It's Portland, people! Holy Hey Zeus!
I don't understand what is happening in my city. I can't wrap my head around the sharp escalation in terror, fear, violence.
Two weeks ago (although it feels like the day before yesterday), two men died and another was gravely injured at the hands of a white supremacist terrorist on a public train in my city. During the afternoon commute. On a regular Friday. Crazy broke free of the bonds containing it and tore a vicious and bloody hole in my neighborhood. My actual neighborhood. It's my dad's transit stop, and just one stop away from mine.
Crazy. That's a handy excuse. We hear that all the time from the gun rights people - 'It's not the gun. There isn't enough mental health help for these poor (white) people.' Fuck that. This guy used a knife. And, I also don't want to hear the bullshit from the prisoner rights people. 'He was radicalized in prison, it's the environment, it's not his fault.' Fuck that. It's a personal choice to pick up a weapon and kill someone when your life is not in jeopardy. So, fuck all that; fuck those bullshit excuses, fuck you to the people who would normalize this action. This is not normal.
We are all stunned. Gobsmacked. Reeling. Disbelieving and incredulous. How could this happen here? Portland is so mellow, so laid back, so easy going. Ha. That's just the image. Thanks, Portlandia! (Disclaimer: they are often spot on.) The seedy underbelly of Portland is white, ugly, and racist. There. I said it. There are a lot of creepy and scary people around here.
And, the level of violence is escalating. The fringe is emboldened and they are acting out on what had only been fantasies before. A train conductor beaten up, a woman held up at gun point at my local park, stabbings, mob violence. A bomb threat today at the transit center where the two men died. Holy fucking whatever!
It's Portland, people! Stop it!
I'm trying my best to be a force for good, but it is damned difficult in these times.
Feeling besieged,
e
Showing posts with label portland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label portland. Show all posts
09 June 2017
22 November 2011
22 November 2011
Today is my Pop's birthday. He is coming over to my house for dinner and dessert. It'll be quiet and low key, which he likes, and just the three of us.
Today is also the 20 year anniversary of the day the kid and I escaped an abusive relationship and landed in Portland, at my parents house, with the clothes on our backs and very little else.
We've got things to celebrate.
Today is also the 20 year anniversary of the day the kid and I escaped an abusive relationship and landed in Portland, at my parents house, with the clothes on our backs and very little else.
We've got things to celebrate.
16 November 2010
Bus-bians
I rode the bus in to work late this morning. I will spare you the scenes of domestic drama that necessitated the lateness; suffice it to say: the teenager. At any rate, it meant that I was riding with a completely different set of passengers.
A pair of young lesbians got on and quickly surveyed the seating choices. There were no spots with two seats together. As they came to the back of the bus, one sat down in an aisle-side seat and, rather than sit across the aisle from her girlfriend, the other one stood right next to the first. It looked very chivalrous, as if she were protecting her gf from a potential random encounter. It might have been just that she liked leaning in and getting a little extra closeness before they had to start their day. At any rate, it was pretty sweet and it made me smile.
02 November 2010
Helen meets Mr Darcy
Our friend Chris rode her new bike over last weekend to watch a football game with us. Look how pretty Mr Darcy is! He and Helen look very well together! That's Helen on the right, with the basket.
They both have the green/brown color scheme, and they are almost exactly the same color!
We like our bikes!
They both have the green/brown color scheme, and they are almost exactly the same color!
We like our bikes!
29 January 2010
Floral Report
We have had freezing temperatures, ice, snow, wind, and rain, rain, rain. Even though we are in an El Nino pattern, we have been getting plenty of rain. I mention it only because when you have a “water intrusion” as the building trades like to call it (aka a leak), you do notice the unremitting rain.
However, all is not dreary and gray! No indeed, with the above average temperatures that El Nino brings, we are starting to see early spring flowers popping up. I should be worried about them; they should be worried about themselves. It’s really too early to be bursting into bloom. February is known around here as the ice storm month for good reason. But, I am so happy to see them!
In my yard, the winter blooming jasmine is sporting sunny yellow flowers. OK, it’s a winter bloomer, not a sign of early spring, but I love it anyway. Cheers for the jasmine! Thanks for the joy!
My neighbor’s yard is rife with daphne, and they are just starting to send out their heady fragrance. Do you like the smell of daphne? It reminds me of Froot Loops cereal, so sweet!
There are bulb-borne flowers starting to push out of the ground, strong, sturdy, sword-like leaves are cleaving their way through the soil. Tulips, hyacinths, daffodils.
Even the hydrangea is showing new leaf buds on its winter scarred branches. I wasn’t sure we’d get any hydrangeas after that cold snap and snow storm. It is such a fibrous plant that it dies right back in the cold. Ours seems to have survived.
Some planting guides suggest that we can put peas in the ground now (snow peas, I’d guess), but I’m going to wait just a little longer for that. That would be tempting fate, tempting the weather gods just a little too much.
What are your favorite spring flowers? What’s blooming in your yard or neighborhood?
However, all is not dreary and gray! No indeed, with the above average temperatures that El Nino brings, we are starting to see early spring flowers popping up. I should be worried about them; they should be worried about themselves. It’s really too early to be bursting into bloom. February is known around here as the ice storm month for good reason. But, I am so happy to see them!
In my yard, the winter blooming jasmine is sporting sunny yellow flowers. OK, it’s a winter bloomer, not a sign of early spring, but I love it anyway. Cheers for the jasmine! Thanks for the joy!
My neighbor’s yard is rife with daphne, and they are just starting to send out their heady fragrance. Do you like the smell of daphne? It reminds me of Froot Loops cereal, so sweet!
There are bulb-borne flowers starting to push out of the ground, strong, sturdy, sword-like leaves are cleaving their way through the soil. Tulips, hyacinths, daffodils.
Even the hydrangea is showing new leaf buds on its winter scarred branches. I wasn’t sure we’d get any hydrangeas after that cold snap and snow storm. It is such a fibrous plant that it dies right back in the cold. Ours seems to have survived.
Some planting guides suggest that we can put peas in the ground now (snow peas, I’d guess), but I’m going to wait just a little longer for that. That would be tempting fate, tempting the weather gods just a little too much.
What are your favorite spring flowers? What’s blooming in your yard or neighborhood?
02 December 2009
Pink Glove Dance
Maybe you've already seen this ~ I hope so!
This is the hospital across town from me (wish it were mine!). It is also the hospital where my mom had her bilateral mastectomy. Call me sappy, and you wouldn't be the first to do so, but it brought tears to my eyes.
Have a lovely Wednesday everyone!
This is the hospital across town from me (wish it were mine!). It is also the hospital where my mom had her bilateral mastectomy. Call me sappy, and you wouldn't be the first to do so, but it brought tears to my eyes.
Have a lovely Wednesday everyone!
12 November 2009
Public Transportation
I have started a dozen blog posts but been unable to finish anything. So, to give myself an encouraging boost, I’ll keep this short and reach the end.
I’ve written before about the trials and tribulations of the bus commute. One of my pet peeves is with people who let their stuff occupy a seat while other people stand. Yesterday afternoon a guy reached a new, unheard of depth in seat hogging.
He was sitting in the aisle seat and left the window seat next to him vacant. Typical. I walked down the aisle, drippy from the rain, breathless from running to catch the #77, and saw an empty pair of seats in front of this guy. As I reached the vacant spot, I saw that there was a backpack and a pair of gloves lying there. I looked back to the front of the bus, thinking that maybe the passenger who was talking to the driver was coming back to this seat. No. The guy in the seat behind reached over and picked them up. He was using four seats! Four! One for his lazy ass and three for his stuff! Argh! It’s public transportation, buddy, not your personal coach service. Jerk.
I’ve written before about the trials and tribulations of the bus commute. One of my pet peeves is with people who let their stuff occupy a seat while other people stand. Yesterday afternoon a guy reached a new, unheard of depth in seat hogging.
He was sitting in the aisle seat and left the window seat next to him vacant. Typical. I walked down the aisle, drippy from the rain, breathless from running to catch the #77, and saw an empty pair of seats in front of this guy. As I reached the vacant spot, I saw that there was a backpack and a pair of gloves lying there. I looked back to the front of the bus, thinking that maybe the passenger who was talking to the driver was coming back to this seat. No. The guy in the seat behind reached over and picked them up. He was using four seats! Four! One for his lazy ass and three for his stuff! Argh! It’s public transportation, buddy, not your personal coach service. Jerk.
18 September 2009
Race for the Cure
This Sunday is Race for the Cure day in Portland. I’ll be there with my girlfriend and, thankfully, my mom. My daughter will be sleeping in for the cure, in Des Moines.
Ten years ago, maybe eleven now, my mom was diagnosed with ductal carcinoma. Her primary care doctor scolded her for not getting a mammogram that year and insisted that she do so in the following week. Thank you, Dr Zelko! They found a tiny white speck on her films that, upon biopsy, was indeed cancerous. She had a bilateral mastectomy within the month.
The doctors had said that they didn’t need to take both of her breasts since the cancer was only on one side. She told them that she had no need for them anymore and to just take them both off. “Besides” she said, “odds are it will come back in ten years and I don’t intend to do this again when I’m in my 70’s.”
As they wheeled her into surgery, she sat up in the gurney, lifted her gown up in front and flashed my dad. She said, “Take your last look at heaven, buster!”
Her recovery went pretty well. After she was up and about she took to walking around the house topless. She told me that she was going to go do some gardening in the front yard without a shirt on. She said, “Hey! Men get to go shirtless all the time, why can’t I? I don’t even have nipples!” I told her not to be ridiculous, with her pale skin just imagine the sunburn she’d get.
Her chest is criss-crossed with scars. She loves how flat it is. She feels liberated without those fleshy appendages. She has encouraged me to get a bilateral mastectomy ~ preventative medicine, she says. I have ambivalent feelings about my breasts and always wish they were smaller. I don’t think the insurance will pay for that, though.
I feel so lucky to still have my mom in my life. She is one of my greatest champions, always fiercely defending her family, always helping us be the best people we can, always encouraging, protecting, enlightening. My dad is right there too. I was blessed to born into a loving family.
When we step out tomorrow and head downtown for the Race, we’ll be doing it at mom’s pace. We usually stroll for the cure. Some years we only go a few blocks and she says, “Let’s go get a cup of coffee and a pastry.” So we do. Of course we do. We’ll amble through the tents and vendor displays, we’ll get our souvenir scarf, we’ll mingle with the throng of women in pink and then we’ll go home and watch football and drink mimosas. I got some pink champagne for the occasion.
Ten years ago, maybe eleven now, my mom was diagnosed with ductal carcinoma. Her primary care doctor scolded her for not getting a mammogram that year and insisted that she do so in the following week. Thank you, Dr Zelko! They found a tiny white speck on her films that, upon biopsy, was indeed cancerous. She had a bilateral mastectomy within the month.
The doctors had said that they didn’t need to take both of her breasts since the cancer was only on one side. She told them that she had no need for them anymore and to just take them both off. “Besides” she said, “odds are it will come back in ten years and I don’t intend to do this again when I’m in my 70’s.”
As they wheeled her into surgery, she sat up in the gurney, lifted her gown up in front and flashed my dad. She said, “Take your last look at heaven, buster!”
Her recovery went pretty well. After she was up and about she took to walking around the house topless. She told me that she was going to go do some gardening in the front yard without a shirt on. She said, “Hey! Men get to go shirtless all the time, why can’t I? I don’t even have nipples!” I told her not to be ridiculous, with her pale skin just imagine the sunburn she’d get.
Her chest is criss-crossed with scars. She loves how flat it is. She feels liberated without those fleshy appendages. She has encouraged me to get a bilateral mastectomy ~ preventative medicine, she says. I have ambivalent feelings about my breasts and always wish they were smaller. I don’t think the insurance will pay for that, though.
I feel so lucky to still have my mom in my life. She is one of my greatest champions, always fiercely defending her family, always helping us be the best people we can, always encouraging, protecting, enlightening. My dad is right there too. I was blessed to born into a loving family.
When we step out tomorrow and head downtown for the Race, we’ll be doing it at mom’s pace. We usually stroll for the cure. Some years we only go a few blocks and she says, “Let’s go get a cup of coffee and a pastry.” So we do. Of course we do. We’ll amble through the tents and vendor displays, we’ll get our souvenir scarf, we’ll mingle with the throng of women in pink and then we’ll go home and watch football and drink mimosas. I got some pink champagne for the occasion.
11 September 2009
Turning it around
Work has been super busy lately with all sorts of new requests and new requirements. We laid off a team member early this year and everyone is working harder than ever. Since I am in charge, I have the option of delegating new assignments, but I don’t feel like I can dump any more work on any of the rest of the group. I’m going to have to eventually, because I can’t keep doing all of the extra work myself.
I’ve also had too much stuff scheduled on the weekends lately and the lack of down time really drains me. Plus, I look out at the garden and know that I should be starting the fall clean up chores; I look at the building projects and know that I should be putting more time in on them; I look at the house and know that it shouldn’t be this messy… you get the picture.
Last night a self defense class that I teach to student nurses started. Actually, it started last week and one of my teammates covered for me because it was the same night as the Bonnie Raitt concert. So, last night was my first night with the class. I got home from work feeling tired, a little out of sorts, and not in any mood to put on my uniform, schlep my gear across town, turn on the energy, and teach. But of course I did. Of course I did. And I am so glad!
The class was great! The women are all very enthusiastic and willing to try all sorts of stuff that is out of their comfort zone. They were excited to be hitting the pads and were hitting HARD! They were using their voice, they were using their stance and body language, they were dropping their breath. Everything I asked of them, they participated fully. What a wonderful group! I left there feeling so much better than when I arrived. It’s amazing how transformative physical activity can be. Especially when it is directed in a positive and empowering way.
The neighborhood where these women go to school is in a part of downtown Portland that has its share of trouble. It’s not a “bad” neighborhood, by any stretch. But, lately there has been a predator on the loose, and he has attacked several women late at night. We talked about that in class, of course, and all of the students are aware of it and are taking the class because of it. I’m so glad they are there! The skills that we teach are simple to learn and highly effective and go a long way in building confidence and increasing awareness. I wish we could teach the entire student body because really, everyone needs to know how to protect themselves.
I’ve got another busy weekend coming up, and the one after that as well. But, I’m doing my damnedest to keep the last week of the month free and my goal is for me and T to get to the beach that weekend. Fingers crossed!
Happy Friday!
I’ve also had too much stuff scheduled on the weekends lately and the lack of down time really drains me. Plus, I look out at the garden and know that I should be starting the fall clean up chores; I look at the building projects and know that I should be putting more time in on them; I look at the house and know that it shouldn’t be this messy… you get the picture.
Last night a self defense class that I teach to student nurses started. Actually, it started last week and one of my teammates covered for me because it was the same night as the Bonnie Raitt concert. So, last night was my first night with the class. I got home from work feeling tired, a little out of sorts, and not in any mood to put on my uniform, schlep my gear across town, turn on the energy, and teach. But of course I did. Of course I did. And I am so glad!
The class was great! The women are all very enthusiastic and willing to try all sorts of stuff that is out of their comfort zone. They were excited to be hitting the pads and were hitting HARD! They were using their voice, they were using their stance and body language, they were dropping their breath. Everything I asked of them, they participated fully. What a wonderful group! I left there feeling so much better than when I arrived. It’s amazing how transformative physical activity can be. Especially when it is directed in a positive and empowering way.
The neighborhood where these women go to school is in a part of downtown Portland that has its share of trouble. It’s not a “bad” neighborhood, by any stretch. But, lately there has been a predator on the loose, and he has attacked several women late at night. We talked about that in class, of course, and all of the students are aware of it and are taking the class because of it. I’m so glad they are there! The skills that we teach are simple to learn and highly effective and go a long way in building confidence and increasing awareness. I wish we could teach the entire student body because really, everyone needs to know how to protect themselves.
I’ve got another busy weekend coming up, and the one after that as well. But, I’m doing my damnedest to keep the last week of the month free and my goal is for me and T to get to the beach that weekend. Fingers crossed!
Happy Friday!
08 September 2009
Weekend Round-up
I took Friday off so that I had a four day weekend instead of just three. Greedy? No. Just needed a break. But it wasn’t all spent lying on the couch ignoring the world. Here’s what went down:
Friday ~ errands and a little shopping. My friend Peg came over and did some errands with me. Mostly just so that we could chat. T’s friend Chris came over and installed a printer. I went out to Lewis and Clark with Katherine, Abi and Annie. We were teaching a self defense course there on Sunday and wanted to see the room and figure stuff out ahead of time.
Saturday ~ No classes! The school was closed for the weekend. So instead I did a bunch of laundry and various household chores. Didn’t feel obligated to get anything done, which is a rarity. Watched a couple of movies. Mall Cop, which was silly and innocent and Fight Night, which was poorly written and woodenly acted. Bought a new seat for the bike and T put it on for me. Super comfy!
Sunday ~ Futzed around during the morning. Went back to Lewis and Clark to teach from 2 to 5. We were supposed to have 100 incoming freshmen women but only got 35 signed up. Of those, about half showed up for the course. Our goal is that next year it will be a requirement for all incoming fresh(wo)men.
Monday ~ went to Home Depot for supplies and then came home and insulated the floor of the sun porch – where the hot tub lives. Yeah, that’s a lot of fun, crawling around under a building with fiberglass insulation. OK, I’m not complaining because T did most of the crawling and I did most of the cutting. It felt good to get it done before the temperatures drop. We also got some Tyvek up on the outside of the porch. We hope to have the siding completed within a couple of weeks. I want it to blend into the rest of the house and not stick out like a sore thumb… as it is currently doing.
Now I’m back at work. Almost done for the day and I haven’t even caught up on my blog reading! My daughter has started a new blog about buying a house, and my good friend RR has started yet another “pop culture” blog. I’ve got to add those to my list.
Tonight I am teaching a class about Intimate Partner Violence. Also known as domestic violence, spouse abuse, etc. It’s pretty grim, but if people have information about it maybe, just maybe it will help them recognize it and strategize ways of escaping. The class I’m teaching tonight is at my martial art school so we have a captive audience there. This is part of my apprenticeship. We reach more people when we teach in the community. It’s good practice, though. I feel like I need more time to prepare, but it'll be fine.
Friday ~ errands and a little shopping. My friend Peg came over and did some errands with me. Mostly just so that we could chat. T’s friend Chris came over and installed a printer. I went out to Lewis and Clark with Katherine, Abi and Annie. We were teaching a self defense course there on Sunday and wanted to see the room and figure stuff out ahead of time.
Saturday ~ No classes! The school was closed for the weekend. So instead I did a bunch of laundry and various household chores. Didn’t feel obligated to get anything done, which is a rarity. Watched a couple of movies. Mall Cop, which was silly and innocent and Fight Night, which was poorly written and woodenly acted. Bought a new seat for the bike and T put it on for me. Super comfy!
Sunday ~ Futzed around during the morning. Went back to Lewis and Clark to teach from 2 to 5. We were supposed to have 100 incoming freshmen women but only got 35 signed up. Of those, about half showed up for the course. Our goal is that next year it will be a requirement for all incoming fresh(wo)men.
Monday ~ went to Home Depot for supplies and then came home and insulated the floor of the sun porch – where the hot tub lives. Yeah, that’s a lot of fun, crawling around under a building with fiberglass insulation. OK, I’m not complaining because T did most of the crawling and I did most of the cutting. It felt good to get it done before the temperatures drop. We also got some Tyvek up on the outside of the porch. We hope to have the siding completed within a couple of weeks. I want it to blend into the rest of the house and not stick out like a sore thumb… as it is currently doing.
Now I’m back at work. Almost done for the day and I haven’t even caught up on my blog reading! My daughter has started a new blog about buying a house, and my good friend RR has started yet another “pop culture” blog. I’ve got to add those to my list.
Tonight I am teaching a class about Intimate Partner Violence. Also known as domestic violence, spouse abuse, etc. It’s pretty grim, but if people have information about it maybe, just maybe it will help them recognize it and strategize ways of escaping. The class I’m teaching tonight is at my martial art school so we have a captive audience there. This is part of my apprenticeship. We reach more people when we teach in the community. It’s good practice, though. I feel like I need more time to prepare, but it'll be fine.
03 September 2009
Bike Update, etc
Ok, I rode home again yesterday. Two things:
1) My butt hurts! I need a new seat, for sure. One of those wide, padded, “lady” seats. Oh yes I do. I got off the tram yesterday, tucked my pant leg into my sock and swung my leg over the bike. OUCH! When I sat down, I stood right back up. I had to ride a couple blocks putting most of my weight on the pedals until my butt bones stopped complaining. I’m taking Friday off and I’ll be shopping for a comfy seat that day.
2) My timing is off. I said that it took me 40 minutes the first day, well, it took 50 minutes the second day and that just can’t be right. I didn’t wander around in RiverPlace, AND I rode up that short steep hill – which has to be faster than walking, right? I’m not sure how my timing got all wonky, but I’m still hoping to shave ten (or twenty) minutes off my time. I hope to get home in half an hour. I think I’ll be able to eventually.
So, part of my ride along the waterfront goes by a hangout zone for the homeless. It’s just a pleasant part of the park a little distance away from the businessy part of downtown (close to the Steel Bridge, by the cherry trees, if you know where I mean). Yesterday there were several people sprawled around in the grass and sitting on the benches. I noticed that there were also lots of pigeons taking a little rest there as well. I wondered, do the homeless ever catch and eat pigeons? They are certainly plentiful (I mean the birds), and surely, surely, they taste somewhat like chicken. But, then, I’ve wondered the same thing about squirrels. Why aren’t hungry people eating them? I’ve never had squirrel before but in my imagination it is a lean, dark meat. I asked T what she thought about that and she said, “Why go to all that trouble when you can panhandle a dollar and go to Wendy’s for a crispy chicken sandwich?” She does have a point there.
In other news, the concert tickets that we won are for tonight. Bonnie Raitt and Taj Mahal at the Edgefield! Very much looking forward to it! Gates open at 5, general admission seating on the grass, so we’ll be there on time. Really, really hoping that the rain holds off until tomorrow!
1) My butt hurts! I need a new seat, for sure. One of those wide, padded, “lady” seats. Oh yes I do. I got off the tram yesterday, tucked my pant leg into my sock and swung my leg over the bike. OUCH! When I sat down, I stood right back up. I had to ride a couple blocks putting most of my weight on the pedals until my butt bones stopped complaining. I’m taking Friday off and I’ll be shopping for a comfy seat that day.
2) My timing is off. I said that it took me 40 minutes the first day, well, it took 50 minutes the second day and that just can’t be right. I didn’t wander around in RiverPlace, AND I rode up that short steep hill – which has to be faster than walking, right? I’m not sure how my timing got all wonky, but I’m still hoping to shave ten (or twenty) minutes off my time. I hope to get home in half an hour. I think I’ll be able to eventually.
So, part of my ride along the waterfront goes by a hangout zone for the homeless. It’s just a pleasant part of the park a little distance away from the businessy part of downtown (close to the Steel Bridge, by the cherry trees, if you know where I mean). Yesterday there were several people sprawled around in the grass and sitting on the benches. I noticed that there were also lots of pigeons taking a little rest there as well. I wondered, do the homeless ever catch and eat pigeons? They are certainly plentiful (I mean the birds), and surely, surely, they taste somewhat like chicken. But, then, I’ve wondered the same thing about squirrels. Why aren’t hungry people eating them? I’ve never had squirrel before but in my imagination it is a lean, dark meat. I asked T what she thought about that and she said, “Why go to all that trouble when you can panhandle a dollar and go to Wendy’s for a crispy chicken sandwich?” She does have a point there.
In other news, the concert tickets that we won are for tonight. Bonnie Raitt and Taj Mahal at the Edgefield! Very much looking forward to it! Gates open at 5, general admission seating on the grass, so we’ll be there on time. Really, really hoping that the rain holds off until tomorrow!
02 September 2009
Bike Commute Challenge
Yay for me! I rode my bike home from work yesterday for the first time!
So, we’ve got this thing called the Bike Commute Challenge. Maybe it’s going on in your town? Maybe it’s just an Oregon thing… Different businesses compete to have the greatest percentage of employees riding their bikes to work during the month of September. I don’t think you win anything but bragging rights, and all of the actual benefits like better health, less pollution, etc.
For the past year and a half I have been carpooling with T. Since her last layoff, however, she has just been driving me to work and picking me up. I know, I know, how very wasteful that is! I have been talking about riding my bike to work but hadn’t gotten up the courage or motivation to do it. The bike challenge was the impetus I needed.
I had T drop me and my bike off yesterday and today. I feel ok about that. It cut the car commute in half. Next week I aim to ride both directions.
It’s only 5 miles from my house to my work, but it’s through the city, across the river and up a steep hill. Truth be told, I’m not doing the steep hill – not up or down it. Instead, I’m taking the tram up and down. It just feels safer and more doable for me. I made it home in 40 minutes yesterday, which is about 20 minutes faster than the bus. I know I’ll be able to shave a good 10 minutes off that time; I wasted a few minutes riding around one neighborhood looking for the bike path. Also, there’s one short but steep hill that my legs weren’t up to yesterday. It’s only 2 or 3 blocks long but I walked my bike up it yesterday. By next week I hope to ride the whole thing.
It really felt great to be getting home via my own power. Empowering! I’ve walked home before and that felt pretty good, too, but zipping along on my bike was great. And, the whole time I was pedaling I was thinking about how much better my pants would fit in a few weeks. I haven’t been working out for quite a while now and I have gained an unacceptable amount of weight and I just don’t feel good. This will definitely improve my physical and mental well-being.
The unknown so far is how the weather will affect my commute. Portland is known for the rainy weather, and it’s coming. I’m going to check out some rain pants and see if I can stick it out in the upcoming wet weather.
Wish me luck!
So, we’ve got this thing called the Bike Commute Challenge. Maybe it’s going on in your town? Maybe it’s just an Oregon thing… Different businesses compete to have the greatest percentage of employees riding their bikes to work during the month of September. I don’t think you win anything but bragging rights, and all of the actual benefits like better health, less pollution, etc.
For the past year and a half I have been carpooling with T. Since her last layoff, however, she has just been driving me to work and picking me up. I know, I know, how very wasteful that is! I have been talking about riding my bike to work but hadn’t gotten up the courage or motivation to do it. The bike challenge was the impetus I needed.
I had T drop me and my bike off yesterday and today. I feel ok about that. It cut the car commute in half. Next week I aim to ride both directions.
It’s only 5 miles from my house to my work, but it’s through the city, across the river and up a steep hill. Truth be told, I’m not doing the steep hill – not up or down it. Instead, I’m taking the tram up and down. It just feels safer and more doable for me. I made it home in 40 minutes yesterday, which is about 20 minutes faster than the bus. I know I’ll be able to shave a good 10 minutes off that time; I wasted a few minutes riding around one neighborhood looking for the bike path. Also, there’s one short but steep hill that my legs weren’t up to yesterday. It’s only 2 or 3 blocks long but I walked my bike up it yesterday. By next week I hope to ride the whole thing.
It really felt great to be getting home via my own power. Empowering! I’ve walked home before and that felt pretty good, too, but zipping along on my bike was great. And, the whole time I was pedaling I was thinking about how much better my pants would fit in a few weeks. I haven’t been working out for quite a while now and I have gained an unacceptable amount of weight and I just don’t feel good. This will definitely improve my physical and mental well-being.
The unknown so far is how the weather will affect my commute. Portland is known for the rainy weather, and it’s coming. I’m going to check out some rain pants and see if I can stick it out in the upcoming wet weather.
Wish me luck!
22 June 2009
Money vs House vs Happiness
The love of money may be a root of evil, but lack of money causes problems too.
T lost her construction job last summer ~ along with hundreds of thousands of other people in the building trades. She has had a couple of crappy maintenance jobs since then that pay, on average, a bit less than half of what she used to make. She has been picking up side work when she can to keep some money coming in but it isn’t steady enough to count on.
This has two primary effects and many secondary effects. First, of course, is paying the bills. I can carry all the bills for the household and make my house payment. She has rented her house but the rent is not equal to the mortgage and she needs about $500 a month to make up the difference. This means that neither of us is saving any money which, at our age, is problematical.
The second primary effect is on T’s state of mind. Not contributing to the household, not having money in her wallet, not “taking care” of me; these things weigh heavy on her. In all of her previous relationships, she was the primary earner, the one with the house, the one who paid for things, the daddy. She was also, maybe not coincidentally, always older than her partners – at least by a few years.
Now, everything is upside down. We are the same age – in fact, I am a few months older. We made roughly the same amount of money before she lost her job and split the bills equally. We used to trade off paying when we went out to eat. The first time I paid the bill she was a little shocked – she’d never been with someone who simply assumed that it was fair to share in the cost. But, that was before she was laid off. Now I pay almost all of the time. And, it kills her. I can see a little part of her self-image erode every time. I feel bad about that, but not bad enough to give up eating out occasionally.
And the household expenses – she can’t pay every other month like she used to. So, instead, she has embarked on some fabulous home repair projects. My house is old and has suffered through some decades of neglect. The house and the yard, for that matter. When she moved in the yard looked more like a jungle than a small city lot. She has completely transformed the yard and together we built a wonderful deck. She has replaced light fixtures, patched drywall, tiled a vanity, painted, powerwashed, installed a gas fireplace, replaced faucets, rehung doors, and on and on… All of which is wonderful, and believe me I am grateful, there’s just one catch. A lot of those things take money. Which puts us right back to square one.
I generally keep a household maintenance and improvement fund. I put my tax return money in there and contribute a little extra to it when I can. It had grown to a couple thousand when T moved in (since I hadn’t done anything to maintain the house). We have used it up on worthwhile projects like the deck. And all those other things. I don’t regret that one bit because the house is in better shape and we are reaping the benefit by living there. And, T feels good about contributing, which makes her a little bit happier.
The issue at hand, though, is the latest project. A sunroom. With a hot tub. Oh, yes, that will be wonderful, and we will get lots of use out of it, and it will increase the value of the house and, and, and… But, it’s not free to build a sunroom. I had some of the windows from a different project, and we bought the doors at the local low cost, recycled building materials place so we didn’t pay tons of money for them. But there is lumber, tile, electrical, roofing, plumbing, etc, to pay for and we have gone through all of the building fund. She is waiting for some money back from her federal taxes, but mine is spent. I paid for half of the hot tub out of my checking account and I am looking towards Friday anxiously.
I don’t like worrying about money. And, I don’t like my partner to feel unhappy over money. But, she is happiest when she is building or repairing something and feeling like she is contributing. I’m not sure how we’ll continue paying for everything we need to complete this project, probably end up putting some of it on credit cards. Sigh.
I know the economy will turn around one of these days. I know that T will get a good, well-paid job again. I’m holding the good thought about all of that. It’s just getting through this rough patch that is so difficult right now. Difficult and expensive. I may end up broke, but the house will be in great shape!
T lost her construction job last summer ~ along with hundreds of thousands of other people in the building trades. She has had a couple of crappy maintenance jobs since then that pay, on average, a bit less than half of what she used to make. She has been picking up side work when she can to keep some money coming in but it isn’t steady enough to count on.
This has two primary effects and many secondary effects. First, of course, is paying the bills. I can carry all the bills for the household and make my house payment. She has rented her house but the rent is not equal to the mortgage and she needs about $500 a month to make up the difference. This means that neither of us is saving any money which, at our age, is problematical.
The second primary effect is on T’s state of mind. Not contributing to the household, not having money in her wallet, not “taking care” of me; these things weigh heavy on her. In all of her previous relationships, she was the primary earner, the one with the house, the one who paid for things, the daddy. She was also, maybe not coincidentally, always older than her partners – at least by a few years.
Now, everything is upside down. We are the same age – in fact, I am a few months older. We made roughly the same amount of money before she lost her job and split the bills equally. We used to trade off paying when we went out to eat. The first time I paid the bill she was a little shocked – she’d never been with someone who simply assumed that it was fair to share in the cost. But, that was before she was laid off. Now I pay almost all of the time. And, it kills her. I can see a little part of her self-image erode every time. I feel bad about that, but not bad enough to give up eating out occasionally.
And the household expenses – she can’t pay every other month like she used to. So, instead, she has embarked on some fabulous home repair projects. My house is old and has suffered through some decades of neglect. The house and the yard, for that matter. When she moved in the yard looked more like a jungle than a small city lot. She has completely transformed the yard and together we built a wonderful deck. She has replaced light fixtures, patched drywall, tiled a vanity, painted, powerwashed, installed a gas fireplace, replaced faucets, rehung doors, and on and on… All of which is wonderful, and believe me I am grateful, there’s just one catch. A lot of those things take money. Which puts us right back to square one.
I generally keep a household maintenance and improvement fund. I put my tax return money in there and contribute a little extra to it when I can. It had grown to a couple thousand when T moved in (since I hadn’t done anything to maintain the house). We have used it up on worthwhile projects like the deck. And all those other things. I don’t regret that one bit because the house is in better shape and we are reaping the benefit by living there. And, T feels good about contributing, which makes her a little bit happier.
The issue at hand, though, is the latest project. A sunroom. With a hot tub. Oh, yes, that will be wonderful, and we will get lots of use out of it, and it will increase the value of the house and, and, and… But, it’s not free to build a sunroom. I had some of the windows from a different project, and we bought the doors at the local low cost, recycled building materials place so we didn’t pay tons of money for them. But there is lumber, tile, electrical, roofing, plumbing, etc, to pay for and we have gone through all of the building fund. She is waiting for some money back from her federal taxes, but mine is spent. I paid for half of the hot tub out of my checking account and I am looking towards Friday anxiously.
I don’t like worrying about money. And, I don’t like my partner to feel unhappy over money. But, she is happiest when she is building or repairing something and feeling like she is contributing. I’m not sure how we’ll continue paying for everything we need to complete this project, probably end up putting some of it on credit cards. Sigh.
I know the economy will turn around one of these days. I know that T will get a good, well-paid job again. I’m holding the good thought about all of that. It’s just getting through this rough patch that is so difficult right now. Difficult and expensive. I may end up broke, but the house will be in great shape!
12 June 2009
Pride
Gay Pride is this weekend in Portland. Yay! Well, it's already begun but the big stuff is this weekend.
I was looking for various gay-themed paraphernalia at the store yesterday ~ decided that I didn't have enough rainbows in my wardrobe. My best finds were in the cheap jewelry aisle and girls accessories. Rainbows and unicorns aplenty! Of course, Tess isn't going to wear anything like that. I did find an awesome t-shirt for her in the men's clothing section. It's an Oregon State University t-shirt that loudly proclaims, "BEAVER PRIDE". That will be perfect for the Dyke March!
Happy Pride, everyone! Go get your gay on!
I was looking for various gay-themed paraphernalia at the store yesterday ~ decided that I didn't have enough rainbows in my wardrobe. My best finds were in the cheap jewelry aisle and girls accessories. Rainbows and unicorns aplenty! Of course, Tess isn't going to wear anything like that. I did find an awesome t-shirt for her in the men's clothing section. It's an Oregon State University t-shirt that loudly proclaims, "BEAVER PRIDE". That will be perfect for the Dyke March!
Happy Pride, everyone! Go get your gay on!
07 April 2009
Anonymous and Invisible
Hair color and pattern are genetic traits so I have always known how my hair will look when I get old. My mother started going gray when she was in her early twenties. She now has a beautiful head of white hair ~ as did her mother. I definitely had strands of gray in my early twenties, increasing from the front to the back as every decade passed.
I started coloring my hair in my mid-thirties. It was easy ~ a $5 box of Clairol and I was good to go. It changed my outward appearance just a little. Made me look my age, rather than a few years older. After a couple of years I threw caution to the wind and dyed my hair bright pink. That was fun but it wore thin pretty quickly. After that I went back to auburn brown but kept a pink streak in the front. Eventually I got tired of the two color dye job, gave up the pink streak and was content to be an anonymous brunette.
The great thing about hair is that it grows out. That is also the drag of it, when you color your hair; always dealing with the racing stripe. For blondes, it’s the dark roots. For older gals like me, it’s the silver shining through.
Several years ago I stopped coloring my hair. I wanted to see how much gray there was and I just wasn’t bothered enough about it to put forth the effort of maintaining the color. I let it get a pretty good grow-out and then cut it short. I really liked it! I liked it short and I liked it gray.
That was when I truly became aware of the invisibility factor.
Old people, especially women, are invisible in our society. We are not valued in our youth-obsessed culture. I was surprised at how people’s eyes just slid over me as if I wasn’t there. I have always enjoyed/suffered attention from oglers – not that I am fabulously beautiful, just pretty and friendly. Oh, and I have big tits. I was surprised when that stopped happening; and surprised at how immediately it stopped. (As an aside, I was talking with two of my best friends about this and they said it is the same for large women. They feel completely invisible unless they are an object of scorn.)
So, I was mulling this over yesterday. It was a beautiful sunny day and I left work a little early to walk home. I walked through the Portland State University neighborhood, and past St Mary’s Academy (a catholic high school for girls). I was part of the stream of pedestrians going about their business but at the same time, not part of it. When surrounded by college or high school age students, it is obvious that I am much older. I am already fading into the background.
I was thinking about it especially because my 50th birthday is coming up and it’s a good time to assess one’s life. I have decided to cut my hair again and let it grow out to its natural color. I’m not going to cut it quite as short as the last time – I’m thinking chin length – but definitely going back to gray/white/silver. I’ve been coloring it of late so that I don’t look so much older than my girlfriend. But, I’m getting over that. I know we’re the same age; I don’t care all that much what other people think.
I’m prepared to become invisible again. One can get away with a lot when nobody pays attention to you. I may take up a life of crime! More likely, I will continue my self-appointed task of observing and reporting on life. It’s easier to do so from the periphery. And more comfortable knowing that no one is looking back at you.
I started coloring my hair in my mid-thirties. It was easy ~ a $5 box of Clairol and I was good to go. It changed my outward appearance just a little. Made me look my age, rather than a few years older. After a couple of years I threw caution to the wind and dyed my hair bright pink. That was fun but it wore thin pretty quickly. After that I went back to auburn brown but kept a pink streak in the front. Eventually I got tired of the two color dye job, gave up the pink streak and was content to be an anonymous brunette.
The great thing about hair is that it grows out. That is also the drag of it, when you color your hair; always dealing with the racing stripe. For blondes, it’s the dark roots. For older gals like me, it’s the silver shining through.
Several years ago I stopped coloring my hair. I wanted to see how much gray there was and I just wasn’t bothered enough about it to put forth the effort of maintaining the color. I let it get a pretty good grow-out and then cut it short. I really liked it! I liked it short and I liked it gray.
That was when I truly became aware of the invisibility factor.
Old people, especially women, are invisible in our society. We are not valued in our youth-obsessed culture. I was surprised at how people’s eyes just slid over me as if I wasn’t there. I have always enjoyed/suffered attention from oglers – not that I am fabulously beautiful, just pretty and friendly. Oh, and I have big tits. I was surprised when that stopped happening; and surprised at how immediately it stopped. (As an aside, I was talking with two of my best friends about this and they said it is the same for large women. They feel completely invisible unless they are an object of scorn.)
So, I was mulling this over yesterday. It was a beautiful sunny day and I left work a little early to walk home. I walked through the Portland State University neighborhood, and past St Mary’s Academy (a catholic high school for girls). I was part of the stream of pedestrians going about their business but at the same time, not part of it. When surrounded by college or high school age students, it is obvious that I am much older. I am already fading into the background.
I was thinking about it especially because my 50th birthday is coming up and it’s a good time to assess one’s life. I have decided to cut my hair again and let it grow out to its natural color. I’m not going to cut it quite as short as the last time – I’m thinking chin length – but definitely going back to gray/white/silver. I’ve been coloring it of late so that I don’t look so much older than my girlfriend. But, I’m getting over that. I know we’re the same age; I don’t care all that much what other people think.
I’m prepared to become invisible again. One can get away with a lot when nobody pays attention to you. I may take up a life of crime! More likely, I will continue my self-appointed task of observing and reporting on life. It’s easier to do so from the periphery. And more comfortable knowing that no one is looking back at you.
27 March 2009
Vanity and Age
When T and I first hooked up I wasn’t coloring my hair. I got tired of the grow-out phases, and mostly, I just didn’t care. Plus, I thought my hair looked good white/gray/brown. But, shortly after we started dating I went back to coloring my hair. And here’s why: I didn’t want to look that much older than she. We are the same age – although I was born in the spring and she was born in the fall, but in the same year. And, we both look pretty damn good for 49, I think. But, I didn’t want to look like some old gal going with a youngster. A cougar. A sugar mama. So, I started coloring my hair.
Now, however, my birthday is coming up. It’s a milepost year; a threshold. And I don’t feel like coloring my hair anymore. It’s very pretty. It’s longish, shoulder length, a warm caramel brown. It’s a pleasure to brush it. It’s long enough to pull back into a ponytail when I work out. But, I’m tired of it. I’m planning on cutting it fairly short and letting it grow out to its natural color. Ok, so people may look at us and think, “Wow, what’s that hottie doing with the old bag?” But, I don’t care. We’ll see how long that lasts. Because, after all, it’s just hair and mine grows out so fast that it can be completely different in six months.
Now, however, my birthday is coming up. It’s a milepost year; a threshold. And I don’t feel like coloring my hair anymore. It’s very pretty. It’s longish, shoulder length, a warm caramel brown. It’s a pleasure to brush it. It’s long enough to pull back into a ponytail when I work out. But, I’m tired of it. I’m planning on cutting it fairly short and letting it grow out to its natural color. Ok, so people may look at us and think, “Wow, what’s that hottie doing with the old bag?” But, I don’t care. We’ll see how long that lasts. Because, after all, it’s just hair and mine grows out so fast that it can be completely different in six months.
26 January 2009
Anniversaries
Anniversary: 26 January 2009
Most people celebrate anniversaries of one sort or another ~ birthdays, weddings, special or significant days in their lives. Today is the anniversary of the day I met my girlfriend.
We celebrated it (sort of) on Saturday night instead of today, Monday. We met at a lesbian dance called Hot Flash. It’s a good time mob scene at a club in Portland’s Old Town district. They bill themselves as “seasoned sapphists and their allies” or something like that. It’s a great thing for women of a certain age and orientation to have a dance of our own. The youngsters have all sorts of L4L dances and really, their music is marginal. This one is ours and there are a lot of us.
So we decided that we would always celebrate by going to the January Hot Flash dance and call it our anniversary. But, then we started talking about other significant dates and there are a few. Should we mark the date that we first slept together? How about the date that we decided to be in an exclusive relationship? Or when she moved into my house? What about the day we filed for domestic partnership, that’s pretty significant. Of course, we are holding out for a “wedding anniversary” someday.
We thought about going to California last summer and getting married. But, our families are here in Oregon and Washington and we want to celebrate the day with them. And, then the opportunity was snatched away. We are not going to Massachusetts to get married, or Canada. We want a local option! We want to get married in our town, and have our government recognize our union. City, county, state and federal recognition is what I’m aiming for. I want to be able to file a joint tax return, and share the meager crumbs of each other’s Social Security. I don’t believe that’s too much to ask.
But, that giant issue aside, when we are allowed to marry, we will be picking a date between November and April. When we met we were the same age and I loved that fact. Since my birthday is in April, for half the year I am older than she. I like it to be even. We like our relationship to be 50/50 as much as possible. So, sometime between November and April we’ll be creating yet another anniversary to celebrate; someday.
Most people celebrate anniversaries of one sort or another ~ birthdays, weddings, special or significant days in their lives. Today is the anniversary of the day I met my girlfriend.
We celebrated it (sort of) on Saturday night instead of today, Monday. We met at a lesbian dance called Hot Flash. It’s a good time mob scene at a club in Portland’s Old Town district. They bill themselves as “seasoned sapphists and their allies” or something like that. It’s a great thing for women of a certain age and orientation to have a dance of our own. The youngsters have all sorts of L4L dances and really, their music is marginal. This one is ours and there are a lot of us.
So we decided that we would always celebrate by going to the January Hot Flash dance and call it our anniversary. But, then we started talking about other significant dates and there are a few. Should we mark the date that we first slept together? How about the date that we decided to be in an exclusive relationship? Or when she moved into my house? What about the day we filed for domestic partnership, that’s pretty significant. Of course, we are holding out for a “wedding anniversary” someday.
We thought about going to California last summer and getting married. But, our families are here in Oregon and Washington and we want to celebrate the day with them. And, then the opportunity was snatched away. We are not going to Massachusetts to get married, or Canada. We want a local option! We want to get married in our town, and have our government recognize our union. City, county, state and federal recognition is what I’m aiming for. I want to be able to file a joint tax return, and share the meager crumbs of each other’s Social Security. I don’t believe that’s too much to ask.
But, that giant issue aside, when we are allowed to marry, we will be picking a date between November and April. When we met we were the same age and I loved that fact. Since my birthday is in April, for half the year I am older than she. I like it to be even. We like our relationship to be 50/50 as much as possible. So, sometime between November and April we’ll be creating yet another anniversary to celebrate; someday.
13 October 2008
Thoughts about Wyoming
With the ten year anniversary of the hate crime that took Matthew Shepard’s life, I am thinking about Wyoming. As are so many us.
Have you been to Wyoming? Have you driven through the state or visited Yellowstone? I’ve done both in the last decade.
My daughter and I took a road trip through the upper Western states when she was transitioning from middle school to high school. She had gone to an “alternative” middle school, run by hippie-ish types that encouraged self expression, among other things. Part of her self expression was her pink, orange and purple hair. As we left Yellowstone, driving through western Wyoming, she got a scarf out of her bag to cover her hair. I asked her why and she said, “They kill people for being different here. I don’t want any of them to see my hair.” What’s a mother to say to that?
This spring my girlfriend and I flew out to Michigan to collect my daughter’s car and drive it back to Portland. On day two, as we approached the Wyoming state line, we got into an argument. We spent a couple of hours in stony silence. As we drove through Laramie we both started crying. “Why are we doing this to each other?” we cried. “We have to be strong together to fight against the assholes of this world.” We felt very strongly the sorrow, fear and shame that linger in Laramie; or at least linger in our minds when we think about Laramie. We couldn’t stop there, even though we needed gas. We couldn’t set foot on that ground, spend money in their town, even look away from the highway. Every fence reminded us. We pressed on through the town and filled the tank away to the west, in Rawlins. We were on edge through the whole state, and Utah wasn’t much better. We didn’t really breathe easily until we were cruising through the Gorge on the outskirts of Portland. So. Glad. To. Be. Home.
And, Wyoming? I don’t hate the place. I don’t hate the people. I don’t want to increase the balance of animosity in the world; I want to reduce it. I don’t feel safe in vast areas in the middle of the US, and I resent the fact that I feel I must be on guard when traveling in those places. But I am determined to give everyone a fair shake, an unbiased hearing before I make up my mind. There are probably wonderful things about Wyoming and I would be happy to hear about them. True, I’ll never live there, but I would like to travel through it or visit without fear.
With the ten year anniversary of the hate crime that took Matthew Shepard’s life, I am thinking about Wyoming. As are so many us.
Have you been to Wyoming? Have you driven through the state or visited Yellowstone? I’ve done both in the last decade.
My daughter and I took a road trip through the upper Western states when she was transitioning from middle school to high school. She had gone to an “alternative” middle school, run by hippie-ish types that encouraged self expression, among other things. Part of her self expression was her pink, orange and purple hair. As we left Yellowstone, driving through western Wyoming, she got a scarf out of her bag to cover her hair. I asked her why and she said, “They kill people for being different here. I don’t want any of them to see my hair.” What’s a mother to say to that?
This spring my girlfriend and I flew out to Michigan to collect my daughter’s car and drive it back to Portland. On day two, as we approached the Wyoming state line, we got into an argument. We spent a couple of hours in stony silence. As we drove through Laramie we both started crying. “Why are we doing this to each other?” we cried. “We have to be strong together to fight against the assholes of this world.” We felt very strongly the sorrow, fear and shame that linger in Laramie; or at least linger in our minds when we think about Laramie. We couldn’t stop there, even though we needed gas. We couldn’t set foot on that ground, spend money in their town, even look away from the highway. Every fence reminded us. We pressed on through the town and filled the tank away to the west, in Rawlins. We were on edge through the whole state, and Utah wasn’t much better. We didn’t really breathe easily until we were cruising through the Gorge on the outskirts of Portland. So. Glad. To. Be. Home.
And, Wyoming? I don’t hate the place. I don’t hate the people. I don’t want to increase the balance of animosity in the world; I want to reduce it. I don’t feel safe in vast areas in the middle of the US, and I resent the fact that I feel I must be on guard when traveling in those places. But I am determined to give everyone a fair shake, an unbiased hearing before I make up my mind. There are probably wonderful things about Wyoming and I would be happy to hear about them. True, I’ll never live there, but I would like to travel through it or visit without fear.
26 September 2008
IMPOSTER
I said earlier that I wore scarves to keep my neck warm. That’s true. Scarves, like all accessories of femininity, are mysterious objects to me. I never learned how to wear them or apply them or accoutrement with them.
Today, however, I am wearing a scarf. I’m wearing it because:
a) it’s keeping my neck warm
b) I got it at Race for the Cure last weekend and
c) it’s pretty and matches my shirt quite nicely
But, here’s the thing of it: I feel like an imposter. Like a female impersonator when I wear a scarf as decoration. I feel as if there is an aura of inept about me because it is so obvious that I don’t know what the hell to do with a scarf.
Mostly, I just drape it around my neck. I like this particular style of scarf because it’s long and linear and looks ok just hanging there. The ones that are big squares are harder to deal with, for me. I’ve seen women who tie a scarf quite stylishly or even artistically and they look so… put together. They usually also have some sort of jewelry attached to their upper body. A pin. Or, is it called a brooch or a broach? That sounds like a grandma word! And, of course, all the coordinating stuff like earrings, necklace, bracelets and rings all matching.
I’m not much for jewelry either. A number of years ago my friend Lisa suggested that I wear a necklace to “break up the vast expanse of décolletage”. Well, shoot. Ok, yeah, I’m a chesty shaped girl, it’s true, but vast expanse? So, naturally, I took her advice. Lisa is my diametric opposite when it comes to accessories. She has them, understands them, and wears them. And looks good in them, looks like she should.
I wear a little silver necklace most of the time now – because of the vast expanse. I bought it in Mexico when we were down there on a short get-away. It does its job re the expanse, and I think it also gives me an ever so slightly more girly look. I’ve been pretty neutral for many years. As androgynous as a non-bound chesty gal can look.
Also, I’m now sporting a little silver ring, courtesy of my beloved. We got them this summer when we went to the beach for the weekend. We were staying in Lincoln City and drove south to Depoe Bay to eat at the Sea Hag. While we were perusing the shops I had a little fit and said, “I want you to buy me a ring!” Well, not here in this gift shop full of plastic starfish and tacky t-shirts, she replied. We made our way all the way to the end of the boardwalk and the last store was a silver jewelry store. She doesn’t like the fact that she gave me a sterling silver ring, devoid of bling. Personally, I suits me just fine. Matches my little necklace and goes great with this scarf!
Today, however, I am wearing a scarf. I’m wearing it because:
a) it’s keeping my neck warm
b) I got it at Race for the Cure last weekend and
c) it’s pretty and matches my shirt quite nicely
But, here’s the thing of it: I feel like an imposter. Like a female impersonator when I wear a scarf as decoration. I feel as if there is an aura of inept about me because it is so obvious that I don’t know what the hell to do with a scarf.
Mostly, I just drape it around my neck. I like this particular style of scarf because it’s long and linear and looks ok just hanging there. The ones that are big squares are harder to deal with, for me. I’ve seen women who tie a scarf quite stylishly or even artistically and they look so… put together. They usually also have some sort of jewelry attached to their upper body. A pin. Or, is it called a brooch or a broach? That sounds like a grandma word! And, of course, all the coordinating stuff like earrings, necklace, bracelets and rings all matching.
I’m not much for jewelry either. A number of years ago my friend Lisa suggested that I wear a necklace to “break up the vast expanse of décolletage”. Well, shoot. Ok, yeah, I’m a chesty shaped girl, it’s true, but vast expanse? So, naturally, I took her advice. Lisa is my diametric opposite when it comes to accessories. She has them, understands them, and wears them. And looks good in them, looks like she should.
I wear a little silver necklace most of the time now – because of the vast expanse. I bought it in Mexico when we were down there on a short get-away. It does its job re the expanse, and I think it also gives me an ever so slightly more girly look. I’ve been pretty neutral for many years. As androgynous as a non-bound chesty gal can look.
Also, I’m now sporting a little silver ring, courtesy of my beloved. We got them this summer when we went to the beach for the weekend. We were staying in Lincoln City and drove south to Depoe Bay to eat at the Sea Hag. While we were perusing the shops I had a little fit and said, “I want you to buy me a ring!” Well, not here in this gift shop full of plastic starfish and tacky t-shirts, she replied. We made our way all the way to the end of the boardwalk and the last store was a silver jewelry store. She doesn’t like the fact that she gave me a sterling silver ring, devoid of bling. Personally, I suits me just fine. Matches my little necklace and goes great with this scarf!
22 September 2008
tomboy femme and soft butch
Tomboy Femme meets Soft Butch
Tomboy femme meets soft butch and sparks fly! But, who’s who? Or, who wears which label? With me and my beloved, the labels are fluid and the roles are not fixed. That’s how we like it.
Why is it that the lesbian community wants definitions for every gender and gender role? Maybe it’s not a lesbian thing. Maybe it’s our culture. I find the labeling constricting and resist it as much as I am able. On forms, instead of a couple of check boxes for gender there should be space for a paragraph. Or no gender question at all.
Many lesbians will recall that their childhood years were spent as a tomboy. Not every tomboy grows up to be a lesbian, but lots of us did. Being a tomboy was having the freedom to dress like your brothers, climb trees, ride fast, play sports. To live those years as androgynously as we chose.
So, who’s who in our relationship? I’m the tomboy femme. I wear jeans and t-shirts when I am not at work. Also, I’ve never really gotten the accessories thing. For instance, scarves are to keep your neck warm, not to dress up an outfit. I’m handy with the tools I own. I’m a black belt in my martial art and I can kick your ass.
But, I’m the one with the long, pretty hair. I’m the one who owns and even wears skirts occasionally. And high heels. I like doing the laundry. I love the smell of clean clothes! I’d rather sweep and vacuum than mow the grass. I absolutely do not want to mess around with cars.
And my girl? She’s the soft butch. She’s sporting the short, but not buzzed, hair – think Ellen-esque. She always wears jeans; unless she’s wearing sweats. She works in construction. She fixes everything in our house. She would rather mow than vacuum. She does the car stuff.
But, she blow dries her hair. And has it colored. She primps more than I do! Although she likes being the Daddy, she does not like being mistaken for a man. She wears earrings. She is pretty, and she knows it.
I’m not femme and I’m not butch, and my girlfriend is neither as well. We’re just a couple of quirky girls making our way in the world. We don’t feel obliged to fit into a category; you can’t use us as a definition of anything.
Sometimes I want to shout, like Popeye, “I yam what I yam!”
Tomboy femme meets soft butch and sparks fly! But, who’s who? Or, who wears which label? With me and my beloved, the labels are fluid and the roles are not fixed. That’s how we like it.
Why is it that the lesbian community wants definitions for every gender and gender role? Maybe it’s not a lesbian thing. Maybe it’s our culture. I find the labeling constricting and resist it as much as I am able. On forms, instead of a couple of check boxes for gender there should be space for a paragraph. Or no gender question at all.
Many lesbians will recall that their childhood years were spent as a tomboy. Not every tomboy grows up to be a lesbian, but lots of us did. Being a tomboy was having the freedom to dress like your brothers, climb trees, ride fast, play sports. To live those years as androgynously as we chose.
So, who’s who in our relationship? I’m the tomboy femme. I wear jeans and t-shirts when I am not at work. Also, I’ve never really gotten the accessories thing. For instance, scarves are to keep your neck warm, not to dress up an outfit. I’m handy with the tools I own. I’m a black belt in my martial art and I can kick your ass.
But, I’m the one with the long, pretty hair. I’m the one who owns and even wears skirts occasionally. And high heels. I like doing the laundry. I love the smell of clean clothes! I’d rather sweep and vacuum than mow the grass. I absolutely do not want to mess around with cars.
And my girl? She’s the soft butch. She’s sporting the short, but not buzzed, hair – think Ellen-esque. She always wears jeans; unless she’s wearing sweats. She works in construction. She fixes everything in our house. She would rather mow than vacuum. She does the car stuff.
But, she blow dries her hair. And has it colored. She primps more than I do! Although she likes being the Daddy, she does not like being mistaken for a man. She wears earrings. She is pretty, and she knows it.
I’m not femme and I’m not butch, and my girlfriend is neither as well. We’re just a couple of quirky girls making our way in the world. We don’t feel obliged to fit into a category; you can’t use us as a definition of anything.
Sometimes I want to shout, like Popeye, “I yam what I yam!”
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