Ice and Fire

This afternoon my friend Pattie was on her hands and knees hooking up my new computer; thank you, my dear friend. We are back from the cold of New York, back in Victoria where the bush has exploded, where drought turns all to tinder and people die trying to save their homes, their children, their friends. So much has happened since last we spoke--the unspeakable war crimes committed against the people of Gaza, but speak we must and I will; Obama's inauguration and now the reality of his realpolitik; the archives' 35th birthday celebration at the Gay Center in Manhattan and the welcoming moments at the new Staten Island Gay Center--and friends, friends, dear New York friends--talking over bagels at Tal's, endless breakfasts at the City Dinner, my morning salon and the long talk with Nancy at the restaurant facing snow covered Central Park, walking the fashion district and so much more with Karin, in from Copenhagen, her new manuscript under her arm and then Liz and Bobbi, flying in from Tucson, dearest friends for so many years now and the gathering at Jonathan's on a snowy night in the Village so others could catch up with Liz and Bobbi--Allen's presence hovering us, this small reunion of the first generation of gay historians and archivists--when it was over, we poured out of Jonathan's brownstone like a bubbling mob of literary comrades--snow still falling, the street lamps throwing their yellow light on the snow covered sidewalks, helping each other down the slick street, into a new time and an old taxi.

Thank you all who have written comments in my absence--Paul and my old friend Roz and all the others and to Shebar who keeps this site going.