Sunday, June 20
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Monday, June 21
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Tuesday, June 22
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Wednesday, June 23
Something even more wonderful.
Don called me up today. He said he realized he had behaved badly
when he spilled the hot chocolate on me.
"I was thinking about my own feelings, about being clumsy and
not noticing the lid wasn't on right, and I didn't think about
how awful it must be for you, having hot chocolate spilled down
your front," he told me.
"I should have been thinking of your feelings, which
were more important and more urgent at the moment than mine."
I truly love this man. No one has ever said to me that they should
have been thinking of my feelings first, over their own. This is
a new gift, and doubly precious coming from someone who probably
had to struggle much harder than someone without deficits to review
and understand what had happened. And to have the courage to call
me up and apologize for it.
I truly love this man.
While we were on the phone, he asked me if I had seen a piece
of paper with some important information on it when I had been
in his apartment last weekend. I told him I thought I had
seen it on the floor near the bookcase.
There was a pause, then I heard a dull thud and a cry from Don.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Oh, I hit my head on the post," he said. "It was right there in
my field cut and I didn't even see it. I bent over like I usually
do, quick and without looking, and I ran right into it."
"I've nearly conked myself on them myself," I said. "Are you all
right?"
"Yes," he said with a kind of woeful laugh.
I resolved to do something about that post the next time I was
up in Oakland, which would be this coming weekend. I was going
to pick Weather Bob up at the airport on Friday, then pick Don
up in Bolinas on Saturday, where he was teaching yoga at Commonweal. The
three of us would do San Francisco on the eve of Gay Pride, then
Don and I would return to Bolinas. We'd return to Oakland on Sunday,
then Don would come with me to Mountain View. I'd have to plan
ahead if I was going to do what I wanted to: I'd have to take the
materials with me on Friday and remember to use them on Sunday,
but I think I'm up to it. My planning skills are still pretty good.
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Thursday, June 24
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Friday, June 25
I picked up Weather Bob at the airport. We had dinner in
Palo Alto at a Thai restaurant, strolled along University
Avenue a while, then went back to my place. I put Bob in
my room and bedded down in the livingroom on the foam pad
from my car. I had taken it out earlier in the day in
anticipation of Bob's visit and to put the back seat back
in, since we would need more than two seats tomorrow as the
three of us drove around.
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Saturday, June 26
Bob went off to breakfast with an old friend from Grade School
days while I did some chores around the house. He got back around
11:30, and we called Don out at Commonweal to tell him we were on
our way.
The traffic on Route 1 was terrific, so Bob and I took the long
way around on Sir Francis Drake. We stopped in Olema so Bob could
get something to drink and I could get us some sandwiches for later.
I also called Don to tell him we'd be half an hour later than expected.
We pulled into Commonweal around 2:30, just as Don was leaving the
Administration Building with some peach cobbler on a plate and
a large glass of coffee. Bob was eager to see the Pacific Hotel,
so we got ready to drive there. I watched with some dismay as
Don returned the now-empty glass to the Administration Building.
He was holding it upside down. When I called this to his attention,
he said he was doing it to make sure it was empty, but it continued
to dribble coffee all the way into the building.
Bob was suitably impressed with the Hotel. We also took a walk
out to the meadow to look at the Pacific Ocean. It is, as Don
says, a million-dollar view. He said it is also infamous as a
place to scatter cremation ashes. The wind coming up the cliff
is nearly constant, and anyone to tries to scatter ashes here
is apt to get them blown right back into their face.
Since we needed to meet Bob's friends in The City for dinner, we
started for San Francisco almost immediately. The traffic was
not bad, and there were some lovely views of The City on the way
in.
The Castro was agog with gays. Don and I dropped Bob off near
the Patio so he could tell his friends that we would be joining
them shortly, then Don and I went hunting for parking. My years
of living in this neighborhood paid off as we found a spot in my
"secret" place at the top of 20th street. We parked barely a
block from the studio apartment on 20th and Church where I first
lived when I moved to San Francisco.
During dinner, Bob's friends discussed the complete folly of the
VaxGen HIV-vaccine trials. They confirmed my suspicions that this
bit of "medicine" was entirely investor-driven and had no real
prospect for success.
Don was holding his forehead during much of dinner. He complained
that his hay fever was giving him sinus congestion and a headache.
Headaches, as can be well appreciated, cause him a lot of worry
these days. Also, he mentioned again that he had hit his head on
a support post in his apartment in Oakland. "Well," I said, "I
have a little something to take care of that. You may like it,
but you may be appalled." I wasn't sure of how he would take my
wrapping the post in foam rubber. Would he think I didn't think
he was capable of avoiding it himself?
I could tell the headache was bringing up old worries. He virtually
ignored the other guys at the table (which was okay; Bob and the
other two were reminiscing and having a good time). He looked into
my eyes and said, "You know what I said about how I would feel if
I had a stroke again?"
"Yes," I said. "You said you didn't think you could go through
it again."
"How do you feel about that?" he asked.
"I would fight like the dickens to keep you alive," I said, honestly.
"But I also know that, much as I find your body to be a comfort to
me, if it was no longer a comfort to you, I would let it go."
He smiled and took my hand. Then he brought it to his lips and kissed
it. I always feel humbled by this gesture.
After dinner, we went outside. Castro had been blocked off and
was beginning to fill up with people for the Pink Party. I took a
picture of Don and Bob with the growing crowd and the Castro Theatre
in the background. Then Bob took one of the two of us, but I
noticed Don had a toothpick hanging out of his mouth, so Bob took
another one. Then Don tried to take a picture of Bob and me,
but it didn't come out. Then we walked up and down the street.
Don seemed distracted. When I ran into Larry, I stopped to
introduce him to Bob and Don. When I turned to introduce Don,
he had walked on without even noticing we had stopped. I had
to run to catch up with him.
We left Bob on The Castro, happy and excited and looking forward
to a weekend of adventure. Don still had a yoga class to teach
at Commonweal the next mornig, so he and I returned over Mount
Tam, driving through the remarkably clear June twilight.
Don was very tired, having been up since 7:00 AM.
He slept part of the way, despite the twisting mountain road,
and went to bed as soon as we got in. I stayed up for about another
hour, chatting with the cooks in the front room and drinking a
little wine.
When I entered the bedroom, Don woke. I suggested that, since
the room had only twin beds, perhaps I should sleep in the other
bed. "Oh no," he said, "I'd feel better if you were with me."
So I climbed into the tiny bed, squeezing myself between him and
the wall. It was tight and a little uncomfortable, but it seemed
to reassure him somehow, so I figured it was worth it.
Little did I know how often I would be doing this.
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1. Coming into The City
2. My Picture of Don and Bob
3. Is That a Toothpick in Your Mouth?
4. A Second Shot
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