the grand delusion

Sadly, my little sister is married to a bigot.
'Tis true.
Her wife is bigoted against Southerners in general, Georgians in particular, and Savannahians specifically.
She is especially bigoted toward heterosexual Southerners.
Like me.
You see, in her narrow-minded opinion, all Southerners are backwards, stupid, racist, and biased towards homosexuals.
It's very sad, considering my little sister is Southern and still has ties to Savannah.

Her wife is from California. Except for a period of time when she was actively heterosexual and engaged to a guy and living in Italy, she has been where she is now.
So, not always a lesbian, not always in San Diego.
According to her, everyone in California is accepting of homosexuals and same-sex marriage.
Of course, she must be overlooking all the Proposition 8 hoopla in that state. Flipflopping between legalizing same-sex marriages and banning them, the latest vote, as of only 2013, is again in favor of marriages between any persons, regardless of gender.
In fact, when she and my little sister wed in 2005, they had to go to Canada for the official ceremony. Sure, back home again in San Diego, they were entitled to domestic partner rights, thanks to 2003's AB 205 in that state.
But they were not recognized as wife and wife.
Not even in California.
Even now, not all people in San Diego, much less the entire state of California, embrace the rights of LGBT people to marry. I had a conversation with my visiting friends from San Francisco concerning homosexuals and they explained, in no uncertain terms, that Islam regards homosexuality as a sin and homosexuals as an aberration. Period.
And they live in San Francisco, generally regarded by the world as a mecca for gays, lesbians, transsexuals, and bisexuals.
Last time I checked a map, San Francisco is in California.

Sure, Georgia does not yet allow same-sex marriage, but Georgia Equality is working on that. However, domestic partner rights are extended to all married couples, regardless of gender. Sure, statewide, that may be a reflection of the IRS' recognition of marriage rights for taxation purposes. However, here in Savannah and larger cities in this state, the First City Network has been paving the way for thirty years to make sure LGBT employees have businesses which welcome them, openly, to their workforces.
Go ahead, check the listings on their page. I'll wait.

See all the religious sites that openly welcome all people, regardless of gender?
Agape Empowerment
Asbury Memorial United Methodist Church
Congregation Mickve Israel
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Unity of Savannah
Unitarian Universalist Church of Savannah
Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Statesboro

That's right, even here in the Bible Belt, sanctuary may be had by all of God's people, regardless of race, gender, or even religious beliefs. That second church on the list, Asbury Memorial UMC, is the one I've been part of for the past ten years.
I've been a member of First City Network for the past eight years.
And, when I was stationed at the naval base in Imperial Beach, a southern suburb of San Diego, I was a member of PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays). That was in 1983.
No one who knows me would ever claim I was closed-minded.
Everyone who knows me know I support equal rights for all.
When I was in high school in the mid-1970's, I even debated with my Grandpa the issues concerning the rights of homosexuals to marry.
So, you see, fighting for equality is part of my moral fiber. It's as much a part of me as my bones are.

My little sister's wife doesn't understand that about me, even after all these years.
Because I live in Georgia, I must be narrow-minded.
You know, like she is.
Though, in truth, she has boxed herself into this bigotry as a result of the choices she has made. No doubt, because of those choices, her current lifestyle has generated a narrow view of "normal".
She lives in Azalea Park, a gay-borhood developed back in 2003. The three children she and my little sister adopted all attend San Diego Cooperative Charter school, a gay-friendly school. She chooses to only frequent gay-friendly businesses and my little sister owns an LGBT-counseling business.
In other words, everyone she comes into contact with in this enclave are gay-friendly people (i.e., PFLAG), if not themselves LGBT.
Thus, given the limited exposure to general population and immersion into a skewed lifestyle, everyone around her and her family in San Diego, all 3 million of them, as well as everyone else in the state of California, embrace LGBT individuals, gay rights, and same-sex marriage.
My question to her is this: Why is there a need for counseling of LGBT people, if all is so lovely and accepted? How is it that my little sister's business has grown by such large numbers, if San Diego is such an egalitarian place for people of all genders?
Answer: Bigotry and narrow minds exist everywhere, even in California.

I think Cyndi's biggest problem is with the friendship Sue and I have.
I think she cannot fathom why my little sister has such a close friendship with me, if we were never lovers.
I think she resents the memories that Sue and I have, because she was not part of that history.
That is sad.
History is not something which can be changed. Everyone has a past peopled with some who are no longer present, some who are, some who have moved on. No one is going to meet someone in their twenties or thirties who doesn't have a past that included this new person. That's simply life, n'est-ce pas?
This isn't my first rodeo. I have met people before who are jealous of the unshared past of their lover. All you can do is keep presenting yourself honestly and hope that one day they will accept you.
Well, it's been nine years.
I'm still waiting.

Now, my little sister's alcoholic dad is dying, here in Savannah. She had called me last Friday, shortly after I had returned from a long drive from Ormond Beach. She had explained that her dad's house was a mess, as his bowels had released in several areas, according to the paramedics who had extracted him from the house on New Year's Day. She was concerned about getting the house cleaned. Could I help?
Of course I told her I would. I said it might be a day or two, but I would handle it.
The very next day, she sent me a panicked text. When was the work to be done? She was concerned about salvaging the floors, especially the fairly new wood floors. I explained that body fluids do their damage within hours, and it had already been at least two days. No amount of hurrying would change their status at this point. I had arranged to go to the house on Sunday afternoon for an estimate to be done and would get the key from the neighbor then.
And that is what happened. I met with my first niece and her mom, who had cleaned the house a couple of years earlier, again when Sue's dad was in the hospital. We assessed the situation, gave Sue a call and an estimate, and left, to return on Monday at noon, for what we thought would be a couple of hours of work.
Somehow, on Sunday, we had missed the front bedroom, which was inundated with various body fluids.
I had arrived first on Monday and kept smelling a foul stench in the hall, across from the closed bathroom door. I opened the door across from the bathroom and immediately was repulsed - and chagrined. I texted Sue with the bad news: I had missed this room. The carpet, the mattress, the pillows, the bedding - all would have to be destroyed.
I received no response from her.
Instead, her wife called me to talk about it.
I never spoke to Sue again.
I almost felt that I had been bamboozled into helping her. Perhaps Cyndi had her call me that day, to ask for help, knowing I would not deny Sue any assistance?
Who knows? If I were a paranoid person, I might believe that scenario.

So, on Monday, I washed, dried, and folded five loads of bedding, towels, and clothes. I washed, dried, and put away two loads of dishes in the dishwasher. I helped my first niece and her mom haul bags of refuse out to the truck, to haul to the dump. I helped them move the furniture in the trashed bedroom to allow the ruined carpet to be cut into strips for hygienic removal. Those were piled into the truck, for a second trip to the dump.
And I spoke to Cyndi at least twice.
Just before 5:30 PM, we called it a day. The dump was full and could not take the carpet and mattress. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The impending death of a dear friend's parent is very hard on me, body and soul.
That evening, about 9:30 PM, I decided, justthatfast, to go to a movie. Did Boo want to join me to see "Wild"? Yes, she did! And so we went and thoroughly enjoyed the story and the pacing of the film and, especially, the soundtrack. What a perfect way to unwind after such a stressful day for both of us!
My soul was restored, serenity was mine.
Then I turned my phone on.
I should have left the damned thing off.
I had three accusatory text messages from Cyndi concerning the "before and after" photos I had posted for her to see. I also had a very disturbing voice message from Sue, who wasn't even supposed to have seen the photos. In her message, she even threatened litigation if her dad's house were to be broken into as a result of people seeing the photos and knowing he wasn't home.
I deleted all of the messages from my phone. If only I could have done the same in my mind.
I checked on my fb photo album. Had I mistakenly tagged Sue? Her dad? Anyone besides me, Cyndi, my first niece and her mom?
No.
No, I definitely had not.
Then how had Sue seen the photos?
Only one way that could have happened: Cyndi had shown her.
I changed the access to the photos to "only me", then signed off and went to bed.
Not to sleep.
Oh, no.
Not without tossing and turning, my mind running 90 miles per hour.
Then I slept only a couple of hours before awaking, my mind again racing through the remembered hateful messages and accusatory words. Had I deliberately tried to embarrass Sue's dad? Had I purposely put his property in jeopardy? Had I wanted to cause her that much more anguish at this troubling time?
Of course I had done none of those things.
I was mortified and deeply hurt that she would have thought me capable of such malice.

I waited until the next morning, then called Sue's phone. Of course I got her voice mail, she was working. I left a message, nearly sobbing, clearly hurt, about Cyndi having asked that I send her the photos, about the privacy settings I had on the photos, about what was clearly a misunderstanding on their part.
Then, I did nothing.
Nothing at the house, nothing involving San Diego.
Completely nothing.
When my first niece called about taking the ruined carpet to the dump, I told her "no rush, not today, maybe not tomorrow, either". She could tell something was amiss, but she didn't push. Her schedule was pretty hectic, so the respite was good for her.
Later on Tuesday night, my phone rang briefly, but cut off before I could pick it up. It was Cyndi, but she had disengaged before even the voice mail kicked in.
Good.
I sure as hell didn't want to talk to her.
Sue owed me a call. Our friendship surely meant enough to her that she would be the one to call... I hoped.
That didn't happen.
On Wednesday (yesterday), I had a luncheon in the area and had made plans with my first niece to meet after the lunch was over. Just before 2 PM, I contacted her: I was at the house, so she could come anytime. She was sending her husband, to help get the soiled mattress onto the truck.
And, as if on cue, Cyndi texted me. The old man across the street had not yet received the key. Did I still have it? He also said the truck had been driven. Why?
So, I explained about the dump being closed and the truck being used to get rid of the carpet. Would she rather the carpet stay in the truck and wait for Sue to take it to the dump when she came to town in a couple of weeks?
Yep, that's what she wanted, postulating that there was some uncertainty about what his truck insurance would or would not cover. She also was insistent about the key being given back to the neighbor for safekeeping.
Right about then, Jason had pulled up. I thanked him for his assistance, but we would be leaving the carpet where it was. I then determinedly crossed the street, knocked on the neighbor's door, and gave him the key.
I brushed my hands off, literally and figuratively, of the whole business.

This morning, I had an email from Sue.
Cyndi had misrepresented the photos to her, making her believe they were public instead of restricted access. Sue also explained that Cyndi had broken the news to her as she was leaving work, after a very busy day, and she had simply been overwhelmed by the responsibilities to her clients, her family, and her dad. She was sorry for the misunderstanding and hoped we could all move past the whole sorry mess.
I hope we can.
But the next time Sue needs something done at her dad's house, I'll be recommending that she call in professionals and leave me out of it.
Our friendship is too valuable to me.