"Time passes slowly up here in the mountains . . . " - Bob Dylan

Lima, MT

I have been in Whitefish for three days.  Each day it feels like a bit more of the weight from the past couple of years falls from my shoulders.  I stayed at Jan's Cafe and Cabins on Friday night.  It's close to the Continental Divide (note the snow on the mountains) and was the perfect place to spend my first night in my new home state.  The photo above is of a stream that runs through the small town of Lima, MT.  I sat by this stream and reflected on my journey and my planned arrival in Whitefish the following day. 

And now I am home.  I've been focused on getting myself established here, attending AA meetings and staving off the loneliness that I know accompanies a move of this consequence.  Phone calls back to friends in San Diego help.  But, it's necessary for me to embrace the loneliness as part of the process - very similar to the grieving process, actually.  There can be solace in solitude.  I'll try to remember that in the coming days and weeks.

The Hesitation Waltz

Hmmmm . . . two entries in as many days' time. I amaze myself.

I definitely am doing my own version of the Hesitation Waltz as I prepare to leave Charles' and my townhome and San Diego. Am I making the right decision? Will I wind up regretting my move and leaving my friends our shared history behind?  Will I be able to make a go of it in Montana?  Will I meet a great guy up there who loves being in the Rockies as much as I do - someone whose sense of paradise leans more toward mountains and less toward beaches?

Charles used to describe me as "poor conflicted Jack." In many ways, he's right. I don't know whether it's a Libra trait, a Jack Albrecht trait, or just a human one for me to hem and haw, to deliberate and to over-analyze my decisions. I just know that's how I seem to have operated all of my life.

The etymology of "decide" is literally "to cut off," (de- "off" + cædere "to cut"). It has to do with resolving to do something and taking action. So, perhaps my state could be termed, more appropriately, INdecisive. I've heard that Charlie Brown is a Libra, a bit on the wishy-washy side and a worrier. Good grief! ;)

A Soft re-Entry

Downtown Whitefish, Montana

For the few among you who have encouraged me to pick up my laptop and continue entries in my blog, I've decided that it's time. I began this blog thinking that it'd be Didion-esque, a la "The Year of Magical Thinking," where I would track my journey through grief-land. The reality was that I was just too involved in getting myself through than sharing my feelings with all and sundry.

My therapist says that I am safely on the "other' side of grief. I agree, but also know that the death of someone close changes you inextricably and profoundly. I wouldn't want it any other way ~ it's a continuing tribute to Charles and his memory.

Today's will be a short re-Entry. Perhaps part of the problem was that I had no clue or inspiration about how to proceed with this thing, but I think that I do now.

I have been cleaning Charles' and my townhome in preparation for its sale. Of course, this set me on a journey through long-stashed boxes, winnowing through the stuff inside and rediscovery of things forgotten. Among those things was a poem I had written almost twenty years ago for a guy I was dating. I figure what better way to resume this blog than by posting this poem. I'm not really one to write poetry, but I was rather impressed with this, even if it's mine ~ but, perhaps I'm just easily impressed!


for S

if I were a poet
I would gather similes
like sheaves of wheat
comparing you to some bardish fancies
beguiling you with my come-hither glances
I would charm you, disarm you
with odes and sonnets
rhyme couplets as florid as Easter bonnets.

but, alas, my bent is of stodgier fashion
than forger of meter, iambic of passion
what my words cannot say
might be best left unsaid
will you sense by my touch
what's locked safe in my head?

Jack Albrecht, 12/12/1990

A beautiful day at La Jolla Cove

I can't believe that my last entry for this thing was way back in early December. My journey through grief has landed me back in the land of the living. I am beginning to embrace life and all of its possibilities again. I spent part of this Sunday morning with my friend Dave exploring La Jolla Cove. It's comforting to be able simply to savor the beauty of a clear spring day on the California coast.

W.H. Auden's poem pretty much says it

A friend of mine from work reminded me about the following poem by W.H. Auden titled "Funeral Blues." I remember that first time I heard it was in the movie "Four Weddings and a Funeral." A great poem, true to the emotions that inhabit the bereaved, but tempered with a wry sense of humor that prevents it from becoming maudlin.


FUNERAL BLUES

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West.
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

Memento Mori

The title phrase cautions us that we are all mortal. It's All Souls Day. In the Catholic religion it's a day to remember friends and loved ones who have died (there's more to it, actually, involving Purgatory, but we'll just keep it simple).

My friend Dave's mom passed away today. My partner of 15 years died in June. Since that date, I've noticed that I am much more attuned and sensitized to the experience of dying. I've had a couple of friends who have lost close family members over the past several months. I've also been reading Mark Doty's book, "Dog Years: A Memoir," which speaks to the experience of living and dying and the relationships and bonds between humans and dogs. It's quite wonderful and has been a great comfort (and source of tears).

At the memorial gathering for my partner Charles, I chose to have a floral arrangement evocative of the Baroque Vanitas paintings, spefically those of Rachel Ruysch. The subject matter of this style of painting includes symbolic elements that remind us of the temporary nature of life - a dragonfly, a bubble, a clock, a burned-down candle, and sometimes a skull. The description sounds quite morbid, but the renderings are quite lovely, I think. Above is a photo of the admirable creation my forist did using only the computer print-outs I provided her. Since I couldn't preserve a bubble, I used an old glass fishing net float that belonged to Charles' parents. On the top of the two books is a bunch of rosemary, which symbolizes remembrance. The clock serves to symbolize two things - that Charles loved to travel and the time that he died, 7:01 a.m.

Halloween - Tricks are for kids?

I seem to be lacking the gay gene for loving Halloween. Each year when we were young kids, our mom would make costumes for the three of us. When our dad was not away on military assignments, he would also join in the fray, designing rather sophisticated costumes, including a robot for my brother, complete with a mechanized "radar" antenna; butterfly wings made of coat hangers and tissue paper for my sister; and for me a devil costume (how appropriate) made entirely of red paper fabric. Remember paper clothing??? Probably not the best thing to be wearing around flaming pumpkins.

As the years have gone on, I have found myself less and less enthralled by the holiday. Perhaps it's because I did theater for so many years, where I got to dress as other characters on a daily basis. Perhaps I just grew tired of the holiday. I can't determine when I began to feel ambivalent about it.

I do know that autumn is my favorite season. My birthday is in October. My favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, is in the fall. I've always embraced the gentle melancholy associated with the season, most likely because I see fall as a reflective season when nature is preparing for its winter sleep. I love the colors of harvest, the gourds, the smoke in the crisp air. And, I love pumpkins - but prefer them in a pie rather than on my doorstep!

From top to bottom: My brother Bruce in robot garb, 1960; me in my paper devil costume, 1960; my sister Cheryl and Bruce in homemade bunny outfits, me in a store-bought pirate getup, c.1961. Why I chose not to have a homemade costume that year is a mystery.