My Knives

I am slowly moving into and committing to New York City. Every time I go home to San Francisco I go under my sister's house where all my worldly possessions are stowed and bring something back - as if I am sneaking slowly into Manhattan, piece by piece.

My "big purchase" this time were my knives. Back in the days when I had money I bought good knives, much like one should have a solid navy sport coat and good trousers; it is a key staple. And now that I am eating at home more for health and budget, this seemed like a good item to bring back. I am so glad I did. My first slice through a root vegetable post return was transcendent.

I also brought my own kilt back. I have a band kilt, but I wanted my own. It reminds me of my parents and it fits me better and it is my family tartan. All these things are important to me. I have it here now and I will wear it proudly. In fact I will wear it tomorrow when I play bagpipes at my cousin's wedding. Family, roots, family, roots. I am bound to them in many lovely ways.

An impulse buy under my sister's house were two fridge magnets. One is of the bell, fish, tree and bird - all symbols of Glasgow, Scotland, perhaps in some ways my emotional home.



And the other is a magnet of the painting "Man Wearing Laurels" by John Singer Sargent.


When I saw this painting at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, I knew I was gay. That may sound an odd thing to say, but it was a feeling that was sealed. It was not a pornographic feeling, it was that gut feeling where I knew that it was certain and true for me. Of course I have never met a man wearing laurels and if he were standing in front of me nude in the form of a mail-o-gram I would find it silly, but the painting had the artist's own emotion painted into it and the gaze from the model was one that I could not look away from.

The knives, the kilt, the bell, the fish, the tree, the bird, the man wearing laurels. I bring these things into my new year with best hopes for the future.