A Photograph of me without me in it

A Photograph of me without me in it
A photograph of me without me in it

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

If you’ve ever been to Skagit Valley’s Tulip Festival, you might have seen me. 

You’ll remember the acres of tulips, ribbons of reds, pinks, yellow, purples, and oranges (Can you sing a rainbow, too?) You’ll remember the snowy mountain backdrop and old barns. Do you remember that yellow tulip by itself in the wide swath of red tulips? That was me.

As a child, I never really fit in. When I was growing up, people often told me, a girl born and raised in Raleigh, NC,  I didn’t seem like I was from the South. When I asked where I seemed from, I was always told I seemed like a Yankee. Though being called a Yankee in the South is nearly always an insult, they didn’t intend to insult me, and I never took offense. They were merely sharing what they’d observed, and I was glad to hear there might be some place I did belong. In the South, surrounded by a loving family and a clutch of friends, I felt alone.

I don’t know why I was always different. Perhaps that feeling of difference started because I was a red head in a blond world. 

Also, I was a young feminist in a culture where “feminist” was the f-word. I loved to play sports in a culture where girls ached to be cheerleaders. I found barbies boring, preferring to ride my Big Wheel. As a teenager, I loved to read and write and never skipped school or smoked a cigarette (or anything else.) Emily Dickinson's "I'm Nobody, Who are you?" was my favorite poem. I loved to go to church, too, so much that my dad once said, “You’re getting awful churchy.” 

Maybe it was that church that made me so different. Though Pullen Memorial Baptist Church was a large church, otherwise it wasn’t like other churches I knew. I wore blue jeans with peach patches to church while other girls wore fluffy dresses with patent leather shoes. My cousins in a different city learned the names of all the books of the Bible in order. We didn’t commit the Bible to memory, and read broadly from other spiritual texts. For example, I remember one youth retreat where we read The Velveteen Rabbit

As a teenager I attended a Wednesday night youth group that sometimes went to Burger King for dinner. Often, people asked us what we thought of our minister. “He’s boring,” I remember saying. Though I had tried to listen to his sermons for a long time, I never understood them and only focused on the minister’scombover when he got excited and the combover fell into his face. (I finally gave up on his sermons and started sneaking to a nearby park to swing on the swings with a friend before he spoke, returning for the closing hymn.) 

Though I didn’t realize it at the time, the minister, W.W.Finlator, was a controversial figure in Raleigh, locally famous for Progressive sermons and particularly anti-racism work. Fittingly, he’s listed in the Civil Rights Digital LibraryThis 1986 interview with him will give you a sense of who he was. As I read it, I notice what a strong influence he must have had on me, even though I skipped so many of his sermons. He was a good man, one of the truest Christians I ever met. (Another was his successor, the Reverend Mahan Siler, perhaps best known in Raleigh for facilitating a church discussion about gay people and then in 1992 conducting the congregation’s first gay union ceremony. A third is Rev. Siler’s successor, the Rev. Nancy Petty, an out lesbian and fighter for justice for all people, particularly LGBT, Black, and Muslim people.)

These people are heroes to me. Perhaps their influence called me to work for social justice as an adult. Perhaps they’re why I feel at home far from the place of my birth. Perhaps they’re why I attend a little Seattle church with a similar passion for justice and inclusivity

Here in Seattle I’ve found my stream of yellow tulips, and I don’t feel alone anymore.





Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Exulting Somewhat

My partner Ann and I spent this Thanksgiving at Little Sister Jen’s (LSJ) home in Pound Ridge, a New York City suburb. Her six-bedroom home is beautiful, on a large plot of land with a tennis court, swimming pool, and family-sized soccer field. (They're selling if you're interested.)

LSJ has a law degree. (My favorite story of hers from law school is about her taking the part of her skull that was removed to a professor when she needed an extension. She’s funny that way.) LSJ now works in risk management (yes, that's funny, too) for an investment firm, and her husband sold his hedge fund in the 1990’s, so they’re doing all right (though they’re building their new home in South Carolina, so contact them if you want their house. If you want to shop around, Little Brother Matt is selling one across the border in Connecticut, and Mom and Dad are selling theirs in North Carolina.)

LSJ lives a suburban life with four beautiful children, a life I thought I might live, but my route through life had some surprising detours, so I’m a disabled, lesbian, Seattle feminist instead. 

The day after Thanksgiving, my brother's girlfriend told me about how surprising her adult life has been. Her story resonated with me. She'd thought she'd marry in her twenties, have a few kids and a suburban home, and "do the mother thing." 

Instead, she's had several serious boyfriends and moved to Colorado for 10 years before returning to her home town in Connecticut. She's also started two successful businesses (interestingly, a candy shop in Colorado and now a health coaching business).

"Life hasn't gone as I planned," she said, "but my life makes sense to me now. Suddenly I have your brother and his kids. And there's a lot more of my life to live. I'm happy about it."

I’m happy about my life, too, so glad it isn’t going as I'd planned. How could I have foreseen such an amazing partner as Ann, our Seattle life with good friends and a delightful puppy, my writing life, and even my brain tumors’ gifts (though I’m not yet embracing my losses.)

Though I studied English literature in college, I didn’t read much poetry there. Much to my surprise, I was assigned to teach poetry my first year in teaching, and in that teaching I learned a passion for poetry, a passion that provides solace in my most difficult times. 

As I listened to Jenny, this Stanley Kunitz poem occurred to me, again a gift. Though I don’t believe any part of my life is already written, this poem and Jenny’s story remind me I’m not alone. So many of us took multiple paths as we sought our own, and we have been graced with the journey. 
Read it for yourself. Maybe it resonates with you, too.

The Layers 


I have walked through many lives, 
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.



Friday, November 16, 2018

New Old Words for TrumpWorld


My friend Marilyn Raichle (like Cheryl Strayed's brand of hiking boots) has been sending new words since Trump was elected because she needs a new vocabulary for these times. I love the words, and she has given me permission to share them here.

Interestingly, most of these words are new to me, and presumably to her, but they're old words. Perhaps these times aren't new but old, and we'll survive them like folks before have done.

Pace yourself. There are a lot of them. I recommend one a day,  sort of like that multivitamin for women. In case you just can't stop yourself, I'll give you the next 14 of the list in a couple of weeks. (To date, there are 449 of them!)

WHEN WORDS FAIL US TO DESCRIBE TRUMPWORLD, WE NEED NEW WORDS.


The Mouldwarp’s Strammers
MOULDWARP
n. a stupid, worthless, or good-for-nothing person; a senseless person; a dolt ...1928 Amer. dial.
often used as a symbol for Richard III.
Middle English: probably from Middle Low German moldewerp, from the Germanic bases of mould and warp; compare with Dutch muldvarp.
STRAMMER
n.  a big lie, a falsehood ...1746 Eng. dial.
vb. to lie outrageously ...1790 Eng. dial.

In the midst of his Confloption, he becomes ever more Gumple-Foisted
CONFLOPTION
n. a great flurry, confusion, panic, fluster ...19C Sc. & N. Eng. dial.
GUMPLE-FOISTED
adj. in a bad humour, out of temper; ill-humoured ...1824 Sc.
PURTING-GLUMPOT
a sullen, sulky or ill-tempered person ...1837 Eng. dial.
from purt (vb.) to sulk, to pout (dialect)
SHONDFUL
adj. shameful, disgraceful; infamous ...a900
Old English sceandfull, from Old English sceand shond (n. shame, disgrace) + -ful
BADMASH
A dishonest or unprincipled man, one following evil courses; a bad, wicked, or disreputable fellow; a villainous man; a rascal, a scoundrel, a rogueruffian or miscreant...1843
Anglo-Indian Persian and Urdū, from Persian bad evil + Arabian ma'āsh means of livelihood

HUMDUDGEON
n. a big, stupid person of an evil disposition ...B1900 cot.
  from hum (n. a piece of humbug, an imposition) + dudgeon (n. a feeling of anger, resentment, offense)

HUMGRUFFIN
n. a terrible or repulsive person ...1842
WREAKFUL

adj. given or addicted to revenge; vengeful, malicious, angry ...1531. 

from wreak (n.) (in early Northern texts a normal variant of wreche (n.) vengeance;
in later use probably substituted for this, or for wrake (n.), under the influence of the verb.) + -ful


First the Ninny-Watch.  Then we need to Skrim
NINNY-WATCH
n. a disturbance, a state of confusion, excitement or a longing expectation or desire; a vain hope; a quandary ...1746 Eng. dial.
vb. to get into a state of confusion or excitement ...1866 Eng. dial.
SKRIM
vb. to bustle about; to work with energy and success; to conduct a vigorous search for anything ...Bk1904 Sc.
to skirmish; to dart ...1375 Sc.
to strike; to beat vigorously ...1889 Sc.


Words to vote by
adj. resting in hope or expectation; hoped for, hopeful, expected ...1629
resting in hope or expectation; hoped for, hopeful, expected ...1629 obs.

  from Latin speratus hoped for, expected, pa. pple. of sperare to hope
 
EPINICIAL
adj. relating to or celebrating victory ...1774Speratory
  from epinicion (from Greek. ἐπινίκιον song of victory, neut. of ἐπινίκιος (adj.),
from ἐπί upon + νίκη victory) + -al
NAUCIFY
v. to set nought by; to disesteem; to have a low opinion of;
to consider worthless ...1656 obs.

from Latin nauci facere, from naucum a trifling thing



Magnanimate!
Together we can catamidiate this spewsome bladderscat
MAGNANIMATE
vb. to imbue with steadfast courage; to inspire with greatness of mind; to render high-souled; to cheer, to inspirit ...1640
  from Latin magnanimus (from magnus great + animus soul: corresponding in formation to Greek µεγαλόψυχος, and in scholastic Latin used as its translation) + -ate
CATAMIDIATE
vb. to put one to open shame and punishment for some notorious offense; to scorn, to defame ...1656
  from Greek καταµειδιάειν (katameidiaein) to despise
SPEWSOME
adj. dreadful, awful ...1996 Aust. sl.
BLADDERSCAT
 n. a deceiving person; one you cannot trust ...1969 Amer. dial.

The Imputable Cheesedick
IMPUTABLE 
adj. open to accusation or censure; blameworthy, reprehensible, culpable ...1660
CHEESEDICK / CHEESEDIX
n. a disgusting or contemptible fellow; a stupid person ...1986 US sl.

  See also CHEESEHEAD n. a fool; a stupid person ...1919 Amer. dial.
TERRICULAMENT
n. a source or object of dread or terror, especially of needless dread; a bugbear ...1548
vb. to inspire with groundless fear ...1644
Origin  Mid 16th century; earliest use found in William Patten (d. ?1598), author. From classical Latin terriculāmentum object of terror, bugbear (2nd cent. a.d. in Apuleius) from terriculum (also terricula) something that excites terror (from terrēre to frighten + -culum (or -cula)) + -mentum.
The Fascious Bangster continues to Bespatter
FASCIOUS 
adj. troublesome, annoying, vexatious; difficult to please, particular; unfortunate, shameful ...1725 Sc.
BANGSTER
n.  a rough, violent fellow; a bully, a braggart, a blustering fellow; a ruffian; a thug ...c1570 obs. exc. Sc.
BESPATTER
vb. 1. to asperse with abuse, flame, flattery, praise, etc., to hold in contempt ...1644
vb. 2. to cover with abuse; to vilify or slander, to calumniate ...1653
BESPATTERMENT
n. abuse ...1870
ABOMINE
vb. to abominate; to feel extreme disgust and hatred towards; to abhor, to loathe ...1683
Attested from the early 16th century until the early 18th century.][1]
NANGNAIL
n. an ill-tempered, troublesome person; a tyrant ...1856 Eng. dial.

PRORITATE

to stir up, to provoke, to irritate, to incite ...1620

from ppl. stem of Latin prōrītāre to provoke, incite, entice