J Segal Design- Design a Life

A funny thing happened this Thanksgiving. Not funny like a joke. Funny like, huh. And I’m thankful for it, I suppose. I didn’t have any plans this year, this first Thanksgiving without Bob. Someone invited me over, but for whatever reason she vanished when I tried to contact her to firm up the plans. It is entirely possible she was drunk when she invited me or maybe was passed out when I called. I don’t know her address, else I would have just showed up. I’m that way. If I make plans, I show up. When it became clear that my plans fell thru, it gave me time to think. To think about Thanksgivings past. Mostly with Bob. And in honor of the occasion, I got out the photo albums. Not to wallow. I can do that anytime. But I was reminded of a time when we were in transition, housing wise, before moving to Hudson. Our photo albums are full of pictures of birthdays and holidays where we invited friends and family over to celebrate. Bob always wanted to fill our home with friends when...

Bob, my late partner of nearly 27 years, was a great provider. I’ve said this before. He was also a great life partner. A great spouse, as it were. Long before same-sex marriage became a recognized right, Bob committed to me and us in a way that inspired me to do the same. Bob had a strength. He also had a fragility. I suspect each of us has both. Bob’s strength was that he was a man of great character. Somewhere along the way, a strong sense of loyalty, humility and propriety had been instilled in him. His parents, who died when Bob was young, would have been proud of the man he was. In many ways I admired his strength. When he fell ill last year, it was my turn to be strong. Looking back, I don’t quite know how I did what I did. But there was this notion in the back of my mind that Bob expected me to do what needed done. I didn’t run, didn’t crumble, just stepped up and pointed myself forward. I hoped that if Bob got the chance to review my actions, he’d be pleased by my streng...

Ever  shop for zippers? I have, and I can tell you this: it is pretty much impossible to find the style, length and color you need, especially at the first place you go to find it. Enter Amazon. I sew. I love exotic fabrics. Crazy, mod 60s florals, bold paisleys. Over time I have collected lots of them. What do I do with them? Well… I could make clothing I’d never wear with them. I’ve done that. I can line the purses and bags I make. Done that too. But lately I’ve been intrigued by pillows. Bold, wild, crazy pillows of every shape and style. While low on utility, they are a great way to indulge a desire for change, and instant gratification. So how did this turn into a discussion of pillows? It was supposed to be about zippers. Here’s the thing. To sew great pillows, zippers are required. No matter how perfectly a pillow is assembled, an area has to be left open to add the filling. Once filled, the challenge becomes how to close the opening. I’m terrible at hand sewing, a...

Christian apologists like to ask the question, “How do you know your spouse loves you?” As if this somehow proves god- even though he can’t be “known” by any literal metric. I fucking DARE anybody to ask me, to my face, how did I know Bob, my late partner of 27 years, loved me? (Cut to me tackling them and smashing what was once their face into a soup of blood and tissue bits embedded in the concrete they’re bleeding across.) Real love matters. God’s love is imaginary nonsense. Keep it the fuck away from me, or else… Why am I so torqued up about this? Seems like lately every moral, and every political, conversation leads to some talk of “the Homosexuals.” Or if you are Orthodox-Headwear-Model Ben Shapiro, it’s pronounced “How-Mow-Seshuals.” Give it the Sinful, evil gravitas it deserves. Of course he has a wife. Dumb fucking cunts who love sawed-off douchebags are great. Fags?? Not so much. As an Atheist Faggot I’ve had enough. Find another patsy. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ...

I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately. Not the place, the idea. This year the idea has  changed lot for me, and I can’t decide if this place I find myself living is indeed home, long term. Should I stay or should I go? My lease isn’t up till February so that’s not it. Maybe its the approach of winter. Last winter I nearly froze to death, while spending more on heating bills than I had in years. Then there’s the concern that the furnace may kill me in my sleep, and since I don’t own it I’m at the mercy of certain factors beyond my control. Looking back, I’ve been a homeowner for more than 30 years. I was limited in terms of resources, but in general I’d repair things to the highest quality I could manage. I learned the hard way not to cheap out, while not being frivolous. There is a sweet spot in quality. Sometimes, I’d just have to bite the bullet and do what needed done. Bob often would say to me, when I’d tell him something needed done, “well, better do it.” Of cour...