It's Not That I'm Rude

Do not call or drop by, not even for a cup of sugar, cause girl, we are busy. You know we love you all but we don't have time to socialize or be friendly. So don't even try. Better yet, if you see us on the road, pull over and make way cause we gots things to do. Here's my schedule.

MONDAY
1. Get up at 4 to help Peaches complete the normal cleaning for her child care business 'cause after all the DIY and fixing up we did Sunday, we are too pooped to stay up and clean.
2. Work all day.
3. Call my doctor for an appointment so I can get her to sign my paperwork for the adoption.
4. Come home on time.
5. CLEAN!
6. Sleep so I don't look like complete ass the next day for the social worker.

TUESDAY
1. Get up hopefully at normal time, 5 AM. Drive myself to the train station.
2. Work all day.
3. Leave early to get home early to vote!
4. Come home and tidy up after the cherubs in Peaches family child care business.
5. Meet with the social worker for the first home study visit.
6. Pick up after the social worker leaves.
7. Go to Melissa Murgo's celebration party!
8. Sleep.

The Return of the DIY

OK. So let me just say, putting in trim takes for freeking ever!

Art Expressing the Horrible

We went to the Worcester African Cultural Center (WACC) today for the African Cultural Festival. It was a wonderful festival and I recommend it to anyone in the area. There were music and dance performances, vendors, food, and free admission to the WACC.

I was shocked to see the size of the WACC. We drive by it twice a day to get to and from the train. The place is huge. It has a large gallery of art and artifacts that are beautifully displayed and preserved.

Also displayed in the museum gallery was an art exhibit, called The Children of Darfur Surviving Genocide by the children of Darfur. When the children arrived at the refugee camps, they were asked to draw pictures of their homes. Nearly all the pictures included guns, bullets, planes and helicopters, and houses on fire. I was horrified to see that young children, who's drawings of people are still not fully developed, able to draw a machine gun with quite a bit of accuracy. The drawings tell the tragic events of Darfur so well. At the same time, their drawings were beautiful.

If you have a chance to see it, I recommend you see this project.

Nice Post About Clara

Clara went to a pet festival today. She had a great time. She is a wonderful pup, even if her mouth still stinks of skunk. Look at her extreme cuteness.

Here, Clara is rocking the agility course.

Clara is watching the Frisbee dog act.

Oh no, Clara! You better pucker up.

Peaches loves her Clara.

Thanks for the great day together.

Anniversary

20 years ago today, I came out to myself and my two college friends. That's a lot of years. I'll tell you more soon.

Indicator of Fall

Oh Yeah, Caramel Apples!

Sleep Peaches Sleep

I guess my restless mind is a good thing. It kept me awake to hear a scary domestic situation across the street and call 911 a few minutes ago. It appears to have calmed down now, post police intervention. I called our neighbor, Green Thumb, since it was happening on the street in front of her house. She and I called each other a few times through it.

Peaches slept through the entire event. She is amazing.

Across the Universe

I am up past my bedtime with thoughts swirling about my head. I feel the sadness of loss all around me. I don't know what sparked it off; was it the movie, therapy yesterday, my book, being tired?

I am thinking about macro verses micro vision. How, if I look at single events with each of my family members with whom I do not talk to, I will begin to feel that I am wrong to treat them this way, cutting them off from my life and my future child. My actions seem exaggerated and mean. When I look at it with macro vision, seeing my life with each in it's entirety, my actions make sense and are good.

I am thinking about the choices made by my mother, my father, my sister, and my elder brother. As with all our lives, there were times they could have made different choices and we would not be where we are now. But then, we would not be who we are now.

I am thinking about that in a few days, I will mark my 20th year since coming out. 20 years ago, I told myself, my friends, my parents, and my siblings. In two decades, neither my parents, my sister, nor my elder brother have made an effort to learn, understand, or try. The question rolls about my head, "Why don't they try?"

I am thinking of how finally I am furious with my sister.

I am thinking about my loving wife who celebrates my successes, holds me when I cry, loves and respects me, shares her heart with me, and who has taught me more about family than I ever learned at my parent's home. Her laughter is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.

I am thinking about whether I should invite the nurses at work to participate in our 100 wishes quilt for our future baby.

I am thinking of a manuscript I need to work on making the corrections. The reviewer is crazy. I just need 3 good hours to complete it. But the acuity of the hospital is up and the intensity of the patients' needs has increased. Their stories, needs, music, faces, and words swirl about me.

I am thinking about stupid office politics and a rude coworker.

I am thinking about the young man I sang to sleep today. The intimacy of singing someone in physical and emotional pain to sleep is overwhelming some times. The suffering in his eyes coupled then with the trust in us to help ease him into sleep is a huge juxtaposition. And still, twelve hours later, one of the songs I sang, "Across the Universe" echoes in my mind. Here is a smidgen of the lyrics.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting thorough my open mind
Possessing and caressing me

Jai guru deva om
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world
Nothing's gonna change my world

As a young teen, I discovered this song and loved it. The words "nothing's gonna change my world" brought me comfort. I clung to those words in hope that growing up, the impending coming out, going to college, etc. would never happen. I would always be with my friends Chica, Psycho Kitty, and the rest. I would always be with my family. I would always be with my younger brother. I would always have my church.

But tonight, pushing 40, those words bring a different comfort. A comfort that nothing that happens outside of me will ever change who I am, the worth I have, the strengths I possess, my laugh, or my heart. Lennon was right. I need to let go of all these things, let them "slip away across the universe."

Heirlooms

I have a lot of items from my family, furniture, paintings, pictures, letters, etc. Some, I am completely happy having out. Others I struggle with. I don't want to see the some of the items because they remind me of what I once had and do not have now. It stings my eyes and weighs on my heart.

But the other day, in sorting through things that do not bring forth such sadness. It is a bunch of letters and documents from around my birth. There is my birth announcement, congratulations cards from friends and family, notes from friends and family, and my hospital bracelet. Amongst these treasures, I found a letter to my mother from my Great Grandmother. It was a simple letter asking how my mother was doing and telling her about how they were. In it, there was this envelope of herb seeds. My Great Grandmother stated in the letter that she did not remember the name of the plant but it was in her garden. I do not know if these seeds will still grow but I am going to consult with a horticulturist friend. I hope they will grow for I would love to look out in my garden and see my Great Grandmother B's garden.

Ode to Oder

I dedicate this poem to my dog, Clara.

Stinkerella
Stinkerella
kissed a skunk
And now you smell-a

More Late Nights Keeping Me From Blogging

So, all of the home repair finished Monday night. Tuesday night was our last MAPP class, the horrible parenting class we have to take to adopt. As usual, I did not enjoy it. But this time I thought, fuck it, if I want to wiggle or look bored, I will. I had been trying to look interested and not wiggle the past seven weeks and it was KILLING ME! I would leave the class with a huge knot between my shoulders from holding myself still.

At the start of the class, the social workers said they would be letting us out early. I stupidly got my hopes up. Then at 8:30 PM they said the class would be running late. Everyone groaned. They gave us a test over the information covered in the class. Then they gave us an evaluation form. You know I was writing down a ton of stuff about stereotyping, racism, heterosexism, and sexism within the class, and not just in the participants. Hell, they asked for the feedback. Never ask a lesbian for feedback unless you want an earful!

Wednesday night, I sat down to blog and I hear Peaches crying for help. I ran down the stairs and was about knocked over by the most foul smell. Clara had been sprayed by a skunk at point blank range. Oh, the humanity! Let me tell you, that is not a good smell. If you want the full story, go here. So that night was messed up for blogging too.

Thursday night, we walked around our neighborhood with a fantastic woman who is running for state representative against the horrible incumbent in our district. She really is great. She supports LGBT rights, women's rights, openly talks about being a feminist, has new ideas, and has a dedication to changing things in the neighborhood for the better. If you are in our district and ward, Primary day is September 19th!

Friday night, Peaches had a date with her BFF, so I stayed at work, revising a manuscript for publishing. It is about the effect of music therapy on nurses doing procedures on children receiving music therapy interventions. This is the third time the journal has sent it back to me for revisions. One of the editors is great and has wonderful feedback. She has helped to make it a much better paper. However, the other one is CRAZY and obviously does not like music therapy. She even wrote on a previous form that the manuscript and study has no relevance to nursing care. But, if I want it published, I must address her stupid concerns. I stopped working around 8 PM and joined JPP and Peaches at Starbucks for a lovely coffee beverage, decaf Americano!

I am back now and maybe next week will not be so crazy. Let's hope.

One Reason for my Absence, Part 1

This is the remaining ugly vinyl wallpaper. We removed it last weekend.

It is not a quick and easy project as you will see.

Here is a picture of the layers of wallpaper. Our home was built in 1870 and it was never painted, only wallpapered, over and over.

Here, my beloved Peaches is stripping wallpaper.

This is the bare horsehair plaster which is used throughout the house.

This is post-patching the walls. The original horsehair plaster has so many holes, scrapes, and cracks, it took us a couple hours to patch it.

Part 2

After working until very late that night (11 PM), we went to bed and let the spackle dry. We got up at 6 AM the next morning to start the next phase, sanding. I sanded the walls as smooth as I could get it, which is not very smooth due to the age and shape the walls are in.


Then, we went to Boston and helped a friend move. I know, you are like "What?" It is odd to stop home repair to go schlep boxes up and down stairs. But we did. Then we came home to do the next phase of work.





Priming!









We did two coats of Whisper Blue through that evening and went to bed around 12:30 AM. The picture does not do the color justice.


The next evening, we hung the shelf/close rack which is wonderful. Then we moved the office to the other side of the closet and moved all the other stuff to the basement and shed. That night, we got to bed around 1 AM.

Good times!

Drum Roll Please

I want first to thank everyone for their ideas and input for my name as a mother. I thought a great deal about it and really enjoyed everyone's input. I was almost going to go with Poppy but then I had a thought. I want to be identified as a mother to our child, just as Peaches will be. Although Poppy has a parental sound to it, it has male parent sound to it (the main reason I wanted it). I want people to hear our child call to me and know that is the child's mother, well one of it's mothers.

Time for the unveiling!

Henceforth, my child will call me Mumzy.

This name is within my cultural and ethnic heritage of British Canadian (my mother's side). I felt that was important to embrace as soon I will be helping my child to embrace her/his culture and ethnicity of birth as well as my own.

I also made my choice because I have an affinity for unusual letters like X, Q, and Z. Those of you who know my secret identity know I added the x that was dropped two generations ago back to my name.

Thank you everyone. Tune in next time to hear about our super weekend of home repair and moving a friend.

Pluto

So what the fuck is going on with the planets? First I hear that there are four more. Then I read Pluto is not a planet anymore.

Who died and left the astronomers God?

Teva Stink

While you are all delurking, tell me what your cure for Teva Stink is. I have two pairs of Tevas that I LOVE but they smell worse and worse. How have you cured the stink? I hate to throw them away before they are worn out.

What to Call Myself?

As a semi-butch dyke, I am trying to decide what to be called by our child when we adopt. My wife will be going by Mama. The struggle is to find a name that I like, that fits my semi-butch status, as well as identifies me as a parent.

Here are a bunch of names we have have tossed around. None really fits perfectly.

• Mami
• Mom
• Mum
• Mumzy
• Mumz
• Mummy
• Poppy
• Mumma

Here are our rules.

1. No first names, like Mama Hashbrown
2. No made up names

So what do you think?

Here are my thoughts. I really like Poppy for three reasons. First, it does not have a history of specific traditional female role like the other names. Second, it sounds a lot like the Latin American name for father, Papi. Third, it is a flower that I adore. My fears of what others will think and assume is where the problem lies. People will assume that since I have a more father-like name that I am the "man" in the relationship with my wife. That whole butch-fem/man-woman role thing is so old and so tiring to confront. It goes on so much already because I have short hair, don't wear dresses, and like power tools. I do not want to compound the pre-existing assumptions with a man-ish parental name. I also think about the trouble it may cause for our child especially as s/he is a teen and adult, having to explain it to friends, bosses, coworkers, future in-laws, etc. But then I ask myself, why do I think about what others may think? They will think what they will think no matter what I decide. Why not just do what I want? Maybe I should just be called Parent.

So I am asking all my readers to chime in with what you think. I am not looking for you to make my decision but want some input and maybe new ideas. So delurk and comment, please.

Love, Hashbrown

Fun and Sun in the City

Yesterday was a gorgeous afternoon in Boston. Instead of working a few extra hours or going to a work function, I went to sit in the sun, on the grass, in Copley Square. A local radio station was sponsoring a free concert with Toby Lightmen and Shawn Mullins. Toby Lightmen was great! Shawn Mullins was a bit too depressing for me right then. It was beautiful to sit, enjoy the sun and music, and look about at the beautiful buildings surrounding the square.

I was there the day before too. Instead of waiting underground for the local train that would get me home 15 minutes earlier, I sat by the fountain, enjoying the sun and being in the city. It is times like these that remind me what a great city Boston is and how much I love it.

911 from 9/11

I got my copy of the Metro this morning from my favorite Metro Lady. On my way down to the subway platform, I started reading the front page. It was the story of one of the 911 phone calls from the World Trade Center. As I waited for the Red Line, I choked back the tears as I read how the 911 operator continued to talk to the woman for 21 minutes after the woman stopped speaking. The operator stated she wanted to encourage and support the caller even if she could not speak or was perhaps unconscious. The story ended with the line going dead and the operator’s exclamation of horror. The kindness, dedication, and humanity of that 911 operator, reading the caller's fear of death, and knowing the end of the story before it came, it all ripped through me like the subway entering the station. The doors opened and I swallowed my tears and strived to pull it together as I climbed into the jam-packed train and rode to work.

A Night to Remember

I saw bigotry rear its ugly head yesterday night. Horrible, horrible words were uttered and shouted. I saw the worst in people. It was shocking to see just how far we have not come. The comfort in which people asserted their racist beliefs, right here in Massachusetts, was horrifying. I guess I forget just how bad the beliefs and attitudes are; I had begun to believe we were further along. We aren’t. I was frightened. I was angry. I was disgusted. It was real.

Dear Ms. Know-It-All,

I just wanted to clear up a point with you after the meeting last night. During the meeting, you said my wife and I had an "alternative lifestyle." The term "alternative lifestyle" implies that our way of living is a substitute for when "normal lifestyle" is not available, such as alternative plans, alternative fuel source, alternative routes, and alternative treatments. These are all things that are not as good as the original but sort of suitable. This is not acceptable to my wife, the GLBT nation, or me. We are called lesbian, transgender, gay, bi, queer, trans, bisexual, two spirited, questioning, and omnisexual. If those terms are too hard on your lips, you can revert to the acronym GLBT.

I also want to inform you that I do not have a "lifestyle." The term "lifestyle" implies something transient, something chosen, something fun. I live a life. And I do have style, a style unto myself. Oh yeah!

I recommend you get some education but not from me. I am sick to death of having to be an educator to your ignorant, backwards, crazy-ass self. I am too busy living my life and maintaining my style.

Love,
Hashbrown

Everything is Back to Normal

Reuben must be feeling better. I woke at 4 AM from a weird noise so I got up to investigate. Here is Reuben with his big melon head inside the cat food container. He had pulled off the flip top lid and then the rest of the lid. Evidently, he did not get the memo that he is supposed to be on soft food only.

Josie is still growling and hissing at him anytime he comes around. I am sure that will go back to in a day, when he does not smell like surgery any more.

Also, I hear a familiar thumping. He is trying to open the lids again. Oh, Reuben!

Worry

About a year ago, we took our two cats, Reuben and Maddie, in for dental cleanings and extractions. When we adopted Maddie at one year old, she already had breath that could stop a truck from bad teeth so it was no surprise that she needed some teeth pulled at the age of 2. Reuben was 7 and had poor teeth as well, not to the extent of Maddie.

Maddie died after the surgery. She escaped while they were placing her in the carrier and ran about the OR. They finally got her back into her carrier. From all the excitement, she vomited and inhaled it. The blessing of this was that she died at home in Peaches arms with Reuben and I next to her. Maddie’s passing still stings; I miss her little cricket purr.

Maddie

Today, Reuben had to go in again for a dental cleaning and extraction. He has two more teeth that have gone bad. When I found out that he needed the surgery again, my heart ached again as it has not for months. It was with trepidation that I took him in to the vet this morning. I do not want to loose another cat that way.

The vet’s assistant called a bit ago to say that Reuben did well through the surgery and was waking up from the anesthesia. I can go pick him up at 4 PM. I am slightly relieved that he is doing fine from the surgery but will not be relieved completely until he comes home and plops on the bed.

Reuben

Update

Reuben is home now and doing ok. He is a bit nutty from the anethesia but that will wear off as the night goes by. He is fangless now. Poor Bubba!

My Brother, My Friend

This week, my parents and my older brother (who does not talk to me) are visiting my younger brother (who is an incredible friend and support). I don’t like it when they visit him. I worry that something will be said that will take his love and support away from me.

In my mind, I know this will not happen. He has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Through bad relationships, sadness, substance abuse, happy times, coming out, and hard times, we have been there for each other. Our friendship has never faded. I love him and I know he loves me.

He has told me many times that he supports and understands my decision about our parents. He has told me that he would have given up far before I did and that when he thinks about how they have treated me, he gets wicked angry and wants to cut all ties with them. But he values peaceful relationships and believes he can effect change through those relationships. This is my battle, not his so I do not expect him to fight it for/with me. But his support means more to me than words could ever say.

In December, he is moving to the Pacific Northwest. I am so proud of him for pursuing his dreams and going to get his doctoral degree in Chiropractics. But it is so far away. I fear I will see him even less often than I do now, which is 1-2 times a year. I think I worry too much. I know I am blessed to have such a fantastic brother and friend. So many people do not have such a relationship with their sibling. Maybe when he is a doctor and making the big bucks, he will be able to come visit us more, cause Lord knows, I will never make the big bucks on a music therapist salary! You know what I am saying?

So Far Away From Me

Our seventh parenting class is a potluck where we can invite friends and family who will be our supports as we raise our children. There are so many people I wish I could invite who are so far away and could not attend. I would love to have my younger brother and his wife, Peaches family, my friend S and her family in Colorado, L&L in Ohio, T&R in Florida, my pseudo grandmother in Pittsburgh, Psycho Kitty, Chica, and any and all of Peaches’ friends! The world is so different from when I was young. We travel about and move so far from those we love for the careers we love or the wives/husbands/partners we love. The world is made smaller by email, blogs, phones, and letters. I feel everyone’s love and I know they feel mine. But when things like this come up, the world becomes so impossibly huge. So, to my friends, be glad you live so far away, cause you’d have to sit through three hours of Ol’ Talkie!

Where is my liquid eyeliner?

I think sitting on a bed of nails for three hours would be more pleasant than going to another parenting class. Sadly, we have four more to go. Oh God, save me from this. It took them an hour and a half last night to cover two of the 18 handouts. And it was not very in-depth or intense information. One of the social workers, Ol’ Talkie, as named by Peaches and I, does just that. She talks and talks and talks.

Also, it is evident that Ol’ Talkie is already evaluating us by our participation, the content of what we say, and how we act. And she is coming up with her own ideas for our behaviors. Last week, after I had my dyslexia melt down, she apologized at the end of the class. But then she said she noticed that I was speaking up in class more after I revealed that I have dyslexia, as if the two were related. They were not. I simply spoke more for the topic was evaluating children’s’ strengths and weaknesses and treatment plans. This is work I do every day and could do in my sleep. So of course I spoke up more. Being evaluated is something I do not like when it is done improperly.

I feel so oppositional in there, like I am about to go into a mosh pit at a punk bar in the 80’s. Except I cannot bang into people and thrash about in the class, nor can I wear black liquid eyeliner, spiked gauntlets, or chain necklaces. I want to doodle or journal or knit but there are not that many people in the class so the social workers would see I was not paying attention. So I pretend for three hours that I am living for every word they say.

I don’t know what I am going to do ‘cause we have four more of these classes! Where is my “My Life with the Thrill Kill Cult” tape? I need some help here!!

Unsettled

I feel so unsettled tonight. Today was not a great day, however things turned out fine. There is so much on my mind and I don’t even know where to start of what to do with myself. I kind of just want to go to bed and forget about everything. But it is only 8 PM and I am too restless for that.

Therapy day always leads to a hard evening for me. I feel raw and open, processing what I talked about and what my therapist said. This family crap is so hard, so deeply set, it is like my battle with the vine weeds in the front garden. I dig deep and rip out as many roots as I can, and it comes back. I spray it with round up and it comes back. I hate those fucking weeds and I hate that I am still dealing with all these issues from my family.

It has been two weeks since I last emailed my parents. After receiving their itinerary, I emailed them, telling them that their email, while it may not have been intended to be mean, was mean and hurtful because it illuminated how they would be visiting each of my siblings and not me this summer. I told them to not send such emails to me any more. I have not heard from them at all. Not that I am dying to have it out with them but the message I hear is that I am not worth their time to respond.

In therapy and on the drive home, I thought a lot about feeling worthless, or feeling like I have to prove to others my worth because I do not believe others see it. It is not a good feeling to have. But it is there and has been there for so very long. I am sure it leads to my drive to over achieve in my field. I am sure it is one of the main causes for my anxiety. I am sure that it is the reason for my insecurity.

In the session, my therapist said something like, “I would like to talk about this more next time.” Hell yeah, I am ready and we are going there. I mean, it sucks to talk about it or feel it so very directly but I am sick of feeling it. I have every belief that with her guidance, I will exorcise this feeling and move forward. I feel I am on the edge of the next burst of growth and I am ready for it. I know it will hurt to go through it but hell; I already am hurting and have hurt for so many years from these things. It will not be that bad to walk through it and find the end of it. But that means nights like tonight, where I feel unsettled and don’t know what to do.

The Great Cup Race

I have been trying a few different period products over the past couple of months, the Diva Cup and the Keeper. Below, you will find the list what I liked and did not like about each. If you feel uneasy with frank talk of periods and privates, you may want to pass on this entry.

1. I liked that the Diva Cup came with a cute pin that you can wear to announce to the world that you are having your cycle and using your earth friendly product.
   
2. The Diva Cup was pleasantly translucent. The Keeper is an ugly brown color.
   
3. The Diva Cup has measurements marked on it so you can see just how much you are flowing in fluid ounces. Very interesting.
   
4. Both come with cute cloth bags to carry them about with you.
   
5. Both are environmentally friendly by reducing the waste you generate with your period.
   
6. Both are safer than tampons.
   
7. The Keeper’s handle (the piece of rubber that hangs down from the cup that you grab to withdraw from your vagina) is smooth, long, and comfortable.
   
8. The Diva Cup’s handle has ridges that are handy for grasping purposes but are not comfortable and rubbed me a bit raw where you don’t want to be raw. You know what I am saying?
   
9. The Diva Cup’s sizing criteria was based on age and childbirth experiences. This was not good for me for it said I needed the big one. I bought the big one and really tried for days to adjust to it but it was not happening. If I was still a virgin before the Diva Cup, I am not one now. Oooooh!!! Really, they should have a special clause for those of us who have not expanded our nether regions from birth, sex with men, large dildos, fisting, etc.
10. The Keeper’s sizing criteria is not based on age but more on what your vagina has been up to. With their sizing criteria, I qualified for the smaller size which really suits me better!
    

And the Winner is …… The Keeper. Sorry Diva Cup fans.

I....I.... urm....Uhg,...

So I had a major dyslexia freak out last night in our adoption parenting class. I guess the trainers think we are in third grade because they make us read things out loud for the class. And I got called on to read this page with a ton of text on it. I freaked out and could hardly speak. I stammered a minute then said something to the effect of “I cannot read out loud.” Another woman jumped in and read the page while I tried to not relive K-12 horrors in my mind. The trainers apologized later and I explained that I have dyslexia. She was very nice about it, asking when I was diagnosed and about schooling issues.

I was diagnosed in my second year of college when a GTA in my general psych class pulled me aside and told me I should get tested. In all my years of school and with having a mother who was a teacher, no one ever explored a learning disability as the reason I excelled at math but sucked big time in spelling, grammar, and reading. I was always told I was not trying hard enough and to look up the words I did not know how to spell in the dictionary. First of all, I was trying. Second, I did not know and still do not know that I am spelling a word wrong. Third, how the hell are you supposed to find the word’s spelling if you don’t have the faintest clue of how to spell it. Anyway, I got a letter stating I had dyslexia and that changed my college career. I went from B’s and C’s to A’s. It was beautiful.

I do pretty well now. I still spell words wrong all the time but I am almost ok with it. I don’t usually have to read out loud so that is good. And I have one hell of an editor for my professional manuscripts. I owe her my so much!

So next week, I will try to not freak out for the social workers at the class.

I thought you did it

Last night, my lovely wife took me out to one of our favorite restaurants, Cedar Street Restaurant, to celebrate the publication of my first research article. For those of you who are interested in it’s name, it is called “The Effects of Music Therapy on Pediatric Burn Patients’ Pain and Anxiety During a Donor Site Dressing Change.” A real page turner, for sure! It is really a catchy title that screams out “READ ME!!!” Not.

Anyway, during dinner, we were remembering all her sacrifices when I first wrote the manuscript when it was my thesis. As you may know, I have dyslexia and cannot spell nor do I have great grammar. AJWP was my tireless editor throughout my master’s coursework. So, the night I turned in my thesis, I had to wake her at 3 AM to do the final proofing. To lighten the mood a bit, at the end of the paper, I wrote “The End, Love Hashbrown.*” AJWP laughed and thought I would take it out before I emailed it to my professor. I thought AJWP had taken it out when she read it. As soon as AJWP finished proofing it, I emailed it to my professor. Two days later, in Wal-Mart, of all places, I brought it up and we both had a good laugh. Then we realized “The End, Love Hashbrown” was still in the manuscript when I sent it to my professor. As soon as I got home, I fixed the document and emailed it to my professor, stating I found one last error I wanted to fix. Luckily, she never saw the ending.

The moral of the story is make sure your silly joke is taken out of your thesis before you send it in.

The End, Love Hasbrown.

DIY means Do It (your project) -for-what-seems-to-be-a Year

Our storm door to our mud room rotted around April. AJWP tried to fix it but it did not really work or look so great. We put off the project for a long time, thinking the door size would be irregular like many in our home. We thought it would cost a ton of money to special order the door, and our experience of special ordering doors is not so good.

Last time we special ordered a door, it was our big mamba jamba front door. Of course, we got the solid wood super heavy door (so burglars and such cannot break it down). We gave the people the measurements just as they had asked. However we got it home and it was too tall and the places carved out for the hinges were not in the right places. Being the one with the tool know how, I had to cut the door with the circular saw to the right length. I was so nervous, my stomach began to fail me and I became more distressed. Of course, the door was cut crooked. And then, having no chisel or router, I used a drill to carve out the site for the hinges. If that was not hard enough, have you ever tried to hang a door? A big mamba jamba door? No? Well, it sucks. It was a nightmare but I doubt the "This Old House" guy could have performed any better under those circumstances, diarrhea and all.

This time, it turned out to be a normal size door. I go to Home Depot and buy our new door. Once home, I started taking the old door off. However, the screws on the hinges were very rusty and one hinge was covered partially by the railing for the porch. This needed to come off so we could screw in the new hinge for the new door. I tried unscrewing the screws. Didn't work. I tried spraying WD-40, letting it soak in, and unscrewing the screws. Did not make it move a bit. I drove to Home Depot (2nd trip) and bought a metal drill bit to drill out the screws. The screws were so tough, it only got maybe a 1/8th of an inch deep. So then we go to Home Depot (3rd trip) and buy a hack saw to cut through the heads of the screws and remove the hinge. I hacked through 1/2 of one in 45 minutes. AJWP then starts hammering it to break it free. Did not work. Back to Home Depot (4th trip). The lady there recommends using a chisel to break the screw. Both of us hammered it repeatedly for 5-10 minutes and all that happened was the chisel lost it's edge. All in all, we spent 6 hours on one stupid hinge.

Then the door is too long so I take out the thresholds and find the wood under it is rotting. GREAT! I deal with that, replace the threshold and we then decide to cut 1-1/2 inch off the bottom of the door. We do that. It takes three or more hours to get the door hung. However, the door jam is all crooked because it is an old house. So I took today off to fix it up so the door latches and the weather will not pour through the giant gaping space between the door and the jam. AJWP is happy with the door. It will keep kitties in, weather out, and the dog in or out so that is good by me.

It is amazing how a simple project can become a huge nightmare.

Wicked Angry

My parents have not responded as of today. I do not think they will. I think they do not respond because they do not know what to say. I feel they do not respond because I don’t matter. I don’t know what is the truth is.

Because of the lack of response, I am getting angry with them. But they are not available to take it out on. All week long, I try to put my anger and tears aside so I can do my job and be an adequate supervisor to my interns. Through the week or weekday I tell myself to hold it together until I get home or until the weekend. When I get home, my anger comes out all wrong. I pick stupid arguments with my wife, with whom I normally nearly never argue. I loose my cool at the drop of a hat. I have no tolerance for anything especially myself.

I got to find a better way to let this anger out.

Living the Dream

My first research article was published in the Journal of Music Therapy. I got it in the mail Monday night. Tuesday, I took it to work and made copies for the head of the hospital, the head of patient care services, my boss who was on the research team, and the surgeon who was on the research team. That afternoon, the head of patient care services (my boss's boss) sent me flowers to celebrate the publication of my first research article.

It is a dream come true, literally. When in my undergraduate classes, we would be assigned articles to read out of the music therapy journals. Instead of paying attention to what I was reading, I would daydream of the moment when it was my name underneath some dry sounding research title. I dreamed of the day I would have a body of research about some topic (I did not get so far as to identify my topic, only that I was a key researcher in that area). Luckily, somewhere along the line, I learned a few things and landed a job where I could devote my research to one topic. Currently, I have two articles in the process of sending in to journals and them sending them back foreditoriall changes. So I have started to develop my body of research in pediatric acute pain. I am living the dream. Granted it is a wicked nerdy dream, but it is a dream none the less.

Anger

In one week, I got 2 emails from my parents. This is unheard of for they rarely email me at all. I can count the number of times on one hand for the past five years, including these two. The first was about my father having spinal stenosis and their plans for second opinions. I knew this was coming for my parents are in their 70’s, I think. I know that one day they would contact me or someone would to let me know one of them is seriously ill. Thankfully, spinal stenosis is rather common and treatable in a variety of manners. So he is not in any grave danger of dying.

Yesterday, I open my email to see another email from them. In this lovely email, they outlined their itinerary for their travels through October. This is unusual for they have NEVER sent me their itinerary. To top it off, this itinerary outlined how they are visiting each of my siblings and their families. Obviously, I was not on the list because they don’t visit, call, or write (until this week’s emails).

I am so livid that they would do something so mean spirited or thoughtless as emailing me a reminder of how they talk to and visit all my siblings. My chest burns with fury and my arms long to rip things apart. I am so sick of their games, thoughtlessness, and/or crap. Like I don’t know already that they are chummy with my siblings. I know it and it hurts enough. This email was just too much. Adding to my fury is the fact they have not responded to me from the letter I sent them in April. Clearly, my thoughts and feelings have no bearing in their world.

Parenting Class

We started our parenting class last week and have another today. I am not looking forward to it that much. It was not that uplifting at all. Adoption from a state agency comes out of abuse, neglect, and tremendous loss. Our child will have gone through hell to get to us. This is not a happy thought. I try to think about it in terms that we will be there to provide a child a stable loving home when they need it most. But then you can sound all entitled and all “I am saving this child; give me a badge of honor” and that is not how I feel about it. I am not sure how to describe how I feel though. Any ideas?

The other thing is how freaking long the entire process is. It will be two month until the class is completed. Then we get to do the home study and that takes 3 months. Then we are in the waiting pool and a year’s wait is not uncommon. Because we want an infant, it could be much longer. Then the infant adoptions are adoptions at risk. This means that you are considered a foster parent for 3 or so years. I am going to be 60 when we finally get the kid on paper.

And you have so little control throughout the entire process. There is all the waiting, then you have like 2 seconds to decide if you want a kid when they become avalaible, and then you have to wait for ever to finally have take custody of them. You cannot do much of anything like consent to surgery in that whole time that you are considered foster parents. I do not like this process.

Are You Gay?

Margaret Cho was so funny! She is even funnier in person than on TV. I laughed so hard and my face hurt from smiling. She did a great mixture of old and new routines. Her show was seamless and her delivery flawless. I heartily recommend you seeing her live or renting her shows if you have yet to see her!

Her warm up act was a gay rapper, Lisp. He and the woman who rapped with him were wicked funny. I especially loved their song about fag hags.

Protesting with Slurpies

The Constitutional Convention protest was lack luster this time. First, Equal Marriage was #20 on the docket of questions the Legislators were considering. At the end of the day, they had not even come close to our issue. In addition, we were not allowed to protest inside the State House; we could outdoors on the street. The opponents to Equal Marriage were on the other side of the street. They chanted to drums and tambourines. We did not have any clear leaders leading the chanting/singing throughout much of the day. Finally, it wasn’t as pressing an issue as it was last time. The protest just wasn’t as heated or impassioned as previous protests at the State House. I really did not feel like I was making a difference standing there, chanting. The sense of urgency and necessity were missing, so much that my protest friend and I went to 7-11 and got slurpies in mid-morning because it was wicked hot, a scorcher, and we were melting.

The other side had many interesting signs. One of the signs I loved said “No Special Rights for Sodomites.” Don’t they realize that gay men are not the only ones who engage in sodomy? I have had so many female friends whose boyfriends ask them to do anal sex. And what is anal sex but sodomy? Another sign I particularly enjoyed said “What About Our Rights.” Now tell me, for I could have missed something, how are heterosexual marriage rights impacted by Equal Marriage? I mean seriously, get a grip! Another fun thing I watched was this woman who was holding a sign with a man and a woman drawn on it. As she chanted “One man, one woman, let the people vote,” she would point to the drawings as if to illustrate her point to very young children. But my very favorite thing the other side did was fly a big red balloon that said “Jesus is Lord.” Now if that does not scream “Don’t take me seriously,” I don’t know what does.

At previous protests, the religious anti-gay epitaphs took a toll on me. I would leave there feeling my spirituality slightly shaken and my heart so heavy. This time, the other side was much tamer and not so hateful. But the presence of all the GLBT and supporting religious leaders had a fortifying presence on me. I spoke with the priest who married AJWP and I as well as a fierce ally from a Worcester church near our home. I am heartened by the many allies and brave GLBT people who came to the protest. We stayed into the evening when the other side left as the oppressive heat turned to downpours.

The fact they did not get to Equal Marriage was good because it was put off the debate until after the November elections. That gives us time to get the people who do not support Equal Marriage, like my representative, out of office.

Madonna

There is so much to say about the past week. I don’t really know where to start. Since Canada asked how Madonna was, I will start there. Basically, she was fantastic. Here is what I loved.

The horse theme at the start was crazy but oh so Madonna-ish with the B&D references.

Her show would piss off pretty much any religion and world leader. I liked her political and social justice messages throughout the show. She used four different screens to project images on to go with each song, not counting the two screens of the live performance for those who were way in the back. It was like being live in a video on TV.

I especially LOVED it when she was tied to a crystal cross, wore a crown of thorns, and sang “Live to Tell.”

Her dancers were crazy good! They were wicked athletic and did a lot of acrobatic stuff. Then they danced on roller skates! Madonna danced throughout the show. She would be singing, then she would dance for a few minutes, and then start singing again and was not breathy or even breathing hard. She is wicked flexible and in her 40’s. I especially liked the pole dance to “Like a Virgin.”

She sang many of her old hits like “La Isla Bonita,” “Lucky Star,” “Erotic,” “Music,” “Ray of Light,” and “Drowned World.” Madonna played guitar and electric guitar on a couple of songs. She was hot with her electric guitar! My knees go shaky for women with electric guitars!

Fight the Power

The Constitutional Convention is today. The Massachusetts Legislature will be deciding whether to have the citizens of the commonwealth to vote on same-sex marriage. I took the day off to go protest. Last year, AJWP and I were there for each Constitutional Convention for 10-14 hours, singing patriotic songs, holding signs, being interviewed, and standing nose to nose with those who use religion as a weapon against us.

I was talking to AJWP about it the other day. I pondered the necessity of protesting when it feels like the lawmakers have already made up their minds. She reminded me that by being there, they have to look us in the eye as they strip our rights away from us. It is a powerful thing to do, making your presence known to the lawmakers and witnessing these events. I will not idly stand aside as they strip away marriage rights.

As I have talked with my straight friends about LGBT rights and our experiences protesting, I feel a slight disconnect. Everyone is so very supportive. You have written letters, sent our NPR stories to your Senators and Representatives, commiserated over our bad Representative, etc. But I felt there were not the words to explain what it is like to stand up and demand your rights which you have witnessed everyone else having but were barred from until May 17, 2004. Then I saw this quote and understood.

"None who have always been free can understand the terrible fascinating power of the hope of freedom to those who are not free." Pearl S. Buck

My Week

This week is going to be a crazy one.

Monday-Madonna Concert at 8 PM. They were giving away free tickets at work last week and I was quick enough to answer the email in time to get two! This should be fun!!

Tuesday-1 intern at work. Parenting class for adoption at 6 PM.

Wednesday - No work cause I will be at the Constitutional Convention at the State House all day and night.

Thursday - 2 interns at work. Hurry home to go to Margaret Cho show in Northampton, MA! I got two tickets as my wife's birthday present this year. She had to wait since May to go to the show. I am so excited for this!!!

Friday-2 interns at work. Go home and pass out from exhaustion.

More American Insanity

This is one of many reasons I am not proud to be an American. And what is worse is that he gets away with it and many people probubly agree with it.

United States of Jesus Land

Have you seen this? I cannot even comment on the myraid of things wrong here without my head exploding all over my computer terminal. What the fuck is going on in my country?

Random Kindness on the T

On the Red Line last week, the driver said, "Please take all your belongings with you as you leave the train, including your bags, papers, trash, kids, dogs, and cats. Please be sure to take everything you brought with you except your bad day. Leave your bad day on the train and everybody have a good day."

On the Green Line B Train, I was trying to get off a very packed car; the Red Sox were playing. I was still trying to get to the door when it started closing. A man I never met before reached out and grabbed the door. He held it open for me as I finished plowing through the crowd and exited the train.

Uncle Sam

I was recently taking a cab in Boston and the driver was wicked chatty. Just before he dropped me off, he said "Uncle Sam is not my uncle. You know that, right?"

"I guess," I said warily.

"Well, I mean, he doesn't come to my birthday party," he replied.

Sadly, I had arrived at my stop and could not find out what the hell he was talking about.

Happy 4th of July!

The Excitement is Growing

I haven’t written a lot about our adoption process or my thoughts on becoming a mother. There have been a few posts on my fears but I haven’t shared much of my process with you, my gentle readers.

Lately, the excitement for our upcoming adoption is growing. Being a future parent has sunk in and I am beginning to anticipate it. I notice this mostly at work. One of the nurses’ lounges has a board where various staff members have posted pictures of their children, from the newly born to the teenagers. I was looking at it the other day and really enjoyed the pictures, for the first time. I am not sure why of this shift. Is it from the expectation of becoming a parent? Or did I cut my self off from celebrating the parenthood of my friends and peers because I did not thing I could be a parent and now that I am going to be a parent, I am allowing myself to be open to this portion of my friends and peers lives?

Another way I am experiencing the excitement is in telling my coworkers that we are going to adopt. I am speaking more and more freely about it. And everyone has been incredibly supportive and happy for me. My coworkers ask me frequently about where we are in the process and how I am doing with the wait. I find myself talking about it with more and more excitement and anticipation. This is something I really want.

Finally, a baby at work was being taken from her mother’s custody. I have worked with children in this situation for many, many years so it is nothing new to me. But this time, it was different. The baby would look at me and reach to me anytime she saw me. I would look into her dark eyes, at her round cheeks, and her little hands and feel an unfamiliar surge of emotions. I found my heart aching to have her placed with AJWP and I. I am so unaccustomed to feeling like this; I did not tell AJWP about it until after the child went home because I was so startled by my feelings.

So, I guess I am getting ready to be a parent.

Beach Trip

We went to the beach yesterday. We haven't gone in over two years. It was so wonderful and familiar to sit on the beach, dig my feet into the sand, listen to and watch the surf go in and out, smell the salty air, and bask in the glorious sunshine. The beach makes all the other intolerable stuff about Massachusetts bearable.

My Friday Rant

Hey, Commuter Rail Riders!
Don't get on or off the train when it is MOVING!

Thank you.

Photo Shoot

Recently, there has been an influx of reporters wanting to do stories about my hospital. Last week, a reporter/photographer from US News and World Report was there and taking pictures of the hospital. I guess they are doing a feature or big article on the hospital. My boss lobbied for all the disciplines in her department to be photographed and potentially featured in the article.

He first photographed me and one of my interns walking down the hallway with our guitars strapped to our backs. He kept following us saying "keep walking" and snapping shots. Is this what it is like to be a super model?

Next, I was photographed in the O.R. singing to a child until she fell asleep. It felt so odd to have him moving this way and that way, clicking pictures, switching cameras, and getting different angles as I tried to sing to the child. I could see the child was more nervous than usual. It must have been tough for her to be going to surgery and be photographed for a magazine. While worrying about her and her mother, I noticed I was feeling really self-conscious. I was thinking, 'God, my hair!' and 'My mouth always look so stupid in photos when I am singing.' Then I realized that I was wearing a mask and a hat so all people would see was my eyes. There are some stupid things we think at the most odd times.

The next day, a guy from WGBH came to talk to a coworker and I at the recommendation of the acute surgeon. The guy from WGBH wants to do a story on our hospital and the innovative ways we treat children, including music therapy. I was so amazed when he told me this. I hope it works out. I would love to be on public radio or television. And what great press for the hospital.

Being True to Your Roots

The late last week, I went to blog on our home computer after work. My wife blogs from this computer too. Sometimes I find her snacks left on the computer desk. Recently, it was Oreos, which I then enjoyed as I surfed through various blogs. However, this time the snack on the desk billed it's self as "The Cheese Filled Snack of NASCAR." There is so much wrong with this, I don't know where to start. When I brought it too her attention that she was eating "The Cheese Filled Snack of NASCAR," she said, "I am true to my roots."

Homelessness

I pass many homeless people in my travels about Boston. I often think about how easily in this economy it is to become homeless. It could happen to just about anyone. I think of the myriad of things we have at home and imagine having to give them all up. Or having to choose the few things I would keep with me. Would I keep my guitar? Would I keep my sax? Would I sell them so I could buy food or a room somewhere? How would life be to be concerned about my next meal and where I will sleep? To have my biggest concerns be about safety, violence, and the weather?

I ponder these things and know just how easily I could be the person on the street being passed by. We all stand apart from being homeless by a few unfortunate events, like the loss of a job, the loss of an income, financial hardship, or mental illness. I am then thankful for all I have, my house, my job, my wife, our stuff, my friends, and our pets and pray that we never become homeless.

Strawberry Picking

We went strawberry picking at our very favorite U-Pick, Tougas Family Farm. It was a perfect day for it. The weather was cool and the sun was behind the clouds. The rain from earlier in th day had stopped. AJWP and I always enjoy such dorky activities. So now, we have a huge flat of beautiful strawberries in our kitchen awaiting jam making, freezing, and eating. There was a little stress on both our parts, worrying about strawberries falling out of the flat and staining our the trunk of our new car, but luckily, that did not happen. I cannot wait for AJWP to make her delicious Strawberry Glace Pie! It is SO GOOD!!!! You should come over and try a slice! You'll LOVE it. I cannot wait!!

Canned Whipped Cream

Saturday night, I was feeling inspired by the rash of children who injured themselves doing something stupid and had to be admitted to the hospital where I work. When we finished our spray can of whipped cream, I turned to AJWP and said, "Should we huff this or throw it in a fire so it can explode on us?"

Midnight Meals

Yesterday’s post brought back a flood of memories of other misadventures with my friend K. He and I and our friend J. were all survivors, gay, and loved to go clubbing. We would hang out at each other’s places, go dancing, and were a constant support to each other as we worked on our molestation/rape issues.

We could always be found at the bar Friday and Saturday. Sometimes Tuesday or Wednesday too. I clubbed a lot through college and for many years beyond. It was great with K. and J. None of us drank much at all so we would go there to dance with each other. After dancing from 10 until 2 AM, we would drive to Dennys or Taco Bell (when we were particularly poor) for dinner/breakfast/midnight snack. There is nothing like eating some pancakes with a gay man and a gender queer man and maybe a drag queen or two. It was a hoot. We also narrowly escaped being beaten one or two times.

There was this one-year when spring break rolled around and found us all broke. No one could go anywhere and we all had to work. So, every night for a week, we would end up usually at my house. J. would bring a tube of Pillsbury cut and cook cookies because he worked at Albertsons. I would fire up the stove and we would play Gin Rummy until 3-4 AM, eating those nasty cookies. Gone are the wild days of my youth.

Another misadventure we had together was when we decided to go march in the Take Back the Night March. We were so excited to go. I think I remember having to convince J. to go but he agreed and the three of us drove down to where the march was starting. However, the march coordinators said men could not march because the women at the march did not want the protection of men. K. in his faggiest voice said, “Honey, the women would be protecting us.” Sadly, the march organizers would not budge on this issue so we left and went to Chi Chi’s for Mexican food and to “Betty it up”* about the march.

I wonder how J. and K. are doing now and where they are. I hope they are doing well and happy. I miss our comradery, shared survivorship, support, clubbing, and late night meals.

* To Betty it up is to talk all catty like about a topic. Betty was used in a variety of manners back then.

Graffiti

I was looking out the window of the train this morning as I talked to AJWP on the cell and saw the best graffiti ever! Along the side of some warehouse-ish building, nestled amongst tags and other graffiti was "Stop saying the word fag!" Now that is my kind of graffiti!

It reminded me of many years ago, when I was in college and I did some graffiti-ing. A good friend of mine, K., had been gang raped one or two years prior and the anniversary of the date was approaching. He wanted to do something to reclaim the alley where it happened. So late one night, my very Christian girlfriend (who we had spent hours talking into helping us) drove us to the alley. She kept watch while K. and I got to work. He spray painted a white outline of a body (like in crime scenes) while I sprayed "A man was raped here." He added "Stop Rape!" and we raced back to the car. We drove to the Dennys and had a midnight breakfast and celebrated our public nuisance/political statement/personal healing.

Oh, those were the days!

Evolution?

Ok. Tonight, I decided that humans are not that much above the rest of the animals on the evolutionary scale. Really, we differ very little from say the wildebeest of the Serengeti.




Picture it.
A herd of 75-100 humans (including me) are milling about near the monitor at the train station. Similar to a herd of wildebeests on the Serengeti, we are eating, scratching, waving away bugs, and snorting. We, like them, are keeping an eye and ear out for any changes.




A noise causes everyone to freeze. In unison, we look up and listen. “Now boarding on track 6, the 6:05” and we are off. Moving in unison like wildebeests when a predator approaches, we all turn and hurry off in a massive herd to get on our train. We looked like a herd of animals acting together for self and herd protection. The only difference is that wildebeests don’t get to sit in an air-conditioned train to go home.

Random Rants

Hey Young Parents!
Starbucks Frappucino is delicious, as are Doritos but they are not acceptable food for your baby under the age of one. Yeah, not a good idea.

Hey Dude who Farted next to me on the subway and then kept trying to scoot closer to me!
That was nasty!!

Hey BBQ-ers!
How about you don't put propellant on brickets that are already burning. Ok?

While we are on the theme of preventing injuries with fire,
Hey Stupid Pre-Teen and Teenage Boys!
How about you not throw aerosol cans into burning fires. Got it?

Thanks. Ranting is done for today.

Remember, We Are All Superwomen

Sorry Blog Friends, I have been busy and have not had the time to blog. I read your blogs late at night or at 5 AM every day. But I am back tonight with the latest verse in the Commuter Blues.

This morning, I slept all the way into South Station. I groggily shuffled off the train and followed the herd of commuters into the station. We shuffled down the escalator to the turnstiles for the Red and Silver lines. From the escalator I could hear one of my most favorite people I see every workday, the Metro Lady.

I don’t know her name but I do know that she is awesome. Every morning, she calls out “Free Metro. Good Morning! Free paper. Good Morning!” And she means it. She always has a smile and is so engaging of all her patrons. I smile just seeing her greeting everyone and spreading her cheer around. When I greet her, she hands me the paper saying “Here you go, sweetie,” or “Have a nice day, baby.” A few months ago, I was so honored when she called me “My friend.” She always remembers what holiday is coming up and tells everyone, “have a great Father’s Day” or Memorial Day or what ever. When about to go on vacation, she lets all of us know, saying, “I am going to be gone for a week. See you the following Monday. I am going to visit my daughter” or something of the like. She brightens my mornings so much.

Today, the Metro was promoting the 3D version of Superman. All the venders had to wear Superman t-shirts and 3D glasses. When I saw my Metro Lady dressed in this, I smiled and said “Oh no.” I feel for people who have to wear crazy shit for their job. But she took it in stride and said, “I hope I made your day.” I replied, “You always make my day,” and thanked her for my paper. As I started to walk away, she turned to me and said, “Remember, we are all Superwomen.”

Thank you, Metro Lady. You are the best!

Endless Work Week

Oh my God, this week is endless. I am so tired and I have to work a 12 hour shift today. I just want it to be the weekend so I can get more than six hours of sleep at a time.

Father's Day

Father’s Day is rapidly approaching. Lately, I have been thinking of my dad a lot. We have had different house repair issues, car repair issues, and bought a new car. These used to be the times I would call my father for advice. I don’t have that sort of relationship with him any more.

I always liked my dad and craved his attention. I felt an affinity with his quiet ways and independent spirit. I learned about the things he was interested in like jewelry making, hunting, cars, and photography to have time with him, quietly working together.

I wish I could show him our house and the work we have done on it. I want to show him how I fixed the sagging porch. I want to show him the pictures of the radiator hose in our house plumbing. I want to discuss our lawn trouble with him. I want to show him the floor we laid. I want to tell him about the great deal AJWP negotiated on our new car. I want us to stand around the car and look into its engine. I miss my father so much some times.

But he is also the parent who I feel most betrayed by. I always thought of him as an independent thinker, clear headed, and that he loved me. However, at key times in my life, he betrayed me. It stings to know this yet to love him so much.

Boston Pride Snap Report

This is my review of the parade and festivities. It was rainy and wet! Very Wet! This beats heat exhaustion but it poured the entire time. We did visit Gay Mart on the Common which was muddy, wet, and fun.

• First, I give mad props out to all the drag queens that marched and rode in floats in their dresses and make-up. Girls, you worked it with pride all through that rainy day. Three snaps to you!
• Second, each time when to when I see the parents, family, and friends marching, I choke up. This member of the Gay Men’s Chorus was pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair who said to each person they passed, “That’s my son” as she pointed back to him with all the pride and joy a mother should have. Four snaps to PFLAG and all our allies!
• Next, the Pride Parade has grown in the number of multicultural groups participating from previous years. Love it. Three snaps!
• Along with that, I especially loved the Brazilian contingency whose drag queens were wearing outfits that paid homage to the World Cup! The soccer ball hat things were the best! Three snaps to you for your fantastic outfits!
• Three snaps to the librarian group who chanted "We're here! We're queer! Shhhh!"
• Also, Cambridge Health Alliance showed lots of ingenuity designing outfits made up of condoms. One snap for creativity!
• I am always happy to see all the churches out. One of my favorite moments was some UU ally who was probably new to the whole Pride thing. He marched along shouting out to the audience, “Be proud.” Also, it is great to see the pagans out marching too but man, their incense was stronger than any I smelled in all my years as a Catholic. Wow! It about knocked me over. One snap to you, with a cough.
• Three snaps for the Big Apple Corp from NYC. They had flags, rifles, a baton twirler, dancers, and a full band. I know how much it sucks to march in horrible rain while playing instruments! You go, band Fags!!
• Two snaps to the sober LGBTQ group who always has to march near the Jagermeister or Absolute truck.
• One snap to all the politicians who marched with their people despite the rain. No snaps (or votes) to those who just let their people march without making an appearance. Come on folks, work for my vote!
• One of my most memorable moments this year was when the Log Cabin Republicans marched by, the crowd was silent. It was beautiful! They earned it supporting stupid Mitt Romney! I turned to AJWP to kiki it up and this republican comes up to me and starts shaking my hand, wearing a Bush jacket, saying, “Not all republicans are bad.” I had to keep it polite so I did not go postal on the dude for wearing that jacket after all the defense of marriage stuff Bush just pulled this past week. I mean, what was he thinking? No snaps for you, mister!
• Sadly, a feminist also earned no snaps. She was wearing a shirt that stated she was a pro-life feminist. This I do not comprehend.
• My final comment is about all the uninformed Massachusetts LGBTQ residents. We visited MGLPC, GLAD, Equal Marriage, and Mass Equality booths to sign cards and thank them for all their work. I heard so many people at each booth saying they did not know our rights were under fire now. HELLO? Where have you been? No snaps for you.

Last Week: The Week of Stress

Monday

• Found out that music therapy is being added to the online charting. Was given until Tuesday to get something together with the MT at another hospital.
• Admission list at work is HUGE for entire summer.

Tuesday

• Rush to work for subject in my study only to find out the nurse had started the procedure without me.
• Tried to work on the online charting but was called to a two hour long dressing change.
  Left work early, missing the teleconference about the online charting.
• Met with neighborhood association about HUD grant money to fix and beautify homes on our street. The neighborhood association wanted entire grant application done then instead of what they said was their original time line.
• Went home, gathered tons of documentation for grant, returned to neighborhood center, copied for 20 minutes straight, and finished application.
• Late in evening, switch in kitchen stops working. Go to HomeDepot and buy part. Review how to do it in this book.

Wednesday

• Got up at 4:30 AM to repair switch in daylight before getting on train.
• 2 interns started at work. Trying to coordinate their observation and orientation while seeing my normal caseload.
• Car reeks of gasoline. Decide this is a serious problem. Decide car is going to continue to drain all funds from us so we will buy a new car.
• AJWP finds a mechanic and gets a rental car.
• AJWP applies for a car loan.
• Forgot about and missed therapy appointment.
• We drop off car at mechanic that night.
• Have dinner at the gayest Friendlys ever.

Thursday

• Interns!
• Tried to recruit for study but could not coordinate with interpreters.
• 6 PM appointment with inspector for grant. He recommends taking of one side of roof because wood looks like it could be going. They could then build a dormer and make the bathroom and bedroom much taller and use the space more effectively. This would be paid for (hopefully) by the HUD grant money.
• Went to car dealer. I was lost in all the numbers and freaked out about our budget. AJWP negotiated amazingly.
• Pick up our car from mechanic, which came to $508. It was leaking gas from the injector onto the manifold. Lord have mercy!
• Return rental.
  

Friday

• Train 30 minutes late.
• Interns!
• Canceled PT appointment for ankle so I could participate in the next thing.
• Another 2-hour teleconference on on-line documentation.
• Went to dealer to get VIN number from car after date night fun.

Saturday

• I never sleep in but did until almost ten.
• AJWP negotiating with many dealers to see who could beat the price we got Thursday. She gets a fantastic deal, even better than before!
• March in the rainiest Pride Parade ever!
• Sloshed through Gay Mart!
• Bought our first brand new car, a 2006 Corolla!

These Dreams

I have had some weird dreams lately. Two nights ago, I dreamt we were given our baby. Our baby had a human child’s head but the body of a black bunny. AJWP and I were so happy to have our baby. We loved it so much. And it had very soft fur. In the dream, I was pondering whether we would teach it to walk on all fours like a bunny or on it’s two back feet.

Last night, I dreamt we were negotiating the extra packages to go with our new Toyota Corolla. They were endless and included car repair, roadside assistance, free weekends away, massages, etc. They were endless. The lady just kept reading quickly each package to us and then going to the next. AJWP and I would discuss which we wanted and negotiated all night the terms of the car. Not so restful.

Finally, I took a nap this afternoon and this time Clara, our pup, was test-driving the Corolla with AJWP and I.

What is up with these dreams?

I am an ass

The orange line was slow today so I had to run to the train, messed up ankle and all. It was not pretty. But I made it and was then sitting on the stairs and thought about today. I messed up. I was trying to sympathize with my coworkers about a family who is being particularly difficult. They are unhappy with just about everyone, except they like music therapy and me. It is not unusual to have a family like only one discipline or like one more than the others. I lucked out this time beings that I am not the one this family is unhappy with. I tried to say, “Yes they are being difficult, so difficult that the social worker emailed me to say that I was the only one they liked.” But I came off sounding like I said, “I am so wonderful that the family likes ME.” I sounded like a pompous ass . I am upset with myself. Tomorrow, I will apologize to my coworker (and friend) that I was an ass to. I was going to today but she left early before I could say something. I just wish that, at the age of 39, I could do what my dad used to say: “Put your brain in gear before letting the clutch out on your mouth.”