down on Gay Marriage Already

"Gay Marriage" is for straight people. Commitments between homos have existed for a very long time. We just needed the straight community to recognize them, to give us the law and money we deserved, but that's it. The road to that legal victory should be celebrated but we didn't get anything new. However, as an army of concerned mothers prepare to ask us why we haven't settled down yet, now's a good time to examine what "marriage" means to us and our couplings, past cutesy viral marriage proposal videos. Can we take a moment to consider what it really means for two horny, territorial men to make a commitment that exists by its own rules and needs?

http://www.towleroad.com/2016/01/gay-men-resolutions/

There are naturally a bunch of comments after the article, mostly negative and many in support of gay marriage. Anyone that knows me well has heard me rant often about my feelings on this topic. I get it, I get why it's important to so many people. It's just not for me. 

Maybe it's because I've never been a conformist. Being gay automatically made me different from the perceived norm. And I am extremely comfortable in who I am. So why would I want to become part of the perceived norm? Why would I want to fight to be exactly like those that i am not? Being different is exactly what I celebrate. Yet why does the perceived norm not apply to everyone? Without having to ask for it, fight for it, or come out about it? 

I have many friends who are staunch activists in whatever it is they believe in. I have vegetarian friends that shove pictures of dead animals down my Facebook throat, I have feminist friends who moan about misogyny, I have gay friends who spam me with new LGBT causes. But these are things that are important to them. It's just not for me. 

I am lucky. I didn't have to struggle to come out. I didn't lose friends or family. Nobody treated me differently then or now by virtue of who I am. I run no risk of losing everything should anything happen to Keith because his family recognize who I am. And so does Canada. I've been bashed once, but it was no different to being beaten up at school by a bully. It happened. I got over it. 

I am totally committed to my relationship. I don't need a piece of paper, a ceremony or a law to change what it means to me. I suspect that if I were a straight man it is very likely that I would still not feel a need to be married. And so I realize that the issue for me is not a gay or straight one. It's a concept one. It's about who I am, what I need, what's important to me. I should stop saying that gay people shouldn't get married (though I should be allowed my opinion), and rather say that I don't believe in marriage. Now don't get all huffy, my LGBT-cause friends. Gay people can get married, it's allowed, and I support it. I speak with jest. I can't help poke a little fun at the seriousness, because sometimes it's just too much. 

Nothing is forever. I may still change my mind though Keith has given up proposing and listening to my resultant laughter. I have been a meat eater all my life and suddenly I am struggling to eat it. I am less tolerant in some things and more in others. I will continue to read about your causes and struggles and while I never comment publicly will likely still opine or judge and remain your friend even if we feel differently. 

Because in reality, not abnormal is the new norm.

42.44

On using sex toys

On the way back from lunch the other day Brooke and I passed a sex shop and peered in through the glass windows as we strolled by. Christina and Keith, who were on the opposite side of the road, had a bet that we would definitely look and possibly go inside. We didn't, but would it have been so bad if we did?

The sex trade is huge, in so many ways. Toys and sexy lingerie are used to enhance existing relationships and often land new ones. There is a air of secrecy around this and sometimes a secret sense of shame. Sometimes these toys are used outside of their intended purpose. 

Today a young man arrived at the pool area with a new friend. And she was an instant hit. She sat at the bar and had a few drinks, she swam in the pool, she posed for photographs with her new friends. Her companion announced loudly that she is a virgin. She also learned to Tango (see the video below).

Bet you though this post was going to go deep..... 

42.43

I licked it, so it's mine

I am a member of a group called "We Lick Anything". This is a real group, and the requirements for membership are serious. It started a long time ago, way before social media existed. A group of friends travelled around on a mission to lick things, and provide photographic proof. This extended into the family and then later to friends. Soon a Facebook group was started. The rules are simple, lick something with imagination. Take a pic and don't get caught. The obvious choices like sex organs, pets and food won't win you any awards, unless it's a Piranha (winning 2008 lick). Each year the best lick is chosen to receive the Morris Joffee award, something not to be taken lightly, and decided by the founding members. 

Licks have included things like Checkpont Charlie, the Lisa Marie aeroplane, a cadaver at a Body Worlds exhibition, and the Big Five. This group is not unique; in 2011 Lawrence Edmonds was challenged by a friend to lick every Anglican Church in the UK. This included 42 in England and another 20 in he rest of the UK. Lawrence kept a blog documenting each lick, and succeeded in his challenge. 

I've participated in my fair share of licks. None have been award winners but some have made special mention. Frankly I believe that locking a public telephone in downtown Johannesburg deserved more but who am I to complain? 

Tonight we ate out at a restaurant where Keith ordered fried fish. He expected a pretty battered piece of fish and maybe some tartare sauce and fries. When a full fish, head and tail and little fins arrived at this seat he took one look at it and pointed to me, indicating to the waiter that this was in fact my dish. Naturally I decided it needed licking. The waiter watched, eyes wide, likely wondering if this stupid Westerner was just having a taste? Below are tonight's and some of my earlier pics. Scroll down to the end, the last one is the best one. 

42.42

To Coral. A birthday tribute.

In continuation of my birthday posts I wish one of my oldest friends the happiest of birthdays! 

I haven't seen Corrie-pop in a long time but luckily we have a Facebook connection so I always know what she's up to. According to Facebook I am also her grandfather. Coral is one of those people that I have watched grow up. When I was young and pretty and at University I became friendly with Coral's mom Gaby. Coral must have been around 5 at the time. She lived with her mom, my ex-boyfriend Laurence and another friend Lauren. It was the ultimate commune. 

We had so much fun there, I have incredible memories of long lazy dinners (especially charred peppers on the stove) and stories that can never be put in writing. Gaby/Lauren, if you are reading this then I refer you to a certain note posted on the fridge that contained warnings with respect to a child and a strainer. 

Coral, you always were a bright, strong, determined kid. I loved having you around. You grew up to become an ever better woman. You got your independence and your spirit from your mom. I wish you hundreds of years of health and love. 

42.41

Dear diary

At breakfast this morning we were discussing something and it gave me an idea for tonight's post. By midday I had forgotten the idea. We tried to retrace our conversations and come back to the idea but alas it was not meant to be. So instead, tonight's post comes to you in the form of a daily diary entry.

January 8, 2016

We are currently on vacation in Mexico with our friends Brooke and Christina. Keith and I have always preferred traveling with friends and have done it like this for many years. Each vacation is different but the premise is always the same, relaxed fun times with people we love.

This morning we met for breakfast and spent an hour laughing and making a lot of noise. On the way to the restaurant we laid towels down on chairs in the pool because this is what you do at a resort. We may have taken an extra chair just in case, I'm not admitting anything. After getting comfortable post breakfast Brooke and I decided to go down to the ocean for a swim, the water being much warmer. We bobbed around chatting and laughing at a guy trying to SUP (stand up paddle board) who just could not seem to stand up. After deciding that we could definitely do this, as first timers, we beckoned to Keith and Christina to come watch us and rented two boards. 

I would like to state categorically, and undeniably, that there is NOTHING EASY about stand up paddle boarding. And the waves don't help much. After what felt like two hours but was probably ten minutes I gave up and just floated on top of the board like a walrus, tethered by the ankle to this floating piece of plastic that kept toppling over, through no fault of mine. Keith and Christina had given up after five minutes and laughing loudly returned to their 10am poolside wine. Suddenly we saw a vision coming at us over the horizon. It was a lady on a bigger board. She spoke no English but gestured that we hand over the small board for experienced balancers and took off on it leaving the bigger board floating behind us. And suddenly we weren't that guy we were originally laughing at but transformed into those annoying boarders that floated by us, looking at us flailing in the water as if to say "white man can't balance."

In the end SUP turned out to be fun, even on the waves, and despite the chafed knees and arms from the boards and the sore feet this evening. Plans are underway to repeat the exercise. 

We spent the afternoon back at the pool, drinking beer and hanging out. We ventured off the beaten path to a local restaurant for amazing tacos and burritos, and beer. Late afternoon was enjoyed in Brooke and Christina's room with a bottle of champagne. A picture may have been posted on Facebook of us all on our phones but despite what it looks like we were actually playing eachother our favourite songs and YouTube videos. Yes, we were indoors when it was sunny out, and yes we seemed to be focused on our hardware but in actually fact we were interacting as much as always.

We walked in to 5th Avenue Playa del Carmen for dinner. The little town has developed so much more since the last time we were here but is still so charming. Today saw the start of the annual BPM festival, orinally conceived as an industry event for "Bartenders, Promoters, Managers" but since becoming one if the biggest gatherings of DJs, producers and electronic music fans. Around 35,000 people descend on the area and the town was abuzz tonight. The festival lasts ten days. 

After dinner we sat at a bar. We are yet to run out of conversation, and tomorrow is sure to be a similar repeat of today. It feels really good to be able to get away, with people you love, and with whom you are able to relax and have fun. 

And laugh. 

A lot.

42.40

Deep thought

What would it take to give it all up, 

Follow a dream,

Do something different?

Maybe it shouldn't have to take anything. 

42.39

Being poolside

Regardless of where you go, the following always happens:

1. The two best chairs have towels or magazines on them all day long but nobody actually shows up to use them.

2. There is always someone with a better body than yours.

3. There is always someone who should not be wearing a bathing suit (swimming costume) in public.

4. There will always be a poser; he has a great upper body and stick legs. He doesn't sit down preferring to stand and flex, and walk around the pool all day. He also looks like a giraffe from straining his neck. 

5. Pool activities happen too close to you; including kicking, laughing, loud singing and motivation from resort staff. No, I don't want to watch the pool fashion show. 

6. If at an all inclusive the cocktails always have way too much sugar. Don't drink them. 

7. It is never too early for that cocktail.

8. Despite all best efforts with sunscreen you will always miss a spot, and it will usually be the backs of your knees or the tops of your feet. 

9. You will be hungry all the time. Eat. 

10. You will do nothing all day and be exhausted by 6pm. Sleep. 

42.38

Is it too late to say I'm sorry?

The apology is an interesting thing. There are people that use it so frequently that it loses meaning and effect. There are those that don't use it at all. An apology is seen as a matter of etiquette, erasing all wrong-doing and cleaning the slate. In Judaism one asks for forgiveness of those that you may have wronged. One does this around the time of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. According to tradition, you are to ask for forgiveness three times, be refused twice and accepted on the third. If denied, the forgiveness becomes automatic and the person saying No assumes full responsibility. The intention is that nobody should be denied the opportunity to make things right. Everyone is entitled to a second chance. But is a simple "sorry" enough? The idea that something is unforgivable implies that there would be no point ever apologizing again.

We used to have private conversations. We used to be able to give an opinion that did not extend beyond a circle of friends or colleagues. Having an opinion should be OK. But in today's world the right to opine on anything, everything and in public has become the norm. I watch American TV shows like Drs. Phil and Drew or Nancy Grace and often stare in disbelief at the public crucifixion. 

Today one runs the risk of saying something in a tweet or Facebook status that can be shared across the globe. Today you can be filmed doing something that can end up on the news. It happened to Toronto's previous Mayor. An executive flying from the US to South Africa tweeted a derogatory comment about AIDS and become a trending hashtag while in the air, landing in Johannesburg oblivious to the outrage, and the fact that she was now unemployed. I'm watching the new right now here a cricketer has had to publicly apologize for asking a reporter out on a date during an interview. I didn't see the interview so can't really comment but haven't we become totally unreasonable as to what is and what isn't OK?

More recently, a woman in South Africa posted a racist comment on Facebook that has gone viral, that is being debated and argued, that may result in legal action, that someone who she has never met and likely won't ever, is blogging about. 

All of these people in some form issue an immediate apology, usually via the same method that got them into trouble in the first place. And they are rarely accepted the first time. I often watch the celebrity or politician standing up in front of the news networks reading a well-written and obviously heartfelt apology and wonder if that's how they really feel. They do it because we demand it, because it makes us feel better to hear it, otherwise they will lose their status and sponsorship or place in office. Often we forgive, sometimes we don't. A designer has never worked again because they grabbed a boob on the red carpet in jest, politicians will never work again for sexting. Did these acts make them bad at their job? Or do we hold them accountable for the things we all say and do, as if their apology absolves us of our own sin?

There is no doubt that there are things that should never be said or done. But we are humans, we are different. We make mistakes. We fall. We should be allowed to express ourselves in private and we should be less idiotic and not post things in public forums that wreak havoc on lives. 

But when we do so, we should apologize because we want to, not because we are forced to. If we don't, so be it. If we do, may we be forgiven. 

42.37

In search of missing jewels

The boys were busy, keeping themselves occupied with manly chores. One drank a beer, the other enjoyed a glass of wine and the third was catching up on emails before the next day's flight. 

She was somewhere upstairs packing and getting ready. Suddenly there was a thump, and the sound of something falling. They heard the metallic rumble of something hitting the air vents inside the walls and then a thud. 

He jumped up. He shouted upstairs to check on her. "Is everything ok?"' He called out. 

"No!" she cried, "my jewellery fell down the vent. It's gone. It's burnt up!"

The three boys raced up the stairs. She was kneeled over an open vent, cover by her side, looking down in horror. 

"I wanted to hide my good jewels", she explained. 

They ran down to the main floor and tried to trace the trajectory. They moved furniture and tapped on the walls. They descended in to the basement and entered the furnace room. He turned the light on. He switched on the torch. He tapped the vents above. 

"Where could it be?"

"It's gone", he said and shook his head. "What was in the box?", he asked. "How big is it?"

"It's my ring, and my earrings and the stone they gave me. In the little red ring box". 

The boys evaluated the vent system, determining which was in and which out. They turned off the furnace just in case. They sent her away. For nourishment. They knew they would be hungry when this was done.

One gently started to pry apart the metal. The other shone a torch. The third took his phone and gently inserted it through the tiny slit and took a photo.  

"I see it!", he declared. But the vent was angled down towards the machinery that is the furnace. They looked at eachother and they trembled, knowing what was on the line.

"Let me try get in there", he offered. 

"No, you will cut yourself. Let me get you some gloves."

They MacGyvered some cardboard to create a barrier that would stop the little red case from falling further. He gently inserted his hand into the vent and felt around. Nothing. 

He considered where he had seen the box in the photo and tried to touch it without moving it further. Nothing. 

How could this be? They evaluated the photo once more. It was not possible that they couldn't reach it. 

By this time she had returned. "Turn the camera around", she cried. She was right! The iPhone was taking the photo from the other side. 

He pulled down the metal and felt inside. "Don't push it further in!", he shouted, "or you will never reach it. There is a wall there!"

He felt nothing.

She gave him a wire hanger. He formed a hook and inserted it into the vent. He reached far. He felt around. Nothing. 

He closed his eyes. He pictured the box. He became the box. The box and he were one. The box emerged under the bright lights of the men's tools and into the fresh air. She grabbed it and ran. 

The men repaired the ducts. All was as it should be. 

Later over dinner they warned her against the insertion of the box into orifices that do not serve a dual purpose. They said not to try the central vac, or a trash compactor. They recommended a cupboard. With a lock. 

She looked at them and calmly replied, "You scratched my ring box."

42.36

Rambling again, wanna write something?

Two people asked me today about my blogging for the next year and whether I think this challenge may become cumbersome. Keith mentioned that he is worried I may lose my love of writing as this becomes more of a chore. I always maintained that I didn't want to write just for the sake of writing which is why there were long periods of silence between posts. I intend to stick to this challenge because I have an end goal. But this means that I will need to be creative, come up with ideas that are interesting and relevant, and sometimes my posts may suck and other times they will be less sucky. The feedback I get is amazing and also interesting. Some of my posts are good, some are long-winded, some are too short. Sometimes I look at the stats to see how many people read my latest post and I am dismayed to see its not as much as the one before. Is my viewership waning? 

We've spent the last few days hanging out with friends, eating and drinking and enjoying each others company. 

Doing the stuff that makes life worth life. 

I am content and still winding down from a long and intense year. For this reason I don't feel the need to write intensely. We are about to take a week off to lie in the sun and recharge. Then I will be ready!

I asked Keith and Christina if they wanted to guest write a post. Both screamed a loud "NO!" The reason......a lack of punctuation ability. I imagine what one of their posts would look like; written as spoken? And is that really so bad? I check my posts to make sure that they make sense, are spelled correctly and somewhat grammatically accurate. People go crazy on social media when they're should be there. Most of the time autocorrect changes things just as you hit the send button anyway. Often I make Keith edit his Facebook rants. I always notice when marketing materials say 'you' instead of 'your'. Who checks these things? I do. But it doesn't mean that you can't take one of my days if you have something to say. 

The offer is extended to you too.

42.35

A lazy post

Contemplation 

42.34

When Munky met Chucky

I don't have people-children, I have fur ones. Yet I suspect that many parallels can be drawn between the two experiences. As kids we would play outdoors and sometimes a kid would be left out for some reason; my sister, for example, would always be chosen first to be the "man-in-the-middle" of a game we called Crocodile. We would scream to the croc, "Crocodile, crocodile, may we cross your golden river?". And then we would run and the croc would try to stop us. My sister was always the croc. And she hated it.

Kids would get on, fight, not get on, make up and fight again. My parents were friendly with some of my friends parents and so we would all interact, but not with others. The same rules of social behaviour apply regardless of age. I always thought that the norm is for more kids to be friendly with each other than parents and it is rare that a group of adults get on extremely well while their kids don't. Until Munky met Chucky.

Tyson is my Munky. He's a Boxer who looks like a Monkey and who we have called Munky pretty much since before we called him Tyson. He's an even tempered guy, always happy to see you and wanting to play. He is friendly and gentle and loves to hug. 

Hamlet is an English Bulldog. He's sweet natured, stocky and obsessed with his ball, any ball. He carries his ball around all day. Hamlet also talks, he chats when he has a ball in his mouth and when he wants something. Sometimes he mutters under his breath, sometimes he sings and sometimes he shouts loudly to get your attention. 

Hamlet's mom and dad are very close friends of ours. We met many years ago briefly and then again in the dog park and before long were fast friends. We spend a lot of time together. Since moving to the County I practically live in their home as I spend so much time in Toronto. In fact when I am there, Hamlet is my in-room pet. 

Tyson and Hamlet met as infants and their friendship extended way into their childhood. They used to play in the park, and sometimes they would include Tyson's brother Troy, and Hamlet's sister Penelope. 

As teenagers they started to develop their own sense of self and one day, had a heated discussion over a stick that was unfortunately not resolved. One could liken this to a Liberal or Democrat living in the same house as a Conservative or Republican. It was never going to end well. Despite screaming "get your child off mine" in the heat of the moment, the parents remained fast friends. Over time we have learned how to handle these rambunctious, determined, stubborn boys. We can predict an argument and generally stop it before it starts. They will walk together side by side until we reach Starbucks and then move into attack mode as treats are close by. Let Tyson take one look at Hamlet's ball, and out comes Chucky, who let's Tyson know in no uncertain terms of his intentions. And like kids, Tyson will stare at him, giving him the hairy eyeball as if to say "oh yeah? you want some of this?". 

I would hate to see what happened if they both liked the same girl (dog).  

We hope that one day our kids will mature enough to let bygones be bygones, to accept that they may have their own opinions, wants and needs and that despite this they can still be friends. Or maybe they will just never get along. As parents we love our children unconditionally. And despite the occasional spat, never let this come between our own friendship. 

Sometimes we say that we can learn a thing or two from our pet companions. Sometimes they should take a lesson or two from us. 

42.33