A Federalist in the Supreme Court?

Following my comments you will find an article from the AP regarding the seizing of American reporters' materials by federal marshalls at a speech given by Supreme Court Justice Atonin Scalia.

The honorable Antonin Scalia. Oh, what a work is he! This ultra conservative member of our United States Supreme Court is a man whose personl views seem to be reflected consistently in his rulings. Do they also reflect the law? Let me give you some material and ideas to help you decide.

First of all there is a movement amongst many elite lifelong conservatives of our country whom whole heartedly believe that America has been misguided in interpretting our Constitution and Bill of Rights. Their argument put plainly is that the Constituion is meant to reflect only the ideas and ideals of our Founding Fathers, and only within the limited context in which they were originally written and understood. So, despite the two hundred and some year history of our Constitution and Bill of Rights being consistently interpretted by our courts as living documents (this idea of 'living documents' is the most important concept I am presenting to you here) these men and women believe that the only correct way to interpret these fundamental doctrines of our society is to base our current laws upon them in exactly the same way in which Washington, Jefferson, Adams and the other founders of our country understood them and intended them to be understood in the late eighteenth century. In other words Scalia and those who agree with him believe that men and women of the twenty-first century should live with a static and unchanging understanding of our Constitution and Bill of Rights. They want a society which does not allow for any interpretation of the principles of these documents to refect our current society. Rather they prefer that our understanding of these precepts remains inert and unvarying from their assumed intent when they were first written. This is a dangerous and frankly unorthodox approach to how we in America, in fact Western civilzation as a whole, has traditionally viewed and acted upon such documents. Including our Forefathers.

A couple of years ago I ran across an essay about painting in the Age of Enlightenment. It spoke of many things but in particular it focused on how art changed at the time of the American and French Revolutions. Art, which had always reverenced women, had made a substantial and polarizing swing to idolizing men, and in doing so reflected current political thought. It was especially apparent in French art in which men now played the dominant role - you need only view a few of Jacques Louis David's work's to understand that the new classicsm in the arts was all about men. View, for instance, the painting the 'Death of Socrates' and you will see that nobility is found exclusively in masculine prowess and male beauty - and womankind is bequaethed a subservient role or none at all. Our Forefathers viewed this art and understood it's context reflected a societal change. Jefferson in particular collected extensively and brought these paintings and their revolutionary ideas to the young American Republic. The ideals portrayed in the paintings and politics were adopted by America's founders as the model of the perfect classical state, the ideal! And it was a patriarchal society.

Why an art lesson? Well, first of all to remind us that society at the time of Jefferson, the same society which wrote that all men are entitled to freedom of speech, the pursuit of happiness and that all men are created equal was speaking about a very limited group of persons. Whom were they speaking of? White, heterosexual, upper class, eduacated and free men. And of whom were they seeking this freedom and equality from? The authority of the King of England and his Church. Whom was not included? Anyone not fitting the narrow definition and that included: women, Africans, in fact most if not all non-caucasian non-European decendant men, lower economic and social classes, certain religious groups (freedom of religion did not mean freedom to belong politically) and most certainly any man whom could be recognized to deviate from the proscribed morals of the era. So, homosexual men if known, certainly had no vote. But realistically homsexual men were almost completely underground. At this time in history only a few homosexual men, those of the old aristocracy of Europe, ever gave any public credence to their natural sexual orientation. It was a inviting death to acknowledge ones true self, for even if you were above usual legal punishments due to your rank, you were never above assisination. Open homosexuality in Europe was a death certificate.

I point this out because The Honorable Antonin Scalia, in his speech which was recorded by reporters whom were accosted for making those recordings (Scalia has little regard for the Fifth Estate or Freedom of the Press) said this:

"Question comes up: is there a constitutional right to homosexual conduct? Not a hard question for me. It's absolutely clear that nobody ever thought when the Bill of Rights was adopted that it gave a right to homosexual conduct. Homosexual conduct was criminal for 200 years in every state. Easy question."

Well, I vehemently disagree. It is not an easy question for anyone except for those whom would have us at the very least back in the closet without any civil rights, if not more happily eliminated all together. But here's the rub for most of you reading this. Scalia's extremism regarding the Constitution and Bill of Rights will hardly effect just the GLBT community of today. Scalia's belief that our country's most precious records of equality should be intrpretted only within the context of the intent of the original writers of these documents, our Forefathers, means that their view of society, limited by the knowledge of the eigteenth century society in which they lived, would and should be our view today. The Constitution and Bill of Rights, he says, were never intended as 'living documents' capable of expanding their original concept to be relevant with today's society and our understanding of ideas like "all men are created equal" must more or less remain unchanged.

Thankfully, there are many men and women, and this is proved by the tradition of how our courts and legislatures have worked for the last two centuries, whom reject the argument that our Founding Fathers intended for the Constitution and Bill of Rights to be static contracts which encompass only the beliefs and understandings of the time they were written. Instead, we believe these masterful writings were indeed left unrestricted to ensure their growth along with the growth of our fledgling country. Definitions of what 'equality' and 'pursuit of happiness' are deliberately left vague which suports the argument that their authors did indeed understand that our Constitution and Bill of Rights were the framework of our new Democracy and not the entire edifice. Time and again through our history the tradition of being open to ever broader understanding of our treasured ideals has proved their groundwork to be elegant and sound, well capable of supporting the ever branching structure of our Nation's family tree.

Equality has moved forward from our Founding father's narrow definition. It has progressed to understand that the color of one's skin has no bearing whatsoever upon one's ability to think, learn, worship or lead. And again, with end of segregation, we have conquered obsolete views that one's racial heritage can excude you even in part from participation in our society. Likewise, women have no longer to be at the beck and call nor the mercy of men, either as wife and homemaker or entrepneur and leader. They too have been recognized to be eqaul in all aspects to their male counterparts in our society. And, so it must and will be for gays and lesbians, transgendered and bisexuals. The false inferiority card which we have been dealt in the past will be withdrawn; for gays and lesbians, too, are citizens and must be treated equally in America both today and tomorrow.

Judge Scalia is the worst kind of a bigot. He supports his horrific views by distorting the facts, rewriting history to support his distortions and, I believe, influencing court decisions with his personal moral and religious views. His prejudice and his record of voting will eventually be looked back upon with the same horrorific disbelief with which we view those persons whom voted against integregation, whom supported slavery and whom denied the inherent dignity of women: lack-luster ineffectual zealots. But are Scalia and his ilk yet a danger to the living, breathing, growing documents of our Constitution and our Bill of Rights? Absolutely. This man, and others like him, have been granted incredible power which may be used for good or ill. And so it is up to us, individually and collectively, to use our greatest asset and privelege - our vote - to insure that in future those whom we elect will appoint men and women whom believe as we do. That indeed, ALL men and women (of all ethnic, religious, gender and sexual orientation) are CREATED EQUAL!


Initial Report Backed Seizing Reporters' Tapes Of Scalia Speech To Conservative Christians
by The Associated Press

Posted: June 20, 2007 - 7:00 pm ET

(Hattiesburg, Mississippi) Federal marshals broke no laws when seizing tape recordings from reporters from The Associated Press and the Hattiesburg American during a 2004 speech by Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, an initial agency investigation found.

The marshals service's general counsel "reviewed the allegations and determined that there were no violations of the laws," according to a summary report of the April 2004 investigation, according to the Hattiesburg newspaper.

Later that year, the Marshals Service acknowledged in a lawsuit settlement that it violated the federal Privacy Protection Act, which protects journalists from having their work product seized by the government.

The conflict began in April 2004 when a deputy marshal demanded that the two reporters erase recordings of Scalia's remarks at Presbyterian Christian School.

In one portion of the speech to law students at the university Scalia brought up the issue of homosexuality. (story)

"Question comes up: is there a constitutional right to homosexual conduct? Not a hard question for me. It's absolutely clear that nobody ever thought when the Bill of Rights was adopted that it gave a right to homosexual conduct. Homosexual conduct was criminal for 200 years in every state. Easy question."

The reporters had not been told before the speech that they could not use tape recorders, and their news organizations sued the agency.

The lawsuit ended in September 2004 with the Marshals Service acknowledging the law violation and saying it had created new procedures for working with the media. Under the new policy, marshals have "no role or responsibility regarding photography, audiotaping and videotaping at such events except when the personal security and safety of the federal judicial officer is believed to be in jeopardy."

The newspaper had requested the investigation report and other documents in 2004 under the Freedom of Information Act, but the Marshals Service had refused. The Justice Department ordered the papers released last month.

Leonard Van Slyke, the newspaper's attorney, said the documents don't say whether disciplinary action was taken in the case.

"I would have expected there to be some kind of disciplinary action taken against the marshal or her supervisor because they failed to understand their duty," Van Slyke said.

During Scalia's speech, the deputy marshal, Melanie Rube, took a digital recorder from AP reporter Denise Grones when Grones resisted her demand to erase recordings of the justice's remarks. Grones then showed her how to erase the recording. Hattiesburg American reporter Antoinette Konz then surrendered her tape and, after the speech, got it back only after erasing it in front of the marshal.

The marshal said she acted at the direction of Scalia.

The exchange occurred in the front row of the school auditorium while Scalia spoke on the Constitution. Scalia later apologized and said he would make it clear in the future that recording his remarks for the use of the print media would not be a problem.

Also among the documents are copies of apologies that Scalia sent to Konz and Grones.

The release of the documents is a victory for the newspaper and the public, Van Slyke said.

"I think it's important that the record be complete and the public have access to what actually happened and the statements people made," Van Slyke said.

©365Gay.com 2007

of Sinners, Faith and Forgiveness

I was praying today for guidance, and especially for Mark, who is at present attempting to have Anna and her husband reimburse us for the expense of our moving, as was promised almost two years ago as an enticement for Mark to take this job in New York City. I've had no little concern for this, as many of you know, for all of the tangible assets we own are still at risk of loss, sitting in a warehouse and potentially rotting in Los Angeles. While they represent our memories, as well as our few assets, even should they have to be sold for us to live, we need at least to have them made available, and in reasonable condition, for us to do so.

While praying I also asked Our Lord for some comfort regarding my upcoming surgery, for which I cannot receive prior to its implentation the Sacrament of the Sick, not knowing any clergy here who may not ask me to revoke my belief in my marriage before administering me the blessing. Despite many whom believe as I do within the Church, the current hostility towards gay Catholics and Gay clergy, even to interferrence with our civil rights (once forbidden by the very Church now practicing it so strongly) makes finding a confessor and spiritual director almost impossible without an introduction.

I use the Jerusalem Bible as my translation of choice for Holy Scripture. The accuracy of the passages is by far the most reliable available, for the text is translated directly from the original Hebrew and Greek texts, not from one of the many translations made centuries after the events. The scripture fell open to the Introduction to St. Paul and I chose to read. Knowing Jesus as I do, I believed that there was a message even in the introduction for me - and it is so beautiful that I wanted to share it with you.

"The danger at Colossae {they are speaking about heresy in referencing "danger"} was due to the basically Jewish (Col. 2:16) speculations they had taken up about the celestial or cosmic powers. These were the powers thought to be responsible for the regular movement of the cosmos, and the speculations about them, much influenced by Hellenistic philosophy, attached an importance to these powers that threatened the supremacy of Christ. Paul accepts these cosmological premisses and, far from expressing any doubts about these powers, he associates them with the angels of Jewish tradition, 2:15; all he is concerned about is to show their subordinate place in the scheme of salvation. Their task had been to 'mediate' the Law, and to administer it and that is now accomplished: Christo Kyrios, Christ the Lord, has established a new order of things and he now governs the cosmos. Raised up to heaven he is above all the cosmic powers and has stripped them of their ancient dignities, 2:15. Because he is the Son, the Father's image, he was their lord already when the world was made; now in the new creation he is their confirmed and absolute master, for gather into him is the pleroma, the fullness of Being, that is to say the fulness of both God and all that exists through Gods creative power. 1:13-20."

Why are we still fighting about science and what the Bible says! We're told right here not to do that very thing. While this is the intoduction it is simply describing and explaining the many letters Paul wrote to various Christian sects scattered throughout Roman cities. This passage comforted me on two levels. First, Paul, formerly Saul, was a Roman. I wish he'd kept his name, Saul - so much more elegany and masculine! But, I sidetrack us. Paul understood implicitly the culture to which he was speaking becuase it was his culture and he did not 'dilly daly' about the details - neither how the cosmos moved, (nor the number of angels on a pin head, as I think of it) - but quite simply writing that it didn't matter anymore whatsoever how the cosmos moved because God already has ALL of it covered. We can learn, then, that whether the world was created through natural selection as Darwin suggests or in the seven days of Genesis, it is God whom is responsible. Whatever our human understanding is, and we have been shown by history time and time again how limited our vision, our fullness of understanding, truly is, God already knows all sides and has incorporated them all into his Being. (Wow! What a relief this would have been to Galileo if this Jerusalem Bible translation and notes had been available, he might have kept his thumb and been able to publish.)

Also, Paul, as a Roman, knew all the political games. I think it's Jesus suggesting I ask, and I have, Saint Paul's intercession in understanding the political games of the Church today. It hasn't quite struck me from my seat in a lighting bolt just yet, but it is a little comfort. God has already seen and known and understood this, the persecution of his Gay sons and daughters, even by his Church, and will show his justification for us and to us.

I have also been frightened of the upcoming minor surgery because I'm unable to confess and have the blessing of the sick - and so what I know is also being said here on a personal level to me is that Jesus, and God his Father, already know my heart and have taken all this into consideration. I need not fear, either for myself, or for Mark and Joy, even should anything happen to me.

I also went on to read in Romans as my curiosity was peaked, and I read from 3:25-31, 4:1-18. Wow, again. Jesus is granting me so much comfort I hardly dare share it with you! I hope you will read it and if possible choose the J.B. translation, as it is the most accurate translation of the ancient texts. (It's imprimatur and nihil obstat are quite clearly printed following the title page, should this concern anyone reading whom is Catholic.)

Paul is speaking to the sect in Rome about the faith of men. He uses Abraham as the example, for he says this is whom we're all descended from, and it is oh so very comforting. He reiterates that scripture says:

"Abraham put his faith in God, and this faith was considered as justifying him. If a man has work to show, his wages are not considered as a favour, but as his due: {I'm directly consoled, and even teased a bit, about Mark's situation here! I could hug both Paul and Jesus for this bit of hope and humor!} but when a man has nothing to show except faith in the one who justifies sinners, then his faith is considered as justifying him."

This is the embrace of a Creator whom deeply loves me, us; despite sins and failures. He squeezes us all tightly, as a parent its children, brushes away tears and holds us all to remind us and take away our fear that by not always fulfilling the Law as others say it is required, God still knows our hearts and our faith and accepts these without reservation. The only proviso being our faith is genuine.

Paul writes further:

"Not justified by the Law."

"The promise of inheriting the world was not made to Abraham and his descendants on account of any law but on account of of the righteousness which consists in faith. If the world is only to be inherited by those who submit to the Law, then faith is pointless and the promise worth nothing. Law involves the possibility of punishment for breaking the law - only where there is no law can that be avoided.* That is why what fulfills the promise depends on faith, so that it may be a free gift and available to all of Abraham's descendants, not only those who belong to the Law but also those who belong to the faith of Abraham who is the father of all of us."

"...Punishment for breaking the law - only where there is no law that can be avoided!" This is what I have been trying to say all along, and for which and why satan was and is, if I may be blunt, hell bent, to cause me to doubt my own faith, the faith taught me by the Church: that in a matter of personal conscience I am free to follow my conscience. My faith that I am acting morally and as a righteous man in my commitment to my marriage to Mark is justified; the law cannot exist, the law cannot exist, which can be more important than my faith; my faith is the right and holy act I believe it to be. My faith that Mark acts nobly within the guidelines of his own faith, which is different from mine on many points is insignificant (i.e. angels on pin heads!); for here his faith is clearly established as being just as valid and genuine, perhaps more so, than mine: for it is far more childlike, and therefore pleasing, to our Father, if we are to listen to the words Jesus spoke elsewhere in the NT. Mark just believes in his redemption, and did not need to have Paul or Jesus confirm for him that he is loved and saved in any scripture passage today. And so it is with our daughter, too. It is enough now that I know that I and her Dad showed her Jesus is her saviour, she will find her footing with him, too. I have not failed her in this matter.

It also says in scripture: "...faith, hope and charity, and the greatest of these is love." It is an amazing thing to be freed of death, not only because of God's love, but because of my hope, my faith. I ask God to never allow me to doubt my faith.

Now, if my faith were only the size of a mustard seed, which apparently it's not and still needs to grow quite a bit to reach even such a large diameter as this, than I know we will be safe with Jesus, my Lord, no matter what. Even if we do not get our things back. And even if that will be very difficult on me. But for now I choose to believe that Paul is reminding me that Jesus will not leave me or my precious Mark without the means to create a livelihood for our family - and that certainly includes Mark being reimbursed for the nearly two years of hard work in which he has been greatly cheated of his full due.

Jesus, as with the movement of the cosmos that so concerned the Colossians, has seen and understood and brought us fully into his Being: our little problems are watched over and so many blessings are given. I have received in my long marriage to Mark the great blessing of not being alone all these years, as i had expected, but of being given a family - and of being loved by a man who knows all my faults and takes a chance on me anyway. If mark is capable of so much for me, than to paraphrase, how much more must God.

* Lit. 'For law brings anger whereas (var. 'for') where there is no law there is no lawlessness either'

Warm Blue Bellies

This afternoon I returned home rather tired and cold, and earlier, I think, than the cats expected me; for they were curled up in separate spots sleeping and did not make their usual leap for the door when I came through. So, I thought, we shall not fight this groggy, cold nap which is creeping over me, too, even while still bundled in my overcoat and carrying case. Athenais and Bouvier greeted me sleepily and then, Miss A., in all her demure charm, allowed me the pleasure of holding her upside down and nuzzling her nose and face with my nose and whiskers. She purred - a very good sign for nappers like us - and so I set her on the bed where she curled up and returned to her garden of dreams.

Greeting Beau Beau with a scratch on his strong brow and along the scent glands each side of his mouth, I removed my coat and case and put on a 'sleepy' tee shirt, dragged the phone into the bedroom and climbed in next to m Miss A. and called M. Bouvier, who soon joined us; and at last we all napped. Or at least they did, for every time I began to doze the phone would ring again. At last, unable to drift off, I put out a hand to each of my precious little charges, sleeping in blue balls of fur side by side, and gently, ever so tenderly, stroked their fur and slipped my hands into the warmth of their bellies. They curled more deeply about my hands and for a few minutes we three were as one and I felt as if I were a cat myself, with the most precious of kittens in my care.

As I searched their faces with my eyes I saw them each as they once were, so small and infinitely tiny, babies with only one need, to be nursed and loved; loved with a rough tongue wash and a teat full of warm milk. And the warmth of it all was gentle and lovely and good and touched my heart; and I knew there is a God, a Creator and a Lover of such magnificent generosity that He could give to me such wealth.

It is a marvelous responsibility to Love; yet for every moment of tenderness there will be a heart-ache that will rip the soul from it's very tabernacle. It is only these small glimpses, the feeling of a heart's beat, the breath of little blue cats, hands held tenderly against each warm belly and a little head resting near to my own face, that remind me of the worth of the pain.

Zoo-ology!

We won't die secret deaths anymore!

The Light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it...

in the Heat of the Night

My dearest, sweetest Athenais is in 'heat', or more correctly, estrus. I just grieve for her discomfort. She first becomes rather affectionate, and then begins pacing, and bleating. It is not a 'meow', nor is it it a hiss or snarl, it is, like a sheep, a bleat. If you or I were to say 'hmm' and add a slight clearing of the throat to it, that would be close, but not the sound exactly. There is no sound that is like it, exactly. I believe even amongst cats, no one cries in estrus quite like our dear Athenais Sophie!

I cannot imagine what her tiny body is going through - it wants to make babies, of course. Everything in Athenais' tiny wee body is crying out to perform its natural duty of reproduction. She wants to mate, not for the enjoyment of love making, but because her core being, down to her very molecules, is crying out to reproduce offspring, to perpetuate here gene pool, to give the world more kittens!

I will say that Miss Athenais would make a magnificent mother. Should she have a litter, she would do everything to make certain each little blind ball of scarcely any fur was fed her warm rich milk from her swollen teats, and each then licked and washed to a fare-the-well before curling about her wee charges and sleeping as they slept with her. If one should stir or cry, she would nuzzle the bambino, two or three good swipes of her corse tongue, and push it towards a milk engorged nipple; or let it fall back asleep with it's siblings.

This is the mother my dearest Athenais would make, and somehow, despite the agreement I've signed and the knowledge of countless unwanted kittens who shall never have homes, when I hear my dearest litter girl bleat for her children to be I want nothing more than to rush out and find her a sire.

I will not of course. I will keep my agreements, and as soon as finances permit, I will have my darling Athenais spade. Some fewer kittens will come into an unwelcoming world - and that is a good thing.

But someday, in our life after together, we will do things naturally, and my sweet natured, energetic and life bursting-out-of-her darling Athenais will have the chance to give birth and nurture as she was intended by God's grace to do...

Until then, Athenais and I will bear what we must, together, until this estrus has passed!

of Angels and Men in the Snow

There was magic everywhere. I simply do not have any other description for the experience. Mark and I, with some determination, because we are still not used to the cold, and the slippery conditions made the possibility of a fall and a secondary back injury all the more likely; nevertheless, we went only forward. Leaving the car parked on Fifth Avenue we ventured across the snow-plowed streets and into the Park. The Park. Central Park. It, I suppose, carries many hundreds of thousands of stories in it's memories; but today it was building new ones for me and for Mark.

There was some disagreement, Mark wanting to stick to what he saw was a cleared path, but which limited severely what we'd be able to see, to take in, and I do mean 'take in', because it quickly became about bringing the beauty of the snow covered lawns and buildings into our spiritual beings.

Mark and I climbed a short walk from the car drive near 72ndStreet and came across a great snow covered lawn. Off to one side stood a lovely old red brick building, it's slate roof steeply pitched and bereft of snow at all but the edges, its painted white wooden door and window frames gleaming, providing in the quintessential New England picture. We trudged forward across the new snow, leaving our unfortunate foot marks to spoil the smooth even coat of powdery white crystal ice. And then, for me, it happened. Joy! Just incredible joy! I laughed out loud for the first time, I think, in years, with utter and complete elation; and throwing my arms in the air I ran to Mark and swung my arms about him and gave him a big smacker, right on the mouth! "Darling, this is wonderful!" And waving my arms about, rather like the silly robot on 'Lost in Space' I imagine, I ran forward, snapping pictures, and truly happy, left all cares behind me, at least for a little time..



Ahead of us was the dome of a lovely building. Rising from lower ground than where we stood, it was the dome of the building which we saw best, rising above a long wooden arbor, covered with the twisted, dark trunks of winter's sleeping wisteria. How lovely, the deep dark mysterious branches against the purity of the fallen dusty snow.

Mark called me from the far right end of the arbor, where he had found for us a descent upon ice and snow covered stairs. We both, stepping sideways, and holdingthe old iron and wood rail, managed our way down. No falls! At the bottom we found that our domed building was in fact the back of the Concert Shell, and we paused to take in it's Beaux Arts Neo-classical beauty - then off I ran after Mark, who was cold, and wanting to keep moving, had trotted onwards towards the Bethesda Terrace. Mark had already reached the bottom of the staircase there, and was wandering through the passage, looking upwards all the while, at the newly restored Minton Tile ceiling, when at last I reached him again.

The bright and garish colored tiles are set against the somber brown stone of the terrace's walls and arches. But, as we walkedthrough the dark covered passage, one lost interest in the tiles as the excitement rose, from my heart to my head, pounding, it rose; for as you came to the second set of arches you sucked in your breath as the great water-works came into view, with the mighty angel, Bethesda, crowning the top of the lofty fountain. One could only pause, if one had any sense of beauty, and stare. She, Bethesda, let you know she was waiting there - for you.

The huge bronze and blue stone fountain stands some twenty odd feet or better above you, and Bethesda, herself, stands, wings spread wide as if just that very second she'd alighted, upon the top, holding her staff of lilies; and with a most gentle gesture of her other open hand she beckons us forward. So, forward we came. Where we had stood shoulder to shoulder and arm in arm beneath the brownstone arch, we let slip slowly our grasp, like rolled sleeves loosed and falling, down to our hands and then, gently, fingers parted as we both were drawn without hesitation to our Angel.

She is our angel, you know; she may have once been here to beckon the survivors of the Civil War of this Country, calling those battle weary and broken souls to her healing waters. She surely beckoned those lonely men toward her then as gently and surely as she now, today, calls to me and to my Mark. She is ours now; she is now, for this time, the Angel of AIDS, the Angel of Hope. Hope pushing through the despair, as Tony Kushner wrote: "This disease will be the end of many of us, but not nearly all, and the dead will be commemorated and will struggle on with the living." And, I knew at that moment we were far from alone on the icy cold snow covered plaza, me with my dearest Mark. No, with us all about us were the hundreds of thousands of the lost, all gathered again, hand in hand with us, looking to Bethesda for comfort and for news of God... and it was a moment of utter peace, joy, despair, tears, abandonment and longing. Every emotion I've ever felt in my dark lonely trip with my companion spectre, AIDS, was suddenly filling me, and it was then, without doubt, that Bethesda turned to me and smiling, said, LIVE! I couldn't hear her, and I did not see her lips move, but I was sure of understanding: I felt deeply in my soul the Word. I knew, it was a call to life, a CALL to LIVE. To go on, and to BE GLAD, really glad, for each and every day I, we, still have to swallow cold snowy air in this great hapless city, hanging to the edge of a continent spinning around in space on this little planet, Earth.

And, so, I shook and loosed my grasp of my spectre, and I loosed the grasp of all my brothers who had gone before, and that was hard to do and it hurt, to lose them again; and as the great plaza cleared of the ghosts of the past I stood again presently and present with, Mark, and a few others tha were there hapenstance with us, bundled in brightly colored wraps. And Mark, who was feeling deeply the cold was suddenly hurrying away. My heart was torn, I wanted to stay, to call back my friends, my brothers lost to AIDS who were going, and weeping, tell my story of pain; but Bethesda, well, she laughed. I heard a clear strong bell, pealing out, like laughter. I know I did. Looking up Bethesda smiled, it seemed, to me, and in my heart I heard her: "Love! Love, now! Love him, Love Mark. Don't linger, Donnie, amongst the shadows here...."

I took a huge deep breath of crisp frozen air and scaning the hillside with my damp eyes, saw him, saw my Mark, climbing the path to the hill top. He was cold and alone and I wanted to be with him, to hold him and warm him. After him I chased, my camera still snapping photos along the way; but at last I reached him, sitting in the running car, old George we call it, trying to warm his hands. I took his hands, his beautiful hands, which have touched me for so many years, and I gently rubbed them to make the circulation warm him. And I remembered his hands, his hands of years, his hands which touch my body in intimate places when we make love. Touch me to scratch the unreachable itches!. Touch me, as his hands and arms embrace me when I'm filled with sorrow and cry. And, in a moment I saw how important and beautiful Mark's hands are, the hands he's given to me, to hold, to carry his ring, to grasp when we marry; and all that I have ever dreamed of having I suddenly knew I possessed now already. Completely! My great dear handsome Lover, Husband, Friend and the dearest Man ever there was, frail and full of strength, the Man who has given himself to me.

I promised Bethesda, sitting in that car, rubbing his cold fingers, that I will not forget the gift of our snowy day; that I will hold it in my heart always, and more, I will make it an act each day to care for and bless these his hands, this union, this bond, this marriage of Man and Man, of Mark and Me.

"You are fabulous creatures. and I bless you: MORE LIFE!

The great work does indeed begin, now, again, with each one of us. With mark and with Me. Blessings, Bethesda!

Angels in America, a Meditation

by Tony Kushner

THIS DISEASE
WILL BE THE
END OF
MANY OF US,
BUT NOT
NEARLY ALL,

And the dead will be
commemorated and will struggle
on with the living,

AND
WE
ARE
NOT
GOING
AWAY,

We won't die secret deaths

anymore.

The world only
spins forward,

WE WILL BE CITIZENS.
THE TIME HAS COME.

Bye now,

You are fabulous creatures,
and I bless you:

MORE LIFE.

THE
GREAT
WORK
BEGINS!

Artworks:
aaaaaa
Ghosts of Sutro Park, Enhanced Digital Photograph, 2003, D. Larson
aaaaaaaa
Vous has AIDS, Oil on Canvas, 36" x 48", 2001, D. Larson

Bethesda, Angel of the Waters

This is the lovliest area I've seen in New York to date, and will become, is already, where my mind and heart lie and rest in this tumultuous city. It of course holds a special place in my heart as it is the setting for several scenes in Tony Kushner's play; Angles in America. This play has been riveted into my heart and psyche; it is the most beautifully told story of the AIDS epedemic I have ever read or scene enacted. It has several scenes which always make me weep, for those lost to us and for myself, if I'm honest, as so much of the play reflects in every way my life as a gay man who acquires AIDS,

The fountain was designed and sculpted by Emma Stebbins in 1868 and is made of solid bronze set upon a basin and columns of blue stone. It is an ethereal thing to me, despite it's visual (and real) weight, it seems almost to me as though at any moment it might disappear - or at leat Bethesda will suddenly lift herself up and shoot lke a star into the heavens as fast as an arrow on the wing.

Today is the first time I have actually gotten to be with Bethesda, and for about an hour I viewed her from all sides. The weather had turned cold and icy; the rain which swept through earlier seemed to be now falling in the tiniest bits, and was almost frozen, so that when it touched your face it felt as though you had been struck for a moment by a tiny bit of sharpest diamond ice cold and burning hot all at the same instance. That is the spell of her.

Should you visit New York City you must spend some time with Bethesda, she has become more than a statue in a park; she has become a legend. A legend, which may still be seen, and if you have the heart, felt. Deeply felt.



The Official Site for Central Park says this about Bethesda:

"In their 1858 Greensward plan, Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux called the architectural heart of the Park "The Water Terrace," for its placement beside the Lake and the grand fountain in the center. Once the Angel of the Waters fountain was unveiled in 1873, however, the area became forever known as Bethesda Terrace. At the dedication, the artist's brochure quoted the Biblical verse from the Gospel of St. John 5:2-4: "Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called… Bethesda…whoever then first after the troubling of the waters stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had."

Do come and visit her. Bring whatever is magical and spiritual with you for she will find a way then, to speak to your heart!

FROM THE PLAY, the CLOSING VERSES:

"This disease will be the end of many of us, but not nearly all,

And the dead will be commemorated and will struggle on with the living

And WE are NOT going away,

We won't die secret deaths anymore,

The world only spins forward.

WE WILL BE CITIZENS>

THE TIME HAS COME.

Bye Now, You are FABULOUS CREATUREs, and I BLESS YOU;

MORE LIFE.

THE GREAT WORK BEGINS!>

of Presidents and Preachers

I am leaning towards John Edwards as my choice for Presidential candidate for the Democratic Party. Of the major contenders at this point he is the strongest voice against remaining in Iraq, and is opposed to allowing a further escalation of troops. Will he stick to these principals? Only time will tell...

However, I am still unaware of his position regarding same sex marriage. Both Hilary and Osama are opposed - so I am opposed to them; at least until one of them becomes the only choice between a single serving of evil versus a triple decker deluxe order...

An evangelical pastor, the Rev. R. Albert Mohler Jr., has upset both evangelicals and those of us who support GLBT equality in the civic arena. How? He has thrown on the table for the religious right that there may well be genetics involved in whether a person is homosexually orientated - that's a big 'no, no' for those who want to tell us that homosexuality is a choice, and that with enough prayer anyone can be cured. In this respect, Mohler's words are good news to those of us who believe a person's sexuality is indeed biologically based, and not a matter of choice.

However, Mohler, goes on to say that it would be well within a Christian parent's rights, upon discovery that there unborn child has a gay gene, to manipulate the fetus in order to eradicate in the unborn child that which is considered to be morally tainted.

Wow! this is just horrific on so many levels - are we to presume that anyone can isolate the cause of a person's sexuality so precisely that it can be eradicated or changed in vitro? I don't think so. So, the Christian right begins thoughts of 'playing God' with unborn children! If there was ever any doubt that the movement of the so called 'faith based communities' to change homosexuals was NOT based only in a blind rage to continue presenting the world it's own myopic view... well, your doubts should be put to rest. They are so anxious to prevent us being around that they'll experiment with fetuses! Good going, Dr. Mohler, another shining example of God's love expressed through His flock! NOT!

God gave me my sexuality as a gift - as surely as He gave my parents theirs. It is my individual right to decide how God wishes me to use that gift... and it is my burden to face Him at the end of my life with the fruits (no pun is intended!) of my labor, good or bad.

Methinks that it is time for a great number of 'holy' people to go back to their scripture basics, something about removing a log from their own eye before the splinter in mine... yes?

YOU! F#@@*T!

"...tolerance is just one degree lighter than intolerance."

The above quote of Rupert Everett's does rather make the point. The whole idea of being 'tolerated' is hardly akin to being anything like loved and wanted, or held in esteem and with pride. The idea that as gay and lesbians we should settle for 'tolerance' when it comes to citizenship is ludicrous. It clearly establishes a second class status, which when wants a home or a job or to marry just won't 'do'. Whether one likes homosexuality or not is not the point; when you are designated 'second class' it's OK for those designated as 'first class' people, those who think they are "first class", like Ann Coulter, to call whomever they please a 'f-----t'. Not acceptable in my book. The only one who gets to call me by that word is me, as a way to 'own' this derogatory and negative concept. I used to think it was OK to use it amongst a group of gay men, jokingly, but I think considering the current climate of inclusion (none) that it isn't; and that as a group, we homosexual gentlemen need to make it clear that you - and you, and you, and you - cannot call us names, and especially not this particularly offensive word.

Words can never hurt me is such a childish untruth - though the reply to verbal taunts is of course to pretend - PRETEND - they have no effect; but frankly, I remember being called nasty names eluding to my sexuality quite clearly: each instance from grade-school on is etched like laser monograming in my memory. Words do hurt. They do injure. They cause harm. My word! If they didn't, pundits like Coulter would be out of a job!

I CAN take a ribbing. I can laugh at gay jokes and be amused by depictions of gay men in all our foibles and stereotypes. We need to be able to laugh at ourselves, to take a joke with good humor and to not take offense where none is given. But, whoa, when offensive is not only given, but delivered with a good couple of sharp, hard twists of the knife, well, then we had all better stand up, be counted and shout loudly: "NO WAY"!

Coulter calling John Edward's a f-----t, presumably because of his statement saying that "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is antiquated and harmful,( not only to gays and lesbians wishing to serve, but to our country in need of those who WANT to serve ), is one of those attacks which must get a "No Way!" from all of us: Gay and Straight, Democrat and Republican. Why? Because it damages ALL of US.

This is an attack which is multi-barbed deliberately to injure as many people as possible simply to please a core of frustrated, angry bigots who must hate to enjoy living. Coulter can pander to these people as much as she wants, and I can assure you she will continue to do so. (I don't think she has the capacity to either learn about or understand anyone with whom she disagrees; not anymore, and that is a sad thing for her. Really.)

But, while I can write in this blog that I disagree with Coulter, that I don't think much of her misuse of whatever education she has achieved and even that I actually feel a strong dislike for the woman, despite the fact I know her only from her political jargon; well, it is very, very different than calling her, say: a vile, man-eating little C*#T. (I typed it out, and realized I couldn't leave it in print - I guess Ms. Coulter will relish what she'll mistake in me as the ineffectual musings of a F#GG*T). I can't call her THAT and remain a fully vested human being.

If I'd left it there to read who would have been injured? Coulter? Hardly! ( And I can tell you she hates that word in the way every woman hates it, and maybe more so because... because she will see an element of ownership in that description. ) If it were even so simple as my calling her that name where only she could hear it, doing so would injure gravely. I honestly would have a difficult time not saying it to her, but if I did, if I did such a low, miserly, nasty thing I would regret having done so, even to the She-Devil. But more than that, the word injures all women, demoralizes and strips women of their dignity and equality - and that's why using it against Ms. Coulter, however tempting, isn't worth it. Because, even she, Ms. Coulter, is created in the image of our Creator, and so deserves, despite all her profoundly immoral words and actions, to be seen as a human being and of value.

Your opponent has value. To God. To a husband or a wife. To a son or a father. Value. And that is why using words like 'F#@@*T'or N#@@%R or K#@E or C*#T is hateful, is harmful and is without any doubt, completely unacceptable in the language of our political speak. They are not 'jokes' or 'humorous', they are vile and dehumanizing.

If we fail to see what is human, even in our enemy, than we fail to be human. And, well, I don't need to expound on what happens when a group of us stops being human, but I'll throw out a few words:

"Guantánamo" "Serbia" "Auschwitz" "Dachau" "Rwanda" "Chechnya" "Bosnia" "Darfur"and it goes on and on: will Ms Coulter and her ilk be responsible for the list coming to include "America"?

Yes.

And we will also be responsible. Responsible for allowing her, and those like her, to go unchallenged. There are no words which cannot be given the power to injure mortally and destroy utterly. And Ms. Coulter is awfully proud of the ones she uses to do just that. Let's remind her we don't like it: "NO WAY!"

Padre Pio's Prayer

Stay with me, Jesus, for it is getting late and the day is coming to a close, and life passes, death, judgement, eternity approaches. It is necessary to renew my strength, so that I will not stop along the way and for that, I need You. It is getting late and death approaches. I fear the darkness, the temptations, the dryness, the cross, the sorrows. O how I need You, my Jesus, in this night of exile!

the Catchers of Birds and Mice and Hearts

So, they are here, with me, these dainty darling furry creatures, chasing colored feathers on a stick and green foam balls across the hardwood floors; with golden eyes they watch me, my every move observed, waiting should I cast a toy or wave the feathers for them to chase and pounce and kill! At night, beside me, they lay curled in balls of blue; dreaming of chasing flittering birds and catching small soft juicy mice, and they are happy and content, except when dinner is wanted! Then they ponder my every move, and study every motion of my hands, my feet, my eyes - and when I speak they lean in to see if it will be to them, to say to them, Babies! Darlings! Are you hungry now?! Do you want your mousey now? And, without a sound, they know and follow me to the cabinet where lays the storied cans of mouse, all yummy, wet and good, and when they see it, piled upon a plate and lowered to the floor where they shall eat, they are simply, deeply happy. But better yet for me they come afterwards to wash and curl and nap with me, my darling catchers of birds and mice, of foam and feathers, of hearts and minds and souls and dreams!

Sage & Roses

The velvet padded leaves of sage last longest of all the herbs with a little care in the ice box; and hung upside down with roses in the air, dry beautifully. My dear friend, Julia, has blessed my home with sage, wrapped and dried, and then lighted, wafted about the wisps of scented smoke to perfume and purify our house in Amsterdam. Not having a priest handy for a blessing, it was a beautiful ritual which Julia borrowed from Native Americans, as a way to clear the space of negative spirits and influences. Since then, I often keep dried sage nearby, to remind me of Julia and her gentleness, along with roses, to remind me of her sweetness and laughter and humor. All of which I believe no doubt has had as much influence on dispelling evil from my home, and anywhere she graces with her presence, as the ritual of the sage.

MORTE

When do we begin to die? A scientist will perhaps say it is the moment we are conceived that life begins inevitably to ebb from us. A priest may say it is when we ignore God. A doctor when the brain no longer functions. But I think it is more personal than any of these; death begins when we no longer hold a willingness to survive. And, that, despite rumors to the contrary, is not a place as easily reached as many believe.

It is a mysterious prosepct, this holding on and not letting go. Fingers must be pried from the sill. However much one may wish to die, what one is more likely to be saying is that one desperately wishes that life's present circumstances will change. It is only when we throttle all hope of the present becoming the past that we finally do concede, some place deep in our souls, that it would be better to be gone from the suffering we endure.

Sometimes, we reach this dark abode in transit, and it is then that a soul must not tarry. Swiftly, choose to move! Nearly anything will do. Even taking a shower may save one from the utter hopelessness of it all. Just stand, disrobe and step into the streaming water and wash away the moments death.

Threshold of Revelation

Sitting in the blue light of the rainy morning with windows open I am quick again; in the cold wetted dawn is revival.
Crisp somehow.
Unmarked somehow.
It lets one breathe again a little while, before cool wettish fingers will oblige the window close, before the light broadens too greatly, before the blue is gone and the morning is just grey and wet;
For a few moments all is peace and still and good and you can smell the dew and the damp blooming.

The Great Work Begins

I wonder down here on the ground so far from the stars and so far from where the Universe is apparently expanding this very moment effortlessly, what I was born for, for what do I live and of what shall I become when only my thought remains? Will I cherish and hold onto all this suffering? I wonder when I lie in bed and cannot scratch my back what it will be like when I can do nothing but think, and watch as my body decays? Will my mind be fluid and effortless and expansive as the Universe? Will I be free and traveling without fear or care, in hand with a Creator and a God I have sought for so long? Or will I be what I fear most? A small, infinitesimally small mind, grown stale and rank feeding on it's own fear and self-loathing until nothing is left of love? Is that not then, Hell, to have lived and learned nothing of what it means to be great and broad and full of possibility? If this is to be my fate, that I should bind myself to such a Hell and to such an end, instead of pressing always to the new beginning, then let it be said again as it was said before: better had I never been born! If I have nought the courage to wrestle my Angel than better far be it had I never been born. So, God, where are you? Creator, where? Will you reach out and take my hand and run with me through the starry sky, keeping pace with my thousand thoughts a second as crashing and exploding the Universe and We keep rushing ever forwards? Or will I leave you, let go your grasp and leave myself spinning only slowly around and round on this one small world in one small galaxy in my one small mind, rotting in my one small body, writhing and scratching, and wondering why?

Surely, I was never given a mind to destroy itself with such doubt and self loathing, nor a heart to rake only with fear, nor a soul to damn for all eternity? Surely, I was given such gifts to brazenly stoke the Fire and catch the flying embers, every one, with the grasp of these small pale hands of bone and flesh, and with these eyes of temporary sight, and with this lesser mind of men; I am still to count and value and hold each firey end so that it ends not, but travels faster than I can see, laughing, to You.

______________________________________________________

If there is a bedrock principle of the First Amendment, it is that the government may not prohibit the expression of an idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or disagreeable.
—Justice William J. Brennan

Unjust laws exist; shall we be content to obey them, or shall we endeavor to amend them, and obey them until we have succeeded, or shall we transgress them at once? Men generally, under such a government as this, think that they ought to wait until they have persuaded the majority to alter them. They think that, if they should resist, the remedy would be worse than the evil. But it is the fault of the government itself that the remedy /is/ worse than the evil. /It/ makes it worse. Why is it not more apt to anticipate and provide for reform? Why does it not cherish its wise minority? Why does it cry and resist before it is hurt? Why does it not encourage its citizens to be on the alert to point out its faults, and /do/ better than it would have them? Why does it always crucify Christ, and excommunicate Copernicus and Luther, and pronounce Washington and Franklin rebels?

-- Henry David Thoreau, On the Duty of Civil Disobedience

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to manifest the Glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own Light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

-- Neslon Mandela

A schoolmaster will prefer to have a couple of dumbheads in his class than a single genius, and if you regard it objectively, he is of course right. His task is not to produce extravagant intellects but good Latinists, arithmeticians, and sober, decent folk... As their personalities develop, they create their art in spite of school. Once dead, and enveloped by the comfortable nimbus of remoteness, they are paraded by the schoolmasters before other generations of students as showpieces and noble examples. Thus the struggle between rule and spirit repeats itself year after year from school to school. The authorities go to infinite pains to nip the few profound or more valuable intellects in the bud. And time and again the ones who are detested by their teachers and frequently punished, the runaways and those expelled, are the ones who afterwards add to society's treasure. But some--and who knows how many?--waste away with quiet obstinacy and finally go under.

-- Herman Hesse, "Under the Wheel"

Lint Rollers in the Morning

As I was dressing this morning, waiting on Mark to finish his 'toilette' to venture forth for coffee, I realized I needed to remove a sizable amount of Bo Bo's and Athenais' fur from my sweater. They enjoy, indeed insist upon, leaving ample amounts of themselves about, in order to be better remembered when Mark and I are away from home! Knowing that I would not be able to fully de-shed myself I nevertheless found the lint brush, a silly devise of masking tape on a peal-away roller, and proceeded to roll it about myself. (The disconcerting part of this process is to feel the way the roller follows the rolls of my chest and abdomen. The 'hard body' which I worked so hard to get for almost two years, is in a general recession!) It is discouraging. Just as I was about finished, and was looking myself over for the stray bit of fur, I noticed in the mirror that I had an accumulation of fur and lint on my head. Now, as I have little hair, I debated for a moment as to whether the additional material 'suited' me or not. Yikes! How desperate am I becoming - with a quick flick of the wrist and the ol' masking tape roll, I rolled it over my head and removed the offending additions. Now, tell me, have I found a new market for the tool? Should I promote it, or rather develop an offshoot device, especially for balding men? If they can sell spray on hair, I say, why not?!

SMOKE

D. Larson, 2 Self-Portraits, Enhanced Digital Photographs, 2007

NaNouk from Frozen North!

D. Larson, 3 Self-Portraits, Digital Photographs, 2007

'Paris'

'Paris'. Neoclassical Marble, 18th Century Italian, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

The Truthes of Women Versus Men

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, first line

I adore Jane Austen's work, and I acknowledge that the social constraints of early nineteenth century England and those of the West today will allow for a broad discrepancy of opinion regarding her beliefs as put to paper. Yet, even in the early eighteen hundred's Austen surely new that her opening line (above) to Pride & Prejudice would be met with raucous laughter by most men and the enthusiastic, if inaccurate, affirmation of her primary audience: women.

I have many fine friends who are women. (and Black and Gay and et-cetera - yes that's the deliberate barb I'm making) I hold nothing against them, they are after all more than one half the world's populace. Yet, the woman who believes that the first thing a man needs, even one of highly moral attributes, is a wife, is a laughable creature. I would in particular point out that a man of fortune, whether two hundred years ago or yesterday, is highly unlikely to "want" (in either definition of the word) marriage. Not before some expenditures which have little to do with hearth and home!

It is, therefore, humorous to find so many women opposed to same sex marriage. The promotion of marriage between any two persons supports marriage as a viable social contract which, with it's financial and emotional benefits particularly advantageous (especially and traditionally) for women, is seemingly a rather important endorsement for the struggling institution.

I have pondered then, longer than it is surely worth, why so many women are so extremely hostile to same sex marriage, especially between men. (The omnipotent hatred directed at me when the subject has arisen is frightening!) My conclusions are hardly scientific, and are also less than kind, be warned; yet, being formed more or less directly from Austen's own statement they do bear a certain weight of authenticity. Money. It is MONEY. Women loathe that any man, let alone two, should possess a fortune which could certainly be comprehensively allocated to women through marriage. Austen's very premise suggests that it is the money, not the man, which is foremost of importance. Further, by suggesting it is the men who need the marriage, women, who may not be overly enamored of the bearer of the wealth, eliminate their plight of seeming to be, uh-mm, grasping!

There are women in my acquaintance whom have never fallen into this less than attractive portrait of the 'fairer' sex. They will know whom they are! Yet, the majority of women I have met and known still speak of finding a man to marry for the sake of security primarily; even joking that their second marriage may then be for love. (And more money...)

Seemingly, it is not only women of wifely intent whom are prone to the belief that a man needs relieving of his fortunes. I've found that women with alternate relationships to these men also believe that his money should not leave them unattended! I suppose, as financial security is a worthwhile goal, that much may be forgiven seeking it out wherever it may be found. It is the commonly indiscreet acknowledgment by these creatures that the gentleman in question has no importance to them other than for their profit which is painful. Additionally, it is most horrifically brutal when the woman is by birth or court papers related to the poor fellow!

As an anecdote let me present to you 'YC'. The crowning achievement of this woman was her dogged determination to follow for years her former spouse, 'N', and his male partner, 'W'. Hugely resenting his leaving her for another, (and a man at that!), and using guilt over the child of their former union as her primary weapon of extortion, 'YC' soaked 'N' for thousands. It began in a flourish when, arriving for a 'visit', she appeared in the morning in a flowing pink negligee assuming that her ponderous mammary glands, sprouting forth from the flourecsecent nylon would titillate and entice. The desired impact not effectively achieved, ('N' really preferred a rather different set of globes belonging to the new spouse, 'W'.) she eventually flung herself to the floor, writhing in a magnificent display of emotional torment, pleading and begging that he come home to her. I don't know for certain, but I believe the first large sum was then paid simply to have the woman clothed, packed and on her way again! Only years later, when the custody of the child was removed as a viable threat, was 'YC' successfully, for the most part, shut out of the checkbook of 'N' and 'W'. Even then, however, using the child to gain empathy and sympathy, 'YC' managed to wring a few thousand dollars more, here and there.

Austen knew the lie of her character's remark, and was as surely amused by the number of her female readers who would assert the 'truth' of her character's supposition. Deliberate and astute in her humor Austen was not the sort of woman of whom here she wrote!

P.S. I note that this behavior is not solely the territory of women. Men, too, gay and straight have been known. I do assert, however, that women hold the gold, shall we say, for this sport!

FIN

I haven't one shred of talent; if I were to even in the farthest reaches of imagination dare to think of drawing a comparison with someone the caliber of a Maria Callas it can only be in the manner of some minutia, a way only of clarifying for the reader some small depth of ones own feeling for the self-importance one granted ones own work. It is to express that whatever talent one has been given, great or small, to lose it, TO LOSE IT, is a genuine 'little death' - and not as the French mean that phrase!

I am watching Fanny Ardant's performance of the great opera diva, Maria Callas, and in a candid scene the Callas character attempts to sing along with her own recording of one of her great arias. Her voice is lost, and she can no longer match herself on the recording. Quite literally all is lost, for nothing which remains has any meaning at that moment to her.

I have no such talent to lose, but I do understand what it is to lose what one does have, however humble it may be; in my instance it is the absence of caring for my family and home. All that I have ever done well has been done for the privilege, the honor and the sheer joy of creating an environment in which my family members might be dazzled or our guests as easily made to feel to be family. A place in which memories and ideals are ever so carefully arranged to be casually found and remembered, for a moment or an hour or a day. Where the sound of birds in the garden is transmuted by the weight of the silk at the windows or the time of day is orchestrated by the scent of oak burning in the fireplace and apples, oranges and cinnamon issuing fragrances reassuringly from the kitchen... You may find, after several hours of hunting, the photo album with your lovers picture or the novel with a special passage. And whilst you search you will be distracted by the forgotten ornament which rolls out of a packing box and which the cat bats across the hardwood floor. Will it shatter and create it's last memory now, for you alone? The drawer stuffed with old tickets to movies and plays and receipts from forgotten bolts of fabric, or the very scrap of material pinned to the tea dyed lace which made your daughter's Christmas dress, and her doll's matching Christmas dress, at age four. And when these things have slipped away, when your fingers can no longer grasp even a broken saucer from your set of china, and the last silver fork has lost its pattern name and is but a phantom in your mind; when nothing of value remains to share because it is gone, even the hearth and home: and when those last memories bind in utter isolation within your decrepit aged body, shuttered in your stench bloated heart and lost in the recesses of what once was likely your very soul, than you can no longer pretend. And when one cannot pretend than, well than, if you are lucky, you weep. And when those tears are gone you, too, will be at last finished.

If the gods have found favor in you than you will take that last breath with some of what you brought forth somewhere near you: someone will remember what you can no longer recall for yourself, and in a measure of love restore your worth.

And if you have earned their wrath, these gods wrath, well...