Tyler Yoder's Blog, page 9

Post the Ninth: Arvingdale, Part I

My childhood home, Arvingdale, is finally going up for sale, Gentle Reader. As of the end of this month, all the family treasures will be boxed or at Maman’s for the forseeable; it’s so empty, so bare that it doesn’t feel like home. I’m feeling nostalgic, naturally, and I’m sad to see it go – but the house is in bad shape, the grounds are overgrown – it’s time to say goodbye.

My father carved the land as he saw fit, guided only by my mother’s whims – “I want that bunch of trees saved – this’ll be the lawn – that’d be a great spot for a garden over there!” – and in those early days, although there wasn’t much there but hardpan grey clay, they could see the future.

For two years we lived in a one-room shack, and used my mother’s collection of antiques to get by. We cooked on an actual woodburning stove. Our bedrooms were two campers set at the sides of the house, and our shower was outside, in the kitchen. The shampoo would freeze in the winter, and if it rained, the cold water falling from the sky would mix with the hot water from the shower itself – but oh, seeing the stars while you were doing your best thinking��was a strange and wondrous thing.

I was five when the house arrived. Though it was a mobile home, hardly anyone knew or could tell. We put so much effort into customizing it, making it our own.

Over the years, the grounds abounded with all sorts of marvels. Two courtyards, two greenhouses, two ponds – the gardens – the fountains and bridges! – The artificial river, the cobblestone paths – we’d gather the stones each weekend from backroads and ditches (I’d tuck them in the long hem of my shirt to carry them to the car).

And all of it – the gardens and grounds – the nursery where we nurtured the heirloom water lillies – the waterwheel my dad built and balanced by hand – all of it was built on a budget of exactly nothing. All of it was built from broken things; stuff that nobody wanted, transmuted into something new. We scraped and we scavanged and we brought forth beauty from that hard, unforgiving clay.

My parents were justifiably proud of the grounds; whatever my mother imagined, my father built for her. She used her gardens as a showpiece of her skills, for her business. They’d make custom container gardens and yard art. Eventually, using the photos of the gardens at Arvingdale, she won the contract for the city’s hanging baskets. She was so proud.

Tagged: Arvingdale, Creating Something From Nothing, Making Beauty, My Brilliant Parents, My Childhood Home, One Room Shack, Throwback Thursday

Poetic Interlude XCII

Mid-Term Break

By Seamus Heaney

I sat all morning in the college sick bay

Counting bells knelling classes to a close.

At two o’clock our neighbours drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying���

He had always taken funerals in his stride���

And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram

When I came in, and I was embarrassed

By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were ‘sorry for my trouble’.|

Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,

Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.

At ten o’clock the ambulance arrived

With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops

And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him

For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,

He lay in the four-foot box as in his cot.

No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four-foot box, a foot for every year.

Tagged: Death, Mid-Term Break, Poems of Loss and Death, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Seamus Heaney

Post the Eighth: Beauty Secrets of the Reverend Doctor: Britney Spears Edition

I’ve been as excited as gangbusters about this new List, Gentle Reader. Living life as performance art? Exploring precisely who and what I am? Heck to the yes, as the young folk say. Therefore:

The Task:��Shave my head on the first of January, and then��refrain from��cutting it at all for the next 365 days*.

The Execution: Well, here’s a selfie of my charming New Year’s Eve look, just for comparison before we get a little crazy up in here.

Long hair don’t care.

So: deep breaths, Gentle Reader. We’re letting all that gorgeous hair – traditionally one of my best features – go. With that in mind:

Step One: Take Another Selfie

Obviously.

Step Two: ��Grab a hunk of hair, and the scissors. Cut. Repeat.

You want to get it fairly short, you see.

Step Three: Keep Cutting, until it’s short as blazes.

Um, this took a while. You’ll get the idea.

Nope! Keep going shorter, darling.

Step Four: Start with the razor. Realize your hair isn’t nearly short enough; resume the scissors. Take up the razor again and immediately cut yourself. Bleed profusely.

Step Five: Precisely Half of your head is shaved; realize you’ve made a Huge Mistake.

Step Six: Also, You’re In a Hypomanic State.��

Step Seven: Whatevs; YOLO

Maybe this isn’t a huge mistake! And even if it is, shaving heads is something that human people do, and you’re just trying to experience the gamut of human everything. Also, you might desperately need to prove that you’re human with that haircut. Also, you can’t stop anyway because your bones are vibrating at too high a frequency. Carry on, soldier.

Step Eight: Run out of razors, and rummage through the trash to find some that aren’t entirely gummed up or rusty or disgusting otherwise. You’re desperate, because half your head is shaved haphazardly. Stop with the judging.

Step Nine: Get so very, very close. Have all your razors be dull, again. Even the ones from the trash.

Search the house. Ransack disused cupboards. Go into the Spider Room. Finally discover three single-blade Bics and one double-bladed lady-leg-razor in an interior pocket of a suitcase. Rejoice.

Step Ten: Finish the job. Realize��that you look like you’re a Nazi scientist living on the moon.��

Step Eleven: Fag it up a notch, because you don’t want to look like a skinhead.

And that’s all there is to it, Gentle Reader! That’s how one shaves one’s head.

The Verdict:

Would I do this again? Oh��hell no, honey. That’s just not on the table. I think I look alright, but it’s not a look I’d choose. Besides there are so many others who can make so much more of this kind of thing – Mr. Darling, for example,

Or, indeed, Waxie Moon.

But I like the idea, and my hair is already growing back, and in the meantime – well, an amateur haberdasher naturally��has many hats just��lying around. Lambkins, I’ll live. I’m glad I did this, but once is certainly enough.

**********

* That is, I don’t intend to interfere with the length. I’m certainly going to have it styled, because I’m not a barbarian.

Tagged: Beauty Tips, Fag It Up A Notch, Long Hair Don't Care, New Year New Look, Novelty, Satire, Shaved Heads, Shaving One's Head, The List, Trying New Things

Post the Seventh: New Year’s Glamour

New Year’s Eve is one of those nights that’s always improved by a little sparkle, a little glamour and glitz – and I’m drawn to that sort of thing like a moth to flame. When Ms. Capere asked me if I wanted to spend New Year’s with her, I was thrilled; she knows how to go over the top. But what would we do? Where would we go?��It was a work night for Darling, so we decided against Seattle, and while Capere and I both adore Tacoma, we’ve both spent many, many New Year’s Eves there. Well, then ��– whither, whither would we fly?

Ah! L’amour, l’amour – toujours l’amour!

Olympia. Olympia was the answer. And thus, with the help of the ever-delightful Mr. Bennet, a Very Fancy New-Year was conceived. Mr. Bennet kindly offered up his apartment for hors d’oeuvres and cocktails, and as a crash-space��after that fatal moment of midnight cheer. With this plan in place, we spent three weeks in rapt anticipation of glitter.

The day arrived; Capere picked me up and we started our hour��and a half car ride by rocking out to Taylor Swift.

Dramatic Re-Enactment

We arrived in Olympia, met Mr. Bennet, and headed out to get supplies – caviar, cornichons, champagne – everything one would need for a really swell affair. The swift return; the intense set up – and then, the guests sont arriv��s. Not all of us were quite done getting ready – we’d taken shifts – so it fell to me to chat with the first arrivals until everyone was done gussying up.

Everyone was gorgeous, everything sparkled, and our energy was high.

At this point, I remembered the (non-toxic) silver glitter I’d brought for the occasion, and all those who felt inclined sprinkled themselves liberally with it. Mr. Bennet doused his whole head in it – I’m so sorry that there isn’t a picture of that, sir. It was glorious.

 

This is what you looked like, Dan.

And then we all mingled and scarfed the delightful appetizers and quaffed vast quantities of champagne, as one does. Everyone seemed to be having a marvelous time.

And then Ms. Capere and I paused to take a selfie, because of course we did. We had just enough time to take several snaps before we all realized that we needed to hightail it to the bus to take us downtown! Andrea and I checked out the schedule -

 

- and off we went!��Once downtown, we proceeded to Jake’s��on 4th,��of Olympia. Jake’s is a gay bar, and I was overwhelmingly thankful for that.

I have trouble in spaces that are exceedingly heteronormative, even when I’m not presenting as a genderqueer��Edwardian. Our group was overwhelmingly queer, anyway – and the straight folks amongst us were staunch supporters, of the sort that give me hope for this planet. My companions all leaped upon the enormous dance floor, while I hied me hence to the fenced smoking arena.

Like this. But with more shirtless dudes.

Oh, kittens, there’s so much more – the night was amazing, and I can’t do it justice. I watched a new romance bloom; I made friends with a bisexual transsexual out on the balcony and we discussed religion for an hour, my heart was filled with a surfeit of love for the whole human family. I was with good friends in a space in which it was safe to be fabulous, to be myself. ��And if that isn’t a good start to the new year, I’m sure I don’t know what is. Happy New Year, Gentle Reader, and I hope yours was at least as half as grand as mine.

 

Tagged: Capere, Fabulous Young Queers,

Poetic Interlude XCI

Charlie Howard’s Descent

By Mark Doty

Between the bridge and the river

he falls through

a huge portion of night;

it is not as if falling

is something new. Over and over

he slipped into the gulf

between what he knew and how

he was known. What others wanted

opened like an abyss: the laughing

stock-clerks at the grocery, women

at the luncheonette amused by his gestures.

What could he do, live

with one hand tied

behind his back? So he began to fall

into the star-faced section

of night between the trestle

and the water because he could not meet

a little town’s demands,

and his earrings shone and his wrists

were as limp as they were.

I imagine he took the insults in

and made of them a place to live;

we learn to use the names

because they are there,

familiar furniture: faggot

was the bed he slept in, hard

and white, but simple somehow,

queer something sharp

but finally useful, a tool,

all the jokes a chair,

stiff-backed to keep the spine straight,

a table, a lamp. And because

he’s fallen for twenty-three years,

despite whatever awkwardness

his flailing arms and legs assume

he is beautiful

and like any good diver

has only an edge of fear

he transforms into grace.

Or else he is not afraid,

and in this way climbs back

up the ladder of his fall,

out of the river into the arms

of the three teenage boys

who hurled him from the edge—

really boys now, afraid,

their fathers’ cars shivering behind them,

headlights on—and tells them

it’s all right, that he knows

they didn’t believe him

when he said he couldn’t swim,

and blesses his killers

in the way that only the dead

can afford to forgive.

Tagged: Charlie Howard's Descent, Homophobia, Mark Doty, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Queer Poetry

Post the Sixth: A New List

Despite financial hurdles and the European fiasco causing me to axe the bulk of 2014’s List Project, I still feel that it was a valuable project. I learned a lot about myself, my tastes, the differences in how I see myself and who I am, and so much more. Would I do the List Project again? In a heartbeat. And I am, in fact, doing it again. Here, for your perusal, is my new List for 2015.

Learn to play the Banjo.

2. Get a hot shave from a barber.

3. Spend time at a public beach in a swimsuit.

4. Release my completely queer volume of poetry, “#NoHetero”.

5. Perform in drag for an audience.

6. Make my own wine.

7. Start an herb garden.

8. Obtain a rope of pearls of my own that have never belonged to any relatives before me.

9. Try Borscht.

10. Master my Nanny’s recipe for buns.

11. Go ballroom dancing on a date.

12. Read the Bible all the way through. Take copious notes.

13. Display some artwork of my own in a gallery.

14. Release “The Children’s Illustrated Garden of Intoxicants”.

15. Dance in the Rain.

16. Go glamping with Darling.

17. Whenever possible, wear flowers in my hair.

18. Attend a black-tie affair.

19. Make or alter all of my own clothes.

20. Try eating squab.

21. Grow out my hair.

The last time I grew my hair out was in 2006.

22. Enroll in classes.

23. Attend a con.

24. Attend a sports game.

25. Explore a Ghost Town. (Probably Melmont, WA)

26. Make Plum Pudding for next Christmas.

27. Bathe in Champagne? Bathe in Champagne cheap sparkling wine because otherwise it’s a waste of Veuve Clicquot.

28. Learn to sing adequately.

29. Talk my mother into finally scattering my father’s ashes.

30. Go sea-bathing.

31. Make a film with Capere.

32. Audition for community theatre.

33. Familiarize myself with classic film.

34. Pierce something unnecessary.

35. Join a new secret society.

36. Visit more museums.

37. Buy Stock in something.

38. Ride in a rickshaw.

39. Visit the Seattle Aquarium.

40. Ride on a dirtbike.

41. Go vegan for a week.

42. Eat something ridiculously exotic.

43. Go canoeing/kayaking.

44. Archery. Do that.

45. Make friends with a tarantula.

46. Swim with the sharks at Pt. Defiance.

47. Get Made-Over.

48. Play pool or darts at a straight bar and try to pass as some kind of dudebro.

49. Revisit the thrills that a Murder-Mystery can bring.

50. Donate or volunteer at a charity.

51.  Attend a fashion show.

52. Take the “Terrified in Tacoma” tour, because I love ghosts.

53. Try Mincemeat Pie.

54. Learn basic sign language.

55. Ride in a limousine.

56. Own an actually posh tiara, actually.

57. Own something bespoke..

58. Attempt to box.

59. Attend a circus. Preferably at night.

60. Read the Marquis de Sade.

61. Go on a blind date.

62. Start carrying, and using, a parasol regularly.

63. Have a portrait painted of myself.

That I own, I mean.

64. Write my will.

65. Lounge on a divan, while being fanned and fed peeled grapes.

66. Hold a Funeral – and a Wake – for my youth.

67. Ride a horse sidesaddle.

68. Attend Critical Massive, the Northwest’s tiny Burning Man.

69.  Be in a Pin-Up photoshoot.

70. Use Henna in my hair and beard regularly.

71. Take a mixology class.

72. Learn Self-Defense.

73. Step into a fairy-ring.

74.  Print out or restore my cherished photos. Make a physical album.

75.  Do the whole “Say Yes To Everything For A Day” thing and let certain people know about it because they are always asking me to do amazing things.

76. Start selling things online for real. I mean, on Etsy or something.

77. Shave my head.

78. Throw a Surprise Party.

79. Put out a Zine. Make that a thing.

80. Hunt for Wild Mushrooms

81. Familiarize myself with classical music. As in being able to talk Telemann and Haydn and stuff.

82.  Attempt to Roller-Blade.

83. Dumpsters. Get in one. Find a treasure.

84. Attend an Auction.

85. Release Sky-Lanterns for a suitable occasion.

86. Find a DDR machine. Finally try it.

87. Find my Red Dress.

88. SLUMBER PARTY WITH CHILDHOOD FRIENDS!

89. Finally try Raw Milk.

90. Accupuncture.

91. Explore a Cave.

92.  Make friends with an excellent old lady. Learn her beauty tips.

93.  Plot out my actual family tree.

94.  Get a damned pedicure.

95.  Buy a beer for an old vet. Listen to war stories.

96. Attend or host a Kentucky Derby party.

97. Perform at an Open Mike Night.

98.  Celebrate Oktoberfest.

99. Make a cheese.

100. Con Capere, Darling, Ward, and Spectacular into getting matching tattoos with me. SUPER FRIENDS.

Tagged: Awesome Things To Do, Bucket List, Hobbies, Life List, Skills, The List, Trying New Things

Post the Fifth: Year’s End Wrap Up 2014

Gentle Reader, last New Year’s Eve I started a tradition on this blog: the Year’s End Wrap Up – just like every blog on the Internet! Nonetheless, while I won’t tell you what the sexiest food of 2014 is or whatever, I have a lot to share. It’s the return of the Best and Worst of Everything!

Fun Fact: Sexy Corn replaced Quinoa at the very last minute.

2014 was a glorious year, and then very abruptly a rough year. It’s been a transitional period – a span of growth and soul-searching and introspection.  It’s also been a riot, at points, in no small part because of The List and the friends who helped make it possible.

Giddyup, Kittens: This is a long post – without further blather, I present:

January:

Best Thing Ever: While I was in Portland, I had a day all to myself to explore the city. I wandered, as lonely as a cloud, exploring and learning travel techniques and meeting new friends and trying foreign cuisine and it really was just a marvelous day. The Best Thing Ever, though, was when – needing directions – I spotted a pair of rainbow flags flying, and stumbled into/upon one of Portland’s gay bars quite by accident. The bartender was friendly, helpful, ludicrously attractive, allowed me to use my magic vapor stick indoors, and the bar had free wifi. It was like I’d come home.

A similar thing happened when I  visited Anchorage, Alaska, the same month. Mad Myrna’s was a delight.

Mad Myrna herself, apparently

Worst Thing Ever: Bird Milk. I discovered that birds grossly secrete a milk analog that’s comprised of blood cells that are large enough to visibly wiggle, as well as other gross things. Yuck.

February:

Best Thing Ever: I attempted to explain to people, using highly-researched visuals, that Canada and the U.S. together looked like an unspeakable Chimera. Behold:

Worst Thing Ever: Facebook, in honor of its tenth anniversary, creepily created its “Look Back” videos and, personally, I feel that despite collecting all of my information for years on end – well, Facebook, you don’t even know me at all!

I *did* join in 2008, Facebook! Good for you, Nancy Drew!

March:

Best Thing Ever: Brunch with Darling, Capere, and Darling’s Mother the morning of my going-away party. The whole day was amazing, but Mrs. Darling’s been so absolutely thoughtful towards me this year – and Darling and Capere have both been looking after me quite a bit this year – and it was a lovely morning, you know? And I adore brunch.

Worst Thing Ever: Obviously, having to cancel Europe at the very last second – three days before I was to fly out. That, of course, was also the Worst Thing Ever Of The Entire Year; I was completely crushed and didn’t know how to proceed.

April: 

Best Thing Ever: I started dating this fella that I’d met at my going-away party. He taught me that yes, I can still feel that first fluttering rush of emotion a new infatuation can bring, which was pretty amazing – I’d thought myself long past such things. It’s nice to know that I can still be made to grin stupidly at the mention of someone’s name.

Also, the evening I went up to town and had a night of debauchery with Darling and Capere over the Europe Affair, we went thrift shopping, and Darling found a gauzy, flowy black duster that I bought on his advice and that has since become my favorite garment. It flatters me while fitting in with my style and is just a delight.

Worst Thing Ever: The Graffiti Garages, of Tacoma, are now Beige. People kept going down to tag them over again; the new owners keep painting them in shades of ecru. Quelle dommage. Officially, that happened as of November 1, 2013 – but I’d been there late in March, 2o14, and the garages were as vibrant as ever. Early April was when I first saw the ugly new makeover, and it’s stuck ever since.

May:

Best Thing Ever: The Leavenworth Trip was marvelous, but I’ve brought it up fifty times. I also went to lunch with my Aunt Carole around what would have been my grandfather’s birthday, and she – an educated woman, who taught school for years, and who’s read my humble little book – she told me that she anticipated huge things from me artistically in the future. Who knows if she’s right – I’ve rather a smaller opinion of myself – but it meant a lot; I look up to her.

Also, at her own graduation party, Ms. Capere insisted on holding a poetry reading involving my poems. People are too kind to me.

Worst Thing Ever: I know not everyone cares, but, um, Warehouse 13 ended. It was a television program that, you know, actually made me watch T.V.  Over its five-year run, I actually made sure I was home the nights that it aired so that I could watch the new episode. In an age of Netflix, On-Demand, and Streaming, that’s impressive. And now the #EndlessWonder has ended. Sad.

Also that time that cops were blocking my driveway while parking in it and were super rude about it totally sucked. Seriously, I walked out the front door, down the driveway, OPENED THE GATE WITH THE KEY, and asked why they were there (on our property) and they asked me if I lived there and were threatening. Not that that’s anything compared to some of the police action that’s been going on, but it really freaked me out for a while.

June:

Best Thing Ever: I really wish I’d been able to get a photograph, but I was playing my ukulele on the chaise longue in my boudoir, and an actual tiny songbird actually flew in the window and perched on my shoulder, singing along. This is all the proof I needed to know that I am, in fact, an actual Disney Princess.

The reason I couldn’t get a photo? The second I stopped playing to reach for the camera, the bird flew away. Lame.

Worst Thing Ever: Seattle Pride was terribly disappointing. I was with good friends, but the event just didn’t gel for me this year. Ms. Capere and I ended up leaving quite early, and not staying in town for the weekend as planned. (That bit was sad. The bit with Sarah’s Bridal Shower earlier was lovely).

July:

Best Thing Ever: The Champagne and Caviar Picnic I keep bringing up? It was really amazing. I already spoke about it at length otherwhere, so I won’t bore you further beyond reiterating that it was fabulous beyond measure.

Worst Thing Ever: The non-censored version of this existed.

And I fully support having safe sex! But I disapprove of reducing people who are positive to inhuman monsters. HIV isn’t a death sentence anymore, and while one should be careful, one also shouldn’t be an asshole.

August:

Best Thing Ever: I participated in G.I.S.H.W.H.E.S. – the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen! And though after like two days I sucumbed to stress and was reduced to cheerleading for my team, those two days were intense and amazing.

At this point, we’d been waiting for MORE THAN AN HOUR in A CROWDED GYMNASIUM. Furthermore, we were attempting to break the Guiness World Record for the most French Maids in one place. We succeeded.

So, uh, I guess breaking a Guiness record was pretty great, you guys. No big deal. We also broke a second record – for the most hats crafted to a specific theme for an event – and Gishers also broke a third record that my teammates and I didn’t participate in. Although Ms. LeCasse and Mr. Sevaaetasi did both get to personally help Misha Collins build a human pyramid.

Um, also I found this comic – I’ve no idea who made it, but I have done this for real and seeing this made me very happy. YOOOOOOO!

Worst Thing Ever: The Seattle Opera Company was having a Costume Sale with their ridiculously over-the-top items priced reasonably and I couldn’t attend. If this sounds like a minor issue, you don’t know me at all.

September:

Best Thing Ever: I became a Disney Villainess. What – you want proof?

And then the news spread all over Social Media and it was hilarious and amazing and it brought me a lot of joy. How did I manage to become a Villainess, you ask? By following the beauty tips in this awfully outdated video!

Worst Thing Ever: EBOLA FEVER!!! That is – well, the hullaballoo about Ebola. To date – and I just checked, so this is accurate as of December 12, 2014, at 7:36 p.m. – there have been four total cases of Ebola diagnosed in the U.S. since the panic began. There were a total of ten cases, but six of them originated outside the country. The panic over Ebola was more infectious in this country than Ebola itself.

Also? It was time again to dust off my very own Royal Baby Drinking Game!

Step 1: Take a drink every time you hear about the Royal Baby.

Step 2: Die of Liver Failure before it’s born.

October:

Best Thing Ever: Uh, I made an elaborate Edwardian day gown with matching hat for $26 dollars. I win.

Worst Thing Ever: My Halloween plans mostly went tits-up, I’m afraid. At the eleventh hour, I had to cancel all but one engagement – where I had a splendid time, until I had to babysit my companion, Miss S. I don’t mind looking after someone, but it was freezing, we had to sit in her car away from the other celebrants, and I honestly didn’t think we were going to make it through the night. I was eventually able to secure a lift home from the gracious Ms. Banks, and the next day – after a series of complications – was able to get S. to her car.

Also, for Reasons, I wasn’t able to wear my gown. Miss K and I figured out an emergency backup costume, however.

November:

Best Thing Ever: Friendsgiving at Tranquility Base Mach III was rather lovely; there were two separate clumps of guest discussing Social Justice at once, and it was utterly delightful.  At Thanksgiving proper, Maman and I watched a marathon of Wives With Knives on her favorite channel, Investigation Discovery. I discovered, a few years late, that Grey Gardens had been made into a musical, and wasn’t just an overlong documentary.

And my Uncle Syn was offered an Artist’s Residency in Iceland. (After some suspense, they were able to raise the funds, and they got it! They fly out on the 2nd of January.)

Worst Thing Ever: For a solid week, while Maman was abroad in places like Greece, and Turkey, and Romania, and rather close to the Crimean Peninsula – she was unable to telephone or to email or to write. It’s unlike her, and if I’d  tried to pull that kind of thing, she’d have unleashed seven kinds of hell. I was honestly scared she was dead. She wasn’t, but it gave me rather a lengthy scare.

December:

Best Thing Ever: My friend Ekgo, out of a clear blue sky, sent me money towards getting a banjo. My mother, as a Christmas present, swooped in and provided the rest. I now have a banjo – a brand new one, actually, that was rather more expensive than the pawn-shop one I’d been lusting after and it’s amazing and I love it. I haven’t named him yet, but I’m thinking he might be a Lear (Since my ukulele is Chordelia. Heh.)

Worst Thing Ever: My great-aunt Helen passed away about a week ago – I was actually writing a Christmas card to her when the phone call came. She had passed the day before, but still – synchronicity, you know? She’s the great-aunt I recklessly declared I needed to take cocktails with about a month ago, if you follow me on Social Media. She was very kind to me when I was young, and my heart goes out to her more immediate family – knowing her was like having a fourth grandmother.

My best and worst of the year are, of course, intended to be lighthearted – and I can’t end on such a sad note. I deliberately avoided all of the tradgedies of the last few months – around the world, brutality and murder and riots and protests- but out of them, a dialogue is arising, about income disparity and racial inequality and oppression, and while the circumstances break my heart, I can only hope and pray that significant change comes from the discussion currently on the table. If that thought doesn’t lift your heart up, I don’t know what could. Here’s a silly photo, just in case.

Tagged: 2014, holidays, New Year, New Years Eve, Summaries of 2014, Year's End Wrap Up

Poetic Interlude XC

It Is Your Turn Now

By Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

It is your turn now,

You waited, you were patient.

The time has come,

For us to polish you.

We will transform your inner pearl

Into a house of fire.

You’re a gold mine.

Did you know that,

Hidden in the dirt of the earth?

It is your turn now,

To be placed in fire.

Let us cremate your impurities.

New Year’s Quote

By T. S. Eliot

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language,

And next year’s words await another voice -

To make an end is to make a beginning.

Tagged: Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, New Year's Poems, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Rumi, T.S. Eliot

Post the Fourth: Ghosts of Christmas Past

I’ve mentioned before, Gentle Reader, a little family tradition of ours at Christmastime: it involves a few cocktails, some Christmas songs, and having one’s heartstrings tugged so much that one eventually cries in honor of those no longer with us. It’s very cathartic and sentimental and not at all as awful as it sounds. The point is that it inspired me to dig through the actual photo albums in search of some ancient artifacts. After all, it’s not just Christmas today – it’s also #ThrowbackThursday.

I was five when my folks got me a Nintendo Entertainment System for Christmas. I was fascinated; I’d never even heard of video games. My Dad, who’d been an avid hunter for years,  was very taken with Duck Hunt, as seen above. My grandfather wasn’t too sure about this newfangled claptrap.

The very next day, Grandpa went out and got an NES of his very own. He was obsessed with Mario for the next twenty years.

My Grandma always encouraged my creativity. She was always willing to get down on the floor to play with me, to draw, to sing, to imagine – every Christmas, there’d be books, building sets, art supplies – anything to get inspiration flowing. Seen here, she’s wearing a paper wreath we’d just made together, and playing the keyboard.

Please note the upright piano in the background.

 

So those were Christmas mornings. Christmas eves, on the other hand, were at Maman’s parent’s house, and it was packed with relations – the sort of scene you see in Christmas movies.

Nanny and Poppo would sit in their chairs, presiding over in-laws, cousins, brothers and sisters, their children and grandchildren.

My father teased Nanny unmercifully for years – despite the hours she spent in the kitchen fixing dinner, baking buns from scratch, making lefse and making pies – Dad always very vocally mourned the lack of mincemeat pie. Year after year – “No, thanks, Thelma –  Mincemeat’s the only pie I’ll eat!” – until she’d had enough. That year, the mincemeat had a healthy helping of crow.

She made him eat the whole thing by himself.

When everyone was leaving for the night, Nanny would always wave Maman over to her chair and whisper “Stay for just one more!” We always did.  Even at a young age, it was apparent that I was… fancier than the other boys -

-and as Nanny got older, Maman took over the bulk of the kitchen work, and I took over after-dinner cigarettes and drinks while Nanny told me salacious family gossip. I learned at her knee that it’s nice to decompress after a party by going over how things went down, and it’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten.

We’ve seen very little of Maman through these photos, and that’s because she’s been behind the camera in every one of them. She’s the one who’s done her damnedest to keep both sides of the family together – she’s the one who’s kept in touch, sent invitations and cards, mended fences, held us together and made things right. My mother, Carolyn, is the soul and center of our remarkable clan. This one’s for you, Ma.

Merry Christmas, Gentle Reader, if you celebrate it. If you don’t, Happy Holidays anyway. May your days be merry and bright, my friend.

Tagged: Christmas Memories, Christmas Past, Family Stories That Are Completely True, holidays, Throwback Thursday

Post the Third: How to Talk with your Relatives During the Holidays

Gentle Reader, the holiday parties are already upon us – I was reminded, at just such an event, that a guide to conversation might be helpful. Some might not shy away from entering a screaming match over the pie with their nearest and dearest,

but most prefer to try to enjoy their loved one’s company. With that in mind:

Don’t discuss religion or politics. Yes, that’s an old, old adage – so for heaven’s sake, don’t. It’s in bad taste with family or with strangers. Shared blood doesn’t mean shared politics – and when you’re mingling with strangers, you might miss out on a great new friend because you got into the soup over some passing scandal. Stop it.

As for religion, you might all have gathered around a Christmas tree, but that doesn’t mean you all believe the same things – Aunt Sally’s an atheist and Cousin Jenny’s a Mormon! Just bite your tongue and have some eggnog, and the evening will go much more smoothly.

Do discuss TV and films. Assuming you don’t primarily watch indie documentaries, discussing films with your relations should be relatively safe. Stick to the latest blockbusters – everybody loves explosions! – or what’s been on Netflix lately, and you should be just fine.

Just make sure it’s non-controversial. Because your drunk Uncle is going to do his best to steer your innocent chat about Doctor Who right back into the waiting jaws of What’s Wrong With This Country and Your-Heathen-Sister’s-Pagan-Lesbian-Wedding.

Uncle Ted – that’s rude! They can hear you – they’re right there!

Don’t discuss anyone’s futures – you know, career plans, relationship prospects, getting into or going back to college – anything of that sort. It’s often a source of stress and frustration to younger folks, and can be a source of competition and jealousy. It’s also a source of one-upmanship and lies. The future can also be a frightening prospect for older folks, as they may not have much of it left.

Do discuss the past. Family stories and talking about the good old days when everyone was alive and happy, sharing wonderful memories – and even, when the kids are old enough, salacious old gossip and family secrets – these can be the key to making new memories. Be careful, though – if someone brings up the time that their sister shoved them into a birdcage when they were four, things might get a little heated again.

Don’t bring up anything you know will antagonize your relatives. If you keep asking what your son and his boyfriend get up to in the bedroom, they’re going to get annoyed.

To be fair, it’s sometimes a legitimate question.

Do your best to deflect disasters in the making. When, for example, your brother-in-law loudly insists that he should be able to carry a machine gun onto school property when picking up his son from that pit of liberal indoctrination, divert him by bringing up your own hobbies! You’ll be bonding in no time.

Your hobbies now include post-mortem photography and playing the banjo!

I really hope that these tips help you and your in-laws, relations, and various hangers-on to manage to get along for the length of a simple meal, Gentle Reader. With love from my family to yours – happy holidays, kittens. Make it a good one, and play nicely with one another.

Tagged: Christmas Conversation, Etiquette, Family Stories That Are Completely True, Holiday Fights, Holiday Guides, How To Get Along With Your Relatives Over The Holidays, Topics of Holiday Conversation