Sunday 49er's game

Brad's family have been fans of the San Francisco 49ers for years and years. They buy a block of season tickets every year, Brad, his mom, his sister Cath, and his brother Steve. So, chances are, one of those tickets will be available every once in a while. Today, his sister and mom are in Maui so we got to invite a couple of friends, Kevin and Randy with us.

We met Randy and Kevin while training for the 2007 AIDS Life Cycle. They are both great people, down to earth and low drama (well, there was that time on the ride.....).

It was a beautiful day and SF kicked Detroit's butt on the field.

I like going to the games even though I'm not really a big fan of football. It's an opportunity to see a wide variety of other types of people in the Bay Area. I've always loved watching people.

Growing up in NC, in a small town, we didn't have much diversity. At the last look, I believe the makeup was something like 88% white, 8% African American, and the rest was "other". It felt so boring to me because I wanted to know more about other cultures, more about the world out there.

When I was in the fourth grade, Ms. Vassey's class, we had just been "integrated" in Rutherford County. Instead of separate schools for blacks and whites, after the third grade, we switched from Forest City Elementary School to Dunbar Elementary, which had formerly been all black.

I didn't really understand much about going to Dunbar for the fourth grade. It just seemed kinda exciting to start a new school. I had heard that it was the "black" school, but that just made me more excited since even though I was born and raised in the South, somehow I missed heavy doses of racism. I know it was there, and all around me, but I just didn't have much direct experience with black people or with their experiences living in a little racist town.

I also remember, a special day, a couple of weeks after school had started. Despite the fact that I was now attending the former black middle school, my teacher was white and all the students in my class were white.

Until Gary started. Gary started the school year late, so he was introduced by the teacher to the whole class at once. Gary was the first caramel-color person I'd ever seen. And he was beautiful. I hadn't even begun to deal with my own sexuality at that point in time, but I knew that there was something intriguing about Gary. I was fascinated by him. I introduced myself right away and tried myself to make him feel welcome and comfortable.

During recess, my heart started racing when he agreed to be my sack race partner. We had to hold hands as we laughed and hopped and fell. I don't know what Gary might have been feeling, but I'd have to say looking back, he was my very first crush. After those first few weeks, Gary made other friends and what I had hoped would be a special friendship turned into just another friend in the class.

I have to give my parents credit. Despite the virulently racist attitudes of many of their friends, family and neighbors, they did not raise me in an overtly racist way. We were taught never to use the "N" word and to be generally respectful of people who are different. Of course, that didn't mean that you should MARRY them- which of course makes any forbidden group or person all that much more attractive.

Racism was much more overt when I lived in southern Mississippi. I did hear the "N" word more often, and there was still a lingering historical sentimentality for the "war". I later realized that the war they waxed passionately about was the Civil War. In North Carolina, much of the local historical identity revolves around the Revolutionary War, and being one of the thirteen original colonies. There was a pride inherent in standing up to the British and King's Mountain, a little town close to my own hometown was the site of a grave of a supposedly heinous British soldier who attempted to declare the countryside for the British crown. Today, visitors heap rocks upon rocks on the supposed grave of this anti-American symbol.

I still remember though from the first social gathering I attended in Hattiesburg, the casual reference to the Civil "wo-er" with a sense of dreamy romanticism. I curiously listened as they described a time in their family (but not necessarily personal) history when they had money and land, and power. And, oh yeah, slaves.

The white, middle class gay men at this party didn't project a sense of hatred of blacks or even a direct wish to return to the days of ownership of other people. What they conveyed though was a sense of lost fantasy- a beautiful dream of status, of velvet and bone china. It was as though thinking about having come from wealth eased the fact that they had anything but it today.

Not to say I didn't see the effects of lingering xenophobia, including vague suspicions of anyone with skin that included pigment. When I walked into the student union on the campus of USM in 1986, it was like two parallels universes- a white world superimposed onto a picture of a black one (or visa versa). It was curious to me why they didn't mix. I couldn't even find the intersection.

In the fourth grade, with a crush on the only boy of color in the class, I started to understand that somehow the color of our skin made us different in some way. Different to me was good then. Different meant being able to have a conversation about things that weren't already known to me. Everyone I was raised with was the same. We all went to the same church, the same kindergarten, the same Tri-City Mall. We were brainwashed with the same catechism and the same perspective. Other white people were boring. And I just faded into the background of the same white-washed fence.

California has its problems, but the thing I love the most about this big state is the chance to know other cultures. The endless opportunity to listen and learn about the way other people think is such a privilege still. Everytime I hear another story about a completely different background and belief system that is different from the one in which I was raised, I feel deeply satisfied. I think it's because it frees me from the heavy, repressive thinking from the fundamentalists I was raised by. There are SO many other ways of thinking in our melting pot. It's a good thing. Go 49er's!

Kay Hagan for Senate

As a native North Carolinian, I suffered through the Jesse Helms years of bigotry, hatred and homophobia.  I'll never forgot him screaming on the US Senate floor "those damned lesbians!!".

I'll also never forget the recent attempt to whitewash his rampant  homophobia by trying to portray him as having "softened" by embracing global AIDS funding later in his life.

Ya know, I'm not sure that late is better than never.  Undoing a lifetime of truly evil words and behavior by "softening resistance" at the end of your career does not, in my mind, entitle this person to avoid the legacy that he has created, by his own stubborn and narrow-minded choices.

He never attempted to see things from the other person's perspective.  He never listened and he never admitted that he was wrong.  I have experience with negative politics.  Jesse Helms was the king of it.  He knew how to strike fear into the heart of working class people everywhere.  He used "God" and gays to convince voters who don't follow politics that he was their man.  He also knew where his bread was buttered.

Jesse Helms was a big friend of big tobacco.  As the major crop produced by the Carolinas, Jesse fought hard to defeat legislation that would impinge on tobacco companies in any way, shape or form.  He didn't care that people, not only in our home state of NC but people all over the world, were getting sick and dying horrible deaths from tobacco.  He only cared that big tobacco continued to funnel big money into his campaign war chest.  

Jesse had a national constituency.  Right wing, racist, homophobic zealots all over the US rallied with the bucks whenever he needed them.  Send out a few letters with a drag queen on the front and he could guarantee a flood of cash.  

During one of his senate campaigns for re-election in 1990, while I was still living in North Carolina, I got involved directly with the fight to oust Jesse.  I volunteered for Harvey Gantt's campaign, the former mayor of Charlotte and the first African American nominee for US Senate in North Carolina.  I attended my first state Democratic convention as a delegate that year and was mesmerized by Mr. Gantt's intelligence, heart and passion.

It was a battle from the beginning.  I poured a lot of my heart and soul that year into doing what I could for the Democrats.  Harvey, much like Barack Obama this year, was the inspirational leader that I could get behind.  

Unfortunately, Jesse won again with familiar and ultimately dishonest tactics.  According to the Raleigh News and Observer around that time, "Republican Party operatives came forward as having worked within the Democratic Party of North Carolina. The Helms' campaign then used well-crafted TV ads against affirmative action. An advisor to Helms at the time, Charles R. Black, Jr. has since gone to work as chief campaign adviser for John McCain. See en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harvey_Gantt for more.

He  never won an election in North Carolina by a landslide, but managed, through despicable campaigning, to hold on to his office until his health finally led to his retirement from the Senate in 2003.

His seat was taken over by Elizabeth "Libby" Dole, wife of unsuccessful presidential candidate for the Republican Party and Viagra spokesman, Bob Dole.  A right wing conservative in her own right, Libby Dole has continued the tradition of rubber stamping essentially every position that her party leadership tells her to vote for.  A recent estimate of her voting agreement with Bush is 88% (http://www.newsobserver.com/659/story/1187072.html) suggesting that there is nothing new, or even interesting about this token Republican woman.

Who, then is Kay Hagan?  I discovered, amongst the tons of emails I received from Democratic and other progressive operatives daily, that Kay Hagan is Libby Dole's current Democratic opponent for the NC Senate seat.  And I learned that she is leading Libby, albeit by a small margin (3%) at this point in time.

I don't know her and I don't follow her.  But I sent her a small donation today because it's time to take down the Republican reign in my home state.  For all the racist campaigning against affirmative action, for all the homophobic scapegoating, big tobacco protecting, and AIDS funding preventing, it's time to send a message that we want our state back.

And if you find out anything bad about Ms. Hagan, like she doesn't support gay rights or "Republican Light"...don't tell me.

Palin's Pallor

A tanning bed in the Alaskan governor's mansion? Makes me wonder what Sarah Palin's true colors are.

One thing is for sure. She is all about image.

I'm sorry right wingers, but I think you are being taken for a ride- yet again.

Do you think for once you might question the credentionals in an honest way of someone that pretends to be "one of your own"? Just because someone attends a born-again church, does that automatically grant access to your favor? If so, you might want to think again.

Some of you might be surprised to know that I am not a member of the Democratic Party. Nor am I a Republican. I changed my political affiliation to "declined to state" in California about three or four years ago. In California, you essentially have four options, namely Democratic Party, Republican Party, American Independent Party, and "declined to state."

And before I forget, be VERY careful about selecting the American Independent Party. They are not what you think they are. They are a group of extremists who have taken the deceptive name of AIP, but are a fringe group who begins their platform with "The American Independent Party gratefully acknowledges God as the Creator of all and appeals to Him for help in protecting all He has graciously given us. With all these gifts comes the right to use them justly. Hence all such rights are the gifts of God as affirmed in our Declaration of Independence. http://www.aipca.org/platform.html".

Although much of the time, I have supported Democratic Candidates in local and national elections, there have been a few times that I supported an independent candidate or other third party candidate. And it's not that I disagree with the party platform, it's the recent lack of courage in the Party itself that I found distateful enough to leave.

Who could have possibly lost to George W. Bush in 2004? I mean, let's get real here, the man was already slipping in the polls, the Iraq occupation was already understood to be a big mistake and the economy was showing signs of failing. I blame the Democratic National Committee for it's weak response to the lies and distortions of the Bush machine.

And then there's Nancy Pelosi. Living in the Bay Area, I was terribly excited about the possibility of winning back the majority of the House. The House is our main avenue for holding corrupt Presidents accountable. Finally, we would have someone who talked tough and would take the Bushies to task for their war crimes and misjudgments.

What did we get? "Impeachment is off the table" as a strategy. Wrong, wrong wrong! Nancy, the people who voted to put you into power wanted more from you. I wanted more from you. Republicans impeached Bill Clinton for a blow job and you won't push for accountability from the man who took us to war under false pretenses, has taken us from the largest surplus to the largest deficit in history, failed to respond appropriately to Katrina and blocks every major attempt to improve conditions for children, etc. I am SO disappointed in the Democrats, I sent a donation to Cindy Sheehan, anti-war activist who's running an uphill battle against Nancy.

Is Obama the savior? Maybe, maybe not. I've been burned by the Democrats too much to the point that I won't support the party itself. I donate directly to individual candidates or to groups like MoveOn.org, but forget the party.

I like Obama's intelligence. I like the fact that there is so much pressure to simplify his responses to complex questions, but he continues to treat the American public as if they have more than two neurons. I read the Audacity of Hope and I like his honesty. I like that he doesn't sound like the average politician who panders (like McCain). I like that while he may shift a response, he doesn't shift change his basic positions (unlike McCain). He willing to lose the election to maintain his dignity. He chooses the high road, even while attacked on the low road.

But, Obama is a man. Just like Clinton is a man and Bush is a man, with human frailties.

I cannot fathom why Obama cannot support gay marriage (or why anyone wouldn't, for that matter). He, more than anyone ever in his position, has the experiences of racism and the first hand awareness of what the US Constitution means. How can he not understand the blatantly anti-democratic stance of denying two adults the same rights and responsibilities of marriage simply because they are of the same sex? Is it one his of compromises to win election? Are there other things that he says now to help him appeal to the independents and moderates that he honestly does not believe? Probably. They all do it.

McCain is the most blatant of blatants. He picks the least qualified woman Republican in America to be his running mate simply because she's a woman apparently and would accept his offer. No reasonable person of either party can honestly say that she's prepared to be the President of the US.

Maybe it's her tan.

Imperfect marriage

About twenty years ago, an interesting arrangement began to form between the Republican Party and right wing Christians in the US. On the surface, it would seem an awkward match between the party of Goldwater and the followers of Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell. After all, Goldwater was a dyed in the wool Republican with moderate leanings, the perfect symbol of northeastern conservatives who believed in fiscal discipline but consistently supported individual freedoms socially.

It made sense and was logically coherent- keep the government out of our lives as much as possible. Avoid wasteful spending on political pork, keep taxes low, and what people do in the privacy of their own homes was their own business as long as those activities did not directly harm a neighbor. I get it.

Slowly however, perhaps due to the changing face of America, the waves of immigration, the urbanization of the coasts, the power base in the Republican party began to get nervous. So nervous in fact, that in order to guarantee a hold on power, someone began to create a rationale for an alliance with a small, but vocal minority in this country, the "family values" voters in America.

Who are they you ask? Poor, white, mostly Southern voters who consider themselves very religious and who have been indoctrinated from birth to believe in "born again" principles of the straight and narrow path, the rapture, an angry, paternal God and the inerrancy of the Bible.

How could the Republican elite ever appeal to a group so different from themselves? How do you convince the very people who benefit from government intervention to vote against their own interests? The link it seems was multi-factorial. First, you win over the leaders of the right wing media. You coax them. You flatter them. You invite them to the table. Pat Robertson, a founder of the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN), one of the largest religious cable shows on TV, was one of the first to recognize the power grab he could make by cozying up to Ronald Reagan http://www.cbn.com/; www.patrobertson.com/Biography/index.asp.

Next, you begin to talk about new "threats" to America besides war and poverty. These new threats include the "deterioration" of the nuclear family unit, the decay of moral values and the dangers of unchecked progressive agendas. You start to associate taxes with government waste, and that trickle down economics benefit the larger whole instead of the upper few. You hammer this agenda over and over in the media and through the local churches on a regular basis. Deregulate the media anti-monopoly rules and allow your friends, the superwealthy and corporate entities to purchase our TV networks and major newspapers to control the flow of information.

And you use wedge issues, like abortion and gay rights, to drive your message home.

Soon, a new type of Republican was created, a hybrid of sorts that we now refer to as neo-cons. You don't have to necessarily believe in the wedge issues that you use to get elected, you just have to play to your new right wing base. Campaign hard on how much you despise gay marriage or how much you love unborn babies despite the evidence that you yourself have a family member who is gay or have quietly ended an unwanted pregnancy in your past. It's interested me that after Bush/Cheney/Rove/McCain came to power after relentless campaigning on an anti-choice platform, that in eight years of control of the White House, both house of congress and the Supreme Court, they were "unable" to overturn Roe versus Wade. Think it was because they were distracted by the war? Think again. They just don't care about the issue.

That's the beauty of this imperfect marriage. Growing up inside the fundamentalist mindset, I was amazed at the power of forgiveness my pastors preached on Sunday mornings. There is almost nothing that you can do that is not forgiveable if you ask Jesus to do so. I witnessed many acts of contrition and community forgiveness based solely on the premise that all you need to do is make things right with the Lord to let go of the past. Many times, I believe this occurred in a most sincere way and that it led to healing of individuals and families. But I also witnessed the cynical and self-serving use of this trust by people who were up to no good. People who had no intention of using this opportunity to start again, to gain access to innocents who could be used, again and again. "But he gave his hear to the Lord!!" I'd hear after an extortion or lie was exposed. Better yet, I was constantly amazed at the good "Sunday Christians" who scrubbed themselves clean, put on their best clothes and showed up with the family service after service to display their commitment to Christ. Only later, I came to find that for some of them, the other six days were spent cheating on taxes, committing secret adultery and gambling away the kids' college funds. It seems a fundamental flaw (no pun intended) that the very trust-embuing faith messages also led to a kind of vulnerability to malicious intents.

Another kind of vulnerability also manifested from time to time in the form of a belief that God is all powerful, that the King James Bible is God's direct word and the local representatives of God, namely the preachers, interpret this document without error or personal bias. No matter the particular spin on a verse here or a chapter there, the minister was generally seen as an important community figure, one who was above question and was to be deferred to in times of crisis.

When you are raised with the model of a strong moral authority, you learn quickly that criticism is unacceptable and that any dissent is considered evil. Yes, you heard me right. To even question someone who has been empowered to speak for the church, you are not just considered an agitator, but your desire to dissent is considered suspicious and grounds for damnation to hell. A lifetime of training to have complete and utter faith in the message and the messenger pays off when you want to manipulate. "Hey! I'm one of you!" they say. And then they use your faith to abuse you.

It is powerful behavioral conditioning to believe that you not only risk community and family rejection for speaking out, but your very soul is at risk for anything less than total investment in the mores of your religious community. Imagine that this is the prevalent attitude in 98% of the community around you, that you were raised in this environment from the time you were born, and that even small testing of authority is met with hostility, threats and shame. Fundamentalist Christians thus share another feature with Republicans- namely, an air of self-righteousness and demonization of anyone with a different opinion. Question represents uncertainty which represents threat. No issue can have uncertainty associated with it because it could lead to a collapse of all givens and all absolutes. Bush is a born again, therefore, whatever he says is ordained by God. Period.

The use of fear based politics in Republican campaigns make perfect sense. It is a way of living that most fundamentalists understand and live with day to day. It is not the fear of eternal damnation however in politics- it is fear of the Big Government, of social decay, of loss of lifestyle and tradition and of real world enemies instead of Satan himself.

Where the alliance between Christians and Republicans begins to show strain however is in the apparent lack of compassion, altruism and unconditional love. I was raised in a fundamentalist church, yet despite all the noise, I learned through the examples of the life of Christ that his message was simple: wealth is not what matters, giving to others is a directive, all people are created equal in the eyes of God, and it is not our responsibility to make judgments of others. Killing is wrong.. babies, convicts, and innocent civilians during war. Consistency is a virtue.

Yes, I think it would be difficult for me personally to have an abortion if I had an unexpected pregnancy, but who am I to impose my personal beliefs on another American who may have a completely different value system than my own? Isn't that what America is all about?

In the fundamentalists' world, unfortunately, too often dissenting views are viewed as not just different but deserving of respect, but inferior, suspect and even Satanic. How odd it was to grow up around many different forms of fundamentalism- the Southern Baptists, the Assemblies of God, the Nazarenes- who ironically condemn each other for their subtle differences in interpretation of faith. "We believe that people who smoke are disobeying the word of God" or "People who dance with the opposite sex are encouraging lustful behaviors" weren't uncommonly held beliefs. It encouraged in me an air of superiority, that my church was the right church and all others fell short somehow. How could I then love someone who evokes pity in me?

How do people who identify themselves as Christian reconcile the politics of Bush/Cheney/Rove and McCain with these principles of Christ? How does paying less taxes, leading to the cutting of government programs for the poor, jive with the multiple messages that implore us to give to the poor, to abandon our wealth, and to love our neighbors?

How does Ann Coulter or Rush Limbaugh resonate with a community taught to seek peace? Why can Bush lie about going to war and yet still command a strong following by people who have read the Bible?

Jesus was a progressive. So shoot me.

My Interview On OutSpoken for Loving Ourselves

Here is my interview on the Comcast show, OutSpoken, with host Tim Gaskin on 5/19/08. I was discussing my new book, Loving Ourselves: The Gay and Lesbian Guide to Self-Esteem.

Foggy day in San Carlos...Autumn has arrived

There are so many things to love about California- beautiful geography, fabulous weather, major cultural diversity. Love living next to the Bay and having mountains in my back yard. Love the right to get married and to spend time with my husband's wonderful Irish Italian family.

Friday night, Brad's brother Rob was inducted into their Catholic high school's Sports Hall of Fame. Not only did he have a successful athletic career during his teen years, playing baseball and football, but he went on to play baseball in college, play in the College World Series, and later play professionally in AAA. After that, he made the transition to coaching and managing for the Red Sox. Yes, you read it right- my brother in law is a manager for the Sox! He now has three, count 'em, three World Series championship rings (two with the Sox) as a part of management.

What impresses me most about Rob is how he remains humble about his accomplishments and a genuine loving person. It has been clear to me that despite his years on the road with professional athletes, that he loves his family (and especially his brother Brad) above all else. He could take the easy way and deny the existence of a gay brother, or barring that, giving his brother's partner in life the cold shoulder. But he doesn't. All of Brad's family is loving in a way that I never quite understood before I got here. Rob however, always makes me feel like a special part of the family, no different from his brother in law David, or his sister in law Anita. He loves me because he loves Brad and I have some role in making Brad happy.

It was a "given" that I would attend the Hall of Fame induction dinner on Friday night. Dressed in suits and ties, Brad and I joined Rob's family table to watch him accept his honor and congratulate him on his accomplishments. I have to give Brad credit where credit is due as well. Having me there couldn't have been all that easy. There were seven inductees, from different eras of the school's history including one from Brad's class of '93 for basketball. That means that Brad was going to see people from his past that would not know about his "coming out". They were likely to see our table of eight and wonder who the guy was sitting beside Brad. He didn't bat an eye and at least twice introduced me as his partner.

If you've never been to Catholic school before, especially in the burbs, there is a special bond that forms there that supercedes other forms of relationships. I went to school with the same group of people from kindergarten to the 12th grade and never formed the kind of bond that I see when Brad meets someone from the Catholic school community. Even if they attended different schools, they feel an instant affinity for each other and resonate with a familiarity that inevitably leads to a connection of some sort- families that they know in common, a particular priest that evokes respect or jokes.

My experiences have been positive in almost every instance. Without skipping a beat, Brad forthrightly introduces me as his partner, the person politely shakes my hand, and I don't detect even the slightest hesitation to resume the bonding and the catching up. I still feel a little like a cultural anthropologist, observing the emotions and the sharing. It's almost like the petty differences between all of us don't really matter when you account for all the commonalities of experiences. Maybe it's just my memory, but in the South, around all the fundamentalists, there wasn't a sense of easy acceptance of differences. If someone even suspected that you were different (heaven forbid QUEER!), there was a subtle moment of judgment first and then a wide variety of expressions of the outcome of that judgment from passive aggressive to outright hostile.

The only thing I miss from the East coast in California would have to the be the four distinct seasons. A foggy morning means Fall has just arrived.

Apple pie, anyone?

I've had an hankerin', yes hankerin' dammit, for a piece of my grandmother's apple pie. We called her Maw Maw, but her real name was Vera.

She was my dad's mother and raised nine children through the Great Depression with my grandfather by working multiple jobs, growing their own vegetables and canning everything she could put away for the winter.

Pa Paw Hardin died when I was about 12 or so. My memories of him are brief and sketchy, but I do remember that he loved to tease and have fun when we went over. Everyone called him a "character" because of his love to laugh. I remember watching him actually plow the patch of land behind their house and he would often let me distribute the seeds of corn and okra down the long empty rows while he covered them up. I remember "getting" to hoe the weeds sometimes too and I felt like I was a farmer myself. The whole thing couldn't have been more than half a football field, but it felt bigger to me back then and when the corn was at it's peak, it was a fun southern jungle to dart in and out of while I played with my brother and my cousins.

I learned how potatoes grew under ground and summer squash splants spread out so quickly that you could almost watch it literally growing. I learned that you picked okra, that odd pod of seeds so common in gumbo, wearing gloves because the fuzzy outer shell made your hands itch if you didn't. Fresh tomatoes and radishes, collard greens, and even watermelons were available all summer. Around the rest of the yard, there were large and shady fruit trees, from several kinds of apples, to cherries, figs and even walnuts that might hit your car if you parked under it too long.

Maw maw didn't miss an opportunity to stock up on everything nature had to offer. She was responsible for feeding eleven mouths after all, three meals a day for quite a number of years if you think about it. Her plan was to capture as many apples as possible when they were ripe or even fell to the ground on their own, sit in her big recliner with her feet up, and peel and cut the apples into pieces. Some of these pieces would go directly into a big pot on the stove, where she would make apple sauce and start canning. The rest, she would lay out on wire racks in the sun to dry so that she could store them until the apple season was over, but still cook them up into her signature dessert. After Pa Paw died, I spent even more over there- just me and her.

Those were precious moments for me. Coming over to her house, as soon as I'd open the door, I'd smell the most amazing amalgam of cooking apples, cinnamon, clove and allspice. She was often making the dough for the pie crusts at the kitchen counter and I'd sidle on up to the bar to watch, mesmerized. She had the most efficient system of adding water to the flour, stirring it up, adding lard, and kneading the dough on her floured countered until it met her expectations. I wish I could remember the exact process so that I could duplicate it in memorial.

Then there was the time that I told her that I wanted a goose down pillow just like hers. I loved sleeping in her big bed and smelling her home remedy linaments and ointments (a stinky mixture of Absorbine Junior and who knows what else?). The next day, we took a ride in her little Chevy Nova to town to the cloth shop. She purchased some striped heavy canvas and proceed to sew the perfect little pillow for me before my very eyes. I loved to watch her sew and knit and crochet. For a woman with a second grade education, she could do almost anything. that would keep a family going.

I watched excitedly as she took her two big down pillows and slowly removed the seams along the sides. What in the world could she possibly be doing now? Within minutes, I watched her reach deep inside and grab a huge handful of feathers stuffing them down into the perfect little pillow she was making for me. From her two pillows, she was able to skim just enough for me to have my own. I couldn't believe it then, that someone would so something for me that was so simple, but carried so much power.

As soon as I walked in to her little ramshackeled house, her reaction was always the same- a look of pure pleasure , like only I could produce that kind of exhiliration. I've often wondered if she had this reaction to everyone. After all, she had 9 kids and by the time I came along, tons of grandkids. Maybe she did love us all the same, but to me, her reaction told me that I alone was special, and that her day was now complete that I had come to see her.

So now, I forever have this sensory memory of smelling the oh so heavenly scent of apple pies and feeling oh so special. Sometimes, she'd actually stop what she was doing, begin cutting a small circle out of the pie crust scrapts and then spooning the piping hot apple sauce on to one side. She'd carefully pinch the dough closed to form a half moon and she's fry it up right then and there just for me. NOTHING compares to a pie made with love by your grandmother just for you and no one else. So on days that I feel kinda beaten down or empty, I have a hankering for Maw Maw's apple pie.

She died a few years back at age 99. To the end, through the nursing home years, even when her mind was failing, I could always detect a certain light in her eyes when I'd come for a visit or to push her wheelchair through the garden. I don't know if my perception was always true, but I kinda need to believe that it was. Especially on quiet days when I'm feeling reflectful. Like today.