Suburban Dyke

Why my vote doesn't really matter

2012-01-16T15:20:00.002-05:00

The presidential campaign is fully underway. The Republican field of candidates has shrunk due to the Iowa Caucuses and the New Hampshire Primary. Jon Huntsman and Michele Bachmann are through runing. I don't know what percent of the American population that is but is but these are not heavily populated states by any stretch of the imagination. Nor are they representative of the country overall. They are predominately white and quite rural, as opposed to many parts of the country. I am baffled that there is not a national primary voting day. It is ridiculous that such a small part of the populace has such overwhelming influence. In New Jersey, the primary doesn't even happen until June and by then all contenders but one have been eliminated. So much for democracy.

I am not even a Republican and in my state, you have to be a registered party member in order to vote in the state primary. Nevertheless, the Republicans in New Jersey should be able to vote for Bachmann or Huntsman. Some states, like New Hampshire, have open primaries where anyone can vote in any party primary thus allowing independents some say in the party politics. Not New Jersey. I know there is historical precedent for giving preference to Iowa and New Hampshire but it is just wrong. It takes away value of one person meaning one vote. By the time, I get to vote in a party primary, my vote is meaningless. And if you are not registered as a Republican or Democrat in New Jersey, you are further disenfranchised from the primary election.

Of course, further disenfranchising American voters that the only really choices they have in the general election are candidates affiliated with the Democrats or the Republicans. In some states, like New York or New Hampshire, third party candidates can get on the ballot in a general election much easier than in states like New Jersey where the rules are so arcane and complicated, it is almost impossible to get elected as a third party candidate. I've used of my votes voting against the lesser of two evils, rather than enthusiastically supporting someone like I did Obama.

These are the things I've been thinking for years. This is coming from some one who votes in every election, no matter how minor. In fact, since I was 18 years old, I've only missed two local school board elections. I take voting seriously and responsibly because I know what an important privilege and duty it is. But, I still feel like my vote has so little worth.

I wonder if other voters feel the same way. I think they do. I think the Tea Party is as frustrated with the two party system as the Occupy Wall Street movement is. I think the populace as a whole is quite unsatisfied. I am not sure where this will lead but change needs to happen.

We, as a country, are in financial distress, an economic morass and a malaise not seen since right before Ronald Reagan was elected. The best that can be said about Mitt Romney is that he is not as crazy as some of his fellow Republican candidates. I am disappointed with Obama but he is not Jimmy Carter and has a decent chance of re-election unless there are more disasters or people get enthusiastic about Romney. Still, the problem is systemic. It's not just Republican versus Democrat. I truly hoped Obama would rise above it all. Alas.

We Americans need to keep talking and agitating for change. For many reasons, not the least of which that our votes should mean more than the cheap pandering and whoring for them that exists every election cycle that now seems to never, ever end.

A Christmas card

2011-12-20T19:35:00.001-05:00

Today, I got a Christmas card from an old friends addressed to my partner "and family." There was no mention of my name anywhere. I knew these friends, a childless lesbian couple near my age, long before I met my partner. I was there when they first met. They were friends and eventually business partners, and then bitter former business partners, with my ex-girlfriend. We vacationed together and visited each other often. How did we get here?

L and T, these friends, called me on my birthday a few years ago after a year or more of no contact. They wanted to wish me a happy birthday and since I was in the middle of celebrating my birthday with my family, I cut short the phone call. I thanked them and said I'd call them another time. I never did. I have had no contact with them ever since. My partner, the sender-out of cards, sent them a card this year; she does not remember if she sent a card last year.

The exclusion of my name once would have bothered me. I would have felt guilt for never calling them back and sad they held that against me. I don't. As I've gotten older, for better or worse, I've become really good as moving on and leaving people I once cared for, a lot, behind. I am amused L and T addressed the card to my partner and family. I guess the really big kiss-off would have been addressing the card to my partner "and kids." Is that a door ajar or politeness? I think politeness. T was always polite except when she was ranting or drunk.

I met T at a gay social group where I eventually met my ex-girlfriend and where T met L. T and I were friends before all that. She and I hung out more together more than I did with her and L or as couples. She was sharp-witted, funny to the point of snarkiness, and smart. She had a lot of gay guys who were friends. She worked as a pharmaceutical representative, pushing prescription drugs on doctors. As couples, my ex-girlfriend and I as well as L and T partied, had parties, met up on Cape Cod to hang out. After my ex-girlfriend and I broke up, T and L remained friends with her as well as me. When I started dating my partner, L and T liked her and encouraged my relationship. Meanwhile, T went into business with my-exgirlfriend and L returned to her previous profession.

L and T came to our baby shower. We still saw them occasionally. At some point, T's sister developed a serious drug problem and she and L took custody of T's sister's kids. T's nephew had lots of behavioral problems that eventually resulted in T sending him to a boarding school where his behavioral problems were exacerbated. T eventually surrendered custody of him to state juvenile welfare authorities. T's niece acted out in a different manner. T's and my ex-girlfriend's company took off. In the midst of all, mine and my partner's kids were born. We saw less of L and T but I talked to T regularly about her family, especially concerning legal issues. I cared.

We always saw L and T for their yearly Christmas party which was always fabulous, initially because T, who was a good cook, cooked. Eventually, T's parties were catered and were attended by her work colleagues including my ex-girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend and I became friendly and she had a new girlfriend. After a year passed without seeing T and L, we got together with them to find out my ex-girlfriend had left T's company under unfortunate circumstances. T blamed my ex-girlfriend for almost embezzling and when I met with my ex-girlfriend one day, she blamed T saying she was crazy and her craziness resulted in a discrimination law suit. I thought it best not to take sides. My partner did not like my ex-girlfriend and sided with T, but my partner did not at least trash my ex-girlfriend when we socialized with T.

T had been out as a lesbian for years and her parties were always mixed with gay and straight people. They were always zany, loud and flamboyant: the parties and the gay boys. The last party we went to was when my kids, who are now 9, were well under 5. Maybe they were 3. As we walked up to T's new, fancy house in a fancy, well-to-do suburb, L came out of the house and cautioned us there were people at the party T was not out to and T did not want "anyone acting gay." My partner and I looked at each other promising not to act gay, whatever that was, but it was clear we were together as a couple and that we had twins together.

When we entered the house, banished were the gay boys and dance music. Christmas music played tastefully in the background in throughout every room in hidden speakers. There were straight families with their children and only a few gay people, all looking un-gay. No boys in tight shirts, no girls looking butch. Everyone was attired in very conservative dress clothes. Us included. T reminded us of the no-gay rule when she airbrushed my cheek, explaining she was expanding her company and could loose important business deals if people knew she was gay. I am not sure how T explained L living with her; perhaps, she let people think L did not live there. I never found out. (But I remember being shown "L's room" that had a bed in it as well as "T's room" which was a master bedroom suite.) I am not sure where my partner was, but at some point, I was hanging out in a room with other parents and watching my daughter. A man asked my about my daughter and my family and I referenced my partner. The man was nonplussed but T heard us. She called me into the hall and reminded me nicely of the no-gay rule. I told her was not going to hide my relationship with my partner. T looked annoyed but shrugged it off by, saying the man was probably ok with me being gay but she was uncertain how he would feel if she new he was gay. T thought that because the man was Indian, somehow he would be anti-gay and would hold this against her and she needed him for her business ventures. Oh, well. My partner and I laughed about it afterwards and we both agreed the gay parties were more fun.

We did not have much contact, aside from yearly Christmas cards, from T and L for a few years. That is, until she called me on my birthday a few years ago.

It is a fact we change throughout our lives. Our relationships and friendships wax and wane. That's fine. I never meant to not call T. I never really had a reason to call her. We had grown apart. Now, she has a Christmas card relationship to my partner and none to me. And that's fine with me. I am amused being addressed as part of of my partner's "and family." I am glad to be part of my family.

Christmas creep

2011-12-18T15:45:00.000-05:00

I have not written a lot lately. The kids were busy with soccer. We we busy visiting friends and going places. I started working in a new city. We did managed to attend to the weekly routines of the kids' music lessons, homework and church.

We attended our Unitarian Universalist congregation most weeks. I think it's good for the kids to get a healthy dose of morality from people besides their parents. I think it's good to be part of a congregation of people so our kids are exposed to a cross-section of society in a community accepting of their parents and their family.

There are all kinds of Unitarian Universalists (UUs). Most, like most people, are fine, decent people. Some UUs, like non-UUS, are mentally ill. Some are weird. Some are reformed criminals. Some are downright creepy. I don't think there are preponderance of these ilks in UU congregations more than others.

One of my pet peeves, is people taking pictures of my kids or me without my permission. I work in law enforcement. I don't want anyone knowing about my kids unless I know who they are and I know them well. I refuse to allow the kids' school or my UU congregation to public pictures of my kids. Then, there is the misuse of photos of kids by pedophiles. I've seen to much of that over my career. It is the other reason I don't want my kids pictures out there for potential exploitation. Finally, I feel like they are entitled to some privacy until they are old enough to decide for themselves how images of them should be used.

There is a man at my church who is single and childless and who participates to a small degree with children in congregation. He was a "mystery pal' a few years ago to my son. ("Mystery pals" is a church-run program that matches adults with children for a month and encourages adult/child to get to know one another via letter writing. Most "mystery palss" participants are other kids' parents or grandparents.) This man likes to take pictures at congregational functions. Lots of people do. Today, we were decorating the tree when he began snapping pictures of the kids, including my kids. I was incensed. I was also tongue-tied and said nothing to stop him. I grumbled to my partner who shrugged. She is less concerned and less paranoid than me.

A minute later, I regained my inner mamma-bear and marched over to the man and told him I did not want him publishing pictures of my kids any where. He was taken-aback and defensive. He said he was going to send the pictures to the congregation for its website. I explained I worked in law enforcement and did not want any pictures of my kids on the website for safety reasons. He stammered and offered to erase the pictures. I told him I appreciated that. He murmured that he understood and it was a shame someone had to be careful about taking pictures of kids these days. I looked him in the eye and told him, "With good reason." He backed away, promising the pictures were deleted and his intentions good. He also made a point of coming over later, and said, while showing us a picture of the church's tree, "This will be the only picture I send."

My gut instinct is on red-alert with this guy but he has not done anything inherently wrong. His interaction with children has always been above board. But he nags at me. He sent my family a Christmas card addressed to "Boy-name" and family. Except the name was not my son's. It was the name of the another boy he was a "mystery pal"to. He pointedly asked if we received his card and he said he sent cards the his former "mystery pal" friends, all boys, and their families. This conversation was after I had told him to erase the pictures. I was creeped out. He smiled and then suddenly frowned when he realized I was not smiling.

I know nowadays there is a lot of openness and lack of privacy. It would not occur to me to just start taking pictures of other people's kids. If other kids are in the pictures with my kids, it's because it is a group shot or activity and other parents are taking pictures too. I think it should be against the law to take pictures of other people's kids without parental permission. Then again, I think someone should not take my picture without my permission. The Supreme Court determined long ago if someone is in public, they have forfeited their privacy and a picture can be taken and used.

So, now I have to watch this man like a hawk. But he knows I am onto him. I hate that my paranoia is almost always confirmed.

"There's something happening here, what is ain't exactly clear..."

2011-10-03T21:54:00.004-04:00

This lyric is from a Buffalo Springfield song from the 1960s. It's the best way I can describe what I see happening an hour away from me in New York City. On Wall Street. Young people are protesting, as best I can tell, the outrageous, uncontrolled profits made in the finance industry, often at the expense of regular people, in a time of an economic turn-down when many people have jobs, houses and more. Is this an American awakening? Our fall frenzy?

I hope so.

Things have gone so wrong for so long. The windbag tea-baggers have held us hostage politically for a few years now. The economic oligarchs have run roughshod over teachers, firefighters and other civil service workers, stripping away bargaining rights along with wages and benefits. The religious wingnuts, who deny global warming as well as evolution, are hijacking women's rights faster than they can pray the environmental upheavals are harbingers of the Second Coming. The health care system is imploding. The infrastructure is collapsing, cracking, falling apart. The middle class is marginalized.

I hope the protesters find a common cohesion. There is so much wrong. Some common, old fashioned common sense is needed. Our plain, common values must prevail. We must reclaim our country from the robber barons, the religious zealots, the blathering bigots and those who care only, exclusively for profit over people, over country, over values.

Power to the people. Right on!

P.S.

Check this out! (From the site www.addictinginfo.org)

Undersizing the government, piecemeal, person by person; agency by agency

2011-09-26T21:49:00.000-04:00

The spirit of austerity in the United States hit home last week. We federal employees were already subjected to frozen wages for at least two years by order of the president. I will be subjected to furloughs because my agency is short of cash because there is not enough money coming in from Washington. All temporary employees have been terminated. There is no money for any thing, except to function. I've never been furloughed before because I am considered essential. But, that's only if the entire government shuts down. In the case of my agency, the agency itself is not shutting down. In order to spare the layoff of at least twelve employees, everyone in my agency will be furloughed for at least one day a month for at least twelve months, if not indefinitely. No wonder those planning to retire have have decided to retire sooner.

There were tears and worries when the furloughs were announced. Some people are single parents, some are the sole-income earner, some are married to others in our agency. Many people in my agency work other part-time jobs. One, I know of, works two other jobs. My colleagues are college-educated folks, most with masters degrees, who are career government professionals. It's a blow financially. It's a blow professionally. Our workloads will remain the same. The over-40-hour weeks many of us work will now be more. nBecause we are professionals. Because we take pride in our work.

I am one of the more fortunate ones. My partner's wages are frozen too. (She works at a local center of higher education.) But she has wages. Not great, but at least professional wages. We will not feel the income loss as much as some of the others in my agency and much less than some other federal agencies where people are being furloughed one to two days per two-week pay period. And certainly much less than those like my partner's sister who has been without work for over two years or those, like some friends, who've given up looking for work entirely.

Having perpetual furloughs, of course, is not a good way for government to function but that, as I see it, is the goal of the corporate elite and the tea-baggers. To bring the whole thing down. The former want to have no government save that which is yoked to the wishes of greedy rich and the latter, funded by the former, want to get rid of the government forevever and strive to bring on Armageddon. I hope I can say with with my job until I am required to retire in eight and a half years; but I am glad I have the option to retire in a year and a half. Then, we may feel compelled to leave for a less scary place, than the close-minded, mean, ignorant place to which United States is accelerating at a warp speed. That thought both sickens me and makes me sad. Very sad. I want to continue to serve my country with pride. I can only do the best I can.

At age 9, you might be left behind

2011-09-17T19:25:00.007-04:00

My kids are now 9 years old. Some of their peers are becoming talented, skilled musicians, athletes, artists. It's amazing. Four years ago, aside from prodigies, there was mostly a level playing field. All kids played whatever sport in whatever way; all kids banged on kid-friendly percussion instruments; all kids drew pictures with a flat, simple perspective. The shift has been happening under my nose with hints here and there. The 6-year-old girl who makes all the goals. The 8-year-old girl with an art portfolio with real art. The 8-year-old boy who is a black belt. These were seemingly the exception. Most of the kids were in a middling muddle, none too noteworthy.

The paradigm shift (Ialways wanted to used that pretentious, preposterous phrase) was evident to me when I took my son to his recent soccer workshop. All the kids who were good in soccer, who wanted to be good in soccer or whose parents wanted them to be good in soccer were on the traveling teams that have practice three days a week and that have games one or two days a week. They eat and breathe soccer. My son was the only 9 year old at the workshop. There were a few 10 year olds who clearly did no know how to play well. Everyone else was 8 and under. My son is now one of the big kids who play in the recreation league. There wasn't too many public school kids in the recreation league and not as many from the

private schools as had been in past years.

It is expected that at age 9, if you want to play a sport, you will do almost nothing else. This sad. 9 is too young to be committed to a particular sport or activity. At 9, a kid should still be exploring what interests him; he should not have to be good at anything. Sport should be fun. Winning should be part of the thing but 9 is too young to be too competitive. Why must they compete so fiercely, so seriously? Teens and adults do that. Must 9 year olds start to be like adults with defined skills? Clear preferences? Delineated roles?

I am notready for my kids to be so molded. I want them to still have lots of choices and for lots of things to be open to them a without too much a hierarchy of talent. I have no choice. In not pressing my kids to chose a sport, I made a choice to not become specialized, consigning them to not be star athletes; at least, of the available team sports such as soccer, baseball or basketball. I hope that there are more opportunities for them. For now, they're locked out of being good at these sports.

Similarly, in school, they had to choose an instrument to study/play. My son chose base and my daughter chose

the flute. Now, they are committed until who knows when - high school graduation? And if they are not good, can they continue? It's a lot of commitment for 9 year olds. I could go on about this and why it is we, as a culture, expect and want (while proclaiming we don't want) our kids to grow up too soon; but this is how it is. The rec league and choosing an instrument are part of it. This is my kids succumbing. It is coming. Their days as little kids are numbered. It makes me sad.

It has been ten years, by and by

2011-09-11T21:08:00.004-04:00

It was for me, a very odd tenth anniversary of September 11. We attended service at the Unitarians where there were prayers and thoughts for this day. There was also an "in-gathering" water service to mark the end of summer and the return of the active cycle. Everyone was invited to bring water from places special to them or use the provided water which would symbolize places special to them, and place the water in a bowl with water brought by other people. We and all living things are all made of water and water is precious. We are all one. A good lesson for this day.

After the Unitarian service, we spent a few more hours selling our wares in the town-wide yard sale. We sold items to raise money for a YMCA camp that was devastated in Hurricane Irene. Otherwise, my partner and I think selling our unwanted stuff for hours is tedious and not worth the time so spent. The lesson here was that having a garage sale is easier to do for charity than is having a yard sale for yourself. We sold stuff for two days, an unheard of event as we are wont to just pile our stuff at the curb and let those who need or want it, claim it. I was pleased that we raised over $300, a respectable amount. (But honestly not worth my time unless for charity.)

Tonight, in our little town, we went to a 9/11 memorial service attended by some townsfolk including all the local first-responders like our former neighbor, who is a now a many-year, veteran, female firefighter. We lit candles. We listened to the national anthem, "Amazing Grace" and "God Bless America." I had to sing along to them all, albeit quietly to myself.

My favorite of these songs is "Amazing Grace." Hands down. Always brings me to tears. Especially tonight, on this day of remembrance. Every day, many wretches are saved. Each day this wretch is saved by grace. Each day I am thankful and appreciative. It could be my last, as each day is for many. That was one of my life-affirming 9/11 lessons. Through grace, my fears were relieved. For us all and who have gone:

"Through many dangers, toils and snares

I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home."

On September 11, 2001, we were all American. We were one. We were and we are all one. Still. We are all humans. We are God's children. We are all children of the world, children of the universe. I wish us all peace, hope and love; yea, "A life of joy and peace." Yes, peace. For all. Inshallah. God willing. Let it be and blessed be. Amen.

The post-9/11 stagnating malaise

2011-09-06T20:35:00.005-04:00

There is a lot of hoopla in this country in the media and elsewhere because it is the looming anniversary of September 11. 9/11. I have very mixed feelings. The event should be memorialized because it was a momentous event in this country. It effected so many people. Nationally and here locally in the New York City metropolitan area. It has changed the way we live in every way from the way we board a plane to the way we discuss terrorism to the way we deal with politics.

Lots of pundits are parsing the meaning, the legacy, the country. They are examining how we have changed. The National Public Radio (NPR) pundits are saying the Republicans asked us to do nothing, to sacrifice nothing. The Fox News Networks say that we are as a country are not patriotic enough, that we are sinking into a cultural decline because we are not Christian enough or Tea-party enough.

I saw, we as a country, are a mess. There is no real leadership from anyone. They (the politicians) are all so short-sighted. They see only the next vote, the need to not compromise so that they can be re-elected. There is no sense of national purpose. No sense of service or sacrifice or greater good. This of course echoes what the NPR pundits are saying. There is a malaise now worse than when Jimmy Carter was president. I am not sure what the future in politics will bring. I do know that 9/11 has not brought us together. It has brought us apart. It has made us more segmented. I wish there were more patriotism and sense of higher purpose. I don't see it happening. At least, not in the forseeable future.

The near ending of the-not-quite-dreary summer

2011-09-03T21:05:00.003-04:00

Summer is winding down for us all. We went away as a family to Virginia and Pennsylvania to see some Civil War Battle fields, presidents' houses and gardens. Our basement flooded in Hurricane Irene and we paid lots of money to have a guy pump the three feet of water out. We missed our end of summer family camp experience at a Y camp which was decimated due to post-hurricane flooding. I've been home all week taking day trips with the kids. School starts next week and that's good.

The shihan of my dojo pleaded guilty to aggravated sexual assault on a 15 year old and aggravated criminal sexual contact with another 15 year old. The dojo has changed hands but the shihan's wife still co-owns it and he still pops in. He'll be sentenced in a few months to 3 years in jail followed by 15 years of community supervision. I feel bad for his kids but am conflicted by seeing his wife, Mrs Shihan, who looks 10 years old than she did before this mess. Mrs Shihan is not really a good kickboxing instructor and while she is probably doing the best she can under the circumstances, how can she remain with the shihan? As I said before, I am sticking around until I get my black belt which should happen early next year about when my contract expires.

The political world drags on and with each passing day, I regret even more my vote for Obama. Not that I would have voted for McCain. I wish there were more choices and more parties in the United States. I hate that we are stuck with two parties. This seems to lead to the staggering stagnation we now endure. I'll blog more about this later perhaps. Right now, I just want to get my blogging juices flowing again so that I can return to blogging more frequently.

Ending her karate career

2011-07-27T21:51:00.003-04:00

Previously, I mentioned that the Shihan of my dojo had been arrested for molesting and having sex with teenage girls. The dojo is now owned by the Shihan's wife and some other parties. The Shihan has not yet been indicted. I continue to go there because I want to get my black belt which should happen around the time my contract runs out. I remain very conflicted about going there but given the contract ending and being so to close to earning my black belt, I will stay on until then. Then? I don't know.

I do know my daughter has quit for good. She wanted to get rid of her belts but we are making her keep them because she earned them. She enjoyed her karate classes and was pretty good for an 8 year old. She told me in June she wanted a break for the summer. We let her stay at the dojo in spring because the Shihan was barred from being around children and because my daughter was not in his age of interest.

I am sad she has called it quits for good because it was nice to have a shared activity with her. I liked practicing with her. I liked the confidence she got. I am sad because of what she told my mom about why she was quitting. In addition to wanting more spare time, she said she does not want to be there because of the Shihan. My mom asked what she meant and my daughter said she did not like him because he touched girls. My mom wanted to know how my daughter knew that and I confessed I told her. I told my daughter because I wanted her to know it from me and to know about it in a way that was easy for her to understand. I hated having to tell my daughter about this. It was important and right she know. I am sad this man is the cause of my daughter giving up something she likes.

Swimming pool - now and then

2011-07-24T21:38:00.003-04:00

We belong to a local pool. It is the de facto pool for lots of people from our town, which does not have its own pool. The pool belongs to a local school and is accessible only by alumni or staff of that school. My partner qualifies under both rules.

We joined when the kids were not yet three. I love it there. It is surrounded by trees. The picnic tables are outside the swim area. You can grill or drink wine. The restrooms are spartan. Only the necessities. No music, no concession stand. It's always quiet aside from the voices of children in the pool or playing tether ball. Generation after generation on the swim team. Refreshing clear pool. I love it here.

Each moment is restful. A mini-vacation. My kids complain when we're there too long. They don't understand how good they've got it. I grew up in my younger childhood in the city, on concrete; some weekends at a faraway lake. Later, in childhood, living next to the woods, we escaped but not to a watering hole; only the cool of the thick-over-head trees.

I had no place to swim aside from a pool of an old neighbor who let some, selected carefully (by him) kids into his small above-ground pool, long outgrown by his own kids. He just asked that we cleaned it and kept the noise down. I passed the test. My siblings did not. We could keep cool and I even learned to dive. Old Mr. G., a World War II, disabled vet encouraged the kids to dive and to swim. Three or four stokes across. Each afternoon for about 15 minutes, Mr. G. would come in. It let him move as a younger man, he said, but made him tired too.

We chosen-few could sit and sun and read on top of his small, storage shed. It was covered in concrete, unforgiving of human flesh. Luckily, we were young, and could contentedly read for hours on our towels, the pop music station playing very low. I loved Mr. G.'s small pool and his small, well kept yard. It was my childhood oasis. My kids just haven't a clue.

Our pool is heaven. I mean it. It's better than I could've ever hoped for in my distant childhood world. I love each moment our pool. Even more than Mr. G.'s. It's a mini-retreat. A small respite. I love it.

Cultivating our vegetable garden

2011-07-17T21:01:00.003-04:00

My vegetable garden is overburdened with weeds. We are seldom around on weekends and when we are, I prefer to relax at our pool. I try to week around the patio, in the front of the house and in the underused herb garden. These are areas with great need for aesthetic reasons and because of property appeal.

My partner and I are always excited in March wherein we perceive ourselves to be gentlewomen victory-garden farmers. We dream all kinds of vegetables and fruit. We dream self-sufficiency. We envision cooking good wholesome food from produced from our own soil. We are very ambitious.

We hoe and till and compost and plan and dig and plant and water. Our collective ambition dies in May and my own enthusiasm peters out in June. Our tomato plants are big. Our zucchinis are gargantuan and the lettuce has all bolted. The weeds are everywhere. My partner promised she would weekly. Not! She weeded once. I am happy with tomatoes. I don't want to weed vegetable gardens on weekends.

For the prior two summers, a young couple living next door weeded and watered the vegetable garden when we were away. They moved last year. Initially, we were excited. No brussel sprouts or okra or tomatillos: the young couple's choices. This year, the garden would be ours and ours alone! Yes, and it's full of weeds.

This past winter, we met a younger lesbian couple who live down the block and told them they could share in the produce. We did not contact them in spring. We saw them last week at some friends' party. We re-invited them and left our contact information in their mail box. I am keeping my fingers crossed. Free vegetables in exchange for weeding. It's very simple. They even have unplanted vegetables. I am hoping they come through. I hate to see my vegetables go to waste and the weeds taking over. Come on, girls. Please!

Well, I say for next year, it's tomatoes only. It's all I really want and all I care about. My partner can be a gentlewoman farmer in her fantasies. Next year, I will plant and tend my tomato garden without or with the help of others.

I've done better than I ever thought I would

2011-07-12T21:05:00.005-04:00

What I can say is: I am now almost half a century old. The half-century mark happens next year. I can't say what the next year will bring; of course, no one can. What I can say is, that I have done better with my life than I ever thought I would.

I am in a 16-year relationship with someone I love immensely. Not everyone has that. My parents may never have divorced, but they split up when I was 14, after about 18 years of marriage. They spent whole years never speaking to each other. My family was split up after our family house burned down. My mom just never moved back in and my siblings and I lived with my father for many unpleasant years. I told myself that if I were ever in a relationship, it was going to last and we were going to communicate. I have a long-term relationship and we communicate.

I always wanted children even when I was a child. When I came out, having kids was less of a possibility than it is now. In fact, it was my mother's biggest lamentation when I came out to her. When we were trying to get pregnant, I wanted biological children and eventually, mourned never procreating myself; but I would not trade the kids I have for anything. I am glad I have the kids I have because I love them and they are mine. I cannot imagine not having them. Every year with them is better than the previous year and every year with them is better than the years without them.

My father lost his job when I was twelve and he remained unemployed or underemployed until I was about 19. At some point, we nearly lost the family house. My father took my scholarship money and collected part of my weekly pay. That's just a statement. He was on welfare for a while. The household needed the money. I did not go to the college I wanted. My father refused to sign off on my financial aid unless I went to the local state college. He threatened to throw me out of the house unless I majored in som thing practical, like business or computer science (my major). Then, he sabotaged my employment as a computer programmer. Details are unnecessary. I say this to say I wound up in a profession where my potential to make money was less, but I like my current job a lot and I am ok financially. Showing up and being straight-laced is sometimes valued.

My partner and I own a house in a nice, safe neighborhood. We are saving for retirement. My kids get to do try many activitities and explore their interests. I get to kickbox and do yoga. I get to garden. We own computers and other electronic gadgets. We take vacations. Most years, more than two but always at least two.

I could not predict, at age 24 and a half (half my life ago), I would have had the life I have. I am a stable, middle-aged member of the yet-still, stable middle-class. Given the instability of my youth, I am surprised and I am grateful for all that I have. I have worked hard for it and still work hard for it but I am surprised and I am grateful. I truly am. I hope the remainder of my life is as rewarding. I will work hard to make it so. Thank You.

Our newly acquired larger family writ small

2011-07-10T20:34:00.005-04:00

My life in the two months since the last post is harder to declare in a public, albeit not so public, forum. My partner and I recently met our children's half-siblings, via the sperm donor, for a hectic, upheaval-on-many-level weekend which I would love to write much about, but, alas, am disinclined. My kids are almost 9 and in a few years more, might read my blog. My protection of their privacy seems even more important to me than it did when I started this venture. I also have no desire to risk offending any of the mothers of the half-siblings who might read or may one day read this blog.

Some of the half-sibling mothers want to write a book about our collective experience which I think is a wonderful idea. My partner's idea was a chapter per mom and perhaps some input for kids. Another mom had the idea that the kids could do a sequel in ten years time from their perspective as they head off to college. One mom was against the idea entirely. The dilemma, should this ever come to fruition, was what to do about her. In one way, she is very integral to the whole story. On the other hand, she was disinclined to disclose to her kids their real relationship to their half-siblings. She also seemed very disappointed about how the weekend played out, about which I will not elaborate. You see: I have to protect not only my kids privacy; I must also preserve their relationships with their half-siblings.

Aside from one kid who may have Asperger's syndrome, all the half-siblings got along. They interacted pretty well with one another. Some knew others better than others, including for years. Others knew each other for shorter periods and some met for the first time. We all may never meet again altogether. We might. We will probably get together in smaller groups in various combinations. We do this, we moms, for the kids. So that the kids will have these relationships if they want them. They may not all seek to be close to one another. They may have favorites. They may want to never know these other kids at all. It's all fine.

My kids knew a boy and a girl who are full siblings for a number of years. The kids got along well. My daughter especially bonded with the girl who has a similar temperament. My daughter bonded closely with another half-sister of the same temperament as my daughter and the girl we already knew. The second half-sister and my daughter are six months apart. They have declared each other one an other's best friends. My daughter says she feels as strongly about the half-sister we first meet. You see how hard this is to write.

Yet another half-sister bonded well with a just-met half-brother. My son liked all all the kids. He declared he liked having half-brothers. He played nicely with them all and they are all younger than him. He was especially nice to the boy with Aspergers, saying matter-of-factly, "Oh, I just get that guy." I was proud of him. Very proud of my son and how far we've come and how far he's come.

For obvious reasons, it is hard to write more. Adult relationships are always more complicated.

I can and will keep my blog. My topics will still include snippets of my life which, of course, includes my family but I will try to be vigilantly discreet.

The topical evil's demise

2011-05-03T23:11:00.003-04:00

Bin Laden was killed by American special forces the other day. The world knows and many rejoiced. On Facebook, I posted that I was glad he was dead. While I like to think I wish no one dead, I am glad this guy is dead. All my no-means-bones and liberal-righteous-friends think I am evil for being glad of any soul's demise. I am glad he is dead. Really.

He sought and succeeded in producing the death of my country men and women. He wanted to impose a medieval shariah law and the restoration of a medieval caliphate in Europe, North Africa and Asia. He said he was an aesthetic jihadi. He maybe was a mujaheddin warrior against the Soviets. He was a man without a county. He died in bed with a bullet and I am not sad. I am glad.

I can elaborate. I can espouse and expand and extrapolate. I am glad that if there is a God or an Allah (which is God in Arabic), Bin Laden has met God. I hope Bin Laden is judged (if judgement happens) as he would judge others. I wish him no harm; I am glad he is dead; I hope the afterlife, if it exists, is what he deserves and judges him accordingly.

The P.S. to this is that I googled "bin Laden dead" and his death pictures were popping up as was a "cleaned up / photo-shopped" version and the death pictures disappeared with each re-load page command. Weird and scary.

Pop goes the weasel

2011-04-29T21:42:00.004-04:00

Today, I went to the dojo for my morning kickboxing class. The dojo was dark but the office was lit. I thought I might be the only person there. Class size has dwindled since the shihan's arrest. I saw his daughter and his wife. I a bit alarmed but proceded to the dojo where I saw two other students. As I was putting on my belt, I thought I heard the shihan's voice in the office but said to myself that couldn't be since I was told he was barred from there.

As I was tying my bandanna around my head (I sweat a lot), I turned around and there was the shihan in the flesh complementing me about my progress up the belt hierarchy. I gulped and channeled professional, neutral face, non-pulsed body. He freaked me out. It was like I'd seen a ghost. I was civil. He attempted warmth.

I participated in the class which seemed a blur. I could not focus. I could not hit the bags hard enough. I don't remember much of the class. Then it was over. The shihan had been gone for most of the class. He slipped away about 10 minutes after it started.

After class, I spoke to the other female student, a 27 year old graduate student who informed me she just signed a new 14 month contract. I disclosed I wished I had not seen the shihan. She said she missed him. I said I was conflicted about staying at the dojo and that seeing him upset me. She understood but was there for the long haul. She agreed with me that it would be better for everyone if the instructors inherited the school or started their own school.

My daughter wants to take karate through the end of the school year. She is not endangered. I don't want to upset her. I will let her attend through June. I will miss my martial arts training. I think I've decided that we need to leave.

I also decided to call the prosecutor's office to find out if the shihan has violated any conditions of his bail. I told that he was barred from the dojo. While that may only apply if children are present, who's to say my kids wouldn't come there and hang out waiting for me while I take a class, as they have done in the past. I was not expecting to see the creep. It freaked me out. Still does right now.

Perverts in the midst

2011-04-26T20:57:00.012-04:00

In my town, there is a dojo where I take kickboxing. I've been going there for over 3 years. My kids have attended off and on too. My daughter is a current student. My son is not. I've written about it here and in my other blog Hot Arms.

I like kickboxing. I like learning moves: defensive and offensive. Punching and kicking bags rocks my world. Sparring is a physical chess game and challenges me in so many ways.

Last month, the shihan of the dojo was arrested first for aggravated sexual contact with a 16 year old. Two weeks later, he was arrested for aggravated sexual assault on two 15 year olds ten years apart. This has shocked and upset my little world and my little town. Friends who go to the dojo have pulled out. People have accused the girls of lying. People say they always knew there was something off about the man. It goes back and forth.

I was and am still torn. The shihan is barred from the dojo and from being around kids including his own. My daughter is conceivably not interesting sexually to him but he's not there so that's a relief. I don't want to give money to a possible sex offender. He has not been convicted. I like the young men who work there as instructors and don't want to contribute to their loss of livelihood. I like working out. I don't want to go back to being a white belt and the dojo's around the corner. I am selfish and I am torn.

Women I know who've been sexually assaulted have quit the dojo. I can compartmentalize my life and separate how I feel about the shihan from how I feel about the men who work for him. I can also differentiate between my own personal experience (with sexual assault) and the experience of others. Because of my job, I cannot associate with criminals but he's not been convicted. I've dealt with sex offenders for my entire career and in terms of creep factor, the shihan is of small and obvious ick. He's got nothing on the real vermin I've encountered.

The dojo may fold. The boy instructors may or may not start their own school. I would follow the boy instructors. I am wigged out by the presence of the shihan's wife who runs a few classes and the business. I freak out when I see her. I don't want to blame her but I do. I think she somehow must of known the shihan was a pig, even if she didn't know he was a pervert, albeit not yet convicted.

For now, the shihan has not yet been indicted. He hasn't been seen in town. I and others at the dojo take it a day at a time. We all reel from the staggering sense of betrayal.

Religion does matter, culturally (at least)

2011-04-23T16:38:00.004-04:00

My kids are woefully ignorant of Judaism and Christianity. We are Unitarian Univeralists and, although Unitarian Univeralism grew out of Protestant Christianity, most UUs are not Christian. My congregation does not teach Judeo-Christian religion / stories until the 5th grade. My kids are in 3rd grade. My kids have no idea who Moses or anyone in the Old Testament is. They know something about Jesus even they don't know much. We celebrate Christmas but only as a matter of tradition. Neither my partner or I are Christian. Our congregation celebrates Passover with a Seder largely because many congregants are formerly Jewish or culturally Jewish or in a mixed marriage. My kids cannot associate Passover with any thing except that they know it's part of Jewish tradition. They don't know the story. Very sad.

My kids understand Jesus was a baby at Christmas and on a cross as an adult. They think the people who put Jesus on the cross were mean. They have no contextual understanding. They wonder if Jesus has email(Jesus@heaven.org?) or is on Facebook. They ponder whether he knows Santa Claus. I couldn't even listen to something they muttered about Jesus' blood. They wanted to know why Jesus died and I replied for people's sins and then they wanted to know what sins were. It wasn't fair, Jesus had to die for people's wrongdoings and killing him with a cross was just mean. I tried to explain that he wasn't killed with the cross but rather on the cross. The kids thought it strange any one would wear a cross since the cross killed Jesus. When they asked what happened after Jesus died, I said he rose from the dead. My son immediately deduced Jesus was a zombie. The former Catholic in me cringed.

Last week while looking in my public library for The Ten Commandments, I stumbled upon Ben-Hur. Turns out the library does not carry The Ten Commandments. For real? In a town with a population which is 30 percent Jewish? Ok.

While watching Ben-Hur, My partner and I laughed at the quasi homo-erotic scenes. Nothing overt but it's there. (I can't wait for Spartacus.) Jesus has a very minor role in this movie. Ben-Hur is Jewish and is much put upon by the Romans who eventually adopt him a Roman because he rescues a commander while serving as a galley slave aboard a ship. (It's fictional!) Ben-Hur eventually returns to Israel where he runs into his old girlfriend who has begun to follow Jesus (who previously gave Ben-Hur some water against Roman wishes after a march through the sand dunes.) The girlfriend and Ben-Hur try to take Ben-Hur's leprous mother and sister to see Jesus but Jesus is on his way to die. Ben-Hur gives Jesus water and after he dies, the mother and sister are cured. They are now all Christians. End of movie. The chariot scene was still the best part.

My son denounced the Romans as very mean people. He is beginning to think they are as bad as Nazis without any understanding what Nazis or Romans really were; but he was not upset they killed Jesus so much as he was upset that the Romans were out to get Ben-Hur time after time. Jesus had a very minor role. He is killed. Ben-Hur survived the desert march, the galley ships and the best chariot race ever filmed. No wonder he was emotionally vested more in Ben-Hur. Other than a passing sadness about his fate, Jesus didn't register with my son.

I see now that when I saw Ben-Hur as a child, it was colored by my Roman Catholic education and daily experience. Jesus was Jesus! The Son of God. For my son, Jesus was a minor player in an exciting movie. Of course, this would be the perception of someone not raised Christian. Well, at least we've begun a discussion about Jesus which is a start. I am hoping to give the kids more insight into Jesus when we watch The King of Kings, but I really am not looking forward to explaining the difference between Jesus' resurrection and zombies returning from the dead.

I am really looking forward to watching The Ten Commandments with the kids. This at least on some levels hews to the biblical account of Moses' life. It is larger than life and one the best lines in movie history is Yul Brenner as Ramses pronouncing, "So let it be written, so let it be done." The kids will at least have some context for Seders.

Then we can move onto less spectacular biblical movies like Esther and Samson and Delilah. I don't expect my kids to read the Bible. I want them to be familiar with some of its stories because there are so many cultural and literary references that they will never get unless they obtain some knowledge of the Bible. The movies will not give them a deep understanding but they will at least make them more biblical literate than they are now.

One interesting thing about my kids' religious perception is that they are non-Christians in what is a mostly still a Christian nation. My kids will see Jesus and Christianity in ways Hindus or Jews do, rather than the way I was raised. For my perceptions of Jesus, see here: (my-own-personal-jesus)

We will see where my kids' understanding and perception and yes, beliefs about religion will go.

A football (American) moment

2011-03-22T21:52:00.005-04:00

My son plays flag football in the town recreational league. He likes hanging out with other boys. My daughter wanted to play but 30 seconds into her experiment, she was knocked down by a bigger, possibly 5th grade boy. And she was done with this sport.

I've always thought that my son would learn most of his "male"-oriented skills from women so I am glad he loves football and is learning it from ment. He runs in sweat pants too big and is not sure where he is supposed to be but I don't care. I'd like him to be able to play pickup football with his friends as well as follow football on TV (if he wants to follow it). He doesn't seem to mind the loud-mouthed coach yelling or the "drop and give me ten" commands. My son is slight and slim I don't want him playing American football much beyond where he now does but I want him to be familiar with this American sport.

Ok, not scintilllating but this is my observation today.

It was 21 years ago today

2011-03-17T21:44:00.007-04:00

That I met an Irish guy at the St. Patrick's Day Parade in New York City where I had gone for the day with some friends. We marched in the parade. It was my first time marching. I did not know these friends well but they were on a direct bus route to New York City 10 minutes from my house and had offered to let me stay the night in their small suburban apartment where other people had camped out the night before and would be crashing that night as well.

I thought some of them knew the guy who we met in an Irish pub. No. The common demoninator was he was Irish as in from Ireland and so were some of my friends. He seemed like a nice fellow. Some one knew someone he knew. He took a liking to me and came back to New Jersey with us all even though he lived in the Bronx or Brooklyn. I forget which.

It was late when we all, about 2 dozen of us, converged upon the small apartment. I curled up on a borrowed sleeping bag. I was slightly drunk. I could not sleep on the floor in an unfamiliar place with people I barely knew. I decided I would go home. I was not drunk. Just a buzz remained. Quietly, I left the apartment and the apartment building. As I entered my car, I saw the Irish guy from Brooklyn or the Bronx exit the apartment building. He told me to wait up.

I told him I was tired and wanted to go home. He said he wanted to talk, just for a bit. I invited him into my small Honda Civic. We chatted. He said he wanted to kiss me. I wanted to go home but we made out. Then I said I was tired. Then he was on top of me. Then he said I had to finish what I had started and he had a choke hold on me and he choked me and I couldn't breathe. I could blow him or fuck him. Struggling to breathe, I chose fuck. He had a condom. He fucked me. He raped me.

When he was done, he was surprised how quickly I dressed. He wanted to kiss some more. I told him I just wanted to go home. He said he would call me. I meekly said, "Sure." He dressed and left. He waved good-bye cheerily.

I drove 10 minutes home. I took a shower and scrubbed myself raw. I put this out of my mind.

A few years later, in therapy, I decribed the encounter and when my therapist mentioned the word "rape" I was surprised. I was shocked. It took years to acknowledge. But the therapist was right. It was rape. The Irish guy was a rapist.

This has nothing to do with my being gay. I dated men a few years before I came out. My relationships with men were consensual and fine if uninspiring. The Irish guy raped me. Pure and simple. I said no. I was tired. I was not into him. He choked and restrained me. He raped me. It was St. Patrick's Day 1990. 21 years ago today.

State of the world and the US.

2011-02-26T21:18:00.003-05:00

The world's aflame in the Middle East. Tyrants tumble and things may change. Khaddafi slaughters peaceful protesters. The military is in charge in Egypt. I'm not sure what's afoot in Tunisia. Yemen and Bahrain are on hold. Palestine, Morocco and Saudi Arabia want to not be on hold. Al Jezeera is covering. The world is watching.

In the US, the Wisconsin governor is duped by someone impersonating an oligarch mogul to whom he like a sycophant kowtows. We are not the land of the free. We are the land-of-the-free-to-exploit-you. The oligarchs think the average worker makes too much. He or she should be poor. There should be no middle class.

I want to write a better post. Alas, I am aghast.

Has a push back finally started?

2011-02-21T18:25:00.003-05:00

Has something finally started in the United States? The Wisconsin public employees are protesting Governor Scott Walker's proposed bill to remove their right to collective bargain. The 14 members of the Wisconsin state legislature are in hiding. The New York Times' Paul Krugman argues in this past weekend's OpEd that even if you disagree with unions, they are the only bastion committed to fighting for rights for the working and middle classes (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/21/opinion/21krugman.html?_r=1&src=me&ref=general).

People are protesting in Ohio. Here in NewJersey, the one of the largest unions in the state, the CWA, has announced a march for Friday in the state capital in support of the workers in Wisconsin. I am hoping we are beginning to reclaim our republic from the rich oligarchs who seek to enrich themselves further at the hands of the middle and working classes. I at least am watching it all closely.

Protests abroad, why not here?

2011-02-18T16:39:00.006-05:00

The people of Egypt after demonstrating for over 3 weeks, last week toppled their dictator. They rejoiced in the streets . The days ahead are uncertain now that the army is in charge. I hope the army does what Turkey's army has done in the past: impose a secular, democratic (hopefully more than Turkey's) republic. There are protests raging now from Libya to Bahrain to Iram. The world waits and watches. Wondering what's next.

Here in the United States, we also watch, (certainly not on Al-Jazeera as the Arab world does) but we hold back. Mubarrak was our ally; we are worried about the Muslim Brotherhood; we don't want another Iran; what will it mean to Israel? There are no bold statements of support. There is nothing like the celebrations we saw when the Berlin Wall fell and the Soviet Union fell. Our president who advocated change only offers tepid support. He just wants all those darn young troublemakers to go home. The right wing is hoping Obama really says or does something that it can use against him.

I watch Al-Jazeera in English on the internet because I cannot get it through my cable provider. But then I only watch the local news on TV. At home, I subscribe to the NY Times and a local newspaper because I still like the feel and smell of newsprint. I listen to NPR (National Public Radio) but most of my news gathering is online: CNN, FOX News, BBC, The Huffington Post, some Evangelical Christian news sites and Al-Jazaeera. I check on FOX and the Evangelicals because I want to know what the wing nuts think. I watch and read BBC and Al-Jazeera to have some perspective not American based or biased. In short, I am a news junky and follow the news rabidly.

In my years of news following, I am struck by the power of common people. By people demonstrating peacefully and violently for their rights. About how a critical mass of people can often bring a desired change or harden the hard hearts of the dictators who punish with even more brutality and repression. For every fall of the Soviet Union, there is a Tiananamen Square massacre. For every fall of Suharto in Indonesia, there is a clamp down on the Green Movement in Iran. Triumph and betrayal so cruel

Then there are the regular every day protests which are meant to address wrongs or rights but which are not meant to topple regimes. Work strikes in France, shut downs in Greece over monetary policy. Some get violent but the power-that-be in those countries listen. There is none of this in the U.S.

The last major protest I can remember in the United States was in Seattle against the IMF (International Monetary Fund) which was over 10 years ago. Before that, there were AIDS related protests during the 1980s. Some groups hold marches on Washington, but that is more to show support or to counter a specific issue like abortion, gay rights, gun rights, etc. There are no spontaneous, we're not going to take it any more protests.

Of course, there is the Tea Party. The Tea Party which started out as a grass roots effort has been co-opted by the fundamentalists in the Republican party. The Tea Party itself is now funded by very wealthy donors who in favor of keeping themselves wealthy and tax-free at the expense of every Americans. The rich Republicans and FOX News convince the masses that the problem is with the East Coast and West Coast "elites" aka the progressives. The rich Republicans convince the masses that getting universal health care is socialist and therefore bad. They convince them that this would mean the government is interfering with their rights and choices. And so on.

Last week, I watched Michael Moore's movie Sicko which is about health care in the United States as demonstrated by cases in which health care was denied people who had health insurance who sometimes died as a result. It contrasted our cobbled together inadequate system with in other countries like Canada, United Kingdom and France. Places deemed socialist and horrible by the American right wing. "Sicko" made me angry. It made me want to move to Canada. Of course, it made even Cuba look better than the U.S. and I wouldn't move there. (Speaking of countries run by dictators.)

So, why don't Americans now protest? Why are not protesting our miserable health care system? Why are we not protesting massive lay-offs at the cost of corporate profit? Why do we tolerate the rich paying less and less taxes? Why is it ok to bail out banks but close libraries? Why are are willing to cut benefits to public employees instead of demanding better benefits for all workers? What is wrong with us?

We are more concerned about the Super Bowl than Egypt. We think guns don't kill. We think government is bad. We think every on should sink or swim on their own. We think of ourselves as individuals before we think of collective good. We think the world owes us something because we are American. We think the poor are lazy. We think the unemployed had it coming. We think those with good employment benefits don't deserve them. We think it's ok for corporate leaders to make obscene amounts of money. That's just a start.

The right wing has convinced the average Evangelical Christian American of these ideas. The average Evangelical Christian American is poorly educated. He believes in the Bible as literal truth. He thinks the world is 6,000 years old. He believes in Creationism. He does not think there is global warming. He can't identify where England or France are much less Afghanistan or Iraq. He thinks all Muslims are terrorists or should be treated as such. He thinks the government should control a woman's reproduction. He thinks the government should deny minorities such as gays and immigrants rights. He thinks the government is too intrusive in his own live and it should stay out. He has a God-given right to own as many guns as he wants. He thinks English is the only permissible language. He thinks labor unions are bad. He thinks corporate America knows best and should be able to make as much money as it wants but should pay as little in taxes as possible. He thinks America is the best country on earth and all other countries as inferior. He's always proud to be American, no matter what.

Most Americans are still white. Most Americans are Christian. There are more Evangelical Christians in America than other denominations. Most of the Evangelical Christians are reactionary. They oppose what is not them. They support rights for themselves. They support corporate greed. They buy into every thing FOX News tells them. They are bought by the rich Republicans who cynically use them as allies.

They are happy with the status quo. They don't want things to change. They want to return to the past. A past of their own. When they were the only kind of American there was.

I hope some of my country men and women wake up. America is becoming less white, less Christian dominated, less like the America the Evangelical Christians desire. I love to see protests against corporate greed, endless war, attacks on the poor, closing of libraries. I'd like to see demonstrations that get the attention of Corporate America. Rallies for more benefits (not less), more wealth equity. I'd like a big shake up. I don't want a revolution against my country. I want a revolution against Corporate America and politics as presently done. I want a shake up in the Congress. I want a real grass roots movement that gives power to the people, not the corporations or the lobbyists or the mega-churches.

I want real change. Like the kind Obama promised but so far has not delivered. I want the progressives to be bold in their demands. I want to fight back against all this right wing madness. I want good schools. I want safe streets. I want social justice for the poor. I want good health care to be a universal right. I want good benefits. I want my country at peace. I want the arts supported. I want workers protected. I want the environment protected. I want abortions to be safe, legal and rare. I want the unemployed working. I want our infrastructure rebuilt so its once again sound and strong. I want all American youth to be mandated to serve their country. I want affordable higher education for all. I want the food system to be safe. I want agri-businesses labeled as the monopolies they are and broken up. I want every CEO to spend a day a year with the lowest paid employee. I want all political donations to be transparent. I want to marry the girl I love. I want my kids to have good futures. I want to be proud to be American. I want a real change. A progressive revolution on the 1960s scale.

I want to join in a rally in Times Square and camp out until my demands are met. I hope there is some change in the air here in the United States of America. I want my country to change.

PS I wish all the best of peace, freedom and prosperity to Egypt and Tunisia and all the other countries where people peacefully protest.

Roles in the lesbian community and in my family

2011-01-23T20:54:00.011-05:00

One of my readers recently left this comment in response to my blog post about the movie The Kids Are Alright.

I saw the movie recently. I was curios about your opinion and I got the answer for some of my questions. But one thing is still not clear for me: is this common among lesbian couples that one of them is more like the 'man' and the other is more like the 'woman' of the family? Nic was always in suites

and short hair cut, while Jules was more feminine style. I have seen this in other movies as well. Same with the gays, one of them is more masculine and the other is more into fashion and etc

It's funny but I haven't thought about these stereotypes in years but it's probably worth revisiting this. I don't think I've ever blogged about it so it's interesting to me.

On lesbian websites, Nic's character has been been referred to as "soft butch" (ie more

"masculine") and Jules is referred to as a not too glamorous femme (ie more "feminine" or womanly.) This is of course in line with what my reader observed.

In the early days, ie the 1950s, 1960s, prior to gay liberation and the feminist movement of the 1970s, many lesbian couples fell into the butch / femme roles because it reflected what was around them in society. I knew a few butch / femme couples when I first came out in the late 1980s but the roles were not as prevalent has they had been. I'd see them in the clubs and at social gatherings. I'd see rarely some single lesbians who were into one of these roles. Often, the butch one was the dominant one but not necessarily. There were always those women who were "femme in the street and butch in the sheets" as the saying went.

When I came out in the late 1980s, society was post feminism. I remember that most women considered themselves as having evolved beyond the perceived "limited" roles of butch /femme. Most women were some where in the middle. Some looked sporty and some looked less sporty but they all looked like every day, regular girls, not too girly and certainly not butch, a look which was actually scorned. Or so that's what I recall. Women who were too femme seemed to incur scorn too. But, I can only really speak for myself and my family.

My father's youngest sister is gay and is very feminine. She's 18 months older than me. She's always dated women who looked quite butch. The 1980s were tough for her because she is so femme identified. It got easier for her as time went on. It was always easy for her in the workaday world because she was not pegged as gay. She passed easily as straight. To her credit, though my aunt has always been out at work, even in the 1980s when very few gay and lesbians were out because it was so easy to lose one's job.

Me, I am not a girly girl. I dress as a woman and am happy to be a woman. I wear dresses at important events and in the summer when it's hot. I prefer nice shirts and pants for work and jeans and casual clothes on the weekend. My partner is the same way. We both prefer to be comfortable but look like women and act like women.

My hair is short but fashionable. (Were it to let my hair grow as I have done in the past, it would be bushy, wild and unmanageable. I have very thick, curly, non-conforming hair.) My partner has thin wavy hair hair she keeps short. She has worn it long at times but it looks goofy. (Sorry, dear.) She just looks better in a shortish, neat hair style.

My partner works in the medical profession. She runs a health center. She still sees patients but is more of an administrator. I work in law enforcement. Our incomes are similar. Neither feels her job is more important. We both do important work. We each support the other's career. We contribute to the household finances similarly.

I hate cleaning. My partner does too. She's better at it than me. She chides me about this. We have a cleaning lady who comes every 2 weeks and performs magic. (I'd have her come every week or every day if we could afford it!)

My partner is a better cook. I am more willing to experiment but that often leads to disaster. My partner follows recipes better than me. My partner hates the way I wash the dishes. Thank goodness, we have a dish washer. She is a better dish washer than me. She does laundry more than me. She tidies up more than me. I am lazier than her! This has nothing to do with roles. I'd probably be even lazier if I were with a man because I would resent that he would expect me to clean and to cook.

I do a lot of the outdoor work. I like to garden. Nothing makes me as happy as tending to my plants, caring for my flowers and nurturing the vegetables. My partner is more eager to mow the lawn than I am. I am more content to mow the lawn however now that we have a gas mower rather than an electrical one. (The electrical one was lent us by my partner's sister and I hated it at once because of its long extension cord. Well, I was done with it when I ran over the electrical cord and nearly electrocuted myself as I had feared.) Neither of us has an assigned role.

In terms of the kids, we parent equally. I work from home a few days a week and can take the kids to activities and spare them after school care. I was home with them 7 months when they were babies (after my partner's initial 3 months with them.) I worked part-time until they were 5 when they started kindergarten. My schedule has always been more flexible which is good for kids. (This will change soon, unfortunately, with a new position I have taken in a new city. However, the flexibility should return in a few months.) My partner's job means she cannot be as flexible as I have been able. We are also thankful to my mother who comes and stays with us once a week.

I am more strict than my partner due to my upbringing and nature. We continually strive for consistency and fairness. I don't want my kids to be miscreants or criminals. I want them to be decent, caring, morally upright citizens. My partner does too. She's just more lenient than me. This has nothing to do with us as a couple but more to do with who we are inherently. I hate chaos and disorder. She is more tolerant of it. I am learning to relax and let go. She is toughening up.

So, in my family, we are largely egalitarian. We are a woman-run household of 2 female adults in a marriage-like relationship and 2 children: 1 boy and 1 girl who seem to be ok. We have masculine role models for our son who does thrive on his interactions with men and follow our daughter's lead as to the men she wants to interact with. We have men in our lives, happily. Men are half the population. Our son is male. We love him. My sexual / affectational orientation has nothing to do with my friendships with men and nothing to do with my love for my son.

My partner and I love each other. I don't want to be with a man or with a woman who looks or acts like a man. I like women. I like women who look and act like women. I am a woman who likes women. I have nothing against men but I prefer relationships with women. Hence, my partner is a woman. I am a lesbian. I am happy I can live the life I was born to live. So, for me it's not about masculine or feminine. It's about what will make me happy and what will best give me a good life.

I hope this provides some insight for my curious reader. Thanks for asking.

(PS. This is obviously not my family.)

"A perfect lesbian family"?

2011-01-04T21:48:00.008-05:00

One of the things that struck me from the movie The Kids Are Alright was the daughter saying she felt pressured to be a kid in a "perfect lesbian family." I was left wondering if my kids notice any unspoken pressure due to having two moms.

At some point, my son asked who his "dad' was and we explained he had a donor. He was not satisfied and asks questions infrequently but consistently about his donor father. He feels no pressure to perform because he has two moms. He has ADHD and moms distract him from Legos, Bay Blades and computer / Wii games. Moms are annoying. That's what moms are. Oh, and most of the donor half-siblings he's met are girls. He only knows one boy and the girls are ok but they're girls. One of the girls has two moms. No big deal.

My daughter could fall into this conundrum of being pressured to be better because she has two moms. She is a perfectionist. Her room is the neatest, tidiest place in the house. She gets 100s on tests, check plus pluses on schoolwork and gets upset when she can't find the Limmeny Snicket book she borrowed from her school library. She could care less about the donor but she groves on having half-siblings from other families, especially the girls. She likes being a big sister. She is keenly aware she has two moms and that makes her different. She, like me and her aunt, pressures herself to perform well. In this regard, I worry more about my daughter than my son.

My son says he wants to date girls in college and eventually marry a woman he loves. My daughter says she prefers hanging out with girls but apologizes for having had a male spouse one time in the Game of Life. (Most of the time, she picks female partner / spouses.) Once, my daughter was upset when a boy from last years' basketball team (who is now in her class) told her her moms were gay. (Which she promptly interpreted as "loser dorks." Or the lamest of the lame.)

My daughter is a feminist. Girls are empowered. (Why wouldn't they be?, says my daughter) The world "so" needs girl president of the United States, she thinks. ("What do you mean there was never a girl president???"she queries. in disbelief)

My son thinks girls are ok, but mostly thinks they are lots of trouble who take lots of up of time. Except sometimes when he plays with his sister. Or he wants a cuddle from his moms.

So, all this means neither of my kids is obsessed with the elusion of being part of the perfect lesbian family. I am glad. Anything else would be too hard. All I want for them (my highest goal) is for my kids to want to hang out with me and for them to be people I don't mind hanging out with. Easy but not without issue. And for now, they're only 8 years old.

The kids may be alright but the moms have issues. (But that's Hollywood.)

2010-12-29T19:18:00.009-05:00

Last night, my partner and I watched the movie The Kids Are Alright. Parts of the movie were funny and resounded truly. We both enjoyed the Annette Benning character, Nic. We smiled at each other as she admonished her daughter on the importance of sending thank you note which you should never, she pointed out, start with an apology.

There was much to like about this movie. Successful, middle-aged, attractive lesbian moms who have two pretty normal teenage kids. True to life domestic scenes. Wine loving foodies. California sunshine. It was nice to see a movie about a family akin to mine (which lacks California sunshine, alas.)

My partner and I liked that the kids sought out their donor father. We recently came into contact with some of our kids' sperm donor half-siblings. We were curious how the contact would play out. We knew the movie had adultery between the donor, Paul, played by Mark Ruffalo, and the other mom, Jules, played by Julieanne Moore. We had an open mind.

We were bothered by how easily Jules betrayed her marriage and family with a man, who although nice looking, was a self-centered jerk. A male jerk. The movie spends lots of time on the hetero-sex and makes lesbo-sex look pretty lame and unable to happen unless the women look at gay male porn. This is all wrong in so many ways.

Why did Jules cheat? We were perplexed. It's not like this guy was a wonderful guy. She seemed a smart woman who would not want to risk her family's happiness. Jules is not the bread-winner. Perhaps she needed some diversion. Adultery is an interesting plot element. Perhaps that's it.

Why did Jules cheat with a man? Would I be as annoyed if she had an affair with the sperm donor's wife? Probably not. It would at least be an original idea. I guess mainstream movies are not ready to cope with dykes without dick. Gotta get the hetero-sex in. Gotta show it as more fun than lesbian sex. It's pitiful. Or is she a latent bi-sexual? Pitiful, but ok, it could happen.

Why did Jules have sex with her kids' sperm donor? This is somewhat understandable (if not plausible.) She says she sees her kids in his face and in certain gestures. She is intrigued and wants to know this previous unknown.

The other disturbing element is the son, Laser. What a stupid name. There's a whole segment about how the daughter is named after Joni Mitchell. How did the boy get such a stupid name?No tales there. Why is this all around athlete hanging around with a drug using loser? Are the boys gay? The moms think so but Laser says he's not, so the subject is dropped. Annoying.

Why can't the lesbians get it on? Oh, I forgot - lesbian bed death. Why do they need to watch gay male porn? Jules says it's because lesbian porn is between straight women and not real. I am puzzled. Gay male porn can be erotic as any other porn, but only that will do it? Really? Really? (Lesbian porno using real lesbians does exist.)

I guess it's too much to ask for the lesbian moms to like sex with each other, to respect each other enough not to cheat with the first sperm donor who drops into their lives and to not give their son a stupid name.

This movie had a lot of potential and we looked forward to watching it. It just left me, well, frustrated. I just wanted a normal, happily functioning family with lesbian parents. Silly me.

PS. I cheered when Nic told Paul to go make his own family and to leave her family alone. I did like that Jules asked for forgiveness. I liked also that forgiveness was granted as Nic placed her hand on Jules', after their son said they were too old to break up.

PSS one the best quotations ever Nic to Paul, "I need your advice (on parenting) like I need a dick up my butt."

PSSS why are their named quasi-masculine? Nic and Jules. Why not Laura and Jessica, Sophie and Gertrude, Beatrice and Brittany? Why couldn't they use feminine names????

Post Christmas snow

2010-12-27T16:05:00.002-05:00

Post holiday no'easter brought a foot and a half of snow. Kids wanted to help shovel but mostly played and made a mess. We have a lot of property to shovel. I am spent. Luckily we were all off from school and work and didn't have to worry about that.

There should be a certain homeyness here but instead there is heightened claustrophobia. Fortunately, the kids discovered playing in snow is more fun with neighborhood kids than with just each other or with their moms.

I am amazed how physically exhausting so much physical work, shoveling, is. Still tired even after a nap.

It was 30 years ago today...

2010-12-08T20:50:00.003-05:00

I was studying in a lounge in the college student center vaguely aware of the college radio station playing non-descript music in the back ground. Suddenly, the music ceased and I could hear breathing on the overhead speakers. I and another girl looked up. Everyone else continued working.

There was taping, followed by soft sobs from the speaker. A female voice said quietly, "He's been shot. John Lennon's been shot." She sniffled and then a more authoritative, young male voice took over and repeated that John Lennon had been shot outside his building in New York City. It just came over the wire.

A Beatles song quickly played. I don't recall which one. I couldn't study any more; I was stunned. It made no sense. People spoke to each other confirming what they had just heard. I remember thinking I needed to get home. I couldn't get up.

Sometime later, the male announcer said that John Lennon was dead. I felt weirdly numb in disbelief. I gathered my books, put them in my back pack and began my long walk home in the dark.

When I got home, my brother asked if I knew. I said I did. The radio would not stop playing Beatles and Lennon music. I couldn't stand it. I went to bed. My room was dark, cold and quiet.

ADHD, hormones and bad mojo

2010-11-24T18:45:00.003-05:00

Despite intending to write about our expanded family, I am drawn to write about my immediate family. Because of my son's ADHD, we switched schools at the beginning of October from a charter school to the local public school. We met with the child study team at the end of October and are waiting to reconvene to hopefully get him an IEP (Individual Education Plan).

We struggle daily and it takes its toll. I am in parent-of-special-needs-kid fatigue. I know there are families out with kids who have greater needs and issues but sometimes it just feels like you're banging your head against the wall. When a teacher calls about my son's behavior, I still cringe but want to shout, "Tell that to the Child Study Team."

We do what we are supposed to do. He have a psychiatrist for his medications and psychologist to try to improve his behavior. He was seen recently by a neurologist who confirmed my son has "classic" ADHD and nothing more. A doctor every week or so. Lots of money. Out of pocket. Lots of time.

My son was recently evaluated for OT (occupational therapy) at the recommendation of the psychiatrist, the neurologist and the pediatrician. Insurance has denied my son OT. We are uncertain if it will pay for the evaluation. The kid needs social skills as well. I guess as long as we pay out of pocket, we can do it. The cheapest specialist is the psychologist who charges $175 per hour. What would we do if my partner and I did not have good jobs? If my partner did not have good health insurance which partially reimburses some of the costs? How do other families cope?

The stress on my partner and my daughter is great as well. His behavior effects us all hard. I wish sometimes we could all have a week away from him. My relationship with my partner is under intense pressure because of this. She says I have bad mojo and I think she is too inconsistent. My irrational side screams, "Why does he always have to be a jerk!"

He can be a nice boy. He can be sweet. Those moments are more frequent than they were in the spring but not often enough. I know he cannot help some of what he does. I know he feels bad about his behavior. The days when he is just a normal kid are such a relief. But then this is followed by a day of defiance and annoying behavior. A couple of days of normalcy would be divine.

For my part, I am starting menopause. Two months without a period have been followed by a period lasting a month only stopping (hopefully maybe today) because my gynecologist put me on hormone pills for 10 days. My period will probably resume when this holiday is over. Joy oh joy. This I presume is why my temper, my patience and my compassion have been short. Very short. Especially with my son.

I will try to use my hormone holiday to gain some perspective. To get some good mojo.

Briefly, a venture in family expansion

2010-11-19T21:24:00.002-05:00

It really is a brave new world. We met with another sperm donor family. Will write about more later.

Family expansion

2010-11-17T22:05:00.002-05:00

Family. We think we know what it means. Often, we conjure heterosexual couples with children. Sometimes, in our scope are grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. Maybe we include distant cousins, ancestors, villages, the old world.

If we are gay, we may include lovers, ex-lovers and friends as family. We may do this if we have be rejected by our own families; we may do this as well as even if we are well loved by our own families.

If we partner with or marry someone, our family expands to include the beloved's family. We are suddenly "related" to people not of our choosing who we may or may not like. But, who are now family.

My family is meeting with another family from my kids' sperm donor this weekend. Our definition of family will expand. My kids will have another half-sibling. This child has a name and mom and a life all their own. Now, our lives will converge willy-or-nilly. This is good.

The nice things about meeting the sperm-donor families is that we find we like the other families well. We find we have much in common and might have been friends without the biological bonds of our kids.

In a way, sperm donor related families are like families in a shot-gun wedding: it is strange to wake up and find you are "related" to people you do not know and had no idea you'd ever know. I think it's better because in a round-about way we have chosen each other because we all chose the same man who would give our kids half their genes.

The pursuit of sperm donor siblings

2010-11-15T21:54:00.003-05:00

My partner gave birth to our kids using an anonymous sperm donor (who was my first choice for donor). Our kids know this. For over 4 years, we have been in contact with another family who used the same donor. We meet regularly as schedules permit. Our kids recognize the other family as their half-siblings and like / love those half-siblings. Through that family, we know of, but have only met once, another family.

Recently, another family via the same donor contacted that other family and we reached out to this new family, which is in contact with 2 other families. Confusing, I know. I obfuscate deliberately. Suffice it to say, our kids know some half-siblings via their donor father and are about to know some more.

If I were one of my kids, I would want to know every thing I could about my biological relatives, especially since the donor is anonymous and currently, unknowable. However, I would also be worried about the feelings of my non-bio mom. I'd want to make sure she did not feel betrayed or threatened. Hence, I, the curious non-bio mom, have pursued this matter.

I think having a network of biological relatives may be even more important since the parents of these donor sperm-produced kids are older. And the relatives are older. The siblings may need each other as they get older. Even more as they age and lose immediate family. They may need each other for health issues: organ donation, diseases, etc. They will need to know who not to date. Mostly, they will need each other for support and understanding. These kids did not chose to be born to single moms and lesbian couples (and maybe straight infertile couples) and they did not chose their circumstances. I want my kids to know they are not alone.

I want them to have some allies in this brave new world not of their making.

Fall family update

2010-11-08T21:28:00.002-05:00

On the home front, we are moving through the fall. At the beginning of October, we sadly quit the charter school our kids had attended since kindergarten and enrolled the kids in the local public school in order to meet our son's ADHD needs. So, far so good.

Our son is in an inclusion class with regular teacher and a special ed teacher. The child study team met and he will be evaluated for occupational therapy (OT), behavior modification and social skills. We are hoping to get these services in-school as we will continue with psychiatrist, psychologist, neurologist and independent OT. At least the entire onus is not on us.

Our daughter will soon be enrolled in the advanced readers class. On her reading assessment, our daughter scored in the upper level of her grade. (After doing above grade level work since kindergarten!) Our son had scored above level. We were puzzled until we realized our daughter had never been tested for anything in the charter school. She had no clue what to do. This was underscored by son's conviction that all regular school testing he had was ADHD related including math and spelling tests.

Soccer is winding down. My daughter continues with karate. We'll sign our son up for fencing in December. We have art and Brownies and the Unitarians. We are busy most nights and weekends most of the time. I manage to kickbox and do yoga for myself. My partner has resumed knitting. So time moves on apace.

The election, the Democrats and the Tea Party (oh my)

2010-11-03T21:18:00.003-04:00

Two years ago, we celebrated the election of Barack Obama and the end of the Bush Dark Age. Today, we look for the silver lining in the Republican take-over of the House of Representatives. I am not a pundit and the analysis has been better said elsewhere. While Obama had Democratic majorities in both houses, he was able to save the economy (which had been wrecked under Bush with endless wars, tax cuts for millionaires and devil-may-care banking) and pass a health care package. Nice, but not nice enough and too nice.

The Democrats always play nicer than the right wing Republicans who via the Tea Party called Obama a Muslim terrorist, a Socialist and a non-American. Obama was vilified as the Joker from Batman. People demanded to see his birth certificate. The State of Hawaii finally produced it and still some "birthers" doubted its authenticity. Where was the outrage? What if McCain had been elected. He was born in Panama which is not part of the United States. What if McCain had been portrayed as a fascist (as some Vietnam soldiers were called during the height of that war)? And so on with personal attacks.

No one would have ever impuned McCain thusly. Democrats never want to be seen as disrespecting the military because they have been portrayed as weak on defense. McCain's place of birth was on an American military base. Of course, he is American. So his name. McCain. A Scottish or Irish one. What's more American than that? Obama certainly is not an American name; it's a Kenyan one. Of course Obama had to have born there, or so the Tea-baggers' logic runs.

Others have articulated it but the reason the Tea-baggers and others want to reclaim their country is because they don't perceive Obama as part of their country. They're pissed off a black guy (who doesn't even have a European surname) is president. They're pissed off that a white person will soon no longer be the presumptive American. They feel threatened by non-whites and all minorities. The America of their youth (white Christians in power, others knowing their place) is disappearing and they are right. Obama represents the future of the nation and the Tea-baggers are pissed and they're scared. Scared they will be treated the way minorities have been treated.

And the Democrats lacked the will to denounce the Republicans and the Tea-baggers' egregious claims. They stood passively while Fox News' pundits ran-a-muck with deceptive diatribes. The Democrats turned the other cheek while the right pronounced them and Obama (as well as Muslims and gays and so on) as unpatriotic and un-American. They did not resoundingly shout how dare the Tea-baggers accuse the president of being a Muslim terrorist. The Democrats were quiet. They were passive the way they always are for fear of pissing off the good Republicans (who know the fringe is vile but who need the fringe to get elected) who are merely conservative, not reactionary. Democrats fear being seen as liberal or progressive. They fear not being reelected.

The Democrats were afraid to stand up for what was right. Over and over again. They refused to just repeal "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." They were afraid to call the "birthers" liars. They were afraid to say that the mosque near Ground Zero (2 blocks away) has as much right to be built as any other building properly zoned and legally owned.

The whole election season was the most uncivil I've ever witnessed. The claims many made were outrageous, hurtful, slanderous and nasty. Plain nasty. The country is in a most uncivil state.

So, while I find the Tea-baggers odious, I find the Democrats spineless. Too nice if you will. The heroic and the truthsayers are few. The liars and the cowards rule.

The silver lining? I am not sure but there will be another election next year.

Arpana's killer has been found

2010-11-01T21:06:00.006-04:00

Arpana's murderer has finally been caught (Seattle Times).

Friday night, October 29 2010: I was already sad about the upcoming second anniversary of Arpana's murder when I opened an email with the above noted link. I shook as I read it. My partner read it. We cried but were glad there will finally be justice.

My partner cannot fathom the killer. Unfortunately, because I work in criminal justice, I can. In the simplest terms, the murderer had a fantasy. Arpana became part of his fantasy. When he placed her in his fantasy, he was able to dehumanize her, which he needed to do in order to do what he did. His was a vile, depraved, sadistic fantasy. He would not rape and kill his mother or sisters or the woman he was staying with. But she was someone he did not love whom he had selected for his depravity. That is how he could do this.

I am opposed to the death penalty. I wish him life without parole. I wish him a miserable life with the worst of the worst offenders. Nothing will bring Arpana back. At least, the murder is solved.

I will follow this case. My heart aches for Arpana's family. At least, this killer is not on the street...

Kids normalize gay relationships

2010-09-13T21:25:00.005-04:00

Tonight, I was reading the paper while my kids were playing games on the floor. At first they played Monopoly. Then, they switched to Life. There was some discussion about college vs not not going. Next, it was time to marry. My son chanted that he was going to get a wife. My daughter announced she was marrying gay.

The game proceeded apace. My daughter got some girl babies and said the Monopoly moms were happy for their girls. My son did not seem to acquire any babies before the game abruptly ended with a mutual declaration of having enough of this and the inevitable plea for a a movie.

We took the kids to Provincetown this summer for Family Week. In part, I missed Ptown where I and we, my partner and I, had vacationed many a-time pre-kids. We wanted to show them families like theirs as well as enjoy Ptown in a family friendly environment. We had gone on an R Family vacation (Rosie O'Donnell's ex-girlfriend's company) when the kids were almost 4 and it did wonders for normalizing their family to them. The Ptown trip did the same thing.

I am glad my family is normal to my kids and has been normalized by them.

My September 11, 2001 day

2010-09-11T19:51:00.008-04:00

On September 11, 2001, I was in my office in Newark which had a clear view on clear days of the World Trade Center. I was listening to WNYC on my radio getting ready for a staff meeting. I heard the announcer say that a plane had just flown into the WTC. I looked out my window and saw smoke come from one of the towers, then the WNYC signal died.

I called my partner who worked in NYC and asked her if her sister who worked in Tower 2 had left for work. I also told her not to go to work. She was bewildered, more so, when I explained there was a terrorist attack and she had better call her sister. She said her sister usually has gone before 9 am and she could not reach her sister since her sister didn't have a cellphone. I implored her to stay home. I don't recall what she said.

I could see the tower aflame. Everything was surreal but I went to the staff meeting nevertheless. One of my colleagues entered the conference room after me saying that another plan had hit the Trade Center. Every one was talking at once. People wanted to watch TV. One guy thought it would be "cool" to go on the roof for a good view. I snapped at him that it would not be cool because at that moment I was worried about a loved one who might be in one of the towers. A friend asked me who that was and I outed myself by steely announcing that it was my partner's sister.

A sudden latecomer to the meeting gushed that one of the networks was reporting that it was a terrorist attack. The supervisor finally suspended the meeting. I and the others went into a public room that had a TV on. It was very clear we were under attack. A plane had gone into Washington DC. There were missing planes. There was terrified panic and bewildered inaction from the crowd in the room. I tried calling home. Repeatedly, there was no answer. I began to worry.

The TV droned on that no one knew what was happening. I could not reach home or my partner's cellphone and I knew she was daft enough to try to get to the city. I decided I was going home no matter what. I went into our agency's offices to tell someone I was leaving but heard the agency chief announce that the building was closing as a precaution.

I returned to my office where I gathered my stuff. A colleague had a TV on which said one of the towers was collapsing. I saw it come down. I was numb with fear. I hastily said good bye to a few folks and ran to my car.

On the NJ Turnpike, I was able to catch an AM station in my car. As I passed along, I saw cars pulled over. I pondered pulling over when the radio announcer said that the other tower had collapsed. I pulled over to cry. I cried in car I don't know for how long. I got out of my car and I could see the dust cloud where the towers had been. In between the whir of passing cars, I could hear sobs from other motorists parked on the shoulder. I was shaking but made myself get back into the car.

My heart raced, otherwise, the drive was a blur. I pulled into the driveway, opened the door and was greeted by my partner into whose arms I collapsed with relief. She was pleased to see me but had not yet heard from her sister and was worried. And how had I known it was a terrorist attack when I called her that morning?

My partner had thought I was being dramatic in my morning phone call. She went to the gym and saw everyone was freaked out and not exercising, but instead mesmerized by the TV. At that point, she realized I wasn't out of mind and went home. She showered, tried to call her sister at work a few times and then left for the train station. When she asked where the trains were, the conductor told her the trains weren't running due to the terrorist attack and noted that she was crazy for even trying to get to the city.

My partner's sister called awhile later and said she never made it in. She was in Newark but didn't know when she could get home. We were relieved and decided to donate blood. At the blood bank, we saw everyone else had the same idea. We went home and watched the news.

The sky was quiet. Eerily so. Then there was a mighty roar. We cowered with the neighbors until we realized the roar was from jet-fighters. They're ours, we shouted with glee. Later, we visited some friends for comfort and then sat with my partner's sister after she came home. We watched TV at her place and went home feeling helpless.

When I went to work the next day, there were men with assault weapons and flack jacket patrolling the area. Again, I felt relief they were ours. In the office, everyone was stunned. Many people knew someone who was spared. Some knew people missing. Eventually, we found out some had lost loved ones.

It is only now I can write my own experience. Others already have or maybe will. Or won't. This was my 9/11 experience.

Muslims, Koran burning ministers and my opinion about these

2010-09-10T23:12:00.007-04:00

It is the eve of September 11. On that day, I watched the towers fall, worried about my partner who was determined to go to NYC despite the trains not running and was anxious about my partner's sister who worked in Tower 2. I will write my memory after tomorrow.

Tonight, I am pensive.

Regarding the mosque near Ground Zero (2 blocks away): we're America, there is religious freedom. Period. It's in the Constitution. See Amendment 1. Really. To the over-ballyhooed-idiotic minister who wants to burn the Koran: ironically, the same Amendment applies albeit with the addition of Freedom of Speech.

What is there else to discuss? In the US? That's it. You are allowed to be an idiot and are allowed to worship whoever wherever. Abroad? Sorry, folks, that's how it is here. No, we don't want more jihadists but that may be the price we have to pay for who we are. If that's not your society, oh, well. The Koran-burning minister is an idiot but we're secure enough to let him burn a Koran and are repulsed enough to say it's insensitive and stupid. But we are also American and we will have (even if some of us don't want to accept it) a mosque near Ground Zero. Many of us( hopefully most but probably not most of us) know all Muslims are not terrorists and know that the appalling behavior of a few does not represent the majority.

That having been said, I welcome some intra-Muslim and inter-Muslim dialogue. It was not 19 Chinese Buddhists flying plans into buildings and fields on 9/11. On a regular basis, most suicide bombers are not Hindu, Shinto, Christian, Ba'hai, secular humanist, Zoroastrian, atheist, pagan, Jewish, Jain, animist, Sikh, Buddhist or anything else. They are Muslim.

Right now in the US, the fear and paranoia about Muslims are palpable. Most Muslims are decent, law-abiding folk. Some are secular. Those born here in America are American. Period. Those who immigrated are entitled to religious freedom. All who are here in any which way are free to be idiots.

These are my reflections nine years out.

My family and how I came to be from my 8 year old son's perspective

2010-09-09T22:02:00.004-04:00

Tonight, my 8 year old son was on the phone for a half hour with a friend from summer day camp. The boys talked about Legos and Harry Potter and guns. Suddenly, my son said he did not have a dad but that he had two moms. My ears perked up.

My son acknowledged that having two moms was good but then explained that there was a "nice man" who helped his moms by providing sperm which helped him as well as his sister be. Only one mom carried my son and his sister. But no there were still two moms and the "other mom" (me) was still a mom and was very happy when he was born. That mom (me) said it was the happiest day of her life. No, the mom who had them was not sad. She was happy too.

No, the "dad" was not part of my son's family. He had two moms but no dads but needed the nice man who was a sort-of doctor guy to help his mom who had him to have him because making a baby needs a man and woman, not two women. And yeah, he has two moms but no, his family has no dad,only two moms. He loves both moms and the donor dad was a nice man but he's just a nice man. He has two moms. Oh, and a sister.

Yes, the sperm was from the nice dad-doctor-donor gave one of his moms to have him because two women cannot make a baby but need a man. But his family has two moms. And his family is him and his two moms and oh, his sister too.

Oh, ok he says as he says good-bye. He looks at me and says the other kid's mom told the other kid it was time to go.

Some somethings

2010-07-29T21:18:00.003-04:00

I turned 48 this summer. I survived the ominous 47th year. My father was diagnosed with brain cancer at that age. My partner's mother died. My father died at 52. This used to seem far away. It's as close as can be.

I've learned to slow time down. To not rush it. Not all the time. Not always successfully. But the reality of my mortality is ever present. What if my time is less than more? What if like my father, I have only another 4 years? I would want my time to be full and slow and for me to be the best person I can be.

I am not always the best I can be. My temper is short. Especially when I'm hot or tired. Often with my son. Constantly, I remind myself to be patient and kind. Kindness comes easier than patience. I want the measure of my life to have caused more good than bad. I want people to recall me as a person who tried to do what was right and what was honorable.

I am not gloomy or even melancholy. That was this winter past. Rather, I grapple with my limitations and finiteness. There is an unknown endpoint. Accepting this is the process. But acceptance is a positive. It's getting the most as much as I can. It's striving for the best present and the best me. Even if these are elusive.

The post-embolization post

2010-05-29T22:36:00.002-04:00

The pain has finally subsided. I had two pain-free days in a row before today when I had cramping probably because I took the kids on a hike and then planted a hydrangea.

During my recovery, I read some books, the best of which was Hemingway's "For Whom the Bell Tolls." What a fabulous book. I might have to revisit "The Old Man and the Sea", a book I hated in high school, undergraduate and graduate school. It made me dislike Hemingway, whom I now love because of this book as well as "Death in the Afternoon" and "The Sun Also Rises."

So, I lost 2 weeks of work. Gained a lot of sleep and some weight. I walked every day except including the day I returned home. I went to yoga and will resume kickboxing on Tuesday. I will wait on the sparring for a bit.

I am happy I am on the mend.

My soul will not be embolized

2010-05-17T21:35:00.002-04:00

Fibroid embolization happens tomorrow in about 13 hours. I am nervous but hopeful. To be relieved of the pain and fullness will be eventually good. I expect to have really bad pain but to get some good drugs. It's strange that it is a quality of life issue. I want to be more comfortable. I want to return to sparring.

I don't want to go into menopause but it will happen anyway. If it does as a result of embolization then low-grade estrogen should help. I am struck that I've really hit middle age. That I could have past the halfway mark of my life. On the other hand, I do hope to be 100. Either way, I want to resolve to enjoy each moment and live each moment every day. My ordinary life is my life, my ordinary, wonderful life. While it's not what I once imagined it would be it is what I want it to be which in all respects is better than my conjectures.

My son's ADHD continues to try us but we are embarking on new treatments. His prognosis has improved. I feel optimistic. I see glimpses and some times whole moments of the sweet, loving boy he is. My daughter is ever delightful and amusing. Though my partner and I worry about the effects of our son's issues on her, she remains a resilient kid. I love my kids. No regrets there.

My partner is my anchor. I would not be who I am with out her. She has been a positive, loving influence on me. I am a better person because of her. I am so lucky to have her. It is a wonderful thing to have someone chose to love you and to have her love you. I still marvel that she loves me. That I have a love. A love of my life. I am blessed and humbled. I love her immensely.

So, my life is good. I have people I love who love me. Other family and friends love me and are concerned about, what is not, relatively, a major procedure. I am in folks' "thoughts and prayers", wishes and concerns. People are "there for me." I should let them know if I need any thing. I realize I have what I needed from them: that I matter. I am thankful. Appreciative and blessed. I will be fine.

I am thankful for all and every one, every one, I have. Thank you all. God bless.

The trouble with fibroids

2010-04-19T20:58:00.002-04:00

I have uterine fibroids which are benign tumors. They have gotten bigger and are more painful. I wound up in the emergency late last year because I thought I had a painful hernia. No, fibroids.

My mother dealt with her fibroids by muddling through until menopause in her late 50s. That's about 10 years away for me. While not painful all the time, I am aware all the time they are there. I am bloated, have low grade pain and bad menstrual cramps. Fibroids interfere with kickboxing and sparring. I have not sparred since I was punched in the fibroid during sparring session. It hurt a lot.

So, now I have to decide what to do. Nothing is an option. Hysterectomy is not. I am probably going to undergo uterine artery embolization. Ie: kill the blood supply to the uterus, kill the fibroids. Keep my uterus. Risk menopause. The medical websites say it's fine. Alternative medicine sites say it is very bad. I've had mixed feelings but 10 years of suffering are not something I look forward to.

I've had all the preliminary testing. I've met with the radiation surgeon. I just need to schedule it. I've been on hold for a month. But will do it tomorrow. I've had bad menstrual cramps all day and excessively heavy flow. I am not going to have minor surgery because of one bad period but because the pain hurts more with each one. Because it interferes with my digestion. Because it hurts. I want the pain to stop.

Too much focus

2010-04-18T20:18:00.004-04:00

My son's ADHD has subsumed everything else in our lives for the past few months. In addition to the pediatric psychiatrist, we engaged a child psychologist from Yale. Insurance won't pay for the social skills group we tried to get our son into. He's been evaluated by a child study team but is too smart for special services. We have to wait until May 1st to make an appointment with a pediatric diagnostic neurologist.

I've started seeing a psychologist because I couldn't cope. The kid is angry, disrespectful and defiant. He punches and hits and rips up books. Two weeks ago, I was at my wits' end. Really. I wanted to run away but my son did that instead. Walked out of the house while my partner was at work. He was gone an hour and I was about to call the cops when I got a phone call from my son's friend's father who said my son was at their house two blocks away.

Our lives revolve around my son earning Legos for good behavior as a reward for positive reinforcement. Initially, this was a disaster. His behavior went from awful to horrible. I thought I was going to lose my mind. He threw a clock at me. It missed and I spanked him. I am a bad parent, I thought and then felt guilty. I was walking on eggshells all the time.

My daughter is starting to act out and manipulate us too. She sees all the attention her brother gets. She is worn down too. I says she hates "a-Had" as she calls ADHD. She asked me a few weeks ago if we could have one day without her brother crying or upsetting us all. I could not answer her.

One night, I googled military schools. Some take kids at age 8. My son will be 8 in August. I wanted to send him. The nearest one is in South Carolina. Private boarding schools for kids like mine cost a minimum of $40,000. I told myself we'd find a way to pay for it. I wanted him gone. He was making all our lives miserable.

My partner was working a lot. My son hated me more. I was around more. He and I have oppositional personalities, a poor combination. He missed his other mom but was mean to her too.

Therapy has helped me. My son's improved response to the positive discipline of Legos rewards has helped. My partner only works one job now. She was promoted. This will help.

My son is acting worse at school. Soon, the school psychologist will observe him in the classroom where he is disruptive. He calls out. He doesn't listen. He cannot sit still. At all. Maybe we'll get some services or help. He ignores all the adults. He bothers the other kids. This is not a good learning environment.

We will meet next week with the psychiatrist. Adjust his medication? I think there is something else going on. It will be explored.

Professionals always want to know about my partner's family. About the donor's. Now, they ask about me and mine. Yesterday, I spent 50 of my son's 55 minute session with the psychologist talking about my childhood and early adulthood.

It never ends. And won't for some time. I am exhausted. My partner is too. I trudge on. At least, I have some hope. Just recently, I have some hope. I am coping. The kid improved. A bit. I am optimistic by nature.

Briefly, where we're at

2010-03-30T21:49:00.001-04:00

My son has has ADHD. My daughter calls it Add-had. He is a an "oppositional" or "defiant" child. We are working on it. More to come.

End of winter blues

2010-03-03T21:19:00.003-05:00

Winter lingers. Mud squishes underfoot. It rain-snows or snow-rains. Fatigue and ennui flourish.

At least, it's lighter at night and in the morning. I long eagerly for a warm, sunny spring day. I taste it. I clamor for it. Not long now. Just have to hang on. Or hang in.

Missing, murdered....what is wrong here?

2010-03-02T21:28:00.008-05:00

Not a day goes by that I don't think of Arpana. And daily I look for updates. I look for patterns. I look for killers in Washington state. I look for unsolved deaths of Indians in the US. I look for unsolved killings involving young women. I look at sex offender lists for possible creeps. I troll websites devoted to solving unsolved cases. In truth, I have no idea of what / who I am looking for but look I must.

I am haunted. By Arpana. By my own past. I was nearly kidnapped as a kid. I will write about that another time.

One can get paranoid. Just today, the body of another young, pretty woman with a bright future was found in a grave like unwanted trash. Everyday in the USA, people disappear and people are murdered. There is media sensationalization, especially with children and pretty young women.

I watch my children carefully. They are 7 and I am still not comfortable letting them ride their bikes and scooters around the block. Recently, there was a near abduction of a kid a few blocks away. The girl's mom was a half a block behind her when a man emerged from a car and tried to grab the girl. He fled when he realized the kid belonged to the mom.

I hate this. My kids should be able to walk in their neighborhood unescorted. I should not have to fear for their safety. Some people think I am hyper-vigilant. Given Arpana's murder and my near-abduction, I cannot help myself.

Let me say this. I will do everything I can to protect my kids.

Working from home

2010-02-16T21:05:00.005-05:00

More snow today. Only 3-4 inches. Nothing was closed. I worked from home so I can't complain. I've not been to the office since last Monday. I was home for 2 snow days, 2 holidays and 2 work-from-home days. I will only work part of a day at the office tomorrow. I'm off Thursday for medical stuff and my son's child study team conference. I work from home on Friday and will not be back in the office until Monday.

I like working from home. I am so much more productive with much less effort. I guess not everyone is so efficient which is why not everyone can work from home (job function and technology permitting) . There are some job functions I must be in the office for but with the right technology, I could never have to go there.

I miss adult human interactions when I am out of the office. Going in once per week would probably be ideal and going in 2 days a week would still be ok. I am appreciative I don't have to commute 2 days a week and only have to go to the office 3 days a week. It's weird that I have to schlep to place where I am half as productive as I am from home. Part of employment is about control / power for the employer even more than productivity. This is strange but true. If we were a 100% capitalistic society, we would want everyone to be as productive as possible all the time.

Well, just an exercise in naval-gazing. Viva technology, viva capitalism and viva enlightened employers willing to relinquish some control. Workwise, I really have no complaints.

Police Tape - do not pass

2010-02-13T20:02:00.011-05:00

When we moved to our house two years ago, one of the first people I met was J-, age 90 something, who lived across the street. One of first things she asked me was if I were Jewish. She added quickly she did not really like Jews and was unhappy about how they had taken over the town. (I had read somewhere that my town was over 40% Jewish) I was taken aback. I had lived in the town at that point for over 15 years and was the first bonafide anti-Semite I'd met in the town and in many years.

J- was pleased we were not Jewish. She did not comprehend that we were a gay family. I'm sure that wouldn't have pleased her if it had registered. She was racist. She generally was unhappy with the neighbors, even the white non-Jews.

In my initial conversation with her, J- was very concerned that we maintain our property. She avowed she always had taken care of hers but added her nephew, who lived two houses away, was now her groundskeeper. She was especially concerned about autumn leaves which unraked led to suburban blight. I assured her I believed in raking but I already knew my raking standards would not pass muster.

J- warned me she called the police on a regular basis. Neighbors confirmed this. She was not a popular neighbor. She called the cops if she didn't like a fence, if she thought children played too loud and if leaves were not raked. She told me this and I witnessed the police at her house about once a month.

J- told me her family had previously owned much of the property on the street including the property I now own. Her grandparents had lived there in a bungalow (which was torn down to build my house she added). Her parents had lived next door and other family down the block and she and her husband had lived in her two family house until he died years ago. She stopped renting out the other floor because she didn't like the renting class.

J- would walk up to her nephew's house. She would sit and look out the window. She sometimes said hello.

There was a blizzard on Wednesday. Thursday, we were still shoveling out. I was home from work with the kids both days. From her front window, I saw J- inspecting the street's shoveling progress Thursday morning and Thursday afternoon.

The kids returned to school on Friday. I was off for Lincoln's Birthday. My partner took the kids to the bus stop, but came in to get our son gloves and said there were lots of cops outside.

J- was found dead on the sidewalk. At first, we though she had frozen to death. She was we were told slightly demented. Later, we found out she probably meant to walk to her nephew's house but went right instead of left. The medical examiner suggested to the nephew it was probably heart failure. The nephew was surprised she went out into the cold since she kept her house at 80 degrees and since she did not leave the house in the winter.

The neighborhood freaked out. The streets were blocked off by town cops who it seemed had all converged on the scene. The was a coroner and a medical examiner and an ambulance, quickly dismissed. A crime scene tape was stretched across the sidewalk. It was a moment out of CSI.

The woman lay on the sidewalk covered by a gray blanket for almost 4 hours. Cops took pictures. It was all documented. Thoroughly, I am sure.

After everyone was at school, and most of the cops had gone. I looked out the window. All that remained was one cop and cop car, the medical examiner's van and blue minivan. Then, the cop drove away. Next, I saw a gurney covered with a green blanket put J-'s body into the minivan. An unmarked, family-car kind of minivan. The men got in and drove away. The medical examiner's van pulled up to the nephew's house. The man entered for a minute and then left and drove away.

It was all so sad. A sad end to what I surmise was a sad, insular life. I am glad she did not freeze to death.

The would-be Palin

2010-02-10T16:07:00.004-05:00

You have to hand it Sarah Palin. She's at least trying to stay focused. Here is her hand with her notes for her celebrated speech at the "tea bag" party convention. It's better than the days when she rambled on and on. For example, her speech resigning as Alaska governor.

Are Americans as stupid as her? Apparently so. Over 80% in a recent poll think she is qualified to be U.S. president. (US News poll) I am appalled but not surprised. She comes across as personable and down-to-earth. That appeals to plains (as in the Great Plains) folks. She is anti-intellectual and anti-East/West coast. Many Americans feel threatened by intellectuals. Witness the anti-Obama stuff going on now. Obama is a smart guy. People elected Bush the Second because they perceived him to be someone they could have a beer with. As if...

While George Bush was born into the elite, Sarah Palin seeks to be part of the elite. She dumped her position as mayor to become governor. She abandoned her governorship to run for vice-president and finally abandoned the governorship to go "rogue" and position herself on the national stage to be a Fox News pundit and eventually, I presume, 2012 presidential candidate. But she wants all her followers to admire her as one of them as she pushes herself as far from them as she fast she can.

Sarah Palin is one of the biggest hypocrites of the 21th century. The mainstream Republicans know this. They distain her rogue-y-ness. She will not be accepted by the Republican old guard precisely because she does not toe the line and because she has abandoned all previous positions. At least, I hope so. There are some rational Republicans.

It would better for the country her followers could see how cynically she uses them. That, I think is unlikely given the their myopia.

Palin's own ambition will cause her to abandon the "tea baggers" as she claws her way to the top. I hope that when the doors of Brahmin Conservatives slam in her face, she is left cold and alone. I hope this happens sooner than later. This would-be empress has no clothes.

Letting it snow

2010-02-09T20:48:00.006-05:00

Here in New Jersey, we are bracing for a snow storm. I live in central Jersey. We got about 8" on Saturday and are forecasted to get 12-18" tomorrow. Lots of folks are complaining. I can see their point especially if it snows every week and one cannot work from home or one is stuck at home with children.

When my kids were newborns, it seemed like it snowed heavily every week and I thought I'd lose my mind. I never felt so trapped. Screaming daughter. Feedings, napping and changing diapers. It's all a blur. Prior to kids, I had a job where I had to report to the office regardless of the weather. Each precipitation day, I took my life into my hands. Now, I have the option to work from home during bad weather. I appreciate this.

Since it's been so cold for quite some time, and because my employer has already given us the day off tomorrow, I say: Let it snow! If it has to be cold, at least let it get me a day off, look pretty (for a day) and make the cold worthwhile.

Shoveling is reasonable exercise. Sledding is fun. The quiet is soothing. The shoveling neighbors are neighborly. Hot chocolate tastes better. Fires are much more delightful. Let it snow, in deed.

My own blog (not Facebook's)

2010-02-01T21:26:00.005-05:00

So perhaps I have outwitted Facebook after all. The last post did not appear. Hooray.

When my blog was imported into Facebook, people who are acquaintances were commenting on my blog. I brought this on myself. In my blog, which is read by some people I know, there is a degree of anonymity and distance which I require in order to write freely. The trouble with familiarity is that everyone feels leave (which I implicitly invited) to comment often in person on my life. People from my dojo were asking about my son's ADHD and my depression. They knew too much about me personally and were not discrete.

Anyone can read my blog but not everyone does, Most people from Facebook world will not bother to follow me. If people do, fine. Mostly they won't because it will require some effort.

My anonymous readers don't know my name or the names of my family. My friends who read the blog are more judicious and don't have have a presumed familiarity. They are familiar and kind. They read my blog with real interest. They don't view it as a airing of my personal laundry or an invitation for gossip.

To you all, if there are any of you left, thank you. I am happy to be back. A writer likes having readers. Intelligently interested readers.

Another plaintive post

2010-02-01T14:15:00.002-05:00

My attempt at defeating Facebook was unsuccessful. What a monolithic, seductive monster. I enjoy the connections to family and friends. I resent that it has its omnipowerful rules. I don't want to abandon it. I don't want to abandon my blog. Why did I ever import my blog to it?

A tepid post, a test to outwit Facebook

2010-01-31T20:48:00.002-05:00

Here still. First month of new year finished. So little to say when so much time has passed.

Missing my blog. Not often writing because I could not figure how to stop from importing into my Facebook account. I write my blog for relief, as journal, with a desired degree of anonymity. Importing it to Facebook altered the frequency and content. Even now I am being restrained because I am still not sure it is not being imported. I tried something new, so I'll see. I'd like those who are really interested to find my blog but I regret importing it into Facebook. People I would prefer not reading it are reading it.

My life as the year wanes

2009-12-22T21:48:00.003-05:00

Well, it's almost the end of the year. Much has happened and much remains the same. We celebrated the solstice this weekend past. We ritually burned our present woes into the past. This week, we will celebrate Christmas Eve at my mom's and Christmas Day at our house. Small gatherings both.

A year ago this week, we found out Arpana was murdered. Her death remains unsolved. We mourn her still.

My mom's digestion issues manifested themselves into a gall bladder removal and swollen bile duct. My soon-to-be 46 year old sister tried getting pregnant by various methods. She was implaned just last week with blastocysts from her husband's sperm and an egg donated by a 22 year old. Who knew my sister had any unconventionality in her?

My brother regrets his move to New Jersey's hinterlands where he bought a house, having finally moved out from my mother's house at age 45. My partner's father's partner (yes, my partner's father was straight then gay which overall made him bisexual) was depressed and weepy until he discovered lexapro and xanax, those miraculous happy pills. Now, he is just whiny. My partner dutifully calls him every morning and every night. Bless her patience with him.

My kids are 7 and in second grade. My daughter just wrote her first type-written report on our trip to Barcelona. My son's ADHD (which my daughter calls "a-had") is under control. He has an easier time at school and can often do homework without protesting. My son believes in Santa Claus; my daughter pretends. He's getting a Sony PSP from me; she's getting a computer from Santa. The PSP is mine; there is no need to buy a new one. He'll be thrilled with it. Computer from Santa: why not? It's our last year for Santa.

My partner works less. Complains about money more. My son complains my partner is still not home enough. My daughter passes the time reading, making books and drawing. My son builds, invents, draws and complains he is bored.

My partner turned 48. It is very strange to be almost 50. This upcoming year will be our 15th one together. The length of our relationship has already passed the length of my parents' active marriage. My partner is sad in a melancholy way. She says it is deep within. Perhaps. I contend it could be the waning of the light. I don't know.

All in all. I mark my / our passing in small ways. My kids are taller. More self-sufficient daily. Moving toward their eventual independence. It saddens me but compels me to savor, savor the present. I see more and more lines in my face. My hair is mostly white, less salt-and-pepper with each haircut.

And now. Still. I am grateful. Thankful. Pleased with what I have. Appreciative. Daily, I am awed. I thank God. Give thanks. And wish peace. Only peace for us all.

Aftermath after a reading: the Chosen People

2009-11-17T21:49:00.006-05:00

I just finished reading Elie Wiesel's Night which is his account of his early life and deportation to Buchenwald, where his mother and little sister were murdered, as well as his experiences in various concentration camps including Auschwitz. I started this slim book before I went to bed and finished it the next day. His relay of the horrors is numbing. But not so much that I cannot stop the disturbing images in my brain.

Wiesel describes bodies of children brought to pits for incineration. Bodies of frozen men and boys thrown from trains. Bodies fighting bodies for scraps of bread. Sons stealing from fathers; abandoning fathers on forced marches through the snow. A mother with protective hand on the head of a small girl; his last sight of his mother and 7 year old sister.

My father watched World at War on public television when I was a kid. I remain haunted by dump trucks pushing naked, emaciated bodies into pits. (Later, I learned this was American film. To document the aftermath.) I'd have nightmares. None comparable to nightmares real.

I had a college friend whose parents were in Auschwitz and who met after the war in a displaced persons camp. The tattoo in my friend's mother's arm had not faded with the years. I was baffled at the time how Mrs. S. could laugh and smile and seem content.

On a recent trip to Barcelona, I saw the ancient synagogue abandoned after the Jews' expulsion by the Spanish "Catholic" kings, Isabella and Ferdinand. The medieval Barcelonians pleaded to keep their Jews. Not out of altruism but of common sense: the loss of their skills and their wealth put the city into a notable decline. We visited Girona where Jews, Muslims and Christians lived side by side for several hundred years and where Jews and Christians lived for several hundred more.

Wiesel at one point asks his father why. He notes it is not the Middle Ages - it is the 20th Century. The father has no answer. God has no answer. Wiesel questions God. Doubts God, as do many prisoned in that hell.

As a little kid in Catholic School, I was envious of Jews because they were the Chosen People. God picked them out. I did not know why. They seemed mighty unappreciative in the biblical accounts. Always turning their backs and needing hell and brimstone to bring them back. Still, I was envious. God always avowed His special relationship with them.

I've been around Jews most of my life. Like most people, peoples, they are fine. And some are not. I remain intrigued by Jewish culture. I don't envy their having been chosen. Such a history, I don't envy. But, the lessons to be learned for the rest of us are many. A beautiful, sweet 7 year old (I have 2 of those) should not under circumstances be killed. People en masse or singularly should not be murdered.

I cannot offer more. I cannot turn away. From any of it. Any of it. I remember.

My friend, Arpana Jinaga.

2009-11-01T18:41:00.005-05:00

I've been quiet and introspective lately. Not much in the mood for blogging but I return to it because I miss it and it is therapeutic. I've been wanting to write for some time about Arpana and today seems the best time. It is the one year anniversary of her death which remains unsolved.

My partner works at a college health care center. Arpana was graduate student who worked part-time as a support IT person. Arpana completed her studies mid-semester and was losing her housing. This was Fall 2007.

We hired Arpana to fix our computer. She cleaned it up and it worked much better. She mentioned she was losing her housing. My partner thought highly of her. After she left, my partner and I discussed letting her move in temporarily. My partner and I are prone to attract and to take in strays. Although we were in the process of moving and realized this meant having a house guest during a stressful time, we agreed that since it was for a short time and because Arpana was a nice kid in a foreign country about to be homeless, we would offer to let her stay with us. We both have benefited from the kindness of strangers and would want someone to assist our kids if in need.

So, on October 31, 2007, Halloween, Arpana moved in with us at our old house. She came trick or treating with us and was amazed and dazzled by all the festivities. She kept shooting pictures on her cell phone. When we came home, our kids shared their candy with her. We had pizza and hung out. She was nervous but polite. She went down to our spare room in the basement and went to bed and to chat with friends.

Arpana was pretty scarce that first week, keeping to herself and retiring early to the basement. We moved the following weekend to our new house. Arpana helped us immensely. She set about organizing the living room furniture and cleaning up. She was very thorough. That night, she shared a meal with us, played with our 3 cats and fell absolutely in love with our gerbils. She played with the kids and read them a bedtime story.

Over the next few weeks, I got to learn a lot about Arpana. She was open to many experiences and talked about how much she loved being in the United States. She loved the openness of Americans. She loved the variety of people she met and the many ethnic restaurants. She was very fond of Thai food and very critical of Indian food. Nothing compared to her mom's and no one could mix a curry as well was her mom.

Arpana was a vegetarian. She was pleased we are too. She thought our regular meals very bland and very boring and very lacking in spice. She began to introduce us to spices by putting hot sauce on everything including her salad which she declared she never ate in India.

She showed me how to make rice (which I had previously always over cooked). She showed me how to mix spices and she cooked tasty food for us. She insisted it was not spicy but the kids complained about the level of spiciness. My partner and I liked her food despite the kids and viewed it as the rare treat it was: an inside look at an Indian kitchen. Arpana insisted however that she was not a good cook and had never been interested in cooking despite her mother's livelong admonishments that a good Indian wife needed to know how to cook. Arpana revealed that she did not learn how to cook until just before she left for the US. Her mother reasoned that there would be no one to cook for her in the US and Arpana therefore had to learn to cook.

Arpana loved to watch "House". She watched in the living room with us all, maintaining it was the funniest thing on TV. So we put up with her show and she learned to enjoy "ER", "Grey's Anatomy" and "Desperate Housewives." We could hear her on other nights watching Indian films in Hindi and other tongues. She seemed to know a bunch of other languages. She showed us the silliest parts of the Indian movies which all seemed pretty much the same. She knew the subtleties but could not rightfully explain their nuances to us.

My partner worked a lot then. More than she does now. On those lonesome evenings, Arpana and I would talk about many things. India, literature, sports, yoga, philosophy and love. She longed for a happy, exciting life. She missed her family. She would help her sister the way her parents helped her. She loved our pets. She had never had any. The cats sat on her lap. She could watch the gerbils for a half hour pondering what they thought.

Arpana liked watching and babysitting our kids. She was aghast by the material abundance the kids had. Arpana explained she never suffered any want but she had a limited number of toys and things. That's just how it was. In India, even if you could afford to give your kids everything, you did not lest the kids be spoiled. She had a point. But she liked spoiling the kids too. She gave them clothes and material and trinkets. She loved to watch the Disney movies with them. She loved the magic of the cartoons.

Arpana celebrated Thanksgiving with us at our house. All our extended family loved her. She helped set the table. She impressed my son with the fancy way she folded napkins to look like boats. She said she was thankful she found friends and so pleased to have been an ordinary, everyday part of an American family. She felt as thrilled as I had as seeing her cook a traditional Indian meal. She said she was honored. So were we.

Her last night in her house we took her out to an Indian fusion restaurant we liked. It was there that my son made the connection that Arpana was Indian and Indians were from India. He thought this was so cool. Apana and the restauranteur were amused. (See Indians are from India)

Apana moved out in early December in order to take a job in California. We called her from time to time. She called in early Spring 2009 and she told us she was moving to Seattle for a job and was looking forward to her adventure. We spoke to her a few weekes later and she loved the job. She had her own apartment. We called her in the summer and she had friends. We called her late summer and she had a motorcylce. We called her in early fall and she wanted to go to India but might have to settle for NJ. Could she stay with us if she came for the winter break? Of course. We'll call you in a few weeks. That was late October 2008.

We did not hear from her but that was fine. She was a busy young adult. We sent out Christmas cards in early December. On the Monday before Christmas, I got a call at work, my partner was crying horribly, gasping on the other end. "The kids are ok," my partner said. "Arpana. Arpana is dead. Murdered." Time froze. Froze. I willed myself to focus. Arpana's boss recognized our Christmas card because last year's card was among the things he found when sorted through her stuff after her death. He knew we meant something to her so he called. We'd written our phone number on the card thinking perhaps she lost our number.

Arpana's boss told my partner she had been murdered on November 1. I was numb. My partner was a mess. We kept her loss to ourselves for the holiday. After that, we told the kids she died but did not say how. Our sensitive son guessed her death was not normal. He wanted to know if she was shot and we told him no.

One day a few months later, I was cleaning the downstairs bathroom, the one where Arpana showered and washed her beautiful, glossy black hair when I lost it. I curled into a ball. And I sobbed. Like my heart had been ripped out. It had. I said I was sorry. I knew not for what except the loss, at my loss, at her loss, the world's loss.

I called the Redmond police offering anything I could. I contacted friends and then retreated. I called the police again and again. Yet nothing. I search the internet. I look for a creep. I know not who. I know not why.

Today, I went to my Unitarian congregation for a celebration of the Day of the Dead bringing a picture of Arpana and my recently dead cat who made her laugh as he threw himself into a glass door and as he swatted at grass stems. Together, my friend and my cat were on the offenda, an alter to acknowledge and mourn the recent and long ago dead. I wanted to cry but could not. I wanted to celebrate her life and how much Arpana gave us. Me.

Whatever happens, every November 1, she will be honored and remembered by me on this the traditional Day of All Saints. She would laugh but would understand. I love her and I miss her and I mourn her. I hope where she is, she knows she was loved.

Seasonal change

2009-10-07T21:48:00.003-04:00

Winter is in the chilly air here in New Jersey. It's dark when we wake up. It's late afternoon when we come home. We need jackets. But not coats, yet. We wear long sleeves and long pants. And socks and closed toe shoes.

The trees are heavy with their green bursting to explode into reds, oranges and yellows. Halloween decorations abound. Kids play soccer on Sunday afternoons in failing sunlight and practice soccer under bright football-field lights on school nights. Candy is on sale!

My Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is held in abeyance by Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRIs) (so many acronyms in too little time?) prescribed for my general (major) depression. It could be debated, but sadness for the upcoming winter should not start in August. November and in a pinch, even October, sadness is more acceptable.

Still, I continue the therapist search. I have initial, getting-to-know-you-it's-worse-than-a-first-date sessions scheduled. I am coping. Plugging along.

I enjoy my life. I continue on in the now. Still, it's hard. But on I go.

Melancholia, therapy and changes

2009-10-03T22:03:00.005-04:00

I've been in a melancholy state lately. Frustrated with my son's ADHD. Suffering from an internal stagnation stymieing any soulful progress. My partner is in therapy. Our son is in therapy. We took our daughter to therapy to make sure she was not neglected in all the slavish devotion to our son and his ADHD. (She pronounces ADHD as ah-had.) I need to be in therapy.

We took our daughter to my partner and our son's therapist because I was concerned that unless we acknowledged her issues, we would eventually have a resentful surly, angry 15 year old. We may still have a hostile teenager but it hopefully be for normal adolescent stuff and not because she despises her brother and us for the amount of time he has consumed.

My partner returned to therapy for many reasons. Our son is in therapy for ADHD and other issues.

Me: I am trying to cope. There are many dormant things percolating herein. I want to flee but I am a home girl. I like having a home. I like being home. I like being at home. At ease and restful. Rested. In a respite. I must share space with my family. I willingly share space with my family. I want to be at ease but I am on guard. I fear what I project what our son could be. A thug. And, I am resentful. I need to address this. I fear a major change.

In myself. (But, most change in my life has been for the best.) I am apprehensive. Still, the stagnation has shifted subtly, softly.

I am ready for change.

Vacations end and changes begin

2009-08-28T22:13:00.003-04:00

Another vacation: family camp in the Catskills. With friends we wish we had not turned on to it. They and their kids are a drag. It's all about what their 7 year old wants. She hijacks her family on her agenda. Plus sides: my wife and kids had fun; 7 year olds are more fun than 6 year olds; I like making bad friendship bracelets; I like horse riding but prefer that the stirrups are not longer than my legs; I like the other campers; the yoga here is awesome. I am glad we're home.

Summer vacation is gone. Kids start school on Monday. It rained most of the summer. Aside from 2 weeks in August, it did not get hot. Not too many pool days. Lots of time off. New weight loss initiative on Monday. Ready for a change of pace, attitude, routine. Not ready for fall but ready for the perennial renewal it heralds.

So, that's where it lies. Life ever turns, and change, for me, is often hard but largely good. I embrace it. Here I go.

Must-tell in a future post

2009-08-05T21:42:00.002-04:00

My family and I have just returned from the Walt Disney Resort in Florida. Oh my, there is much to say. I must collect my thoughts and observations. Then, I will share.

NJ and the US need a 3rd a party; we need more choices!

2009-07-26T22:37:00.002-04:00

President Obama decided he would pass through NJ recently on his way to NYC to speak before the NAACP for its 100th anniversary. As always, NJ is an afterthought on the national scene: reliably democratic and liberal. Yet, fiscally conservative and indignant with the high tax rate.

My son worships Obama. Loves everything about him. So when I found out the president would be in NJ, I applied on the first or second day for tickets for what was initially a 5000 person venue at Rutgers. Due to "unforeseeable demand", the venue was changed to a concert arena. I and mine (partner and 2 kids) were still on; still good; we would get in.

We were at the venue early. On line early. Queued up as soon as permissible at 11am.

Well, lines were shifted and sorted. Were orderly for hours, until Governor Corzine's "volunteers" gave out information that disrupted what little organization there was. A volunteer told us we were "lucky" to be in line sweating paying $3 for a 24 oz bottle of water. Some were not so privileged.

Corzine's volunteers wanted to arrest young man who protested the loss of the minimal orderliness, having lost his first place in line. I had to out myself as a law enforcement person (thus establishing credibility with the security folks), in order to make sure the young man was not arrested. Man!!!

I won't vote for Corzine. I won't vote for homophobic, anti-choice Christie. I want another party or two. As a democracy, NJ and the US need more choices. Ugh!!!

Just a midsummer day

2009-07-25T20:43:00.003-04:00

Summer's finally reached New Jersey. It has been damp and rather cool. Today, we went to an open house at a local garden. Kids' crafts and wine tasting. Farmer's market and plants for sale.

It was a good day. More to say. Another day.

I apologize

2009-07-18T21:18:00.006-04:00

If anyone has been offended by anything I've written about Arpana, I apologize. I don't mean to offend anyone. She was dear to me and dear to others. I just want her murderer behind bars. Some theories are outrageous. I endorse none. I wish to cops would solve her murder. I wish she was still here. I don't know what to do but I am sad and haunted.

My 6 Month State of Obama

2009-07-15T21:53:00.006-04:00

Tomorrow, President Obama visits New Jersey to promote our governor's re-election and we have tickets. I took off from work. The kids chose to see the president instead of attending the camp they love.

It's nine months since he was elected and six months since he was sworn in. My partner is disappointed because she expected Obama to do more on gay rights, the wars and the economy. My son still worships Obama and my daughter firmly thinks Hillary was the better choice because she's a woman. I remain optimistic about Obama.

I am disappointed by Obama's defense of DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act). I am angry he has not repealed "don't ask, don't tell" and as a federal employee, I've already stated the brouhaha concerning the supposed "benefits" he bestowed upon gay employees was fooey.

But the climate in the country and in government has changed. Black guys I work with are more proud. Black women too; but men more. Mostly, more people are optimistic. I work with colleagues not quite as varied as NJ's multi-diverse population but quite varied nonetheless. Even quite conservative white guys are cautiously hopeful. We're all understandably reserved and some are tightly holding their breaths.

I exhaled deeply in January and have been breathing steadily since. I think Obama has much to deal with. I want him to inhale and focus and exhale. I want him to concentrate on a few issues rather than trying "to be all things to all men." I am not expecting miracles. (Although, I concede many are.)

I am disappointed about the gay stuff but in the world scheme, these are less. I would like to see Obama work pointedly on the economy and on foreign affairs: Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, North Korea and Pakistan. Health care can wait. The environment can wait. Much can wait.

I want him to take a deep breath, followed by a slow exhale. I want him to focus. I am optimistic and given a chance tomorrow, will tell him so. If not, I've said it here in my own little world on my own little piece of cyberspace. The present is better than the eight years, now thankfully, past.

Cut vs Uncut (I was not prepared for this!)

2009-07-08T21:13:00.005-04:00

Our kids are in summer camp and every day they have swimming lessons. Our daughter changes with girls and our son changes with boys. Everyone is naked in front of each other. Our daughter confessed to changing in the bathroom stall for a few days and then joined the crowd. I never knew she was modest.

Our son came home with observations which he shared with my partner while she was bathing him and his sister. He wanted to know why his penis was different from other boys'. My partner informed him he was not circumcised but lots of boys were for cultural and religious reasons or so that their penises resembled their fathers.

The father issue was easy. No father to emulate. Religion was basically easy. We're not Jewish or Muslim. Cultural required more explaining. My partner informed our son his moms don't

believe in cutting his body since his body was his and because uncut was how he was born. My partner said we saw no reason to cut off his foreskin. When he was told how a boy's penis was cut, our son was very happy we spared him this. My partner assured him he could be circumcised if he wanted when he was 18. He expressed no interest.

Some days later our son asked me if all Jewish boys were circumcised. Some of his closest friends are Jewish. He was very shocked they are Jewish. He could not comprehend that they could be Jewish (said while grasping himself). He was wistfully sad for them. He said more than once he was glad he was not Jewish, by which it was clear he meant that he was glad he is uncircumcised.

The same night our son discussed male circumcision in the bathtub, our daughter asked about female circumcision. Oh my partner. Gotta love her. She dutifully explained it in all its varieties and noted that it was a cultural practice in parts of the world. Our daughter asked about this a few days later and I (politically incorrect that I am) told her it was a barbaric cultural practice performed in certain Third World Countries in Sub-Saharan Africa. No further explanation but over the kid's head in a comforting way. "So, it doesn't happen here", she replied, "and it doesn't happen to anyone I know?" "Yes", I answered, "as far as I know." Little girl relieved and able to retreat to her protected, privileged childhood. Amen!

Our son still asks if every Jewish boy he knows is really Jewish (circumcised) and I answer affirmatively. He remains sympathetic and yet pleased for himself and his penis.

ADHD does not easily lead to civilized behavior

2009-07-05T00:16:00.003-04:00

So what do you do if your kid has ADHD and you're a consistant nag in monitoring unacceptable behavior, but you are a jerk in the process? I am the jerk. My dynamics with my son are bad. He cannot help his behavior but it is largely obsessive and mostly, sociably unacceptable.

My goal is consistency and good behavior. Guess what? This leads to frustration and poor interaction with an ADHD kid. Oh, and poor self esteem for the kid and for the parent. So,I feel like a total horror of a parent because it has become hard to muster a vaguely civilized tone with the kid. Thus, the kid feels like crap and I feel like crap and we all come across as horribly out-of-control and that I am a consummate nasty parent whose kid will need years of therapy to address my resenting his uncivilized behavior. I feel horrible.

ADHD is real and it is hard. On kids and parents. I hate the way I react with my son. I am not sure of how to escape the rut that has claimed me.

Merry un-birthday

2009-07-01T22:37:00.004-04:00

I am not going gently into my grave. The ominous 47 birthday looms in 2 weeks. I've been kicking and punching against it. And because I am depressed, I am binging for comfort on sweets as only a fat girl can. (My partner cooked up kale which she served with a delicious tahini sauce and said quite seriously, "The next time you want ice cream, remember to reach for the kale." Gotta love her!)

My former secretary of 14 years died of breast cancer and was entombed last week. I've already written about all the reasons I dread this birthday.

My mother is having a big bash for me in her tiny apartment on the second floor of the two family house I grew up. She's inviting cousins, their spouses and their kids galore. I asked her where she will put all these people. She poo-pooed me. She has a deck. She really wants to and loves to be the hostess with the mostest. Ugh. I don't want to go. I don't want to celebrate. I don't want gifts!!! I want to hide in my bed. I already informed my partner she's driving home that night.

Oh, and my mother has declared the party commences at 2pm. She is excited about the fireworks happening at the high school behind her house. When I reminded her fireworks don't usually start until 9pm, she said blissfully, "Yes, I know." 7 hours trapped in her small apartment with relatives I see infrequently (not that I don't want to see them)! If I did not now better, I'd suspect my mother of smoking crack. She makes me crazy.

I am mourning four friends' deaths. I decry the demise of my youth. It is GONE. At work today, a colleague in his mid-50's said he was glad to see we "old timers" were frequently in the office since the younger folk were working from home whenever possible. Old timer?!!!? I am not ready for this. I embrace technology and I love working from home. If I never worked in the office again, it would be fine. And he's about 10 years older than me!!! Old Timer???

I would be ok being 47 if friends weren't dying around me, if my father had not gotten cancer at this age and if people would not think of me as an old fart. I am not going gently into my 47th year. I rage against the waning of my 46th.

"Don't blame me, I voted for...." (not me, myself, of course)

2009-06-29T20:22:00.008-04:00

My 6 year-old daughter says, "I voted for Hillary. She's a girl, " in response to my partner's bemoaning her disappointment with Obama. My partner tells me she has lost faith (which she never had anyway) in Obama and she blames me and others like me who had the audacity to vote him. My partner thinks he's not delivering fast enough on the gay issues among other things. My daughter agrees but does not fully understand. As my partner explained, "Hilary is nicer to families like ours."

My son, misinterpreting the previous exchange, somehow believes my partner called Obama a bad guy and wonders if Obama is going to jail. We have to reassure him Obama is not going to jail and is not a bad guy in the sense of George Bush or a common criminal.

Obama has disappointed. He has directed the Department of Justice to support the federal DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act) and has not rescinded the Don't Ask, Don't Tell for gay military service members. His self-aggrandizing homo-beneficient moment, the "granting" of some benefits for same-sex partners of federal employees, bestows nothing new. I know because I am a federal employee.

I have supported Obama for over 4 years. I am disappointed he has not moved faster. I begin to worry he will not move at all on real gay issues. I am in a wait and see pattern; apparently, just like the president. Of course my partner thinks Hilary was not as good as Kucinch (vegan, antiwar, pro-gay marriage)! Nah, nah!

I am hanging on, with hope, for real change (but am not holding my breath).

My response to a post by a conservative lady who had a bad encounter with a "militant dyke":

2009-06-18T10:47:00.009-04:00

I was surfing blogosphere went I encountered this post from a self-proclaimed Canadian right-wing hottie:

The Militant Dyke
Interesting personal story.
The other day a good friend of mine suggested I follow somebody on Twitter. Hmmm… well, I’m more apt to go for the suggestion of a friend than that of a machine. And besides, we had all been chatting up a storm together over on UStream (which I hate, by the way, lest anyone think I’ve sold out) earlier in the day.
The chick in question was funny, witty, pithy as hell - in other words, my kind of gal.
So I decided to look her up on Twitter and follow her as my friend suggested. We exchanged a few witty barbs to and fro, before the question of my politics came up:
“So, guess you don’t believe in gay marriage.”
Um… I didn’t quite know what to answer. No, I don’t, but not for religious reasons. I don’t believe in it because I don’t see a point to it. Every question that gay marriage raises can be answered with a contract. Be it a will, a living will, a partnership contract or even a civil union - marriage need never enter the conversation. But I didn’t say this.
Instead I said that I didn’t see a point in discussing it, and ruining a good time. I would prefer to talk to this woman about pop culture and art (she’s a brilliant artist, and I had lots of work lined up for her)… Her response?
“What’s the point of making small talk with ideological opponents?”
She then went on to completely lose her shit over gay marriage, conservative Christians (the friend who introduced her to me is far more of a devout Christian than I’ll ever be - go figure), and all things outside her sad little sphere. She revealed herself to be that saddest and angriest of all lefty creatures: The militant dyke.
Did I know she was gay going into it? Yes. Did I insult her? No. Did my very existence offend her? Yes.
And so it goes. People may accuse us on the right of being polarized, insular, bigoted, whatever. But do those selfsame people ever look inwards at their own side of the spectrum?

She is of course entitled to her opinion and presumably, the encounter probably went as explained. So I naturally responded:

As a non-heterosexual American, I don’t have the option to marry the person I’ve been with for 14 years. We are fortunate to live in a state where we were granted first domestic partnership and then civil union status. Our legal relationship is not recognized by the federal government. We have paid almost $10,000 in fees for wills, powers of attorney, adoption fees and name changes which would have been simply, freely rendered were we able to marry. My partner cannot get my federal employee pension or health benefits, despite Obama’s much ballyhooed recent bestowment, because we unlike married people must pay extra taxes on them. So, I have my health benefits, pension etc and my partner has hers. We cannot get each other’s social security benefits either should one of us die. We must pay taxes jointly in our state and as single head of household federally (we each claim a kid).
If religion has nothing to do with your opposition for “gay” marriage, where do you stand on barring religion from any contractual relationship, ie marriage? I’d be ok if marriage were replaced with civil unions for heterosexuals, leaving “marriage” solely as a religious ceremony like confirmation or bar-mitzvah.
I mow my lawn, pay my taxes, volunteer in my kids’ school and my church, and am kind to kids, the elderly and animals. I am pretty boring. I am favor of a strong defense and of law and order. I am fiscally conservative. I believe we all have a duty to serve our country.
I also think it is unwise to exclude qualified people from serving their country in the military.
Finally, I think a society is more stable if most of its adults are legally committed in a long-term monogamous relationship with one other adult who they love and with whom they want to share a household. I think children living in such households will grow-up to be happy, productive members of society. The adults in such households will also be more likely to be employed, law-abiding and tax-paying.
You may label me a “militant dyke” but that is my contribution to a “rational” discussion with you. I wish you no harm or ill-will nor any one else on the “right.” Barring religious reasons, there is no logical reason to deny me benefits and responsibilities available to lawfully wed heterosexual couples.
Comment by suburban dyke — June 18, 2009 @ 9:46 am
PS. I love pearls!
Comment by suburban dyke — June 18, 2009 @ 9:49 am

Disclaimer: I ran spellcheck for my post here which was not available in the original post at girlontheright.com . Thus, there are some typographical errors in the original which have been corrected here.

Death cruelly slow, cruelly fast

2009-06-14T08:20:00.003-04:00

At yoga yesterday, I shared with my instructor that this week, I had taken 8 kickboxing classes and had sparred 4 times. She asked what I was fighting. She inquired why I was angry. In a 30 second blitz, I disclosed that my former secretary of 15 years was suddenly in hospice; that she is 44 years old; that her kids are 5, 8, and 15; that she did not have a mean bone in her body; that her husband was just laid off; that this sucked! She sympathized reminding me that I was also confronting my own mortality.

My own mortality. I will be 47 this summer. Oh, age 47, how long I have dreaded thee!

My father was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer when he was 47. It took him 5 years to die. He spent 2 1/2 years bedridden, miserable unable to die. I was the one who had to tell him his fate. Again and again.

My partner's mother dropped unconscious one day in front of her then 14 year old, my future partner. The aneurysm put her mother into a coma for months. Another lingering death. My partner's mother was 47.

A year ago, a work friend died less than a year after he retired never getting to travel across the US, his lifelong dream.

Late last year, my friend Arpana was wrenched from the world. Brutality. Horror. Murder.

Now, a friend lays laboring. Death swiftly claims her not. Each time I see her, she is less her self. I see the pulse dutifully course through her neck. I hear her lungs straining under task. She sleeps more. Her hands are cool. There are salt tracks trailing from her eyes. She knows me. I hold her hand. I talk less. I smooth her hair. I wish under my breath for a painless, quicker passing. I see her nod. I will not cry yet. She doesn't need my tears. She needs my presence. To know I care. Or I need her to know I care.

So, I rage at death's frivolity. At it's capriciousness. Claiming those I love without warning. Sparing them a swift death, to linger painfully. Taking them fast in violence.

I fight. I fight death. I kick and punch for my life. I permit pummeling as a reminder I am here. My body is living. Breathing hard as in sparring, slow as in yoga. I am here. I, my body, is alive. Still.

Sticks and stones? No, words hurt more.

2009-06-09T22:00:00.005-04:00

Self-esteem is so easily damaged in us all. A passing word can cut for a lifetime. As parents, we worry about any harm we may unintentionally inflict. What glancing phrase or cutting remark will fester? Ugh.

I see the damage words did to me, my partner and my friends by parents, school officials and others. Depression. Self-doubt. Stooped shoulders. Years of suppression and / or years of therapy to undo needless suffering. My own battles: against father, against mother, against authority, against perceived or real injustices to me, to others. A lifelong quest for affirmation, acknowledgement and acceptance.

We want to overcome and often, we do. We seek empowerment. I kickbox and spar to make myself stronger and more powerful. I used to fight for other people's causes. Overly involved myself in their issues. Embraced them to myself as if they were my own. Why? Empathy. Sympathy. Feeling my pain in them. Trying to assuage them. Me.

Therapy, yoga, meditation. Letting go of others' problems and my own. My own. Much harder to disentangle from others'. More difficult yet: forgiveness and yes, forgetting. My perennial goals. Yet, the pain lingers. Especially empathetic pain to see others' doubting themselves and grateful for a scrap of acknowledgement. Ah, yes, I am deliberately vague.

So, what about my kids? We try, my partner and I; we really do. But, harm will be done. Still, we hope to do the minimum bit.

I hate the childhood refrain: "Sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me." Huh! Bones heal. Beatings fad. Abuse is outgrown. Venomous words may not have an antidote. Self-esteem is delicately fragile.

To medicate ADHD or not

2009-06-08T20:59:00.008-04:00

I am not enamoured of drugs for children. I cringe at how many kids are on medications. Yet, we are soon to embark down this path for our son who I've known for over a year has ADHD. Let me explain.

My son cannot sit still. He cannot control his body and attention for more than a few minutes unless he is actively concentrating on building activities, reading for leisure or drawing. He is sweet. He is bright. He is athletic. He has also started saying he wants to quit school. That he wishes he could be "fired" from school.

On any given day, homework is torture for him and for us. He gets silly, he gets angry, he gets hostile. He balks at any homework. Easy or hard. At school, he has to work in a special area looking away from the other kids otherwise he gets distracted. He is prone to making annoying noises and silly faces which alienate him from some peers. His self-control is very limited. His self-esteem suffers. I am very concerned about his future at school.

At home, he constantly picks at his chest and beats on his chest. He is incapable of stopping. He has more control at school because of peer pressure and fear of embarrassment.

His other mom and I spent lots of money for a year of play therapy that helped him be less angry but did not diminish his frustrations and harsh self-criticism. We just paid almost $400 to a child psychiatrist to tell us what we know: he has ADHD. Thursday, we will meet with the shrink who will probably prescribe Ritalin or some such drug. I am scared. I've seen those anti-Ritalinsites: kids killed by Ritalin, negatively altered, warped. I am afraid for my little boy.

I am equally petrified he will start to hate school and school work and will fail and will hate himself. He is that hard on himself. If we can help him focus on school and keep him from hating it we will. Lots of kids thrive and succeed with the benefit of medication. There are plenty of websites devoted to success stories too.

I am very torn but the chips seem to be favoring medication. I am worried about my son. I love him and I want the best for him.

Has Arpana Jinaga become a cold case?

2009-05-25T21:34:00.006-04:00

A few weeks ago, I sent a query via Facebook to Arpana's friends: 12 in all. I omitted those who were clearly in India as well as her sister. I wanted to see if anyone had more insight or clues to Arpana's murder. Half did not respond. Three people did not know her well; one was in India. One woman had a theory Arpana was murdered by a countryman, possibly encouraged by her family, because Arpana did not want an arranged marriage. Another said she is in contact with Arpana's family and the detective but there were no updates.

I do not for a moment believe her parents wanted her dead or arranged for her death. Possibly, they wanted a say in her marriage but I think they would have loved her whatever she chose. And whomever she chose. They loved her. This was evident from my and my family's encounters with them via webcam. They are caring parents. I cannot imagine they condoned, for what parents, is the unimaginable.

Possibly, she was killed by a countryman or other male obsessed with her. She was an open, beautiful, charming, fun-loving, young woman. I know there was DNA because one of her Facebook friends told me he had not heard from the police since he submitted a sample a while ago.

No updates. No news. No leads. It's over 6 months since Arpana was murdered. Is she a cold case? What will help catch her killer? I'd like to get the FBI involved, and am exploring this. If there is an international or interstate issue, they can chose to takeover a case. Choice being the operative word The FBI likes to win cases. Like any bureaucracy it dislikes failures and bad statistics. A good statistic is a case solved. Cold cases with each passing day are harder to solve.

My head is spinning from all this. I will plod on in my own way as best I can. To Arpana, I owe nothing less.

Kids and their skewed reality; fantasy

2009-05-22T22:23:00.003-04:00

My son says that remarriage means that if you are married and then you meet someone you like you say to yourself, "Hmmm. I have to think about that!" And then you marry or remarry someone.

Both kids think any outdoor ornament is a buddha including gargoyles.

They think all fairies are fictional aside from the Tooth Fairy who they know is real because she leaves notes. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are also real because they leave goodies and notes. I think me leaving notes written with my left hand (non-dominant) has contributed to my kids' credulousness. It's also noteworthy because I am capable of producing three distinct forms of bad hand writing for the aforementioned Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and Easter Bunny. My kids marvel that they all, especially the Tooth Fairy, have really bad hand writing. More kid like than grown up. They wonder why they (the kids) write better than then benign gift giving suprenaturals.

I like kickboxing and I want to fight in a league match!

2009-05-17T20:55:00.006-04:00

I don't like violence but I like watching the fights sponsored by my local dojo. Today, I took my son to watch a bunch of fights including one fought by one of his karate instructors, Tequila, who kickboxed for 5 rounds for a title match. My son admires this 22 year old soon-to-be college graduate. The feeling is mutual. Tequila calls my son "the Lion" due to my son's nobility and strength, so described by Tequila who said he wished my son was his. Tequila may also stay with us this summer because he loses his housing the end of May and may have job opportunities in the area as well as an upcoming black belt test in September.

Tequila fought a gracile, graceful man of Turkish descent. The Turk was elegant in his moves. Beautiful manoeuvers:, glides and twists and ducks, feline-like. Beautiful boy with slinky moves. Tequila is of Italian descent. Handsome, ruggedly strong. All American stick-to-it-ness. Each boy trading punches and kicks. Offering parries and blocks and fast moves. A delicate blur. Poetic. I want it. For me.

I want to fight in a league fight before I am 50. This may happen sooner than later. This morning, I went to a sparring clinic. Coach, one of the referees for the fight between Tequila and the Turk, asked me after class if I was serious about fighting. He told me he only coached people who were serious about fighting but would coach me if I was serious. We could meet after classes or on Sunday afternoons. I said I would maybe ready in 3 years. Coach said a year or less. He'd tell me when I was ready. Wooo. I do want to fight. I don't care if I loose. Coach likes this. Likes it even when I say don't really know much about sparring but will do any thing I am told because I want to learn this martial art. He really, really likes that. Wants to work with me. Man. Wow. I am excited.

Also, after my sparring clinic this morning, Tequila said to one of his girl groupies, "I like this lady. She is raw. She is fierce." He said he liked this about me. He told me I always seemed so happy after sparring. I am. I said. I love it. He said that made him happy to hear. The groupies tittered at his flattering the middle-aged broad. But I am happy. Nothing does as much for my mental health as sparring. Even more than kickboxing while I love violently fierce.

My gun and me

2009-05-11T20:53:00.023-04:00

I am 5 or 6 years old in this picture. It is winter and I am wearing a coat and hat my mother made. In my hand is a toy six-shooter which looked like a kid version of the real thing. (This being the late 1960s when people were not so safety conscious!) I am in a park in Hudson County across the Hudson River from New York City. I referred to this picture in an earlier post (empowering-breast-reduction). The photo scanned like this through the portable scanner.

My parents did not want me to bring the gun. They did not want it in the picture because I was all dressed up. I refused to put it down or hand it over. I remember crying because I wanted it so badly. I was playing a game, I don't remember what. In the game, I was a boy. I am fairly sure I was not a cowboy. I preferred the Indians but rooted for the horses above all. I was probably a Civil War or Revolutionary War soldier. My parents took us to lots of battlefields and I was prematurely acquainted with war. At the time, it seemed rather romantic and glorious because it was in the past. Not like Vietnam (of which I was conscious). I used to dread and anticipate the nightly body count on the evening news. That's when TV still showed real American wounded and real American dead. Not just flag-draped coffins.

My parents wanted me looking like a sweet little girl. I was a little girl. Perhaps, I was sometimes sweet. I am not sure.I remember being angry and sad. Angry that I had to be a girl and not dirty my clothes which while nicely made by mother were not what I wanted to wear. I did not like dresses due to the expectations and restrictions they incurred. I was sad I had no control and no escape from the niceness expected of me. Soldiers did not have to be clean or nice. They could shoot and they were brave and strong and boys. I did not want to be a male. I wanted the power to which they were entitled by their maleness.

Obviously, a gun was and is power. A force to kill or maim another human. I saw boys dying every night on the news. I drew cannons and soldiers and dead bodies in art class which disturbed the nuns. My mother, embarrassed, had to meet with the nuns to discuss my art. She explained about visiting the battlefields and Gettysburg and Williamsburg. The nuns were relieved. For a 6 year old, it was all a fantasy where I could be a hero. I could be brave. My gun was my portal to power and strength.

I am surprised my parents acquiesced. I wonder which one gave in but suspect it was my father because had held all the power in my family. He was the man. He liked to extend his benevolence from time to time to my siblings and me, especially if he could also piss off my mother. She after all was the woman, subservient to her man. This made me sad for my mom and angry with / at helplessness. I did not want to be her or like her or like any women. I wanted that gun and all it meant. I remember this as one of my first vindications of my own power. Although, I was unable to articulate that then. I can now.

Nostalgia and Melancholia

2009-05-06T22:21:00.005-04:00

On Facebook, I've been reconnecting with lots of people: old high school chums, my mom's friend, relatives and my old lesbian friends. I really like to "see" these folks and where they are in their lives. It's why I go to my high school reunions. I like to see how people' lives are unfolding. I view it as an anthropological experiment. Observing the outcomes of choices and just plain nosey voyeurism.

I am happy to reconnect with the old lesbian crowd. From hanging out / sparring with p'ster, I see how much I have missed dykes and their energy and their strength. Especially, the old unencumbered days when most of my time was occupied with cultural events largely in the lesbian community. Since hooking up with my partner, and especially since we had kids, my life has been so un-dyke oriented. Most of the people we socialize with are straight couples with kids. This is fine. I just miss the old energy and am nostalgic for the old fun days before settling down and having kids. I love my life and my family passionately. My wistfulness is part of my aging. Sometimes, I miss my youth.

This year, I will turn 47. My father was diagnosed with brain cancer when he was 47. I was the one who had to tell him he would die. I had to explain his tumor was fatal and the odds strongly favored him dying as opposed to living. He lived 5 more years but only 2 were good. He was bed-ridden for almost 3 years. A miserable existence. I think I am wigged out about turning 47. I was scared to be 27 because I was in my late 20's and no longer a kid. This is very different and concrete.

Being 47 is emotionally scary. I am not ready to die. My father was not ready either. At the time,his cancer was diagnosed, the doctors gave him 6 months to live. He suffered greatly. I've had lots of diagnostic tests this year (the Age of 'Ologists!!!) and seem to be mostly fine. I need to take high blood pressure pills but otherwise am in good health.

I am nostalgic because I am scared. I have enjoyed my life. I like living. I am not ready to die. Wow, my dad's death is really hitting me despite my best efforts. And then, I am still freaked about about Arpana's murder. At 24, she was much too young and just beginning to enjoy her life.

I am melancholy.

Old youngster, young oldster

2009-05-04T22:22:00.002-04:00

Once, I was one of the younger ones. I was at the tail end of the Baby Boom, not quite Generation X. They had lived the 1960s when I was born and was a young kid. Now, I am an old biddy to Gen X which is entering its 40's; its middle age, as the Baby Boom alights upon the Golden Years. In kickboxing, I am a sage in terms of age (certainly, not in terms of experience or talent!)

It is a matter of perspective. It is just strange to be an elder instead of a younger. However, in terms of Baby Boomers, we are youngsters. I gather from my kickboxing partners, I am not pretty; ok. I'm uncertain what they mean when they feign or express surprise. I think I look my age: almost 47. I hope I don't look 57, just as I do not expect to look 37. But there, you go.

A matter of perspective. I am ok being a strong middle-aged broad. I like that word. There, I go. So it goes....

Assuming wants

2009-04-22T21:38:00.004-04:00

Tonight, the kids and I went to an Earth Day fair at the local high school. There were all kinds of green groups, green activities and green products for sale or give away. Much of the town greenies, hippies, lefties and that ilk were there. So were many others. There was TV crew from the local news cable channel there. Part of the crew included the very made-up reporter.

The kids and I were relocated three times from various tables because of the camera crew. The last usurpation was very hard on my son. On the table (a foosball table incognito). was a Lego display. Actually a scientific model of potential wind-powered vehicles demonstrated with Legos. A team of 4 or 5 kids (including one girl) between ages 12 and 14, built this through a Lego League. When I could not find my son after he completed a craft this is where I found him.

He loves to construct things and is very intrigued by machines and gadgets of any kind. My partner's father was an engineer and maybe this is where the kid gets it. He was very upset he had to vacate the table for the camera crew. He said several times, "They don't like it like I do!" Poor kid. We waited 10 minutes for the camera crew to finish to my son's great impatience.

When the crew moved on to claim other tables, my son returned joyfully to the table. The Lego kids were kind to him explaining how many parts worked. My son idolized them, as witnessed by his quiet intake of each word and action.

On the way home. he said he wants to make the best Lego demonstration in the world. I told him I could look for a Junior Lego League but he became enraged, saying he did not want to work with anyone. I tried explaining that the demonstration we just saw was the result of teamwork and that was the point of a league. He wanted nothing to do with it. He insisted others would mess up his work. He remained angry with me the rest of the evening. He was insulted.

It is not always easy to gage others including our children. I delighted in my son's interest and so inquired about the league. He was angry, I think, that I would suggest he needed any help implementing his ideas. There is a lesson here for me: not to assume I know what my kids need.

I am not at all satisfied with the evening's outcome regarding my son. This post also did not turn out as I wanted. But we don't always get what we want. Me included.

Bather on writing

2009-04-21T22:22:00.003-04:00

The more I write, the more I write. Not always good; certainly, not always profound, interesting or well-written, but more, begats ever more.

This is a blather post; so, bear with me or read elsewhere.

But

I like writing, and I like writing more. I am thankful I've been blathering more often. It's nice to have a nudge to make a budge in all I want to say. So, here, I do, it: write.

two inches on the bed

2009-04-20T21:53:00.003-04:00

My son peed in his bed last night and crawled into our bed. Thus, I again was relegated to the edge of our bed.

My partner takes up a lot of room when she sleeps and she often sleeps diagonally. Mostly, I am hanging on by my left hip. When she snores, I can flip her onto her right-side and sleep on my right, luxuriating on another side of sleep. Then, with a log's density, she will resume her supine slumber, mouth askew. Slow, low snores followed by raucous roars.

I don't remember sleeping habits pre-children. During my partner's pregnancy, she got really big with our seven pound plus twins. In addition to my very pregnant spouse, I shared the bed with a body pillow which secured 12 inches for itself. Never argue or upset a pregnant lady! Really. She will make you rue it. So, just be grateful for your magnanimously allotted space!

This was ok while there was a pregnancy. Now we have a 6, soon to be 7 year olds. Now, after our boy-child pees in his bed, he creeps into our bed (mercifully, after he changes his pajama bottoms). When this happens, if I am lucky, my left hip has an inch. Oh...boy and mom both rub their large toe against my shin. Annoying if my leg is covered; wildly weird and very-nails-on-blackboard wrenching if against unprotected flesh!

So, I fight hard (really!!!) for my two inches or one inch depending upon the needs of my family!

Credit: P'ster for idea.

PS

P'ster and I have a new blog about an attractive, athletic doctor with well-toned arms who kickboxes at our dojo: Hot Arms. "She inspired us to be better, stronger, hotter."

Lives within life

2009-04-17T19:23:00.004-04:00

Each of us in our one life can live many lives. My partner used to be a biker babe, a perennial student, a vagabond a la Kerouac. She used to be "straight." She used to own a house with someone else. One of her first incarnations was daughter.

References to my past lives are peppered throughout this blog and no doubt will be manifest in future posts. We are always someone's child which influences the course of the lives we choose. The mates, the chums, the careers, permeating all. For this reason, my current life gives me pause.

My partner and I will be interwoven throughout our kids' lives. Day to day, we live in a moment not pondering what the kids will remember. A recollection could attract or repel either kid to things and to people.

My own childhood reverberates through me, mostly unconscious. But not too far below the surface. This current phase of my life passes swiftly for me. I know it is slow for my kids who "can't wait for" this or that day to arrive. I remember the same feeling. Seven years is nothing at my age. It is the whole of their life for my soon to be seven year olds. Of course, it is a lifetime.

In two years, I will be seven times seven. I will have lived more than seven lives within this one. I will be wondering what the rest of my ever shortening life will bring. My kids will be thinking it's all taking too long, unaware of how many lives their life will hold.

Poem?

2009-04-15T22:42:00.008-04:00

Poem -
not that I dare -
(I who wanted to be a poet, famed or not,
am not.
I write
a blog;
I am a cog
in the government,
but I strive to be
poetic - in my writing;
a blend of poesie
and prosey stuff.
I am not a poet.
I am a proser:
a writer of prose.)
I am not,
a
poet.

Political, enraged queer

2009-04-15T18:37:00.008-04:00

The AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power, ACT UP, has been fighting AIDS in NY since the late 1980s. I began going to meetings in 1990 and actively participated in meetings and some demonstrations for a few years. I wore pink triangles and shirts that bore this logo as well as my faithful Doc Martins. Once, I had a triangle shaved into my hair (under longer hair which covered it for work). I joined ACT UP because I people I knew were dying and I was pissed off that no one seemed to care.

Joining ACT UP was a continuation of my post-punk days in Tompkins Square Park and the East Village, Avenues A, B, C, and yes, the dreadful D. Land of derelicts and sundry bums. And artists, and the homeless, and disconnected youth. I reconnected with some old acquaintances from that time. There were always lots of queers in the East Village. I met them in after hours clubs and in crowded apartments; a smoke-filled, boozy blur.

We marched a lot. We cheered Sinead O'Connor for ripping up a picture of the pope. We had actions at St Patrick's Cathedral and elsewhere. Because of my job, I was cautious and afraid of being arrested. (I could, and still could, jeopardize my job for a civil disobedience arrest.) I was the one with the pamphlets and the buttons helping from the side who compliantly moved along regardless of whether the cop was rude or polite. Still, I was part of the cause.

The AIDS fury spilled into gay fury. We reclaimed words used to stone us: faggot, queer, dyke. We hurled them back. We're here! We're queer! Get used to it! Queer Nation. Lesbian Avengers. Dyke Marches. I began to use the word dyke to describe myself after I was gay-bashed by teenage punks screaming "Dyke! Fucking dyke!" Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it??? I fought back. I still fight back. I am Dyke. A political dyke!

One of my reader's' misconceptions

2009-04-14T20:44:00.007-04:00

I used to allow open anonymous posts here, but no longer because there are prejudiced, pernicious misinformed trollers who lurk here and say ignorant things behind an anonymous guise. (If you are easily offended, please skip the following bile which was cut and pasted verbatim prior to my removing it from my post why-i-am-big-fat-dyke.)

"Anonymous said...
Why do butch lesbians smell or stink. Now that’s the million dollar question but here is an educated guess. Butch lesbians subconciously feel like they need to be a male and to attrack other primitive pussy, they don’t wash their pussy. The pussy get stagnant because of the lack of hygiene. Many manly dykes encounter dark blood clots and heavy jelly like blood flow during their period because the body is confused and fucked up not being able to determine if the butch dyke is man or female.
4:10 AM
Anonymous said...
The stink and the smell has been described as sour milk left in the hot sun for 1 month with a combination of dirty sneakers and illegal immigrant Mexican feces mixed into the stew
4:11 AM
Anonymous said...
This is why most butch dykes like to give rather than receive. Also butch dykes don’t want to burn extra fat calories by cleaning properly because they have a twisted idea that looking your worst is sexy. Ask any butch lesbian if they would want another butch dyke sitting on their face and 96% of them would say NO. Imagine KD Lang or Rosie O’Donnell sitting on your face and you having to stick your tongue in that un-cleaned manly pussy. There are times too when bed sores arise from the butch dykes duct taping their tits down in which the sore smell like puss and rot.
4:12 AM "

My own response is, "Huh????"

I am not now nor have I ever been a "butch" dyke. I am a dyke; a word I reclaimed in the 1990s political activism in which I was involved. It might be too-much-information but please rest assured; I bathe / shower every day including "down there." I do try to look my best, but when kickboxing, I must wear a uniform which is not flattering on anyone (except women with well-muscled arms including one p'ster and I call "Hot Arms".) I am most assuredly female and have no desire to be male, nor to be with males. I like the smell of women which is not at all as described above. Clearly the writer is racist in addition to being homophobic. As evidenced by the time he / she spends checking out smelly females who claim to be lesbian as well as by the bowel elimination of certain Latinos. The writer is also interested in menstrual flows (even irregular, strange-sounding-and-smelling ones) as well as sour milk decomposing in sneakers (????). Odd fetishes indeed!

Why would anyone duct tape their breasts?!!?!!? It must hurt much! Owwwww!

I am not sure what kd lang or Rosie O'Donnell did to offend the writer but the writer has an active imagination onto which he / she projects misshapen fantasies.

So, that's my blog post for the day. I apologize for the caliber of some of one of readers (as witnessed above). If you enjoy my blog, I hope this was not off-putting.

Empowering, breast reduction

2009-04-13T22:29:00.005-04:00

When I was a small kid, I was a tomboy. There is a black and white photo of me circa age 5 holding a kid cowboy /cowgirl revolver pointed toward the ground as I leaned against a tree in a park along the New Jersey-side of the Hudson River (which separates New Jersey from New York). I wanted to be a boy because I was envious of the power inherent in all males. I knew this instinctively although I was pre-literate, I was cognizant of the richness of boy characters versus girl characters as well as the permissions granted boys pre-Title 9.

I got my period when I was 10 and a half. My boobs were exploding huge at age 12. Boys just looked at them. I became stoop-shouldered to hide them. They hurt my back. Still do. Right now, my partner and I are discussing breast reduction surgery in the next few years, after she has Lassix surgery and before the kids have braces. Braces are a certainty with our daughter and a possibility with our son.

So where is all this blather going? I hate being powerless and captive to physicality. I want a breast reduction. I have had chronic pain in my shoulders and between my shoulder blades for over 30 years! I want a breast reduction. And I want to kickbox. I want to be an empowered woman, even at 46 going on 47. I want to feel my own power. A female power. Not a male power, explosive without control or forced with control, but a refined, feminine controlled control where I am the controller. And I want to spar, even if my butt gets kicked all the time. Sometimes, I land a good shot and it is all a good physical, chess-like challenge and I love it. And I really love it. No need for a toy gun; I am my own superhero. I like to spar and I like to kickbox. A female in charge of her own power! This is so cool!

And it will all be easier with boobs less big.

How welcoming are Unitarians?

2009-04-12T22:46:00.004-04:00

Easter at my Unitarian Universalist congregation. Our Bond of Union states we are welcoming of all spiritual paths. In a typical service, right before the congregation intones this, the lay presenter / speaker gives a spiel about welcoming all races, origins, ethnicities, sexual orientation, socio-economic groups, colors... You get the idea.

Because today was Easter, there were no Religious Education classes which meant the kids were in the service with us. (Which has its own issues.) Our daughter heard the welcoming inclusive spiel and observed to my partner, on whose lap she was sitting, "They say they welcome all people of all colors but there are only two black people here." My partner tearfully suppressed a guffaw but could not spit this out at the time. I found out what transpired on the way to my mom's for dinner and then I freely guffawed.

While my partner was responding to our daughter's comment, I was preoccupied with answering my son's earnest inquiry of whether the congregation was welcoming to monsters. I reassured him fuzzy monsters were especially welcome and he hugged me. Unitarians Universalists do want to be welcoming...

Reading is empowering (and fundamental!)

2009-04-08T22:17:00.003-04:00

Both our kids can now read. Well. Reading is so powerfully and empowering I cannot imagine its absence in my life and now, my kids'. My daughter likes fiction about fairies and now, mysteries. She is reading Harry Potter, the first book. My son veers toward non-fiction: science, machines and cars. His fictional tastes are inclined toward Scooby Doo Mysteries and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I am so pleased I no longer have to read annoying books like Blues Clues, heavily edited Disney versions of fairy tales and Richard Scary books. The kids can read these tedious domes for themselves.

Recently, I've read abridged classics like Anne of Green Gables, Treasure Island and Little Women to the kids. I read the unabridged The Little House in the Big Woods and various fairy tales. These past years, I enjoyed reading Dr Seuss but they're, unfortunately, getting past Dr Seuss. Now, I enjoy reading Greek myths and the myths / tales of other groups. I just discussed with my partner the need for for cultural literacy and now, I have the blessing to read Bible stories as literature. So many literary allusions are biblical. Belief is not desirable; reference is. I am glad I can read them Bible stories. The United States was founded by Europeans (and unwilling / willing others) in a Judeo-Christian culture which has prevailed and about which one needs to be cognizant. My kids need to know Jesus was a cool guy and why / how Christianity and its immediate ancestor, Judaism, spread. Eventually, I hope they learn about Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism and other belief systems.

We have a friend whose grandson as a kid attended a hippy-dippy expensive private school. At 7, he could not read but it was okay because we were told he would read when he was ready. The same spiel was given year after year. At 11, the kid could still not read! He would learn we were told. At age 19, the kid dropped out of community college where it was discovered he was dyslexic. Man. What a dis-service was done to that kid. To control your own informational input is for many kids the first powerful and empowering thing they feel. It certainly was for my partner and me. I am thankful my kids are this empowered! I am happy they can chose to read about what interests them, which may or may not be interesting to me!

Hmmm

2009-04-06T23:01:00.002-04:00

And then, however,briefly, I miss my youth. That's all.

An anniversary of sorts

2009-04-06T19:53:00.004-04:00

I came out officially when I was 27 years old which means I've officially been gay for almost 20 years. Wow. Much has happened in my life and the world including the gay world. Coming out was a long process for me. I had a gay epiphany when I was 12 as I asked my mother what a homosexual was. She cringed as she told me it was two people of the same sex who liked each other. I forget what prompted my query but I remember my mother's discomfort. More, I recollect a comforting reassurance. (Of course the word homosexual is a very fruity, annoying word which I cannot say without pursed lips and wildly, flailing, flamboyant arms!)

My teenage journals are covered with cloyingly crazy crushes on girls which is not how a high school friend remembered me, as she explained over dinner 15 years post-high school. According to her, I was boy-crazy all the time. Much more than her. I recall giving lip service to romantic interest in boys but to me, it always seemed feigned. A case of protesting too much. Besides, I was the boys' good buddy. I was afraid of what I felt for girls.

Cut to college. Unrequited love for best friend. Afraid to tell her. Jealous of her boyfriends. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Having boyfriends. Bleh! Bleh!

I was ready to come out at 22 or 23 but my father had cancer and I had lot of financial responsibility. Blah, blah. It was still only 1984 / 1985. At least, there was the East Village and the punk / post punk / new wave scene. I could dance the night away in NYC until 4 am and come home and get up for work at 6 or 7 am at least 5 or 6 nights a week! That was easier than coming out. So that's what I did.

If I am interested in a topic, I will read anything I can get my hands on and study the topic to death! Eventually, I realized I had to be gay despite one-night stands and all good efforts with the opposite sex. So, did I pick up girls like I did with boys? Oh no, I bought lots of books about lesbian history, lesbian sex, queer history and queer rights. At 26, I was the most well-read, not officially queer, queer I knew (and I knew lots of queers!)

In the late spring of 1989, I was walking past a bar on Morton Street and heard "Closer to Fine" by the Indigo Girls blaring from the open door. As with my reaction to my mother's homo definition, I suddenly felt a comforting reassurance. I walked into the bar and ordered a beer. I had a few sips before I looked around and realized the patrons were all women. I had stumbled into one of the oldest, most famous lesbo watering holes: The Cubbyhole. Well, I felt really fine and went on to have many adventures there, I was out.

Still, I had never kissed a girl. Jerseyside, I started going to a lesbian rap group held at a local gay group. I met girls. I really wanted to date them. Some wanted to date me but would stop dead cold as soon as they found out I had never been with a girl. I was frustrated on so many levels in so many ways. Here, I was rearing to go but treated like a plague-ridden pariah (male) by willing girls who became reticent as soon as my lesbian virginal status emerged. (I stink at lies and am not much better at evasion.) This happened a lot.

Of course, eventually, nine months after I came out, I lost the virginal status; but boy was it hard. I couldn't give it away! This was so much different than my experioence with men! The guy who got my virginity was quite pleased and proud and preening about his triumph! The girl was pleasurable, pleasing and pleased to to have pleasured me. Ah! Good things may happen to those who wait, but waiting really sucks!

PS I've been blogging for 4 years! Time flies. Here is a link to the first post.

welcome-to-burbs

A plan for world citzens

2009-04-04T20:56:00.007-04:00

A short while I was chatting with a friend; I told her I wanted to make our kids "world citizens." I casually said this in passing but have since pondered what it means. It was said in a context of discussing upcoming trips indicating that we are all going to Barcelona in November. We had been in Barcelona when the kids were 16 weeks in utero nestled safely in my partner. Our last trip abroad since before the kids were born(not counting our trip with toddlers to the Dominican Republic and our kid-free trip to Aruba).

Prior to kids, my partner and I traveled a lot. She had been traveling for many years prior meeting me: by herself, with her sister and with friends. I liked to travel but had not done so as extensively as my partner. Our first trip together (and about a dozen people) was to India after which any destination was easy. We both learned that big group travel was not our style. What I learned was how privileged Americans are and how much we don't appreciate this. We just have so much material wealth and comfort, we cannot conceive the amount of deprivation others view as normal reality. The mundane workaday world.

India. Sensuous, smelly, sweltering still in my soul. So many of its inhabitants rotting, begging unseen, unwanted by even by fellow countrymen better off. The Earth is a big, small place. Children younger than my kids live on the streets, work in unsafe environments, take care of younger siblings, beg, are beaten and die. Not in just in India. Even in the United States but less so and much better hidden from we cocooned in our middle class enclaves.

But what a beautiful world, full of fascinating people. Marked by humankind's generations leaving temples, palaces, cities, ruins, art, parks and much more. To see, to feel, to be shaken. Ah, how glorious. I am eternally grateful for and humbly awed by each place I've visited. For this reason (among others), I want to die having caused minimal harm and perhaps have contributed some small good.

So, while my nationality is American, I consider myself a world citizen, connected to this planet and the other souls human and non-human occupying it too. I do not want my children to be jingoistic or unknowing, unseeing, ignorant and unmoved. I want them out there in the wide world. Neither shrinking from its horrors nor shirking their duty to others. I want them to see, to feel the beauty. To be shaken.

Colonialism is gone. World domination is vile and leads to genocide and global rape. We as a species need to reclaim responsible world stewardship. We as Americans must welcome all to the table. Let none stand outside the window literally hungry looking in but barred from entry. To those to whom much is given, much is expected. This is what I want my kids to learn so that they can be good Americans, and great world citizens.

The Age of 'Ologists

2009-03-31T21:13:00.005-04:00

You know you're middle-aged when you've entered the age of 'ologists: neurologists, cardiologists, dermatologists and on. After age 45, I felt compelled like I never had before to have minor ailments checked out by expert 'ologists. The fear behind this being, "what if it is not minor?" Would I want to know about something serious? Yes, of course.

My father was diagnosed with a brain tumor when he was 47. He died at 52, after 2 1/2 years being bed-ridden. He would not go to any 'ologists. He was in several car accidents before he finally hit an 18 year old (who was ok) but wherein he was injured. Because he was slurring his words, the cop thought he was drunk and sent him to the hospital for a blood alcohol exam. My father was not drunk. The ER docs said he would be admitted. He had a major issue: a stroke or a brain tumor. I remember praying for a stroke and was upset when we found out he had a 3rd grade malignant tumor. The neurologist gave him 6 months to live. This was 1986. At the time, I wanted to move out but my siblings were still in college. My life was on hold for 5 years.

My partner's mother had a brain aneurysm when she was 47 and my partner was 14. Her mom went into a coma from which she never awoke before she died a few months later. My partner was devastated.

Our parents' deaths at such a young age for them (and very young for us to experience parental loss) quaked our cores. (Fodder for many therapy sessions!) My partner and I try to be careful health wise. Our kids are 6 (soon to be 7 in August). We both want to be there for them for as long as we can. She thinks she will exit the world around age 70. I hope to make it to 100. (A vanity thing: I just want to say that I did!) Because we had children in our middle age, we are keenly, hyper-vigilantly aware of our age and of how the loss of our parents impacted us at a much later age.

Hence: the Age of 'Ologists. I am pending a return to the cardiologist who discovered I have a heart murmur a month after my primary physician discovered an irregular heartbeat via an EKG. Who knew? I appear to have high blood pressure. (A genetic thing. I am the only one of my siblings and mother not on hypertension meds.) Part of me cannot believe it; yet, I do and I will do what I need to do to address it. Even taking dreaded medication. Ugh!

Within the past two years. I also saw a neurologist for migraines (stress and hormones). I had all kinds of tests due to the brain-cancer ridden father. End result: "normal brain" per a catscan. Hooray! Brain cancer has been an albatross of dread. The neurologist said surprisingly (thus more re-ensuringly) that most brain tests she reviews are not declared "normal."

Dermatologists. Two grandparents with minor skin cancer. Abnormal PAP plus mother with endometrial cancer. See uber-gynecologists. I am ok. Weird stuff on mammogram coupled with breast cancer aunt. Finer breast exams and diagnostics. Ok. Glaucoma in two grandparents: eyeball-ologist (I forget what they're called). Ok. And on.

I am grateful for my health and for my health care. A middle-classed privilege. An age of 'ologists is only possible if you're middle class (or better) with good health insurance. I am humbled but relieved.

Credit: my partner, lls, for the idea.

all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well

2009-03-30T22:09:00.004-04:00

So sayeth Julian of Norwich: anchoress, mystic, recluse, medieval author. She was a "proto-Universalist" according to Wikipedia and other Internet resources. She believed all would eventually be saved and God's love and forgiveness were available to all. She experienced visions which she wrote about in the 14th century and 20 years later. Yes, she was a Christian mystic and limited by medieval constraints. Yet, she was open-minded and hailed as a heroine by Martin Luther in the Reformation, but because she understood and explained orthodox dogma well, she was heralded as a champion of the Catholic status quo. I question this. She was catholic in her universalist theological approach but she was all about embracing matters scholastic with an inquiring, inquisitive mind. This should have pissed off the Catholic hierarchy: reformist, conforming female says "think for yourself" and "all is forgiven."
But Julian lived in a cell for much of her adult life. She would not have seen many people and would have spent most of her time in meditation and prayer, walled in her hermit cell.

I am fascinated that anyone would voluntarily, isolate themselves, remove themselves from others and then write gloriously of the event which propelled them to become a recluse. Odd. I love it; like I love most things medieval. Not that I'd ever want to live then. Sucks to be an outsider: Jew, Muslim, gnostic. Forget gay. Well, there was always the church. Aargh!

I believe in God ( and I don't care if you do or don't)

2009-03-29T17:24:00.008-04:00

Today, at the Unitarian congregation to which I belong, the minister gave a sermon about getting beyond inner Unitarian labels which despite there being a plethora usually boil down to God-believers and humanist / atheist /agnostics. I am firmly with the former. Many in my congregation align with the latter, my partner included. Some are so entrenched, they profess outrage at the mere mention of the "G word", ie God. They will seek the minister out after a service if they think she has been too liberal in mentioning God.

After today's service, there was a "congregational response" wherein the folk in the chairs added their two cents. Most of it was intelligent. My response was that we needed to evolve to become "post-God"; in other words, to not let the belief or lack of of belief in deity bog us down from moving forward, which was essentially the thrust of the minister's sermon. One of the congregants mentioned he thought the anti-God bent of the congregation perhaps turned off some people otherwise drawn to Unitarian Universalist values. Most congregants expressed the need to discuss beliefs generally, not in a manner deity-centered. One woman remarked that writing a credo of beliefs about life and other issues, which she had done as part of the minister's religious education program, was empowering for her.

Tonight, I was wondering about why it irks so many Unitarians that other Unitarians strongly believe in a deity despite allegedly overwhelming evidence for atheism or at worst agnosticism. A few weeks ago, a substitute minister preached about prayer and its importance in her life. At some point in that service she used the phrase "let's pray" to begin a meditation exercise. Afterwards, I heard some congregants complaining how outraged they were that she had invited the people to pray. I think I even heard the phrase "how dare she?" I was shocked. I had just congratulated the substitute minister on how much I enjoyed her sermon and how nice it had been to pray.

I do miss public praying. We recite a bond of union and have closing words at our congregation but there is an astonishing (to this lapsed Catholic) lack of prayer which I guess is the historically agreed upon compact. I acquiesce to majority will but find it startling there is so much hostility to God and to prayer. I don't wish to proselytize for God or evangelize for prayer but it is disconcerting the degree of contempt in which belief and spiritual practice are held. I understand why this is based upon history, but can't we remove God from discussion?

I believe strongly in a positive, present life force which I for convenience call God. (I've written about this previously). Sometimes, I can feel the majesty of the divine in sweeping, singular moments and memories. Mostly, I feel It (yes, It, the pronoun I've always used internally) daily in mundane, trivial, ordinary ways: common decency, passionate living and loving, all the corny stuff like sunsets and rainbows, my kids. Every day, I say a small prayer of thanks for what I have, what I am and for just being alive. I feel Its presence in me and through others.

Because I have felt It my entire life, I have always believed in It. My mother, who is an atheist, told me as a teen I was stupid if I believed in a deity because only stupid people needed an opiate like God to help them cope. So, I tentatively labeled myself an agnostic during my late teens because I could not commit to outright denial of the divine. I was never happy being labeled as a non-believer. Not when I could hear God in music, and poetry and see It in art and nature and my self. I have a soul and in my soul is a spark of the Soul Divine. In my 20s, I reclaimed and re-avowed my belief in God, a Higher Power, a Deity, something beyond and above myself. And each day, I am grateful for It and Its presence in my life.

I need no one's validation. I desire none. I prefer much of this remains internal.

I wish my fellow congregants would understand that belief does not equal ignorance or lack of education. It should not matter that I believe. In the words of my minister, "what's God got to do with it?"

There may be no reprieve

2009-03-27T22:14:00.003-04:00

So your adolescence and / or childhood sucked. Yes, it was hard. Acknowledged. Don't let it consume and subsume your life. Well, that is the message after 20 odd years of therapy. I understand and do the best I can. My partner and I are in a funny head space. We had couples' counseling this week with her therapist and I wound up discussing things long-processed and analyzed. Clearly, this area is still sensitive.

I sincerely hope our kids our not burdened with the long, never-ending issues my partner and I cope with. Just when you think it's been buried under an avalanche of other memories or it's been discussed so much it should be in a psychological journal, something shifts and it is less urgent. But it remains. Ah, man. More needs to be written .

Outing where I work

2009-03-26T12:06:00.006-04:00

Ok, I am outing the location of where I work because I want to do a blog about Newark, NJ (and its environs) and post photos from my blackberry. My other blog, Suburbia - NJ - A Day, (previously known as Mobile Dyke) was an attempt at this but the location anonymity made it hard. It's not a novel concept. There are many sites, blogs etc devoted to a photo a day. Well, this will be my own little attempt at pseudo art here in the blogosphere. It will be called This Dyke's Newark .

Pompous word

2009-03-24T20:38:00.008-04:00

Tonight, I read to the kids: a book about machines for my son and a book of rhymes for my daughter. Both kids listened to both selections. We were in my daughter's bed while I read and cuddled with the kids. Variously, I would say a certain word that both makes my kids cringe and laugh depending if they are or are not the one to whom the word is applied. It's always funny if it's the other kid but horrifyingly appalling if it is you.

The appellation: pompadour.

A few months ago, as I was combing my daughter's hair after the bath, I combed it back and up into that famous style named after a French courtesan made popular by certain men in the 1950s. I started laughing because my daughter looked silly. She wanted to know why I was laughing and I told her because her hair was in a pompadour. She frowned and was near tears. I felt really bad but could not stop guffawing. The word is just so funny. And her hair looked ridiculous. I did apologize. Over and over.

After that night, all I had to do was mention the dreaded word and my daughter would scream, as only she can, "NO! STOP IT! NO POMPADOURS!" To top it off, I would sing "Who Put the Pomp in the Pompadour" to the tune of "Who Put the Bop in the Bop-She-Bop-Bop-Bop" which would elicit more wails of protest.

The mere mouthing of the dreaded word or humming of the detested tune set off howls. Lest I seem smugly sadistic, let me interject that I used this as part of my parental arsenal to overcome whines, nags and vehement statements like "I hate you" and "You're the meanest mama ever"usually uttered in response to pleas to clean up toys or denials of more video watching.

Because this ploy was so effective at defusing or infusing situations with one child, I began to apply it to the other child. At first, he was amused. He actually asked me to put his hair into a pompadour which I promptly did; albeit with hair goop because his hair was dry. He laughed initially. Of course, I laughed as well. His mood suddenly shifted and he declared pompadours were bad as he toweled the goop out of his hair. After this incident, he accused me of child abuse via pompadour.

When reading stories at night, sometimes I add this word to the story at the instigation of either kid and sometimes on my own. But the non-instigating kid is always offended and the instigating kid is always delighted.

It is such a stupid word and is a really, really stupid hairdo. I am very amused by the power this stupid word has in our house. I suppose I should be appalled at its use as a tool of any kind) but it's just so silly. A stupid, silly word. I'm not sure that's not a politically correct thing to admit but there it is. Who put the pomp in the pompadour? Who is that man? I'd like to shake his hand. The hairdo is a stupid hair-r-do. A stupid word, oh. Man oh man!

Poetry and me

2009-03-23T15:16:00.005-04:00

In my 8th grade yearbook, my future occupation is listed as a "famed poet". I was thinking about this after I took a quiz on Facebook which indicated my writing style was most like William Blake who was described as "one of the most creative minds there has ever been." I presume this is to suggest that I have a creative writing style. Debatable, certainly. (As a contrast, several friends have writing styles compared to Jack Kerouac: "right here, right now.") This highly amuses me because while I like some of William Blake, he is far from my favorite poet. And, I am certainly not a "famed poet", creative or otherwise.

From about age 12 to age 25 or so, I liked to write poetry. This urge has resurfaced at various times, usually when falling in love or breaking up. (Nothing so original about that!) Some of this poetry was ok on a juvenile level. Naturally, most of it was unadulterated dreck. But I was passionate about my poetry writing and miss the quiet mediation on words it was to me. I love words. I like to learn them; to use them; to abuse them; to mull them; to make love to them; to savor them. Poetry was a good venue to revel in words.

I love etymology for the same reason I love poetry: words. One of my favorite classes ever was a course on the history of the English language. Ah, me!

The best thing about having written and having loved poetry is that I've always enjoyed it and have never been afraid of it. When I was an adjunct English professor, I was astonished to discover how many of my students were petrified of poetry, even children's nursery rhymes. (I taught children's literature.) My own kids, like most kids, love poetry's rhythms. How could they not? They are learning their native tongue and before we read, we speak. Our ancestors could speak for thousands of generations before they could read. Poetry is a natural, beautiful manifestation of language. It saddens me that so many fear it because of...the way they were taught...its elitist connotation...its disappearance from daily life...

I am old school. I prefer dead white guys' poetry. John Donne is my favorite if I have to pick. John Milton is another. Of course, Shakespeare makes the cut. So does Edgar Allen Poe. My favorite female poets are Emily Dickinson and Adrienne Rich. Conventional. But that's ok. Their poetry is timeless. Which is why they are "famed poets." As far as I am concerned, all poets have creative minds.

Body and mind

2009-03-22T21:11:00.009-04:00

I could rant about the home invaders but what good would it do? It's passed. Let's move on. I know they have major boundary issues. But let's look at the positive: J, the guy, moved lots of wood into the garage and best of all taught me how to chop wood. Chopping wood is fun. Lots of work but fun. When the wood splits, it lets out a satisfying pop. The only thing comparable is the smack of a kick or a punch against a bag in kickboxing or landing the perfect blow when sparring.

I like gardening and physical labor. It's very satisfying and fulfilling. I can see the efforts of my handiwork. It's very tangible. I like this. The garden smells of damp and earth and new plant growth. The wood smells clean, fresh and of fall: brown leaves and sharp decay. I can wield an ax and control it and guide it down on the small, cut logs. It's heady. I'd happily be a gardener or woods woman if it paid reasonably well. Alas.

In high school French class, I read the Rene DeCartes' phrase "je pense; donc je suis" ("I think; therefore I am") which set the tone for my adolescence. I interpreted this to mean that my mind was more important than my body. After all, my existence, my individuality, my very self was validated by my mind. My mind was sharp and smart and swift. My body was clumsy, uncoordinated, slow, awkward; not what I wanted. Gym class was the only class that pulled down my otherwise excellent GPA. My body caused boys and men to stare. My mind gave them pause and protected me. Saved me. Kept me sane.

I wish I could tell the teenage me how wonderful, sweet and powerful is the physical. I love my strength. It anchors my middle age. Keeps me grounded to my self, my family. I revel in the physical. I am alive. I breath; therefore I am. I dig; therefore I am. I garden; therefore I am. I kickbox; therefore I am. Thinking is important but so is being. My body is here; therefore, I am. Alive. I am alive.