Different is NOT Wrong, Broken is not Beyond Repair

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Broken and Bewildered

Hello, Lovelies! I cannot believe it's been almost a year of silence on my end:( Honestly, I have wanted to write. But this past year has left me with both FAR too much, and absolutely nothing--to say. One change in my life that I will mention is that I adopted a wonderful senior cat, and we have left the ever-more-frightening downtown area. She loves me now! The reason for tonight's abrupt return is that my heart is far too heavy to keep things to myself anymore. Too many people have died. Not just people. WONDERFUL people. One of my best friends in the whole world, my would-have-been brother-in-law who ALWAYS called me his sister. The only two times I met him in California, he treated me like a queen and so did his family. Covid took HIM right at the beginning. I'm newly heartbroken every single day that I can't call him and tell him about something good or bad that happened. I can't hear his perspective or laugh at his laid-back take on the situation. And the...
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Looking Through You

The issue of being stared at is on my mind. Twice today, in a relatively short period of time, I encountered young people who didn't seem to know how to speak to me. I wasn't speaking any differently than I would to anybody else. But they had a look that clearly (I felt) communicated that they were uncomfortable being addressed BY me-- kind of like a deer in the headlights. Both of these people were younger than I, probably by a decent margin. But I really don't see how that excuses them from "social grace class", so to speak. I mean, once upon a time it was stressed CONTINUOUSLY by guiding adults that it is rude to stare. And mumbling something in response to a question is not the way any young person should be taught to carry himself. I use the masculine pronoun here, but I was taught (apparently the '80s are the Dark Ages now, by comparison to this generation) that "he" is acceptable as a reference to either gender. I don't think it's ...
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Left, Right Left, On and On:)

There are moments throughout my week that inspire me. Even though this "fight" to change the marriage laws for SSDI recipients feels like running to the end of a rubber band, only to be shot back to where I started, over and over again, there ARE hopeful moments. Yesterday my day started at the Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts with coffee, pastry, and camaraderie among fellow members as we were led through a private tour of an exhibition celebrating black history. There were certainly some pieces of art, and some elements of the expression, that made me uncomfortable. The charming, pastel-colored, painting of hooded members of the Ku Klux Klan around the hanging body of a dangling black child--was meant to jar me. And so it did. More than any of the other items I saw. But it was astonishing how much I could say about every single thing. And that was thrilling to me. Of course that led to making some fascinating new friends--finding something of a kindred spirit in our...
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