Following on that weekend in London, on Saturday we celebrated hubby’s pre-birthday at Halfway to Heaven by taking two friends to see Rose Garden, a drag performer who has a special place in our hearts from the time we lived in London. I have written about Rose before but what made this show special was that our friend Cass, was a drag virgin and Rose did not disappoint in making her feel part of the show. The thing about drag is not only do the performers need to have a thick skin but so does the audience. If you haven’t seen Rose and are of a delicate demeanour, you’d probably walk out in disgust. Having grown up in Belfast during the 70’s, her jokes can take aim at everything from “The Troubles” to the current state of identification and classification within the LGBTQ community. She did both that Saturday. Rose and I disagreed on the term queer which I prefer but she does not: still after calling me out on it, we all agreed she was a BITCH and it was cemented in unison J. If you head down to her show, you’ll get that joke.
Splicing her own unique brand of jokes with old musical and tv classics from the theme to Laverne and Shirley to Cabaret and Rocky Horror, there is a comfort in knowing that there are performers who are still carrying the tradition of drag as I first encountered it over 25 years ago. Performers, who have paid their dues and have weathered the changing tides of the scene. It is too easy now for many to think that drag is all Drag Race instant celebrity when truth is for a long time, it existed behind blacked out windows where for a few hours you could forget the realities of life out there and laugh, drink and smile in a safe space. Where the success of the show depended on the connection with the audience. Rose keeps that magic alive.
To introduce friends to that experience on a Saturday at Halfway was extra special on a weekend celebrating hubby’s birthday. It was also our first experience seeing Morag McDuff who did manage to get our friend Cass on the stage. She did have the drag baptismal of fire that day. Here is another reason to head down to Halfway on a Saturday in case you aren’t convinced yet. Each time we have ventured down on a Saturday, we are introduced to new acts and this is how fan bases are traditionally created, at a grassroots level.
I was going to post about seeing Ripley’s Like A Sturgeon: Trump Tops at the RVT on March 9th upon my return from London but illness got in the way. Still, there is never a time limit on praise. In that time I was ill, Facbook also brought up a memory from a year ago that made me realise I don’t just want to write about, I need to write about and if you haven’t yet seen Ripley perform, you need to get your arse down to wherever she is on stage next. In fact, the next instalment of Like A Sturgeon: Fake News will be on Friday June 15, 2018 at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Get yourself a ticket here.
The memory that Facebook brought up was a year ago, hubby and I were downstairs at Halfway to Heaven watching Rose Garden when she brought Ripley on stage as her guest. You can read my original posting on that here. I was personally touched when she tweeted it as a reminder to remain defiant in her art. Not everyone needs to get what she does, but she needs to do what she does and if you ask me, in this day and age if you don’t get what she is doing, then you haven’t been paying attention. Wake up people, this is not a drill.
In that time, she has gone from strength to strength with her third instalment of Like A Sturgeon: Top Trumps at the RVT. Those who were in attendance will agree that she set the bar even higher than ever. As she told me, the show was three months in production and the reaction of the audience I hope made her realise how much it was all worth it. We had a friend visiting from New York who was floored by her performance and said to us that he wished performers in the US were doing what she does.
Returning characters like Nicola Sturgeon were present as was Melania, who this time was not the only Trump in attendance. Ripley brought out Donald, Ivanka, and even Byron. With the help of her drag daughter Elle, we were treated to Byron Trump (click here for video), Tiffany Trump and that sneaky Putin. If you go to Ripley’s Facebook page (click here) and see the videos, you will never think of Tatu’s “All the Things She Said” in the same light again.
As with previous shows, Like A Sturgeon was set to Ripley’s own pre-recorded voice, giving us insight into the political villains of the current time. Usually Theresa May and most recently Arlene Foster have been her choice of attack but this time, it was all Trump. Simultaneously scary and hilarious. The portrayals were like the Trump themselves, you are not really sure if what you are seeing is believable or a joke. Their sinister monologues were spliced with sound bites from the likes of Rhianna, Kate Bush, and so many more. A special mention to Bjork as Melania informs us of her own morning ritual in Hyperballad. Not just content with giving us this, the video in the background set to Madonna’s “What It Feels Like for a Girl” showed “Donald Trump” putting on make-up and women’s clothes was the stuff of YouTube viral dreams. If it were ever released to the public, I am sure that is where it would end up. Trump’s level of misogyny, transphobia, homophobia, racism, etc were given the treatment that would have caused his twitter calloused fingers to whittle down to the bone.
Swooping in at the very end, to give us that stern sensibility that has earned her the post of First Minister of Scotland and of course Mother of Dragons was Nicola Sturgeon. Performing her signature tune of Like A Sturgeon and giving us her wee insight into the state of the world, plus her obligatory dig at Theresa May. Ripley’s Sturgeon leaves us thinking that perhaps she may be the only sane political leader on this wee island of ours.
I still remember as the plane touched down at LaGuardia that Pixie's “Dig for Fire” was playing through my headphones. The flight attendant had asked me to remove them but I put them back on as she walked down the aisle. I doubted and still doubt till this day that my Panasonic CD Player would interfere with the plane’s navigation system. The batteries were held in by tape because I had lost the cover some time back. The music and contrasting vocals of Frank Black and Kim Deal on that track still reminds me of that day. I can still see myself sat by the window of that plane as it landed on that clear day , 19th February 1998.
My mother died on the evening of February 18, 1998.
I was in my senior year of college at University of Oregon in Eugene. She died in The Bronx. I was on the morning flight back East. I know I changed planes somewhere but couldn’t tell you where. I have no recollection of leaving Eugene, of the journey itself but I do remember landing in New York.
Much of that week I can still only recall in moments and even then, it’s as if I see them as if I am watching a film or TV show or something. Even with grief counselling and other forms of therapy, I somehow remain detached from the events of that week.
I remember that before I got home on Feb 18th and was told to phone back East as my mother had been taken to hospital that it was a beautiful day for February. I cycled home from work as it wasn’t raining that day. Eugene winters can be very wet and miserable so that day I just remember feeling at peace and enjoying the light. When the weather was nice in Eugene, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else and I often thought those hills around the town were like a protective barrier; keeping us sheltered from the world outside though sometimes it felt like it was keeping us prisoner. That day I felt safe.
Things I do remember are the friends who were with me in my apartment in the Eugene Manor as I waited for update after update. I remember speaking to my best friend in New York and asking her to visit my mother in the hospital. She talked her way in by pretending to be her niece. I remember my best friend and roommate held me as I collapsed when the phone call came that she had died.
I remember crying in Eugene. I don't remember crying in New York until I had a moment alone in the funeral home with my mother's body. Even then, I am assuming I did cry. I must have. It looked nothing like her in the coffin which made the whole moment surreal until I looked at her hands. Her hands bore the marks of the life she lived. She was never afraid to get her hands dirty or pop open the hood of a car and see what was wrong with it. They were hardened but had an olive tinge that made them look soft. She was always using hand lotion to make them feel as soft as possible. I inherited that from her. In my house, I am never far from moisturiser. It was then in that closed room that I realised how important it is to look at hands. Hands tell the truth, they never lie.
That week I was "home," I remember arguing with my older sister Elisa about the funeral preparations, whether it should be in English or Spanish. Elisa was a mess. She had been shopping for her wedding dress when my mother was rushed to the hospital. My sister lived in Miami and like me, would never see our mother alive again. What’s that saying about God and making a plan?
I remember trying and failing to be there for my little sister Kasandra. She was only 13. I wish I had been able to show more to her because I was 9 when my own father died. Now, as adults we have an incredible bond but back then we were just kids. Kids who had just lost their mother.
I remember we couldn’t locate my brother Joe. We hadn’t seen him for a few years.
I remember the neighbourhood took up a collection to be able to give my mother a proper burial because our family couldn't afford it. People talk about poverty levels and yet where I grew up, there were no statistics that covered how we lived. We lived by helping one another. It wasn’t charity. It was how we did things.
Friends and family I hadn't seen for years came to pay their respects. I welcomed friends and was rude to my mother's family who never looked for her in life. I remember asking them "why look for her now?" I’ll never be able to take that back.
Father Quinn at Our Lady of Mercy presided over the church service but only after we agreed to confession in order for us to be able to take Communion. "It would look bad" if the family didn't take communion." I remember picturing my mother rolling her eyes and trying not to laugh in his office. She used to joke that if she stepped into a church that the stain glass would explode. I also remembered how important it was to her for her body to be taken to Mass before being buried. She feared wandering for eternity like she believed my father did because he wasn’t taken to Mass. It’s why we light a candle for him each year, so he can find his way. I remember at the time thinking that perhaps her light would finally illuminate his path and that even if he never made it to Heaven, if they found each other then at least they would be in paradise.
She was buried in New Jersey which is the resting ground of many New Yorkers both in life and death. My dad is also buried there. At the cemetery, I forgot the words to The Lord's Prayer which was embarrassing and shameful as "head of the family." That was a role that was thrust upon me because someone had to” keep it together.” Elisa accused me of "being cold" and not caring because I wasn't crying. It’s hard to organise things with tears in your eyes.
I remember United Airlines lost my luggage on the flight home. I didn't get it back for two days. I remember looking at pictures of my mother when I got back home and for the first time seeing how beautiful she was. I had always joked she was a handsome woman but in reality, she was a beautiful woman hardened by the life she was born into and the life she led. Ronnie Spector once said that The Ronette’s look was inspired by the Puerto Rican girls in Spanish Harlem at the time. That was my mother. She was a teenager fresh off the plane from Puerto Rico. She had lacquered hair piled high in a bun on top of her head, black eyeliner in the corners of her eyes and wore skirts that “good girls” in Puerto Rico were not allowed to wear. She was on a different island now and Mirta Luz became just Mirta or “Murrta” as non-Spanish speakers would pronounce it.
I remember flipping through those photographs while listening to music by powerful singers to get over the lump in my throat and open the floodgates. Singers like Edith Piaf, Nina Simone, Andrea Boccelli and Felipe Rodriguez, my mother’s favourite Bolero singer.
Most of all, I remember that when I went back to Eugene, life moved along without much input from me.
A few weeks ago, I was driving home from St Ives. I took the coastal road which I love doing when I have things on my mind. It’s a windy bit of road through a beautiful and desolate landscape with the Atlantic on one side. It is dotted with crumbling mining stacks and houses few and far between. Possibly the largest place on that road between St Ives and Pendeen is Zennor. On a sunny day, I put the top down, my sunglasses on and I feel free. I can easily get up to 60 mph on those roads in my little Mazda if there is no one else on it. She drives like she was made for them. I was listening to a mix CD I had made who knows how many years ago and “Dig for Fire” came on.
I had to pull over to the side of the road and cry. I could have skipped the song but I didn’t. I was back on that plane, touching down at LaGuardia. Images of the funeral flashed like bulbs. I remembered that I was wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses that day.
I cried because my sister Elisa would probably still be alive if our mother had lived. I cried because as of now she has missed 20 years of our lives. She never got to meet all her grandchildren. She never got to see the amazing woman and mother my sister Kasandra has become. She never got to say goodbye to my brother Joe or see the man he has become. She never got to see us now as a family. She never got to meet my husband or see my life as it is now.
I cried because 20 years on, I still miss her and that is okay. I don’t ever want to not miss her.
It probably seems a little odd writing an end of year piece this early in December but there are two reasons for this. First, I tend to consider the start of my year as my birthday rather than the traditional calendar year. My birthday is when I set my goals for the next year. I write them down in a carefully chosen birthday card to open the following year. This year as I read my goals, the one that eluded me was publication, but more on that in a moment. As my birthday was three weeks ago, this is a belated wrap up. The second is, from tonight I am away for about 10 days on a well needed holiday with hubby in Gran Canaria but not before a stop in London for my annual consultant appointments. Then there is Christmas so chances are I won't have time to update my Soundboard till just before New Years.
Explanations aside, let's begin.
I struggled this year ego wise. Every single piece of writing I sent out was rejected. It just wasn't my year. In 2016, I had some fantastic results and I rode that high. 2017 well, I wouldn't say that the rejections broke me, but they bruised my ego. This of course is not necessarily a bad thing when I think about it.
As I looked back at those rejections though, there was something that stood out from previous years' rejections. I actually got feedback 9 out of 10 times and encouragements to resubmit. It is too easy to get caught up on the stigma of rejection and not see that they were not so much a full rejection as a "hey, you're on the right track but perhaps try this." You can write till the end of days and not know where you are going wrong because you haven't had any feedback. That can be crushing when you are finally ready to send out your work and the only feedback you receive is a "Thank you for submitting but..." This year I did stop and take notice of what my peers were saying. That is growth and growth should never be underestimated or taken for granted.
I guess what I am saying is that sometimes the rejection is not so much a rejection but a guiding light towards a new finish line.
The other noticeable difference in 2017 is how my "recovery" time from being rejected was shorter. In previous years, a rejection would mean at least a few days of "what is wrong with me?" Reaching for chocolate or entering my silent mode and wanting to throw something at anyone who dared to say something encouraging when I was in the depths of my own despair. This year, I time boxed my rejection, I still reached for chocolate (91% cocoa, just a small square though because that's healthier) but I made sure I got back in my chair and continued writing. In fact, in spite of nearly 4 months of not being able to write regularly because of both hubby and my health issues; I actually produced more words this year than I have done in previous years. This is also means I have more editing than I have ever been faced with but you can't move forward without the words. It's part of the process and as I look back on 2017, I realise that the process has been something that I have felt each step of the way.
As I mentioned earlier, 2017 health wise was not a brilliant one. Hubby broke his wrist and needed ear surgery for an ongoing condition which meant he needed to be taken care of. For an independent man like him, it wasn't easy and it really brought home how much we work as a team.
I was faced with a serious question of mortality that I had to answer, resulting in lifestyle changes that have gotten easier with each day. I quit smoking over 6 months ago. I smoked for 25 years just to put that into perspective. This has been interesting writing wise in terms of re-reading some of my own work because cigarettes feature in my writing quite a bit and I won't deny that the cravings still rise up when I read those passages but rather than change them, I decided to confront them. Also, I had to start eating better and taking exercise. Rather than join a gym, I bought a treadmill and an exercise bike. I have found that the treadmill has been a great way to work out problems I encounter when writing or just problem solving in general. Honestly, it is the single best piece of exercise equipment ever invented in my opinion. As hard as the initial changes were, I have embraced them now and okay I admit it, I see and feel the benefits.
Too often we focus on the things we haven't done and don't give ourselves props for the things we have done. I like to think of it as the "invisible cage" in our minds. Each thing we haven't done becomes a bar surrounding the space where our accomplishments live. Believe me 2017 was getting me down with the list of things I didn't do which is why I needed to look at things from a different perspective. The journey rather than the destination.
I had hoped to have my collection of short stories published by now. Instead, though, the time I took from not looking at them has proven invaluable to the editing process and I am enjoying reacquainting myself with the characters and the stories again. I also want to finish so I can move forward with other projects. I'm ready to bring this baby home.
I have a real soft spot for the spy genre. This year I decided to try my hand at a spy story which I entered in Ploughshare's Short Story Contest. Though I did not win, I did push myself out of my comfort zone as a writer. That story has now developed into an idea I am pursuing which bring together my interest in Latin American politics, espionage and Post-Colonial studies.
I wrote a draft of a ghost story which lead me down a research trail that brings in my local surroundings here in Cornwall and love of the supernatural. Once again, I stepped out of my comfort zone and it felt great. That story I am planning on entering into the Fiction Desk Ghost Story Competition end of January 2018. Fingers crossed.
I started to engage more as a writer on this blog and created my own social media page which is something I have wanted to do for ages but was nervous about because it is so easy to get lost in social media. Thing is, it has given me a whole new appreciation of how positive social media can be.
Continuing with social media, I have started to pull back from reading the news comments on articles. This is that space where compassion goes to die. It was really having a negative effect on my mental state and by taking a step away, I have been able to keep my head above water current events wise. This process is a work in progress though and I think it will always be. I'm a writer, I will always want to know what is behind door number 2. I guess I just need to remember to open it with caution.
I explored Flash Fiction properly this year. Even submitting some as well. This is a format I have struggled with and still find hard to get my head around in terms of writing, but I faced my fear, put my big boy pants on and did it. Ladies and Gentlemen, once again, I think this is called growth.
So I didn't get published in 2017, this doesn't mean my year was wasted. In fact, it was incredibly productive even with all the hurdles in my path.
Watch out 2018, I'm geared up!
Recently, I've been tired. Washed out to be precise. It's not just a physical exhaustion from looking after hubby as he recovers from multiple surgeries (nicely by the way, thank you for asking). Taking on all of the day to day running of the house plus caring makes me realise how much our relationship is dependent on both of us doing our part. That's actually a wonderful thing to realise and I appreciate it more and more now that he is on the mend.
That said, that only a part of the exhaustion.
There is also a collective mental exhaustion from news headlines and the barrage of comments from a population that lacks compassion as much as they lack basic spelling and grammar. That again, is only part of the feeling of the exhaustion that has followed me around. After all, the headlines are the headlines, how one chooses to deal with them is more important and in my case, that is forcing myself (and failing at times) to not look at the comments section of an article.
On top of those two things in life, there is also my old friend doubt who has returned as I near completion on my collection of short stories entitled Tangled.
A few months ago I was set to get on with the publication of Tangled. This collection has been years in the making and the pursuit of it as a self published book has been part of the decision making from the onset. It is in part, motivated by the fact that short story collection by newly established writers are notoriously hard to sell to agents and publishers, but also when I returned to writing after a doubt induced hiatus and a complete life change. It was a goal I set myself to ensure that I never forget how important it is to make an opportunity instead of just looking for one (though if any opportunities in the form of agents or publishers are out there, I'm listening. Just saying).
Regular readers will remember that a few months ago, life interceded and so creative pursuits had to be put on hold and with it, the seeds of doubt were sown. Doubt in any person can be debilitating. Doubt in an artist can play at every and any insecurity you have ever had about yourself and your craft. You doubt what you have produced and what you have yet to produce. You even have a absurd thoughts like, the reason the cat is sitting on that draft is because she knows its shit and wants you to know that she knows.
It was during one of my regular "shut the fuck up" moments that I signed up for an online course through One Story. As often when these courses present themselves, not only is the material good to give you the kick in the bum you need but by being in an artistic forum with like minded people, you remember that you are not alone in this process. There are others out there struggling to be heard and wondering if anyone is listening.
A fellow classmate reached out after having read my website including my story "When Night Falls." That story is a reminder of how determined, or stubborn I can be when I put my mind to something. It is a story that continually got rejected but I never gave up on it; 21 years after I first put pen to paper, the kind folks at Litro Magazine #TuesdayTales published it. He had also read an article I wrote about Finding Your Tribe for The Review Review. It seems that reading that article inspired him to reach out to me and a couple of other people for feedback on his story.
To that person, I would like to say a big thank you.
Thank you for reminding me at a time when I was feeling doubtful and vulnerable that what I have written is of importance. Thank you for giving me the kick that I needed to get back to work. Thank you for reminding me that my words speak for themselves and that doubt is a part of this process. That to give in would be to deny yourself and others the connection that art produces.
Through art, we extend a hand into the void and hope that someone will take it. Thank you for that reminder.
Thank you also for sending me your story which is well written, enjoyable and will find its publication home because I can tell you believe in your words; and now I do too. Belief in your words is crucial to seeking a home for your writing. Belief in your words is essential to your writing.
Thank you for that reminder.
In my mind, it hasn't been nearly two months since I updated my Soundboard. That said, I have been on autopilot since last month and the time has come to take some control and find some direction once again despite factors that are outside of my control.
Since I last wrote, hubby broke his wrist which has meant taking on more responsibility around the house and in general because you don't realise how important two wrists are until you only have one. Hubby is fiercely independent so this has been a bit of learning curve but apart from putting a spanner in our plans, we're doing what we always do; work together. I count myself lucky to know that if I were the one injured, he would do the same. In fact he has done in the past. It's what we do and not a day goes by that I am not grateful for him and what we have.
As a result of this, the publication of Tangled has been delayed because I have not had the time to go through the final edits before proof reading. That said, I have waited this long to get the collection out there, a little bit longer is not going to hurt. In fact, distance and fresh eyes can only be a good thing when it comes to editing and proof reading. So once again, watch this space. It will be so worth it :-).
If those two current factors are not enough, an issue that in my opinion had been dealt with has bubbled to the surface like an overflowing septic tank (ours did need emptying last week so the imagery is stuck in my head) and for the last two weeks has caused me unrest and unnecessary stress. Without getting into the details, sometimes friendships end and there is nothing either party can do about it. It is sad when it happens but I also believe that everything happens for a reason. I have often found that the best thing to do is make peace with it and go forward but not everyone deals with the loss of friendship in the same manner. Having spent too much time and energy that I could have been directing towards my own writing and my own life, I took the step yesterday to block certain people on Facebook who are no longer a part of my life. I used to think it was a childish thing to do but I get it now. Since I did it yesterday morning, I have been able to think again. I have been able to write this entry. For the last week I have been trying to write a completely different Soundboard entry but the transfer of words from mind to paper has eluded me. It is so nice to be able to write freely once again.
When I used to work in London, I would often get my coffee at Starbucks and there was an employee there who whatever her mood was, could either make me smile or piss me off. That was until I realised that it was mentally damaging to let someone else's mood influence your own. Truth is, I had no idea what had made her upset that morning so why should her mood upset me. You can't control other people's behaviour but you can control how you react to it. I stopped reacting to her behaivour. In fact, I stopped going to that Starbucks and found another one. Sometimes you also need to remove yourself from the situation for the purpose of harmony and serenity.
Something else happened this morning as well, I started thinking about the good things in my life. Seeing the good in any situation.
Hubby broke his wrist but he is mending nicely. That is a blessing. That is something to be grateful for. It could have been worse but it wasn't.
This last year, I have not had a single piece of writing accepted but I have not let it stop me writing. I have actually produced more words this year than I have done in previous years. That is incredible given everything this year has thrown at me; at us.
Last week, I had lunch with an old friend who I have not seen in 10 years and it was like nothing had changed apart from us being older and both having quit smoking. It was a reminder though of how lucky I am to have friends who are that solid. Not just her but others. My friendships are long and they are strong. To have that in my life is a true blessing and not one that I take for granted.
My writing tribe has been a source of great support creatively and personally. To have each of them as part of my tribe is an invaluable addition to my life and though we are scattered around the world, we maintain contact that has made the writing process a little less lonely this year.
Finally, I am grateful for my recent immersion into the world of telenovelas which has helped my Spanish return, something that often I worry about losing having very little use for anything other than English where I live. It may seem like an odd connection but watching Spanish, means I am able to be in the mindset to read Spanish. Reading makes me happy.
Too often I get lost in the troubling matters of the world and I don't take that pause to reflect on the good, but not today.
Since I last posted, I have been hard at work on writing and on my health.
First, the fun stuff. My collection of short stories entitled Tangled, will be available soon. It is a collection that is years in the making, has gone through various titles, has been cut down, expanded, cut down, expanded but has come together as a project that I feel proud of and I hope more importantly, is enjoyed by those who read it. Putting that on your radar for now. Watch this space! More details to follow soon, possibly even a taster.
So now health. Yea, well.
Shortly before my last post I had to go see a specialist about my cholesterol and triglyceride levels and although still in an exploratory/ diagnostic phase; I was told in no uncertain terms that I needed to make some major lifestyle changes if I wanted to be here a bit longer and the thing is, I do. I am only 40 for starters and I intend to be here for as long as I can because hubby is not getting away that easy. I also have a lot more life to live.
Enter, cutting down on all things that I love like cheese, pizza, red meat and wine. I've had to incorporate exercise into my daily routine and the big one; quitting smoking. I made the decision to quit cold turkey.
Today is day 66 of no cigarettes and as of yet, no slip up.
Hold the applause.
I titled this post "This Is Not A Public Service Announcement" for a reason. I have chosen to give up for a specific health reason and what the implications are if I didn't. Anyone who knows me will remember hearing the words, "my mother did not raise a quitter" more than once. Believe me, I intended on smoking till the very end. In fact, I fucking love smoking. I also should add that I do not have an issue with anyone who smokes. I have absolutely no intention of being THAT quitter. You know the type, I don't need to say who they are.
Quitting is hard. Simple.
If you Google articles on quitting smoking you come up with a load of "benefits." What I wasn't prepared for was how it would affect me as I went into withdrawal. My sister said I should write about my experience which I think was her way of saying stop whining to me. She's never been a smoker and I think if you have never smoked you will never understand how hard it is to quit. I took her advice anyway because she is right, writing always helps me. So here are five aspects of quitting that I was not prepared for.
1. Smoker's flu: Nothing like feeling you are on death's door with a flu during a fucking heat wave. Only to find out that yes, your body mimics flu like symptons as it purges itself.
2. Bleeding gums: So yea, as your gums heal from the years of smoking, they bleed more. That was a fun visit to the dentist.
3. Stress: In recent years I had been the type of smoker who could go days without a cigarette so I thought, okay I can do this no issue. What I hadn't thought about was how I used cigarettes to cope with stress. Something pissed me off, I'll have a fag. There you go. Nope not anymore. I am exploring new ways of dealing with stressful situations. So far, herbal teas, just walking away from my desk help and I am now meditating twice a day. I have found as well that a piece of dark chocolate is pretty effective which is good since I am not allowed milk chocolate anymore. Dark chocolate is also good for the heart.
4. Heavy drinking: I find that this is harder and not as much fun without a cigarette. The more I drink, the likelihood of cravings arising and so as a result I just can't drink as much as I did two months ago. This is of course verges on the benefit side of things but it does mean that in these early days, I am not as social as I used to be. Mind you, my snarky comments on Facebook typically made when drunk are at a minimum which is probably a good thing.
5. Senses: So my taste and smell are different now. Bad smells REALLY smell bad and I feel like with food, things taste a bit funnier. I would like to say it is my sense of taste and smell returning but seriously I started smoking 25 years ago, so it is more likely that they are building from scratch at this point. At present, any body odour is magnified which is not pleasant.
I could go on about the positive benefits like my skin looking healthier (it is) but to be honest, you can Google those articles and ultimately for me, the main benefit is life. Still, I am owning my right to whinge here so that is what I am doing.
I mark each day on the calendar as if I were counting the days of my incarceration because each day counts. Also, it provides me with a visual and that helps me. It reminds me what quitting look likes. It also means I don't take for granted how hard quitting is.
I have agonised about making this information public because I don't want to be that sanctimonious holier than thou prick who quit smoking. To my smoking friends, smoke em if you got em. My journey is my journey. I quit, you didn't. I'll still go out with you for a fag, I'll just stand there for the conversation.
For anyone thinking or needing to quit, I won't lie. It's fucking hard. That is what to expect. Expect that some days will be easier than others. In terms of my own experience, I have found acupuncture to be beneficial and marking each 30 days with a treat to yourself. I went to the spa Tuesday and it was heaven. Yes I realise that it was on the 64th day not the 60th but I was ill last week.
Apart from that, the only words I can offer are: It's fucking hard but not impossible with the right motivation.
So I leave you with this article on "Stairway to Heaven" because (1) I like to keep my Soundboard somewhat musical as you know (2) it reminded me when I was younger I found that "Comfortably Numb" was the perfect length of a Camel Light, but only a Camel Light, not a Marlboro Light. Weird huh?
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I wanted to post soon after returning from London on Monday 22nd May but I returned with what seemed like a flu, our eldest cat Nadine was unwell and had to be taken to the vet (she's fine now) and the Manchester bombing which was not just a shock but left me taking a step back from social media to preserve my sanity. I decided the best approach to the week was a little R&R 2017 style; that's reflect and recuperate.
You may remember that a few months ago hubby and I saw a drag performer by the name of Ripley at Halfway II Heaven (our London local), well we were able to go to her one woman show Like A Sturgeon at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern on Friday, 19th May. If you didn't make it, you missed one hell of a performance. We invited some friends along, I would say all but one is now a fan but that person did vote for Brexit and well, more on that later.
Ripley began the show with what is now my favourite impersonation of Melania Trump guiding us through her own journey from Slovenia to "luckiest" (in that she doesn't have to see Trump as much as the rest of us) and most definitely the least popular First Lady in US history. Ripley mimed to her own spoken word, popular music and a genius segment in which famous speeches suddenly came out of Melania's mouth as she addressed the crowds in "her own words" of course. I think Marina and The Diamond's would be proud of Ripley's "Hollywood." Ripley's next character was our very own "Prime Minister," Theresa May. I actually think Ripley does Theresa May better than Theresa May. Hubby thinks Ripley at least shows the softer side of Theresa May. Perhaps we are both right? Go see her live if you can or find a video clip on her Facebook page. Honestly, the amount of boos shouted at Theresa are enough to make even the most sceptic voter think we can oust her from Number 10 (sideline, anyone else picture flying monkeys, a la Wizard of Oz style when you see that woman speak? Even worse, picture the heads of her cabinet on the bodies. I would be so dangerous if I could photo shop). Theresa May went down a storm with the crowd and two of our friends noted that this was the type of performance needed right now more than ever. I couldn't agree more. Ripley's final performance of the night was the namesake of the show, Nicola Sturgeon. Now, first of all, her referring to May as "wifey" cannot be unheard. Also, when Nicola sings to May to "Let Scotland Go" in the style of Kim Wilde's "Keep Me Hanging On." Yea, that song is now bettered for me and I love that version partially because I remember fancying Kim Wilde in that music video (I too doubted my own homosexuality once, although I found out many years ago that fancying Kim Wilde was more common amongst gay men then most people would think, anyway back to Ripley). Nicola pulled a Scottish Flag from between her legs as she sang "You Don't Own Me" and not once did it seem disrespectful. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world and it worked because Ripley works. The level of production and hours of rehearsal were evident in her performance and I am going to keep raving until everyone I know goes and checks her out because these troubled times call for her brand of thought provoking humour.
Those with a sensitive anti-Brexit disposition, please proceed to the next paragraph. Now I mentioned about a member of our group who wasn't as keen on the content. He was warned and still came. Now, here has been my dilemma since the EU Referendum and the election of Trump. Yes you remember that I happen to be a citizen of both countries. I can't separate the two because of the similarities in both campaigns. My dilemma is that we have gone beyond the idea of politics. Politics used to be dismissed by so many people and as a result we are now where we are. I find it difficult to be around or engage with people whose views are fundamentally opposed to mine. Now, this is not about not accepting disagreements or differing views on issues. This is about the cruelty and hatred that both the Trump and Leave campaigns ran on and won with. This is about a disregard and lack of compassion towards one another. The uncertainty of the Brexit terms in relation to EU citizens both here and abroad (I refer to UK citizens abroad as EU citizens because we are EU citizens no matter what the hateful media tells you here). Why? Because it is not a political statistic or some imaginary thing. These are your neighbours, friends and possibly members of your family. I simply cannot get my head around how someone can be a friend of mine or have foreign friends and have voted for that; and are okay with a government refusing to guarantee the rights of those who have contributed to the prosperity of this country. It makes me angry, it makes my blood boil and it is why I find it difficult to engage in Brexit conversations with those who voted for it. That is the frustrating truth and I don't know how to move on from that. I don't know what the answer is. I do believe that even if we rejected the final terms of Brexit and remained in the European Union the damage is done. It will be generations before the scars of that campaign are healed and I don't see it happening in my lifetime. You can't discuss Ripley without Brexit and I am sure she wouldn't mind my side note there.
It was good being back in London, it felt like home in a way it hadn't for a while but it also made me angry to see the poverty on the streets that is the picture Theresa May wants to ignore yet continues to contribute to. This is her reality of Britain and it simply cannot be ignored. Ripley doesn't ignore it, neither do her fans.
Check her out when she performs at a venue near you. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram whatever platform you can find her on. A special thank you to Ripley as well for chatting to hubby and I when you were in such high demand after your performance- Keep doing what you are doing!
Hubby and I would also like to thank the performers and staff at Halfway II Heaven for always ensuring that our weekend is enjoyable and messy. Saturday we headed down after a lovely morning and a boozy lunch in Camden with friends. We had fabulous tapas, mojitos and lost three games of pool. We had no idea when we got there that it was Mrs. Moore's birthday complete with a performance extravaganza that was an homage to Mrs. Moore herself. Rose Garden presided over a stage that included Tanya Hyde (out of drag, our first time seeing here perform and we were impressed), Baga Chipz MBE another artist we had never seen who entertained and offended equally, Miss Penny who is fabulous and remembered us from hubby's birthday back in March and after that things got a little hazy so I apologise now for not remembering more names as we indulged in the complimentary prosecco and more rum and cokes than I can remember. What I do remember is going to Ed's Diner in Soho and being passed out by 9.30pm (punk rock!)
Sunday we headed down to Greenwich by boat and wandered through the streets, markets and park up towards Blackheath to Mycenae House. This is where eleven years ago this coming July, we had our civil partnership reception. It was one of the highlights of the weekend to go back as we are now, so many years later as strong as we are now. We lived in Southeast London prior to moving to Berlin and there was a sense of wonder and nostalgia in the air until we had to get that train back into town. The rail travel was a stark reminder of why we came to hate living in Southeast London and in general, the perils of nostalgia.
We eventually made it back to Halfway II Heaven for Sundays with CK. If you have not seen Crystal d'Canter and Kelly Mild, you really need to get out and have yourself the best start of the week or best end of the weekend; depending on your perspective in life. The energy and laughter in the room is what life should be about. This is spoken entertainment, banter and singing along to your favourite tunes. Crystal and Kelly were the first act we saw at Halfway II Heaven last year when we began to re-engage with London after a notable absence and they keep us coming back (back, back, back). They had a special guest, Alexis StClair who CK described as "you won't be able to look away." They were right, we couldn't and her performance added to the energy of the room. That is the thing about Halfway, the performers all bring a unique style to the stage that will ensure you stumble out of there with a smile on your face and drunk off your arse.
Thank you all again for making London the drag it should be.
Okay, so as if being a citizen of one country with issues is hard, try being a citizen of two countries whose news is becoming more dire with each passing day. The world knows about Trump, no more needs to be said there. We have local elections in the UK this week and now a Parliamentary election in June; thanks Mayhem. Add to that the continued horrors in Chechnya, Syria, and shall we just say the whole fucking world because that is how it seems. I am one of those people who finds it hard to shut down or ignore the world around me. My mother used to call it being an old soul. At times, I put it down to being a writer and having a unique insight. Whatever you call it, we can all agree that there comes a saturation point where you need to protect yourself, and maintain your strength to be able to face and fight another day.
I have been lucky recently that despite the disturbing news coming in at all angles, I have been able to work on two pieces of writing that are on their way to publishers. Watch this space kids. This may be my year. Send the love, we need more of it around us. Also, I am lucky that meditation has provided me with some moments where I am just here. Not in my head. Not in the past. Not in the future. Just here.
There are loads of lists and blogs out there on how to cope and I have written before in A Pause about the need to take a step back from social media. I feel though that with what is going on now there is a need to actually not just pause but throw some good energy into the world and if enough of us do it collectively there will be all that positive energy in the air. I am the first to admit that there is no way you can face any problem with a negative mindset.
I came across this quote that stuck with me and made me stop and think. I shared it on Facebook and it got a few likes but I wanted to share it here and just let it sit for the moment.
“Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” – Vaclav Havel
It made me think because optimism indeed sets an expectation, just as much as pessimism does. Is hope then more about trust? Perhaps. My intention is not to get into a discussion about that as much as leave it there to sit. Something to ponder in the present.
So apart from writing and meditation, I kept thinking about what you can do to just give yourself that space in these troubling times?
1. Lunch with your other half or a good friend: Hubby and I went to a fabulous South African restaurant in Falmouth for lunch last Saturday. In fact, we spent the day just wandering in and out of shops, taking our time to look at things. We did get some bargains but mainly it was connecting with the spaces we used to love but have not taken the time to visit recently because, well, life gets in the way and it is easy to push things to one side. One thing that I am guilty of and I think I am not alone in this one thing: Taking time. We all try to make time but sometimes you have to take time, simply say to yourself: Today we are doing this, or I am doing this..to Hell with everything else.
2. Make a mixed CD: So I am from the age of mixed tapes and back in the day my headphones and walkman looked like they were surgically attached to me. I love a mixed tape. Sure, CD's don't give you that lovely interruption of noises between tracks but they are easier to make. The hardest part is choosing your order and of course the songs. I made one last week to drive to Plymouth and I kind of themed it as music I would have driven to as a teenager. I am an older driver, I dislike the term mature, it comes with too much expectation; as such, I did not have the teenage driver experience.
3. Watch an old favourite sitcom: Whether you have DVD's, Netflix, Amazon, whatever...we all have those shows from our youth or just shows we love. I love throwing on an episode of The Golden Girls, or The Nanny or even The Simpsons. The shows still hold up and laughter sends out such good vibes to the world. That old saying about laughter being the best medicine; it is true for a variety of situations.
4. Read: There are books that I find so beautifully written it is a shame to read pages of them and lose sight of the language. I have been reading Roland Barthe's A Discourse for Lovers now for nearly a year because I love dipping into the snippets and savouring the words, the meanings. I also read the Dalai Lama's writings in a similar vein. There is beauty in the profound and although it can seem serious when you lose yourself in the language of the text there is a real connection that is made. Poetry works on a similar level I find. I think when you need to slow down and be in the moment, books like this are incredibly useful.
5. Support the Arts. Go further, support your friends in the arts. Listening to an album from start to finish is sometimes the meditative journey we all need to embark on, why not embark on that journey with a friend who has recorded an album. We all love a good album but there is something magical when you know the person and not only are you supporting them but you are also a major part of the recognition. Go see them live if they are putting on a gig. Go see a show that has your friend's work. Do you know any writers? Ask to read their work or buy their book. Is your friend in a play? Support them by seeing their show. When you are part of that exchange between artist and audience there it is special and not only are you lifting yourself but another person as well. That's two for the price of one, a real bargain.
Twenty five years ago today I came out of the closet. Yes, it was April Fool's Day but I was so set on coming out after deliberating for so many days that I took no notice of the actual day. This of course led to repeated "no, it's not a joke" responses. I have now spent more of my life out of the closet than in and I am proud of that. In fact, I could not imagine what my life would be like if I weren't a gay man. I knew from an early age that I was different from the other boys, I just didn't know what it was called. Twenty five years is a milestone and I feel like it merits a bit of reflection; but here is my issue: I am happy with the man I have become even if I am not always proud of the things that I have done. If I were to change any of those things would I still be who I am today? So let's not discuss regrets, let's talk about a little wisdom I would impart to myself in 1992.
Coming out is a rebirth, and that means that when you come out, you are re-entering the world as a kid again. Everything is fresh. Everything looks new. Everything is exciting. Everything is terrifying. I was a quiet but mischievous child but damn, when I came out; the hell raiser of a teen in me came out...big time! I went from zero to hero. What people made fun of me in the straight world became my currency on the scene: babyface, skinny and an inability to say no. To quote Prince in Little Red Corvette, "baby you got to slow down." That is probably the biggest advice I would tell myself in 1992 when I pushed the accelerator to the floor. Oh and, you'll never stop coming out but you will become creative in your responses as the years go on. "Only during happy hour" is a fun response to being asked if you are gay.
I remember being told by a friend shortly after coming out that as a gay man I would always know someone who was HIV+. That is true but it wasn't new to me. My father died of an AIDS related illness before Reagan could even say those words on TV and he wasn't a gay man. HIV has and always will be to me a disease. It needs to be treated as a disease not a stigma. I have lost close friends and still have close friends who have beaten the odds. It hasn't gone away and things are better but we still need to remember that it's not over yet. I think because of my father's death, I have never allowed HIV to define gay or vice versa and it is something I actively challenge people on.
Uncle Charlie's was the first gay bar I ever snuck into. I was fifteen and with some friends who were only just a little older than me but with better fake ID's. I remember nervously walking up to the bar to order a screwdriver because I hated the taste of alcohol; and orange juice was the only thing that could make me stomach vodka in those days. Oh how the times have changed. There was a drag queen at the bar who took one look at me. She scanned me up and down as if she was silently reading me. With her cigarette she motioned to me and said, "honey you better work on that (pointing to my head) because that (pointing to the rest of me), won't last." She then laughed. How true those words have rung. It is no secret that looks are prized in the gay community but if there is something I have learned in my twenty five years is that looks are certainly not everything. Seriously. Repeat after me, looks are not everything. Relying solely on them is like carrying a designer bag for the world to see when you can't afford to put food on your table. If that doesn't convince you, buy something "gorgeous" for your home and watch how in three months time, you forget it's there. Nourish your soul and mind equally. I thought being educated and looking good was enough; it took my world falling apart by my own bad decisions to make me realise how important nourishing my soul was.
Looking back at the last twenty five years, I can say with full certainty that one of the things I did not always show enough of, and did not always see on the scene is an abundance of kindness and compassion. Truth is, there is a lot of criticism and negativity on the scene. There is also a lot of insecurity covered up by arrogance masquerading as confidence on the scene. From LA to Prague to Vancouver to Buenos Aires, I have seen the same behaivour. It's not cute, it's boring and it is toxic to all of us. That said, I have also seen those shining little stars of kindness and compassion whose light shines like a beacon in the darkness around them. Those people who step in and help you when you are about to make a bad decision. Those people who sit and talk to you when they can sense you need a sympathetic ear. Those people who can turn your evening around just by extending a hand of friendship or a smile. We need so many bright stars in every gay bar or club in the world that it feels like they are lit up by nothing but disco balls. The more compassion and kindness we show one another, the stronger we are. If I can impart some harsh truths here: We will all face rejection. We will all end up in a room where we are not the cutest, not the smartest, or not the funniest. We will all question what is wrong with us when those things happen. We will all face loneliness. I know for myself that if I had come to these conclusions years before, perhaps I would not have spent so many years feeling lonely in a crowded room. That's the irony of loneliness, you're usually not alone in feeling it. If I could rewind, I'd definitely be kinder.
Speaking of kindness John; one thing I would ask you is how the hell can you expect people to be kind with your heart when you are not kind with theirs? The answer is you can't. People will tell you that gay relationships aren't real. That gay relationships are easy because you are both the same gender. Let me tell you the simple response to those statements: Bullshit! My mother always said the problem with relationships is that they involve two people. That is truth. Relationships are work and they take both sides working together to make it work. A lesson I learned by not putting in the work, so I know. A lesson that nearly cost me the love of my life. Let me tell you something else, it don't matter what genders are involved. At some point you are going to have an argument about the washing up; that too is part of a relationship and it don't get more real than that. My advice is a get a dishwasher though you'll still argue about the right way to load it. But all joking aside if I could talk to John in 1992; I would tell him to be honest and careful with the hearts he will meet. Nothing will haunt you more in life than the hurt you have caused someone you love.
I don't think I can stress enough to my younger self the importance of choosing happiness and not just being happy. I wasn't a happy teenager. I was confused about the world, angry at my station in life, and insecure. That unhappy teenager became a young man who often did what he wanted with no thought to the consequences. I tried to find happiness in men, in places, in drugs and situations. The one thing I never tried was finding happiness in me (cue, Charlene track). That unfortunately took my world collapsing; to hit home. It was when I started looking inward that I became aware of how much I was loved by my husband, by the true friends and family that remained by my side and eventually by the man looking back at me in the mirror. 1992 John, take a few moments each day to tell yourself good things. Stop repeating the bad things you hear out there and believing that they won't get to you. Tell yourself every single day that you are a good person, that you are loved, that you matter! Because when the world is telling you that you don't matter, You can stand up and say with pride: "Oh yes I fucking do!"
John Lugo-Trebble considers this more of a space to engage personal reflections and memories with connections to music and film.