tedwords

The rest of the trip wasn't quite as fraught with fragility as the first half. Perhaps it the fact we were in Amish country and all that romance in the air. 

Our location really was beautiful, and I think that contributed. The stay came with a very filling breakfast each morning in the dining room, and the waitress was extremely friendly. While we waited for our breakfast, we were given a whole ton of extras, including homemade muffins, pastries, fruit, and granola, and orange juice and lots of coffee. The first day I had the poached eggs on home-fried potatoes topped with peppers and onions and a local cheddar cheese, which was great, but I moved to scrambled eggs for the two days after that. 

There was also a really serene back yard that we took advantage of in the mornings. 

The first day in Intercourse, Corb's mother was clearly annoyed with us due to our conversation and spent a bit of time sulking. She had also, as Corb predicted, told several folks in the family that we had been mean to her, as he received several texts from his brothers asking how things were going, something he never receives. He deliberately kept the responses nonchalant. 

No worries, as we had a lot to keep us busy. We toured the center of Intercourse for much of the morning, as well as Emma's Gourmet popcorn, which was one of the reasons Corb wished to come here. We had tried out some of their salt and vinegar popcorn in Rhode Island, and Corb was excited to learn they had hundreds of other flavors to try at the main store in Intercourse. 

Frankly, the store wasn't as big as I was expecting, but we did pick up several different varieties. I would say that the area itself felt somewhat manufactured--save for the Amish and their horses and farms, the buildings all felt like they had been designed by a Disney imagineer team. We did like it, but it had a bit of a touristy feel and we grew anxious to see something different. 

So our next goal was to check out Adamstown, which is located about 20 miles north and is widely known as "Antiques Capital U.S.A.," with thousands of dealers and massive flea markets. Frankly, this really hit the spot, and the stores we visited that first day had some truly interesting finds at low prices. The first floor of one of them looked as if it had stepped out of the 1940s. I was able to pick up some really cool books, including a very early Nancy Drew, so I was content. 

We ended the night somewhat early, around seven, with a bit of ice cream from a local place called Boehringer's. Corb's mom insisted on paying, and there was a nice brook in the back where kids were having a blast. We arrived back at the Inn around eight and said goodnight early to retire to our respective rooms. It was probably for the best after all our long rides together. 

The next day we woke up early for breakfast and then off to a local flea market, to check that out. The one we went to, The Grove, was somewhat reminiscent of the Brimfield fair, and in fact, there were several vendors there that traveled up to Sturbridge to attend it. The one I liked the most had an enormous collection of 1950 through 1970 comic books, as well as an assortment of other really cool magazines. I did spend quite a bit and would do it again, although Corb was a bit salty because the vendor we spoke with lowered the total price by $20 and then sneakily neglected to pay Corb five dollars of that reduction, which he complained bitterly about for an hour later. 

Aside from the magazine vendor, there were some great booths and some not-so-great, which we tend to find with flea markets. It's really kind of hit or miss. Corb and his mom engaged in a tremendously boring conversation with the lady who sold buttons. I am sure it was intensely interesting for people who like buttons. Corb and his mom were among those who do like that stuff, and they made a great connection with a genuine button expert. 

But you have to be careful. The button lady was great, but right next to her was a rock lady, and she was somewhat suspect. When the rock lady saw we were looking at her rocks, she looked at the one Corb picked up and said "This is from my great grandfather's, from Mexico in the 1700s," which made no sense whatsoever and was clearly incorrect. Corb asked why she didn't have any tags on anything, and she said that she didn't price things due to the fact that she went to shows all the time. 

"I won't buy from people like that," Corb explained. "They just move the price around depending on who they are talking to. If they think you have money, they move the price up." 




The rest of the day we spent checking out other locations and had quite a haul by the end of it. At around eight, we headed back to the Inn and had dinner at Miller’s Smorgasbord in Ronks. The place started as a gas station in the twenties and is known for its "seven sweets and seven sours.” We didn't have any of that, but I did have some shoofly pie, and it was quite good. 


 

The next day, it was time to return home, and by this point, everyone had calmed down enough so that it was quite an enjoyable ride home. During the last breakfast, Corb's mom made friends with a very nice lady from New Jersey, who was staying there with our husband and goes once a year. It was actually quite amusing to me to hear them talking, and I found myself writing down some of the things that Corb's mom said, because while utterly charming, they were a bit exaggerated. I especially liked it when she described her three sons as all "very tall and very thin" (Corb was standing right there, and as he pointed out later, isn't exactly proof of the "very thin" part of the sentence. 

She also talked about her sister and started it by saying "I dont know if you've been to New Hampshire or have heard of it..." 

Corb and I exchanged a look. Pretty sure the lady from New Jersey has heard of the state of New Hampshire before.  

It was just charming and silly, however. She had a great time talking with the lady and was clearly proud of all that Corb has done with his life, and I loved that. I made it a point to mention that Corb was my husband, and despite the fact that we were in the "Bible belt," the New Jersey woman didn't seem to give two shits. Imagine that. 

On the five-hour ride home, Corb's mom was downright jolly. Maybe it was the thought of returning home and being reunited with her Sukee. I think it also had something to do with the thought of returning safely to a place she knew and trusted, which brought her anxiety level down. In any event, it was nice to end the trip on a high note. 

After we had dropped her off, Corb turned onto the highway. "That was fun," he said. "I think we should do it again."

I nodded. "Agreed. I think we could maybe bypass Ohio and just go from our place to New York, and then head to Intercourse. That would make it two days of three hour travel, which wouldn't be bad. Plus, the antique stores seem a bit lower, price point wise, than Ohio. Which makes it worth going back." 

"Okay, that's settled," he said, then smiled. "Only next time, let's do it all over again...just by ourselves."

Indeed.

One thing I have learned from this week-long road trip: as with young children, if you want some stress relief from an older parent, try wearing them out during the day. They'll want to go to bed earlier if you are successful. 

Today we went to the Heart of Ohio, which is a sprawling antique superstore that Martha Stewart has called "One of America’s best resources for antiques." The huge location has more than 800 Vendors, 1,425 Booths and showcases spread out over 122,000 square feet, all under one roof and comfortably climate controlled. This is our third visit here, although the first time doesn't really count because Corb had kidney stones and wanted to rush through it. 

This mega location certainly did the trick today. We arrived at around one and stayed until 5:30, with lunch at their delicious cafeteria. By the time we were ready to leave, much poorer for the experience, Corb's mom looked ready to take a nap, and actually did when we arrived at the hotel for the night. Don't worry, we woke her up before she could actually sleep, to get her fed before bedtime.

It hasn't been a terrible trip, but as Corb remarked yesterday, the two of us are really good traveling companions, and this has thrown that off slightly. Last time we drove to Ohio back in April we had such a great time. We couldn't wait to get back. But with his mom accompanying us, it's a different vibe. A tenser vibe. We are still enjoying ourselves and what we are doing, but she puts us on edge. Aside from the tiff we the first day of the trip, we had another shorter one two days later, as we were headed to the Cleveland Botanical Garden, across from the Glidden House.

"She is just so much to deal with," said Corb, as we were talking it over. "It's just hard."

I mentioned the other day how she tends to parrot everything Corb says, which makes discussions really difficult. But that's only one of the many things she does that make life so enjoyable. Let me get my list out. 

--She refuses to enter anything first. Doors, elevators, you name it. If we try to open the door and ask her to enter, she will stop, steadfastly refuse to do so, and stand in place until we both enter first. She says it's how she was brought up. 

--However, at all of the places we have stayed, she will literally push you out of the way to make sure she is taken care of first. When we checked into the Glidden House, even though I had booked everything, she could not wait for me to finish checking in before making sure they had her room and that it was placed under her credit card. She did the same thing tonight, as we checked into our hotel in Columbus. And that also extends to things she wants. This morning, Corb wanted to buy a magnet of the Glidden House, and she shoved him out of the ways so she could buy hers first. 

--She also has a deathly fear of every location we stay at. She is convinced, I swear, that some nefarious someone is looking to do her in at every location, just lurking in the shadows. As a result, she insists that we make sure that we have booked the room next door to her. Which is part of the reason she pushes me out of the way when we check in--to make sure this is the case. Tonight, for example, we ended up being assigned rooms about ten doors away from each other and she wore a scared frown on her face all the way up the elevator. This hotel is really nice, too, by the way.

--But that doesn't matter, because every night of this trip, she has slept with her bag of jewelry and pocketbook tucked next to her, because she doesn't feel safe. Even at the Glidden House, which may be the safest location you can be in short of the Gates of Heaven. She said she didn't feel safe even though the place was lovely and in a college campus because the neighbors in the room next to her were loud. Which of course means evil. 

 --Oh! In addition to a room next to her, she also requires us to park our car in a location where she can look out from her window and see it. I wish I was making that up. Tonight she made Corb circle the hotel twice so she could ensure it was in a parking lot she could see. "Otherwise you'd just have to take your chances," she explained. 

--Safety issues aside, she is terribly passive aggressive. Even though she makes me pick every hotel and restaurant, every step of the trip, saying "Oh, you just make the decision. I'll just LOVE whatever you pick!" she doesn't mean a word of it for a moment. I get criticized each and every time. The first hotel in New York, even though it was a historic hotel in the theater district, had a parking lot that was too exposed and the entrance did not have the hotel name emblazoned on it clearly enough. Plus, she didn't like the locks on her door. It's been like this every step of the way. 

I could go on and on. I probably already have. Anytime I take a photo she has to take the same exact photo. She has to read out loud every news headline she sees on her phone and stare at us until we respond. She also has to read out loud every sign that we pass by. "Oh! This place has an Aldi's! A Dunkin Donuts! A Texas Roadhouse!" "Oh, look, that signs says that place is for Children's Aid, I wonder what that's about?" And then will look at us, as if we know the answer.

Ah look, she is in great shape for her age, and god knows, my parents wouldn't be able to endure this trip. So we are thankful for that. 

Still, it was nice to be able to put her into her room somewhat early tonight. I know Corb was feeling that way, too. As he started in to his second turn around the hotel, I could hear him muttering, "The nights almost over...the nights almost over..."

It made me smile. We have four more days. Pray for us. 

"He who fears death will never do anything worth a man who is alive." Seneca

This was a really busy week for me. It felt like a work week, frankly. Just, not work in the way it used to be.

Monday and Tuesday I had auditions for a show I am directing, called This Is Your Song, which is an Elton John musical review. I have written the script and am working with a good friend who is a very talented piano player, Lisa Yves. All told, we had about 50 people audition, including an all-ukelele group of 25-35 folks called The Unlikely Strummers. In other words, it's going to be a huge show.

On Tuesday, right before auditions, Corb had a huge 700-pound statue delivered to the front of our house, which caused me to be late to auditions that night. He saw it promoted for free on Facebook from a local statuary company. So now we have a huge statue of St. Anthony sitting outside our house in need of a coat of paint. I can only imagine what the neighbors will think! Corb, of course, has plans for the paint job. 

Wednesday, Corb sold one of his bigger chandeliers, to a lady that has purchased from him before. Since he promised to deliver it to her, he spent much of the day arranging truck rental, measuring the shandie at the store, etc. I met with Lisa to finalize (for the most part) the huge ass cast, which with the ukers will total about 85. 

I also went for my annual physical and learned that I had lost 12 pounds since my last visit, last year. At that time, I was at 215, and I was down to 203 (with clothing). That felt pretty good!

Thursday we spent the morning transporting the chandelier, which can be a bit exhausting because Corb spent the entire ride fretting if we hit a bump. Every bump, he makes an "eep" noise. 

I had been planning to send out casting offers to everyone that afternoon, but on the way home, I received a call from a clearly distraught Annie, who had also tried visiting us at home. 

I can't go into the reason why she is upset, even here, but I will say that what she was upset about was very serious and something she did that was really, really stupid and preventable. Corb and I immediately drove back home and met with her and Josie and spent the entire afternoon discussing the matter and trying to guide Annie in how to handle it.

In all honesty, I am still recovering from that afternoon. I am so upset about the whole thing, and while I love my children, at the age of 40, when a child does something stupid, it is their job to make it right. I provided her with guidance, I gave her some money to help deal with the matter, and I (along with Josie) offered to be there to talk about it. But I refuse to get sucked into this, because it is something she needs to address herself and fix. She needs to own the choices she made, admit her mistakes without making excuses, and actively work to fix the harm she has caused.

It also became clear to both Josie and myself that she was lying or telling half-truths about the situation and then crying about the whole thing as a way to get sympathy. I find that deeply disturbing. As everyone knows, I have been doing a lot of journaling about my younger years, and there have been several entries mentioning her biological dad. This is something he would often do, and it's troubling to see Annie doing the same thing. 

I love her, I support her. But I am so, so upset about the whole thing and cannot in good conscious simply hug her and say "everything is going to be okay." A bit stronger approach is needed in this case. It's hard, but she needs to hear the truth and stress that she needs to fix things, and it's not going to be easy to do so. 

After that, I was wiped. But I still had to extend casting offers to over 50 people. I was working until 11 at night on that and barely had anything to eat. 

So is it any wonder when I weighed myself the next day, I discovered I weighed 199 pounds (without clothing)? My goal had been to get below 200, and there I was. So yeah, but I am not sure I wanted to do it this way...and now, time to set a new goal! 

As a result of my general malaise, at a time when I should be happy and excited, I just took it easy yesterday. Sorted through the rehearsal schedule, read a bit. No martini Friday. It just didn't seem appropriate. 

Today was promote the cast list day and get ready for Corb's birthday road trip to Ohio and PA to pick up merch. We head off Monday and I am excited about that. Today I started to pull myself out of that malaise. 

I want to be supportive of my children, but I also want to enjoy this phase of my life. I can provide guidance and love but do need to build walls to protect myself and all that I have built for my life.  

Have thought a bit about moving. My sister Kerrie just purchased a house in the Cape. Living near her would be fun. Maybe it's time. Eventually we would like to move to Europe, but not sure we are quite ready for that, yet.

The last time we had a catch-up was right before I headed off to Paris, so there was a lot to discuss. We of course talked a bit about the 1984 entries, especially because Mary-Beth had unintentionally picked a restaurant located on the road we would always use to take to get to the Lincoln Mall, where we spent every Friday or Saturday night as teenagers. I would always get lost driving there and get irritated. 

On that note, I apologized for getting so angry so frequently when I was younger. I think I have gotten a lot mellower, I added. "That's because you found yourself," Pauline replied. 

She's right. 

Had the three of us driven together it would have been perfect and just like old times. As it turns out, the only reason they didn't ask was because they thought Corb would be coming, too. Corb has been to dinner with the three of us and wisely chose to skip this one. We talk too much for him.

Travel was a big topic. Besides my trip to Europe, Pauline just returned from Alaska, which she loved, and Buns is headed off to the Caribbean at the end of this week, to the Dominic Republic and Turks and Caicos. We talked about maybe someday taking a cruise together, which might be a lot of fun.

John's passing was another topic, as Pauline knew John many years ago, when she was around 40 and he was 20-ish. It all started as a result of a July 4 at the beach house. While the fireworks went off, Pauline and John were sitting together and he grabbed her hand. She wasn't expecting that. Fireworks went off. Several times. 

Of course, that was all in the past but does make for a pleasant memory. I am all for having as much fun as possible in this world, especially of the scandalous kind.

Her live-in boyfriend John (no relation) has lost about 70 pounds in the past four months, and not intentionally. He is still overweight, but they are doing tests to see what is going on. What they are thinking seems treatable. 

And his son, who has been getting in a lot of trouble this past year, appears to finally have a new job and has been a bit quieter these past few months. Pauline hopes he stays at the job, as his living with them has caused John to be really stressed. Hey, maybe that's part of it. 

Alex is doing well. Just received a raise at his current job. But still somewhat unhappy with his current girlfriend.

On the MB front, her big focus is her mother, who is now 100 and living with them. She says all she does is sleep all the time, which kind of concerns her. Then again, she may have been sleeping all the time before she moved in with Buns and she just wasn't aware. In any event, I think she gets a pass because she is 100.

After that, the discussion turned, as they tend to these days, to retirement plans. People are always curious about how I am doing, retiring early. I am actually doing quite well, although I did have to take my first withdrawal to pay bills last week. One week later, the amount had been replaced. 

The one thing I have to keep in mind is that if I time when bills get paid, we need to be aware of that for other things we are buying in our day-to-day, or it may result in a scramble. Corb thinks I should just pay everything on one day and then live off our credit cards. I may do that. 

Today was Kay's birthday. She is in New Hampshire for the week, but I wrote and wished her a happy birthday. They are going to Santa's Village today, which she always loved. In any event, it was really nice to be able to wish her a happy birthday and have everything behind us. 

All is right with the world. Old friends are the best friends. But new friends like Beata are awfully good, too. 

One of our favorite stops when we travel to Vermont is The Vintage Den, which is located in Jeffersonville, and is a "quirky, multi-dealer antique and secondhand shop housed in a historic post-and-beam barn." 

The barn is huge, and three levels, and while the space has a distinctive musty smell, and the comic books aren't sorted as well as I'd like, there's a wide variety of really cool items, including an enormous amount of amazing artwork on the second floor. That's where we were when we became surrounded by penises, in one of the dealer areas located at the center of the barn.

Corb's gaze was focused lower, on a painting of a woman bathing in a fountain naked, which I founded amusing. She was surrounded by a number of onlookers who appeared to be judging her.

"What's that? Surrounded by what?" 

His gaze drifted upwards to the other paintings in the area. They had clearly been all painted by the same artist, who appeared to figure prominently in every one--or at least, an idealized portrayal of the artist (I assume), all Greek godlike and rippling. Often, possessing a rather girthy member, may I add.

Corb abandoned the judged woman to get a better view of everything else he had kind of glossed over in the room. His eyes widened. "These are kind of amazing," he said. 

There were pieces of artwork on all three sides and in between, at various stages in the artist's career. Smaller paintings, big expansive paintings, multiple versions of different drafts. An artist's sketchbook. Two cubes with different artwork on every side of the cube. All set in this sleepy old barn, a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered. 

Most paintings were clearly drawn from the fevered brow of a gay man, all muscles and penile and sinewy, mixed in with a healthy dash of religious fervor to really heighten the tension. On one wall, there was one far more somber painting. An image of an older man, clearly wasting away from something, with two medical professionals standing behind him. It bespoke the final stages of something. It bespoke time is not a finite object.

Was it the painter or his partner? I was unsure.

There was one painting that really caught my eye. The idealized artist, this time with his genitalia covered by a bear (not bare) encrusted loincloth. Straining to break free from a purple cape that connected him to a clearly older figure, all bumps and sadness and almost Picasso-esque in its formation. 

"I love that," said Corb.

"Me too," I replied. 

There was a second variation on this theme, located next to this straining Atlas, but that version seemed a bit angrier and altogether more angular. The face of the artist on the version we preferred seemed less angry and more resigned. And the sadness on the older figured seemed more pronounced.

It spoke to me. For me, the painting represents the artistic spirit, eternally young and beautiful, bound by the physical slowly decaying presence of aging, mortality and distraction. 

Corb loved this painting, too, and it was a quick decision for us to buy it. But he was also drawn to a much larger one that may have been drawn at an earlier stage in the artist's career. We debated for quite some time regarding whether to get it, since it would not fit in the car in its current condition. We even drove back after leaving the barn so Corb could measure it. Corb decided to put up a poll, asking our friends: 1.) Do we need this in our home? 2.) How do we get it home?

Interestingly, many of our gay male friends responded right away, letting us know in no uncertain terms they supported bringing it home. Several other artistic friends were like, why are you even asking? The only really negative reaction came from my ex-wife, who seemed rather dismissive.

I have my own theories about why that would be. I feel like lately, Corb and I have been leaning a bit heavier into expressing our queerness, while Josie has become increasingly straighter and more maternal. PS: there's nothing wrong with that.

Feedback received, we made our decision: we would return tomorrow and Corb would remove the painting from its frame to roll it up and stretch it back out when we get home, to mount in our den. He let the owner of the barn know and while he was at it, asked: who was this artist anyways?

"We are friends with the sister of the artist," the owner replied. "He passed about a year ago and his sister is looking to sell his artwork." She sent us a link to his obituary.

David Lucian was born on August 1938 in Newport, Vermont to Lucian and Grace Brown Whitehill of Morgan, Vermont. He was the youngest of six children and is survived by Norma Lemieux of Williamstown, Vermont and Kenneth Whitehill and Barbara Whitehill, both of Morgan. David also leaves his long-time friends, Greg Pease of Washington, DC and Tim Willis of Grove City, Ohio. He was predeceased by his parents and his sisters, Phyllis Burroughs and Anita Plummer and by his partner, Ivan Carter.

David graduated from Brighton High School in Island Pond in 1957. He graduated from Lyndon State College in 1960 with a BA degree and graduated from Ohio University in Athens, Ohio with an MA.

David taught school in Canaan and also taught art classes after his graduation from Ohio University. He worked for Battelle Institute in Washington, DC until his retirement in 2007. After his retirement, he returned to his hometown of Morgan.

David was an avid painter from an early age and sold many of his paintings during his lifetime. In the last summer at Lyndon College, David painted a mural in the Morgan Center Church, (now the Morgan Historical Society.) Unfortunately, the mural has been painted over. He was a member of the MAC Center for the Arts in Newport and displayed many of his paintings there.

He was passionate about the arts, especially grand opera and Broadway. David loved travel and made several trips to Italy and England. He enjoyed hiking and was also a very good gardener.

Corb and I read through the obit and smiled at each other. An artist, passionate about the arts. Lover of theater and world traveler. Hiker and gardener. 

I looked up the Battelle Institute afterward and discovered that this is an institute in DC dedicated to "applying advanced science, technology, and engineering to solve the most complex challenges for businesses and government agencies." 

Aha! A Corporate job.

So, while this man didn't exactly set the art world on fire, he clearly had something to say, was fairly successful at doing what he did, and kept his commitment to the arts to the end. 

I looked up at Corb and smiled. "He's a fellow queer bird," I remarked, and that knowledge warmed me a bit.

It also explained why I felt such a connection to smaller painting. 

The artistic spirit, eternally young and beautiful. Bound by the physical slowly decaying presence of aging, mortality and distraction.

"I can relate to that interpretation," I said to Corb as we drove away from the barn, the smaller painting in the back seat of our car. "I would love to hang it in my office to remind me. Although I really don't care where it hangs as long as it's in the house. 

It reminds me of the life I've lived. I put off my creative spirit for so many reasons my entire life. When I was younger, it was insecurity. Then criticism. Then obsession. Then, I abandoned writing for a more solid career, which was kind of writing, where I made enough to live comfortably and be in the position where I can write comfortably, and say whatever I want. 

But can I really? And for how long? And who will hear?"

Yes, I felt bound, too. 

"And you get it, too," I said, on a roll. "All that you've been through. Both of us have been told by our parents, by so many others, all our lives to play it safe, to not take too many chances, to not do this, not do that. What could we have achieved if we hadn't been shackled?" 

Bound. Shackled.

Me. Him. So many of us. David.

It warms me to think that this artistic queer bird would have a new life, freed from the confines of that musty barn in Vermont. Traveling to our house, our Green Victoria, to be surrounded and loved by two fellow queer birds and serving as inspiration for new artistic endeavors.

New life, new dreams springing from the ashes of the old. 

Maybe the chain actually can be broken. 

Maybe us queer queer birds actually can make our voices heard. Maybe if we tweet loud enough. 

And Corb and I are sure gonna try.

Day two of our penance weekend continued. This day involved a birthday party for Corb's nephew Andrew at Scott's house, which primarily meant sitting around their deck, eating and chatting. No big deal. 

We did bicker a bit about when exactly to go. Since this was very much a non-productive weekend involving Corb's mom, Corb had promised me some time to work on writing in the morning. Which I did take advantage of. I've been working on my second Steven-related short story (and this is where all my 1983 entry writing has been so helpful), which is a short piece called "Maybe I Want to See You Cry." In spite of a late night before (asleep at 2:30), I made some good progress, although a bit scattered.

What we bickered about was when to we had to go. I was done with my writing by noon, since I limit myself to two handwritten pages a day. However, Corb didn't seem to be inclined to rush to get there, so I went into my morning exercise and meditation routines, which I had delayed since I woke up at around ten (again, bedtime at 2:30!) 

What I learned was that Corb was waiting to hear from me that I was ready, I was waiting to hear from him that it was time to go. It's a common problem with us. As a result, we didn't get there until 2:30. The invite had been for one. 

I am a bit "c'est la vie" about party invite times. I know when I have parties, if I say one, I am hoping people come far after one and have an intense dislike for anyone who comes before that time, unless they want to help with preparation. Party times to me are not like meeting times, where you really need to start promptly and be there. But also, meetings should be no longer than thirty minutes. Parties are meant to last longer than that. 

I know that there are many other folks who don't agree with this philosophy. Especially, it has been my experience, people who have been in the military. My dad is someone who hates my philosophy, for example. 

In this case, despite our bickering ways, it hardly mattered. It was only Scott's family at first, and they were all playing bean bag toss. Corb's mom ended up arriving a half an hour after us. She said she had a stomachache in the morning from the food the night before. Corb and I questioned whether if it was the food or maybe the entertainment.

Corb's mom had been making a big deal for weeks about a surprise announcement Scott and Tina had for us. She kept bringing it up but telling us she couldn't tell what it was. The surprise: they both had new tattoos. Tina had a cardinal and Scott an American flag. 

"Corb's mom said you've been dying to know what our surprise was," Scott said. 

I grinned. "That's funny. She kept saying you were both dying to tell us what the surprise was." 

Corb's mother shook her head furiously. "No no no. I barely mentioned it to either of you." 

Scott and I looked at each other and grinned. Sure, Jan. 

Anyway, it was a nice day, but a bit too straight whitebread Trump America for my tastes. All they played the entire time was country music, which all sounds the same to me. They also spent a lot of time talking about their tattoos. 

Andrew invited his current best friend over and his mom came too, who is supposed to be something of a ghost whisperer who works as a custodian at an elementary school. The minute she heard Corb and I were married she kind of wrinkled her nose. We were clearly not her bag. 

Which was funny, because they kept making jokes about Andrew and his friend sitting next to each other, and how it looked like they were on a date. Corb later said it was in his mind a way to get the two to move from where they were seated, which was slightly set apart from everyone else, by insinuating it was gay. To their credit, they didn't. 

The ghost whisperer really would only speak to the ladies, about exciting things like going to the supermarket and the cost of food. And all the different supermarkets out there. Andrew was given a pile of watermelon in place of an ice cream cake, because an "ice cream cake costs $39." I was really tempted to say "Thanks, Trump," but held my tongue. 

That left us menfolk to speak about things like...shit, I can't really remember what we spoke about. Oh, wait. We spoke about AI hallucinations for a bit. Andrew said he went to a Randy Travis concert that week. I do remember looking at my phone an awful lot.

Andrew received an autographed pool cue for a birthday gift. 

"It's a really good thing we left when we did," I said, as we were driving home around eight. "Between all the country music, tattoo talk and the pool cue, I was starting to become straight again."

"Aww honey," said Corb, reaching over to pat my leg. "You were never straight to begin with." 

“You may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden. Your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. Mcgregor.”

One of the benefits of being out of the corporate world is I have more time to devote to things other than reporters and studies. 

My weight, for example, is at the lowest it's been in about two years, thanks to the fact that I no longer have be stuck in a seat from nine to around six, answering Teams messages and responding to emails. 

I'm also writing a lot more, too. I've been averaging one or two pages a day and finished my first short story in years the week after my visit to my parents. I'm working on another one now. Both are for Queer Birds. It's fun to be creative again.

Then there's Green Victoria. Although we had a late start owing to the trip to Paris and Barcelona, with Corb working on his own schedule due to his job, we've found time to make some improvements, despite the rainy weather. We now have a sunroof in our back yard, for example, which we really love. 

And the yard is looking really good. I try to devote at least two full half days a week to working around the yard, and it's good for my body and the yard. Our bamboo and knot weed in the back has been completely cut down, along with much of the bittersweet. We have a lot of invasive weeds, so while it's tedious work, its necessary. 

With the weeds somewhat at bay, I've been moving on to the front yard, and this week I've been sprucing up one of the side areas that has needed some love the past year or so. We have a hydrangea there that has needed a bit of attention, along with some lovely yellow roses. But the rest of the area has been a bit vacant after Corb decided to remove all the ferns so I have wanted to spruce it up. 

After a few days work, I was finished with the mulching, removed the fake Morning Glories and other weeds that were that were giving the hydrangea little room to grow, and clipped off the dead areas of the rose bush to help it thrive. It was time to fill in the empty space, so Corb and I drove to the local Arbory to pick up some plats. We ended up getting some yellow and purple black-eyed Susans, which Corb took the lead in plating (he is better than that stuff). 

Later that afternoon, as we were heading back from a few errands, we approached the front of our house and realized that we had a problem. 

Each and every black-eyed Susan had at least one flower that had fallen to the ground. 

We knew exactly what the cause.

"Bunnies," muttered Corb. 

Bunnies. Mr. Bun Bun, as we like to call him/them, and the baby bun buns, too. Cut as all get go and we love seeing them, but...

"I am not happy with Mr,. Bun Bun eating up all the plants I just planted," said Corb, clearly distressed.

"Why can't they eat all the plants we don't care about?" I fumed. "There are more than enough of those in the yard."

"Think about it like this, Ted," Corb replied. "Our yard is an all you can eat buffet and we just served up filet mignon."

The problem is, the bunnies don't really care about the actual pretty flowers. They prefer the necks, and so, they nibble just below the flower and that falls to the ground.

We knew if we didn't do something quickly, we'd end up with a bunch of decapitated Susans on our hands. And probably within 24 hours, by the looks of the veracity of the bunnies' binging. In fact, I came out a few hours later and several times, each time I would walk past the area, a bunny would scurry away. These bunnies were clearly part of the French Revolution. Off with their heads, indeed.

This required drastic action, so after our board meeting last night for the Eldredge Players. But not too drastic. We in no ways wanted to harm the bunnies, becasuse we are too fond of them. So instead, we drove to a local store and picked up some chicken wire and stakes. 

And at around eleven at night, deep in the heart of the night, we built little chicken wire boundaries to keep the bunnies out. It felt like some sort of ritual. I would hold the chicken wire while Corb unfurled it, then cut out the other end with wire clippers. And under the full moon, as the white witches sang their magical song, we erected our boundaries. 

• We tried to make the booking through the purported website for Glidden House (Historic & Boutique Hotel In University Circle | Glidden House)
• Nowhere on that website does it indicate that we were being redirected to a third-party affiliate to make the booking, even though that is required by law. But we were. We made our purchase and even paid extra so we could cancel the reservation prior to our stay at the end of August. 
• The problem: that affiliate never sent us an email to confirm the visit, even though they did charge $XX to my credit card. The reason we never received the email is because the affiliate booked the stay with YOU and THEY received the email and provided their phone number as a contact.
• Then due to an emergency we had to move our visit by two days. When we called to do so, the very nice booking person at Glidden House booked our new date but said we would need to contact booking.com to cancel the 8/XX date. 
• When we tried to call booking.com to make this cancellation we were told by your horrible AI system that we would need to provide a reservation number (which we had, thanks to Glidden) and a pin number, found in the email we received. Which, again, we never received. There was absolutely no way to speak with a human to share this detail. The AI bot would not allow that. 
• We next called Glidden and received a number for the third party. When we called them, we were told the number was not an R number, and we would need to call booking.com to resolve this. But did not share any pin number, which could have helped us to resolve this.