Life

Phobia 2

She didn’t seem to grasp the concept of a phobia
I shook my head in agreement and laughed
I know when I told her I clipped out on hills
Because I have a hill phobia
She asked me what I feared most
Stalling and falling I’d said
She told me all the reasons that wouldn’t happen
And why I should clip in and push and pull
While she stood while not moving at all
On a hill clipped in and standing and talking
Which left me annoyed while still afraid
My hill phobia and height fear can’t be
Persuaded away by rational argument
They’d be long gone since I’d have
Dissuaded myself from my foolishness
And I’d have stood on top of that dome
Luxuriating in the breathtaking 360 view

Did I mention I’m levelheaded?

Here’s a tip: Trying a new salmon recipe when you know you might have to stop for work in the middle of the prep isn’t the best idea. I’m mostly glad my sisters weren’t here because they’re not fans of raging infernos. Not that I am. Somehow, in retrospect, the olive oil based rub seems like overkill on the already oily fish. My normal Sunday night procedure “put the fish on the grill and prep the rest of the meal” was interrupted by good news about work (YAY!). 10 minutes later the work was finished. It was just a short distraction. And the grill was engulfed in flames. Completely. The temperature gauge on the grill cover was at the max. I don’t know what the number was. Hot. Really, really hot. I sort of calmly reached into the grill cabinet and turned off the gas valve. The flames continued to leap. I called into the house for help. A fire extinguisher. Moral support. Why not pull the black lumps of what had been 2 salmon filets and were now fireballs off the grill? OK…I can do that. The fire’s fuel sources were being eliminated one by one. There were still shooting flames. Like an ocean oil slick the drip pan continued to burn. The fire still raged. Until it died. Finally. Thankfully. I’m grateful to Mr. Weber for making a grill that didn’t explode or set the deck on fire. The avocado salsa was pretty good without any salmon to put under it, by the way.

Perspective

When he was 8 he always wore a hat
Never took it off it was a fight and struggle
For his mother who was partial to pink
And flounces of pink everything pink
Or should I say she always wore a hat?
That’s how we’d have described it then
That’s the part (one part) that’s hard when
Talking about the past is it she or he?
Because this person we love was she to us
If not (secretly) to himself for all those years

The hat was a problem at the school where kids
Were not allowed to wear hats to class
Back then I used to take him/her (you can see why
“They” and “ them” is preferred to he or she
But for a family where grammar and language
Is important the struggle to pluralize the singular
Is nearly impossible) along on work appointments
I’d call at 3 when he got home from school and say
I have to drive to Coatesville or Newark
I’d pick him up and he’d ride along in his hat

One clear full moon night when he was 5
He rode with me from my parents’ house
(His grand-parents house) to pick up
A pizza and we watched the moon follow the car
I told him about perspective from my 30-year
Old perspective he understood and I marveled at
His understanding of point of view and difference

In that year of the hat when he was 8 he asked
His father if they knew any gay people
“Susan’s gay” surprisingly this came as a surprise to him
Rendering him silent for a day “what’s the matter?”
“Everyone says I’m like Susan and I don’t want to be gay”

Later, queer was his word not gay or lesbian I didn’t
Understand at the time but now it’s clear like
The hat he wouldn’t remove for a year when we all
Tried to find hats for him that matched our
Perspective for a girl in 1990 when he was always a boy