Chasing Figs in Santa Fe

Our house in Connecticut was scheduled to close on November 20th but when that was not likely to happen, we decided to have our attorney do the closing in our absence, whenever it might occur, and we set off in our truck with all our worldly possessions in tow.

We arrived in Santa Fe, New Mexico on November 25th, 2015 and checked into Santa Fe Suites, a pleasant hotel that allows dogs. It was the day before Thanksgiving. Leon had done all of the driving, and although he didn’t say so, I knew it was because he didn’t trust my inexperience towing a big trailer.

I had acquired a nasty cold, probably back in Connecticut, though it didn’t manifest itself until the end of the first day of the uneventful four-day trip. Headache, congestion, all the miserable symptoms, but not incapacitating like the flu. A stop at the pharmacy to buy cough syrup and a decongestant was imperative.

We had been invited to have Thanksgiving dinner with two friends who had moved to Santa Fe from Brooklyn two years ago. It was nice to have an invitation for the holiday but I wasn’t feeling all that great on Thursday morning and thought I should not go and spread east coast germs in New Mexico. After warning our friends that I was likely infectious, they said I was nonetheless welcome, so we joined them and two of their other friends for a very nice Thanksgiving evening meal.

The delays in closing the deal in Connecticut were numerous. I’m not even sure what the reasons were, but it necessitated our extended stay in the hotel until I asked our realtor in Santa Fe if we could possibly rent the house we were buying until which time we could actually purchase it. That suggestion was approved within the day and we were able to move into the house in Cochiti Lake on Saturday, November 28th, as renters.

Despite my having a headache and producing phlegm profusely, I managed stoically to help Leon unload the huge trailer full of boxes and furniture. Somehow we unloaded the entire Connecticut house into the garage on Vooscane Avenue, set up our bed and a few necessities for sitting, eating and personal hygiene.

Cochiti Lake, a small, quiet community of fewer than 300 homes, is on land owned by the Cochiti Pueblo and was built, I assume, as an income venture through land leases to the homeowners. The original plan for 4,000 homes got waylaid soon after the first phase of building had been completed.

The town of Cochiti Lake, its spectacular views, its convenience store and gas station, its library, town hall and emergency services, its recreational reservoir on the Rio Grande and its campground and golf course constitute a small gem approximately half way between Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

We were first drawn to the town due to the lake, because I felt I needed to be near water, if not an ocean, then some body of water. Such lakes, natural or man-made, are rare in New Mexico. Then we discovered that homes in Cochiti Lake are actually affordable compared to Santa Fe which is beyond our means in so many ways.

Despite the beauty of the natural surroundings, our mantra that first day was, “What have we done?” I have to admit that we were both a bit fearful, anxious, worried, apprehensive about the decision we had made. The house we were committed to was purchased sight-unseen. It was the one home we never got to see back in August when our realtor showed us about ten homes in the town. For some reason the key did not work. We walked around it, peeked in the windows, but never walked through it.

“What have we done?” The question kept coming back to us. And, “What will Benni do?”

He’ll have a fenced in yard instead of acres of woods, he’ll have miles of hiking trails but no girlfriend Katija to walk with. And we sold his couch! Poor Benni!

The deal back in Connecticut was not lucrative. It cost us dearly in so many ways, great and small. We seemed to be hemorrhaging money there. And we believe that those who we entrusted with the legal and financial intricacies of the transactions were not fully looking out for our best interests.

The deal in New Mexico was a bit sweeter and definitely easier, but the cost of moving such a distance is not insignificant. As of some time late afternoon New Mexico time on Monday, December 7th we became owners of the house in Cochiti Lake. Finally. No longer paying rent, wondering if something might go drastically wrong.

The new home, while very pleasant seems smaller and in many respects is less polished. A bit rough around the edges, and the paint job in many places is amateurish. Every room will need painting and a gay touch. The kitchen is a bit of a disappointment: old, painted wooden cabinets and drawers that don’t, well, they don’t slide like fancy newer ones. 

And I brought so much stuff, kitchen stuff, pots and pans, utensils, blenders, bowls, pizza pans and cookie sheets and roasting pans and a crock pot and more pots and pans, and more and more. Where will it all go?

“What have we done?” we thought to ourselves, more than a few times a day for several days. Benni looked lost, confused and homesick.

But then there’s the flip side. New surroundings, views, culture, things to do and see.

The views are gorgeous. The landscape in Cochiti is more interesting I think, than in Santa Fe. More variety in terrain, vegetation, mountain views. There are hiking trails all around and once we discovered where to go we brought Benni out for a run. He seemed to take to the outdoors quite well.

Leon’s brother, his wife and their grandson arrived on Tuesday, December 1st with our van and the Honda Fit in tow. It was generous and kind of them to offer to drive our vehicles out for us. We of course paid for their gas and for two of the air fares back to South Carolina. And a few meals. Such are the “hidden expenses” of moving, or of moving a great distance.

Possessions can definitely be a burden. And we thought we had downsized. We are still looking for a place for everything. Leon scrubbed the walls, cleaned the bathrooms and cleaned and cleaned. We’ve organized and re-organized. We’ve hung some of the “art” - the picture from Aunt Mary’s dining room hangs in our dining area, dad’s paintings grace the walls and of course the art piece of Benni and Katija by Nicoletta Poli is in our foyer.

People are surprised that we’ve set up house so quickly, but we are a bit OCD about our living space. Maybe we just have built-in Fung Shui proclivities. But there is a sense of calm from having things in the environment in some kind of harmony, balance and pleasing to the eye.

We are living near Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument. A natural rock formation and a spectacular hike. We hadn’t planned to go to the top of the trail but only just to see “a little bit more” or “just around the next bend” until we finally decided to hike the whole trail to see the view from the highest point. We'd done the hike a year ago, but it still is amazing.

 I see what people post on Facebook: food, sayings, political articles, travels, hobbies. We’ve been posting mostly outdoor scenes of late as the scenery is so varied and ever changing and we are drawn to nature and the outdoors.

With Thanksgiving behind us, and Christmas approaching, we have turned some of our attention to decorating and cooking.

We brought a home-grown tree with us from our property in Connecticut - a Vermont evergreen tree that we gathered as a seedling and re-planted years ago on our hillside. It now sits in front of our new house all lit up like a Christmas tree.

I have a need to resist the New Mexico habit of covering everything edible with green or red chile or both or inserting such pepper concoctions into recipes like Christmas cookies - like the ones we bought at the Cochiti Pueblo Arts and Crafts Fair - cake-like cookies with powdered sugar on them and a kick. 

This has given me an overwhelming desire to make cuccidati, the Sicilian Christmas fig cookies that I learned from “Cooking with Clara” on You Tube.

The filling for cuccidati contains figs, raisins, dates, almonds and hazelnuts and walnuts and orange and spices and brandy and more. I was able to find almost all the ingredients in the local Smith's Supermarket but they didn’t have figs. 

The main ingredient of cuccidati is, of course, figs. I called the Italian market in Albuquerque (the one and only Italian market around as far as I can determine) only to learn that figs are on order and may arrive by next week.

I wanted to get started on these cookies sooner than later. Why I didn’t think to try Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s, I don’t know. Perhaps because I don’t have a Gold Credit Card. I experienced sticker shock at “ordinary” supermarkets here - Smith’s and Albertson’s - and can’t imagine how little my money can buy at the upscale markets. So, WF and TJ didn’t even enter my mind.

I called Albertson’s on Zafarano and asked if they sold dried figs. “Yes,” said the produce manager. We were closer to the one on Saint Francis, so stopped there. Of course they didn’t have figs. We drove across town to Zafarano and there, alas, I found dried Greek figs. Not the golden ones, but the white ones, but they will do. I paid a small fortune for them, but the result will hopefully be worth it.

I’m missing the candied citron and the one tangerine called for in the recipe, but I’m sure no one will notice their absence. Figs, on the other hand, are mostly necessary for Italian fig cookies.

I haven’t yet visited the Italian market in Albuquerque. I’m sure I will go there occasionally. Perhaps I’ll find a good quality ricotta cheese there - one without xanthin gum or carrageenan - for my Christmas manicotti. (Why do I feel like doing Christmas this year?)

As for green and red chile. It is everywhere! I’ve vowed that neither will be on my shopping list.

Here are some random photos of the house and landscapes.

World AIDS Day - Remembering Those Who Have Died

Me, Bob, Leon at the AIDS Quilt Washington DC 1987

P.S. Bob, in the photo above was the subject of Chapter One of my memoir; he was lovingly referred to as "Dead Bob" by me and Leon.

Thanksgiving - And, Like Pilgrims In A New Land

Is today Thanksgiving? Already?

We have “jet lag” without having been in a plane! 2,000+ miles in 4 days. And for some reason both Leon and I are both still on Eastern Daylight Saving Time. Those circadian rhythms are out of sync and it is 2 hours earlier here, so we were up at 4am, 6am your time.

We are thankful for having made our trip safely, for having a place to stay and for our family and friends back home and those here as well.
As we set aside our differences on this day to experience a more universal feeling of gratitude, don’t forget to thank that turkey on your table for sacrificing his/her life; for the farmers who raised the food on your table and for the workers who picked, processed, packaged and delivered it to a store near you…and to whoever lovingly cooked it all to perfection. 

Believe it or not, we are expecting snow here in New Mexico tomorrow!
I picked up a cold somewhere, so will probably enjoy just chicken soup for Thanksgiving dinner, though we’ve been invited to friends for a feast.

Benni was a perfect dog all the way out here. He only got excited when we pulled into the hotel parking lot in Santa Fe - as he recognized it from when we were here in January. (He didn’t react at other hotels at all) Who said dogs are not intelligent? We will go to the Frank Ortiz Dog Park later this morning. I’ll try to post on FB and/
or my blog.

Due to delays with our closing in CT (Now scheduled for Dec 4th in our absence) we cannot close on the home in Cochiti Lake until then, so we will be “renting” our new home for 5 or six days (actually cheaper than the hotel room). 

So, that was perhaps more information than you wanted today, so I’ll just end with:

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Flag-waving, Bible-thumping

I received one of those Flag-waving, bible thumping emails today and this was my response: 

The problem as I see it is that God has been co-opted to serve the prejudices of whoever thinks they have the corner on truth. 

People of dubious faith pick and choose what parts of the bible suit them: they will use passages to condemn gays and lesbians but think it perfectly OK not to feed the hungry or clothe the naked. 

They will complain about being persecuted but ignore the treatment of blacks, Muslims, the handicapped and disabled, the mentally challenged or the disfigured, the homeless, the poor, all of whom their bible in one way or another instructs them to respect, serve and alleviate their suffering. 

They attribute to God their silly notions of using weather to punish a geographical area for some transgression or another but deny the science of climate change. 

They enjoy the privilege of health care while denying affordable health care to the masses.

I'm getting really tired of having so-called "Christianity" shoved in my face. 

And it reminds me of a re-write I did of another post back a couple of years ago. I'll insert the revised edition here:

As Published in Today's American Catholic  April 2013

A Reflection on Easter Past: The Last Station of the Cross 

by Frank DeFrancesco

I write this as one with deep roots in the Catholic tradition, but I have been cut off from the Catholic community for so long now, that I barely speak the language.  I went from Et cum spiritu tuo to being a Catholic in exile and finally to being a man without a church.  

Before I go on, you should know that I struggled, perhaps for too long and needlessly, with my God-given sexuality throughout my childhood, adolescence and young adulthood.  It was a sometimes arduous journey with confessors and penances, and therapists and tears along the way, until I was finally able to accept and fully embrace my gay identity at the age of 36. I knew then I could not sit at a communal table where I was not fully welcome.

Now, when I look at the Catholic Church from my vantage point in the secular world, I experience a brief, but telling, twinge of homesickness in spite of the fact that I notice the broken windows, the crumbling bricks and the old men in funny clothes talking about who they won’t let in.  

But I am well aware of the more mature realizations that I have come to: that I have no Ruby Slippers and I cannot go home; that my home has ceased to exist; and that perhaps that home always was an illusion.  

It sometimes saddens me that I cannot conform, or bring myself to believe any longer in the Catholic myths or mysteries.  In some respect, my life would have been much easier if I had fit the parameters of what is acceptable.  If I could have listened, prayed, communed, participated as, for example, the male head of a neat, little, nuclear, heterosexual family rather than as someone who was condemned, shunned, and ultimately exiled.  

If my authenticity and conscience had remained unchallenged, my life as a Catholic would have been so easy, wouldn’t it?  

But I have moved on, and that is good.  I now rarely see the inside of a church, except for funerals – and that only out of respect for the family of a deceased relative or friend.  I don’t celebrate the religious holydays and am less inclined to celebrate even the secular aspects of religious holidays: I no longer get ashes on Ash Wednesday nor do I weave palm fronds into crosses on Palm Sunday like my father taught me and his father taught him; I no longer fast or abstain out of any religious obligation or sit in a pew moved by the liturgy of Holy Saturday; OK, I confess that I did indulge in a chocolate Easter bunny – but that’s about it.

What Gethsemane has brought me to this place on the hill where I gaze upon a man who is broken and bloody for his message of love?

I could talk about Dignity, a faith community of Gay, Lesbian, Bi and Trans Catholics that I was a part of, where, for a time, I shared a wistful hope and a grounded belief that the Catholic Church might come to a new, brave and enlightened understanding of our lived experience as gay men and women and embrace us in the love of Christ.

I could talk about the Alice-in-Wonderland-Theology that, in its lack of wisdom and logic, would theoretically allow me to sin and to repent repeatedly under a great burden of guilt - but deny me the sacraments if I entered into a committed, loving relationship with another man.   

I could talk about the all too many priests I knew who, using similar illogic had “reasoned away” their commitment to celibacy, and were living in sexual relationships with other men – priests who continued to say Mass and consecrate bread and wine, while representing the Church that condemned me and my sexuality and required me to be celibate, despite my never having taken a vow.

I could talk about how I turned the other cheek, again and again, so that the Church hierarchy - its popes and bishops and priests - but specifically in the person of Joseph Ratzinger/Benedict XVI, could slap me harder, and repeatedly, until the final blow, calling me and those like me “objectively disordered”, and having a “more or less strong tendency toward moral evil”.  

Those words were uttered in all seriousness and lacked even a hint of compassion.  After some reflection, and deeply hurt, I finally lost heart and walked away.

But what I really want to talk about is what I call the “New” Catholic Church – the one that has seemingly transformed itself over the past thirty years so that I no longer recognize it.  And they say the Church is slow to change!

It seems this “New” Catholic Church, has abandoned the poor, the marginalized and the victimized, all of whom, like Christ on his walk to Golgotha, have received exceptionally brutal treatment by “believers” of many stripes in recent times.  

It seems this “New” Catholic Church has been disturbingly silent on matters that cry out for love, justice and compassion but has been disturbingly vocal on issues that promote divisiveness, hate and conservative ideologies.  

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church speaking on behalf of the struggling working classes and the poor on whose backs the wealthy thrive like parasites? – a church that had always professed a belief in "an option for the poor".

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church speaking out against the hoarding of obscene wealth by corporations and individuals who hold greed as a virtue? – a church that had always professed a belief in the words of Jesus that it is “harder for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven than for a camel to go through a needle's eye”?

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church on behalf of Mother Earth, condemning the waste, the wanton disregard for the environment and the wanton use of limited resources by the wealthy few while the poor are left to subsist on table scraps? – a church that had always professed to hold creation sacred.

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church on behalf of those who have no option for health care or who cannot afford health care? – a church that had always professed that it is a work of mercy to care for the sick.

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church speaking out against the evangelization of government? – a church that had always professed a belief in the words of Jesus to "render to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's".

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church speaking out against the atrocities perpetrated by pedophile priests?  or speaking with humility to put the victims of abuse ahead of its need to hide the truth? – a church that had taught the spiritual grace of humility, penance and repentance.

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church on behalf of gay and lesbian and transgender children – too many of whom take their own lives or are the victims of violence? – a church that professes an unconditional support of all life but for its own nearsighted doctrines, actually puts these children at risk rather than embrace and acknowledge them as authentic children of God.

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church rising in outrage against so-called evangelists who take advantage of the elderly and other vulnerable followers to aggrandize themselves and amass personal wealth?

Where is the voice of the Catholic Church speaking out against a fanatical so-called “christian" church that pickets funerals of American servicemen, gays and others with signs that proclaim, "God hates..."?

Where, indeed!  Instead, over the past years the Catholic Church spoke out lest women receive health services it disapproves of.

Instead they reneged on their mission and service to the poor, the sick and orphans rather than provide health benefits to legally married spouses of employees; they closed their doors rather than allow children to go to “non-traditional,” loving homes.

Instead they loudly condemn the love and commitment of two men or two women in marriage while they tolerate the annulments, divorces and serial marriages of opposite sex couples, all the while waving a banner proclaiming the "Sanctity of Marriage".

Instead they excommunicated an intelligent, dedicated religious Sister for making a difficult, conscientious, life-or-death medical decision to save a woman's life while under her hospital's purview.

Instead they denied communion to a woman at her mother's funeral Mass instead of offering the sacrament in love and compassion.

Instead they withdrew financial support from a homeless shelter because the director advocates same-gender marriage, even though they say they believe in the merciful work to "shelter the homeless".

Instead they intimidated the religious Sisters in America who have been living and working in the true spirit of the gospels and under the guidance provided by the Second Vatican Council.

You get the gist. 

It is no longer an option for me to try to "change things from within".  There was a time when I thought it was possible, when being a “dissenting” Catholic was an authentic option.  I think this is no longer the case.  The "New" Catholic Church is a different church altogether.  I do no not recognize this new heretical church and I think it has lost whatever vestige of moral authority it had left.   

I cannot help but imagine that if Jesus Christ could see his "followers" today, He would certainly "turn in his grave" so to speak. The passion of Christ lives on, but Resurrection seems highly unlikely. 

Frank DeFrancesco, critic and sometimes apologist, was educated in Catholic schools, received a BA from St Michael’s College, Vermont and an MA from St Joseph College, Connecticut.  A former member of the board of Dignity Hartford, Frank lives with his husband of 27 years and their dog Bennie who was named in spite of that other Pope.

A First Anniversary After 27 Years

Today we celebrate our First Anniversary - Leon and I were married on October 25th 2014.
Our "First" Anniversary after 27 years together.

This morning we went through all the cards we received on the occasion of our wedding and all the beautiful words and sentiments that our family and friends expressed. We love and appreciate all of you - immediate family, mom, brothers, sisters, in-laws, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. Your support and love means more than you can possibly know!

Over the past year I have been getting used to tossing around the word "husband" and the rebel in me gets a thrill out of correcting people who ask me about my "wife".... "no that would be my HUSBAND who is (the co-owner, going to be home at 3, the second on the AAA membership, or whatever)."

Sadly both my own sister, Mary Ann and our Justice of the Peace, Michele, passed away this year. We have fond memories of them on the happy occasion of our wedding and we are grateful that they were there with us.

Here are a few photos of the day.

Leon trying on the baseball cap veil

Me trying on the baseball cap veil

With My Sister Mary Ann DeFrancesco, RSM (Religious Sisters of Mercy)
who passed away on May 11, 2015 

With my Brother Mike, Sister-in-law Claire, Sister Mary Ann

With Leon's Sisters Lisa and Brenda, Brother Martin, Sister-in-law Debbie and Mother Joan

Dinner at Pagliacci's Restaurant

Michele Boyko, our Justice of the Peace who passed away on April 30, 2015

An Ally Speaks Out Against Gay and Trans Hatred Re:Houston

Link to Sports Illustrated, The Cauldron Here: https://the-cauldron.com/an-open-letter-to-bob-mcnair-owner-of-the-houston-texans-c5f60784df64#.ahvmxu796

Who Am I To Judge?

Looks like the Vatican has confirmed that Francis' meeting with Davis was in no way meant to be "a form of support of her position in all of its particular and complex aspects.” - possibly one of the rooms in a series of rooms the Pope wandered through in lieu of a reception line. But there is a video of Pope Francis meeting with, conversing with and exchanging warm handshakes and hugs with a long time GAY friend and former student AND HIS PARTNER OF 19 YEARS. 

Who am I to judge?

Exactly - who are we to judge? I have seen judgements being made literally right and left about every aspect of Pope Francis' visit and his speeches - from conservatives to LGBT liberals and anarchists. (I am not talking about thoughtful, reasoned critiques.)

And beyond judgements, there was outright vitriol and ignorance. Especially in the comment threads on Towleroad and other blogs.

The verbiage on this topic and many others sickens me. While I want to stay informed about LGBT issues, I have had about as much as I can take with the juvenile name calling, thoughtless, unprofessional editorializing and other nonsense that is rampant both in blog posts and in the comment threads.

It is ruining any credibility of the bloggers and making the internet experience wholly unpleasant.
T
And there's this from yesterday: Esquire Article

A speculative article, but highly palusable.

The blunder was that this so-called meeting (likely a receiving line where people were shuffled in for a brief face-to-face handshake and souvenir rosary beads) wasn't seen as an opportunity for political fodder. It is being used to claim Papal and RC support for Davis and her "case" - hopefully something that was not intended and now seems to have become the focal point for the entire Papal visit. I don't need Francis to be my "friend" but I do "pray" that he will steer the massive RC ship in a more loving direction. The backlash against Vatican II has had years to consolidate under Ratzinger and John Paul II/Benedict XVI and Francis ain't going to change it in his lifetime.