Suburban Lesbian Housewife

Romney vs. Gingrich?

2012-02-01T12:10:00.005-05:00

I keep getting asked if Mitt Romney was a horrible Governor for Massachusetts. My answer is, basically? Yes. He was not progressive, nor was he "middle of the road." He fought marriage equality tooth and nail. He drained rainy day funds and cut school budgets. He left our state in serious debt. It was pretty clear all he wanted to do was run for President.

But, people say, is he as bad as Gingrich?

I must admit, the mere thought of Gingrich being taken seriously, let alone actually winning any political contest ever, anywhere, is terrifying to me. I can make fun of his moon colony, or the repeated adultery, or his flat out lies about his own Washington insider life.

Please explain how someone who was THE SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE can call themselves an outsider? That's like Jake telling me he didn't finish the cake with a fork in one hand and the chocolate smeared plate in the other.

It's not funny, though, that so many Americans actually think the man is an option. People! Do you want this man in charge of the nuclear arsenal? Let alone Supreme Court appointments, job creation (heck, they can go to the moon and build!), social security, relationships with other countries... The man changed the very definition of civility in the House of Representatives during his tenure of Speaker.

In 1997, "the House ethics committee recommended last night that House Speaker Newt Gingrich (R-Ga.) face an unprecedented reprimand from his colleagues and pay $300,000 in additional sanctions after concluding that his use of tax-deductible money for political purposes and inaccurate information supplied to investigators represented "intentional or . . . reckless" disregard of House rules."

I must admit, Romney looks like a cupcake in comparison. Sure, he will continue the policies of George Bush that have led to our miserable economy, massive debt and free passes for the rich. But I don't see him telling North Korea to go f-themselves and drop a bomb.

That is not an endorsement. I don't want any of the Republican candidates. The only Huntsman seemed like a rational human being, and he's out of the race. People that know me well, know that deep down, I have a Republican heart. I believe in fiscal responsibility, State rights and government having no business in people's personal lives. I believe private businesses should give back to the community because it is good business practice. Want good employees? Support schools. Want low crime? Support the Police.

As Zachary would say, Duh.

When I was growing up, that's what Republicans stood for- nothing remotely being discussed today in the GOP debates. What the hell is a social conservative? Is that a fancy way to say bigot? misogynist? homophobic?

Was Romney that bad? Yes. As bad as Gingrich? No. Forget the question. Ask yourself instead, what the heck are people thinking? Stop looking at the candidates and start looking at the reasons why people are drawn to this. It's not about who is the lessor evil. It's about the appeal of either.

Shifting Fortunes

2012-01-21T15:40:00.003-05:00

The fortune teller told me to wait nine months before thinking about another relationship. I did. In fact, I waited ten months. In truth, I waited five years. What she could not see in the cards- or maybe she could- was the years of trying. Hoping. And mostly, living for my kids.

Things, a gentle way to say the divorce, are moving along. It took a few months of tears shed lying in a fetal ball, to be certain. Certainty created enough energy to file papers, begin the process of tearing apart a life built over twenty years. I knew five years ago our lives had become too far apart. Ships passing in the night is an expression when held on a real deck of a real boat, you truly understand the depth of the distance.

I was tired of being alone. Lonely with someone arms length away, yet acres of ocean between us. If I was going to be alone, let me be alone.

Easy words to say for a woman who had spent 16 years completely enveloped by three kids. To this day, the silence in the house, when they are not with me, is the loudest testament to the change in my life.

That and having food in the refrigerator for more than 12 hours. Or two hours.

For many months, I simply accepted that I would be alone, maybe for a long time, maybe forever. I would always have my friends, my kids, and that was enough. Two spoonfuls of flan instead of the whole thing, it was like accepting a forced diet. The diet I'd been on a long time.

I grieved my sister, over and over. I grieved the loss of dreams, of future images. I didn't try to fix anything anymore. I no longer looked outside for reassurance. I stopped moving to keep from feeling.

I listened to the silence. I no longer hear what's missing. I hear what's there.

In time, as if the fortune teller's card with gold coins and sunshine was turned over, someone came along. Someone I've known for years, now in a new way. We laughed, flirted at times- nothing more, nothing less. I was able to stand toe to toe with her- not as an adversary but as an equal. I did something completely insane, according to some, and got on a plane to go see her.

It would be trite to say it was a leap of faith. It wasn't. I accepted that it could end up horribly wrong. A friend said to me, You are almost fifty. Single. You don't have the boys for the weekend. Why not? Besides, you can always leave.

Faith not required, just a credit card. I went.

I found a woman who is an equal. Someone who wears the world in similar fashion, who holds a code of justice and honor deep. And god forbid, she cooked for me. Yes, I am that easy. I've cooked for years and years, and what might seem like a simple act is full of care taking and kindness to me.

Not to mention it was delicious.

For the first time, I felt like I didn't need to carry all the weight on my shoulders. I had someone to share it with, who wasn't afraid of leading or following. Someone who wanted to do both. For the first time in years, nothing felt like a chore. I was held, she was held, it wasn't all or nothing. I felt safe and at ease. I didn't have to prove that I was good enough. I didn't have to chase. I simply needed to give back what was being given to me.

Perhaps the fortune teller was right, it took time for me to become whole again, to be able to give back without fear. Maybe it is simply about the right place and the right time. We have an amusing history of almost being in the same place at different times in our lives, not just once, but multiple times over many years.

I don't know what will happen. I know there are very real issues- like living in two far apart cities- but I also know I've been blessed with the love of a woman who can give back as much as she takes. I hope she feels that, too. I hope she feels my gratitude, my awe, and mostly, my love.

Warning: Major Self Promoting

2011-11-21T20:28:00.002-05:00

Ah, the Most Influential Women of Newton...

scan to page 47 and you'll see me.

I think I should have worn red capris.

Newton Living Magazine.

Penn State: Get a Grip

2011-11-11T13:20:00.002-05:00

How many children need to be raped before a University does something? Who could watch a child be raped and do nothing? Nothing at all?

I see something like that? I'm getting a baseball bat or the heaviest object near me and I'm stopping it. Then, I'm going to the police. But I do not wait and go to my boss.

If someone was murdered, would you wait to tell your boss? Or do you call 9-1-1?

What football program is more important than reporting directly to the police a crime?

My god, what is wrong with this country? Full disclosure: I am a football fan. Love watching, playing, and I've been a Penn State fan for years. My grandfather went there, left a large donation and there's some plaque by a pond on campus with his name on it. I have always respected the graduation rates of football players from Penn State.

Paterno knew for years. Years. Not a week, or a month, but long enough to have stopped the pain for many more victims. He could have stopped a predator.

But he didn't.

I'm suppose to sit here and shed a tear for him? I don't care what he did for how many years. He made a choice. Did any of the kids make the choice to be raped? To have their whole lives shattered? Their trust and innocence taken away forever?

Students rioting over Paterno's firing can go visit a rape trauma center for children and decide if their precious football coach is more important. The football season at Penn State should be over. And over forever.

The purpose of a University is to teach and develop young minds to enhance and further our society. There was a time when football was a fun diversion, a source of pride. Now it's about big time dollars, contracts and televised glory. It has no place on any college campus anywhere in this country.

Because when the loss of a coach who broke the law causes outrage, a coach who did more than break the law, who ignored a heinous, disgusting crime, we have lost our way. Power dynamics around money in college sports have warped people's sense of morality.

But it's deeper than that. It's about the culture of football that has become larger than life. It's about a game that has become much more than a game. I can only wonder why McQuery didn't immediately call the police or stop the crime. Why? Was Sandusky that precious?

I doubt it. It was about the program.

The Trustees of Penn State did the right thing. I love football. I've been a Penn State fan for a long time. I'm not sure I can ever watch a game again without thinking of this crime.

To those protesting? Get a grip. Get a goddamn grip.

Occupy Boston: Tents of Hope

2011-10-22T16:31:00.007-04:00

Last night, in the parking lot of a local rec center, I listened to Jake's band play a few songs. They started a program of music, mostly local kids, jamming out. It is the very best of Newton, in my opinion. Neighbors gathering, centered almost always around kids.

Today, I went down to Occupy Boston. This is what I've been encouraging my students to do: Stand up, be counted, be heard. It is a small city inside the city. Logistics center, medical tent, tent for donated clothes, food tent, dishwashing tent... Camp Alex.

I liked his peace sign.

You could make a sign, or pick a sign.

I liked the one about Texas. Corporations are not people.

A few cops were around, standing on the outskirts. Not hundreds of cops, maybe only a dozen, looking relaxed, if not a little bored. No dogs, no rifles, no riot gear- and I'm grateful. Ask the folks in Denver- not every city is tolerant.

There were people speaking. Some listening. Some standing in line to speak. I saw a man in a suit and tie helping himself to a free sandwich. I started to judge him and then realized, that's not the point.

Everyone keeps asking, what do they want? What specific changes? What are the demands? It's not the point, either. This is about protest. It's about people with fear and despair, no longer being willing to sit behind closed doors. Together, they have a dream of creating change.

Maybe the change is within each person, once isolated, now with the power of the group. Maybe the most important piece is creating a new community and a new sense of public commitment to others. Maybe it is everyone leaning out their windows, ala Network, screaming, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

So the guy can afford his own sandwich. Everyone is getting fed. In this small community, this tiny strip of green between high rise hotels and upscale businesses, there is enough.

I've watched my kids struggle living in Newton, a community where excess is not unusual. They want things only to be told no as a matter of values, not money. Designer sneakers, clothes, phones, computers, cars... so much stuff. They are kids surrounded by peers- I understand the pressure on them. I also know, as I did last night, sitting on the picnic bench, listening to Jake's awesome bass line, it's not simple.

The occupy movement is not simple. People are coming together in a digital age. Real faces, real voices. It's a physical presence and cannot be ignored. Tarps, signs and a guy brushing his teeth by the side of the road. It is real.

And so is my community gathered around a makeshift stage, listening to music. There is fear and despair, and yet we gather to celebrate our kids. Nothing is guaranteed anymore. People lose jobs, savings, homes in every tier of the economic world. If Patrica Kluge, can lose everything, so can everyone.

This is about taking that fear and turning it into love and hope. It's about a sandwich for the guy in a suit. It's about people taking a microphone and being heard. It's about our environment, our government, our economy. It's about our world.

Mostly? It's about hope.

Update on Wall Street Protest

2011-10-13T17:43:00.002-04:00

I read the news today... 70 million dollars given to date to the Obama campaign.

Protestors being sent packing to "clean the park" in NYC. Clean the park. Indeed.

Any effort to bring in portajohns, dumpsters, portable showers, have been blocked. Businesses have been highlighted as suffering from the protestors use of bathrooms, yet, the city refuses to allow the problem to be solved. Private money has offered to pay. No go says the city.

This is America. We allow protests. We encourage debate. We are a democracy.

Right?

Wish you had some of that 70 million back from Obama?

I fear tomorrow will end up in violence.

I fear more that the spark will be snuffed out. We need this. We need an awakening.

They cannot arrest 10,000. Shoulder to shoulder, they cannot.

Create hope, generate power.

Occupy Wall Street: Generate Power

2011-10-03T08:31:00.003-04:00

Occupy Wall Street. Speak for the 99% of Americans who are not filthy rich.

Hmm. I like that idea.

I've been watching this protest for a while. Their message is not a clear, one line, snappy PR piece. It is a combination of voices, all chiming in, all asking for social and economic justice.

I really like that idea. It, however, causes problems for those who want to understand the message. In America, we have been dulled by ad campaigns for everything from dish soap to electing a President. We want to know in the length of a twitter what is going on and why.

This is not a twitter length issue. It's about banks and taxation. It's about access and loopholes. It's about greed and indifference.

Zachary heard me listening to a newscast on the internet yesterday about the protests. Why are they protesting? he asked. I began to explain banks, and laws, and corruption. He had no idea what I was talking about. Then I said, it's about the 99% of this country who are suffering.

Cool, he said. He was engaged. We watched the video of the Brooklyn Bridge arrests. We talked about standing up and being counted.

I kept away from words like "financial crisis," "economic downturn," all the nifty little catch words used in the New York Times and Wall Street Journal. To explain with numbers and statistics about unemployment in recent college graduates, the hopelessness that is pervasive in a generation of well-educated yet unemployed people wouldn't have impact on him.

Why? All those numbers, I realized, leave me in my head. It takes the pain of people who cannot afford rent, or medicine, or food, into a place of theory, and economic policy debate.

It leads me away from the anguish of parents who sent their kids to college knowing they would have a better life, only to have them living at home, working minimum wage jobs, unable to repay loans. The frustration of those kids, now adults, unable to move forward as they had been promised their whole lives. No longer is the world a place where everyone gets a trophy for trying.

There is a level of despair in this country that has been medicated, sanitized and turned into made for TV movies.

On the website, http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/, is a very real list of the pain, anguish, and frustration.

And the fear. One holding up a sign saying she is one paycheck from homelessness. Another, college educated, school loans, and no job, at 39 years old. Another, house value crashed, no retirement, at 51 years old. Yet another, 56 years old, working for minimum wage, no health insurance, no retirement.

You know the stories. You know because your friend or sibling or parent or neighbor have these stories. Now it's time to do something.

If we don't fight, if we live in fear, if we allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the system, nothing will change. The progressive community has all sat around pulling a Hamlet on the rock, To be or not to be, for long enough. People say protests are a thing of the past.

Tell that to the people in Egypt, Tunisia, Bahrain, Syria, Yemen and Libya.

This isn't about writing a check and getting a sticker for your car. Stand up and be counted. A few hundred people can be ignored. A few thousand, minimized by the mainstream media.

Hundreds of thousands must be heard.

If you think we are living in standards far above those countries listed above, think again. The divide grows greater every day. The reality is not what you see on television or in the newspapers. Schools don't fight about Glee club spending; they struggle to hire qualified teachers. Doctors don't wander around popping vicodin and spending countless hours on a single diagnosis; they are required to hustle through patients on insurance dictated time frames, using insurance dictated tools.

And dear God, young, fashionable vampires don't exist. Our youth aren't out sucking blood in Armani, they are trying to find jobs that don't exist.

Numbers, statistics, theories are all important. Information is essential in creating change- keep the baby with the bathwater. Be aware, it can be used to create energy and it can be used to create a sense of hopelessness.

I know it is far easier and more comfortable for me to stay in my head. I don't have to feel the guilt of having, of being comfortable. The guilt, however, is my choice. People are protesting for those who have no choice.

It's not about me. It's about us. I am part of us. My friends, my family, my coworkers, my community... us.

One could say the "Arab Spring" happened because people finally gathered in enough numbers to create hope. That hope spread. Ultimately, in crowds of tens of thousands, there was much more than hope and ideals and perseverance. There was power. Not power given, but power generated by masses gathered, shoulder to shoulder.

Go join a protest. Create hope.

Generate power.

Cheers to the Freakin' Weekend...

2011-09-16T17:55:00.002-04:00

I can't get that song out of my head. I've been all about songs in the last week. Asking people what song stands out to them, why it has meaning, why it makes them happy or sad... it's been a fascinating exercise.

I do love the Rihanna song, "Cheers." I'm not going to let the bastards get me down.

In class today, I played Bubba Sparxxx, "Ms. New Booty." Thank goodness I teach at a music college- no one blinks with my somewhat questionable choices.

The assignment was to think about a song, and write about what it meant to them in third person.

My example, after I played the song…

Ms. New Booty plays, and the mother sighs.

“Why?” she asks her 15 year old son.

“Because,” he smiles. The familiar argument gathers the steam of a toy locomotive.

She shakes her head. “Booty-Booty-Booty… not really lyrics.”

“Old, Mom. You. Are. So. Old.”

“Booty-Booty-Booty,” she repeats.

“Don’t be a hater,” he holds up his hand.

The song plays on..

And on.

Cheers, indeed.

Libya: What Now?

2011-08-22T08:35:00.002-04:00

In 1969, I was only six years old. I wasn't tuned into politics except for writing a letter to President Nixon along with my entire class in elementary school.

In 1969, Qaddafi took over in a "bloodless coup." I wonder about how bloodless it really was. In the years to come, Qaddafi ruled seemingly unopposed.

As far back as I can remember, Libya meant terrorism, death and an insane leader. It wasn't until I was older that I realized it also meant oil. That the 70's oil crisis I lived through, when gas could only be bought on certain days based on your license plate, was mainly due to Qaddafi.

He believed in Arab nationalism, and hated the West. And the West hated him.

It was a time when there were great evils: Not only Qaddafi but Idi Amin, who brutally slaughtered hundreds of thousands. Maybe it was the Saturday Night Live skits, but the two live in my mind together, although they never actually were. Libya had oil- Uganda did not.

Before Qaddafi, there was a monarchy. What now? The people have fought hard against an oppressive regime. Forty two years is a long time, with countless generations living in fear. What kind of psyche does that create? How will the people heal?

And who will control the oil?

Obama: What is the Alternative?

2011-08-07T15:22:00.002-04:00

There is a beautifully written piece in the New York Times, What Happened to Obama? . I don't disagree with a single line of it. In fact, I've said all along Obama has been running for office since the day he took office. it is the nature of politics in America. Not one day, not one single day, without fundraising, without a careful eye on the next election.

My question is this: What is the alternative? Hillary Clinton won't run against Obama. that deal has been cut. And I'm fairly certain the country's obsession with Bill Clinton's penis would have made her presidency riddled with questions of less than important issues. Whitewater would look small in comparison. (Pardon the pun.)

Start another party? The Green party is already rife with corruption. It takes decades to make one that sticks and can compete on any real level against the Dems and Repubs.

We can't change to a parliamentary system. Could you even imagine? Anyone suggesting it would be tarred and feathered just like the British governors in colonial days.

Not vote for Obama? Okay, so I stay home. I say, I cannot do this. Bachman is too extreme, but Romney sure knows how to walk the "moderate" walk. Then what?

No one riots in America. Greece passes an austerity plan and people riot in the streets. here? They'll turn the channel. Tt's not that no one cares- I believe people are incredibly anxious and worried about the future, for themselves, for their kids- but people have been so stripped of any feeling that they could actually create any kind of change on their own, they roll over, and wait for the next kick.

The Presidency is about more than just one thing. And that's what I'm trying to hold onto. the fact that we have hate crimes, the end of DADT, the START treaty (to disarm Russia and us from cold war nuclear warheads once and for all), at least a stab at health care reform, TARP (no, not perfect but something), TWO SUCCESSFUL US SUPREME COURT NOMINATIONS (because for me? that was the biggest crisis we were facing), thousands of changes in political appointments to rid the world of Bush appointees... the list actually goes on.

And every word of the New York Times piece is true.

My question again: What is the alternative?

Fried Chicken... Finally

2011-08-05T17:44:00.005-04:00

For those of you long long LONG time readers, you know I have battled with my inadequacy around fried chicken. Try as I did, over and over, I never, ever managed the beautiful, delicious, fried chicken my mother made.

Now, those of you who had my mother's fried chicken- and there are a couple who read this- you know it was the stuff of blue ribbons at the country fair. That is, if my mother would have ever been caught dead at a country fair. Perfectly browned, full crispy crust, and juicy, perfectly cooked chicken.

Even the breasts, which we all know are almost impossible to do- without a deep fryer.

Nope, she fried her chicken in a shallow pan, with bacon grease. There, I gave the family recipe away. Good luck trying to make it great. It's only taken me a quarter of a century to get it right.

My sister and I used to argue about how to do it. My sister would say, buttermilk. Gotta soak it in buttermilk.

Mom didn't do that.

Yes, she did.

No, she didn't. We never had buttermilk. Ever.

Well, my friend chicken is soaked in buttermilk, Cathy would say.

Yeah, but Mom's wasn't. I want her chicken. I want to be able to do that fried chicken. You make delicious fried chicken. But... it's not Mom's.

Today, as I stood over a hot stove, wondering why I let Ben talk me into yet another try which I was certain would fail, I could almost smell my sister leaning over my shoulder.

Too hot. Turn down the grease. You letting Ben roll those drumsticks? Has he washed his hands?

Ben was eager to help- eager to eat, too.

I could see that day in my mother's Canfield Road's kitchen, when I begged her to show me one more time.

Oh lord, she had said, I haven't done that in so long.

But she was game, as long as I was washing the dishes. She knew I could make her potato salad. I could make her cinnamon buns.

My mother was a meticulous cook. Dishes were washed as she went along- always using the measuring cup to stir an egg, and usually only a fork for stirring, cooking, testing. (Yes, I am the same way in the kitchen, although not quite as anal.) I sat on a stool, by the counter and wrote everything down.

And watched. Watched when she turned the chicken, watched when she rolled them in flour, then egg, then flour. Contrary to deep fried chicken, she cooked it low and slow.

My mother was never, ever in a hurry. It was annoying when trying to get to the airport, but delicious when it came to the results in the kitchen.

So, with my sister over one shoulder, and my mother's kitchen in my head, I proceeded with Ben Boy to make fried chicken.

It's going to be awful, I said.

No, not this time, Mom. You can do it. I mean, Grandma was from the south and she was your mother.

No pressure.

I did one thing I've never done before. Something I always do with chicken now- brine it.

Then, I followed the recipe. From my head, from my heart, from my sister's bad advice.

Halfway through, I thought, Nope. It's going to be bland and awful. I can't get the crisp right.

Oh well, at least I bought drumsticks on sale for a buck a pound.

But then, I turned the heat down, and it started to come together. I took off the first batch and put in the second.

I sliced into one of the thicker legs. I wanted to know if it were cooked through. And I took a bite.

I did it. Almost- the gorgeous blue ribbon coating didn't happen- and I know what to do to achieve it (I've done that before).

I got the taste. The slight bacon flavor, salty, juicy chicken deliciousness. I felt like I took the same bite I did when I was five years old.

I did it.

Ben tried it. He said, Mom, this is total deliciousness. I mean, it's so good. It's salty and crunchy... thank you.

I will never run a marathon. I will never sail the seven seas. I will never climb Everest.

Doesn't matter. I finally made my mother's fried chicken.

Revenue, Revenue, Revenue

2011-08-01T17:55:00.002-04:00

A couple of quick questions:

Are we in a recession?

Do tax cuts create jobs?

Who wanted to cut 1 trillion plus dollars from Social Security?

I ask these questions because it's important to think about the frame. The overall frame the American public have about our economy and economic situation. People are quick to blame Obama for the mess we are in, and I find it so wrong, I can barely sit in my seat.

It's like staring at a penny and thinking you met Lincoln.

We are not in a recession. I know it feels like it, smells like it, our newspapers constantly hammer on it, but we are not. The GDP is growing and that means, no recession. It's not about feelings, people. It's about numbers.

Tax cuts have not ever created jobs. Not ever. As Barney Frank said this morning, a tax cut has never built a bridge. I don't know what kind of kool-aid the Republicans have been drinking for 30 years, but it doesn't work.

Republicans wanted to cut over a trillion dollars off Social Security. Hey, Grandma, how's that Alpo? I wonder if they even remember why it was created. In 1935, FDR signed the act to act as insurance to our elderly, to widows, for fatherless children. It was saying, Hey, we're all in this together. Because in 1935, we were. It was about lifetimes of work being rewarded with a safety net at a time when there were no safety nets at all.

People were starving. Money wasn't tight, it was gone. Imagine going to the ATM and having it say, oops. Sorry. You put it in but, it's not there anymore.

Think it couldn't happen again? Think again.

Oh, we have new economic models! I hear people saying. Really? Like that nifty one that said invest everything in stocks that don't give out dividends, with price ratios that were beyond the imagination, but everything is new and different? That was the internet bubble of the late 90's. Guess what? Didn't work out. What happened? Oh, that crazy thing called history repeated itself.

Obama has been in office for two years. He inherited the Bush tax cuts. When I first heard of the Bush tax cuts, when Bush was first proposing them, it was from an economist who said, This is an attempt to defund the federal government. To extinguish it, minus the military, forever.

That is Obama's fault?

Two wars, outrageous tax cuts (mostly for the wealthy), interests rates so low why would anyone think of saving, mad spending, real estate bubble, bad mortgage after bad mortgage (what? have no money? of course you can get a 500k house!), and we were on the brink of collapse.

You think those Republicans voted for TARP because they liked it? No, because if they didn't, they'd never see office again.

Was it perfect? No. But unemployment benefits were extended, social security saved, along with medicare, medicaid, and military veterans were no longer being tossed from their foreclosed homes while serving the country.

We are no longer in a recession. When you think that? I want you to go to the mirror, look yourself in the eye and ask, How much did welfare cost the government?

Or, what is the biggest export from the rainforest?

Your answers will surprise you. And the truth? Make you realize you've been brainwashed.

We need revenues, people. We need money to pay off debt, to invest in our people, our infrastructure, to create jobs. Bridge building creates jobs. Having money to hire teachers in schools, creates jobs.

Imagine a program that built public buildings and roads, that operated large drama, arts, media, and literacy projects. That fed children, redistributed food, clothing and housing. That created jobs and a flow of money to those in need of both.

Hmmmm. Oh, that would be the WPA- Works Progress Administration.

That requires revenue.

And a belief that the American people mean something. All Americans.

The only "T" word we should ever use again is Transgender. The other one is gone. Don't even whisper it at night in your dreams.

Obama took Social Security, Medicaid and Medicare off the chopping block. We are in debt so far over our heads, it makes your own personal credit cards look simple. The time for more revenue is here.

Obama came into office and immediately solved a crisis. It was a bandaid. He then did more for LGBT civil rights than any President ever in the history of our country. Can we have his back? Please?

We are not in a recession. Tax cuts do not create jobs. Republicans are happy to send Grandma out for Alpo.

Watch carefully, listen carefully. You think Obama has let you down? Go re-read all that's been done. Then re-read the Bush years.

You are being played by carefully orchestrated frames of reference.

Welfare cost less than 2% of any budget. Not 50, not 30, not 10. Rubber is the largest export- not wood for paper or construction.

Sometimes what we believe to be true, isn't true at all.

Meet Baby

2011-07-31T14:38:00.009-04:00

I know you all think I'm miserably depressed all the time, and mostly that's true but I do still know how to laugh.

While Zachary and Jake were away on a road trip, I sent them pictures on their phones. Any time I saw a "punch buggy" I sent it to Jake and said, Punch yourself.

He would promptly punch Zachary.

I had found Zachary's "Baby" in the Ogunquit house. It was a gift from a good friend of mine and Zachary did love Baby. That is, when he was a baby. Poor Baby ended up on top of the refrigerator, long forgotten. Until I got Baby, dusted her off and took her on adventures.

Meet Baby.

Now, Baby did get a little annoyed while sitting on the refrigerator for so long.

If you mess with Baby, she will give you the finger.

Baby likes cake.

Baby says, Nom, nom, chocolate cake. All mine.

Baby says, Where's my pina colada???

Baby says, This game sucks. Now I have sand in my butt.

Oh, Baby has had many more adventures. I'm trying to figure out how to create a facebook page for baby. Oddly, they won't let me use the name "Baby."

Baby doesn't like that very much.

And you don't get Baby mad.

Stay tuned for more adventures. Hey, it's summer, it's hot and I have way too much free time on my hands.

Happy Birthday

2011-07-25T19:08:00.002-04:00

In the last two weeks, I have had two separate, intense moments where I felt my sister's presence in a big way.

The day of Ben's graduation from Outward Bound- which by the way he graduated with honors and yes, I am beyond proud of him- I woke up in the morning, checked my email and there was one from my sister.

Um, I canceled her account a while ago.

It was spam, and something someone sent because they generated random email addresses. But on the day of Ben's graduation? I know how proud she would have been of him. I know how close they were.

Just chance, I thought. Little weird but... just chance.

Right?

Yesterday was my sister's birthday. I had remembered in the morning, but I have to be honest, other drama was pressing and it slipped my mind. I was taking Ben- as a graduation present- to Rihanna with his pals. Big fun, we were dancing, having a blast... and my sister's best friend called me.

I was immediately brought back to the fact that it was her birthday. I started to cry, cry hard. My sister... I miss her. I could hear her making fun of me dancing, making fun of Ben playfully, all with a giant smile on her face.

Oh, Cathy. I wish you were there.

I called her friend back this morning. She said to me, I know this is strange but... do you have an envelope for me?

She came to me in a dream and said she had an envelope.

I was stunned. I did have an envelope for her. I found an addressed envelope in Cathy's storage locker the other day. I had held onto it because I wanted to tell her first.

It's a little strange to get a letter from someone who is dead.

Or email.

How could she have known? She lives in Upstate New York. I hadn't told anyone.

The email? Sure, that could have simply been a coincidence. The envelope?

No way.

Okay, Cathy. I get it. I hear you. I know what you're saying.

I want you to know, Ben's doing great. Jake and Zachary talk about you all the time. We all hold you close to our hearts. They all still think they can say something really inappropriate by saying first, "Aunt Cathy would say..."

I miss you. Happy birthday.

First Few Steps and Many More to Go

2011-07-04T15:38:00.002-04:00

Last week? I dove in. It was hard, but I found myself in a surprising calm. I don't know what is coming next, and for once? That's okay. I can't possibly know. Struggling with it only keeps me from the moment.

I do know I have three great kids. Zachary and Jake have been off visiting cousins. It is a great tradition with Jeanine's family. Ben is on a journey. Outward Bound for 28 days, and I will only say I am hopeful for him, and miss him terribly.

I even watched Mob Wives the other night. Well, I watched for about ten minutes and thought, why does he like this?

In a few hours, Zachary and Jake will be back. I can't wait to see them.

What I learned in my week alone is that I'm never really alone. I have kids and friends. I have family, although not family of origin, I still have family. Loneliness is not fun but also not impossible to sit with.

I went and had my tarot cards read in Ogunquit. A beautiful woman of about 70 sat me down and placed the cards on the table. She told me my job would change, that I've done the work of a man and of a woman, and that I suffered a great loss.

She said, Now? You need to stay away from women. You left someone... yes?

Yes.

You loved her very much. But... you need nine months. You need to be whole. You are not. You never have been, that's why it doesn't work.

You will change where you live but no moving... (she shook her finger at me) No moving.

You give too much. You are kind and generous, but you give too much. You have always been old. Never young. I can see you were never a child.

Nine months. What you seek is inside you- not in someone else. No one can give it to you.

I know. I know that everything she said was true. She also said I look mean but am a big softie.

I didn't think I looked mean. Yikes.

I held, close, the reality that no matter what I did, my sister would have been unhappy. It wasn't my job to fix her. I couldn't. It's not my job to fix anyone. A piece of guilt wedged in my chest grew smaller. As it did, I had more room to simply feel the loss.

I realized I've held on to her things because I haven't wanted to let go of her. The things end up being weights, and I toss and turn in anxiety about what to do with them. They are only things. It's time to let them go.

I know that when they are all gone? I will have more room for the love and sorrow.

The tarot card lady was right. I need to be whole. I've taken the first few steps. I know I have a long road ahead.

After last week? I can say without hesitation, I am not afraid.

Diving In

2011-06-27T08:08:00.002-04:00

When you go in the ocean in Maine, you have a certain expectation: you expect to have a heart attack. I only made it in up to my knees yesterday. Today I'll try to do the brave, firm walk in and dive.

It's how I've been feeling about my whole life lately. My heart is full of loss and I'm not sure how much more I can take. I can't avoid it, though. I need to dive in, sit with it, invite it to dinner.

I've been trying to think of what my loss would look like if it were sitting across the table from me. An old woman or an angry toddler?

An old woman who shames me into accepting her into my life? Who sees my embedded need to respect my elders, and uses that to pry me away from the every day chaos I use to escape the painful feelings?

Or an angry toddler who demands my attention? Who knows I would never let a child cry or be unseen for any period of time. The helplessness of the small frame drawing me in, leaving me no choice but to hold it.

And in that room, would there be the cold air of loneliness swirling about, making it hard to focus on anything?

I don't know. I only know my heart can't take much more. The one thing I've learned about the ocean in Maine is, once you dive in? It's fine. The anticipation is far worse than the cold water.

It's time for me to dive in; my heart won't stop.

It can't.

Loss and More Loss

2011-06-24T10:49:00.003-04:00

I know I've been absent for a while. End of the school year, 1000 different events to go to- a final goodbye to the elementary school we've been a part of for 11 years.

Loss. Big loss.

And something I haven't written about but am ready to now- my wife and I separated in February. She and I simply couldn't get to a place where we were happy. There was no hanky panky, or anything horrible. I don't know where we will end up- we've been together 20 years, and for now, being apart is the right thing.

Huge loss.

Yes, we share the kids. It's been incredibly hard on them. Slowly, we've all become accustomed to the routine. When I don't have them, I am incredibly lonely. I spent 15 years as a full time parent. Suddenly, I'm part time. I've lost my sense of stability. I can't seem to get grounded.

Without being grounded, it's hard for me to write. Without writing, I won't be grounded. Ah, catch-22.

I've been living in my sister's rented house. She left me a car, a fully furnished house and in the second to last conversation we had, she said to me, you need something to change. You never know what could happen.

Two weeks later, she was dead.

Her words have had a profound effect on me. It is up to me to make my life what I want it to be. To complain, to wait, is an insult to everyone who has died young, suddenly, without time to change what they needed to change.

It is time to unpack all of my life. To sit with all I've done. To hold each piece, closely. I've been doing it for months now, with my sister's things. Knick knacks, silly cards, my mother's ashtray from when we were growing up. Why she had that, I'll never understand, but I took the time to sit with it. To remember. Some things, I'll keep. Most, I won't.

I am, at heart, someone who likes to throw things away. Trash day is always a happy day for me. I realize now, in my life, I need to slow down. Consider. Hold. Remember. There has been so much loss in my life, and I have been completely overwhelmed. It would be easier to simply throw things away.

But I can't. I can't do that to my children. It won't make me happy.

Please forgive my long absence. I need to write.

Consider. Hold.

And mostly? Remember.

MTV: Are You Kidding Me?

2011-05-16T16:21:00.004-04:00

Classes ended on the 6th and I took off for Downeast Maine. It was beautiful, not that cold, and very restful.

While I was gone, young son Ben was busy. He applied to be on an MTV show about kids with gay parents. You know, MTV, which started when I was in college and ran the same three Michael Jackson videos over and over. Oh, and the Flying Seagulls, "I ran..." The one that has no music videos anymore, just television shows.

Reality television shows. Not my favorite form of television, although I did watch some of Mob Wives last night with Ben. Pretty boring.

It's a little odd. All my kids are on my case about talking about gay stuff too much.

MOM! All gay, all the time. Everything isn't about gay people.

And they are right. I've learned, especially in my class, to cool it. There, I talk about politics all the time.

Now I find out, while I was in the woods, communing with nature, he applied for the MTV show.

Guess what? They called him back for a second casting call.

Oh my.

Now, I think I need to find out what he sent in that email he sent in said. Yesterday, all he said was he described me as "blond."

Um... okay. Not sure that really encompasses all of my personality, but I'll go with it.

Here's the deal: they see him on camera? Good looking kid, with a sassy mouth? They'll pick him.

Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my.

Bin Laden: Many More Lives Yet to be Lost

2011-05-02T12:53:00.003-04:00

I'm disappointed and a little disgusted.

I find it incredibly hard to be happy or excited today about Bin Laden's death. Of course I am glad that chapter has been closed. Bin Laden was a fugitive of justice. He was a criminal, and now he's dead.

Great. Excellent work by all those involved. Thank you for your efforts. I mean that sincerely.

However, when I scroll through the photos posted on the New York Times, I'm horrified to see some of the images. Flags waving, young men shouting, fists in the air. A widow holding the picture of her dead loved one. The appropriate reaction from American Arabs.

Tell me, how is this different from pictures we see of people in say... the Middle East?

Oh, wait, we're the "good guys," right? Those faces are familiar, therefore patriotic.

Excuse me if I don't want to walk through the streets with sparklers and a flag cheering. My friend who lost her brother in the September 11th attacks isn't doing that either. Death isn't really anything to celebrate.

It's a sad day. A sober reminder of all the lives lost. Civilians, soldiers... so many dead.

Obama declares the world safer. Is it? Why did I see cops on streets in Boston today, where they never usually are? Why was there an ominous report about Pakistan being the bad guy- we think. Maybe.

Bin Laden, once thought skulking around in dank caves, was actually in a house in a compound, next to a training camp. Maybe he was dead for a few days, maybe the other night, either way, he was buried at sea.

Um, on NCIS they put the body in the freezer and took the ice cream out. Would it have been that hard to keep it around? Because now we will add to the list of conspiracy theories; Bin Laden, aside from being given martyr status for his death, will be hanging out with JFK's real assassin, the space aliens at Roswell, and Jimmy Hoffa.

Of course, I'm a little afraid of how we in this country would have behaved with his dead body. But of course we're better than all those heathens who would put a head on a stick and parade it around with young men waving flags, fists in the air, and the widow with the picture of her dead loved one...

Or are we?

For me, today is a day of closure. Sadness. Mourning. And some relief.

I am aware this was only the end of a chapter in a long, long book with many more pages yet to be written.

And many more lives yet to be lost.

What Price for this Life?

2011-04-21T08:35:00.003-04:00

Strange day today. I have the appraiser coming over to go through all my sister's things and put a price tag on it for tax purposes.

Feels odd to have your whole life summed up in a number.

I was talking to her the other day. There is not a day that goes by where she is not in my thoughts. All the frustration over her complete disorganization has passed. I miss her sense of humor the most. The boys found a book light the other day that had the inscription, "The Light of the Lord" on it.

I don't miss the Lord stuff. I know it was a big part of her life at the end. I know it gave her comfort. Just don't miss having to listen to God's will and forcing myself not to roll my eyes.

Okay, I did roll my eyes. Often.

She really was the only person in my life who could make me laugh so hard I peed my pants. I miss that.

The other day I was asked a security question for my credit card. I had been buying things online and I never buy things, so they wanted to be sure it was me. They asked, "Who is the nearest relative to you?"

I froze. I realized I have no relatives. My wife is only considered my wife in Massachusetts- a stranger as far as the federal government is concerned. I said, Catherine Whitman.

It passed. But it made me feel so very alone.

Today I will see one way in which a life is measured. By things and the price of those things.

And I know my sister was worth much more than anyone will ever know.

Stunning

2011-04-19T10:02:00.002-04:00

Marilyn Davenport, a CA GOP official, sends out a picture of two chimps and Obama's face pasted on the "baby" chimp and states, "Now you know why there is no birth certificate."

Stunning. I mean, there have been a lot of racist slurs and pokes but this one takes the cake.

No, she will not resign. Don't we have a sense of humor? Cute monkeys, right?

Really, Marilyn?

Does this mean you believe in evolution as opposed to creationism?

Politics, unfortunately, is about slinging mud. Always has been, always will be. However, there are times it goes too far. I am waiting for a senior GOP person to step up and say this was wrong and demand her resignation.

Otherwise, we are in for a long, long ride before we get to pull the ballot levers.

Catch a Grenade

2011-04-15T18:32:00.003-04:00

You know that song on the radio, I'll catch a grenade for you... I think the artist is Bruno Mars. I was listening to it on the radio driving home today and thought, yup. That's my story. I'll catch a grenade for you but will you catch one for me?

Probably not even a softball tossed if you're wearing a glove and the ball was lobbed lightly.

Since it's a song theme, and an often song theme, I guess I'm not alone.

But why? Why do I put myself in the position of doing anything and everything for some people only to be handed back a less than enthusiastic response?

Now stepping in front of a train for my babies? Oh yes. No question. Now, tomorrow, forever. They are my children. It's what parents do. Well, except for the few that drive them into the river.

Maybe, even then, there is some warped sense of saving them.

I think about President Obama and how he's catching grenades every day. Do we love him back the same way? Nope. We want more, we deserve more, we expect more. We have no patience for him to have a bad day or bad decision.

He is the President. Part of the job description must be, "thankless hours of hard work..."

He's not been perfect. Not even remotely but then, neither am I. I whine too much, too often. About 20 years ago, my sister gave me a sign that says, "Thou Shalt Not Whine." I still have it hanging in my bedroom.

Sometimes, I think we liberals need to all have that sign hanging somewhere to see. For the first time in... well... forever, we have a President who is addressing issues never touched before. Third rail politics, meaning, if you touch it, you're dead.

Health care. Gay rights- a hate crime bill passed, DADT repealed, and countless changes for LGBT federal employees.

Is it enough? No. But when I think of the other side being at the helm, I feel myself ready to catch a grenade for Obama.

Of course, I'm all over catching grenades.

Maybe it's time to be a little more choosy.

Note to my Students

2011-04-13T14:59:00.002-04:00

Okay, we are doing blog writing in class and I'm sure about half of you have looked up this blog and are now reading it.

A couple words about blogs... they are not for bashing people. Nothing you ever say on the internet is anonymous. Be thoughtful because your words will travel with you, even if that friend of yours is a real jerk and totally blew you off and deserves to be called out for it.

Don't. Trust me. Don't.

Blogs are not for shameless self promotion. (Um, have you read my Huffington Post pieces? Huh? Huh?) Okay, they are to a degree. But be honest, too. Otherwise people will delete the bookmark from your page. I've told you to be kind with yourselves in your personal reviews- I meant it. Add a dash of humility, too.

Readers like that. It rings true. Reader like honesty.

Each one of you has a unique perspective. You come from 16 different countries, are all different ages, some with previous degrees, some fresh from high school. Keep a sense of humor, never let the negative comments get you down, and always delete any links to porn sites.

Your mother may read it. Never forget that your mother may read it and show all her friends. Before you hit publish post, think, do I want my mother/pastor/best friend/sibling/kindergarten teacher/significant other to read this?

If you pause, the answer is no.

Stalkers are real. I've had people call my house and tell me what to write about. It's a little unnerving but for the most part, harmless.

Remember what I've taught you about framing. No one wants to hear about what you had for lunch. But I recently wrote about having lunch and the conversations that were happening around me.

(Okay, frequent readers don't need to comment if they thought that piece was boring. Shhh. I'm teaching here.)

And people do love to hear about success, happiness and good things. They will hold the bad stuff with you, no question but don't pull an Angela's Ashes and kill yet another baby. Life is hard enough.

Besides, your mother/pastor/best friend/sibling/kindergarten teacher/significant other need stuff to brag about, too.

Be honest. Be real. And have fun.

So True

2011-04-12T19:35:00.000-04:00

Thanks, Pete.

No Comfort Zone

2011-04-11T12:06:00.002-04:00

A friend went to the Chihuly exhibit this weekend and sent me a photo with the caption, "Don't touch."

Indeed. No touching the Chihuly.

I have always loved modern and abstract art. It comes from having been raised around my mother's collection of some of the strangest things. Like a giant photo of xrays of irises. Very ... interesting.

What I realize I look for are patterns in the absolute definition of none.

Funny, because I rarely see them in my own life. Part of what I've been holding is a new awareness of patterns. Seems I have done a very good job of weaving the familiar, regardless of it's effectiveness, into my life.

People do tend to the comfort zone, and I am no different. But why, when the comfort zone ain't so comfortable?

I am going to the Chihuly exhibit here in Boston this weekend. I will ooo and ahhh.

And I will look for patterns.

Sharing the Journey

2011-04-08T19:31:00.002-04:00

Jake turned 11 yesterday. I can't believe my baby is 11.

I've been gone a long time. I'm sorry. I've been trying to hold in all that has been going on for me. Sit with it. Consider it.

Jake is a beautiful little boy. Ooops, young man. He wants to shave. He could, mind you, but we've been trying to tell him to wait as long as possible.

Being young is so hard. You always want to be older than you are. When you're old, you simply want to be young. Is anyone satisfied?

I've come to realize I've replicated my youth in my adulthood. It is something I'm writing a great deal about.

Yes, I have been writing.

Blogging is an interesting outlet for me. I get to say my deepest feelings to people near and far. I am the most honest when I write in this space.

There are times, when I cannot be that honest.

Forgive me.

Obama is seeking re-election. Japan is a tragedy. Libya is stunning, as well as the whole Middle East. I will write about those things. As always, with a touch of my personal experience.

But I realize I must hold some things in. I must hold them till they hurt.

I have been. Eventually, I will share that journey. I simply cannot right now.

Month of Fever

2011-02-16T12:34:00.000-05:00

February, the month of the fever. It is the time of year when those of us in the cold parts of the world start to go nuts. Stir crazy, cabin fever; whatever you want to call it, we are aching for Spring.

I am aching for Spring. It is a time of hope, renewal, and clear sidewalks. Glorious sunshine and long underwear sent to the back of the drawer.

Most of my life, I have been afraid. Afraid of being bad, of doing the wrong thing- most of all, disappointing people. It has left me, at times, completely frozen.

No more.

It is time for my own revolution. It could be my new job, and the confidence I’ve gained from it. It could be my edging ever so much closer to fifty years old. It could be my realization that being a role model for my children is changing, as they grow older.

It is time for change.

My classes are currently writing persuasive essays and putting music to them. Basically, putting a soundtrack to their thoughts and words. If I had to put music to this today, I would pick Beautiful by Carole King.

“You’ve got to get up every morning, with a smile on your face, and show the world, all the love in your heart…”

If I don’t believe in myself, why should anyone else? If I don’t trust my strength, no one else can.

“and people gonna treat you better, you’re gonna find, yes you will, that you’re beautiful, as you feel…”

It’s a song I memorized as a kid, playing the album until the grooves were worn out. (Note to the youngsters: Albums were vinyl disks, grooved to hold a needle in place, played on record players. Hard to imagine, I know.)

I wrote about beautiful a while back. Not pretty, not cute, but the power of beautiful. My goal this Spring, is to feel that way. To, perhaps for the first time, love myself.

“If there’s any answer maybe love can end the madness, maybe not, oh, but we can only try…”

For who I am- not what someone needs me to be, or wants me to be.

Beautiful.

Because you know, I got the fever…

The Good Die

2011-02-10T08:56:00.003-05:00

The good die and the assholes live, a colleague said to me yesterday. So painfully true.

I think about my sister every day. She is in my thoughts, always. In my dreams, she is smiling and happy. I can't shake the image of her dead when I'm awake. It is all I see. I know in time that will change.

My whole world is shaken, unsteady and unfamiliar now. Teaching has been an incredible gift to me. It gives me respite from what feels like constant sadness.

In time, that will change, too.

Loss brings up loss brings up loss. My mother has been haunting my dreams again. She is never happy with me. I am tired of this image. Awake, I know she would have been proud of me. Well, mostly proud.

Thus the dreams.

More losses come up- the loss of my family of origin. It is gone. Other losses too painful to write about, of childhood, and a father's love and so much more. It is, I have been told, the way we wade through death of someone close.

I have countless papers to go through, and I must clean out her house by February 28th. It is an impossible task. When I go over, I wander around in circles, and am easily overwhelmed.

I don't want to. I have to.

I know there are services to do such things but it feels wrong to me. The problem? I'm simply not ready to let go. It has been pointed out that I refused to believe she was dying when she was dying.

The good die. She is gone. Every day makes it less difficult to believe.

But no less painful.

Egypt: We Should be Celebrating

2011-02-09T12:35:00.001-05:00

Egypt is a multicultural, diverse population. It is one of the oldest cultures in our world today. Egyptian culture has six thousand years of recorded history. Egypt has the highest number of Nobel Laureates in Africa and the Arab world. Egypt is recognized as the cultural trendsetter for contemporary Arab culture- as it’s culture thousands of years ago influenced that of Europe.

Today, thousands of young people who are fed up have started a revolution. A peaceful, powerful, all inclusive revolution.

A revolution. Remember when youth in this country started a revolution? Remember when we thought we could change the world? Small revolts, single shots, and finally, we were the United States of America. With a Bill of Rights and a Constitution that reads, “WE the people…”

What happened? We are more focused on finding the right restaurant and the right flowers for Valentines Day- a "holiday" that came from a card company- than we are in supporting a huge democratic surge in Egypt.

Why?

I can understand the media images in the last few days feeding fear. Janet Napolio (check name) has stated that the terror alert will be higher than it has been since 2001.

Really. Why am I not surprised?

Be afraid, is the message. Why? Why is it frightening that young people have taken the streets and are calling for a true democracy? Might the passion ignite other youth in other countries to do the same?

I’d like to say I don’t understand, but I do. It is the fear of the unknown. Change is, by nature, difficult for people to go through. My son had a fit that the chairs that were always in the living room were switched with the chairs that were in the back room.

No reason, just wanted to change it up.

There is an amazing reason for the change in Egypt. It is about freedom, fairness and justice. It is about all the different voices being heard. Don’t believe for one minute it is a singular voice. Expand what you read, look for other sources; listen to how you are being pushed.

I have been to many protests over the years, surrounded by clergy of many denominations. I joined hands with them, sang songs with them, shouted slogans with them.

I was and still am an atheist.

Look at the pictures being shown of people in prayer. How many are? How many are not? What is the wide-angle shot versus the close up?

Every Fourth of July, America celebrates a revolution. It was a bloody, violent revolution, a war that lasted years. Not so in Egypt.

But they are looking for the same thing.

It is time to stop the fear mongering and let freedom ring.

Egypt: A Message to be Feared

2011-01-31T20:13:00.003-05:00

I'm nervous.

Oh, I should be nervous about the snow but I'm simply resigned. I give up. I have assignments lined up for the kids to do if they are home for the day.

I'm nervous about Egypt. I've been watching the news and we've gone from a democratic movement to a radical Muslim uprising. The frame has changed. The administration of this country wants us to think one way- not the other.

Why?

I'm keenly aware of framing in the news media. I teach it to my classes. I can help them argue for anti-piracy laws or against them. How to make an image that will resonate for the American public. It's not hard. We're fairly easy game to media manipulation.

The "Muslim Brotherhood" is now the headliner. And yet Mohamed ElBaradei, a lawyer who headed the International Atomic Energy Agency and won the Nobel Peace Prize, is the leader of the opposition. A secular figure.

A man, not a religion.

Still, we hear about religion, poking at our fears about holy wars where our buildings come tumbling down.

Why? What is the President trying to convey? We've supported a non-democracy for over 30 years. Are we the least bit ashamed of that? Or was the peace in the region worth the trade?

A few million people in Cairo would disagree.

And yet, it is the disturbing instability of the entire region that must give us all pause. Far deeper than pro-democracy, anti-dictatorship, pro-Muslim, anti-American... this is a conflict that goes back to the birth of mankind. Whether or not American becomes involved any deeper than it is, is not the point.

The way it is being presented to us? Please. Listen carefully. There is a message in there I think we all should fear. Not about Egyptians, or Muslims or who is right or wrong... but the way we are being tugged into this issue.

Like I said, I'm nervous. Very nervous.

Perfect Parents

2011-01-28T17:44:00.003-05:00

I am not a perfect parent. Nor am I a perfect person. I know that. I try my best, sometimes I do a good job, sometimes great, sometimes, whooooa nelly, was I wrong.

Judging other people's parenting? Not unless it's extreme.

My son- my gay son- has a friend whose parents will not let him hang around him. Why? Because he's gay. And their son? Is gay. They may not like it, they may not want to accept it, but it's the way it is.

I understand they may struggle with it. I understand it's not easy. I ask my other two boys, Are you sure you're not gay? They say, Sorry, Mom.

Sigh. Okay, I still love you.

Today I found out they don't like a mutual friend the kids have. A lovely young woman who has a single mom. Being a single parent isn't easy- being a parent in a marriage isn't easy. Parenting isn't easy.

They feel this young woman has "too much freedom."

My question is, have you talked to her? Spent any time with her? Because she's a pretty great kid.

Some kids have a lot more freedom than my kids do. If you asked my kids, they'd say they have no freedom at all, I'm overprotective and incredibly strict. My rules are different than other parents. My sister in law let her kids watch movies at 5 years old that stunned me.

She has great kids.

Would it have been my choice? Nope. Bottom line? Are the kids good kids? No question. I adore them all. I adore her. She's a fabulous, strong role model for her kids.

We parent very differently.

When I heard about these parents "dislike" of this young woman, I got mad. They are wealthy, have been able to pay for round the clock nannies, and have never had to worry about where the next mortgage payment would come from.

I know I have tremendous privilege. I have been able to stay at home with my kids for years. Not everyone can. Few people can.

I know I'm not perfect. Do they?

Winter Blues

2011-01-25T14:21:00.004-05:00

I cannot believe how horrible this winter has been and it's not even February yet.

Currently, there are two plumbers in my basement fixing my furnace which of course died during the coldest day of the last four years.

Nice.

They have been down there for several hours. I believe one of the boys best get a college scholarship because it's going to cost at least a years worth of tuition. I finally poked my head down there and said, GUYS! You're making me nervous.

Almost done...

That was a half hour ago.

Ugh.

Tomorrow? Another foot of snow. I'm sure all the schools, except where I teach, will be closed. The train will run slow or late or not at all. My students will straggle in late. Wet. Miserable.

Meanwhile, life still goes on. Kids to lessons, appointments. Good thing I have the monkey-mobile. My sister left me her car- it's a giant, ridiculous, Escalade. And it has two giant, ridiculous monkeys in pink tutus on the side.

No, seriously.

It was the name of her business. Four Monkeys. Don't get me started. Not only do we only have one car, we have a hybrid. The two cars in the driveway makes us look very confused.

Yes, I will sell it. No, I can't yet.

The reality is... it's been nice to have something that can get through the snow. I said it. My sister is laughing.

Still going to sell it. It's giant and ridiculous.

Plumbers still working. Maybe two kids are going to need a scholarship...

Power in Beauty

2011-01-21T12:12:00.004-05:00

A friend of mine told me the other day how a date asked her when she knew she was beautiful.

Nice come on line, I replied. Did you have an answer? She did. She remembered when she did feel beautiful, a few years into what was a long term relationship. It took time, trust and confidence.

I wondered about the question. My answer would be, Um, as soon as you tell me, sweetheart. Okay, I may be a little out of practice with come back lines after 20 years of marriage.

I don't feel beautiful. I never have. Now, before you all start saying beauty is in your heart and all those nice things, the reality is I am not traditionally beautiful as a woman. I'm tall, broad shouldered, and have a more masculine appearance. You could say I'm handsome and I'd believe you.

While I was sitting having lunch in a small cafe today between classes, I heard some comments from the two guys sitting next to me that stung.

It always stings. I try to have thick skin, to realize some people are simply stupid, but it always gets to me.

It's snowing like crazy. I'm in jeans, a sweater, and muck boots (which probably won't come off till April this year). It's New England, it's winter and I'm thinking stilettos aren't the best choice with a foot of snow on the ground.

They started, loudly, talking about "shemales" and how they wished people would dress right.

The implication was that my gender was their business. It wasn't. I'm having lunch. Does it matter if I have breasts or a penis? One more comment and I was going to dump my soup in their laps.

It hurts. Do you have to make fun of me? Because, I was pretty much the only other person there aside from an elderly woman and two young lovers who were holding hands and kissing between every bite.

I glared at them and they snickered and went back to talking about football. I wish it wasn't quite that stereotypical but it was what it was.

The reason I can't answer the question about when I felt beautiful is because I don't fit. I was still raised as a girl, with little girl expectations of beauty. My mother would put books on my head and teach me to walk with good posture- she never did that with my brother. When it came time to wear makeup, she tried to give me lessons. I remember I was working at Burger King after school and the heat of the grease and makeup were not going to work well together.

I passed.

While I identified as a boy in so many ways, I was still a girl. Society ingrained certain expectations, even in me. I rebelled against them. If my mother said, Oh that's pretty, I'd put it back on the rack. I didn't want to be pretty.

But I did want to be beautiful. Pretty felt weak but beautiful meant power.

That is what it all boils down to, I realize. Power. Those two white guys felt they had every right to snicker away. To make me uncomfortable, to make a judgment and deem their worldview not only acceptable, but worthy of announcing.

Although I doubt they thought that deep. You have to wonder, though, what inspires people to be randomly mean.

All I know is I'm jealous of my friend's response, her real belief that she is beautiful (she is, by the way. no question). There is not only a level of self esteem but a sense of power I wish I had.

Maybe then it wouldn't sting.

Arizona Shooting: Bitter Rhetoric Needs to End

2011-01-10T08:03:00.003-05:00

At the end of the day on Saturday, after the memorial was done, a few of us were sitting around, laughing, talking. I don't know who heard the news or how, but suddenly there was an iPad running a report about a shooting...

What?

I couldn't quite understand what I was hearing. A US Representative from Arizona was shot in the head? A judge and little girl were dead? More? How many dead? One, maybe two people involved...

What?

Another young white man armed and dangerous. I thought about Tim McVeigh. Columbine. Waco.

Was he part of a group? Do we have more to fear?

I didn't need to know if it was a liberal or right wing group- my mind was clear about that whether or not I was right or wrong- I wanted to know if there was more to come.

Representative Giffords was shot because of what she believed. The people around her were shot, and killed, because of what Giffords believed.

I've received threats and nasty notes because of what I believe. Nothing I've ever taken seriously. Nut jobs. Whatever, in the famous words of my teenage son. Now? I have to wonder...am I putting my kids in danger?

Let's be clear about one thing- right wing, left wing, this man is a terrorist. He used violence as a way to create fear. Being white, with an anglo sounding name, he was not labeled as such for quite a while.

Don't retreat, reload, says Sarah Palin.

As we head into what could be one of the most contentious political elections in our history, I hope the one thing we learn from this event is that our political discourse must change. We have to be able to think, debate and discuss without taunts or violent innuendo. Both sides are guilty of that.

I have been guilty of that.

In 1968, Memphis Sanitation workers went on strike, carrying signs that simply said, "I am a Man." It was a simple statement of dignity that demanded respect. It didn't say, You are an ignorant bigot. Stop being a racist jerk. Instead, the message was clear, powerful.

We need to return to those kind of messages, packed with emotion, without pointing a finger at someone else.

In the coming days, the debate will rage about who is responsible for this shooter's state of mind. Ultimately, he was responsible for himself. He is the one with blood on his hands.

The rest of us, right or left, need to acknowledge that it's time to change our messages. We are all responsible for the bitter rhetoric that has become commonplace in our country.

It's time for change.

My Sister's Memorial

2011-01-08T21:59:00.002-05:00

Jake played harp. Flawless. Zachary read a piece he wrote about her as an aunt. Stunning. Ben put together photos. Beautiful.

I sobbed through most of my speech.

My friend who ran the service... amazing. She talked about how it was the darkest day of the year, for the last 200 years (solstice with an eclipse). She talked about how she saw the love between sisters, with illness, and how hard it was.

Walter and Allan both spoke. Both with deep love.

Friends did readings.

The songs, sung with beauty, left me crying. I'll Fly Away and Down to the River to Pray.

People who were here, who didn't know her, said they felt like she was there, in a moment. They felt like they knew her.
I have to say, I didn't feel like she was here. I feel like she's gone. really gone.

Ben cried. I mean, sobbed in my arms at the end, for a long time. It was my tears that let him let go. My sorrow let it in. I saw that. I held him and held him and finally, he pulled away. I gave him a tissue and he threw it on the ground.

You've used that!

Then... my honorary daughter came up to him and held him. And the two of them cried.

I cannot explain how much that meant to me.

Tonight? Jake's best friend is here sleeping over. Zachary's best friend? has been here since yesterday at 3pm. He helped us set up, clean up, and hugged me so tight I thought he was going to break my rib. He's here again, too. Jeanine's uncle and aunt and cousin with family all came from iowa. Her mom, her sister, too.

The cats are finally out of the locked room. During the ceremony? My dog sat at my feet, as always. People snapped their fingers, trying to coax her away, but she didn't move.

Cathy's oncologist, who I invited, came by at the very end, after most people had left. She said, I had to tell you, the autopsy results were in. The cancer was aggressively in my sister's liver. They never understood the whole picture, she said. Stem cell... maybe it would have worked. Probably not. She said, you did the right thing. There was no hope. she said, I know Cathy wanted anything if there was hope. There wasn't any.

You did the right thing.

What a gift.

What an amazing gift.

This is what I said today:

My sister. Or, as Zachary pointed out, my seester.

I cannot believe she’s gone. After removing her from life support, I sat with her, and expected at any moment she would sit up and crack a joke. It was impossibly hard to whisper to her to let go.

I didn’t want her to let go. She was my big sister. A protector when I was scared as a little girl of our parents fighting, she would let me crawl into her bed and talked to me about anything and everything to drown out the loud voices.

And I was her protector when she was scared and sick in Savannah. I went down and brought her to a safe place. It was the first time in my sister’s life that the world around her wasn’t toxic. She was loved for who she was, not what she could give.

It was the way we were with each other. Always there to take care of, to hold, to love. We lived very different lives, but there was an unbreakable bond between the two of us. We made it through so much together. There were those who tried to pull us apart- but no one ever could.

We were seesters.

She was a wonderful aunt to my boys. Of course, she drove me nuts with all the inappropriate humor and gifts that I specifically told her not to buy. She would say, uh huh, and on Christmas day, the boys would be ecstatic, and I’d be shaking my head.

In this last year, the boys were a gift to her. She loved having them for sleepovers, and they loved going, as Aunt Cathy always had chocolate, chocolate and then, a little more chocolate. The time she spent with them, gave her incredible joy. She marveled at who each were becoming, and would tell me over and over, how much she loved them. How blessed she felt being their aunt.

My sister and I had a lot of adventures, most of which my kids will have to be 25 to hear. The one constant, through it all, was laughter. We always found a way to laugh at every situation. It was much easier to laugh because we knew if we started crying, we may never stop.

She told me, over and over, to let it go. Let it all go. I told her over and over she couldn’t run away. We knew the other was right.

In the end, she went home. After years of cross country travel, chasing men and their dreams, multiple houses, she finally went home. She stopped running.

I love you my seester. I miss you so much.

I promise to let go of all the bad. All the pain.

But I will never let go of you.

Happy New Year, 2011

2011-01-01T17:02:00.002-05:00

A couple of thoughts as I go into the new year...

The second to last conversation I had with my sister, she said to me, live like tomorrow isn't coming. You never know. It's true, and for her, very true. Yes, she was sick, but what hit her was astoundingly bad.

If you tell your kids it's time to clean? Whatever fighting or yelling had been happening stops. They scatter. Fast.

I am way more capable than I pretend to be. I actually know my way around a computer, can find my way around on the subway, and am able to lift heavy things. I'm getting a little tired of being pegged as someone who cannot (although I have certainly fostered such thoughts.).

The next time they say Snookie is dropping from in a ball? It better be six stories instead of six inches. What a disappointment.

New Years Eve is highly overrated. I will never, ever experience the crunch of Times Square and I feel pretty good about that.

I am starting to come to grips with the fact that I'm an orphan. Sure, I have some family alive but not any I'd ever talk to again. My sister was it. It's over. I finally understand, although not yet deeply, a friend of mine who has been alone in the world for some time.

My wife's family is beyond fabulous. Some are coming to my sister's memorial. Yes, there will be a tequila toast. Odd to write this after saying I have no family- I do have family. But I don't. Both are true.

Everyone- if you love whoever you are going to leave all your worldly goods to? Get organized. I've only shaved off a teeny tiny bit of the iceberg and I'm overwhelmed. Paper bags are not the best filing cabinets. I'm not complaining just... overwhelmed.

Don't ever forget to say I love you at the end of a phone call. Always. Even if you're pissed.

And now I'm going to get ready for dinner. A couple friends are coming over. I'm not quite up to it but it's time to shake the cobwebs and get back to life again.

Happy new year. It's gotta get better, right?

Jake

2010-12-30T09:06:00.004-05:00

Jake asked to be tucked in last night. He doesn't ask to be tucked in anymore. Jeanine went in and then I went in a little later.

What's up?

Nothin', his legs twitched.

You thinking about Aunt Cathy?

Yeah.

He stayed quiet a long time. I rubbed his back. Waited.

I'm trying to remember her happy. Like this summer.

She was happy this summer, I said.

He was quiet again. I stayed and rubbed his back for a long time. He fell asleep finally. I sat and watched him breathe. Still so little.

Grief shatters and first you pick up the big pieces. Then you sweep up the fine dust, seemingly small, surprised by how easily you still bleed.

Airbags Equal Death

2010-12-28T15:02:00.002-05:00

I'm in Ogunquit, now. I needed some alone time, where I could close my eyes and let my mind race to wherever it wanted to. It's freezing up here and I moved the overstuffed chair and stool right next to the fire.

My jeans are hot, as if just ironed, right on that edge of too hot. Perfect.

I'm writing my sister's memorial. We are going to have some kind of service, somewhere on the 8th. I know it's the 8th. But that's it so far.

I keep thinking of different stories to tell. Each snippet is a piece of her, a demonstration of who she was. One story, sticks out to me today. Made me laugh again.

It was sometime in the late 80's, just after airbags were required in all cars. My sister and I got into her new, toyota mini truck, and I noticed the steering wheel was tipped up as far as it could go, an odd mix of a bus style wheel in this little truck.

"Why do you have the wheel like that?" I asked. I asked because, I knew what the answer was.

"Oh, there are so many deaths due to airbags going off the wrong way, breaking people's ribs, crushing lungs, or both... no way I'm having that sucker go off in my stomach." She said what I suspected. It was the rage in the tabloid media at the time.

"Um..." I leaned over and pointed out the trajectory of the airbag now, planting my finger in the middle of her forehead. "Better it blow your head off?"

Her chin dropped. She clicked the wheel down to a normal position before turning to me and saying loudly in a goofy voice, "DUHHHHHH."

That was my sister. Afraid of disease, airborne pest bites (flies, mosquitoes, gnats, hornets, bees, killer bees) which would bring on ever worse disease, elevators, airplanes, bridges, heights, tornadoes, earthquakes, hurricanes, other drivers (as she couldn't possible cause an accident), anything and everything, always to the extreme.

Now, you may think I'm picking on my sister and I am. If she were here, sitting with me? She'd add a few more that I had forgotten, even more extreme, and be laughing. She knew she was afraid of death. She knew her fears sometime won and sometime? The free trip to Florida on the airplane was doable after all. Not easy- but doable.

I know it was her needing to be seen. Heard. Taken care of. She'd say no way, not getting on a plane. And I would coax her, and promise to sit with her- we all would. She would fill up on the attention and do it, facing a real fear but not quite as paralyzing as she described it to be.

Seeing the wheel tilted up, I knew. Part of me knew it was a chance to point out the hilarious obvious she missed, beat her to the first playful poke. Part of me, always a little sad. From time to time, I'd ask her, seriously, Why? Why are you so afraid all the time? And she'd shrug and say she didn't know but it wasn't easy. She tried to rid herself of them but one would shift into another.

She tried desperately to keep the scared, little girl quiet, resulting in her becoming that scared, little girl.

The story tells how while she was the big sister? I was the big sister. Except when she sat on me, then I was the flat sister.

See, I have to make you laugh because she would have wanted everyone to laugh, too.

And then she would point out that airbags really are dangerous...

Ah, one of many moments I have going through my head today.

Dear Cathy

2010-12-26T17:55:00.003-05:00

Dear Cathy,

I've spent the last few days in complete shock that you are gone. What is up with that? I knew you were sick, but this dying thing was a little too extreme. And after all the years that I sat and listened to your fears of some horrible thing that would happen to you- a elevator crash, plane crash, airbag explosion, SARS, Swine, anthrax... let's face it, pretty much everything in the world you thought would kill you.

Now you are dead. I guess I was wrong. Not about the elevators, though. C'mon. That was nuts.

I want to call you. I want to talk to you about all the shit that's been thrown in my face since you died. How you said I was horrible to you. Really? I know better and so did you. Why? Why did you say those things? So our brother would take you in? He would have taken you in no matter what. Sure, he hates me. But you didn't have to go there to be accepted.

I get telling your lawyer I was holding out- any time you could wrangle a few extra bucks out of your trust, you did. Whatever it took. But I would have helped you craft the letters. Always did before.

I was there, Cathy. This summer? You said to me you wanted me to treat you like I would want to be treated. I said then, that's the problem! I like to be left alone. I like my alone time, privacy and rarely want anyone to do anything for me. You were the opposite. We worked that out- you could have yelled at me again. We would have worked it out again, as we did so many times over the years.

I found some of your writing today. You wrote, "for all the dreaming that my family were dead and all was mine, I missed them. I really missed them. But I never felt that way about my sister. She was always there for me. We had our fights and disagreements. But we were always there to help, to hold, whatever was needed."

Yeah, Cathy. We were that to each other. I knew all the men, the pain, the user friends. Why at the end did you shut me out? Did you think I would be mad?

I wasn't. I could never stay made at you. I could never say no.

I did what I could. Offered to buy you the house behind us only to have you say you didn't like how it smelled. Offered to hire help only to have you say you didn't like strangers. Whatever I offered, wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to be cared for 24/7. And I have three kids, and yes, you knew the kids would always always come first. Always.

All the people who called you here, offered to take you out to dinner, to come visit and you always said no. My friends cared about you. They wanted to spend time with you.

You made people laugh. It was a gift. But you wouldn't take it in- why? Why did you choose isolation? Sure, the house behind us was old and overpriced but you would have been steps away.

I know. You wanted care all the time. Even if you lived with me? I had a job, the kids went to school, there were hours of driving each day, school events, practices, appointments... my life is busy. I've worked hard to create a community. I love busy.

It wasn't black or white. It was all a murky gray. I know I didn't do what you needed me to. I tried. I know you eyed something that was better for you and headed to it.

I supported you, Cathy. I knew. I knew it was for the best. I also knew it wouldn't be perfect, and you started complaining after being there a week. I told you to chill out. They were adjusting. Even though we had our moments? As you wrote, we were always there to help, to hold. We always talked to each other. All the time.

Remember how pissed that made Mom? Ha! She took a lot from us but couldn't take that away.

Remember when you called me last year, scared, sick, in Savannah? I came down on the first plane, Cathy. I kept coming down until I convinced you to come back with me. We sat there for ten days and grieved your beautiful home, what you wanted for so long.

I went to every doctor's appointment until you didn't want me to anymore. I know. I was always freakishly optimistic. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you. All those trips to the emergency room and how we laughed... oh my. You'd tell me you were fine and I knew you weren't. I'd have to drag you down there.

We'd make lists of things you wanted to do before you died. We'd talk about how you wanted to find true love. We'd talk about the jerk moaning in the room next door and could we get some drugs to shut him the fuck up?

I'm sorry I didn't hold you enough. I'm sorry you felt you needed to push me away to go to the next place. I knew Boston wasn't your home. It's mine. And just as we were so different- hello? pork rinds? really? ew. Okay, I'll eat half a bag but ew. No, I will not buy Riunite and add a sugar cube to it- I believe that will land me in hell. I'm sorry I could not find stevia in the raw. Are you kidding me? a sponge for the counters and a sponge for dishes? You lived with cat piss all over your house for years and you're worried about sponges?

Ah... my seester. You really are a big shit. And yes, I am a little shit.

I miss you.

I love you.

I want to call you. Why are you gone? Please come back. I gotta tell you about Ben and his bronzer, Jake asking to shave and Zachary's, aka Sully, fit about having his picture taken. How Calvin, the kitten I got for you as you said you needed to hold a kitten one more time, was licking the shrimp I left unattended for thirty seconds.

I want to tell you how Zachary holds the cow pillow every night to his chest and Jake has been over to see the motorcycle. Hello? a motorcycle for a ten year old? Good thing you're dead or I'd kill you. Ben? Well, he keeps hugging me a lot.

Just came in and gave me another.

I miss you. I sat in that hospital with you and watched you breathe, waiting for you to sit up and tell a joke. To make a silly face or use one of your goofy voices. Come back. We aren't done, yet. No where close.

I love you. I know it was the last thing we said to each other. As we always did. I love you my seester. I love you, too my seester. Talk to you tomorrow.

It's tomorrow, Cathy. You're not here.

Oh my seester. My most wonderful seester. (You say, you are my favorite seester. I say, I am your ONLY seester. You say, aren't you lucky!)

I miss you.

My Seester, Again

2010-12-23T22:19:00.004-05:00

I was telling stories tonight.

I do love to tell stories.

For the last thirty years, my sister has made me laugh. All the things we shared, over time, if they were piled up, they'd reach the top of the World Trade Center towers.

Ah, but they are gone, too.

When I was little, before my parents divorced, I would sneak into her bed. My parents would be fighting, horrible fights, and I'd crawl into her bed. She would talk to me about... anything and everything. The dishes would break downstairs, my mother yelling (my father never raised his voice), and she would talk to me.

A few years later, after my parents divorced, on Christmas Eve, I swore I heard the piano playing. I scampered into my sister's room. She told me it was the Madonna. A ceramic statue a good friend of my mother had made. I was terrified and stayed glued to her for the rest of the night.

In reality, it was probably the cat walking across the piano keys. They all teased me for years about my fear and my absolute belief in my sister's word that it was the Madonna. My mother, in good humor, gave me the statue. I still have it. And every Christmas Eve, I wait to hear it play the piano.

Thanks to my sister, I actually have a piano. She was waiting for the Madonna to strike this year.

As we grew older, there was a real tension in my family. My sister was toxic. My mother hated her, always upset with her, and to be close was a big giant naughty.

The final fight they had, when she kicked my sister out of the house at 17 years old, I remember wishing she would go. I had enough of the constant battle. I watched my mother rip a shirt off her because it was "inappropriate," a hippy, thin, embroidered shirt. They fought all the time. I wanted my sister gone.

And then she was. I have always felt terrible for that.

Of course, as soon as my sister left, I ran after her. She moved in with my father and insisted he move to Fairport. They had a half a house, by the brick oven pizza place. I would go over and smoke cigarettes with my friends. Oh, we could be bad there. She was the coolest older sister on the face of the earth.

I looked up to her.

My mother hated that.

Cathy never went to college. She went to hair cutting school- hated it. Worked at an answering service- hated it. Went to real estate school- loved it until it required actual work. She worked at the Parks department for a while, hated it, and then she caught the entrepreneurial bug. There was a second hand clothes store. There was a spa. There was a Harley Davidson shop. There was a tee shirt printing business.

And about a thousand other ideas that went through her head.

Over the years, I probably read about 15 different business plans. I listened to many more ideas but actual plans? 15. Maybe 20.

She wanted a million dollars and she wanted it easy.

I was always there to listen.

When I was in college, she came to visit me once. After a day, she got so sick from her anxiety, she had to leave. I was only four hours from our home, but she couldn't take it.

It was, I knew, just the way my sister was. Still, I looked up to her. She was the ultimate bad girl.

She lived with a pair of strippers. No, really, she did. I remember going to her house and her saying they were "dancers." My mother called them prostitutes. I guess they were something bad, because I loved going over. The women were nice to me- I was the little sister. Homely, totally butch, I was enthralled with their ... um... confidence.

And there was my sister, completely overweight, with her frizzy 1970's hair and pink rimmed glasses. Still the coolest in my book.

One Christmas eve, when I was in college, we both decided to drink stingers. Stingers are brandy and creme de menthe. Probably the most disgusting drink ever invented. We got hammered. My mother was so pissed. It was her job to get hammered and there was my sister and I, laughing, being bad.

It was so much fun.

She had many boyfriends over the years, all pretty nasty. One she married. I remember my mother buying me a dress and shoes for the wedding. Yes, I wore a dress to my sister's wedding. We laughed about that, too.

She only stayed married a few years. The guy was a jerk, and after he spent one too many nights at the strip club, she left him. We talked and talked and talked on the phone. Men came and went but I was always there, always.

Eventually, she became addicted to a new form of communication. It was AOL. Online, we would chat for hours. She met a new guy, after the one who burned his penis on the grill, who promised her adventure.

Oh, my sister was ready for adventure.

They traveled the country, and ended up in Tombstone Arizona. She suddenly loved motorcycles, because he did. She opened a Harley shop in Tombstone, the Hawg Corral. It didn't work out, nor did the guy. He ended up arrested for being involved in a child pornography ring. She swore she never knew what he was doing.

I believed her. I always did.

Different men, different times, would introduce her to something new, and something she was completely in love with. She wanted to be loved so desperately. She was obese and thought she had to give herself away to be loved.

But I loved her.

My mother hated how much we were attached to each other. Once, a friend of my mother asked how often we talked- we didn't want to admit it was almost daily. We weren't suppose to do that.

We did, though. Always laughing. Always dreaming.

I can't believe she's gone.

One minute, she was here, getting ready to do a stem cell transplant. The next? She moved to Rochester. There, they weren't sure it was the right thing to do. Understandably, they wanted to do more tests. She was a curious case, with a difficult diagnosis.

Sicker and sicker, she was relieved she didn't have to start chemo right away. But her body betrayed her, festering a horrible infection. She became septic, and lost her mind. When they finally went in for an emergency surgery on Saturday night, they found the flesh eating bacteria all over her body. They removed as much as they could. She never woke up from that surgery.

There has been some debate about whether or not I took good enough care of her. Maybe I didn't. Maybe I did. The reality is, when she left for Rochester? I knew she was going to die. I knew I had to let go.

We removed her from the life support on Monday. She died peacefully on Tuesday. When no one was in the room, I told her stories. I relived all the times we had together. I told her to let go. She had been through enough pain.

Some say I wasn't there for my sister. I will admit I took care of my kids first. I did.

But I loved my sister. And she loved me. No one can ever take that away.

I can't believe she's gone.

My Seester

2010-12-21T13:17:00.002-05:00

My sister, my most wonderful seester, who I loved so much, died this morning at 10:30am, with me holding one hand, stroking her head, and my sister in law holding her other.

It's a long story, as everything with my sister always was. I am exhausted an cannot tell it now.

Just know, because it makes my heart calm, that she was not alone.

Transphobia

2010-12-09T12:35:00.000-05:00

This is for the lesbian, gays and bisexuals. Watch and learn.

Simplicity

2010-12-05T10:27:00.003-05:00

Simple. It's the mantra running through my head. Over and over. All I want is simple. A clean house, fewer things, fewer responsibilities. To turn the focus to relationships instead of the pile of bills on my desk.

My sister, the queen of stuff, has been getting rid of things left and right. Donating, tossing, whatever it takes to get rid of the truckloads of things she's gathered in her lifetime. Mind you, my sister at one point could have been on the television program about hoarders.

Easily. Now, not much remains of the former empire of gadgets, knick-knacks, and my personal favorite, some-day-I-will-fix-its.

I always feel this way when I'm in Downeast. I love the rhythm and quiet of no stuff. The shelves are lined with books. There is just enough kitchen gear to be able to cook most things. People laugh at me when I say I want to try and live an entire year there, to write about going back to another century.

I'm quite serious. I wouldn't do that to my kids. Unfortunately, the book has been written. "Drinking the Rain," by Alix Shulman. Fabulous book.

And it would get a tad cold in the winter.

Simple. While I was in Lisbon, the word kept bouncing around my psyche. Streets used for centuries upon centuries, a winding catacomb of houses and alleys still used a thousand years after being built.

A thousand years.

People make due with fewer choices of products, foodstuffs, clothes... it is what it is.

The Christmas commercial season ringing out calls for credit cards, glittering gift wraps and piles of packages. Makes me more than a little nutty on a good day, without this need to simplify.

I'm jealous of my sister's ability to shed a layer of unnecessary weight. For me, perhaps I need to focus on the emotional side of simplicity. Maybe this year of illness and death, of sadness and worry, has been a signpost for me. I could keep spinning in despair or I could choose a different direction.

Maybe I do have the ability, as my sister does. Just looks a little different.

Christmas List

2010-12-02T08:11:00.003-05:00

My kids keep asking me what I want for Christmas. Over and over. So... here's my list:

I want peace and quiet for a day. No fighting, no wrestling, no sassy back talk. A mother's dream. I'm not looking for peace on earth, I know that's too much to ask for, but a single day. In my house.

I want a gas mask to get through the high cologne days in the car when I can't open the window all the way.

I want Obama to bring the troops home. Now. Not in 2014, which is the new date quietly being discussed by the administration.

I want my house clean. No clutter anywhere, everything neatly put away, and someone else to clean the kitty litter once in a while. Okay, maybe just once would be nice.

I want someone else to clean my office, file all the paperwork, and pay all the bills.

I want my wife to adore me again instead of boss me around.

I want Ben and Jeanine to stop fighting all the time about everything and anything.

I want the end of Don't Ask, Don't Tell so we can focus on ending the wars.

I want someone to send me flowers for no reason at all except that they were thinking of me.

I want James Dobson to have a vision of hell and realize it's filled with people like him- not the gays.

I want my good friend to find a woman who is loving, kind and sweet. Someone who can take care of her, love her, because she deserves a break.

I want my sister to wake up and say, damn. I feel good today.

I want all politicians to have an electric collar that zaps them when they lie.

I want all babies to come home from the hospital with a warning tag: Will turn into adolescent.

I want my mother's voice in my head to take a nap, giving me a break from the constant yammering about how horrible I am.

I want another good friend to land the perfect job, one that feels great, pays great, and gives her the kudos she deserves.

Overall? I want to smile more, laugh more, kiss more, hug more, dance more, sing more. All things I realize it's up to me to give to myself.

Or a coffee mug I can take on the T with me in the morning. I'm really not that hard to shop for...

Enough Already

2010-12-01T19:00:00.002-05:00

I keep thinking about when I was first writing this blog and Walter said to me, Angela's Ashes, Sara. Let a baby live for once.

It was too bleak. I guess that is why I haven't written much lately. That and my class reads my blog. Holy shit, I can't screw up, use profanity, or blow my fucking grammar.

Oh well.

Tonight, I looked at my family and thought, we need to have some fun. Any kind of fun. Silly charades at the end of dinner or telephone at the table (which always ends with poop and pee- no matter what you started with). Something. Anything.

Enough already.

I want to go out on jet skis again with my kids. Or ride a zip line. Or just sit around a dinner table and laugh. I'm tired of being sad or worried. I want to soak up the sun.

The one saving grace for me this fall has been my class. They make me laugh, they make me go off tangent about Sarah Palin (although that did cost them an assignment), and they write beautiful pieces from their hearts. I love teaching. It keeps me from sitting in a constant state of angst.

My minions I call them- not out loud, mind you, but in my head. Will my minions get the assignment done? What shall I do if they haven't? I should buy them all a yellow shirt at the end of class.

They have given me so much. I am honored to have a chance to help them in any way. Pop culture reference, which will date my piece: I am not worthy. Yes, I am a teacher now.

With lousy grammar. Shhh. Don't tell my boss.

Now? It's time for some fun. We need to go somewhere over Christmas. My personal hardest time of the year, I want to be where it's warm, sunny and there is an ocean. I want stupid tropical drinks with umbrellas for lunch. I want to feel sand between my toes. I want to see beautiful things, hike or swim or snorkel to amazing places.

And I thought of my friend Nancy. See, when she wrote her letter, she was in Quito on her way to the Galapagos Islands.

Ah ha.

Passports up to date, plane fares cheap, the dollar at a great rate in Ecuador.

Okay, Nancy. I hear you. It's time for some fun.

Stay tuned.

Gone to Rochester

2010-11-29T20:28:00.003-05:00

My sister left today. Gone back to Rochester. She believes the treatment will be good, but more important, the home care better.

It's true. I have three kids. A job. I cannot take care of her 24/7.

It has been a long year and a half. Going to Savannah, getting rid of the puppy killer, bringing her back here, getting her surgery... I read what I wrote back then and I'm shocked.

She needs a stem cell transplant. This will require many months of intense chemo to kill off all her cells. Then infuse her with new, donor cells. It is tricky but if it works? She'll be cured.

Yes, it could kill her, too.

It's hard. It's a hard day around here. I know she's where she wants to be.

And I miss her.

Nancy, Again

2010-11-24T14:12:00.004-05:00

A few years ago, while cleaning out my desk, I found a letter from my friend Nancy. I wrote about it then- it was clear sign from her. Yesterday? I found another note while preparing for my class. I don't much believe in spirit guides but what little I might? Mine would be Nancy.

She was funny, and kind. Her life goal was to be creative, and loving with her children. She poured her soul into them, and their world. She would tell me, as her children had grown into fine young men, of the little things she would do with them. Christmas was never about gifts but a pageant. They would sing songs, act out scenes from plays, dance- for each other.

What a priceless gift.

She, with the kids, would take out a map of the US and randomly choose a place. They would then plan their driving route, all the places they would go through, and learn about the towns, the history, any significant things that happened in those places.

And then they went.

She was always giving me ideas- a puppet show she saw advertised done by a troupe she knew was good, or my favorite, writing a birthday letter to the boys each year, to be given to them when they turn 18.

Shh. Doing that one.

She always smiled. She always had a look of mischief in her eyes. She wasn't afraid of her cancer, or the treatment. Only of leaving her boys behind.

She was not quite a mother to me, more of an older sister. She needed me, too- it wasn't one way. I remember reading that very book I pulled off the shelf yesterday to her while getting her chemo treatment.

In her note, she reminded me to "never pay more than the price of admission." It was her life lesson. She always felt so unworthy, the only way she ever felt okay was to go way over and above. Not at the end, though. She tossed a cheating husband out the door, shaved her head and learned how to ride horses.

She is never very far away for me. Random things will remind me of her and, clearly, every few years I find a very real piece of her.

I don't always do the right things, I don't always do my very best. Often, I feel the only way to make up for my shortcomings is to give and give and give. Nancy is shaking her head, No, Sara. No.

Her note ended, "Wish you were here to enjoy it with me. I love you Sara."

I am here to enjoy it, Nancy. I love you, too.

I hear you.

Again.

Death and Sunsets

2010-11-11T19:39:00.003-05:00

Gil died.

Gil was Jeanine's Uncle. Well... more like a brother. By the time he was born, Jeanine's mom was a young bride, no kids, no whipped cream.

After Jeanine's mom married her dad, the whipped cream disappeared from the ice cream he bought her.

Weezie raised Gil. There are pictures of the group of cousins, and he is there. A little boy.

He was only 55. He was so young. And such a good man. Kind. Generous. Thoughtful. He welcomed me and our kids into the family.

I am so sad. Sad for all the losses.

Jake is very sad about Gil. I got a call from the school yesterday that he shared in circle that his uncle was dying and he had so much fun in Indy this summer. Jake cried.

Last night was a glorious sunset. One of those breathtaking, beautiful light, colors... you knew Monet was on the other side of it.

I took him outside and pointed to it. I told him that the colors, the light, that was his Uncle Gil's spirit. His body couldn't go on anymore but he was those colors now. He was in a place of beauty.

No more pain, just light.

Ok, I might have given him a fear of sunsets- there are dead people in them! But I wanted him to know there was joy at the end.

All I could do.

Gil died. Yesterday, before he passed, he asked for his Hawkeye tickets. A football fan till the very end. Please... watch the game tonight for Gil.

And always cheer for the Hawkweyes.

Two More

2010-10-05T12:09:00.001-04:00

http://www.thestar.com/news/article/870124--family-led-search-party-finds-bodies-of-missing-women-in-orangeville?bn=1

Sarah Silverman- To the Point

2010-10-05T07:26:00.000-04:00

Suicides: Words Can Kill

2010-10-04T11:32:00.005-04:00

A rash of suicides last week and I am at a loss as to what to say. No words can console the people who lost their loved ones. It seems no words will wake up the world to the pain of bullying.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.

One of the most false rhymes of all time. Words can actually kill. Words can dig deep into your heart and shred the walls. Negative images pile up and become loud voices in your head. Queer. Faggot. Dyke. Lezzy.

I thought if I sat with this for a few days I would have something powerful to say. I don't. I'm angry and frustrated. Not to mentioned panicked- please no more. Please. It can't be an option. You are all too young for it to be the only way.

After Asher Brown's suicide, I asked my son what he thought. He's almost fifteen and openly gay at school.

What do you expect in Texas? he said.

Carl Walker Hoover, I said back to him. Hoover was a student in Springfield, Massachusetts. I had gone to the funeral and talked to the kids extensively about it.

He shrugged.

No mainstream media carried the news of Brown's suicide. Another, Seth Walsh, died of his wounds from a suicide attempt. Still nothing. Not until the flashy angle of cyber-bullying involved in Tyler Clementi's death did the news get carried across the country.

Do we simply expect LGBT kids to kill themselves?

It's more than bullying. Kids who feel insecure will always pick on other kids. It is the dual message being sent out. "Christian" adults feel absolutely comfortable standing on a street corner with a sign saying "God Hates Fags." No one bats an eye.

If they had a sign saying "God Hates Niggers" or "God hates Spics" or some racial slur, would they be left alone to continue their vigils or would a sea of folks come out to rally against such hateful language?

There was a plea sent out to youth, by many different prominent voices, saying it'll be okay, you'll make it through. What feels unbearable today will change. All true. It will change. You will find safe spaces, learn to love yourself for who you are, and see the hatefulness as a sign of the other person's weakness- not yours.

It's not enough. When my son first came out to me, I said, if anyone gives you shit? Tell me. I will take care of it.

He knew I would. In all honesty, I think half his friends are scared to death of me as it is. They wouldn't dare.

My son has gay parents, a large, loving extended family, and is in a private school where the classrooms are small enough nothing gets by the teachers. He is incredibly fortunate.

Most LGBT kids are left on their own to struggle with their identity and the overwhelming negativity in the mainstream culture. Some can hide- some can't. Some kids who aren't even gay get harassed and bullied horribly because they don't fit into a stereotypical gender presentation.

Do we not have enough data to show being gay is a completely normal part of the continuum of human sexuality? Can we stop arguing about "turning kids gay" and start working towards acceptance and creating safe spaces? Lives, young lives, are at stake.

I don't know what to do. I feel helpless. It's been 32 years since I came out. Some things have changed dramatically. Some things, clearly have not.

Like the reality that words can kill.

Holy Smokes, She Got a Job

2010-10-02T11:00:00.003-04:00

Looking over my last year of posts, I realize I've been writing about shifting, change, new directions... I had no idea what was going to change or shift but I knew something was clearly on the horizon.

Now I know.

I start teaching a writing class at Berklee College of Music on Monday. Yes, even musicians need to be able to write. Berklee has come a long, long way from a performance only, trade school to a real liberal arts college. I'm honored to be a part of it.

Yesterday, I went to get my ID, my keys, my software training. By the end of the day, I realized this was a perfect fit for me.

I hope it is for Berklee.

I love working with kids. I know, I know, they are young adults but I'm old so I can say kids. My mother called people ten years older than me kids and I realize the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

It really doesn't. See, my mother was a teacher for 25 years. She taught pre-school when it was called nursery school and considered a luxury. She believed kids needed stimulation, engagement, colors, songs, books at three and four years old. She complained as she got older about all the bending over and getting up off the floor but she did love it.

How many people remember their nursery school teachers? I do because... well... it was my mother. In a bizarre set of circumstances, my sister had a paralegal from a Boston firm bring paperwork to her- it was prior to her surgery last fall and she was not well enough to travel. The paralegal looked at her last name and said... are you from Rochester? My sister said yes.

You related to Anne Whitman?

She was my mother.

She was my nursery school teacher. And the young woman beamed and talked lovingly about our mom. My sister smiled politely.

We've learned to do that with people who adored our mother. Truth is, she was an amazing teacher that left a great mark on many young kids. Many.

When I was first approached about the teaching gig, I was certain without a masters degree, I wouldn't have a chance at the position. I also knew I would be great at it. I've been writing since I was 9 years old. When I was 14, I wrote a murder mystery.

Ok, it was only about five pages but that seemed like a full length novel at the time. I remember wanting to get a Sherlock Holmes style pipe to clench in my teeth while I typed.

My mother said no. I settled for a plastic pipe you blew bubbles out of which is why I probably only lasted five pages.

I love to write. And I hate it. Over the years, I've learned much about the process, the craft and what power words can have on an audience. More than that, it's an opportunity to give back and to inspire. My third grade teacher told me I was exceptional, giving me pride, my eleventh grade teacher told me to read more to be even better, giving me a goal, and my writing coach of many years ultimately called me a peer, giving me permission to call myself a writer.

I only wish my mother were still alive to hear the news. After all these years of trying this and that, working for a big corporation, an investment firm, software companies, even the fish market, I believe I've found what will fit.

I know she would be proud.

It is time. I've known it, felt it, been consumed by what it could be, this change. A day before I was called about the job? I sat with a friend and said, teaching. I've thought about a lot of different options, including running for public office, and ultimately? I want something fulfilling that doesn't require me to give away my soul in order to be successful. I wanted to feed it.

Wish me luck.

Somewhere? If there is a somewhere after we die? I know my mother is smiling because this apple? Truly didn't fall too far from the tree.

Election Day

2010-09-14T19:39:00.002-04:00

As I am way too often required to do, I was sitting filling out forms today. Of course, the after school program that Jake goes to had me because today was his first day and if I didn't fill them out by 12:30pm? No after school.

I was there at 12:10pm furiously filling them out.

After school is essential for anyone who works. Elementary School lets out at 3pm, and on Tuesdays? 12:30pm here in Newton. The program Jake goes to is in the school itself and it makes life a whole lot easier.

Poor Kindergarten parents go from full time day care to three half days a week, two full days, but not until October. It's a nightmare. Just when you think someone else is finally in charge of your kid- for free as it's a public school- the reality hones in and you gotta make more plans than you ever imagined. I know. I was working while Jake was in kindergarten.

I was also incredibly lucky to work at a very flexible workplace.

As I sat and filled out my forms, the staff were talking about what to do with the kids today. How about we do something about voting, one twenty something woman said- no, she's new and I do not know her name. Staff at these programs shift so quickly, it's hard to keep up. They are paid almost nothing and given the greatest responsibility- our kids.

That's another rant, not today.

Voting? another twentyish staff member said.

It's a voting day, that's why we don't have the gym, said the head of the program.

Confused looks. I said, because I cannot help myself, It's the primaries. We are electing who runs against each other in November. Only in Massachusetts, it's sometimes the election because there are not many Republicans here.

It's an important day. Not every state has the same kind of bias towards a single party. Can't complain if you don't vote.

A moment passed. I could tell they were a little embarrassed and a little scared of this big dyke filling out her forms.

Finally, the first woman said, Let's have the kids vote on something.

I don't know... said the second, will they even understand?

Um, I said, my son does. He can't help but know because I work in politics. But I think you'd be surprised... these kids have pretty active parents.

I know! Pizza or Spaghetti!

What are their favorite TV shows?

Maybe they could vote on...

And the energy was there.

I doubt any of the staff voted. The kids did but Jake cannot remember what they voted on because he was more interested in hanging with his pal. I don't know how the elections will turn out today here in Massachusetts.

Just remember- you can't bitch if you don't vote.

Going Green

2010-09-11T09:16:00.004-04:00

We are going green.

Greener.

Jeanine's car died. Eleven years old, 150K miles on it, the transmission went and it simply makes no sense to fix it.

And who wants to be forced into making a decision about buying a car on the spot?

Mind you, with three boys in three different schools with three different needs, I am in the car all the time. It's why we bought the hybrid because at least while I'm sitting at yet another traffic light, I can feel a little better about my carbon footprint.

We live about a half mile from the T, which is what we here in Boston call the subway/trolley. Jeanie has decided she wants to try taking the T every day instead of buying a car. She has always wanted to be as green as possible, and while I agree, I'm not as dedicated.

One car family now. I'm not sure how long it will last. It's a huge commitment for a family of five living in the suburbs without very good public transportation. It helps that my sister is just down the road lest we have a drop off/pick up emergency.

As for the broken car? We're going to donate it to a charitable organization that takes junk cars. There will be a tax credit, and we'll no longer pay insurance, excise tax, and repairs- not to mention the cost of filling up.

I'm wary of how this will work out but unlike other times when Jeanine thought about taking the T instead of driving, there is no other option. No spiffy set of wheels beckons from the driveway.

Wish us luck on this new green adventure. It's not going to change the world but it is a significant step for us.

On a day where we remember the dead of 9/11, an attack rooted in our dependency and policies around oil? It feels like the right thing to do.

Dumpster Nirvana

2010-09-05T09:14:00.003-04:00

For those of you who have followed my blog for a long time, you will know this is a day that will be marked in my personal history forever.

Jeanine has agreed to let me have a dumpster.

Now, Miss Pack Rat has been VERY clear that none of her things will be thrown away and I completely agreed to the terms. Believe me, we have plenty to toss without touching her stuff. And ever since our town changed the rules and we can only have one trash can of garbage a week, have to call to have anything extra picked up... well... it's time.

An old wicker couch, a broken treadmill, construction left overs from when my office was redone... we have some big things that need to go.

Okay, you all know I just cannot wait to get rid of all the crap I can possibly stuff into that dumpster. I will be in a frenzy and one better make sure I haven't tossed the kitten in there by mistake.

My hope is that if I can do one big purge, I can get back into a good rhythm of recycling everything possible, and only needing one can for garbage a week. Being married to Ms. Pat Rat is hard enough but when you fall behind with big items to toss... well... it's a nightmare for someone who would be happy with a minimalist approach to life.

I need a single, sharp chef's knife (and a steel to sharpen it), one large bowl, one wooden spoon, one spatula, a butter knife, a spoon and a fork to cook. Couple of pots. We have every known kitchen contraption known to mankind. That is the ying and yang of my relationship with Jeanine. She needs stuff. I do not.

The dumpster is a sign. A sign that she's ready to make some changes. Might sound silly but we did have a moment at the end of the summer where I had a fit. I, as always, got to the place where I was done with her working all the time. I wanted to be adored.

Heck, I wanted to be noticed.

She heard me. Because when I asked the other day, for about the 857th time, she said yes. Just don't touch my stuff.

I would never touch her stuff. I respect her need to hold onto some things even though I don't quite understand it. I know there are underlying, deep psychological issues represented in all those computers downstairs. I will be the model of restraint.

I'll call her mom and let her know the dumpster is coming and she'll be up here in a flash to help me out. Jeanine's mom can throw things away I cannot.

Weezie!!! It's party time!!

It's left me feeling hopeful and happy. The accumulated stuff doesn't taunt me, I simply smile and know that soon all will be restored to order again. It's that time of year. Time for new beginnings, new school books, new routines, new shoes. My life has always been dictated by the school calendar.

This year, though, feels different. Big changes are in the air. New treatment for my sister's cancer. New Executive Director for Mass Equality. New school for Ben. New brilliant idea for a shareholder resolution.

And a dumpster.

Nirvana. Pure nirvana.

Cancer and Kittens

2010-08-31T07:33:00.002-04:00

Home again. This time for good. No more Maine, no more driving outside the city limits, no more beach.

Bah.

I went to Dana Farber, the cancer hospital of extraordinary care, with my sister yesterday. It's not the greatest news. She is going to have a stem cell transplant. We don't know when yet, but we know she will. Seems the doctor is confused by the aggressiveness of a cancer that is supposed to be very slow growing. The last chemo should have given her at least 6 months cancer free- it was barely 6 weeks.

Time for the big guns, the doctor said.

We did our usual in the hospital waiting around all day for tests... talked about the kids, where she wanted to be buried, where Jeanine and I would be buried (we will not- both to be cremated and then divided in three to be permanently on display in our kids homes forever more.)

(Kidding. Kind of.)

She reminded me of an ex-boyfriend of hers who was so drunk one night, when the grill was ready to start cooking, he decided it needed some "real" meat. Yup, the idiot put his penis on a hot grill. That got us through the 8 vials of blood that needed to be drawn.

I've known the cancer was back for a while. She decided not to tell everyone for a period of time, thus why I haven't written about it. Now the cat is out of the bag...

Which reminds me, we are getting a new kitten today. Calvin. An orange tabby 6 to 8 week old kitten. See, my sister really wanted a kitten but couldn't have one in her rented house. And poor Darcy has been missing her sister so... when the opportunity came up, I couldn't resist.

Jeanine isn't thrilled but I'm still looking at the puppy she brought home two weeks before Jake was born while I was saying, um... No. No no no. No dog. No.

Stem cell transplant this fall. Not even a kitten can make that news easy but it's worth a shot.

Adore: To Regard with the Utmost Esteem, Love, and Respect

2010-08-29T09:50:00.002-04:00

One last day. Jeanine took the boys out to play mini golf while I cleaned the house. We're going to go swimming in a little bit- the ocean has been warm, the waves big.

Okay, it's warm for Ogunquit. Sixty five degrees is balmy for us.

It's hard to leave here, knowing the world will be moving at high pace when we get home. My sister has a doctor's appointment, the kids going to the dentist and Zachary starts school officially on Thursday. That means school supplies, real bedtimes, and my favorite rule- no TV or video games during the week.

At all. Ever. Period. Yup, I'm that mean.

It's been an important week for us. Finally, we've been on our own and with all of us here. Even Jeanine stopped working, which is a miracle.

A friend of mine has started a new relationship- she's been divorced for five years now. While I am very excited for her- she's certainly been through the wringer and deserves some love and kindness- there is a part of me that is very jealous.

After almost twenty years of marriage, listening to someone experiencing the new rush of joy is hard. I'm far far away from those days and when I was in them? I was only 28 years old.

What the hell did I know? Did I know to soak it in and cherish it because it wasn't going to happen again? Nope.

It's early on, and what got me was that the new girlfriend said she adored her.

Adore. Oh, how long has it been since I felt adored?

Then I realized something really important- it's up to me, and to my wife, to continue to find the new places of love in our life. It only stops if you don't pay attention, if you take it for granted. This friend's new love can be a reminder. Not just of what was, but what can be. What continues to grow. It's not about never again, it's about what's next.

It helps that we've had a few days without work barking down either of our throats.

As we enjoy our last day, I'm going to try hard and think about what I can do on a every day basis to remember how much I love Jeanine. I've asked her to do the same. To take that extra minute- kiss in the shower, looking long in each others eyes, sitting on the deck outside checking in on life not just schedules- to adore each other again.

If we can do that? We have another great 20 years coming.

The Birds

2010-08-27T08:41:00.004-04:00

Back when I was in college, I was a waitress for the school's catering company. It was good money and free food. When you lived off campus, free food was key because no one ever spent money on food- only beer and bar hopping.

If it were a particularly fancy dinner, with a small number of people, there was no guarantee there would be leftovers. Thus a few of the guys I worked with would actually finish the food off the plates as they came back into the kitchen.

They called it "seagulling." The act of snatching food like a seagull before the plate scraps were dumped in the trash. I called it gross.

Yesterday, poor Jake learned the real act of seagulling from a seagull.

Look closely in the photo and you see not only is Jake's hot dog wrapper empty, but the seagull behind him is enjoying it.

Poor baby.

The seagull? Well, I got the wax paper away from it but the dog was gone. The offender taunted us for the rest of the day by the smear of ketchup on it's beak.

Ouch.

Monsoon Day

2010-08-25T15:30:00.003-04:00

I talked to a friend in Provincetown yesterday afternoon and she told me they were having a huge rainstorm down there. All day, pouring rain, whipping wind... same here today.

So along with the entire vacationing population, we went to the Maine Diner for lunch.

My kids will always, always wait up to an hour, easily, for the Maine Diner. It is the only place on earth they will do this for- not even a ride at Disney would gain the same kind of confidence that the time waited would be worth it.

And it is always worth it. I had delicious Eggs Benedict but had to start with their seafood chowder. Ok, you might say icky combo but the truth is, the seafood chowder is light, and sweet with tons of baby Maine shrimp, scallops. After standing outside in the raw cold, it was necessary.

Of course, part of the wait is spent at the gift shop. No, we rarely buy anything, only poke around and look at what is pretty much the same ol' stuff year in and year out. Ben pointed out some fun cocktail napkins- I am known for my goofy cocktail napkins.

But there was only one stray pack of twenty - only deserving of a quick photo.

After our most delicious meal, we headed back, needing to stop at CVS for athlete's foot spray. Jake has been enjoying having feet of death- threatening to stick his toes in his brothers faces if they get too close.

Uh, time for that to end.

Jeanine went one direction, towards the foot fungus spray, I went another. Zachary tagged along with me, and said, Hey Mom! What are you getting?

Tampons.

I've never seen a boy turn on his heel quite so fast.

The rain is coming down from all angles. While we've enjoyed our quiet time, it better get sunny tomorrow or we're in deep trouble. I can't watch another episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog- which is simply weird, or the Suite Life, which is simply bad in every way possible from the acting to the script to the set to the hairstyles to the...

Like I said, no more monsoon days.

Do Not Disturb

2010-08-24T10:31:00.003-04:00

Ah, moldy towels, unworn underwear and athletes foot. The joys of camp return. I will say, no lice this year was a lovely treat. To be safe, I left all the clothes in the garage for a night, did my check and waited to hear from any other parents on the status of bugs.

Only a few pairs of socks returned and they were so filthy, I threw them away. Not even hardcore bleach was going to save them. Surprised, I found piles of unworn underwear in Jake's trunk. I threw out the pair he was wearing when he got home- I don't even want to talk about the smell.

Honestly, I have no idea why we send them with so many clothes.

Today is cold, dark, and rain is threatening. It's the kind of day the begs for a book, a blanket and a comfortable couch. Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. I have no desire to battle smelly clothes today. It's not like they are going anywhere. I don't think.

I want one of those hotel signs- Do Not Disturb. Stick it on my forehead. No yelling, no fighting, no arguing, no laundry and no heavy lifting.

This is the last full week of vacation. Next week, school starts for Zachary, and Ben has an open house to attend. Jake starts Tuesday after the long weekend. All in good time.

Just not today.

Chicken Feet and Sweet BBQ Buns

2010-08-22T08:54:00.004-04:00

I had to do it. I had to get the fried chicken feet at dim sum today. I mean, why go to Chinatown if you're not going to try something you've never had before. I can say the flavor of the fried stuff was ok, but the bones a little too crunchy for me.

I'll try anything once. Maybe only once, but once without question.

Zachary and Heidi both tried them, too. Neither felt they needed to have a second.

It's odd- Zachary won't eat anything most of the time. He's incredibly picky, and tends to gag if forced to take that one bite of broccoli that is certain to cause his death. But put a frog leg in front of him or chicken feet? Yum! He'll dig right in.

Somethings, I don't need to understand.

To do Dim Sum properly, you have to have about ten people around the table so you can keep getting dish after dish. I have to be honest- it's been over twenty years since I've been to Chinatown for proper dim sum. One of the best dishes today was a lightly battered tempura shrimp- head on and all, the salty crispness was beyond good.

Of course, the kids pulled the heads off and poked at the eyeballs with their chopsticks. They also declared them delicious.

The best treat, of course, was the sweet bbq pork buns. By the time that cart made it over to us, there would be only a couple left. We looked sad every time she passed and had none to offer. Finally, she felt sorry for us and brought out a couple dishes straight from the kitchen, not stopping along the way.

My poor sister kept asking me what the waitresses were saying, and I kept telling her I had no idea. It was like a poor game of telephone- she couldn't hear me, I couldn't understand them, and it was vital to know if there was shrimp in anything as my sister is allergic. Pork? she ask. Pork? I'd ask. Pork, the waitress would point to some but not all. Shrimp? Yes. Then point to some of the same.

Pork, no shrimp, please... And Jake would yell out, More shrimp wontons!! Making the bad communication even worse as the waitress would eye me like, what the hell do you want lady? Either learn Chinese or point already!

The oddest thing? A doughy wrapped hot dog- clearly an attempt to make nice with young kids in the place. It seemed... too out of place to be even remotely appetizing. Yes, of course the kids got it, and none was left at the end of the meal.

Would you order a hot dog in Beijing? Really?

Mostly? It's great to have my boys home. I've missed my full house. Today we have our three plus two extras, which feels almost perfect. We could use one or two more for the full effect. For the first time in a while, I feel my feet solidly under me.

I know it's borrowed time. I know something will shift, change, as the only constant in the last couple years has been change.

I know.

Unlike having carts upon carts of choices pushed by, what will come will come whether I am a nervous wreck or mellow. I'm not great at it, and still need a ton of work doing it, but I am starting, slowly, to be able to simply sit with it all.

I didn't like the chicken feet. But I do like feeling calm. That's the real treat for today.

Soaking in the Green

2010-08-21T08:10:00.002-04:00

Green.

I love coming home after being at the ocean for a while because everything looks so green. It's new and refreshed.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I woke up this morning without a stabbing pain in my back. The cat was curled up next to me as if to make sure I wouldn't bolt out the door again. It's cool outside, that wonderful shift in the late summer from searing hot to mornings with thick dew on the grass.

My boys are coming home today.

A month is way too long for them to be gone. Zachary will be a foot taller and Jake will have a deep nut brown tan, his hair blond from the sun. We have a stack of birthday presents for Zachary, as the day passed when he was at camp. He wants falafal and cake, not to mention a long stretch of sitting, eyes glazed, in front of the television.

Ben has said he misses his brothers terribly. He woke up early to jump in the car with Jeanine to go get them. He has bounced between being incredibly sweet and being absolutely a pain in the ass for the last week. One minute, I'm beautiful, the next, he's certain he got his looks from the donor.

And I thought I had big hormonal swings going on- geesh.

I have dishes to clean up from last night, presents to wrap. Open the window in Jake and Zachary's room, so some fresh air can circulate. It's almost time to shift gears again, the beginning of school just minutes away, filled with excitement and trepidation. The kids will be running on high anxiety, every moment charged with anticipation. I love this time of year.

For now, though, there is nothing more important to do than to take a cup of coffee and sit, soaking in the green.

Simplify

2010-08-19T13:22:00.003-04:00

At my sister's insistence, I'm writing a blog.

I'm nervous. For the first time since I started writing this blog, I've become frightened of it's impact. Not only are Ben's friends reading the blog, Ben's older "fans" on facebook have been reading my blog.

I am quite uncomfortable.

I know, everyone can say "I told you so." Everyone can say, "You should never have done it, never been so open, never talked so much..." and I can only say, Yup. You're right.

So much has been shifting this summer. We've divorced the two dads. Yes, they still see the kids but only under very specific rules. Jeanine has grown more and more unhappy with her job- not the job itself but the distance she's grown from writing music. I've spent an incredible amount of time on Mass Equality, all completely worthwhile but the result has been distance from good friends that does not feel good.

Distance from writing for me.

When I don't write, I lose an important piece of myself.

Jake and Zachary have been at their month long camp and this year has been by far the hardest to have them away. We had such fun in July, all of us. I miss their presence and how they balance the family- make us whole at a time when we've cut out a huge piece of who we have been for what seems like forever.

There have been significant victories in political/judicial fights- many others have written eloquently about California's Perry and the Gill lawsuits. The right wing is looking silly now with their pounded fists claiming that the world is going to come to an end.

Zachary would say, another state we can live in, Mom.

Still... many people are without basic protections. Job security, housing availability and personal safety continue to plague a great deal of LGBT folks all over the country.

A movie comes out about sperm donation and one of the lesbian moms has sex with the donor. Really? C'mon. Can't we come up with a better plot twist that doesn't involve a penis and a lesbian? But in the long run, it's progress. Top actresses, a well made film. I shouldn't complain too much.

I've been in downeast for so long, I didn't know about the floods in Pakistan. I feel terrible about that. While visiting with my good friend from home, her kids teased me that everything was "gay" to me, all I thought about was gay stuff.

It's true. Maybe I need to think about expanding my horizons a bit.

Mostly, I've been having the mantra "simplify" go through my head over and over again. I want less stuff, less requirements of my time, less people pulling at me. I have a few short years left with my kids- I want to soak it in.

And they all need me to be there. In some ways? A lot more than they did when they were little.

My sister... the last round of chemo left her in great shape. She has energy and life in her again. She, Ben and I are in downeast right now- her relationship with Ben has grown back into the goofy, fun that it was before she was sick. It has been wonderful to see.

She's finally come up with the answer to worrying about where her cremated remains will end up and if she'll spend eternity looking for a hand or foot- she's going for the box in a grave. I told her that was fine. Whatever she wanted, I'll make sure it happens.

I didn't mention the worms or bugs that would be with her for eternity.

I told my friend Bil I needed to think long and hard about keeping up this blog. The good I believe it does has to be balanced with some of the real fear I've had in the last few weeks.

Maybe I'm done trying to save the world and need to only focus on my own children, my own small world. Maybe my need to be known and understood as gone too far.

For now, I'm going to watch the tide come in before I go stack some wood. Take the dogs for a walk. Sweep the porch.

Simplify.

Time for Change

2010-07-30T09:53:00.003-04:00

Finally, finally, things are starting to calm down.

This past week was the one time of the year when all three boys are at camp. No one to take care of, no one to drive around, no one to tell to get off the computer, please, and go outside.

It is a glorious week.

Ben comes home today, and I'm hauling him up to Downeast, or Amish country as he calls it. He can be as miserable as he wants- or not. Personally, I have a book idea that is fun, goofy and I'm going to see if it makes sense by starting in on it. It will incorporate a lot of what I've been doing the last few months, in a fictional way.

Fiction- the way to save yourself from getting sued.

I am feeling that I'm at a crossroad again. Do I continue with the kind of work I've been doing or do I change course, and try something new.

Or go back to the old. I miss writing. I miss it a lot. I almost can't remember how to start a story anymore. I'm going to try- might not get anywhere.

Lately, I've had a fear of my email inbox. Always something that isn't good coming up. Or another request for time, or money, or both. Along with patience, this life's lesson is about saying No.

Graciously, of course.

I yearned for so many years to be "good enough" in the eyes of my mother. That what my work was meant something. I had no right to say no- it was my responsibility. Now I've met the President of the United States, the Governor of my state knows my name, and I'm often involved in work that leaves me in high levels of decision making.

All good, right? And it is. I feel incredibly grateful for the opportunities I've been given.

Then I look at my kids. Ben is 14- almost 15 years old. He'll be leaving home sooner than I realize. The truth is, I have 8 more years with my kids- Jake's only 10. This part of my life will be over.

I do not want to have regrets. Was I too stressed out for months on end to spend time with them? Yes. Did I say yes too many times that adversely effected them? Yes.

Along the way, I've made some great connections with people. I don't regret it but I also have to wonder what my reasons are- at almost 50 years old, it seems like it might be time to drop the need for outside approval of my worthiness to live in this world.

I had a dream last night that I was stuck in Afghanistan with Jake. We were desperately trying to get out of the country, and there was fighting all around us. At one point, I told him that we were going to leave all the stuff we had behind- none of it mattered. We just needed to get out.

Perhaps it's time to leave all the stuff behind- it's time to get out.

The one conversation I keep having with my sister about her cancer is that you never know. You simply never know when the other shoe will drop. No oncologist in the world will tell you a timeline. We decide how to live every day.

It's really the only thing we have any control over.

The only thing that keeps ringing through my head is simplify. Action, drama, movement is all a rush - until it isn't. And then you're stuck on the rollercoaster with no way off until someone else pulls the switch.

It's been my favorite mode of living, it seems, for a long time. It's time to change.

Rhythm

2010-07-17T14:30:00.004-04:00

After placing all the plates down on the table and calling the kids to lunch, it occurred to me the rhythm here is similar to when the boys were little.

Except that they slept until 9:30 this morning. Believe me, that never ever happened when they were little.

I made breakfast, cleaned the dishes, cleaned the house, and took the boys out to the new grocery store.

It's really quite nice. There was an enormous giggling moment at the sausage section- I'm not quite sure why the store made sausage was so... long and wide. They stopped giggling when I asked them if that's what they wanted for dinner.

We got back and they immediately asked for lunch- and I made what they wanted, placing the cut sandwiches on the plates with a pile of cut fruit in the middle. While they sat at the table laughing, I cleaned up the kitchen.

Then it was nap time. Sure, only I took a nap but still, the rhythm was complete.

Feeding, cleaning, a special event, then feeding, cleaning, and napping. The big difference now is that they talk and talk and talk and talk. Non-stop chitter chat about everything from the last game of BS they played, to how their Aunt Toni was telling them what nut cases Jeanine and I were about their food being organic when Ben and Zachary were babies.

Until Jake was born, and then we were eating at McDonald's.

Oh, you all had McDonald's when you were little. You didn't go through toddlerhood without a happy meal.

Geesh. I'm not THAT mean.

I found them all sitting in the hammock after I finished the breakfast dishes. Ben was teaching Jake and Zachary all the lyrics of some song they like.

I know it won't last. The current game of BS being played next to me on the porch is about to erupt in violence, as did the game of Go Fish last night. Of course, after Go Fish, we did silly dancing moves.

Even Zachary danced.

It's the four of us again. Sure, Jeanine would be home at night, but the days were ours to fill. Strollers have been replaced by short real life in the car driving lessons. Sippy cups of milk replaced by snapple ice teas.

Food is still organic whenever possible- they may not realize it but it is.

I love this rhythm. I believe it is possible elsewhere, but requires work and effort to not be distracted. Here? There is no choice.

Just one more reason why I love it so much.

Downeast... again

2010-07-16T19:58:00.002-04:00

It's beautiful. Ok, it's foggy and chilly but right now that feels great.

I don't care what my kids say, the minute they start driving down the road to the house? their energy perks up and they start talking about all the stuff they do here... even mr. ben boy.

Yuh. They hate it. Yuh.

At a low point, when I was feeling really bad about spending the money on this place, that it was our "baby" to save the "marriage," Jeanine reminded me we gave the kids an experience they would never have had in their lives. We'll sell it, sure. But not for a while.

I've invited many folks and few have come. It's not for the weak, I suppose. It always hurts my feelings a little because it is so special to me. Even Jeanine hems and haws. Bah I say. Bah.

Part of what has been difficult this week has been a power and privilege play. I have hurt a good, dear friend. I never meant to. It kills me to think I hurt her.

I never see myself as powerful. I understand I'm privileged. Somewhere in there, I need to make a connection that I'm missing. I'm often embarrassed by my privilege. But it's there. Hiding from it doesn't make it not so. Nor does it mean I have to give it all away to be a "good" person.

why is that so hard for me?

Not going to figure that out tonight. No mussels for dinner this weekend, it's red tide. There is a good boat for sale that I may just go ahead and buy. I so want a boat to go play on. have since I was a kid staying on Canadaigua lake. It's a boston whaler, sturdy and not prone to tipping. It's the boat Bob and Mary, the lobsterfolks, used last year to pull traps, which makes me think it's way too big but... it would come with their help and guidance.

They make me smile so much. Raspberry ripple, you know. Haven't found any yet but still looking.

Donald told me the big news- a new hannaford supermarket was opened. At least everything will be in date- maybe. We passed the blueberry fields and the portapotties were being brought out to the tiny cabins for the migrant workers. Ben is starting to understand about his privilege. We had a good talk about what it would be like to have to live like that. I reminded him his great grandmother, grandmother and great uncles lived in a boxcar, and followed the seasons to pick whatever was there, whatever they could make money doing.

He reminded me that his other grandmother never picked a thing and was related to George Washington. I said, yup. You got both worlds going on. Be true to both.

My sister reminded me the other day about how far he has come. How hard it was only a few months ago. I look at him and am so grateful we are where we are.

Jake asked me, as we were settling in, if Walter and Allan were going to take their stuff from here. I said we hadn't decided what to do about that yet. Soon, people up here will see the car in the driveway and stop by and ask about them. I'm not sure what to say. They all accepted our weird family with open hearts. And now it's broken and I feel the failure. This place, all the homes down here, are old old old. families own them for generations.

And here we are. New, and already broken.

Sadness. The sign with all our names on it is still in the magic shed (it's the all purpose shed on the property that has always had everything we needed in it- tools, wicks, oils, buckets, ropes, ladders... a friend deemed it the magic shed because whatever you needed magically appeared.)

Do I burn it? Or do I toss it in the pile of other shit here, some totally useless, for the next owner to find and wonder about. There is so much in this house, the dome, the shed, that covers the 110 years it's been here. The captain's quarters sign, AB Seaman and spare signs, from the shipwreck the wood to build the house was scavenged from. Books from the early 1900's, old wood toys most certainly coated with lead paint, and all the antique lanterns we light every night.

Maybe it just belongs here as part of it's history. I don't know. I just don't feel as vengeful as I did a few months ago.

One of the propane lights broke and was leaking gas. Yikes. A burner on the stove is clogged. A-yuh. I'll get to it. No sign of porkchop- I don't really care. I don't have a garden. There are plenty of trees for it to munch on. Live and let live.

Mind you, I throw the fish I catch back in the water, too. I don't really have the heart to kill things. Except mice. I can kill a mouse. Well, not personally. I'd be shrieking too loud.

Maybe that would kill them. hHmmm.

For now? A glass of wine in front of the fire. Yes, a fire. It's not cold but there is a chill. A game of gin with Jake. Light the lanterns- it's already getting a little dark. I'll make some dinner, and when it gets truly dark, everyone is ready for bed- even if it's 9pm. I love that.

I'm in downeast. Again. It is where my soul rests for a while.

And the boys... even though they complain? Seem to find some peace, too.

Reader's Digest Version

2010-07-15T09:12:00.003-04:00

Ok, Ok, Ok.

I am VERY sorry.

I owe all of you about eighteen posts. All today. All funny, too.

Over the last few months, I've been involved in an incredible experience of searching for a new Executive Director of Mass Equality. It has been a roller coaster ride, mostly for personal reasons. The search itself has been exciting. I am crossing my fingers and toes that it ends tonight successfully.

Big happy update on my sister: Her numbers are great, she's feeling better and is even considering a trek to downeast to watch the waves. Big reality check: it's been a hard month prior to that. She was feeling pretty awful prior to a change in the chemo, and pretty sure she was about to die.

I did not believe she was about to die. I understood she was feeling really crappy but that chemo is a chemistry guessing game, and tweaks here and there can make a world of difference.

We had a few rough conversations. I went down a dark hole of feeling like I was not good enough, not doing enough because... well... she told me that.

We worked on how to communicate better. How to be clear about what she wants- and what she needs. How I can be clear about what I can and cannot do. It's not easy for either of us to do. We're going to try.

Thankfully, a new chemo tried, and lo and behold, it (knock wood) is working. Of course, I knock wood, she thanks God. All bases are covered.

We're off to Downeast tomorrow. The one thing that consistently comes up for me, is my horrible evasion of conflict. I need to sit with that for a while. It is my biggest challenge, has been for years.

Yes, Yes, Yes. I will write more later. This is the reader's digest version of all that's been going on- I can do better and I will.

Can't Remember

2010-07-08T11:43:00.000-04:00

Did I post this already? Can't fucking remember...

Massachusetts: What's Next?

2010-06-30T08:40:00.005-04:00

I know I haven't written in a while- I had to wait until I had something good to say. Something positive. Hopeful.

No negative Nancy comments.

I had the distinct pleasure of sitting in a conference room for the last two days with some colleagues, interviewing candidates to be the next Executive Director of Mass Equality. While much weight is on our shoulders to do the right thing, to find the best fit, to move forward in the most powerful way, we have some amazing people applying for the job.

It was also big fun with my fellow board members.

Over and over, history was mentioned. It is easy to live in Massachusetts, to sit at a table with two of the plaintiffs from THE CASE you know very well, and forget what was accomplished.

We have marriage equality. We were the first in this country. After we win inclusive civil rights for gender identity and gender expression- and not until then- we will be the first state in the country with all the boxes checked.

Then what?

Does hate disappear? Will kids not be bullied? Will LGBT seniors be dealt with sensitivity and awareness? Will trans people not get fired?

No. We know better. Connecticut decided to close it's equality organization after they won marriage. In Massachusetts, marriage is but a single step in a long march. We are keenly aware that the entire country is turning to us, the birthplace of the Revolution, and asking... what next?

All I can say now is... hold onto your hats, the ride is no where near over.

What the President Should have said

2010-06-17T11:21:00.001-04:00

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Over The Rainbow

2010-06-15T17:13:00.003-04:00

It has been a crappy few days. Few weeks. The other night, I was upset, on edge, and anxious. I watched Glee.

I cried and cried. This final song really sent me over the edge. Not sad tears, but yes you better believe it, I'm gonna make it tears.

Enjoy.

We Are Enough

2010-06-13T15:39:00.003-04:00

When long term relationships fail, rarely are the people involved surprised. It's been years of negotiations, of discussions, of trying to work out a plan that works for those involved.

No one is surprised that a final straw has been reached, or a last line crossed.

I have reached that point. Not with my wife- calm down. My wife is the love of my life and while we've had our ups and downs, we are particularly tight right now.

Except when she wants to spend money.

I tried to create a family for my boys. An expansive one. I never had much family growing up and when I met Jeanine's clan, I was in awe.

And jealous. I wanted that for my kids.

I tried. Deep down, I didn't feel like I was enough. That I could not possibly give the boys all they needed, wanted. In some ways, I think that's true of any child, any where. More people, more love, is always a good thing.

For me, though, it was my mother's voice that said I wasn't enough. I had made a mistake. It wasn't fair to any child to bring them into this world in a lesbian relationship. They would suffer stigma and be outsiders. They would miss out on having a father.

As if that did me personally any good, having one who abused me but let's not go there right now. I knew I wanted a father. One who wasn't creepy, who didn't grunt and say disgusting things.

(She said that to me when I told her I was going to try and get pregnant. Right after she said she was going to move to Australia. I kid you not. She really did say the shame was so great she would have to move to Australia. Canada, clearly, was not far enough.)

Those words gnawed at me for years. My heart knew I did not make any mistake at all. But that voice lived on for many, many years. Even my mother retracted her words eventually. She loved her babies. By the time Jake was born, she was Grandma with a capital G and don't ever question that.

Not enough. I wasn't enough. Jeanine and I together, were not enough. I am not someone to sit by, so I made it happen. I fixed it. Or at least I thought I fixed it.

I don't believe that anymore. Over the last few months, major shifts have happened in our lives, in our kids lives. A final line was crossed. The last straw drawn. It has been devastating for me personally.

It didn't work. Too many unsaid things, too many disappointments, too many hurtful, clueless boundary crossings. When we saw our oldest son suffering, and understood where his pain came from? We slammed doors shut so fast Maxwell Smart wouldn't have made it through.

I can take a lot of shit. You can rain down on me. But my kids? Never. No way.

It's been a few months since that happened. Life has shifted for the kids, for Jeanine and I. The biggest lesson I learned? We are enough. We are most definitely, without question, enough. If I had one lesson learned that I wish I could shout from the rooftops to every two dad or two mom household, it is you are enough.

All those innuendos, and Madison Avenue images that barrage you every day, making you wonder if your kids are missing something in their lives... whispers of straight family members, or people in your community... They are wrong.

Two loving, committed parents (and I don't care if you're divorced- it's about loving and being committed to the kids) are what your kids need.

It took 14 years and a lot of struggle for me to realize that.

Another Chemo Day

2010-06-08T09:21:00.002-04:00

Another round of chemo started today for my sister. It's not good. Again, another reaction. It is to be expected, and miserable to go through.

A friend of mine told me last night to remember Shiva... the destroyer. But also the greatest being, where life comes from.

I think. I'm not really sure. It was hard to follow him. He's a lovely man but sometimes he talks in ways that are a little beyond my simple mind.

His point, I believe, was that there is an amazing circle that happens. From destruction comes life. A forest fire destroys everything- and from it comes a new, stronger forest.

It is necessary.

A great philosophical way to envision this journey. I can't hold it now. I just want my sister to have no pain. To feel better. Not in the cards for today. Or tomorrow, as it's another chemo day.

That's as far as we can go now.

Summer Vacation and The List

2010-06-07T08:01:00.002-04:00

The end of school is yet but moments away. The boys are exited to have the relaxed summer routine upon them.

I am completely freaked out about the relaxed summer routine being upon me.

It's not that I don't love being with my kids- because I do. I purposefully do not have them in camp from day one on because I do think it's better for kids to have real down time.

What scares me is the mess. My house turns into a frat house and it's enough to send me off the deep end. I decided it's time to go over a very important list with the boys.

THE LIST

1. Put the toilet seat down. It's polite, it shows good manners. Not to mention, two women own this house. And stop freaking out about the tampons near the toilet- as I said, two women own this house. Tampons are a necessity and by the toilet is the most logical place for them to go.

2. Flush the toilet. I don't care how proud you are of whatever you've done, I don't want to see it. Really. I don't.

3. Dishes do not have arms and legs. They do not walk to the dishwasher, open it and pop themselves in. One must do this for them- sad but true.

4. A clean dishwasher means a large gathering of your favorite glasses, plates, forks and spoons await their return to their homes. I am not the only one who can do this. No one needs to wonder whether a full load of clean dishes needs to be emptied- it's not something that requires a round table discussion. Clean means empty. Period.

5. Shoes. All of your shoes smell like dirty feet. I love you with all my heart but I do not love my house smelling like dirty feet. Take your shoes and bring them to your own rooms as you don't seem to notice the dirty feet smell. Aside from the smell, the enormous size of your shoes means it take three pairs to completely block a doorway. If I trip and break a hip? You're going to have to be responsible for a whole lot more than putting the toilet seat down, flushing and emptying the dishwasher.

6.Eat when you're hungry, not when you're bored. I cannot begin to keep enough food in this house if you're all going to eat when you're bored. It's not healthy and you really gotta cut me some slack. The refrigerator only holds so much stuff and to have it disappear in a single day is beyond me. Besides, I'll fight fire with fire and only buy really healthy things like fruit, yogurt, and rice cakes. (Wait... I already do that. Hmmm.)

7. Chairs actually do have arms and legs but unfortunately, they are not living beings able to use them. Push them in when you leave the table. Between the shoes and the chairs all astray, it's hard to navigate a room. I'm not sure I understand why I have to say this, as it seems clear, but I am.

8. Laundry is my least favorite thing in the entire world to do. I do laundry every day. If you are going to do laundry- and there are a couple of you who can do it on your own now- and you come upon a dryer full of clothes? You win the bonus of folding them. They do NOT get piled on top of the dryer like you would do at some coin op laundromat. You find, you fold. Nicely, please. I'll do the same for you. Remember, I'm the one doing all the sheets, towels, napkins- not just my favorite pair of jeans.

9. Empty packages, bags, muffin tins, cereal boxes, milk bottles, cream cheese containers- anything EMPTY needs to be THROWN AWAY. Or recycled, whatever is appropriate for the container. The trash is right in the kitchen, the recycle bin right in the kitchen, it's an amazing system I have going on in there. Leaving one sip of milk in a container and putting it back is a violation of the Geneva convention. You will be punished. An empty bag the bagels were once in does not need to be returned to the bread drawer- it will not magically fill back up again.

10. And finally, the most important of all, THIS IS NOT A FRAT HOUSE. At no time, ever, will it be okay to "let things go." I will not tolerate any infraction of these rules. I'm a nice, suburban lesbian housewife trying to get through the day without tripping on shoes, and being disgusted by something left lying around... somewhere. I'm not the maid, although it occurs to me I actually don't get paid, a maid would. Be respectful of me and I will be a pleasure to deal with. Mess with me? I'm your worst nightmare.

That's all, gentlemen. Summer is almost here. I'm looking forward to it, and if these rules are followed? It'll be the best summer ever.

We Should All Start the Day This Way

2010-06-04T10:09:00.001-04:00

Oil Spill: What Can I Do?

2010-06-03T10:16:00.006-04:00

One Million Gallons of Oil a Day. Since April 20th.

ONE MILLION GALLONS A DAY.

And still, the oil gushes.

Did you know this particular site was tried before and actually did the same thing but it was a shallower well, and they contained it more quickly?

The only advance in technology has been in digging deeper, not in clean up?

That Russia has used nuclear devices to seal off leaking wells in the ocean? They are suggesting we do the same?

People are calling to have the military take over. Um, aren't they a little busy with two wars right now?

I cannot begin to explain to you how helpless I feel about this spill. When I was in Maine, I talked to two people who pull lobsters for a living. They shook their heads. They know it's going to ultimately affect their water, too.

Because it's the ocean.

We may have killed our ocean for the next generation. Maybe forever.

I'd like to get angry with BP, but the truth is, any oil company would have done the same. The bottom line is, every time I pull up to the gas station? It's my fault. Our economy is based on supply and demand.

I feel helpless there, too. Sure, I could give up my car. I could drill for geo-thermal heat/cooling for my home- of course that process of digging, connecting, building, is fueled by oil.

Every piece of food I buy in the supermarket, every piece of clothing, every purchase, is based on oil. Everything.

As I looked through the New York Times photos online this morning, I wondered, what can I do?

I have no idea.

When it comes to LGBT rights, I understand the process. I know the different strategies, how to make them work, what I'm best at doing. I know I can make a real difference.

This? I need help with. Help. What can I do? What can I do on a micro and a macro level?

I've spent my whole life completely in love with the ocean. Drawn to it. Soothed by it. I need to give back.

Help?

Had to add this:

"Professor Wereley testified in Capitol Hill in front of the House Energy and Commerce subcommittee on Wednesday that the total for the two leaks is around 95,000 barrels, with a 20% margin of error which places the leak at anywhere from 76,000 barrels per day to 114,000 barrels per day."

95,000 barrels equals 4 million gallons.

Al and Tipper Gore No More

2010-06-01T16:54:00.003-04:00

Tipper and Al Gore are getting divorced. Forty years of marriage and they don't hate each other, there is no other man or woman. Just grew apart.

Life does that sometimes. Gotta go here, gotta do this, you have your work you believe deeply in and suddenly, you realize you're never in the same house in the same bed anymore.

And you don't mind.

Still, you know that we are beings that crave comfort, intimacy and love. Somewhere inside their heads must have been that voice that said, I'm lonely.

I miss being loved passionately.

It is the hardest thing in marriage, over time, to deal with. You go from intense passionate love to great love to old love. Deep with layers and layers of experience together. It is the goal to keep enough of the intense passion alive while moving through the years.

It's not easy. It takes a lot of work. There are many things that can happen but the reality is, it is often the path of least resistance. I do not doubt for one minute that they still love each other, in a way that is unlike anything they will ever experience again.

And I wonder if their hearts ache for one more chance at having that intense spark of new love.

I'm sorry to see them split. I don't know them personally and my sadness is purely selfish- as I enter my 20th year, I need some role models.

Not many left.

Happy Birthday to Me...

2010-05-31T20:28:00.003-04:00

Today is my birthday.

47.

I think. I asked my mother on my 40th birthday to forever more remember me as 32. She always did.

I woke up today after night sweats and hot flashes, to the beautiful coast of Maine. And then drove 6 hours to get home.

Last night? I was the luckiest woman alive. I ate fresh lobsters. Laughed with the kids at dinner, which we actually could eat out on the porch because it was so warm. Had strawberry shortcake for dessert and watched the fire burn.

Someone else did the dishes. Honestly? That's all I want. Someone else to do the dishes.

Tomorrow marks the first day of the month long sprint that is June, the end of school, and all that the kids do.

All that really matters to me are my kids. Honestly. After spending some time alone in Maine, I know that.

Deeply.

I'm 47 today. Not a day over 32. Although Ben told me today I qualified for botox.

You know what? I love every line. Every extra fold. It is who I am today. I'm tired of fighting. I'm just going to enjoy. My beauty is not in my skin or my body- it is in my mind.

Ok, that might be slipping some but... Happy Birthday to Me!

Mary Cheney: Look in the Mirror, Sister

2010-05-29T14:01:00.004-04:00

The news today is all good- my sister's numbers came back great, she's feeling much better, the sun is out, and I'm still keeping an eye on this pesky ocean, making sure it doesn't go anywhere.

I read today that Mary Cheney is helping a homophobic candidate in Florida, Bill McCollum. He opposes same sex couples adopting. She sits on a board of an organization that has bought a bunch of ads for the Republican Attorney General who is running for governor.

Makes me wonder what kind of conversations are being had at that house over dinner. I mean, how is she ever going to explain that to her kids?

I have always tried to be consistent with my kids, whether it be about bedtime, consumption of large amounts of sugar, or watching R rated movies. Sure, there are a lot of gray areas in life. But to have had a baby with your lesbian partner and support someone who would not give her the right to adopt... I can't quite wrap my head around it.

I can understand the Republican belief that there should be smaller government, less taxes and privatization of pretty much everything. I don't agree, but I can understand it. But to go so far as to support someone who thinks you are immoral and shouldn't have the child you do?

Don't mess with my babies. I couldn't stand to be in a room with the man, let alone funnel money to his campaign.

Does she not understand that some people cannot afford to move to another state where there are LGBT positive laws? Not everyone can move addresses for when the baby comes. Besides, if all the queers left Florida, the economy would collapse.

At least South Beach and Ft. Lauderdale's.

It's one thing to have somehow rationalized it to yourself, but kids aren't stupid. They smell ambivalence like blood hounds going after a fox.

Maybe she really does hate herself. Maybe she is ashamed and has no voice on the board to make any real change. I almost feel sorry for her.

But I don't. She's wealthy, privileged and has a responsibility to live honestly. She benefits from the laws people in the community have fought so hard for. And in turn, tries to take them away.

How can she look in the mirror? How can she look at her child?

I can deal with Republicans. But not with someone who has sold her soul.

The Babies are Coming

2010-05-28T16:41:00.003-04:00

Oh, my babies are coming today! In a few hours, they'll be here, all cranky from the ride, with the need to run about and see all they haven't seen since last fall.

My beautiful wife will be here. I love it when she comes up- she doesn't much care for the intense rustic experience but after the events earlier this week, she said, dammit, we're all going up.

She loves me.

Last night, I went to Donald's house and he made a fabulous Pad Thai. He invited his neighbors to come play eucher. They are two wonderful people who have been married 47 years, and without an ounce of pretension in them. I wouldn't call them the salt of the earth because Mary's colorful language is way saltier than the earth. They are simply real.

When I say I laughed last night, I mean I LAUGHED. There were no deep discussions about life, pain, death, or even great love. Just fun stories about folks around here, and a statement about being "tough as tripe," which I found so hysterical I had to write it down.

Not really sure why today, but it was funny last night.

There was a particularly good story told about how, when the drug runner who previously owned Donald's house, invited them down to taste wine. It was clear this guy had a serious collection. He poured and asked, and after a bunch of wine, what do you think? Obviously eager to hear some great accolades about the fruit, tannins, and how rain makes such a difference, Mary said, You got any raspberry ripple? I do love raspberry ripple.

I almost wet my pants.

By this morning, I realized everything has fallen off my shoulders. I don't feel like a bad person anymore.

I'm going to take a nice, hot shower and start cooking some dinner for the crew. I can't wait to see them all.

Tomorrow? I'm gonna find some raspberry ripple to leave at Mary's door.

Refueling on Presence

2010-05-26T07:15:00.002-04:00

You know when you are in Downeast Maine when you stop at a convenience store and next to the butter is live bait.

I'm here. I cannot begin to explain how important it is for me to be here, but I'm going to try.

The last few days have been impossibly hard for me. My sibling, who shall not be named or identified, has decided to step in and know what's best for my sister.

I don't take care of her well enough.

Mind you, this person and I have a history that is jagged and raw. Nothing good ever comes from contact. My twelve year old girl, with impossibly skinny legs and stringy hair takes over.

She's fighting for her life.

I don't have to.

For thirty years, my sister and I have been close. When my mother threw her out of the house, I finally had a place to go meet her, be with her, and not suffer my mother's wrath.

I have to tell you, for thirty years, no one has ever been able to make me laugh the way my sister can.

I've been there for all the moves, all the boyfriends, the one husband, the divorce, the different businesses, the travels... I have always supported her.

I always will.

Sibling asked me yesterday if I ever asked Cathy what she wants... what she needs to be happy. It made me laugh out loud. Kidding, right? But then, sibling has had no relationship for thirty years with her.

It was clearly an attempt to get under my skin. Poke at old buttons, to bring up my mother's voice telling me I'm selfish, self centered, no good.

Nice try. Almost worked. But then, as I was driving along on the highway, I passed a horse trailer. Now, I've seen horse trailers for so many years I cannot begin to count how many, but this one stood out. Four horses, with windows along the side, with one horse actually sticking it's head out. I've never known a horse that likes to travel. Ever. but this horse had it's head out, eyes fluttering and lips flapping in the wind.

A look of pure joy.

That, I decided, is what I need to keep in my head. Keep the lips flapping.

I will not play tug of war with my sister. I can let go. I know what relationship I have with her, I know what I mean to her. I know what she means to me. It is amusing to think anyone could ever pull us apart.

I treat her like she is living, not like she's dying. It's not out of denial- but a belief that being mindfully present in today is far more helpful than running down the road.

Which is what I do best here, on the ocean. Donald and I sat, had a cocktail and watched the tide rush in last night. Hard work, I said to him. I could feel my shoulders lift.

No more fighting. I won't engage. No tug of war, there is simply no need. Of course I'll support my sister.

Always have.

The tide is coming in again. Time to get the kayak out and go visit the seals. I need to soak all this in, refuel on presence. Keep an eye on the tide and fog bank.

Be here. Now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Back to the Hospital

2010-05-22T23:46:00.003-04:00

Back to the hospital.

I hate hospitals.

My sister hates them more. I tease her that she's a baby but I'm the baby. I have no right to complain.

And then she had the audacity to make me laugh while we were sitting in the ER.

Probably nothing more than a reaction to the chemo. Her kidneys are having a hard time. Not unusual but enough to send her in overnight. Hopefully, that's all.

It's going to be alright. There will be days when she feels better. This is a chemistry game, one where there will be ups and downs. I have complete confidence in the doctors, which is nice because I really had no confidence in the yahoos down in Georgia.

I keep telling myself that. I mean, I sincerely believe this will all work out, she'll be in downeast with me next weekend, and we'll watch the waves roll in together.

Right?

No Running Away

2010-05-18T10:17:00.003-04:00

The chemo was hard, very hard for my sister. It's hard to accept such poison is actually going to help her in the long run.

A very long run, as in marathon, not 5k.

We talked last night about how to be positive, how to stay in the moment. It's not easy. My mind races to what ifs, when... of course her mind is doing the same. It's normal to be scared.

I was in Chicago over the weekend for a conference. It was easy to be there and totally forget all that is going on.

Or so I thought. I know I was running away from reality. On the plane yesterday, sitting on the runway for a mere two hours waiting for something to be fixed, the recycled, stale air brought me back to the real world.

My sister is dying. Not today, not tomorrow, or even this year. There are more treatment options after the chemo and she'll do anything to feel better.

It reminded me of when my mother was dying. Slowly, for years, but in the last few months, I was painfully aware this time would be it. No fabulous, remarkable recovery was going to happen.

My mother was so mean to me, it was easier to let go. Her body wracked with pain, it was a relief when she finally slipped into a coma and shortly after died.

It won't be like that with my sister. I love her too much.

I started to cry. It's odd to be sitting on a plane, surrounded by strangers, having such an intense moment of recognition.

Worse when they hear you snoring, though. I did that later.

I stopped myself. Here I am, racing down the road of writing the story before it happens. Stop it. Be here. Now. We have five more months of treatment before we even have a clue to it's effectiveness. Calm down.

Being thoughtfully in the moment is the biggest gift I can give my sister. I know that. It doesn't mean not having discussions about how she wants the rest of her life to look.

It means not being afraid of the future. Not acting impulsively- which is a huge challenge for me. I want to take care of, fix, make better... I can't.

When I got home, I raced out to Ben's track meet. Jeanine was there with Jake and Zachary. I walked up and they were wrestling away, as always. I felt my heart come home. And then, the magical song of the ice cream man played and those two stopped mid-wrestle as if in a cartoon. They came running over- ice cream man! ice cream man!

That is my life today. It is about the ice cream man, track meets, and family dinner. It is about meeting with the MA Senate president tomorrow and telling her trans rights bill or no support from me. It is about my friends, going shopping for fabulous flowers, talking about politics, parenting and the wonder of how socks go missing in the laundry.

It is about holding my beautiful wife at night, being grateful for how much love I have.

And it is about my sister's journey.

A good friend told me to buck up. Stay present. Focus on you and what you can do.

I'm trying.

No story writing, just an even pace. Lots of love, compassion and kindness.

No running away. This is a marathon of holding, staying in place.

Like I said, I'm trying.

Bad News

2010-05-11T08:52:00.004-04:00

Sorry, but I have bad news. I hate bad news. But you know, when I'm gone for a while, it usually means bad news.

My sister starts chemo this week. It is hard to be hopeful, but hopeful is what we have to be. She's been slowly feeling worse and worse over the last month. Now we know why. It was much easier to think she had caught germs from one of the kids but that was wishful thinking.

I want to be confident she will be fine, that this is a minor bump in the road and there is much road to travel still. The house directly behind us is for sale and we looked at it together a couple weekend ago- for a brief moment, I saw her in it, the kids running back and forth between the houses, a happy moment for all.

That's not going to happen. (Mostly because the people selling it are nuts and asking about 200K more than it's worth) House hunting needs to be on hold for a while.

I wish I could know, just know, what was going to happen. I honestly can deal with whatever comes our way, but a little heads up would be nice. Because instead, I start to write the whole story in my head, and I'm not what you would call an optimist.

How much do I tell the kids? The word "chemo" makes no sense to Jake, but the other two know exactly what it is. How do I frame it so they don't get scared- or is it ok for them to be scared?

How do I best support my sister? Do I play Suzy Sunshine? As if she wouldn't see through that in about half a second. Sometimes she wants answers, sometimes she does not. I want to be a good advocate for her and not push her to a place she doesn't want to go.

I have no answers. Just a lot of questions. She starts tomorrow so please send all the best loving, positive thoughts her way. She's a Jesus/God/Religion person- prayers are welcome, too.

The Oil Pumps On

2010-05-05T16:24:00.002-04:00

I'm heading up to Downeast soon. I can't wait. A birthday treat for me- a week alone, then my family will join me for lobsters, steamers and beautiful ocean views.

I keep reading about the oil spill in the Gulf. Eventually, there will be impact all over the world from this spill- it is simply too large and the ocean too connected.

What will happen to the ecosystem up there? Will there be more pressure to fish more aggressively there, as so much of the Gulf will be shut down?

When sitting on the porch, judging the next time the tide will be low enough to pull off some mussels, I hope I take that extra moment to be thankful. The water there is icy cold, pristine. There are no jelly fish, or sea lice jumping at the sandy shores.

Cold and clear.

Oil is still pumping into the Gulf. They have made progress but it is not done. We are all watching the news, focused on a man with a poorly made bomb.

And the oil pumps on.

Twenty years after the Exxon Valdez, there is still damage from the 11 million gallons of oil. Twenty years.

That was 11 million gallons. In shallow waters. "The Coast Guard and BP have said it's nearly impossible to know exactly how much oil has gushed since the blast, though it has been roughly estimated to be at least 200,000 gallons a day."

It's still gushing.

Sure, I'm concerned about terrorism. But when I think about what happened in Alaska, and what still exists, realizing the devastating effects of this current spill... I have to wonder.

I wonder where all those chicken shit politicians that twisted arms to get offshore drilling approved are right now and hope that their election opponents are ready to use this when it comes time to cast votes.

I wonder what all the "green" investors who spoke so highly of BP are saying now?

Ooops?

I wonder how much of the coral reefs will be left? "Florida has 84% of U.S. coral reef ecosystems." As the water churns, winds blow, it is likely much will be effected.

It occurs to me, we had the chance to see some of those reefs, in Key West, just before the spill. The water was so clear, you didn't even need to jump in to snorkel to see the fish. I'm afraid it may not ever exist in the same way again in my lifetime.

This time, when I go to Downeast, I will take in all the beauty around me. Watch the eagles and the seals a little more closely. Savor the mussels, lobster and steamers.

You just never know when it may be the last time.

Stopped Dead in My Tracks

2010-05-04T09:38:00.003-04:00

In a moment, sometimes, you're whole life can change. A friend of mine had her whole life change in an instant last Friday with a call from the doctor- cancer.

It was caught early, it is a fairly curable cancer and I have faith that she will be fine. I also know that she will be going through treatment, probably surgery, and that the toll on her, and her family, will be mind blowing.

It makes you stop dead in your tracks.

It feels trite to say you just never know but... you just never know. I'm approaching 50, and my friends are starting to get sick. We live in such a toxic atmosphere, it is inevitable.

Another woman I know is taking a life long dreamed of hike of the entire Appalachian trail, from Georgia to Maine. It will take close to seven months. She is fortunate to have been given the time off from her job to pursue this dream. She's no youngster and she wanted to be sure to do this before she could no longer could.

It is so easy to get sucked into going through life, day by day, step by step, and not see the bigger picture. Meetings, work, bills... all immediately grab your attention. What "must" be done, the next chore, fills our heads.

How do we hold our dreams in the moment? How do we live thoughtful of the whole picture, not simply the next task?

What are my dreams? What would I do if I let go of all the responsibilities I've gathered over the years? What mountain would I scale? I honestly don't know.

It's been a while since Jeanine and I sat down and thought about what the next ten years will be. Right now, I'm thinking we need to sit down and decide what today should look like. We are fortunate to have so many options- and yet we go through each day, one foot in front of the other.

The term mindfully awake keeps running through my head. Not being so feels disrespectful to those in my life who are struggling. I have been given many gifts- it is time to celebrate them all.

I have faith in the universe my friend will be okay. And that in this moment, there is something for me to learn.

Times Square Bombing: 100% Homegrown American?

2010-05-03T10:17:00.004-04:00

An attempt at a car bombing was made Saturday night, in Times Square. Quickly, there have already been claims whispered of the Taliban sneaking about in our midst by the New York Times:

"No motive had been determined in the attempted bombing, and federal and local officials said there was no evidence to support a claim of responsibility issued Sunday by a Pakistani Taliban group that has a reputation for making far-fetched attempts to take credit for attacks."

A few paragraphs later, again a hint of outside terrorists:

"Investigators were reviewing similarities between the incident in Times Square and coordinated attacks in the summer of 2007 at a Glasgow airport and a London neighborhood of nightclubs and theaters. Both attacks involved cars containing propane and gasoline that did not explode. Those attacks, the authorities believed, had their roots in Iraq."

Um, call me crazy, but didn't Tim McVeigh use a car bomb in Oklahoma City? Wasn't that domestic terrorism? Crazy right wing nut cases who wanted to take over the government?

Homegrown? Nothing to do with Iraq or Iran or Pakistan?

Am I the only one who is making this very direct connection? Why does it feel like the media is pumping up a frenzy of hate against Middle Easterners?

The Teabaggers carry guns to their demonstrations. Guns. I have to say, I've been to many a demonstration in my time but never saw anyone- aside from the police- with a gun. The rhetoric has become increasingly more and more violent- people openly calling for the death of the President on facebook, for instance.

I'd bet having to take my pants off through airport security (god knows we are headed there anyway), that this is a 100% American effort.

We need to start looking at ourselves, at our media, and at the messages rained on us a little more closely. Who buys all those guns in this country? You know, the semi-automatics, machine guns- the stuff that no one in the world hunts deer or quail with.

There are a lot of angry, white people out there. white. Not Black, not Latino, but White. People who are feeling their power erode away.

I sincerely hope the police, FBI and Homeland security are a lot smarter than the media. I also hope it was one, warped lunatic who failed.

But something tells me, it's not.

Good To Be Home

2010-04-27T10:18:00.003-04:00

Ah, home again. We had quite a long journey yesterday and I know that no one feels sorry for us being stuck in airports all day after 10 days in Key West.

Zachary said we were all scary tan. Indeed, we are.

I will say ten days in a small hotel room with two boys is not all it's cracked up to be- the maid was very glad to see us go.

I missed home. I missed my wife. I missed Zachary. I missed my sister.

Sometimes I feel like I need to move or go somewhere else- but when I come home after a trip away, I know better. Everything I need is right here. Great friends, a community I am deeply rooted in, and oh my, there is nothing like a cup of coffee in my comfy chair in the morning.

Although when Zachary shook me awake this morning at 7AM, telling me it was "harp day," I wasn't so sure. (Harp day is the day I have to load it in the car, take it to Jake's school so he can practice with the orchestra.)

Jeanine and I stayed up way too late last night talking. The time flew by, and it was comforting to be sitting next to her. She asked me how I felt about the trip. It was an interesting flip for me. I am not the "fun" mom, Jeanine is. I had to take the role on, and I think I did a fairly good job.

The day out on the fishing boat was not such a good idea, as both boys got seasick. I had a sailfish on the line and lost it. The ocean was too rough, though, and we headed in early.

I did not talk about politics. Ok, I did a couple times but not within their earshot. There was big movement going on in Massachusetts and I simply had to partake in some of it.

I think Ben and Jake actually bonded. The hard part will be this next week, when Ben goes back to his friends and ignores Jake again. They will, though, have the memory of parasailing together, 10 stories above the ocean, laughing and punching each other.

The leaves are almost all out here. The grass much greener than when we left. We are a little too tan for this time in New England, but it does feel good to be home.

Key West: Day... um... I dunno anymore

2010-04-22T08:36:00.003-04:00

I hit that place in vacation where I actually calm down. It feels good. Only problem is, Jake has a fever. Poor baby. We were suppose to go parasailing today- perhaps it's the gods telling us no.

It's been great here. The weather could not be more perfect. The kids have been getting along- mostly. We've yet to have any food I could say was amazing, but all has been fine.

Today will be a quiet day- not quite sure what to do with fever boy. Can't take him out in the sun for any extended period and can't imagine sitting in a hotel room all day.

In Massachusetts, the trans rights bill has finally gained some momentum. Once gay rights friendly Charlie Baker, is now trolling for the conservative votes he thinks got Scott Brown elected. He calls the bill the "bathroom bill" which is so far from the truth one has to wonder if he's taking talking points from Sarah Palin.

Someone should remind him that it didn't get her elected- only a prime slot on Saturday Night Live to be ridiculed.

I'm not allowed to discuss politics while on vacation. The boys have threatened to put my hand in a bucket of cold water while I'm sleeping if I do. Good thing they don't read the blog.

After two deaths in our state by young kids who were bullied ruthlessly, one would think the rhetoric would tone done a little. It is painful, and hurts deeply. It is no way to set an example for our children.

But Governor Patrick has not only seen the light, but is using this as a issue to differentiate himself from his opponents. It is about fairness and justice, he says. Not only will he sign the bill, he has sent out a fundraising appeal stating his support of the bill.

THAT is my Massachusetts. And that is my governor. I wish he would chat with his pal down in DC that equality and civil rights are something to proudly use as campaign slogans.

Today we will lay low. I'll sneak a few peeks at the press on the trans bill- shhh, don't tell the kids.

In the very very near future, Massachusetts will once again be the state that I love so dearly.

And safe for all.

Key West: Day Two

2010-04-18T08:13:00.004-04:00

My goodness people here drink a lot.

And I mean A LOT. Last night, we were wandering around Duval Street by Mallory Square and there were quite a few people who were staggering drunk. I don't really understand that. Mind you, I do love a cocktail, no question, but so drunk you can't walk? No.

It freaked me out. Especially when we came across the ones who were yelling. Not happy yells, mind you, but fighting. Yikes.

The boys dragged me to Hard Rock Cafe for dinner. I do not do chain restaurants but they insisted. Jake looked for a non-alcoholic drink from a martini glass and found one. Ben had one with Red Bull in it.

There was a couple next to us smoking away, and Ben was quite vocal about how disgusting it was. Jake said, I don't mind. It reminds me of Grandma's house...

Ben added, cigarette smoke and old lady perfume. That's what Grandma's smelled like.

I confided I have a plastic container of her scarves, that when opened, still smells like her. When I miss her, I said, I open it and soak it in.

After an enormous piece of fudge that I recommended not eating all of, but it's vacation, so I didn't insist, Jake was sick as a dog. I sat with him on the bathroom floor in the hotel room for an hour, as he moaned and held his aching belly.

I did not say I told you so. I brought him cool water and rubbed his back.

Aside from arguing over shotgun in the car, the boys are getting along amazingly well. Only a few petty fights. Now it's time to see about the jet skis. I'm afraid Ben is not old enough to ride his own, which will lead me to the choice of lying about his age.

Not a good precedent. But he is big for his age. And I did watch a creepy old man check him out, head to toe last night while we were wandering. No question, he is all that but... he is still my baby and I considered kicking the geezer's ass.

All that crazy drunkenness around puts me in fight or flight mode.

Another breakfast at Blue Heaven and then perhaps jet skis...

Key West, Day One

2010-04-17T08:43:00.003-04:00

We got in yesterday afternoon.. the hotel is a little ... um... well... it's ok. When I saw four fat, hairy old men playing pool at the outdoor table without shirts on, I had a class moment.

If they only didn't have breasts. and.. hair. Ew.

But we have a view of the ocean and a lovely little deck. Although I find it interesting that a non smoking resort has ashtrays out on the deck. Isn't that counterproductive?

We walked down Duval, and passed an "adult" something or other. A bunch of, as Ben said, strippers on the porch drinking mountain dew and smoking cigarettes. Jake turned to me and said, I think I have to be 21 to be here...

Indeed. When we got back to the hotel, Ben had to take a shower. Oy. The boy does love him some large breasts.

After two martinis at the hotel restaurant- I must say it was very good, fairly cheap, and outside right on the ocean- last night, it all seemed perfect. Although the place is called the Strip Club, and walking into it, there were 1920's pictures of naked women everywhere. Ben looked at me and said, I don't the he should be here! pointing to Jake. Jake, at 10, did not notice.

Yes, Ben took another shower when we got back to the room.

After dinner, Jake whupped me at pool. I really really can't play when I've been drinking, despite my own belief that I can. Ben decided we simply must have the couch that was at the outdoor bar with the pool table, on the deck at home.

Right now I'm having a fabulous Cuban coffee, watching the waves and getting ready to go to Blue Heaven for breakfast. Perhaps jet skis later today and I think if I haven't completely lost my mind, we are going to try para sailing later this week.

I have to check that out with the wife to be sure I'm allowed.

I have to let go of my inner Ritz Carlton princess (although some would say, INNER?) and all will be good.

To blue heaven...

Teabagger's Make a Point for Educational Reform

2010-04-14T07:33:00.001-04:00

Good lord, at least be able to spell your hate.

Joy: The Art of Soaking It In

2010-04-13T08:48:00.000-04:00

When was the last time you felt joy? Pure, clear, heart totally full joy?

I can remember being on the water in downeast cand coming up on a shoal where there were seals and suddenly a bald eagle landed, not more than 5 feet from me. I was alone, with the seals and eagle, not a sound but the wind and water.

It was glorious. Tears came to my eyes.

When Zachary did his presentation about Thomas Becket, and answered a question about religion and the king with an awareness about society and fairness that simply blew me away. I thought to myself, this boy has an old soul.

When I watch Jake play his harp- his concentration and the beauty of the sound. For those few minutes, everything seems to stop for me. He cannot help but be musical. It is sweet to see his mother's genes shine through- although he is into improv and she is most definitely not.

When Ben was dancing at the Black Eyed Peas concert. He had been unhappy and struggling for so long, to see his happiness, filled my heart. His body moved, arms pumping in the air, his pals surrounding him- music touches him on a level I don't always appreciate. I did that night.

At that same concert, looking around during the song "Where is the Love?" and seeing thousands of arms in the air waving in unison to a song that is about social justice (remember when the Peas were about social justice?), I felt a huge lump in my throat. Look, I said to my friend standing next to me, it's amazing. It's about love and Jesus, and humanity.

The last time Jeanine and I made love and she held me after and said the words I love you, Sara, something I hear daily, a million times over but following the intensity and connection it felt like the first. It was the safest place in the world, in her arms, in that moment.

All were moments of pure joy. A friend had asked me if I thought we leave our bodies during intense joy and happiness the way we do during trauma. For a long time, I could not remember feeling joy, minus the days my children were born.

Perhaps, on some level, I do leave my body. It is so hard to take in, to accept and cherish. Or maybe I'm too afraid to take it in fully.

I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sometimes? It doesn't.

As I go into my week long trip with Ben and Jake, I am going to be mindful of joy. All too often the familiarity of pain and anxiety keeps me seeing the good.

There is much joy in my life. I think I simply need to learn the art of soaking it in.

Four More Days...

2010-04-12T08:51:00.003-04:00

Four more days till Spring break with the kids. Well, two of the kids. Zachary already had his spring break.

All I know is that I need a break.

I had a little fit this morning about the mess in the house. Why do I have to clean up after everyone??? I asked.

Um, because I always do, I believe is the answer.

I'm tired. Really tired. I have work to do that I have not finished and all I want to do is crawl back into bed. A letter to write about street names and holding of stocks, a list of things for taxes, a meeting date request...

But in four days, I go to Key West with Ben and Jake. Sun, fishing, swimming... I said to Jeanine I wasn't going to take my phone. She said I had to, but I didn't have to answer any calls except hers.

Maybe. It's still tempting to completely unhook from the world. I am looking forward to going out on a boat with Jake and fishing. To sitting by the pool with Ben, just chilling. For there to be no mail to open, emails to respond to, bills to pay (yikes! did I pay the mortgage???), nothing but warm breezes to soak in.

This is usually my big energy time of year and aside from a small glimpse a few weeks ago, I've yet to see it.

Something to contemplate while away. But not too hard, because it's all been so hard lately, all I want is some peace.

Four more days. First, I gotta go check on that mortgage...

Justice Stevens is Retiring

2010-04-09T11:06:00.003-04:00

Justice Stevens is retiring.

Talk about sacrifice. That man has stayed through so many years...

It is now time to collectively hold our breath. It is not time for reaching across to the Republicans for a show of unity. This is a life long appointment.

Please, President Obama. No compromises here.

Sacrifice

2010-04-09T08:49:00.002-04:00

Sacrifice. I have had my attention drawn to sacrifice recently.

As a parent, I know sacrifice. I no longer get to do what I want, when I want. There are a few delicious times when without children and without responsibility, I can indulge in things such as eating when I want, what I want, watching a television program on TV without considering the content, and sleeping in.

Ahhh.

Obama passed a historic health care bill. Much sacrifice went into passing that bill. When I saw the opening of previously closed areas for off shore drilling, I knew it was about the health care bill. You do this, I'll do that. Many, many deals were made along the way. The risks were high, and it will take years to know if it was worth it or not.

I know sacrifice in terms of having kids. I knew my life would change but I had no idea how my life would change and to the extent it would. I cannot miss a presentation or a conference. I cannot take off for a week without extensive planning and even then, there are ramifications when I get home.

Like enormous piles of laundry and annoyed children who do not understand why I was away.

I do not ride a motorcycle, even though I'd like to, nor do I bungee jump or do anything that involves great risk to my health. I am up by 7AM most days, making lunch for Jake, sometimes taking the harp to school. I spend an insane amount of time in the car driving from place to place, to make sure the kids get to music lessons, tutors, and fun activities. When someone is sick, I simply cancel everything and stay home with them.

Nothing to be done. It is what it is.

The Obama administration, I believe, did the same. But where children are by nature, and quite appropriately in need, the legislators were greedy pigs that knew they had him in a tight spot. It was not about what was right for the people, or what was in fact a historical effort, but a time to get goodies.

Keep a keen eye on what happens with the banking regulations as the overhaul goes through Congress. I'm certain deals were made there, too.

I know sacrificing for my children is completely and totally worthwhile. I would have it no other way. I hope the same is true for Obama.

Is It Really Thursday?

2010-04-08T20:47:00.004-04:00

Is it Thursday already?

Where did this week go?

This is the tie your shoes at 7AM and don't plan on stopping till 8PM time of year. Ben in track, Zachary and Jake in baseball, music lessons, tutors... it never seems to end.

Somewhere in the last few months I went from a manageable 150 emails a day to over 300. I can't keep up. If anyone has emailed me recently and I didn't respond, it's not out of the lack of desire, rather the lack of time.

And I really need to fire the email sorter. Oh, wait, that's me. I think I need to fire me.

My lovely technological wizard of a wife says I have programs on my computer that can help. However, that means learning those programs. Which takes time.

Um... can I learn it on the baseball field while I'm watching one of the kids games?

I would like to mention that my glorious baby, Jake, has turned 10. Yesterday was his birthday- I cannot believe he is that old. Or that his feet are really that big.

He is growing by leaps and bounds. It's wonderful and makes me so sad.

In the meantime, Mass Equality, the statewide LGBT group I am on the board of, is deep in searching for a new Executive Director. It is very exciting- much like my baby boy, the organization has gone from infancy to young adulthood. We are becoming a stable, long term political force. It's an amazing ride to have the privilege of being a part of.

And... um... time consuming.

No excuses- my blogging has been horrible lately. We've had health care pass without a comment from me.

Trust me, I have comments. I mean... opening up all those areas for off shore oil drilling? Can you say back room deal to get health care passed? I'm terrified about the banking regulations they are coming up with- how deal laden will they be?

I'm thinking over here, just not writing. I know that does not make my friend Bil very happy. It doesn't make me very happy either.

Now, though, I have to go tuck my way too big baby boy Jake into bed. I still get to tuck one in, at least for a little bit longer.

Showers have been taken, homework done, harp and saxophone practiced. The dog is at my feet, snoring happily.

It is a very busy time of year, no question. And one of the most satisfying, too.

Happy Easter

2010-04-04T17:16:00.002-04:00

I think I seriously need to reconsider my wardrobe.

I came downstairs today, in shorts, and a golf shirt. No shoes, just shorts and a golf shirt. Jake looked at me and said, "Do you have a meeting today?"

Good lord, this is what he thinks I go to meetings in?

Happy Easter everyone...

I don't f****ing think so

2010-04-02T19:34:00.000-04:00

Forgiveness and Fire

2010-03-31T20:11:00.003-04:00

I have spent much of the last few days searching the word "forgiveness" on the internet. The act itself feels pretty shallow. Before I can get to renewal, I realize I must get to forgiveness first.

It is not easy.

I came across a blog of my old minister, James Ishmael Ford. I adored James, and loved listening to him speak on Sunday mornings at the First Universalist Society in Newton. He is a Soto Zen priest and a Unitarian Universalist minister.

He reached me, over and over again. At the time I was an exhausted mother of three young kids, an avowed atheist and only going to church to keep the wife happy. He did not speak of God so much as he spoke of being awake.

And in being awake, you will find God- or whatever you may wish to call it.

I searched through his blog, looking for pieces on forgiveness. I found a lot of different sermons I liked. I do love the way he thinks, how he wraps the universal with the local, with the personal.

And really, no god. Well, in the context of spiritual text, sure.

I don't know why I have such a hard time with God, except to say that my father was "religious" and it creeped me out. He told me god talked to him- or maybe it was the mafia. I always had the sense that his abuse of my sister and I came from him thinking god was telling him what to do.

Leaves one with a bitter taste about god, as you can expect.

Personally, I think you can find a deep sense of spirituality without a church, a cross, or little wafers. But it is those rituals that give meaning, I suppose, of the sense of awakening.

But I don't need to find God right now, I need to find forgiveness. I have people in my life that have meant so much to me and if I don't get to a place of forgiveness, I will lose them.

My sister always pushes me to forgive my father. And others. Forgiveness, she said, gives you the chance to heal. To let it go.

Ten million years later, it seems, I am still not ready to let it go. Not with him.

But I must find forgiveness. I am going to lose something too precious. I tried, with unfortunate results. It came across as vindictive, and angry. I am angry, mind you. With good reason.

But that is not the result I want. Fire against fire... what good is that?

I go back to Rev. Ford's words- he talks about fire, and the symbolism in Hanukkah.

"I suggest we need, each of us, to draw upon our own deepest resources, the fire within. We need to recall the many different flames that inform us. That atavistic flame, for a start, the fire that gave humanity warmth and food and, of course, weapons. We need to recall the fires on the altars of the ancient Greeks and Romans. And, of course, we need to recall how that fire, when it seemed not enough, lasted, for eight days.

It is that last flame, the flame which sustains us past all reason, that I feel we’re mainly called to reflect upon today. Swinburne got it right. It is the flame of love. It is the miracle at the heart of our lives, a gift passed on to us, and which we are honor bound to pass on to others.

That’s the miracle that births love into the world. That is the flame which burns and burns throughout time, and across space.

Amen."

I don't want to use fire as a weapon. I don't want to fight anymore. I want forgiveness.

I just haven't found the right words yet.