Do You Have an Occassional Neighbor?

Photo by Andre Ouellet on Unsplash

Do you have an occasional neighbor? I’m sure you do. I think everyone has one. What is an occasional neighbor? I define one as someone who lives close to your home but only recognizes your existence when they need something from you. Otherwise, as far as they are concerned, you could be dead.

My occasional neighbors live across the street from me. The family includes the parents, two obnoxious boys, and two rarely seen dogs. I might add that they are avid Trump supporters and religious fanatics.

My husband and I fly our Pride flag during Pride month and sometimes year-round. Other neighbors also fly their Pride flags, which are not as large as ours. Our occasional neighbors have not commented about our flag, at least not to our faces. The only time they have referred to our sexuality was when the wife approached me to tell me she heard we were celebrating our wedding anniversary, but she could not wish us well as her church did not condone our lifestyle. I thought my simple reply of “Fuck you” was appropriate.

Another interaction I experienced with the wife and husband occurred during a snowstorm when I was stuck in my driveway, unable to free my rear tires from a patch of ice. While struggling to dig out my car, I noticed the two of them brushing the snow off their car while occasionally looking my way. While unsuccessfully attempting to free my car from the ice and snow, a young coatless Amazon driver of Middle Eastern descent stopped his car, took my shovel, and dug me out. I thanked him and offered to pay him for his time. He refused, saying, “What are neighbors for”? How ironic!

As spring approached, my next-door neighbor, another man in his seventies, and I tried to free his riding lawnmower, which was stuck in the mud. Once again, our loving Christian neighbors sat on their asses across the street, watching us wallow in the mud. They did not attempt to offer any assistance to two old men who could have suffered a stroke.

The situations I described above are not my only interactions with my occasional neighbors. Without fail, at the start of every school year, the wife shows up at our door with her two boys in tow, acting as though she is one of our closest friends. Of course, she is helping her kids sell magazines, candy, or other such items and expects everyone to shell out their hard-earned money to help her little brats.

The next time she darkens everyone’s door is at Halloween. She makes sure her fat little kids get their share of the candy. And, of course, they never say “Thank you.”

Just before Halloween, one of my neighbors always has a big Halloween party for the kids and adults. Our occasional neighbors always show up, never bring anything, and never express their appreciation to the hosts. Even though they have attended every party and cookout given by the rest of the neighbors, they have never invited anyone to their home.

One summer, the wife asked if she and her boys could use our pool. Like a fool, I said yes. For such a religious family, I have never heard such foul language coming from the mouths of her teenage boys. She never attempted to correct them, so I guess her church condones that language. Luckily, they soon got their own pool, so I didn’t have to host them ever again.

Now that you have met my “occasional neighbor,” I am sure you can think of your neighborhood and find your “occasional neighbor.” I guess they make our lives a little more interesting, if not aggravating.

I've Been Doing a Little House Cleaning on Medium and with My Blogs

                                   Photo by Mark Hang Fung So on Unsplash

I know it’s not spring, but I’ve been doing some spring cleaning the past few days — not in my house, but on Medium and with my blogs. I have been thinking about doing it for a while, and after some hesitation, I finally did it.

For over 15 years, I have been writing and maintaining personal blogs on another platform using custom domains. Although my blogs never earned much money over the years, my stubborn pride prevented me from giving them up. As anyone who has written their own blog knows, blogging is a tough endeavor, almost always destined for failure, at least for amateurs like me.

About a year ago, I discovered that Medium writers could redirect their blogs’ custom domains to their Medium blogs. Before realizing this feature existed, I had been publishing articles on my Medium blog and then republishing them on my websites. I thought if I could point my domain to my Medium blogs, I could save some time and trouble, as well as benefit my stats on Medium and my websites.

I linked two of my oldest websites, Steveso Thinks and Stephen Sovie’s Blog, to my Medium publications of the same names. I published an article on Medium explaining what I had done and settled back to see if it made a difference.

One issue I did not realize I would have was that pointing my custom domain to Medium prevented me from doing anything with my websites. I couldn’t publish anything solely on my website. I couldn’t even access it. I was still paying yearly for my custom domains but could only publish on them through Medium.

I saw no difference in my statistics, so it made no sense to continue pointing my custom domains to Medium. I decided to return to publishing on my blogs on both platforms. But it wasn’t that easy. I managed to unlink my domains from Medium quite easily but could not access my websites.

Each of my custom domains is registered with a different web hosting site, and I have been wracking my brains out about this for two days. Since I am not familiar with the intricacies of setting up and maintaining domains, I am lost.

I can probably fix the problems with my websites if I want to spend a lot of time and effort on customer support on each one, but I have decided it’s not worth it. After careful consideration, I have decided to swallow my pride and let go of my two long-held websites with their custom domains. Instead, I have created a new blog on Blogger, Steve Sovie’s Blogs, where I can republish some of my Medium articles from my publications there. Maybe I will purchase a custom domain at a later date, but as of now, it’s not a priority.

I doubt anything I have done will affect the performance of my Medium blogs or other writing. I don’t expect my new blog to be a success. I just want another site to share my work on and to preserve the memories of my past blogging adventures. I’m never going to stop writing and I’m never going to stop trying.

What Do the Red, White, Blue, and Stars and Stripes Mean to You?

                                    Photo by David Everett Strickler on Unsplash

Growing up, I always looked forward to the Fourth of July and Memorial Day celebrations. I particularly enjoyed the parades and fireworks and the red, white, and blue bunting and flags along the parade route and surrounding the fireworks venue. I can remember the pride I felt when I looked at our nation’s colors. It was a warm and gratifying feeling. I was proud to be an American and proud of what she stood for.

I never lost that feeling as I grew older. I remember the goosebumps I felt while attending the Fourth of July celebrations at the Esplanade in Boston. I was among a crowd of hundreds of thousands of people from all walks of life, from every country of the world, from every race and religion, and every gender identity. I can’t describe how proud I was at those moments living in America.

Our country’s colors, including the stars and stripes, remind me that we are a nation of immigrants. Except for Native Americans, every citizen of this country can trace their ancestry to every country in the world. Some came looking for religious freedom or to escape war and famine in their home country. Sadly, some were forcibly taken from their homes in Africa and the Caribbean and became part of the slave trade.

Americans and people living outside of our country have always viewed this country as a melting pot where citizens from all over the world can become Americans. I have always loved this concept, but is it still valid?

Since Donald Trump came down that escalator at Trump Towers, the meanings of our country’s colors have changed. Trump’s MAGA crowd has taken over the Republican Party our parents knew. Those colors that once stood for liberty, freedom, justice, and equality no longer do so. They now represent white supremacy, Christian nationalism, and anti-immigrant and LGBTQ hatred.

Where we once saw flag-lined streets of American flags proclaiming our traditional welcoming and supportive values, we now see oversized pickup trucks adorned with the American flag but the Confederate flag, the ultimate symbol of white supremacy and hatred.

We see tee shirts emblazoned with captions stating “America for Americans,” “White Lives Matter,” “Mass Deportation,” and “Go Back to Where You Came From,” printed in red, white, and blue and the American flag.

We see similar tee shirts attacking the LGBTQ community, with some prominent politicians supporting the complete elimination of gay rights and imprisonment or even death of those who are members of this community. Disgustingly, the leaders of the anti-LGBTQ community are also leaders in the Christian community.

The current Republican candidate for President, Donald Trump, who is the child of immigrants and who has two immigrant wives, has promised mass deportation of migrants in the first days of his new administration if elected. The Trump platform, otherwise known as Project 2025, will destroy what’s left of the rights of those migrants who have come here legally. Project 2025 will also destroy all rights and freedoms gained by the LGBTQ community, as well as women and other minorities.

When I see what is happening in our country today, I am amazed that so many people abroad do not share the same feelings. Millions of people in Central and South America, Asia, and elsewhere still see America as a place that promises rights and freedoms to those who have been denied them in their home countries. This is why so many people risk their lives to come to this country.

If these people can see the beauty and the wonder of American values so much that they are willing to die to attain those freedoms for their children, why can we, who have been born and brought up in this country, see the value in protecting those freedoms for ourselves and future Americans?

The Circle

                                                                   Max Pixel                                                                

Many years ago, I saw some words scrawled on the marble floor at the entrance of a middle school in upstate New York. For some reason, I remembered those words and thought about them frequently, mostly at times when I was feeling depressed or discouraged. I didn’t look up the author of those words until quite some time later, but when I did, I discovered they were written by Edwin Markham (1852–1940). These words are as follows:

He drew a circle that shut me out –
Heretic, a rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!

When I first read those words, I was confused about who or what I was. I was coming to terms with the fact I was gay and hadn’t really accepted or even liked who I was. I had friends, but I felt alone. I felt outside looking in at something I didn’t know much about. I went to gay bars but always felt alone and out of place. I had few, if any, gay friends, and I found it extremely difficult to make any gay friends. I didn’t think I was that different from other gay people. Maybe I wasn’t that young or that good-looking, but I thought I had a good and accepting heart. I went to gay parades and other gay events, but in the end, I remained alone. I thought something was wrong with me. I was outside the “gay circle” and maybe yearning to get in.

Most of my friends were straight and predominantly work colleagues or neighbors at that time. Very few of these friends knew I was gay, but it didn’t make any difference to those few people. They even encouraged me to try harder to make gay friends. When I socialized, I socialized with these straight friends. Much of the time when I was with them, I secretly felt alone. When I went out alone to have a few drinks I usually went to straight bars and felt completely comfortable there. I don’t think I was ever harassed or bullied because I was gay, maybe because no one suspected it. I was, however, attacked and beaten quite severely twice, leaving a gay bar. Nothing ever came of these incidents, as the police didn’t follow up and seemed disinterested. “Just another fag getting beat up,” I guess. I never really dwelt on these two attacks and I didn’t let them affect me one way or the other. Even though the majority of my friends and acquaintances were straight, I still felt outside of that circle, but far from the gay circle of people who supposedly were more like me.

I never thought that I “had” to identify myself as being gay, as so many gay people I had met insisted upon doing. I met some gay guys who would only patronize a restaurant or clothing store if it was gay! These same people thought it was crazy that I went to straight bars and hung around straight people. Gay people I met weren’t the only ones who questioned my “authenticity” as a gay person. Even my straight friends noted that I didn’t fit their stereotypes of a gay man. Particularly at work, my colleagues would jokingly comment that my office and desk were not neat enough or that my sense of style was not what they imagined it should be. I agree that I am not a neat freak and dress in what makes me comfortable, not to follow a particular style or fit a certain stereotype. So, I guess I was still outside of the circle.

As I became older, I finally became myself. I accepted myself and forgot about fitting into a particular circle. If I felt alone, so what? I felt comfortable being with myself. I gave up classifying my friends as straight or gay. I chose my friends based on what kind of human beings they were, how much we had in common, and how much fun we had together. Hell, I even have Republican friends. Subsequently, I met the right man with similar feelings and experiences, and we were married. I’m happy now, no longer lonely, and I don’t see circles anymore.

I still think about that poem by Edwin Markham and wonder what he meant by those words. I think about children who are bullied and wonder if they felt the way I did, about being shut out and even made fun of. Then I think of these same children, having the strength and love to draw a circle to include their tormentors. Then, I realized that doing that would not work in today’s world. It may even make things worse. I can’t say that I was bullied, but I did feel that I was different, and trying to draw that inclusive circle didn’t work for me. If only it were that easy!

The Grass isn't Always Greener on the Other Side,

                                               Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash 

 I wrote an article about people moving to Substack just three days ago. I was considering growing a subscriber list to earn a little money or reposting my Medium articles on Substack to improve my Medium statistics and earnings. I thought the grass might be a little greener on Substack. It didn’t take long, but I learned my lesson.

In the past few days, I have republished some of my Medium articles on Substack and have seen only a few likes and one follow. One person has subscribed to my newsletter. I wasn’t surprised, though, as it had only been a few days.

But more importantly, I realized that I would have to accumulate many subscribers to earn anything near what I am presently earning on Medium. I asked myself, “Would I pay money every month to read my articles?” “No way!” I also asked myself, “Would I pay $5 per month to read the work of just one writer”? Once again, the answer was no.

I would think for a writer to earn a substantial amount of money, they would have to be a damn good writer with a large and loyal following. I think I would have to write a great deal more and put in much more work to earn even a little money on Substack.

I don’t honestly think I would gain any benefit on Medium by also publishing on Substack. It would only mean more work for me, which I am not willing to do. I write as a hobby and to keep my mind active. I don’t intend to have another career as a writer, nor do I intend to get rich writing.

I earn a modest amount of money writing on Medium without being a slave to the platform or working too damn hard. I may complain at times about my earnings and stats on Medium, but hell, I have it quite easy here. I have also met some fantastic people on the platform who share my interests and genuinely support my work.

I had the itch to see if the grass was greener on Substack, and I found out it wasn’t. I realized that writing on Medium isn’t that bad and that I should be honest about my writing and my expectations.

I may still repost some of my articles on Substack, but with no expectations. I will probably rejoin the Friend of Medium program next month, too. Maybe I will push myself to work a bit harder, too. I might be able to make my own grass a little greener. Hey, I can’t say I didn’t try.