Breaking Down the Bedrock

Today has been pretty quiet. Not a lot of news, so I was catching up on some blogs, email, even managed to tackle an enormous pile of laundry...

You know, casually practicing my "sinful nature,"as Sally Kern, and the likes of Sally Kern, call my lifestyle "choice."

Seems on Easter Sunday, the day of all that Jesus stuff- rebirth, and renewal, love and kindness- Sally missed an opportunity to throw her hands up in the air and say, Save me sweet Jesus.

Clearly I was wrong. I don't think gay people are like "cancer" and should be "eradicated."

Not our Sally. She stuck to her guns, comfortable in her ignorance, using the bible to prop herself up on a pedestal of intolerance on KFOR-TV's "Flash Point."

I'm going to decline, too, to give up my, as Ms. Kerns calls it, "lifestyle which is so destructive to individuals, is at the heart trying to tear down what is the bedrock foundation of our society, which is the family and traditional marriage."

I'm going to keep tearing down our society. I'm going to push the envelope with my three children and my legally wedded wife. Not only that, I'm going to proudly proclaim my kids two dads, two wonderful gay men, and not for one second feel any shame.

That and go to the grocery store.

I'm not sure I've quite felt so powerful as I did today, walking down the pasta aisle and picking out my favorite brand of crushed tomatoes. Because that decision? Well, let me tell you, that decision is part of my homosexual agenda.

Although I think we should have a his and hers kinda thing. The homosexual agenda and the lesbian agenda. I know the guys would be far more stylish, have more parties, and actually network. We lesbians would be far better at process, pot lucks and sharing rides in our Subaru station wagons.

In comfortable shoes.

You know what? I do want to tear down that bedrock Sally Kern is so comfortable living on. I do want to get out a chisel and a jack hammer and blast it away. Because any bedrock that requires calling people "cancer" and deeming a change to their worlds as a threat greater than terrorism?

It has to go. Anything that keeps that kind of hate in tact, anything that makes someone like Rep. Kern feel like she can say publicly on Easter Sunday her brand of bigotry is supported by God? That needs to go.

Personally? I'm going to go infiltrate the Elementary school by showing up, two moms, two dads, at my kids parent teacher conferences. I'm going to attend little league baseball games by the thousands.

I'm going to go to the PTO meetings... okay, that may be pushing it.

I know that each time I do? A few more people realize lesbians are regular folks with kids and mortgages and we forget the water bottle sometimes, too.

And Sally Kern- and all those who feel so privileged to throw hateful stones at me? Well, those stones are going to be coming from her own bedrock.

The one crumbling underneath her.

Happy Easter

Easter Sunday...



We had an egg hunt, early morning chocolate- because that is what the good lord would want you to do- and a fabulous dinner.



It was a wonderful, sunny day.

The big news this weekend, though, is not about how many eggs each kid gathered, or the annual meltdown of Zachary (the kid just cannot do that much sugar at once), but that we are proud foster care for two cats.

I had agreed, a while ago, to foster care for cats who needed temporary homes. Mostly, barn cats, feral kittens, and to socialize them so they can be adopted.

My kids were thrilled with the idea but I knew they had no idea what it would be like to care for wild cats. It's not easy.

We finally got a call on Saturday morning that Jeanine and I could not resist. An elderly gentleman was moved to a nursing home. His two cats, both 15 years old and raised by him as kittens, were in a shelter. They hadn't eaten for days. They were listless and they were going to die.

I went and got them right away.

Within a few hours, they both ate a little, had some water and purred like crazy on my lap.

When they got here, they were not so sure they wanted to be here.



Charlotte hid under my desk.

But Darcy- hey, I did not name these cats- was fairly pleased to be away from the shelter.



I find it a little hard to believe Darcy didn't nibble on a bit of food while she was in the shelter. Sure, her sister was on a hunger strike but a morsel or two wouldn't be all THAT bad.

The good news is that while Charlotte still prefers to be under the desk, she will come out to be pat and held. Darcy is up for a small stroll from her sleeping spot, to the litter box, to the food and water and then for a pat while sitting under the chair.

No, I am not a member of PETA, and as I've mentioned before, I do have a mink coat. The reason I did this was to teach my kids some understanding of what it is to volunteer to help something that is helpless.

It's not about keeping every stray cat in the world but being a part of a larger community working to alleviate the problem.

So as I type, Charlotte is puring and sharing half my lap with the computer. Darcy has returned to her sleeping place, her evening stroll complete. The boys have been sweet and quiet around them.

Earlier, I sat with both Zachary and Jake, sitting on the floor, reading books. They didn't try to pat the cats, or to chase after them. They simply came to sit in the room with them. Watch them. Talk about what they know about them, merely two days into the process.

I don't know when a good home will be found. They are old cats- and I mean OLD. Another elderly person would be perfect for them.

And in the meantime, we will all learn about being part of a new community.

Walking Home

Today, walking home from school, the kids and I were talking about Easter and the Easter Bunny.

It's you, Jake said. Did you get the peeps?

Excuse me? I asked.

Listen, Mom, Zachary patiently explained, When you had the "Easter Bunny" - and he does quotes with his fingers in the air- come to the condo in Florida and he came with one of the camp counselors and wore boxes on his feet? You really didn't expect us to believe after that, did you?

I looked at him. God that kid is smart. Hey, I said, Don't blame me. That was your grandmother's idea.

Yeah, and then we had to go to a mosquito infested swamp for the egg hunt, Zachary added.

It's true. He did.

Not my idea. Your grandmothers, I said, passing the buck to my dead mother.

They put the eggs in thistle bushes, Zachary said.

By then I was laughing because I do remember it well. There were swarms of mosquitoes and the eggs were in thick bramble. My mother's condo was part of a bigger resort, so they had all sorts of kid programs. She wasn't able, physically, to do very much with the kids so it pleased her that they could go do 'fun stuff' at the 'kid's camp.'

The only problem was the camp wasn't very good.

That wasn't Grandma's egg hunt, Zachary was quick to defend her. She had a great one the next year, around the condo. She always had cool stuff for us.

I know, I said to him. What I didn't say was Jeanine and I, along with the other neighbors, did the egg hunt around the condo. We filled eggs with candy and stickers and small plastic rings and stashed them outside.

My mother was delighted by the idea.

When all the other kids came running out Easter morning in fresh, new, pressed outfits ready for church, my mother frowned at my boys running around in bathing suits and rumpled tee shirts. That was my bad. I should have dressed them. Her grandsons? She waved happily from her balcony, clapping each time they held up an egg.

Memories in my family are rarely about telling the truth. I was torn. My beautiful, blue eyed boy delights in his image of his grandmother. His grandmother was not the same person as my mother. She loved them unconditionally.

Your grandmother, I said carefully, loved you all very much.

Yeah, she'd let us have coke and ice cream for breakfast, but she didn't let you do that when you were a kid, Zachary said.

My mother was out the door to work before I ate breakfast, I thought. I rarely ate anything.

She did let you have whatever you wanted, I smiled. We were almost home.

So, when I have kids, you're gonna spoil them all the time, right?

Yup, I said.

I took a deep breath, and remembered today is the first day of spring. It's about renewal, and fresh, fragile starts. I don't need to be right. I don't need my kids to know all of who my mother was. Not now. Maybe not ever.

I want to move forward.

Zachary eyed me, gauging how far he could push the conversation. You won't be all mean like you are now, with all the rules, he asked.

I turned my head and raised an eyebrow.

Well, except on weekends. You rock on weekends, he hedged. Zachary will be a brilliant politician someday.

But you are kinda mean during the week, Jake piped in.

I'm gonna be mean to you now! I said and started to run after Jake who squealed and ran the rest of the way, with me chasing him.

The peeps are bought. The baskets, ready. There will be no excuses for waking up early in the morning because no one believes in the Easter Bunny, boxes or not on his feet.

For me? This time is about the small green outside, the little beginnings of possibilities.

And enjoying every walk home.

Easter Is On It's Way

I pondered the ridiculousness of me, an atheist, celebrating Easter, with my friend Hillary today.

Not that Hillary.

I don't believe in God. Easter just pushes 'going along' to an extreme. Not only am I suppose to believe in some celestial being, I am also to think that he rose from the grave?

I don't even like peeps, I wrote. I know. It's UN-American.

If Jesus sees his shadow, we get 6 more weeks of peeps... she responded.




All I can say is... AMEN.