Dedicated to...

Proposition 8:



(Sorry. I couldn't resist...)

Hmmmm....

Can't resist posting this quote that showed up on a friend's signature line:

"The Bible contains six admonishments to homosexuals and 362 to heterosexuals.
This doesn't mean God doesn't love heterosexuals. Only that they seem to require much more supervision."
-Lynn Lavner, comedian, musician

Time Capsule

Back when I was a kid, my dad owned an old 1947 two-ton truck with a beet body. In 1977, when we moved from the ranch at Laramie to the ranch at Sundance, he loaded up the ’47 with stuff, covered it with a tarp, and drove it north. He parked it in the ranch driveway, and there it sat for 32 years, while trees grew up through the bumpers and running boards, and the tarpaulin slowly rotted. For 30 years, until the day he died, he refused to allow any effort to open it up and see if anything was worth saving.

When my family gathered to celebrate Jenny’s life and mourn her passing, my nephew Ray (Jenny’s son, now a fine, strapping 6’3”, 200# man – how time flies!) looked out the window and said, “We should unpack that old truck.”

“What,” my brother Sam replied, “the Time Capsule?”

That’s what it was – a time capsule from 1977. Without Pa to restrain us, we trooped out, pulled off the old bungy cords, and folded back the tarp.

No surprise, much of the stuff was ruined. Boxes of clothes that had rotted, books with pages that had molded together into a solid mass of moldy paper, an old mandolin so rotted that it fell to dust at a touch. We found that my dad had thrown stuff in with random disregard for value or meaning. Family heirlooms sat next to bundles of old newspapers. Valuable antiques huddled with a bag of used, empty toothpaste tubes. (I’m not kidding. He really packed that and moved it, rather than tossing it in the garbage.) And sitting in a box with kid art and a bag of buttons, I found a roll of 35 mm negatives. The date, carefully printed in my mother’s hand, was “Oct.-Nov. 1960.”

That’s right. My very first baby pictures, miraculously preserved for 32 years in the back of an old truck, protected from broiling sun and freezing winter, from rain and snow and drought, by one thin layer of canvas.

It was the one prize I took from the stuff that wasn’t wrecked. And it was enough.

Sweetness

'Scuse me? Nixon??!!! Ouch!

You'll never find my kids dressed like this...

Sleepy time!

My sibs - Frank, Jenny, and Sam

This one reminds me of my Trinidad, all snuggled in his sling. Sweet, sweet boy. (Trin, not me.)

"Where's that nipple?!"

The best picture of my mom - darn it!

Up All Night

Yesterday was Sam's birthday. He turned six, and his desire was to have fun all day, and then stay up all night and play. He got his wish. I went to bed – I choose to work today – but Kristin and the boys stayed up. They watched Star Wars Episode 1 and The Black Stallion Returns. They turned the Eagles on loud and danced. The played Pokemon. And that's just the stuff I know about. It wasn't the most restful night I've experienced.

He did it, but just barely. When I got up at 5 a.m., Sam was starting to fade. Kristin said she felt like she was in an airport. Trin, on the other hand, had gained his second wind and said he was wide awake. As Kristin carried Sam into the bedroom to watch the Making of Star Wars, he said, "Wake me up when we get in there."

Homeschooling is an incredible gift we give our children. Perhaps the most valuable gift we give them. We have no curriculum. We prioritize dreaming, following our interests, domestic arts, respect for self and others, fun and play outdoors, exploration, community service, natural and social sciences, reading and math, and music. The math they learn is meaningful, connected to what they're doing. The reading is, too, and mostly they teach themselves. They help us grow our own food and preserve it. They are an integrated part of our economic unit as a family. Their childhood is embodied freedom and responsibility, and they are thriving.

And one of the side effects is that a six-year-old boy can have his birthday wish and stay up all night, without losing a single minute of school.

Oregon 42, Oklahoma State 31

I don't know what the NCAA was thinking, starting an important bowl game at 5 p.m. on a workday. By the time I got home from work, ate, and got to my neighbor's house to watch the Holiday Bowl, the first half was over. But that's okay, because this game was all about the second half.

And what a second half it was! Oregon rolled up five touchdowns, and just physically overpowered OSU. (Hey, we're used to beating OSU!) Our young quarterback, Jeremiah Masoli, knocked an OSU back ass-over-teakettle on his way to a 41 yard touchdown. LeGarret Blount hurtled one guy and dragged another 12 yards into the end zone on another touchdown run. And in one of the most amusing plays I've seen, someone (Walter Thurmond?) kicked the ball out of his own grasp when he hurtled over a defender on his way to what would have been another great kickoff return. That put a quick stop to the return, but fortunately, the Ducks recovered.

OSU put up a good fight. Hats off to their great receiver, Dez Bryant. And their quarterback, Zac Robinson, who got knocked around something fierce and still kept making plays. Just nowhere near enough to overcome the plays made by the Ducks, on offense and defense.

So, for all you who say the PAC-10 is soft or weak, how does 3-0 in bowl games sound to you?

Go Beaves! Go Trojans! Let's run the table.

UPDATE:

In what must have been a singularly forgettable game, the Beavers pulled it out, 3-0 over Pittsburgh in the Sun Bowl. On New Years Day, the Trojans took the Nittany Lions out behind the woodshed for a good thumping.

PAC-10 goes 5-0 in bowl games. Think that'll earn the PAC-10 any respect from the eastern pundits?

Nah!

12 Days of Christmas

I enjoyed this
from Straight-No Chaser, so I'm passing it on...

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Learning to Knit

Monday nights are knitting knights.

A few weeks ago I showed up at a friend's house to join her knitting circle, and took my first stitches ever on a sixteen inch, #6 circular needle. Annette cast on for me, then showed me how to do it. She sat down next to me with her own project, and we knitted side by side for a little while, until I started to get the hang of it. Then she showed me the purl stitch.

I actually picked it up pretty fast, and find it to be fun and relaxing.

Best of all, though, is fitting into women's space – and this is definitely women's space. Chatting and laughing and just being myself. And belonging. I'm the only transwoman there, yet not one of my new women friends has stumbled over a pronoun.

It is infinitely sweet to be in this place.

How Good Life Is

In my last post, I spoke about dysphoria – how bad life is. It's dangerous to do that. Sometimes people think that's what your life is, and when you recount your problems, it can look pretty bad. Kinda like when you look at a rose. If all you focus on is the aphids, you can miss the blossoms altogether.

This is a post about blossoms.

For starters, my job is fun and challenging, and I'm valued and supported in it, not only by management and co-workers, but by my union. I work with interesting and diverse people. My pay is fair and adequate (barely) to support my family on one income. And I get to make a positive contribution to the well-being of my community. Yep, you guessed it – I'm a bureaucrat!

I live in a place that is incredibly blessed by nature. It is so beautiful here – mountains rising high to snow-capped peaks in the east, lush forested hills to the west and south, the ocean just a couple of hours away. Even in winter, when the rains pour down day after day, the world looks green. Mushrooms grow profusely in the fall (did I tell you I love hunting mushrooms?). My own backyard is filled with fruit trees and wildflowers, and sometimes we hear raccoons walk across the roof at night, or see them in the early morning, picking snails off the greens, smacking them on the deck to break the shells, then delicately gobbling them up with both hands.

And my neighborhood is a delight. There are lots of kids, next door and down the block, to play with mine. When I came out to them, everyone embraced me, and everyone supports me. My next door neighbors are from Silverton, Oregon, where they just elected the first openly transgendered mayor in the nation. If we run out of eggs or ace bandages, a quick walk up the block gives us a choice of half a dozen or more families who will be glad to share – and they know they're welcome to come to us when they need something.

Last post I talked about what's wrong with my body, but there's probably more right about it than wrong. I'm healthy. My mind is healthy, and I can't tell you how good that feels! I can walk and run and grasp and see and hear and taste and smell and feel – both pain and pleasure. I ride my bike to work nearly every day, and I have a pretty awesome health insurance package (except it doesn't include full transgender care).

Then there are my friends. Oh, joyous, wondrous friends! How grateful I am for you all. Incredibly – or perhaps naturally – my friendships have blossomed and deepened and multiplied since coming out and living as I am, as a woman. How delicious, to share support with you, to learn and teach, to grow, to connect, to dream, to share. Oh, yes, I am blessed.

Even better, my family. Kristin, my best friend and co-parent, and my boys. How rich is the love in which I reside. How varied and interesting and connected my life is because of them.

Best of all, my life is rich with meaning and purpose. Participation in a citizen's committee that works to make our city a better place. Letters to my sister that buoy her in her challenge, which is far more difficult than mine. Connection and sharing with friends and family. My novel, a work eight years in the process, still growing and getting better. All the skills and knowledge I've acquired in my life, and all I'm still learning and have yet to begin. This blog, where I reach out to people, friends, family, and total strangers, across our nation and the world, and the blogs of others, where I try to create peace and to support and defend my LGBT people. And nature, that wondrous web of life that fills every corner, that intricate, delicate, and persistent web of Life that is Mother Earth, that nurtures and embraces us all as close and loving as a mother the baby in her womb.

Don't get me wrong. Gender dysphoria sucks, and it hurts. It has stolen many experiences and relationships that I miss deeply. But bridging the gap between male and female has its blessings. It is precious in its own right, a creation of Universal Love as real and rich as twilight, which bridges the gap between day and night. Even that – my biggest challenge, my greatest pain, my nemesis – bears surprising insights, experiences, and relationships that form and enrich my life.

Yes, I'll be back, bitching about my body again. You can bet on it. But keep it in perspective. I certainly intend to.

A Couple of Good Ones from Kristin...

Whenever I run out of good material, I just link to Kristin's blog. She's always got something good...

Things to Be Grateful For...

180 posts - today.

This quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.:

"Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence, when it helps us to see the enemy's point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic weakness of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who are called the opposition."

Hair getting longer.

Wow! Kristin. My best friend. My wisest councilor. My inspired co-parent. My staunchest support. Chocolate cream pie and pumpkin pie - made from scratch.

Trinidad. Creativity unleashed. Sensitivity. Passion. Fascination with nature.

Sam. Unbridled joy. Patience. Laughter. Brilliance. And an unwavering dedication to Star Wars.

You know what?

Life is good. And it's beautiful. And today, I'm happy - and grateful.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Birthday Girl!

It's my birthday, and the full moon. So I'm taking a day off, sort of, from blogging. Just this little note, a celebration!

Peace, everyone! Be well.

Leadership

Judging by this measure of leadership, Barack Obama should be our next president. NOT John McCain.

Harvest

Okay, it's true Kristin just wrote a blog by this title, and it's also true that this is a celebration that I want to honor, too.

All from our little suburban farm.

What can be better than that?

The Alchemists

Yesterday we extracted honey. Kristin and I took three boxes off the two beehives in our backyard, brought them into the house, and cranked the wood stove so that the honey would pour more easily. It's always a sticky mess, but joyful, too, with kids licking up every spill of the sweet stuff. The dog lay down with her head under a dripping honeycomb. Ick! Laughter and sweat and fingers sticking to everything.

As I carefully peeled the caps off a frame of golden honeycomb, it occurred to me who the real alchemists are. The bees. They make pure, liquid gold from air and earth and water, and oh! how beautiful is that gold! Far more so than the metal, and more useful. The wax and the propolis will go into Kristin's homemade salves and cosmetics. Other wax would make candles and furniture polish; other propolis would go into medicines and tonics. The honey itself will be a sweet treat, a flavoring, food, and medicine as well – we typically slather a little honey onto a bandaid to hasten the healing of a cut, and almost never use things like Neosporin. Honey works as well if not better, and it's sitting right there in the jar.

"How I Feel...

...on a Day-to-Day Basis"

This one from The Angry Black Man cracked me up, so I just had to link to it!

Observation Point(s)

A weekend camping out with the boys – too short, yet plenty long enough one-on-two with children. Trin walking new ground, his confidence and competence growing as he brought an entire 20' tree to camp by himself, then chopped pieces off of it for the fire with the hatchet.

This morning we packed up and headed for the ocean. A short hike, crossing the creek at the ford, then across the dunes to the beach. Perfect quiet, the surf shushing in, sky so blue you look just to enjoy the color, no one there but the gulls and vultures and plover – and us. I sat on top of a dune and looked out over the hazy ocean, watching the sun shine on the waves before they crest and curl into foam, while the boys played in the sand, running, jumping, rolling.

The energy of an eight-year-old child boggles my middle-aged mind.

I found a sand dollar on the beach, delicate and perfect, just a little bigger than a quarter.

Back at the parking lot, we grab cream cheese, tomato, and bread, and head for the observation point. From there you can only see the ocean way down the coast where the creek flows into it, but the view of dunes and creek and the hills beyond is spectacular. I make sandwiches while the boys scamper around and under the wooden observation deck, and we eat lunch in quiet companionship. Couples and families wander down to the end, glance at the view, and leave, scarcely taking the time to lift a camera. Do we scare them off, or are they really so unimpressed? There's no way to tell.

Back home, I spend a few minutes catching up with blogworld. I see that I've engaged five or six Christian bloggers in conversation, and have linked to three of their blogs. Not one has linked to mine. Hmmm….

I see also that one of my Christian friends has come out as gay. Her courage is a shining light.

She linked.

Kristin, as usual, has exceeded the limits of physical possibility. Her pickles are damn good, and the deck and picnic table both are freshly finished. When I talk with her, my stress leaks away. What is it that gives her such serenity? She didn't get it from me, yet she got it while I was with her.

A little sand dollar sits under my computer monitor as I write.

A link to peace.

When Kids Ask…

Saturday, and Kristin's away at the coast for the weekend. I've got the kids to myself.

A friend comes over. "Maddy, can we light a fire? Felix wants to do some blacksmithing." "Um… well… okay. Gather up some wood, and I'll come light it when you're ready."

Gather pliers, vice grips, a couple of hammers and an old piece of rebar. Cut up the old bench that broke last summer. A twist of newspaper, pile twigs on top – make sure they're dry. The sun's shining. "Let's start it with a magnifying glass."

Bright spot of light, curl of smoke, blow, gently, gently… More smoke, then flame – less than two minutes! "Don't ever let me catch you doing this unsupervised!" "Of course not. Can we have marshmallows?"

Sunday. "Maddy, can we light a fire?" "Um, I don't know. Let me think about it while I finish up here." "No! I want a yes or no answer now!" "Okay. No." "I'll let you think about it…"

The County Fair

Thursday, and the sun beating down. The kids and I hop on the SUB (sport utility bicycle) and ride across town to the fair.

Long lines to the ticket booths. Twenty-two dollars buys a paper bracelet and unlimited rides in the carnival. "We want to do this ride by ourselves, Maddy. You stay right here!" "I think I'll go over there, in the shade." "Okay."

Two boys, buckled in. The Flying Tiger. The Tiger Express. A roller coaster, of sorts. Big smiles, and squeals of fright and laughter. "That was fun!" "Are you hungry?" "No, let's ride that one next!"

Growing hunger, and, at last, a rest. Cotton candy, corn dogs, and snow cones, sitting on the grass in the shade of a tent. Trin snuggles onto my lap.

Skin growing hot, turning red. Slather on the sunscreen, climb onto the ferris wheel. The three of us, high above the crowds. The slingshot casts a few people even higher, flinging them from the ground to 100 feet high in a second. "No way I'm going on that one!"

Swedish pastries. The prayer booth. "Want to take the test to see if you're going to heaven? Just two questions!"

Nah. It's not that hard to tell. Who needs a test?

More Changes

Five years ago, the invasion of Iraq transitioned into occupation, and Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay came to light. Simultaneously, I grappled with the deepening awareness of my own gender dysphoria.

I wanted to take action, but I didn't know how. Instead, I spent a lot of time reading the news and feeling depressed. I scanned the headlines and surfed the internet daily, expecting to encounter the article announcing that impeachment proceedings had begun. I read Newsweek cover-to-cover. Gradually, the cowardice of the Democrats and the lapdog mentality of the Republicans became clear. Both groups in congress were (and are) more willing to toss justice, the rule of law, the Geneva Convention, and American freedom onto the dunghill of history than they were to take on Bush, Cheney, Rove, and the RSM (Republican Smear Machine). I felt helpless as I watched my country disgrace itself.

My depression continued to deepen until I became suicidal. By 2006, I could barely function, and still I read the news and did nothing.

When insanity, suicide, or, at minimum, a nervous breakdown loomed as certain if I didn't change course, I finally put all that I value and love at risk, and began to transition. I rang in the New Year of 2007 with my first taste of estrogen.

And magic began to happen.

I got a new job. I stopped reading the news daily. I started to focus on, as Voltaire put it so well in Candide, "tending my own garden." Things got better. My relationships with my kids began to improve.

In August, I changed my name and started presenting as female 24/7. By November, I started volunteering for a queer activist non-profit corporation. In the spring of 2008, I volunteered for a citizen's advisory committee on bicycle and pedestrian infrastructure. I studied NVC, and started a study group to improve my skills. Last month, I joined Toastmasters to increase my skill and confidence in public speaking.

Today, I realized that I'm no longer whining – I'm doing. My country is still disgraced, Bush and Cheney still haven't been called to account for their crimes, people are still being tortured in Guantanamo Bay, the Democrats are still spineless, and the Republicans are still amoral lapdogs. Nothing has changed, except that I feel empowered. I'm making a difference.

That is a change worth celebrating.

Lapdogs

There's a new bestseller out, revealing yet more of the machinations of the Bush White House…