2005 - 2015: The Day I Moved To Chicago

I moved to Chicago on a rainy Sunday.  It was September 25, 2005.  Ten years ago, tomorrow.

8/24/05 - first day home after surgery

The 10 days prior to that date were filled with mixed emotions.  My surgeon had given me a clean bill of health and I was healing at a fast rate, most probably due to my age and the fact that I was in, otherwise, pretty great shape except for some clogged arteries. So I bid goodbye to my parents, which proved more difficult than usual because we all knew that I wouldn't just be a 2.5-hour drive away - I'd be living in a new city in a different time zone where I would know only my roommate Ashley and this new friend, Kevin.  Visiting my folks now would be more of a production and cost, but I vowed to come back for Thanksgiving that year, which I did.

My sister and brother had driven me back to DC on September 15th.  My 5-week ordeal was finally over and I could now return to my life, although my life would be far different than it had been.  I spent the next several days seeing friends for the first time in over a month and telling them all the stories about what I had experienced.  I showed my scars to those who asked and was amused at the amount of interest everyone seemed to take.  What I found really funny were the rumors that had developed.  Apparently, some folks heard that I had died.  Imagine their great relief (I hope) when they saw me again.

I was also shocked by how many people knew what happened.  It surprised me that I was more popular than I realized.  This was before Facebook, so sharing info en mass was tricky.  Either people really cared about me or they just love juicy gossip.  Perhaps, it was both, but knowing DC, it was the latter.

My recent-Ex had a housewarming party the following Sunday, so I went to see the old gang.  It was fun to hang out with them, but I had a strange sense that I had somehow outgrown them all in that short span of time.  Most likely, I was distancing myself from them, knowing I was moving.  I felt more like a spectator than a participant - a feeling I would keep for many weeks.

Unbeknownst to my family, I planned a quick trip to NYC to see friends before flying to Chicago (my mom would have freaked knowing I was going off by myself into a city of 8 millions strangers, so I thought it best to not share the news).  I met my friend Poodle and his boyfriend, Jeff at Chipotle for dinner.  It was important for me to see Poodle because I had forgotten to include him as one of the people my sister was supposed to update on my surgery when it was over.  Poodle heard about my heart attacks and bypasses after-the-fact, and was hurt that something could have happened to me and he would not have known. He had a point.  So I owed him a visit so that he could see I was fine.

Me and Bam Bam, 2005

I also met my friend, Broadway's Michael Hartney, whom I nicknamed Bam Bam.  We had been chatting on AOL for a few months and this was the right time to meet.  In Bam Bam, I found a kindred spirit who was up for ridiculous fun.  We ate crappy food (which I was still allowed to do in order to get my appetite back) and we had the very touristy excursions of visiting the top of the Empire State Building (in the rain) and toured Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum on 42nd Street.  After which, we went to a bar in Chelsea aptly named "The Bar", where I was reintroduced to what it was like to be social again.  It was all silly fun - and just what I needed.

I returned to DC and finished packing the truck that Ashley would drive to Chicago.  Well, actually Ashley and his friends packed the truck.  I still wasn't allowed to move anything heavy.  On the morning of September 25th, Ash and I stood in front of the house and reminisced fondly about the transformations we had lived through and the fun we just KNEW was waiting for us in our new city.  We hugged goodbye and headed to Chicago - he in a rental truck with all our belongings, and me in United Coach.

I was off into the unknown yet again: I didn't have a job lined up, I hadn't seen the apartment Ashley and I would be sharing, and I wasn't even sure how I would get my suitcase in the overhead compartment, seeing as how I still couldn't lift anything over my head.  But it all worked out.

Once I landed, I called Kevin, who was performing the last night of his family circus show in Evanston.  So I dropped off my suitcase and got on the L to go see him.  I went to a coffee shop across from the theater and called him.  Seconds later, a barefoot Kevin came running across a parking lot and greeted me with all the warmth I'd come to expect from him.  And I knew then that everything was going to be good again.

Us, 2005

Maybe more than any other day in my "2005-2015 Retrospective", September 25, 2005 was the day that really changed everything for me.  In a year that would create ripple effects for the rest of my life, this day is the one that has given me the most reward.  I left behind the old life and started a new one.  And I have never looked back.  Moving to DC in 1995 was a smart thing for me to do.  Leaving it and moving to Chicago in 2005 was even smarter.

And tomorrow, exactly 10 years later, I board another plane - this time to visit Europe for the first time with the man I have been lucky enough to spend the last 10 years with.  

Dreaming Of Granny

Lately, oddly, my grandmother, "Granny" as I lovingly named her, has been on my mind, or should I say in my dreams.  For the past three nights I've had as many dreams about her.  This seems strange to me because the anniversary of her death was 3 months ago and her birthday isn't until December.  So it's not like she's on my mind right now.  But for some reason she is appearing to me in my dreams.  I love it because I love her, but it makes me wonder.

I tend to remember my dreams quite vividly, so let me share them with you:

In Dream #1, Granny was mostly just a bit player.  It was a disturbing dream in which Kevin and I got divorced.  It was originally my idea and he balked at the suggestion.  But some time passed and when I went back to him to tell him I had changed my mind, he said he'd had time to think about it and it was actually a good idea.  So I moved home and was greeted there by Granny.  She was wearing a plain, navy blouse, a navy blazer, and a long dark purple skirt - none of which I had ever seen her wear in life.  She gracefully descended a grand staircase and gave me a warm hug.

 In Dream #2, Granny played a much more prominent role.  I had decided to take her to see a movie.  I picked her up at her house and she was wearing a long, plain black dress with thin shoulder straps with a black lace shawl and a red rose in her white hair.  When we got to the theater, she asked for headphones to hear the movie, but then started talking to my mother on them which I knew was a sign of dementia of some kind.  When the movie started, she complained that she couldn't see, so I switched seats with her.  She then got up and opened a door in the theater that led to a mechanical closet.  I approached her and she said she was looking for the bathroom, so I walked her out to the hallway, which then turned into my old high school.  She started wandering off by herself and I got pulled away from her and couldn't get to her.  I watched her walk away and disappear around a corner.

In Dream #3, there was no color.  The dream seemed to be in sepia tone this time.  I was in her house with some friends.  One of them started speaking in German, and Granny, who's mother came to America from Germany when she was 3, started speaking in German as well.  Tears of happiness welled up in Granny's eyes as she spoke to my friend.  She then gave him a hug and I was filled with joy that she was happy.

These dreams have occurred the last three nights.  I'm lost as to their meaning, but I love that she is so present in my life, still to this day.  She was perhaps the first great loss of my life and her death rocked me for a long time.  If anyone out there understands dreams or is able to interpret these for me, please let me know.  Until then, I'll be seeing Granny in my dreams.

Moving To DC in 1995

Me, September 1995

It was exactly 20 years ago today - September 17, 1995 -  that I decided to finally grow up and be an adult.  On this day, two decades ago, I moved out of my parents' house for the last time and into my own apartment 150 miles away in Washington, DC.  I was 29 years old.  

I had spent the previous decade starting/quitting/restarting/graduating college, coming out to myself, working something like 21 jobs and living in almost as many apartments/dorms/houses over the years.  I'd spent most of the time with my two best friends, learning about myself and life in general.  There was a scientific belief, then, that gay people went through two pubescent periods:  the first in their teens as their bodies changed and they learned how to interact with each other, then again in their 20's having to unlearn the "straight way" and learn it all back over the "gay way".  There was a different set of rules to follow back then.  It's not like now where high schools have gay clubs and kids aren't waiting until their 20's to come out.  

It all started in June 1995.  I had moved in and out of my parents' house several times when life didn't work out, so I found myself living at home once again.  An old college buddy and I decided to spend a weekend in DC, running around to the bars and having the type of fun 29-year olds have.  We were walking down Connecticut Avenue and stopped in The Gap.  While we were in there shopping, my buddy had a revelation:  "Let's move here!  Let's get applications and jobs and move to DC together.  We can share an apartment and really do it!"  I was more spontaneous back then, so I agreed.  We asked for applications, tucked them in our shopping bags and went on our way.

A few weeks later, I learned through friends that my buddy had taken a job on a cruise ship without telling me.  He did these kinds of things.  Often.  And one night a few weeks later, I came home from a bad day at work and found The Gap application tucked away in a desk drawer.  I filled it out and mailed it in.  Two weeks later, I received a call from Tom, the District Manager for Gap in DC.  I drove to the store in Georgetown, had a great interview, and was offered an Assistant Manager position in the Connecticut Avenue store the next day.  It seemed impossible, but I decided to do it.  On my own.

After a frantic search with a considerably low budget, I found an English basement apartment on The Hill on Lincoln Square at 1310 Massachusetts Avenue, SE.  I moved in and started work the following day.  I remember there were times when I'd sit in my little, sparsely-furnished apartment and say to myself, "Wow, I'm doing it.  My rent is paid, my phone bill is paid, my car insurance is paid - I'm doing it.  All by myself, I am doing it."  It was incredibly empowering.  Oh, there were definitely times of struggle, like when I would order 2 for 1 large pizzas on Sunday night and make them last as my dinners for the entire week, or when I would walk 30 blocks home from work at night because $2.50 was too much to spend on Metro fare.  But I was too stubborn to let the city I loved defeat me.  Somehow, it always worked out.

I'd spend the next 10 years in DC, learning more about life and people, the ways of the world and how I fit into it.  I allowed myself to try just about everything and learn from the experience.  I would have wonderful moments like having a deep conversation with a complete stranger while sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial at 2AM, and seeing the pink cherry blossoms color a gray dawn at the Tidal Basin, and shopping on an autumn Sunday at Eastern Market, and biking along the Potomac River through Georgetown, and walking through the streets of the city with thousands of others during the very first AIDSwalk – all things that could only be experienced in DC.

I would get involved in 3 relationships and make a countless number of friends and acquaintances. Near the end of my time in DC, people would remember meeting me 10 years prior. I know it had just about everything to do with the fact that I have an interesting name, but to my vanity, I would like to think that I left some kind of lasting impression on them, as everyone I met had on me. 

Me, September 2005

It's funny now,  looking back, at how important all those people were to me and how I expected - no, KNEW - that we would always be close friends.  And now I never talk to them, not even to the two best friends I spent thousands of hours with.  It's funny/sad how important they were to me then, and how little I think of them now.  A precious few remain, though.  Life really does move on.

It was a full, 10 wonderful years in DC when I moved from there in 2005.  It would have been impossible for me to imagine then how life could get any better.  Little did I know.

Melmac Holiday Dish Set

Melmac Holiday Set

I've been on a quest for the past several years to find a complete or near-complete set of Melmac melamine dinnerware, specifically the Holiday collection (left) which combines the then-trendy-but-now-retro colors of red, turquoise, yellow and off-white.

Finding an entire, complete set is a task which is proving difficult if not impossible.  I've been outbid on eBay several times over the last few years.  But I will keep looking.  It's out there . . . somewhere.

There's still lots of Melmac out there.  And there's lots of stuff out there that LOOKS like Melmac, but isn't.  Aye, there's the rub.  Melmac is easy enough to identify because the manufacturer's name is written on the bottom of the plates, cups and bowls.  Easy enough to distinguish, if you think to flip the stuff over and check before you buy it.

Why Melmac?  I could pour over the wonderful history of vintage melamine dinnerware, how it got started, what it's worth and how difficult it is to find.  But this website has already done it for me, so I won't create the wheel.

But perhaps the biggest reason I am attracted to this specific dinnerware line is because my grandmother had this set of dishes when I was a kid.  When she died, I didn't want anything that belonged to her in  order to remember her, but in hindsight, I really wish I would have gotten those dishes.  My Uncle Tom was living with her when she died so he rightly assumed ownership of them, however I recently found out that he sold the whole set a few years ago.

So the quest continues.

That Time I Saw Queen Elizabeth II

It was July 7, 1976.  I was 10.

My mother's older sister, Kay, and her family (husband Bill and son Jeff, who is my age) were visiting from California which, in those days, only happened once every 4 years.  And perhaps since it was also the Bicentennial, my grandmother chartered a tour bus to take everyone in the family to Washington, DC for the day.  My mom took my three siblings and me.  My dad had to work and couldn't (or probably wouldn't) take the day off.  I remember my mom telling me on the bus ride home that she missed him.  He was the only person, out of a busload of relatives, who did not go.

Anyway, I remember it being a really great day.  I recall driving into DC by way of the George Washington Parkway and seeing The Washington Monument suddenly appear in the distance through the trees.  It was magnificent.  Perhaps I told my 10-year old self, "I'm going to live here one day".  Or perhaps not.  In any event, I was struck by the city.

We visited all the sites: The Capitol, the Washington Monument, The White House, and The Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials.  But it was an experience that lasted just a few moments that I will remember my whole life.  Our bus was sitting outside the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue.  Back then, Penn Ave was a thru-street, not closed off as it is today.  Our bus driver came on the loudspeaker and told us all to go to the left side of the bus, that there was "something coming you will definitely want to see."

I was sitting in the front seats with my Aunt Mary Lou and looked out the window.  Immediately, a parade of cars lined up in front of the White House gates.  The car that stopped beside our bus was a black car with a glass roof.  And inside, looking up at our bus, sat Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip.  They sat for a few seconds as the White House gates opened.  She was wearing a light blue hat and matching coat/dress.  She smiled slightly, and I thought she was beautiful!  I fell in love instantly.

Then just as suddenly, she was gone - driven into the White House grounds to meet President and Mrs. Ford.  It was one of the most memorable experiences of my childhood, a memory that has stayed with me for almost 40 years.  I'll never forget her face and the awe I felt when we made eye contact for just a split second.

Today, I send my congratulations to The Queen on the day she becomes the longest reigning monarch in United Kingdom history.  Sixty-three years and 7 months, surpassing her great-great grandmother, Queen Victoria's reign; a record which generations no doubt believed would last forever.

I hope Her Majesty continues in good health for many years to come.

Pink Slipped

So I am back in the job market again.   AGAIN.

Last month - and for the first time in my career - I got laid off from a job.  The agency in which I was working had been steadily declining during (and even before) the time I was there.  The most recent round of layoffs unfortunately included me.  It was a weird experience for me.  I've been on the other side of the table many times, having to terminate an employee for one reason or another.  And to be honest, I'm not sure which side of the table is more difficult.   Of course, nobody wants to hear that they are about to lose their job, but it's also pretty hard to tell someone that very same thing.

Over the years, I would guess I've terminated about a dozen or so people, which is thankfully a small number.  My strategy is typically to somehow convince people to quit before I have to fire them.  But I'll admit that I've actually gotten quite good at terminating employees.  I'm no Ryan Bingham, but I've adopted a technique that has worked well for me by making the termination conversation less about the employees losing their jobs and using it more as an opportunity to discuss their strengths in order to help them figure out what they should do next.  Using a 60-minute time frame as an example, if a termination conversation is an hour, the actual termination part is only 20 seconds of that hour with the rest of the time being devoted to rebuilding confidence and figuring out strengths and goals.  I've found that it helps restore hope.  And maybe the termination can be taken less personally.

Being an HR professional, I saw my layoff coming (I'd be a pretty pathetic HR professional if I couldn't spot a problem).  One of my duties in my discipline is to spot trouble before it escalates and gets out of hand.  I started putting 2 and 2 together about six weeks before the actual conversation date.  I even had a hunch what day it would take place.  The only thing I didn't know was who would be involved in the conversation.  I expected my direct supervisor.  I didn't expect the participation of the CEO.  Her presence threw me and was, frankly, unnecessary.  But the conversation ended up being pretty textbook.

Being laid off is just being fired through no fault of your own.  The company failed somehow and now you have to pay the price of that failure.  Whether laid-off or fired, the end result is still the same:  out of a job.

I am trying to convince myself, as is my husband, that this situation is in no way going to mirror that which happened in Miami.  My real fear of being unemployed isn't that we will experience financial difficulty, but rather MY unemployment will somehow prevent my husband from being able to pursue something he would otherwise want to do.  This is all crap, of course, but I can't help but think this way.  And one can ONLY think this way if you've gone through this situation.  The thing that is different this time as opposed to Miami is that there is movement now - lots of phone interviews and in-person interviews and interest, which I had none of in Florida.  So I at least feel better, more hopeful.

So I spend my days on LinkedIn, Indeed, NPO, TheLadders, and about 10 other HR sites.  I even stick my nose on Craigslist now and then.  And in-between I am assuaging my conscience by mowing the lawn, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, and doing the shopping and all the errands.

So if you know of anyone looking for a great HR person....

The Problem With "The Walking Dead"

Kevin and I are BIG fans of "The Walking Dead" TV series (more he than I).  Every Sunday night during telecast, we are poised in front of the television, yelling at the characters, hiding behind pillows, and wondering who Carol is going to heartlessly kill next.

While slightly far-fetched, the producers of the show do an amazing job at making people and situations seem realistic, or at least within the realm of possibility.  It's highly possible that some kind of airborne virus could infect all of us, rendering us zombie-like.  But in TWD's quest for realism, I've noticed something about the characters that bothers me.

No one wears glasses.

By now in the series, those who had worn contact lenses are certain to have ditched them because it must be near impossible to stay stocked up on saline solution in a post-apocalyptic world.  I mean, if finding a can of peas is cause for celebration, locating a fresh bottle of Bausch & Lomb would cause downright euphoria.  So by now in the series, those with contacts would have undoubtedly switched to eyeglasses.

And when I say "no one wears glasses" I mean very few when compared to the real national average.  According to the Vision Impact Institute research, 3 our of 4 people in the U.S. have vision correction, and of those people, 71% wear glasses and 22% wear contacts.  When looking at the TV series character WIKI page, I counted only 9 of the 192 characters as wearing glasses.  Just 9, which is actually only 4.7% of 192.  And none of them are considered a main character or even crucial to any of the story lines.  There is a vast difference between 71% and 4.7%.  One would expect more than just 9 people to be wearing vision correction.

Milton, Woodbury weakling

Now, one could argue that perhaps people have lost their glasses while running, foraging, etc, which would certainly make those people easier targets for walkers since those with compromised eyesight would  be slowed significantly.  I would most likely be one of those people.  If I was out in the woods and my glasses would fall off my face, I'd pretty much be done for.  It's one of the reasons I'm not a big fan of camping.  The first time we see ANYONE on TWD wearing glasses is when the show arrives in Woodbury in Season 3, which is 19 episodes into the series.  No one up to that point is wearing glasses.

Remember Milton (left)?  He's the first character in the series with glasses we meet.  Apparently, there is a LensCrafters or something located in that town because almost half (4 out of the 9) of the series' bespectacled characters live in Woodbury.

I'm not really looking for an explanation; it's just something I noticed, probably since I am a glasses/contacts wearer.  This has only reinforced my belief that I would most assuredly die in a post-apocalyptic world, sooner than later.  I'll be running through the woods, a tree branch will whack me in the face and my glasses will fall into a leaf pile.  Or I'll step on them while rummaging for them.  Either way, I'm a zombie smorgasbord.

Sorry, bun.  Save yourself.

Happy 54th Anniversary, Mom & Dad!

Today marks my parents' 54th wedding anniversary.  They were married August 26, 1961.  

My parents are very different people. They met on a blind date in the late 50's.  She wore sweater sets and blushed easily.  He was an ornery greaser prone to mischief.  But if every good girl loves a bad boy and if every bad boy just wants a mother, then of course they'd hit it off and get married.

From all appearances, my parents had and have a happy marriage.  It's changed recently because of Dad's Alzheimer's and the fact that he lives in a nursing home.  But if the very fact that my mother visits my father two times a day every day (only missing in cases of extreme weather or doctor appointments), then her devotion to him suggests that their marriage is still good and filled with love.  My biggest wish is that they would be in a different situation than they are, but I think they are demonstrating what a good marriage is all about:  sticking with each other for better or worse, sickness and health.  It's not the retirement they would have chosen for themselves, but at least they still have each other.

If my parents had any marital discord through their 54 years together, it was most likely the mashing of their innate characteristics:  Mom's sometimes puritan tendencies vs. Dad's resilient "good-time Charlie".  It's probably not only what initially attracted them to each other, but also most likely served as the stumbling block that would, at times, sully an otherwise perfect relationship.  Many was the time where Dad's "life of the party" attitude was met with Mom's arm-crossed disapproval.  And what's even more interesting about all of this is that I seem to have inherited both of these qualities from them. The pugnacious duo of Dad's accelerator and Mom's brakes lives inside me.

In my life, "Mom's brakes" have won out 99% of the time.  For the most part, I've prided myself on knowing when "a little too far" was far enough, when to cash in the chips, when to stop the tomfoolery.  But occasionally Dad's accelerator has gotten some use as well.  I lived a bit of a reckless life the last few years I was in DC.  "Dad's accelerator" caused me to push some boundaries that I might not otherwise have pushed.  But Mom's brakes eventually prevailed.  I decided to leave DC altogether to start fresh in Chicago.  And how very lucky I am that I did just that.

Of course, I celebrate many other wonderful qualities I've received from my folks, whether genetically, physically, or naturally.  I am the best of my parents, and am thankful for all the wonderful love and support I have received and continue to receive from them.  Today I celebrate them and their dedication to each other.  They are leading by example and continue to show me what it means to truly love someone.

May 2005

Things That Annoy Me #513: "Share A Coke"

Coke - enough already.

The "Share A Coke With..." campaign was cute and all, but it's over.  I'm tired of it.  And tired of the energy that's been wasted on this whole travesty.

First of all, there's no Dop can.  Despite standing in front of open cooler doors for hours, much to the chagrin of every 7-Eleven clerk in the city, I did not find a "Share a Coke with Dop" can.  So screw you.  I went through the complete list of all 250 names that you figured were worthy of a personalized can.  No Dop.  But I bet Divya, Griselda, Lakeisha, and Vishal are all feeling pretty full of themselves at this point.  Are those your relatives?  Double-screw you.

Yeah, I know I can order a personalized Coke bottle online with my name on it (ooo, how fun!).  But I don't care to spend $10 on something I shouldn't have to beg for.  What's that?  I can download a virtual bottle instead of the real thing (note the double entendre there)?  What the hell good is that going to do me?  My dry mouth isn't virtual, you moron.

Building on that concept, your attempt at being all-encompassing by using "names" such as Bestie, Superstar, Legend, and Better Half is just obvious proof that somewhere in the process you all got together and said, "Let's call it.  This idea is flat-lining."  Even YOU lost interest in it.

And, it's no secret I don't like many people.  So having to search for a Coke can that does NOT display the name of someone I don't like is simply a waste of my energy and my time.  I don't want to drink out of a Carla can or a Brad can or even a Julian can.  I can't stand those people.  And I can't stand you for reminding me that those people even exist in the world.  Besides, it's not doing anything to quench my thirst either.  If nothing else, I'm actually getting MORE thirsty as I sift through can after can looking for ANY name that won't make me think the can is actually full of some kind of poison.

I'm not sure why all this matters to me anyway because I haven't had a Coke product in about 30 years.  I'm a Pepsi guy - Diet Pepsi that is.  And to be even more specific, Now Aspartame Free Diet Pepsi, if you must know.  I've been a DP fan since back when the can was white and then turned light blue and then turned silver.  I remember driving back from the beach in 1985 and noticing a billboard on Route 50 that showed the new DP can design and being excited about the change.  Yeah, me and Diet Pepsi go way back.

So I guess this isn't about drinking your product at all.  But I still use you to clean my toilet, so there's that.

2005-2015: My Heart Attacks

Unbelievably, it's been 10 years since my heart attacks and quadruple bypass surgery.  I say attacks because I had several over the course of a few days, but there was no way to know exactly how many.  The first one I remember was in the wee morning hours of Sunday, August 6, 2005 - I think around 3AM.  I woke up in the middle of the night at my parents' house feeling numbness in my upper left arm.  I thought I had just laid on it during sleep and it had gone numb.  So I got up and walked around a bit and the pain eventually subsided.  This feeling followed this experience.  I probably should have been more aware.  But despite being a heart patient for the previous 4 years, my then-cardiologist had told me that my heart was actually diseased and failing and that I would soon need a complete transplant.  He also said that I would never have to worry about having a heart attack.  Yeah - Dr. Edward Bodurian was awful and is, sadly, still in practice.

The rest of the story can be recounted in the following posts I wrote 10 years ago.  You should read these.  They're actually quite good:

My Heart Attack

Pre-Operation

Post Operation

Hospital Recovery

There are a few measurements doctors take before and after bypass surgery to ensure the heart is once again a healthy muscle.  One such measurement is the actual diameter of the heart.  Normal diameter is 56mm.  Before surgery, mine was 58mm, after it was 49mm.  Another measurement is the ejection fraction which measures how much of the blood being pumped into the heart is then being pumped back out.  Normal fraction is 50% or higher.  Mine was 35% before, 55% after.  Dr. Mark Nelson and his team did an incredible job on me.

When I had initially started writing my blog, only a handful of people were reading it; a few close friends and a couple of people who found me on blogrolls pretty much made up my audience.  But a reporter had somehow found the above posts on my blog and posted them on a popular site.  Suddenly, my blog went crazy - not "Carol-Burnett-Crazy", but the readership escalated exponentially.  At one point, I had one of the most popular blogs in DC.  It was THAT kind of crazy.

So fast forward to 2015, I'm doing very well now.  I've been seeing the same cardiologist, Dr. Donald Lloyd-Jones, for the past 10 years and he's done an amazing job keeping me healthy.  I was part of a heart campaign in February 2011 (photo at right).  I've been the subject of articles, like the one that written for Northwestern University in Spring 2011.  I was featured in a fundraising ad for the Bluhm Cardiovascular Institute.  I was even part of a news program in Canada that focused on young people who suffer heart disease.

I give a lot of the credit for my staying healthy to Kevin, who simply refuses to allow me to act my age.  I live and eat better because of him.  He's my inspiration in just about everything.

There is a day down the road when my 4 bypass grafts will need to be replaced because about 50% of placed grafts close in 10-12 years.  This means that of the 4 bypasses placed in me, 2 would be expected to close 12 years after surgery.  I plan on making them last as long as possible.

In another ten years, there will be another update on this.  But until then, I remain pretty healthy, and very happy to be able to look back 10 years ago to see how far I've come.

Miami Wasn't Traumatic For Just Us

So I've made no secret about our disdain for Miami.  It's now the place we love to hate.  We are reaching that point where we can look at each other and jokingly ask, "Can you believe we did that?"
In the grand scheme of our life together, Miami will be a mere blip on the radar.  And to our credit, we came back stronger than when we left.  So in retrospect, leaving Chicago to go anywhere for that year was a good thing for us to do, both personally and professionally.  Admittedly, it was a hard year, but WE weren't the only ones who suffered.

Since professional movers boxed up our things to move to Miami, we couldn't take house plants.  Our belongings would sit in storage for almost three weeks and any house plant was guaranteed to not survive the experience.  So we left them behind in the care of our renter, who assured us he would look after them.  Otherwise, we would have given them to friends.  So you can imagine my surprise a year later when I moved back into our condo and saw our ficus tree.  I almost cried:

March 2014

There stood the physical manifestation of our Miami experience:  worn, sparse, sad, defeated.  In order for the tree to look like this, the renter would have had to completely ignore it - in other words, never water it.  Before I even unpacked a box from the moving van, I went to the tree and apologized to it.  I brushed a year's worth of dust from its leaves and told it that good and positive energy was back in the condo and I promised we would never leave it again.  

Fast forward 9 months and the tree looked like this:

December 2014

Seriously, all I did was water it once a week.  But I believe it fed off our energy.  It stood silently by as Kevin proposed to me, as we welcomed friends into our home, as we planned our wedding, and as we geared up to buy a new home for all of us.  All the while, it got healthier and fuller.

And now we are in our new home.  Ficus trees can be temperamental; they don't like to change their environment.  We were afraid we might lose it when we relocated from the condo to the house in March.  But again, I made a promise to it, professed my love for it, and here's the tree today:

July 2015

Just 16 months after the first picture up top, I took the above picture this morning.  The tree is healthier and more vibrant that it's ever been.  Just like us, it came back stronger after the Miami experience as well.  Kevin always calls me a "dog whisperer" because dogs seem to be attracted to me.  But I've also never lost a plant (with the exception of an orchid here and there) and our house plants, even the temperamental ones, just seem to thrive.

Trees and plants are living things.  I think they feed off of us, our emotions, our happiness.  I'll let the ficus tree be the symbol of my life's happiness.  Love your children, love your pets, and love your plants.  Because all of them are living representations of you.  Take a look at your plants, because they will be a window into your life.

And tell them you love them now and then.

2005 - 2015: A Gratifying Day For Dad

Ten years ago, I was introduced to my Dad - not my Dad, the man, but my Dad, the boy.  I wrote about it 10 years ago, and it's important to me to remember that day.

Deal, PA

On Saturday, July 23, 2005, Dad, Mom, my sister, Kim and I spent the day in Mom and Dad's minivan, driving to the place my father was born in 1939, and locating the cemetery where his grandfather was buried with two of his daughters: aunts Dad didn't know he had.

This memory is significant for me because it's one of the last few experiences I had with my Dad while he was 100% lucid (two others being the two times he and Mom visited me in Chicago).  What's more significant for me is that at the end of that day, my Dad recalled that it was one of the most gratifying of his life.  I never asked him to explain what he meant by that.  Gratifying because he was able to see these places again?  Gratifying because he got to share these things about himself with his wife and children?  Gratifying because, simply, it was a beautiful day with his family, recalling memories he'd probably long forgotten or possibly suppressed?  Perhaps it's all three of those, or perhaps none of those.  I should have asked him then.

The important thing here is that I was part of that day, that experience he had that resulted in him recounting it as such a memorable day for him.

I saw Dad a few weeks ago.  I returned home to help my mother through cataract surgery and since she couldn't do her usual evening visit to Dad in the nursing home, I went to visit him on my own.  Since Dad has been in the nursing facility, I've not had the chance to be with him alone - just him and me.  At first, it was awkward with him.  I didn't really know what to say.  We mostly believe that Dad hears everything but just can't find the motor skills to join the conversation.  So I decided to just talk to Dad as I always had.

I said, "Hey, did Mom tell you we bought a house?"
"You did?" he asked me, suddenly appearing alert and engaged.
"Yeah, well, Kevin and I bought one.  It's cute Dad, it's a little 2-bed, 2-bath house with a garage."
"Where?" he asked.
"In Chicago."
He leaned toward me.  "Where?" he asked again.  I took this to mean that he wanted to know where in Chicago the house was.  Dad had some familiarity with the city from his two visits, so it struck me that he wanted to know where in Chicago I was now living.
"Lincoln Square neighborhood.  Remember when you came out and we had dinner at that German restaurant where the band played?" I asked excitedly.
And just like that, he faded away.  No response.  But I kept on talking anyway.  I told him about how we had cleaned up the back yard, replanted flowers, painted the front porch, bought some furniture, fixed the garage doors.  I even told him about the plumbing problem we had fixed and all that went into that.  I talked for about 15 minutes straight.  And through it all, Dad sat silent, but never took his eyes off of me.

I've always believed that Dad thinks of me more than the others.  Not that he loves me more, but that he thinks of me more because he's used to not seeing me as often.  I think he wonders about me a lot, as any parent wonders about a child who no longer lives nearby.  I think he's used to thinking about me.  At least this is what I like to believe - that I am clear in his brain and in his memory because he's used to me being there.

The Troutmans in 2005

I hope he can still recall the days in his life that meant something to him:  the day he met mom, the day they married, the days each of his children wore born, the day his first grandchild was born, the day his first great-grandchild was born.  And I hope he can remember those days when nothing all that special happened, like the day he, his wife, and 2 of  his 4 kids drove around southwest Pennsylvania in a minivan looking at open fields and cemeteries.

Days like that will stay with me forever, too.

2005 - 2015: My Next Best Friend

Little did I know how pivotal Monday, July 18, 2005 would be for me.  But during my second trip out to Chicago from DC, prior to moving in September, I met Jessica for the first time.  And life has been changed for the better ever since.

It was technically, no actually, my and Kevin's 2nd date.  I had come out to Chicago to interview for some jobs and with the afternoon free, Kevin chose to take me to see The Field Museum, Buckingham Fountain, and Millennium Park.  First stop was The Field.  And Jessica, who was working there at the time, volunteered to be our tour guide.  We've joked that Jessica has been the third person in our relationship.  But that's not really a joke.  She's been there from the start, even before Kevin and I knew what we were going to become.

July 18, 2005

The first picture Jessica and I have of us (left) was taken just a few minutes after the first picture of Kevin and me.  How appropriate.

Those who attended our wedding heard Jessica give a heartfelt speech during the reception about the first time she and I met and her nervousness about whether I thought her posing for a picture where she's pointing to a hieroglyph of a monkey penis would be funny. But I freely admit that I loved her immediately - long before she pointed to that monkey peen. She's just that person.  Jessica doesn't know a stranger, and although we tease her about it ad nauseam, I quietly marvel at her ability to strike up/insert herself into conversations with complete strangers.

Since that first meeting, Jessica has proven to be the most loyal, the most trusted, the most devoted friend a person could have.  She'll be the person by your side to cheer your boyfriend through 4 Chicago Marathons, 1 Minneapolis Marathon, and 1 Chicago Half-Iron Man.  She's your partner when you want to eat Long John Silver's, but everyone else wants a salad.  She'll go see a movie with you that she's already seen because the experience for her will only be made better if she's with you.  She'll dress up in the most ridiculous costumes for Hallowe'en (or anytime, really) because she gets the gag.  She'll show up early to help you prepare, and she'll be the last one to leave to make sure everything is cleaned up.  And she'll be the one to prevent you from walking down the aisle to be married with a beer in your hand because she knows that while you might think it's funny now, you'll look back on it years from now and wish you hadn't done it.

October 12, 2013 - when life got better.

When we moved to Miami in 2013, Jessica was the one we wanted to tell last; indeed, she was the last person in Chicago we saw before our plane took off the next morning.  But when we had made the decision to move back to Chicago, she was the first person we wanted to tell.  We told her on the People Mover Ride in Disney World's Tomorrowland.

Jessica's reaction was exactly as hoped (right).

And that's another great thing about Jessica:  you can always count on her for the reaction you're hoping for.  If you want someone to be excited for you, no one cheers louder than Jessica.  If you're looking for compassion and understanding, she will sit and cry along with you.  If you want someone to confirm that your boss/the cab driver/the check-out person at Jewel is an asshole, she's the first to show up with toilet paper ready to trash a house.  She's up for anything, whether it's a quick lunch, a shopping trip, a weekend getaway, or a "suburban adventure" to Red Lobster and glow-in-the-dark miniature golf.  She's always game.  And I can't imagine attending a wedding without her.

Books are written about friends like her.  Movies have been made about her kind of friendship.  She is the kind of friend we all hope to have, and all strive to be.  But even on our best days at this, we could never come close.  July 18, 2005 introduced me to the meaning of real friendship.  How on earth could I ever forget that day?

Marriage and The Bible

As of last month, EVERYBODY can get legally married to the person they love, regardless of age, gender, race, and religious beliefs.  "We, the people," have "formed a more perfect union" by securing "the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity".  This country, which was originally sought out by oppressed people, took another step towards ensuring that its inhabitants were all seen as equals under the eyes of the law of the land.  A country that was founded on religious freedom, i.e. the right to practice or not practice the worship of God as you see fit, echoed our Founding Fathers' beliefs that government and religion can co-exist but not combine.  The principle of Separation of Church and State (on which our democracy was founded) was upheld.

We should now know that marriage is not a religious institution and certainly didn't start out that way.  Marriage is, actually, a covenant between two people.  Christians like to think God is involved.  So do Jews.  So do Muslims.  So do Buddhists.  So, even, do Scientologists.  The definitions of God might be different for all these groups, but to have your life based in a religion - any religion - is to believe that your God must bless your marriage.  But the fact is, we all don't truly believe that, not really.

How many couples married in a church eventually ended the marriage through divorce?  Religions don't divorce couples, the county government does.  How many weddings have been held in places that are not houses of worship?  Is a wedding in a church, synagogue, or temple somehow more sacred than a wedding at a country club, cruise ship, or castle?  One could argue that the eyes of God are everywhere, so it doesn't matter where a marriage ceremony is held.  But the truth is, God (in whatever form you view God) does not preside over a marriage, a legal representative does - a representative who is far from being ordained by God.  I happen to be one of those representatives and God has not mentioned anything to me about it.

But the Evangelical Christians in America are demanding that marriage be as their God ordained it - between one man and one woman.  They want traditional marriage as God intended, as dictated in The Bible.  So let's look at that for just a minute:

"First of all, marriage in The Bible is not defined as being between one man and one woman, but rather one man and several women.  It's basically polygamist.  Abraham had 3 wives (or at least 2 wives and a slave he had sex with), Caleb had 5 wives, David had 18 wives, Moses only had 2, but King Solomon had 1,000 wives (300 of which were concubines). 

"The Bibles rules about marriage are very clear: rape victims must marry their rapists; if a woman's husband dies, she has to marry his brother (even if he is already married to someone else); interracial marriage is strictly forbidden; and if you marry a woman who turns out not to be a virgin, you have to stone her to death.

The Church didn't even get involved in marriage until sometime around the 13th century when the Catholics got into the wedding business and made marriage a sacrament.  Pope Alexander changed marriage to be an agreement between spouses instead of an arrangement between their parents.

Up until the 1700's, marriage was never about doing something with someone you love.  The advice in the 18th century was to marry someone you could learn to "tolerate".  In colonial America, if you wanted to get married, all you had to do was simply say you were married.  Black people were finally allowed to get married after the Civil War, and in the late 1800's, South Carolina became the first state to declare that men were no longer permitted to beat their wives.  Wife-beating was finally outlawed nationwide in 1920."  NINETEEN TWENTY.  A big year for married women - they could vote and not get beaten for it.  Ah, tradition.

Also during the 1920's, the concept of "Love Marriage" fascinated America.  People were engaging in a new practice of marrying someone they actually loved (and couldn't beat up).  Conservatives at the time said that this new look at marriage would completely destroy the institution by the end of the 20th Century.

In 1967, bans on interracial marriage were lifted.  It wasn't until 1979 that the States eliminated the Master Laws, which stated that a man could do whatever he wanted with his wife's property.  And up until 1993, it was legal for a man to rape his wife in some states."

Here's a handy visual to help understand marriage as defined in The Bible which the Christians believe is the word of God:

A little scary for the ladies, isn't it?

So if you are married today to just one spouse whom you love and treat as your equal, then you have already accepted experimental changes to the traditional marriage, as written and defined in The Bible.  It wasn't that long ago that women were treated as property and people of color weren't even considered human.  As society learned from those mistakes, PEOPLE updated the rules of marriage.  And not because they HAD to, but because the times and society's views about marriage (what's fair, what's right and wrong) had changed over time.

So at its core, marriage is just an agreement between people.  That's it.  So please don't preach to me that your marriage is sacred and that my marriage somehow ruins your marriage(s)...

How many have you had again?

2005 - 2015: Goodbye to the Old Life

It's safe to say that today, I am not the same person I was 10-15 years ago.  At the turn of the century, I joined a gym for the first time and rather quickly developed a rockin' bod.  The muscles grew as did the attraction and attention I was suddenly getting from other guys - guys I would have heretofore put beyond my grasp.  This led to a huge boost in my confidence which allowed me go places and meet people I previously would not have dared.  I still had the same personality, it's just that it was now easier for me to make friends.  Shallow as it sounds, the muscles gave me a social life.  For a period of about 3-4 years, I traveled all over the country to dance clubs and dance parties, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.  I met people all over the place, some of whom I am still in touch with today.

Me and Poodle, July 9, 2005

My last big night out like this was Saturday, July 9, 2005.  I had traveled to NYC to see my friend Poodle and his partner Jeff.  At this point, I knew I would be moving to Chicago soon and I wanted to see Poodle before relocating, since NYC is much easier to get to from DC than Chicago.

Poodle and I met a few years earlier on AOL.  I was living in DC and he was in Jersey City, NJ.  It was November 2001, just two months after the attacks.  People still weren't going out much at that point, rather using AOL as a social outlet.  Now and then in life, you'll meet someone who you just instantly connect with, and that was Poodle for me.  His real name is Michael, but I gave him the nickname Poodle.  I have no idea why.  But it stuck.

We eventually met in person 4 months later at the White Party in February 2002 in NYC at the Roseland Ballroom.  It was love at first sight.  He was the best friend I'd apparently had all my life without knowing it.

So back to 2005, I had taken the train to NYC the day before, arriving on Friday, July 8th.  I had spent the remainder of that day just shuffling around Times Square.  The following day (Saturday), I reconnected with Ex#2 who was living in NYC at the time.  We went flea market shopping in Chelsea and had (read:drank) lunch in some little bar on 8th Avenue.  That evening, though, I met Poodle and Jeff for a night of dancing at Roxy.  A Saturday summer night in an NYC danceclub was not the most hopping place, and we expected that.  Most of the dance crowd was out on Fire Island, Montauk, or The Hamptons.  But I remember we had a very fun night.  The music was great and we really enjoyed dancing with each other and inviting in strangers to join us.

During the night, Poodle and Jeff got separated from me and we couldn't seem to reconnect.  At some point they went home and I stayed and talked to some people.  At around 4AM, I walked back to my hotel.  I knew then that life was going to be different.  This was not the life I wanted to continue to live.  In fact, it was one of the reasons I wanted to leave DC altogether.  The party scene had lost its fascination for me and I wanted to give it one last hurrah with my closest friend before bidding that part of my life good-bye.  I was 39 years old and looking forward to a quieter life in a new city.  Having been involved with several someones through the previous 8 or 9 years, my goal was to move to Chicago and spend my entire 40's as a single man.

And we all know how that turned out.

Political Correctness and Evolution

In my universe, there's been recent and frequent talk about Political Correctness ("PC") and how it's the "ruination of our country".  I'm not saying these things, but people I know are.  And it makes me wonder what is so horrible about taking a few seconds to choose your words so that you don't run the risk of offending someone - anyone - who either has suffered or is currently suffering at the hands of established societal norms.  I don't care for the term 'politically correct' because there is nothing 'political' about having good manners.  In my quest to be an accepting person while attempting to put myself in the shoes of others, my ultimate goal is to just not be an asshole.

First, let me stand on a box and confess out loud that I am not without my prejudices, which almost seem innate.  I can't help the way my mind works but I can re-educate myself and I do have complete control over how my mouth functions, i.e. what I say or not say in the presence of others.  Anyone who has ever spent 10 minutes in my company knows that I am opinionated.  And I own up to the fact that I don't say about 80% of what runs through my brain.  Because back in my childhood, I learned that words can be upsetting, hurtful, insulting, and damaging.  Painful.  And in this day of cyber abuse and bullying, we know all too well that words can also kill.  So what is so hard about having good manners (read: PC) and choosing to not say something that might cause pain to or kill another human being?

The thing about being PC is that you can't pick and choose it.  You have to be all in.  You can't demand PC towards you and not give it back.  Number One: it's not fair, and Number Two: it contradicts the concept of The Golden Rule and ethic reciprocity.

I have a niece with speech development issues and a nephew with autism.  It's only because of PC that the world shouldn't call them "retarded".  I have a father with dementia and it's only because of PC that the world shouldn't call him "insane".  I have female relatives who are full-figured, and it's only because of PC that the world shouldn't call them "fat".  And, also because of PC, every one of them is allowed to live in the world and not be shut up in an asylum - which they would have been as recently as 30 years ago.

We EVOLVE because we MUST.  We are arguably the most intelligent form of life that's ever lived in the universe.  We have adapted our thinking and beliefs over time as we have become more educated and responsible.  It's only been those species that have refused to adapt that have died out.  Thomas Jefferson, the man who authored the Declaration of Independence almost 240 years ago, stated:

"I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions, but laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times. We might as well require a man to wear still the coat which fitted him when a boy as civilized society to remain ever under the regimen of their barbarous ancestors."

PC is not the ruination of the country, it's its deliverance from harm, ruin and loss.  So whether it's a word (I, myself, grew up being called a "sissy" and a "fag" and there are still people who think I should be put to death) or a symbol (such as a logo, a salute, a hand gesture, and , yes, even a flag) that causes pain to someone, why wouldn't we as an evolved, educated society want its use to stop?!?  Is a word or symbol more sacred than a human life?  If it's TOO hard for you to know what to say, do the entire world and yourself a favor and just say NOTHING.

Most people to whom PC comments are directed are suffering from some kind of societal norm deficit.  So when you think about it, aren't their lives hard enough without us choosing to hurt them unnecessarily?

For more information on the topics of mental health, please visit https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/bullying/

2005-2015: How This Blog Has Changed Over 10 Years

In creating something like this - a de facto journal of my life - it's easy to look back as I have been doing to see how I've have changed over the past 10+ years that this blog now covers.  It's not only me who has changed over the years, but also this here blog as well.

First of all, the blog didn't begin as a blog.  I had created a personal website back in 2004 that looked like this:

 

Not sure why I chose to name every page with an "H" word; I guess I had a reason at the time.  
(Click image to enlarge)

As you can see, I've always had a political bend to my writing and opines.  And it was because of how my site was written, as well as the fact that it was more of an op/ed kinda thing that a friend suggested that I create a blog instead.  I kept the actual website for about a year then just let it disappear.

So the blog was born.  Even the very look of it has changed over the past 10 years.  It's gone through 3 incarnations in the past decade: the first version created in 2005, then an update in 2008, and then the current version in 2013.  The previous two versions looked like this:

2005                                                                                                 2008
(Click image to enlarge)

The blog's actual URL changed, and fairly recently too.  The old address was http://viewfromthejeep.blogspot.com.  But about a year ago, I converted it to just http://www.viewfromthejeep.com.  Nice and simple.  I also no longer maintain a blogroll, which lists other blogs and websites that I follow.  I checked most of the ones listed on the two former versions and none of them work anymore.  I guess not many people keep personal blogs these days.  What can I say - I'm a rebel!

And why "viewfromthejeep" in the first place?  At the time I started the blog, I had my beloved green 1994 Jeep Wrangler.  The picture to the right is of me and the jeep back in June 2001.  I loved that machine.  I thought I would have it forever.  In DC, it became synonymous with me.  People recognized it and knew where I was.  Then one day, it was stolen while parked outside my house in DC.  I never saw it again.  I was crushed.  I kept the blog name as an homage to my identity, in a way.

Driving on...

Statistically, I no longer write posts like it's a part-time job.  Looking back to 2006 and 2007, I was averaging 4 and 5 posts per week.  Today, I dash off maybe 1 post every 2 weeks or so.  I want to write more, but it's sometimes tricky to think up a topic.  I almost always have an opinion on everything, but even that is not always enough to elicit a post.  I used to be rather political in my posts, but that has waned over the years as well.  It could be that I no longer have much to say since Bush left office, or it could be that since I no longer live in DC my interest/passion in politics is not as prevalent.

I also used to publish Monday Eye Candy every Monday morning, which was essentially just a photo of some random guy from the internet that I thought was attractive.  Now and then, I would post a photo of a friend of mine and tout how wonderful of a person he was or give him a shout out if he had something going on to which I wanted to help draw attention.  Mondays were (and still are) difficult days for me to get focused, so MEC was an easy way to post something without really needing to think about it.  My blog traffic was always highest on Mondays.  I guess there are lots of people like me who need some sort of motivation to begin their week.  Here's a lame example:

(Click image to enlarge)

I also used to occasionally pick a random day and go back in time through all my calendars and journals and list what I had done on that very date every year since 1982, when I started keeping calendars and journals.  The first one was created on October 20, 2005, with a few more random dates to follow including one listing out how I celebrated my birthdays from 1984-2007.  The most recent one was written on September 27, 2013.  It's actually a fun exercise.  I should do tit more often.

In the beginning, my blog was also hidden from my family.  Well, not really hidden per se - they just didn't know about it.  I also had not formally come out to my entire family yet, so I didn't want everyone reading and knowing what I was doing in my life.  But now my life is figuratively an open book.  And I know many in my family read it just to stay up to speed with Kevin and my excursions.

Several years ago, I didn't have much of a filter as to what I would write about.  Nothing was off-limits, which I think is still evident in some of the older posts.  I even wrote about my job on my blog until I was asked to stop - not asked to stop writing about my job, but asked to stop writing my blog by my job.  This explains the 4-year gap in posting from 2008-2012. But I'll save that for another, more interesting post.  And it IS interesting.

I also used to sell advertising space on my blog and made a nice chunk of change doing so.  Those ads went away during the break when I didn't write anything.  I'd get a check based on the number of hits my blog would get.  Man, I wish I'd had ad space on it during the Carol Burnett posts!  I could have retired.

So my blog, like me, has gone through some changes over the years.  It celebrates my evolving into the person I am today, and will most likely continue evolving itself over time as I keep it going.  I'm surprised that I have maintained this as I am always quick to delete something or throw something out.  But I like that this is here and remains just sitting out there.  And even if it's ever just me who reads this and no one else, that's fine too.