Washington State Pride!
Congratulations to all of the same sex couples who lined up at their County buildings in order to receive their official, state sanctioned marriage licenses!
I looked at the news last night and this morning, at the faces full of emotion, and thought, how can anyone say that this is bad or wrong or evil? The comments on the local news websites were mostly positive but always the sour note creeping in from some troll or another.
My gal is from Vancouver and if we lived over the river we might have celebrated the date differently. As it is, we cheered from Portland and looked for familiar faces on the news.
T did not bring up the possibility of our getting married. Whether that's because she doesn't want to or doesn't want to find out that I don't want to, I can't tell. Also, we live in Oregon, not Washington. And, the whole marriage thing is gesture until we have federal recognition. We already file joint taxes in Oregon since we are registered domestic partners. Is it enough? Hell no. I don't like being denied my rights as a citizen. Is it going to change? Of course it is. Remember that old saying, 'When the people lead, the leaders will follow'? Eventually, it won't be an issue.
But, do I want to get married?
No.
How about you?
Showing posts with label lgbtq. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lgbtq. Show all posts
06 December 2012
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.
30 March 2009
Turning 50
I’m turning 50 next month. A couple of days ago I got a card in the mail from the AARP. Nothing like the AARP to drive home the fact that your youth is long gone!
It’s ok, though, really. I mean, what’s the alternative? Dirt nap. No thanks! Not quite ready for that. I’m feeling good, most days. I’m healthy. I work out. I have a life that gives me both satisfaction and joy. I feel useful, often.
The decade of my 40’s was a great time for me. A lot of the doubt and angst that had plagued my 30’s was gone. I had lived through some rotten times but I had come out the other side.
I’m looking forward to my 50’s. I intend to live well. I am going to stick it out at my main employment, my “day job”, for another five years and then I’ll be done. Done with this phase and onto the next. I am determined to live the life I envision.
It’s ok, though, really. I mean, what’s the alternative? Dirt nap. No thanks! Not quite ready for that. I’m feeling good, most days. I’m healthy. I work out. I have a life that gives me both satisfaction and joy. I feel useful, often.
The decade of my 40’s was a great time for me. A lot of the doubt and angst that had plagued my 30’s was gone. I had lived through some rotten times but I had come out the other side.
I’m looking forward to my 50’s. I intend to live well. I am going to stick it out at my main employment, my “day job”, for another five years and then I’ll be done. Done with this phase and onto the next. I am determined to live the life I envision.
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 March 2009
Milk
We saw “Milk” the other day. It was heartbreaking – in more than one way.
I grew up in the Bay Area, not San Francisco, but down the peninsula. I remember the times; I remember seeing Harvey Milk at a Pride parade in the City. It was wild back then! It was good and bad. One day it felt like anything was possible. The next day our gay brothers were dying right and left.
I remember the day that Milk and Moscone were shot. I remember the newscast when Dianne Feinstein announced their murders and took charge. I remember crying. I remember the absolute incredulity we felt at the “Twinkie Defense” and the outrage at the brevity of the sentence.
And, while I remembered all of that, watching the movie, what really broke my heart is the realization that we are still fighting the same damned battle. We are still second class citizens. We are still denied our civil rights. Sometimes it feels like progress is being made, but mostly it’s one step forward – two steps back. I get discouraged sometimes at the lack of real, substantive progress, the kind that is codified into law.
But, yes, there has been progress. My girlfriend and I are able to live openly. We can hold hands in the grocery store. Ok, only in the “gay” Fred Meyer by our house in NE Portland; we’d never do that in, say, Vancouver or Gresham or Hillsboro. Again, a glimmer of change but limited. My employer can’t fire me because I’m gay. In fact, I am able to cover my girlfriend on my health insurance – that’s a huge step forward. True, same sex domestic partners are taxed on the benefit while heterosexual married couples are not. Why is there always a qualification to the progress? Why does there have to be two steps back?
I know that in the future there will be equal rights for all. I know that we will have to fight to win those rights. My hope is that in the future, if I have a mixed race, homosexual, differently-abled great grandchild, she or he will have the same rights and privileges as any other citizen of the country.
We’ve got a long road ahead.
I grew up in the Bay Area, not San Francisco, but down the peninsula. I remember the times; I remember seeing Harvey Milk at a Pride parade in the City. It was wild back then! It was good and bad. One day it felt like anything was possible. The next day our gay brothers were dying right and left.
I remember the day that Milk and Moscone were shot. I remember the newscast when Dianne Feinstein announced their murders and took charge. I remember crying. I remember the absolute incredulity we felt at the “Twinkie Defense” and the outrage at the brevity of the sentence.
And, while I remembered all of that, watching the movie, what really broke my heart is the realization that we are still fighting the same damned battle. We are still second class citizens. We are still denied our civil rights. Sometimes it feels like progress is being made, but mostly it’s one step forward – two steps back. I get discouraged sometimes at the lack of real, substantive progress, the kind that is codified into law.
But, yes, there has been progress. My girlfriend and I are able to live openly. We can hold hands in the grocery store. Ok, only in the “gay” Fred Meyer by our house in NE Portland; we’d never do that in, say, Vancouver or Gresham or Hillsboro. Again, a glimmer of change but limited. My employer can’t fire me because I’m gay. In fact, I am able to cover my girlfriend on my health insurance – that’s a huge step forward. True, same sex domestic partners are taxed on the benefit while heterosexual married couples are not. Why is there always a qualification to the progress? Why does there have to be two steps back?
I know that in the future there will be equal rights for all. I know that we will have to fight to win those rights. My hope is that in the future, if I have a mixed race, homosexual, differently-abled great grandchild, she or he will have the same rights and privileges as any other citizen of the country.
We’ve got a long road ahead.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)