17.4.15

There is a spirit which I feel that delights to do no evil, nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to endure all things, in hope to enjoy its own in the end. Its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention, and to weary out all exaltation and cruelty, or whatever is of a nature contrary to itself. It sees to the end of all temptations. As it bears no evil in itself, so it conceives none in thought to any other. If it be betrayed, it bears it, for its ground and spring is the mercies and forgiveness of God. Its crown is meekness, its life is everlasting love unfeigned; it takes its kingdom with entreaty and not with contention, and keeps it by lowliness of mind. In God alone it can rejoice, though none else regard it, or can own its life. It is conceived in sorrow, and brought forth without any to pity it; nor doth it murmur at grief and oppression. It never rejoiceth but through sufferings; for with the world’s joy it is murdered. I found it alone, being forsaken. I have fellowship therein with them who lived in dens and desolate places of the earth, who through death obtained this resurrection and eternal holy life.

Thou wast with me when I fled from the face of mine enemies: then didst Thou warn me in the night: Thou carriedst me in Thy power into the hiding-place Thou hadst prepared for me: there Thou coveredst me with Thy Hand that in time Thou mightst bring me forth a rock before all the world. When I was weak Thou stayedst me with Thy Hand, that in Thy time Thou mightst present me to the world in Thy strength in which I stand, and cannot be moved. Praise the Lord, O my soul. Let this be written for those that come after. Praise the Lord.

 - James Nayler

Back To The Future

On February 6th, life changed. One second, one mistake, and everything is topsy-turvy yet again. Our chickens are gone, our land is for sale, and we're learning to navigate the medical and disability system. But, far more challenging, Mutt is learning to live and farm as an amputee. On February 6th, an accidental gunshot took his left arm, all the way to his shoulder.

A slow and frightening winter rescue proved a few things to us. Our lack of winter road access is not ok. The level of snow we deal with here is not ok. And the yearly taxes are really not ok. Our plan was, and is, for our land and livestock to pay their own bills, so we only need a bit of income from odd jobs to support our modest lifestyle. At $200/month in property taxes alone, that isn't going to happen where we are, in the most expensive state in the nation. So our land has been listed, the clean-up and staging process has begun, and we're shopping for land down south, in a beautiful and inexpensive area. We'll be living rougher than we are now, starting over from the ground up, but with more time and money to work with. After hitting the bottom of hope when the accident happened, we are now climbing back up.

In the meantime, our life is dominated by phone calls to government agencies, disability forms, OT appointments, and fighting to get Mutt's new arm covered by our insurance. That is my full time job, while Mutt's work is to recover and learn to live again as a three-legged dog. He cooks, he cleans, he does everything he needs to do for himself. Learning to handle Junebug, on the other hand, is a work in progress. He's taking a crash course in what my days are like as a stay-at-home dad.

Tomorrow Mutt will step into our house for the first time since the accident happened. In fact, we'll probably be spending the night there. Hopefully it will be a healing experience for both of us, and will start us towards letting go of what happened, and letting go of one set of roots in favor of a new one.

26.1.15

Things I have learned as a stay-at-home dad:

* All those people who say "there's never a dull moment" are full of shit. There are tons of dull moments. Reading your toddler the same book for the 10th time is a dull moment. Picking up yet another pile of dumped blocks/crayons/buttons/cheerios is a dull moment. Cleaning the same parts of the same tiny house day in and day out are dull moments. After a while you want to gouge out the mushy remnants of your brain with one of your spotlessly clean forks.

* The people who urge you to appreciate every moment are also full of shit. As much as you love your kids, you can't focus on them 100% of the time without killing your own soul in the process. And you're going to need that soul soon because, as those same people will tell you, they grow up fast. If you focus all your energy on your kids to the point that you lose yourself, you'll turn into one of those parents who tries to intervene when Junior gets a bad grade in college. Don't be one of those parents. Your sense of self is vital.

* Your relationship is also vital. Unless it's a life or death situation, always put your spouse/partner before your kids. Always. Model the kind of relationship you want them to have someday. You want the have a happy long term relationship/marriage, right? Make sure you have one, and they'll follow suit.

* Ignore your kids sometimes. Let siblings learn to work out their problems without your intervention. Let singletons learn to entertain themselves without your direction. These are important life skills.

* Small children desperately want to murder themselves. Believe it or not, it's your job to let them try. Don't let the actually do it, but the learning process is important, even when they get hurt. Maybe especially when they get hurt.

* Homeschoolers: don't get so wrapped up in your lesson plans that you don't let your kids do whatever the fuck they want for at least an hour or two every single day. They need free play even more than they need lessons.

* And so do you. Do whatever the fuck you want while they do the same. Put down the broom and sponge, and play. Some with them, and some without them. See the "sense of self" section above.

* Take it outside. All of you, every day, all year. Yes, even in the snow. Fresh air is good for them and you. Feeling housebound is definitely not good for them or you.

* Turn everything off, even the radio. Silence really is golden. Bonus: they'll be calmer, and nap better.

* Even on the bad days, do appreciate being with them, as much as you can. You can't enjoy every moment, but try to enjoy a few moments each day. Record some of them, in photos or a journal. They really won't last.

A Pronoun Primer

Oh, Pronoun Dressing Room, my lovely new friend! Here, a pronoun usage lesson, just for y'all! (Altered excerpt from "The Piebald Hippogriff" by Karen Anderson.) 

* * * * *

"The edge of the world is fenced off stoutly enough, but the fence isn't made that will stop a boy. Blue tossed zir pack and coil of rope over it and started climbing. The top three strands were barbed wire. Ze caught zir shirt as ze went over, and had to stop for a moment to ease zimself off. Then ze dropped lightly to the grass on the other side.

The pack had landed in a clump of white clover. A cloud of disturbed bees hung above, and ze snatched it away quickly lest they should notice the honeycomb inside.

For a minute ze stood still, looking out over the edge. This was different from looking through the fence, and when ze moved it was slowly. Ze eased zimself to the ground where a corner of rock rose clear of the thick larkspur and lay on zir belly, the stone hard and cool under zir chin, and looked down.

The granite cliff curved away out of sight, and ze couldn't see if it had a foot. Ze saw only endless blue, beyond, below, and on both sides. Clouds passed slowly.
Directly beneath zim there was a ledge covered with long grass where clusters of stars bloomed on tall, slender stalks.

Ze uncoiled zir rope and found a stout beech tree not too close to the edge. Doubling the rope around the bole, ze tied one end around zir waist, slung the pack on zir back, and belayed zimself down the cliff. Pebbles clattered, saxifrage brushed zir arms and tickled zir ears; once ze groped for a hold with zir face in a patch of rustling ferns.

The climb was hard, but not too much. Less than half an hour later ze was stretched out on the grass with stars nodding about zim. They had a sharp, gingery smell. Ze lay in the cool shadow of the world's edge for a while, eating the apples and honeycomb of zirs. When ze was finished ze licked the honey off zir fingers and threw the apple cores over, watching them fall into the blue.

Little islands floated along, rocking gently in air eddies. Sunlight flashed on glossy leaves of bushes growing there. When an island drifted into the shadow of the cliff, the blossoming stars shone out. Beyond the shadows, deep in the light-filled gulf, ze saw the hippogriffs at play."

Being Not Being

I think, sometimes, about the community that I am technically a part of. I live a life of involuntary seclusion. I don't know many people, let alone LGBTQ people. I know one person in that category who is over 50. I often wonder how they feel about the world today, this world that is so different than the one they grew up in. Do they feel joy at the progress that has been made towards equality? Do they glow with pride for the work that has been done, and with hope for the future? But is that pride and hope tinged with bitterness over what they never had? Do they think of the days when they were demons and deviants, and wonder how their lives might have been different if they had been born 50 years later?

I wonder about the people who share my own little niche in the community. Do they feel the anger and bitterness that I so often feel at my condition? Even as they climb, cicada-like, from the shell of their missed often births, do they gaze in the mirror at their soft and vulnerable new bodies and feel a presure in their heads as the mist and the red leaks into their vision? Do they curse, or cry, or shrink under the weight of it?

Do those people, my people, ever look at the community at large with a sneer and a heavy sigh? Do they think "how lucky you were, hiding in your closets and your bars, that you weren't also hiding in your own detestable flesh"? Do they watch, elated, as the shiny new coach pulls into Acronym Station? Does that elation turn to rage as those of us who are the L or the G as well as the T are stuck at the platform, waiting to be herded onto our own separate bus? Rage that those who rail against their own reduction to parts and bedroom habits reduce us to parts and bedroom habits, and reject us with the same fervor that the world has long rejected them? We of the T know the agony of a single printed character. We understand the depth of green a pair of eyes can reach as they watch the courthouse steps from the confines of their "straight" marriage. When we are run down by the bus that the L and the G now sit in the middle of, do they ever think to stop and pick us up, and welcome us into the empty seat beside them? Or will we continue to lay on the cold pavememt, wishing the bus had crushed our hated parts into dust that could be swept up and dumped into the closets that our estranged brothers and sisters had so recently abandoned?

I keep waiting at the station, hoping my bus will arrive soon, and I'll find a comfortable seat next to a fellow G who will know me as his brother. But the longer I wait, the more I fear that my misprinted ticket - that little T that obscures my G - will leave me standing in the cold, choking on exhaust.

16.9.14

We're really in the crunch now. Gardens are slowing down, seeds ate falling off the weeds, and geese are winging south in noisy lines. It's time to tidy up, batten down, and snuggle in. Our first killing frost should be coming soon, followed too quickly by snow. Rumor has it this winter will be longer, snowier, and harder than the last. It was a balancing act last year, keeping us warm and comfortable without spending all our time and money doing it. We're more prepared now. Hopefully all our work this year will tip the balance our way.

Not-So-Evil Ex fixed my old computer, so it should be easier to stay connected through the indoor end of the year. I also should be able to post photos again soon. That is, if there's anything to post photos of other than a blanket of white.

11.9.14

Time is marching on, as it does, and is taking our summer with it. The whole summer has been unusually and pleasantly cool, rarely reaching the 80s, and only hitting 90 a time or two. We've had a blanket on the bed for most of the summer, but now we're up to two blankets. And today, for the first time since spring, I have had to shut the windows to keep out the damp chill.

Winter is closing in quickly, reminding us that we need to step up our efforts in preparation for the snowy months. We've put up almost 300 jars of food, along with some onions and squash that will go into cold storage. The chickens will soon be moving into their upgraded home, and the tools now reside in a brand new shed. There are packs of insulation on the porch, waiting to be installed, and the wiring for our solar power is almost done.

But with the good news comes the bad. The tractor is broken again, with little hope of fixing it in the near future. The ceiling insulation requires a taller ladder than we own (in fact, we currently own no ladders at all, the last two having inconveniently died). Fencing for the chicken run must go in before the ground freezes, and at the same time we need to dig three large holes for our trash can "root cellars", or we'll lose our squash and onions. And for both the chickens and the cellars, we need to somehow find room in the budget for straw. It's wonderful to see all we have done, but overwhelming thinking of all we still have to do - and absolutely must do - within the month or so before the snow flies.

Will we finish it all? I honestly can't say. We've done so much but so little. This kind of life is simple, but certainly not easy.