I Don’t Go to Church Anymore

This afternoon, Comet C/2013 A1, better know by its thoroughbred sounding name, Siding Spring, raced past our neighbor, the red planet Mars, at 35 miles per second, hurtling towards the sun.

Traveling from a place called the Oort Cloud, which is a swarm of icy objects believed to be debris left over from the birth of our solar system 4.5 billion years ago, this space traveler will eventually turn away from the brightest star in the sky and it’s gravitational pull, returning to whence it came, a million of years ago.

Before I sat down to watch the simulcast (yes, I’m an space geek), I took a long walk in the woods behind my house.  You see; I don’t go church anymore.  Instead I spend time in nature.  I’m usually running along country roads, snowshoeing across fields, swimming in the ocean, or walking in the woods, all with the same destination, home.



This time of year in Maine the woods are spectacular.  Lemon yellow birch leaves explode alongside the amber leaves of beech trees like fireworks on the 4^th of July.   The earthly scent of decaying wet sugar maple leaves and needles from the towering white pine decomposing under each step reminded me that winter is not too far off, but the warmish humid air rustling through the stubborn oak leaves, hushed my concerns.  Like Frederick the Mouse from one of my favorite childhood books, I told myself, I can stack wood another day.

Walking quietly along the edge of a field, I heard an unfamiliar song in the wind, and then noticed two small birds fluttering from branch to branch. They reappeared every few seconds, singing a jumbled high pitch call that sounded like the chattering of children. No bigger than a lime, the two chased each other from bush to bush, and then I noticed a flash of red from the top of one of their tiny heads, but with the speed of a comet, the Ruby-crowned Kinglets vanished into thin air. 

Spread you Wings

I know, I know, the movie Mulan is racist, trans-phobic, fat-phobic, and more, but I couldn't resist. I watched the Disney classic for the first time this morning.  That's right, I've avoided this animated fantasy and many newer Disney films for years.  But this morning, as I was recovering on my couch from a near perfect long run, I gave in.

And despite all that is wrong with this engaging, and at times silly film, the message is clear. Women and girls are smart, passionate, strong, and yes, defiant in the face of history, culture, and society that doesn't value us for what we're capable of.  A recent example of this is Nobel Peace Prize winner, Malala Yousafzai, who at age 15, was shot in the face for believing girls should be educated. Malala is a fighter and she survived. But she is a benevolent leader, using words, books, and pencils as weapons against oppression, not violence and hate. 

So on this National Coming Out Day, I wonder, as friend questioned earlier today, what's the purpose of such an occassion?  For me, it seems like I've been coming out my whole life, but there were times when I was pushed back in, or chose that closet for safety, for the privilege of gender, for the security of a job, and for the comfort of a relationship. Being a transgender woman, is a unique experience, not only because I've have lived a life in two genders, so to speak,  but because when I leave the protection of my house, I'm outing myself. I know I'm seen as transgender, or something worse, but I'm okay with that.  It's taken a life time to get that point, but I think it gives me special powers, being able to confront people's expectations of gender just by being me, just by buying milk at the grocery store.  But I'm human too, and as I listened to the character Mulan sing about the disconnect between how she feels on the inside versus what she sees in her reflection, I know that there will be many more tears, but hope just as many smiles, as my journey continues.  

What's on next, Lion King?

Fading Sun

It’s hot for September, but in those tiny blue shorts she gave me goose bumps.  My hand brushed her leg and her skin felt like the faded white sand made soft after millions of years of rocks and sea life crashing and decomposing together. Lying next to each other on beach towels we laughed in envy as we watched a small group of teenage girls teaching each other how to shake their ass out of sight from their parents. Hungry afternoon clouds quickly swallowed the sun, so we packed up our gear and zip closed my colorful striped cooler. I never had those youthful experiences as a girl.

Awaken the next morning to the chirps, cries, and buzz of birds, squirrels, and cicada; I realized I’m closer to fifty than she is to thirty. I try to convince myself that’s okay, but the fleeting weight of time crushes me like waves crashing onto the rocky coast. She didn’t stay the night. It’s not as though I expected her to, but I had dreamed of being held by her long arms, arms that flap like a seagull when she dances. Arms that make me smile.  

Heading to refill my glass of water, I recognized I drank too much, and hoped to find my friend asleep on the brown leather couch in the living room.  My feet stick to the kitchen floor splashed with fruit juice, vodka and white wine from the night before.  Through squinted eyes I noticed her abandoned half empty glass sitting on the edge of a stack of fashion magazines I barely look at any more, leaving a dark condensation ring on the surface.  All the lights were left on and the TV screen was brilliant blue, like the bachelor buttons cut from my garden and placed in a glass vase, bending towards the adjacent window and the rising late summer sun. The message “No Signal!” bounced across the electronic surface like a ball from a video game when I was young. 

See you Tomorrow

I just want to call my friend, and ask her if she really visited me in the hospital last week, or was it just dream, a hallucination from the medication I was on as a team of cardiac specialists inserted catheters into four veins through my stubbly groin to reach my heart without cutting open my chest and splitting my ribs apart. The reason I wondered, was because I became unconscious partially through the procedure and don’t remember waking up.  In fact I kinda like the idea of it all being a dream. It would be a nice dream for a change.  

Home

Three years ago, at age 44, I decided to embrace my identity as a Transgender Woman.  My transition began during the long winter of 2011, and day-by-day I've stumbled my way into the person I am today. During this emotional process I've shed many layers from my previous identity that had accumulated over time. It was like I had been wearing a suit of medieval armor, heavy and cumbersome, all my life.  And while I feel free these days, I know I’m more vulnerable and susceptible to the world around me. 

We Used to Have Nicknames

Under a remarkably brilliant blue sky, I drove from Raleigh to Pinehurst, in an off-white Fiat that I had just rented from a young and uncomfortably happy Enterprise employee.  I was on my way to visit my parents who were enjoying an early spring at their condo in North Carolina.  I felt slightly nervous and a little sad as I was about to spend three days with them at a very conservative golf resort for the first time openly as a transgender woman, and teary-eyed, as I recalled one of my first visits to the Tar Heel State in 1992, with my then girl friend, future partner, and now ex. 

While I was apprehensive about the visit, I desperately needed some of my mom’s nurturing optimism and my dad’s predictability.  It hadn’t occurred to me when planning this trip that what I really needed was to get away.  Not just get away from my job and commitments, but also to get away from the sadness I was feeling.  My ex partner and I had separated nearly four years ago, and were divorced in two years later after being married for seventeen, yet we continued to live together until last month.  So after twenty-two years, we were no longer roommates. 

Hearts of Gold

My Parent's 50th, 4 years ago

54 years ago my parents were married.   I am one of 7 children and feel incredibly fortunate to still be part of their lives.  Three weeks ago I spent a long weekend with them at their condo on a golf course in North Carolina.  As we usually do, we reminissed about the past, talking about friends, family, teachers, coaches, and neighbors; people that made us laugh, inspired and challenged us. And of course we thought fondly of the ones we miss who have passed away or have moved out of our lives.  I like to think I share my father's love of story telling and writing,  but my mother's humility, so today I'd like to share an email my dad sent today, looking back 54 years to the day he married my mom.  

Hello to all,

Yes, today represents a specific anniversary and as such Mimi and I had lunch at Chick-fil-A.  We thought it was fitting in that the meal served 54 years ago at The Commander Hotel opposite the Cambridge Common was also a chicken dish.  Probably roasted with veggies.  Today's was grilled, served in a bun with fries (don't tell my diabetes group of docs).  We reminisced about the attendees, some of which drove a good distance from places such as New London, Conn. and Lewiston, Me.  We danced to' La Mer' and were entertained by a great family friend of my mother's, one Kate Cadigan.  She could play the piano and sing with grand style and effect.  My brother, Herb, gave the requisite toast to which my old mentor from The Heights newspaper at B.C. the Reverend Arthur A. MacGillivray, S.J. whispered to me, "Pure Hallmark".