Winter solstice

Winter solstice, finally. Last night it rained steadily, heavily at times. The cold, sloppy sound of hissing tires below permeated my dreams. The heavy, overcast skies made the darkness more complete. When I left my building just before 8 there was only the slightest hint of purple in the near-black skies. The fierce glare of halogen headlights was overly aggressive before my first coffee. It was too wet to walk. Anyway, my feet are swollen for some unknown reason, which makes walking more difficult.

There was a new bus driver this morning, a handsome younger guy who was as congenial as the many other ones I have come to know. The streets were almost empty on this holiest of days, as was the bus itself. It is usually close to full but today there were only 10 other passengers. In one way it looked a bit sad, as though we were the only ones who hadn't won a reprieve from working, but I tried to see it as a special day free of the regular crowds and pressures.

I never take annual leave during the Christmas season. There is always a heavy competition to get it and I have no special need for it. I have nowhere to go and sitting at home watching the rain in the gloom of my apartment has no special appeal. I could do more work on my tulip window but I need a break from that; my hands and back are already suffering from the long hours I've spent on it. The phones at work are quiet, the lights are bright, the atmosphere here is peaceful and everyone is in a good mood. There's no better place to be.

There is another reason for me to celebrate solstice this year. It has been 137 days since my last fall, which was on August 6th. It's the third longest stretch without a fall since I began recording my falls six years ago. To break my record, 213 days, I'd have to stay upright until the Special Winter Olympics begin in March, which would feat worthy of a gold medal in and of itself.

My current project, a 200-piece tulip window for Tulip, my friend on the Sunshine Coast, is coming along. I have 110 pieces soldered together and another cut and ground. It is taking longer than I wanted and having a worse toll on my back than I'd like. Yesterday I went to the supply store and spent $200 on more glass, a glass cutter and two grinder heads to make the job easier. I have some large complicated shapes (especially the clear background pieces along the top), some brittle glasses and add-on foil overlays that are really slowing me down, but I am pleased with it so far. The fact that it will be housed in a friend's home and be "special" to him makes it worth the extra effort.

I love doing projects for friends, or anyone really who has an idea he or she wants realized in glass. I like involving them in the project from start to finish, educating them on the process, using their input in the design and bringing them with me to help select the glass I will use. That way it means a lot more to them.

I am often asked why I never tried to do stained glass full time. I did try once, shortly after I arrived back to Vancouver from Toronto in the mid-90s. There are several reasons why it didn't work for me. I miss the socializing of talking to others at a workplace, even just on the phone. I hated the lack of separation of work and home spaces; there was always an unfinished project staring at me when I tried to relax. I started spending more money in bars and restaurants both because I was lonely and because I needed to get away from my work. It was also hard to makes ends meet. I didn't like marketing myself and when I did, I often took on stupid jobs for stupid clients who more often than not backed out of the project when some other consumer product caught their eye.

Today is a case in point of what I used to deal with on a regular basis. Jeremy, one of my students who is better at website design and marketing, gets lots of public clients knocking on his door. He sent a woman over to me that he was too busy to help. She said she had a Tiffany-styled lampshade that needed repair. The fact that she couldn't describe what was wrong with it told me that it was likely to be trouble.

I returned her call and asked her to make an evening appointment last week to let me assess the damage. She suggested a couple afternoon times before I finally got through to her that I have a regular day job that I am not going to quit for her sake. We finally agree on this afternoon (Sunday), but she couldn't exactly tell me when because she would have a toddler with her and she was trying to squeeze my appointment in between different cultural and social events. That gave me a bad feeling, but it was worse than I expected.

She arrived around 2 with a large box in her arms that contained the wounded lamp. She said she only had a few seconds as her husband was alone in the car with her toddler. I resisted the urge to ask her if her husband could not be trusted. I told her it would take more than a few seconds to do an assessment. She asked if she could just leave it with me. Not unless I will be doing something with it, I made it clear.

I opened the box while she glanced anxiously at her watch. It wasn't a Tiffany-styled lamp at all, just as I suspected. It was a simple panel lamp with 16 sides forming a cone and another 16 pieces forming a vertical skirt. It was a cheap Mexican job, made inappropriately with crap glass and soft lead came, as most of them are. Every second panel had decals glued onto it, a sort of faux-stained glass made for those who cannot tell silk flowers from real ones or copper from gold. She hadn't even bothered to take the light bulb out.

None of the pieces were broken but the entire 16-piece skirt needed to be melted off and rebuilt because the soft lead had pulled apart, as it usually does. I explained that I do not use lead came and would have to rebuild it a different way using copper foil. I tried to explain that Tiffany invented the copper foil method so it would be strong enough for lampshades, because lead came, like hers, never is. She really wasn't interested. She asked me how much. I offered her a ridiculously low price of $35. She balked at the price, saying she really had no place for the lamp anyway. She just wanted me to buy it off her hands, probably for a price far greater than what it was worth, but I made it clear I had no place for it and didn't want it. Guess I'll just have to give it to the Salvation Army, she moaned. I would have suggested my building's dumpster but being Sunday I knew it would already be overflowing. I gave her back the box and ushered her out to her car, leaving her to deal with her problem on her own.

Nushki to Quetta, Day 2

The ride from Nushki to Quetta proved to be the lowest point of my year-long trip and perhaps the lowest point of my 55 years so far. I have never felt more adrift, more helpless, homeless and without purpose. By morning I was extremely cold, weak and hungry. It took all the effort I could muster to face my frozen environment, to get up and repack my clothes in my panniers, to untie the strings of my sleeping bag and roll it up and to take off my frozen wheel, to pry off the tire and patch the leak in my inner tube with bare, frozen fingers. The ground was white with frozen dew and the air stung with the cold. A few locals crossed the fields around me setting off for their daily chores. They didn't seem to notice me sitting on the ground.

I was putting the tire back onto the wheel when Carlos returned for me. Kate and Stephen had left for Quetta without him so they wouldn't have to wait for me. Their complete disregard for my well-being did not surprise me, but I hated them just a bit more. Carlos, on the other hand, was full of compassion. I would have struggled back to the road without his help somehow, only because I had no other choice if I was to survive, but his warm arm and encouragement gave me badly need strength.

It took a couple of tries before I could straddle my bike and set off. At first I wasn't able to go any faster than walking speed. Carlos stayed close by me, leading the way and looking back over his shoulder every few seconds. Half an hour later we came across a roadside café and stopped for a hot tea. We sat there for another half hour while I warmed up. He told me that none of them had had much sleep that night. Someone had made a space for them in a courtyard but the locals came around to meet the visitors and to sing and drink until the wee hours of the morning.

My strength slowly returned as I warmed up. I still had to take it slow but with some bread and other food that Carlos had saved for me I was able to pick up speed as the day went along. He was always in front of me, gradually getting further ahead as his confidence in me grew, but always in sight. I was still frail, feeling "lost" without a home or purpose. The warmth and care in his eyes told me to have faith. I took each hour one at a time, telling myself to keep moving if only because Carlos wanted me to. I could have fallen in love with him if I had had a little more strength.

By late afternoon we were approaching Quetta, the terrain was flatter and I was feeling stronger. Carlos was riding about 3oo metres in front of me when it happened. I saw two youths chase after him, hoping to catch him to steal his belongings. When they realized he was moving too fast, they grabbed rocks and hurled them at him but he was out of their reach by then. They shrugged and laughed it off.

Then they saw me coming. I was less than 200 metres away. They grabbed the biggest stones they could fit into their fists and readied themselves for the attack. Our group had frequently been greeted with a shower of stones thrown by pre-pubescent children as we entered each town, but these youths were much larger. They were perhaps 16 years old and standing right at the side of the road only a metre from where I would pass. They clearly meant to harm me.

My heart was pounding in my throat. There was no point turning around. I had no place to return to and they would wait for me to pass this way again. If I waited long enough Carlos would come looking for me and they would attack him again. I had no choice but to continue.

Thankfully I had enough strength by this point to accelerate to a good speed. They braced themselves in preparation, but about fifteen metres away from where they stood I swerved off the road to pass behind them. I knew they would step back instinctively, and step back right into my path, but I gave them just enough time to step back one more time to get out of my way. Unfortunately for them, there was a steep embankment at that point and they both fell off the road. I swerved back onto the pavement and kept pedaling hard. A few seconds later they had scrambled back up to the road and I saw the rocks they threw bouncing along the road beside. I made it to the next corner and disappeared from their view.

The edge of Quetta was only a couple kilometres further. I found Carlos there, waiting for me anxiously. We found a local hostel where Kate and Stephen had already booked a room, and rested there for a week while we waited for Coen and Vincent.

18 yrs ago: Nushki to Quetta, Day 1

18 years ago this month: Nushki to Quetta, Day 1:

Two days after sleeping on the desert floor in the western province of Pakistan, Baluchistan, under the "magic" willow, surrounded by 3 metre-long vipers (see Dec 9, 2008 entry), we reached the city of Nushki. Coen, one of the two Dutch guys who had accompanied me from Istanbul to this remote area, fell ill with amoebic dysentery just as we arrived. We were all alarmed seeing him disoriented, trembling with weakness and losing his balance. He must have drunk something that the rest of us hadn't. There was no way he could continue with us so Vincent, his Dutch companion, stayed behind to look after him during his treatment and recovery.

The rest of us continued to the capital of the province, Quetta, two days' ride away, where we would wait for them to rejoin us. There were four of us now, Kate and Stephen, the two Brits who had joined us in Iran, Carlos, a Spaniard we had met cycling on the same road the day before arriving in Nushki, and me. The Brits were selfish pains in the ass, especially Kate, and we could barely stand to speak to each other, but Carlos was kind and friendly. I considered staying behind with Coen and Vincent but I didn't have enough money. My wallet had been stolen in Iran and I needed to get to a bank in Quetta as soon as possible.

The road to Quetta was in better shape than what we had been used to. We climbed out of the valley where Nushki was into a high desert. I didn't have amoebic dysentery but I felt myself becoming ill again. My stomach rumbled and I felt weak. I began to fall behind my companions. Then my front tire developed a slow leak. The others disappeared from view while I stopped to pump it up. It wasn't safe to be alone in this area so I didn't linger to take the inner tube out and patch it.

I assumed the others would wait for me to catch up. They did wait, but each time they saw me in the distance they took off again before I could reach them. The leak was worsening and I had to stop more frequently. I was holding them up. The Brits were probably pissed at me, but they obviously didn't care why I continued to fall behind. The daylight was waning. I assumed they would soon stop at a nearby town to spend the night but Kate didn't see any place to her liking so they continued riding into the night.

The road climbed through a high pass that reached a height of 1900m. The temperature fell to freezing and I was growing sicker and weaker by the hour. The others no longer waited for me as it was too dark to see me approaching. It was definitely too dark to change my tire. It was difficult enough to pump up it up, and that I had to do every couple kilometres by that point. Somewhere in the pass I heard what I assumed to be Pakistani soldiers shouting at me. They were in some fortified post in the hills above me. I couldn't see them or understand what they were saying. I wasn't sure if they had night goggles and could see me, or if they had just heard me. I felt it was best to continue as I wasn't sure what else to do. I had no protection being alone. They might have robbed or raped me if they had stopped me on the road. I half expected them to shoot at me but the shots never came.

I glided down from the pass and after a few stops to pump up my tire, I ran into the other three waiting for me by the side of the road on the outskirts of a village. They were considering whether or not it was safe to stop there for the night. Kate didn't like it as there were only adobe buildings but it was already 10 pm.

My insides had turned to raunchy liquid and I had to could not hold it in any longer. I left Carlos holding my bike while Kate and Stephen argued. There was no vegetation to hide behind so I aimed for a cinder-block building set in a field in the opposite side of the road from the town. In the middle of the far side, sheltered from the freezing wind and view of the road, I squatted and emptied the contents of my bowels, which flowed like steaming, putrid lava over the frozen ground. I did my best to clean my ass with desert sand and then hobbled back to the other three.

They had come to agreement that the next town may be still an hour away and that they should look for a place to sleep in the town. There were obviously no hotels. It would take them a while to ask around and find a place to sleep, and that once settled the locals would want to stay up and talk and drink with them. I was not up to that. I was dead tired and trembling terribly with cold and sickness. I could go no further. The best thing to do would be to sleep in the field, sheltered by the wind on the far side of the cinder-block building. I told the others where they would find me in the morning and rolled my loaded bike with its flat tire off the road and across the frozen ground.

I had emptied my bowels at the mid-point of the far side. There was just enough room to lean my bicycle on one side of the mess and to roll out my sleeping bag on the other side. I was concerned that some local might try to sneak off with my bike so I stretched the strings at the bottom edge of my sleeping bag over the puddle of sewage and tired them onto the front wheel of my bike. My bag was only good to freezing. The night was much colder than that so I took all my clothes out of my panniers and did my best to pad them around me. I climbed in and pulled the top of the bag tightly over my head with a prayer that I'd still be alive the next morning.

Back to the cutting board....

I feel like apologizing after my last two rather negative entries. I am not usually a negative person but writing is one way of exorcizing negative feelings that occasionally torment me. We commonly hear people say that writers and artists need to be tormented in order to bring out their emotions and creativity. That doesn't work for me. After writing out my negative feelings in rough draft I have purged them and have no desire to continue wallowing in them long enough to polish what I have written.

I am being good staying home this week, after last week's hedonistic indulges of eating out almost every night. I ate pizza with Fred while we played Settlers of Catan on Monday. I took Stitch out for a birthday dinner to Kadoya on Tuesday, ate out at a Singaporean restaurant with friends on Thursday and at an Italian restaurant with friends visiting from Toronto on Friday. Two nights the portions were too large and my friends gave the leftovers to me. Then there was the pot luck dinner on Saturday where everyone brought too much food. My friend Jazzy is leaving for India so he gave me several days' worth of vegetarian risotto to go with my leftover salad. I've been living off the spoils since then.

I have stayed at home to work on the first of two windows for Tulip, my faerie friend on the Sunshine Coast. He has transom windows in his two bedrooms, each 51 cm high by 107 cm long, and for each I proposed a row of mature tulips, opened wide as though they are about to fall apart. Some are leaning or falling over. They are done in shades of red, yellow and streaked orange. I completed the pattern for the first window on Sunday and Tulip gave me the go-ahead without seeing it. I have been plodding ahead a few pieces each night and now have 41 of the 202-piece project cut and ground, 30 of them already soldered together. I need some glass supplies, a new cutter and grinder head, which I won't be able to pick up until Saturday.

The last windows I made were completed for a client in May. I've had no projects come my way since then until recently. Besides the two windows for tulip, I have the go-ahead for another large window (100 cm wide by 95 cm high approx) for the "Chicken Ranch" (Wallowa's home) in Portland. It will a features rooster and a couple hens in an outdoor pen. I am waiting for Wallowa's husband Bunny to complete the window frame so I can get the exact dimensions.

On Saturday my friend Yves asked me to design a window for the door to his guest room, 52 cm wide by 165 cm high, probably a tropical forest scene. Jeremy, my former student, has also forward a client to me who wants me to repair a Tiffany-styled lamp. She will be bringing the wounded shade by for my appraisal on Sunday afternoon.

When it rains it pours.

Pinocchio wanted to be like other boys

Last night my friend Yves picked me up and drove me to see his new place in Yaletown. He let me out at street level so I wouldn't have to struggle up the ramp in the underground. He left the car parked illegally while he attempted to help me up the ramp to the front door of his building. I insisted on doing it myself and sent him back to the car, but he came back to let me in so I wouldn't have to stand outside for 5 minutes until he returned. No, I said, it's not too cold and I prefer to stand. He had the idea that I couldn't stand that long.

Inside he insisted I not take my shoes off because it would be difficult for me. Later, he offered to help me stand when we made ready to leave for a pot luck dinner at Jose's place. He asked if I needed help getting into the car. We parked a block away and I struggled a bit up the incline to the front door of Jose's building. He watched anxiously, not knowing whether to intervene.

Yves wanted to hang my coat for me, but I hung it myself, pretending not to see him standing there with a hanger as I chatted with Jose. I settled in on Jose's couch. Yves sat beside me and brought me a drink while I conversed with another guest. When all the guests had arrived and the food was laid out he offered to collect a plate of food for me. I thanked him but said I was able to do it without help.

Conversation stopped as I struggled off the soft, low sofa and caught my balance. Legs and bodies moved out of my way to give me a wide berth. I nodded my thanks as I passed. At the salad table I dropped my fork and two other guests dove to pick it up for me. I filled my plate and wove my way back to my seat. I felt their eyes watching me as I made a semi-soft landing with my plate full of food. I didn't spill a drop. A couple of the guests around me questioned me about my disability and what had caused it. I filled them in the best I could, then gracefully changed the subject.

Part of the evening's fun was a gift exchange game. I was seated in a chair without arms at that point, having lost my preferred seat after a visit to the bathroom. When it was my turn to choose a gift from the pile I made two failed attempts to get to my feet as the others watched in awkward silence. There was a sigh of relief when I finally made it.

After the gift exchange was over Jose put on Cuban music and began teaching others how to dance the salsa. In short order others had joined them, pushing the furniture out of the way and invited those to were still seated to dance too. I declined out of fear of falling and causing a general consternation, but when I was the last one seated I threw caution to the wind and sidled up to the other dancers. It was fun for a few dances. I got into the rhythm (I used to love to dance) and even managed to find the dance moves that my legs could handle. It was fun and I was glad I could dance with the them for a bit.

When the music stopped and we sat down again, several of the guys congratulated me for joining in. Later, as guests were leaving, two guys said I had some pretty sexy moves as I was shaking it on the floor. They implied I was pretty hot stuff, though their flattery felt overdone, like a primary teacher praise of her students' stick-figure art. Be thankful you already have husbands, I teased them back. When it was my turn to leave, Jose thanked me profusely for coming, saying over and over what a special honour it was that I had made the effort to come. I felt it was definitely time to leave.

Back home, in the silence of my kitchen, I felt hugely alone and sad. They were the nicest, most considerate guys I could have asked for. At any point of my younger life, when I was like them, their attentions would have made me sing, but at that moment I only wanted to scream.

Christmas cheer

There's nothing like Christmas to bring out the best in people, like exhausted, belligerent shoppers pushing others out of their way while cursing their seasonal obligations. Families can be the worst, regressing to long-past problematic issues of resentment, guilt, power and self-pity.

I usually try to get the messiness of the season out of the way as soon as possible. I had all my Christmas shopping and my gift parcels for off to Ontario a week ago and my Christmas cards to friends a few days later. I gave my sister her gifts when she came over on Wednesday to give me another of her holistic allergy treatments. She wasn't pleased as she has no money to spend on gifts. I haven't had anything from her for at least 5 or 6 years and haven't given her anything in that period either. For a few years we weren't even talking.

I emailed my brother Rob to tell him the parcels were coming and got a reply that he hoped I hadn't spent any monies on his family. My other brother and mother will be even worse. Unlike any previous year, Rob and my sister have been very supportive and involved in trying to find a treatment or cure for my muscular dystrophy and I just wanted to give. It is my way of celebrating a good year and giving gives me a high.

In past years my siblings used the approach that Christmas was just for the kids, and as I was the only one without kids, it was often a one-way street. Until the past couple years, I rarely got an e-mail thanking me. Sometimes I got a phone call, piggybacked on my mother's phone bill while they were visiting her. But, as I said, it has been a much better year than usual between us and I wanted to give. Given that they had mentioned anything to me about not giving gifts this year, as they usually do by this point, and that the deadline for sending gifts through the post was quickly approaching, I bought gifts and mailed them. Let them squirm with discomfort if they choose. It's done and for me Christmas is virtually over.

But not for others. Today I joined a line-up at the post office to send a paperback to a friend in Colorado. The line wasn't moving. When I paused to look at BC calendars that were on sale beside me, an Englishman tried to push in front of me. When I politely pointed out that he had jumped in front of me he told me to make up my mind whether I was shopping or lining up. He grabbed my shoulder and tried to shove me in front of him, almost causing me to lose my balance. I warned him not to touch me, that I have a disability and can lose my balance easily.

He claimed, with an air of self-righteousness that he had a disability too. Well, I'm not grabbing or shoving you, am I, I replied. A fountain of insults flowed out of his mouth and I wished him "Merry Christmas, Fuckhead". That only escalated his verbal attack. There was such a tone of superiority and hatred in his words that I finally retorted "You're a Christian, aren't you?" He was taken aback for a moment and then replied "So what are you?" "Not what you are!"

He then switched into the self-righteous veteran mode, raising his voice to say he had served this country and put his line on the line for it but he was sure I hadn't. I'm going on 56 and don't tolerate arrogant assholes thinking they they have license to say anything because they are older. "Judging by your accent, you're not from this country," was my icy response, the only words I knew that might shut him up. It didn't shut him up immediately but it worked. I didn't look at him or respond again. Older English are the only immigrants I know of who feel superior to the locals and I never mind telling them what I think when they act this way. I'm not sure what the others in line-up felt about our exchange but I'm sure it didn't improve their day either.

Deep freeze

It is frigging cold outside. It's the type of cold that freezes my nose hairs together and claws at my leg muscles through the thin insulation of my blue jeans. The rest of me is fine, snugly blanketed in my new winter coat, but I don't want to risk the walk to work.

Five years ago in January I walked the mile in -7C (20F) and my leg muscles turned to jelly when I tried to hurry to get to the elevator that someone was holding for me. I fell hard on my tailbone, which was mildly bruised, but felt nothing else for four months until I was doing sit-ups in May. I felt a nerve being pinched at the top end on the front of my right thigh. I didn't realize it then, but the fall had started a hairline fracture at the top of my femur. The crack gradually grew over the next seven months until I fell and the femur cracked in half from hip to my knee.

I could wear long johns but would require changing at work or being uncomfortable all day. The bus is looking really good right now. I'm counting the days until the end of February.....

Tonight I ventured out to treat Stitch to a birthday dinner. My 43 yr old friend is such a ray of sunshine in my life!

I have two couch surfers arriving today from Seattle, my first to arrive since late September. Actually they are from Texas. Many Americans who visit Seattle have heard many nice things about Vancouver and think it would be worth it to rent a car and come see it for a day. They said they'd be here by 10:30. I had planned a car tour for them along the North Shore and other scenic areas as it is brilliantly sunny and close to freezing outside. But at 10:30 I got the call that they were just leaving Seattle. I don't mind. It gave me extra time to clean my place. Also this morning I learned that the Santa Claus parade will be disrupting traffic around to condo until 1. They should arrive around 1:30. After getting settled in they should have about 2 hrs to see the city before dark.

Besides having an apartment cleaner than I am, I have another reason to celebrate today. It has been 4 months since I last fell. Since I began tracking my falls in January '04 this is the 5th longest stretch without a fall. If I can stay upright another week I'll tie my 3rd best stretch. It would be bizarre for anyone else to celebrate that landmark but for me it's definitely worth a smile.

A power day

Winter is definitely here. The rains of November have given way to an approaching high pressure system that is sucking the cold, clear air from the Interior down over Vancouver. The break from the almost constant rain is a treat but the temperatures and sinking faster than the US dollar. By mid-week the temperatures are expected to be below freezing all day and as low as -7C at night; quite unusual this early in the winter.

The bright weather has everyone in fine spirits. It always gives me a boost of energy. I rose fairly early and rummaged through the garbage bins to find a dry cardboard box to make a parcel for my Christmas gifts to send to my mother and siblings in Toronto. My first choice was perfect but once I had it sealed and labeled it was too heavy for my compromised muscles to carry it two blocks to the post office. Fortunately, Fred had arranged to meet me for breakfast and he carried it for me. That was a huge weight, so to speak, off my mind, but I still had a couple more gifts to shop for, then wrap and then send off in a smaller parcel.

Christmas means nothing to me, or at least not the bogus “Christmas story” we’ve been force fed all our lives. I really don’t care if I never received anything but I do enjoy shopping for gifts others and sending them off. Giving is a sacred act for me, and after I have sent off my gifts I feel contented and nourished.

Then it was time to shop for myself. Jeremy, who I haven’t seen in months, came by in his Vitara and took me to Mountain Equipment Co-op. He shopped for an undercoat for his wife Cathy while I bought myself a long, warm and waterproof winter coat and stretch-on cleats for ice and snow. The way winter has started the odds are that we’ll have some nasty weather.

Jeremy was kind enough to drive me up to Kona afterwards to buy a few stained glass supplies. Mostly I needed solder and zinc U-channel to make frames for larger windows. I picked up a couple choice pieces of glass while I was at it: another $118 bill.

Then he brought me Christmas tree shopping. We headed back to Kitsilano, the fierce light of the afternoon sun glaring off his windshield. High above downtown, looking north from 33rd Ave, the blue mountains were capped with snow. The Lions are almost completely white. I've heard that Whistler has had record snowfalls but here next to the sea the snow line is still at 1000m. But by next week everything could be white. We usually get our biggest snowfalls when warmer air slides in over the dense freezing air as it retreats, especially if the front stalls over the city.

Jeremy wasted no time picking out a 2-metre tall Fraser fir. The regular price would have been $100, but it was on sale for $70. Our condo doesn’t allow real trees but I don’t have the space or inclination to have one anyway, not to mention the money. He strapped it to the roof of his car and drove me home. For a moment he entertained the notion of taking me back to his place so I could see his son Adam, who is a year and a half old now, but I reminded him that there are no railings on his stairs and I can't make it into his house. My limitations are always a bummer, but it’s also a fact of life. Hopefully I’ll get to see them again before they move to Colorado sometime next year.

My visit to Portland

I rode with Danzante in his car from New Westminster to Portland last Wednesday, Nov 25, the day before American Thanksgiving. It was one of those weather days I don't like to remember. Just walking to breakfast at Joe's before I left nearly soaked me through. The rain had stopped when I left the restaurant so I walked up the street to a travel agency to buy insurance, the only thing I had forgotten to do beforehand. It was pouring again when I walked home a few minutes later, and as I waited at a crowded bus stop on my way to New Westminster to meet him.

The rain kept up until White Rock, just before the border, and then it cleared up, making the rest of the drive much easier for him. We made it to Portland and Wallowa's home (the Chicken Ranch) an hour after dark. We were ready to roll up our sleeves and pitch in to help with dinner preparations for the next night, but Wallowa was exhausted and frustrated that his first 25 lb turkey took 11 hours to finish cooking. We decided to get up early to start the preps fresh. That night I slept with Mystic One. We snuggled a bit but did nothing beyond that. It was difficult to sleep as he was jittery and moved a lot. He was anxious about his move to Mexico that was about to happen a day and a half later.

Thursday, the morning of Thanksgiving dinner, we were all up early cleaning the green beans, peeling potatoes, chopping mushrooms and preparing the dressing. After our obligatory three hours of help Danzante and I left to deliver gifts he had brought for several friends. First we visited our mutual friends Ken (Quercus) and his partner David (who is reviewing my novel). I wasn't able to climb their front stairs, which had no railings, so they came out to say hi to me at the car. They stood there 20 minutes in the rain. Next we went to Periwinkle and Otter's place, which I also couldn't get into I surmised, then to his former best friend (which he hadn't seen for 5 years) Michael Buck's home.

Then it as off to another mutual friend's home, Gian (Gina Falloffabridgidda), where
we met his new partner Merlin. They made us sandwiches while they were making preparations for a naked gay men's Thanksgiving dinner! One participant, Dave, showed up shortly after we did, got naked (we were clothed) and came out of the bathroom with a raging hard-on. He was beautiful, and intelligent (once we focused on conversation instead of his cock) and I was fixated on him. Gian got Danzante stoned, too stoned to drive, so I killed time with Dave watching porn in the next room. He was hard as rock again and we started to fool around, me in my clothes and him being naked. It was the hottest, sweetest encounter I had had for months and, though I didn't come, it did wonders for my ego. I couldn't stop talking about him when I left. I gave him my phone and email address but I doubt I'll ever hear from him.

This was followed by a lovely visit with another mutual friend Cedar, which lasted far too long. We were over an hour late for Thanksgiving dinner by the time we returned to Wallowa's. Some of the guests had just finished as we arrived but most were still eating. I walked around for the next 20 minutes looking for a clean set of cutlery and a place to sit. There were 50 guests and so many familiar faces I had met at Breitenbush all happy to see me, but I only wanted to sit down and eat. The guests mingled and chatted for another couple hours before some of them said their goodbyes. It was all a bit overwhelming, but flattering too since so many were sincerely glad to see me again.

Friday the weather was brilliantly sunny. Danzante gave me a tour of the parks and neighbourhoods of Portland. I was very impressed. As much as I love Vancouver, Portland seems more livable, friendlier, more relaxed and has better architecture. We picked up Michael Buck, had lunch and then the three of us headed to look for a butte to get a view of the city. We never found it and ended up far out into the countryside having given up after an hour or so.

That evening several of Wallow's friends dropped by, including an old friend of Danzante's, John, and his Guatemalan bf, and another friend of D's, Jason, and his Spanish flamenco dancer/lover Juan who live in Santa Fe. John seemed to take a shine to me and asked me for my phone and e-mail address before he left.

We wound our way back into the city, dropped Michael off and headed to Otter and Periwinkle's home for yet another Thanksgiving dinner. It was a huge struggle to get into their place but I eventually managed it. This time there were only 8 guests, including Jim (Gymbawb), Periwinkle's mother Lotus and two of Danzante's oldest friends, Vickie and Levita. Levita, although a straight man, was in a dress. I love straight people who act gay in public! I didn't get to meet him though as he had a feinting spell that had everyone in a panic. He came to just as someone was dialing 911. The rest of the evening was uneventful in comparison. Danzante spent the night at the Otterwinkles and Gymbawb, who lives at the Chicken Ranch, drove me back there. I was proud that I got into so many difficult places in the past two days without a single fall.

Saturday the Faes of Portland meet for coffee downtown on the east side. Sssnake, an old friend who also lives at the Chicken Ranch, drove me there. Again there were a couple dozen familiar faces, including Dave from Gian's naked party. He made no special effort to spend time with me, though he was friendly. He was a bit shocked that I was using a cane (which I prefer to do in unfamiliar terrain). Danzante showed up after spending a couple hours catching up with Michael Buck. A group of 6 of us went for dinner at a great little restaurant called "Old Wives' Tales". Danzante and I did another abbreviated tour of a couple other trendy neighbourhoods and checked out a galley before returning to the Chicken Ranch. Danzante went for a Chinese food dinner with Sssnake. I wasn't hungry so I spent the evening chatting with Gymbawb and getting to know him better.

Sunday was good weather again. Wallowa did Danzante's hair and Sssnake took everyone out for breakfast and a wonderful eatery before we left. We weren't on the road until almost half past noon, but we didn't stop, except for gas, so it was still light until we were half an hour from the border. It was a bit too long without food for me and I was a bit irritable when I couldn't find my transit tickets at the Skytrain station in New Westminster where Danzante dropped me off. I can spend five great days with someone but if I get grumpy at the end of it that is what he remembers. He was pissed at me for my few seconds of selfishness, but I think he'll get over it.

Part of my anxiety was the Skytrain ride itself, as it is often packed on a weekend night heading downtown. It was last Sunday, as there was a game on or something. Soon I was squeezed in like a sardine, and I fretted over how difficult it would be to get up and get off the train when I needed to. The train emptied though, two stops before mine. I was afraid I'd have to wait 20 minutes in the rain for my bus but it was only spitting and the bus came within 10 minutes. By now you know I hate public transit, especially when it is crowded and when I have stand waiting for extended periods with a pack on my back. I prepared myself a sandwich as soon as I got home and I was fine again.