Last night, I was annoyed with my friend Nicky for issues of plagiarism, but even that was out-weighed by my concern for what was troubling him so that he’d stoop to such a thing. Today was a lot about worry for him, as many of you came by and read the news and shared your own feelings. Aside from the initial anger, there’s been so much kindness, so much love and concern. Nicky really brought together an amazing group of people.
For those of you who may’ve missed this evening’s stunning revelations, I direct you over to the blog of Father Tony, where you may learn – as Paul Harvey used to say – the rest of the story…or at least a great deal more of it.
Tonight, I’m at a bit of a loss about what to think. On some level, it feels as though Nicky has died and I should mourn him, though that’s not really true. He only ever really lived in the journals and the blogs of a 52 year old woman who had long felt she was truly a gay man in a woman’s body.
I have only the briefest familiarity with transgender issues, so I’m not really prepared to discuss that much at all. I’m open to it and accept it and have recently been trying to educate myself a little better on the subject, but I don’t fully understand what it must feel like. I’m not really sure that’s even the issue here.
The thing is, he also lived in my imagination, and in yours. We wanted to believe that there was a guy like Nicky. A wonderful, sweet, compassionate guy who loved trees and nature and gardens and wrote like a poet (though we know now that wasn’t always his writing…or hers, as the complicated case may be) and was doing his best to raise his two adopted children.
In hindsight(an annoying thing, isn’t it?), I can remember flipping back and forth between different photos of him, trying to reconcile in my mind that they just didn’t look exactly like the same person. A trick of the light, my willing-to-believe mind told me, different camera angles, the way our appearance changes as we age.
And there was that surreal business of how much like “him” those two adopted children looked, not to mention little niggling concerns at the back of my mind that someone so young and on his own would be allowed to adopt two children. But like I said, I wanted to believe. The audience’s willful suspension of disbelief is what the success of the Theatre requires…and apparently, it’s no different with blogging.
The children, we have learned, are real. He was the fiction(and even that statement doesn’t feel entirely true: he was decidedly real to his creator). And to think just this morning, I was afraid it was the other way ’round. Oh, what a difference a day makes, indeed.
This evening I received a short email from “Nicky,” directing me to Father Tony and apologizing for the deception. Surprisingly, perhaps, I don’t find I’m at all angry about it, though I’m not entirely sure what, if anything, to say in response. I remain concerned for Nicky’s creator and what she must now face.
It’s my wish for her that she may learn to accept the fact that she/he is not alone, not the only one of her/his kind in the world. Many of us remember what that dreadful feeling is like from our own early experiences as gay people. I hope she/he will seek out some sort of assistance, counseling, something. And that she/he will, through that, be able to find peace in her/himself and in the world, with her feelings and what she has done and how it’s effected other people.
But I do feel like I’ve lost my friend Nicky and he will be terribly missed. I remain grateful, though, for the connections I’ve made through his two blogs, with a terrific variety of people whom I’ve discovered – independent of Nicky’s world – are supporting, loving and wonderful folks who I’m proud to call friends. Part of him may always live on in each of us and our friendships.
Sometimes the hand of Fate, or God, or Whomever, works in truly strange ways indeed.
Now, before I fall over dead from lack of sleep(but I still don’t want a cigarette!!!), I’d like to show you a few photos. As distracted as I was today, I found at day’s end that much of my photographic efforts for day were a little uninspired or distracted, so there isn’t much.
But here, look at these purple plants. I’m not sure of its identity, but I believe this is some variety of blazing star, a cousin, perhaps, of the gay feather I showed you just yesterday.
I’ve shown you a close up of another one earlier in the season, with it’s delightful star-shaped flowers climbing up the stem.
It was a discovery/rehabilitated plant at the last garden and I was too fond of it to leave it behind. I’m just amazed with what it’s doing in a fresh garden bed with room to grow.
To further make my point, I’ll offer another photo of that first plant I photographed.
It was only as tall as the two above back when I took those photos, but as you can see, it too now towers toward the life-bringing sun (which seems to be making only cameo appearances this week) and stands taller than than fence and is now flowering on side branches, as well.
I’m just amazed…as I find I so often am in the garden.
And I just love the way the Queen Anne’s lace flowers are pink just before they fully open up. It’s delicate, and certainly not something you notice in plants you only see along the roadside. But when it’s in the garden, it’s easier to see the subtle details…and they just tickle me.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
– William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, Scene V.