Sunday, May 30
Don made a breakfast scramble from the leftovers of last night's
sauteed vegies. We had one of those wonderful conversations
about words that I so enjoy with Don. I contended that there
was a distinction between jealousy and envy, and Don said he
felt there was, too, but it was hard to pin down. I said I
thought jealousy is when you don't want to share what you have
with others, whereas envy is when you want what others have.
We looked them up in my American Heritage Dictionary, and found
a nice distinction. Jealousy involves the fear of being
supplanted in affection or influence by another.
We returned to Orchard Supply, my eagerness to
plant a ratatoille garden now cemented by having seen the seedlings
ready-to-go in their nursury yesterday. I bought six sweet peppers,
three eggplants, six hot peppers, and a zucchini. With the three
tomato plants I'll cull from Brad's bunch, I'll have a complete
garden to watch over and admire. I do think it is admirable, how
plants can change dirt, air, and water into food we can actually
eat. It seems a mere miracle.
On the way back from Orchard, we stopped by Century Theatres and
Don bought two tickets for an evening showing of The Phantom
Menace. Although I'd already seen it, I knew Don wanted to,
too, and I thought I might enjoy it more the second time, especially
if the tallest man in the world weren't sitting in front of me.
Back at home, we started in on the garden.
Don was eager to help. Since there were several other things I needed
to do around the house - laundry, trim the suckers off the ornamental
plum out front, replace the missing irrigation drippers - I was
happy to let him start preparing the soil. I thought the best place
for the garden
was the "side" of the garage (actually, it's the back, but I think of
the back as being the side furthest from the back door, which is
actually the side - got it?). I thought at first that we could
turn the soil with a pitchfork, but the ground proved to be already too
sun-baked to turn, so Don asked me to find him a spade. I did,
and he lit into the chore with gusto, leaping onto the spade with
both feet to drive it into the earth, then turning the clod and
chopping it into smaller bits with the edge of the blade. He
quickly warmed to the task and stripped off his shirt. I went
out front and started on the yard work while a load of laundry
(one of several) chugged away in the garage.
While prunning the tree, my neighbor Greg said hello from across
the street. I walked over and chatted with him for a while. It
seems like it's been months since I made contact with any of
my neighbors - and in fact, it has.
"Have you met my partner, Don?" I asked Greg. He said he hadn't
and would like to, so I led the way back across the street and around
the garage to the garden, explaining as I went that Don was
recovering from a stroke, and though we called each other "partner,"
we actually lived in different cities, "because that's the way it
is sometimes."
As we came around the corner of the garage, Don was fumbling
with his trousers. He quickly dropped his
hands and smiled through the introductions. I found out later
that the work had made him warm enough that he wanted to strip
down to his boxer shorts. If we had come around the corner a
half minute later, we would have caught him with his pants down.
Now, that would have been an introduction.
The three of us chatted. Greg spoke about returning to school
to take biology classes. He told a very amusing story about being
turned down for a date by one of the girls in the class. "What
on earth could we have in common?" she replied when he suggested
they spend some time together.
"Ouch!" I said.
"Yeah, ouch," he said. "It was only later that I thought to say,
'Well, we have all our classes together. That's something
in common, isn't it?'"
It was a nice touch: in the face of a gay couple, he asserted his
heterosexuality while being self-deprecating at the same time.
It's a tactic I've seen before, and it seems the best social
construction the two cultures have at the moment, a kind of
"Yes, I know you're one of those, and I want you to know I'm
one of these, but it's all okay that we're different."
I went back to trimming the tree and bushes, leaving Greg and
Don to chat a bit, then Greg went back to his house to continue
his weekend chores. A bit later, while I was attaching the new
drippers to the irrigation system out front, Jayleen, another
neighbor, came over and introduced herself and her daughter.
They had been playing softball at their end of the street, and
she wanted to reassure me that there was no danger of her daughter,
Jenise, hitting a ball through the window of the car parked in
front of my house.
"No problem," I said. "It's not my car." I think actually it
was Bernard's.
Don came out the gate at that point to announce that he had worked
the soil conditioner into the plot and we were ready to plant.
I introduced him to Jayleen and Jenise, again calling him my
partner. I think this makes it official: I am out to my neighbors.
Knowing that Jayleen talks to Donna and Greg talks to Tom, I'm
sure the basic facts will be all around the court by next weekend.
Jayleen and Jenise went back to softball practice and Don and I
went back to plant the garden. He did half and I did half, and
his rows came out just as evenly as mine did. I think I actually
killed one of the tomato plants, snapping off its stalk
as I wrestled it into its cage.
We took turns watering the plot. Don
said how much he enjoyed the physicality of the exercise, doing
the work and being out in the sun.
When we got inside (after starting yet another load of laundry,
this one including some shirts for Don), I saw that I had gotten
a message on my answering machine. It was Curtis, accepting our
invitation to come over for grilled vegetables. I called him and
he said he'd be over in twenty minutes. I hopped into the shower.
Although he had gotten quite sweaty working on the garden, Don
declined to join me, and laid down on the couch instead.
Curtis arrived shortly after I got out of the shower and he and
Don relaxed on the sofa while I got the vegetables and the
grill ready for the BBQ.
After dinner, we planned on going to the movie.
Curtis had seen The Phantom Menace the night before,
so he declined the invitation to join us.
dinner.
On our way to the movie, Don asked if what he and Curtis
were doing on the couch were all right with me. "It could
easily go further," he said.
"That's OK," I said. "He's a friend. And I have no fear of
being displaced in your affections." And I was genuinely glad
they had enjoyed themselves. Besides, both Don and Curtis are
great kissers. They should enjoy each other.
I enjoyed The Phantom Menace much more the second time.
Don found the scrolling intro impossible to read, and missed
most of the subtitled alien talk. I really must take him to
a movie that isn't subtitled sometime!
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Make Our Garden Grow
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Monday, May 31
Memorial Day
We had a quick breakfast of cereal, then walked to the train
station to find when the next northbound was due. It was soon,
but there was enough time to get some coffee. We walked to
Red Rock, but it was closed for Memorial Day. Never fear: we
were able to get a hot cup of "Dilantidote" from Double Rainbow.
As we approached the station again, we were surprised by two
things. First, the boarding platform had been moved about a
hundred yards further away, and second, the train was pulling
in! I ran on ahead, but Don was slow to follow.
Not only had the boarding platform been moved, but it was now
on the other side of the tracks. We'd have to cross in front
of the train as it pulled into the station.
"Run, Don!" I yelled back to him, but I could see he was
having trouble. Perhaps he was carrying too much, or trying
to avoid spilling his coffee, or daunted by the approaching
train. I went back across the tracks and helped him with
his stuff. The train came to a complete halt about twenty
yards from where we had to cross the tracks. People were
already boarding when we got there. He climbed up the stairs
of the nearest car, I stepped up and gave him a quick kiss
and immediately got off again. Then the doors closed and he was
gone.
Later that evening, Jessica called. We'd been trying to get in
touch with each other for a while. She had some concerns about
Don's moving in. 'A little late for that,' I thought.
"I notice the spillover, of course," she said. Don tends to
overfill his coffee cup, then add cream on top of that, resulting
in a puddle of coffee around the base of his cup.
"And he goes the wrong way on BART."
"Yeah," I said, "but he gets there, doesn't he? He figures it
out eventually."
She agreed that he did. He hasn't gotten permanently lost yet,
obviously. Then she described his reaction when she told him
that she and Kent considered him a six-month guest, not a
tenant.
"I saw his face fall, and I thought, 'Well, OK, his face is
just going to have to fall.'"
I didn't understand her concern at this point. She'd made her
point: this was charity, not business. But then, she added:
"When we first discussed this, he said there would be one
desk and a filing cabinet. Now there are fourteen boxes out in the
yard and more inside."
"Well," I said, "he intends to make his home there in Oakland,
even if it's only for six months."
"But there are boxes everywhere! Some of the furniture is
antique and rickety."
I held my exasperation in check. What was she thinking, putting
a person with motor and visual perception difficulties in a room
full of antique furniture? And whose problem did she think this was,
anyway?
Instead of saying any of this, I said, "The stuff has to go somewhere.
It either has to go into his apartment or into storage.
But he can't leave it in Bolinas. Someone else lives there now."
"It's just that we seem to agree on one thing, and then something
else happens," she said.
Yeah, I thought,
welcome to the world of the confused and impulsive.
I thanked her for putting up with it, but felt like she was trying
to back out of a commitment.
"I guess we'll just have to check and check again that we're
on the same page," she said.
I don't suppose she knew how much that phrase grated on both
Don and me. Feeling unusually hard-nosed, I said, "Yes, I
think that's a good idea. I think a smoke detector in the
basement is also a good idea." And a legal requirement.
We ended the call with her saying she and Kent would install
the smoke detector before they left for the AIDS ride. I
doubted they would, but maybe I'm just being cynical. Lots
of people want to feel like they're helping Don, but few
seem ready for the persistence and attention to detail it requires,
or the willingness to give up your own plans and go with
the flow. There's a certain sacrifice of ego involved,
and a detachment from outcomes. It's not just charity,
it's work. And it takes more than love to do it.
Don jokes that he's going to write a book about his experiences
called Brain Damage for Dummies. I think there's quite a
market for it.
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Tuesday, June 1
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Wednesday, June 2
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Thursday, June 3
There's a Perforce User's Conference at the Claremont I'm
going to attend tomorrow, so I drive up and spend tonight
with Don. We arrive at his apartment - which he is beginning
to call his "Hobbit Hole" - at about the same time. Since
we're both hungry and new to the area, we decide to ask
Jessica and Kent for advice on where to eat dinner. (There
isn't a microwave in the kitchen downstairs, and Jessica and
Kent don't want Don to use the gas range until they get a
working smoke detector down there. I think this is a good
plan, but I wish they'd be a little quicker about acting on
it.) Asking Jessica for advice usually brings out a torrent
of information, some of it contradictory as she changes her
mind about what question was asked or how she can best answer
it. She also wants to talk to us about something before I
leave for the conference in the morning. I mention I need to
be at the Claremont at 8:00. There's a lot of
back and forth about what would be the best time for us to
talk and meet, and do I drink coffee or tea in the morning
("hot chocolate," I say), and
should we meet at one of the coffee shops on Piedmont
and if so, which one, and is 7:00 AM too early or is 7:30 too
late, and so on.
On our way to dinner, I ask Don, "How can you process all that?
It would drive me nuts."
"I just say, 'Tell me where to be when,' and let them hammer out
the rest of it."
When we return from dinner, there's a note on Don's door. It
says, "7:15 seems so eary. How about 7:45?" The lights
are already out upstairs. They have an early training ride
in the morning and were going to bed just as we were leaving
for dinner, so it's too late to say "no," but I'm sure
7:45 is too late for me to have a "conference." I need to be
at the Claremont at 8:00.
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Friday, June 4
Jessica calls us on the phone at 7:34 AM. It's 7:24 by
our clock - roughly the time we intended to get up anyway.
While I'm in the shower, she brings down coffee for Don
and hot chocolate for me. My opinion of her soars.
Still, I don't have much time for a conference. We get upstairs
to their kitchen at 7:45 and I just have time to ask directions
to the Claremont. This proves a mistake and Kent and Jessica
disagree on direction, landmarks, and street names. I should
have just looked at a map, and when I get to my car, that's
exactly what I do. I get lost anyway, but no more so than if
I'd tried to follow the directions they finally agreed on.
The conference is interesting and I meet two Perforce developers
and users who are the stuff of dreams. David has a face and
deep voice that I could fall in love with, and Richard has a
playful intellect and the most liquid blue eyes. I find myself
day-dreaming about both of them instead of paying attention to
the proceedings. I notice Jeff Bowles at a nearby table, and
talk to him during the lunch break. Nice to catch up on an old
friend. He introduces me to Bob, a handsome older man who is
into yoga, qigong, and baroque flutes. I get his e-mail address
and promise to put him in touch with Don, who has expressed an
interest in taking qigong lessons.
After the conference, Richard teaches Mark and I and a third
conference participant the card game of Mao. It is fun and
frustrating because you only learn to rules of the game by
playing it.
By agreement, I call Don around 5:00 PM to tell him the conference
is over and I'll be coming home. I use Mark's cell phone to
call Don's cell phone. Jim had given him a cell phone and was
paying for the first year of service. I am pretty ignorant of
cell phone technology and culture, despite having worked on the
memory manager for one as part of my job. When Mark finally
explains to me how it works, I call Don's number. It rings, but
he doesn't answer. We thought this might happen, so we had a
back-up plan. I called his old Bolinas number, which is now
routed directly to a voice mailbox, and leave a message there
as well. Then I head to his apartment.
I find a much quicker route back than I took this morning. My
message told Don that I'd wait for him at Gaylord's, and that's
what I do. I watch a young man there playing PacMan. The
intense look on his face and the jerking movement of his arm
on the crotch-level joystick are most entertaining. The Red
Queen also stopped by for a latte. I don't know if she thought
of herself as the Red Queen, but she was certainly made up like
she was. A gay couple met, discussed plans, and shared the
evening paper. After spending an hour and a half at Gaylord's,
I decided to check out the movies playing at the Piedmont. Both
A Midsummer Night's Dream and Get Real were playing.
I had just read a review of Get Real while waiting at
Gaylord's. It seemed very interesting and very gay-themed.
Perhaps Don and I would see one or the other of these films.
It was getting dark and cool and I had left my jacket in my car
back at Don's, so I walked back there. I noticed signs that
Don might be home, so I went to the back door and checked. He
was. He had heard the phone ring in his backpack while he was
at the UCSF library, but couldn't find it in time to answer it
before it automatically shunted my call to his answering service.
He doesn't know how to retrieve messages on the cell phone.
He'd also forgot the box number for his Bolinas number, so he
couldn't retrieve the message I'd left him there. But since
almost nobody else has his cell phone number, he figured the
call must be me, and started home.
I made a mental note of that: at least two hours had elapsed
between my calling him and his getting home. That means he must
be spending at least four hours a day commuting.
Jessica and Kent were also home, and this was the evening Don
was to take Kukla and Chloe out for a walk while Jessica and Kent
tell him how to handle the dogs. All four of us (six, counting
the dogs) decide to head back to Piedmont for a bite to eat,
as well as give the dogs their evening walk. As soon as we're
out on the sidewalk, both dogs wrap their leashes around Don's
legs. I see Jessica's eyes go round with fear. Don is amused.
"They're making a maypole out of me," he says.
We walk to Gaylord's, where we tie the dogs up outside prior to
going in.
"Is this a good idea?" I ask, "Leaving them unattended?"
"We do it all the time," Kent reassures me.
I tell Don about the movies and we decide to go check the times.
We walk up the street, Jessica and Kent following us, but now they
have the dogs by the leash. They keep hold of them as we walk back
to the apartment.
Back inside, I assemble Don's bookcase and put his books away in
it. This reduces the clutter in one quarter of the room
tremendously.
I decide I don't really want to go to the
David Campbell concert next weekend, and I call Ken to tell
him so. Don's interest in it was mainly based on my interest
in it, and my interest was based mostly in wanting spending time with
Ken and having the two of them meet each other. Don kept
confusing which weekend it was on. I had hoped his having a
cell phone would make it easier for us to arrange meeting times
and places, even changing plans at the last minute, but neither
of us seem familiar enough with the technology to make that
practical yet.
Don is upset about not remembering the voicemail box number for
his Bolinas number. He wrote it on a piece of paper and put
the paper in his "must do" purple folder. This is his version
of the Kentfield "memory book." But this evening, he can't
find the purple folder. It upsets him that he could have
mislaid something so important. Did he leave it in the office?
I suggest we stop by tomorrow and find out. Unfortunately, he
no longer has his old DMK keys. Bo (or somebody) took his key
ring apart (for reasons that still escape both of us) and he
hasn't been able to find his office keys since. Without them,
he can't get in on weekends unless there's someone there to
let him in.
He also had distressing news from Dr. Lowenstein's office. It
seems that, although he and "Dan" agreed to meet and talk again
in early July, when Don called his office, the earliest appointment
was for early August. We both agreed this was unacceptable. I
am nearly as eager as Don is to get off Dilantin, though Don
has expressed some fear of finding out what his deficits really
are.
As I was putting away his books, we came across the stroke
pamphlets I had gotten from the American Heart Association.
Don started reading the one about left- and right-hemiplegia,
and the effects of stroke on behavior. I was pleased that
he was taking an interest in it, and that he was reading it
in a somewhat objective frame of mind. For example, when the
booklet said that right-brain injuries tend to lead to impulsive
behavior, he didn't seem to take offense.
I also told him the story of how I got the material, how his
case worker was eager to help me, but that once she saw Jnani's
note in his file, she closed off all information. Once again,
he expressed dismay that this had happened. It's something
he wants to talk to Jnani about.
Later, we got a phone call from Jessica. It seems
their dog sitter was "upset" about not being chosen to care for
the dogs, so the dogs are going to be kept with her while Kent
and Jessica are on the AIDS Ride.
Don seemed to accept this explanation, but I didn't.
I think Jessica saw Don's
legs wrapped in those leashes and right then and there
changed her mind about having him take care of the dogs.
It was another "pop quiz" in life, and Don didn't pass.
Lying, I think, is a very cheap way to please somebody.
Saying you're doing it to avoid hurting them is, I think,
a very cheap way of lying to yourself.
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Saturday, June 5
Don and I bless the bed.
Ketn and Jessica are off before we're up to their Bike-A-Thon
registration. There seems to be some assumption that we will be
here when they get back, but they know that we're going to
Bolinas today. Perhaps they don't know we're going on from there
to Mountain View.
Before we leave, Don takes Kukla and Chloe for a walk. Like
Jessica, I worry, but I "let go" of the worry. I spend the time
Don is gone figuringout how to read my mail from his home machine.
I check to make sure tonight memorial for Beowulf is when and where
I think it is.
Don returns - nobody died - and we pack up and head for Bolinas.
Once there, we get his mail from the P.O. The forwarding hasn't
kicked in yet and there's quite a bit: and SDI check, a radiology
bill (there's that damned HMO/PPO screw up again!), and a newsletter
from Different Spokes. We drop a box of "stuff" at the Free Box,
eat lunch, then head for Waz's to drop off another box. Waz is
home, and he and Don chat a while, Don massaging Waz's feet, which
are propped up in his lap. Waz had been cooking when we arrived,
and was dressed only in a pair of shorts. He has cut his hair,
too. He and I don't talk much.
After we leave, Don remarks, "He has world-class nipples."
Since his shirt had been off, I had certainly noticed. "They
must have been fun," I say.
"They were."
At the puple gate, I am pleased to see how neat and clean Don's
old room looks now that Stephan has moved in. To my dismay,
however, there are several more boxes of clothes to remove. We
nearly fill the van again with them. "Why do you have so many?"
I ask. All of it looks like it came from the Free Box, and half
of it looks like it should be thrown away. Why not consolidate
to a few items that really work and are wearable, and buy what
little else is needed?
"I have a motto," Don says: "Never pay for what you wear."
There is good news hidden in the jumble, though: his $110 shoes,
which he bought for his trip to Dayton, finally show up.
While he and Stephan sort out what goes and what stays,
I go down and talk to Shankari, who is planting lettuce for
their garden.
As we're talking, she says, "You know, I hid his hash pipe.
He wasn't supposed to be using it, anyway."
I remember asking Dr. Doherty about marijuana, but I can't
remember what her answer was. (Later, examining my notes
from our private meeting after the "family" meeting, I see
that I wrote down the question, but not their answer. Perhaps
I meant to ask it, but never did.)
"Do you think I should give it back?" she asks. "Now that he's
moving out, I mean."
I mention that I think Don and David have already "celebrated"
by smoking some.
"I'll give it to David, then," she says. "He can give it to V."
I don't understand the need for this indirection, but don't
comment on it. It does make me think there is entirely too
much concealment being done "for his own good," here, and that
it only serves to confuse him. Then, suddenly, I think to
ask, "Have you found his office keys?"
If removing them from his key ring was part of
the "conceal and protect" strategy, perhaps now was the
time for them to "reappear."
"Yes, we did find some keys when Jnani took her furniture."
We went into the kitchen, and Shankari handled me a bunch of
keys on a ring. "Are these them?"
I take them to Don. He recognizes them at once: "Yes! These
are the key!" He is quite happy. He notices that there is also
a key to his old Toyota (now long gone, hauled off as junk), and
a key to the Explorer. I speculate to myself that these car
keys are the real reason the keys were hidden. Bo and the others
wanted to remove the temptation to drive, and by hiding the keys,
they thought they could hide the impulse to go careening down the
highway. Good intentions, ham-fisted implementation.
Soon, we're off to Mountain View, but now that he has the office
keys, we can stop by the Presidio and he can locate his Purple
Folder, which he thinks he left in the office. Sure enough, that's
where it turns out to be.
"Another case of my not remembering that I did the right thing,"
he says. He was so afraid he had left it on a bus somewhere.
"It's where it should be, but I don't hink to look there because
I'm so sure it's 'lost.' I think the worst, instead of checking
for the most logical place for it to be."
In Palo Alto, we shop for flatware at Crate and Barrel, where
the prices surprise even me. Don says he needs to take an
inventory of what's in the kitchen in the Hobbit Hole. He
also wants to check out yard sales for pots, pans, and flatware.
We buy dinner from the deli
at Andronico's because there is no time for us to make dinner
before I have to be at Beowulf's memorial.
The memorial itself is a little odd for me. I don't know most
of Beowulf's friends. But I do get to see my old housemate
Tom and renew my acquaitence with his boyfriend Sasha. Kira
is there, too, and we talk about her artwork. I tell her the
story about how "Sacramento" led to my buying a house. A very
handsome young man named Paul talks to me, which I find very
flattering. I pick up some "souvenir" DPN T-shirts, a poster,
and a couple of back-issues, included the one with my short story
in it. It all feels oddly disconnected. When I leave, I
forget my sweater. I'll have to go back for it tomorrow.
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