Sew a needle pulling thread

I enjoy sewing.
The first time I ever made anything with fabric, I was in grade eight and I made a denim apron and matching chef hat for my Dad. My only recollection of him ever wearing them is when he posed for a picture when I first brought them home. After that I was in theatre school and I was on the costume crew for a play. I was asked to narrow the pant legs on a pair of navy corduroy jeans. After I was shown how to use the unfamiliar sewing machine, I was off; it was like second nature for me. I bought my first sewing machine at a boxing day sale in 1988. I took the bus to Sears at Metrotown and purchased a Kenmore. A couple years ago I had to retire that machine and my friend Pansy gifted me the brand new Kenmore he'd just bought on a bit of a whim.
I've been sewing costumes, making aprons, constructing patchwork blankets, designing cool bags (I made a funky carrying bag for me Wii that Bug got for me) and much more.
I've even made some dresses for my son. Over the years he's wanted to dress festively for various events. We marched in the Pride Parade together in drag. I'd made a huge sweeping dress for myself and one for my son out of neckties. I chronicled our experience in a short story that became a part of an anthology called Charmed Lives (Lethe press 2006).
I've also made several things for Bug.
He wanted a bag to carry a new portable DVD player he'd bought. It had to carry the player, all the cords and a small stack of DVDs. Bug came up with the idea of putting a window in the flap and affixing a picture from his childhood on it. I took a piece of plastic from a cheap dollar store picture frame and hot-glued to the bag with the picture safely behind. It was a very clever idea and looks great. I've also made Bug a couple pillowcases, two napkins made with his signature skull motif fabrics and also a patchwork duvet cover with large squares of shirtless men material.
I've also altered much of Bug's clothes. His waist is so small that even small pants are big on him. I've had to take in all his sweat pants and pj bottoms.
I love that I have this ability to make things out of pieces of material. It's a good skill to have. Sewing is very creative and meditative for me, especially when I'm constructing a patchwork blanket, sewing on square to another square to another...

Until the next time...

Blurred boundaries

Bug is well on the mend from his dental surgery. His spirits are good, although he's having energy dips. He's healed so quickly.
It was a good weekend, although busy and bit stressful. Having my son visiting at the same time split my focus and energy. I'm grateful that Bug's Mom stayed with him through the weekend.
It's interesting how disruptive this surgery has been on Bug's and my life together. Our routine has been thrown off. Bug's Mom took Monday off work as well and was intending on hanging with him through the day. I went over in the morning, as is my usual routine on Monday morning and I was ready to do my caregiver thing.
I realize now that it was an attempt on my part to normalize our lives again. It felt good that morning to get a load of laundry in the washer and Bug soaking in a bath. In the process it caused Bug's Mom to feel redundant. She was fully prepared to do all these things for Bug and here comes the pushy boyfriend to take over.
I felt shitty. I could feel this tension and I was saddened as Bug's Mom cleaned up her things to go home.
I felt a responsibility to be there for Bug. I have a strong work ethic that stems from eighteen years growing up on a farm. My mind was saying 'It's Monday, go to work damn it!' Yet I could have had that time with my son. He was contented watching Pokemon on Youtube, but I put Bug's care before time with my son.
I was like my Dad in that moment. He put lots of things before his own sons.
In that moment I was able to justify that I was doing a good thing. I was doing my job. Taking care of Bug. On the surface I was a great guy.
If I had taken the time, let Bug's Mom care for him and I stayed with my son, then it would have been a win/win for most of us. My son would have had me to play Super Mario Brothers and Bug's Mom could her part as Mom.
Yet... I had a need to be with Bug. He had a need to be with him.
So where does caregiver and boyfriend meet and end?
Yes, that is a huge question and one that I will be working on this whole relationship. I feel that most of the time I succeed at being aware of this balance. It's a delicate balancing act on a very fine edge.
I've had a few people leave my life in the past couple years. Friends come and go and it's all cycles, but I'm aware these friendship endings coincided with my relationship shifting into caregiver for Bug. I understand that some people may have a moral and ethical problem with Bug's and my duel relationship.
I get it.
But... the comfort, love,respect, care, ease, joy that Bug gets from our duel relationships can be seen and felt by everyone who knows him.
I'm aware that Bug's Mom understands my reasons for coming over on Monday when she had it all under control.
What really drew me to Bug's home, tapping on the front door, mere seconds after 9:00am was love.
I love Bug and I wanted to be with him.
I wanted to do for him.
It may be wrong in some people's mind that we've blurred the boundary of relationship and caregiver, but it's working for both of us.
Love has a way of blurring boundaries.

Until the next time...

A son and a Bug

Time management is something that I pride myself on, but at times it kicks me in the butt. Being able to manage my time is one thing, but then trying to manage Bug's time and then when my son comes to visit... well, I become like a little robot with smoke rising from it's shell as I frantically twirl around on the spot.
Being responsible for three people who all have their needs, wishes and desires definitely has its pitfalls.
Even last night, Bug and I thought it would be fun to watch a movie with his Mom and my son. Three of us were on board, but my son wasn't interested. I tried to convince him that it would be great if we all were together. He wasn't having none of it. We ended up being at my place together and Bug stayed at home healing from his surgery with his Mom.
Many times my son will be staying with me when I have to care for Bug. I'll crawl out of bed, tiptoe around my home as my son slumbers, then go get Bug's day started. My son is in his mid-teens so he can be on his own for some time. He calls Bug's place once he's up and I'll ask all the Father-like questions: What time did you wake up? Have you had breakfast? Did you take your medicine? He answers in the affirmative and then asks if he can watch a DVD, play Nintendo or whatever else is of interest to him this visit.
We've shared several meals together at Bug's home and my son loves to hang at Bug's place because he's got cable TV (I have a TV, but no cable). My son sits mesmerized by the flashing images on the screen as I putter around getting dinner ready. When I first got my Wii, my son and I would hang with Bug as we worked our way through the levels of Donkey Kong Country Returns.
It is a balancing act for me to make sure that Bug gets his care and that I get time with my son; he only comes twice a month for visits, so our time is precious. This has always been a struggle for me since my son's been born. Being in an intimate relationship and being a Dad don't always go well together. I've had my share of break-ups because the guy I was seeing either didn't want kids in his life, or he resented that my son was a higher priority than him.
I love that my son is getting to know Bug and also that he is hanging out with a person with a disability. When I was growing up we had friends who's sister was deaf. That was the only disability I'd ever been around. I had a huge prejudice about what I perceived a disabled person was like. Being with Bug has opened my mind and my life. He's doing the same for my son.
My son and Bug kid around with each other all the time. For some silly reason Bug likes to call my son by a different name and my son teases Bug about all sorts of things. They seem relaxed and comfortable with each other.
I feel like the day is a success if I have time with my son and Bug together. We all share laughs, eat food and be in each others company.
This to me is the perfect way to manage our time.

Until the next... uh... time...

Applesauce gratitude

I'm grateful today for applesauce.
I can also add banana's and warm baths.

Yesterday Bug had dental surgery at the UBC hospital. Bug's Mom came along and I was so grateful for her help and support. I slept over at Bug's place Thursday night into Friday morning where Bug's Mom came a knocking shortly at 7am. We were awake and I'd just released my bladder of its nighttime pee. I quickly threw on jeans and let her in.
Together we got Bug up, dressed, bathroomed and out the door.
He had to be at the hospital by 8:30 for a 10:30 OR time.
It was a day of waiting for Bug's Mom and me, first with Bug and then the almost four and a half hours he was in surgery.
The pre-OR nurse who checked Bug in was great and relied on Bug's Mom and me to help get his vitals, an IV drip hooked into his arm and get him comfortably settled on the narrow gurney. Bug could keep his clothes on as they were working on his mouth, although no one could see what he was wearing under all the warmed up blankets covering him.
The dental surgeon arrived shortly there after and checked in with all of us. I had met her before almost a year earlier at Bug's initial appointment. She's a very pleasant woman with an easy manner. She explained what she was possibly going to do from the cursory check-up she'd done, as she hadn't any x-rays yet to see if there were any hidden surprises. She also said I could come in the OR with Bug until he was knocked out.
I was wrapped in a hospital robe and a blue paper cap covered my freshly shaved head. I helped steer the bed/gurney into the small OR space bustling with activity. There were four identically dressed people buzzing about like a machine. It was mere seconds and they had Bug off in La-la Land. Then he became an object that they stuck things to and shoved things into and very shortly I was ushered out of the room.
He looked so vulnerable.
I found Bug's Mom and we went to the cafeteria for a muffin and beverage. We talked, played cribbage (she beat me two games to zip) and got more beverages. At almost the three hour mark we returned to the waiting-room where our impatience grew as the minutes ticked by on the large wall clock secured above the door on the other side of the room.
Finally the dental surgeon showed up. She was smiling and apologized for the long wait, but the x-rays had revealed some hidden cavities.
In the end Bug had seven fillings and three extractions from the right side of his jaw.
We followed a nurse into the recovery room where Bug was lying, still heavily sedated. It was obvious he wasn't aware of our presence, but after awhile his eyes focused and he croaked out, 'What happened?'.
Bug's Mom and I chuckled and told him had dental surgery.
Shortly there after he repeated his question. He wasn't aware of what had transpired.
As he grew more cognizant, he finally asked, 'Is it over?'
'Yes Bunny, it's over. You did great.'
The recovery nurses said Bug could go home and helped untangle him from the layers of blankets and pillows tucked around his body. She noticed Bug's t-shirt and laughed. She called over the other nurse to read it too. The red t-shirt reported 'My balls itch' and the second nurse indicated to me, 'Obviously you dressed him today as a Mom wouldn't put that shirt on him.' Bug's Mom assured the nurse that she was very correct.
Bug's Mom was such a help getting Bug home. He had some unfortunate retching that had continued from the hospital, in the car on the drive home and at home.
Bug was hungry and tried apple sauce. He loved it.
He tried to go pee, but couldn't seem to get it going, so I ran a bath and his bladder relaxed with hot water. At bed time he was able to keep a partial banana down.
The simple things help make a situation like this bearable.
I'm very grateful to Bug's Mom for her continued support, love and help.
I'm also grateful for apple sauce.

Until the next time...

Locking the door

There's this moment just before I put the key in the lock where I get this pang in my gut. The street lamp casts an orange glow over the outside of the door. Inside the blind is settling back in place after having been jostled about from the door opening and closing. It's dark inside where an hour earlier a warm glow emanated from the apartment within. I insert the gold key into the deadbolt, the other keys jangle in protest and I lock the door. I stuff the cluster of keys into the front right pocket of my jeans and take the first steps away from the apartment building.
Locking a door is usually about keeping unwanted people and things out, but in Bug's case, it's also about locking him in.
When I first started putting Bug to bed, before I got hired to be his caregiver, I would feel this sting of panic course through my body. It felt so vulnerable to secure the deadbolt of his front door, knowing I was locking a disabled person in their home.
There were times I'd get in my car and cry. The tears would flow and most of the time I was crying because of a feeling more than any thoughts going through my mind. I'd shed tears at Bug's bravery for having the self awareness that he needed to live alone and one of the consequences of this decision was to lay in bed, alone, until someone came to unlock the deadbolt in the morning. I'd cry sometimes at the feeling of 'How could I just leave him like that?'. There was a helplessness in me that couldn't change this situation for Bug, not that he ever asked me to change it.
It was an overwhelming sense of compassion for him.
Bug is a true symbol of bravery.
Bug has a specific routine before getting into bed and many evenings once I've turned the last light out, I'll glance back to Bug's bedroom where the TV flickers light over the walls and the muffled dialogue makes it's way around the now dark apartment. I stand there for the briefest of moments grappling with the conflicted feelings of leaving. I know Bug has chosen to live alone, but standing there in the darkened space I'm filled with that niggling sense from the first times I fled his apartment so he wouldn't see my cry.
These days I walk the six minutes it takes to get back to my apartment and it's the time needed for that slick of guilt to slip away.
I can hear Bug's last words to me.
'Don't forget to turn out the lights and lock the door.'
I usually retort,' You tell me that every time.'
'It's my job,' he fires back and lets out a loud chuckle.
I'm reminded that the locking of the door brings Bug a sense of security.

Until the next time...

Grumpy face

I'm grumpy today.
No! Not the sterilized Disney dwarf with his arms definitely crossed and a scowl on his face. OK, I do have a scowl.
It's so difficult to have a bad day when being someone's caregiver. I woke up tired, but fine for the most part. The walk to Bug's place was really nice, but the morning started to unravel for no particular reason and now here I sit grouchy like Oscar in the garbage can.
I've been productive: one load of laundry washed and dried, Bug needed a hair cut so I shaved his head, then he had a bath, I cleaned up the hair clippings that somehow made their way all over the bathroom, now Bug is out of the bath, dried and dressed.
A nice busy morning.
Bug is such a sensitive intuitive guy and he picks up on my moods in a heart beat. Literally it can be a sigh or a look or one wrong word and his mood shifts. It's difficult for me as I really want to be a happy easy going guy all the time. I feel I success about 90% of the time, but it's that other 10%? That's the real bugger to get a handle on.
Here's the thing though, getting a handle on being a grump isn't about getting a handle on it. Sure we can all conjure up ways to ease the anger. A nice bath with candle light, or a walk in a wooded area, or mediating, yoga, nice cup of tea or coffee, etcetera. But what about just being a grouchy dumb face for as long as one needs to be a grouchy dumb face. Our society has such trouble with anger. I accept that I have anger, but I haven't been shown how to successfully be in that anger. I know what I can do take me out of it, but why should we as people eject ourselves out of our anger?
The worst part about being a cantankerous grump face is the effect it has on Bug. It isn't fair that his energy or day be affected by my mood. I'd just love to hole-up in my home and grumble away to myself until the feelings subside.
How did Florence Nightingale do it or Mother Theresa? Gandhi? Did they have hissy fits and throw things when their anger got the best of them? I have an image of Florence tossing a bedpan (empty I would hope) in a fit of frustration. Or Gandhi ripping the glasses from his face and gripping them tightly in his fist as anger pulsed through his body.
Nah...
Gandhi probably prayed harder and Florence sucked it up, put a smile on her face and carefully placed the said bedpan down politely.
Sigh...
Well, anyway, I guess I'll take my surly self away from this keyboard. I'll be a crabby face and sulk home where I can lay my crotchety self on my bed and read a book in an irritable manner.
But first I'll need to give Bug a hug, kiss his forehead and tell him I love him.
I'll do my best to soften the scowl creasing my forehead.

Until the next time...

Oh boy!

There was a sharp knock on the door.
It surprised both of us, as the knock was unexpected and it was on the door we don't use very often. Bug has two entrances to his home. The one to outside with the automatic door opener on it and the second door that goes to the hallway. I use this door to access the laundry room and mailbox.
Once Bug registered the knock, he said with delight, 'Batman!'.
There wasn't a second knock but I could hear something being set down on the floor outside the door. I quickly unlatched the deadbolt and was greeted by a female postal worker.
'I was going to leave a note,' she exclaimed reaching down to grab the parcel. She handed it to me and dashed off to make more deliveries.
I carried the small cardboard box to the dining-room table. It had the familiar Amazon.com markings on it. Bug was wiggling in his chair with excitement. He'd been anticipating the arrival of this set of DVDs for a few weeks.
Bug's excitement reminded me of a quick clip I saw of him when he was about four years old from old family movies. It was Christmas and Bug was sitting on the floor leaning against him Mom who was helping him open his presents. As each new neatly wrapped present was put in front of Bug he would exclaim, 'Oh boy, oh boy!'. That excitement was with Bug again as I hastily tore the packing tape from the box, releasing three colourful DVD sets. Vibrant graphic images of Batman, his sidekicks and villains adorned the three cases. This series was originally aired in the early nineties. Bug used to watch them with his friend John.
Bug has been talking about getting this Batman for some time. We'd check out the prices of the boxed sets at HMV whenever we were in the mall. They're an expensive set and the price always forced us to walk away. Several days Bug would log onto the computer and stare at the listings for this series on Amazon. Each day he'd report that the price had or hadn't changed. Then one day I got an update that the price was surprisingly lower, in fact less than a third to half the price in the store. I told him to go ahead and order them using my credit card number. He asked if I was sure.
'Go for it.'
Bug promptly tapped out the order, added the items to his shopping cart and proceeded to the virtual checkout. Done! Now all he had to do was wait.
'Now I can't wait until I get the Superman series next!'. That's Bug, always looking ahead to the future!
For me... I'm going to be a Batman widow for the next weeks as Bug hungrily devours the contents of these discs.
It's great to see how much joy these DVDs can bring him.
'Oh boy, oh boy!'

Until the next time...

Wii, Wii, Wii all the way home

It's been almost a month since the surprise Bug gave me.
It was a Sunday and Bug's weekend care-giver was working, but Bug called to invite me over. When I arrived he was waiting outside all giddy with excitement. He was wiggling around on his seat. His eyes were alive with mischief and he couldn't wait to get both of us inside.
He directed me to his bedroom... I know, this was mighty familiar to the first time we met.
I sat on his bed and he was more agitated with excitement.
'Open the drawer in my dresser.'
I opened a drawer and it was empty, he said the one above it. Even before I got it opened it felt heavy. There was a brightly decorated gift bag lying on it's side in the drawer.
'Bug... what did you do?'
Bug laughed, his body was tense with anticipation. I lift the bag from the drawer and pulled the tissue paper away to reveal a new Wii.
I'd been humming and hawing for months about getting myself a Wii. My son saved his Christmas money and bought himself a black Wii. I'd seen these funky red ones in the store and thought they looked cool.
'I tried to get you a red one but they were all out,' Bug said.
I held the cardboard box and looked at the my new black Wii.
'I wanted to get you Donkey Kong Country, but I didn't have enough money. I saved up for it.'
I told Bug that this was perfect. We could go shopping, get the game and I'd also get another controller. I'd seen pink ones and thought they were perfectly gay.
I've been enjoying my new toy. I did get Donkey Kong Country Returns and it's been a blast. I actually still have my Super Nintendo (SNES) from the mid-nineties and I have Donkey Kong Country for that system. Before Christmas I pulled out the old SNES and worked my way through the levels of the old game. It was mindless fun. My son and I played the old game and laughed at how crude the graphics looked compared to the amazing imagery on the new Wii game.
Bug's been watchinh me conquer the DK levels. It was fun to hang out with him and both of us were engaged in the game. Bug said he couldn't wait until I got the New Super Mario Brothers for Wii. He liked watching Super Mario when he was a kid.
Last week the both of us were out and about. We had lunch in the food fair at the mall and then stopped into the video game store. I saw the new Mario game and bought it. I also got another controller, this time a blue one! I tried my hand at the Mario game, but even when I was younger I wasn't very good at it. But, I'm sure with lots of practice I'll get more competent.
But, for now my calloused thumbs are healing from too many hours of directing Donkey Kong and is buddy Didi through the amazingly fun, yet difficult levels of the DK Wii world.
Thanks Bug!

Until the next time...

Notes from the past

A couple evenings ago Bug and I were at his parents home for dinner. After the plates were cleared away, stacked in the kitchen to be dealt with later, we all settled in the living-room. Bug's Mom brought out a leather bound copy of A Tale of Two Cities. When she opened the cover, inside were two little compartments that held little treasures from here sons' youths.
There were baseball cards where Bug's brothers were posed with a baseball bat held over their shoulders. These laminated cardboard rectangles documented the maturing of Bug's brothers through the years.
But the real treasure were two notes written by Bug's middle brother. They are both brief and showed two different aspects of Bug's brothers relationship to him and his disability.
The first one is a note of concern and possible warning.
"Mom, me and (Bug) are not Dead we are at 7-11 for a fue minits."
This note implies that Bug and his brother wanted to dash off to the store to probably procure some treat. I imagine that it's summer, hot, and they've gone to get something to cool them down; a slurpee, Popsicle or some ice cream treat. What I love about this note is that the middle brother would have had to care for his older brother and possibly push Bug in his wheelchair. I also love to think that this must have normal for the family.
The next note may have been written later, by the same brother and it shows dissent amongst the ranks.
"(Bug) is never told to do anything, so he will never have a chance to screw up. Just because He's in a wheelchair."
This is my favorite of the two messages from the past. Bug's brother told me last night at a family dinner that he was around eight to ten years old when he wrote it.
I imagine these two pre-teen boys defiantly, yet possibly a bit sheepishly, standing up for the injustice of getting in trouble for 'screwing up' and their older brother was totally off the hook for any possible punishment.
Bug has told me that his brothers thought it unfair that he didn't have to do chores around the house. They didn't see the wheelchair as an obstacle and tried to use it to their advantage. One time they ducted-taped the vacuum to Bug's hand and pushed him around the living-room.
Bug has shared with me that for the most part during his youth he thought that it was OK he was in the wheelchair. His Mom made every effort to get Bug involved in the community. Bug was in Cub Scouts, Sea cadets for a short while, played bocce ball and when he was really little Bug was the poster child for the Kinsmen Mother's March with local celebrity Jackson Davies. Bug had a full, busy life.
But... he tells me that when his middle brother got his driver's license everything shifted. Bug saw the freedom the license gave his brother and he knew that he wouldn't be able to get one. This was the first blaring time when Bug saw the limitations of his disability.
Hearing this story saddened me and helped me to understand Bug a little bit more. Noboby wants to be left behind, especially someone so full of life as Bug is.

Until the next time...

Kiddin' around

Bug and I like to kid around, a lot.
Often we'll take turns acting like our feelings hurt and pretend to pout. All for a laugh. Lots of times Bug will say 'I'm going to my room.' and wheel off in a dramatic huff. I hear him chuckling to himself when he gets to his destination. Or if he wants to be really dramatic he'll say 'I'm leaving!',open the door and take off outside, socked feet, no jacket, gone.... for a few seconds; long enough for the door to close on its self.
Sometimes he'll tell the toys on a shelf in his bedroom to 'Attack!'. He's commanding them to attack me as I probably pulled some joke on him.
We often feign dramatics at the most mundane thing. Bug will say he has to go to the bathroom and I'll reply with a huge sigh, 'Again!'.
This joking got us in an awkward situation once.
Bug and I were on Commercial Drive waiting for a couple friends to come out of Sweet Cherubim. Bug and I were on the other side of street and I got to joking with him. I may have been rubbing his ear and giving it a gentle pinch, which I do regularly. Bug was squirming in his wheelchair and may have said 'Stop it' or something like that. He was visibly trying to move his ear away from my fingers.
Right away this guy came up to us. He was scruffy looking, big in stature and with a big presence. He lumbered right up to Bug, 'Are you OK?'
I said, 'We're fine...'
This guy cut me off and said, 'I'm talking to him.' He bent over and asked Bug if everything was alright. If I was harassing him.
Bug was startled and caught off guard which makes it difficult to speak right away. He nodded his head and I think he was able to say ,'Yeah.'
The guy wanted to make sure and reiterated his question.
When the guy straightened upright he eyed me. Making sure I didn't have some power/control over Bug.
I told the guy that we often joke around.
The guy gave Bug another look and feeling sufficiently convinced he went on his way.
Bug and I gave each other a look like, 'what in the hell was that?'
We often talk about that moment and I was really impressed that this guy took time to come over and make sure that Bug was not being assaulted or abused in some way.
Bug likes it that we joke. He is most uncomfortable with people when they are all tight and polite with him. He likes it when people feel confident and know him enough to say silly or even rude things to him. He loves it.
He often laments that all his care-givers joke with him. He pretends like this is some travesty, but deep down he loves that we, the care-givers, past and present, respect him as a person and can see his intelligence.
Bug has a wickedly, dry sense of humour and some people are pleasantly caught off guard when he feels comfortable enough to show them his wit.
Bug makes laugh!

Until the next time...

Bug loves chocolate

Bug and I went for a walk in the drizzle to Safeway. We needed a couple things and Bug wanted to get out of the house for a bit. We usually don't walk in any kind of rain, but I put a towel over Bug's lap to protect his sweat pants and we were off.
On our way home Bug said he wasn't going to eat chocolate any more.
Ha.
I laughed.
Bug loves, loves, LOVES his chocolate. There is almost always some kind of chocolate treat in the house. On our Valentine's trip to Seattle Bug and I came across these dark chocolate covered raisins put out by Nestle. Oh they are good! Unfortunately they're only available in the US.
Bug isn't really a picky eater, but I did try and get him onto some healthier choices, like whole wheat bread. Bug loves his white bread. I was hoping to shift him to whole wheat and we did for a couple months, then Bug had me stop buying bread all together. Bug liked having a half slice of toast with peanut butter at bed time that he'd eat with his bedtime anti-nauseate pill. Now he has half an apple or a banana, no more bread.
I bought whole wheat crackers once. That was a mistake. I didn't tell him and I kind of acted like I'd made a mistake. He saw right through me and wasn't going to eat another one. I gave the box of leftover crackers to a friend and Bug was back onto his white salty topped crackers. Bug happened upon graham crackers quite by accident. We were at a friend's place and I had forgotten our little plastic container of saltines at home. All our friend had were graham crackers. Bug's eyes lit up when he tried one. He really liked them. They've become a staple item in Bug's pantry.
Bug hates olives. I bought yummy olive buns when we were first dating, thinking what a treat! He said, 'what a yuck!'
All our friends know about Bug's aversion to olives and tease him about it whenever they get a chance.
Bug has his set selection of cereals he likes: Froot Loops, Corn Pops and Cheerios (plain or honey nut). There's one type we sometimes buy when we go to the States as it isn't available in Canada; Cookie Crisp. He doesn't like Mini-Wheats.
Another thing we buy in the States because they're so much cheaper are Cliff Bars. These are a great thing to leave out on Bug's snack plate along with the Bar-B-Q or Salt & Vinegar chips. He's tried a few different flavours of Cliff Bars, but it's now narrowed down to Peanut Butter Crunch and Chocolate Chip Peanut Crunch. We buy then in bulk when we go to Trader Joe's in Bellingham.
Bug loves when I make salmon for dinner and really enjoys a stir-fry (with white rice). Before I met Bug his weekend caregiver got him turned onto perogies. That's one of Bug's favorite lunches, half a dozen perogies and a couple slices of fried baloney.
But his statement about no more chocolate...?
I'll believe it when I see it.
There's no way he'd ever give up the seduction of chocolate.

Until the next time...

Bug likes skulls

Bug likes skulls.
He doesn't know why, he just does.
When we were in Mexico Bug and I joined some of his family members for a bus trip to Chitzen Itza. This is the site of some amazing Mayan ruins. It's also the site of tons and tons of vendors. table after table after table of stuff for tourists to buy. Several vendors had these elaborately painted ceramic skulls. Bug wanted one. Each time we passed a table of these skulls Bug wanted me to slow down so he could look at them. Finally Bug settled on a white skull with black markings.
Sometimes Bug joins me when I go fabric shopping. He keeps his eyes peeled for any fun skull fabric. I've made him a place-mat and napkins from a couple different skull fabrics he's chosen
Also Bug's collection of pajamas has suspiciously taken on a skull theme. For Christmas his Mom bought him a pair of skull pj bottoms and our friend Pansy surprised Bug with skull bottoms and an iron-on skull patch.
Value Village has yielded some skull treasures. Looking through the racks of shirts, I came across a comfortable looking top with skulls and roses inked into the material. Another time I found a heavy cotton scarf with a funky skull pattern. I wasn't sure what we'd use it for, but I bought it anyway. Bug, of course, loved it and suggested I could cover this block of wood that's used to elevate his snack plate. I stapled the cloth to the chunk of wood and voila! it now a funky block of wood.
One of Bug's favorite Halloween decorations is this weird alien-like baby skeleton. The thing has this over sized skull head and little skeleton body. Bug loves his alien-skeleton-baby. We hang it by the front door, so it can great all guests.
Whenever I'm out and about I keep my eyes open for anything skulls that Bug might like. Recently I was in Michaels craft store wandering about, waiting for an appointment. I walked down an aisle and found these fun little skull pushpins in black and pink. Very fun. They now live on the cork-board by Bug's bed to secure the pictures of shirtless men from last year's calendar.
Yes, my Bug likes skulls and he doesn't really know why.

Until the next time.

A bit busted up

It’s been a rough couple of weeks for me lately. Writing these pieces have been a lovely distraction from my internal crap, but I feel I need to write about what’s been going on. The purpose of these writings have been to explore my relationship with a man with cerebral palsy. I’ve focused a lot on Bug and his life, but I’ve avoided/neglected to write about me, the writer. This hasn’t been intentional, just that I feel Bug is so fascinating and amazing and it’s easy for me to focus on him, but - there are two people in this relationship.

I’m the eldest of three boys, just like Bug. I’m the only queer one in my immediate biological family and as far as I have found out, against all odds, the only fag in the whole family on both my Mom and Dad’s sides.

What’s with that?! I somehow inherited this rouge gene that skipped every other fetus developing in all the women in my family. Crazy! .... and somewhat lonely. I’ve often fantasized that a gay cousin would contact me. I had one female cousin that I adored and we met when I was ten. We would play and play and play for hours. I loved my cousin and thought we would marry. Later I hoped she was gay too and we would have that in common, but she happily married a farmer from Saskatchewan and wrote to me about finding the power and love of the Lord Jesus Christ. Yeah, not so queer.

Later I wondered if I’d get an e-mail, letter or phone call from my nephew or nieces questioning their blossoming sexuality. Nope, all three seem to be happily exploring their heterosexuality. Thus leaving their gay uncle as the only queer in the village.

I hinted in an earlier writing that I used my twenties to work out a lot of my proverbial shit and, WOW, what a pile I had accumulated in a few short years on this planet.

First, right off the bat, I almost died at birth, just like Bug; we both flirted with death right out the gate. Very soon after I was born, the doctors realized something was wrong, they thought it was my heart. I was taken away from my nineteen year old mother, whisk in an ambulance to a larger city an hour away and my chest was opened to find out what was wrong with me...

...what was wrong with me... I don’t know how many times I said that to myself over the years.

As it turned out my intestines weren’t joined in one place and the surgeon put me back together again. I was left with a lifelong ‘+’ sign on my belly.

The second obstacle I was confronted with was that I was born into a farming family.

Me!

Thirdly I was (and still am) ultra-sensitive. My empathy for animals crippled me at times. There were many moments where I'd run for the sanctity of my bedroom, snot dripping from my nose, in full hysterics at some atrocity I'd witnessed in the confines of the wooden fences of the barnyard. Little slimy calves born dead, their pink tongues hanging limply from their mouths and the mothers cleaning the afterbirth from their lifeless offspring. Going out to play in the hayloft and finding the bloated body of a grown animal lying on its side, legs sticking straight out. The horrific smell of burning hair and hide during branding day and the endless cries of baby calves that needed to be separated from their mothers so that the cows udders could dry up so they could be ready for breeding again.

It was all the cycle of life and death on the farm. I used these stories and images to create a one person show I performed after graduating from theatre school. It was very cathartic to sort through all my memories, piece them together in a cohesive form and then play it out in front of audiences.

That’s one of my skills. Turning lemons into lemonade...

The other piece of my childhood that I had to work through in my twenties was the fact that I was sexually defiled the summer of my twelfth year. While Bug was forming in his mother’s womb, all cozy in those embryonic fluids, I was being molested by an ex-minister of my community. It took place over an eight week period, mostly on camping trips that he and I took together. I’ve done a lot of therapy around the impact this and being raised on a farm had on my sensitive little soul. Being defiled by a man when ultimately I would grow into a gay man has played many weird games on my sexual development. It’s been over twenty-two years since that summer and there’s still fall-out from then. I’ve described it as being a part of my bone-marrow, much like being queer is a part of my makeup. I used to tie the two in together. In my twisted young mind I attributed my sexuality to my abuse. Thank goodness therapy sorted these into two separate aspects; the abuse happened to me, my sexuality is me.

The ways in which I explored my sexuality has been tainted by my defilement. I thought I was only desired for my sex. Even today I still get a pang of shame whenever someone expresses interest in me. There’s this quiet little voice in my head that says, ‘He only wants you for sex.’ I constantly am in some form of quiet battle with my perception of me and what I think others see in me. Which brings me to now.

I haven’t felt very sexual lately. It’s been quite awhile and Bug is so patient with me. I do my best to bring him pleasure as his sex drive is much higher than mine. I love the fact that I can bring pleasure to Bug and his body by my touch. Also Bug isn’t shy about asking for what he wants. He has a beautiful way of gently asking me if I’d ‘help him out’. I don’t want to deny him touch, but a lot of the time I feel like an ugly monster lying down beside him and I have to combat myself to stay present to bring him pleasure.

This is one of the reasons I’ve had a crappy couple weeks. A psychic fatigue overcomes me when I realize that broken sensitive farm boy, who didn’t want to be a farm boy, is still very much alive in.

...all the King’s Horses and all the King’s men helping to put me back together again.

Until the next time...

Unwanted Chuckles

Bug and I laugh a lot.
It's refreshing for me to have so much laughter in my days. Bug loves to laugh at TV shows and often asks me if I'll sit with him during a half hour comedy show. He says it's funnier when there's someone else there. I love watching him laugh. When he really gets into it, his whole body laughs.
Many times, however, Bug laughs when he doesn't want to. His reflex is to laugh in uncomfortable situations or during sensitive conversations .
Oh!
He gets so frustrated with himself when this happens.
It's like that scene in the old Mary Tyler Moore Show from an episode voted as TV Guides' #1 funniest. It's the one where Mary is at Chuckle's the Clown funeral and she gets a fit of the giggles. Finally when the parishioner overseeing the ceremony gives her permission to laugh, she bursts into tears.
Bug doesn't cry when he gets his reflexive laughter, but he sure can get annoyed with himself.
Bug spoke to his doctor about this at a visit some time ago. He was hoping the doctor could help out with a pill or something. Unfortunately the doctor said it was a part of his nature and he would have to cope with it. He did suggest that Bug take deep breathes when he feels it coming on, but it honestly doesn't make much of a difference.
I try to be patient with Bug when this happens and often his laughter can diffuse a potentially tense of difficult situation. Many times I join in with his laughing and we both have a joyous chortle together. Often it shifts my mood to a more relaxed one and whatever was bothering me doesn't seem so pressing.
But, other times it can be frustrating, especially if I start talking about something meaningful or sensitive. It can kill a conversation when the one I'm speaking to begins to laugh. Bug's face turns red as he tries desperately to stifle a laugh and he gets pretty disappointed with himself.
This uncontrollable laughter has cropped a few times when we're having... uh... intimate moments in the bedroom. Often at these time we can turn Bug's laughter into a joke and continue with our intimacy, but there has been the odd time that it's killed the mood. This can make Bug really mad at himself.
We're learning to live with it more and more. I'm learning to drop a conversation or at least not have as much emotion invested in it. Bug works his darnedest to keep the laughter at bay.
A lot of the time we both let the laughter flow and enjoy the sensations it brings to our bodies.
Bug is an amazing guy and his humor is one of the many facets he brings to out relationship.

Until the next time...

Stairways to somewhere

Stairs haven't been too much of a problem for Bug and myself when we go traveling. What I mean is, we don't let a set of stairs stop us from going places.
Our friend Pansy lived in a great apartment in Portland, but it was on the second floor. That was one long staircase to climb with Bug in my arms. I'd get him to our friend's living-room and settle Bug on the couch. Then I'd bring up his chair and unload the car. After the six hour drive, Bug liked to sit on the comfy sofa for a few minutes.
My son lives with his two Moms in a big two story eighties house. There are some rooms on the ground floor, but all the major rooms are upstairs and this is where the family spends most of their time. Getting to this floor is a pretty long climb for Bug and me.
The first trip we took to San Francisco was to go to Gay Pride in '09. Bug hadn't been to San Francisco before and I hadn't been there for Pride. The parade organizers, years ago, decided to block off the parade route with metal fences that lined Market Street on both sides. This was to protect people from crossing in front of floats. When Bug, our friend and myself arrived to the parade it was wall to wall people. We needed to get to the other side which meant crossing under the street where the subway station was. There was an elevator but it was on the other side of the metal fences and people. We got to the top of the stairs to the underground where I lifted Bug from his wheelchair and carried him down the flight of stairs. Our friend brought down the wheelchair. On the other side was an escalator going up, so we wheeled Bug and his chair onto it. Not the best way to get him across, but at the time it was the only way.
In fact that trip to San Francisco was difficult many times we used the subway. There were problems with elevators at several of the stops. Whoever designed these stations didn't have wheelchairs in mind. Each station we went to, the elevator was more and more out of the way. I had to push Bug in his chair the whole length of the station to find an elevator tucked behind some barrels, or discarded whatevers. Then when we got to the level we needed it was back tracking down long abandoned hallways to get to street exits.
At one station we made the trek down the platform to the elevator and it was out of service. I asked an attendant what he suggested we do to get to street level. He suggested we get on the train, go back to the previous stop and use the elevator there. We'd have to then walk about two to three blocks back to where we had gotten off the train. It was crazy and I just put Bug's chair on the up escalator. I was not a happy camper.
I've carried Bug up so many sets of stairs I can't even remember all of them. Some times it's just a few steps, five or so. Other times it a whole flight to a second floor. It's not great and does add stress to my body. Bug worries about me when I have to exert myself so much, but we don't let this stop us from visiting friends who may have steps up to their home.
Ideally we'd both love a totally accessible world, but that hasn't happened yet.

Until the next time...

Snowbound

We got a dump of snow a couple days ago and thankfully warm temperatures and rain are quickly washing it away. Snow is not one of Bug's friends. He becomes almost house-bound when the white stuff falls. Most of the time it's turned to slush and washed away as quickly as it comes, but every once and awhile it sticks around. The snow its self isn't the problem, its the fact that this crazy city has no way of clearing it away. Most people don't own a shovel and the main streets are the only ones plowed. Not a good combination for a person in a wheelchair.
The first winter I cared for Bug we had a good snow dump that stuck around for about a week. The snow got shoveled from the sidewalk in front of his building and piled up on the grassy area between the street and the walkway. Bug and I had been out and about and when we returned I parked my car near his home. I got his wheelchair from the back of my car, assembled and hiked up over the mound of accumulated snow onto the dry sidewalk. I got Bug out of the passenger seat and too standing, but I wasn't sure how to get him over the heap of crystallized snow. Bug started to laugh and my grip was slipping. I was trying to turn him, but his feet were caught up on the snow. I think one of shoes even came off. With him laughing and me losing my grip, I started to laugh and all bets were off. I had to lay Bug down on the snow bank. He was shaking with laughter and I was trying to figure out how in the heck I was going to get him to his awaiting wheelchair.
Finally I came to Bug's head and got my arms around his chest under his armpits, then I used his feet dug into the snow like a cantilever and got him to standing. Then I lifted/dragged him to his seat. I was streaming with sweat and Bug's sweat pants were soaked from melting snow. Not one of our more graceful moments.
Once the weather has warmed up Bug will come to my place for visits. I moved to within three blocks or so of Bug's home. I had a very narrow area of choices in his neighbourhood, but cost of rent and proximity were paramount for me.
It's a pretty direct route to my apartment building. Except for two minor obstacles. One being a huge triangle of concrete that blocks the entrance to a street. There is no way over this for Bug and he has to go around which means driving into the middle of the blocked off street. Not the safest.
The other annoyance for Bug is that there are two intersections side by side near my home. The one button he can reach to activate the pedestrian crossing light, but the other one has been placed so high on the post he can't reach up to hit it with his fist. The button is actually chest high on me.
When Bug and I visited Berkeley we noticed that the intersection crosswalk signals had two buttons on each post. One was around tummy height and a second button at ankle height. This is brilliant for folks who don't want to take their grip off their walkers or it would work for Bug who could use the toe of his shoe to activate the crossing signal. We were really impressed by the thoughtfulness put into this design.
When Bug wants to come visit, he calls me and after about five minutes I'll go wait for him at the intersection to push the button. It's fun to watch him wheel down the sidewalk. He doesn't wear shoes when he's home alone; he needs his toes to push the buttons on the remotes for his TV and DVD player. Here he comes maneuvering his chair down the sidewalk, arms flung up for balance and his socked feet pointing forward as if directing where to go.
When he gets to me I tell him looks like an escaped mental patient in his socked feet. He laughs and says he is crazy.
We continue the short distance side by side to the front door of my apartment building.

Until the next time...