Number 219

How Was Your Week? (Well... Shit)

This was already going to be tough. Ten years ago, on 2/14/16, my wife Rebecca died. Always a fun day to celebrate, the fact that the number "10" was involved promised a little extra kick to the solar plexus of my soul.

Then there's my two daughters. This is not the place to tell their stories, but both are currently facing challenging life circumstances that leave me feeling impotently sidelined, struggling to figure out the best, if any, way to help them out.

Finally, issues relating to my mother in her twilight forced themselves to the front of the line. How to succinctly sum up multi-generational family dysfunction? Hmmm. Imagine me as Charlie Brown, and the rest of my family as Lucy. Let's label the football "another attempt at difficult (but honest) communication." Get the picture? I really should know better by this point, but once again my attempts to...  [I honestly don't know what word to use. I suppose in a naive sense "help" works best]  ...left me the one emotionally wounded.

All while our fascist president and his thugs invade my state inciting unconstitutional mayhem, hatred, violence, injury, fear, and death.

Ten years ago I watched my wife die and there was nothing I could do. My adult children are facing struggles and I'm powerless to keep them safe from the accompanying slings and arrows. I try to empower my mother face the end of her life the way she chooses, and once again the football gets pulled away just as I try to kick it. All while I chastize myself for being too fearful to actively resist demagoguery.

That's been my week.

PS: Incidentally, I'm systematically starving myself to the point of wondering if I might pass out every time I stand up. 

fun times, huh?

Number 218

 The Dark Thoughts

... are back again.

Number 217

Ruminations on Community 

“I’m gay.” It was 1991, and one of my best friends from college had just come out to me. Will had been in a relationship with Lisa - another extremely close college friend - for about four years, so it was a surprise on that front, but it wasn’t a huge surprise either. I said to him, “If you're trying to lose my friendship, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Here’s the significance. The friends I made on the first day became my main friend and support group throughout my four year of college. There were nine of us all together. When we moved out of the dorms, we found a house together and lived there until graduation. Will had always held a special place in my heart. Both of his parents had been incarcerated as children during our country’s internment of Japanese-Americans during WWII. As such, he lovingly mentored me - an unformed lump of clay from an upper-class, white suburb, to a more nuanced awareness of pervasive societal ills and the need for social justice to overcome them.

In the years since - almost 40 at this point - our little group of nine has remained connected. We've attended each other’s weddings and other special events. When my wife passed away they all offered heartfelt condolences. When I told them I was a transgender woman, they offered me their support. Over the years, we gather every three or 4 years for a weekend reunion. At our last gathering, after I made an off-hand comment about JK Rowling and her toxic hatred for trans women, Will asked me to explain.

“To start with it's a betrayal of the central themes of love and acceptance that permeate the Harry Potter books," I said. "She claims that I am not a woman, and that all trans women are just men using ‘male privilege’ to intentionally harm or erase cis woman.” I went on to say that the logic she uses to define ‘real’ women, is a dangerous, ‘slippery-slope’ type of reasoning that can be used to exclude all types of women, both cis and trans. It's the same type of distorted logic that has been used to support the worst sort of prejudicial thinking that has existed since, well, forever.

“I just know there are a lot of strong feelings on both sides,” he demurred, and then he broke my heart. “I guess you and I have different ideas of social justice.” This clearly signaled his true opinion of me and my life as a trans woman. I was devastated.

Since then, I’ve reached out to him a few times in order to better understand what he meant. But Will, the first person from whom I learned the value of having difficult conversations, has not responded. Not only do I feel the loss of my relationship with him - I feel torn apart from the entire group. Will has always been the emotional core, and it doesn’t feel right to share my hurt with the others. I am adrift and in pain - these are the best friends I’ve ever had.

It seems that all those years ago, when I told Will that “he’d have to try harder,” he’d take it as a challenge.

________________________________

I’m often asked why I sing in Calliope, given that I live in Mankato. It’s a fair question, as it results in about fours hours of driving every Thursday. And, as we all know, driving around the Cities right now is no one's idea of fun.

In my former disguise as a cis man, finding community was a constant struggle. I never felt comfortable being amidst a group of men. Go figure. Parenthetically, as an elementary school teacher, most of my colleagues were women with whom I fit in very well. Again, go figure.

Around 2005, my wife and I were raising our family in Bangor, Maine. A friend invited me to join the Black Bear Men's Chorus - a group from the University of Maine, just down the road in Orono. I’d always enjoyed choral singing so I gave it a shot. It turned out to be a great "guy" fit for me.  It was made up of both college students and local community members. This cross section of men had a wonderful vibe and great energy. When my family moved from Maine to Minnesota, the BBMC was one of the things I missed the most.

I found a local choir in Mankato. It was okay. The repertoire had too much religious music written by dead white guys for my tastes - but it was better than nothing. At least I was singing. But in early 2016, everything changed. My wife Rebecca died unexpectedly, and by the time I felt like singing again, the whole ‘Nora’ thing had happened. There are many trans women who continue to embrace singing the bass and baritone choral lines, but I was not one of them. I also intuitively understood that, as Nora, my attempts to sing the alto line would not be welcome in that particular choral setting, so I dropped out. 

Because I didn’t know what I could or should do with my singing voice, or where I might be welcomed in, I was both voiceless and choirless.

Fast forward a few years. It’s June 2018 and I’m at Twin City Pride - just walking around, taking in the sights - when I came across a booth for a women’s chorus that promised a place for all singers. “Even me?” I thought to myself. 

I approached with trepidation - putting myself out there has never been a strong suit - and began talking to a woman I soon learned was the director. I explained my dilemma: “I want to sing, but I don’t know what to do with my voice because singing my old part feels dysphoric as hell, and this is a women’s chorus so even though you say there’s a place for everyone, you can’t really mean you’d accept me, someone who has never sung a treble part in her life, and what am I doing here, really - I’ll just be on my way - sorry for wasting your time…” 

When she said: “Of course you’ll fit in, my wife probably has a deeper voice than you.”

I knew in that moment, that I’d found my place.

The booth in question belonged to Calliope, and the woman I was speaking with was Krystal Stark, our former director. With her loving encouragement, and the support of the other folks in my section, I unlocked the alto2 voice that was just hanging around inside me, waiting to be discovered. 

Since then, despite my frequent, ill-timed rehearsal interuptions which masquerade as humor, (Sorry, Klo), my Calliope family continues to make me feel welcome every Thursday evening.

That’s why I don’t mind the drive.

Number 216

The Church of Ted Lasso

If you know, you know. If you don't, well...

You know how, when discussing TV Shows/movies, the conversation eventually reaches a point were one person says to the other something like, "Oh my gosh - you have to watch __________!" To be honest, when I'm on the receiving end of that comment, more often than not, I either ignore or forget the recommendation. Not always, but mostly. The rub is when I have taken the time to watch something a friend suggests, I've usually enjoyed it a great deal. Makes me wonder what I've missed all those times I didn't follow through on a friend's suggestion.

Here's why I bring this up. I'm about to make a recommendation and when I do, I need you to understand one thing: Not all recommendations are created equally. Or, to put it another way: Some recommendations are more worthy than others. Or, to put it more bluntly: If you haven't yet watched Ted Lasso (on Apple+), what the f*** are you waiting for? There is not a single piece of media I can recommend any higher than this show. Please, take my word for it, and watch it. It is side-splittingly funny at times. At other times it will make you cry tears of both sadness and joy. The relationships between characters are allowed to breathe and grow, almost always authentic and healthy ways. It is the perfect antidote to the harsh and cynical world we currently live in. But seriously, if you haven't seen it, stop reading right now and go watch it. I can wait until you're done.

________________________________________

What's going to follow is an episode by episode recap in blog form vs. the usual podcast form. Why? Because I know how to blog and I don't know how to podcast. And, as I expressed above, this amazing show is worth the time and effort. I'm not quite sure how this'll all work out - we'll figure it out together. The one thing I need to stress is that I won't be spending a lot of time on episode details - what song is playing when or what line might be an homage to some TV show from decades past. I don't have the time or energy to research that kind of minutiae. If I know something, I might pass it on, but don't count on it. This is not the "trivia" section on an IMDB page.  Onward.

Oh, yeah. Massive spoiler warnings.

________________________________________

season 1, episode 1 "Pilot"

Fade in on "God Save the Queen" by the Sex Pistols while a soccer, ahem... football team is practicing, er... training out on the field, I mean pitch. The song ends in a discordant jumble as the camera pans to an impressive but pensive looking woman evaluating a piece of art hanging on the wall of her office. This is Rebecca Welton (Hannah Waddingham). As will become clear as the episode continues, she has recently gone through a painful divorce. Her ex, Rupert Manion, a serial adulterer, surrendered ownership of Richmond FC (the team we saw training), to Rebecca as part of the settlement. 

She asks a nervous looking man if he wants the painting. "It's a David Hockney," he replies, "It must be worth one million pounds." This man is Higgins (Jeremy Swift). He is some sort of administrative executive. We soon learn that his sycophantic nature is a result of his long standing efforts towards deceiving Rebecca by helping Rupert hide his multiple dalliances with attractive, young women.

"You should have said 'yes' then," she says, "put it in the sell pile."

The important thing to note in this first scene is Rebecca's implicit, internal strength. Yes, Rupert 's many adulterous affairs have left her humiliated. A few scenes later it is revealed that the emotional scars she bears from his cruel mistreatment have her behaving with misdirected bitterness. But there is a grit to her, as well. She may be an emotional wreck, but she'll never let the public see that.

How do we know that? In one of the funniest moments of the episode, the current team manager, George, enters the office with the confident bravado that many mediocre heterosexual white men seem to possess, only to be quickly fired by Rebecca. His confusion at this turn of events is trumped by his attempt to belittle Rebecca. She refuses to lower herself to his level. Exit George.

Rupert asks Rebecca if he should prepare a list of potential new hires but Rebecca tells him that won't be necessary... As we cut to a segment of ESPN's Sportscenter, where the host is congratulating Ted Lasso on being named the new manager of the Richmond FC Greyhounds. Who is Ted Lasso? He had been the head coach of the Wichita State University (American) football team, an NCAA division II program. How did Rebecca learn of him? He became famous from a viral video of his energetic, somewhat out of control, celebratory dance when his team won the national championship. What makes him the best candidate to take over the leadership of a premier level English football team? As we will soon learn: nothing.

Brief Aside: In England, there are, essentially, five football leagues. The top level is known as the 'premier league,' the next level down is the 'champion's league, and so forth down to the lowest level. Obviously, the teams in the top level receive the most exposure, are the most famous, and make the most money. One interesting peculiarity to this system is the 'relegation/promotion' rule. Teams that finish at the bottom of their league in a particular season will be sent down to a lower league, while the team that wins one of the lower leagues will get promoted to the next higher league. At the start of the series, Richmond is mired in mediocrity, firmly in the middle of the pack.

The scene shifts to an airplane interior where we finally meet our titular character, Ted Lasso (Jason Sudeikis). He and his best friend, Coach Beard (Brendan Hunt), are on their way 'across the pond' to take over the leadership of the Greyhounds. "Are we crazy?" Ted asks Coach Beard (we'll eventually learn his first name, but not until the last episode of season three). "Probably," Beard responds. This brief introduction of two central characters actually reveals a great deal about their relationship. Ted, speaking in his folksy, midwest American drawl, is wide-eyed and seems eager for this new adventure, and readily admits it might be a fool's errand. Coach Beard, somewhat taciturn and shown to be trying to prepare for their new task by reading a book on football strategy, responds to Ted in short, terse sentences. Despite these differences, however, it is apparent that there is a shared affection between the two. As the lights on the plane are dimmed for the remainder of the overnight flight to England, Ted tells Coach that "should we meet each other tonight in our dreams, let's mess around and pretend we don't know each other."

Once they arrive, there is a short scene where they meet up with their driver, Ollie, who is tasked with taking them to the Richmond facilities. It's a small detail, but when Ollie reaches for their luggage, Ted offers a mild rebuke and states the he and Beard can carry their own luggage. This is the first indication that Ted is more interested in kindness, equity, and genuine relationship than he is in putting on the pretentious airs of a premier league level manager. He appears to be utterly disinterested in the trappings of his position. This is confirmed a few minutes later when he and Coach meet Nate (Nick Mohammad), for the first time as they take in the Richmond pitch for the first time. Nick is the very anxious kit-man (a sort of locker room valet for the players), who seemingly has zero self-confidence. Nate is surprised that Ted wants to know his name, and later in the episode, is completely shocked when Ted remembers it.

Number 215

Everyday, It's the Same Thing

 Ever since 1/20/25, I have to remind myself of the things that make life worth living. Somedays that's really hard. 

I'm so tired.

Number 214

 Year Nine

Nine year ago, today, was a bad day. My wife Rebecca died, you see? I'm sorry if you want details (not really), but I'm not in the mood to provide them. If you really want to know, I'm sure I've written the whole sordid tale on previous 'death day' posts, so happy hunting.

In fact, I'm a little bit lost finding words to describe what I'm feeling today. Part of me feels like I'm supposed to feel miserable today, but grief doesn't work that way. Those of you who have experienced the loss of a spouse know what I mean. If you haven't, count yourself lucky, and just accept what I say as the truth. 

I've often joked (in my morbidly sarcastic, but none-the-less accurate way), that at least she died before a certain psychopathic narcissist became president. I thought I'd retired that joke in January 2021, but I guess it's even more relevant today than ever. Unfortunately, I think the 'joke,' such that it is, is on the rest of us right now. ha-ha.

I continue to mourn for our two daughters, as well as the son-in-law and grandchild who will never get to know her. 

I'm still angry at the pompous dipshit masquerading as a doctor who completely disregarded her (medically informed) concerns about lymphoma, thus delaying her diagnosis (and subsequent treatment) by up to a year. Would it have made a difference in the long run? Who knows. But it surely wouldn't have hurt any. 

Then there's the two surgeons who understood much better me that her life was down to its last hours, but were too chickenshit to disabuse me of my erroneous thought that she had years, perhaps decades, left. I would have stayed by her side until the end instead of leaving her all alone at the hospital the night before she died.

I would love to be able to forgive these three folks. I've considered it a great deal over the years. But I can't quite do it. I'm not sure why. I have chosen forgiveness many other times, so I understand the healing benefits of doing so.

And that's it. I don't have a tidy conclusion on tap to wrap this all up in a neat package. I've got nothing profound or inspirational to say. It kind of sucks, doesn't it? Sort of like being left behind when your wife dies.

Number 213

Dogs

In 2008 the movie Marley & Me was released. It was based upon a similarly named memoir, written by John Grogan, that was published in 2005. At its start, our protagonist ("Me"),  adopts a mischievous puppy ("Marley"). The rest of the story is about dog-related hijinx, in which Marley endears himself to his human family despite the many exasperating moments that all dog owners - both fictional and real - completely understand. [Spoiler Alert] In the end, after a long doggy life, Marley is euthanized. I cried, and if you saw it, so did you. More about later.

A shockingly large number of people describe how betrayed they felt when the dog died at the end. "It was such a warm, fuzzy family movie, why did it have to end in such a depressing way?" is the gist of their complaints. Let me be frank: These people are idiots. Anyone who saw the movie with only a minimal understanding of its contents should have implicitly understood that the only honest way to end the movie was with Marley's death.

I love dogs. We have two of our own at home: Ginger and Max. I'm always down to pet any dog I encounter during my waking hours. I fancy myself a bit of a dog 'whisperer' actually - an empathic connection with humanity's best friends. They seem to get me, too, so a quick connection is usually established. If I ever won a huge sum of money in some sort of lottery, I would develop a dog sanctuary and spend my time with all the dogs. I don't hate cats, mind you - they're okay - but I love dogs.

So back to Marley for a second. Yes, it is incredibly sad when Marley dies at the end, but ultimately the entire movie is a beautiful encapsulation of what makes spending part of your life with a dog so wonderful. The expected life span of a dog is only a fraction of the expected life span of a human being. It is critical that anyone who contemplates incorporating a dog into their life understand this. At some point that dog is going to die and break your heart. That is how this equation almost always ends up balancing out, and you're a fool if you ignore it. But, Oh! the love and joy that dog will bring into your life while they're with you makes it all worthwhile. And their passing, as incredibly sad as it is - every single time - also informs us of how special life is. So yeah, the end of Marley and Me is sad, but it is also honest and life-affirming, too. My humble, yet resilient suggestion, is to refocus your attention on the parts of Marley's story that made you laugh, put a smile on your face, and made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Back to Ginger and Max.

Ginger is a mixed-breed dog. She looks like a cross between a golden retriever and a yellow lab. She is thirteen years old now, and the hair on her face and snout is mostly white nowadays. My two daughters and I brought her home one Saturday afternoon when she was about 4 months old. Emma picked her up when we came upon a pet adoption while running errands, and after about fifteen minutes of holding her it was all over. I warned my wife with a phone call that started "hypothetically speaking, what would you think if we brought home a puppy..." She was named "Ginger" by the folks at the animal shelter, and we all thought that was a pretty good name, so we kept it. She's an absolute love. Despite a need to bark incessantly at any doorbell or knock at the door, she has never behaved aggressively once in her life. After Rebecca died, despite her own sadness, she cared for Grace and me as we struggled to regain the equilibrium needed to move forward (Emma was away at college during this time). I remember how she used to rip through the off-leash portions of the dog park when she was young. A four-legged bottle of Jolt cola flying through the woods. She's slowed down a great deal since then, and her hips cause her discomfort, but she still tunnels herself between my legs whenever I greet her, inviting me to scratch her right above her tail - the place she loves best. The hair she leaves behind mid-leg on whatever I might be wearing a testament to her presence among us. A shot from the vet once a month keeps the pain in her hips under control. She has fewer days ahead of her than she does behind her, but what the heck, you can say the same thing about me. I have always held the strong belief that you don't keep your dog alive for your sake - you make end of life decisions based upon what is best for your dog. I already grieve for a moment I know is probably coming soon, but Ginger keeps telling me she's not yet ready every time we (still) play chase in the backyard.

Max is a mixed-breed question mark. Lab mixed with Pit mixed with Great Dane mixed with Dalmation, etc. I choose the name, based upon one of my favorite fictional characters - the Grinch's ever faithful and cheerful companion from the original animated special based upon the book by Dr. Suess. He will be seven on Halloween. He is, and I say this with no sense of insult or disparagement, very dumb. But he is utterly dedicated to his human family. He has a need to be constantly in our presence, snuggled up as close as he can be. He loves his pets and scratches. He is, by nature, not an aggressive dog, however, if he were a person he would probably be considered 'neuro-divergent.' He loves to play with other dogs, but he quickly becomes over-excited. The resulting behavior is, how shall we put it: "not acceptable dog park behavior." Poor Sweetie. As it is he loves to run and jump. Especially jump. That, and he tends to hop a lot.

Just now Max isn't feeling all that great. He stopped eating about six weeks ago. It coincided with a change in his kibble. When he stopped eating the new food, I figured he was just being stubborn, and that I could wait him out - eventually he'll get hungry and eat his new food when he realizes that's all there is. Nope. He stopped eating because something was wrong inside. I wish I could tell what it is, but I can't. The vet has eliminated many possibilities - including cancer, thank God, but we're still not sure. He's eaten just enough to keep going, but he has lost about 20% of his body weight since this all started. How this resolves I don't know. What I do know is that I was not planning on worrying about saying goodbye to Max so soon.

As I write this, I don't know how either dog will live out the rest of their days. That's the way life works. But I often see FB posts from people who eulogize their recently passed pets, and it always makes me think that I would prefer to tell the world how special my dogs are before they've left for the doggy afterlife where they get to chase slow squirrels all day long - and just to be clear, I have no interest in any human afterlife that doesn't include dogs. So that's what I've tried to do here. I love all dogs. I especially love Ginger and Max.