Boxes

Last week was a week of boxes of the physical and ephemeral sort. I went to the last of three library conferences that I was presenting at – this one a lot closer to home. I saw a lot of friends, old and new. I really have met some good folks in my life, and in libraryland, and at conferences. I also saw a few folks that hadn't seen me since I started transitioning. Most of them were fine about it, some were not. One lady wouldn't talk to me even when I asked her a direct question. (kinda awkward.) The thing that got me was that I cared. (spent some time pondering that.) One fellow I had just met kept calling me 'she' even when all the other people around us kept saying 'he'. (do I look like a girl?) I was with so many good folk though it was easy enough to blow off the ones that couldn't deal. I switched boxes in their minds – girl box to boy box. I understand the effect on others, but to me it is like they finally get to see the box I have always been in - or the lack of box that I have for the whole gender thing. Right before I left for the conference, a patron, who had asked me a LOT of questions about transitioning last month, cornered me again with some real odd questions and statements. She told me I should accept the diversity of myself, of my own feelings and remain female. (??) I often feel in this process that I need to have to be some sort of educational tool for people. ('tool' is feeling like the keyword lately.) I mean it is a small town in a rural area – folks like me don't happen in an out sort of way around here much. And I am a librarian – a job in which information is given to folks to educate, enlighten and entertain. But really - I should accept the diversity of me?! Umm I do. (you're the one having the problem with it.) Then she asked me questions about my girlfriend and how she could possibly deal with this... umm because she loves me..umm... as me. (sometimes I just don't know where to start.) I gave her a book and spoke in general terms about the ideas of gender vs. sex vs. sexual orientation. (sometimes I feel like a freak show.) A few minutes later the lady from the knitter's group, that I told I was transgender last week, came to report to me that she had talked about it with several of the ladies from the knitting group and they have decided that they like me for who I am and that the reason the gossip network didn't spread the news for me in this instance was because it was the truth. (sometimes I wish I was a fly on the wall so I could hear these discussions about me that other people have ...Not!) The thing I try to keep in mind is the intent. Granted the road to hell is paved with good intention, but at least they are willing to discuss it with me. (unlike those who won't discuss it.) Discussion leads to educational moments. (fuck, I hope that is true.) The weekend found me with my girlfriend packing and carrying boxes of the physical sort. (much easier than ephemeral ones.) I am figuring out how to tell my story; I have to believe that by knowing my story people will find a place in themselves for people outside of boxes and boxes without labels.

Springtime

Bright golden yellow, lush green, dark cherry red - I awoke with these colors and warm trippy sort of happy feeling. I love Spring...and I have fallen in love (it is a good combination). I got up and went to the main house. Could have stayed in bed all day, snuggled in the blankets and dreaming... Apparently Emma was having the same sort of idea - the bed part. Being a Tuesday, and her being 3 yrs old, I was going to take her to playgroup. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was get out of her pj's... to the point of kicking and screaming. Meanwhile, there was a chill in the air so Deb threw some wood in the wood stove. Some sort of downdraft happened and the house filled with smoke at about the same time as Emma was being put in a timeout. So the time out was outdoors, when suddenly a bird flies down and hits the window. Dead bird, screaming child, wood smoke.. ahh spring. Emma stopped crying, all her focus going to the bird. The smoke cleared. Emma got dressed and in the car and for the next 20 minutes I learned her 3 year old's perspective on death and missing people and silence and what it means to live and love. I mostly listened. I am pretty sure she has it more together than I do - I learned a lot. I reminded her that I loved her and she said she 'already knew that'. I told her not to forget and she said she wouldn't because I remind her all the time. The whole thing made me wonder why either of us had gotten up. Why couldn't we have stayed in our pj's and in the bright color dream world? Instead, she is at playgroup and I am at work and tonight there will be a funeral to bury the dead bird... if the cat or dog doesn't get it first.