Monday, April 21, 2008

A Bit of a Walk on the Wilde Side

Lately I've been walking through the neighborhood to the east of mine, grand old homes that have been reclaimed and restored, somewhat the Indianapolis equivalent to Cherokee Circle in Louisville and I'm sure there are neighborhoods in other cities that have the same feel to them. The houses are colorful because they are the subjects of studies of the residents who researched the kinds of colors that were used in the home's original period. I dare not say during the Victorian period because I don't think that they are all of that period, in fact, some are new construction. They are colorful though, mostly muted tones, not the colors of the Grand Dames of San Francisco this is Indiana after all. Most of these homes are very well landscaped, some the victims of over growth, a sign that the inhabitant has probably been there for a while.

Yesterday afternoon I went for a walk and went a little further than I have been going. Because the weather was nice there were others walking, many pushing the modern scaled down version of prams, some with small children on foot. Some were working in their flowerbeds, others sitting on their porches on wicker furniture, wooden porch swings and some were perched on limestone rails around their porches talking to neighbors. On one porch a little one was offering a fresh daffodil to the neighbor, a little Norman Rockwellesque.

This urban neighborhood was alive with residents taking in the beautiful day; many of them I am sure took no real notice of what was going on around them. I hope that they were so entrenched in their work and relaxation that they can use those reasons for their excuse to fail to return my nod or greetings, my little waves to children in fenced yards were always acknowledge though.

My attention was drawn to two trees on one block, one in the lawn of a neglected Tudor, the tree was obviously dead and had been for several years, in fact the over grown garden had many things in bloom, scarlet tulips, radiant daffodils, while there were was beauty in the yard, the large dead tree drew the most attention, looking very out of place. The attention getter in the lawn was the overgrown vine that hid the house, the dead tree and the "come hither," beauty of the bright flowers; the combination gave the residence a feeling of having been pulled from the pages of a fairytale. Surely an evil woman lived here that hated children.

The other tree that I saw was in the corner of a lawn with impeccably manicured grass, the edges of the flowerbeds were surely cut by the hand of a well-trained surgeon. Grape hyacinths in the front, daffodils in the middle and tulips in the back, all standing at attention and looking as though they feared the wind because moving from formation would be forbidden. The lawn had a black wrought iron fence, contemporary to match the Neo-Federalist style home that it surrounded, while the lawn has the feel of being the home of stoic tin soldiers, the residents seem to be the opposite. Both men greeted me while they worked in the yard only a couple of days earlier, even being so gracious as to cut the electricity to their power tools so that I could hear their greeting. (Not everyone in this neighborhood speaks when spoken to.) The tree in the corner of the lawn looked to be a Bradford Pear that was losing its blossoms probably from a short brisk wind. The petals from the tree covered items on the ground, a lawn ornament, a little hard to identify because of the blossom shower.

As I ambled toward home I thought about how beautiful the lawn was and the contrast between the two houses that aren't far apart. The two places made me think of Oscar Wilde's fairy tale, The Selfish Giant. In a nutshell, the giant while away on a seven year visit with his friend the Cornish ogre runs out of anything to say and returns home to find his garden in full bloom and filled with happy children at play. He runs them out of his garden and posts a no trespassing sign. The children miss the garden and the happiness that they knew there. The satisfied giant has a change of heart when winter, the north wind and hail move into his garden and won't leave. After several years of living in the winter when spring and summer has come to everyone else he hears the song of a bird on his window sill and looks out to see a small place in his garden where there is spring, spring has come because the children have broken a small place through his garden wall. He breaks down the wall for the children and spring takes over. The trees blossom where the children climb and there is beauty again. There is one child who cannot reach the branches of the tree and so cannot climb it, the tree stands covered in snow, spring has not come to it, the giant sets the boy in the tree and it blooms. The giant invites the children to continue to play in his garden, but notices that the boy that he aided does not return, the children do not know him or know where he has gone.

From here I defer to Mr. Wilde:

"One winter morning the giant looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the winter now, for he knew that it was merely the spring asleep and that the flowers were resting.

Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvelous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.

Downstairs ran the giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face red with anger, and he said, 'Who hath dared to wound thee?' For on the palms of the child's hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

'Who hath dared to wound thee?' cried the giant; 'tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.

''Nay!' answered the child; 'but these are the wounds of love.

''Who are thou?' said the giant, and a strange awe fell on him and he knelt before the little child.

And the child smiled on the giant, and said to him, 'You let me play once in your garden, today you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.

'And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms."

How fortunate I am to have gone for a springtime walk, somewhat a bit of a walk on the Wilde side.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Miss Otis Regrets

I had the experience again the other night that I have had repeated times now. It seems to be a fixture in the gay community according to my gay friends, but I feel pretty sure that the, "straight" folks have the same problem. (I hate the term straight used this way, but homo and heterosexual sounds so clinical.)

I was supposed to meet someone for the first time the other night, I've chatted with him on line a little and I've spoken to him on the phone at length. A very pleasant person and it appeared that we would be the kind who could sit and talk for a good while about any number of subjects. Like I've warned before though, don't get me started on quantum physics, it's just not smart to get me started. (I have no idea what quantum physics is.) I have been told though, that I'm easy to talk to and can talk about a lot of different subjects in an intelligent manner. I take that as a compliment. I've said before, "I read, therefore I am." It's nice to be able to just sit down and carry on a conversation and if the two people can talk about nearly anything short of quantum physics, well, all the nicer. I like to learn this way, it's nice to know where another has traveled, what foods they like, what their opinion is on a movie or what kind of jelly they find to be the best. Of course, "if it's Smuckers, it's got to be good."

Strong friendships can start this way, friendships that last a lifetime. We begin friendships by finding a common ground and often times that common ground can be something as simple as loneliness. I suppose it would be safe to say that loneliness can be one of the driving forces in establishing friendships. If you can find someone to talk to, then the loneliness can ebb. It always feels good to know that you are doing something about the problem of being lonely. When there is someone that you can share with, and someone can share with you, how can that be a bad thing? After all, bearing one another's burdens is supposed to be a good Christian thing to do.

There is a hitch to all of this, if you make plans to meet someone for the first time then it makes all of the talking and friendship building and burden bearing a lot easier if you follow through and show up. I can think of no lonelier feeling in the world than to be stood up.

I have told some friends over the past few years when I have been stood up, they are very quick to tell me that being stood up is all about the other person, it isn't about me. I know what they are saying, they are trying to tell me that it isn't because of anything that I said or did, it's all the other person's problem. "Their insecurities," is what one friend of mine called it. I don't know that everyone who has stood me up did so because of his or her insecurities. Let's face it; sometimes meeting new people is just plain hard. I don't argue that, and I understand it completely. I just want to point out that being stood up isn't all about the other person. It's about me as well, now I've been drug unwillingly into it. Now it's about that feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me feel like I some how failed the other person. It's the running through the archives of my mind and replaying the conversation tapes. Did I say something that offended the other person and didn't know it? Did they keep it to themselves to protect me?

I have had the situation where when I called one guy's hand on his standing me up he said that I should have called to remind him. We had seen each other at a mutual friend's party and had touched base about time and place. When I talked to him later and he said, "You should have called me to remind me," I simply said, "you need a secretary, I waited an hour and a half at the restaurant and I ate alone.” He didn’t need to know because I didn’t want to say it or to give him the satisfaction that his being the third one in as many months helped me sink into a weeklong depression.

Some say that in this day and age that it’s just simple to forget things because there are so many distractions. There is a great deal of truth to that when you consider how many people are reading e mail and text messaging constantly, to the point that they can’t drive without the phone pressed to their ear. I often wonder how they can have so much to say to so many and how did they do it before they had these modern conveniences? I managed to make a phone call every now and then from a phone tethered to the wall before I had e mail and a cell phone, I still use the darned thing on a fairly regular basis, and I never use it while driving, the cord is too short. I have never sent a text message, I don’t even speak the language, and I think schools offer Text Messaging as a Second Language now.

So, just for the record, it is still considered good manners to call and say, I know that we had plans together this afternoon, I regret that I’m not able to make it.” Miss Manners says that an explanation is not necessary and that the recipient of the news has no right to ask for an explanation either, I can see her point. It is so much friendlier than leaving someone with a whistling kettle on the burner and fresh biscuits on the plate while the Royal Dulton is laid out on the table by the sofa. It should go without saying now that I really appreciate Bette Midler’s rendition of Miss Otis Regrets even more now than I ever did.

Friday, April 04, 2008

It's an Honor Just to be Nominated, Thank You

You may think of this ether way you want to, you are allowed to think that the speech that I've been writing is either way to late or way to early. I want to be prepared and I want to have it memorized when the time comes for me to deliver it.

It's here, on my blog, that I want to polish the speech and share my thoughts behind it. The speech is for my appearance at the Academy Awards. When I am asked to attend and I'm sitting in one of those red velvet seats after having walked the red carpet and being stopped by Joan Rivers for a brief chat, I want to be prepared if they call my name for whatever accolade they wish to bestow upon me, I think that it's important to be prepared for moments in life such as this one. You just never know when it could happen to you and wouldn't you be most embarrassed if you where not prepared and you had to do your speech impromptu? Not everyone thinks fast on their feet.

When I approach the podium, statuette in hand, I'm not going to hold it in the air like I'm a drum major, I'm going to clutch it to my breast like Elizabeth Taylor did when she won Best Actress for Butterfield 8. The award deserves that kind of respect, it is a highly coveted award; the media gives it more coverage than the Nobel Peace Prize. When the crowd ceases it's applause and they have taken their seats, my acceptance speech will be one that will shock the academy as it will surely be the briefest one that has ever been given, the TV network won't know what to do with the extra time.

The speech goes like this: "it's an honor to be nominated, thank you." And then I would be led off of the stage by one of those blonds clad in a cheesy, slinky dress to the wings where I would be photographed for the papers and US magazine; then I would walk off to wherever it is the winners go, probably back to my seat. The speech is simple and yet it says it all. Now, there is a great thing about this speech, it is so versatile that it is unbelievable. This same speech is written in such a way that win or lose it can be delivered. If I don't win the golden idol for movie success and I'm being shoved out the stage door in the back of the theater, where the lesser known reporters and photographers ask me to make a very brief statement, I can say, "it's an honor to be nominated, thank you. " Then I'll dash off to my waiting yellow cab, if you lose do you leave in the same limo that you came in? For some reason I don't think that you do, you either leave in a taxi and return to the hotel to collect your things and leave down trodden for home or you pile into a Yugo with a bunch of the other losers and you head to a small diner where you look as though you were the inspiration for Hopper's famous paining, "The Nigh Hawks," only in tuxedos and evening gowns.

I really don't think that the dynamics behind the Academy Awards fit every aspect of life, I'm glad that they don't. You just scratched didn't you? You're wondering how I just took that left turn from the paragraph above to where I am now. Humor me. I point this out because in life I don't think that there should be a Best Actor or Actress category, though there are those who are working overtime to achieve that award. There are those who work so hard at giving life instruction, often on subjects that they aren't prepared to give advice on, so I suggest no Best Director Awards either. I think that there are surely other categories that the Academy has that don't fit as life Oscars either.

There are two, however, that I think are surely the only awards necessary. If we were to all vie for either of these titles there would be no choice but to expand the number of awards given for them. The Academy would be overwhelmed at the number of nominations and it would be impossible to chose who could possibly win the golden trophy, the only answer would to be give more than one. The categories of which I speak are the only life award that the Academy could apply to our daily lives; this of course is my opinion. I think the real awards should be given to the Best Supporting Actors and Actresses. Isn't that our hearts desire, really? Isn't that why we are here, to encourage and support one another? I'll be the first one to say that it's an award that couldn't possibly be won every year. There are times that we are only able to qualify as Best Supported Actors and Actresses, we couldn’t be much help to anyone that year, we couldn't get past our own pain and heartaches to be a support to others, we could only be supported.
There is just one problem with this category; I really don't see how it can work. I really want to see the Academy abolish this category as well. I'm sure that this takes you aback after I have touted it so heartily. There is a major flaw in the concept of Best Supporting Actor and Actress. While Shakespeare may have said that all of life's a stage, I think that we fail to realize the chink in this situation's armor, life really isn‘t a stage. We shouldn’t be actors, we should simply be ourselves and confess that we have a need to love and be loved; that we are in a position to help and support, but only because we have that same need for ourselves. We don't need to act as though we have a God shaped vacuum in our lives, we have one, we have a real need for someone/something to believe in, we have an inner drive to exercise faith...in something.
For the most part, I see that for myself, I put too much effort into being an actor, pretending to be someone that I'm not in hopes that the makeup and the costume will hide who I really am. While I don't want to be the one that points this out, I've noticed that there are very few on life's stage that aren't doing the same thing, it's just our nature. We don't want to admit that we are frail and fragile and that we need to be assisted by the supporters and we don't often see that when we are who we really are, we are the supporters and encouragers for others, being real makes it easier.

All that said though, isn't it a wonderful thing to visualize ourselves at the podium and giving our speech, "It's an honor to be nominated, thank you."