Monthly Archives: December 2022

Pic of the Day

Moment of Zen: Home

Pic of the Day

Back at Home

I’m back at home with Isabella. I got back around 12:30 am, got settled in, spent a little time with Isabella, and went to bed.

Pic of the Day

Homeward Bound 🤞

My flight out of Montgomery is supposed to leave around 2:30. If all goes well, I should land in Burlington by 11 pm, which means I probably won’t get home until well after midnight. I have no doubt that I will be exhausted by the time I get home, but I will ge glad to get to see Isabella in the flesh. I have a camera set up so I can check in on her, but she doesn’t know that. I don’t try to speak to her through the camera, even though I could. The last time I tried that, it upset her and me because I could hear her crying trying to find me.

I’m ready to be out of Alabama and back in Vermont. This trip, more than any before has cemented in me that Vermont is home. Alabama no longer is, and I am perfectly fine with that. I’m just ready to be home.

Pic of the Day

One More Day

One more day and I then I’ll be heading home to see Isabella. My trip has had moments of good and bad, and I just need to get back to my own life. Yesterday, I visited with my aunt and that was nice. I got to see one of my two cats that she kept when I moved to Vermont. Edith allowed me to see her and seemed to recognize me, but Lucy hides from everyone. If I’d stayed and spent the night, Lucy would have heard my voice and came out, but I wasn’t there long enough. My aunt and I went to lunch and then saw some old neighbors and some elderly relatives. 

My aunt is conservative in some ways, but she hates Trump, and even though she’s a huge fan of Auburn football, she thought Tommy Tuberville was too dumb to be elected to the Senate. She’s also liberal on a lot of things that the rest of my family is not. It’s not necessarily that she’s liberal as that she doesn’t judge other people for being happy. Several times she pointed out men she knows and told me about their husbands. One is even an interracial gay couple, and while in most places that wouldn’t be much of an issue, gay and interracial is horror inducing to most people in Alabama. My aunt was very matter of fact about it as if she was talking about a straight couple or anything else. Trust me y’all, this is not the attitude of most Alabamians, but it should be. 

My aunt has always been gay friendly. She’s been a dental assistant for the past 40 years, and back in the 1980s, she worked for a dentist who was gay. He as forced to quit his dental practice when he contracted HIV. He eventually passed away from AIDS. I never heard her say anything disparaging about the fact that he was gay nor that he died of AIDS. My aunt has her faults. We all do, but for the most part, she’s a good-hearted woman who does not discriminate. She only gets upset with people when they are unkind to others. 

She undoubtedly knows I’m gay. We lived together for several years before I moved to Vermont. She also kept most of my books that I couldn’t take to Vermont with me. A lot of them are gay history or gay fiction. There is no mistaking what they are. I’ve never officially come out to her, but I know I could. I’ve just never known how to tell her. I’ve never been good at coming out to people. If I ever get in a serious relationship with a man, she’ll be the first family member to know because I know she’ll be accepting.

Anyway, I’d started out wiring this post planning to talk about how much I wanted to get home to see Isabella. It turned out to be quite different. It happens, but I’m keeping the title and picture I started out with for this post.

Pic of the Day

When the Year Grows Old

When the Year Grows Old
By Edna St. Vincent Millay – 1892-1950

I cannot but remember
  When the year grows old—
  How she disliked the cold!

She used to watch the swallows
  Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window
  With a little sharp sigh.

And often when the brown leaves
  Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
  Made a melancholy sound,

She had a look about her
  That I wish I could forget—
The look of a scared thing
  Sitting in a net!

Oh, beautiful at nightfall
  The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
  Rubbing to and fro!

But the roaring of the fire,
  And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
  Were beautiful to her!

I cannot but remember
  When the year grows old—
  How she disliked the cold!