Memoirs a Narative, Part Eight Plus

No, I didn’t put a plastic bag over Wayn’s head and suffocate him with a pillow.

I did not physically kill him.

But I am the one who took him off his meds and fluids.

Yes, I killed him.

Think that don’t fuck with my mind?

Memoirs, a Narrative. Part Eight

Although highly unpopular, I have decided to press on.

Touchstones to the past, Part One.

I had to promise Wayno that when the time came I would be willing to kill him.

I agreed.

Yes, I agreed to kill him, if the time came. He described to me how to do it. It involved a pillow and a plastic bag. No more information.

But I loved Wayn that much!

There is more to tell. But I can’t right now

Thinking of Mom

On her 104th birthday.

I miss her!

Memoirs, a Narrative. Part Seven

Richard

Wow, this one is tough. Even after four and a half years, there are raw nerves. I don’t know where to start the conversation without rocking my world.

Okay, let’s go to religion. That is always safe.

 Richard was a devout Catholic. I am not. Richard and I seldom argued. The handful of times we did, it was because I pushed the religion thing past the point of civility. Don’t I sound wonderful? Don’t you wish you would have married me?

Richard was steeped in Catholicism: Northeastern US Catholicism. He never attended a public school.  But he was a strong supporter of public education. Like me, he felt the abortion was not his choice, so he was pro-choice, but not in favor of abortion on a personal level.  He was in favor of gay rights and gay marriage (what a surprise)! We were so alike, and yet there was this Catholic thing. I can be very dense at times.

There are two times that come to mind when I am trying to deal with Richard’s religion: a visit to Lourdes, France and Ste. Anne de Beaupré  in Québec.

Lourdes truly amazed me. The masses who truly believed. There was a parade daily where people went to the Basilique. It was close to a thousand people. Many had volunteers who pushed their wheelchair or in other ways assisted those in need. I couldn’t help but be moved.

Yes, there were tacky trinket shops and other crap lining the Boulevard de la Grotte, but when you saw the people, it was really tough to not be moved. And, yes I came home with a coffee mug hailing Bernadette of Lourdes. I even read The Song of Bernadette to know more.

And Ste. Anne de Beaupré : I never understood the importance, and I don’t know as Richard even knew it’s significance, but his mother had always wanted to go there. So in honor or Bernadette Rita Sloan Parker, we visited.

I got glimpses, peaks into what made Richard the man he was. It was terrifying and awe inspiring simultaneously. The power the church holds and the hope that it gives. A paradox about humanity.

I grew to respect Richard’s Catholicism, but not real Catholicism.

Billie Jean is… well… so Billie Jean

This is the cat who won’t sit on my lap. The cat who when I first met her wouldn’t let me touch her body, only her neck and her head. The cat that has rejected me time and time again.

I should mention that she make a horrible racket when she is cleaning herself. Her so-called beauty regimen is among the noisiest on planet earth.

Today she was sitting on the floor beside me. She started to groom. I put my hand down to stop her.  She put her paw in my hand. She let me hold her paw. After a prolonged pause, she licked my hand and used it to clean her face.

I am just a utensil in her kitty locker, to use as she pleases.

Memoirs, a Narrative. Part Six

I knew Wayno was going to die from the first time I met him. AIDS. The scourge of the times. I knew better. I really did. But I was charmed by the dude from NYC, I just couldn’t help myself.

It was just short of seven years. I guess if you think about it, it wasn’t a long time. But it was a great time. Passions and emotions ran high. So much was done… so much happened.

Wayn was a bon vivant. If you are mortified by my sexual behavior, you should hear about his. But you won’t hear it from me, and I don’t know if anyone alive knows as many stories as I do.

I have a phone booth on my back porch. It came with Wayno. He wasn’t really sure how he got it, but after a night of copious amounts of coke it was in his apartment in New York. Maybe I should be embarrassed, but it endears me to the booth even more. Damn, if only he lived in London, I could have a red phone booth on my porch!

I want to keep this of moderate length, but there are so many avenues to go. I loved Wayno dearly. He was a good man. There will be many touchstones to come.

Memoirs, a Narrative. Part Five

Doug

I have had three relationships in my life. The first ended in divorce. The next two times I had the common sense to kill my partner.

That was a joke, folks. Put down the pitchforks!

But this is about my first big love, Doug.

Although my memories of our relationship aren’t kind and our break-up was fairly brutal, he wasn’t a bad person. I just try to paint him that way in my mind. It certainly couldn’t be me that was bad!

But I was. Years before our break-up he caught me cheating. While I would like to defend myself, I can’t.  I think this is where ‘adultery’ comes in.  Trust me, I never was and never will be an angel.

I was too young and too immature when I entered the relationship with Doug. He was older (although you will note I didn’t add “and more mature”) and I was swept away. We spent six years together:  in Eugene, Coos Bay (technically North Bend), Boise, Seattle, Azusa and Riverside. Nine different residences in six years: doesn’t sound stable to me. And it wasn’t.

The only times in my life that at I ever contemplated suicide were while I was with Doug. Well, that is if you discount my current embrace with Oregon’s Death With Dignity law, which I don’t hold in the same book.

The relationship didn’t work… and obviously, I wasn’t an innocent bystander.

Seventeen years

Such a vivid memory! A sad memory!

But remember the day Kennedy was assassinated almost as well

Memoirs, a Narrative. Part Four

The early days in Hood River: they weren’t always a treat. I remember having to bring my water supply pipe in for the night so it wouldn’t freeze. I remember working an 18 hour day and having to be back in 4 hours. This is when I only had wood heat. I slept in my winter coat. I remember unfriendly neighbors. They turned us in for growing pot. Wayno did have AIDS. It really wasn’t’ that big of crime. Their nephew used to climb a tree and yell “Faggots” at Wayn and I. Their daughter used to have sex in their back yard, just over our fence. Wayno used to throw St. Bernard shit over the fence. Hoping for sweet justice!

Years  have passed.

The house is sound now. The Phelps (and their house) are long gone. This is my home. I worked for it in many ways.

Oregon 58, Bowling Green 24

Finally, the college football season has begun. Could this be the year of the Duck?

Quack, quack, quack!