[I] may be crazy but I'm the closest thing I have to a voice of reason.

13 February 2011

Best Friends, Wet Dogs, Birthdays and Jose

Tonight I'm going to let the words fall out in a heap. Someone will surely have a rake or a shovel and can move them if they block the door.

Starting with the post of a friend and fellow blogger whose work you totally owe it to yourself to read. No, really, Reading Oh Shit... She's Awake will change your life. It'll make you laugh till you snort. Yeah, you'll cry some, but whatever. That's life. As I was saying, starting from Lori's blog and moving forward to Jose's birthday, this is where my heart's been these past two weeks.

February 5, 2011 at 12:08 pm


I was moved by The Moon and St. Christopher, a little more than seemed usual for me (it IS a beautiful piece), but then I remembered that I’ve been in hiding. Again. It’s what I do. This morning I crawled out of my ground hog’s hole squinting and tucking my head, bracing for the more-brightness-than-I-really-want, but it was cloudy. No need to cringe against the light; the sky has me covered. Guess that means spring will be coming soon to my life, but not right now. And that suits me just fine.

I read on to Serendipity and Sadhappy Endings. That’s when it hit me:

the date of The Moon and St. Christopher

the fact that I’m still running from the hands of kindness
the date of your mother’s death and the note from your mother/yourself
today’s date
why I have tears in my eyes.

Today is the 5th. Jose’s birthday is the 8th. Was the 8th. It’s been so long since he died that I no longer register that day in advance. Now it just hits me out of the blue, like sudden sun.

I haven’t been writing, not on paper, but in my head the words are a jumble of desire piled up against a locked door. They’re all about love and why I love men that others deem unsuitable; I don’t feel the need to do what’s expected, only what’s expected of me by my heart. So, once again, I love a man who lights me up in every way but whose life choices bring silent disapproval from friends and family. Once again I’m bracing. And now it’s Jose’s birthday, too.

Ah… so that’s why I’m in hiding.

Thanks for opening the damn door, hon. I’ve landed in a whining, wet dog of a heap on the other side, but whatever. I’m here.

Sending you inarticulated thank yous, plus lots of wet dog hugs...


This poignant picture is a small part of a mural* in the Castro district, which, as unlikely fate would have it this year, is where I was on Jose's birthday. For the very first time ever. Jose loved Castro Street. For those who don't know, The Castro is the gayest part of the gayest city on the planet, San Francisco. And for those of you who haven't already read his name a thousand times on this blog, Jose Sequiera is the friend who holds the best-friend-key to my heart. He died at thirty. Had he gotten the HIV cocktail in time, this year would have found him firmly in middle age. Amazing. The mural - which runs maybe a quarter of a block and catalogs life before, during, and after AIDS became a death sentence - is something I knew nothing about until I found myself standing in front of it. In The Castro. On Jose's Birthday. It made me think of Jose not just because the man is on his death bed, and not because it was Jose's birthday, but because the man in the mural looks just like Jose. Imagine my reaction.

That's all I have to say. If you want to know more about Jose and me, head on over to The Movie Lovers. Or you could just read this. It's what Jose wrote to me the year he died on the occasion of my own birthday, which is just a couple of weeks away.


May the birds sing your name
May the rivers roar for you
May the stars twinkle like your eyes
May the trees sway in your presence
May the earth and the havens rejoice because you were born on this day.

Happy Birthday


Happy birthday, baby. Happy birthday.

*You’ll find the mural at the juncture of Market, 16th, and Castro Street.

All contents of Sins of the Eldest Daughter / http:/dinarozellebarnett.blogspot.com/ are copyrighted © and may not be used without permission from its creator.

No comments:

Post a Comment