I am packing this morning for my trip. I’d have liked to have packed last night, but circumstances prevented it. With the wet heavy snow we have gotten in the last 36 hours (more than a foot of snow), I lost power at my apartment. I have emergency lamps to use and some candles, but I had hoped the electricity would be back on by this morning. It’s been out for nearly 24 hours, and there no estimated time for repairs. I have to go pick up my rental car between 10:30 and 11 am (the university requires we use rental cars for longer trips), so I’ll get packed and head out in a bit. I hate leaving Isabella here without electricity, but a neighbor will check in her, and I’ll be sure she has plenty of food and water. I’ll be back on Sunday. Surely, we will have power by then. I hope we have electricity back before I have to leave. Nothing is going as planned.
I’m so glad that I’ll be going back home today. I’ve enjoyed this conference (except for the one session yesterday in which I found the woman incredibly insulting). I like getting together with people I don’t get to see often, meeting new people, making new connections, and visiting a place I’ve never been before. I enjoy learning new techniques and strategies to better do my job. Yet, I’m still ready to be home.
I usually enjoy staying in hotel rooms, and while this one was mostly fine, I’ve stayed in better and more comfortable hotels. So, I’m ready to see Isabella, sleep in my own bed, and enjoy the comfort of my own home. It will be a long day today. I have sessions all morning, a luncheon to attend this afternoon, and a 3+ hour drive home. I’m sure I’ll be exhausted when I get home, but at least I’ll be home.
Now, I smell the bacon cooking downstairs. I can’t believe that on the 7th floor I can still smell the bacon cooking all the way up here, but then I have a very sensitive nose. That being said, I’m hungry, so I plan to shower and get ready for the day, then head down for breakfast.
Is it just me or does everyone feel like they look their worst when looking at themselves in the bathroom mirror in a hotel room? I don’t feel that way in other mirrors in the room or any other mirrors anywhere else. However, I always feel like the mirror in bathrooms add 10 pounds, sort of like the cliche about cameras. I mean it could be the cliche about cameras and the bathroom mirror phenomenon give more accurate portrayals, but I hope not. Anyway, that’s my random musing for today.
My conference is going really well. Yesterday, I went to a session about hosting drag shows in museums, similar to drag story hour at libraries. One of the speakers was from the Museum of Science in Boston, and he talked about their program Coleslaw’s Corner. Coleslaw being the name of the drag queen who hosts the events in their planetarium. They do about three a year and look really fun.
The other thing of note from yesterday was that I went to dinner with some of my colleagues from three other Vermont museums. We had a great time. There were three women, one who I know very well and another who I’ve met before. The other two men are both gay, so that was also a plus to last night. Both are exceedingly nice and also at least a dozen years younger than me. Still, it was a really fun night.
Tomorrow, I will head back home. I’m not particularly looking forward to the drive back after nearly a full day of conference events, but I will be glad to be home and back with Isabella. I was able to “sleep in” until 5:30 am this morning. I’m about to shower, get dressed and go down to breakfast.
I’m in Portland, Maine, this week. You would think that without Isabella, I might be able to sleep in a bit, but no, my body is so used to waking up between 4 am and 5 am that I still woke at the same time (I may take a “nap” before I go down to meet my colleague for breakfast.
This is my first time in Maine. I’ve been to all of the other New England states, except Maine, so I can now cross that off my list. My colleague had to be in Kennebunkport yesterday afternoon, so I dropped her off and drove into Portland to familiarize myself with where our hotel is and have lunch. I had some really good Thai food. There are a surprising number of Thai restaurants in this city.
I decided that I’d go back to Kennebunkport to wait for my colleague to finish her event. I’d planned to visit a few museums, but yesterday was Election Day and the one museum that was open is next to the town hall, so there was no convenient parking. I decided that while here, I’d drive to the beach. There were signs everywhere for “Beaches,” so that’s what I did. I’ll be honest, East Coast beaches are not that beautiful when compared to the beaches along the Gulf of Mexico where I grew up going to the beach. However, while it may not have been sugar white beaches, it was nice. I enjoyed smelling the salt air and hearing the crashing of the waves.
I have to make a quick trip down to Boston and back today. It’s a three hour drive down there. I have a meeting to attend, then I’ll be driving back. I may stay and have dinner just to try and avoid Friday rush hour traffic out of Boston. It’s supposed to be a beautiful, sunny day for a drive. I much prefer driving on sunny weather than in rain. With a sunny day also comes heat. It’s supposed to be 90 degrees in Boston today, whereas here in Vermont, it’s supposed to be 83 degrees. No matter what, it’s going to be hot, and it’s going to feel hotter because of the humidity. Weather, travel time, etc…I hope this will be a productive meeting.
The need for connection and community is primal, as fundamental as the need for air, water, and food.
—Dean Ornish
I’m leaving on my retreat today. I thought this quote was somewhat apropos for the type of retreat I am going to. The retreat is designed to disconnect from social norms and reconnect with nature. We will be engaging in workshops like art, body movement, and photography, as well as rituals, trance dance, and fire ceremony. I really need this getaway, and I am going to make the most of it.
I have realized that I need to get away. I have not taken a vacation just for me in nearly four years, i.e., before the pandemic. I have had so much on my mind recently, and it has not been good for me. I am thinking of going to a gay men’s retreat for a weekend in June. Have any of you ever visited Easton Mountain Retreat in Greenwich, NY? If you have, let me know what you think. It is described as:
Easton Mountain is a community, retreat center, and sanctuary created by gay men as a gift to the world. Through workshops, programs, and events, we provide opportunities to celebrate, heal, transform, and integrate body, mind, and spirit. We offer our land, rich in beauty and wisdom, as a home to a community that extends beyond the land. We are a worldwide fellowship of people enriched by our connection to Easton Mountain. This fellowship is a force for positive change in the world. Read More
Their Summer Splash Weekend is billed as a weekend to “get out of your mind.” Here is an excerpt from the description: “This weekend, we invite you to come to Easton Mountain to get out of your mind, to stop using your brain’s logic, forget about social standards and stop using words to try to understand the beauty of being a human and explore the primal self.” Honestly, this sounds like something I desperately need right now.
Although I know myself well enough to realize I will be nervous going to something like this and knowing no one else there, maybe, that is exactly what I need. The whole thing sounds fun and liberating. I need to get out of my head. One of the workshops is “The Liberating Power of Pride,” a reflective discussion focusing on what pride means, what it means to liberate ourselves from heteronormativity, and discover who we are as gay men in the world today. As someone who took a long time to be comfortable in my own skin as a gay man, and something I still struggle with, maybe this will be a bit therapeutic.
I need to learn to be more confident as a gay man. I worry too much about what others think of me or if I am going to accidentally offend or annoy someone. I do not expect a weekend gay men’s retreat is going to give me the self-esteem I need or to make me comfortable in my own body and show the world my true self. All of that takes much longer than three days. I have been working on it all my life, and I don’t think we ever fully reach it since we will always be our own worst enemies.
Furthermore, where else am I going to get an all-inclusive weekend away for just a few hundred bucks. I’d love to go up to Montreal, but that gets expensive, as is any number of other possibilities around here. What I know, though, is that I need to do something for myself. I spend too much time worrying about things that are beyond my control, feeling guilty for things that I either did not do or couldn’t do anything about.
So, if anyone has ever been to one of the weekend retreats at Easton Mountain, please let me know what you thought.
It’s nice to have a vacation away from work. I say vacation from work because this is not really a vacation where I am going anywhere, nor is it much of a staycation since I haven’t been able to see some of the things I’d love to see here in Vermont. Because of the rain (and the migraines that come with it), so far, it’s been a homecation. It’s nice, though, having nothing pressing that needs doing and just being lazy on the couch with Isabella sleeping nearby and watching some TV. Speaking of Isabella, she hasn’t really let me sleep in. She’s used to me being up around 5 am, so she gets pretty antsy if I don’t get up. However, because of nothing to do, I can take a nap whenever I want. While most of the time, I enjoy having something to do; sometimes, it’s nice to just do nothing and (do my best) to worry about nothing.
It’s supposed to rain all day today, but Thursday and Friday have no rain in the forecast, though it is supposed to be cloudy. However, Saturday and Sunday look like sunny days. I hope that I am able to get out and do a little hiking. I may even head down to Quechee Gorge, i.e., “Vermont’s Little Grand Canyon,” and do some hiking there. It should be pretty spectacular right now with the amount of rain plus the snow melt from the mountains, the rivers are full, and the waters are rushing over the rocks. I suspect it’s quite beautiful at Quechee, with the white water rushing down the gorge instead of the usual lazy stream that runs through it. Or, instead of going down to Quechee, I might stay close and hike along the Winooski River or one of the other local rivers instead. We’ll see.
I’m driving back to Vermont today. This trip has not been as bad as I’d feared it could have been. The workshop was actually very interesting, and I met some very nice people. The hotel wasn’t great. For a Hilton, it was badly lacking with elevators that didn’t always work and terrible customer service. However, I did have a few good meals, and one truly awful one.
I’ll be glad to be back home with Isabella. I miss her when I’m gone, and I know she misses me. I’m not looking forward to this drive, but I’ve got some audiobooks to listen to, and if I time things just right, maybe the traffic won’t be too bad.
And I also want to wish my friend Susan a very happy birthday. 🎂
Hark to the gondolier singing, Dreamily, dreamily singing, Ever guiding our languid gondola Out on the fair lagoon.
Lo, how the pigeons are winging, Airily, airily winging, Blending coos in our idle revery Out on the fair lagoon.
Now is the gondolier calling, Warningly, warningly calling; Hark—the answer—from turning shadowy, Where the dark waters wind.
Now we emerge in a glory, Radiant, radiant glory; Campanile and dome rise magical Out of the Grand Canal.
Every wall has a story, Passionate, passionate story,— O’er the song of the gondolier hovering, Out on the Grand Canal.
Gardens above us are leaning, Drowsily, drowsily leaning; Never water and sky so heavenly, Sung by a gondolier.
Ever and aye in our dreaming, Far-away, far-away dreaming, We’ll remember this golden Italy, Sung by a gondolier.
About 15 years ago, I was doing research in Italy for my dissertation. I was able to spend a month traveling Italy (Rome, Florence, and Venice), and it was a trip I will never forget for many reasons. It was the first time I had ever traveled on my own. I remember the beauty and food of Rome and the amazing Vatican City with St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican Museums. I wondered through the Cimitero Acattolico (Non-Catholic Cemetery) of Rome, often referred to as the Cimitero dei protestanti (Protestant Cemetery) looking at the famous graves of Americans who had traveled to Italy in the nineteenth century.
In Florence, I remember the festive atmosphere of the Piazza della Repubblica, the gold merchants on the Ponte Vecchio, the splendor of the Duomo, and the wonders of the storied museums such as the Uffizi Gallery with Sandro Botticelli’s Primavera and The Birth of Venus and the Accademia with Michelangelo’s David. I walked the streets where American artists had walked more than a century before. I visited the English Cemetery and made friends with the strange but infinitely interesting custodian of the cemetery, the medieval scholar Julia Bolton Holloway, formerly a nun of the Anglican order Community of the Holy Family and scholar of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who is buried in the cemetery.
Then I went to Venice, which was cold and damp, and I caught a terrible cold. The city, however, is magical. The canals and the grand palazzos that line it are breathtaking. The gaudy but fascinating Basilica di San Marco and the pink and seemingly austere Doge’s Palace with the Scala d’Oro, the Golden Staircase, and the Ponte dei Sospiri, the Bridge of Sighs. I remember taking a vaporetto to the Lido with a group of nuns sitting in front of me laughing and seeming to have the greatest time as they were sprayed by the waters of the Lagoon while we bounced over the waves.
These were all great memories, but what will always warm my heart is the thought of seeing the gondolieri in their blue or red striped tops, red neckerchiefs, wide-brimmed straw hats, and dark pants. In movies you often see an older man guiding the gondolas down the canal as lovers cuddle in the traditional, flat-bottomed rowing boat holding their rowing oar to guide the gondola down the canals. I did not see many old men as gondolieri, but mostly beautiful young men like those in the picture above or the one below who I became enamored with and had to take his picture.
About the Poet
Ruby Archer (Ruby Archer Doud or Ruby Archer Gray) was born in Kansas City, Missouri on January 28, 1873, and died in Los Angeles on January 23, 1961. She was an American poet, educated at Kansas City High School and by private tutors. She was married to Dr. Frank Newland Doud on March 27, 1910, and later to Benjamin Franklin Gray. She contributed poems, translations from French and German dramas and lyrics, and prose articles on art, architecture, music, Biblical literature, philosophy, etc. to papers and magazines.
The Closet Professor 