Our Anniversary Weekend Getaway

This weekend was our sometimes-annual tradition of a weekend alone in the city (see here and here; we went to Block Island in 2014)--what we have called a nano-honeymoon--perfectly timed with our actual 18th anniversary.  And we had a wonderful time!  While the kids stayed with their NYC grandparents eating their way across Queens and going to the beach (even boogie boarding on the waves!  Think tummy surfing with a smaller board), Mama and I returned to our favorite hotel near Union Square and had a delightful three days.

FRIDAY

We actually started our weekend, after dropping off the kids, in Midtown--at 61st near 1st, at the old Mount Vernon Hotel Museum.  Built as a mansion with carriage house in the late 18th century, the carriage house became a "day hotel" (think 19th-century spa) with parlors for the ladies to sew, play music, visit, and take tea, and fishing and a horse-trotting track for the gentleman, with a big supper for all.  Miraculously, the building survived (Thanks, Con Ed!  They bought it way back when and didn't tear it down) and is now administer by the Colonial Dames.   Gommie, you might remember this--it was known as the Abigail Adams Smith House when you went, I think.  Well, like Gommie, I love a good house museum and this one had great fake food (that three-tiered gelatin dessert!  those blackberries!  even that oyster pie!), a remarkable parlor barrel organ, and a complete traveling whiskey case with gold-painted glass bottles in all sorts of odd shapes. We also liked the shop, where Mama picked up the little owl that features in most of our pictures instead of one of us (she did the same, with a different little owl that was mistakenly left at home, on her own trip into the city about a month ago.)

We headed to our hotel next, the indulgent Inn at Irving Place, where we've stayed the last two times, and were even able to get into our lovely room early.  I always love the period kitsch, tastefully arranged without too much thought to historiocity; a little nicer than shabby chic, it is very comfortable and evokes a different time for me (but with air conditioning!)  It's also very conveniently located right near Union Square, which affords us a great neighborhood to explore and dining options to try.  Mama had assiduously researched special GF/DF/FODMAPS dining options for me and found several in the area.  And not just meat and rice.  We started with french fries from our favorite Maoz, which we ate while perusing the Union Square Green Market, on our way to the Lion Brand yarn shop.  

Loved these bags; wish they were t-shirts

The Lion Brand yarn shop had a great all-yarn (mostly knit) farmer's market display in its window and the staff walked around helping customers while knitting and crocheting!  I can't imagine.  I had fun seeing all the various yarn colors and textures, plus notions and accessories, and only brought home half a bag of yarn!  Okay, their bags are really big, but still.  I even finished a mandala in the Landscapes Boardwalk (which, I must admit, I liked better as a skein than as a finished piece--for me, there is too much murky green and brown and ugly orange!  And the colors change so quickly that the striping didn't work well in the rounds.  Oh, well, it felt wonderful and I enjoyed the crocheting nonetheless.)  Mama even got an Amigurumi book. (She isn't a yarn hoarder like I am.  Yet.)

I might be getting my days switched, but we visited the art supplies store on Friday, too.  Mama perused everything like a kid in the proverbial candy shop, picking up a pencil case and some other items.  We spent a lot of down time on this trip just hanging out in our lovely room and engaging in some of our hobbies--crochet, drawing, reading--in the serene peace and quiet.  I loved the afternoon light through our tall windows.  We also ate take out in our room a few times.  Our late-afternoon snack Friday was from Hu's kitchen, which had a GF/DF dessert called Maple "Creme Brulee" made with taro and coconut milk; Mama enjoyed a "Diesel Walker" or something, which was sloppy joe beef on a baed of sauteed "grandmaster veg."  Late that night, we had GF rosemary-potato-ricotta pizza, a lovely GF truffle ham sandwich, and a GF nutella strawberry dessert pizza from Pie by the Pound.  At some point, and I can't recall when, we also got a snack from Wok to Walk, cilantro-laden noodles with spicy sauce for her, chicken teriyaki rice for me.  As I said, we did manage to find some great food.

SATURDAY
We started this day off, after "sleeping in" til 8:30 a.m., with a long-awaited trip to Friend of a Farmer, a restaurant I had seen advertised and had wanted to visit since my grad school days 20 years earlier!  While I was sad to have to skip the renown pancakes, I did enjoy a skillet omelet and home fries.  We also got a sampling of their homemade breads, of which I ate this incredible lemon one (half a slice, willing to take the consequences, which never materialized.)  Mama enjoyed her crab cakes benedict and cheese grits.  What a way to start the day!

You would think we don't get food in Connecticut because we stopped at the Bradford Cheese Shop next and had fun choosing delicacies to take home.  Well, in truth, our little corner of CT has an overabundance of pizza, diners, and take-out Chinese, not much else (unless you look really hard, but we have found nearby enough Peruvian, Indian, vegetarian at Bloodroot); at least, we have both a Whole Foods and a Trader Joe's.    We got special Fentiman's soda, including my favorite Rose Lemonade and Mama's favorite Shandy (lemonade and beer, a British combo), some GF treats, lots of odd potato chip flavors for Bud, some caramels for Sis; more than half the fun was perusing the international variety on the neat shelves.


Later that day was the highlight of our trip, Fun Home, the musical.  In case you don't know, Fun Home is based on the autobiographical, "tragicomedy" graphic novel by famed lesbian cartoonist, Alison Bechdel.  She focuses on both her coming-out narrative and her closeted, gay father's suicide four months later, in a wonderful, richly-layered story of her life at different ages (mainly, elementary school, college, and adulthood.)  We had known and enjoyed her nationally-syndicated Dykes to Watch Out For comic strip for 20 years and read the graphic novel when it came out.  But we never knew it could be a musical!

And what a musical it was!  I had seen "little Alison" actress Sydney Lucas perform "Ring of Keys" on the Tonys and instantly loved the song.  It reminded me of Mama, when we first met (except she had jeans):

Your swagger and your bearing
And the just-right clothes you're wearing
Your short hair and your dungarees
and your lace-up boots
and your ring of keys.

It's only missing her flannel shirt, baseball cap, (SW 25, i.e. Stonewall Riots 25th anniversary), and her omnipresent, omnipotent Swiss Army knife.

We both loved the musical.  First, the 1970s period details--the photo cube, the box tv on the floor which the kids sprawl in front of, the "Partridge Family," the clothes, even the exclamation "tough titties!" (where did we get that, anyway?)  Though, I didn't grow up with a dad who ran a funeral home--a "fun home"--like she did, but I remembered many of the other bits.  Mama recognized the old bags from Macy's, the Strand, and Li-Lac Chocolates.

The performance was unique, being played in the round at Circle in the Square, an intimate theater.  It was also played straight through, with no intermission or late seating.  In fact, we were in a section where we weren't allowed to get up and leave at all, behind the little orchestra, by a trap door!  Big Alison sat at the base of our stairs a couple of times.  You really felt like a ghost in Alison's life, experiencing its layers as she remembered it.  And the actors were top-notch.  So amazing.  The actress playing Big Alison is a lesbian, too and makes the show.  Middle Alison played it with no make up and is so believable as an awkward college dyke.  And Little Alison, just 12 years old . . . wow, just wow.

But it really was the coming out story that resonated with us--from Little Alison's awareness of not fitting in sometimes (dresses, barrettes) to her crush in college and first forays into lesbian culture and sex (which elicited groans from Big Alison--"I didn't even know what Take Back the Night was!"  and "I had a crush on my first grade teacher!" to being scared of hanging out with "real lesbians" and that first major romance "I'm majoring in Joan . . . ."--there were often two Alisons on the stage at once, drawing connections between different parts of her story) to the pain of coming out to parents, with silences and awkward conversations (I know what it's like to send that letter.)  You could definitely tell where the lesbians in the audience were because we laughed loudly at the same parts (and there were so many more lesbian couples than I have ever seen at a Broadway show, ever.)  It was so special and really resonated; we just never see lesbians in Broadway shows.    Perfect, perfect, perfect.  Especially for the 18th anniversary of our own little lesbian love story (20 if you count from the very beginning, but Aug 23 is the date we like to count best.)

Whew.  We processed the entire experience over a late lunch at Otto, Mario Batali's pizza place.  He is very GF friendly and so I got a GF spaghetti carbonara that was delicious.  Mama had a seafood appetizer with little dishes of cuddlefish, cod, anchovy, mussels, calamari and the like treated in different cold, pickly salads.  We also loved the spinach, ricotta insalata, salad with honeyed truffle oil!  Decadent.  And the desserts!  Olive oil gelato with passion fruit granita and basil syrup with a sprinkle of salt--I got a big bite of salt and thought it was awful but second tastings, after Mama's reassurances, revealed it to be a marvelous concoction.  I got the lemon meringata.  YUM!  We walked nearby Washington Square, where Mama spent summers as a child when her mom was finishing her Ph.D. at NYU, reminiscing about her childhood at Bobst library, our time in NYC together, that fateful day 18 years ago (after a fight of all things--just like in the movies when the sparring characters kiss!--but we were fighting long distance Chicago to NY over the plot of Bar Stories and its implications and then, well, we weren't fighting), September 11, and other times.

We sauntered home via the Strand bookstore, where we picked up some books for the kids, souvenirs for our cat sitters, and a couple of craft books.  I came across a few reminders of dear Aunt Sis--an artsy epistolary book called Griffin and Sabine that she had given me decades ago and a pair of art socks (was it Van Gogh?) that I had taken her just last December.  Bittersweet.  We enjoyed a slow walk home; it was cooler on Saturday than Friday, remarking on the various buildings (we always realize anew that the house across the street was Washington Irving's)--and even the plantings!  (Because if a plant can survive the sidewalks of NY, surely it will survive our yard)  I think there are a few more caladium varietals we can try.   We spent the rest of the night in our room, playing with art supplies and yarn, just talking and hanging out, like we did in NYC when we met in 1994.

SUNDAY

We had planned to attend a Friends church service at the historic meeting house in Queens, but when the time came, we were more content to laze around and talk.  We picked up some GF treats at a nearby coffee shop and had tea in our hotel parlor, while reading bits from the Sunday Times to each other.  Yay, panda twins!  Boo, abortion restrictions in Ohio!  Great bit on Tig Notaro!  Plus lots of articles we skipped because they'd been online all week already (there's an article on 36 hours in Burlington, VT, Ms. Sew and Sow.)

We checked out around noon and grabbed lunch at British fish and chips shop, A Salt and Battery.  Mmm, vinegar on chips, bangers with a curry sauce (Mama loves that curry sauce!), and another Shandy for Mama.  We grabbed some last-minute treats from the British shop next door (more rose teas, various crisps flavors for Bud, some Crunchie bars for Sis, a TARDIS mug.)  I would've loved to go to Tea and Sympathy, next door (all three are owned by the same couple), but would've been sad to forego my usual non-GF/DF favorite scone and clotted cream.

We drove out to get the kids, down the West Side, past the WTC and City Hall, across the Brooklyn Bridge, and through various neighborhoods til we reached the beach.    The kids had a marvelous time as well and we were all sorry to see the weekend end.

Until next year . . . .

Piano Guys and Gals

This morning, Sis lay down on our piano bench and played "Old Susanna" upside down--just like Mozart in the movie, Amadeus.

Why?

Because she was inspired by the Piano Guys concert we attended last night.

Similarly, Bud was practicing cello first thing this morning, even thumping the body and spinning his instrument.

All because of the Piano Guys.

Bud also loved that they played "his" song from the Peanuts Gang . . .in a nursing home (they showed a video), just like he will on Sunday with the piano club.

I'm not sure when we first heard of them.  I think perhaps it was a FB video of a Star Wars cello duel. 

But pretty soon, they were everywhere.  Mama seemed to come upon them separately, knowing a video where the musicians pluck and bow the inside of a grand piano.  One of the young ladies in our piano club played some of their songs, including "Waterfalls" and "Secrets."  And our piano teacher then mentioned that they were going to be in concert nearby.

So we got tickets.  And went last night.

They were fabulous!  Mixing Christmas carols with pop tunes, original compositions with well-known tunes, sometimes played traditionally, but more often than not, played more originally with loops, thumping, plucking, using their heads, elbows, and even toes and feet!!  Though it was well past their bedtimes, the kids were enthralled.

And all Mama and I could think of was Mormons.

See, unbeknowst to us, the musicians are members of the Latter-Day Saints (LDS.)  As you probably know, the wealthy and powerful (and growing) LDS church contributed funds and power to overthrowing California's Proposition 8, regarding same-sex marriage, which they are firmly against.  On a personal level, I know only one Mormon, who is also against same-sex marriage; we've discussed it briefly--in my house, of all places.  She has stated that she respects the love I have for my family--and so we manage, as co-Girl Scout leaders.  Conversely, I respect her beliefs and support her right to them . . . up to the point that she wants to take away mine (as far as I know, she isn't a social activist per se.)  It's a tenuous friendship, where we try to stay far away from these issues.  A real case of agree-to-disagree.  

Anyway, I tend not to support organizations who actively support conservative causes, i.e. Wal-Mart, Hobby Lobby, Chick-fil-a, Domino's, Wendy's, Cracker Barrel, ad infinitum.  And so at the very first, I was a bit disappointed that some of my money, by way of tithing, must have gone to the LDS coffers.

And as I sat and listened to their beautiful music, I reflected on how prejudiced I would be if I lumped all Mormons under one roof or dismissed them out of hand.  I know it's not a monolithic group, ranging from the Fundamentalist LDS polygamists to a strong believer like my GS co-leader to the LDS feminists and even those who support gay rights.  What did I really know of the Piano Guys?  Besides their amazing talents?

Well, they made one Mormon joke--about "that's one wife per person, something you have to explain if you're Mormon"--and testified a few times (which mostly fell flat here in Connecticut.)  It dawned on me how secular CT really is, especially the circles I run in.  As a kid, I'd hear prayers to Christ at football games; there are always a few celebrities thanking God at the Oscars and Super Bowl.  But that's about it.  And, considering the proselytizing culture of LDS, it was pretty mild at the concert--just some gratitude, some witnessing of the divine that we all can feel "no matter your beliefs," one said.  I don't even think there was a table of information anywhere. 

But I still thought about it and apparently Mama did, too.  When we discussed it later (after a brief but convoluted discussion with the very sleepy kids), Mama quoted Pema Chodron on how we're all looking for enlightenment and that we should recognize that in each other; if we are bothered by other people's searches, it's probably because we're not there yet either (or something to that effect; it was late for me, too!)  As UUs, we covenant to support and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people. And I really want to live that, even when it's somewhat challenging.  Because I do have a knee-jerk reaction about religious conservatives, perhaps particularly Mormons because of their recent political successes and increased visibility.  So, it's a practice for me, particularly to focus on the individual, not making assumptions on some stereotype of the group they belong to (like my GS friend, who is in many ways, besides religion, my doppelganger--they were at the concert, too! )--just as I want myself and family to be treated as people, not stereotypes of lesbians or Asians or Texans or whatever label fits preconceived notions. Also to be treated with respect and kindness and compassion, regardless.   It works for me and my co-leader, for whom we are each the other's teachable moment, I think.

And, I suppose, even if I am opposed politically, personally, it is best--to borrow a biblical phrase--to turn the other cheek.  I would not want to turn around and do what I don't like in return.

Though sometimes, if I do feel a bit attacked personally or in general, besides remembering the UU principle, I comfort myself that conservative LDS are losing the culture wars, much the same way Mitt Romney lost the election (even if we do seem to be backsliding, having a serious backlash to liberal politics in some realms.)

And so I sat back and enjoyed the music, especially as we all sang "Silent Night" together at the end.  Because it is that shared humanity, which we affirmed together, that matters most to me.  And we all have our own paths to it.

(Though, Mama and I agreed, if the Piano Guys used their platform and campaigned against us, per se (like Cracker Barrel used to), we probably wouldn't be buying anymore tickets or CDs.)

Coming Attraction

I was happily surprised to come across this article and trailer for Glenn Close's "passion project," Albert Nobbs, which we've been waiting for since last December.  I imagine the story doesn't end well, but the film looks wonderful--Close, Janet McTeer, lesbians, passing, 19th-century Britain--what's not to like?

They're Getting Married in the Morning!

Congrats to lesbigay citizens of NY State--you can now get married!!!

It's been a long time coming (and not just the frustratingly slow pace of the last few days).

But it's a wonderful, fairy-tale ending, especially here on Pride Weekend . . . may you get married and live happily ever after!

(And a great early birthday present for native NYer Mama!)

Pride: Ups and Downs

I always get a bit down when there is a battle for LGBT rights in a legislature or at the ballot box. I suppose my reaction should be hope or celebration that we're moving forward, making progress. But instead I am sad, or "smad," that a). there have to be extraordinary measures to grant me and my family even just some of the rights that straight people have (do you know we paid $10,000 more in taxes this year because we're lesbians?!!!!) and b). that people fight it so vehemently with whatever arguments, always religious, that they have against us--it's just disheartening to be called dirty and immoral and disgusting and an aberration and etc etc etc.

I wonder how my grandmother, who was 18 at the time, felt about the vote on the 19th amendment, giving her the right to vote. Was she pleased that she was granted this right? Or did she feel patronized that she had to be given a right that others possessed by virtue of existing?

And I can't even begin to touch on the understandable rage of the African-American community at the repeated votes and laws and court cases that denied and granted them rights and protections over and over again, with slow progress and little effect on the culture at large for so long. Even still, especially if you believe the recent story (much-debated) that an African-American woman was denied shelter in Cordova, Alabama and died in the tornado.

So, I'm watching the struggle in New York's Senate to get just one more person to vote "aye" so that millions of people can feel like full citizens and I'm just smad. (I say "feel like" because they still are full citizens federally.)

But then I read today about the new UN declaration expressing concern about abuse of LGBT people (who are illegal in something like 76 countries) and affirming the support of our rights. And I was hopeful that there was progress internationally, with South Africa introducing the measure, and 23 countries supporting it, even though there 19 against as well as more of those awful kinds of hurtful comments. I wonder if the UN can sway just one more NY Senator?

I just try to remember, to paraphrase Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, the arc of human history bends towards justice . . .

I am a Real Lesbian Blogger

I want to set the record straight--yes, pun intended--that I am

a). real, in the sense that my first name starts with a J, I have a female partner, called here Mama Hungry, and twin children known here as Bud and Sis, that we live in Connecticut, that all the descriptors of me--the Ph.D., Unitarian Universalism, vegetarian, museum educator, stay-at-home-mom--on the sidebars are true, and that everything I blog about has happened. There is some poetic or literary license with descriptions and hyperbole, sometimes with skewed timelines (I get this indifferent relationship to time and numbers from my mom), mainly because I'm a Texan and we always exaggerate and embellish our stories.

b). a lesbian. Yep, a real female lesbian. I've been a lesbian since I was born, no doubt, but didn't quite realize it until my mid-20s, despite several girl crushes and kissing my lesbian best friend in high school. Call me slow. But it was the 1980s--we didn't have Ellen, just Jo on the "Facts of Life." I had a few very platonic, probably gay boyfriends, that didn't amount to much. And I've been in a monogamous lesbian relationship with another lesbian since 1997, having met and started dating her, after a fashion, in 1994.

c.) a blogger. I write this blog. Unless I quote or attribute the words, ideas, or recipes to others, they are my own to the best of my knowledge (recognizing that I might not realize influences I've absorbed). I've been blogging since August 2007--almost four years now--practically every day, sometimes several times a day. I do it for fun, for posterity, for keeping in touch with friends and family, for working out my ideas, but not much else like fame, money, or a book contract.

I mention this because in the last few days not one but two lesbian bloggers have revealed themselves to be straight men. And get this: unbeknownst to them, they corresponded and even flirted with each other! Tom McMasters took the pen name Amina Arraf and lied about being a lesbian Syrian-American in Damascus being persecuted by the government but protected by her father. And Bill Graber lied about being a lesbian and edited Lez Get Real under the name Paula Brooks, which is his wife's name--and she apparently knew nothing about it! I suppose I can appreciate that these two straight men cared enough about lesbian (and Syrian) issues to fully appropriate a fake identity to get the story out. Except now the story is about straight white male entitlement--and not lesbians and/or Syrians--and, really, don't we hear enough about straight white men in the news everyday already?

I Was Born This Way . . . And It Gets Better!

Picture this: Sis and Bud performing Lady Gaga's "Born This Way," but Sis starts it in her five-year-old way, "It doesn't matter if you love him, or capital H-A-M!" Yep, the girl loves ham more than Him. Then Bud joins her and they start singing about loving themselves and being great the way they are. They even mimic all the choreography from "Glee"--putting their "paws up," curling their hair, smearing on the lipstick--but sometimes the meaning escapes them--they still haven't figured out what a "boudoir" is! It's adorable. And a fantastic message.

Yep, we're all Gleeks over here and it's been quite a week or two, with Kurt coming back to McKinley and the New Directions last week--culminating in the "Born this Way" song that the kids love. And then prom last night. Whose breath wasn't caught in their throat when Kurt was announced "Queen?" But I think he turned it around beautifully, with "Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton!" The kids are going to love the songs when I show them later today, the songs, not the episode. I only wish that Santana and Brittany could've moved along in their relationship. I'm even loving some of the commercials, including Google Chrome's support of Dan Savage's It Gets Better movement and the ad with the lesbian couple together for 29 years for New Yorkers United for Marriage.

At the same time, "Glee" has taken quite a beating the last few weeks, from Glenn Beck and from a Fox affiliate in Houston, which worries that the show is turning children gay. But I've got news for Fox: kids in Houston were turning gay way before Glee and even before Fox! And I was just one of them, even if I was a late bloomer. Two others were friends of mine in high school: my basketball- and softball-playing lesbian best friend (who kissed me!) and my New Wave, blue-eye shadow-wearing, multi-ear pierced, fashion-conscious Vietnamese boyfriend and prom date (whom I never kissed. We were Santana and Karofsky without actually acknowledging it!). But we never said anything, even if everyone else was whispering about it; silence was safety then, especially silence in your own heart. What we would have given for an accepting, celebratory show like "Glee," not just for its out characters but for its acceptance of all diversity--Asians, Jewish people, people in wheelchairs, overweight people, people with Down Syndrome. No, we had, a few years later, "90210," not a bastion of diversity, unless blonde and brunette, rich and not-quite-as-rich count.

But it got better. It's gotten so much better. On tv, in the schools, on the streets, on the law books. Yes, hate crimes happen with shocking regularity and LGBT suicides are still high--and internationally, the picture is bleak in many places like Uganda. But there has been improvement here--legal same-sex marriage, gay and lesbian adoption, Ellen, Chaz Bono,changes in the Episcopal and Presbyterian churches, the end of DADT, and "Glee," to name just a few--which shows it's possible. It does get better.

And if I ever made a video for It Gets Better, I'd start with our beautiful kids singing:

(Lady Gaga's "Born this Way," Glee version)

[Kurt:]
It doesn't matter if you love him, or capital H-I-M-M-M-M
Just put your paws up
'Cause you were born this way, baby

[Tina:]
My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars
She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir

[Mercedes:]
"There's nothing wrong with lovin' who you are"
She said, "'Cause he made you perfect, babe"

[Mercedes with Tina:]
"So hold your head up girl and you'll go far,
Listen to me when I say"

[New Directions: Mercedes]
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

[New Directions: Tina]
Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby I was born this way
Baby I was born this way (born this way)

Ooo there ain’t no other way
Baby I was born this way
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

[Kurt:]
Don't be a drag – just be a queen

[Tina:]
Don't be a drag – just be a queen

[Mercedes:]
Don't be a drag – just be a queen
Don't be!

[Tina:]
Give yourself prudence
And love your friends
Subway kid, rejoice your truth

In the religion of the insecure
I must be myself, respect my youth

[Mercedes:]
A different lover is not a sin
Believe capital H-I-M

[Mercedes with Tina:]

I love my life I love this record and
Mi amore vole fe yah (love needs faith)

[New Directions (with Mercedes):]
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

[New Directions (with Tina):]
Ooo there ain't no other way
Baby I was born this way
Baby I was born this way

Ooo there ain’t no other way
Baby I was born this way
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

[Kurt:]
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Whether you're broke or evergreen
You're black, white, beige, chola descent
You're lebanese, you're orient

Whether life's disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied, or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
'Cause baby you were born this way

[Mercedes and Tina:]
No matter gay, straight, or bi
Lesbian, transgendered life
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to survive

No matter black, white or beige
Chola or orient made
I'm on the right track baby
I was born to be brave

[New Directions (with Tina leading & Mercedes on riffs):]
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

Ooo there ain’t no other way
Baby I was born this way
Baby I was born this way

Ooo there ain’t no other way
Baby I was born this way
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way

I was born this way hey!
I was born this way hey!
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way hey!

I was born this way hey!
I was born this way hey!
I'm on the right track baby
I was born this way hey!

We Told You So

That lesbians make good parents: study shows child abuse rate at ZERO in lesbian households.

So let us get married and/or foster or adopt!

Hope

I haven't known what to write about the rash of suicides of gay youth, most notably that of the student at Rutgers. It saddens me, though it does not surprise me. Despite huge strides in GLBT acceptance, or probably because of them, there is also vocal and vehement oppositions to GLBT people. It is often difficult even as a secure, confident adult lesbian with a loving partner and supportive family living in a GLBT-friendly state with actual marriage and adoption rights to withstand and turn the tide on the torrents of hatred that frequently swirl around the greater society. Teens, who are only just forming their identities, especially those living in less-friendly locales, are vulnerable, overwhelmed, scared, even hopeless. Dan Savage, Ellen Degeneres, and other celebrities seek to reassure these kids that life can and does get better. And it does.

I grew up not far from Cypresswood, TX, where a 13 year-old gay boy killed himself recently. When I was a teen there, just the rumors of gay and lesbianism, whispered with sly glances in the hallways, were enough to ostracize classmates. My best friend, a lesbian, about whom much was said, found refuge in the girls' basketball and softball teams, with other lesbians, including the coaches. And I, who was not so much a questioning youth, as the saying goes, but a clueless one (with more girl crushes than I can count, only two platonic "boyfriends," and a kiss with that best friend!), more interested in schoolwork than in boys or girls, avoided trouble in that very asexuality, which took years to shed. I was one of the very lucky ones.

But there is hope. And I saw it down the street yesterday. The niece of a neighbor, a teenaged girl who had realized early that she was a lesbian, now out and proud and happy and embraced by all around her. She's our future. The little kids playing around and with her, and knowing me and Mama, accepting us all as little kids do, whether they become gay or straight, are our future. And so GLBT adults, and perhaps even those lucky teens with family and friendly support, and those who love us, must continue to model acceptance and to resist those who so loudly say otherwise so that those without hope will know that they are accepted too.

Birth Dad

The little girl turned to Sis and Bud, "Where is your daddy?"

And they just stared at her.

It's not that we haven't discussed their parentage as a family before. Over and over again, we've explained that there was "a nice man who helped us have a baby. But we never met him." And that they have two mommies. And that some kids have two daddies. And some kids live with one parent or even someone else like a grandparent or guardian. But most kids have a mommy and a daddy. And it's all okay.

But that's a pretty long-winded answer for one kindergartener to give another.

Enter Jamie Lee Curtis and her book Tell Me about the Night I was Born, about a girl who likes to hear how her adoptive parents brought her home. And in the back is a picture of the girl's family tree, with her mom and dad on the same line with her birth mom and birth dad.

Birth dad.

That's it. An easier, simpler answer about the anonymous sperm donor whom we only know by number who helped us have the kids. Birth parents are common concepts in adoption circles. And while I usually think of terms like mom or dad as familial and not purely biological concepts, I think it could work. And then the kids can answer any questions about dads with "Yes, I do have a birth dad. But I live with my two moms," or "My Mama and my birth dad are Chinese." All without having to go into sperm. For now.

So, we tried it out on the kids last night when we re-read Curtis's book. And they liked it just fine.

Now to help them cope when other people don't understand or like that answer . . . .

Cave Canem*

Friends never believe me when I tell them that Mama is often mistaken as my son. It happened the first time in Chicago during the summer of 1997, before we were together. We were in Oak Park, doing the Frank Lloyd Wright thing, and the admissions people at one of the houses sold us an adult ticket and a child ticket, assuming and not asking about our relationship.

Sure, to the casual and unsophisticated onlooker, Mama can look like a boy--short hair, pants and buttoned-down shirt, plus sensible shoes, no make-up, no jewelry (well, there's a wedding ring now), no purse, belt full of gadget (once a Swiss army knife, now a Blackberry and atomic pocket watch), short fingernails--the hallmarks of a butch lesbian. Plus, she's 8" shorter than I am. And, being Chinese, confusedly and perpetually younger-looking than she is (at least she is graying first and faster!). But my son? I'm only 4 years older. And hardly, at least then at the age of 6, old enough to have a 15 year old son!

But I know why they do it. Strangers sense a relationship, a connection, an affection, a tenderness. But just cannot for the life of them place it. And so they figure I'm the mom. I hear tell that many lesbian couples are mistaken for sisters. Well, that has never happened to us, probably because of the Caucasian/Asian thing. Nope, it's an Oedipal thing here.

And it happens ALL THE TIME. It happened when we went to see Titanic the movie in Times Square. It happened when we took a ferry to Mackinac Island. It happened this fall at our church festival, with more than one stranger congratulating me for having such a helpful son and praising my son for being such a helpful older brother to the younger children. That scenario has happened repeatedly--at Old Sturbridge Village, at Target, at the grocery store, at the Bronx Zoo.

And it happened again on Sunday at the American Museum of Natural History. But this time in front of my in-laws, whom I'm pretty sure had never witnessed the phenomenon before. We were standing in line waiting for the auditorium to open for the Chinese theater performance. And the woman behind us had been engaging us in (very inappropriate) conversation about the twins (suffice it to say, she didn't believe me that they were twins because she thought Sis was Chinese and Bud was not. She actually asked repeatedly and then argued with me. I said, and I paraphrase, "Look, lady, I had them. A minute apart. They're both half Chinese and they are twins." F*** off. Of course, that last, unsaid part is neither nonviolent communication nor good parental modeling. I'm still working on dealing with nosy strangers).

When Mama wandered up and began making origami, the woman started praising her skills as if she were a talented child. And wasn't it great that the twins' older brother could make hats and boats out of paper! Mama tried to fix it, subtly, by saying she'd learned from her mother, pointing to Ma not far away, but the stranger didn't get it. So I finally said, "she's not my child. She's my partner. The twins have two mommies."

Silence.

Always.

Believe it.

-=-=-=-=-

*"Cave Canem" is an old joke in my family. Budding high school Latin scholar that I was, I had told my mom that there were "beware of dog" signs in the ruins of Pompeii. And she didn't believe me, about the signs or the translation of the Latin. That is, until we went to Pompeii together when I was in college and I could show her the mosaic. Now we use it as code for "believe me."

Question of the Day

How is it that Mexico City, in Catholic Latin America, has legalized same-sex marriage before New York City?

At least it adds another place Mama and I would be glad to visit and spend our tourist dollars.

Answering Lambeth

My friend  Lambeth writes in a comment on my blog,

"What name would you like for the sexual, mental and spiritual union between a male and female which is undertaken for life? I understand from 'Roots' that at one time it was called 'Jumping the broom'."  

And, before my mom tears him apart in a separate comment, I want to answer him, because I think it speaks to the difficulty of discussing the love that dares not speak its name.

Lambeth, I would like the name for a sexual and mental union between a male and a female which is undertaken for life to be called marriage.  Just as I would like the same union between two men or two women to be called marriage.  You will certainly notice that I took the word "spiritual" out of it.  I don't believe the state, in this case California, but more generally, the United States, has any place in defining, naming, granting privileges or rights, to a spiritual matter.  We have separation of church and state here (my dear Lambeth is across the ocean in England) and I expect it to stay separate.  Just as the U.S. does not recognize, for example, a bar or bat mitzvah as the legal coming-of-age of a Jewish child, who like his or her Christian or Muslim or UU or atheist counterparts, must wait til 18 to be a legal adult.  I don't want the government basing its legal definitions on religious ones.  Historically, marriage has been the realm of the church, sanctified in church ceremonies.  But with the secularization of government and the use of marriage as a state of being with legal rights (tax exemptions, inheritance, etc etc.  You will all remember I am not a lawyer, just a lesbian), it has become necessary to secularize our definition of marriage.  Which means dropping all the talk of gender.  

Does this mean the Catholic Church will be forced to wed women to one another?  No.  No more than it has made Jewish congregations hold bat and bar mitzvahs for 18-year olds only.  Or forced the St Patrick's Day Parade in NYC to permit GLBT groups.  Or the Boy Scouts not to discriminate against gays (and atheists).  The separation of church and state works both ways--the state cannot tell the church what or what not to accept, including gay marriage.  It reminds me of that pro-choice bumper sticker:  Don't like gay marriage?  Don't have one!  

I'm sure I could go on:  about poll numbers showing an increase in people's acceptance of gay marriage, but our president's stance against it (because of his Christian values); about gay rights groups focusing very heavily on this issue without doing a good job at really defining it (trust me, my liberal and sympathetic straight friends couldn't  tell you what the issues are, and they support us!).  What I think makes me sad about California is that people's legal rights were voted on, much like a terrible high school popularity contest.  When did rights become a popularity contest?  Imagine if we had let Americans vote outright on the rights of, say, African Americans or Catholics or Jews or Native Americans at other points in our history, or even, in some places in this country, now (I'm not a legal scholar, so if we did have those kinds of votes, let me know).  Justice Carlos Moreno, the one dissenting vote and the only Democrat, referred to gays and lesbians as one of the "disfavored minorities."  There are others:  should we start voting on their rights?  

Which leads me to my trouble with states' rights, and the obvious arbitrariness of it, where I can get married in one state and not in another. This becomes even more ridiculous when you consider transgendered rights and marriage, as pointed out by a lawyer in a Texas case for a transgendered plaintiff (see "Is My Marriage Gay?" for a great op-ed on the issue)

“Taking this situation to its logical conclusion, Mrs. Littleton, while in San Antonio, Tex., is a male and has a void marriage; as she travels to Houston, Tex., and enters federal property, she is female and a widow; upon traveling to Kentucky she is female and a widow; but, upon entering Ohio, she is once again male and prohibited from marriage; entering Connecticut, she is again female and may marry; if her travel takes her north to Vermont, she is male and may marry a female; if instead she travels south to New Jersey, she may marry a male.”

Easy enough for me, of course, because I'm in a state that has legalized gay marriage and granted me rights and protections therein.  Even if those rights don't exist when I leave the confines of my state or when the matter is federal.  Even though I'm safe here in Connecticut, it's a kind of second-class citizenship.  And when the rights of some of us are diminished, or as they were today in California, completely taken away, we are all diminished.

That's not marriage, it's travesty.

Another One

Vermont, which has long had civil unions for gay and lesbian partners, has just legalized civil marriage, over the veto of the governor.  It joins Massachusetts, CT, and Iowa in having civil marriage, but is the first state to accomplish that through the legislature and not the courts.  YAY!!!!

Go Iowa!

No, I'm not belatedly rooting for March Madness, but celebrating Iowa's Supreme Court's delcaration that gay marriage bans are unconstitutional.  This makes Iowa the third state to declare gay marriage legal!  Wow.  I haven't been keeping up recently and didn't know Iowa was in line to make such a major decision.  Very exciting.  Now we have 3 states where we can legally live as a family.  It must make GLBT in CA sad though--to think that Iowa is more progressive!  Who knew?

Last of the Red Hot Separatists

When we lived in Chicago, we were on the social fringes of a community of lesbian separatists, those who came out as lesbians as well as active, political feminists in the 1970s. They had established womyn-born-womyn-only spaces, joined lesbian separatist think-tank collectives, established women's choruses and sports teams, volunteered for lesbian causes such as breast cancer awareness, absorbed women's music and feminist literature, embraced non-traditional spiritual practices, gathered in the same neighborhood in Chicago (Andersonville), often spent time on "the land," and existed as the "family of choice" for their lesbian sisters. All without men. Just like the women described in the article "My Sister's Keeper" in the NYTimes.

And like the lesbian separatists living on rural communes described in that article, they were a diminishing breed. Other, younger lesbians we met in Chicago couldn't fathom the existence much less the reasons behind womyn-born-womyn spaces. They eschewed the music, choruses, literature, etc., of the older generation. Mama, though, who had had what she called an "HQ 75" coming-out, a reference to the Dewey Decimal library classification number of the majority of lesbian studies books and periodicals, was well-versed in the history of the lesbian movement and liked being around its original participants, with whom she more closely identified than her hip, young, bi peers. And so we went to concerts, festivals, parties, parades, coffeehouses, collectives, potlucks, and the like, always as the youngest participants, sometimes by 20 years.

While we knew that their numbers were decreasing, the news has not been good since we left: the coffeehouse closed, the women's bookstore became more mainstream to attract more customers, the neighborhood was gentrified and the lesbians left, the local autumnal music fest seems to have disappeared. The only positive news is that the chorus continues on. And that they all still form a close-knit family, despite deaths, break-ups, and other dramas.

Perhaps we should celebrate that younger lesbians do not feel marginalized by society and no longer need a separate space. Perhaps we should be grateful that we don't have to decide between our separatist friends and activities and our 3 1/2 year old son (who would be too old to be welcomed in official separatist spaces). Indeed, we often wondered if it was the increase in lesbians having children, specifically man-children, that began the disappearance of womyn-born-womyn-only spaces.

Were we separatists? No. While we appreciated the struggles of our lesbian friends and respected their needs for a separate space (and enjoyed those spaces ourselves at times), we could not so easily dismiss people purely based on their gender, just as we asked not to be discriminated against because of our sexuality. As women with male relatives, male colleagues, and even male friends, we liked womyn-only space but believed it was not realistic, practical, or even fair. Now as the mothers of a boy, we even more stridently believe that men can't be rejected purely for being men--it's all about the inherent worth of every individual, even men. Especially our son.

In the end, though, the loss of vitality of that community makes us a little sad, a little nostalgic for what once was, a little adrift in a straight world. For we always loved being in those spaces, with those women, free of the negative effects of the existence of men (including subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle competition, lookism, sizism, sexism, misogyny, power struggles, and other attendant negatives), even while missing the positive effects. Even if we knew it was temporary, even if we knew it was artificial, even if we actually had men in our lives whom we loved. In the end, lesbians love women, are connected to and bonded with women, not just sexually but emotionally, physically, psychologically, and spiritually. And as even straight women know, sometimes it's nice to just hang out with the girls.

Licensed to . . . Love?

We have our marriage license.

Yep. Two women. One license. A wedding. A marriage.

And, as you know, we're keeping the wedding ceremony really small. The kids, my parents, my dress, some flowers in a basket, a ring pillow, some cake, the church friends. That's pretty much it. Just the way we like it.

While Connecticut says we can get married, millions if not billions of people worldwide, and their governments (including our own and our new president-elect) disagree. In California, same-sex couples could get married for awhile. Now they can't, thanks to Prop 8 and their neighbors who voted for it, and the Mormons who funded the campaign for it. In a way, we're thrilled that we can have some of the state protection of marriage (but none of the federal), that our kids will know we are married. But as lesbians, we have long avoided letting others, especially governments, define our relationships. So, to jump on the marriage bandwagon just because the state says we can (for now, though CT doesn't seem to have any particular threats to our law. But there are always the Mormons), or to invest too much in a law that can be reversed here and ignored almost everywhere else . . . well, let's just say, we are aware of the irony, historical precedents, and monumentality of the occasion.

Lambeth's challenged one of my asides about having a casual wedding, admonishing me that weddings are always a big deal. I'd say that marriage is a big deal, especially for two women in this country where our supposedly secular government defines marriage in religiously-derived terms and only a very few states have overcome that (while 36 states have taken their religious fervor and prejudice to an extreme and outlawed same sex unions). The wedding--the private celebration of the legal union--is just the proverbial icing on the cake and, as they are usually celebrated in this country, not our style or values. I like rituals and traditions myself, but as weddings are a blank slate, have decided to define ours as casual and comfortable, homey even, our minister called it "family-oriented."

Because of course, we were a family, a loving and committed couple, long before the government of Connecticut said it was okay. We've even had ceremonies before--a small gathering of friends in NYC years ago to notarize the paperwork for our city-recognized domestic partnership; a civil union in front of congregation and parents (with 3 month old babes) complete with songs, vows, and cake. We embrace the open-mindedness of our neighbors and our ability to marry in this state against the opinions of the majority of people in this country and the world, and we greatly appreciate our friends and family's excitement, support, and love surrounding our special day, and with all of that in mind, and with the knowledge that we've celebrated our union several times before publicly, and everyday of our lives privately, we're keeping this wedding "homey." (I had said "simple" to our minister and she said a lesbian wedding was never simple. And of course she's right, even our little one has had its fair share of drama and confusion).

Who knows, when the federal government legalizes it, we can always have a different one. Again.

A Dyke to Watch Out For

My favorite cartoonist, Alison Bechdel, was profiled in the NYTimes today. She has drawn the "Dykes to Watch Out For" comic strip, featuring big, beautiful, countercultural lesbians for more than 20 years. Mama and I used to walk to the lesbian, feminist bookstore Women and Children First in Chicago and buy her cartoon collections or pick up the free papers with her latest strips.

Mom, I know you didn't get into "The 'L' Word" (thanks for trying, and we will check out Puccini for Beginners) but you can check out some of these cartoons when you come up (though we don't have the recent ones or the new essential collection. Hint. Hint.). They have the humor and humanity you thought was missing from the tv soap opera.

But, um, just as much sex.

Feeling the Love

While it looks like California GLBTs might lose their right to marry, Connecticut has defeated a constitutional convention designed in part to take away our right.

Next week, marriage licenses become available here.

We'll do it, of course, for all of the legal rights that come with it. Ceremony #3, after a civil partnership in NY and a civil union here in CT. Third's a charm, right?

We're thinking perhaps Christmas Eve, when all of our parents are together again, just something really small since the minister would sign the form anyway. Sis would say as long as there is cake, it's a party.

Should we register? Send out announcements? "Sis and Bud announce the marriage of their mommies."

Stayed tuned. This might just become one of those wedding blogs!

Llangollen

My friend Lambeth will be passing through Llangollen, in Wales, today on his way to Ireland. Llangollen was the home of "the Ladies," two women in late 18th-/early 19th-century Britain who eloped together to avoid unwanted marriage and forced confinement in a convent, abandonning their titled and wealthy families to build a life together for more than 50 years. Seen as an oddity and curiosity in Regency society, they were visited by many notables of the time (including the Duke of Wellington, Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth, Wedgwood) and were quite legendary. Their home is now a museum.

It's a very clear case of lesbianism in history, which is frequently hard to prove or document. I'm reading an entertaining novel about them, called The Ladies by Doris Grumbach, which is why my friend Lambeth offered to stop in their town. But the house, known as Plas Newyyd, in the pictures on Wikipedia is much more elaborate than I'd imagined. Mama and I will have to check it out if we get to Wales again (and maybe, if we'd known about it last time, we'd have skipped Tintern Abbey . . . maybe).