Moving Smartly Along

I'm happy. Things are getting done and dusted. Spoke to J and he will be here to visit me and Mexico soon. He and I have known one another since I was 20 and he was 27. I hope he moves here to keep me, and of course him, company in our old age. He likes animals.

Spoke to P who gave me a 70%-30% ratio of his odds of coming here. He's 80 plus now but I can't bear the thought of never seeing him face to face again. I'm the chick who'd be like the done in woman thrusting herself over the casket should he leave me. He was the, he is the, love of my life. The one man who got it all.

There is nothing more precious than being understood, seen and valued. All at the same time. I have his art near, a self portrait in particular, and glancing at it gives me comfort.

J! J my dear friend J just published her first book. A self published one. All I can say about it, and my readers know nothing about how I know J, is that finally I am reading a gorgeous, I mean gorgeous steam of consciousness story, that finally reveals her inner struggles. It's absolutely a brilliant piece of work. I have to talk to her first, run things by her, to see if she is comfortable having me promote her here. She's has inspired me as well to write what I never say. My memoirs.

I've been a lucky woman in my life. I once heared a baptist sermon given in Massachusetts. The preacher said: all those times you felt low. All those times you felt punched in the gut. All those times you felt you couldn't get up, it was God who took the death blow. I could have been an assortment of crazy, but I'm not. God took the death blow.

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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...

Something Bigger Than Thomas: A Native Son

There was a moment in time when I witnessed my father vulnerable. He had rented a car and parked it outside my apartment in Brooklyn. He was not feeling well and had asked to stay with me and my then boyfriend, Eric. He slept for days on end and I really don't have any recollection of talking to him while he was with us. This is important to this narrative because I have always lamented the fact that I seem to have spent relatively little time with my father. I have snapshot memories of being with him - here and there, here and there. I am a teenager and he drives me into San Francisco, hands me money while he waits in the car, and I go in and buy some shoes. There are the times we drove the few blocks necessary to get to Baskin Robbins for ice cream over on University Avenue a few blocks up from his home in Palo Alto. There were lots of family reunions but I don't have any memories of being alone with my father, having a conversation or discussing anything. He did however ca...

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