Travis Street Circle

Since someone bought my old blog address and won't relinquish it, I'm going to publish some of my old blog posts here. This is one I am particularly  proud of and one that won a nice award.

When my mother moved back to Dallas in 1989 she bought this town home. It's a gorgeous place, one that almost takes your breath away when you walk in. The street was one that had been taken over by architecturally designed town homes that were mostly higher end and populated by people without children. In general, the people in those town homes were older, retired, or better off young professionals. It was close-ish to the predominantly gay area in Dallas, so there were several gay couples as well. The street was named Travis Street and it was also the street on which my first home stood, 40 years ago last month.
We used to see one of those gay couples out walking every day. Well, one would walk and push the other in a wheelchair. Their love and devotion to each other was clear and I remember thinking that I hoped I would find that sort of devotion someday, too. Unless you've experienced what it's like to take care of a once healthy partner, I don't think the sacrifice is truly imaginable. This couple continued to take their walks, to slowly make their way down the street to get a glimpse of the life outside, traveling the street as any couple would who had been together for a long time.
And then, the man in the wheelchair died. This was sad enough and devastating, I am sure, for his partner. But the sadness was not to end to there, nor was the devastation going to be small. Instead of being allowed to grieve in his own home, surrounded by his own memories of times had in loving company, the family of the man who died, the man who owned the home and its contents in legal name only, unceremoniously kicked the grieved partner out onto the street. How could they do such a thing? Easy: with all legal recourse. They didn't care that the man they were throwing out onto the street has cared for their relative when they were nowhere to be seen; he had assuredly cleaned up after the inevitable failures of the man's body and had still found a way to push him down the street every single day. They didn't care that the man they were throwing out had loved their relative as they clearly never had, nor did they care that this man was a human being. No, what mattered most to them was that they had legal right to their relative's property and they were finally allowed to force their sanctimonious judgment onto the man who had deeply loved someone they were a part of through biology. It was more than sad, it was heart wrenching.
I was 20 when my mom moved into our Travis Street town home, and so very glad to be back in Dallas. I had so much family here, you see. Not "blood" family, but adopted family. These were people I had known my whole life and had loved deeply for as long as I could remember. Two of those people were a couple that had come to define the truth of lasting commitment and love to me; coincidentally, they had lived on Travis Street when I was a baby and had also moved back to Travis Street when I was in my teens. These two people had helped raise me when my mother had no idea what to do with a teensy baby and they had loved me as their own when I was a lonely kid without brothers and sisters. They had always taken an interest in me and my life and there was never a harsh word from either of them in my direction or anyone else's. When I married, Uncle Jack gave me a piece of his mother's chrystal since they did not have any children of their own. It meant more to me than any other gift we received and I am afraid I was not able to adequately put that feeling into words when I saw Uncle Jack at my wedding.

That was the last time I saw him. We went back to Santa Fe then moved to Montana, where I learned that Uncle Jack had died. It was as if someone had punched me in the gut and then kicked me repeatedly when I heard the news. Unfortunately, I was not the only person left to mourn for Uncle Jack, far from it. Aside from the multitude of friends they had made and loved through the years, there was the person who meant the most to him and the other half of the couple who had taught me what it means to stay together because there is more love in the world united than there is apart. This partner of Uncle Jack's was my darling, wonderful, Uncle Travis.

I still think of them as "Uncles" because they were closer to me than any of my blood relatives. I'm far too old to call Travis or Jack "uncle," but it still comes to my mind first when I think of either of them. I am ashamed to say that I don't know how Travis has been outside of the odd cursory email, though I think about him often. I owe them both a huge debt of gratitude for being such a large part of my life, especially the formative years of my childhood. I don't know if I would have turned out to be as accepting and compassionate if it had not been for Jack and Travis. I certainly wouldn't have had an intimate portrait of true commitment since my parents and the parents of just about everyone I knew divorced when we were kids. Not Jack and Travis, though; they stayed together through it all.

The ironic part of the commitment shared by Jack and Travis is the fact that they were never allowed to legally marry. They were never recognized as loving, devoted partners by the country in which they lived, having to rely on the grace of their friends to understand the deeper meaning of the love they shared. They didn't need a legal ceremony or recognition to share that love, but they should not have been forced to do without it by people who did not have a stake in their lives. It is deeply shameful to think that we live in a country where something as sublime and rare as lasting love is treated with such contempt. Love is not the weapon; love is the only salve.

Going back to Travis street, there was another gay couple who lived on that street whom we knew and still know. I won't name them as I do not know if they would want me to, but they are still together, still in love, and still living on Travis street. They are another testament to the power of love over the power of rejection and hatred from people who clearly do not know better. I'd like to think that the people who would condemn any of these men (and women) I've known would do so simply because they do not know better. I'd like to think that if they had the opportunity to know a Jack or a Travis or any of the others from my life they would be better for it and their lives would simply be more filled with love and happiness.

I have hope for our future as an accepting society of autonomous individuals. I have hope because I've seen what we can do when we need to and when we want to. It is for Uncle Jack that I will never stop fighting for the rights of all people. It is for Uncle Travis that I will never stop proclaiming that civil liberties are not liberties if they only apply to some people. It is for every gay couple who has been harassed and told their love was not true because it was not "traditional" that I will continue to hold onto the hope that we are good people; we are people who will learn. We will learn because we know what it is to have to hope and we know what it is to see our hopes turn into actuality. I have this hope because I've known Jack and Travis. I call the hope they gave me love.

Seed balls

I figured I would start the ol' blog writing again with a "how to" post. I've been asked how to make seed balls and I haven't found a demonstration I like, so I've written this one instead.

Seed balls are an easy way to repopulate the world with flowers and plants.  You can put them anywhere and they provide an easy solution to long hours of attempting to get things growing.  Once you've made your seed balls, put 'em where you want things to grow.  Some people throw them out of their windows as they drive but you must remember that city lands are mowed and property owners generally don't appreciate your gardening on their land.  However, if you know of an empty lot that is filled with weeds and is never mowed, by all means, throw out some seed balls!

Let's get started. To make your seed balls you'll need:

Compost
Clay
Water
Seeds

I bought some cotton burr compost for mine, which wasn't the smartest thing to do since it had lots of sticks in it.  It doesn't really matter what kind of compost you choose; it's best to sift it anyway.  Some people use clay soil for their seed balls but I don't like to do that because it isn't "clean."  I got my clay at Trinity Ceramic, which is local, but you can also order from them online. Really, though, there's probably some place close to you that has clay. As for the seeds, be sure to choose things that are not invasive.  People make fun of me for being so militant about using invasive species, but it's quite important.  If you'd like a lesson in how important it is, come to my house and help me battle ivy.  The previous owner of our house planted two English ivies that will not die, no matter what I throw at them.  So, go native!

Now that you've gotten your materials together, it's time to start making your balls. hehe, balls. (I am such a child) Here are the steps with some crappy Iphone pictures.

1. Sift, sift, sift your compost.  It should be powdery and look gorgeous.  You might want to spend a minute or two or ten admiring it before you go on to step two.  Pretty, isn't it?  I use cups to measure my ingredients, but you can use whatever.  You're going to need three parts sifted compost. 

The finished product should look something like this:

 Preeeeetty.



2. Measure out 5 parts clay. 

3. Stir the compost and clay together.  Don't be alarmed that you can't see any more of the gorgeous compost.  I mean, you can be sad, just don't be alarmed.

4. Add 1 to 2 parts water.  I just pour some in with a watering can.  Go slowly because you don't want the mix to be too wet.  Mix the water in, getting to a wet-ish consistency.  It should stick together and not crumble but not be so wet that you can't roll it into balls. 

Busted for doing this in my jammies and slippers!

Here's a perfect consistency:

5.  Pick up a bit and squish it together.  Roll it in your hands like we used to do with Play-doh when we were kids.  Make a thumbprint in the middle for your seeds. 

6.  This is where I diverge from others on seeds balls: I like to add the seeds to each ball rather than mixing them into the compost/clay/water because you have more control over the ratio.  It takes a bit more time but I think it's better.  So, add some seeds to the thumbprint.

7. Squish it together over the seeds.

 8. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze!  This is difficult for those with arthritic hands, I know.

9. Pretend you're in kindergarten and roll that ball until it's the desired shape.

10. Place in a tray or whatever and allow the balls to dry at least 24 hours.  It's best to let them dry in the sun but it's not mandatory. 


You can put the balls out at any time but I prefer to put them out when the rains start.  You don't need to water them; the rain will take care of everything.  You may need to thin the seedlings once they get to about 2-inches, but that's not always going to be the case. Just make sure they aren't crowding each other out and stunting their growth. 

Enjoy!

Formerly known as...

It's time to acknowledge that I'm not getting Clotted Cognition back. Someone bought it and they are refusing to let me buy it back. All things end, right? So, this is my new blog home. I'll try to get back to posting desperately intelligent posts (ahem) sometime soon.