setting an example

"Are you both boys?"
"What do you think?"
"No"
"Then why did you ask?"

Dyke Trans March

Went to my first Dyke Trans March today. That seems like it really should have happened already! I made a spur-of-the-moment sign that said "Ze" and marched along my way. Originally I thought to stay with C and the truck, but he was passing out candy and I wasn't feeling outgoing. I wound my way through the back half of the parade, enjoying all the different genders and colors and shapes of people, outfits and accessories and banners. 

The elderly of Bloomfield seemed confused but curious. Lots of cars drove by in the opposite lane on Liberty and honked, drivers flashing peace signs. When we reached the end of the march at Friendship Park, there was a potluck and everybody sat around talking. Some people burned incense in the cracks of the sidewalk. I felt community: let's break bread together. 

Low point: The police in our escort decided that the right moment to idle their motorcycles and circle the park was when a queer woman of color spoke to the crowd.
Favorite signs: "FUCK TERFs" "Are you a boy or a girl? NO"
Favorite part of the parade: Being near the marching band!

I love that there is a part of the community where I can go to share an emphasis on simple visibility. I felt like it didn't matter that I was not reaching out to people or starting conversations. I was there, authentic in my body and my personhood, and that was enough.

Open letter to Jane Doe CT

June 2, 2014

Dear Jane,

I want you to know that I am proud of you and I believe in you. You are surviving, and that is incredible. What some people are doing to you is wrong, and there are many, many people in the world who love you even though we have not met you, and who want to see you freed. 

Love & hope,

K

Meditations on gender while mowing the lawn

AFAB is something that happened to me, something over which I had no control. I can control my response to it. AFAB could, in some frameworks, be considered an act of victimization. Females are unfairly disadvantaged in many, if not most, current cultures. Therefore, to assign a person femaleness is to exert power over them, and to declare that they will be oppressed.

What if we stop assigning gender at birth?

Just the other day I told a friend, "I don't mind not being a boy when there are boy chores." It's truer for some chores than others. "I take out the trash!" This morning I got up earlyish and mowed the lawn. Most of it, anyway. Then it started to rain. And as soon as I stopped moving for a couple of minutes, I realized I was going to beg off the rest of the yard for menstrual cramps. Ugh.

I tamed the jungle! I feel proud.

Sweat and deep breathing and grass and sticks and an old-style push-mower. I moved those blades under the power of my own body only, and that feels good. I flipped it over and pulled clots out to unstick the blades more times than I cared to count. It feels good to use my body to influence my environment. Baseball cap and basketball shorts and hairy legs and all. I think I'll try on being a cap-wearing dyke this summer. That sounds like fun.

When I showered, I shaved my legs for the first time since October. I was considering letting this be the summer I just don't do it. Ultimately, and with all politics aside, I like my legs better bare. Leg hair makes for interesting gender play, though.

Realization:

I am ready for whatever happens next. I trust that it will be mostly good. 

The problem with the Internet

The entire wealth of human knowledge is available at my fingertips, and I'm bored with everything.

On being the good wife

Yesterday morning when I got out of the shower, C was uncharacteristically sitting upright in bed. He complained of what felt like a pulled muscle in his back, told me to drive myself to work, and set himself up on the couch with a heating pad and ibuprofen. When I had a break around 10:00, I texted him to see how he was doing, and he replied that he was on his way to the emergency room with his brother B.

"Do you want me?"
"I'm fine."

So of course I went immediately to my supervisors and said, "My husband is in the emergency room. I feel like I should be there too." They completely agreed.

Certain combinations of words carry so much weight.

Given twelve hours in the emergency room, I had the opportunity to practice a lot of good skills:

• Patience.
• Putting C's needs before everything else.
• Not taking others' crankiness personally.
• Holding my tongue when I'm frustrated/impatient/hungry/tired and feel like lashing out.

I can't say enough about the support of our chosen family. B picked C up, brought him to the hospital, and stayed with us as long as he could, then came back later with his wife and food and help to get home. This is exactly why we moved back to Pittsburgh: our people are here. We have support here, as soon as we ask for it and often when we don't. We've gotten messages from so many people offering anything we need. Sharing the responsibility for taking care of each other is another important lesson.

We finally got to go home after spending 4 hours thinking he was going to be admitted to the hospital. I don't think I've ever been so relieved to be here together and to be able to care for my husband at home.


For those who are medically inclined: The neurosurgeon's working diagnosis is an irritated/compressed nerve root affecting the muscles in his right upper body, rather than the spinal compression we were concerned was going to require immediate surgery. C is still experiencing muscle twitches on his right side and numbness in the first three fingers of his right hand. He has a bunch of medicines to take over the next week, when he will follow up with the neurosurgeon.