I start feeding the birds on Thanksgiving. Bird feeding is a ‘winter holiday’ activity. As a winter hobby, it makes less sense here in Arizona, but I continue to initiate the ritual on this day.

The traditional Thanksgiving breakfast is toast with cinnamon sugar, OJ and tea. This menu hasn’t varied in over 40 years. It makes me think of my grandmother.

Thanksgiving is not proper without seeing some of the Macy’s parade.  Afterwards, I will go to church and Praise God from whom all blessing flow. After all, I am a direct descendant of the Puritans and the Mayflower folks.

Since we moved to Arizona we go next door for Thanksgiving dinner. This year we go to a friend’s place. We are bringing a triple layer of white bean, red pepper, and pesto based pates, making a festive white/red/green effect.  I hope the hors d’oeuvre meets with approval.

Someone likes Gewurztraminer wine with his turkey. I like Pinot Noir.

For desert, I brew Oolong tea and think of Brother #3.

I like edam cheese with my pie; Someone likes whipped cream with his.

After dinner, we will visit the cousins for the rest of the evening. My parents will call with our ‘Secret Santa” assignments.

As the holiday season is now officially here, I start playing the Christmas CDs, much to the chagrin of Someone. We have dozens of them, with over 650 songs.

I start badgering Someone what he wants for Christmas. He’ll say ‘nothing’ of course, and I will press on until he comes up with something.

I usually have my list ready lest anyone ask. I just better gets those cha-cha heels.

Eating at others’ tables means we don’t have leftovers. I love cold turkey. Someone makes an excellent turkey soup. So we two will have another mini-thanksgiving this weekend. Mostly we want it to have leftovers.  Someone likes making pumpkin pies. I will get an Edam cheese.

I am thankful for the experiencing of blogging.

I am thankful for all the friends I have met/know via blogging.

You are dears.

I thank you for being part of my life.

I recently took inventory of my bow ties.

I count 51, which seems enough.

Bow ties come in 3 sizes. “Streamlines” are thin and rectangular in shape. The majority of bow ties are ‘regular’ with the usual hourglass shape.

In this photo, I am sporting a ‘butterfly’, which is an apt description of the larger, wider bow tie style. ‘Butterflies” are not my favorite, as I fear they make me look like a clown. “Streamlines” make me look like the Good Humor man. Or a waiter.

So the majority of my collection are “Regulars”.

I have a majority of blues and greens. I could use more black, brown, and reds if anyone is looking for a Christmas present idea.  My grandfathers always wore stripes. I tend to go for patterns.
I do not make my own. They are mostly silk; “not my medium”.

The majority of men who wear bow ties do so because the majority of men do not. I get comments from strangers they haven’t seen a bow tie in ages. At a concert or opera, I scope out the gents sporting bow ties. We give each other a silent nod of acknowledgement  -a sort of secret handshake for members of the the Bow Tie society.

At our house, bow tie pasta is a stable.    

This week marks the start of “The Holidays”. From a mental health point of view, “The Holidays” should be banned, like asbestos, for mental health’s sake.  My job now gets more stressful. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day I see a surge of sorrow and stress. Patients talk less about their general issues and focus more on the stress of the season.

The topics have not varied over the years <

They have too much to do and not enough time to do it.

Family fracas and  baseline tensions accelerate with demands for people to be in 3 places at once.

People can’t afford it all.

They are alone and lonely, or cut off from others.

They compare “Christmas Present” to “Christmas Past” and the Present is woefully deficit.

Ironically, the actual amount of my work goes down somewhat. People are too busy to go to the doctor. Or, they have only so much money and  this is going towards Christmas shopping obligations.  While office visits decrease, telephone calls of distress increase.  I get more pages, especially from the ‘meds only’ patients who aren’t in therapy.

A curious thought – given the surge of Facebook, Twitter, MySpace etc. are people better connected nowadays to diminish Christmas loneliness? Or does the need for real person to person contact veto virtual connections at Christmas time?

After 15 years in this job, I’ve learned I don’t really have to ‘do’ much. I listen to their misery and/or kvetches.

I advise the usual things. I downplay Christmas as ‘just one day of the year/this too shall pass”.  A few patients need to go to hospital. Whatever it takes.

It is rather macabre where I work they often play Christmas music in the waiting room. While escorting a patient to my office, we hear “It’s the most wonderful time of the year”. Inside, they tell me how they want to kill themselves for their sorrow. When we conclude, they leave listening to tunes like “Have a holly jolly christmas”. It can be rather macabre.

So it is time to batten down the hatches and increase the doses of doxepin.  I have the annual challenge to do some good but not ‘bring it all home’ to mar my own Holidays.

It is a yearly task; this too shall pass.

I thank Spo fans far and near for their compliments on my fabulous fabric entry.

An impromptu bit of silly inspiration seems to ‘do better’ than thoughtful edited posts.   Go figure.

We are getting over our colds, and both back at exercise.

We decided on a 3 layer pate for our hors d’oeuvre. It should be festive too with its green, white, and red layers.

Preparing for Thanksgiving, makes me think about vegetables. I as a child, I would sooner eats rats in Tewkesbury than most of the vegetables traditionally served at Thanksgiving. I recall all those  ‘No, thank you’ helpings I was obliged to eat. The nasty list seemed legion <  squash, creamed things, and casseroles made with Cream of Mushroom soup. The only vegetable I thought palatable was mashed potato. I ‘vowed’ when I grew up my Thanksgiving would be veggie-free. (Apparently only Turkey, potatoes and pumpkin pie).

There was always a green bean casserole made with green beans and topped with friend onion bits. I tried to weasel out of this but mother and the other female relatives were not fooled.  I would hide it among spoons of mash potatoes, swallowing it like a lump of medicine I was obliged to eat.  There was desert at stake.  I would try to eat the crunchy onions and pretend “I had ate it’. There were sometimes negotiations towards fractions I could eat. Mostly I had to eat what was there or else.  Some years it had french style beans or more additions, but usually it was the same. The “Shadow” side of the Turkey.

As if often the case, I ‘grew up’ and now lean more towards a vegetarian dinner. I am the one who requested we remake the green bean with fried onions dish for our own little Thanksgiving dinner. What comes around, goes around.

So I look forward to a green bean dish, and I hear my great aunts and grandmother laughing or shaking their fingers “I told you so!”.

Happy Joy ! The latest fabrics from Hawaii have arrived !

I can’t wait to turn them into stunning Spo-Shirts !

What becomes a legend most?

Do I look like some sort of gay vampire? Suffer, Bela Legosi!

and then there is this lovely Bird of Paradise fabric……

This is my Jessye Norman tribute.

I have all the attributes necessary for a great opera Diva, except voice.

Gads, I have bought enough to make several shirts!

Perhaps a shower curtain instead?

Friends, Romans, Countryman, lend me your queers……….

At times it all seems too much.

There is nothing like a new frock to brighten up the day !

Someone has a cold. His version has both a stuffy and runny nose.  I have a bug as well, but mine is the sort with a sore throat, sneezing and a bit of a cough.  Neither of our URIs seem too bad. I continue to go to work; Someone continues to run every day.

We both think the other is foolish.

Normally I don’t get sick with petty little colds.  Instead, I come down with a major flu bug once every 2-3 years.  And

Traveling is what gets me – particularly to the tropics. More often than not I get some nasty GI thing which spoils my trip (and everyone else’s).

For remedy, I drink a herbal tea called Lapacho, which is made from tree bark. My tea merchant tells me it is a capitol tonic for colds. Perhaps it is a placebo effect. Whichever, it makes me feel less achy.

Gatorade is the poor man’s IV fluid. While I do not normally drink such stuff, it is good for colds and flu symptoms.

Last time I was at my doctor’s office for some routine things he asked if I wanted a H1N1 shot. I didn’t want one, out of guilt for taking something so scarce. “Give it to the women and children first” is my approach. My doctor has a dry sense of humor. He told me there are no women and children here so I might as well take it.  I qualified as aI am a health care worker. I was sort of hoping to get swine flu, so I could stay home for a week. He advised against such nonsense – Swine flu is awful to experience. So I got my shot and felt no adversity other than personal guilt.

“What a silly thing about this virus you think you picked up, you must un-see it!”  This piece of advice was given to me at 10 years old by my mother’s friend, a Christian Scientist. It is a fascinating approach to illness – to merely see it as delusion or unreal.   That whole family went down like dominos from some sort of (apparently genetic) heart condition. The last member decided to convert to another religion, went to ER and got medical assistance. She lived to 90 years old but I think she regretted outliving her family. Certainly members of her (ex) congregation saw her as a cheater who should have gone down like the others.

Next week is Thanksgiving and we at our wit’s end.  We usually go next door to have turkey with the neighbors. This year, they go east to see a new granddaughter.  Someone and I thought we would eat TV dinners have a cozy Thanksgiving supper for two, but a friend invited us to his party.  We are saved.

However, this means we have to bring an hors d’oeuvre.

Ohoh.

A gay men going to a supper party is  the equivalent of a straight woman going to a wedding. Both are alarmist states; both require “something new”, lest there is talk.

Someone worries ‘What will they think?” if our dish to pass is less than fabulous. I am guilty of this too.  For a week we will wrack our brains trying to remember what we have made for other parties. “Honey, did we make already  the dates stuffed with apricots and pistachios wrapped in bacon?”  We will swoon if we hear “Oh, I remember this, you made it last time!” (bitch).

Thanksgiving food is usually plain and repetitive. This may be good enough for family,  straights, and other less fabulous folk, but not for queers or neurotics hung up on what everyone thinks. Something ‘plain’ won’t suffice a meeting of the Phoenix chapter of the Sugar Plum Fairies. I’ve seen Project Runway – I know how this goes.  A ho-hum    dip or shrimp cocktail or (worse) cheese-whiz on crackers will get us voted ‘out’ in a flash.

Oh the shame.

So we are going through our cookbooks trying to come up with something different. Martha Stewart, not Betty Crocker is the gay man’s cooking goddess.

Perhaps staying at home with a TV dinner is OK after all.

This is a replica of a famous statue from Italy. It is Hercules. He is vanquishing  somebody whose name escapes me. His foe is at his knees, with Hercules domineering over him. You can see Hercule’s mighty club  is hovering over the fellow’s head ready to bop him senseless.

For some reason, Someone doesn’t like this statue.  I am forced to keep it in the back room. We have to cover it up when relatives visit. I point out it is high Renaissance art, but to no avail.

Oh well there is no accounting for taste !

Patients are curious critters, full of surprises. As soon as I figure them out, they change like chameleons.  One of my teachers thought the love interest(s) of patients are the most incomprehensible part of psychiatry. I think it is  their management of medications.

Here are some zany habits of Homo passio americanus.

They often do not do what is agreed. For example, I ask Mrs. A to start 20mg of Dammitol. She nods and verifies she understands the instructions.  She returns six weeks later. She seems surprised at my inquiry about how it went. “Oh, I forgot to take it. “

• They do things on their own.  In this example I ask Mr. Q his regiment is going. It consists of 20mg Dammitol, 10mg Fukittol, and 5mg  Knokmeout – taken as needed. He announces he increased the Dammitol to 30mg,  dropped the 10mg Fukittol altogether, and is taking Knokmedown 4x a day now. This is often followed with complaints his meds are not working and he is having side effects too.

• Mrs. B. may not be taking her own meds, but she is using her friend’s.  Apparently Mrs B. told Mrs J. what she is taking. Mrs. B suggested she try her own Rx, Dopeydaze.  (Dopeydaze often doesn’t go with Mrs. B’s other medications, but no one invited me to the Red Hat luncheon.)

- Even if Mrs. A did what we agreed to do, there is always the suspicion she really isn’t taking them regularly. She is already taking  five medications, and a few over the counter things she isn’t telling me about, so how she manages them all is a mystery.

• I have to keep on my toes as patients restart things too. Dirk Studlong  announces he restarted Dramaquine, something he briefly tried 6 months ago. I remind him he stopped it as it was noxious. “Well it is working OK now”.

• Thanks to the internet, people come in much more prepared viz. they know what they have and what they want and will take. This makes my job simple – I get to be a waiter!  Maddog can tell you how much fun that can be.

Some day I can tell you about the even more unpredictable – and dangerous – animal, the insurance company agent. I check my blood pressure prior to writing that one.

Oh lordy does my back hurt – stiff as a board and aches so. I hope Someone packed enough Motrin in my lunch box.

Goodness knows what I am going to do with the personal trainer today. Perhaps it is a good opportunity to take that photo we’ve been meaning to do. I found a photo of myself from 1994. I still have the same shirt. I will wear it and get a new photo and ‘compare and contrast’ to 10 years ago. I will airbrush out today’s pained expression though.

Last week was chock full of activities; this week has nuttin. Perhaps I can finish a friend’s birthday shirt. It is covered with ants, beetles and even tarantulas. Whatever floats your boat, right?

My cold sore finally dried up and left, so if anyone wants a kiss now I can oblige. 50 cents. 75 cents for the pretty ones. And a dollar for an Urpso smack.  All proceeds go to charity – The Urspo Foundation for lower back pain.