my romantic tryst with cancer

 By Rebecca Faust letter to my transgender daughter I made soup tonight, with cabbage, chard and thyme picked outside our back door. For this moment the room is warm and light, and I can presume you safe somewhere. I know the night lives inside you. I know grave, sad errors were made, dividing you, and hiding you from you inside. I know a girl like you was knifed last week, another set aflame. I know I lack the words, or all the words I say are wrong. I know I’ll call and you won’t answer, and still I’ll call. I want to tell you you were loved with all I had, recklessly, and with abandon, loved the way the cabbage in my garden near-inverts itself, splayed to catch each last ray of sun. And how the feeling furling-in only makes the heart more dense and green. Tonight it seems like something one could bear. Guess what, Dad and I finally figured out Pandora, and after all those years of silence, our old music fills the air. It fills the air, and somehow, here

I'm sorry if I caused confusion. Yes, everything is OK. The regret was about missing the flexibility the old job gave me to be where I was, when I wanted, which is impossible now with days just filled with meetings. I missed being able to play with the kittens, sleep in with D. But I don't miss the anxiety and bullying and intimidation at the University. As dysfunctional as the public service may seem at times, it matters that you're not alone in it, and it isn't personal... I know I made the right move. It's a forward in life, not work. No regrets, just this temporary tinge, and then it passed...

"A tinge is to be expected. There are few decisions that come completely cleanly - most have pros & cons. Important thing is to learn from past & look ahead ." Shared with me by J Aloisi this unsettling morning.

I found this beautiful so am sharing 😊 My Child My child isn't my easel to paint, Nor my diamond to polish! My child isn't my trophy to flaunt, Nor my dummy to taunt! My child isn't my badge or my honour, Nor my respect that he/she must protect! My child isn't an idea or a fantasy, Nor my reflection or legacy! My child isn't my puppet or my project, Nor my pawn or my cadet! My child is here to fumble & stumble To get in & out of trouble! My child is here to try, To fall & to cry! My child is here to unravel the mysteries, To educate oneself & rewrite histories! My child is here to make his/her own choices, To exercise his/her freewill & experience the consequences! As a Parent, My task is to make my child able & capable, To keep aside my ego & be by his/her side! My task is to guide & educate, To let be & not frustrate! My task is allow him/her to ponder, And see my child grow into a Wonder!

After stepping into the world again, there is that question of how to love, how to bundle yourself against the frosted morning— the crunch of icy grass underfoot, the scrape of cold wipers along the windshield— and convert time into distance. What song to sing down an empty road as you begin your morning commute? And is there enough in you to see, really see, the three wild turkeys crossing the street with their featherless heads and stilt-like legs in search of a morning meal? Nothing to do but hunker down, wait for them to safely cross. As they amble away, you wonder if they want to be startled back into this world. Maybe you do, too, waiting for all this to give way to love itself, to look into the eyes of another and feel something— the pleasure of a new lover in the unbroken night, your wings folded around him, on the other side of this ragged January, as if a long sleep has ended. - by  January Gill O’Niel For D, ... this poem, chanced into my mailbo

Thy soul shall find itself alone ‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness—for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne’er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! - E

Written yesterday, in another context, to another person: "I saw a movie with my parents earlier today called Enough Said . It was a pretty good film. A few lines in it stayed with me though. It was one of those moments that something holds you, because you're open to it, and perhaps you need to hear it. The female protagonist in the movie is symptomatic of our generation. She's single, divorced, a wonderful person, searching for a partner, smarting still about her past, trying to live her life fully... but in her effort to protect herself, and a few bad miscalculations, she fatally undermines a very promising relationship. (I'm not a movie buff by any measure, but I wanted to give you a bit of context.) After the she's messed up their relationship, her now-former love asks her "why?" [she acted out the way she did] "I wanted to protect myself", she replies "and what about protecting us?" he asks back and therein lies the heart of the