New Writings

Allison and Me

Allison Bechdel's graphic memoir, Fun Home, has become an award-winning Broadway musical, and I'm reminded of how much I identified with parts of her life when I read the book some years ago.

Her father was gay and closeted. She learned this during his life. My father was also gay and closeted, but it was only after his death that I understood what my mother had been trying to tell me about his friends and roomers. I wish we had had the chance to discuss our shared homosexuality and how it affected our lives.

Her father was run down by a truck on a road near their home, and she believes he committed suicide by throwing himself in its path.

My father overdosed on prescription medications that he had reportedly abused for years. His death certificate raised some question of suicide. But I don't believe he would deliberately overdose, then sit reading the newspaper in the living room of his own house, for his daughter to find him in the morning. But I imagine he was in such poor mental health that his intentions may have wavered. I'll never know for sure.

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I May Have Been Drunk

As the child of an alcoholic mother, who missed being raised by her because of that alcoholism, I have a healthy respect for booze. It helps that I dislike the taste of most of it. And it can easily upset my stomach.

When in bars, I usually have nonalcoholic Shirley Temples - which are Seven Up with grenadine syrup. Sometimes I'll have Kahlua and cream, on the rocks. The cream counters the acidity of the booze, and the melting ice dilutes it to an acceptable taste.

That being said, I think I was drunk once. During or shortly after law school, I somehow grew a little close to my straight male dentist. This may have been during my period of trying to be straight, for religious reasons. Or he may have known me for a lesbian and thought he could cure me of that affliction. Yes, on second thought, I think he know that I favored women. One evening, he took me out to dinner (whether after an office visit or on a separate occasion, I can't remember). I do remember having one or two drinks before dinner and drinking two glasses of wine during the meal. I may have been drunk, but I retained control over my behavior.

We had some very pleasant farewell kissing, and he was surprised at my ability. I said to him, Lesbians kiss, too - or something similar. That's where we left it, and he deposited me at my door.

Maybe I was more drunk than I recall, because I was sick as a dog the next day. Completely hung over, I called in sick to work and tried to believe that I was suffering from food poisoning.

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A Skill no Longer Needed

When I was much, much younger, and much, much lighter, I rode my bike all over Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. It was a blue Schwinn, I seem to recall, that I would occasionally customize with playing cards clothes-pinned to the wheel fork, that made a magical roar against the spinning spokes.

I had energy, and balance, and stamina, and the bike was the right size for my little legs. I flew down the street, the wind in my hair. I often rode in a skirt - believe it or not - since I was too young to be allowed to choose my own clothes.

Then I moved to Berkeley, California, and bikes were useless in the hills. I could have gotten another bike in flat Santa Monica four years later, but I didn't need one: I took the bus to high school, and was driven to the beach, and then was given a car in my senior year.

I did buy another bike and rode it in an AIDS benefit in San Francisco many years later. The ride was only 25 miles, and I trained for it for a month. But it was a deadly slog, especially since my partner at the time had injured herself and I rode alone, reaching the end long after the bulk of the riders.

That pretty much clinched it for me - I'm never going to be a cyclist again.

What's Up

So I'm starting to get back into the swing of my pre-show retired life. I'm picking off some of the chores that were stacking up.

In particular, I've been working on my will. I've mostly settled the questions around distributing my estate, but I'm still working on the disposition of my remains and household goods, and on what kind of memorial to have.

These efforts are complicated by my frequent desire to sleep all morning and spend the rest of the day on my sofa. I got out most days this past week: went out to shows Tuesday and Friday, sang karaoke on Saturday, and went to a dance class on Sunday.

Next week I'm off to San Rafael for a week-long meditation retreat that I attended a couple of years ago. I don't need to get away from my home to be silent, but the energy of a whole group of people seeking to quiet their minds and nourish their spirits pulls me along with it.