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.
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.
I made it down here. God help me! I’m trying not to let them drive me crazy. As soon as we got to my parents’ house, I went straight to bed, although apparently they don’t understand that somebody is trying to sleep. They were watching tv and talking away. However, I was just too tired to let it keep me awake.
The orthopedist’s office finally called about my hand, but not until I was somewhere in the air between Burlington and Washington, DC. I had about a two hour layover, so I was able to call them back. I ended up playing phone tag with them until I was finally able to talk to someone. I have an appointment on the day after I get back to Vermont.
I’m flying down to Alabama today. I have limited internet access at my parents house, and my cellphone barely works, if it works at all. They live too far from civilization for my taste. However, that’s where I’ll be until next Thursday (12/29). I have scheduled “Pics of the Day” through Christmas, but as for daily posts, they may be a bit sporadic, if I can post at all. I will try to post some while I’m gone, but if I don’t, know that I’m okay. I may have to get on here just to rant bit or tell something funny that happened. Right now, I’m looking forward to one thing: eating at my favorite Mexican restaurant tonight.
In about two weeks, I will be heading to Alabama for Christmas. I have not been back since before the pandemic. I knew too many people who had gotten COVID, even if vaccinated, because of the vast number of people who refused to get vaccinated. My sister’s family refused to get vaccinated until my brother-in-law’s employer mandated it, and there would have been no way to avoid them if I had come home for any of those other Christmases. I was safe in Vermont, and I planned to stay that way. My mother, though, insisted that I come home this year, and since she was paying for the plane ticket (though I wish I could have gotten her to spring for First Class instead of Coach—she didn’t realize that I opted for Main Cabin Plus or whatever they call it), I agreed. I could not have afforded to fly home this year by myself. The ticket was nearly $1000! I have flown to Europe cheaper. Anyway, I am getting off-topic.
I have very low expectations for going home. Yes, they will be glad to see me, but I know my father will be an argumentative asshole—he always is, and my mother will make snide nasty comments—she always does. My sister and brother-in-law will be their usual redneck, annoying selves. My niece and nephew will be excited to see me as well as some other family members. It’s what I expect. My mother will try to control everything I do and not want me to be out of her sight. Sadly, she will have some control over me because I will be staying with them, I can’t afford a hotel room for a week, nor can I afford a rental car for the whole time. So, anything I do will depend on borrowing her car.
However, I have already told her I will not be under her thumb the whole time. I have a good friend with whom I plan to have lunch while I am home, and if he can still make it, she’ll have to live with it. She’s not happy about it, but I’ve already told her that she lets me go for a few hours to have lunch with a friend, or I am just not going home. For now, she seems to have relented. If she brings this up again and tries to prevent me, I will flat out tell her, “You either let me do this or this is it—period. Once you take me to the airport, don’t call me, and don’t expect to see me again. We will be done for good!”
My parents controlled my life for too long. I let much of my life pass me by trying to get their love and acceptance. I DO NOT NEED IT ANYMORE! They can love me the way I am and accept me for who I am, or we don’t have to deal with each other anymore. I’ve had all I can take. My mental health has been much better in the three years since I’ve been away from Alabama, and I have no plans ever to go back to the way it was. I have only low expectations for going home. I know it will be awful and tiring and emotionally draining, but I will give them a chance to act like human beings for once. It’s the last chance I will give them. If there are arguments or hatefulness, then I don’t need it. I’ll get on that plan on December 29 and not look back.
Sometimes, especially during the coldest days of winter, I miss the sugary white sands and emerald waters of the beaches on Florida’s Gulf Coast. I especially miss going into a store to pick up a few things and see similar sights to the one above: a hot guy in swim trunks and barefoot doing a little shopping before heading back to the beach. I also used to love sitting on a blanket at the beach and reading a good book. Beach reads were always the best. The only problem with the beach is that you can easily get sunburned if you’re not paying close attention, and there is no way to leave the beach without having sand in uncomfortable places. Not to mention, on a hot summer day, the sand could literally burn your bare feet. Also, I never much cared for swimming in the ocean. It was okay once yo got past the waves, but for the most part, I just loved the scenery. More so than sitting on a blanket on the beach, I preferred sitting on the balcony of a hotel room looking out over the beach and watching all the hot guys. There was always a cute lifeguard or cabana boy to look at.
I remember one winter, my parents and I went down to Navarre Beach, which is about halfway between Pensacola and Fort Walton Beach. (All of these places are in Florida, of course.) I don’t remember where my sister was, but she was not with us. We stayed at a nice hotel on the beach, and I think it’s one of the only times we went the whole trip without arguing about something. I think this was just before Christmas and we did some Christmas shopping at the outlet stores in Sandestin. My fondest memory though was going to this little restaurant near our hotel. It was winter, and we mostly had the restaurant to ourselves. The food was good, but what made it so wonderful is that we laughed, talked, and had a great time having dinner that night. There weren’t many times like that. My father could be mean to my mother, and he and I often argued. My mother and I always got along much better than my father and I. However, this night, there was no fussing or fighting. I don’t remember what we were laughing so much about, but it was a very happy memory.
Like many of us, I have not traveled very far since the pandemic began. I went home to Alabama the Christmas before the pandemic started. In fact that holiday season, I took a cruise from New Orleans to Mexico with some friends of mine, then flew home to Alabama before returning to Vermont just before the New Year. I could not have guessed back then that I’d be spending my second Christmas in Vermont away from my family. I don’t completely miss traveling to Alabama. I know that probably makes me a bit of a bad person, but when I go home, I basically still have to pretend to be someone else and suppress my sexuality. I don’t miss doing that. I also have zero alone time when I go home, and I like my solitude at times.
While I may not miss going back to Alabama too much, I do miss traveling. For Thanksgiving and my birthday in 2019, I went to New York City to see my friend Susan, and we had a very lovely Thanksgiving dinner, and she took me to see Chicago, one of my favorite musicals, on Broadway. I got to see the Stonewall Inn and the Freedom Tower among other famous Manhattan landmarks. I would love to get to spend more time with Susan in person, whether that is her coming to Vermont or me going to Manhattan to see her, but that won’t happen until COVID-19 becomes as routine and as seasonal as the flu.
I also want to get back to Montreal, which has become one of my favorite places to visit. New Orleans used to be my favorite place to visit in North America (Italy, especially Florence and Rome, still beat out everywhere else), but while New Orleans is fun, it’s also kind of nasty; it stinks, and it’s filled with drunk tourists. Montreal is a much cleaner city. The Village (formerly the Gay Village) is much larger than New Orleans’s gay area in the French Quarter, and Canadians are much nicer than Louisianans. I just always have more fun and feel safer in Montreal, so I’d really like to go back when the border is easier to cross again.
When you are like me and enjoy traveling, it’s hard being somewhat confined to central Vermont. The farthest I’ve been is Burlington to the northwest of me and Lebanon, NH, to the southeast of me. Both cities are about 45 minutes away. I guess I got spoiled working at my museum. When I first started as the oral historian, I traveled all the time to conduct interviews all over New England. Then, we had the traveling exhibit which took me to places all over the eastern seaboard. It all came to a sudden halt when the pandemic began. At some point, I do believe we’ll get back to normal. Vermont thought it was ace enough to return to some sort of normalcy, and now we have the fifth highest percentage of COVID cases in the country. All we can really do is stay vigilant and keep up with our vaccinations. If we do that, then maybe we will return to normal sooner or later.
Joe
The Closet Professor 