I received an invitation from one of my partners to attend their Sunday service at Ecclesiax, a church in downtown Ottawa, and out of curiosity, I attended. It was an interesting visit, and I’m glad I added this unusual event to the series of religious presentations I have personally experienced. Like all the others, though, it’s not one I’ll be repeating if I can avoid it.
My relationship with holiday decorations has always been tense.
For the last week, week and a half really, I’ve been in a bit of energizer mode. Alyssa calls it my productive phase. We’re celebrating the holidays at home this year. For the first time in a while, and I don’t want it to feel like we’re just too poor to go somewhere like some holidays seem to feel. The sad truth is, though, that we are broke. We haven’t really been able to afford to get each other gifts for some time.
Still, I’ve been diligently working on trying to make it feel like the holidays, while also putting together little somethings for the wonderful people in our lives. And that has meant – cooking. And baking. And some crafting.
It’s been serving two purposes. At the same time that I am making a whole host of Christmas food, I’m also making a bunch of frozen meals and whatnot for future low spoon days. So far I’ve managed to freeze some Kluski (Polish Potato Dumplings) as well as some fries that just need to be popped in the fryer. All at the same time as preparing the filling for a batch of pierogi: which I haven’t really made since that time years ago when I sold them for a while and ended up making over 744 pierogi by hand.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before:
A trans person, probably a trans woman, has parents. Those parents are a predictable yet incomprehensible medley of bigoted toward transgender people, ignorant of queer and transgender topics, and uninterested in learning more, and think “acceptance” means that the telephone shouting matches have mostly stopped and they haven’t severed all ties with their transgender descendant. There’s very little else they get right, and they think that their progress is measured in “time since they heard.”
There are a lot of specific things they get wrong, and they’re frustratingly defensive about getting corrected on any of them.
So here are some answers.
CN sexual assault, suicide, violence against women
A few years ago my parents took my sister and me to Poland to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. We flew first to Austria where we spent a few days exploring Vienna. It was an interesting trip for me, being the first time travelling to a country where I didn’t have at least a very basic grasp of the language.
In the past I had gone on exchange to live in France, but I spoke French. My parents had taken us to Cuba, and I had an exchange in Spain, and while my Spanish was limited, I knew enough to be able to ask basic questions like where is the bathroom, and how much is it. German however, is completely outside my familiarity, and doesn’t really share many commonalities with any of the other languages I speak.
It was a strange experience, having to rely completely on someone else to translate for me. I had never felt that helpless before and it meant a lot less independence than I am used to while travelling.
Our first night there, we went on a hunt for cheesecake. My father, during my parents’ courtship, had had to go to Vienna for some time. While there, he promised that someday he would take my mother to Vienna and they would have cheesecake together. Afterwards we took a moment to look at the streets of the old city at night.
The time between one’s first questions about their gender and the resolution thereof can be anxious and scary. Transition is a big deal, and contrary to the bigoted idea that it’s something we do on a lark or for fun, most of us agonize over that decision for a long time, for many reasons. Many of us fear how our social environs would react if they knew we harbored such questions, and especially how they’d react to us deciding to transition. Another lot of us figure out what we’d like to do long before we’re comfortable doing it, and must exist in that dysphoric hinterland until our circumstances free us.
For this in-between group I inhabited for years before I recognized where I was heading, there are options. There are many ways to explore one’s gender or assuage dysphoria until one feels safe acting on it in larger, more visible ways, discreetly and at one’s own pace. What follows is specifically from a transfeminine perspective, but will contain occasional nods to transmasculine variants.
This is a story of alternate universe in which Jessie and James find their way.
A Kanto for my Amantes: My Lovers as Pokémon
There’s an idea, somewhere between a running gag and a stereotype, that some people collect lovers like a Pokémon trainer collects pets. This concept grades into ugly objectification here and there, up to and including people maintaining de facto bingo cards of the demographics they’d like to bed, but it’s also an interesting thought exercise for the polyamorous lady.
Going it alone is not how this world works. None of us is invincible, nor are we all best at everything. Humans are interdependent, and we need each other. Sometimes, we are each other’s accessibility devices; other times, we’re each other’s levees, holding up what can no longer stand on its own. We look for, and find, people who fit with who we are, and we grow fond of and interdependent with people who can accomplish the things that we cannot. In the best scenario, we’re not just lovers: we are family.
A person and their partners, then, can be rather like a well-balanced Pokémon team.
So, here are the members of my polycule reimagined as Pokémon.
I finally managed to finish a painting I’ve been planning and working on for over a year last. Night. The Queen of the Night, who wears the starts in her hair. (Also my favourite Aria from Mozart).