Sadly, it wasn’t that easy. No instant change came with the ringing of the New Year bells. A few good weeks over the holidays visiting loved ones back east, then home alone with Petals … it was the pits. Borderline agoraphobic, spending a lot of time glued to my bed. Although my grief support group ended a few months previous, I reached out to the facilitator, Ann Grant, and she talked me through a few issues.
Next, a long conversation with John Harris in Maine was instrumental in getting me to cut myself some slack, and crawl out of the quagmire. Amazing how some friendships are there for a lifetime, John and I had met at the tender age of twelve. What I needed to do was to get my life back on track; I just couldn’t find the track.
Having once heard or read that people tend to revert to old habits during times of stress and/or crisis, I wasn’t doing much to disprove that theory. One evening while watching Comedy Central and smoking a doobie, a stand-up comic was telling of his efforts to find a girlfriend. In a self-help book that he had read, it recommended that to find your soul mate you must do what you like to do most, and then you will meet others who like to do the same thing. The comedian went on to say, “So for the last year I have been sitting home alone, smoking dope, watching television, and I haven’t met anyone.”
The next day I called and cancelled my cable service, seriously, and as soon as my stash was finished (there wasn’t much, but I wasn’t going to flush good weed) I vowed not to buy any more. That’s one of the reasons that quitting pot is easier than cigarettes, because if you get the urge in the middle of the night, you can’t just run down to 7-Eleven and buy a pack.
Next I went and got tested for HIV. Before I could start working on my future, I needed to know how much of one I had. Previously I had been tested right after Vince was diagnosed, and again but for the grace of God this second test was negative as well. As is usually the case, negative or positive, there is a little counselling process to go through, but thanks to my participation in the University of Washington study, I knew more than the counsellor, so I tutored her for much of the half hour.
Now I was ready to begin my ‘new life and the first thing that I did was to start attending the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) once again. At the end of one service there was a call for volunteers for Project Open Hand. In 1985 Ruth Brinker, a retired grandmother, saw how difficult it was for people with AIDS to get proper nourishment during their illness, so she began cooking meals in her home and delivering them to seven of her friends.
From there the word quickly spread, and Project Open Hand was born. In 1990 the Food Bank Program at the San Francisco AIDS Foundation was merged into Project Open Hand, creating a single organization that delivered hot meals as well as groceries. Food service operations, such as the preparation of hot meals, bagging of groceries, and delivery of food to those in need, were all conducted by the 125 daily volunteers in combination with a full and part-time staff of 130.
The SF/MCC had committed to manning the delivery route in Noe Valley, and the call was for fourteen volunteers, seven drivers (with vehicles) and seven runners (to bring the food to the door). Each duo was assigned to one afternoon of the week. At the meeting I was paired with Richard Morris, a fairly good-looking tall and slender man probably in his late thirties, and an absolutely delightful person to know; a very positive and jubilant spirit. While spending one afternoon a week together delivering meals, we became good friends.
Not long after starting with Project Open Hand, I saw an announcement in the “Bay Area Reporter” that the AIDS Health Project (AHP), where I was going for my counselling sessions, was looking for volunteers to train as facilitators for HIV/AIDS support groups. At this point in my life I had realized that if I had it all to do over again, I probably would have become a psychologist. I called immediately, but the roster for the upcoming weekend of intensive training was full. The coordinator said that I was number three on the waiting list, but I told him not to worry, this was my destiny … I would keep that weekend free.
There was no question I my mind that a place would open up for me, and three days before the training weekend I got the call. They certainly weren’t kidding when they called that program an “intensive” because at the end of the first day I was totally overwhelmed, yet so exhilarated that I couldn’t sleep all night. Nonetheless, I managed to get through the second day on nervous energy and lots of coffee, and came away from that experience feeling as though I had accomplished something substantial. For a man who had been a loner most of his life, never much of a joiner or team player, I was seriously stretching my limits and boundaries.
It wasn’t long before I was placed as co-facilitator (all groups had two facilitators) with an established group, that at the time was meeting in members’ homes; primarily Nolan’s home, because it was the most accommodating and centrally located, although parking was a problem (not unlike the rest of San Francisco). Personally though, meeting in someone’s home was not at all comfortable for me, it seemed inappropriate at many levels.
All of my previous psychotherapy and support group venues had been in offices or meeting rooms, except for Vince’s and my couples counselling, where meeting in the therapist’s home was distracting. For me a neutral space is very important, because the client or group member needs to ‘own’ the space as well as the process, and that’s impossible in a personal space that clearly belongs to someone else.
Fortunately, soon after my arrival a meeting space became available. Some fellow, who owned a house on 17th Street near Market and the Castro, had a vacant two-room second floor apartment and, rather than renting it again, he ‘donated’ it to AHP to be used as a meeting centre. It worked quite well, because the front and back rooms were separated by the kitchen and bath, so two groups could meet at the same time in complete privacy, with full access to the facilities. With my role as facilitator thus established, our meeting place secured, it was time to work on other parts of my life.
Once again I renewed my workout routine at the gym, and after some time Linda J asked me if I had attracted any attention/interest of the dating variety. My answer was, “No, because I am not approachable.“ And I wasn’t. Despite engaging in various out-of-house activities, I kept a fairly impenetrable wall around me. Perhaps the actual verbalizing of that was the first step in admitting it to myself … before change there must be acknowledgement and acceptance.
At the gym a few days later, while on one of the machines, I noticed a very tall and rather cute fellow that I had not seen there before. And I thought, Hmmmmm! Yet before my ‘Hmmmmm-ing’ was finished, he came over and asked me out to dinner. Well, knock me over with a jockstrap. Michael was in his mid-thirties and tall … 6’5”! We did go out to dinner that evening and got together on a fairly regular basis after that, so I guess it could be said that we were ‘dating’ but none of it was of the “horizontal” variety. Well, actually, there were a couple of horizontal episodes, but none of the naked and sexual variety.
We were enjoying each other’s company, but he was keeping me at arm’s length. I didn’t know what I was doing, except being pretty wrapped up in experiencing a little of ‘that feeling’ again, whatever ‘that feeling’ was. My dear friend and client Pamela Belknap told me that her Buddhism mentor said, “Be open to outcome, but not attached to it.” Which was very good advice at the time, and has been my mantra ever since.
This undefined and non-intimate relationship with Michael went on for a while, and I kept getting mixed messages. He was always giving me gifts, setting up get togethers, and even helped me on a couple of drapery installations. Let me tell you, having a 6’5” assistant is a real boon in the window coverings business. Yet I had no idea what was going on, and sooner or later things started to taper off.
Then one day I noticed an ad in “The Sentinel” (a weekly ’gay’ rag) personals that sounded an awful lot like Michael. This person was looking for a soul mate five to ten years older (that was me), who owned his own business (also me), owned his own home (me again), and had a dog (me, me, me, me, me, me, me!). Not only was it all me, I called the voicemail number and sure enough … it was Michael’s ad! Apparently I was just being used as the prototype! That was it, I was done.
During Vince’s illness the essentials of my office out in the back room gradually got moved to a corner of our bedroom, the front room, because I needed to be immediately on hand at all times (back then there was no passageway directly from that back room into the house). After his passing I continued to work from that corner, as it was a nice sunny spot with a nice view.
In the midst of the life rebuilding that was going on this New Year, I was also spending some time working on the house. By the end of April I moved into my new bedroom, and the front room officially became my office. This was an extremely positive experience at so many levels; a totally new room on the house, a totally new bedroom for me … my bedroom; a new beginning.
As May Day approached I felt a very strong urge to get out of town for that first anniversary, so I flew to Seattle where I spent a few days at a lovely ‘gay’ B&B in a restored mansion. My room was on the top floor (former servants’ quarters), quite cute, tucked into one of the narrow and very steeply peaked dormers. There was only one other room on that floor, so the shared bath was not an issue.
Two of the fellows from the University of Washington’s safe sex research study lived in Seattle. I had stayed in touch with both, but a true friendship was evolving with one, Michael Raitt (cousin of John Raitt, of “Carousel” and other movie/musical theatre fame, and his daughter, Bonnie Raitt, a blues singer-songwriter, and winner of nine Grammy Awards).
Michael and I had plans to meet (for the first time in person) for dinner my first night in town, and later we would hook up with Scott (the other group member) at a bar. While I was getting ready to meet Michael there was a knock on my door, and it was the very handsome occupant of the other room in the attic. He invited me out to dinner. Shucks. I tried to make a date for the next evening, but he was leaving in the morning, so that was that.
Disappointed, but with boosted ego, I was off to rendezvous with Michael, which was quite a shock at first because he too was 6’5”! Two 6’5” Michaels, what were the odds? We had a nice dinner and a great time getting to know each other better, and the conversation flow never faltered. Meeting Scott later was much less than the highlight of the evening, so I begged off early and returned to my nest in the eaves. Sadly, there was no sign of my cutie next-door!
The next morning at breakfast I wore my Comfort Garden T-shirt, seemed appropriate as that was May Day, and the two gals sitting across from me asked about the meaning of the shirt. So I shared with them the significance of the garden, Vince’s passing, why I was in Seattle, etc., and we had a nice chat during breakfast. Next I had to get ready for my sightseeing tour of the city. The driver/guide picked me up first, so I got to ride shotgun, and after three more stops the van was filled to capacity with nine other tourists.
The driver/guide was a real nice young fellow, and we had a good rapport, but it may have bugged him a bit that no matter where we stopped, no matter what vista or view, what edifice or monument, once he finished his spiel I always had a few bits of information to add. Part of my pre-travel preparation had included a thorough study of Seattle.
By the time we got to the “floating home” that was used for the movie “Sleepless In Seattle” the guide just handed me the mike and said, “Here, Lance, you probably know more about this than I do.” As it happen, I did! Including the fact that the original interior was nothing like that portrayed in the movie, and that after the movie the owners had the interior completely redone to match the movie. And that the place had recently sold for something like $750K, which was about $250K more than the house would have sold for, were it not for the movie connection.
When I got back to my room that afternoon, there were a dozen long stemmed red roses at my door with a note. The girls from breakfast had left them for me, and the note said that if I got back in time, I should join them for dinner at a designated Thai restaurant a few blocks away. By the time I got there they were just being shown to a table for two, after having waited for over a half hour, but when I arrived they gave up that table and joined me at the back of the line, for another long wait.
One of the gals was named Elizabeth, the other’s name I forget, but remember that she was a physician from Little Rock, who had once worked for Dr Jocelyn Elders, before Elder’s was the Surgeon General. Elizabeth lived on Bainbridge Island with her husband and three children, but had recently come screaming out of the closet, met and carried on a virtual love affair with the M.D. online, and this sojourn in Seattle was their first time together.
That evening they invited me to join them for line dancing (I would not be dancing) at a country/western bar, which was a lot of fun. Traditionally ‘gay’ men and lesbians do not frequent the same bars, but for line dancing in Seattle they mingled. Two balconies ran the full length of each side of the huge dance hall, and I commented that it reminded me of high school, “The girls on one side, and the boys on the other.“ Elizabeth said, “But you are here with all the girls.“ “Right,“ I said, “just like high school!“
The next day Michael joined me on the Underground Seattle Tour, something that he had never heard of despite having lived in the city for a few years (he is a Canadian). During my stay he learned a lot about Seattle that he never knew. The Seattle Underground is a network of underground passageways and basements in the city’s downtown that was ground level at the city's origin in the mid-1800s.
Seattle's first buildings were wooden, until the Great Seattle Fire of 1889 destroyed 33 city blocks. When the city was rebuilt, the city leaders ordered that all new building must be of stone or brick. Also, because the city had been built on filled-in tidelands, the streets were often flooded – one story tells of a boy drowning at the intersection of First and Main – and the gravity-assisted flush toilets backed up during high tide. Everyone kept a tide table posted by the loo, and only flushed at low tide. Consequently, during the rebuilding the city the streets were regraded one to two stories higher than the original.
For the regrade, the streets were lined with concrete walls which formed narrow alleyways between the walls and the building fronts on both sides of the street. The wide expanse between the walls was for the streets, which were filled in through a series of sluices – effectively raising the streets to the desired new level, generally twelve feet higher than before, though some places were raised nearly thirty feet.
At first, pedestrians climbed ladders to cross the street, and to go down to the sidewalks to get to the building entrances. Even the luggage of hotel guests had to be lugged up and down the ladders. Being that horses were everywhere in those days, it wasn’t a good idea to stand on the street side of the lower sidewalk, if there was a horse tethered at the edge of the street up above. You can probably figure out why.
Later brick archways were constructed next to the road surface, above the submerged sidewalks. Skylights with small cubes of clear glass (which later turned to amethyst-colour because of manganese in the glass) were installed, creating the area now called the Seattle Underground. When they had reconstructed their buildings, merchants and landlords knew that the ground floor would eventually be underground, and the next floor up would be the new ground floor.
As a result, there is very little decoration on the façades of the original ground floors of buildings, but extensive decoration on the upper floor, the future ground floor. Once the new sidewalks were complete, building owners moved their businesses to the new level, although some merchants carried on business in the lowest floors of buildings that had survived the fire, and pedestrians continued to use the underground sidewalks lit by the glass cubes (still seen on some streets) embedded in the grade-level sidewalk above.
During its frontier days and the Alaskan Gold Rush, Seattle was a very male dominated city, with the female population pretty much limited to prostitutes. To avoid any problems with the authorities, all of the prostitutes registered themselves as seamstresses. When the city fathers needed to create more income, they decided that with so many “seamstresses” in town, at the time about 250, they would tax sewing machines … but they could only find one!
In 1907 the city condemned the underground for fear of pneumonic plague, two years before the 1909 World Fair in Seattle. The basements were left to deteriorate or were used as storage. In some cases, they became illegal flophouses, gambling halls, speakeasies, opium dens, and brothels. In 1965, local citizen Bill Speidel started the first tours of the underground, and it has been a part of Seattle tourism ever since.
My flight back to San Francisco was uneventful, until we got close to our destination, where I was confronted with one of the most profound visuals of spiritual truth vs. the human condition that I had ever experienced. There was a thick fog shrouding the entire Bay Area, yet we were above it all in the bright sunshine and clear blue skies, until we started to descend.
As we did so I had an epiphany. Things might be dark and dank and depressing on the ground (AKA mortal mind) but in truth the sun is always shining in a clear blue sky above the clouds (AKA divine mind); the essence of Christian Science, and in some ways Buddhism. At the very least it left me feeling uplifted, and ready to start anew.
My elder niece, Jayna, came to visit for the first week of June (little did I know that that would be the last time I would see her), and early July I met another of the fellows from the University of Washington’s research study. Phil drove all the way from Alabama, and we had a good few days together. Sadly, being a typical summer in San Francisco, we were fogged in every day. Nonetheless, I took him on the usual tours, describing for him what he would have been seeing, had we been able to see more than a curtain of gray. Later I sent him a postcard that was all solid gray, with the caption, “Greetings from San Francisco!”
One day at the AHP centre I spotted an announcement for a ‘Dating and Socializing’ support group, and I signed up. The premise being that pre-AIDS ‘gay’ life wasn’t about dating and socializing, it was about shagging and shagging and shagging … and then maybe exchanging names and/or having a conversation. That may be a tad exaggerated, but truly, dating and socializing was a somewhat new discipline. It was called a ‘support’ group but in many ways it was more like a workshop, because we had ‘homework’ and one week’s assignment was to write a personal ad. We didn’t have to place it, just go through the process. So I did.
“Gentle, kind, good-looking GWM (gay-white-male) 40s, seeks Asian or P.I. (Pacific Islander, not private detective) for dating, relating, and mating.” That was too good to waste on the limited audience of the group, so I placed it in “The Sentinel” personals. At that time in my life I had only been with an Asian once, in San Diego on my trip across country in 1982.
That fellow had asked me if it was my first time with an Asian, and when I said yes he asked why. I told him that there weren’t any Asians in Rhode Island, except at Chinese restaurants, and there weren‘t many of those. Nonetheless, in San Francisco, the gorgeous men of this race were a limitless feast for the eyes, and after eleven years of virtual nibbling, my taste was honed … I was ready for a banquet!
Bachelor #1 was a very nice Japanese fellow in his late thirties, and we spent an enjoyable evening together but no bells or whistles. Neither of us contacted the other again, so the feeling (or lack thereof) was no doubt mutual. Next up was Bachelor #2. The first thing that impressed me about him was his name; he used his Chinese name because he hadn’t adopted a Western name. That was just the beginning of being impressed … Bachelor #2 was as far as I got.
Introducing Soo Kin Kau (or, in the Chinese fashion, Kau Soo Kin). After a couple of telephone conversations we agreed to meet for lunch one Sunday. When he asked me to pick a place I suggested a Chinese restaurant in the Castro, on the corner of Castro and 19th (where I had dined frequently with Michael), but Soo Kin said, “Do you really like that place? The food there is not very good.” Call me a fool, recommending Chinese to a Chinese. He suggested Sparky’s on Church at Market, which worked for me even though I had never heard of it, and we set the date for noon on Sunday, July 31st.
As memory serves I got there a few minutes early – which was typical – and it was not long before I spotted the likely candidate, walking from the direction of the MUNI station. Be still my heart. Soo Kin was very good-looking, dressed in a light colour shirt and a brown vest sweater, his hair moussed and combed conservatively with a part on one side … looking very much like he had just stepped out of an Eton yearbook.
We conversed comfortably and, while I had Eggs Benedict, Soo Kin had a breakfast special, with a side of pork chops – despite, as I would learn later, his friend James’ admonition not to “eat like a pig!” Although a second generation Malaysian born Chinese Hakka, Soo Kin did not consider himself a ‘Chinese Malaysian’ and especially not a ‘Malaysian!’ He’s Chinese! As the second son of a Malaysian diplomat, he did most of his growing up and schooling abroad, including (not in chronological order) seven years in London (where he got his BA), four years in Delhi, and two years each in Japan, Beijing, and Manhattan (when his father was at the UN).
After getting his MA at the University of Michigan, he graduated from the New York School of Hotel and Restaurant Management. At that point he was considering where to continue his education: the prestigious California Culinary Academy (CCA) in San Francisco, or Johnson & Wales in Rhode Island. He picked CCA, so while he was moving to San Francisco, I was on my way there as well. It certainly would have been a cosmic kick-in-the-ass, if he had moved to Rhode Island when I was leaving the state.
Following CCA he spent six years as assistant manager of the Emerald Court, the Chinese restaurant at Caesar’s Lake Tahoe. He then returned to San Francisco to go into business with his best friend, James Hu, opening a café (sandwich shop/ice cream parlour) on trendy Union Street.
Although 36 years of age, Soo Kin looked very much younger, spoke English (the first of his nine languages) with a slight British accent, and seemed somewhat formal and serious. Although, being a Gemini (The Twins) at times I caught some glimpses of his other persona, playful and childlike. Just about the time that Vince and I bought #50 Granada, Soo Kin bought a three bedroom condominium in Oakland, which he shared with Christopher and Anna – friends from his Tahoe days – and their baby, Soo Kin’s godson.
Our lunch was a moderate success, as we got to know each other a little, but I was convinced that he would dump me as soon as we left the restaurant. Au contraire. He insisted on picking up the tab, and as we walked out of the restaurant he said that he was free for the rest of the day, did I want to go to a movie or something. We picked up a paper and decided on Forest Gump, but first I had to stop home and get a jacket, as the weather had turned.
That gave Soo Kin the opportunity to meet Petals. She was all over him, and he was quite thrilled, doing a Sally Fields … “she likes me, she really likes me!” Until I told him that that was because he was new, that if someone else showed up she’d dump him in a heartbeat and be all over the new arrival. I probably could have kept my mouth shut about that.
We went to the nearby West Portal theatre but it was sold out, so we left for the next closest, near the Tanforan Mall in San Bruno. The movie was great, and there was something nice about just sitting together without having to talk. Afterwards I brought Soo Kin back to his café, met James (who was no doubt scrutinizing me), and had a great chocolate milkshake on-the-house.
The Wednesday following that first date, I decided to drop-in on Soo Kin at the café. While walking along the sidewalk I saw this really cute Chinese fellow with two young women walking towards me. Even though I was on my way to see Soo Kin for only the second time, my heart went pitter patter! Then as we got closer, and just at the time that he saw me, I realized that it was Soo Kin. He had looked quite different with his hair not moussed, but casual and relaxed; his body language casual and relaxed as well. That is probably when I fell in love.
Twelve days later Mal arrived from Rhode Island for a two week visit, no doubt good timing. Being that I tend to get a tad obsessive when newly in love, entertaining Mal for a couple of weeks helped to contain me. He is such a good friend; we have always had a great time together, with a lot of laughing. Soo Kin treated us to Singaporean food one evening and Dim-Sum one morning, ordering everything in Cantonese. When the pow (steamed pork buns) arrived I said, “Oh, I really like these.” “Show me a Caucasian how doesn’t,“ he retorted “and I’ll marry him!“ Trying for a save I said, “I was only being polite, I really don’t like them at all.“
Next Mal and I took a trip to Mendocino, which was a lot of fun despite me obsessing about Soo Kin. We drove up the coast (175 twisting miles) and stayed in Fort Bragg, all of the B&Bs in Mendocino were booked. We took a ride on the Skunk Train into the redwoods, shopped in Mendocino, and had dinner that evening at the B&B where Vince and I stayed on our trip there. That was difficult, a good time to be with such a dear and caring friend. Our trip back to the City took us through the redwoods, and then on down through wine country.
At some time during the drive, Mal unwittingly set himself up for a replay of that old Abbot & Costello routine, “Whose on first?” when he asked me, “What’s James’ last name?” I said, “Hu.” “Soo Kin’s friend, James! What‘s his last name?” “Hu.” “Who?! James! That’s who. What’s his last name?!” “Hu.” “Who?! Soo Kin’s friend, his name is James isn’t it? What his last name?” “James Hu!” By then I couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, so before he got too frustrated I said, “Mal, his last name is Hu, James Hu!”
On Mal’s last night in San Francisco we took him to N’Touch (an Asian bar), even though he had to get to the airport by six the next morning. He claimed that he only did the fox trot and waltz, no disco, but after a couple of drinks he was out on the dance floor boogying with James. That night they had a bit of a strip show, and as the hot guys were doing their bumping and grinding on the stage, unbeknownst to Mal I keep holding five dollar bills over his head, and he got a few lap dances (well, as much of a lap dance as one can get standing up).
After Mal’s visit my relationship with Soo Kin seemed to grow in leaps and bounds. He was putting in incredibly long hours at the café, so much so that most nights he was sleeping there on an air mattress. There was really no point in him taking the bus/BART/bus trip to Oakland, only to turn around and make the trip back a few hours later. As for me, I was doing my best to spend every free moment with Soo Kin, and before long I was going to the café just about every evening … which quickly evolved into Soo Kin spending his nights at my place.
At this point I was beginning to put back some of the weight I had lost during Vince’s finally months, thanks to Soo Kin always taking me out to dinner, and James’ great Chinese cooking. He is Taiwanese, and previously owned and operated four-star restaurants in New York and D.C. Although I had never mastered the fine art of eating with chopsticks, thanks to James’ tutoring I soon became quite proficient. Also, I suppose that some of the weight gain could have come from all of the great milkshakes that Soo Kin had waiting for me when I arrived at the café every evening. Talk about a fantasy come true, a boy friend who owns an ice cream parlour!
Before we really had the chance to ask where our relationship was headed, come October Christopher and Anna bought a house and they were moving out of the condo. At the time the most sensible thing for Soo Kin to do was to move his stuff out, and rent the place. By then we had been virtually living together for two months anyhow, so making it official didn’t seem like such a big step … but it was. It was a little sooner than I would have expected, yet the universe seemed to have its own timetable, and I’ll always be grateful that it did.
November 20th was my 49th birthday, and Soo Kin gave me a wonderful party, during the preparations for which I saw a different side of Soo Kin – the frazzled bitchy one – as I have had countless opportunities to observe since. Unlike myself – who feels that whatever the task, if it cannot be done with a sense of joy it’s not worth doing – with Soo Kin it seems as though no matter the task, it must be done with a sense of anger.
Anyroad, not having seen this side of him before, I was trying to unruffle his feathers with a little affection, when he snapped, “I don’t need hugs and kisses, I NEED PLATTERS!!!” For Christmas he got six platters, and that phrase has been a part of our relationship culture ever since, particularly when he needs a little feather unruffling.
The party was a resounding success, complete with a big cake, an extensive buffet, and over twenty quests. I had a wonderful time, and received some nice gifts. A beautiful floral arrangement sent by my niece in Connecticut, another from Soo Kin, as well as Joseph Schmidt and Godiva chocolates, a cloisonné ginger jar, and porcelain elephant music box (the beginning of my elephant collection), all from Soo Kin. There were lots more chocolates and goodies from other friends, but the biggest surprise was a beautiful silver (plate) tea service from James. Just what I needed. Not!
By this time Soo Kin and I were fully settled into our life together, and he was very fond of Petals. She had turned six on the 20th, having been born on my 43rd birthday. He frequently said, “I claim her!” and he gave her so much attention she had clearly become his dog. He’d put a treat on the floor in front of her, and trained her not to grab it until he said okay. He trained her in both English and Hakka, and taught her to sit, as well as yawn, when he’d pat her on the head saying, “Gau gau chee!” (Hakka for “go to sleep“). I had never heard of a dog yawning on command, and never imagined that Petals would ever learn to sit, in one language let alone two.
We had Thanksgiving at the home of Daniel and Fernando, Daniel a friend from the café who worked at the theatre across the street. They shared a house with a fellow named Dean, whom I did not care for at all. For Christmas I am certain that we did something festive, and I know there were lots of presents, but I have absolutely no clue what that might have been. As for New Year’s Eve, we had a quiet get together with a few friends at Linda Pavia’s in the Marina, and walked to Crissy Field to watch the fireworks over the Golden Gate Bridge.
Moreover, as that New Year came to an end, I truly did have a new life . . . . .
. . . . . My Life as a Cow (Kau)! Coming soon to an email or blog near you.
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