The Husband May Be Old...

but his Clivia bloomed this week. Orange is my least favorite color, but I have to give it up for the drama.

Kingdom: Plantae

Clade:Angiosperms

Clade: Monocots

Order: Asparagales

Family: Amaryllidaceae

Genus: Clivia

Native of South Africa

Widely cultivated around the globe

They need a long period, at least 4 months, of cool conditions

 & minimal water

The Husband's Clivia has bloomed twice in 2011- the first week of January indoors & now 6 months later in the garden.

Not to be confused with Chlamydia, I did & it did not end pretty.

The Boys' Fort Summer 2011

The Boys' Fort Summer 2010

Post Apocalyptic Bohemia is like the Winchester Mystery House. As long as he keeps re-working it, changing & building on, the Husband will not die. So I encourage his avocation. Our home is also the Husband's studio & lab.

He has made changes to The Boy's Fort that I find to be pleasing & promising.

This Year's Model

The light fixture is recent, formally from a ship & found at The ReBuilding Center, re-wired & well hung by The Husband.

Vicodin & Vodka

I'll Be Home

It was a decade a go this week. The Husband & I traveled to Portland from our cottage in Seattle to visit a friend who was not expected to make it through his battle with cancer. Dave & Trish were longtime buddies that we visited with a few times a year. We had been throughtough times together. Trish called & let us know that Dave had been asking for us, so we traveled to Portland for what we were sure would be a tearful & troubled trip.

After a short visit that seemed to tax our friend, I was very shaken by Dave's condition & appearance & thought a drive & fresh air would lift us. We didn't actually have an agenda or know exactly where we were. The Husband & I were enjoying driving around & looking at the Portland neighborhoods & the homes & gardens as we drifted around North & Northeast Portland, Oregon.

We stopped once when I requested that the husband grab a flyer from the Plexiglas box attached to a "For Sale" sign in front of a pleasing Queen Anne home with an abundant rose garden, not our style at all, but I was curious about the price of homes in Portland.

We were shocked, stunned & stymied that what would be some homo's dream home, was listed at $160,000. We had been exploring the idea of buying a house in Seattle, where we had been renters, 15 years in the same 900 square foot house in the Wallingford neighborhood.  There were no, this in not hyperbole, NO homes in Seattle for less that $300,000, which might get you a meth-lab/chicken coop.

We drove for a but longer when the Husband exclaimed: "Stop! Pull Over! I am going to be sick!". He was clutching his chest & was having difficulty getting his breath.  When the Husband was at last collected enough to speak, his eyes were wide as he blurted: "Oh, My God! We are going to move to Portland!" I knew it was true in an instant.

David lived & then managed to get through 2 more bouts of different cancers. He & Trish divorced eventually. We purchased a little working class bungalow in a marginal neighborhood & were living here 12 weeks later.

From our real estate agent when we first moved in the house. This is what Post Apocalyptic Bohemia looked like a decade ago.

The same view a decade later

The mommies on the block have told me that the kids call the front garden: "The Jungle Of Russet Street"

The approach to the front porch

Some details from near the front porch

The view from inside looking out

The Escape Artist

LuLu has been in residence at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia for 18 days & she has managed to escape & take flight 5 times. She, shockingly, got out of the back garden on her first day. This fenced garden has held Butch & Sister, the 2 Jack Russells that moved with us to Portland from Seattle a decade ago. This urban oasis has been a safe haven for Larry & Junior for years. We have had the luxury of leaving the sliding doors to the garden pass-through open for canines to come & go as they please. Now they must be escorted to the garden as we attempt to ascertain LuLu's modus operandi & doggie deceit.

On the first escape, with the husband hunting the'hood in hysteria, the tiny terrier turned up on a 6 foot fence post looking like a condor or as if she was playing canine charades & her word was- gargoyle.  We had been in full-tilt frenzy because Little LuLu didn't yet have a collar & tag (since remedied).

LuLu

The #1 narrative was that the little squirt was jumping the 4 foot fence with ease. The Husband has been adding 8 foot bamboo poles lashed to the chain link fence in 6 inch intervals, but I can't conceive of my keeping calm about LuLu being unattended in the back garden.

The Husband contemplates the escape route

Junior, who has never bolted in the 4 years he has been here, did just that. The front door opened a fragment, Junior jumped over Larry the dog & took off down the street, naked! It took the unhappy Husband several blocks to nab him. It seems that LuLu had a trifling talk with Junior & compelled him to sprint down the street with a daddy giving chase. LuLu let on that this was just a boisterous blast of a good time. Bitch!

Such a very nice garden for a little orphaned dog to hang out in...

The Husband's Art

The Husband calls them assemblages. He is an interior designer, a set designer, a book illustrator, but the work that he has given his heart & hand to are the constructions made of found objects, put together in the manner of one his idols- Joseph Cornell. His pieces speak of memory, nostalgia & loss. Click on an image & it will get better... magic!

Born On This Day- July 10th... Marcel Proust

I have often thought of my spouse as Proustian. Like the famous French novelist, the Husband’s art always has the main theme of time, & like Marcel Proust, he takes a very long time to produce his work. There are 12 volumes of Proust’s novel A la Recherche du Temps Perdu which was published over 14 years. This monumental work changed the traditional narrative to recreate the sense of memory, the past together in thought with the present, as each moment of the present becomes the past.

One of the Husband's rather Proustian pieces

It is a landmark in gay literature. Volume 4 - Sodom & Gomorrah has long sections about homosexuality, & the entire novel contains gay characters, considerations,& experiences. Proust was not really at home with his sexuality. His trysts were most often with the lower classes & with his own servants. His deepest relationship was with his chauffeur, who lived with his wife in Proust’s townhouse. He also had an affair with his secretary, Albert Nahmias, who gave the name for the novel’s love interest, Albertine.


When he went to male brothels & sex clubs, Proust liked to be whipped & humiliated & who among us does not? Wealthy from his inheritance, he typically slept during the day & wrote at night, lying in his blue bed, in his bedroom, which was walled with cork for silence. The bedroom is on permanent on display at Musée Carnavalet in Paris.

Born in 1871, Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust was the son of an wealthy Catholic doctor & his Jewish wife & grew up in Paris near the Champs-Elysées. He had his first asthma attack at the age of 9 & suffered from it for the rest of his life.


His father died in 1903, & his mother in 1905. Before their deaths, Proust mixed with the richest & highest of society in France ,mostly in the Paris Town Houses or at the country estates & chateaux of his wealthy friends. He based many on his characters on real life people. After the deaths of his parents he increasingly withdrew from social life & lived mainly in the bedroom of his apartment on the Boulevard Haussmann. His last public appearance was at the New Year's Eve ball given by the discreetly gay Comte de Beaumont in 1921.


I have only read volume #1: Swann’s Way, but my bucket list has me reading the entire work. A la Recherche du Temps Perdu is considered to be the greatest novel of 20th Century.

The Name Game

The Husband named the new family member- Louise, but he already calls her- Lulu. This is not surprising. He refers to Junior as- June. He addresses me as- Steve, The Husband cuts to the chase & names things with the cleanest & most concise choice off a nickname or shortcut. No one in my life calls me Steve except the Husband & the people in our lives that he gotten to first & trained. In my own mind I am always- Stephen. When I protested the shortened name a few decades ago, the Husband stated: "Steve is a better name: succinct, smooth & sexy.. just think Steve McQueen."

Lulu

Memorial Day 2011

My husband is named for his uncle, his father's brother, who was killed in WW2. There is a beautiful & stark memorial to the citizens of Washington State that gave their lives while defending our country. The Garden of Remembrance is a half-acre, L-shaped garden along the sides of Benaroya Hall (home of the Seattle Symphony). Memorial walls of granite, lined by slender reflecting pools, are oriented so that the names face the western sun. In addition to the walls, a poem honors veterans who died in World War I; a reflecting pool honors those missing in action; & a fountain honors those who died in peacetime service. The memorial was designed by Robert Murase, a noted landscape architect. The Garden was dedicated on July 4, 1998.

Not long after the memorial was completed, the Husband was walking in front Benaroya Hall & glanced up & immediately (not knowing that it even existed) saw his own name engraved with the date of his death in England in 1944. He claims that his eyes went directly to it, although the memorial had thousands of names. The Husband said it was a Twilight Zone Moment.

The Husband served in the US Army during the Vietnam War Era (1971-77). I feel blessed that he is with me today & not a name on a War Memorial.

The Husband learned at his father's funeral, summer 2010, his uncle was mostly likely gay. He was a theatre & dance major before going to war & he wrote home to his brother about how cute the other service men were. The letters were destroyed, but the Husband believes it to be true & his namesake messy personal life explains many things about his family dynamics.

John & CC Have New Hats

As one of my pals professed: "I really like your blog, but I like the stuff about you... not the birthdays of dead gay people". I started to collect vintage (1860-1980) photographs of men together a decade ago. I have more than 100. I was sharing them with readers of Post Apocalyptic Bohemia, but I began to wander away to other subjects along the way.

I borrowed against my IRA to catch up on the bills & repairs. It has been an interesting experience to usually not have any cash for some fun. I long ago decided that a perfect day included going to a part town with which I am not familiar, some bucks in my jeans & no agenda. I earmarked a tiny portion of the cash flow to just such a plan. I took the Husband with me because... well, I sort of had to.

The Husband found some swell stuff to use in projects for his BOYS' FORT, & I found this photo, at the best salvage store that I have encountered: Old Portland Hardware & Architectural.

I find this photo to be one of the very finest I have added to the collection. It is certainly the sweetest of a sweet selection of snapshots & formal portraits of men in couples or groups from the past 150 years.

The names are written in pencil: John Fuller & CC Brown. The rest of the piece is a perfect embossed paper in a Victorian pattern. I love these 2 gentlemen. What is their story that led to this portrait?

Would you like to see more of the collection?

Born On This Day- May 11th... The Great Irving Berlin

On a late summer evening in 1978, a jaw-droppingly handsome young man with deep blue eyes, stood straight up lower center stage, & with a sweet pure tenor, sang the 1924 Irving Berlin tune- What’ll I Do? for an audition. I was impressed with his good looks & his talent. I cast him. A year later this young man would tell me that he was in love with me & wanted to spend every moment with me until the end of his life, while Harry Nillson sang What'll I Do on my stereo in the background. This handsome man would eventually become my Husband & I would spend more than half of my life at his side.

This is the man who auditioned to become my husband by singing an Irving Berlin song, circa 1978.

Irving Berlin wrote for Broadway & Hollywood. He composed 17 complete scores for Broadway musicals & revues, including the phenomenal score for ANNIE GET YOUR GUN. Among the Hollywood movie musical classics with scores by Irving Berlin are TOP HAT, FOLLOW THE FLEET, ON THE AVENUE, ALEXANDER'S RAGTIME BAND, HOLIDAY INN, THIS IS THE ARMY, BLUE SKIES, EASTER PARADE, WHITE CHRISTMAS & THERE'S NO BUSINESS LIKE SHOW BUSINESS. His songs have provided memorable moments for other films, from THE JAZZ SINGER in 1927 to HOME ALONE in 1991. Among his many awards are Grammys, 2 Tony Award & the Academy Award for WHITE CHRISTMAS in 1942.

He was born 103 years ago today... Irving Berlin, not the Husband. 

Gone is the romance that was so divine.
'tis broken and cannot be mended.
You must go your way,
& I must go mine.
But now that our love dreams have ended

What'll I do
When you are far away
& I am blue
What'll I do?

What'll I do?
When I am wond'ring who
Is kissing you
What'll I do?

What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?

When I'm alone
With only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do?

What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?

When I'm alone
With only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do?

Sunday Morning Intercourse

Stephen: When is it that we are doing that next week?
The Husband: It is scary... I am really having trouble remembering things.
Stephen: Me too. I am always forgetting things.
The Husband: That is not true. You remember everything... You say things like: 'You know what happened on this day 23 years ago?' You JUST DON'T HEAR THINGS!

Drive

Somehow I feel the failure, partly because there is a sting of truth in it, & partly because I tend toward anthropomorphism, grieving for the loss of life for a plant, believing that electronic equipment hates me, & knowing that I failed in my love for an automobile.

I have always held that Happiness is not a state of being, but rather Happiness is in the moments. For a few tiny moments in my considerable life, the stars aligned, my luck stuck, & all the points came together & everything worked. That was when I experienced an extended era of ecstatic enchantment. The blessed bliss brought prosperity, pleasure & possibilities for a life well lived.

The early 1970s: goofy, original good looks that only the young can posses because they don’t understand that it will all be gone someday. I could do nothing wrong. It all came easy to me: meaty roles in the theatre, meaty men in my bed, attention, admiration, humor, hilarity & hopefulness. Boston, LA & NYC.

Seattle 1982- 1989: Hot boyfriend, hot apartment, hot buzz about my acting on stage & in commercials, films, & TV. My image is on the side of buses, on the back page of the newspaper, on billboards, & I am mentioned in the press. We can rarely go a day without my being recognized & commented on by strangers & feted by friends. The hot boyfriend considers that it may not be all that good for me, but he remains a fan, attending all of my opening nights. I gym daily. I have single digit body fat. Sexual performance is never an issue. Never a mention that I might party too much.

Portland 2002-2006: comfortable, curious, & cultivated. We own our own home for the first time. Our Own Home. The boyfriend becomes my husband. We have respectable employment. The Husband is thin, tan, talented, sleek & sexy. He wears beautiful clothing at work & no clothing at the beach. We have hundreds in checking & thousands in savings. We vacation in NYC, seeing Broadway shows & shopping. We weekend in Palm Springs, imbibing & inhaling poolside.

For a couple of weeks, I had been eyeing a bronze Volkswagen station wagon at a car lot on the way to the gym. On one of those happy days, I walked into the lot & drove out in that station wagon. After decades of driving clunkers, I had a real automobile for the first time & it felt fine.

In my beautiful new car, handsome silver fox husband at the wheel, singing along to Tegan & Sara’s Walking With A Ghost & Dave Matthew’s American Baby from my summer mix, driving along a rustic rural road on Sauvie Island on a perfect August morning, headed to the nude beach with a book, blanket, & a thermos of vodka lemonade, having already dropped a half a hit of E… I was experiencing perfectly, profoundly happiness.

2011: barely1 ½ incomes, bills, hospital visits, prescriptions, old dog, crushing depression, strained relationships, strained budget, strained bank accounts. Yesterday, it was agreed that the Volkswagen would go. I calculated that we would save us $8000 a year by not paying car payments, insurance, gasoline, & maintenance. We will sock it away & someday purchase an old pick-up truck so we can go to Lowes, the salvage shops & nurseries. We will join ZipCar for $75 a month for 15 hours of driving (enough for the Husband to deal with clients). They pay the insurance & the fuel. ZipCar has a car parked just at the end of our block.

We will not be able to be able to be spontaneous. If the Husband forgets an ingredient in tonight’s dinner, it will require a trip to the supermarket 10 blocks away.

I have that tingle of tumult for trying something strange & unaccustomed. We will walk when willed. Bicycles are in order. I don’t need a lot: house, garden, dogs, books, music, local watering spots. Using the ZipCar & leaving the neighborhood will be our big adventure.

Your host, a decade ago, with his 1970 Ford Pickup Truck

In Seattle, I a drove a red 1970 Ford pickup truck & the Husband got around in his yellow 1960 Ford pickup. It seemed too daunting to get them both to Portland when we moved. The Husband sold his truck & I traded with my father, my pickup for a junker. I always mourned the letting go of those 2 trucks. Now with the giving up of the station wagon, I feel remorse. Why does this place I find myself in make me maudlin & make me cry? It is just an automobile; they come & they go. It always ran perfectly, it never gave me any trouble & the bronze Volkswagen Station Wagon came into my life at a point when my existence was uncommonly, uncharacteristically upbeat, & dare I say, for a moment… happy.

This photo of Junior has nothing to do with the post, except that loving him makes me happy.

A gentle reminder that the love you take is equal to the love you make.

A Morning With The Post Apocalyptic Bohemians...

This is an aesthetic that the Husband finds to have an agreeablely austere allure:

This is the actuality..

with ample amounts of accountability on my part: