LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Gay 'n Gray |
by John D. Siegfried |
Less Is More
Sooner or later, most of us begin to realize that less is more. Donald Trump may be the exception to that statement but even for those of us, like the Donald, who love to accumulate there's a limit. The less stuff I have, the more space I'll have. The fewer possessions I have, the less responsibility I have. At some point with the house, the boat, the silver collection, the Murano glass, or whatever defining one's pseudo-self-worth, the question creeps into the back of my mind "Do I own the art, the silver, the collection of diamond studded swizzle sticks, or do they own me?" Usually for straight couples this epiphany arrives after the kids have flown the coop and mama bear and papa bear rattle around their den wondering whether they want to continue paying the taxes on, and doing the dusting for, four thousand square feet. For gay and lesbian couples the moment of truth may evolve with the gradual recognition that if they weren't so tied down with home and condo payments they might be able to join one of those sexy RSVP or Atlantis cruises. For my partner, Howard, and me it's been a gradual evolution. In our years together, we've owned five separate properties, as we've moved from large to small. In that time we've gotten rid of a lot of stuffwe've had to, although we still have the bath towels that we inherited from the previous owner of our first beach property, a condo at the Henlopen, fifteen years ago. We now inhabit a two bedroom, two bath condo with 1800 or so square feet, which is plenty of space and is probably more space per person than 99.9% of the world's population can claim for themselves. My weekly mantra, as Howard brings lottery tickets home, is, "If we win the lotterywe ain't movin'." We don't need another square foot of living space. We don't need another painting on the walls. We don't want another tchotchke on a shelf. We've been so successful in downsizing that we actually have a few empty drawerswhich I never tell Howard about because he'll fill them. He is a recovering pack rat and has a lot of trouble throwing things away. In fact, he has one full dresser drawer of Jockey briefs, probably including the first pair he ever owned at age fifteen. Under my continued harassment he now packs the worst of the lot in his suitcase when we travel and one by one he leaves the dirty pair, with holes in the crotch or a waist band that sags, behind in the trash can as we move on. Please note that if you use this technique to clear your drawers, put the item in the trash. On more than one occasion he's deliberately left behind a shirt or sweater in a hotel dresser drawer thinking that the cleaning lady would take it home only to have it mailed back to us by the zealous hotel staff. The two places where space is perennially tight for us is closet hanging space and book shelf space. We get around the closet pinch with a semi-enforced house rule that says before you can buy a new shirt or slacks you have to get rid of an old one and to help facilitate space management, I go through my closet twice a year. Anything I've not worn in the past twelve months goes in the pile for charity. If I've not worn an item in a year, the chances of my wearing it in the next year are zero. In the meantime some homeless person can use it. Books, for me, are harder to get rid of than clothes. But here too, most of the time after I've read a book, I'll either pass it along to a friend or put it in a bag for library re-sale. What I choose to keep is such a mixture that a casual observer might question, "Who's his therapist?" New Times in the Old South, subtitled Or Why Scarlett's in Therapy and Tara's Going Condo rests between Sam Harris' The End of Faith and Joseph Cohen's The Penis Book. The only feature that the three share in common is that they are all thin volumes and they are all interesting reading. But, if shelf space is limited, "thin" is good. Another volume I'll add to my shelf is Paws and Reflect, Exploring The Bond Between Gay Men And Their Dogs. In "Sometimes You Get More," one of the twenty-five vignettes that make up the book, Michael Wallerstein poignantly describes purchasing a Dachshund with interesting white and black pie bald markings which, according to the breeder, made the dog more valuable. Over a period of several months, while attempting to train and house-break his dog, he discovered that Bonnie, the dog, was deaftotally deaf which meant she could hear none of the commands he was trying to teach her. Angry and irate at first with the breeder, when faced with the breeder's choice for him to return the dog and get a refund on his purchase, Wallerstein chose to keep Bonnie knowing that the breeder would, in fact, euthanize the dog. He developed, instead of verbal commands, a series of facial and hand movement commands that the dog eagerly responded toa dog sign language, if you will. And he realized that while he was initially disappointed that Bonnie with her deafness was less than the perfect pooch he wanted, in the long run, ultimately she was a lot more. She "... taught me what it means to give and receive the unconditional love of a pet." Maybe there's a lesson there that not only in the realm of possessions, "less is more," but just maybe in relationships, whether man or dog, the same can be said. If "Mr. Perfect" turns out to be less than perfect, just maybe there's still unconditional love to be received. John Siegfried, a former Rehoboth resident who now lives in Ft. Lauderdale, maintains strong ties to our community and can be reached at hsajds@aol.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 17, No. 9 July 13, 2007 |