Push Play, Then Work
May 10, 2018
Dad & Me circa 1956
I’ve been busy. Not just busy, but crazy busy. You might not see it because so much of what I’ve been up to means I’m buried in my office. I’m knee-deep in a memoir about Gregory Thornton, my dad (or maybe these are short stories?). If you know me, you probably are aware that my Dad was an eccentric, gay artist. Like gay men of his time, he stayed in the closet, had a family and, after the culture shifted he torched his marriage—and not in a passionate way. Starting in 1977, he also fairly consistently recorded his life on audio tapes. When he passed away in 2000, he accumulated 10K hours of cassettes (yes, 10000 hours!!) Earlier he arranged to have the Kinsey Institute archive them. He thought they would make a fascinating book. I think so too.
When I started this book project a few years back, I traveled to Bloomington, Indiana to visit the Institute and listen to the tapes. I stayed for as many days as my hotel budget could tolerate and listened to my dad ramble mostly familiar stories. Sometimes I transcribed an interesting segment.
By last year, I gained enough credibility with my Kinsey contacts to trust me with tapes outside the Institute. Now, I am privileged to receive a package of ten tapes via FedEx every few weeks. Meanwhile, my master-geek husband discovered Audacity, a nifty sound program that allows me to digitize the cassettes. After duplicating the batch, I send them back and return to listening until the next batch arrives.
My dad had a big personality, a voice that carried throughout the house and an ego to match. In telling this story, my biggest challenge is to not feel cast into his shadow, which is where most people ended up when they were in his presence. Don’t get me wrong. We were great friends, but I have to pay attention to my own voice to write this story. I think writing this blog will help. And, since I’m often asked how the book is going, this is an easy way to share updates.
So feel free ask me questions. If you know any books about having a gay parent—not BEING a gay parent—let me know. In preparing a book proposal, I could use some help finding competitive literature. Gotta go. Gotta change the tape!
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 7 so far )Sniffles and Songs
Antihistamines and Cancer
In my last post, I mentioned that I wanted to research the possibility of antihistamines being linked to cancer. While I found studies that negated the correlation, I was pretty surprised at how many pros were asking the same question. More disturbingly, one study found a link to a type of brain tumor. And who financed the other studies???
I read enough to quit the 24-hour Allegra I have been on for four years. Originally, I was having about four annual sinus infections that required antibiotics. Allergy tests revealed a bunch of foods and environmental factors that I was mildly sensitive to, but nothing was serious. Together, they “put me under” with the changing seasons. I’d tried everything—neti pots, saline washes…Scott even came up with using a massager behind my ear, which seemed to easily release a bunch of clogging junk.
Since I was taking a natural mushroom extract to boost my immune system, along with the Allegra, an antihistamine to squelch my immune system’s allergic response, I wondered if they canceled each other out???? Plus, leukemia treatment was described to me as resetting the immune system, so I was curious to see how my new immune system would behave if I quit Allegra. And I was also in the throws of a rebounding sinus infection, I had about six weeks ago, which was treated with antibiotics. I had nothing to lose.
Did we run out of tissues already?
The first week without Allegra was hell. I felt really sick and my nose was a waterfall. I was coughing and relied on quarter dose of imitation NyQuil to sleep. Yes, it did contain an antihistamine. After seven days, my sinus infection was gone! That was five days ago and I feel way better. I still sneeze a few times a day—and I haven’t sneezed since I started Allegra, but somehow sneezing seems like a healthy response. I also pop a Halls cough drop here and there. I think the old-school menthol helps keep my head clear.
Here are some links I found if you’re interested.
http://cebp.aacrjournals.org/content/17/5/1277.full
http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/ijc.11240/pdf
http://jnci.oxfordjournals.org/content/86/15/1172.extract
Natural remedies for allergies:
http://www.livestrong.com/article/146553-natural-alternatives-for-antihistamines/
It’s always nice to have a natural alternative, but sometimes natural stuff can be as fraught with downsides as anything else. As a matter of fact, after writing so much healthcare copy for years, I always wonder about the downside of some new miracle food, drug, herb or exercise. There are no golden solutions!
Surviving a Taste of My Old Mojo
My friend, L celebrated her 50th birthday a couple weeks ago. I was invited and have to admit I was a little nervous about my energy level for a night on the town. In addition, L and her crowd is roughly a decade younger with party know-how and I don’t think any of them have chemo pills on their calendars. AND, I love L for her classy taste in debauchery and unadulterated wit.
BUT, I was two days from starting chemo drugs so I was at my best energy level of the month. And, it wasn’t like we were going rollerblading or jogging along the lake. The plan included theater and karaoke, so I could sit for most of it—not exactly strenuous. I geared up with a rest in the afternoon and left with my thoughtful gift of vitamins for 50+ women, some handmade earrings and other carefully selected odds and ends that must not have been spectacular because I can’t recall what they were.
We started at Mary’s Attic, a small theater above Hamburger Mary’s restaurant, for a Hell in a Handbag Production that parodied a sort of Mommy Dearest theme, but used Lana Turner. Best line: The star, a man in drag, hustles to her daughter’s aid shouting, “What’s wrong, honey. I came as fast as I wanted to.” I can think of many uses for that line. We had a great time.
World’s Best Partiers & No Injuries!
From there we went down the street to a bar where we united with a few more people before most of them got in a cab and went up Lincoln Avenue for Korean Karaoke. Because I didn’t think I’d last much longer, I drove and chauffeured a couple other people. I suspected my suburban passengers, even with alcohol in them, were a bit nervous when the only parking space was in front of a parkway tree with a man standing against it clearly in vertical passed-out mode. As a lifelong Chicagoan with a keen sense of danger, I assured them he was harmless although I prayed that if he needed to vomit, he’d turn around and avoid my car.
We hustled into Lincoln Karaoke, which was divided up into private rooms. The perimeter was lined with stain-resistant seating and a stage that doubled as a coffee table or vice versa was in the center. Flat screens were on each wall with the “word ball” bouncing along the lyrics and beautiful nature scenes, which made NO sense in the background. In walking to our room at the end of the hall, I wondered what went on in the other rooms that are rented by the hour. Then I decided not to wonder.
A pleasant Asian woman entered, distributed four microphones and demonstrated how to select a song from the binder listings, which were arranged by title. The first half of the book was in Korean. The second half was in English.
We leafed through the plastic-covered pages and ordered beer. Given my deadline with a week of Trentenoin/ATRA pills, I did not indulge. It wasn’t long before the coffee table was designated as a stage and the one male in the group had to sacrifice his running shoe. One of the partiers had filled it with beer and passed it among us. This didn’t make being on the wagon very difficult and I don’t need alcohol to make a fool of myself.
I LOVE to sing. Sometimes I can sing well. Other times I can’t. Usually if I open my lungs, I get better. The variety of songs was hilarious, and anyone who wanted to sing was welcome to join in. My highlight was bellowing Gloria Gaynor’s, “I Will Survive,” which sort of sent me to my own little place in the room unaware of everyone. I guess it ended up being a “Fuck yourself, cancer” moment.
Although it was one-thirty when I got home, I was hyped knowing I still got it in me to do things like survive getting home at one-thirty—even though I don’t really plan on doing that again. Maybe when I hit 60 in January??? May we all be able to retain our party souls into our 8Os.
L, we LOVE you. Have a great year.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 6 so far )Duck the Halls
There’s a nifty path on the east side of the Chicago River between Montrose and Irving Park. It’s not easy to find, but once
you’re there, you forget that you’re in the Chicago. A thin path of mulch lines the ridge and dips to the river’s edge in several spots. Grasses stand three feet high on both sides of the path and are dotted with a rainbow of colors in the summer. Trees lean into the water. Some of their branches touch the surface. Walking along the river, you are apt to spot a crested white duck comfortably hanging out with the mallards. Wikipedia says it is a mutant mallard.
On a whim, Saturday we invited the grandkids and my mother-in-law to come over and help us decorate our Christmas tree, but the balmy fall day was so nice we added a walk along the river with the grandkids to the day’s agenda. When we returned, we finished decorating the tree. I’m a sucker for Christmas. It was great.
Alyssa got in trouble with me for suggesting the duck’s headdress looked like a grandma due to its bonnet. While that’s quite true, I would be lucky to have such a hairdo, and I don’t easily identify with the stereotypical grandma. Alyssa qualified her comment by referencing a cartoon grandma. Enough said. The afternoon gave their mom and dad an opportunity to do a little holiday shopping. Fun.
Monday, June 5, 2012
I am having fashion crises. I need to cover my bald head and my picc line arm. Plus the weather too often calls for short sleeves. And I like to look coordinated. Finding the right shirt and coordinated head gear isn’t easy that accommodates Chicago’s crazy weather isn’t easy. Such was my state of mind as I tried to get ready for week two of treatment. As if anyone in the onco unit cares.
Christy picked me up today to keep me company. I warned her that it may be more time with me than her schedule could stand. She assured me otherwise.
First there’s taking of the vitals. Then the changing of the picc line dressing. Finally the arsenic in the IV. She picked me up about 8:45 and we finally left about 2 pm. Christy and I chatted and caught up on all the topics yesterday’s recital day left out. When I got home I was tired, but ready to start finding my way through the disability forms. I called my agent and left messages with questions. Scott asked to help, so I asked him to pick up my matted paintings. He braved the rush-hour traffic and brought back my art and the newly cut mattes. I dropped everything and went about positioning the art in the mattes, which I did with glee. They look great! I’m excited. I also need to finish laying out two poems in paintings as well. I started one, but didn’t get very far. My desk is a mess and needs to be organized!
I also need to call my mother. Being her legal guardian, I am obliged to keep in touch and I haven’t spoken to her since Mother’s Day. I’m feeling ambivalent about talking with her. I have too much to say that I can’t say. She has dementia and although I told my brother not to mention my leukemia, he did and it went right over her head. That’s fine. But I still feel awkward in creating conversation. “What did I do this morning?” I was hooked up to an IV full of arsenic. “What are you doing tomorrow?” “Getting hooked up to a bag of arsenic.” If I manage to visit sometime this year, do I wear a wig? Which one? Should I go when it’s cold, so I won’t melt under a wig? Maybe I need to leverage her dementia and tell her it was nice to see her yesterday. Tell her how great she looked. The four year old in me wants to tell her so that she’ll give me a hug and tell me everything will be OK…Trouble is, she wouldn’t say that. She would say, “I told you that you should have lost weight!” Yes, sometimes it’s better to rely on other people for your props. I did call her, but she wasn’t in her room.
Scott and I ended the day watching Mad Men. Good enough.
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In Emily's Head 