The other night we went to the Tilden Park carousel. Every year they doll it up, along with: the building it’s in, the roof on top of the building, the lawn in front, and an enormous, hundred-foot conifer. Lights, lights, lights, everywhere. Santas, snowmen, snowwomen, elves, reindeer, candy canes, and
Original photo credit: The Windgrove Center, Tasmania, AU. In celebration of the 100th post, part three in a ten-part series. As regular readers of this assemblage of lesbo bon mots will recall, my parenthood is markedly influenced by loss. My inaugural post introduced this theme; I named one of my
Pops’ intake form at the orthopaedist’s. Last week I took my Pops to the orthopaedist’s to figure out what’s the story with his 85-yr-old knee bones. (Q: And this relates to lesbian fatherhood how? The flip answer: I’m a lesbian; he’s my father. So there. The real answer: What I