R.I.P John

Today I'm going to detour a bit, for a very personal reason.

In other posts, I've mentioned Millie.  I met her the day I moved to Astoria, in August of 2002.  She saw me as I unloaded boxes, bikes and two cats--Charlie I and Candice--into an apartment in the building next to her house.  She decided that she liked me right then and there, or so it seemed.  And, yes, I liked her immediately.

Well, over the years she's taken care of my cats whenever I've spent time away.  Two years after we became neighbors, I took a trip to France and she cared for Charlie and Candice, probably even better than I did.  Then, about two years after that, she took care of Candice when I went to Turkey.  Charlie had died a couple of months before that and, after I returned from my trip, I adopted a cat she'd rescued--and named Charlie.  A little more than a year after that, Candice died and another one of Millie's rescuees--Max--came into my life.

She's been as good a friend as I've ever had in my life.  So was her husband, John.

Referring to him in the past tense feels even sadder to me than the reason why I did so:  He died the other night, apparently, in his sleep.  Given that a tumor was causing his brain to play cruel tricks on him, that was probably the most merciful way he could have been taken from this world.

Millie has said she was fortunate to have married such a good man.  He could not have had a better companion in his life, especially in his last days.  And his granddaughter has told me he is one of her role models, for his honesty and kindness. I can vouch for both qualities.

The next time I have dinner, spend a day or a holiday, or simply sit with Millie--alone, or with her daughters and grandchildren--I will be happy, as always, to see her. Still, things won't be the same without John.

All I can do now is to thank him one more time.

Out Of The Web

No, I haven't abandoned this blog.  Nor will I.

Last week, I spent literally every waking moment I wasn't in class reading students' essays and exams and, finally, submitting grades and other paperwork last Thursday night.  Then there were all sorts of things related to the holidays, most of which were pleasant.  They included co-hosting a Christmas Eve reception in which I invented a "virgin" punch that proved wildly popular.  At least, I think I invented it:  I mixed equal parts of Ocean Spray Cranapple, Welch's white grape juice and Canada Dry ginger ale.

(Advertising or payments from those companies will not be refused!;-))

And I spent Christmas Day with Deborah and Suzanne, the couple who sent me the image of Alfred Letourner I included in an earlier post on my other blog.

And, I managed to do something I haven't done in about fifteen years:  I spent a whole week away from my--and every other--computer!  I didn't check e-mails, post anything or look at eBay.  As much as L love writing this blog, I must say that my respite from the net was probably good for me.

Finally, today I managed to sneak in a ride to the Rockaways.  There I was welcomed by a procession:

Being the public figures they are, they knew a photo op when they saw one. Especially these winsome creatures:

Happy holidays to them, and you!

Christmas And A Hanai Family

It's hard to believe that Christmas Day is almost over. I slept late: As rewarding and enlightening as working in the soup kitchen was, it left me tired. I didn't do any heavy lifting, but I did have to bend and otherwise move around a bit. I guess it's going to be a while before I have all, or anywhere near, my former strength.

Plus, I could feel the tiredness and downtrodden-ness of the people there. I was describing it to my mother, when I remarked, "I can only imagine how they deal with it every day. I'd probably be crying all the time."

"That's what they probably do," my mother said. "Or they just get used to it."

I'm not so sure I'd want to simply "get used to it." Yes, there is suffering in this world: In fact, Buddhists and others say that life is suffering. I guess getting used to the fact that there is suffering, and that you and other people will suffer, is one thing. But to "get used to" suffering, or witnessing the suffering of others is something else. And I certainly want to get used to despair. Nor would I want anyone else to do that.

Still, I plan to volunteer again at that soup kitchen. It's not that I feel any duty or obligation to do so. And I know better than to use charitable acts as atonement for past misdeeds. Something like that works only when there is perfect reciporicity: in other words, when one good balances out one evil. Life is much more complicated than that.

To revert to a cliche, I simply feel good about the work I did yesterday. I don't mean that in a self-congratulatory way. Rather, I feel good in the way one feels after doing something very basic and necessary for someone else and knowing that the person valued it. Plus, it is emotionally satisfying for me to feed someone, and to share a meal with that person. (And I did those things for more than one person!) Maybe it has something to do with my Italian heritage: In that culture, you simply can't separate eating and relationships. My mother and grandmother always offered something to eat for anyone who came to their homes. And, after I moved out, it seemed that the first thing my mother wanted to do when I came to her house was to feed me.

Millie's like that, too. That's why it has always felt so natural for me to spend holidays with her and her family, or simply to go to her house. Now I am in tears: I have experienced their generosity and love, again. I hope that that woman I talked with yesterday, and all the other people I saw at the soup kitchen, will have something like that. What's sad is that some of them have never had it, while others lost it, by whatever means.

If there's something in this world to which everyone has a right, that just may be it. Privilege is getting it both from your biological family (or, at least, one or some members of it) and from your hanai family. (Thanks to Keori of Pam's House Blend for allowing me to learn of that Hawaiian tradition.)

Getting Into "The Holiday Spirit"

Today it finally felt like Christmas is coming. I hadn't been "in the spirit," not because I'm unhappy; rather, I have just been too busy to notice that the holidays are imminent. When you move on the day after Thanksgiving and all of your time from then onward is taken up with unpacking, trips to the hardware store, grading students' papers and having conferences with those students, it's hard to notice a lot of other things.

There wasn't an "Aha!" moment or anything in particular that made it seem like the holiday season. I think it had to do with being home and working at my own pace. I went to bed in the wee hours of this morning and woke up late. Then, after reading papers from a few of my stragglers, I started to calculate grades and do some other paperwork.

Then, early this evening, I went to Hanna and Her Sisters to get my nails done. The last time I did that was about a week or so before my move. So it's been close to a month. The old polish was gone, and my nails, which are naturally dry, were breaking off. I'm not finished with arranging things in this apartment,and I haven't hung any pictures. And, once the semester is over, I'm going to do some work on that old Raleigh three-speed I picked up. So why did I get my nails done tonight?

Well, tomorrow is the holiday reception at the college. This semester, I attended a couple of lectures and a couple of more readings. And I read three poems--including one of my own--at the Department's open house last month. But other than that, I've been fairly invisible to most of the college, save for my own students and some of my colleagues. That has mainly to do with my recovery: Even though the tissues are looking really good (Dr. Jennifer says I'm healing better than anyone else she's seen.), I still don't have nearly the physical energy or stamina I had before the surgery. It will be a while before I get that back. Certainly, I have more of them thatn I did at the beginning of the semester. But, it seems that every time my energy level increases a bit, something comes along--like this move--to take it up, and then some.

Although I'm not much of a political animal, I'm rather looking forward to the reception. It'll be, I hope, a chance to see a few people I haven't had much opportunity to see this semester. Plus, it'll be a celebration of sorts for me: the end of my first semester in my "new" life.

Lately I've noticed something strange: I don't have the need I once had to talk about my transition with people I see. And, I'm not that interested in talking about the operation: It's done, it went well, the experiences surrounding it were wonderful and now I'm here. There really isn't a whole lot more to say, if I'm going to say anything. Yet, as I don't have the need to talk about it, I feel emotions--and intensities thereof--that I've never before experienced. I really can't think of anything else to which I could attribute those feelings: Sometimes I'm positively giddy for no other apparent reason. As the semester has ended, instead of saying "I enjoyed your class," students are saying things like, "I felt such joy in your class," and "You really know how to talk to us!"

But, once again, I digress. The reception at the college is being held; it's the first holiday-specific event in which I'm participating. It was the reason I was getting my nails done, and looking forward to it made the holiday seem, for the first time, imminent. Plus, tonight was what I like to call "crystal cold." The air seemed to intensify, if not deepen, the hues of the sunset and to reflect, even more clearly than other kinds of air, the stars against the nighttime sky. The strings of lights wrapped around signposts and stretched across windows seemed brighter and more colorful, and the cold, crisp air also seemed to highlight people's faces: even the ones who were getting off the train after a day's work seemed more vivid, if not more florid, than at other times.

Finally, being in Hannah and Her Sister's nail salon, I remembered whence I've come. I've been going to that salon for a little more than two years, and now that I've had my operation and gone through other stages of my transition (I'd love to know how Hannah explained any of it to the nail finishers who don't speak, or speak very little, English!), being there, walking that stretch of Broadway, getting my supper, or just doing almost anything, seems normal even though (or because?) they're all part of this new chapter in my life.

Really, you can't get a better gift than that. And you can't give anything better than joy to another person. If that's not what "the holiday spirit" is about, I don't know what is.

Passing Jewish

Late this afternoon, I took a walk that extended to well after dark. That's not hard to do at this time of year, just a few days before the Winter Solistice.

My walk, which began with no particular plan or direction, took me to the northern end of my neighborhood, where a Con Ed power station is the only thing between the rowhouse-lined side streets and the almost metallic waters of Long Island Sound, near the point where it meets the East River.

I stayed on the side of the street with the rowhouses, many of which were garlanded with strings of lights. Reindeer and sleighs made from chicken wire, around which spiralled more strings of those lights, stood guard at some of those houses. Most of the people who live there are second- or third-generation Greek-Americans or Southeastern European immigrants who, by whatever means, scraped together the down payments. Some of them have more than one generation of family living in them.

The one exception was a house on the bay side of the avenue, a few blocks past the power station and a row of other industrial buildings. It's just around the corner from the old Steinway piano works and looks as if it has been holding out the same way for the past fifty years or so.

In each of the second-floor windows was a Magden David made from blue, white and silver lights. And, in one of the ground-floor windows stood a lit figurine of what appeared to be a cantor.

For a nanosecond, I thought of knocking on the door. They were most likely the only Jewish family in that neighborhood, and they were displaying their identity on...well, if not their sleeves, at least in their portals to the rest of the world.

It made me think of what it is like to "come out." Or, more precisely, I found myself reflecting on what it means to have one's identity known, how that comes about and what the consequences might be.

Now, being a Jew in Queens, or anywhere in New York, hasn't been so unusual in about, oh, 15o years or so. To be sure, there are anti-Semites here, and the part of Queens in which I was walking has never exactly been known as a bastion of Judaism. Still, I don't think very many people who know them give it much of a thought.

Then I realized why: Among all of those highly-, sometimes gaudily-decorated houses, I saw very few people. They were walking their dogs and they probably lived those houses. But as soon as their dogs do whatever they need to do, they go back into their houses.

Maybe what I saw isn't typical of that part of the neighborhood. Still, I couldn't help but to wonder how much people were getting out and interacting. If they weren't, that might well be the reason why that Jewish family could display their faith so publicly during their holiday: Perhaps nobody was there to see it. Or they just didn't notice.

If that's the case, then I'm struck by how much that parallels what many trans people think of as "passing" and what many of us want in our lives in our "new" gender: for others not to notice. So we get dressed in a nice outfit and put on our makeup--so we won't be noticed.

Of course, it's odd to talk about that in my blog. Then again, most of the people I see--and will most likely never see again--have no idea about me or my history and, if they got a glimpse of me, will not give me a second glance. That is normal; that is what I experience most of the time. And, honestly, I wouldn't want it any other way.

I guess it's a variant on an old fantasy of mine (which I still sometimes indulge in): that lots of people would read my writing, but only a few would recognize me on the street and even fewer would give me a second glance.

Well, I guess the second part of that fantasy has come true. To most people--if they catch sight of me--I'm just another middle-aged woman passing by and passing through. Not that I'm complaining about that.

Now, to get that book published...

Between Seasons: Middle Age

Back to campus today, after the move. Now I'm feeling really tired. It's not just from the move, though.

Today was one of those gray, rainy days on which the fallen brown leaves seem even more sere than they did on the windy days that preceded it. And the now-earthbound foliage lacks the color it had in the days when it was about to fall from the now-bare branches. At the same time, the sky doesn't have the stark clarity of the clear winter sky after snow has fallen.

Someone once told me that what I've just described is a very good metaphor for middle age. Some would say I am of that age, but I don't feel I'm much like the scene I've just described. Still, it feeds, feeds off of, and feeds again any fatigue one may be feeling.

Today I talked with one colleague who can't wait for the semester to be over. I'm sure she's not the only one who feels that way now. At least by the end of the semester, there will be an interlude of cheer from the lights and colors, induced though they may be, of the holiday season.

Rain Again (!)

Rain today again. More people absent from classes. The ones who came looked tired. You can tell it's almost the end of the semester: Students are looking ahead to the holidays and dreading their final exams and papers. Soon I'll be competing with about 500 other faculty members at the college for the title of Public Enemy Number One. Then, after the semester is over, some of the students will return to liking me, if they ever did. What can I say?

Enough Rain, Already!

More rain today. So far, this has to be one of the rainiest autumns I can remember. And there was lots of rain, or so it seemed, this past spring, as I was counting the days until my surgery.

Does that mean that my new life is still a seedling and that one day, after all of this rain, it will flower?

All right...I'll spare you the hokey metaphors and imagery. I know that sometimes I can be as corny as Iowa in July and more syrupy than Vermont in October. I'll try to keep those evil twins bound to each other in a tight space!

All that rain...No wonder Charlie and Max are curling up on me every chance they get. They seem to know when I'm about to sit or lie down. I wonder whether it has to do with my body language, or something else.

And it seems that ever since I've come home from the surgery, they can't get enough of me. I thought the novelty of me would wear off. I guess it hasn't, at least not yet. All I can say is: Keep it coming!

Millie and I talked about Thanksgiving today. For the past few years, I've spent the holiday with her, Johnny and their kids and grandkids. In fact, I've spent several other holidays with them, and this past Fourth of July was the first since I moved into this neighborhood that I hadn't spent with them. I had an acceptable excuse: I was leaving for my surgery that day!

Speaking of holidays...It seems that some of the stores have been decorated with, and selling, Christmas items for about a month already. It's as if they skipped over Halloween (not really a holiday, I know, but some stores have had interesting displays for it) and are forgetting about Thanksgiving. About the only acknowledgements of the latter holiday I've seen are at Parisi's Bakery, which announced that they are taking orders for pies, and supermarkets that are advertising turkeys.

The rest are hanging their hopes on Christmas. They all hope for the best, though a few proprietors and salespeople I know say they don't expect things to be good.

But all anybody can really do is to hope for the best, I guess. That's what we do when we undertake anything, whether it's starting a new business or new life.

So far, so good. I just wish this rain would let up.