Image: Meowwy Christmas!

Ghost kitties.

Hello, sun in my face. Hello, you who made the morning.

With the turn of the weather two weeks ago, the end of the semester last week, and the impending Christmas break, I am reminded at every turn of Christmas breaks from my childhood. It is this time that I miss my grandmother the most -- the time when her absence, and growing dimentia and cancer become realities. She is here but missing. In the room but not present. She is ever dissolving, hanging onto less and less each day.

I think about my grandmother on most days, and on the days I don't I remind myself in a guilty huff of her reality. My sister and I spent a lot of childhoods with her, and she has certainly shaped us in unimaginable, endless ways. Yesterday I received a Christmas package from my Aunt Marty, which contained some lovely presents, the best of which was the note she included. In it, she referred to Gram's frustration that she can't remember anything anymore, though Gram still loves hearing the stories of our family and the holidays, birthdays, and vacations we spent together. I imagine her listening to Aunt Marty tell stories while Gram listens, where she herself is a character, experiencing all of the memories being made in the story. I am comforted thinking of Gram picturing the memory being made, it becoming the character's memory, and then becoming her own.

I find peace thinking of Gram's inner most heart -- that place that is still untouched by disease, age, forgetfulness, and pain. In that heart is the grandmother of my memory, where I am a little girl building mudpies, baking, laughing, crafting, and she is wise-cracking, teaching, and laughing with me. I have to believe that this inner heart is where gram's comfort lies, and while her body blisters, and grows tumors, and punishes her with unimaginable pain and discomfort, she is able to return to her heart's sacred playground, where we are together again, and she is free.

Making the Dork

If in some alternate reality Tara and I watched P. Diddy's Making the Band on MTV, I would probably boast that five minutes before the band was announced we would have been able to pick out exactly who would have made the band. But to do so I would need to admit that we watched it, and that would just be silly.

Come on, folks!

I am here!

Six days until classes are over. I'll post then. Just TRY to convince me otherwise!

Image: White Birch

I'm not ready for winter yet when this is what fall looks like.

Have you met my housekeeper Maria?

On Saturday while Tara and I were at the snooty mall in Natick, we stopped to grab a quick bite at the food court before we bought the rest of our stuff off of the registry from Crate and Barrel. While we were there, we flirted for several minutes with a cute two year old and his disengaged father, who spent most of the time he was supposed to be having lunch with his son talking on the phone making stock trades and talking about basketball.

The little one and I shot glances back and forth as he shoved pieces of meatball and hunks of saucey pizza into his mouth, both of us having a great time. Once his father got off the phone, he was still interested in flirting with me, much to his father's frustration. Finally I turned around to leave them be so that Dad wouldn't get mad at the crazy woman tempting his son to stray from the task at hand.

Once both I and the boy had finished our lunches, I resumed my conversation with them, and he just grinned, silly as can be, back in my direction. His father commented, "Oh he's such a flirt! But I know why he really likes you -- you look just like his nanny!"

Blink. Blink blink.

I turned around and told Tara we needed to leave and she asked why I was so pissed. Clearly she had not heard what he said.

While I understand that he really didn't mean anything by it, what it did accomplish was knocking me down several pegs, and putting me beneath this guy and his son. It's not short of telling a hispanic woman she looks like your housekeeper or the woman who cleans your hotel room, and while it may not be inaccurate the Asians raise the best children, it is insensitive to put it so plainly, and blankly into this Asian's face.

Image: Sweet

My favorite snap-shot from the wedding so far.

Is this thing on?

Call me a miscreant. A slacker. A loser -- anything you want. I have not blogged and I know it, so don't complain to me! The dog ate my homework, Mrs. Jackson!

Let's start with Friday, October 14 and something you already know: I was in a car accident. That day started a nearly three week long saga of phone calls, police reports, doctor's reports, insurance companies, auto body shops, written reports, agency findings, and headaches (literal and figurative). Now, almost four weeks and $2100 of some other lady's money later, the car is repaired, sans pride sticker, and on the road. Whew.

Then, let's move to Tuesday, October 18th. With the veil of concussive headaches and narcotic hangovers lifting, I caught Tara's cold. My last day at work before Weddingtravaganza2005 began was supposed to be Wednesday, but I called out* that day and went in the evening to finish up some must-do-before-I-leave stuff. On Thursday, feeling better but still crappy, I cleaned the house and ran MANY errands in preparation for Sarah and Jenna's arrival Thursday evening. On Friday Tara and I hosted our rehearsal dinner for 25 people, and on Saturday we had the long-awaited wedding reception. It was perfect, but more on that later.

On Sunday, the crash came. I was so exhausted from the last week that I slept all day and all night. All day and all night, just like how Max sailed in Where the Wild Things Are. I returned the work that Thursday to a PILEOFCRAP, and then on Saturday went to my co-worker's wedding which went from 1 pm until after 11. In case you're bad at math, that's a long-ass day. It also was a Catholic wedding, so most of the church portion of the day was spent talking about having babies and breeding, and be a good father and mother, and having babies, and if you're not too busy right now maybe you could go make babies and why is this ceremony so long when you could be elsewhere making babies?! It affirmed my choice to leave the Catholic church, particularly after the guy behind Tara and I refused to shake our dirty lesbo hands during passing of the peace. Hey, DUDE?! It's PASSING OF THE PEACE. Think about Jesus. I don't think you get to decide that we're going to hell and you don't want to touch us! After all, Jesus touched leopards. (Only Tara will get that joke so if you want a clue ask her.)

Then Sunday, oh to be original, cruel fate, I got someone else's cold. I don't know whose, but if I did I'd send a hit out on them. I was out this week Wednesday as well, then had to work all day Saturday...and what do you know, I've just explained the reason I haven't blogged. Suck it.

The last remaining vestige of what needs to be cleaned up from all of the above is sending out thank you cards, which is sort of a warped description of what really needs to be done and that is that they need to be written first...In truth, I'm looking forward to writing them and reconnecting with all of those who held Tara and I in their thoughts and prayers during our marriage blessing. I may write a whole blog about that experience, but if you're really curious and reading this and want to know, send me an email. I'll post pictures here soon, as long as no one else rear ends me first!

*QuickPoll: Do you say "call out" sick or "call off" sick?

Image: Gaylen likes big butts and she cannot lie!

Despite this being an absolutely terrible picture by all photographic standards, it makes me laugh outloud every time I look at it.

Have you met my hubby? He's dashing!

As part of Val and Tara's Wedding Celebration 2005 (VATWC05), we registered for gifts in case people wanted to get us something. Our friends Lisa and Tanya, who also got married last year, sent us four napkins and napkin rings off of our registry from one of our lists. The company, in error, sent us the Pomagranite napkins instead of the Sienna napkins. Oh no!

I just called them to straighten this out. The good news is: the right color of napkins are on the way from C&B, but since I didn't have my registry number on me, they needed to know my last name and first name, and my husband's first name, to which I answered:

"Tara"

and she responded:

"Um...okay?"

And I'm thinking, 'Are you asking me? Because I'm pretty sure that's his name."

Image: Bald eagle

Hahahahahahhahhahaha.

Ouchie for Mr. Froggie!

Like I do every morning, yesterday I dropped off Tara at work, turned around and headed back into Northampton to go to work. Same thing every morning, like all the other people I was traveling with. Every morning there's traffic on the bridge and every morning, at least for the last eight days, the bridge has been wet. And yesterday, like every other fall of every other year forever, there were wet leaves all over the bridge, too.

When I'm stopped at a stop light or stopping at a stop light I often check my rear view mirror to make sure the person behind me is also stopping. My dad taught me how to drive, and defensively at that, so this is not atypical of my driving behavior. So yesterday, I knew I was doomed when I looked in my rear view mirror to see a silver Jeep Wrangler careening over the crest of the bridge far too fast to stop in time before using my Teach Peace Focus butt as her brakes. It happened fast enough that I couldn't not watch it happen, and at 35 miles per hour, she crunched and pushed me and my car, and then came to a full stop. Luckily for her, her car had a metal cage on the front to protect it in case some negligent person who later said, "Oh I guess I do need new tires like I suspected!" hit her while speeding on the bridge. Oh, wait. That negligent person WAS HER and I was the victim!

After the Wrangler ate my bumper, the cops came and I filed a report with the insurance company, I went to work. After about three hours, I developed a splitting, rabid headache and an irresistable desire to sleep. I called my doctor who directed me to the emergency room, where I eventually ended up and where I was diagnosed with a concussion.

After some lovely Oxycodone and 13 hours of sleep, I feel much better. Unfortunately, Mr. Focus didn't fair so well.

I'm serious

This is the weirdest thing ever.

Zolp?!

Hello my name is...Hello?

As a way to bask in our utter nerdiness, Tara and I actually TiVo Jeopardy! Tara and I have watched Jeopardy! together for almost six years...just about since day O.N.E.

Tonight, there was a female contestant on named Helen. During Double Jeopardy! she signaled in to answer the question, and in typical Trebek fasion he starts, "Yes..." and then follows with naming the contestant who won the signal, except he says, "Hello." So there's an awkward pause until Helen realizes Old Trebek means her, and answers with the question.

There's another awkward pause and Trebek's acknowledgement that Helen had answered the question right, then a little giggle from Alex. Then he says, laughing at himself, "Why did I call you 'Hello'?"

Um, what is, you're a robot for $400?

Homophobics "R" Us

I am currently sluggishly plugging away at my MEd at UMass, reveling as often as I can in the disenfranchisement of part-time student/full-time worker. Everything there is geared towards the full-time student. Offices are only open from 9 - 4 when, I don't know, I'M WORKING, and readings are email access-only, which is great, because I, as a non-degree student don't qualify for an email address. So, I've run into a variety of obstacles in my experience so far, but none larger than the obstacle I ran into in class last night.

I am taking College Student Development Theory, which might sound really boring to most people but is actually very interesting and the psychological theories we learn are much more widely applicable than just to college students. We are study everything in stages: first, the general theories of college-age development, then specifically and in this order: gender development, sexual identity development, racial development, cognitive development, moral development and faith and religious development.

The general theories were interesting enough, but fell short in that 99% of the studies were done on upper middle class white males from Princeton, and, for variation, sometimes upper middle class white males from Harvard. When it came time to discuss gender development I thought, "All right. Now we can get into the nitty gritty. We can talk about feminism, marginlization, sexism, skewed studies, identity intersections! It will be great and lively!" Well, I was wrong. Our potentially wonderful conversation about gender development was instead replaced by a discussion about popular media and Barbie and Ken. BARBIE and KEN and GI JOE, people. Do you really want to know when I last talked about Barbie and Ken and GI Joe in relationship to my gender identity formation?! Do you?! Nine years ago in my first-year of college in Women's Studies 101. Have we not progressed in our conversation about gender beyond Barbie? Did we not have six massive theories in front of us to discuss in a more relevant way?

Yesterday we discussed sexual identity formation, reading articles that, for variation, studied upper middle class white GAY men from elite colleges. Really, it's all about diversity in sources. Being the hyper-intellectual class that we are, we spent most of the discussion talking about (sounds of trumpets blaring here):

Will and Grace.

Oh, and for flavor:

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

After several assaults on Carsen's "character" I thought it was important to point out that Carsen is actually a real person who is not acting as himself but rather is actually HIMSELF. And it is TELEVISION, which is, generally speaking, very very loosely rooted in reality ANYWAY. The professor found it problematic that Jack from W&G is so effeminate, and "won't that be a problem for someone watching the show who will then think that all gay people act that way?" We started talking about perception and identity, and how maybe Jack was an important character for gay men who are silly and snarky and funny and effeminate, and maybe FUCK ALL to those who leap to conclusions about all those they meet who might be gay and act like Jack.

She ended the conversation by saying that she thought only gay actors should play gay characters, and that gay characters should only be played by gay actors. This is the same as blackface, she said. Then, to top it all off, she throws in some lovely comments about four of the five African American women in her study of five African American lesbians felt that gay marriage wasn't a civil right. No context, no follow up. She just felt that was important to put out there.

Needless to say I was fuming, and when I talked to Sarah later I told her all of the above. She said that she thought only cancer patients should play cancer patients on TV, and then paused....

"Not that being gay is like having cancer. That's not what I mean..."

And I replied, "Well, you know, it is a disease of the mind, so I'm not sure if it's fair for me to comment."

Image: Trees

Letchworth State Park

Life is Beautiful

Today, on her way to work, a 23 year old woman was killed 250 feet from my office door when an armored car hit her while she rode her bike. It is not known yet exactly what happened, other than she was hit, then pinned, then died before they even got an ambulance there. Her bicycle was mangled into a horrific twist of metal, pedals, and parts.

This morning, before I knew what happened, I went about my day and took care of business. My coworker came into my office to tell me what happened, and choking back tears I immediately called Tara at work to tell her I love her. You see, Tara walks that same sidewalk everyday, and crosses in front of cars everyday, and 100s of people, literally, stand, everyday, where that woman was killed. She died today. She started out her morning like any other morning, ate the same breakfast she always eats, and rode her bike like she does everyday. Who knows what could have changed what happened to her today. Maybe if she forgot her wallet in her apartment or stopped to pet the cat one last time -- or didn't -- she would still be on earth right now, watching tv and thinking about her bike commute tomorrow morning.

Things change on a dime. Hundreds of thousands of people on the Gulf coast, in Asia, and in Iraq are learning that and living that everyday. Some of these things we can't control, but it underscores the importance of always and everyday treating people the way you want them to remember you, and don't ever let a day go by that you don't tell people who you love that you love them so much it hurts.

Image: Oh my goodness!

Bobbles

Image: Bush in New Orleans today

What is there to say, really?

Great article

When someone can say it better than you, then let them say it.

Selfish

Everything I could possibly complain about in my life pales in comparison to the horror that those on the Gulf coast of the US are facing right now, and that which they have faced all week. I have been riveted and floored by each new photo, report, piece of footage, and interview. I cried quietly at my desk today thinking of those people, chest-deep in waste water, pushing bodies and material goods aside as they sought something -- anything-- to bring them relief. I am shocked by the pictures of young mothers of young babies looking anguished and dehydrated, hoping they might be able to give thier babies a meal tonight. I am hurt and angered by how abandoned many of those people feel, by their city, their state, and their federal government. I am sad that every face that looks back into each camera is a black face. Everyday I wake up and what was bad the day before has now gotten worse. First the storm, then the people stranded, then the flooding, then the fires, then the shooting, then the starvation, then the dying.

I can't imagine losing everything, hanging on to only what I could carry, while the world slipped away in chaos around me. I am thinking about and praying for those people for whom that is their reality.

Oh, that pesky English language!

In conclusion, as part of my job. Because I ran in to problems all the time with people that can't right. Its really annoying, and often people don't check there grammer and then I have to. Its not something I can get around. Some highlights from the passed weak:

- Someone writing me an email thanking me for my 'patients'
- A document from another office on campus including the word 'varietiations'
- Someone who called telling me they weren't sure if they were qualified because they hadn't yet finished their 'bachelorette's' degree
- A menu suggesting I might try their 'streusal' or their 'blacklened chicken'

I have made my fair share of errors, but come on people! I kahnt dew aul thuh werk four eww!

Not for the squeamish!

OWWWWWW!!

Sometimes at the end of the day I get sick and tired of sitting face-forward in my office chair so if I'm sort of checked out by 4, I spin my chair around and kneel on the seat, elbows on my desk. It makes my back and legs and shoulders feel better, and while it inhibits my typing mobility, I find myself in this position at least three times a week.

All of my weight rests on the back of the chair, which has to be the perfect distance away from the desk in order to be properly supported by the edge of the desk while I maneuver some weird alien typing position. If the phone rings there is balancing and leaning and all kinds of acrobatics necessary to not have the entire ridiculous system go flying into the air in an eruption of phone, arms, pencils, feet, and keyboard. I've been working for a long time to achieve this balance.

Today I was in my usual position when I moved my hand to do something on my desk. Without realizing it, this set in motion a very painful lesson for me. As I reached out for whatever it was I wanted, I managed to push the chair back out of balance, hurtling it towards the desk's edge. Normally, this would not be an issue, but since I was reaching, the planets aligned to place perfectly that tender tag of skin, nerves, and tissue that adorns my breast between the edge of the desk and the chair, in perfect position for my chairback closing in for a good hard pinch, then squeeze, then crush.

I screamed, "OWWWW!" but could accept no sympathies because I didn't want to explain what I had done! I quickly lifted my body weight off of the chair and had to actually check for (1) continued connectedness and (2) blood. It was a horrible, horrible low, and while things are not bleeding and still connected, I hope my hypothetical baby doesn't mind always being stuck on the one working side that's left. I think the other side has been pinched off and sealed for good.

And the theme of the weekend is...

Well, it's not chicken.

I'm back at work after several glorious days of hanging out with Sarah, Doug, and monsterHarrison. It was a wonderful visit, though all too brief, but we did a lot together this weekend, including a trip to the farm, an outing at the park, going to church together, and spending lots of time lounging about, chasing Harrison around, and visiting. Oh, and zombies. There were zombies, too. And, um, some x-rated infantile searches on Google.

I got to put Harrison down for bed both nights, which is just an incredible experience. I loved snuggling him with his freshly shampooed yummy smelling hair while he picked through each book he wanted read and drank his milk. He roamed around the bed, jumping on and off and explored things in room. He chatted with himself and told me unintelligible things about what he was finding, then he'd climb back up into my lap and we'd read another book together. It was simultaneously the most intimate and most uncomplicated experience of my life, to sit with him, fully trusting, enthusiastic, loving and curious. I loved hearing him squeak and grunt as we learned about Mr. Brown's sounds and as we read Goodnight Moon. I loved lying him down in his crib, watching him prop his butt up in the air, snuggle his blanket, and quickly quiet himself down to sleep. I loved catching him 40 minutes later thumbing through Tara's Beginning Chinese books, the only books he could reach from the crib.

I loved being with family, and playing cards, and watching movies. I loved chasing Harrison around everywhere, and watching Sarah and Doug parent him together. I loved pushing Harrison in the swing, seeing Tara hold him, and watching him laugh as I tickled his tummy. I loved seeing how much he develops in the six week gap between times that I see him. I loved laughing so hard I cried with Sarah, Doug, and Tara, the kind of laugh you only have with your most intimate friends. I loved the endless debate of tandal, and pony.

I will post pictures of Bub in the Tub when I download them from home. Until then, goodnight, moon.

"Woof! Woof!" means "Stupid humans!"

Gaylen has been studying a lot lately, not really able to pay a whole lot of attention to Tucker.

This morning she came home from her exam and he had removed a book from the bookshelf. He tore out every single page and piece and ripped all of it to shreds.

The book?

"What is Your Dog Thinking?" addressing behavior analysis of canines.

Wedding bliss

As we plan the reception, Sarah continues to suggest this idea for a centerpiece that she found on the web. Really, you can't make this shit up:

Here's a unique centerpiece idea. Clean beer bottles thoroughly and
remove the labels. Spray paint the bottles with a glitter spray (silver,
gold or in your wedding colors). Tie a matching or contrasting ribbon
around the neck of the bottle with ribbon streamers hanging down. Place
either a candle in the top or fill with water and insert flowers.

On what planet, people?! Beer bottles?!

Texas has a whorehouse in it!

That's why I'm going there...tomorrow! I'll post when I get back!

(I'll take you to lunch if you can tell me where this post's title comes from!)

At last, the Nova Scotia Post

Well, let's start backwards, only because starting backwards explains why this post took one week to appear. That means we must start with Saturday, July 30. Saturday July 30 marked the day we had to leave Peggy's Cove, NS and head back home. It was the day we were going to visit Prince Edward Island. It was the day we were going to stay in Bangor, Maine, and, in fact, the day we made the worst decision of our lives: to drive straight home to Northampton. Oh, and I'm the only driver. Oh, and we didn't leave PEI until 6:15. PM. Yeah, and you thought I was smart! Needless to say, the last week has been spent sleeping in every free moment and digging out at home from mail, cleaning, kitty snuggling, etc. We both worked all week, and the church opens next weekend, so we've been there every other moment of the day. Literally every moment of the last week has been occupied with something.

The drive through Mass., New Hampshire, Maine and New Brunswick at the start of our trip was relatively uneventful. If you've ever seen the northern seacoast of main or been in southern New Hampshire, you know exactly how uneventful it can be. But on day 2 of the trip we arrived at the Bay of Fundy. The Bay was beautiful and fantastic. The water in the bay rises 17 meters during its six hour tide cycle, making it the highest rising tide in the world. We spent a couple of hours there, and even got to walk on some of the mudflats that remain once the tide starts to go out. We had a beautiful day, and a long, long drive.



Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday we spent most of the time walking around town, sitting by the ocean, enjoying the cool weather and watching a lot of movies and reading a lot! Monday was our one year wedding anniversary, and we celebrated by going out to a nice dinner in Halifax. Can you say brie-stuffed almond crusted chicken with raspberry sauce? MMMM. We also went on a long, 10-mile cruise out into the Northern Atlantic, during which we saw seals, a leatherback turtle, and many, many puffins. They were pretty rough seas, and we were soaked when we got back, but we had a fantastic time. Puffins are pretty freakin' cute. Or, if you like Battlestar Gallactica, FRACKIN'.



On Wednesday we took a 750 mile tour of Nova Scotia, driving to the easternmost tip to Cape Breton island and National Park. This area, filled with Acadian and Scots-Gaelic cultures, was truly fascinating and beautiful. We drove and took pictures, hiked a little, and stopped on the way home at the only college in North America dedicated to teaching Celtic art. Fascinating.



Each morning for the rest of the week, we woke to the bagpiper playing away at the lighthouse, and spent more of our time reading, sunning, relaxing and walking around. If you're ever in Peggy's Cove, get the Nova Scotia Five-Berry ice cream served in a homemade waffle cone. It's five bucks (Canadian), but you will know heaven. HEAVEN.



Finally Saturday came, and we headed out to Prince Edward Island. We enjoyed the red, rust-oxide dyed beaches, and the warmest water north of South Carolina (along with some jellyfish). We pigged out at an all-you-can-eat-PEI-mussles lobster dinner, and then made el decision stupido mentioned above. It was a very relaxing vacation, and though I thought being that isolated would get to me, I'd pay a lot of money to be right back there at this moment.



Some things I learned in Canada:

1) Canadians love their flag. More than Americans, and more specifically, more than Texans. The Canadian flag is everywhere. EVERYWHERE.



2) Grocery stores are not open on Sunday.

3) Sharp cheddar cheese, regularly available in the US, is called Old Cheese in Canada. Mild is called Regular. Extra sharp, you ask? Well, duh: EXTRA OLD CHEESE.



4) Gas in Canada is expensive. It's about 99 cents per liter, and there are about 3.75 liters in a gallon.

5) I'm sad American English has abandoned the following spelling: colour, centre, litre, cancelling, behaviour. I am not sad we don't spell it yogOurt.

6) Beteen Tara and I, we can eat three buckets of mussels. Eww and yummy all at the same time.

7) Measuring distance in KM makes driving 750 miles go much faster. You just feel more productive.

8) The "Caution: Deer Crossing" signs in Nova Scotia depict the least graceful most freaked out deer running across the road I've ever seen indicated in a street sign anywhere ever.

9) I will voluntarily wake up earlier than I get up by force with an alarm clock when I have to get up for work.

10) The National Park system is very well executed with wonderful attractions, friendly staff, and clean washrooms. It also only costs six bucks (Canadian) to get in. NP in the US cost more than the gas it takes to get there.

Bangor? I don't even know her!

We have arrived for our first night in lovely Bangor, ME. The whole visit to lovely Bangor, ME will be less than nine hours, which is fine, because there's no way we could see all of the thriving metropolis that is Bangor, ME in less than three days, at least.

We're out the door to press on in 3...2...1...

Peace.

Flower Power

When I was a kid my grandmother’s house was my safe space. It was there that I learned to explore my creativity and open my heart to whatever ideas and thoughts I had, or dared to have. Gram was like that little packet of nutrients you put in cut flowers when you get them: I was already a bloom, but she helped me be stronger, more vibrant, vital, and fortified. She nourished my whole being, and I think often about how she would help me solve a problem if I was able to ask her for advice now.

After Tara and I were married almost a year ago, I started learning about my spiritual life in a new way. The day we were married was a day that changed me forever. Yes, because I entered into this partnership with an amazing woman who supports me, loves me, and nurtures me like no other, but also because I gleaned a new relationship with God that day. In the middle of the outdoors, standing in a brilliant, blooming garden, with our closest family and friends present, the sun shining down more beautifully than I had ever imagined, I was reborn.

Bogged down with all of the legal and state issues of the year before, I was beginning to feel run down with all the resulting pain and anger from the ongoing argument. Tara and I watched, every night sometimes, people debate the validity of our existence, our morality, and our love. Senators, Representatives, and even Presidents (gasp!) would say some of the most cruel and most horrible things I’ve ever heard, and all in the name of God. And despite my Roman Catholic upbringing, I have yet to see evidence that God wants us to hate anyone.

It was that day, in that garden, that I felt God’s presence truly with me. It was a feeling that the most powerful thing in the entire world was God’s grace bringing that group of people together and harnessing the awesome power that comes from collective love. Throughout the ceremony I was overwhelmed and started to cry. Part of me was crying because I was moved by the words I said to make this awesome commitment to my love. The other part was the feeling of being so deeply moved, fortified, and nourished by Gods love at that exact moment that I could no longer hold it together. God brought these people to my life. God strengthened us to persevere through the mangling of Christ’s teachings. God stands allied with love, not with hatred.

The minister who married us recently left the chapel where we worshipped with her. She has been called to preach at a huge old church about 7 miles from where we live, and we will follow her there to worship. This building has loads of deferred maintenance, paint peeling and falling from the ceiling, and lots of cleanup. At base, it is a stunning 200 year old church which needs some love and care. The waning congregation of only 15 people needs some revitalization. In the two months since Andrea was named pastor, the congregation has doubled, the ceiling is in the process of being repainted (with LOADS of volunteers and donations to make it possible), and we have forged new relationships between the newcomers and the folks who have attended church there their entire lives. In this transformation, I have found a new safe space in the church and with Rev. Andrea. I have learned to question and think and explore. I have learned that believing in God means asking questions, and that often those questions don’t have answers.

It is not in the hateful words other spew that is God’s word. It is in the work that we are doing, the dirt we are getting under our nails, the effort it takes to vacuum every pew in 100 degree weather, that is where God’s word and work is. That is where you will see the reflection of God’s good will. God IS love. God is LOVE.

Image: Oh, Canada, here we come!

Courtesy of www.novascotia.com

I'm against dirty!

Tara and I have made the switch in our household to using mostly earth-friendly, biodegradble products. We are trying to eat organic and/or local when we can, and recycling like banshees. Well, we've always been really good recyclers, but...do banshees recycle? I'm not sure. But if they did, I bet you they would be great at it!

Our first foray into earth friendly home products was Seventh Generation laundry detergent scented with natural citrus oils. It did a great job, but is very expensive. We got ours on half off sale! It lasts forever, and cleans clothes better than any product I've used before. AND, it does not pollute the environment one bit.

Since that ran out, we decided to try the next candidate: Method Home. We also purchased biodegrading bathroom wipes, dish soap, and hand soap. I have never felt more enthusiast:ic about a product in my entire life. Seriously. Well, maybe when O.B. started making applicator tampons, but other than that, not really. (O.B. has since STOPPED MAKING THEM.) Our bathroom has never been cleaner, more cucumber smelling, or had less residue ever. The dish soap we purchased two months ago is still 3/4 full. The laundry soap, fabric softener, and dryer sheets leave our clothes smelling so fresh Tara and I sit and inhale their warm goodness when they come out of the shower. And the best news: it's all Earth friendly! And not that expensive.

(Insert motion of me stepping on soapbox.)

Did you know:

If every household in the U.S. replaced just one bottle of 100 oz. ultra petroleum-based liquid laundry detergent with 100 oz. vegetable based product, we could save 220,000 barrels of oil, enough to heat and cool 13,000 U.S. homes for a year.

Every year over 400 million gallons of water are wasted to dilute laundry detergents. More water means more plastic wasted on giant plastic bottles that eventually find their way to landfills. At least, how much would you give NOT to have to lug that unwieldy 150 oz. laundry detergent bottle from the store to your house?

There are a few very simple things we can do to make our imprint on the earth a little less severe. You can find Seventh Generation in many more grocery stores and in specialty stores. Target carries the full Method Home line in such succulent scents at Magnolia, Cucumber, Pink Grapefruit, and Pomegranate. It’s important that you at least check it out. After all, you are against dirty, aren’t you?

Image: Gay Head

Brain Twin

Like Sarah, I often play over and over in head what I was doing this time last year, last month, yesterday. It's particularly bad when I've just gotten back from vacation, beause I the first week back at work is usually filled with, "A day ago I was sitting on the beach," or "Three days ago I slept until 10 am." I usually get jealous of myself. Is that possible? Don't wish away your days, lady.

A year ago I had just finished a week-long babysitting adventure with my dear Harrison. It was during this visit that Sarah and Doug found out about his cyst, and all the suspicions about cranial surgery came true. We were all worried, scared, and tearful, and thank our beautiful God that everything was resolved. After many tears and loads and loads (and loads) of worrying, he is the most super-wonderful-magnificent 15 month old to walk (very quickly and sometimes into things) the Earth. I have love in my heart for that boy like I never could have imagined having for anyone.

Five years ago, I had just finished a 3,500 mile drive cross-country with my father. I moved all the shit I could carry in my little hoopty Neon and averaged about 600 miles a day, cruising through all parts of the midwest, Rockies states, and the Pacific Northwest. I was starting a new part of my life in Oregon, and was in for more intense life-lessons that I could have imagined. I got to know my father more during that journey that I ever expected, and wouldn't replace any of those memories with him for the world. I learned all about his days in the Army, how he met mom, why he named me Val, and many other random bits of information that are crammed into his oversized brain.

Next week, Tara and I will celebrate our one year anniversary of being married. Everyone always remarks that it must feel funny to be married only a year, but in reality, we are cruising smoothly through our sixth year together. True this year has involved some new adventures for us, but really it's just one more year of learning more about each other, living together, and making our lives together. The only thing I regret about anything in the last year with Tara is that I can't do it all over again.

Three years ago (plus a couple of months) I came out to my parents. Three years ago we met Gaylen. Three years ago we moved in together. Four years ago I adopted Bob. Next year, I will celebrate (?) my ten year high school reunion.

I am blown away to think about how much my life has changed in the last year, nevermind the last ten years. I am blown away by the ways in which I have seen Jenna change in the last three years, to see Sarah become a mother, to see my mother and father fortify their relationship as newly alone partners. I am patient and eager to see how much things will change in the coming years, to see Harrison grow older, to see what Tara's and my children will look like, to see where we will make a home.

I am anxious, but eager and patient -- knowing that ten years ago, I couldn't have imagine this charmed life that I lead now.

Image: One Year Ago

bubs

Bone

In solidarity with me ole wifey Tara I thought I’d post about the absolute nothingness that is my life right now. Work is quiet for me. There’s nothing to do in our house (see Tara’s post) and there is no drama. In short, I am blissfully and contendedly perfect right now. It feels good to rest, be purposeful, put in some good time at the church helping to fix it up, and otherwise plan for a nice vacation. The whirlwind trip to PDX is over. The Family Reunion is over. I don’t travel for work again until August 11 (Yeehaw Texas here I come AGAIN!), and the only looming event is the wedding reception in October.

And because I’ve been the Gay Alarmist for the past month, I thought I’d spare you from my thoughts on Same Sex America. Worth seeing, definitely, but upsetting and grounding, for sure. Here’s to defeating the homophobes in October. Because, you know, I’m really only worth about 86% of what everyone else is worth. Jesus said so in the Bible. Look it up.

Image: Pink

Damn, I love summer.

Reading and Celebrating, part II

Gay rights activists cheered lawmakers and blew them kisses.

Reading and celebrating!

Legislators voted by 158-133 to support the bill, which makes Canada only the third country in the world after Belgium and the Netherlands to permit gay marriages.

How Stella's husband found his groove in another man's pants

Irony, anyone?

http://www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/books/06/29/people.terrymcmillan.ap/index.html

Image: I'm all about the homophobia reports lately, so here's a nice present of something mindless to look at

SH took this one in Oregon.

Go, Army!

Normally I'm not a huge fan of just unabashed swearing, but in this particular case, let me just say:

FUCK YOU, MIKE.

Gaylen, my former roommate, just started Med. School in Maine last month. She's gotten to know a lot of different people, and in keeping with the 10% rule, has also met some very lovely queers since she arrived. In particular, she has befriended a classmate whose partner also moved here while Hayden, Gaylen's friend, gets her degree. Hayden and her partner originated in North Carolina, and made a particular point to move someplace where the could be out and proud and whatever they wanted wherever they were. North Carolina was a 53,281 square mile closet, and they wanted to get the hell out of there, literally.

So, they trek northward, moving there entire lives 1,015 miles to Portland, hoping that with each longitudinal degree northward they would encounter less homophobia, more inclusion, and maybe, for once in their lives, feel safe enough to walk down the street holding each other's hands. They had a plan to be out, for the first time in their lives, to everyone.

During an exercise last week in one of their classes, the professor instructed people to get into pairs, take histories, and then practice reporting back to the larger group. One of the members of Gaylen's class, Mike, has been a jerk since the beginning. He's a former Army officer and just loves to hear himself talk, interjecting and interupting even the professor with Chem7-this and blood panel-that, even when it isn't relevant or correct. He's an arrogant bastard with little room to hear what anyone else has to say. Gaylen told me one day, when discussing the difference in cultural boundaries that might affect how you care for someone's health, he contributed, "Well, these people, aren't they in our country?! And shouldn't they be concerned with familiarizing themselves with our cultures, instead of us, theirs?!" Yeah, well, you get the picture.

So Hayden's partner reports back to the class what she's said word for word, using her phrases, etc., stating that she was nervous about coming to Maine and New England and that she was nervous about coming out too soon to the rest of the class for fear of being the Big Fat Lesbian on campus. He reported that she feels like being a lesbian is just one part of her life, and while it is an important part, it is not the sum of her being. In general, he did a fair and nice job, and it was well received by the others in the class.

After class, Hayden is going to her car. Enter Mike stage left, in his car, pulling up along side Hayden. The rest goes something like this:

Mike, in an accusatory tone: Hey! Big FAT LESBIAN!!

Hayden, cautiously: Um, yes, Mike?

Mike: Yeah, you know, you and your girlfriend should come over sometime, I might have some questions for you.

Hayden: Yeah, like what?

Mike: Well, I'm wondering if maybe I can show you something, you know, maybe show you a trick or two.

Hayden: I'm not sure what you mean.

Mike: I thought I could, you know, be of service, show you that there might not be something so wrong with a little d!ck.

Hayden, trying to maintain her composure: Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen.

Mike: Yeah, well you let me know. It might be a good idea.

Mike drives off. Hayden tries to keep from barfing.

So, not only was this a sexually harassing act, it was also obscene and grossly homophobic. Hayden is trying to figure out now what to do about, if to speak to anyone about it, and to whom, if she decides to move forward. The kicker of it all is that this jerk off is running for class president. CLASS PRESIDENT.

This incident has made me think and rethink the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy of Mr. Clinton Disappointment of 1996 I need to get re-elected pants. It reminded me of how dangerous it is to instruct people to be ashamed of themselves, to hide parts about themselves that are true and honest and rooted in love. It reminded me of the contradiction between instructing Hayden to keep her mouth shut about her life, and allowing Mike to open his freely. It reminded me of the immense pain of being in the closet, the desperation you feel while trying to claw out, and the anger and shame when someone slams you violently, unwillingly back in. It reminds me that even in the Blue State safe areas, there is no guard against some creep sneaking in. It reminds me that there is so much work left to do, and that remaining steadfast, and out, and proud and active are the only things that may keep that situation from ever happening to anyone again.

Image: Congratulations U + D!

Congratulations, U + D.

Has me crying I'm laughing so hard

From a friend who is coming out to his parents:

"It all started when Val told me that she was a lesbian and had chosen
the gay lifestyle. She handed me some pamphlets and brochures, and
told me that the gay lifestyle would enable me to have mindless, empty
sex, consume lots of drugs, indulge my narcissistic tendencies, and
ensure that I never grow up until I become a jaded 45 year old queen
who lives in a bar and desperately tries to pick up 21 year old
twinkies.

Now, I don't want to grow up or be a father. I don't even want to be
an American anymore. I hate freedom, families, and especially my
flag. I am moving to Cuba."

Image: Hello pretty sisters

Forest.

I'm GAY, dammit!!!

I just returned from a weekend away in my old stomping grounds -- Portland, OR. It was a quick and very intense visit, which wasn't really a visit at all; I was there to attend my cousin Uyen's wedding. The wedding was lovely, and the reception was strange, but fine. That's a longer story that I won't get into here. Tara stayed home to visit with her family for her birthday. Well, that and we couldn't afford to buy two overpriced tickets to PDX.

I am in a bit of a tricky spot with my family, because almost everyone knows that I'm gay and that Tara and I are married and if anyone has any problems with it, well, they haven't told me. My Aunt Hon (my favorite aunt) even sent Tara and me a wedding present. When Uyen invited us to the wedding, she addressed the invitation to both of us. My uncle, who just came over from Vietnam last year, knows that Tara and I are together, and when I met him during our connecting flights in Chicago he asked where Tara was before he even said hello to me! EVERYONE KNOWS.

Well, except for the Senior Aunt, known as No. 2. (In Vietnam, the tradition is the first born is number two, because your first was sacrificed to ward off evil spirits.) She and her husband Nepati have no idea.

During the very beautiful wedding ceremony, sorry, the Catholic Wedding Ceremony, the priest lectured on how appreciative he was of the diversity of the marriages represented in the church, that marriage was a sacriment, not to be taken lightly. I don't disagree...it is a serious committment. During Eucharist, he invited any non-Catholics to come up for a special blessing, and paused in between those receiving communion and those who Jesus said are not worthy to receive his body and blood. Jesus was all about judgements and castes. You've heard that, right?

Going into the reception, I was already a little touchy because of the Eucharist thing, and the moment I dreaded came: the bouquet toss.

The fucking BOUQUET TOSS when all of the single gals clamour for the fortune of being the next to be married. And as far as some people in my family are concerned, I'm still single.

No. 2 and Nepati have a son who is married. They have two kids. No. 2, who my mother reports is severely homophobic, has not been apprised of my gay status or of my gay married status. Therefore, her son, daughter-in-law, and husband have also not been apprised of my gayness. I'm not sure what they think the wedding ring is for, maybe for show, but they apparently don't know, and it became strikingly clear this weekend. When it came time for the bouquet toss, I was being proded by my cousin-in-law to go up with all the other straight, single girls so I could catch the bouquet and maybe be so lucky to marry one of the single cowboys there and wouldn't that be so fun and god, I must have just been waiting for that moment!! Well, not quite, so I raised my left hand and showed her my finger, jiggling my engagement and wedding rings from behind my fingers with the thumb of the same hand. She said nothing.

If someone indicated they were married and you had no idea wouldn't you ask a question, or wonder at least what the rings were for?! Well, apprently not! So she left me alone, and I escaped unscathed from the bouquet toss.

Towards the end of the reception, Nepati and I were sitting next to each other and he put his arm around me in a very fatherly way and said, "Do you ever think about your wedding?" Knowing what he meant (my straight, hypethetical wedding as opposed to the actual, real wedding of last year during which I made a committment to my real wife in front of my real family with a real officiant and a real God and a real blessing), I said, "Well, yes." Because that's the truth. I do think about my wedding. All the time!

Needless to say, I was really upset, mostly because the day was a whole series of things that made me feel invalidated, less-than, self-conscious, defensive, sad, and angry: all things that prompted me to come out of the closet in the first place. I don't want to have to negotiate this partial outing anymore. I'm coming out to my cousin and his wife as soon as I'm done blogging this experience. I'm inviting No. 2 and her husband to our reception in October. Someone else, for once, can negotiate this painful and touchy territory. I'm done with it. I don't want the responsibility anymore. In fact, I'm not sure that if I had it, I could even take it anyway.

Image: Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

Happy Father's (and Grandfather's) Day, Daddy!

Image: Happy Father's Day, Doug!

$748

$748. That is how much money I just "paid" the federal government. Now, normally I'm not the kind of person who complains about paying taxes. Sure, I'd love to keep all the money I make, but all the money I make is not mine to keep. There are lots of benefits that I receive just by being an American, and there are many Americans who are just as deserving who benefit from the programs our tax dollars fund. This tax money is money I can afford to let go, and if others need it, who am I to make a claim?

This past year I have been working my butt off. I have taken almost a dozen trips, talked to hundreds of people, met with PhDs, Directors, Captains and Majors in the Army, been on a zillion planes in a zillion cities in a zillion airports. I have worked hard. I have enjoyed my work and I have been compensated with a bonus because of it. I deserved that bonus and the raise I got, but I did not deserve the hit of the federal government taking $748 of my dollars away.

Why, you might ask?

Well, also in the last year I got married. And because I married a woman, I *had* to get married in Massachusetts. Yes, it is where I live, so it was no real hardship, but because it is something only this state allows me to do, my rights and responsibilities associated with being married end when I cross any state line. When either of us visits our families in NY, we are technically not married, and when we go for emergency hospital room visits in Rochester, we are not married. When we go to our favorite beach in Rhode Island, we are not married. When we talk about buying a house, we have to look in Mass. because living anywhere else means we are not married. When we paid our federal income tax this year, we were not married. We did not receive any of the federal benefits of every straight married couple in this country.

So here I am, traveling the country for work, recruiting people to go to school to become social workers with a focus on the Army and social workers to provide services to those coming back from war, and I am not a full citizen. No, I do not belong to the armed services. In fact, they would kick me out if I was. But I spend my days giving something back to this country. I spent time away from my family and home to do this work. It's time this country give me what I deserve, too. And if not, at least give me back my fucking money.

Image: Bob's mouth of Sauron

The scariest picture of Bob ever. Actually, he was just yawning!

Image: Orange

Sticky foosball ball

Fight AIDS

Hi folks-

To my loyal readers. (Smirk. Grin.)

My future baby's daddy, and one of the greatest loves of my life, Chad, will be running in the 28th annual Chicago Marathon in October 2005. He has pledged to raise money to fight AIDS by helping fund important research for a cure and prevention for the AIDS Foundation of Chicago. If you'd like to donate money in support of this fight, please visit:

http://www.aidsmarathon.com/participant.asp?runner=CH-1527&EventCode=CH05

It would mean the world to me, Chad, and millions and millions of others.

Love,
Val

Image: Meow

Meow.

Image: Behold, a lady.