Tag: Details

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Details, by Betsy

It takes all kinds to make the
world go ’round. Some come up with the grand schemes and ideas.  Others must find a way to work out the
details and put the schemes and ideas into practice. The devil is in the
details.
Consider the recent election campaign
and what is going on in Washington today. 
The ideas were put out there, affirmed by the people, but now, no one
seems to be able to work out the details to put those ideas into practice.
Clearly differing political ideologies is the reason the details cannot be
worked out, but there is a middle ground to which some are unwilling to travel
unfortunately.
The details end up being more
important than the grand idea.  The
Republicans are proposing to avoid the fiscal cliff and raising government revenues
by closing current tax loopholes. However, they are unwilling to reveal exactly
which loopholes should be closed.  So
they expect the Democratic administration and Democratic Congress members to
accept such a plan which either has no details written in it or those details
are being kept secret?  That, of course,
will never be acceptable.  The details
make all the difference between an economic policy which is good for the country
versus a policy which would be devastating.
Take climate change also, for
example. There are very few people who do not realize or will not admit that
human activity is influencing the warming of our planet.  Many people including some world leaders
propose that just cutting back on the burning of fossil fuels would and should
be a priority, but that idea is not being implemented.  Why? 
The details.  Just how do we cut
back on burning fossil fuels. Where do we start?  It can be done, but no one can work out the
details to the satisfaction and acceptance of all.
The problem is that when the
details are spelled out, it becomes clear that everyone will have to give a
little, bend a bit, be flexible–some more than others.  So it is with tax reform as well.  Is it not better to sacrifice one or two of
the details for the good of the whole? 
After all, if the whole, that is, the planet or one’s source of livelihood whether it be Social
Security, pension, the stock market, bank and corporate profits–if the planet
becomes uninhabitable by humans or the global economy collapses, details become
meaningless.
© 10 Dec 2012 
About
the Author 

 Betsy has been active in the
GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians
Organizing for Change).  She has been
retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years.  Since her retirement, her major activities
include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor
with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning.  Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of
marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending
time with her four grandchildren.  Betsy
says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life
with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.
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Details by Will Stanton

There is an old saying “It’s all in the details.” That is, it is good to have grand designs in mind, but one cannot neglect the details if you want to succeed with your plans. Neglecting the details can come back to bite you.

A few years ago, Lockheed Martin spent millions on an aerospace project. It was launched but failed. In reviewing the plans, they discovered that there was a misplaced decimal point.

In the 1980s, the NASA space shuttle Challenger blew up, killing all the crew. Apparently, the engineers ignored the fact that the outside temperature was lower than in usual launches, and the O-rings failed, leaking fuel out of the booster rocket.

Anyone who is familiar with the Titanic disaster knows that the engineers overlooked the fact that extremely cold water weakens metal, an especially critical point considering the primitive production methods of the time. Also, they did not stop to think using cheaper iron rivets instead of steel was of particular concern. The Titanic’s hull was not punctured. Instead, scraping along the iceberg popped open the rivets, letting the icy waters rush in.

During the heyday of steam locomotives, the crews always scrubbed down the drive rods every time that they stopped for refueling and maintenance, Cleaning the drive rods was not meant to make them pretty. The crews regularly looked for possible cracks. If a drive rod broke, that would derail the loco and possibly kill the engineer and fireman. This procedure still is done today with tourist trains like Union Pacific’s big Number 844.

In the late 1940s, the crew on a huge C&O Alleghany locomotive outside Hinton, West Virginia, apparently did not pay attention to details. The fireman did not concern himself very much that the water level had run low. The crown sheet overheated and ruptured, instantaneously turning the remaining water into steam. The huge explosion obliterated the most powerful steam locomotive ever built, blowing to pieces the crew, and scattering torn steel shards hundreds of yards away. The tower man in the signal tower next to the track was unhurt but probably had to change his pants.

I’ve never been much of a detail man. My mind is tuned to view the big picture, to dream of the grand design. Details are such a bother, especially if I am not particularly interested in what I should be doing as opposed to what I want to do. I spend far more attention to details when I am dealing with my hobbies and interests such as my music-video productions or my Story-Time presentations. Then I look carefully at the details. But, when it has come to taking care of my self, looking into the future, and planning for financial security, personal care, retirement, and so on, I seem to have been too bored with those concerns and, consequently, ignored the details.

So, here I am, late in life, discovering that there is a crack in my drive rod, and I have let the water run low in my boiler. I’m just hoping that the rest of my life is not derailed.

© 09 December
2012

About the Author


I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Facts by Michael King


I am more aware of my memory than when I was younger. I have become increasingly conscious of how the things remembered are isolated pieces of time, interaction, momentous events, strong emotions and other seemingly significant events in my past. Sometimes I will recall something of no particular importance with any particular feeling attached. It is from this awareness that I approach the topic for Monday, “Facts.”


It is my understanding that in a trial there may be numerous witnesses that observed a crime. Without coordination they may tell very different stories about the event. There is no reason to question their honesty, but what are the facts? Facts seem to be an elusive kind of reasonable makes-sense explanation regarding any given situation. It seems the mind will interpret experience in a way that seems plausible. If that is the case then facts are something that seems to be the most probable rather than the actual reality.


In “Telling my Story” I am usually aware that my memories are the perceptions that I now have of people and events in contrast to how I might have perceived those memories 25 years ago, 50 years ago, 70 years ago or even yesterday. What are the facts? Usually the date, the people, the place and the event are factual. Then are the particulars as to the surroundings. And becoming more vague would be the probable small details if recalled at all and then in the interpretation of the facts are the more distortive emotions and feelings. All these factors contribute to the probable facts related to any situation.


It amazes me that there are people that will respond to a question with the word “absolutely.” Either they are conning someone, trying to sell something or are unaware of how ludicrous their comment is. I’m convinced that being factual is not very important to some people and not particularly expected. There are many examples where people aren’t even aware of their distortions or perhaps don’t care if there is accuracy in either their thoughts or comments.


My conclusion is that to be factual is variable to the persons, events, memories, observations and philosophies. Perhaps more factual would be scientific evidence. Even then there is much room for interpretation. That is a fact.


Now, after that disclaimer, I’ll share a few facts about me. I am a 73 year old male humanoid mortal living on my planet of nativity. I was twice wed and divorced, fathered four children and am the grandfather of two men and a woman and two very young granddaughters. I live in Denver, Colorado with my partner Merlyn. I am an active openly gay eccentric who wears ear bobs, sports tattoos and piercings and has fairly colorful wardrobe. I paint and do sculpture, write stories for “Story Time,” help set up for the Prime Timers’ “Nooners,” volunteer at the GLBT Center, go antiquing and visit thrift stores, cook, eat, drink vodka, go to plays, stage performances, ballet and opera, exercise at the Y, walk, ride the bus and Merlyn’s Suburban, watch movies, porn and TV, talk to my family and sometimes get together with them, And then there are those other facts that shall go unsaid.

© 23 March 2013

About
the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Details by Michael King

Last night we were on our way to a party. On the way we wanted to go to a hardware store to pick up several items. When we looked up the address I thought it was only a few blocks from the Home Depot on Colorado Boulevard.

Leaving the parking lot, I told Merlyn to turn left. He couldn’t understand why when he knew that we needed to go north, not south. When he mentioned Colfax, I asked what Colfax had to do with anything? He said that where we are supposed to go would be only a couple of blocks off Colfax. I realized that I was thinking the address was on South Madison. It never dawned on me that we were over two miles south of our destination because I was only familiar with Madison Street near where I used to work and didn’t consider that it runs all the way through the Denver Metro area far south and far north.

This is an example of not paying attention to the details. We didn’t need to have gone the five or so miles extra just to get things from a hardware store. Merlyn thinks I know what I’m doing and sometimes I blow it. On the other hand sometimes I let him know that he needs to go right rather than left or vice-versa. It works out eventually and neither of us gets overly excited as we accept each other’s occasional imperfections and we let tolerance take over.

To begin to list all the times I don’t pay attention to details would totally destroy the image of always being perfect in my wonderful world of rose colored glasses and fuchsia accents. On the other hand I do get to give little touches of fun and perhaps a little uplift when I add a few details to enhance a plate of food, a conversation or maybe the way I give someone a special hug.

The details can give each day a little more meaning and joy, or if we let them a little disappointment. I try to avoid the latter. So I can now be the silly person that I sometimes like to be. The question is; are the details dehead, delegs. debelly, dearms, defingers or detoes the ones that are debest?

© 9 December 2012

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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Details! by Donny Kaye

One of the first television shows I really enjoyed as a kid was Dragnet with Sgt. Joe Friday and his partner, Frank Smith. One of his iconic lines for which I remember him most is, “Just the facts ma’am, just the facts!” My formative years were influenced by Joe Friday especially living with a mom who seemed to be able to find objection as details were shared. When I stuck to the facts I was more inclined to be allowed to do what I wanted to do than if I embellished at all with details. It seemed that the details of who I heard something from or where I heard it often resulted in restrictions that weren’t at all favorable to the interests of a young eight, nine, 10-year-old boy. I remember being banned from Jimmy because I attributed my use of SOB to him when questioned by my mother as to “where had I heard that language,” totally disregarding that my father used it frequently. Plus absolutely no credit was given me when using the term appropriately, in reference to my male dog. Our clubhouse was suspect, as was the far north side of our neighborhood where my friend Eddie lived and where I first tried puffing on a cigarette, not fully. Appreciating how detectable the smell of smoke was! I also learned that there were times when I could embellish with details, often which were made up, and I might receive favorable judgment and consequently, allowance to do what I wanted to do. What I realize now some 55 years later, is that those formative years and ability to stick with the facts as well as to embellish with detail when thought necessary became a way of life for me especially as a closeted man with stories that couldn’t be told without, what I presumed, severe implications and consequence. Leaving out the details of one’s life makes for a rather bland and unremarkable life experience. While at the same time trying to keep straight all of the embellishments thought necessary to cover that which seemed so necessary along life’s way, make for an interesting dilemma when trying to recollect the stories of the past. The experience of Storytime at the Center each Monday has helped me to reconnect with the richness of who it is that I am as a man who has recently come out of the closet. Beyond the opportunity to reclaim the stories that are my past, this experience is helping to create an attention to life’s details that is unparalleled.

Increasingly I am in a state of wonder and awe not only at who I am but who it is that journeys with me in this experience called “MyLife.” The details of my life are rich, exciting and inspired. My life is the unfolding experience of grace and passion. The details making each moment beyond what I could’ve imagined. I pay attention to the details not in a perfectionistic kind of way which I had refined over my lifetime but in regards to the quality that is brought to each of life’s moments as a result of being present to the detail if each moment. Just the facts? Awe, come on and tell me a little bit more of the juicy stuff that makes one squirm!

About the Author

Donny Kaye–Is a native born Denverite. He has lived his life posing as a hetero-sexual male, while always knowing that his sexual orientation was that of a gay male. In recent years he has confronted the pressures of society that forced him into deep denial regarding his sexuality and an experience of living somewhat of a disintegrated life. “I never forgot for a minute that I was what my childhood friends mocked, what I thought my parents would reject and what my loving God supposedly condemned to limitless suffering.” StoryTime at The Center has been essential to assisting him with not only telling the stories of his childhood, adolescence and adulthood but also to merely recall the stories of his past that were covered with lies and repressed in to the deepest corners of his memory. Within the past two years he has “come out” not only to himself but to his wife of four decades, his three children, their partners and countless extended family and friends. Donny is divorced and yet remains closely connected with his family. He lives in the Capitol Hill Community of Denver, in integrity with himself and in a way that has resulted in an experience of more fully realizing integration within his life experiences. He participates in many functions of the GLBTQ community.

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Nudity: A Story Noir by Ricky

In the Naked
City, there are many stories; this is mine.

     This particular topic caused me some difficulty in finding memory points from which to start. One of the problems facing me on this issue is that whatever I write might be quite revealing. So when one strips down the topic to its underlying components, there remains nothing hidden from public or private contemplation of the sum total of the subject so disclothed.

     Fortunately, some things cannot be bared in this life. The detailed workings of human thoughts are not displayed for all to see but, the results of those thoughts can be a strong indicator of what those thoughts were. Thus, allowing any witnesses to the activities viewed to speculate on the thoughts that prompted the actions; essentially the actions become a window in which thoughts are laid bare. Hence, we can easily detect (or at least infer) naked: greed, fear, display, lust, hatred, desire, power, and jealousy in others. Ironically, our language usage does not allow the terms naked: joy, happiness, intelligence, strength, or love and beauty (except in the context of pornography). The concept of nudity is generally associated with societal negativism and so the social majority perceives or associates nudity with something undesirable, dirty, nasty, and perverse.

     It would not be fair or accurate to blame organized religions for the negative view of nudity considering the hundreds of years of art featuring nude statues of men, boys, women, and girls that exist (or existed) in many religious and public parks and buildings. In addition, the palaces of monarchs and museums contain many paintings, statues, and carvings that are not only art, but also interpreted by some of our era as being erotic, highly erotic, or even pornographic. So it is not the fault of organized religions of this attitude towards the pubic display of the human body, but the fault of the individuals who rose to positions of power within those organizations who promoted their idea of morality and decency contrary to centuries of acceptance. 

     People change the concepts and attitudes in societies, not the organization itself. Organizations and governments cannot do anything of themselves. The people in leadership and bureaucratic positions within those entities cause acts of liberation or oppression—people thinking something and then causing their thoughts to become doctrine or law which then result in actions of change. In other words, people cause the problems not organizations; just like, “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.”

     In my babyhood, it was somewhat customary for a baby to have a bare-skin rug photograph taken. Mine is in my baby-book. In today’s paranoia, anyone possessing or taking such pictures could easily be charged with child pornography depending upon the intelligence (or lack thereof) of the district attorney.

     So, enough fluff; here is my revealing account—take notes for there will be a test at the end.

     From birth to age 1, I was fairly presentable at all times, however, once I learned to dress (or more accurately undress) myself, I enjoyed baring my soul and body around the house and even outside sometimes, if mom wasn’t watching me close enough. Obviously being in my birthday suit at bath time was a given and strangely enough, quite enjoyable. But, being bare for the frequent application of pain to my backside (for disciplinary purposes) was definitely not enjoyable, (I was a slow learner of obedience).

     After a fateful spanking when I was 4 or 5, my parents could not easily get me to remove my clothing for any reason as I was so afraid of another such spanking. Ironically, I had no reservations about trying to see others in a state of undress. I did not begin to “grow out of” that fearful frame of mind until I entered puberty at age 9 ½.

     Right after turning 10 my father took me to visit his brother and my cousins in Washington State. My uncle had a steam bath in his back yard and one evening one of his adult friends, my father, my two cousins, and I took one. It was my first time being naked (not nude) in front of a group of males. I was shy because of the adults (and that spanking) and mostly kept myself covered up. The adults didn’t bother to cover and neither did my younger cousins (who mostly pranced around) — I was so self-repressed, but I did do a lot of peeking.

     It wasn’t until I turned 11 that my next very significant disclothing event occurred with full intent and purpose. That was the summer I learned how nudity affected the process of reproduction (while being naked with my instructor) after which a neighborhood girl and I decided to try it. Fortunately for us (or unfortunately depending upon your moral code or at least point of view) she said that my slight penetration was painful, so being a “gentleman” (howbeit a nasty one) I quit trying.

     From that time on until I was 21, all my naked comings and goings were with my peers (except when at 16 my father added himself to my group of playmates. He was only involved with me and not my other friends.) In high school gym, the mandatory gang shower after class resulted in many naked boys successfully avoiding embarrassing erections while showering, all the while sneaking peeks at each other’s nude equipment. At the time, I was the only boy in my gym class (all four years) who was not circumcised, so I was constantly catching careless boys looking at me. At 21 years, two female peers introduced me into the “Joy of Totally Naked Sex Club”, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but still missed male with male oral action. When I got married at age 25, there followed many years (27years and 9 months) of much nudity.

     After my wife passed away, I discovered a place a little NW of Boulder where men could be naked out in the woods without harassment. I also went several times to a hot springs once owned by a nudist club south of Colorado Springs originally named “The Well” but now known as Dakota Hot Springs.

     This is my story from the Naked City and I certify that it is the truth, the whole nude truth, and nothing but the naked truth.

© 11 April 2011


About the Author


Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years old, he was sent to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while his parents obtained a divorce; unknown to him.

When united with his mother and stepfather in 1958, he lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. He says, “I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.

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Details by Colin Dale

The setting of houses, cafés, the neighborhood
that I’ve seen and walked through years on end:

I created you while I was happy, while I was sad,
with so many incidents, so many details.

And, for me, the whole of you is transformed into feeling.
     
      Lady Luck.  Serendipity.  Fluke.  Whatever you want to call it, when I found my idea for today’s story it was a remarkable moment.  And thank god I sat down to look for something a few days ago and didn’t do what I usually do and wait until Monday morning.  Looking for an idea, I checked my Bartlett’s, but was unprepared for the coincidence–the GLBT coincidence–I’d find.
     
      Under details, Bartlett’s had only two citations: the first, God is in the details, by Anonymous, and the 5-line poem with its: I created you while I was happy, while I was sad,/with so many incidents, so many details.
     
      The poet is gay icon Constantine Cavafy, known today in GLBT circles for his homoerotic poetry.  To be fair, though, only a portion of Cavafy’s work is homoerotic.   Virtually unpublished in his lifetime, Cavafy is today regarded as one of the great European poets of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
     
      Constantine Cavafy died in 1933 at the age of 70.   Born to Greek parents in the Egyptian port-city of Alexandria, Cavafy lived the entirety of his life closeted.  His poetry was introduced to the English-speaking world by his friend and then equally closeted writer E.M. Forster.  Forster, though, who died in 1970 at 91, managed in his last years to emerge some from the closet.  Cavafy, dying 1933, wasn’t so lucky.
     
      A prolific writer, Cavafy drew heavily from classical history, Greek and Hellenistic.  History, and Cavafy’s home Alexandria with its own rich history, serve as metaphor for the whole of the human experience.
     
      First this–to make today seem a little less like a grad seminar in poetry:
     
It’s not a trick, your senses all deceiving,
A fitful dream, the morning will exhaust –
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.
     
      This is not Cavafy.  This is another of my heroes: Leonard Cohen.  Cohen transformed Cavafy’s poem, The God Abandons Antony, into a somewhat autobiographical love song, changing Alexandria to Alexandra.  In the Cavafy poem …
       
      Anthony is Marc Antony, Cleopatra’s lover. The story goes when Alexandria was besieged, the night before the city fell, Antony dreamed he heard an invisible troupe leaving the city.  He awoke the next morning to find that his soldiers had in fact deserted him–which Antony took to mean even the god Dionysus, his protector, had abandoned him.  The poem has many layers of meaning beyond the historical.   Most say it’s about facing up to great loss: lost loves, lost dreams, lost opportunities–ultimately, of course, life itself.

When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive—don’t mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion, but not
with cowardly pleas and protests;
listen–as a last pleasure–to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
     
      I’d wondered whether a poetry sampler was appropriate stuff for Storytellers.  It’s hardly run-of-the-mill memoir (“Then in 1988 this happened to me … “), but as a taste of some of the poetry I like, it qualifies, I think, as memoir-light.
     
      But, you’re thinking, what about those homoerotic poems?  I’ll give you a sample of two of Cavafy’s shorter homoerotic poems.    Now, neither one is going to make you go, Oh my God how could someone write that? –but consider when these were written.  Cavafy’s homoerotic poems, mild as they may seem to us today, do evoke the stifling repression that made emotional cripples of men like Cavafy and Forster.

He lost him completely. And he now tries to find
his lips in the lips of each new lover,
he tries in the union with each new lover
to convince himself that it’s the same young man,
that it’s to him he gives himself.

He lost him completely, as though he never existed.
He wanted, his lover said, to save himself
from the tainted, unhealthy form of sexual pleasure,
the tainted, shameful form of sexual pleasure.
There was still time, he said, to save himself.

He lost him completely, as though he never existed.
Through fantasy, through hallucination,
he tries to find his lips in the lips of other young men,
he longs to feel his kind of love once more.

      Tame, no, by what we’re used to?  But the works of kindred spirits like those of Constantine Cavafy and E.M. Forster–written only a few generations ago–remind us of how much we’ve to be thankful for today.
     
      That last poem is called In Despair.  This:
     
At the Next Table

He must be barely twenty-two years old—
yet I’m certain that almost that many years ago
I enjoyed the very same body.

It isn’t erotic fever at all.
And I’ve been in the casino for a few minutes only,
so I haven’t had time to drink a great deal.
I enjoyed that very same body.

And if I don’t remember where, this one lapse of memory
doesn’t mean a thing.

There, now that he’s sitting down at the next table,
I recognize every motion he makes—and under his clothes
I see again those beloved naked limbs.
     
      I’ll end with a cut of one of Cavafy’s best-known poems Ithaka.  You can find a YouTube video of Sean Connery reading Ithaka.  “Since Homer’s Odyssey . . . [and I shoplifted this from a Cavafy website] . . . Since Homer’s Odyssey, the island, Ithaca, symbolizes the destination of a long journey, the supreme aim that every man tries to fulfill all his life long . . . “
     
As you set out for Ithaka
hope that your journey is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon-don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare sensation
touches your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon-you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so that you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would have not set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

About the Author

Colin Dale couldn’t be happier to be involved again at the Center. Nearly three decades ago, Colin was both a volunteer and board member with the old Gay and Lesbian Community Center. Then and since he has been an actor and director in Colorado regional theatre. Old enough to report his many stage roles as “countless,” Colin lists among his favorite Sir Bonington in The Doctor’s Dilemma at Germinal Stage, George in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and Colonel Kincaid in The Oldest Living Graduate, both at RiverTree Theatre, Ralph Nickleby in The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby with Compass Theatre, and most recently, Grandfather in Ragtime at the Arvada Center. For the past 17 years, Colin worked as an actor and administrator with Boulder’s Colorado Shakespeare Festival. Largely retired from acting, Colin has shifted his creative energies to writing–plays, travel, and memoir.

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Details by Peg

Without details you wouldn’t have stories. Without details, life would be missing all its color and purpose. Relationships are all about details, how could you like someone if it weren’t for the person’s characteristics; their appearance, your common interests, or purpose, personality and chemistry.

Details bond families. With conflicting details; blood relationships fail and friendships dissolve. Wars are fought over details; contracts are all about details, without them laws would be impossible.

This short essay is about relationships that cannot flower because necessary details are missing.

I have grandchildren, two are my son’s, and two are of a previous marriage. I have not seen any of them for over eight years, and the reason for that long absence is the desire of their parents. A certain detail, my being Transgender is the core of their decision. Fear of what might happen IF, the father of the older two children were to find out that me, the grandfather of my son’s children is Transgender, and with that information, he MIGHT cause trouble for the family.

Another detail is how to explain me (now a woman) to the children and what they might do with that information. The existence of me (the missing grandfather) has been questioned but never honestly answered.

I know the children only by what their grandmother tells me, and the pictures she brings home with her. I don’t hear their voices, see them at play, or listen to their interests. I can’t watch them grow from the toddler and two year old they were the last time I saw them, develop into the people they are now or will become. Without all of those details, a relationship with them is impossible.

Still, I feel them, they are a part of my being, yet they might as well be someone else’s children and if I were to see them on the street; I might not recognize them without an introduction. I love them though they don’t know anything about me; a great void exists because…we don’t know any or all the necessary details.

About the Author


I was born and raised in Denver Colorado and I have a divided history, I went to school, learned a trade, served in the military, married and fathered two sons. And I am Trans; I transitioned in 1986 after being fired for “not fitting in to their program.” 18 years ago I fulfilled my lifelong need to shed the package and become female. I continued working in my trade until retiring in 2006. I have been active in PFLAG Denver and served five years on the board of directors, two years as President of our chapter. Living now as a woman has let me be who I always knew I was and I am genuinely happy.

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Christmas Details to Remember by Jon Krey

Details: What?
          I won’t get into what that word means because
I’m never sure. However I’ll give an example as I may have seen… it??? At least
I think I’ve seen it. Enough Thorazine helps clear the mind.
          A couple of
nights ago when it all began, it was getting ever more chilly with an early
winter approaching, my friend and I decided to take our “high tea”
inundated with some good ol’ pot and other pharmaceutical “party favorites.”
          On that evening
we lit the seriously tilted candles above my fireplace with difficulty, put on
some appropriate Christmas music and sat down. At least I think we sat down
though I’m not sure.
          Anyway I think
time passed though I’m not sure about that either. We talked incessantly about
the nature of trees, gay dogs and cats, clocks, the Eiffel Tower, room
carpeting, smoke and flowers encased in glass enclosures. Talking about glass
led to other related topics including windows, windshields, wind instruments or
just plain wind. I began feeling an increasingly hot breeze someplace on my
body from some source. Shortly we began to notice the room temperature
apparently rising though I’m sure I’d turned the thermostat down. The candle
light also seemed brighter in the darkening evening. The wafting odor of
wonderful burning Christmas Wax incense pervaded everything as an increasingly
warm feeling crept over our bodies. I was certain our physical passion was
producing the extra warmth. The fireplace was just fine, seemingly ablaze… with
beautiful golden light which grew in intensity. How beautiful that seemed on
such a cold evening outside. The strong odor of pine smoke joining the
Christmas Wax incense. The temperature of our passion rose to such an extent it
caused us to discard our clothes which in turn incited further sexual arousal… greatly.
Momentarily I was pissed that the maintenance crew had failed to fix the
thermostat only allowing our passion to heat us up, or… whatever. We became
deeply fascinated with each others body, the ensuing sweat had become so
intense we decided to move to the balcony where our love making immediately
became interrupted by the serene and melodic sound of sirens below. People
across the street began pointing at us (which added to our heightening
arousal). Their delightful shouting made us feel like real porn stars. I
wondered if we might have been a little too exhibitionist, or, not enough?
Meanwhile the smell of candle wax and accompanied smoke, fog or whatever it was
had raised to such a level that we decided to lower our rope ladder and leave,
having forgotten about the hallway door, elevator and stairwell. Additionally,
all the joyous celebratory shouting was getting on our nerves interrupting our
pulsating rhythm. We tried to overlook all the falderal as just other people
overcome with zealousness at a private building party. In our sexual excitement
we laid down on the grass writhing in ecstasy as the area became covered with
snowy flakes that smelled like burning wood. We both found that ridiculous but
began noticing several very large gray featureless Christmas garlands now
encircling us from several sides. They were wet too. The whole thing was
ridiculous.  For some reason no one was
paying much attention to us anymore either. They kept staring up at the enormous
brilliantly lit Christmas tree and it’s much heavier than usual smoky Christmas
Wax incense. Additional strains of lovely musical siren sounds were accompanied
by increasing screams of delight from observers and more seasonal gleeful
shouting and frivolity. Additionally all the excitement of the huge Christmas
tree light and the Christmas Wax incense had become too much for other
occupants and many were running out of the building. The more elderly were
either crawling or violently shoving their walkers out of the front door while
others pushed their own beds outside. Some were assisted by several studs from
the leather community dressed in cute dark blue and yellow clothes that looked
like uniforms… hahaha. All this for a Christmas show.
          We crawled
further away from the gigantic Christmas tree and all the shouting and strange
siren like singing. Suddenly I noticed I’d forgotten to bring my door keys!!!
But I don’t suppose it mattered too much because the heat from the tree had
become unbearable anyway. Boy did someone in the building know how to throw a
party. Now the handsome leather men insisted we crawl into some kind of party
RV, nude, dildos and all. Fun was on the way!!! 
The short ride to another party bar or bath house had people we didn’t
know who surrounded us staring but not engaging in any affectionate embraces as
we were. I couldn’t stop thinking I needed to get back home and find my damned
keys. It was becoming a real hassle with all these leather guys preventing us
from leaving the party. The bouncer was BIG and held us in!! Hell he even took
our dildos away!
          Whatever!
Eventually after much ado and sexual boredom we snuck away and began the trek
home clothed in some kind of orange numbered shirts and matching pants. Guess
they were some new kink outfits since they didn’t fit well.
          Where was our
building? We couldn’t see since the incense smoke was still super thick in
front of us.
          Altogether, what
a wild holiday evening but a real pisser since I’d forgotten my keys. Besides,
who were these leather guys who kept insisting we go back to the up-tight
party. I didn’t recognize any of them and not one made any physical overtures
though they did engage us in some fun BDSM stuff with leather restrains and
handcuffs. Honestly, some people can be so rude and aloof even when playing.
They didn’t even bother exchanging names or phone numbers but insisted we give
them ours. 
          Whatever! At
least we now share a much smaller apartment with a hunky uniformed valet at a
lovely metal front door equipped with a small viewing window separating us from
uninvited guests. I wondered if it might be too forward to ask for a gilded
chandelier to be put in place of the single naked bulb.
          I guess the moral
of this story is never get loaded and forget where you left your keys. Anyway
it doesn’t matter now ’cause with this smaller home we have all the goodies we
need; new friends, lots of exercise, sex, daily meals, a roof over our heads,
no taxes, all fresh clean clothes plus other amenities AND we get it all for
free!!! I don’t think we’ve ever been happier.

          So Merry Christmas
and have a Happy New Year.

About the Author

“I’m just a guy from Tulsa (God forbid). So overlook my shortcomings, they’re an illusion.”