I'm Gone For A While

Diane Tose 1942-2020

In part, Diane’s passing marks the end of an era. The end of a time in history when the work in HIV research was experimental and run by mavericks. Diane was a ‘maverick’ in the truest sense of the word. We all were no matter the discipline we worked in. We were trailblazers. Diane was a complex woman. If you didn’t come to know her she was just a tall British woman who put the fear of God in you. She was pragmatic, demanding, and proudly British, even though she confided in me that she felt much more American than British. Diane liked things just so. An inch either way would be enough for her to voice a strong opinion. Opinionated women can often be alarming, but in Diane I found a heroine. I admired and looked up to Diane. She was no-nonsense. I can remember her calling patients into her office for pelvic examinations with a loudly overheard: Let’s have a look-see, or a get those feet up in the stirrups. I am sure that had she been a man she’d have been reported into oblivion, ...

My Plantation Sown With Sorrow

I recently found this academic paper while going through things in my home. It is a book review of Dorothy West's novel, The Wedding. It was written sometime between 1994-97 when I was working with the Dean of Empire State College, James H. Case , who served as my mentor. I do not know how to put footnotes in Blogger so I will be using asterisks with an associated number which can be found at the end of the piece. Two days ago I closed Dorothy West's book, The Wedding, and fell straight to sleep. I had a dream. I was out shopping but had an appointment with E's therapist later in the day. I was supposed to meet E there. I called twice to say I would be late and finally arrived when the session was over. When I arrive, E and the therapist are friendly. The therapist tells us of a party we might be interested in going to later that very evening. E and I agree to go. We arrived at the party and I immediately split to go sit with the gay men and begin to yuck it up...

Things I've Done With My Hands

This blog entry was inspired by Dawn French's one woman show, 30 Million Minutes I once picked up a cat and threw it down an air shaft in rage. Since that time I have made amends by becoming a collector of cats unloved and abused by the former likes of me. My hands have done many a thing, some things not so wonderful but mostly good things. That cat lived with only surprise and shock; no broken bones had it. Once I tried to slap a man and another cat, -a different cat and time,- leapt up and scratched me good. It was so sudden and so obvious what the cat was doing that the man laughed, picked up the cat, praised its heroic efforts and went off with the cat cradled in his arms, like the lover I should have been. I slunk off feeling nothing but shame. I had been shown up by a cat. Nothing is more humiliating. A good lesson learned. My hands are things even cats have opinions about. By the way that cat, Jake, was my cat and not his... When I was in my teens my hands spen...

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