The Dooryard

America's choice: Reward hard work or no work?

I am very saddened to see how the Left has been in attack mode targeting the now-famous Joe the Plumber. In case you didn't know, Joe Wurzelbacher is a plumber in Ohio who asked Barack Obama about his tax plan that would hurt Joe's intentions of buying a plumbing business that makes more than $250,000 a year. McCain brought it up many times during the debate. Since then, Obama and the Left have been on a full assault on Joe, making his life a living hell. All because he brought up a great question for The Anointed One: A question he simply doesn't have a good answer to.

I'm the son of a plumber. My dad (left) didn't make $250,000 a year, and neither did his business. But my dad worked his butt off and still does. What Obama and the Left just don't understand is that people like Joe and my Dad work very hard for the money they make. They're under houses fixing pipes, waking up at 6am to install wells, taking emergency calls on Christmas Day so the elderly don't have to be without heat.

Barack Obama and his friends on the Left say that, if all of that hard work brings in a certain amount for a business, you now have to pay more money. They keep saying that 98% of small businesses don't make a quarter million dollars. But they miss the whole point; the miss the principle behind it all. Guys like Joe and my Dad and me say that hard work should be rewarded and you should get to keep your own money; Guys like Barack Obama and Barney Frank say people who don't work should get the money of the hard workers. In in about three months, Obama and Frank will be running the country with no check for at least two years. Makes you want to go start a small business, huh?

Playing with the cat

We are crazy, crazy in love with our little kitty cat Toby. He turned one year old sometime this month, and we've only had him for five months. But this little cat has totally stolen our hearts.

We have found ourselves wanting nothing more at night than to lie on the bed and toss his favorite purple-and-brown ribbon around, throwing up a mouseful toy from time to time to change the pace. He'll run around, hide under the pillows we stack up like a little kitty fort, jump out at us, swat at our feet, grab the ribbon, race out to the kitchen, race back in, then start all over again. And after about 15 minutes of that he'll follow us back into the living room where he'll curl up on our chest and take a nap.

The resemblence between Toby and my childhood cat Sissy is remarkable. They look alike, act similarly, are both incredibly friendly; In fact, they're so similar that my parents call him Sissy and refer to him as "her."

I have actually started regretting leaving town because we have to leave him behind. He's just too much.

Visit from the parents

I am so blessed to have two parents who love me as much as mine do, and who love Dan as much as they do. They came from Maine to visit for about 48 hours this weekend, partly because my mom didn't want to spend all of Mother's Day away from her kids. We had a fantastic dinner at Cookshop, spent way too long at the Empire State Building (note to readers: if you're going to visit, go during the week or mid-afternoon), and made a nice pasta dinner on Saturday. My parents are very easy-going, which helps make their visits so nice.

We had an interesting conversation on Saturday. My father wondered if there was anything from my childhood that I resented or felt should have been better. And there really isn't anything. I am lucky that my childhood is truly behind me; only the best of memories remain.

Though, I did mention that when I was younger his constantly siding with my younger brother in every dispute we had bugged me. I never think about that, but he said he does. And he regrets it. It was interesting that he had objectively observed the same thing. I felt bad that he felt bad about it. But hey, if a couple extra spankings were the worst of my childhood, I'm ahead of about 70% of other guys and 90% of other gay guys.

I had a cold over the weekend, which was the one drawback. Ended up missing Andy Towle's birthday party because of it. But, I'm feeling 85% now, and I can only imagine what a late night out on Saturday and a cocktail or two would have done to me.

Toby

Dan and I just didn't know what to get each other for Christmas. Anything we want we have or just get ourselves. We had been talking since before I moved here three years ago about how neat it would be to have a cat. But we both (mostly Dan) had reservations about having a cat: Our apartment is too small, his litter box would stink, he'd shed too much, we might not like him. Blah blah blah.

We decided to throw all that out and set out together on Dec. 9 in search of a cat. We decided the night before that we wouldn't' settle on a cat; We'd only get one if he or she really felt right. We stopped at a couple places before spending an hour at the ASPCA in Spanish Harlem. We looked at a bunch of little kittens and had decided that none of them felt right. As we were leaving, we passed by the cage of a black-and-white cat that had a cold. When we walked past his cage, he lit up, getting up from his nap, meowing and pawing at us through the cage glass.

"I haven't seen him react like that to anyone," the woman escorting us around said. He had a cold, so it gave us some pause. But he really did seem to like us. And as the woman told us, "You don't pick your pet; Your pet picks you." His name was James Blake, named after the part black, part white pro tennis player. He went home with us 20 minutes later.

When we got him home, it was like he'd been there for three years. Sure, he skulked around the apartment for about 15 minutes, checking everything out, finding his favorite hiding spot and batting at some low-hanging ornaments on the tree. But he was as friendly and cuddly in that first hour as any cat I've known for years.

It was watching TV that night that we came across the perfect name for him: Toby. I have this thing where I start calling my pets other names, so we've already added Scooby, Squeaky, Squawky, Tobster, Runty and several others. More will come with this cat with a great personality.

This past Wednesday was his one-month anniversary with us. I'm sure I'll be adding more about this crazy, wonderful addition to our family in the coming weeks and months. Bear with me.

When it's time to move on

I came across an article in the Harwich Oracle online today about my dad leaving his hometown of Harwich. Aside from a couple months spent at Doane College in Nebraska right after high school, he had lived in the town all his life.

While it is sad that the family has now pulled up all of its roots in my hometown, I do understand it. My brother, sister and I all left five, 10, 15 years ago. We have had our adventures moving to an exciting new place. My parents have lived within the same 10 square miles virtually all their lives (my mom moved to the Cape when she was 10).
They deserve to be where they want to be. While the people in memories they leave behind are sadder for their departure, it was time for them to go, and I'm so happy they are now where they want to be.

Wilma report from Florida

My brother and sister have both lived through many hurricanes on Cape Cod and now in Fort Lauderdale. "This was the worst one I can remember," my sister told me today of hurricane Wilma that ripped across southern Florida. "It was worse than Bob." Hurricane Bob tore across Cape Cod in 1991 and left the whole peninsula without electricity for as long as six days.

As man as six million people are without power in Florida right now, my two syblings being two of them (my brother is listening to the Monday Night Football game on his car radio). I'm just glad they're safe (at least six are dead in the Sunshine State), though my sister's car and my brother's house both took beatings from falling trees. Present reports say it could take as long as four weeks to restore full power to the region. The parents of a friend are stuck in a shelter in Cancun right now with little water and no communication.

I was there on Cape Cod during Bob and lost my car to a knocked-down scrub pine. But, I feel so lucky (knock on wood) that, despite living in hurricane alley along the East Coast and up and down the earthquake-laden West Coast that I've only been in the middle of that one true disaster.

Wrestling with death and seclusion

My grandmother died this past Tuesday. She had been diagnosed with cancer in May and had been battling it through chemo and, I believe, radiation. In the end, it was too much for her body to bear.

I got to see her in May, just after the diagnosis. I was in Durham, N.C., for a wedding and took the two hour drive toward Greensboro to visit her and my aunt, Sandy. It was an interesting visit. My grandmother, my and and her husband are all born-again Christians. I disagreed with many things they said that morning, and they disagreed with me. But, there still seemed to be love in the room. When we talked about me being gay, my grandmother blew me away by saying that I wasn't to be judged and that it was my issue to deal with as I wished. It was a truly Christian position - unlike the hatred that many so-called Christians have spewed for years. When I mentioned the group God Hates Fags to them, my aunt shuddered saying, "that's not Christian."

So, it was with a heavy heart that I learned my aunt had taken me off of a family email list that kept everyone updated on my grandmother's condition. It seems everyone in my extended familiy knew last week that she had accepted hospice care and was in her final days. Everyone got to say good-bye. Except me.

It stung Monday night when I found out she had stopped eating. Last I knew, from the last group email I got in June, she was getting better. It became final on Tuesday when I got the call that she had passed away.

It was a bizarre feeling. I was incredibly sad that this fun, lovely woman whom I adored for so many years was gone. And I was incredibly angry that my aunt had taken me off the list. My aunt has a history of vindictiveness, despite her Christianity. I could only figure that it was because I was gay, and that I had promised my grandmother to return to visit with Dan, that she removed me from the list. She wrote to me yesterday and said, "I thought thatmy list had transferred to my home computer, but for some reason you are not on there!" It doesn't make any sense to me - how an email in the middle of a list of 25 emails could suddenly disappear because you transferred it to another computer???? Email doesn't work that way.

Now I'm left trying to decide if I want to head to Maine for the services next Monday or Tuesday. It's a six to seven hour drive, and I'd only get to stay for about 48 hours. I wish I had the answer.

A bad letter from Dan's dad

When we returned from a wonderful Christmas with my family on Cape Cod Sunday night, Dan found a letter from his father. He has been out of communication with his dad for a few months now because his dad is refusing to accept that his son is gay. While we hoped for the best from the letter, the words could not have been more hurtful.

Christmas with the Tolleys

Dan and I are headed home for Christmas on Thursday. I can't wait. While he has met several members of my extended family before - grandparents and an uncle or two - he's never been to a "family event."

My boyfriend Dan, a super dentist (if I do say so myself), just texted me that he did two root canals today. Obviously considered a bad day for those needing them, he ended the text message with a smily face. One man's trash. . .