Tag: Setting Up House

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Setting Up House, by Ray S

I am reminded of an old saying by today’s topic: “A Home Is Where Your Heart Is.”

When I take stock of the stuff I’ve gathered over the years it seems like just so much acquired materialism. Then after closer reflection every bit of the “stuff” sparks a memory. A memory of a friend, a memory of a particular time of your life, time place, or something that says “Hello, you’re home again and this is your place to be.”

Yes, it’s just stuff, some even qualifies as junk, but no matter if it is an accumulation of a lifetime or not more than a few surviving photos, it is what makes a house a home—no matter where or whose house you finally land in. Hang on to some sort of stuff, even if it is only in your heart and mind.

© 12 September 2016

About the Author

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Setting Up House, by Gail Klock

This is my third and final attempt at writing this piece on
“Setting up House.” I struggled with it twice yesterday, both attempts were
wiped out with the delete key. I woke up this morning asking myself why it was
so hard, what was the struggle all about. As all of you in this room know
getting words down on paper requires an act of God, well not quite, but it does
kind of require a coming to terms with yourself. My first two attempts
sufficiently covered the superficial aspects of setting up house, all the
details were there, but none of the heart. I am attempting to reach into my
soul and rectify it with my brain to get to the emotions of this piece.
“Setting up house” represents to me the essence of life, the
determining of how I am going to live my life. Am I going to set up house by
myself and find contentment in the doing or am I going to attempt to set up
house with another, and perhaps realize my hopes and dreams. When I’m honest
with myself I know I desire the latter as I am a social person and I really
enjoy being in a loving relationship. I had a couple of dreams lately which
relate to this topic. In the first one I was trying to get out of Golden on a
highway, but I didn’t know which road to take. The one I was on led to a
flyover which was very high and narrow with an arc so great at the top I
couldn’t see where it was leading. I wasn’t sure if it was the right road to be
on, but I knew if I could focus on the road and not on the frightening aspects
of the path itself I would be okay. I awoke at this point and began to analyze
this dream before the details of it escaped me. I knew why I was leaving
Golden, it was where my former partner and I had lived with our family, and our
family as we knew it then no longer exists. Much of the setting up house which
we had done so well unraveled. We, my partner and I, had not paid enough
attention to the infrastructure of our dwellings. The road being high and
narrow spoke to two of my fears, height and confinement. The “focus on the road”
aspect of the dream is literally focusing on knowing that “I am”. I lost sight
of my existence when my little brother Karl died, when our family crumbled
under the grief. I thought I could regain my mother’s love and attention by
giving her back her happiness. In the process, I gave up myself as I tried to
anticipate what her needs were, if I was only good enough I would make her
happy and she could return to the loving mother she had been before she lost
her baby. I tried to “set up house” at the age of four, almost five. The
materials I used worked for the time being, they were at that time the best
available. But it was a bit like using asbestos, the long-term damage was
potentially greater than the original benefits gained. I’m using better
building materials now which are being supplied by more informed builders, not
a four-year-old, but sessions with a very skilled psychologist, Vivian
Schaefer; readings by authors such as Brene Brown and Eckhart Tolle, which are
supplemented greatly by the thoughtful discussions Betsy and Gillian and I have
concerning the meaning of these writings, particularly Tolle’s; and by the
relationship Trish and I are forming. Without Trish, very little of the
progress I am making would be taking place. It is not possible to develop
relationship skills without relationship and both Trish and I are bringing the
integrity needed which allows us to grow.  Through these efforts I am regaining my awareness
of myself and my emotions and the infrastructure of my life is being rebuilt.
My other two dreams involved the living spaces I was
occupying. The first one was rather shabby and run down with locks on the
exterior doors which a man was trying to break into. In the next segment of the
dream I was living in a new apartment which had very secure locks, but was
incredibly small; as I looked around the rooms I realized there was space for
cooking, but no space for a bed. Upon awakening and further analyzation of
these dreams I recognized the locks I have use in life are perhaps not as sturdy
as I expected them to be, but rather false providers of security. I tried for
too many years to protect myself and my emotions by locking them up, which in
reality created a less safe environment. The small safe living quarters allowed
me access to provide sustenance for myself, but it did not allow for a bed,
which was the metaphor for an intimate relationship.
From these dreams, I would conclude that “setting up house”
requires unlocking the emotions within. In order to be safe in a relationship I
must be aware of my own needs, wants, and desires. I must also allow my
vulnerabilities to be known, because they are the infrastructure which left
unacknowledged will destroy the housekeeping. It is unreasonable and unfair to
think another person should be able to intuit my areas of insecurities and thus
respond in the understanding, loving manner I am hoping for.
When Lynn and I set up house there
were never any conflicts over where we lived, the décor, who would do what
chores, landscaping, the amount of money each of us was contributing, or any
other domestic decisions. We were building our lives together, knowing each
person was making a fair contribution and accepting and respecting the fact
that together we would be happier and have more. We lived in rental properties
for the first eight years and finally acquired the finances we needed to afford
our own home. The first house we lived in was designed by my brother Eric, as
he said, to compensate for how horribly he had treated me when we were kids- I kiddingly
told him it was partial payment. Lynn and I did a great deal of the work on the
house ourselves in order to make it affordable, we insulated the house, worked
with the electrician as a gofer, stained all the wood in the interior, painted
and wallpapered all the walls, and did all the landscaping. It was a lot of
hard work, yet exciting at the same time. We did a good job with the
housekeeping aspect of “setting up house”. We had a lot of love and respect for
one another, but we didn’t have enough internal integrity to support the
housekeeping for the duration of our lives. We didn’t know how to be vulnerable
with one another, we used strong locks which provided false security.
I want to combine the aspects of my
relationship with Lynn which contributed to our long-term relationship and our two
wonderful daughters, with my internal integrity which allows for the “I am”.
This combination will provide the most beautiful house I have ever set up. It
is the house I have been seeking for the past 65 years. I have no doubt I will
find it as long as I stay focused on the road which will lead me there and not
allow my fears to distract me. Slowly, I am unlocking the rusty locks which I
put in place many years ago and I am finding the unshackling to be rather freeing.
I’m still a fledgling beginning to test my wings, but I trust the inner
strength which I know is within me, that which will allow me to soar like a
hawk.
© 12 Sep 2016 
About the Author 
I grew up in
Pueblo, CO with my two brothers and parents. Upon completion of high school, I
attended Colorado State University majoring in Physical Education. My first
teaching job was at a high school in Madison, Wisconsin. After three years of
teaching I moved to North Carolina to attend graduate school at UNC-Greensboro.
After obtaining my MSPE I coached basketball, volleyball, and softball at the
college level starting with Wake Forest University and moving on to Springfield
College, Brown University, and Colorado School of Mines.
While
coaching at Mines my long-term partner and I had two daughters through
artificial insemination. Due to the time away from home required by coaching, I
resigned from this position and got my elementary education certification. I
taught in the gifted/talented program in Jefferson County Schools for ten
years. As a retiree, I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing
senior basketball, writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group,
gardening, reading, and attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.
As a retiree,
I enjoy helping take care of my granddaughter, playing senior basketball,
writing/listening to stories in the storytelling group, gardening, reading, and
attending OLOC and other GLBT organizations.

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Setting Up House, by Pat Gourley

Having moved many times in my adult life and once while still living at home with my parents I am quite familiar with setting up house. The first move in my teenage years was when my family left Northern Indiana and relocated to NE Illinois in 1965, I was 16 years old at the time. This was as it turned out a great change getting me out of rural Indiana. Unfortunately, Mike Pence is really not an anomaly back there, and into a new home and school. At Marion Central Catholic High School, I was taught by a great radical Holy Cross nun who to this day influences my world view. Oh, and there was the older gentleman I met in my new surroundings who became my first queer love.

Though I have been very fortunate for never having to “set up house” after any sort of natural or manmade disaster I think this move as a teenager really set a tone for me later in life making frequent moves much easier. All but one of my moves since age 18 has involved setting up home with other folks and a wide variety of individuals at that. Two moves in the last 50 years, totally 28 years, have involved setting up shop with a male lover. Having a loving companion in your life with whom you decide to share living space with is always a bit different than moving in with people who are just roommates.

My most recent move, now a little over three years ago, is unique in my adult life in that it has involved no one else – not a lover or any roommates. I really do yearn for more companionship in my day-to-day living situation and would prefer this be somebody or somebodies on site. A lover at this time is fraught with hurtles and unlikely to happen. My HIV status complicates this certainly but really the big issue is finding someone who could stand to share a bed with me. I get up to pee at night an inordinate number of times and my propensity to fart in bed occurs often enough each night to be a contribution to global warming, a form of methane one step from being weaponized: the one and really only drawback to a largely plant-based diet.

Even my cat has had to adjust to these frequent nightly wind emissions. He will only sleep spooning my belly even though it is just as cozy in the crook of my leg. The leg position however puts him directly in the line of fire and is avoided it seems at all costs.

So, if I am to avoid one of my greatest fears of aging, living out my last years alone, it will need to be with roommates and individual bedrooms. I have many years of experience living communally and do hope that these last few years of going it alone have not made me into such a fussy old queen that sharing living space is now out of the question.

Though I have certainly learned to never say never I find the prospect of any sort of assisted living very unsettling and something I hope to avoid at all costs. Let’s be honest “assisted living” has become the politically correct euphemism for nursing home. Oh, sure a few assisted living situations come with a supported modicum of independence but these often involve significant financial resources. Ending up in such a place is something I personally dread more than dying alone and being eaten by my cat before someone finds my body. I am therefore in support of ballot initiative 106, the medical aid in dying proposal on the November 2016 ballot here in Colorado. [It passed.]

I have, I think, walked a fine line in this writing group acknowledging the reality of my HIV status while trying to avoid weaving it into everything I have to say. It is far from everything I have to say and I feel stating it too often can really be disingenuous to say the least. Having said that my options for finding like-minded individuals these days to set up house with has been severely limited by the many individuals l have lost out of my life from AIDS. I would therefore find it a bit cathartic to have us write some time about taking down a house after the death of a lover, parent perhaps or simply a roommate. This would I think be something most if not all of us could write about.

© 11 September 2016

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Setting Up House, by Louis

Right now I am trying to set up house in Wheat Ridge; CO. Fortune Magazine said that Denver, CO, was the best place to live in the U. S., and my brother William decided to settle here. I am trying to “settle” in nearby Wheat Ridge, CO.

I come from College Point, NYC, NY which was a beautiful town. My father’s house used to be here. Should I have settled here?

For me setting up house means searching for gay utopia. The only true gay Utopia I know about is Cherry Grove, Fire Island. I heard South Beach and Key West also come close to this definition.

In the early 1960’s I received a scholarship to attend the École supérieure des sciences et technologies de l’ingénieur de Nancy. I flunked after the first year but not by much. Since Queens College was my alma mater, I decided to take advantage of their year abroad program. I pretty much became accustomed to the French way of life. Political quarreling in the U. S. got so unpleasantly intense, I found it more tranquil just to stay abroad.

Since I did not have an actual income other than the scholarships I had, I lived in a dormitory at the Université de Nancy from September 1965 to June 1966. It was not a question of setting up house. The reason I mention my two year stay in France was that many of the participants in the année propédeutique (or year of teacher preparation, pedagogy), though they were American, decided to stay in France. A few years after I returned to the U. S. and later, especially after seeing Michael Moore’s movie Sicko, I felt that settling in France would not have been a bad idea. France offers universal health care, and in general the French are better educated than Americans. For instance, nowadays I have met college graduates who never heard of “Europe”. What am I supposed to think? Duh!

So my search for Utopia began in the 1960’s. When I returned to College Point in 1965, I finished up my course work for my B. A. at Queens College, applied for a scholarship at the University of Delaware to study French Literature. This was in Newark, Delaware. My cousins lived there. They worked for the Dupont Corporation. Newark, Delaware, was nice enough, but the nearest gay colony back then was Philadelphia. I studied French Lit. at the University of Delaware for 1 and 1/2 years, then went to the University of Pennsylvania under a teaching fellowship.

Should I have settled in Newark, Delaware? Other than my cousins, there was nothing there. Philadelphia was an improvement over Newark, Delaware. There were gay bars, and I lived near the 30 Street Station. The men’s room there was good for cruising. It was big and clean. The cops did not bother checking up on it much. I guess I was little more promiscuous than I should have been. Then there was the nearby Club Bathhouse in Camden, NJ, just over the bridge. I went there about once a month. I wonder if it is still there.

I was at the University of Pennsylvania for 2 ½ years. That ended with my getting a Masters Degree in Romance Languages with a specialty in French. Should I have settled in Philadelphia? It was significantly nicer than New York City, but the summers in Philadelphia were very unpleasant. It was hard to breathe.

While, at the University of Pennsylvania, I met two gay men who, like me, were searching for a gay Utopia. Don and Tom were their names. They rented an apartment on the top floor of a high-rise nearer to downtown Philadelphia than where I was. I was near the University of Pennsylvania campus in west Philadelphia. Don and Tom lived east of Rittenhouse Square.

The apartment was quite an elegant penthouse. It had a beautiful view of downtown Philadephia. The air conditioning was fabulous. For the 2 ½ years that they stayed there, they were actually happy. My apartment was in a somewhat rundown building, but there was ivy right outside my window. And I did some clever decorating, so I was happy there for the time I was there.

Like me, in the long run, Tom did not become a French teacher. Don did become a French Instructor in some college in Florida. But Don and Tom were not lovers. Their boyfriends lived elsewhere. Tom wound up living near Washington Square Park, which is right near Greenwich Village in Manhattan in New York City. Tom lived there in the same apartment in Manhattan for the last 45 years. I guess he is and was happy there.

Should I have settled in Philadelphia? It still did not feel like home. Tom tells me that Don had a habit of overeating which brought about his recent death. I wonder if he was happy in Florida?

Up until the year 2002, I was still living in my parents’ house in College Point, but poor College Point continues to deteriorate and deteriorate, garbage everywhere and dead animals in the street, broken sewers and the municipal services disappearing. College Point stopped being a Utopia about 30 years ago.

I am sure settling in Wheat Ridge will become impossible once the local political establishment will become as hostile as the New York City establishment. But so far that has not happened.

© 7 September 2016

About the Author

I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City, Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s. I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.

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Setting Up House, by Will Stanton

I am a home-body by nature, very much like a Hobbit. I feel most comfortable having a peaceful place that belongs to me, that I belong to, a comfortable haven away from the trials and tribulations of the world. My spirit is not particularly adventuresome, certainly not like the sixteen-year-old boy Robin Lee Graham who sailed around the world all by himself.

Of course, I prefer an environment that fits my personality and aesthetic sense. It doesn’t have to be a mansion placed in an exclusive gated community. But, I would like to have a pleasant neighborhood, some songbirds and green trees, a temperate climate, nearby people who have something in common with me and my interests.

Once I came to Denver, I never had a home that I could call my own. Like many people, I lived in apartments the first few years. The last one was with my new friend James. Then, having grown weary of apartments, the two of us, along with an acquaintance of James, decided that we preferred to pool our resources and rent a house. Of the three of us, I spent the most time and effort looking for rental property; however, it was the third individual who, just by chance, happened to be driving by a small house that had a rental sign placed in the kitchen window.

The little house itself was an unloved property that needed lots of work. The original owner had not been living there for some time. It had been rented to three college students; however, nine ended up in there, along with a dog, all who fairly well trashed the place. It was all that we could afford, however. It suited our purposes, we moved in, and we cleaned it up as best we could, including the basement room that had been used for storage but had flooded from foundation leakage and had ruined everything stored there. We received permission to throw everything molding in that room out.

Within two years, the third person was established in a new job, had good income, and decided to move downtown nearer to his office. That left James and me in the rental property. I initially assumed that this rental property would be a short temporary place to live, and then I would move on. I’m still here.

Within a couple of years, we received notice that the owner wished to sell the house. James and I were fairly well settled here, and we had registered with the Secretary of State a home-office at this address, so it would have been inconvenient to move. James, who also never had owned a house before, suggested that we finance and buy the house. I suspect that, by that time, James understood that I was a home-body by nature and empathetically wished to see me comfortable and secure. We arranged a thirty-year loan and began making payments.

I tried my hand at repairing much of the house and yard that I could. The original owner had been a postman with nine children, and he had turned the basement into a barracks for some of the kids. He had tried to build a bathroom with shower but did such a bad job that the interior walls were mold-covered. I had to tare it all out and rebuild it. As for décor, his wife had the gawd-awfullest taste. She had chosen cheap shag carpets in hideous colors (which a renter’s dog had pissed on), had the trim painted in turquoise, had a cheap turquoise carpet in the livingroom, and put up plastic drapes. The kitchen looked like something out of a 1940s summer cabin and had been painted screaming-yellow. Trash-trees had grown up near the foundation that had made the leaks into the basement. The fact that the concrete patio in back sloped toward the foundation did not help, either. There was no garage for off-street parking and shelter. Oh, I could go on and on, there were so many deficiencies and problems with the property; however, you get the point. But, this is what we could afford.

At the same time I held a job, I spent years working on the house and property, putting in new plumbing, a lot of electrical, a new bathroom for the basement, cable and stereo wiring throughout the house, paint with decent taste, and paneling. I dug deep holes around the yard and planted numerous trees and bushes. I rented a jack-hammer and took out the offending concrete patio. I taught myself how to do all these things from reading manuals and through common sense. As our incomes eventually permitted, we replaced the heating and cooling, the kitchen, carpets, and roof. We had a garage built and installed a sprinkler system for the yard.

I was surprised with James. He said he never had been very interested in having a home before, but now he was very motivated to spruce it up as much as possible with appropriate furniture, new drapes, kitchen appliances, attractive dinnerware, and several previously owned paintings and statues. I knew he had come to enjoy having a home, but I also knew that he did all this especially for me. That’s the kind of person he was.

Together, setting up house over the years, we turned a “sow’s ear into a silk purse.” Together, we made a home for ourselves.

“Together” could have last longer, but it didn’t. After James died of cancer, my elderly mother passed away. The family offered to me the very attractive family home in another state. I wouldn’t even have to pay the relatives their share of the home’s value. I could move there and gain the equity in my own house. This made a lot of financial sense, but it didn’t make emotional sense to me. This house, and this city, had become my home over many years. My good friends were here; I barely knew anyone still left in my hometown. Going back to my childhood town was not a choice I felt like making. As Thomas Wolfe chose for a title, “You Can’t Go Home Again.” Home is where the heart is.

So, I still am living here, alone, in the house that James and I set up. That’s not always good, living in the same house. From time to time, I see something here that reminds me of James, gone now for twenty years; and I suffer a twinge of sadness. After all, this was our house, not mine alone.

© 23 August 2016

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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Setting Up House, by Nicholas

I’ve set up house a number of times. Sometimes alone and
sometimes with others. Either way, it’s a lot of work bringing order out of the
sheer chaos of boxes strewn about the new empty place. I remember when Jamie
and I packed up our things in San Francisco, hired a mover, saw all our stuff
go off down the street and hoped we’d see it again in Denver. We did. That was
in 1990. We moved into a house on East Third Avenue in which the first thing we
did—before we unpacked anything—was go buy candy to give away since it was
Halloween and we wanted to be part of our new neighborhood.
We got a bedroom set up and the bed made so we could at least
go to sleep in our new house. Next day we set about sorting and arranging our
things in the place we were to live in. For me, the kitchen is the most
important. My kitchen must have a logic to it. Pots and pans close to where
they will be used. Spices and herbs within reach of cooking. Wine and wine
glasses always handy. Less used supplies in more distant cabinets.
We stayed there three years and then moved to where we live
now. We have lived longer at our present address than either of us ever had lived
anywhere else in our lives. We do not intend to move again for some time unless
we are forced to. Forget moving and setting up a new house.
Actually, we are heading in the opposite direction. Not
setting up a house, but sort of tearing one down. Our house is big with lots of
places to stash things. We have watched the detritus pile up. Fortunately, we
have a two car garage that is just about big enough for two cars and not much
else. And we insist on using the garage as a garage, not for extra storage. So,
there are limitations. But stuff still accumulates.
We are trying to slow that accumulation. For birthdays and
anniversaries, we ask for no gifts, please. We even try to get rid of stuff. We
like to call it de-accessioning. I cleared out a shelf of flower vases, for
example, by unloading them on a nearby florist who was glad to take them and
will likely re-use them. Packing material, like those annoying popcorn things
and bubble wrap, if reasonably clean, is welcomed by packing and shipping
places. I have recycled bags full of the stuff. Jamie recently took a trunk
load of old computer bits and accessories to a recycling center. Better they
get broken down into usable parts than sit in our attic.
It takes a little work but it’s easy getting rid of stuff you
don’t like. Now we want to start getting rid of stuff we do like. I plan to
cull through books which I hate to part with but, after a time, they do only
collect dust on a shelf. Clothes too. I have too much now so, I’ve decided that
if I want to buy new clothes, I have to get rid of some of the old.
Largely as an accident, I ended up being the keeper of old
family photo albums. One day, I parceled out some of the ten albums my mother
had put together and sent some to my sisters. After all, their pictures were in
there too.
Some folks become hoarders as they age. They can’t give up
anything. Maybe, they think that’ll be the mark they leave on the world. Maybe
that’s how they establish that they have lived—show a bunch of stuff for it.
Maybe that’s how they remember all they’ve seen and done. If I leave a mark on
this world, I hope it won’t be just a pile of junk for someone else to pitch.
I’m not a hoarder. I take great delight in getting rid of
things. I love downsizing. It’s like losing weight (which is something else I
ought to look into). But while stuff is easy to pass up, ice cream is not.
If I ever set up another house, it will be with less stuff.
Of course, it will probably be smaller so I will be forced to de-accessionize
even more. Some of that may be difficult with tough choices. But really it will
be a joy. Taking apart a house is as much fun as setting one up.
© 12 Sep 2016 
About the Author 
Nicholas grew up in Cleveland,
then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from
work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga,
writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.