New Glasses

I have had my new bifocals for over a week now. I still hate them. It is a weird thing for me because I have always loved getting new glasses. Ever since I got my first pair in 3rd grade. Despite being teased horribly at school, I was still so excited because I could see. I never knew you could see individual leaves on trees from a distance. I never knew you could see any detail in the moon; I thought it was only this silver ball in the sky. I never knew the details you could see in clouds. So getting glasses, it was a great thing. And each pair after has been good because I could see that much better again or the new frames were cool.

This time, I am really unhappy. The frames are cool but the bifocal is really hard to adjust to. Going down stairs or an escalator is the worst. Probably the escalator is the worst for me because I already have a fear of them. And it really sucks that half of my glasses vision is messed up with the up close lens. I am tripping and bumping into things a lot more and I miss seeing things on the floor. It is as if I have lost a section of my vision; I only can see through a small strip at the top of my glasses.

I am sure the age thing is bothering me a whole bunch too. Coworkers and friends have commented about getting bifocals in their mid to late forties when I told them I had to get them. I feel prematurely old. I am sure it will get better, but I still hate them. Maybe with another week, I'll like them more.

Felted Heart Slippers

I love to knit. This is a recent project I finished felting last night. The slipper pattern came from Knit One, Felt Two and the two hearts pattern came from Picture Knits. I made them for Peaches for Valentines Day. Do you like them?
They are pretty easy and the pattern takes me about 2 hours per slipper if I just do stripes. With the hearts, it took me about 4 hours per slipper. I used 2 skeins of Brown Sheep Lambs Pride worsted weight. The pattern calls for bulky but I did not like the colors of bulky wool at the store. So I doubled the yarn. I usually use Lopi bulky weight and it takes two skeins. Felting is fun and easy. I sent them through the washer on the extra long cycle with hot water twice. No soap for that slows the felting process.

The Tell Tale Kitty

Once upon a 3 am sleepy
To the litter box, he did creepy
Doing something that wasn’t pee pee
In the room next to my bedroom door

Not doing what cats can do
Uncovered, it was left to stew
And the stench it, grew and grew
Wafting toward my bedroom door

In my bed so deep in sleep
My 40 winks, I tried to keep
When wide open my eyes did leap
At the odor seeping past my bedroom door

Stink stink

At first I was quite perturbed
My sleep that kitty had disturbed
The sleep damage must be curbed
Caring for the stench beyond my bedroom door

Stink stink

Up I got and quickly ran
To the bathroom, switched on the fan
Back to bed with my woman
Believing it was done outside my bedroom door

Stink Stink

It would not dissipate
This odor kept me awake
Despite hiding behind my mate
The odor from past my bedroom door

Stink STINK

From my guilt I could not flee
Oh why does this have to be
Late at night, awaking me?
The kitty near my bedroom door

STINK STINK

I rolled to one side STINK STINK
I rolled again STINK STINK
Pulled up the covers STINK STINK STINK STINK STINK STINK

Overcome at last by the guilt
My resolve to sleep did finally wilt
I’ll take care of that odor I smelled
Stinking up my bedroom door

To the cat box I did go
To shovel something that wasn’t snow
Down the toilet it did go
As the kitty wandered past my bedroom door

In bed again but wide awake
Pleading with kitty, “For heavens sake
Cover up what you make
In the litter beyond my bedroom door”

Spoke the Kitty, “nevermore”

Friends

I dreamed last night of a dear friend. She hugged me and she said she loved me (DNQ). As she said the words, I could feel her love spread over me, warming me to the core of my being, spreading down from my neck, across my back, down my arms, down my legs. As I was enveloped in her love, my worries and troubles melted away and I was not alone.

When I was a child, my friends and I were always together, exploring the world and learning who we were. They were always there when I needed them most. I hope I was there for them as well. Each friend brought something so special that I cherished.

It sounds silly to say, but pushing 40 as I am, I still need my friends, maybe now more than ever. As I contemplate the inevitable cutting of all ties with my family, I know I will turn to my friends. I know I will need my friends’ love more than ever as I am faced with the hollowness where my family once lived.

It is so hard some days. So many of my good friends live so far away from me. Phone calls, emails, and letters hold us together over the long periods of time between our visits. I am blessed to have so many friends all over the country and beyond (yeah Canada). It is amazing that we maintain our strong ties over the years and miles that separate us. I know many people live their lives without such wonderful friendships as I have. I just feel so sad after that dream that I won’t see one of you and get a hug today.

Fun Adoption Facts

Fact #1 Did you know that babies of different races have significantly different prices in domestic adoption? Yup! And these are today's prices, not that of 10, 20, or 50 years ago. According to an adoption workshop Peaches and I recently went to, babies are priced approximately like this. The most expensive is Caucasian babies who run between $35,000 and 45,000. Next are Hispanic babies, who are around $25,000 to 30,000. Coming in third, African American babies cost $15,000 to 20,000. I want to rant and rave about this but just looking at the numbers says much more than I could ever think to say.

Fact 2 Did you know that some countries make the adoption single parents sign a form that states they are not queer? Nice!

And my favorite for all you "USA is #1" folks out there.
Fact #3 Did you know that Europeans are adopting babies from the USA, now? While we are all out there adopting the poor, disadvantaged children from Russia, China, and Guatemala, Europeans are adopting our poor, disadvantaged children.

A Blog For Betty

Since Betty Friedan died, Peaches and I have talked a lot about feminism. Betty helped to change women's lives with her words "A woman has got to be able to say, and not feel guilty, `Who am I, and what do I want out of life?' She mustn't feel selfish and neurotic if she wants goals of her own, outside of husband and children." I cannot think of what my life would have been if she had not challenged women and men to see beyond the roles that were laid out for us.

As I thought of Betty, I also thought about my mother. When I was a wee spud growing up, my mother will filled with internalized misogyny. I remember asking about the ERA, having seen it on TV, and she said it was bad for women and she was happy it did not pass. When I had my first period, she instructed me to always take my pads to the outdoor trash because the smell of menstruation was offensive. I remember loving work like cutting firewood and hearing my mother tell me that it was going to "damage " my womanhood. There were endless messages about what was women's work and men's work, what is right to wear and not right to wear as a woman, the role I was expected to fill, etc.

I refused to identify myself as a feminist for many years. But I started young, noticing the differences between what males and females could do. I remember clearly the day I had to start wearing a bathing suit that covered my top and that my brother did not and feeling angry. I also remember the indignity I felt when I learned that I could not be a priest, only a nun. Do you think I was going to wear a dress? Not even for God. All though college and many years beyond, I refused to be called a feminist. I think I still held my mother's influence over that label. Finally, when reading "Recovering Ophelia" by Mary Pipher, I was confronted by my own internalized misogyny and saw that truly, I am a feminist. I have been since I first had to wear a girl's bathing suit. Now, I say it proudly. I am thankful that I have moved so far away from my mother's teachings.

I am so thankful for my feminist lovers, friends, and wife, who taught me so much and exposed me to wonderful books, thoughts, and ways to be. They have challenged me to grow and change. Thank you, everyone.

Finally, thank you, Betty. Sadly, the media vilified you throughout your life. While the lives of others who recently died, who work and actions changed our lives, have been lauded by the government and media as heroes, your passing was only a passing comment. You, who helped to start the Second Wave. You, who helped to found NOW. You, who helped to make the women's movement go from personal to political. You helped to make it possible for me to be a proud woman. Betty, I am able to say who I am and what I want out of life.

Mr. What?

Ok, Ok, so, is Worcester going down the crapper? Not only is Hooters Airline being courted by the city officials, a new sort of pageant was held here yesterday. Mr. Hetero. One of the strongest opponents to gay marriage, Ron Crouse, put this lovely event together. Does he know how foolish this is?

Sadly, the media really gave him a lot of airtime during all the equal marriage protests at the state house. They neglected to talk about the rest of his political/religious platform, which is pretty much summed up as marriage is between one man and one woman (God’s way), men have control (God's way), women don’t work and pop out babies (God's way), and Christians are the only ones going to Heaven.

Luckily, the city of Worcester planned to rally against this in many ways including having a vigil and a queer kiss-in. Worcester Human Rights Commission, the City Manager’s Community Task Force on Bias and Hate Crimes and by Mayor Timothy Murray all spoke against it. It is great when straight allies step up to the line with us and say “Not in my city.” Thanks folks.

First Date

Peaches and I had our long over-due first date last night. Before you get all confused, let me explain. Seven years ago, Peaches joined the gay marching band I was in and we met. She was so smart, funny, beautiful, and caring. We had a magical day soon after we met where together we posted fliers for an upcoming concert. We walked and talked all over Cambridge and I knew she was someone very special. We made plans to go out to a Kate Clinton show on a date.

At that point in my life, I was 32 and was ready to stop dating and going from lover to lover. I wanted someone who would be permanent in my life. At the time, as cliché as it is, I said, “I want Ms. Right not Ms. Right-Now.” From our walk around Cambridge, I knew that moment that Peaches would be wonderful to date. We were both very attracted to each other and could talk for hours without lulls or uncomfortable points. But her age made me pause. We are 10 years apart but for 4 months and 1 day, we are 11 years apart. She was 21 when I met her.

When I was 21, there was no settling down for me. It took me until 32 to decide I was ready to settle down. Not that some lovers hadn’t tried. I remember when I was 22, a lover wanted to exchange rings as a symbol of the deepening of our relationship. I was not having that sort of permanency so I suggested we exchange earrings or mood rings and couched it in some bull shit about not conforming to the heterosexist patriarchy’s definition of marriage and commitment. God, I was an asshole at times. I am sure I still am at times.

Peaches' tender age scared me in that I was worried that she would not want to settle down and my heart would be broken. So I cancelled the date. She sold the tickets to my roommate so she wasn’t out the money. I talked at length with a dear friend from college shortly after canceling the date. She really encouraged me to take the chance if Peaches was really as wonderful as I had said. Soon after that, I called Peaches and apologized. We talked for hours on the phone, about our ages, our lives, and our goals. We made plans for another date. I now realize how lucky I was that she let me have my moment and then come to my senses.
Finally, last night we went to see Kate Clinton on a double date with friends. She was very funny and I wish I hadn’t been so silly years ago. But, perhaps it was necessary for Peaches and I to confront the age thing right away and put it to bed. I don’t know. I just know that I cannot imagine life now without Peaches. She is my heart.

911

So, this morning, our dog called the police. Peaches and I were enjoying breakfast (I made hash browns). Our dog was happily playing with her rope bone on my backpack. And my cell phone rang. This was odd because I only use the phone to let Peaches know how late my train will be. Peaches and I looked at each other and she said, “I’m right here.” I answered it and a state police officer asked if everything was all right. They had received a 911 call from my cell phone. Somehow, when our dog was playing with her bone on my backpack, she dialed 911.

Overhead on the train

Today, I was going to post about my cat, but this took precedence over kitties.

So I sit down and the people ahead of me are talking really loud about traffic and cops and such. Then this man says that the increased traffic was due to the new Hooters Airline coming to the Worcester Airport.

What?!? Are you kidding me? Worcester was the location for the first National Women's Rights Convention in 1850 and the second in 1851. What is happening here? This is not a move forward, ladies and gentlemen.

Ugh, where is my acid reflux medicine? I am going to be sick.

Bravery

Recently, in a comment from a dear friend, she said I was brave. Brave to stand up and deal with the crap from my family, I guess. Over the past 6 years, I have thought a lot about bravery at my job and in my life. It is a word that I use and others have used for me, one that I am not sure always that it fits me.

I am a music therapist and work with children undergoing painful medical procedures and painful physical rehabilitation. I go into these procedures with the nurses or therapists and use music to reduce the children’s pain and anxiety. I watch these kids deal with pain and suffering that I have only a slight understanding of having never experienced anything like what they have. The other day, I was working with a kid and told her she was being so brave. She said “No I am not. I am crying and scared.” That made me think more about courage and bravery and what it feels like.

When thinking about bravery, I think first about being a lesbian and working for my civil rights. And when it comes to civil rights activism, Peaches and I are no slouches. Throughout both our lives, we have fought for LGBT civil rights. Many, many years ago, I was an outspoken lesbian in a scary western state. I got threats of death and rape frequently on my phone. There was even a cross burned on the lawn where I lived. I am glad I moved when I think of that. Together, Peaches and I have protested for LGBT rights, women’s rights, and AIDS funding. More recently, Peaches and I proudly stood up at rallies and protests for same-sex marriage. Being both secure in our jobs and lives, we could stand in front and be photographed and interviewed. Our local NPR station did a 3-part story on us getting legally married; with a one-year later follow up story too. So many of our friends told us how brave we were to be so visible and to stand up next to those who want to put you down.

When Peaches and I were married in our church (you see there is the legal marriage in 2004, the church wedding in 2001, and the civil union in Vermont in 2001), our friends and family came to support and toast us. So many people talked about our bravery to live out-loud. Our friends and family spoke of how we do not hid who we are and buck the system by getting married when the state (at that time) would not allow it. Many of my friends live still in that scary western state and do not have the social and state protections we have here in MA. They toasted our courage over and over.

Recently, when I filed a civil rights discrimination complaint, Peaches hugged me and told me I was brave. I sat there, swallowing my tears, trying not to cry, and was shaking all over. I felt so small and was so thankful she was with me.

I think about all those times when I am told I am being brave and you know what? I don’t feel courage or bravery; instead I feel scared shitless or like crying. When I at the protests, it is scary. I feel so small but I have to be there. I have to make them see me. That isn't courage or bravery, it is determination to not be less than everyone else any more. As I think about bravery, I doubt there is really a feeling of bravery. I think it is still doing what you have to do despite feeling like running for the hills and hiding.

I told the kid at work that I think when people are brave they feel scared and cry but keep doing what they have to do, which is what she had done that morning. She looked at me as only a pre-adolescent kid can do and said she did not believe me. But I think I am right. Come on, I've got almost 30 years on her. So to my friend who told me I was brave and that she hopes to be as brave as me, you are. Just like I know that little girl is brave, I know you are too.

Gotta Love Huffington Post

Check this out!

Massachusetts, my home sweet home!

Lately, the sun is rising earlier and is up for part of my train ride in and out of the city. Sometimes, I watch the landscape slide by and think about how I came to live here in Massachusetts. I am not a native and never planned to live here. I came for a job and did not think I would stay.

When I first came here, MA was like any other state I had lived in, except it was very hard to make friends here. Even joining several groups, professional and recreational, did not help. Despite being an officer in one professional group, I continued to be treated as if I did not exist or was not worth people’s time.

Then, things changed when I met Peaches. She too was a transplant who had thoughts of leaving the state. We quickly fell in love and decided to try to leave the state. Our plans never worked out so we stayed. We moved in together and started making a home together here in MA. In 2001, we were “married” in our church with our friends and family. Massachusetts became even more of a home to me.

The next big change happened November 2003 when the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts issued the Goodridge Decision. We went to all the rallies and protests we could in the time leading up to May 17, 2004. I heard speakers talk of liberty and freedom. I saw lawmakers, straight and gay, standing up and saying gay marriage is a civil rights issue and to be against it is just as wrong as those who were against equal educational access and interracial marriage. I heard passionate speeches from individuals whose families had been enslaved, saying to bar same-sex marriage is a violation of civil rights, and similar to the violations their families had endured. Massachusetts became very cool.

On May 17, 2004, Peaches and I were married. The night before, we went to Cambridge City Hall and were the 215th same-sex couple to sign the paperwork to be married. Never in my life did I ever think I would see so many people (thousands upon thousands) cheering for my right to marry my wife. Now, we are married and currently can only stay married in this state. This is our home.

When we bought our own home here a year and a half ago, it helped to solidify that MA is were I belong. We have neighbors who chat with us over the fence, snow blow our sidewalk, and bring over clams casino. Being an apartment dweller for almost 20 years, being a home owner now makes this state even more of a home.

Our battles are not done yet with equality. I am currently involved in a civil rights case, fighting to be treated the same as heterosexual couples. It will be years before it is decided. I will not stand to be treated differently in my home.

So I stare out the window at the landscape that once was so unfamiliar and unwelcoming. It is no longer is unfamiliar, not only from the many years of looking at it but also because my wife and I have found a community that believes in the words that “All men are created equal” and include me in it. I have stood in the state house and in the court, demanding my equality. I have made Massachusetts my home.

Flu

I feel like ass. I will really post when I am not feverish. who knows what crazy shit I may write now.

Oh, Happy Valentines day. Right.

Morning Angel

I was told that Friday is “Blog about your Cat” Day. Today, I am going to blog about our cat, Bubba D. Bubba is a black and white tuxedo cat and eight years old. We believe he is part teddy bear, which makes him very cuddly and snuggly. He usually is a fantastic cat who enjoys looking out the window and laying on anything fleece.

However, the other morning, Bubba was on my list. At 1 AM, he decided it was time for his breakfast. And since Peaches can sleep through an h-bomb explosion, he knows to come to me. He started pesting me, which consisted of head butting my hand, knocking books off my nightstand, climbing on me and purring the loudest purr ever. Now, I am sure, you must think I am being a big baby, but no. You see, there is the climbing on you and purring to be sweet and nice and then there is this behavior. Bubbba climbs up on me and presses his petite paws painfully into my internal organs. Then he purrs the loudest purr ever, not a sweet purr of love but a many decibel purr. It is with the intent to wake me and get some food. He kept these behaviors up until 5 AM, when I got up to get ready for work. And for that annoying pesting behavior, I made him wait an hour to eat.

And he hasn't pested me since. Cat-0 Human-1

Gum!

I boarded the train and sat down. As I stretched out for my morning nap on the train, I felt a tell tale sticky feeling on my shoe. Gum! Nasty, lazy people.

It doesn’t help that I slept pretty bad last night. I am plagued by dreams of my parents, which I dreamt of again last night. The dream vanished upon waking but I was left with the feeling that my parents were reaching out to me and I was evading them.

You see, my parents, Mr. And Mrs. Potato (where else would a Hashbrown come from?) are bad potatoes. We have had several disagreements that have lead to the current estrangement. They are numerous and range from stupid to theological. Over the years, the rift grows and I am weary of my perpetual mourning and longing for my parents.

I once was a good potato until college. Damn liberal arts! My parents are conservative, Catholic, republicans who believe in blending in to the majority. I hit 18 and wander off to college and seven years later emerge:
1. As a liberal democrat
2. As a dyke who is active in gay civil rights campaigns
3. With a manly flat top and no dress in sight
4. As a vegetarian
5. Having dated outside my race
6. With the knowledge that I am a survivor

As I was sorting through all these changes, my parents clung tighter and tighter to their image of what I am supposed to be, heterosexual, married to a white man, having many children, Catholic, conservative republican, meat eating, and beautiful in the manner which is accepted by society. I destroyed this false image of me completely 6 years ago when I announced my engagement to my blushing bride, Peaches. Mr. and Mrs. Potato came to visit us to disrupt our engagement but failed. They saw me for who I am now and they refused (quite hurtfully and meanly) to come to our wedding. This shattered what was left of an already strained relationship.

Now, I am gathering the shards of what once held my parents and me together. I am haunted by what to do with all of these broken pieces. Do I try again to mend it and get along with them, being the good, dutiful daughter? Do I throw these pieces in the nearest dumpster and never look back? Do I tell them just how hurtful their behavior has been to me and Peaches? Or do I keep holding these shards, my heart endlessly bleeding and hurt by these sharp edges? I do not take this decision lightly and have employed a very wise therapist to accompany me through this decision.

I am left dreaming of them often while I wrestle with this horrible decision. And this morning, instead of looking straight at my decision, I direct all my frustration at the fucker who dropped his/her gum on the floor that is now stuck to the bottom of my shoe. It is much easier.

New Leaf

So, I have been bad. I have only been to the dentist three times(including today) in the past nineteen years. In that time, about eight years ago, I also saw a periodontist for about six months. I had not been back since then. I was so frustrated because I went for a gum graft and scaling and felt I was getting the shaft. They finished the work they originally said I needed, paying for much of it myself because my insurance stank, the periodontist said he want to do three more gum grafts in spots he had never mentioned before.

After years of procrastination, today I went to the dentist. I went there expecting cavities, needing more scaling, and possibly the need to order dentures. Instead, my teeth were fine. They had only a little tartar. No cavities. No scaling. No dentures. Also, the hygienist and the dentist were so kind and gentle. As I left, I made my appointment for six months from now.

This is all part of my plan to get on track with my body and health since I am one year away from a major birthday. Turning a new leaf, so to say. As part of this plan, I also went to the eye doctor last week. And what a fun time that was. An intern did an hours worth of tests including the thing where they flip lenses and say, "Is a or b better?" and the ever popular super bright light that allows them to look at your retina. I did not have the crowd pleasing puff of air for glaucoma. When the fun was done, the doctor came in and told me I need bifocals (at the young age of 39!!!) I had hoped to hide the shame of age by getting the graded lenses but he crushed that with his next sentence of "I want you to get the type with the defined lenses." I wanted to ask if I got a walker to go with it.

I commute.

In 1 hour and 45 minutes, I ride the commuter train in to the station then catch the subway to my work. Each morning, I'm up at 4:50 AM to catch the 6:06 train. After working all day, I hurry to take the subway back to the station to catch the 4:58. The train gets me to the station in my home town around 6:15 PM. It can be a long day.

Some days, I like taking public transportation. I can relax, not worry about other drivers, and use the time constructively or to relax. Most mornings, I am happy to have the extra nap time. I recently received a blow up pillow for the train on my birthday. On the way home, I frequently use the time to knit, read, knit, listen to NPR or CDs. It is relaxing and calm. On these days, I am happy.

I also like commuting on public transportation when I think about the environment. I look out the window at the driving commuters and see the huge traffic jams stopping them as we sail along. My friends who drive into the city end up spending the same amount or more time than I do getting to and from work. I am proud to be one of the hundreds who ride the train faithfully, doing our part to reduce the demand for fossil fuels, pollution, congestion, and adding to the pre-existing parking nightmare.

I look at those cars on the road as we whiz past and think of how frustrated I always get in traffic. I hate the huge traffic jams. In fact, when I was to first meet my wife's family, I was stuck in one of the horrible traffic snarls getting into the city and was two hours late. Not a good first impression. And then, when we were going into the city for our rehearsal for our wedding, we were an hour late because of the traffic. I remember these days as I glide along gazing out the window.

There are other days when I am not happy to be taking public transportation. I actually hate commuting on these days. There are the days I am jammed on subway cars that smell horribly with people all squished together. I don't have to hold on because 1) there are too many people on the train and I cannot reach a rail, and 2) I will never fall because everyone is so jammed packed into the car. My favorite on days like that is when someone holds the door open and tries to shove themselves in a car that is already about to explode. They stand in the door and keep the subway from moving on to the next station, making me miss my connection.

Then there are the rude cell phone users on the train. They talk so loud, the entire car can hear their conversations. I really get annoyed hearing middle managers (mainly men) dishing trash about their employees (usually women) for nearly an hour. They talk endlessly about these employees short comings. Or there are the ones who argue with their "loved ones." Like we really want to hear all that.

If I don't get to the train early enough, I have to share a seat with other riders. Often, it is ok but there are some people who make the trip so long and annoying. There are the the people who sit with you and sigh because they want to sit alone or because we are all squished together. Hey, I don't like the closeness either but you don't hear me sighing. Or there are the people who lean their bags on you or flap their papers in your face.

I don't know which day it will be today but I better run or I will miss my train.