Dec
21

Have a Cool Yule!

I love our Yule celebration, which is tonight in observance of the Winter Solstice. We stumbled onto it last year, and I think that we have something very important going on. We’ve been planning our Solstice Limoncello for months, and the bottles are all nicely lined up, waiting to impart an icy zest to a balmy Florida winter’s evening. Gretchen and I have milled around for a couple of evenings picking up odds and ends for the Yule Log. We found pine cones at Lake Shipp, where we have spent many afternoons picnicking and kayaking with family and friends. We stopped at a Christmas tree stand for some pine trimmings and were helped by an adorable little toddler who insisted that we needed just a little “more.” Last night we dropped by Mom and Dad’s for some Palatka holly–I had forgotten that WE got them that tree all those years ago.  I’ve been driving around with the log itself in the trunk of the Echo for weeks. It had been long enough that I didn’t remember that it was plenty big and that I had picked up some additional firewood–pillaged from someone’s tree trimming and lawn work and waiting by the side of the road on my way home from work. There is a lot to be said about a holiday that can be assembled mostly from treasure found by the wayside.

But more importantly, there is the intense solitude of the Solstice as we await the return of Light, the return of hope for our entire hemisphere. People talk about the depressive cycles associated with this time of the year and blame it on the commercialized bustle of Christmas. I think that we actually have the solar system to blame. Throughout time, worldwide, cultures have marked this as a time of enormous solemnity followed by a time of limitless hope. The Earth herself is at her lowest energy tonight. Several people who were supposed to come to tonight’s celebration have cancelled because they don’t feel well–they have colds, the flu, they are drained–YES, that’s right; we are SUPPOSED to feel that way right now; our PLANET feels that way; it only makes sense for us to feel that way WITH her.

So tonight, we reflect. We sit with those who were brave enough to come to a party where there is nothing but a bonfire, some music, and a bottle of liquor. We sit, and we reflect, and we allow ourselves to connect with that low energy; we face that despair head on, with those we love, knowing that tomorrow the light returns. And with the return of the Light, comes the return and renewal of Hope.

Happy Yule! May your year be filled with the Zest of lemons, the Joy of music, the Hope of wishes, the Passion of fire, and the Faith of the generations who have faced this night with courage.

the bottles of limoncello are lined up and ready for distribution to our guestsMy second Yule Log

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Nov
18

Limoncello for Solstice–Batch #3

For Batch Three—Zesting began Sept. 25; Bottled Oct. 18

Aged 23 days; To be ready Nov. 27—This batch is for favors for our Solstice   party

This made 12.6 liters—24 11 oz. Perrier bottles and 6  750 ml bottles

If you were to use only 750 ml bottles, it would make 17 bottles

 

2  1.75 liter bottles of pure grain alcohol;

Zest from 50 lemons

3 vanilla beans broken into ¼” pieces

28 c water

10#  bag of sugar

2 c fresh sqeezed lemon juice

Results

Tried just a taste of this at bottling. It was REALLY good, smooth already. It’s got a tad more sugar. The vanilla bean is subtle and also seems to smooth it out. And of course, this one was infused with the zest twice as long. I think that might have actually made a difference. The peel is always brittle. This was just like plastic.

Also, we bought a plastic tub for mixing. That was SO much easier than trying to deal with multiple jars and bowls because nothing that we had would hold the whole batch.  Gretchen’s idea—of course!

Tasting  Oct. 29—Bottled for 11 days. Yumm! The vanilla bean smoothes this right out. Even this young, this doesn’t have the PGA hit at the finish that the other batches have had before they had aged. Can’t wait to try a bit of this Thanksgiving weekend. But we’ve got to be careful; we have only 6 liters for discretionary drinking!

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Sep
22

Post Produce-Sept. 22, 2011

I’m delighted to help kick off Post Produce Day, launched by Daniel Gasteiger of Your Small Kitchen Garden. I first discovered Daniel’s blog when I was doing research, trying to figure out if I could save any of my bountiful fall tomato crop from an impending frost. Daniel’s discussions on tomato harvesting have proved to be quite valuable to me.

My Florida vegetable garden is just 10 days short of being one year old. I planted my first fall garden on October 2, 2010. Since then, I’ve had a continuous supply of SOMETHING through a couple of hard frosts, a dry early summer, a wet late summer, and an injury that kept me out of the garden for the month of July.

I am eagerly looking forward to seeing what Florida Fall brings to my garden this year!

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Sep
22

Coming Out of the Backyard

I’m in shock. I have seen and read snippets about people who live inside municipalities being fined, jailed, and forced to dismantle food gardens that were located in front yards, but I figured it was mostly Internet trash of the “’THEY’ are gonna git ya” strain. And that crap just drives me nuts.

But in reading Your Small Kitchen Garden’s   article on Adam Guerrero and others and following Guerrero’s story through to The Washington Post I’m painfully reminded that sometimes “THEY” really are a powerfully destructive force that seems to deliberately block people who are trying to spread Light.

For readers who are not familiar with composting, I’d like to point out that compost attracts rodents and other pests only if meat products are included. I’m guessing that Mr. Guerrero is smart enough to have nixed the meat.

We constantly hear people gripe about lazy teachers who don’t care and just want a paycheck. And when we have a true hero, a man who is willing to spend his free time encouraging his students to think critically, build things, and foster their own health and independence, the “system” wants to shut him down.

And when those young men who feel pride in what they are doing shut down . . . then what?

Mr. Guerrero is navigating through his trials with dignity and grace. I signed a petition on his behalf, and I send him Light and Love, and hope that readers here will do the same.

Mr. Guerrero’s situation is more complex than simply growing food in his front yard. Several other cases that involve urban homesteading have been as simple as people placing their food gardens within street view. My own primary vegetable patch is intentionally on the street side. And here’s why:

 

My raised beds, earth barrels, and lighted PVC trellises have generated quite a bit of positive interest from some of my neighbors. I hope that this begins to help build the notion of community gardening here.

It’s accessible to my kitchen.

It gets morning sun and afternoon shade.

I am able to situate it running north and south, for the most even exposure to the sun.

I see it every time I leave the house or come home, so I visit quite frequently.

I am committed to the notion of community gardening, a term which is evolving. In my idealistic inner world, community gardening involves neighbors who know one another sharing their resources, including their knowledge, supplies, tools and harvest. We are more likely to begin that sharing if we are able to SEE one another’s gardens from the street.

My garden has been active for 51 weeks. In that time, I ‘ve had at least two families construct raised beds based on my design. I’ve had at least ten sets of neighbors who I didn’t otherwise know stop by to ask me questions about gardening and about the earth barrels and raised beds. None of that would have happened if my garden had been tucked out of sight in the back yard.

Community gardening is like any other form of gardening–you can’t reap the harvest if you don’t sow the seeds.

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Sep
21

Making Limoncello

When Life gives you lemons, celebrate the Zest! Limoncello!

Making Limoncello

It all started with a Movie on the Lawn evening. Gretchen, Melissa, and I were watching one of the all time great chick flicks, Under the Tuscan Sun. It’s a beautiful movie all on its own, but outside, under the full moon, in the garden, on a 20 ft screen, it’s gorgeous. We got to the part of the movie where Frances has met Marcello, and they are on the beach in Positano at Marcello’s family’s enchanting beachside bar. He pours her a glass of limoncello—it’s here  http://youtu.be/RdutulJVZSI?t=4m30s  on YouTube. I guess that dreamy man getting self-conscious talking to a woman who is enthralled with him did us all in because the next thing I knew, I was blurting out, “You know, I think we can make that stuff!” And my companions were thrilled. Of course, none of us had ever had limoncello, but we knew after that scene that it had to be close to ambrosia!

So the research began! I spent loads of time on the Food Network site, mostly with Giada De Laurentiis’ and Alton Brown’s recipes. One of the things that I most enjoy about using Food Network recipes is reading other users’ comments. Many readers had their grandmother’s or great aunt’s recipes and reacted quite strongly against using the recommended vodka rather than pure grain alcohol.  Several readers offered links to websites; this link http://www.squidoo.com/homemade-limoncello-recipe proved to be particularly helpful.

I vowed to use PGA. I had no idea if I could buy pure grain alcohol in Florida; I had only heard of it being used in frat house “hunch punch” and Jello shooters, never my style anyway, and certainly not my style now that I’m just about all grown up. Yes, we can buy pure grain alcohol in the Sunshine State. When I asked about it at the ABC store, the clerk said, “Yes, we carry it, but it is only 153 proof.” I told him that would be plenty enough alcohol for my intentions! I guess Hunch Punch  requires Everclear at 190 proof. Good God! I took my fifth of 76.5% alcohol home and followed this recipe, which I formulated based upon my research.

Batch #1—To be ready Sept. 20

9 scrubbed lemons, peeled in zest strips—DON’T get the white; it makes your limoncello bitter

1 750 ml bottle of pure grain alcohol

Cured for 11 days in a tightly lidded jar

Then

Strain to remove peels

6c water heated to almost boiling, then add 4c sugar and whisk to make a simple syrup. Cool until just warm and add the juice of two lemons.

Add to the alcohol mixture.

Bottle in sterile bottles or jars

Place in freezer for forty days or until you just can’t stand it any longer.

Helpful things to have when you are making limoncello—several good peelers to choose from as some lemons work better with a different peeler. A strong scrubber. A funnel. Bottles. A big glass thing to age it in. Glass bottles and Mason jars.

As for the results. WOW!! We drank shots and made Citrus 75 cocktails with this batch on Sept. 3—17 days early. If there is such a thing as liquid velvet, this is it. And the general effect from all of this zest and alcohol—loads of Singing and Laughter. I think it causes each of us to connect with our inner Italian.

I suppose the best way to demonstrate how good limoncello is would be to share the vastly expanded plan for Batch 2 while realizing that Batch 3 begins as soon as Batch 2 is in the bottle:

For Batch Two—bottled Sept. 16; to be ready Oct. 30

Much bigger batch—2 1.75 liter bottles of pure grain alcohol; this made just under 13 liters.

Zest from 50 lemons

Aged 11 days

28 c water

18.5 cups sugar

2 c fresh sqeezed lemon juice

This is supposed to be my entry into our Thanksgiving dessert contest, but just in case it doesn’t survive through our anniversary and Hallowe’en . . . 

I’m working on zesting for Batch 3 tonight!

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Sep
20

Cucumber Blossom Martini

Martini in search of a name:

It’s ready! Our friend Melissa and I tried this out last night for cocktail hour.  It smells wonderful. Shall I refer to that as “bouquet” when discussing a cocktail? Certainly gin is at least as complex as many wines. The martini is herbal without being medicinal. The gin is tempered nicely with the fresh lemon and the cucumber. Upon tasting, however, the lemon takes a back seat to the cucumber, which was one of the trickier components of crafting the drink—finding the balance between acid and floral. The Angostura bitters is subdued enough to act as a smooth bridge between the floral and the herbal. The crushed white grapes lend the understated bit of sweetness that the drink needed.

As for the effect, well we each had a five ounce Martini, so a double and a half. Melissa walked out the front door carrying her go-go girl swizzle stick without either of us realizing it. I caught her in the driveway and was honored that she needed a souvenir! I posted a short blurb on Facebook and used the wrong form of “hear.” Melissa went home, and I cooked dinner and continued to work for a couple of hours. So, I think it’s safe to say that it’s an effective Martini.

This is a complex drink with many layers of flavors. I used a single strainer, so my martinis were laced with bits of cucumber blossoms, adding little sidenotes of complexity with each sip. Some may prefer a cleaner drink and will wish to double strain. The baby veggies used for garnishes are tantalizing. They have become delightful little pickles by drink’s end. I used cukes and green beans because that’s what I have in the garden right now. I can also see using one or two baby radishes, baby carrots, baby peas. I’d be mindful of the heat with the radishes. I used only enough Serrano pepper to lend the faintest whisper of heat to this.

As yet the drink isn’t named. I’ve decided that I’m going to name my signature drinks after inspiration from the poets whose names grace my neighborhood’s streets. Given that this relies on male blossoms, I believe that this martini will need to be given Walt Whitman-inspired name.

Ideas?

RECIPE 

Cucumber Blossom Martini v3.1:

2 oz cucumber infused Beefeater gin—gin infused with baby sliced cucumber, garden fresh thyme, oregano, peppercorns, and lemon zest

½ oz dry vermouth

½  oz fresh lemon juice

5-8 drops of Angostura bitters

several baby cucumbers and green beans, washed and chilled

20 male cucumber blossoms, washed, with stamens removed, and chilled

1 small slice of fresh chili pepper

1 small, approximately ½ inch square, piece of lemon zest

5 white grapes

Several cucumber slices from the infused gin

1 pinch of Kosher salt

Strain the infused gin into a lidded shaker glass with the vermouth and lemon juice. Set aside.

Vigorously muddle the infused cucumber, the cucumber blossoms, the lemon zest, the chili, the grapes, the bitters, and the salt in a Boston Shaker, a mixing glass and tin. Shake without ice. Pour entire contents into shaker glass with the liquid ingredients .

Top with crushed ice and shake well.

Strain into a frosted Martini glass. Garnish with lemon zest twirl and baby veggies. ENJOY!

 

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Sep
17

Cucumber Blossom Cocktail, the Evolution

Cucumber Blossom Cocktail v1

DON’T eat flowers unless you are absolutely certain that they are safe to eat.

Yesterday morning I was drinking coffee and milling around in the garden. The cucumbers are just beginning to flower heavily, setting a few fruit. The pumpkins had just begun sending up their first male blossoms, and I remembered Grandma talking about her mom and her Aunt Virgie frying pumpkin and squash blossoms. I had asked her about killing all the new fruit, and she shrugged and said she guessed that they must have had enough in her lilting Grandma way.  My grandma was a great flower gardener, but I don’t remember seeing her working in anything edible other than the rhubarb patch. So, I don’t know if she forgot or if she didn’t know, but pumpkins and squash have both male and female flowers, and for well over a week, they produce only male flowers. So eating male flowers makes good sense.  And they are delectable!

I turned back to the cucumbers, wondering if their flowers are edible since the flowers and growing habits are so similar to the squash family. I decided to try one. I licked it first and waited to see if my tongue did anything to signify that I had made a terrible mistake; it didn’t. I didn’t know for sure, but I was thinking I had read that they are edible because I also knew NOT to eat eggplant and gourd flowers. I specifically remember being told repeatedly as a child not to eat tomato flowers, as they are members of the “deadly nightshade” family, and the flowers are poisonous. I don’t know the degree of harm that any of those flowers will cause the average person, but I know I’m not supposed to eat them, and I don’t.

However, I did eat the cucumber flowers, and they are delightful. They have the freshest, lightest cucumber taste. I love them. I immediately knew that I needed to invent a cocktail—a cucumber blossom martini.

I set about designing my cocktail. I quickly committed to using gin. I made a batch of Citrus 75’s, over Labor Day weekend with our first batch of limoncello, and the gin mixed beautifully. I wanted to play with gin a bit more, particularly since it is the original Martini base. Also, I have been reading about Hendricks gin lately, so that had an influence on my decision to pair the gin with cucumber.

I wanted something clean, and tending toward the traditional Martini. I adore a salty, savory Dirty Martini, preferably with Ketel One or Grey Goose, and I thought that a bit of salt would work well with the cucumber. I scouted olives. We keep a well-stocked pantry and refrigerator, but our green olive situation was dismal. I thought about capers, but we are out of those as well. However, I am preparing to make our Solstice batch of limoncello, so I’ve got lemons. Lemon and cucumber is a nice combination. I had found my direction.

I pondered gin. I had my choice of a full bottle of Beefeater, or quarter bottles of Bombay Sapphire and Tanquerey. I wanted the most straightforward and was pretty sure that would be Beefeater, but I gave each a healthy whiff to be sure, Beefeater it was. It’s a more simple gin. After all, my plan was to perform all kinds of vegetable-aromatic magic on this gin. I feel strongly that messing with the beauty of Bombay Sapphire would be terribly disrespectful. So, Beefeater was my base. And dry vermouth seemed pretty much a no-brainer. Compari presented itself as a natural choice to me; it’s amazing with soda and lemon, and it’s bitter freshness seemed like it would be a fit.

I tinkered as I cut garnishes and chilled glassware and finally decided upon the following recipe for Cucumber Blossom Martini v1.1:

2 oz gin

½ oz dry vermouth

1 oz Campari

½ oz lemon juice

1 small cucumber, washed, sliced, and chilled.

20 male cucumber blossoms, washed, with stamens removed, and chilled

1 small, approximately ½ inch square, piece of lemon zest

1 pinch of Kosher salt

In a lidded shaker glass, combine the gin, vermouth, Campari, and lemon juice.

Reserve several slices of the cucumber for garnish.  Vigorously muddle the rest of the cucumber, the cucumber blossoms, the lemon zest, and the salt in a Boston Shaker, a mixing glass and tin. Pour a bit of the alcohol mix into the shaker and shake without ice. Pour entire contents into shaker glass.

Top with crushed ice and shake well.

Strain into a frosted Martini glass. Garnish with lemon zest twirl and sliced cucumber. Go to the garden where the cucumber blossoms are from and celebrate.

I’m happy to report that this was a delightful cocktail, and I enjoyed it immensely. It is the first time that I remember drinking alone, no, the second but the first was wine in a dorm room when I was 19, and most of my recollection of THAT is of the hangover, yikes! To guard against that sort of nonsense, I cleaned up my bar before I began drinking so that it was terribly inconvenient to decide to have a second, or a third.

The drink smelled wonderful with lots of clean vegetable mid-tones and a strong, fresh whiff of lemon as a pleasantly astringent top note. The Campari seemed to act as a bridge between the two.

The taste, while good, wasn’t quite as positive. While the salt helped establish the cucumber as a strong presence and played nicely with the gin, the Campari was a bit more bitter than I wanted. By the end of the drink, I was questioning that judgment, but I feel that the drink should be more acid and sweet, less bitter.  I truly enjoyed the drink, but I know that it needs some tinkering if it is to become a seasonal signature for my garden parties.

I’ve got big plans for tonight!

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Dec
07

The Sixty Pound Ass and the Attic

     
christmas at our house winter haven florida
We love our very Suessical Christmas tree

  

The Sixty Pound Ass and the Attic          

It’s no secret that I have a big butt. I’m not particularly fond of it, but there’s no hiding it. And it continues to cling to me regardless of all of the nasty remarks that I make about it. And anyone who knows anything at all about me, Gretchen, and our lives knows that we have been diligently working out with our trainer for just over a year. During the course of that time, in a silly but reflective moment, I estimated that my ass must weigh in at about sixty pounds. It wasn’t much of a leap before we created the concept of Tales of the Sixty Pound Ass. And here is the first . . .       

It’s the most dreaded time of year for a fat woman who doesn’t keep a man on staff to face: time to get the Christmas decorations out of the attic! I hate going to the attic to do anything, but hoisting that dozen plastic bins down the attic stairs to Gretchen has traditionally been my least favorite yearly activity. It doesn’t help that two plastic bins are HUGE, we fondly refer to the largest as The Christmas Sarcophagus. These whoppers must be turned on their sides and carefully leveraged between the rafters for them to fit through the attic hole. It’s truly a physics-defying feat to get these tubs down the steps, and each year I emerge from the task sweating, out of breath, demoralized by how weak and inflexible I’ve gotten in my middle age, and more convinced than ever that I really don’t like decorating for holidays.       

We actually haven’t put up many decorations other than our tree for the past two Christmases. Two years ago, Grandma died in mid-November; we barely could force ourselves to put the tree up, and that was as much cheer as we could muster up. I honestly don’t remember the Christmas of 2008. That year, we simply placed the tree and a few critical decorations in Grandma’s bedroom closet when we took down what little of Christmas we had put up. Yeah, Grandma has been gone for more than two years, but her room and bathroom still get the “Grandma’s _____” attachment—no doubt they always will—sort of like Hadrian’s Wall, I guess.       

Last year, I don’t know what happened. We put up the tree and decorated inside with the stuff that was in Grandma’s closet. We didn’t put up lights. I think that maybe I simply refused to lumber up the attic stairs, and so we decorated very little inside and not at all outside.       

This year, Sunday was D-day—for Decoration. We got up early and finished up the tree. I dearly love our Suessical Christmas tree with its neon pink, turquoise, and chartreuse ornaments. Then, I pulled the staples out of the front and side fences and carefully coiled up the Halloween / Thanksgiving lights. I tested our new lights that we had bought on sale last year, and we began hanging them on the fence using the extension cord that we had used for the fall holidays. Everything was going well until we needed another long extension cord for the front fence . . . .Wait, we’ve got extension cords that had been in the camper until we sold it. I found those and . . .too short.       

It was time to go to the attic. I couldn’t avoid it any longer. My mood turned black as I prepared myself for the worst, knowing that I would rip my pants at the very least. I began my dreaded ascent. Wow! I fit through the attic hole—does this mean that I am smaller than a sarcophagus? I was in the attic without catching any of my clothing on hardware supporting the steps and attic door!       

I started handing down tubs. I could lift them and support them on the steps without any difficulty—even after I had done several. When it was time to maneuver the sarcophagus, I simply swung my legs over so that I had more room to tilt it around the rafters and position it for its decent—piece o’ cake. There wasn’t a bit of drama. Never was heard a discouraging word. The whole process was so smooth that Gretchen bravely suggested that we might want to store our camping gear in the attic now that we’ve sold the camper . . . .I’m not ready to go that far, but it isn’t actually a bad idea.       

The trip out of the attic was uneventful—no ripped clothing, no creaking boards threatening to give way, no knees screaming that I’ve got to take the rest of the day off after subjecting them to such nonsense. We finished the lights and bows on the fence and found some cool inside decorations that we hadn’t seen in a couple of years. I think that it’s safe to say that we had FUN.       

Training as hard as we have this year has been an all-consuming endeavor. Part of the time, it has been exciting and filled with a sense of adventure and renewal. Part of the time, it has been extremely difficult, painful, and demoralizing. Some weeks I seem much thinner; others I seem to balloon. I haven’t lost as much weight as I had anticipated, but I have considerably more endurance and flexibility than I did last year. And my fifty-five pound ass navigates the attic with confidence and ease!

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Dec
02

Cherry Tomatoes

Cherry Tomato Husky Cherry  

60 days to harvest from transplanted peat pot from Bonnie Plants           

Planted: Oct. 2, 2010           

1st harvest: November 30          

This is a beautiful plant. Not that I have seen millions of tomato plants, but this is the fullest, strongest tomato that I have seen. I remember hearing people talk about their patio tomatoes, which were always cherry tomatoes. They would talk about how beautiful and prolific that they are. That is true; this plant is covered in tomatoes.  

However, as soon as I bit into the first fruit yesterday, I remembered what it was that I never liked about cherry tomatoes as a kid. They are watery, and they are thick-skinned. The flavor is a wonderful, true, full-bodied tomato taste. But I don’t like anything about the texture of these tomatoes, and I never have.  

Gretchen’s take on the tomatoes is far more forgiving than mine. As she finished her second morsel, she declared that the wonderful thing about fresh, organic produce is that there is no after-flavor, or back flavor. The flavor is a full-bodied burst of exactly what it is supposed to taste like–and NOTHING else. And she is right, as she frequently is.  

husky cherry dec. 1 winter haven, fl central florida

Three of the five cherry tomatoes that were ripe today

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Dec
01

On World AIDS Day

On World AIDS Day

World AIDS Day is today, December 1, certainly a day of reflection for many of us; it should be a day of asking difficult questions and answering honestly for each of us.

As I reflect upon the impact that AIDS has had directly on my life and my community, I am flooded with images of young, beautiful men—men who were clever, and witty, and effervescent. Men who were brimming with life and full of a fierce desire to live it fully on their own terms, regardless of the sacrifices.

In the mid-80’s my buddies died quickly, often in a matter of days. I can’t count the number of times that I would chat with one of my patrons who had a cold. I wouldn’t see him for about 5 days, and then his best friend would come in to cry and tell me that he had died of Pneumocyctis Pneumonia, one of the most common AIDS opportunists. We lost a generation.

And then came AZT. I don’t have an informed opinion on AZT. All but one of my friends who were on AZT is dead now. My remaining friend continues to thrive and live a full life. I’ve read that there are combinations now that allow people to actually look at HIV / AIDS as a treatable disease rather than a death sentence. Given the devastation that I witnessed a mere 10 years ago, that is miraculous.

However, there continue to be problems getting medication to the people who need it. And there continue to be cultural barriers to preventing and treating AIDS. The World AIDS Campaign  website is a starting place to learn about the fight against HIV / AIDS worldwide.

I hope that those of you who are local will drop by the gallery of Polk State College on the Winter Haven campus this week to see part of the AIDS memorial quilt on display. I certainly will. Oddly, I’ve never had the opportunity to see it. I’m sure that it will stir many bittersweet memories.

If I were to try to capture the essence of any of the people I’ve loved and lost to AIDS, I would have no choice but to memorialize Bob. Bob was my “soul brother.” I have no brothers, but I felt a kinship with Bob that I’ve never felt with anyone else, and it felt very much like I think a brother’s love would feel.

Sometimes people do things that are absolutely perfect. Bob could. When Gretchen’s daughter was twelve, Bob and Tim took her all over downtown Orlando trick-or-treating for Hallow’een.  She wore a gold lame toga, and the guys dressed like Roman soldiers, carrying eight foot, fiberglass Roman columns from the ceramics and floral factory where Bob was a manager. She talked about it for days.

Bob was an artist. One of the things that Bob and I had in common was that we were both “bone people.” We both loved the artistic potential of polished or dried and bleached bones. I had to have extensive dental work done, and I asked the dentist for the plaster cast that they make of your teeth. I had always wanted to have mine when I had worn braces; I thought that you could make something cool out of it. I gave mine to Bob, and he painted it and displayed it in his master bathroom. He gave it to me when he started getting really sick.

We ended up throwing an early Orlando Gay Pride event at Southern because of a joke that Bob and Gretchen played on me. They had told me that Christmas, on the east side of Orlando, held a yearly Possum Festival, reminiscent of Granny’s Possum Festival on the Beverly Hillbillies during the Fourth of July weekend. It wasn’t true. But I had become so immediately enamored with the thought of having a party at our house and then a bunch of us going to the Possum Festival that they didn’t have the heart to tell me. I was inviting people at the bar to come with us to the Christmas Possum Festival—something had to be done. Bless their hearts, I cried when they broke the news to me. So, we had a Possum Festival at the bar to celebrate Gay Pride—we actually made it make sense. It was a huge success. Bob’s nemesis was crowned the Possum King, and he and I are captured on the Possum Fest tape mouthing the words, “Oh f*%k, Larry’s the Possum King!” to one another.

Deborah Tannen  tells us that men enjoy friendships in which they do things with someone. I’m glad because I truly enjoyed doing things with Bob. We learned about Vietnamese food together. We went on weekly thrift store outings together. We raised chickens together. And we put a roof on his house together.

It was a beautiful November, the week after Thanksgiving, much like the autumn that we are having this year with warm, breezy, billowy days. Bob needed a new roof, and he had learned how to do it. I offered to help. His friend Dennis, who is quite a wonderful carpenter, came over the first day, and they got about a quarter of it done. I came over on Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, and Day 6. Bob and I completed the rest of the roof. What a beautiful week. Doing isolated, repetitive manual labor is a great way to get to know who someone really is. I loved that week. Bob did too. The last time that I saw him, he was so sick, so frail, and in such denial. He talked about wanting to get strong enough to be able to lift some weights so that he could start to rebuild himself. I could see all of the bones in his legs. And then he sighed and said, “I want another week on the roof.”

Yeah, me too.

And I’d like to see this disease eradicated; it’s broken too many hearts already.

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