Our Best Friend

Dear Friends,

As some of you have already heard, we recently had to put our beloved dog, Spritzie, to sleep. She was 14 years old.

Intellectually, I have to accept that other pet owners are as attached to their animals as we were to ours, but on an emotional level it's really hard to believe. Spritzie had been so intertwined with our souls for so many years that it truly feels as if a physical part of us has been wrenched from us. She saw us through so much, most recently the upheaval of our move to California. No matter how stressful things got, she was always there to be hugged. She died the day after our two-year anniversary of moving here. It's as if she were saying, “You guys can handle things on your own now. My work here is done.”

I have a tendency to be over-affectionate. I have had to learn over the years not to stroke, hug and nuzzle everybody for whom I have positive feelings. It makes people understandably uncomfortable. Spritzie had no such compunctions. I could pour out my love onto her, and she would take it and take it and take it, and still welcome more. I have many recollections of her lying on her side in the middle of the floor, say, during family gatherings at Lynne's parents house in Connecticut. Everyone would be sitting around the living room talking, and I would be unable to restrain myself. I would throw myself prostrate on the carpet and bury my face in Spritzie's flank and breathe in her dogness. Yes, I had the thought that the others might be judging this as a ridiculous way for a grown man to behave, but this concern paled in the glow of how good it felt to love my dog. I'm at a loss as to how I'm going to replace this experience.

More than one person has mentioned the possibility of us getting another puppy, but this is hard for us to imagine. It seems impossible to us that Spritzie can ever be replaced. Also, if I let myself consider owning another dog, all I can picture is having to go through this grief again, albeit many years from now. All that aside, our experience is that Spritzie's not entirely gone yet. Many of our moment-to-moment, day-to-day responses are to a presence that is no longer there, but feels as if it is. Her bed is still in its customary spot next to the radiator, and Lynne occasionally puts a dog treat in it, like a cup of wine for Elijah. It does disappear, but I'm guessing that's more likely the work of an opportunistic Amenshi (Sierra and Jess' dog) than the ghost of Spritzie.

While Lynne and I had fantasies of Spritzie living much longer than she did, she left us owing us nothing. Many dogs pass away younger than 14, and we are grateful that she provided us with such an intense level of happiness for so many years. As the neurologist, who had recently lost her cat, said, it's worth the pain of losing her to have had the joy of having her. Amen to that.

Thanks for reading.

Best Regards,
Gerry

Life without emotion is food without seasoning.
-- Vic Baranco

St. Valentine Would Have Been Proud

As promised, the party report:

The decorations were festive and the food and drink were plentiful. The theme was Tuxes, Teddies and Togas. People dressed in formalwear, lingerie, and Greco-Romanwear. There was a Cupid's Corner crafts table with paper, stickers, markers, scissors, glue, etc., where guests sat and created pretty and clever valentines. They would then summon one of the three Official Cupids (Nicole, Lynne or me) to deliver their notes to other party guests. Some of the valentines were signed From a Secret Admirer, while others had the name of the sender. One man had me deliver a valentine to a woman that said, “I think you're cute and I'd like to get to know you better.” They were at opposite ends of the party from each other, and she immediately walked over, sat down next to him and started conversing with him. Imagine how proud this Cupid was!

Photos below.

Thanks for reading (and looking)!

Best,
Gerry

Romance is approving of the responses of your partner.
-- Vic Baranco

All Power to the Party!

Hi Friends,

It's been a long time since I last wrote, and that was when I reported on our unbelievably awesome Halloween Party. “Halloween was a long time ago,” the little voice in my head keeps saying with its hands on its hips. The truth is, I've been hesitating to update you about our lives, because mostly what I have to report about is more parties. I envision my inner voice demanding, “What is it with you people? Why are you always partying?” The answer I've been avoiding telling myself is “Why the hell not?”

One of Vic's most famous viewpoints is that fun is the goal, and love is the way. It turns out that it's not just girls who want to have fun. Everyone does. However, we're raised in a culture suspicious of people who want fun to be more than just a break from the not-fun parts of their lives. Even having lived in Morehouse for as long as I have, I still worry that people will think I'm a lightweight if I say that partying is my highest priority.

Well, so be it! Since Halloween, gatherings large and small at our house have included a lovely and intimate Thanksgiving dinner, a Christmas Eve dinner, a present-opening party and a ridiculously sumptuous brunch on Christmas Day. We also had a big, kickass, combination New Years Eve/Nicole's Birthday Party. Of course, a common aspect of life in a Morehouse is that spontaneous parties tend to break out frequently simply out of our proximity to each other and our common belief that fun is the highest goal.

And partying can take myriad forms. In fact, it could be said that a party is in the eye of the beholder. How about this? I've spent more than 20 years hearing people wonder what it would take to have more fun at weekly house meetings. Nicole, our housemother, has pulled it off. For the past month, she's invited us all up to her room for house meetings. It's very relaxed and convivial, and she somehow manages to make sure that what's going on is a party at which house business happens to get done. And, amidst all the teasing and the laughter and the camaraderie, house business actually does get done. The meetings rarely last more than an hour, and everything that needs to get discussed does. (The agenda often includes party planning!)

We're currently gearing up for our big annual Valentine's Party. The theme will be Tuxes, Teddies and Togas. I'll let your imagination take care of the rest, and I'll report in after the party with photos.

Also, be on the lookout for an announcement about the two-hour course Pleasurable Relationships, coming soon to the Oakland Morehouse. Lynne and I will be teacher trainees in that one!

Finally, a shout-out to Suzanne and Matt, who have been presenting the six-week videoconference seminar Having Pleasurable Relationships Series in Manhattan. The final session is this Friday, February 3, from 7pm to 9pm. The topic is Responsible Hedonism.

Thanks for reading!

Best,
Gerry

My life is great and it's all your fault.
-- Vic Baranco

Hilarious Horror

Dear Friends,

Saturday night: Halloween party at the Oakland Morehouse. The theme: Hilarious Horror. I was expecting it to be fun. It was fun all right. In fact, it was awesome.

The guests weren't waiting for us to entertain them. They arrived ready to party. Lots of them were wearing great, fun, creative costumes. And everyone was there to get with each other. Everywhere I looked, people were intent on engaging and having fun and laughing with whomever they were talking to. There was food and drink aplenty.

The band was so good that everyone in the room was dancing, whether they were with a partner or just standing watching the musicians. The band members had come in costume, too, to be part of the spirit of the evening. When they took a break between sets, it turned out they were really nice guys too, and we all had mucho fun chatting them up.

In the back yard, Shawn had set up a movie screen and was showing two hours of horror clips he had spent weeks compiling from 22 different movies. Some folks would just watch, while others would guess the title of each movie as it went by. Shawn would be standing off to the side, ready to confirm or correct.

The event culminated with a costume contest. We passed out ballots and everyone cast one vote each for funniest and scariest costume. Annetta won Funniest (Nagging Housewife), and Ian the bass player won Scariest (Jack Skellington). I was particularly tickled that one of the musicians won.

'Nuff said. Photos below.

Thanks for reading.

Best,
Gerry

One's self is only fulfilled in the state of being intensely interested.
-- Vic Baranco

Annetta (Nagging Housewife)


Ian (Jack Skellington)


Jill (Batwoman) & Jeff (Jimi Hendrix/Jimmy Page)


Sierra (Witch/Warlock)

Lynne (Robert Palmer Girl)

Lynne & Nicole (Robert Palmer Girls)

Evelyn (Gypsy Pirate)


Brianna (Black Swan)

Mary (Charlie Chaplin), Gerry (The Butler)

Jess (The Devil), Liv (The Mad Hatter)

Liz (Cleopatra)

Michael (Edgar Allan Poe)

I Love My Wife/I Love My Life

Hello Friends,

The question has come up recently about how Lynne and I met. Some of you may have heard the tale before, and I wrote about it a couple of years ago in the “How I Found Morehouse” thread of the More Life Forum, which is what I've used as the basis for what follows. I thought it might be fun to revisit it.

My discovery of Morehouse is so intertwined with the genesis of my relationship with Lynne that I generally like to tell the two tales simultaneously. I met Lynne Spaulding one night in July of 1981. We had each come to a bar on West 74th Street in Manhattan to hear a singer we each knew. I was attracted to Lynne immediately, and we flirted most of the evening. She made a lasting impression on me.

As it turned out, we didn’t see each other again for six years. Then, in July of 1987, I was living with my eventual first wife, Kate, when our good friend Lydia invited us to something called a Mark Group. She said Mark Groups were put on by Morehouse, which she referred to as the granddaddy of all the other relationship information I’d ever heard. Kate and I considered ourselves students of relationship, and it seemed like a fun way to learn more.

When we arrived at Lydia’s apartment building, it said “Burdick/Spaulding” under her buzzer. Once upstairs, I asked Lydia if Lynne Spaulding was her roommate, and she said yes. I told her I hadn’t seen Lynne in six years, and would I be seeing her this evening? Lydia said no, that Lynne had insisted that the Mark Groups be scheduled when she wouldn’t be home, as she had no interest in them.

It didn’t take long into the Mark Group before I knew I was hooked. The seminal moment came when I was on my very first hot seat and one of the Group Leaders asked me if there was anything in my life that was a higher priority than women. I thought for a while and realized the answer was no. I further realized that this had been true since I was a little kid, but I had never before considered it a valid life devotion.

Lydia hosted this Group for many months and eventually Lynne started coming to them, in spite of her determination to stay away. She and I became friends. We both had jobs in midtown Manhattan at the time, and we started having lunch together fairly regularly. Kate and I took Morehouse courses, and Lynne started taking courses as well. Kate and I got married and moved into the Morehouse. Lynne and I continued to have lunch together. After a couple of years, Lynne moved into the Morehouse, too. The three of us spent a lot of time together, and became quite close. The following year, Kate and I broke up and she moved to California. Lynne and I become a couple pretty quickly after that.

It wasn’t until years later that I found out it hadn’t been completely coincidental that Lynne and I had gotten together at that bar in 1981. Lydia had been talking to Lynne about a friend of hers -- this guy she knew named Gerry -- and Lynne had decided she wanted to meet me. So I was already playing into her hands when I first approached her and struck up a conversation!

I have Lydia to thank, both for introducing me to Morehouse, and for setting me up with the love of my life. Thanks, Lydia!

Best Regards,
Gerry

There is no end to how good life can be if you find it good in the first place.
-- Victor Baranco

Feelin' Groovy

Hello Friends,

Of the many ingenious concepts described to us by Vic Baranco, one of his most down-to-earth and practical was the concept of purchasing a dilapidated fixer-upper of a house and having people move into it right away. This resulted in a variety of positive outcomes: The residents learned valuable construction skills, they had fun bonding with each other while participating in construction groovies and, most importantly, they got to experience an increased level of responsibility for the house itself because they had invested themselves in its improvement. People felt more as if they owned the house.

Something seems to be happening with the current crop of residents in the Oakland Morehouse. There has been a sudden increase in the enthusiasm for upgrading our already beautiful home. For example, there is the basement hallway. We recently stripped it to its studs, installed new Sheetrock and molding and trim, painted the walls and ceiling, and put down gorgeous new wall-to-wall carpet. It doesn't feel like a basement anymore. People are tripping over each other to do laundry just so they have an excuse to go downstairs.

Then there is the new, beautiful, huge refrigerator. When our old fridge died, we went looking on craigslist until we found a used one we could afford. We had this monolith delivered to our back yard. Then, it took six enthusiastic volunteers to get it up the back porch steps and into the kitchen. Hanging the refrigerator doors was another challenge, and so was super-cleaning the interior. But it was soooo worth it! You can imagine how important it is to have sufficient refrigerator space when a large group of people live with each other, and the new fridge is even bigger than the one we got rid of. Once again, we all feel responsible for it, because all of us helped with the project in one way or another.

And remember that balcony reconstruction I told you about way back in May? Believe it or not, I'm still working on it. But I've had a ton of help, and I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. The heavily waterproofed decking is in place, the outdoor carpet has been installed, and the Victorian balustrade has been completely taken apart, refurbished, reassembled, repainted, and reinstalled. All that's left are some finishing touches and the balcony, too, will be a triumph the whole house can be proud of.

Sometimes, the way someone can contribute to the action is by preparing refreshments for the folks doing the physical labor. Or they can find out what music the workers like and arrange for it to be played while they're working. Or they can encourage someone to take a break and get a shoulder rub. Sometimes, when you're hammering away, it's a huge blessing to have people aboard who's sole role is to stop by, admire the work and say how appreciative they are that the project is getting done.

All in all, it's been an exhilarating way for us housemates to make use of the energy of the spring heat cycle, and it's been a great excuse for us all to get closer to each other. Of course, it doesn't hurt that we also have an increasingly nice place to live. Next stop: Renovating the entire kitchen!

Of course, I'll keep you posted. Thanks for reading.

Best,
Gerry

The fun is in the commitment; it doesn't matter whether you win or lose.
-- Vic Baranco

Basement hallway "Before"

Gerry, Shawn and David removing old Sheetrock

David and Sierra at the stripped entrance to the laundry room

Basement hallway "After"

New entrance to the laundry room

The stoves had to be moved to make room for the new fridge

Good thing they measured the opening to the pantry first!

Nicole and Virginia provide inspiration

Looks like we made it (Phew!)

The happy ending

The balcony's newly-laid plywood deck

New outdoor carpet (We sure can cut a rug!)

Sierra and Gerry reconstructing one of the two balustrades

Starting the first coat of primer

Eureka!

Lynne's Sense of Snow

Dear Readers,

Far into my adult life, I maintained contempt for my fellow grown-ups who spoke despairingly about snow. “They've lost touch with their inner child,” I said to myself with a superior air. “Snow is fun, exotic, an opportunity for play.” About five years ago, I succumbed to the dark side. I don't recall if it was a particularly harsh winter. All I know is that I was suddenly sick of snow. I found myself saying that if I never saw snow again, I'd feel fine. Well, we are in the midst of our first Oakland winter, and I feel fine. There's never even a minuscule threat of snow here.

Lynne, on the other hand, being still quite connected with her inner child, misses the snow. No, she doesn't want to go back to living in the winters of the Northeast, but she does fantasize about the occasional romantic flurry. She even went on the internet and found out that there was a snow machine down in Jack London Square that put on a show every evening. However, when we went there at the appointed hour, the machine was broken and there was no simulated winter to be experienced. Lynne was heartbroken.

And so it was that, on January 4th, as we fastened our seat belts on the plane that was to take us back East for a visit, all of Lynne's fingers and toes were crossed. We were going to be spending five day in northern Connecticut visiting her family, and five days in NYC visiting mine. “Please let there be snow. Please let there be snow. Please let there be snow.” Her mother had said most of the snow that had been on the ground near their house had melted. This, of course, did not deter The Manifester from her prayers. “Maybe my mother is just teasing me and there really will be snow in Connecticut.”

Our arrival at the old homestead revealed that Lynne's mother had indeed been sincere. There were clumps of snow here and there, but mostly there was grass. The next day, however, the TV news was rife with predictions of a storm that night. Sure enough, when we awoke on the morning of the 6^th, four inches of the fluffy variety had fallen. I dutifully, albeit enthusiastically, shoveled her parents' walk and driveway. Next night, four more inches and another morning of shoveling. You can imagine how thrilled Lynne was as she looked out the window each day.

That Sunday, we bade our farewells and boarded the Amtrak train at Windsor Locks. The trip down to New York took us through snow-covered forests in central Connecticut. We arrived at my mother's apartment in Greenwich Village and, wouldn't you know it? A truly heavy-duty snowstorm was predicted for Tuesday night. As if on cue, it started falling around 8pm. At midnight, Lynne said she wanted to go for a walk. I had to cover my entire face except for my eyes with my scarf, as the heavy, wet snow was being driven by a slight wind. (Fortunately, there would be no driveway for me to shovel this time.) Washington Square Park was closed, but we pushed through the gate, deflowered the fresh coating of snow with our footprints and took photos of the flakes in the lamplight.

Even without these weather events, Lynne would have had a great time on this trip. It had been her first visit back East since we moved out here last March. We got to spend fun, quality time with our parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, etc. But the “icing on the gravy,” as Lynne would say, had been the snow. She was very happy to have had her vision realized, maybe even exceeded. I was happy, too, both because she was happy, and because we live in California now.

Thanks for reading.

Best Regards,
Gerry

The most effective cosmetic is interest.
-- Cindy Baranco