Update on All My Children (mine, not the daytime drama)

Some of you have asked for updates on my children. Ready? GO!

Light
Light is 28 years old now. She finally graduated with her Masters of Fine Arts about a year ago. She still lives in western Pennsylvania (where it gets seriously cold) about an hour east of Pittsburgh. The barista job was a good one, but she outgrew it. She's now a baker in a bakery two blocks from her apartment. I got a call from her last week: "Mom! It was 60° yesterday and today I'm walking to work in 4 inches of SNOW!" From all accounts, she loves her job. One of her bosses is a French man who loves me. I know this because he speaks with a French accent and he gives me sweet baked goods every time I visit.

And she's getting married!! In April. In Pennsylvania. To a transgender man. It's fitting, since Light is bisexual or possibly pansexual, I'm not sure if it matters, but marrying a trans man, kinda getting a bit of both? Anyway, he's a lovely young fellow, a couple of years younger than Light, named J. He graduated with a BA in religious studies and some kind of English composition thing the same semester Light graduated. He wants to go to grad school for to be a writer of poems or maybe fiction I think. The grad school he most wants to go to is in Nebraska. I'm not crazy about the idea of Nebraska. Not that there's anything wrong with Nebraska, necessarily, but it's far far away from South Carolina.  J has some health issues, possibly Rheumatoid Arthritis though that hasn't been diagnosed. I worry about him. He says I worry too much.

So I'm focused on the wedding. I will be making her wedding dress. We have the fabric, the pattern, and I made a "muslin", a trial run with the pattern in some unimportant fabric. It needs tweaking. And it's time to start seriously working on it. Yeah, as soon as I can move again. (Creak, Groan, Other Old Lady Noises)

Twitch
Twitch will turn 27 years old on Valentine's Day. He's doing so well! I'm proud of him. He's always been a bit behind the curve socially. I'm sure he's on the Autism Spectrum, though high functioning. He also has Tourette's Syndrome; thankfully he has grown out of a lot of his more obvious tics. He's got a great job now. He worked at Arby's for a few years after he graduated from college (with a degree in graphic design, a profession he's never worked in). Last year he achieved employment at our favorite brick oven pizzeria and beer micro brewery. By all accounts it's a fantastic place to work and he does good work. He's in the kitchen making sandwiches and other entree stuff. The pizza station is behind the bar, very public, everybody watches. Twitch, his mother's son, doesn't like being on stage like that. He can make the pizzas but prefers being in the kitchen.

The crew there has a family style closeness. Employee turnover is rare, slow, whatever ya' call it. Twitch seems to fit in well. He's a unique guy, kind of an acquired taste, and I think the crew accepts him well, uniqueness and all.

Twitch has the adulting thing under control. Yes, he's young and makes choices I think aren't as wise as perhaps they should be, but overall he's truckin' along. Pays his bills, fulfills his obligations, helps out his mom and dad occasionally. It's good.

Diva
Oh boy. The Diva lives in Greenville now, in her own apartment I think. That's what she tells me anyway. OMG she showed up on our doorstep one afternoon last spring. I opened the door and stood there staring at her, stuttering, opening and closing my mouth in goldfish fashion. She laughed at me (kindly, not cruelly) and said "you're speechless!" I'm rarely speechless. We hadn't seen nor heard from her in maybe 18 months. I kinda freaked out. Ended up taking her out to IHOP for late lunch. We made friendly conversation.

I haven't seen her since, though we have communicated by email a few times. Her birthday is December 4th, and I sent an electronic birthday greeting. She wrote back, mentioned a book she was reading (reading a book?! Oh wow!) and wanted the next book in the series, so I ordered it from Amazon and had it sent to her. In doing so I learned her address. Looked it up on Google street view. It ain't fancy, but isn't gross either. She's working in fast food still, perhaps two jobs, I'm unclear about details. She also said something about being a manager. I think she means assistant manager, but I could be wrong. The girl has moxie, chutzpah, and a tenuous grasp of reality so she's likely to try things that I doubt she has aptitude for. Perhaps I'm underestimating her and she can do more than I believe of her. Her book smarts are weak, but she's got a particular social intelligence that takes her places.

Superman wants nothing to do with her. A brief synopsis: when she left home at 17-and-three-quarters, he helped her get into an apartment very close to the store where she worked. The deal was she would pay two thirds to three quarters of her rent, he'd pitch in the rest. They had specific monetary amounts in this deal. Since she wasn't 18 yet, she couldn't sign the lease, so of course Superman did. Then, surprising no one, she reneged on her responsibilities. Actually didn't pay a cent if I understand the situation. Ended up, after rent payments and penalties and fees, he was out over $3000. Even worse was the betrayal. She seemed to be so capable, was acting all responsible for a minute, and he had great hope. But true to form, she broke the faith. She broke him, a little bit. Definitely broke that relationship.

I now approach her with caution. I want to remain in contact with her, to check up, see how she's doing. I care about her well-being. But I know from sad experience how much she can hurt me, how she's turned on me every time in the past. I don't want her all up in my bid'ness, do NOT want the drama that constantly surrounds her! Pretty sure she doesn't want me in her business either. But it's good (bittersweet?) to know where she is and how she's doing.

Sproing
Sproing. Now there's a topic. Cut to the chase: he's in prison. Big boy prison. The real deal. Projected release date August of 2019. He'll be 21 years old then. Now, there's a possibility he'll get out earlier, but I don't know and neither does he. He's incarcerated in the Turbeville, South Carolina facility. Before he went there I didn't know that Turbeville, SC existed. I don't think there's much there except the prison. Florence, SC is the closest city.

He's in prison now because he violated probation. This is for his 2nd degree burglary charge he got in August of 2016? I think. He's been on probation for two years and hasn't fulfilled his obligations, but did fail a drug test. He smokin' da weed, mon. Not that I care about it, but this state does. His probation officer does. I'm not sure if it was the drug test or failure to pay any restitution that put him in prison. But there he is. He had a court appearance in mid September to review his probation and the judge said "Nope. Do not pass go, do not collect jack shit, go to jail." Prison, actually.

I was in Florida at the time helping my Mama move from the Orlando area to Merritt Island. And avoiding hurricane Irma. Can't remember where Superman was, but iirc he was out of town, too, for a couple of days. Anyway the dog and cat needed tending and Sproing was gone. Think I called Twitch to come do pet duty until his dad got home.

I don't even know what to say about Sproing. I'm disappointed, nay heartbroken that he has gotten himself into this situation. I strongly suspect racial profiling plays a part in how he got to this point, but he did in fact commit burglary in the 2nd degree. The young'un has aligned himself with criminal peers, gone to places where he would look suspicious, and blatantly broken the law a number of times since he was still a juvenile.

Sproing talks about wanting to get his GED, go to college, play college baseball then try the pro's. That baseball talk sounds implausible to me. He could probably get his GED if he concentrated and applied himself. I know he could get into college with a GED, but whether he'd succeed there is another matter. He's smart enough, but unless many things change, he's not disciplined enough. He also talks about wanting to help out around the house, help take care of Superman and me.* But when he's here he's rude and disrespectful, reluctant (or blatantly refuses) to do any kind of chore we ask of him.

In conclusion
Superman and I now have the house to ourselves! Well, plus the cat. Did I tell you the dog died? It was very sad. He was only four years old when he got sick last November (October?). We didn't notice anything amiss until he was very sick. No, it was in September when I was still in Florida. I spent most of September in Florida. Superman took him (Oreo the dog) to the vet, who ran blood tests the results of which came back with weird numbers. Like, the leukocytes outnumbered everything else so that they couldn't find the other blood component they were looking for. iirc. Honestly, the details escape me now. Oreo had Leukemia with complications, like some kind of serious infection that couldn't heal. Oh, he was bad. Superman and I took him to the vet to be euthanized. It was sad. Hard. He had been such a good dog, Sproing's dog, and Sproing hadn't taken good care of him. Of course we took up the slack providing for him, but he didn't get the kind of attention and exercise he needed.

So, to get back to my story, see, we're left with just the cat, who is right now sitting on my forearms as I attempt to type this. She's kinda heavy. Although successful, it isn't easy. Black Fuzzy Cat don't give a shit.

But let me tell you, we LOVE the empty nest! We do not at all miss having young people live in our house. When Sproing gets out of prison he will NOT be moving back in. (Dunno what he's gonna do; we'll worry about that as time approaches.)

Oh! P.S. Diva is 20 now, and Sproing turns 20 this Wednesday, January 24th.

*It's Superman and me because if I left off the first person mentioned, the sentence would be "... help take care of me." It's not difficult to figure out. "Help take care of I" is obviously, painfully wrong. So, simple check, if you were to only mention yourself, would you say "I" or "me"? Whichever fits there is also the word to use when saying "(the other person) and I/me". Thus ends the grammar lesson.

Casting into the void --- is anyone there?

So I've been contemplating my worth recently.

I am undergoing therapy for a sexual assault that happened when I was in my early teens. I'm 54, almost 55. My therapist sees a lot of young children, too, and that breaks my heart. She says the little kids take to therapy much better than most adults. They're resilient and believe what they're told. She tells them the sexual assault is not their fault, and they just believe it. She tells me my experiences are not my fault and it's ... it doesn't make sense that I don't have some culpability in the scenario.

Winter is approaching. Summer is over. I'm thankful for that. As has been mentioned in this space previously (a lot) I don't fare well in the heat. It's cold enough to need a fire in the wood stove. I'm back in my bedroom with the door closed, so it's a good bit cooler here than in the living room. I'm comfortable in a short sleeve dress. Ahhh.

My sleep quality is poor these days because my obstructive sleep apnea has gotten worse. I had a sleep study last month that determined I need increased pressure on my CPAP machine. The doctor gave me a prescription for a new CPAP with the increased setting. The supplier has all the necessary information. Then they told me it'll be 3-5 weeks before I get my fucking CPAP. Bastids. I'm snoring through my current CPAP, having apnea episodes, waking up with a sore throat from snoring so hard, and I'm tired all the time. Speaking of which, it's almost time for a nap. I love naps.

A couple of years ago I lost a good bit of weight, around 60 pounds. Well, I've gained most of it back. I should get back to the gym. I need a new gym membership, though. I'm strongly considering the local YMCA. I looked into it a few months ago and found that membership fees for people over 55 are discounted. Since I'll be 55 in January I figure I'll wait until then. I also had the bright idea to do some yoga in the meantime, to get limber and possibly strengthen my core, or whatever. I visited the yoga studio, got the business card of the woman I need to talk to. But alas, I haven't taken it any further. Yet. Maybe after Thanksgiving.

I'm very good at procrastinating. It's one of my greatest talents. (Note that it's been nearly six months since my last post. I occasionally think of posting, then something else happens.)

Sproing was in the county jail for 5 blissfully drama-free months. It was a bogus arrest, though, and he didn't deserve to be there. He was there awaiting trial for a piddly little charge, and didn't get a court date for a ridiculously long time. He was charged with auto break-in and petty theft. He allegedly opened an unlocked car and took some loose change from the ashtray. Why anyone would leave their car unlocked in that neighborhood I do not know. (It's "the projects") The only thing they had on him was the testimony of one of his hoodlum friends, who probably did it himself, the little punk. Sproing says he didn't do it, and I believe him. Yeah, he's a liar, but he's been pretty honest about the crimes he's committed. And really, auto break-in and petty theft and they leave him to sit and wait for five months? Geez. He didn't get a trail, either. The solicitor's office assumed guilt and offered him pre-trial intervention (PTI), which costs $350 (which he doesn't have) and 40 hours of community service. He doesn't even mind the community service. And it'll be good for him. After the completion of the PTI his record will be expunged. All very well and good, but he didn't do the crime in the first place. Shit. The criminal "justice" system is fucked up.

Superman, Twitch, and I are going to visit my in-laws for Thanksgiving. This year Thanksgiving happens to fall on my father-in-law's birthday, so his kids have decided to make the whole thing into a birthday party instead. I mean, it'll be Thanksgiving with the whole feast thing, we'll just call it Grand Dad's birthday. It's cool. BUT, it's the in-laws. They are ... well, they have social and political and religious views that are different from mine. They also disapprove of cussing. I'm fucked. (Actually, last time I visited I managed to go three days without cussing in their presence once!!) My m-i-l voted for Trump. F-i-l voted third party. To their credit, neither of them likes Trump, but they preferred him to Hillary. I'm hoping for no political discussion. They have a lovely screened back porch to which I can escape if the discussion gets too uncomfortable.

And speaking of complicated discussions, they want to hear all about Light's new boyfriend. Yes, Light has a boyfriend. Superman and I visited them in late October. He's a wonderful fellow, about three years younger than Light's 27 years, will graduate from IUP next month with a dual degree in English and religious studies. That's what the in-laws will like. That he's from western Pennsylvania, not a plus to these southern rebels. Grand Dad dreads that his great-grandchildren will be Yankees. Yes. Really.

Here's the rest of the story. The religious study the bf concentrated on is Buddhism. Not protestant Christianity which is the only acceptable option in their opinion. We won't tell them that. The "boy" part of boyfriend is his gender identity which doesn't correspond to his DNA or body morphology. No unplanned pregnancies in this monogamous relationship! So no Yankee grandchildren unless they do the sperm donor thing. Which Light is considering. I'm thrilled that she's in love with a wonderful young transgender man. There's a lot we won't be telling the grandparents.

There's a cat sleeping on my arms, making it difficult to type. The whole nap idea seems more and more appealing.

My Dreams

(The day dream type, not those weird exercises of my sleeping brain.)

This is the sort of house I'd like to have/build/live in. Particularly the cob construction.


I was fantasizing last week before the megamillion$ lottery drawing about what I'd do with those bazillion dollars. I don't want a big elaborate house. I want something cozy and earthy. The combination of mud and stone delights me. Regarding the megamillions, we did not win the jackpot. Neither did we buy a ticket. Sometimes one just likes to wonder.

An Explanation: The previous post was, as its title suggests, a sample post. I was telling somebody about my blog and she didn't understand exactly what a blog is, so I whipped up that little example and posted it.

I have been reading Butch is a Noun by S. Bear Bergman. It's a collection of essays about hir queer transgender experience. I've had the book for a couple of years but am only now reading it. These readings bring up unsettling questions about my own gender identity. Here's where we are currently, for those keeping score: I am a woman with a few feminine gender expressions and more than typical masculine gender traits. I am emotionally/psychologically uncomfortable with the idea of being feminine, and consequently more comfortable with my personal idea of masculinity. I don't want to be a man, necessarily, but I don't want to be much of a woman, either. My femininity embarrasses me. When I try to discuss this with Superman he becomes very uncomfortable. He is very secure in his masculinity, much more so than I am. He is secure in my femininity, again much more so than I am. It all gets very confusing. Until we're in bed together. Then the masculine/feminine thing expresses itself with body parts and that works very well.*

Speaking of Superman, he poisoned himself Sunday afternoon. Ya' know, for as smart as he is, he does some mighty dumb things sometimes. He has been working on the kitchen (praise be) to good effect, and Sunday was painting polyurethane on a bunch of surfaces. Without opening the kitchen window, or wearing one of those ventilator thingies, or even turning on a fan in the room. When I got home from taking Twitch back to school (Twitch was home last week on spring break), Superman complained of dizziness. When I walked in the house the stench of polyurethane overwhelmed me. I opened the windows and turned on the attic fan to pull the poison out of the house. He sat beside an open window for a couple of hours but was still fuzzy-headed. Then Monday morning he got up and fell down. He came back to bed and slept for a little while longer (he was dizzy and tired) then had me take him to work. The man was at least smart enough to not drive in that condition. At my "suggestion" he went to the nurse's office. After hearing his explanation she gave him "that look" and asked why he was even at work. She then made him call our family physician to make an appointment. He worked for a couple of hours, then called me to pick him up. He was very dizzy, somewhat nauseous, and kept breaking out in a sweat.

I took him to his afternoon doctor's appointment, and the doc confirmed that he'd inhaled too much solvent from the polyurethane. The symptoms are typical. Said he'd probably feel better in a day or two or three. This morning (Tuesday) he was still pretty dizzy, but not so nauseous. He keeps having those sweaty hot flashes, though. That part amuses me, seeing as how in my state of peri-menopause I'm having regular hot flashes myself. I don't usually break into a sweat though. Poor Superman. He's such a silly thing. Anyway, he was home this morning but I took him to work early this afternoon. It's 5:00 now and I haven't heard anything from him, so I assume he's OK.

Wow, time flies when you're living your life. It's now 2:30 a.m. Wednesday. I should be asleep. When I'm supposed to get up in 4.5 hours I will wish I had been asleep now. Oy.

Superman was feeling a lot better this evening, so much so that he went downtown to one of the local bars to play trivia and drink beer with C and the gang of young men and a woman. He had a marvelous time. I stayed home with the children because they can't be left alone after dark. But I went out Monday night and Superman stayed home, so it all evens out. One of these days we'll go together for an evening out.

I'm working on another post that will update you on the local gay drama. Expect that soon. I'm not going to define "soon" though. You know me.

*(she says with a big grin on her face)

NCOD

It's a little late in the day, I suppose, but when is it too late to make a statement about coming out?

As I mentioned to someone this week, I'm a huge proponent of coming out. Recently there have been some high profile coming out events. My most recent favorite is Father Geoffrey Farrow of Fresno, CA, the Catholic priest who basically came out to his congregation during the worship service last Sunday. That took some serious testicular fortitude.

When there are high profile instances of coming out, does that make it easier for the average Joe Blow or Jane Doe to come out to his or her family, friends, coworkers? I guess it depends on all sorts of situational variables. 

Anyway, on this National Coming Out Day 2008, this is my statement:

I am not gay. However, I support those who are homosexual or transgender. I encourage the acceptance of homosexuality as a normal and natural variation of the human condition. I support actions, events, legislation, institutions that lead to equal civil rights to homosexuals and the transgendered. 

And I think I've mentioned here before that my goal in life is to end homophobia in the western world. I intend to get as close as I can to that goal.