Walking the Labyrinth

Channeling Mo - *Or my "I have finally lost it!" political rant!

2012-01-27T00:22:00.000-08:00

All right. For a blog with so much activism going on in it, I rarely really crank up with a political rant or post. Tonight, however...
Meet Mo - pictured here to my left. Mo is the central character in a cartoon series by Alison Bechdel, graphic comic artist and author of the comic series Dykes to Watch Out For (which maybe found here in her Archives. Shameless plug aside ( I really, really LOVE Alison's work, seriously) her character Mo has this habit of going off on political rants in fury at the stupidity of the establishment. And I have been channeling Mo since last night. Settle in for a long post - with fireworks - that goes down several different but inter-connecting paths. Go get your popcorn.
It all started when we were listening to Dreamweaver's favorite alternative radio program Phoenix Rising and he brought up whats going on in the Georgia court system right now. Basically, there have been several attempts via the court system to establish that Barrack Obama is not eligible for re-election for President and to therefore exclude him from the ballot.

(Now. Caveats. Before I go another step with this post. Obama is not perfect. Neither is he Satan incarnate. This is not a blog post about Obama. This is a blog post about some frighteningly scary ignorant politcal maneuvering by persons or people that I am going to *TRY* my best not to use foul language about in the course of this post. I cannot promise to succeed. I have no problems with you, gentle reader if you are not for Obama. But seriously - whats going on here folks is insane. Be forewarned. I will seriously police comments on this post, something I have never done before. All honest opinion welcome, even if it differs from mine. If you're trolling, your comment will be removed - as in take off and nuke it from orbit removed - its the only way to be sure. We now return you to this post. I really am in a mood. Sorry folks.)

So, when I heard about this court case, I went and looked it up, wondering by what technicality they thought they had grounds for this case. OK, yes, I am naive. I'm cute, but naive. In the extreme. Remember - well, its never gone away, but - remember the whole "Birther" movement, wherein President Obama's birth certificate and citizenship came into question?
During the Democratic Party's 2008 presidential primaries, anonymous e-mails from supporters of Hillary Clinton surfaced that questioned Obama's citizenship in an attempt to revive Clinton's faltering primary election campaign. These and numerous other chain e-mails during the subsequent presidential election circulated false rumors about Obama's origin, religion and birth certificate.
Jim Geraghty of the conservative website National Review Online may have sparked further speculation on June 9, 2008, when he asked that Obama release his birth certificate. Geraghty wrote that releasing his birth certificate could debunk several false rumors circulating on the Internet, namely: that his middle name was originally Muhammad rather than Hussein; that his mother had originally named him "Barry" rather than "Barack"; and that Barack Obama, Sr. was not his biological father, as well as the rumor that Barack Obama was not a natural-born citizen.
In October 2009, anonymous e-mails circulated claiming that the Associated Press (AP) had reported Obama was "Kenyan-Born". The claims were based on an AP story that had appeared 5 years earlier in a Kenyan publication, The Standard. The rumor-checking website Snopes.com found that the headline and lead-in sentence describing Obama as born in Kenya and misspelling his first name had been added by the Kenyan newspaper; and did not appear in the story issued by the AP or in any other contemporary newspaper that picked up the AP story. And so the snowball rolled until it became an avalanche of rumor, counter rumor, debunking sites, "Birther" sites ("Birther" being the term for those who believe that President Obama was not born in the United States.) and endless conjecture.

Now, we - Dreamweaver and I have done some serious research on this. Every single rumor, photo-shopped foreign "birth certificate", fake news story and claim has been debunked. Over. And over. And over. And still the Birther movement will not die. Its worse than trying to stake vampires! This by the way affects me personally - my beloved Father, whom I have such a loving but tangled relationship with is a Birther. He loathes Obama and believes every negative rumor ever put out there. So this hits me very personally. My dad and I are at the point where we are very careful to talk about the weather and neutral subjects. Or at least I am, and try very hard to keep him off politics. Even he has been proceeding more gently with me on it. I think he knows on a certain level how painful it is for me to hear all this coming out of him, even if he doesn't understand why. And given how hard headed he is, that's saying something!

Scanned image of Barack Obama's
birth certificate released by
his presidential campaign in June 2008.

What this all leads up to is...when I checked on the news story about the court case in Georgia subpoenaing Obama regarding possible ineligibility, I - naively - was looking for something new, given that the Birther stuff has been so incredibly discredited. I mean - President Obama released his birth certificate on June 12, 2008, responding to the rumors by posting an image of Obama's birth certificate. As if it hadn't already been settled at the very beginning before any of this started by the rigorous back ground checks that occur when one seeks the office of President. Gah! So...what do I find when I go to check on the Georgia court case????

Oh yes...the Birthers are at it again. Did I mention I am naive? My jaw dropped. Here's the story - a Georgia resident made the complaint, which is intended to keep Obama’s name off the state’s ballot in the March presidential primary. The reason - oh yes - the tired old thoroughly debunked conspiracy theory of President Obama not being a US citizen. The kicker is the lawyer they retained to represent them...Orly Taitz. Oh. My. God. Orly Taitz is a Moldavian emigrant to the US who became a naturalized citizen in 1992. She has a law degree from Taft, and was admitted to practice law in California in December 2002. She also speaks five languages: English, Hebrew, Romanian, Russian and Spanish, as well has having a dental practice. So she obviously is intelligent. She also claims that she lost relatives in the Holocaust and that her grandmother witnessed the Kishinev pogrom.

None of which prevents her from being, insofar as I can tell, crazier than a bedbug, evidently.

Along with spear heading and leading the Birther movement, and claiming that President Obama is not a US citizen and a Radical Muslim (which is he is not - he is a Christian, albeit progressive and pluralist) she also claims such things as a number of homosexuals from Obama's former church have died mysteriously (which has what to do with what???), that a person who was cooperating with the FBI in connection with Obama's passport died mysteriously, "shot in the head" (didn't happen); that a Kenyan birth certificate with the name "Barack Obama" is authentic (and we're coming back to that one, in a moment folks!), that her life and

Orly Taitz

property has been threatened and vandalized by the government, that internment and labor camps are being built for "anti-Obama Dissidents" - they're not - and that Osama bin Laden was killed years ago, with his body kept on ice, and the announcement of his death was timed to divert attention from an upcoming court case she is litigating challenging Obama's citizenship - oh my aching head. Really? Seriously? She also has other theories such as a strain of bird flu deliberately developed to kill people, PayPal attacks, the deletion of her Wikipedia entry (which was right there when I went to look for it) , and Google's flagging her webpage as an attack site and suppressing search results for her name - which is a joke because she's all over the damn internet in all directions...as in, oh, about 713,000 results when I last checked. Its called a persecution complex at the least. And by all means - go look at her suppressed, flagged, non-existent Website, please.

Anyway, she's the lawyer representing the case in Georgia. She's already tried this in Alabama, New Hampshire - both of which were thrown out by the way - as well as litigation for military personal who challenged orders implementing his voluntary deployment to Afghanistan because of his claim that Obama is not a legitimate president and thereby could not order his deployment. She has numerous other cases - all of which have been dismissed and thrown out, and she has been sanctioned and fined 20,000.00 dollars for for deliberate misconduct in court.

Now, remember the "Kenyan Birth Certificate" I said we'd get back to? Here's the icing on the cake. In 2009 Orly presented a photograph of Barrack Obama's Kenyan Birth Certificate.

This turned out to be a proven forgery of an Australian man's certificate of birth posted on an ancestry research site that was lifted and photo-shopped. It had so many glaring errors on it that it boggles the mind that anyone could take it seriously or think they could prove it genuine - errors such as incorrect ages, questionable birth locale, and unbelievably and most glaringly, the use of the term "Republic of Kenya", when actually at the alleged date of issue on this document, it was actually known as the "Dominion of Kenya" on official documents. Orly Taitz is too smart - one would think - to weaken her position as champion of the Birthers by attempting to present such a weak forgery, particularly when a few minutes of research would have turned up the discrepancies before attempting to go public with it. Evidently intelligence was not enough to prevent out right idiocy on this one.

Now, having pretty much - I sincerely hope - proven my point on Ms. Taitz, which is that she's approaching delusional in this mess and should not be taken seriously....

Here's where my jaw hit the floor last night and put me into a serious rage. So, we were listening to the radio show last night, found out that Orly Taitz is at it again in Georgia...attempting to legally keep President Obama off the ballot for re-election, and attempts to subpoena him...AND THE JUDGE UPHELD THE SUBPOENA AND ENFORCED IT.

A lawyer representing President Obama's interests submitted a letter - they probably have a form letter file a mile long by now to deal with Orly - stating that Obama's legitimacy has been clearly proven legally at the highest level, and they would not be responding to this nuisance case, etc. And the Judge upheld the subpoena ruling anyway and filed for Taitz and crew!

What. The. Hell?!?!

Phoenix, our radio dude went on to point out to his listeners that this could seriously become major trouble, because just as obviously as the President cannot respond to nuisance lawsuits, particularly ones that have about as much legal precedence as a snowball in hell, if the judge upheld the plaintiffs side, it becomes a Civil Rights/States Rights issue and the rallying cry from that could become very ugly indeed. At the very least, if it truly carried all the way through, it would set a precedence of excluding President Obama from the ballot which would spread from state to state in the Deep South and that could result in the government stepping in, civil unrest and possible riot and mayhem.

Pepper spray during Occupy Protest

Still with me here? Because we're about to take another turn down how my night went last night. Having heard the above, I became sincerely upset. Um...actually, in a furious rage to be honest. How dare such idiots play this kind of game with political due process in such a serious situation! You think I'm exaggerating? You think Phoenix is exaggerating? Remember, we've just seen the Occupy Movement get gassed, discredited and smashed into the bedrock by what amounts to brownshirt goons - you really think this could be an exaggeration? Let me go one step further.

I was very upset last night about this whole thing. Sleep kind of went out the window, and I was sort of compulsively patrolling the internet chasing random searches on all this mess. So having thought about the States Rights thing, and gone chasing down several related posts to those things, I went and looked at THE main back history to the whole idea of States rights in America - The American Civil War of 1861–1865. Or as I grew up hearing it referred to - and I am NOT kidding - The War of Northern Aggression.

Confederate Flag on t
he Capitol Grounds.

I was raised in the deep South. I am by birth South Carolinian. I grew up with Rebel Battle Flags EVERYWHERE...including the one still flying on the capitol grounds today. I was taught that the Civil War was about STATES RIGHTS...that the Federal Government wanted to take away our freedoms, that slavery was not nearly as bad as it is fictionally portrayed (Really. I was taught that.), that freeing the slaves actually did them harm and that the war was never about slavery - that was just an issue introduced half way through as an emotional rallying cry. The phrase "The south will rise again" was not uncommon, Sherman's name is still hated here, and the phrase "damnyankee" was one word. And the Klu Klux Klan was just there to protect the women and children. All the classic cliches that you think could not be true about Southerners....well. They are. They were. That's what I grew up in and around the first half of my life. How in God's name I escaped being an emotionally blind bigoted bastard I will never know, but thanks be to God - and I MEAN that - somehow I did. I was taught to be proud my state fired the first shot that started the whole freaking blood bath. And it was a blood bath - that war produced about 1,030,000 casualties (3% of the population), including about 620,000 soldier deaths—two-thirds by disease. It accounted for roughly as many American deaths as all American deaths in other U.S. wars combined. Based on 1860 census figures, 8% of all white males in the United States aged 13 to 43 died in the Civil War, including 6% in the North and 18% in the South. (Don't know what the figures would be if other races and women and children were included in that.)

Its funny how when you're sure of what you think you know, you never really dig in and look at it until something else knocks the blinders off. Now, I was already totally disgusted with the whole "slavery wasn't all that bad, and emancipation actually harmed the slaves" thing...Naive I may be - Stupid I am not. But I did believe that the Civil war was about States Rights, and the evils of the Federal Government. Its what I was taught in school and at home and at church and rubbed off on me at social gatherings. What else was I to know, when that was all I had ever been taught. Until last night, sore and angry and worried about my country's troubles at the hands of some crack pots and conspiracy theorists, I turned and did some true unbiased digging for the first time ever about the whole States Rights "movement" that arose out of the Civil War.

Rare 1863
photograph of a slave

Oh, yes, it was about States Rights alright. The right to own slaves and continue the furtherance of slave ownership into newly opened territories of America after slavery had already been declared illegal everywhere except the specific slave states and the actual slave trade coming over seas had been criminalized. And for THIS my ancestors rose and fought one of the bitterest, most brutal wars ever, brother against brother, that generated the hatred, prejudices and resentments that still burn today in the deep south...for the right to own and enslave their fellow human beings. And because of this cultural myth that still is alive and well today - that the Federal Government is out to "get us" Southerners - we're primed for it already. Armed conflict and rebellion is romanticized in the name of that lie still. And when this legal circus that is being driven by the Birther's disproven fraudulent claims to exclude Obama from the Presidential ballot in the states gets tossed out and quashed like it should be...its not impossible that civil unrest and blood could erupt in the streets.

Oh yes. If this Birther movement to exclude Obama from the ballot continues, with the Occupy debacle behind us - and the Occupy movement will be cranking back up when warm weather gets here, is my bet - it could well explode. I am not being paranoid. You saw the news this summer with the Occupiers being beaten, dragged off, pepper sprayed and gassed. We're poised over the edge. And the Deep South is where this will erupt if it does and we're living smack in the middle of it. God help us.

I guess the final reason for my severe rage was that every single conspiracy theory, crack pot claim, and bitter foul lie about President Obama that Orly Taitz is pushing or has created, I've heard from my father's lips as gospel truth. And he knows, despite my care not to start anything or even get involved in any political discussion with him, he knows that I disagree with him on this subject. And he thinks I am blind to reality and that he knows it all. It hurts. Orly Taitz's single handed insanity has brainwashed my dad into twisted knots of conspiracy theories and hatred and there is nothing I can do about it. Not one thing. I asked my dad what he thought, the day President Obama's birth certificate was released, and he said as far as he was concerned it was a fake, the man was no US citizen, but a Kenyan born Muslim who should be run out of the country and that even if he held Obama's birth certificate in his hand, he still wouldn't believe it, period. And this is why, perhaps I am so blazing mad. These lies have come close to destroying my relationship with my father, and have twisted what should be golden years for him into something filled with fear and hate because he is afraid of change and its easier to hate than think. It breaks my heart and has made me angrier than anything has in a long time. I am trying not to misuse that anger and succumb to hate myself. So I'm venting about it, and trying to wrestle with it and win through to being better than this.

Two final points. Orly Taitz is working on running for Senator for the state of California. Oh no. Hell no! Please God, no. She has to be un-electable. Unfortunately, her being born somewhere other than the USA doesn't preclude her from holding any office except the presidency. How ironic.

Secondly, today in court instead of tossing out the case in Georgia, the court stunningly refused to rule, meaning he did not toss them out on their asses - yet. Instead,they are to present their evidence, and he will make a ruling by February 5th, and where this will lead next, who knows. Hopefully he will toss it out. We'll see. I can't imagine he wouldn't. Here's hoping.

These are my honest thoughts. Perhaps venting here will give me the ability to see clearly and not be so blind furious. Perhaps the future will be better than my fears, will instead, be the future of my hopes. Such are my prayers this night.
May God give us grace. All of us.

Martin Luther King Jr. - the Force of the Soul

2012-01-16T19:43:00.000-08:00

I Have a Dream is the 17-minute public speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered on August 28, 1963, in which he called for racial equality and an end to discrimination. The speech, from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial during the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, was a defining moment of theAmerican Civil Rights Movement. Delivered to over 200,000 civil rights supporters, the speech was ranked the top American speech of the 20th century by a 1999 poll of scholars of public address. According to U.S. Representative John Lewis, who also spoke that day as the President of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, "Dr. King had the power, the ability, and the capacity to transform those steps on the Lincoln Memorial into a monumental area that will forever be recognized. By speaking the way he did, he educated, he inspired, he informed not just the people there, but people throughout America and unborn generations."

Martin Luther King, Jr. delivering "I Have a Dream"
at the 1963 Washington D.C. Civil Rights March.

A Wonderful Weekend....

2012-01-10T21:18:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, Jan. 6th through the 9th, we took off for our yearly music convention in Atlanta GA. There have been 14 GAFilks, since their inception in 1998 and I have attended all but one of them. I met my beloved partner, best friend and wife - Dreamweaver - for the first time ever at the first GAFilk Convention. A brief definition of "Filk"must now occur - filk is a form of music about science fiction and fantasy subjects created from within science fiction and fantasy fandom, often performed late at night by fans sitting in a rough circle and singing or playing instruments at science fiction conventions, though there are now dedicated filk conventions. Its been around for fifty years at least and the word filking arose as a typo of the word "folk" music in a convention memo. What makes it hard to define is that the songs are not all about Sci-Fi/Fantasy subjects, and may reference things like cats, computers, personal faith, space flight, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sometimes real folk music gets performed even. The phrase is "Filk is what Filkers do." thereby encompassing a universe of creativity and connections.

So....

Last Friday we were off to the Filk, and were pulling into Atlanta at about 4:00 PM

Rolling into and through Atlanta....

(And since I was driving - NO, I did not take these pictures.)

And this is the view from the 11th floor hotel room we checked into...

Rob, our master of ceremonies...

Having arrived and checked in, we were downstairs for what has become the tradition of the GAFilk Convention - a New Years celebration and countdown. By virtue of always falling on the second weekend of January, GAFilk is the first filk convention of the year, and possibly the first convention in the Scifi/Fantasy Genre, period, of the New Year, too. So there is a countdown, and champagne and sparkling cider and we begin the Con by singing Auld Lang Syne...ALL the verses, including the unpronounceable Scots dialect ones.
There is a great deal of socializing and hugs and joy as over a hundred people see their best filking friends they only get to see once a year, or happily make first time attendees feel welcome and honored too.

Welcome in a new year of Filking!

At which point, afterwards the singing begins in
earnest in the first open filk of the con.

The next day as I came down to the con, I encountered the snake! One of our long-time members has a snake who's been going to the con about as long as I have - a Ball Python named Spot. This however, was not Spot...Spot has a new traveling companion, a much younger and smaller ball python named Saffron...I immediately went to meet the new snake, and got to hold him while his owner visited elsewhere in the filk room.

Me and Saffron, the Ball Python....

Saffron and I visiting - we both dozed a bit for a bit...

I wish at this point to add a wonderful thing that happened. As you see in the picture above, my convention name tag says "Cameron". While Cameron is one of my actual legal names, it is not the uber feminine one I grew up being known by. As I have worked through being a female to male transgender and considering transitioning. I have been using the name Cameron more and more and it is probably the name I will use as a man, post transition. So, all of these good people I have been attending this convention with for 14 something years all did a double take and said - one by one - " 'Cameron'? Whats up with that?" My answer was to say well there's a long version and a short version answer to that, and the short version is I am a female to male transgender and Cameron is the name I am using as a man."

And without exception, the answer was "Oh cool! OK...Cameron it is." Oh my - what a wonderful group of people - no judgement, total acceptance, no problem! Only one person wanted to ask some questions - and their main point was, "Are you happy?" And when I said yes, they said that was all that mattered! Fandom is a wonderful community of people!

So, our second day of the convention went on filled with much good music and friendship and fun...here are some pictures...

Cat Faber, formerly of the group Echoes Children - she is amazing!

This was the double shot - the sign up for anyone
who wanted to sing two songs back to back...I've done double shots
before myself - but not this year...

Elise Matheson - the Super Secret guest for this year's GAFilk

Brenda Sutton of the group Three Wyrd Sisters in the open filking.

More open Filk...

Elise again - she was wonderful and funny and a very talented blog writer
jewelry artist, singer and story teller - a woman of many talents.

Open filk at night after the banquet - this is where we all sit and sing
till the break of day in a Filker's bardic ring!

Open filk...

Open Filk....

Brenda Sutton performing again...

Bill Sutton, Brenda's husband, who is equally,
amazingly talented...

Mac Carson performing his signature song
"Brother Michael" which gets requested every year!

My Guitar...it was good to be playing again - I've been out of practice
due to school, but by Sunday morning,
I felt like I was back and able to play...

Fiber Geek and Dreamweaver - they have been best friends
since before Dreamweaver and I ever met and
their friendship is utterly precious!
I love them both and I am honored to be in their lives!

Sunset from our hotel room on Saturday night....

And then...there are the elephants!These are our two elephants who travel with us - Bronte and Gabe.
We think they did a lot of filking we didn't know about after we went to sleep.
Turns out Cat Faber travels with elephants too - so they all got to wave at each other.

So after a wonderful glorious weekend...the Con came to an end - which always makes us sad...

Closing ceremonies where guests receive hats.

And Brenda leads the final song, "Strangers No More We Sing" (that she wrote)
which none of us can sing without crying, because it's beautiful,
it perfectly expresses what the con is all about
...and when we sing it, it means the con is over.

So, the Convention, GAFilk 14 is over. *sigh* Of course, you *KNOW* what this means....don't you?

We're gonna sing some more!

That's right - for those who do not have to leave on Sunday and can stay over til Monday, the convention rooms are still ours for one more night, and the Dead Dog Filk begins! And we sing right into the night again!!!! This year, Dreamweaver and I were able to stay for the first time ever through Monday and it was a very good thing we did because the Dead Dog Filk was magical - most of the "professionals" were still there, and brought their instruments back out and some of the most powerful, beautiful music I've ever heard at a GAFilk convention was played that night! And it wasn't just the "Pro's" - everyone still there, including us amateurs were in it - singing, sharing songs, harmonizing, jumping in and playing along. It was the best night of the convention for us!

Some of the incredible music we heard at the Dead Dog Filk....

Which just kept getting better and better....

And better!!!!

FiberGeek and her grandson listening to the music!

We finally gave up and packed it in and went to bed all tired and happy, remembering of course that we had a drive back in the morning Our Godson, Fiber Geek's grandson was a perfect example to us of how to end the con - of course, he has two speeds - full tilt boogie and crashed out sound asleep.

Our God-son...the Next Generation of Filk!

And then we packed up, packed out and said our farewells to our friends with many, many hugs (and some tears!) and drove home after four days of wonderful music and friendship! It must be said that we came home to a house in perfect shape and our animals calm, well cared for and happy to see us, due to the efforts of our friend Miles who took over animal sitting our brood while we were gone. And having our furbabies calm and happy and well cared for - we can give no higher praise to our friend! He made the trip possible!
The only, single complaint I had about the whole weekend was (of course) that the hotel bed was evidently a stack of cinder blocks cunningly disguised as a bed with sheets and blankets! Ugh - I was so glad to get home to my nice warm water bed with my cats! And my kitten Thor - the kitten without fear, as Miles calls him - was glad to see me too!

Thor asleep on my chest the night we got home - purring away!
He and I were so glad to see each other!

So GAFilk is done for the year - we have the memories of good friends, good fun, great music and the knowledge that this time next year, we will once more head out - off to the filk!

Strangers No More

Plans are made, pennies pinched,

Time goes creeping by,

Bags and instruments are packed,

Our bosses shake their heads and sigh.

We're going for a weekend,

We'll drive or fly or crawl

To the oddest burgs and ballrooms

Where we answer to the call (of)

Chorus:

One voice singing, one hand strumming,

Slowly building note by note there starts a quiet humming,

Lyrics brush the memory, somebody starts a drone,

The basses fill the bottom in, there sounds a baritone.

Layer upon layer swells with alto and contralto,

The melody enhanced by soaring tenor and soprano.

Strangers no more we sing, and sing, and sing, and sing!

She drives a truck, he computes

That one teaches school.

The only rule among us is, "There really are no rules."

Some like ose, some fantasy,

Some science fiction strong.

The one thing that unites us is

Our love of harmony and song (with)

Chorus

Bridge:

Some folks fit in easily, no matter where they are.

Others stand off from the rest and pin their hopes on stars.

We each spent some time drifting in a crowded world, alone

But now we pack our bags and songs,

And skip off to our monthly home (where)

Strangers no more we sing, and sing, and sing, and sing!

Well, it's been too long. How's your life?

Familiarity.

A kiss, a hug, a back gets rubbed

By one of every five I see.

You read my shirt. I read your badge.

We sit and trade a song.

I may not know you Friday night,

But we're good friends when Sunday's gone (with)

Chorus twice.

New Years Day, 2012 - Transitions and Changes....

2012-01-01T19:47:00.000-08:00

This New Year's Day,2012, will begin the third year that I've been "Out" on this blog as transgender - FTM - Female to Male. There have been some changes since I made that post in July of 2009, some of them that are pretty significant. I went back and re-read that post, "Pardon Me, Your Umbrella is Leaking", and the changes are leaping out at me. I am the kind of person who has come to understand that changes are always with us, that change should be expected, that (in the words of Kiya Heartwood of the music group Wishing Chair) "...the only gospel that I know is things are gonna change."

Otherwise, after re-reading what I wrote back then, now would be the perfect occasion for eating crow.

Mostly, I stand by what I wrote in that blog post. Its still very relevant, and very important. Nor do I feel the need to go back and edit it. The thoughts I had back then were where I stood at the time, at the beginning of figuring out somethings that were of absolute, ultimate importance in my life. I don't need to change the past to acknowledge the present. But I do need, I think, to revisit it in order to see the nature of those changes and what they mean in terms of where I am now.

The change in perspective comes, of course, at the end of the blog, where I make a very definitive statement that "...since I am already sure that transitioning is not the answer for me...". That has changed and is changing daily. I'm pretty sure I will be physically transitioning to male at this point. I have a lot of thoughts and questions still, that I intend to spend some serious time on, before I take such drastic step. But I am of an entirely different mind here on this, than when I wrote that blog post several years back. And I want to stop and think out loud here about it for a bit.

I think one of the factors that influenced the "I am not going to transition" stance I took was fear, pure and simple - fear of a number of things. The first part of that fear was that I was at the very beginning of acknowledging something that had been in existence for me my entire life - something that I had never had words for. "Tomboy" covered it fairly well when I was a child, mostly...until that became socially unacceptable when I moved into my teens. At that point I was expected to stop being such a "boy" and grow up and be a young lady. Not to put too fine a point on that, it was hell. I wrote in that first blog post that I felt that for the first part of my life that my culture and society denied "what I am by making me try to present as a feminine heterosexual woman (and I did try, people, for 36 years of my life I tried!)". There is close to half a lifetime of serious, real pain behind those words. Of a daily effort that deep inside, I loathed every minute, and trying to do so made me loathe myself. So, at age 36, when I came "Out" as a lesbian - a butch one - that seemed to settle me into a comfortable identity, a place where I could be me. It fit, supposedly. Only, it didn't. Not totally. There was still this sense of missing a step, that jarring sense of "not quite". I still did not have the language, the words, the necessary information to make sense of just why things still didn't work in my life. Oh, I was happy enough, much happier than I ever was attempting to fit the "binary heteronormative" mode of being a woman. And yet...I still wasn't there, wasn't at home within myself. I knew there was still something more that was not right, even if it remained a vague unease, a discomfort that would not pass and grew more profound as time went on. So, when I made that final realization, with the sound of a key turning in a lock, that I was transgender, it was a pretty terrifying place to be. I had to take every assumption I'd ever had (again) and re-think everything I ever thought I knew (AGAIN!) and start all over. How many times have I had to do this? Far too many - and it never ever gets any easier. Stating then that I was just never going to transition was a safer place to stand, when starting out to contemplate the complete change of everything I ever thought I knew - and then tearing it all down.

The second part of that fear was for my relationship with my partner - my wife, Dreamweaver. And for her, as well. This is not a journey I am on alone. She is very much hostage to any decision I would ever make about this and she has had her own journey thus far. She too, started out in a fearful place. She has had a lifetime of dealing with men who have been abusers and who have damaged her and scarred her - she had found a very safe haven in being with a woman, in her lesbian identity, in feeling safe and secure in our love. And oh, gee, whoops, um...I'm a guy? Oh no, no, no. Talk about my world going upside down? This totally blew her's apart! And the track record of relationships surviving one partner transitioning is very poor - most of the time they break up. The idea of this fundamental shift tearing Dreamweaver and myself apart was perhaps the most terrifying fear I've ever had. And she felt it too, perhaps worse than I did. We didn't have one identity crisis - we had two. Mine - and hers.

Its a very understandable, gut wrenching fear - for both of us. But I should have trusted us. I should have trusted her. She has walked every step of this journey, mine and hers, right next to me. And she has made it very clear that she's with me to the end of my days, irregardless of who or what I am. She has managed to work her way from moments of being horrified over the changes this forced upon her, to utterly supporting my need to transition, and that is a distance of near infinity to walk for her. And she has done so with immense amazing courage. Not, of course, that its all resolved and just fine now...I suspect that we have many more twists and turns on this road of transformation together, and a lot of them will be very, very hard. But I trust her. I trust us. Whatever the future, I know that I can trust that there will be an "us" that will last til death do us part - and beyond, if God or the Gods are kind.

And of course, there is the fear of societal judgement, by friends and family - all too often these kinds of life altering decisions result in the loss of friends and family. One of the things that others have said to me, is of course, the classic "If they can't accept you as you are and love you no matter what, then they weren't your friend, anyway." There is a bitter measure of truth in this. But there is also something missing in that statement too. We are all interconnected in our web of relationships and big changes cause growing pains on both sides. I have written here many times of my strained relationship with my father, 84 years of age, who simply cannot ever accept me being gay or transgendered. It doesn't mean he doesn't love me, or that he should be callously dismissed as not being a worthy parent or friend. It does mean that I have to think about where he comes from, his back ground, his era growing up, his paradigms and how the world that was then, formed and shaped him. That I have to realize that he is what he is, and that any ability to shift and change that radically in his thinking is truly beyond him, because of who and what he is. And my coming Out to him as either gay or transgender, would tear his world apart. My being gay identified is something that he and I can just barely manage in the most all out case of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" you've ever seen. He ain't gonna ask, and I ain't gonna tell. And we go on loving each other. Love is not the problem. Or, perhaps the problem is that in his aging and his growing fears and cantankerousness as a man in the end of his life, his love is deep and profound...and conditional. He never has been capable of "unconditional love". Only the profoundly good boundaries and caution we have always maintained of our differences have carried us this far.

But as a transitioned FtM???? Dad would be face to face with changes in me that no amount of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" could ever cover. Testosterone produces profound changes - my face structure will shift subtly, my voice will drop permanently to a male register, I will more then likely grow a beard, I will put on muscle, "top surgery" will configure my chest and upper body structure to masculine...in short, he would be irrevocably faced with the fact that his "daughter" is actually his son. And the fifty years of relationship that I have built with him give me no hope that he has the ability, the mental flexibility to make that shift. He's just not wired for it. Terrifying? You bet! Terrifying enough, that in initially realizing that I am a transgendered man, that my first reaction would be "There's just no way I could ever transition."

The final point of hesitation, that made me go, "Transitioning is not my path" is the fear of some of those above mentioned changes. Testosterone changes more than the outside physical appearance. It changes everything - mood shifts, how one processes emotion, how one thinks. I'm still wrestling that one. Would I still be "me" when it is over? What would that metaphysical place of "I" be, afterwards. Would I still be who and what I am now - and make no mistake, as much as I hate this body I'm in, there are parts of me I value profoundly, and fear and wonder how they would change, on this journey. That, I am still wrestling with, make no mistake. I'll have to get back to you on that one!

So...what has shifted or changed, that in a matter of a few years, I have moved from "never going to transition" to "yes, I will eventually transition". I don't know if its a case of I've "changed", I think its more of a case of that pressure that I have always carried within me of not being right, of not being who and what I am suppose to be having now found its definition, its voice, its narrative, its self awareness and understanding. And its like once that door is opened, there is no going back.

I mention in that first post back then that I avoid mirrors like the plague, especially full mirrors that force me to look and see the female body that I wear. Its more than that - FAR more then that, I just couldn't even begin to find the words for the complexity of it, for the full experience of it. If I don't think about it, my body persists in "feeling" male. Its like I walk within a ghostly form of a man, that the aspects of being female jar and grate on daily. I have good days and bad days. My menstrual cycle and recurring period are consistently among the bad days - really bad days. I loathe and hate my body with a passion during those weeks, furious with the constant obnoxious reminder that my body persists in being female - what an odd way to put it, I suppose. Maybe time will give me better words as I work this out.

I despise my breasts, and dress to conceal and minimize them as much as possible. Binding them is the next step for a more complete presentation of being male and is something that so far I have grimly resisted - and Dreamweaver agrees with me on this. Because it feels like once I take that step and start binding, the uncontrollable avalanche will start - and once started, it will not be turned aside, and I'm not there yet. Showering is a nightmare. I'm a very clean person - I hate being dirty. But I also despise the utter forced, inescapable intimacy of being confronted with my naked female body when I shower. It totally blows any ability to see or feel anything but the agonizing dichotomy of being a man, and still having to touch and clean and totally, bitterly, unwillingly acknowledge that the form and shape I wear are wrong!

I have days where I am mostly OK. The bathroom mirror shows only my face. I can avoid looking down at myself as I dress or undress, and the moment passes...and then I'll have days, sometimes for no obvious reason, where it doesn't matter what I wear, or what I do, I want to violently claw my own body off me - its not mine! And in those minutes I utterly hate it. I understand what sometimes drives some transgenders to cutting as a release valve for these feelings of utter alienation from their bodies...I've never done it, but oh, I can see the temptation of it, the need for it, the release of it! My voice doesn't sound right to me when I speak. And my utter fury of being constantly, instantly interpreted as a "woman" by everyone I meet and therefore instantly in their minds processed into a certain role, a certain "thing" that they may treat in certain ways is a daily agony. It doesn't matter that I'm dressing in every way possible I can to signal Male, man, masculine...hellooooo? Don't you people get it?!? I am not allowed the right to define my own self, to be what I am unless I totally transform everything, utterly and permanently into something they can perceive on a shallow surface level based on their brainless cultural programming.

Oh, yes. Its become very painfully obvious, day by day, struggle by struggle, that I will eventually be transitioning. Why not now? Why not just go ahead and go for it? Oh, there are several good reason...one, and probably the make or break one, is very simple. Money. Transitioning is not cheap. And we are in that lovely euphemistic place of being the "working poor", stone broke and working paycheck to small art job, to student loan and hanging on grimly between, fighting for gas money and food and bills. It wouldn't matter how READY I am; I cannot afford it at this time. Not yet. Someday that will change, perhaps soon even, as we are working on changing that through painfully saved and invested funds.

Another point in this time frame is that we are planning on moving out of state, at some point, when I finish school. The logical point in time to seriously pursue transitioning is after that move, and it is not impossible that this may fall after my dad passes - not something, mind you, that I want to have happen, or even want to think about. But time is passing and he is showing signs of aging and slowing and I am afraid he and I are
moving into the end of his life and our time together. Which is an agonizing and horrible thought...and its is also a very guiltily liberating thought. But even beyond that, getting out of this area, steeped in conservative fundamentalism and narrow bigotry and homophobia is a very smart move in considering transitioning. Fear of physical danger is actually not high on my list - but I'd be a fool to not see its there either. Moving is also a ways off, both because of finishing school and because of money, again.

And the final point is, that despite this growing internal volcano of pressure, I still have a lot of questions that I want answers too, both mine and Dreamweaver's questions. And I intend, before I put the match to the gunpowder on this, to seek out a therapist with experience in working with transgender issues for both of us, and there will be some serious work done on issues of self, and relationship and what and how and why. And I am not just talking about snagging a therapist to sign the papers blindly to get me past the gatekeepers to get testosterone and surgery - I'm talking about doing real inner work and processing, so that when I take those steps, I will be doing so informed, centered and profoundly ready, secure that Dreamweaver and I will weather what is to come.

So, where my journey has taken me so far? First of all, acknowledge that wherever I am right now, change is inevitable. That what is true today, may undergo a strange and deep sea change in the journey of life and to not let what I firmly believe to be unchangeable throw me when it turns out that the opposite is true. Secondly, I know now that it is very likely that transitioning is going to be a step that I will take. That I am getting on top of my fears...and that, bad or good days not withstanding, I have the strength to do this a step at a time, and do it right. And I know that Dreamweaver is right there with me. And that together, she and I can weather anything.

I will close this with a precious moment that occurred a few months ago...I was getting dressed and grumping my way into my sports bra, that always painful moment of having to acknowledge that yes, these breasts are here, and I have to deal with them. And Dreamweaver, who the year before was horrified over "losing" her lesbian identity if I became a male, thus making her in the eyes of society a straight woman, looked at me all of a sudden and said, "Well, if they're not yours, you shouldn't have to wear them!" See why I love this woman?

She put her finger on it, right there. This body is not mine. And I don't have to spend the rest of my life caught between what I am not, and what I am, and society's judgement of it. This is where I am today. And I most certainly have more exploration and growth ahead, and more words to write as I seek to express what is going on inside of me.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, as the poem says...I left the divergence back there quite awhile ago...

...and the road I'm on is good.

Merry Christmas and Happy Yule!

2011-12-26T21:45:00.000-08:00

Our Christmas began on Christmas Eve day, when we went out to my parents and had Christmas dinner, which we cooked and took out to them, due to my dad recovering from a broken shoulder. Mom has mobility issues so its been a hard time for them. However, Dad has been given a good report and taken out of his sling, and begun physical therapy, so thats all good news! We had a wonderful day with them and then we left early enough to make it to the Midnight Christmas Service at our church - here are some of the pictures from the service....

The front of the church.

The Advent Wreath...

The Christmas Tree at the side window.

And I got to wear my kilt, which I adore!!!

Then afterwards we went home and fell out, exhausted, of course. We woke up the next day with the most blessed beautiful day - we did not have to go anywhere or do anything and that was a blessed Christmas for us both, indeed, with our hectic schedules! We set up a little foot tall tree on our altar and decorated it - we can actually unplug it at night and put it away safe, so the cats can't have too much fun with it. So here is our Yule Altar, with the little Tree...

This is the Christmas/Yule present Dreamweaver got for
me...it's the Wildwood Tarot Deck and its wonderful;
the art is stunning!

We wish everyone a blessed holiday season - may we keep it in our hearts all year round!

Our Christmas for each other - Biltmore House Candle Light Tour...

2011-12-22T21:05:00.000-08:00

Biltmore House on the night of December 17, taken with my camera phone.

On December the 17, we went to the Biltmore House in N.C. for the Candle light tour. This is something we have done before many, many years ago, and have longed to return and experience again. This year, we finally decided that we were going, one way or another, even if going entailed eating more cheese sandwiches to afford doing so!

Christmas Tree outside of Cedric's at Biltmore Estates

So, in setting up our reservations, we discovered we could make reservations at several possible restaurants and thought, Cool - that will solve what and where to eat dinner before going on the tour. So the Saturday arrived, and as some of you may know we lost our cat WeeBit in the middle of the night, before our trip. So we set out on the road to Biltmore somewhat sad and tired, even though we were happy to be going on the trip. Then the fun started. Not realizing that the restaurant, Cedric's, was actually on Biltmore Estates, we attempted to find Cedric's via GPS. Then by phone. According to our GPS both Cedric's and Biltmore House are in the middle of downtown Asheville (Which they most certainly are NOT!) and according to 411, Cedric's did not exist. We finally got it straightened out and arrived very late to our dinner.

Once we were there, it was lovely and we had a fabulous time - some of the best food we've ever eaten and excellent service by the staff!

Walking up the approach to Biltmore House, after dinner.

From there we went on to the House. For anyone who has never been there, there are hardly words to describe it...Biltmore House is a Châteauesque-styled mansion near Asheville, North Carolina, built by George Washington Vanderbilt II between 1889 and 1895. It is the largest privately-owned home in the United States, at 135,000 square feet and featuring 250 rooms. 101 rooms are bedrooms.On Christmas Eve 1895, Biltmore House opened its doors for its first family celebration. An art connoisseur and collector, George filled his mansion with Oriental carpets, tapestries, antiques, and artwork, including paintings by Renoir and Whistler, and a chess set that had belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte. After Vanderbilt died in 1914 his widow, Edith Stuyvesant Vanderbilt, completed the sale of 85,000 of the original 125,000 acres to the federal government, which carried out her husband's wish that the land remain unaltered, and that property became the nucleus of the Pisgah National Forest. 8000 acres remain to form Biltmore Estates as they are today, including a dairy, a winery, shops, and extensive glorious gardens. It is still owned today by the surviving descendants of George Vanderbilt, who, as one of the tours states, do not preserve the house to make a profit, but seek to make a profit to preserve the house and its incredible legacy.

Main Entrance to Biltmore

The glorious part of the Candle Light Christmas Tour is that the house is decorated as it was on the night it was opened to the public in 1895, with Christmas trees in virtually ever room, antique toys, candle light and roaring fires in the fire places.

Stone Lion at the entry
Not sure if he's happy about his decoration,
or not.....

However, there are no words to describe the experience of walking through the house, nor can pictures do it justice. Photography is forbidden inside the house, but there are rooms in it that are beyond belief - the Dining Hall is 72 feet long, 42 feet wide, and its walls stretch up 70 feet tall. Wall decorations in the Banquet Hall at Biltmore Mansion include priceless Flemish tapestries from the 16th century and medieval weaponry. The room also features a triple fireplace and an organ loft. The oak dining table can expand to accommodate 64 guests and the acoustics are perfect. The organ still plays. Over the doorway of the Hall are the words "Let there Be Peace, oh Lord, in My Time" in Latin.

And then there is the Library. There just are no words. Go look at the link to a picture of the Library here, right now. Go on, go look. There are 10,000 books in this room, and an estimated total of 22,000 total belonging to the estate...which they are STILL working on cataloging! The mural in the ceiling is The Chariots of Aurora by Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini (1675-1741), which the Vanderbilts purchased secretly from a Venetian family who found themselves in financial straits; they sold it with the proviso that its provenance was not to be remarked upon and the price paid was not to be revealed. Today it is known to have come from the Palazzo Pisani on the Grand Canal in Venice. Now, they do not allow photography inside Biltmore on the tours....however, I was a little bit naughty.

Detail of the Library ceiling painting with my Cell phone....

I snuck a shot of the Library Ceiling with my cell phone. There was a tour guide next to us, so I couldn't really aim or focus - I just fired and hoped. All those cornices and stone work up there are a painted illusion.

This shot was taken from the third floor over looking the front entrance and grounds with the glorious decorated tree in the center. The rest of the house is just as glorious as the two rooms mentioned above with a huge ginger bread house in the kitchens in the basement, a swimming pool (!) and a bowling alley, as well as an exercise room.

Exterior shot of Biltmore - my cell phone did amazingly well
- much better then our actual camera did; evidently the technology has improved....

And this is the Christmas Tree on the from lawn,
reflected in the pond in front of it.

And in this shot of the tree,
you can see people standing silhouetted against the lights,
which gives you an idea of how big this tree really is!!!

We could not have a had a more wonderful, lovely romantic time, and as it was where we went the year we were dating, almost 8 years ago, it was a lovely thing to both remember, and to bring the reality into the present day and make new memories. We may not get to go every year...but it is a tradition we want to keep as often as we can pull it off - Christmas at Biltmore. Always!

Happy Winter Solstice!

2011-12-21T02:44:00.000-08:00

Happy Winter Solstice everybody!

In the darkest, longest night of the year, welcome Sun Return!

WeeBit 1999 - 2011

2011-12-20T04:18:00.001-08:00

WeeBit 1999 - 2011

We must now say fare well to yet another of our cats. This one hurt - not that they don't ALL hurt when you lose one, but every now and then, it somehow seems to hurt worse than usual. This one did.
12 years ago, I adopted a little kitten that I named WeeBit. She was a tiny bit of fluff, a black midnight calico or properly a Tortoiseshell , with a gorgeous white ruff and glorious orange accents all over her. She was a ball of lightening fast energy, with 2 speeds - full bore all out, and passed out sound asleep and God did not remotely install a reverse gear in this cat. She could literally jump from one side of a room to the other in one leap, no touch down (and did, constantly). I used to put a little kitten play toy ball in a card board box and toss her in to play, hoping she'd wear out before I had to go to bed, because EVERYONE must play when the WeeBit was awake. She was sweet and feisty in a rolling boil of a mix and she loved life. (Somewhere, I have pictures of her as a kitten, which I will post when I find them.)

WeeBit, with her fluffy tail, BeeWit.

She grew into a lovely small cat, with medium long fur, still a rambunctious bundle of energy. And she evolved the craziest relationship with her tail that I have ever seen in a cat. Basically, she didn't know WHAT that fluffy thing at the end of her butt was, and it was obviously out to get her. Her tail would twitch and flip randomly and WeeBit would jump, and stare at it and then do her very best to catch the obviously demon possessed thing following her around. I remember watching her chase her tail at high speed for hours up and around and through and over the back of a metal folding chair in a never ending circle, determined to GET that...that...thing. She never did figure out that it was HER tail, and an actual part of her...the last week of her life she was still trying to catch the darn tail. This resulted in the tail acquiring its own name...the BeeWit. If we posit that BeeWit really was a separate entity, I don't think it was any more resigned being attached to WeeBit as her tail than she was, and it appeared to torment her deliberately.

WeeBit mothered a number of kitten litters before we managed to get her spayed. Three of her offspring are worth mentioning here - one was a TINY kitten that got named Snuggles because that was all the kitten wanted to do - snuggle. Now...99.9 % of the time, calico's are female - the coloring is linked to sex. (Everyone once in a long while a male calico will be born, but is sterile, and then in an even smaller number than that, a fertile male calico will be born, which is like winning the sweepstakes at Vegas odds.) Snuggles unfortunately, was not a very healthy kitten though extremely cute - he was the only calico kitten she birthed that had her tortoiseshell coloring. Snuggles had a recurring problem of his - yes, HIS - front legs popping out of socket - you'd look up and there would be Snuggles, limping and staggering, and you'd have to pick the kitten up and gently pop them back in, which never seemed to upset Snuggles, however much it distressed us. So I had Snuggles in my hand one day, gently easing the front leg back into place and did a double take. Snuggles was a male calico! I couldn't believe it! Unfortunately he had other problems as well, one of which included a soft spot on his skull that instead of closing as he grew, spread wider and wider. And I think there were probably other internal problems as well. Sadly, he did not live much past 6-8 weeks. But we've never forgotten him either.

Lugh and Persephone - WeeBit's Kittens, now grown adult cats.

WeeBit's other memorable kitten litter is quite the story. I was cleaning house one day about 6 years ago, and moved a piece of furniture to mop under it. Um. There were two baby-just-born-kittens curled up there together. Insanely healthy, happy well fed chunky kittens. We didn't even know one of our cats was pregnant, let alone who! What the...! So I called Dreamweaver at work and I said "You're not going to believe this, but we have kittens."
Her response: "WHAT!?!?!? How? Who's the mother?"
"I have no idea!" All I could do was settle in and watch, to see who showed up to nurse them, as we had several unspayed lady cats at the time. Sure enough, WeeBit strolled over after getting some food and water and plopped down to nurse. Congratulations! Gave a whole new meaning to the term "stealth pregnancy" - heck, we never realized she'd gone into heat! One was a little all black female kitten, the other was a tabby and white male. We named the little girl Persephone and the little boy Lugh - and they are to this day two of our most amazing cats. Its like Weebit split her personality - Lugh has all her tender sweetness and Persephone has all the vinegar and feistiness. These two kittens incidently provoked the memorable phrase from a friend of mine - "Little wee WeeBit bits with with little wee BeeWits" - say that five times fast.

Lugh and Persephone were the last "wee WeeBits", as we managed to get WeeBit spayed after that. She grew older, over the next six years, as we all do, still able to leap high kitchen cabinets at single bound and sleeping on our bed with us...until about 2 months ago we noticed that she was showing distension in her abdomen. We took her to the vet and that was when we got the shattering diagnosis of Feline Infectious Peritonitis which is fatal. She had the fast moving kind and the vet told us gently to take her home and make her as comfortable as possible - as long as she had good quality of life, we were good, but we would have to decide when she would have to be put down. Her prognosis was only a matter of weeks, though the vet said doubtfully that she might live a little longer. Heartbroken, we took our little WeeBit home and proceeded to set out to spoil her rotten...er...rottener.

A few weeks went by and aside from distinctly waddling a little from the distension in her belly, she was fine. She was happy...she ate and drank, and slept on the bed with us, demanded being petted and chased the BeeWit routinely. A month went by. She was still in her mind a quite going concern, and very pleased with her world. A few more weeks went by and we began to be in awe of her resiliency and tenaciousness! We would get up every morning and call "WeeBit!" And her head would pop up from where she would be curled up on the foot of the bed and she'd go "Yes? Whats up?", bright eyed and attentive. Two more good weeks passed, where we would check in with her every morning, and go, OK, she's good, we have another good day! Two months of this - both happy and sad and bittersweet.

WeeBit on a pillow in my lap.

And then, this past Thursday, we could see the downshift. She grew quiet, and began to struggle to get from place to place in the house, and her breathing became labored off and on. She was still eating and drinking and affectionate, but the fun was going out of living, and that was our line in the sand with this - we would not let her suffer into a decline. We had researched vets and prices, so I placed the call and got an appointment on Saturday morning to have her euthanized. We spent Thursday evening and Friday redoubling the spoiling factor - that cat got steak and turkey! She remained affectionate and interested in food, but became increasingly distressed by her inability to make it to the litter pan. She insisted on being near us, preferably in our arms, and cried so piteously when I tried to set her up a nest box on the floor so she could make it to the litter pan, that I gave up and put her back on the bed with us with some towels down for her. Dreamweaver had taken her into the bed room, as I was finishing up on the computer for the evening, when I looked up and saw her - jauntily! - trotting back from the litter pans in the next room, going "Look! See! I can too still use the litter pan!" Sadly, about half way back to the bed room her steps slowed as she ran out of breath and she had to lie down. I picked Weebit up gently and took her to Dreamweaver, where she curled up in her arms.

Dreamweaver held WeeBit for the first part of the night Friday night, and then passed her to me to hold and cradle. If we put her down for a second, to go to the bathroom or something, she would cry until we picked her back up. Around 2:30 AM, she suddenly mewed a little, and snuggled down closer in my arms....and then simply, quietly, quit breathing. She went in her own time and her own way, curled up with us, and we never had to take her to be put to sleep. We did decide to have her cremated, so I took her body on to the vet anyway to be dropped off for this service, and they were so kind to me there.

WeeBit

So we come to the end of our twelve years with WeeBit (and BeeWit!) - a long and happy life that we were blessed to have shared with this very special cat. There will never be another like her! Blessed be, WeeBit - see you in the summer lands!

Call Me Malcolm - a Transgender's story.

2011-12-12T05:06:00.000-08:00

This is incredibly informative, amazing, hopeful and powerful - it addresses issues intrinsically through the narrative of Malcolm's journey in a way that is awesomely personal!

Anne McCaffrey April 1, 1926 - November 21, 2011

2011-11-22T23:10:00.000-08:00

Anne McCaffrey
April 1st, 1926 - November 21, 2011

Anne McCaffrey, one of the authors that has been very influential in my life passed away yesterday in her home in Ireland...she was 85 years old. She has not been in good health for a number of years, so her death does not come entirely as a shock...and yet it does. She was one of those persons that just should not be mortal like the rest of us, as foolish as it is to think that way. Her impact and influence in the world of Science Fiction writing has been huge.

In 1968, McCaffrey became the first woman to win a Hugo Award for a work of fiction, and in 1969 became the first woman to win a Nebula Award. She became the first with a science fiction title on The New York Times Best Seller list in 1978, with her book The White Dragon.The Science Fiction Writers of America in 2005 named her the 22nd Grand Master, a now-annual award to living writers of fantasy and science fiction. The Science Fiction Hall of Fame inducted her 17 June 2006.

She is best known for her "Dragon Rider" fiction - a universe she created where dragons and humans instead of being natural enemies became allies and lived in relationship with one another. The first story of hers that I ever read was set in this series, "The Smallest Dragonboy", published in 1973. I was only 12 years old at the time, nearing the end of 6th grade, and I did not realize I was reading it the year it was published, or that she had already begun to publish books in that universe, or that she would become so influential in my life. But I really enjoyed the story and it stuck with me. Two years later, in the eighth grade, a friend handed me "DragonFlight", the first book of the Dragon Riders of Pern series (please follow the link - particularly if you are not familiar with the books - synopsis and discussions are there), and I abruptly realized that this was the universe and series that The Smallest Dragonboy had come from. I flat out devoured them, as fast as I could get my hands on them, the next one being DragonQuest.

Micheal Whelan's cover to Anne McCaffery's "DragonFlight"

In 1978, the third book of the trilogy, The White Dragon came out, firmly settling the debate of whether or not the books belonged in the Fantasy or Science Fiction Genres...it became clear that they were meant to be SciFi from the beginning, though that irritated many fans.

Micheal Whelan's cover to "All the Weyrs of Pern" - the sequel to the White Dragon.

Some of my other favorite books by her in the Pern series are the Harper Hall Trilogy, containing the books "DragonSong", "Dragonsinger" and "DragonDrums", "Moreta", "Nerilka's Story", and the semi-stand alone book, "The People of Pern."

Cover art by Elisabeth Malczynsk for DragonSinger

Micheal Whelan's cover to "The People of Pern"

It is worth noting, that the movie rights to the Dragon Riders of Pern have been purchased, a Director has been hired, and there are rumors that shooting might start in 2012. We can only hope...and hope that the filmmakers have the vision to remain true to her universe and her words.

She wrote other books and series too - "The Year of the Lucy", The Brain Ships series, The Ireta adventure series, and The Crystal Singer series to only name a few And I highly recommend searching them all out, if you have not read them. With her passing we have lost one of the pioneers in the field of Science Fiction, and in women's writing. I had the good fortune to see her at Dragon Con some years ago, and she was a gracious and humorous lady, with snow white hair, a rich glorious deep speaking voice, and a keen intelligence.

She will be sorely missed...may she fly high, on dragon wings to

"halls we have no name for"

("All the Weyrs of Pern")

Micheal Whelan - concept sketch for "DragonsDawn"

The Transgender Day of Rememberance

2011-11-20T20:58:00.000-08:00

What is remembered...lives.

Never forget.

And work for change.

We are the hope for the future

that someday things like the murder of those who are perceived to be different

will never happen again.

Out this Morning with the Camera....

2011-11-11T20:10:00.000-08:00

I got out to walk the dog this morning, and turned right back around and got my camera - it was simply too amazingly beautiful to miss. And all the while, as I framed shots and caught my breath in wonder, the words of Edna St. Vincent Millay kept coming to mind....

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!

Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!

Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour!

That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!

World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;

Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart,

Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year;
My soul is all but out of me,

-- let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

The Cats and the Computer...

2011-11-09T03:45:00.000-08:00

We have cats. The cats are extroverted attention seeking importunists. The following is why I have to constantly battle typos, and I am not getting carpel tunnel syndrome from typing, but from cats who insist on being the center of whatever I am doing. And they're so dang cute, what do you do....

Hermione and Starshine keeping me company...

See what I mean? There is only one concept for this - rampant entitlement!

And the cat sprawl continues...

And of course, Hermione is ba-ack! Of course at this point she is small enough to tuck in there nicely. When she grows up, however...

Hermione - our precious little one...

The Hobbit!!!

2011-11-08T06:23:00.000-08:00

And here we go...after the glorious years of the Lord of the Rings movies, we are now moving into the upcoming next part of the saga - or the back story part of the saga - THE HOBBIT!

I am absolutely bouncing...totally nuts!

*bouncebouncebounceCRASH! Um...new ceiling, anyone?...sidles off whistling, hands in pockets*

Some of the trailer here appears to be scenes from the past LOTR movies, padding it, but there is no doubt that there are new scenes from The Hobbit! Its a teaser trailer. As soon as they get further into the scheduled advertising, I am sure we'll get more. And of course, pictures of the set and the characters and scenes are showing up now too....

Peter Jackson on the set of Bag End for The Hobbit. I have to say, it took me awhile to get use to a skinny Jackson...but he looks good here...and dang, he still looks like a Hobbit.

Martin Freeman as Bilbo Baggins - With the Dwarves in the background....

And of course, Gandalf...This may be one of the best pictures of him ever!

And then there are the dwarves...which look nice and fierce! (Clicking on this picture btw, should bring up a larger view so you can see details and which dwarf is who!)

And Richard Armitage as Thorin Oakenshield. Wow! Just wow...

So now the wait begins....

To go There...

and Back Again!

Autumn and the Fall Leaves....

2011-11-05T22:15:00.000-07:00

October offering...

2011-10-26T21:30:00.000-07:00

The Witch

Cameron 11/27/2011

She appears this time of year,

Hanging from porches and

October trees…

Seen on the faces of children

In cackling masks.

Where did she come from?

What was her form?

Tortured body

Bent over, twisted, grotesque,

Broken bones, shattered ribs,

Teeth missing,

Beaten

Face green with bruises,

Swollen with blows,

Fingers smashed into claws

Clutching, desperate…

Draped in cloth soaked black with pitch

Stinking, bitter mercy

This crone of sixteen

Or twenty-two

Or forty-five,

Or sixty-five

Or eighty,

Riding the rumbling carts

Over rutted roads

Between jeering crowds

To the approaching fires,

For her “crime”

(Ultimate victim blame).

Only in the end rising free,

A dark black Phoenix

Of ash and smoke

Flying away on the wind of the world.

And today’s autumn wind tugs this night

On fire proof black synthetics

And green plastic masks,

As children wear her form,

Threaten tricks,

Seek treats,

Oblivious,

To the wind calling low

“Never again!”

Happy Samhain....

2011-10-24T19:49:00.000-07:00

Kitten Pictures...They're growing!

2011-10-12T14:51:00.000-07:00

I have some posts coming up with some serious thoughts in them, but before I got into that, I thought I would throw in some kitten pictures...this isn't all of the kittens, just the ones that happened to be in front of my camera the last few days. I need to see if I can get shots of all of them.

Hermione...she's taken to sleeping with me which is an utter joy!

Hermione, totally sacked out...

She is still the smallest of the kittens, but she's been concentrating on growing her ears today...

See what I mean about the ears?

Amergin, sound asleep....

And he still has ears like a bat!!!

Maya, perhaps our most dignified little lady of the kittens.

And then there's Dante!

Who also likes to sleep on the bed with us. In this shot, he's up underneath Tanis, our big grey cat. Doesn't seem to bother him at all!

Dante - sleep never looked so good!

He's still sound asleep!

He has the distinctive white mark on the nose that a number of them have...

I still need to get some current shots of Audre and Rosie...they were romping last night so all I managed were blurs! They haven't quite discovered the water bed yet, but when they do....

So that is how our tribe is doing! We love having them, they are a joy!

Crabapples against an Autumn Sky...

2011-10-05T18:26:00.000-07:00

Was visiting a friend's place and happened to look up and see this shot right over my head, perfectly framed against the intense blue Autumn sky - went for my camera immediately! Fruits of the harvest...blessed be!

Autumn...

2011-10-05T07:48:00.000-07:00

We are FINALLY out of the miserable day in, day out summer heat, with temperatures going as low as into the forties at night. The constellation Orion is now above the horizon late at night. The leaves are just starting to turn...I looked up the other day and there was this perfect autumn leaf...hail and welcome to Autumn! More pictures of the trees will be coming!

Beauty in the Antarctic

2011-10-02T19:51:00.000-07:00

Russian Diver Natalia Avseenko in frigid Antarctic waters with white Beluga whales.

Continued to be awed by the resilience of human beings and our connection to all that lives...

Sunset tonight on the lake....

2011-09-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

Speaking of Cats...

2011-09-20T21:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, the kitten in the above picture is glowing a nice bright green. No it's NOT one of ours. The powers that be are working on preventing Feline AIDS and have come up with this as a possible solution - by inserting genetic material from monkeys who are immune to the AIDS virus into the embryos of kittens, they are, hopefully setting up cats who are genetically immune to AIDS. Added into this is a certain gene from jelly fish, which combined with the other, allows them to track whether or not the genetic material took hold, without intrusive testing on the cats. The jelly fish gene is fluorescent under black light - so guess what?

So are the cats who received the genetic material successfully. It only shows under black light - a regular flash light, for instance, shows nothing out of the ordinary. The kitten in these pictures is really glowing green under black light - this is not photo shopped.

If this works, they can create a treatment for cats that makes them immune to Feline AIDS, and maybe it will be genetically passed to the next generation. I suspect the glowing green part is not essential to that immunity....

On the other hand, if it breeds dominant in the cats that have already been treated with the test genetics...we may have begun a race of glowing cats!

And given the way people are reacting to the idea of glow in the dark cats, if they need funding for the project, there appears to be a line of people forming around the block who would leap at one of the glowing kittens! Imagine - all it would take is a black light night light, and our days of tripping over cats in the dark would be over! Here's hoping the concept works successfully for the kitties. Feline AIDS is a horrible thing...of course, the next logical thought is, does it work with people for Human AIDS? And if it does, its a whole new world!!!

New Kitten Pictures - They're Growing!

2011-09-14T23:09:00.000-07:00

The Kittens have been growing, so I thought it was time to post an update on how they are doing -

Above is our cat Lugh, surrounded by Lucy's five kittens - from upper left, and around back up to the right: Amergin, Rosie, Dante, Maya, and Audre.

Maya...

Lugh and Audre,

Amergin and Rosie,

And Dante...

Amergin thinks the mixing bowls are THE place to be.

He is a serious little fellow, who is mainly concentrating on growing his ears...

And then there is Marmalade's remaining kitten, Hermione. Who may be the most spoiled kitten on the planet. She certainly has US wrapped around her paw...

...for obvious reasons! Can it get any cuter?

And the answer is oh, yes she can!

Hermione and Rascal

Browning, Rosie and Amergin

Amergin, asleep. See what I mean about growing his ears?

Hermione, under the covers...

...looking as cute as ever! "Teh cloak of ivizibilti, it is not workin..."

Hermione - the more I sleep, the more I grow!

I have some more pictures, but they haven't been pulled off the camera, yet. These are all from my cell phone. We have a wonderful tribe and we love them very much! Oh, and yes - Firedancer, who fathered all these wonderful little balls of fur, has been to the vet. We will not be having anymore surprise adventures in fatherhood. And Amergin, and Dante are scheduled to go next.

More pictures soon!

In Memoriam....

2011-09-11T19:03:00.000-07:00

September 11, 2001

The Way Home

2011-09-10T22:57:00.000-07:00

Thursday night was my Cultural Competency class and we watched a second video on racism called "The Way Home". This video was comprised of 64 women organized into eight racially and ethnically defined “Councils.” The eight councils represented Indigenous People, African-American, Arab/Middle Eastern, Asian, European-American, Jewish, Latina, and Multiracial.Though the purpose of the individual council dialogues is to explore the challenges related to living in a white supremacist world, each group uncovers a variety of in-group issues and tensions based on skin color, religion, sexual orientation, and socioeconomic status.

The difference in the first and second videos we have watched were profound. In the first video a small mixed group of men, of different ethnic groups, gathered and confronted racism and one another, often times in harsh anger...the dialogue was powerful, combative and taut. In this video, the women's councils were separate and spoke with each other, confronting racism within and without, but not being overtly pitted against each other. The women in each space created sacred space, altars, with candle light and objects from differing cultures, from their pasts, that had deep personal meaning for them.

"The Way Home" video was created by World Trust - Social Impact Through Film and Dialogue, Their mission statement reads as follows...

"World Trust works to eliminate racial injustice through transformational education. World Trust produces programs and seminars based on our films that open minds and hearts. We offer the skills to perceive and challenge the internal and external system that reinforces racial oppression. We believe that suffering perpetuated by racial and economic divides is, at its core, the result of a disconnect from our collective humanity. This disconnect plays itself out within ourselves, in our relationships with others and in our institutions and structures. We use the powerful combination of film, dialogue and transformative learning to create new understandings. In addition, we work to heal the wounds of racism by building community and cultivating the practices of love-in-action and respect: kindness, non-judgment, compassion, deep listening. World Trust sparks individual learning and links it to a growing collective will that is committed to change."

The class discussion was pretty intense afterwards...it was sort of like a combination of everyone's thoughts about the class before this when we had watched The Color of Fear, and our discussions afterwards then, and now reacting also to "The Way Home" that we had just watched. Last week, one of my class mates had spoken up and said that slavery and those horrible times happened a long time ago, and everyone involved in it back then was dead...none of us had been a part of it. (Anybody want to take a running guess at what race she was? It should be obvious!)

So this week, one of my class mates responded to this, by saying that the effects were still on going, and that she could not look at a photograph of blacks being lynched by a white mob, that it hit her personally. I might note that racially motivated lynching by hanging was still going on in the south in 1965, only 46 years ago. 156 African Americans were lynched in SC between 1882 and 1965, and 1965 was within MY life time, people! My father remembers the one in 1947 in the next county over and has mentioned it to me, briefly. (Lynching of course, still goes on today in various forms, and people are still charged with it today - however, the classic hanging lynch mobs of the post Civil War era are believed to have ended in the 60's.) He also remembers as a small boy seeing the KKK clan members ride out in their cars in the dark. My grandmother was approached by a KKK member and given a card with a number to call should anyone ever "bother her". Given that she was a federal marshal, who backed down from no one, I think his efforts were a bit wasted...

Of course, what haunts me is the opposite of what haunts my classmate. It is painful for her to see the victimization of her people. My people were slave holders. Literally. My great great grandfather's family were southern slave holders; he fought in the Civil War and road courier for Lee, since he was small and wiry. His best friend when he was growing up was a slave boy his same age and the tale is they were mischief makers and holy terrors around the farm growing up and utterly inseparable - they went to war together into the Confederate army. I have always wondered what the other side of the story was from the slave boy's perspective, how the slowly dawning gulf of slave and master affected these boys' innocent friendship as they left childhood behind. Did their friendship survive it, or did the institution of slavery destroy them in the end? I have also seen a photocopy of a broadside for an escaped slave from my families peoples further back before the Civil War...and this is extremely unsettling. The slave was described as mixed race, with red hair...I come from a family of redheads. The implications are bitterly plain. I hope he made it out.

On my mother's side of the family, I don't know exactly what the history is but there is lingering custom that is very telling. Whenever my large family of cousins gathered for Christmas at my Aunts farmhouse, the tradition was that the first person who got to the door of the farm house was to call out "Christmas Gift"! That was all, just a fun tradition - until I found out where it came from. Slaves would gather at the back door of the main house where ever this was (not my Aunts farm - it was a modern structure on land they bought later in their lives). Having gathered, the first slave on Christmas morning, when the back door opened, who managed to call out "Christmas Gift!" first, was the recipient of a gift, usually a bottle of whiskey that was then shared among the other slaves. I was stunned and horrified...we were using THIS, as a family tradition??? After my Aunt passed away and the farm sold, while the family has remained close, and still gathers as they can, the custom seems to have fallen by the wayside and perhaps that is for the best!

So...I told these stories to the class this past Thursday night, and it was hard to say it, hard to do it. It was profoundly painful to look my African American classmate in the eye and tell her this about my past. I was crying.
And she told me not to feel guilt, not to take that on myself, but to use what I know to stand against racism. Which I told her I most certainly did take that stand, and have and will always.

It was deeply liberating to say these things out loud and for a good purpose - to bring home to my classmates that racism is not a "thing of the ancient past" but that its history in this culture was far more recent then they think...and that the affects of this continue to haunt us all tragically to this day. It has always disturbed and unnerved me to these things about my past - finding a purpose to tell about them, that was for the good, to help my classmates think and see things differently some how redeems a small part of bearing this knowledge.

The class will not be all about racism - among our discussion topics are included gender and homophobia, class issues, and feminism and misogyny. But I suspect that race will continue to haunt this class and our groups for awhile to come as we wrestle with what all these things mean to us personally and in our futures as culturally competent therapists.

A Different View...

2011-09-10T16:32:00.000-07:00

We are all use to seeing those gorgeous pictures of Saturn, with its great golden warm color, and vibrant glowing rings and the incredible black shadow of its bulk thrown across those rings.

Saturn

However, the Cassini Space Probe has taken a picture of Saturn from a different view - "behind" it, with the enormous body of the planet eclipsing the sun. It is a stunningly, profoundly different viewpoint, dark and mysterious...

Cassini Probe picture of Saturn eclipsing the sun...

Color enhancement of the photograph shows something that, yes, you can see in the non-enhanced picture, to the left and a little down of the thin haze of the outer rings...a small blue sphere which is...

Earth...

Color enhanced view - Earth is to the left of the planet down from the outer rings...

I did some widgeting (yes, that is a technical term) with the photograph, until I was able to isolate and re-size that area of the photograph that contained Earth...

Earth, seen through the rings of Saturn

How many times have we suddenly seen something from a really different angle of view, and realized that it changed what we knew about something, gave us a new place to stand in the spaces of our lives. How often have we our selves, living on the borderlands, different, our lives eclipsed by our differences, shown someone else by our very being, that different way to see, a new way to think about things?
The Cassini Probe took a journey of 794 million miles to reach Saturn, an incredible distance. It was launched in 1997 and reached orbit around Saturn in 2004, a journey of seven years. I think that the journeys we take in our own hearts as we learn about each other, our diversity, our differences, our similarities, our strengths and our weaknesses are far more infinite, and yield an even greater beauty. May the beauty and power of the universe seen through a different point of view inspire us to always look for the different point of view within.

The Color of Fear.

2011-09-02T05:42:00.000-07:00

Last night was the first night of one of my two classes this semester - Cultural Competency. The regular teacher was unable to be there, so my adviser took the class on. Usually, when that happens, we get handed the syllabus, pointed to the homework, and booted out the door early. I had mixed emotions - we'd all be less then human if we didn't want to get to go home early to our spouses and our lives. And yet, for me, this class is one I've been looking forward to since I joined the program, so when the teacher announced that we were going to watch a movie and discuss it, I was happy. She then went on to say that it was uncomfortable to watch and to brace ourselves. All right...

What she put on the screen for us was "The Color of Fear", a documentary on racism by Lee Mun Wah and it was absolutely stunning. Filmed in 1994, it documents a group of 8 men plus Lee himself as moderator discussing and confronting racism. There were two Latinos, two African Americans, two Asians, two white European ancestry, and Lee himself, who is Chinese. It was stunning. Filmed 17 years ago, it was frighteningly relevant today, making me wonder have we made any progress at all? Here is the trailer of the documentary...

It is an undeniably tense movie. Its not easy to watch. It seems to enrage white individuals who are furious with the charge of racism and privilege. I wanted to stand up and cheer as I watched it. It was powerful and painful and honest, and its impossible to watch it and stay neutral.
After we watched it, we discussed it in small groups. One of the women in my group was African American, and she bluntly affirmed the basic truths of the movie...one of her earliest memories was of not being allowed to play with another little girl who was of course, white, and when she went to her mom and asked why, her mom had to explain to her, they don't want you to play with her, because you're black. And thats just one of a life time of experiences. She is an intelligent strong woman in her field, she's in graduate school, and every day she says she goes home to her home and her husband and family and feels like "Whew! I can be black, now." The question was put to her by other members of the group, was she possibly just letting that experience from childhood color her perceptions, and she said no, because that wasn't the only time that something like that had happened...it was a life time of experience after experience, an over all cultural overlay...I spoke up and said, its the very air you breathe, everyday. She nodded immediately and said, thats it.
Now...here's the tragedy.
Segregated, not allowed to play with white children as a child, only feeling free to be herself at home. A life time of experience...how old do you think she is?
40?
50?
Even older?
An older woman returning to grad school who remembers the decades of the 50's and the 60's and the racial violence, surely.
No...
She's 25 years old, born in 1986...half my age!
Racism hasn't gone away, or finally become a thing of the past. Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream has not been fulfilled, though no one can deny that steps, some of them huge, have been taken. Instead of ending with the civil rights movement, racism merely took on a more covert character. Instead, its just changed, become more subtle, more pervasive. In someways, more dangerous. The theory of multicultural pluralism seems to wish to honor diversity, but instead, draws lines and divides and above all refuses to acknowledge the past or the fact that what happened in the past still continues in the present, just quietly, subtly.
No white person in America, however clearly they see, however honest they may be, however self aware they have become and fought against racism, totally escapes the deep down taint of white privilege - and yes, I include myself in that statement.
No person of color, regardless of ethnicity, in America, however successful they may be in their careers, their lives, their friendships across the ethnic spectrum, ever totally is free of the deep down fear and scarring of being denied their humanity simply because they are not white. And many, many whites who are totally well meaning, who would deny being racist - who truly believe racism is wrong, don't get it, will deny it, will resist it, will become enraged if confronted with the fact that these things are true.

David, one of the white men in the video, resisted with all his might and heart - in pain, fighting to not admit what he saw and heard before him. David said (and go look at this link, please) that the block against the black man or people of color is put there by themselves, not by white men. His journey of selfhood and self revelation is painful, and agonizing to watch. His powerful admission to a past that shaped his perceptions is stunning and beautiful to behold. He gets there, in the hardest way, kicking and screaming, to declare himself an ally against racism, that he has been guilty of it, even when he truly thought he was not.
Towards the end he brought up the penalties his white daughters faced entering college due to quotas for people of color - I braced myself for the explosion from the room around him. But each of these men, nodded and agreed with him, supported him, did not deny the validity of his experience, It was amazing, and in doing so, they supported him as fully they expected to be supported.

I sat and watched it, of course, through my own lens - every person in that room translated it through their own lens, we cannot NOT do so. And my thoughts were, that I could take every word in this film, and with only minimal changes, fit them perfectly to my experience as a gay/trans identified individual. The heterosexual gender binary is every bit as pervasive as white privilege here in my culture. I am denied my basic existence, my basic humanity, my basic rights. Except in a few places far from where I live in America, I may not marry. There are laws in effect where I live denying me partners benefits. I may not hold hands with my wife in public because of fear. My presence in bathrooms is questioned simply because I do not "look" right - I do not fit the concept of "woman" in the women's restroom, my presence in the men's room is illegal and punishable by arrest. A GLBT individual was murdered for being gay a mile from where my wife worked. Even people who are not in their own minds "homophobic" stumble over the word "wife" with us, struggle with the concept of transgenderism. My teachers constantly talk about the one man we have in our class in the program (its a women's college - women only in the undergraduate program, men are allowed in the graduate programs, but they tend to be few and far between) and ignore the fact that they have a Female to Male transgendered man in their classes - me. Its in the very air I breathe every day, just as racism is present every day in the air my classmate breathes.
What can we do? How do we combat this?

I will let Lee Mun Wah speak for all of us in this...

In the end, its personal. When you get to know an individual, listen to them, accept the validity of their personal experience, their lives and perceptions, then stereotypes, misconceptions, myths and power over abuses must fade away in the light of each persons validity and power as a person - real, and whole.

More to come, as I am sure this class will generate much food for thought as the semester goes on.

Sé do bheatha, agus slán a fhágáil

2011-08-13T15:05:00.000-07:00

Last night, sadly, we lost another one of our kitten tribe. Séamus, the little black one, had begun to lag behind the others developmentally in terms of being active and strong. I was afraid we were seeing a case of failure to thrive...the day before he abruptly developed a fast moving upper respiratory, and despite immediately getting antibiotics, food and fluids, and vitamin B into him, he did not respond to any of it. Last night he passed away on my chest, curled up next to my heart. I am grateful for the time I was granted with him. Sé do bheatha, agus slán a fhágáil, Séamus is féidir ... muid le chéile arís.

2011-08-09T23:23:00.000-07:00

Concept art for Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, by Gustav Tenggren

THIS is a very important picture.

Really.

Somewhere in the distant dim, earliest years of my childhood in 1967, my parents took me to see Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. I grew up on the vinyl record of the music, and the story intrinsically embedded in my mind. Disney of course has long had a process of "Disney-fying" fairy tales, of dumbing down the ancient power of the myths and stories of legend and time...but it was still my first taste of magic and myth.

I am sure my parents, who thought they had a little girl on their hands - and who was already showing signs of being an inherent "tomboy" and if only any of us had known! - surely thought even then still, that I would be enchanted by the Princess, would want a dress like that, and a fairy tale castle, and to be swept of my feet by a prince into happily ever after.

Snow White was followed by Sleeping Beauty which I saw at age 9, with its even more compelling music based on Tchaikovsky, and a princess and a prince and a dragon. Of course, by 1967 and Snow White, I was already bound in the leg brace and wheel chair which I wore for 5 years, until I was ten. I have often wondered how much that ordeal masked the transgenderism? How much the differences created by not being able to walk and run and play kept any of us from realizing that there were deeper even more fundamental differences in play underneath the over lay of those years?

Time rolled on, as it always does. More movies came and went. I grew up. Childhood memories get stored in the back attic of the mind, some of them forever lost, some tucked into trunks and wardrobes to be stumbled over in moments of recall and introspection, at just the right moment....only four years ago did I finally put together all these tangled pieces to realize and understand that I am a transgender. And that created a great deal of heavy thought - still does, but thats another path - when I realized it. How, I wondered, did I make it to my late forties without realizing this about myself!? How long, how deep, how far back did this go? Having always been a "tomboy", I can see back into my childhood, but had it really been there all along. Really?

And then, browsing through one of my large books on Disney concept art, I came upon THIS picture, by Disney artist, Gustaf Tenggren, one of the animators of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. And the dusty, musty trunk of memory creaked open and a treasure fell out. I remembered clearly, back then, while in the leg brace, setting up the once and only doll I ever played with. It was a "life size" doll, created to be the same height as the little girls it was designed for. It had blonde hair, and blue eyes - eyes that closed when the doll was laid flat and opened, when the doll was raised to a sitting position. With the leg brace on, I was actually a little taller than the doll.

And I remembered...remembered placing the doll on the white sofa in the music room (so named for the giant record player cabinet and my mothers piano), putting on the Snow White record, and with the music playing behind me acting out being - NOT the Princess - but the PRINCE, and bending to wake the Princess doll with a kiss, to take her off into the sunset. I would have been about 7 or 8 years old. And from a myth and tale of the past rose the answer I needed...yes. This truly is real. I have always been the Prince. Then man who longs to marry the Princess, to slay the dragon, and ride the great horse.

Being Transgender is not a horrible flaw, not a fault or something that is "wrong" with me. It means that in admitting that I am, in being so, in living congruently with that inner man, I am living out the truth of myself - of who and what I am and have always been. In the great myths and legends out of time, the Prince faces challenges, danger, transformation...the Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey. The Prince does more than just ride up and kiss the slumbering form of the Princess, the Prince pays a price for his journey - he is singed around the edges with the dragon fire, his sword is notched and battered, his body bears scars of thorns and pain. The Prince does not remain a painted one dimensional cell of art work, given movement only by illusion. The Prince becomes a flesh and blood man, individuated and mature in the fires of faery and myth. Perhaps the dragon that transgenders face - any of us, MTFs or FTM's, for after all, Disney didn't get the Princess' journey right either! - is the roaring rage and fire of a culture that will not accept us, damns us, rejects us, denies us.

In Sleeping Beauty, the Prince is given gifts by the Fairy Godmothers to face the dragon with - one of which is a sword, labeled somewhat predictably the Sword of Truth. But there is power in that, trite though it may seem - because for a transgender the Truth about ourselves becomes our greatest gift, our strongest defense, our weapon against the Dragon. So.... From my distant childhood comes the truth that gave me back myself, gave me my journey, gave me MY truth. And if it is a little romantic perhaps to see oneself in a fairy tale myth, so be it. I may be tattered and battered and still smoking around the edges from the dragon fires...but I remember that little boy of long ago...and that is MY truth!

Random Thought...

2011-08-08T07:08:00.000-07:00

We hold in our hands the bright Rainbow of Hope...

And we will not let it go, except it bless us!

Tully 1999 - 2011

2011-07-28T17:51:00.000-07:00

Tully
1999-2011

Our cat Tully, who was diagnosed officially with cancer 2 weeks ago passed away today. He has probably had the cancer for a long time, undiagnosed. This was not a kind of cancer that responded well to treatment - basically we were told to take him home, love him and spoil him rotten. Which we did...he's been getting food and treats any time he wanted and his very own plate of bacon and eggs. We actually manage to put about a pound and a half back on him!

He has been cheerful, loving and even playful. He has stuck close, curling up in laps or on shoulders, purring and snuggling. Today however, he refused food, and curled up with us and lapsed into semi-consciousness, though he would acknowledge that he knew we were there when we petted him. We discussed taking him to the vet to be put down, but he wasn't having seizures or anything like that, so we decided to wait and see...dragging him into the vet, for several hours in a sterile waiting room that made no sense to him when he was comfortable and curled up next to us or in our arms and still purring just did not strike us as the best thing to do for him. Of course, if he had begun to show signs of pain or seizures, we would have had to rethink that.

However he passed quickly, and we buried him under the pussy willow tree this evening. I am going to miss him so much...but I am so grateful he was in our lives. And we have the wonderful loving kittens to comfort us with their antics. I am writing this right now with a kitten curled up asleep on my shoulder - little black Séamus with a little tiny kitten purr. No one of them could take Tully's place, but then, like he did, they will grow up into their own unique wonderful selves.

Goodbye till we meet again, Tully! Thank you for being your wonderful self and my friend and little fur brother all these years.

What is remembered, lives.

For them all...

2011-07-22T21:51:00.000-07:00

...the victims and survivors of the senseless violence in Norway.

Trip to the Mosque: a moment of Joy

2011-07-18T19:35:00.000-07:00

Muslim youths lighting candles at Aathgaon Kabrasthan

in Guwahati, Assam, on the occasion of the Muslim religious festival

"Shab-E-Barat"

Ten years ago, only a few weeks before the attack of 9/11, I had picked up a book by one of my favorite authors, Karen Armstrong. This book, The Battle for God: Fundamentalism in Judaism, Christianity and Islam, wound up saving my sanity in the wake of the plane crashes and attacks that shook the nation. An exploration in the rise and phenomenon of fundamentalism in these three great world religions, this book gave me the understanding and the knowledge to NOT blame Muslims as a whole, but to understand that the actions of a fringe group, in no wise should be used to judge the whole. Understand, I already had that view as it was; I mean, what if the rest of the world only understood Christianity through the lens of Westboro Baptist Church’s extreme hate and judged me by their actions?

Yet still, I knew very little about the Muslim faith before reading Armstrong’s book. As the decade has passed, hysteria, hate, demonizing and rage have risen higher and higher through the sensationalism of the media. The willingness of our brand of politicians and Christian Fundamentalists to rush to throw gasoline on the fire of rhetoric that has painted all Muslims with the narrow image of hate has only made things far worse.

This has a personal face for me in my relationship with my father. My Father is, to employ the term, a good conservative Republican Christian conspiracy theory chasing wingnut. He is 84 years old, and has spent his life determinedly, willfully locked into that view of the world, which has gotten worse, admittedly as he has grown older. Apart from religion and politics, he is the warmest sweetest individual you could ever meet. He treats women as equals and with true respect, while calling Feminism satanic. He has dear friends who are Buhdist, but rants against any other religion than his own, on the religious political level, not the personal. And in the ten years, his hate for Muslims has grown to the point of a fearful dark bitter thing that rides him. He considers Obama to be a Kenyan born Muslim and loathes him.

My father and I have gone round and round on this, gently as we can. He will not believe anything I say about anything that does not fit his political, religious views. (I have a promise to my mother not to get into an all out political/religious argument with him, since I can hang up the phone, and she has to live with the aftermath. It has become an increasingly difficult promise to keep over time.) I have reached a point of personal sorrow and despair over this aspect of my relationship with my father; only my stepping back from this “argument” has kept our relationship whole, I believe.

So I have listened year after year to the anger and hate from my father’s lips on this subject. Saturday, I went to the Mosque in town with my class from school as part of a religion class. I went with hope in my heart that I would hear the other side. That my firm belief in the sanctity of all faiths, in personal dialogue to dispel the demons of hate and prejudice would be proven out. And it was. We were met by a lovely man named Ibrahim who was so kind and gentle and knowledgeable, who was exceedingly informative about his faith and how it was lived out in his life and his famlys' life. By the time we were out of there, I wanted to hug Ibrahim! I learned so much – both knowledge that will increase my effectiveness as a therapist, should I encounter a Muslim couple in my office, and also that healed much of the pain and anguish in my heart with my father.

My father was born 8 decades ago, in a world that barely exists anymore, so much has changed. I believe at the heart of his political, religious polemics, is simple fear of change and with that fear an utter inflexibility to change. Part of it is his personal past in his family system, his generation, and part of it has to do with simply who and what he is. Nature or nurture, somehow he was molded into this rigid unbending two dimensional view of the world. I wish he could meet Ibrahim. For always, on the personal level, he is so different. Where he will not listen in a high level debate on abstract points, he would be gently, lovingly, respectful of Ibrahim whether or not he agreed with him – and might come away with some small shift in perception. It would be harder at any rate for him to demonize all Muslims if he knew one, personally.

I don’t think at this point, it is possible for me to “change” my father. I am not even sure I should – look what is destroyed and what you have to replace old views with before you charge in to change someone. But I do know that my journey to the Mosque has given me the ability to see my father through a better lens. To understand even more where he is coming from. To be even more patient and compassionate with him. To forgive his outbursts and his fears.

Last night I noticed a post on line from a friend of mine in the international community who is Sunni Muslim. He posted that it was was the night of Shab-e-Barat. I wrote my friend and asked him if he could tell me more about this, since I was a none Muslim. He responded and told me that this is the night of forgiveness in the Islamic calendar, proceeding the month of Ramadan, when Allah forgives all who come to Him. During this night, Allah proclaims:

"Is there anyone seeking forgiveness, that I may pardon him?

Is there anyone requesting sustenance that I may provide for him?

Is there anyone afflicted with difficulty (so that he may ask for assistance) that I may help him?

Is there anyone with any other need?”

Perhaps, at such a holy time and in relationship with my father, the need is forgiveness and understanding, and meeting him where he is.

إن شاء الله

Insha’Allah – as God wills.

Our Cat, Tully - Bittersweet Moments.

2011-07-14T20:05:00.000-07:00

We have received hard news...our cat Tully, who is one of our sweetest cats, has cancer. It's inoperable, and he has a very limited time left. He is not in pain...he is also eating and drinking, snuggly and active! We've been told to feed him anything, any time, and we have meds for him for a secondary infection which he is responding to. On the one hand, our hearts are breaking, and on the other hand we are enjoying this precious time with him so much! We are, per the vets instructions, spoiling him rotten - er, rottener! He's gonna get his very own little plate of bacon and eggs this weekend too!

I have hesitated to take pictures of him - he is so thin! On the other hand, today I walked out into the living room and found him and one of the kittens, Dante curled up together in the chair and HAD to get a picture of them beaming cute beams at me! The first picture was a little dark, before I got the lamp turned on...

Tully and Dante

For the second pair of pictures I got the light turned on...

Tully and Dante - "Hi!"

"Did you hear something?"
"Yeah, I heard it too..."

So...these are precious, special days with our dear cat. We love him with all our hearts, and we will see to it that when the end comes that he is not alone, nor will he suffer. This is a sacred space in time. Let us honor it, and our wonderful cat, Tully!

I Passed!

2011-07-11T10:29:00.000-07:00

I passed my Research Literacy class with an A! Whew! My 4.0 stands...classes start back up tomorrow, but this was the SCARY bug bear of the program, its over and done. Still a lot of work to do, but for me, its easy work.
Life is good!

Betty Ford April 8, 1918 – July 8, 2011

2011-07-08T20:57:00.000-07:00

Betty Ford has passed away at the age of 93. Everybody, of course, remembers her for her transparent honesty in dealing with breast cancer and addiction in the public forum, and for founding the Betty Ford Center for addiction treatment - pivotal in the way addiction counseling and aid is managed to day. But...she also during her active years counseled the right wing to moderation regarding social concerns and programs, supported whole heartedly the Equal Rights Amendment, was pro-abortion, pro-women serving in the military in combat, and pro-gays serving in the military. Her voice is silenced now, and people will pick and choose what they wish to remember her for...but she was a great and powerful example for us all.

Update on a Hero...

2011-07-06T04:07:00.000-07:00

Quite awhile back, I wrote a blog post about my friend Gabe called Transgender Courage...meet one of my heroes... . Its past time for an update. Gabe's daughter, Claudia is now a year old and precocious and cute beyond words! He has also met a wonderful man and is in a relationship that is blossoming and beautiful! And he has started testosterone at last! He is becoming the beautiful young man is truly is and was meant to be - and it has taken some courage still to do this - finances have been tight, insurance companies difficult (his doctor has found a nice work around though, and as of this date, he finally has coverage for the moment.), shots have been painful, and the patch has been not as successful as hoped for. He is wrestling with the complex battle of changing gender markers on documents such as birth certificate, etc. and has hit some brick walls there on that in the state he lives it. Yet still he perseveres and lives and loves. He plans to return to school, and has goals for the future.
Gabe also, with all this, remains my brother, and my friend, ever willing to listen and support me when I struggle or have questions, which, with everything else going on in his life is truly amazing! Recently, he shared some pictures of himself chronicling his transition from before to present day, and with his permission I'd like to share a couple of them, as they profoundly and unbelievably show the incredible journey he has undertaken to become truly himself...

At age 15, quite some time ago. He was in a battle at the time with his mom who did not want him to cut his hair short, so was unhappily struggling with it being longer...

Gabe as he is today, a strong, confident young man.

And it is a journey he has chosen to share with us, in all its ups and downs and the glories of living. Which I for one am entirely grateful for! Gabe, you remain as always, a brother, a friend and one of my heroes!

Gabriel and Claudia

Kitten Update...

2011-06-30T20:34:00.000-07:00

And here's EVERYBODY! They are kind of like tribbles at this point...in order from far left - Maya, Amergin, Dante, Rosie, Audre with Seamus and Maire in the middle! And they are all so wonderful...

.Dante, Maya, and Amergin are now eating crunchy cat food out of the food bin...they think they are big now!Actually all 5 are eating crunchy food - these were the 3 that happened to be into the food...

Its making it difficult for the other cats and the dog to get their dinner, as there is usually a bunch of kittens in the way...

Maire, the littlest girl...I don't have a shot of Seamus by himself, since the camera batteries died.

MacDubh saying "Hi!" to Maire (the little Calico) and Seamus (the little black one)...their eyes are just getting open, and their kinda sorta creeping maybe...

I am sorry to say that one of the littlest kittens did not make it - it was the little orange boy, Rob Roy. There did not appear to be anything dramatically wrong with him, except that he was smaller than the other two. *sigh* Its always so sad when this happens - everybody else however is fat and sassy and driving the momcats nuts! Marmalade is totally convinced that kittens belong IN their box. The kittens are convinced they should be out and into everything. So when its kitten bed time, Marmalade runs around trying to catch them and put them in the box, and they hop out two seconds after she turns her back. It usually takes about an hour for them to wear her out or vice versa, and they all fall asleep together. And they are almost getting too big for her to pick them up.

Sunset this past Friday night...

2011-06-27T20:00:00.000-07:00

Um...well...you see...

2011-06-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

Rob Ruadh and Séamus

‎*FACE...PALM* Um...remember us talking about the adoptive mom cat, Marmalade, who jumped in to help Lucy mother the kittens?
Well. She evidently had ulterior motives. 3 of them. Two of them pictured here, about 2 and a half minutes old - the third was on the way. These two are both little boys, named Séamus (the little black one) and Rob Ruadh (the little orange one) and a little girl - a dark callico just like Maya and Audre, named Maire. Everybody is fine, except I am having a nervous break down. Firedancer the Second, who fathered this fine brood (both of them) will be having surgery in two weeks. Whether he wants to or not is immaterial. We never even knew she was pregnant - aka. known as a stealth pregnancy (had one other cat that pulled that one on us, years ago). Everyone else will also be attended to at the proper ages, immediately! Although getting Lucy fixed is going to be a nightmare as she is shy to the point of being feral. So, welcome the newest additions to the family. And yes, they are all in the same box. Snoring. Contentedly.

0.o

I however may be awake for awhile...

*twitch*

Kittens on the loose!

2011-06-16T04:30:00.000-07:00

Dante gets checked over by Bearcub.

Maya contemplates the escape route, as Audre looks on...

Dante...note the dog's nose in the upper right hand corner...

Dante and MacDubh. MacDubh follows Dante everywhere when the kitten is out and wandering...Dante is utterly unconcerned about this large entity sniffing and occasionally giving him a helpful lick with a large tongue.

Dante on the move - "Wow, its a large world! I must explore!"

All five kittens have been compulsively escaping the kitten box, by the way. I will be adding more pictures, as I get shots of all five. The mom cats are looking fairly frazzled! The dog thinks it's great!

PS. When I say "momcats" plural, I must tell that one of our other cats, a brindled calico named Marmalade, has decided to jump in and co-parent the kittens with Lucy. So Lucy has been able to take breaks and turn about. This is not the first time we have seen an "un-involved" cat decide to help parent newborns, and its always a delight! Bearcub, pictured at top with Dante, is a particularly paternal cat who adores kittens and I have no doubt he will be teaching them the joys of egg hockey in a few weeks. We hope the house will survive.

Marmalade, the adoptive mom cat, on the far left with Lucy, the birth mom, and Amergin and Rosie...

A small step Out of the Closet...

2011-06-06T05:47:00.000-07:00

Dinner last night...going left to right, my Mom, my sister-in-law, Dreamweaver, me, my Dad, and my brother! It was a wonderful day, all around! And one of the happiest days of my life!

Yesterday, Dreamweaver and I went to see "My Fair Lady" at the local theater with my brother and his wife. Which was fabulous - it is a "small community theater" that is excellent beyond belief and has launched the careers of notable actors, including Joanne Woodward! And then afterwards we all went out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, with my parents for my Dad's birthday. (He's 84 years old now.)

Now, while I have been aware that there has been no way my brother and sister in law could not KNOW we are a couple, it has remained unspoken, period. You know the thin ice I tread with my conservative Father (click this to go to a post about him.) Coming out of the restaurant, and well out of ear shot of our parents, my sister-in-law asked if we were on Face Book and could she friend us. Now, my FB account is locked down...privacy settings are set for incinerate from orbit. Specifically because of relatives. (Not necessarily them - remember, my birth mother's side of the family, while sweet people, are rabidly conservative.) We kind of hedged and dodged and winced - she knew we were on Face Book, because she had seen the friend suggestion come up for me, just as I have seen it come up for her, in the past. Its not like we could lie, nor did we really want to. And to be honest, I didn't think they would have a problem with us, but there is that fear that comes with not knowing for sure. Once words are spoken they cannot be unsaid.

...and then she smiled this beautiful smile at us and said, "Guys, we know, OK? We know. Its OK...its not a problem for us. We love you! You're family!"

I feel like I am walking on air...I am Officially, admittedly Out to my brother and his wife, and they accept us and are allies! And they know we tiptoe around Dad, and why, and they get it! I just kind of threw my arms around her and just got the best hug in the world ever back from her.

And I know there are people who are going to say yeah, we're not surprised, how could they not know...but just the sheer relief of now knowing that I can trust them, that if things were ever to go bad with my Father, that they will always be family for us.

Its not been about trying to HIDE, its been about not acknowledging the white elephant on the coffee table...and those unspoken words. Well, the elephant has been named and claimed...and I have relatives that I am now free to be open with, safe with.

And that we love them and they love us!
As who and what we are.
I feel like the weight of the world has lifted off my shoulders today!

Kitten Update!

2011-06-03T20:42:00.000-07:00

The Kittens are a four weeks old, and their eyes are open, they are beginning to sit up and wobble around in their box. And they are utterly adorable.

Dreamweaver holding Maya...

Maya

Dante

Dante or "Why did you wake me up for this?"

Amergin

Amergin in the foreground, then Dante, and behind that Rosetti (who is becoming known as "Rosie"

Rossetti ("Rosie"

Audre

Dante and Amergin

One plus One plus One, or...Its OK to be Takei!

2011-05-19T21:19:00.000-07:00

A bill pending in Tennessee will make it illegal to mention Homosexuality in the schools. George Takei of Star Trek fame has started a campaign against this with the catch phrase "Its OK to be Takei", playing off his coming Out (quite awhile ago) as Gay, the idea its OK to be Gay and his name. He has merchandise for sale to back it, and profits go to charity - you HAVE to go look, HERE, NOW!!!

The image of the famous Star Trek logo in rainbow pride colors with the words "Its OK to be Takei" is picking up speed and going viral - I am seeing it all over FaceBook! Its already on other blogs...Rachel Maddow has talked about it!

What makes this so exciting for me is that one of my best friends here in town DESIGNED the logo (I saw several incarnations of it as she fiddled with it, until she got the one she wanted!) and then, on advice from two of her friends, she sent the logo to George Takei for the fun of it. To her shock and surprise, he wrote her back and jumped on it!!! She immediately gave him permission to use the design, on condition of remaining anonymous and that she would receive no proceeds - she designed it as an activist and chose not to profit from it! So, dang it, I can't tell you her name!

But I bring her up - and she is probably going to smack me when she reads this - I bring her up because I think she has another message to share. She pointed out that she created the design when she heard about the legislation in Tennessee, another friend posted a tweet about it and then said "make a button", and then another friend said " send it to Takei", and so she did...and now its EVERY WHERE!

So now when people say that they feel that they can't do anything to make a difference because they're just one person, she can point out that "me = one person + one of my friends who = one person + one of my other friends who = one person + George Takei = famous but still just 1 person..."

So I bring up her part in this to make a point...

One person can make a difference. And that one person can be each and every one of us!!!

I think that what my friends and George Takei have accomplished is not JUST one FANTASTIC activist movement, but also that they have a second message - that each of ONE of us CAN make a difference, and that we make that difference in community as well as individually! So as you look at all the crazy legislation and homophobic slurs and hate pickets, don't become discouraged and think that there is nothing you can do, because you are just one person....each and every one of us may be one drop of water, but oceans are filled one drop at a time as the drops all join together!

Activism works!

One by one and in community!

And all of us can spread it ever day!

1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1...

Meet Our New Family!

2011-05-18T19:41:00.000-07:00

Our calico cat, Lucy had kittens last night - we haven't had any newborns in years, as we are trying to bring our cat population down to something sane - however a much older female cat evidently had one heat left, and we had one unfixed male left - do the math; May/December romance! *snort*. We weren't financially in a position to deal with getting them fixed, and they did what came naturally, of course....I have to say that as much as I didn't want more cats, there is a part of me that's going "Yay, Kittens!" Cyn and I are so soft hearted! LOL!

This particular cat has never had kittens that survived well, so I don't know how this is going to go - we will love them while we have them and so far they appear very healthy! Last night there was one tiny scrap of orange nursing, and that was all I could see - she was being very shy and defensive, so I did not upset her yet by digging around in her basket under our altar initially. So I went and checked again, and we were up to 2, possibly 3, but it was hard to tell.

And there was a lot of meeping coming out of that basket!

Then a bit later, and by now at about 1:00 am in the morning, I checked again - four kittens, happily nursing. All good. I did some more stuff on the computer. Decided to make sure everybody was OK on my way to bed, and discovered...

That we had FIVE kittens!!! FIVE! 0.0

Cyn was asleep of course, but I had let her know earlier that Lucy had gone into labor and I would stay up with them. Cyn has to get up at 4:00 AM, so I was only going to awake her if we had an emergency. So I went on to bed, after the last one - really the last one - was born and everyone appeared healthy. I climbed into bed and Cyn mumbled something that sounded like ...mgyhrkittensmfr???" So I said, "She had five."

Cyn: "nfethasni-FIVE!?!?" It was priceless. I am still giggling!

So...we have a little dark tabby boy, a little orange boy, two dark calico girls who look like twins, and a softer orange girl. We will have names for them shortly, as personalities and names suggest themselves to us.

I must add a note about the proud papa - Firedancer II....he is a young orange cat who is very CAT...he is aloof, dignified, and has an intense case of cupboard love for us - we feed him. He was curled up with Lucy in the basket at the beginning of the night, but she finally got irate and tossed him out, where upon he curled up on the floor next to the basket and stayed there all night long. Now he goes over constantly and sticks his head over the edge of the basket and checks on Lucy and the Kittens. He appears to be quite cogent of the fact that these are his offspring too, and is very interested.

So life will be interesting around here as they grow and start venturing forth from their basket over time. I am going to keep a run of posts going on the family's progress with pictures.

We feel very blessed, and we hope that every single one of them grows up healthy and happy!

Luminous beings are we....

2011-05-16T11:09:00.000-07:00

Jill Bolte Taylor is a Harvard Educated and published Neuroanatomist who experienced a stroke on the left side of her brain years ago. She actually remembers the experience of the stroke and how it affected her, and her thoughts are remarkable. She has some very powerful observations about this, that profoundly speak to how we think and live and feel and experience our world. She is amazing!

Remembering, hearing, speaking out...

2011-05-09T22:45:00.000-07:00

Rudolf Brazda

Meet Rudolf Brazda. He will be 98 years old this June. He has worked most of his life as a roofer, and has lived the past 30 some odd years in Alsace, France.

But he was born originally, in 1913, in Brossen, Germany.

And he is a survivor of the Nazi Germany concentration camps. In fact, he was imprisoned in Buchenwald, one of the more infamous of the "work camps" the Germans created. Between April 1938 and April 1945, some 238,380 people of various nationalities including 350 Western Allied POWs were incarcerated in Buchenwald. One estimate places the number of deaths in Buchenwald at 56,000.

Rudolf Brazda survived it.

He is not a Jew, or a Gypsy, or one of the Allies...
He is a 175er.
In fact, Rudolf Brazda is the last living "Pink Triangle" prisoner to have been incarcerated in the Death and Work camps for being homosexual.
Here, in his own words, is a little of his story:

He was living in Germany in the last days of the old Wiemar Republic, with its easy tolerance and safety for homosexuals, when the rise of Nazi Germany changed everything...after being arrested twice under the 175 law prohibiting Homosexuality, instead of being deported as he expected, he was taken to Buchenwald in 1942. And the prisoners uniform they gave him had the Pink Triangle patch on it - not the symbol of Gay Pride as it is today, but a public mark of shame and singling him out as homosexual.

He spent 3 years in Buchenwald in unimaginable conditions, and finally, after being hidden by a friend, in the area where they worked, Brazda, managed to avoid being taken on the infamous death marches, and was rescued by the Americans.
He emigrated to France, to Alsace and in the early 1950s, Rudolf met Edi at a costume ball, who became his life companion. In the early 1960s they moved into a house they built in the suburbs of Mulhouse, where Rudolf still resides. Rudolf tended to Edi for over 30 years after he was crippled by a severe work accident, until Edi's death in 2003.

In spite of old age, he is a keen observer and follower of the news. So in 2008, when he heard on German TV of the impending unveiling of a memorial to homosexual victims of Nazism in Berlin, he decided to make himself known. Although he was not present at the monument's inauguration on May 27, 2008, an invitation was extended to him to attend a ceremony a month later, on the morning of the Berlin CSD gay pride march. Since then, Rudolf has been invited to attend a number of gay events, including Europride Zurich in 2009 and some smaller scaled events in France, Switzerland and Germany. In 2010, Rudolf also received the gold medals of the cities of Toulouse and Nancy in recognition of his commitment to bear witness locally and nationally in France.

Age, and health permitting, Rudolf Brazda is determined to continue speaking out about his past. Because he knows that the generations to come must know his story. And we must listen to him while his voice is still with us.

Because only in remembering, in hearing the stories, in speaking out and taking a stand, can we stop the barbed wire and the hate from rising again.

Rudolf Brazda as a young man.

And then we too must speak...

Requiem for a friend...almost 30 years too late.

2011-04-20T06:11:00.000-07:00

Last night I got a message from my friend Jo that said "Go check my blog". So I did. She was writing about a mutual friend of ours that we both knew many, many years ago, and her post broke my heart. I too owe our friend more than silence. And I speak here with Jo's consent.

There was this little band of us, three of us in high school, one of us in college. We were all friends and members together in church, myself, Jo, Mo, and JP.

Jo and I went to high school together for a time. She was the minister's daughter, which meant of course, that she lived her life in that uncomfortable fish bowl that all preachers kids live in. In her case, it was times a factor of 10, given her parents deep involvement in the local presbytery and beyond, with the denomination. I did realize that Jo was under extreme pressure, even back then; I am only just now, as we have renewed our friendship after decades, finding out just how bad it was!

Mo was a young college student, and I think the oldest of the four of us. She played guitar and banjo, with incredible talent, and had an incredible gift for singing. I also played guitar and sang, although not quite at Mo's skill level.

JP had been my friend since birth (not kidding about that - our moms were pregnant at the same time with us, our parents were dear friends, and she and I grew up in each other's back pockets, so to speak.) The four of us formed a quartet of friendship, music, faith and fun. We were usually found together on Wednesday nights at church. Mo came over to my house and played music for my parents.

I graduated, and went off to college. The first year I came home for the summer, I was hauled off for a trip with my parents, and then worked for my dad at his business. I saw Mo briefly - nothing seemed wrong, exactly. Or did it? Does what I have learned now add a new perspective to an old memory? I want to say I felt that she was uncomfortable, and that something was seriously out of kilter. If I did see this then, it was subliminal, an instinctive question that never quite emerged into the light of day, I have no idea now if I wish I had spoken up or not...I saw Mo one more time, in December of that year. I was in the hospital with surgery, she came to visit and sat with me. So did JP, though they came at different times, and not together. Is that significant, now, I wonder?

I don;'t remember seeing Jo at all. JP was at church, but she was here going to a local college, and we were going two different directions, we didn't really connect as strongly. And then I went back to school. Due to how the next few years played out, I was almost not at home at all for 3 summers straight - I worked jobs out of state, went to Alabama for a summer with my college roommate, etc. When I came home for good, three years later, it was to a stunning tragedy.

Jo was married (which turned out to be not a good thing, over the years, but hindsight is 20/20) and she was not at our church any more, though we saw each other every so often.

JP and I did reconnect and had a few years of close friendship before we drifted apart again.

But the tragedy was Mo.

She was dead.

I don't think anyone even told me when she had died. Not even my parents! I was stunned and devastated. And something was horribly wrong. I could not get any real information on what in the hell had happened. NO ONE would talk about it. Mom and Dad intimated that there had been "problems". The closest thing I could find out was from JP, who stated that Mo had overdosed. Possibly suicide. End of story. No further details. JP was very terse, harsh and judgmental. Which became a pattern that was characteristic of JP, although I had never really seen it before this. I was horrified at the bitterness and callousness of JP's response. I can see now it was a mask for pain and sorrow too. But that was it. I could not get any further information. Out of anyone. It remained one of life's dark mysteries, that my mind returned to every so often over the years, usually late at night in the privacy of my own thoughts. My own life became very confused at this time, as I struggled with coming out as Gay, and then in self denial, ran from that truth for the next decade.

JP and I stayed fairly close, up until we both married. We slowly drifted apart, again, and now see very little if nothing of each other. I can't say I totally regret this. We inhabit different worlds, philosophically and spiritually. Should we ever discuss these things, the result would be terrible. There are times when its wise to let go.

And then there are times when letting go is stupid. Jo was pretty much out of my life for years afterwards. She changed churches, and denominations. She moved out of state. Occasionally, once in a blue moon, we collided around town when she was visiting her parents. Given that I was Gay, and still thinking of Jo as the Christian I had known, I held her at arms length. The last thing I needed, my reasoning went, was for Jo to find out I was gay, and word through her to get back to her father, and through that, to my parents and family. Oh, what I did not know! (For this, I apologize, Jo. I should have trusted you.) I was always very glad to see her, but wary, and kept contact superficial.
As I said, hindsight is 20/20. Bitterly so.

A few months ago, Jo's Mother died. I went to the funeral, back at the old church, which I have long since left, and saw Jo for the first time in years. It was an extraordinarily uncomfortable funeral - there were under currents that were strange. And being there is always heart wrenching for me anyway, due to the memories I have. But it was a joy to see Jo. We swapped enough information to get in touch, and when I got home I got an extraordinary email from her - she has left Christianity, and found a new path as a pagan Goddess worshiper, and she has been coming Out as Gay. So....my return email was "Well, guess what, I left the old church, I am Episcopalian now and a a third degree pagan priest, and Gay" Which of course led to Jo pointing out that she has suspected that I was Gay for awhile. It must be the flashing sign over my head...anyway. We have spent the last few months joyfully reconnecting, talking over old times. I came Out further to her as transgender, we follow each other's blogs etc, and have plans to spend time together, DreamWeaver, and myself and Jo, for Beltane with her group.

And then Mo's name came up. We have been talking about her for a number of weeks, edging around what happened to her all those years ago. And then Jo posted her blog last night...

And this is what Jo said. Mo was Gay. She and Jo lived together for awhile during those years I was away at college. Mo was in counselling with Jo's father, the minister of the church, struggling with her homosexuality and receiving nothing but judgement and condemnation and being told you must change. And Jo and Mo were lovers. But Jo, as it says in her blog post, finally left Mo and moved out - broke up, so to speak, because Jo's parents were pouring on extreme pressure for Jo to move out and get away from Mo. Jo was also struggling with the "oh my God, am I Gay?" question, and facing the horribly conditional love of her parents that she never could satisfy. It was an unbelievably nightmarish situation.

Finally, Jo's father refused to counsel Mo any further, and cut her off, because she could not force herself to be straight. I wonder if that was carried further - was she actually excommunicated from the church? I don't know, but it sure would fit the situation - this church has done it before, in its arrogance and intolerance.

What we conjecture may have happened, due to JP's harsh judgement and bitterness and reticence after Mo's death, is that Mo MIGHT have confided in JP her struggle with being Gay. We don't know for sure and I doubt we may ever know, but it fits. And if Mo had confided in her, knowing JP, she rejected Mo and cut her off. It would be consistent with JP's pattern of behavior.

Jo was driven away by the terrible threat of losing her parents love and acceptance, and by the nightmare condemnation of the conservative church.
Whatever happened between JP and Mo, JP for sure wasn't there for her.
And I was gone, out of town, out of touch with the whole thing, and clueless.

And Mo killed herself.

She killed herself because she was Gay, and the church condemned her for it. Her support system unraveled, partially due to the bigotry of the church. And she could not reconcile at all her inner self as a Gay person and the crushing judgement and demands of the faith which had been her solace and refuge up until then.

And now I know my friend Mo died by her own hand, unable to reconcile her truths.

I have spent this night weeping, and raging. Heartbroken for Mo, and for Jo, for the horror they endured at the hands of the church. Heartbroken that I was not there for them at the time. You always have that feeling, you know? Maybe I could have made a difference. But that was almost 3 decades ago. My own self realization of being gay had not even begun when this all took place. I was not then what I am now, did not know what I know now. I do know that I would not have been cruel. Even back then, I was capable of unconditional love. But I also would have at that time intellectually believed the traditional rationale that homosexuality was a sin. Maybe the unconditional love would have been enough to balance that. More than likely, I would have been another nail driven into Mo's coffin. It will always be a "what if", in this life. And it will haunt me forever.

So these are MY words to Mo.

Mo, I also loved you. I miss you and I wish to God I had been there for you. I pray for your forgiveness that I was not there when you needed me, even though it was perhaps impossible for me to have known that at the time. I have loved you and remembered you for all these years. And despite the pain, I am glad I now know what happened. Your life was a blessing to me.
You will always be remembered. And what is remembered, lives.
Love,
Cameron

Taking a stand...this is beautiful!

2011-04-15T06:33:00.001-07:00

100 year old Irish Flute at the Space Station....

2011-03-23T07:18:00.000-07:00

ANYBODY PASSING THROUGH, PLEASE READ!

2011-03-10T08:27:00.000-08:00

...and especially including the links. The New York Times recently published an article regarding the heineous rape of an 11 year old girl in Texas. That such a thing could happen is horrifying enough...however the New York Times article compounded this atrocity by victim blame, subtle stereotyping, and a sickening description of the crime scene.

The issues attending this are well explained here at Alternet, including that we have been told the ages of the men and several have been personalized: "Five suspects are students at Cleveland High School, including two members of the basketball team. Another is the 21-year-old son of a school board member." Etc. All we know about the 11-year-old is her age and gender.Quotes cited in the article place blame on the mother of the child, who for all we know may have been frantically looking for or appealing for help for her daughter, and even if she wasn't, does that justify gang rape? The little girl is described as dressing inappropriately for her age (too old and hanging out with older boys) which perpetuates the stereotype of "she asked for it", which as my friend MizBehavin states "I don't care what a female is wearing, how her make up is, if she is buck naked and dancing the watusi in the middle of the street .... rape is wrong.To rape a child is beyond foul...People have this misconception that rape is a sexual/sensual act. It's not. It's about power. A rapist takes the victims power to control what happens to their own body."

Let me point out some more from the actual article..."The town’s economy has always rested on timber, cattle, farming and oil. But there are pockets of poverty, and in the neighborhood where the assault occurred, well-kept homes sit beside boarded-up houses and others with deteriorating facades." Obviously (dripping with sarcasm, note) these things only happen on the "poor side of town". couldn't possibly happen in a well to do neighborhood, and well, poor people aren't as important, and they do these things to each other, they are not as "human" as we are...
They said "she dressed older than her age, wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to agrown woman in her 20s. She would hang out with teenage boys at a playground"...friends, I am in a therapy masters program, and I can very clearly state that a young child who dresses and behaves in ways that are older like this quite possibly has already been a victim of sexual predation and molestation.If I had been the school counselor, I would have been all over this looking for that possibility! That should be a screaming red flag to assess for child molestation somewhere back up the time frame...instead, as is pointed out, she is judged as a little harlot who tempted men.
The trailer where this atrocity took place is sickeningly, lovingly described down to the last detail...last time I looked, the latest shooting at the local gas station was not described down to the location of the aisles and the amount of milk in the freezers! In fact, I don't think I have ever seen a description of a crime scene like this outside of a murder mystery, let alone in a newspaper that is of the caliber the NYT is SUPPOSED to be. I got the feeling the author of this garbage was enjoying fantasizing about the scene! It felt slimy!

There is a Petition circulating for the New York Times to issue a published apology for their coverage of this incident and publish an editorial from a victim's rights expert on how victim blaming in the media contributes to the prevalance of sexual assault. Please take a moment of your time and sign it...there is a space to personalize your signature with your thoughts. They are up to 15,000 signatures at least, at the time of this blog.

Sadly, so far, the New York Times has failed miserably in its response, stating that they published the views they found, and standing by their article.

Finally, partially in response to this article, as well as to other issues arising in the news and community, a new Face Book Group has been formed called Survivor Here. Its mission statement is as follows...

"This group, Survivor Here has formed out of a community of friends who have reached the point that we feel we must do something more than just rant about social injustice, hate and pain. We wish to make our words heard. We wish to be available with compassion to those who are in need and hurt. We wish to provide a forum for not only our anger and our activism, but also for those who are also survivors, who know a survivor, or whose social conscience and compassion drives them to do more. We wish to address Rape and this culture that blames the victim, and perpetrates the pain. We wish to address religious persecution and intolerance. We wish to address Marriage Equality and and Equal Rights for GLBTQ's We wish to address all hate crimes and racism We wish to address any time any where that our culture and our government fails in its moral and ethical duty. We wish to hear your stories... We wish to honor all our experiences with compassion and gratitude for our strength and survival as a community and a family. We wish to honor diversity. If you know of any petition, injustice or need, please contribute it to the group. Survivors here... And our voice will be heard! "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." Margaret Mead"

Anybody who wishes to join and contribute or needs a place to vent, be an activist, or share their story in community, please check it out and join.

Maybe its a small thing, but small things change the world!

Final Flight of the Discovery...

2011-02-25T21:59:00.000-08:00

Twelve thousand, half-million, million and more
Picnicking out on the warm-water shore.
Nobody notes that we're always at hand
To watch all the space-ships that take off and land.

Politicians ignore us, the media too...

But if they don't notice, the ships always do.
See her landing so lightly, you'd swear that she cares
That she flies on two wings and a good million prayers.

Witness' Waltz

Leslie Fish

Counter Protest - Fourth and Final Part...

2011-02-18T22:36:00.000-08:00

Prophet H. Walker is questioned regarding True Light Pentecostal Church's picket permit.

A final post on the Counter Protest to Westboro Baptist Church's scheduled picket of the screening of Anatomy of Hate...

As we now know, Westboro Baptist Church was a no - show, though we happily went ahead with our counter protest. However, there were evidently some individuals who showed up in SUPPORT of Westboro, which is something I have never heard of occurring before. Not to say it hasn't, but I sure have never heard of it, or seen pictures of any other church or organization ever supporting or turning out to join Westboro's infamous hate filled picket lines. Until this past Monday.

True Light Pentecostal Church showed up with eight people to support Westboro.“We're protesting because we're against these rallies that the sodomites (and) lesbians have. We're trying to show another side of America — the true side of America,” said Prophet H. Walker, overseer of True Light.

One wonders if they even understood the original reasoning Westboro scheduled to turn out? The Phelps picketers scheduled their protest to oppose Anatomy of Hate; Dialogue of Hope because it, rightfully so, identifies them as a hate group, not as a direct protest of anything GLBTQ related. True Light's statement referring to our counter protest as a rally of sodomites and lesbians is utterly ludicrous, given that the percentage of GLBT in the crowd of students was actually very low - most were straight, and a fair amount were both GLBT and straight identifying Christians. Also, based on all the photographs and information I have been able to turn up, True Light appears to be an African American Church. Anatomy of Hate opposed racism of the most virulent sort - the Aryan movements that would despise and seek to destroy a church like True Light. Over all, this very much boggled my mind. True Light, it must be pointed out, does have mission projects that house and feed the homeless and the hungry, and despite their extremely conservative stance on scripture, appear to be a positive influence in their venues.

It was still disturbing to realize that my area of the world produced a picket line in support of Phelps and Westboro's virulent hate message, particularly since it was obvious that they had not truly researched what they were protesting in actuality. It kinda blows my mind, actually.

I also learned that money was raised based on the public's counter protest! The money, totaling $550.00, went to Piedmont Care, a local AIDS non profit advocacy organization and for Upstate Pride, the local organization for the Gay Pride in this area. This is excellent. So...lets see...a hundred or so students on the campus counter protesting, a hundred or so counter protesters from the local community and surrounding colleges also taking a stand, a packed out showing of Anatomy of Hate, funds raised toward two excellent organizations, Westboro was a no show, and even though it disturbed me that they showed at all, only eight very mistaken picketers for Westboro.

All in all...I am proud of my community and very glad to have been a part of it that Monday night!

Counter Protest Part Three...

2011-02-16T11:28:00.000-08:00

So, what then, why then, do we kill? Why do we hate? Why do we do these horrible things to ourselves as a self aware sentient species? The Documentary explored this – that we are very much wired for survival by our evolutionary heritage. Our Limbic systems are wired for survival, for finding food, for procreation, for fight or flight. However, as self aware intelligent species, we have the capacity for Love, for culture, for science, for learning, for growth beyond imagining – we imagine. And we also Hate. Carl Jung’s idea of the Shadow self that we are uneasy with, the dark, survival oriented, aggression that is in all of us – we perhaps project it outward – no, not me, I can’t be like this – he’s the demon, he’s the bad guy, he is the focus for all my aggression…I am good, I am saved, I am superior. And when we are told that we are threatened by the Other, when we are told that the Other are monsters, we hate. We damn. We kill.

So, what about the other half of the documentaries title – “Dialog of Hope”? Where in all these gory, pitiless, nightmare scenes does the Hope come in, when does dialog start?

The Israeli/Westbank has a growing number of Israeli and Arabs who have withdrawn from the armies and the insurgents, and have begun to sit down and talk. The call themselves Combatants for Peace. They are dialoging. They are discovering that there are no demons, only people who have been trapped in this cycle and that there is a better way out – they have begun a school for Israeli and Arab children together, so that they can play together and learn together and grow up without hate and talking to each other and finding their best friends among each other.

The US troop who lost one of their members to the Iraqis, later found themselves teamed up together in a mission against Al Qaeda with the very men who had most likely killed their buddy. It was hard going, but they sat down and talked and slowly realized that they we all people, more alike than different, able to talk, able to understand that they did not have to hate each other, that they both had friends who had died because they were caught in the machinery of war, but they did not personally wish anyone to die or to kill each other. And they became friends and teammates together.

The Westboro Baptist Church founder, Fred Phelps has a stunning unknown past. He was a Civil Rights Lawyer who in the 60’s took on many Civil Rights cases for the black community and won. He is honored by the NAACP. During that time, he and his family were called nigger lovers and suffered abuse at the hands of the community, as he fought the Jim Crowe laws.

And then there in the movie, there is the story, in his own words in an interview, of the White Supremacist who went into a gay church to plant a bomb on a Sunday morning which would have killed close to 100 people. He sat there, in the service, brief case in hand with the bomb…and looked around and thought, these are people just like me. They are here to be close to God, just like I do at church. How can I do this? And he turned to his buddy who was with him…and said, “Come on. Let’s go.” And walked out, taking the un-triggered bomb with him.

When we stop projecting hate, when we stop listening to rhetoric that says “Any one different is a monster, is not like me, I must hate them, I must kill them”, when we start talking to people and beginning that dialog, that discussion and see the person as another human being, more alike us than different from us, the cycle of fear and aggression and hate begins to break. It does not mean that we must AGREE with each other, but that we can disagree without making the other into an enemy to focus our hate on. I cannot agree with Shirley Phelps Roper…everything she stands for is anathema to me, as I am sure I am to her. But I can look past it, and not hate her, and see instead a human being just like me. Not a monster, but one with pain, and inner struggles that have landed her where she is. And I can take a peaceful stand against what she believes, wearing a shirt that says “Love is…” instead of Hate. Hate is easy. Love and dialog are harder. Both are learned. And dialog is our hope and our salvation.

It was an amazing night, all told, with the counter protest and the incredible turn out, and getting to actually hear and speak to Mike Ramsdell (you betcha I got the DVD autographed!) and seeing this amazing Documentary. In the end, the fact that the Westboro Baptist Church and their picket weren’t there became irrelevant. What we came together and shared became so much bigger, and I suspect many of my classmates and fellow students left that documentary and that event with their lives changed. I am honored to have been a part of it, and frankly…

Westboro, we're sorry you weren’t there…you missed something really amazing.

We missed you!

The Counter Protest Part Two...

2011-02-16T10:59:00.000-08:00

The Documentary covers four groups – The Ayran Nation white supremacists, the Westboro Baptist Church (hence our being on their list for picketing on their website.), the Israeli/Westbank Conflict and the Iraqi/American conflict. Mike Ramsdell went in and filmed among these groups, openly telling them his purpose and why he was filming. There were chilling scenes that I will never forget…Each section here has been linked to scenes from the documentary, so please click the link to see clips of what we saw.

Billy Roper, white supremacist leader of the White Revolution

The deliberate hatred of the NeoNazi white supremacists, and their cool, calm erudite leader Billy Roper was the most difficult part to watch.

Klansman at white supremacist festival.

There was a White Supremacist summer festival, with kids who were encouraged to chase a greased pig…we live in the south and greased pig chases at festivals are not unheard of around here. However, they end with the pig being given to the victor who catches it – sometimes it goes home to become a pet for the kids, sometimes it goes home to the farm to grow up to become bacon and breakfast. Not a very animal rights sort of thing, but not the horror that we saw on the screen in front of us. The cute little pig was goaded into running with the kids in high pursuit; however when it was caught hours later in the dark, the kids kicked and stomped and beat it to death. I saw one very young child bring his foot down in a vicious blow on the pigs head…the adult with them was encouraging the carnage and cheering them on, and then gutted the carcass with his knife right there in front of the children. The kids ended the segment by proudly holding up the body for the camera. No child was horrified, or turned away in disgust or fear – it was clear that they had done it before and knew what was expected at the end when they ran the piglet to earth. Think about it – the kids learn killing from this, to treat life with contempt, and then hear their elders and parents call “niggers”, “Jews”, and “fags” pigs…it may have been the worst scene in the film.

Children of the Westboro Baptist Church on the picket line.

On to Westboro Baptist Church, and here again the Hate and it being taught to kids was appalling. They put their small children on the picket line with them, teaching them to sing songs, like God hates the USA and carry signs that say “God Hates Fags” and “Mathew Shepherd – in Hell for six years”. They showed a church service in the Westboro Baptist Church , with hymns that literally had hate lyrics and the looming presence of Fred Phelps, ranting that God hates everybody, that he laughs when people go to Hell, and rejoices in their suffering.

Shirley Phelps-Roper, organizer of the picket lines.

The cameras went into the home of Shirley Phelps Roper (no relation to White Supremacist Billy Roper, although the name is an eerie coincidence), to show her with her kids. She is one of the older daughters of Fred Phelps now about age 50, and is now spear heading the picket lines and the driving force behind them. That was confusing…at home in this scene, she was a loving gentle mother to her children, in a perfectly normal house (if you ignored the stack of Hate signs in the corner…) I have to say, I…actually like her. I see a strong, powerful woman. She is intelligent (she holds a law degree and is a practicing lawyer), loving, and amazing in her own way. But I disagree violently with everything she stands for and what she does to promote Hate. And I do think she has been damaged emotionally on the way by the poisonous upbringing she grew up in.

Violence in Gaza - the Israeli/Westbank conflict.

The Israeli/Westbank Conflict was heart wrenching – soldiers in the streets, constant attacks, children praising “martyrs” who died bombing buses, fear in everyone’s hearts of suicide bombings, families who have lost husbands, wives, children on both sides. One of the opening scenes about this was a gathering of Israeli women, outside in a pleasant spot for a picnic – it was called a Widows Dinner – they gather to support each other in the loss of their husbands.

Car bombing in Israel.

Both sides expressing hate, both sides expressing that they’d stop killing if the other side would stop killing them – but who will be the first to stop?

American Troops in Iraq.

Then the American/Iraqi troops.. While Ramsdell was there filming these scenes, one of the soldiers in the troop he went out with, was killed. Ramsdell was deeply shaken by this. A few days later, he was contacted by one of the other soldiers in the unit who said that the father of the young man who died wanted Ramsdell to come film his funeral! Ramsdell , stunned, went, and had a long talk with the father about what the documentary was about. The father still said, “Please film the funeral”, so he did. Then, Ramsdell went back 4 months later, and talked to the father again, to be sure that he understood the purpose of the film and was ok with it. He was.

And so it goes back and forth, in a cycle of hate and killing, mistrust and unwillingness to talk, unwillingness to be able to look beyond idealogical differences. How do we break the cycle? Continued in Part three....

The Counter Protest Part One...

2011-02-16T08:50:00.000-08:00

So, on Monday, Valentine’s Day, I headed over early to School for the counter protest to the Westboro Baptist Church. Like really early. I had contacted my teacher that morning and told her that I would be late to class due to the possible Picket line by Westboro Baptist church because of the Anatomy of Hate, Dialog of Hope documentary that was being screened that night at my campus. My going over early had a lot to do with parking concerns – parking is always tight, and I figured that if you started to add in protesters, and people coming to the documentary on top of students fighting for spaces for night classes, I’d better get there early if I wanted a shot at parking at all. Also, I have to admit I was a little wound up. As a member of the GLBTQ community, having WBC come to picket us was pretty big! My small all women’s college has a small Gay Alliance Group and I knew they would be front and center on this, but I wasn’t sure how many others would be there.

Also exciting for me, I had contacted my teacher to tell her I would be late to my not very conveniently scheduled class because I was participating in the counter protest and why, and that I would get there as soon as I could. It had made me a little sad, because I would have to miss the actual documentary, but missing classes in Grad school is just not a good idea. Imagine my delight, after getting a return email from my teacher saying she had not heard anything about this, and was going to look into it, I then received a second email, sent out to my whole class –

Hi all,

Part of EDU683 Advanced Techniques is developing cultural competency and awareness when working with clients, as the syllabus indicates. We have a really great opportunity tonight to take advantage of. As part of Black History Month, Converse is showing the film, Anatomy of Hate: A Dialogue to Hope at 7:00 pm. I’d like for us as a class to attend the showing. The maker of the award winning documentary, Mike Ramsdell, will be present to lead a discussion following the showing. Honestly, I think this will be a great learning experience, much better than a class lecture. I’ve copied below some information about the film that was published when it showed in Atlanta and pasted it below. We’ll meet class at 5:30 as usual, have a brief lecture, and then attend. We’ll go at 6:30 in order to get a seat. As you’ll note in the Dean”s email below, members of a church have threatened to protest the showing of the film. If they follow through, they will have to stay off campus. In a counter-protest, the students are staging a “Love-In” to show their support. See you tonight.

How wonderful! So instead of missing my class, we would all be going over together!

After some waiting around, I finally tracked down where the counter protest was setting up and found a miraculous nearby parking space. That was when my jaw dropped…close to a hundred students were crowded in the open area next to the student union building (where they were going to show the documentary, picking up t-shirts and magic markers.

Here was the idea behind the counter protest; since WBC’s message was Hate, our message would be Love. So, the “Love in” had been provided with T-shirts (free, I found out later, by the campus services) that said “Love is….” And we were all provided with magic markers to write in whatever we wanted the shirt to say.

I waded into the crowd, snagged a shirt, a magic marker and this is what I wrote out on mine, which I had carefully chosen with WBC in mind – “They that Love not, know not God, for God is love… 1 John 4:8” Since the WBC relies so heavily on out of context scripture from the Bible to support their hate, I wanted a verse to counter it. (I was not the only one to use that particular verse, either. )

Set up to the side of the open square was, believe it or not, Fox News, filming us milling around and writing on shirts. About that time, Dreamweaver, who was on her way over, had called and was on the phone with me. She reached the campus, and began circling the school. No one knew where the Westboro’s were going to set up – they were not allowed ON the campus itself so it could be a sidewalk anywhere around the outside. The main gates at the entrance were, of course the most likely spot. For a moment, Dreamweaver thought she had spotted them at the Gates, but it turned out to be ANOTHER group of counter protesters from the outside community and other colleges set up to counter Westboro. The WBC was supposed to get there at 6:15, and the minutes were ticking down. Dreamweaver kept circling – we figured if she could spot them, I could let the group know, and we could all head that way.

Meanwhile, the 100 or so, excited, milling counter protesters, including myself, had grouped up in front of the Fox News camera’s, begun waving our signs, wearing our t-shirts and cheering and singing – yup. Singing. Seems like music goes with protests the world over! We had really good harmony going with “Lean On Me”, I might add. The minutes ticked by, getting closer and closer to 6:15. The Fox news team decided to tear up to the gate and get footage of the counter protesters there. It was getting darker, as the sun set. 6:15 came and went, then 6:30.

So my class trooped over to the Student Union and got in line for the documentary. I went and found Dreamweaver who was at the head of the line to try to get us front row seats due to my hearing disability. The crowd at this point had swelled to twice its number and maybe more, with alumni and teachers joining. One teacher, herself a lesbian, came over and threw her arms around me and said how proud she was of all of us! Then we heard that a picket line had indeed formed out at the front gate moments before the Documentary started. At first, we assumed it was WBC, late to the party. I have to admit, I was frustrated – I knew that they were being met and countered by the public protest out front, but I wanted to be there myself, and there was no way to get there at that point – too far to the gate. However, we then heard that it was not Westboro, but a local church that had turned out to support THEM! Unbelievable. I have to say, I have never heard of anybody supporting a Westboro Picket Line. That was a first.

Then, we were in our seats and the room was packed out, every chair taken, people sitting on the floor, standing in the back. Mike Ramsdell was introduced to speak, before his film ran. He was amazed – I was too. You know how documentary films go at colleges. 20 people show up, 5 of which want to actually see the film, and 15 who are there because they are required to be for a class report. There were easily 200 and more jammed into that room any way they could fit, and he was awed.

Mike Ramsdell spoke of the purpose of the film, and why he made it. That he wished to counter Hate with dialog, with compassion. With seeing each other not as the Enemy or the Other, but as human beings, even if we disagreed, and not demonizing the Other. He then said this, which made me so proud of my fellow students, prouder than I ever have been. “Whenever I speak at showings of my film, everybody asks afterwards ‘What can I do?’ Well, you people have already done it. You could all go home, now. You have done it. Countering Hate with Love, and peaceful intervention. I am amazed!” Wow.

And then the lights went down, and the Documentary started. And make no mistake, despite its powerful message of hope – it was a trip into Hell. Continued in part two.

2011-02-13T19:59:00.000-08:00

A month ago, we were looking at this...

Yesterday, I took this picture, from our garden...

Tomorrow afternoon, I will be standing on a counter picket line protesting the arrival of the Westboro Baptist Church to picket us with hate signs and abusive spiritual behavior. The students, rather than shutting their doors and hiding, have risen up to organize this counter protest. I find in this hope. I find in this the power of community, friendship and love. I find in this the kind of hope that you see in the beauty of the first flower of spring that bravely blossoms, even though winter may not have lost its grip yet on the world.

May we all find Hope in this world, for it is all around us.

The Day Has Come...

2011-02-11T03:14:00.000-08:00

Believe it or not...

Westboro Baptist Church is coming to protest at my college.

Yep...the Phelps crowd is descending to protest a showing of "The Anatomy of Hate" on Monday night. I am looking into possible responses. Counter picket/protest, ignore them out of existence, what the college's official policy is, etc.

There have been some very effective counter protests against the Phelps....the Angel Action in Laramie when Mathew Shepherd was murdered and the "Not Today, Fred" protests. On the other hand, piling protest on protest can get them all the publicity they want - that is what they want! Ignoring them into oblivion is often the better answer, and there have been a few places where the Westboro protest has packed up or cancelled altogether because of lack of visibility or publicity. Another good counter protest strategy is to set up a donation pledge, where for every x amount of minutes or hours or whatever that Westboro is picketing, people can donate money or volunteer time or whatever to GLBT and other pertinent causes. That tends to get them to shut down early too. I have to say that in protesting this hate group, we need to remember WHO we are. We don't wish to become like them. We must behave better than them. We must behave with dignity, compassion and common sense, and not descend to their level. I mean that!

I have to say...I am rather proud of my school...this entirely indicates to me that we are doing something right!