I'm like last seasons garlic: old and bitter.

I'm in charge of the spring festivities here.

Now, to most, that means Easter, but not identifying as Christian, and my parents choosing a church where LGBT people are seen as too sinful to serve the lord and their fellow Christians, means that Easter is kind of unpleasant.

And this year, Easter Monday is my sister's 50th birthday, so festivities have to be planned and executed for that milestone, too. I remember my 50th birthday, two years ago. It was the day my sister closed on her first house, and I was stuck running around with errands and preparing a barbecue for 15 or so. My mother did buy a cheescake from a Christian Fundamentalist community in Florida and then had it inscribed with my slave name. She wanted to bring it out during the big party for my sister, the one I was serving at, but I hid it. I didn't really feel like being a pimple on the ass of the other big celebration.

This year, though, I ain't feeling the rebirth. They booked a vacation the week of the ESPA lobby day, and I thought I might have a chance to go. But a doctor's appointment was remembered and the week canceled, though today there is a note from the Doctor's office saying she has to cancel.

My sister will ask why I don't just change in her cluttered bathroom and go anyway. It's hard to explain that I actually forget how to put on my makeup when I have to have everything put away in those plastic tubs, and an hour in the am isn't enough to find that knowledge again. A week or so ago I just felt the need for my beautiful black tights, thought I could wear them to bed like I did when I was nine, but I couldn't find them, just couldn't find them. I sucked it up, muscled through it and died just a bit more.

I know that spring is potent, I do. I know that it's important for others, and I need to affirm them if I want to affirm the possibility of my own rebirth. But I also know it means one more season passed when I needed to stay dead, one more call of warmth and sun that isn't for me.

I'm aging garlic, not really fit for breeding nor even for delighting the palate. Yet it's spring and I am being asked to run the celebration.

I wish I could come up with a creative and beautiful feast, delighting all, I really do. But all are almost impossible to delight, and me, well, workman like seems the best I can do.  But when my sister chooses to leave here without even saying goodbye, every step gets tougher.

I wish you blessings for spring.  May rebirth be yours.  And when you find it, can you drop me a post card? 


I have been accused of chilling transgender expression because I expressed a negative opinion on a short film called Gnome, produced by Glamour Magazine.  I criticized the film because the transwomen don't feel at all authentic, and one list member felt that I was putting down unpolished transwomen, or bad looking transwomen or inauthentic transwomen or something, and that was chilling to real transwomen who are unsure of their expression.

I think we get to talk about the media representations of people they say are like us. 

But, on the other hand, I have to agree with the poster.  My experience in the past is that when I offer my thoughts, it often has a chilling effect on discussion.

In the past, when I wrangled lists, I used to use that to effect.  I'd offer a recap of the discussion so far, and my precis would usually chill those "You said/No I Didn't" kinds of flare up. Putting it all out there in context made the little biting off the edges fights pointless.

"Well, once you have covered a topic, there often isn't much left to say," offered one of my correspondents.  And that, I find, is chilling to people who want to contribute, but don't want to have to go to a high level to do so.

People need space to work out their own beliefs, to cast their own fragmentary ideas on screen and then get feedback at that level.   I know that.  I needed that.   And they don't need someone coming back with it all worked out.

I honor that.  I left a list yesterday because I saw that the list owner is doing that for themselves.

But the fact that I am a chiller tends to leave me out in the cold.