Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a grumpy night

Thanks to the fortuitous location of the annual National LGBTQ Task Force Creating Change conference, I find myself in Philadelphia, birthplace of American democracy, on the day this struggling, noble experiment will take arguably its greatest body blow.

(Last night in a call to my kids I said that today democracy would be developing the biggest zit in its 240-year US history*, and my Know It All Brother-In-Law later quipped that such a statement was an insult to zits world-wide.)

I could go on about how appalling it is that we’ll be inaugurating someone so flagrantly derisive or ignorant of so many fundamental elements of our system of government. But by now that would be akin to my pointing out how wet it is in the midst of a monsoon.  That’s established; we need no more new evidence; there’s nothing further much to add by enumerating Trump’s appallingness, again.

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Children will listen

I “collect” specialized CA licence plates, and this one remains my favorite.

 

My sister-in-law, with whom I co-house, is a fundraiser for Democratic, pro-choice, women candidates. So naturally, elections in general are big deals in her house. And an election featuring the first-ever Democratic, pro-choice, woman presidential candidate? Well. She plastered an “I’m ready for Hillary!” sticker on the bumper of her electric vehicle days after Barak Obama was elected to a second term. If there were an “I was frickin’ born ready for Hillary!” sticker, that would have been on the bumper instead.

Out of love for her, the Bernie Sanders advocates in her house did not cover over it with a “Feel the Bern” sticker. And though dinner table conversation was lively during the run-up to the primaries, once Hillary was the party nominee, the whole family was all-in. My brother-in-law made it a point to connect with local campaign offices whenever his work took him out of state. And when he and their son went on a Northeastern college tour, they spent nearly as much time walking precincts as they did touring campuses.

For each of the presidential elections that have taken place during the near-dozen years we’ve co-housed together, her household has hosted a huge election-night watch party. In addition to tasty food and drink, the parties feature multiple screens in multiple rooms, each carrying a different news organizations’ live coverage. My brother-in-law (whom I have lovingly dubbed in these pages my Know-It-All-Brother-In-Law, and yes, the shoe fits) rigs up a custom spreadsheet á la David Wasserman’s epic 2016 National Popular Vote Tracker.  This past November’s spreadsheet included results for the 2008 and 2012 elections, against which he plotted each state’s results as they came in.

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Begin again

I find multitasking and code-switching a tad challenging. For this reason, three years ago, when I launched into a non-communications/ non-social media-ish job, I found myself essentially hanging up my bloggy spurs.

I did not, however, melt them down and make lawn art out of them. Fortunately for my neighbors.

Fig. A.

And  yet! I now find myself, much to my delight, in the position of directing communications at this selfsame organization. This job is not only in the right ballpark (I was there already) but at the right position therein.

Hosana and not a moment too soon!  Because in a scant few weeks we’re due for quite a political sea-change, something that – for me, and 65,844,953 others like me – looks to be more challenging than rivers being turned into blood, the dust of the land becoming lice, being strafed by swarms of flies, watching helplessly as livestock fall grievously ill, gaping in horror as festering boils break out on all of us everywhere, fruitlessly seeking shelter from thunderstorms of hail and fire, swatting back boatloads of locusts, enduring three days of darkness, or the tenth – which I can’t even speak of.

Yep, I’m talking the Eleventh plague, totally overlooked by biblical historians and prognosticators, whom I don’t blame for not calling this Trump thing because it took a lot of other people by surprise too.

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Post Mother’s Day post

De rigueur for Mother's Day. Lest there be any confusion.

De rigueur for Mother’s Day. Lest there be any confusion.

This is how we do Mother’s Day around here. She gets her day in May, and I get mine in June, alongside all the other dudes.*

I know we two female-people parent combos (and two male-people parent combos) have many choices when we approach these binary parental holidays, Mothers’ and Fathers’. In my beloved’s and my case, how we divided it up feels inspired. Each of us gets all the watts we need shone upon us, all day long, on different days. Of course it helps that I do not now, nor have I ever felt like a “mother.”

Fortunately the thought of referring to me as such is just as absurd-sounding to my kids as it is to me, thereby proving, yet again, the casual simplicity of gender non-normativity and the ease with which kids of such folks apprehend it. Parent, sure. More of a dad, even, they both say readily, than a mom.  Knowing also that I am a female person, more or less.  At nine and eleven they have a capacity to perceive, comprehend, and assimilate tones between black and white, and I think this quality will serve them well.  Continue Reading →

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First Pride

Mac-aloft-FirstPride-2005

First LGBTQ Pride, San Francisco, June 26, 2005

Quietly doing a (re)launch status check which, among other things, entails a review of the photo archives. Which in turn brings one to an image of she-what-made-me-a-Baba, proudly held aloft at our very first SF LGBTQ Pride, over a decade (and a world) ago. Outlaws, still, walking in the fresh footprints of the queer parent pioneers not a generation before us. Wonder at a maximum, parenthood in infancy, possibility ablaze.

 

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Getting the hang of this thing

Moon over Coalinga, CA.

Moon over Coalinga, CA.

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