Merry Christmas!

I admit to being a corporeal curmudgeon, but I wish to diverge from my usual selfishness & wish all of the readers of Post Apocalyptic Bohemia a Most Merry Christmas. Writing for my little spot on the Internet & telling my story has made me very happy, although I don't think of what I do here as writing, but rather more like graffiti.

This Christmas was very different than my wondrous childhood Christmases or the holidays past, especially Christmas 2010, with all of the heartbreak. The Husband had his first day off since early November. Boys' Fort was an artistic, commercial, & popular success. We met so many talented people & it was an adrenalin rushing, headlong emotional experience.

Several decades ago, admitting that we had the same taste in music, books & clothing (we wore the same size at that point), The Husband & I gave up giving each other Christmas gifts. We would instead, purchase something major for the house. This year, being very frugal, I was surprised & staggered by his offering. He gave Post Apocalyptic Bohemia the gift of 2 fruit wood chairs, circa 1790s, Italian hand carved chairs, for our tiny dining room. They were purchased from Steve & Harvey, 2 smart, handsome, talented men who offered their jaw-dropping works of 19th century art for sale at Boys' Fort.

The Husband closed his Pop-Up shop earlier than I wrapped things up at my store. I arrived home to a fire in the fireplace, the house aglow in candle light & a bottle of champagne. How lucky am I? I feel slightly bad about being such a son-of a bitch-Scrooge. Slightly. Not to get too tender... but I love you all, & I wish you a very Merry Christmas.

Christmas Rapping

What follows is my post from a year ago today. It still stings 12 months later. An update: RCK has been in jail since August 17th. He did a very bad thing. His trial is in early January. The Husband, who writes RCK every other day, has been called to testify, I guess as a character witness. I am not quite sure why there is a trail, RCK was caught while in the act... I am not understanding why anyone believes he will beat this. I rather love The Husband for his generosity of spirit, if not his reasoning.

Michael still lives on the streets & appears every few months at my place of employment. He asks for money. I give it to him. Did you understand that cash can pay off guilt? I am glad to know that little maxim. He will be 18 in a few weeks.

We have RCK's cat- Henry living with us. Henry is ancient & wise. Junior hates Henry, but Lulu, The Husband & I like him. Henry told me today that the true meaning of Christmas is: "You can buy love." I wish memories were like text messages. I could delete the ones I don’t like, & save the ones I love. Last Christmas Was The Worst Christmas Ever. Here is my post from one year ago today:

How can I keep it simple? There are so many layers. This story is right out of Dickens & I title it: The Worst Christmas Ever, or A Tale Of Two Shitties With Great Expectations at Bleak House.

He was brought into our lives by the most nefarious of people- RCK, one of several in a cast of characters that land on the doorstep of Post Apocalyptic Bohemia when something is really wrong & they are need help. I call them- The Strays.

RCK dropped back into our lives after dropping out 3 years ago. He disclosed that since he had left us in a blaze on Christmas Eve 2007, he had lost his job, his house, his automobile & his cat. After stints in the psych ward, rehab & jail, & after spending a year sleeping in parks & under bridges, he was going to attempt to put his life right, & even though he had screwed us over in the past, RCK was beseeching us for help. Right out of Oliver Twist, RCK had an orphan attached to him. He introduced us to Michael.

Michael’s story is one of the saddest to be told. He was given up for adoption at birth, but never adopted. Michael was in & out of foster homes the rest of his life. He was placed in a good Christian home in Coos Bay, where he was passed around to family members to be sexually abused. Released from that horror, he was next sent to central Oregon to a family that beat him so badly that he lost the use of one arm, which stayed the same size as Michael grew; he can’t use that arm or hand at all & he keeps it tucked into the jacket that he never removed in our view.

Michael, who will be 17 years old in less than a month, has been living on the streets of Portland since he was 13. At some point, he briefly found shelter with a gay couple, who got him hooked on crystal meth, & who took turns using him. RCK seems to have found him in a park in late summer & took to being his protector. Hooked on meth himself, RCK was moved by Michael’s story, & took to giving Michael solace & looking out for his best interests.

We allowed RCK to store what he had left in his life in our garage, do his laundry, & shower at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia. He declined offers to sleep on our couch, I imagine because he stayed up all night, & I was more than a little relieved.

I see now that RCK was grooming us. A master manipulator, he was methodical & knew just how to play us, working at the Husband’s predisposition to feeling guilty, & around my desire to do the right thing while protecting my own subtle, susceptible sympathies.

We slowly got to know Michael. He is a tiny little bird: 5’6’’, 120 #, & looks to be around 12 years old, pretty, sly, intelligent, street smart, a deeply, & mournfully damaged. RCK would bring him by & the Husband would make them food. I had a dewy-eyed, dreamy reaction to the sight of Michael as redesigned by the Husband. The Husband, it seemed, had purchased a pair of Levi 501s, a tight black nylon shirt with zippers, & pointy black boots for the boy. When Michael proudly modeled his new outfit, I realized that the Husband had created a petite, pint-sized, pocket version of himself. He had made a Husband mini-me.

RCK continued to drop by our home to shower & regroup, with the lad in tow. RCK slowly insinuated that we could/should foster/adopt Michael. It immediately seemed out of the question, but the Husband was moved by some guilt about his role as a father in the past, & even I saw the possibilities in saving this young life. I realized that I would need to become a role model, a position I never dreamed of fulfilling. I would need to give up whiskey & Mary Jane!

I didn’t need or want to move too fast, much to RCK’s ire. I started asking questions: was it legal for us to harbor a 16 year old, does DHS let you choose your foster child, are we out of our minds? I went to the owner of my business, who has fostered a child & is married to a former State Supreme Court Judge. She advised against it: “what will you do if you discover he is Bipolar, very possible considering his life so far? Are you prepared to deal with that?” This proved to be true when we discovered that Michael had been off his meds for Bipolar disorder & ADD.

Agonizing over my selfishness, I advised RCK that we would like to be Michael’s Gay Uncles, but due to our finances, health problems, small house, & emotional state as a couple, we felt we were not a good choice for foster parenting or adoption. We would help with clothing. I would help him with his paperwork & the money to file for emancipation. We would help get him into a school or get his GED. We could take Michael to movies, plays & museums. We could act as family, if not The Family.

RCK had texted that Michael had bolted & had not been heard from. Would we contact him if we heard from Michael? Last week, Michael, who does not have a phone, was able to call the Husband & ask for help. He had spent the very cold & very rainy night in a park & wanted help. The Husband had Michael locate the closest intersection signs; we Google mapped his location & drove on I-205 in the most ghastly traffic as the heavens opened up with profound, pelting rain. I texted RCK with news that the boy had made contact us & we were on the way to get him. Michael called once more & I instructed him to stay put, we were on our way.

At the location, Michael was nowhere to be found. We drove around a ½ mile radius, in the winter rain, praying that we had not got it wrong. We were deep in SE Portland, not in our hemisphere. We were in a panic & crying when RCK texted with news that the boy was back safe with him. Michael always returns to RCK. We had already surmised that the kid was in love with his benefactor & we saw this as a possibly insurmountable obstacle to his moving forward.

Mid-week, we heard from RCK . Michael wanted to spend the holiday with us & the husband didn’t even blink when we understood that we could provide Michael with a real Christmas. We spent the 23rd gathering cool clothing for the kid.

I worked 3:45am-6pm on Christmas Eve. The Husband brought Michael to my store & I introduced the kid to my staff, including a young Puerto Rican Gay Boy. They had lunch & were off to a movie. I noted that Michael seemed calm & happy. I even saw him laugh. Late afternoon, I saw the husband & his mini-me walking across the plaza at Director Park. My heart was once again opened up to the possibility of fostering or adopting. The staff had remarked that the Husband & the kid looked alike.

I returned home after a 14 hour workday to a fire in the fireplace, holiday music playing, candles lit, homemade spaghetti on the stove, & wrapped Christmas gifts waiting for the kid. The Husband met me with deep sadness & a touch of panic in his demeanor. It seems that the kid had spent the day attempting to get away. Michael had talked about nothing else all day. The 3 of us sat down & had an honest discourse. Michael: “Please don’t hate me. I can’t do this. I have a friend I need to see. I can’t stay here. I have serious problems & I can’t be at your house. Don’t hate me. I am selfish. I need to do what I need to do.”

The Husband & I realized that Michael would be fleeing no matter what we did; & I understood that stopping him would be tantamount to kidnapping. I gave Michael my Tri-Met Transit Pass, which allow him to travel on any bus or train. I collect $2 bills, & the kid had been fascinated by them. I gave him a $20 bill & a handful of $2s. The husband gave Michael a sweatshirt to wear under his jacket & my favorite pair of boots that the orphan had been eyeing. The Husband drove Michael to our Max Train station.

When the Husband returned home, he was in deep despair, we stared at the pile of gifts for the kid, we both sobbed, & I took 2 doses of Citalopram, crawled under the covers & cried myself to sleep.

Sometime in the night, RCK texted that Michael was with him. On Christmas morning, the husband handed me my tea, hugged me & whispered- “the worst Christmas ever?” I had to concur. “God Bless Us, Every One!”

2010, Michael & RCK... so, sue me.

Attend The Tale Of Baby Butch

As a gift to each other, we stopped giving each other Christmas presents 20+ years ago. After all, we have the same tastes in clothing, objects, music & books. Now we buy each other gifts throughout the year, often for no reason at all. We do our birthdays & St. Valentine's Day. It just seemed a nice thing to take it easy when most people are at their craziest. Christmas is a very modest holiday at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia, but we do have our traditions.

Baby Butch, Christmas 2011

More than 30 years ago, the Husband & I raided my parent’s storage cabinets in the basement of their beautiful Spanish style home in their South Hill neighborhood of Spokane. I knew there were treasures to be had & I was sure that they had not looked at their storage in a decade & they were sitting on some treasures that should be mine.

We took a few choice items that I was sure the folks would never miss, the coolest of which was my father’s doll from his early childhood- Baby Butch. Baby Butch was missing an arm & he was in pieces, but he was a great looking guy from the early 1930s & I loved him because he was my dad’s, & I liked the fact that my very butch father had a doll in his childhood that he loved so much that he carried him around for decades & many moves. It was an unusual choice, I actually abhor dolls, but I was very drawn to Baby Butch. So, he came to live with me & the Husband.

I knew for certain that my parents had not looked at the things in storage for a very long time. I was surprised when the phone call came a few days after the abduction of the doll. My mother wanted to know if I had taken the beloved Baby Butch. I admitted that I had & I was incredulous that they would have taken note of his gone missing, when they hadn’t looked at him for a decade. I also stated that he was living with us now, & that my father could have visitation rights. For 30 Christmases, Baby Butch has played the Baby Jesus in our annual crèche. The set up changes from year to year, but Baby Butch is always the star of our Christmas pageant. I never got to play Baby Jesus, or even Joseph... even a wise man. At church, in the 2nd grade, I did get to play 3rd ass to the left. The Story of My Life.

Baby Butch, Christmas 2010

A Very Lovely Special Christmas Day At Post Apocalyptic Bohemia

The Husband & I survived Christmas Day the only way we could & not fall to pieces. The Husband put the presents for Michael out of sight. I settled in to a day of heavy TV viewing that would be distracting & possibly make us laugh a bit. I made room on the DVR storage by watching a marathon of the Sundance Channel's Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys, Beverly Hills Houswives, Chelsea Lately, & Top Chef Masters. I self-medicated. I called the parents & thanked them for all the warm & warm hearted holidays & the thoughtful, tender, tasteful gifts of books, albums, bicycles (5,8,11), trip to Europe (15), 1955 Jeep Willis Stationwagon (16), 1959 T-Bird, black on black (18), & the Etch-A-Sketch (54).

The Husband & I did our best to not slip deeper into deeper melancholia. I got a bit messed up. The Husband napped. Warm & wedded to each other; our 31st Christmas & worse for the wear.

Whenever life hands you a lemon, make it into lemon flavored vodka, I always say, huh?
You know, there’s a certain point in life where you either move forward & try to participate in a way that is interesting & hopefully useful, or else disappear. I chose the former, & that is just how I am. There are huge chasms along the way. I suffer from serious suffocating depression, but that doesn't accomplish anything. I try to change anything & have a bit of fun. How I react to setbacks is the fundamental choice I have to make each day. I wake up in the morning and say, “Oh well, a new day, let’s get it going, what’s ahead?” & just go do it one more time.

The Worst Christmas Ever

How can I keep it simple? There are so many layers. This story is straight out of Dickens & I title it: The Worst Christmas Ever, or A Tale Of Two Shitties with Great Expectations at Bleak House.

He was brought into our lives by the most nefarious of people- RCK, one of several in a cast of characters that land on the doorstep of Post Apocalyptic Bohemia when something is really wrong & they are need help. I call them- The Strays.


RCK dropped back into our lives after dropping out 3 years ago. He disclosed that since he had left us in a blaze on Christmas Eve 2007, he had lost his job, his house, his automobile & his cat. After stints in the psych ward, rehab & jail, & after spending a year sleeping in parks & under bridges, he was going to attempt to put his life right, & even though he had screwed us over in the past, RCK was beseeching us for help. Right out of Oliver Twist, RCK had an orphan attached to him. He introduced us to Michael.

Michael’s story is one of the saddest to be told. He was given up for adoption at birth, but never adopted. Michael was in & out of foster homes the rest of his life. He was placed in a good Christian home in Coos Bay, where he was passed around to family members to be sexually abused. Released from that horror, he was next sent to central Oregon to a family that beat him so badly that he lost the use of one arm, which stayed the same size as Michael grew; he can’t use that arm or hand at all & he keeps it tucked into the jacket that he never removed in our view.


Michael, who will be 17 years old in less than a month, has been living on the streets of Portland since he was 13. At some point, he briefly found shelter with a gay couple, who got him hooked on crystal meth, & who took turns using him. RCK seems to have found him in a park in late summer & took to being his protector. Hooked on meth himself, RCK was moved by Michael’s story, & took to giving Michael solace & looking out for his best interests.


We allowed RCK to store what he had left in his life in our garage, do his laundry, & shower at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia. He declined offers to sleep on our couch, I imagine because he stayed up all night, & I was more than a little relieved.


I see now that RCK was grooming us. A master manipulator, he was methodical & knew just how to play us, working at the Husband’s predisposition to feeling guilty, & around my desire to do the right thing while protecting my own subtle, susceptible sympathies.


We slowly got to know Michael. He is a tiny little bird: 5’6’’, 120 #, & looks to be around 12 years old, pretty, sly, intelligent, street smart, a deeply, & mournfully damaged. RCK would bring him by & the Husband would make them food. I had a dewy-eyed, dreamy reaction to the sight of Michael as redesigned by the Husband. The Husband, it seemed, had purchased a pair of Levi 501s, a tight black nylon shirt with zippers, & pointy black boots for the boy. When Michael proudly modeled his new outfit, I realized that the Husband had created a petite, pint-sized, pocket version of himself. He had made a Husband mini-me.


RCK continued to drop by our home to shower & regroup, with the lad in tow. RCK slowly insinuated that we could/should foster/adopt Michael. It immediately seemed out of the question, but the Husband was moved by some guilt about his role as a father in the past, & even I saw the possibilities in saving this young life. I realized that I would need to become a role model, a position I never dreamed of fulfilling. I would need to give up whiskey & Mary Jane!


I didn’t need or want to move too fast, much to RCK’s ire. I started asking questions: was it legal for us to harbor a 16 year old, does DHS let you choose your foster child, are we out of our minds? I went to the owner of my business, who has fostered a child & is married to a former State Supreme Court Judge. She advised against it: “what will you do if you discover he is Bipolar, very possible considering his life so far? Are you prepared to deal with that?” This proved to be true when we discovered that Michael had been off his meds for Bipolar disorder & ADD.


Agonizing over my selfishness, I advised RCK that we would like to be Michael’s Gay Uncles, but due to our finances, health problems, small house, & emotional state as a couple, we felt we were not a good choice for foster parenting or adoption. We would help with clothing. I would help him with his paperwork & the money to file for emancipation. We would help get him into a school or get his GED. We could take Michael to movies, plays & museums. We could act as family, if not The Family.


RCK had texted that Michael had bolted & had not been heard from. Would we contact him if we heard from Michael? Last week, Michael, who does not have a phone, was able to call the Husband & ask for help. He had spent the very cold & very rainy night in a park & wanted help. The Husband had Michael locate the closest intersection signs; we Google mapped his location & drove on I-205 in the most ghastly traffic as the heavens opened up with profound, pelting rain. I texted RCK with news that the boy had made contact us & we were on the way to get him. Michael called once more & I instructed him to stay put, we were on our way.

At the location, Michael was nowhere to be found. We drove around a ½ mile radius, in the winter rain, praying that we had not got it wrong. We were deep in SE Portland, not in our hemisphere. We were in a panic & crying when RCK texted with news that the boy was back safe with him. Michael always returns to RCK. We had already surmised that the kid was in love with his benefactor & we saw this as a possibly insurmountable obstacle to his moving forward.


Mid-week, we heard from RCK . Michael wanted to spend the holiday with us & the husband didn’t even blink when we understood that we could provide Michael with a real Christmas. We spent the 23rd gathering cool clothing for the kid.


I worked 3:45am-6pm on Christmas Eve. The Husband brought Michael to my store & I introduced the kid to my staff, including a young Puerto Rican Gay Boy. They had lunch & were off to a movie. I noted that Michael seemed calm & happy. I even saw him laugh. Late afternoon, I saw the husband & his mini-me walking across the plaza at Director Park. My heart was once again opened up to the possibility of fostering or adopting. The staff had remarked that the Husband & the kid looked alike.


I returned home after a 14 hour workday to a fire in the fireplace, holiday music playing, candles lit, homemade spaghetti on the stove, & wrapped Christmas gifts waiting for the kid. The Husband met me with deep sadness & a touch of panic in his demeanor. It seems that the kid had spent the day attempting to get away. Michael had talked about nothing else all day. The 3 of us sat down & had an honest discourse. Michael: “Please don’t hate me. I can’t do this. I have a friend I need to see. I can’t stay here. I have serious problems & I can’t be at your house. Don’t hate me. I am selfish. I need to do what I need to do.”


The Husband & I realized that Michael would be fleeing no matter what we did; & I understood that stopping him would be tantamount to kidnapping. I gave Michael my Tri-Met Transit Pass, which allow him to travel on any bus or train. I collect $2 bills, & the kid had been fascinated by them. I gave him a $20 bill & a handful of $2s. The husband gave Michael a sweatshirt to wear under his jacket & my favorite pair of boots that the orphan had been eyeing. The Husband drove Michael to our Max Train station.


When the Husband returned home, he was in deep despair, we stared at the pile of gifts for the kid, we both sobbed, & I took 2 doses of Citalopram, crawled under the covers & cried myself to sleep.

Sometime in the night, RCK texted that Michael was with him. On Christmas morning, the husband handed me my tea, hugged me & whispered- “the worst Christmas ever?” I had to concur. “God Bless Us, Every One!”

Merry Christmas, Darlings

We hope you got everything you wanted this year, and more!

Christmas Eve in My Hometown

Be safe and merry, darlings, wherever you are!

The Autumn Of My Years... A Ramble On The Day Before Winter Solstice

"I'm In The Autumn Of My Years" but swingin' like Della

Today is the last day of autumn 2010. In 2 weeks, I will be ending my own autumn, as I officially will be in my late 50s. 2 weeks from today I will be in the winter of my life. I have lived longer than I ever intended to live. But, as Woody Allen stated- “It’s better than the alternative”.


The last 6 weeks have not felt like autumn, but rather like real winter. Living in the Pacific Northwest in December is not for the faint hearted. But, we are all steamed up at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia. because tomorrow is not just the darkest day of the year, but for the 1st time since 1554, we will have a full moon experiencing a full lunar eclipse on the Winter Solstice tomorrow night. Portland is forecast to have clear skies, & I plant to witness this event, possibly with a whiskey in my hot tub.


In the beautifully written new volume in his- Tales of The City series: Mary Ann In Autumn, Armistead Maupin says- “The past doesn’t catch up with us, It escapes from us.” I have spent the last few days playing a- “if I just hadn’t done _______, then ______ never would have happened". More on the current situation in a post later this week, but I can say that I am at my lowest in the month of December. My depression deepens & a fog of melancholia creeps into my every wrinkle.

My feelings about Christmas are not simple. I had a happy childhood with more than 18 Christmases that were lovely, loving & lavish. As an only child of upper-middle class working parents & one of only 2 grandchildren of 3 sets of grandparents, I received plenty of presents, & because I was such a little adult, the gifts consisted of mostly books, record albums & clothing. I didn’t care much for toys until I became an adult.

Baby Butch as Baby Jesus 2010 edition

The Post Apocalyptic Bohemian Christmas Tree 2010

Now in the autumn of my years, I like to keep it a simple, as I consider all the people that go without at Christmas . The Husband & I stopped giving each other gifts over 2 decades ago. That is our special gift to each other. Our traditions include the presenting of Baby Butch as the Baby Jesus & our annual tree, cut down in the woods in bitter cold by the husband, brought home on top of the station wagon, covered in blue lights, & placed just outside of the backroom floor to ceiling window. The Christmas tree is close to the major bird feeder & often has 7 or 8 songbirds perched on the branches like glass ornaments. Our birds are well fed & on the plump side, but I can't deny them food & clean water.

The Goldfinch is the State Bird of Washington, so she may be a little lost. But who can blame her? & we are only a few miles from the border here in North Portland.

We will go to a movie on the Holiday; we are thinking about the 1st showing of The King’s Speech. Christmas evening will bring a fire in the fireplace & a prayer for peace & goodwill between all people. I would like to know your traditions. Would you share?

The Lizard of Roz

Attend The Tale Of Baby Butch

As a gift to each other, we stopped giving each other Christmas presents about 20 years ago. After all, we have the same tastes in music & books. We buy each other gifts throughout the year, often for no reason at all. We do our birthdays & Valentines Day. It just seemed a nice thing to take it easy when most people are at their craziest. It is a very modest holiday at Post Apocalyptic Bohemia, but we do have our traditions.

More than 29 years ago, the Husband & I raided my parent’s storage cabinets in the basement of their beautiful Spanish style home on the South Hill neighborhood of Spokane. I knew there were treasures to be had & I was sure that they had not looked at their storage in at least 10 years & they were sitting on some treasures that should be mine. We took a few choice items that I was sure the folks would never miss, the coolest of which was my father’s doll from his early childhood- Baby Butch. Baby Butch was missing an arm & he was in pieces, but he was a very great looking guy from the early 1930s & I loved him because he was my dad’s, & I liked the fact that my very butch father had a doll in his childhood that he loved so much that he carried him around for decades & several moves. It was an unusual choice, I actually hate dolls, but I was very drawn to Baby Butch. So, he came to live with me & the Husband.


I knew that my parents had not looked at the things in storage for a very long time; I was surprised when the phone call came a few days after the abduction of the doll. My mother wanted to know if I had taken the beloved Baby Butch. I admitted that I had & I was incredulous that they would have taken note of him gone missing, when they hadn’t looked at him for a decade. I also stated that he was living with us now, & that my father could have visitation rights. For 29 Christmases, Baby Butch has played the Baby Jesus in our annual crèche. The set up changes from year to year, but Baby Butch is always the star of our Christmas pageant. I never got to play Baby Jesus, or even Joseph or even a wise man. At church, in the 2nd grade, I did get to play 3rd ass to the left. The Story of My Life.