LLLove

I thought another piece of State of Flux would be good to get a sense of the flow from beginning to transition.

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My baby Aimee, who had been born in the car, was two days old when I went to the local La Leche League meeting in Wiesbaden, Germany. I was very involved in LLL, an international breastfeeding support organization, and was excited to show off my new baby and tell her hilarious birth story.

It was moments before I saw Sarah across the room, an extremely butch woman who was quite pregnant. My first thought was, “How the hell did this dyke get pregnant?” It didn’t take forever before I learned that she purposefully had sex with her husband so she could have a baby. Later, Zack told me that he hated his female body so much he thought about killing himself, but, wanting children, decided to use the biological body he had to bring a baby into his life… hoping it would save him from madness. (It did.)

I knew Sarah was lesbian the second I saw her. Lesbians, especially butch lesbians have a “look” about them. A strong jaw, is it? Sarah and kd lang are both my aesthetic ideal woman. Later, Zack would tell me he thought many butches, especially Stone Butches, were transmen who did not have the opportunity to come out or, as is happening in the climate now, are coming out finally after years of feeling the were men their entire lives.

But Sarah at the LLL meeting… she’d learnt about me from her childbirth class, hearing that I’d had Aimee then left the hospital three hours later without causing too much of a ruckus. She wanted that kind of birth. Actually, she wanted a home birth but was told if she did, she would not get her six weeks of maternity leave, having to go right back to work the next day. Therefore, birthing, then leaving soon afterwards was the next best thing. Later we learned, because she was in the Army, she had to stay in the hospital the required three days instead of leaving early. But, at the LLL meeting, all of that was still to come. After the meeting, Sarah hightailed it to my side, introduced herself, saying she was six months pregnant. I chuckled inside seeing this butch woman in a maternity sailboat shirt with a Peter Pan collar. God, maternity clothes were awful in 1986!

But our energy together sizzled. As I said, I was only two days postpartum and my husband had two weeks off, so I wanted to just rest and nurse my baby while he was home. Before leaving the LLL meeting, I gave Sarah four books to read and said when he was back at work, we would talk about them. Well, it wasn’t a week before she called to tell me she’d read them and would I like to talk about them now? I thought, “Sheesh, this girl sure is pushy!” and told her no, that I wanted to wait until my husband was back at work in a week. During the rest of our relationship, I never saw Sarah read another book. That she read those four in a week, I now know, was amazing. What motivation can do, right?

The day the kids’ dad went back to work, Sarah called and asked if she could bring over some pizza and Diet Coke that night for dinner, then we could talk. I laughed and now think: she sure knew how to get to the fat girl! Pizza! How could she lose?

I like to say that the night Sarah and her husband came over was the night they never left. The four of us adults became quite the team. We began playing cards almost every night. Ate dinner together and Sarah and I talked a lot during the day. There were no cell phones back then, so it was always on the landline. It didn’t take but a week or so before she asked me to be her birth assistant… her doula. The word “doula” was brand new; no one knew what it was. I called myself a Labor Assistant or a Birth Assistant for years until the word doula came into birth vernacular. I changed from Labor Assistant to Birth Assistant when a teacher said he thought I was a Union Organizer. Nope. Not that.

We also played games. Life was a favorite of mine (I really hate playing strategy games). When playing Life, Sarah would marry a woman, plopping a pink peg into her car every time. At first, I balked. “You can’t do that!” She would take the box top with the instructions written inside, point to the rules and say, “Show me where it says that in the directions.” Of course there was nothing about who you had to marry, but I still bristled, not grasping her very un-subtle references. One night she even laughed about “Lactating Lesbians” porn magazine. Obtusely, I ignored the reference. I just could not see the crush she had on me. God knows I had one on her, too, but how was I supposed to say that to a pregnant woman while I was fat and leaking milk and married to a man?

(and we go forth!)

Bettering

I’m feeling much better. I have been for awhile, but forgot to write about it here because I have been writing a lot elsewhere, mostly for work.

My writing is really going well. I am really proud of some of the things I have written and do hope they can see the light of day someday. I’ve come up with a Nom de Guerre (someday will share that, too) with which to show my erotic writings. I’ve been encouraged to write on Literotica for years and am this close (holding my thumb and forefinger a fraction away from each other) to doing so. Will all the years of writing lead to being known for erotica? I find that somewhat amusing.

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I’ve been going through my old Navelgazing Midwife site for some folks looking for things in particular. Damn, I wrote some good crap there! I was reading from back in 2011… my voice is the same as it is now, my feelings pretty much the same now. How reviled I was for bucking the system! Sheesh. That was so so long ago, but seems like a blip in time ago, too. Isn’t time crazy?

I am writing a lot on Second Life, too. I have also been asked to teach some classes, which will be lots of fun. Classes about women’s health, cultural sensitivity in discussing sex workers, issues around pregnancy and the like.

More to write… on my way.

Getting Into Washington, DC: 1979

When Bobby, Scott and I got into Washington, DC, it was July 10, 1979, hot and sticky. We’d run completely out of money, not having one idea what to do next. We went into our separate bathrooms on the Mall, near the Washington Monument (which was stunning, by the way).

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There were many people in there, but I picked the sink furthest from the open door and pulled out my paper bag of supplies: shampoo, soap, a razor and toothpaste with my toothbrush. First brushing my teeth, afterwards, I immediately felt more human. Then shaved my pits (why in the holy hell I did that is beyond me now), washed my face with soap and my hands and then leaned wayyyy over and washed my short hair (which may or may not have been fuchsia at the time).

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I ran my fingers through my dripping wet hair, gathered my supplies, dropping them back into the crinkly brown paper bag and walked outside past the gaping-mouthed women and girls. Outside, Bobby loaned me his brush and I brushed my hair until it was at least not dripping everywhere.

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Then we stood looking at each other. What now? We walked around looking for a pay phone to call family to ask for help. Scott’s family would help him, but not us… neither Bobby’s nor my family would help us, either. Scott was being sent a Western Union money order that would take 2 days to get there, so until then, we figured, we were on the streets together.

Looking up at the Washington Monument, I lamented we would not be able to get up there to see out the windows.

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See the teeny windows?

I then got the bright idea to try and schmooze the Park Services Ranger selling the tickets to go up and within minutes, Kevin had become our new gay friend.

He not only gave us tickets, but told us about Lynn up at the top, giving information to the tourists… that Lynn was known to take in strays and we were well qualified.

Up we went in the elevator. Dang, that Monument is much taller from the inside than the outside! When we got off, Lynn was there to greet us, giving us hugs and telling us about where she lived. I was craning my neck to see out the window, hardly paying attention until Bobby nudged me hard and I hit my head on the thick window.

US-QUAKE HISTORY-TOURISM

Rubbing my head, I turned just as Lynn was taking a key from around her neck and putting it over Bobby’s flowing red mane. Huh? Apparently, Lynn had just given us the key to her apartment where she lived with Risa and told us to shower, eat whatever was there and take a nap!! She told us where the quarters were for the laundry, where the laundry soap was… that we could play her albums if we wanted… to just make ourselves at home.

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It was rather stunning.

While still up in the Monument, we discussed what to do with the car, which had zero gas in it. The decision to leave it where it was, near the Ellipse, until we got some money.

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This left us with no way to get to Lynn’s house! So, before we went back down the elevator, Lynn said that Kevin had Metro tokens for us and the directions to her house, so down we went, over to Kevin’s kiosk again, got the tokens and headed off to Lynn and Risa’s place in Arlington, Virginia.

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After having been in the New York City subway, this one was pristine. Our stop was the Rosslyn stop, one that was a mere 2 years old, and was really was amazingly beautiful.

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Taking the Metro was awesome. And deep! When we got off on our stop, we went up an escalator so long, I had never seen one like it before, it taking several minutes to get up to the street.

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As we exited, all we had to do was go caddy-corner across the street and into the concrete building, up the elevator and into the really large apartment our new friends’ lived in.

We were immediately drawn to the enormous balcony. Leaning over the rail in one direction, we could see the Washington Monument and the Capitol Building and in the other, we could see the Iwo Jima Memorial. All of which looked very small from where we were, but look how huge the Iwo Jima Memorial is!

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Here is an image at night and you can see the Lincoln Memorial easier as well.

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How incredible is that? Our balcony gave us the scope of the buildings, minus the Lincoln Memorial.

Once we got showers and scarfed some food we found in the refrigerator, we three fell into someone’s bed, curled around each other, and fell asleep for several hours.

 

 

Forgiveness

Mom and I sat at the vet the other day, in that tiny side room with the dogs hiding under our feet. We wept together, apologizing for all our past hurts and wrongs. It was extremely freeing to know my mom forgives me for all those horrible kid things I have done… and she has heard that I also forgive her for her own parental difficulties.

I hope to know that with my own children one day.

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Snatch with Prompt

This was the Prompt:

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This is what I wrote in 30 minutes (unedited):

When Colors Run

Deep inside my colorless cocoon, I have a vague sense of other lives nearby.

I slither through their reality; where is my own? Surrounding myself with the darkness of my depression.

My mirror’d existence bursts into color, fireworks exploding with energy that drains my body, but never my mind.

Having Bipolar Disorder 1 is, quite literally, opposing colors of my brain. I see auras anyway, but during a manic episode, the colors scream off my body, tsunamis of energy crashing into my brain again and again. Voices screech… or whisper… I, never knowing which will be next… raging about how I look, feel, need to act, need to fly, need to find this or that, things that are elusive even after hours of mentally and physically searching.

Exhaustion never comes.

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When the electricity finally dissipates after months of zapping me, I collapse into that dark world once again, struggling to keep breathing and not smother myself with the thought that this will go on forever.

Reaching outward, always outward, needing several hands to keep me alive, I am fed my medication, waking only to swallow, then sleeping yet another 23 hours.

Writing is my emotional gauge. By how many words I write in a day, I’m able to see where I stand psychologically.

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Not writing for days, weeks, months… I am in that dark place and need help. Too often, because I am alone, I do not recognize the need for many weeks and, by then, am buried by the pain.

However, when I write 20,000 words in a day… several blog posts for me, blog posts and essays for work… long emails to friends and family… run-on sentences with divergent topics… it is they who sense my need for help and their well-rehearsed phone calls are made to see who can get me to the doctor the fastest.

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Walking the tightrope, umbrella in hand, I teeter, side to side, always searching for that inaccessible balance.

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Vegetarian Experiences

When the kids were younger, we were all lacto-ovo vegetarians. Except when well-meaning (annoying) friends and family didn’t respect my choices. Once the kids were old enough to make their own choices, they ate veggie at home, but could eat whatever they wanted out of the house.

Choosing Vegetarianism

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I initially became a vegetarian when I was 18-years old after a beloved friend was killed by a drunk driver. I wanted to do something purposeful that would keep her in my heart and mind as time passed. 15 years later, when I explained it to a Certified Nurse Midwife I was working with at a birth center, she looked at me, smirking, “Was she killed by a cow?” I couldn’t help but laugh, hearing my explanation through another person’s ears. No, no… no cow involved.

Half-Hearted Vegetarianism

As the years passed, I wanted to be a vegetarian because I was fat and saw how thin most vegetarians were. The lacto-ovo got in the way of that, however.

Eating gobs of cheese, meals made with gobs of cheese, cheese and crackers, cheese, cheese, cheese!

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And then there was the delightful change in McDonald’s fries (in 1990) from using beef tallow to using vegetable oil in their fryers. I would eat 2-3 super-sized fries a day far too often. My mind was screwing with me, justifying eating the fries… “But they are vegetarian!”

I also ate a concoction of potatoes, onions, cheese (of course!) and sour cream on almost a daily basis. Now, of course, in the depths of diabetes, I know how incredibly glucose-spiking potatoes are. It’s amazing I didn’t become diabetic before the diagnosis when I was 34-years old.

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Okay, Let’s Be Vegan Then!

Then there was the stint as a vegan. I still did not lose weight (probably those “veggie” fries?), but tried hard to eat as healthy as possible. I discovered the veggie section of the supermarkets (in the refrigerated section? What’s up with that!) and began eating tofu, tempeh, seitan, veggie hot dogs and made vegan burgers from scratch. During that time, (and it lasted about 10 years) I easily had 20+ vegan cookbooks and also checked out vegan books at the library constantly, wanting to be a thin vegan. It never happened.

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Veggie Kidlets

Way back in the day, public schools were baffled about what to feed vegetarians. The kids told me they were eating cookies and drinking milk, sometimes having potatoes or pizza, but that was rare. I was darn tired of hearing these stories so tromped down to the school and talked to the head of the cafeteria. She expressed her confusion about vegetarianism, but said she would find a way to accommodate the kids. What ended up happening was my kidlets got to eat 2 salads and anything else they wanted. (Salads were brought in for the kids.) Blessedly, today, kids have many more food options. (I am sure it drives the cafeteria mad, though… veggie, vegan, food allergies, gluten-free, etc.)

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When the kids went to live with their father, they began eating meat… mostly chicken… but meat appeared in their diets. Interestingly, Tristan and Aimee are vegans and Meghann does not make meat dishes all that often. I smile knowing my weirdness did rub off on them just a little.

And Today?

I eat very very little red meat, no pork, a bit of chicken, fish a couple of times a year (unless I come across catfish!), but still am eating plenty of cheese. Rarely potatoes, though.

I’m glad I had the veggie experiences (and have several more stories that hinge on my being vegetarian), but it was, for me, a fad… a way to stand out in the crowd. It was a fad that lasted a darn long time!

Oh, and even in my vegan years, I had one turkey sandwich with Miracle Whip a year, the day after Thanksgiving. (I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving now, for what it’s worth.) I haven’t had a turkey sandwich in over 3 years now.

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nom nom nom

 

500-Word Snatch

I just learned what this was about 3 weeks ago, knowing the word “snatch” as something naughty I say at work, not anything to do with writing. But, I learned it is a British term for doing something very quickly. It still means that in American English – “Snatch that chair for me!” – but it has been co-opted by the porn industry.

Anyway, the 500-Word Snatches I am attending are online, in Second Life. Each Sunday, I sit with a virtual group of people and when the buzzer sounds at 10 after the hour, we all begin writing… for 30 minutes… trying to get at least 500 words on paper.

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I’ve already published a couple of my Snatch writings:

Halloween Candy

Día de los Muertos

And will be publishing the ones yet to be written here in the blog, with the Tag “500-Word Snatch.”

I encourage you to do these fun exercises! I am surprising myself at how fast I can get something decent out. It’s also good because it keeps me from editing while writing.

Let’s do Snatches together!

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