Strange Sparks From The Witch's Hut

Dear Cousin S,

I haven't talked to you in a long time. I was pleased when you accepted my friend request on Facebook, even more so when you asked for news and offered me your work number so I could call you. I wanted to call you. As you know, I didn't. There are a few reasons for this. Most of them have to do with family politics, and how for me, reaching out to one family member can cause unpleasant repercussions from another. But that's a topic for another letter. What I want to explain now is the other reason, the one that has to do with you alone.

You remember, of course, how close we were from the time we were tiny. Visiting with your family, for me, was a wonderful event for the sole reason that I would get to spend time with you. It was never enough time, either. We had a lot of fun together. You have always been my favourite cousin, and I liked you as much as I liked my closest friends.

So why on Earth would I let myself fall out of touch with you? Intimacy is based on sharing. And one day I shared something with you that you couldn't handle.

I was in love. Serious love - I was engaged to be married. And I showed you a picture of the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Not my first girlfriend. I hadn't let my family know about my previous relationships with women. But the seriousness of this relationship meant that I would not be able to keep it secret any more. And I told you, personally, because it was important and I wanted to share.

You didn't speak for a long time. And then you said you had to ask a question. I feared that question. I knew you so well that I knew what that question would be, and I silently begged you not to ask it. But you did. You asked "does this mean that you're attracted to me?" And it was my turn to be silent, because something had died inside me.

You didn't need to ask that question. We grew up together. We played and occasionally argued like sisters. We were certainly family, with all that entails. And so the answer I gave you, when I could speak, heavy-hearted and cold with disappointment, was "you're my cousin." It meant "no". "No" to your question, "no" to your statement that you had to ask it, "no" to your assumption that it was a reasonable thing to ask. And I also wanted to remind you who I was.

Because when you asked your question, you seemed to forget that I was your cousin, the one you'd known all your life. Instead, I became a lesbian. One of them. And you seemed to think that sexual attraction might not work in a normal way for me, that I might not discriminate in my attractions, might not even be subject to the incest taboo. I told you I was in love with and committed to one woman, and you took my revelation and bound it to some vile stereotypes I hadn't wanted to know you held. Your question took our whole previous experience with each other and shut me out of it. You made me into an other. And it hurt.

You didn't leave it like that. You met my partner, you were friendly to her. You were warm to me. You would still like contact. But you never talked about your question, or some other remarks you made later that also made me feel like an outsider, separated from you by your lack of understanding. And your words still echo in my ears. What else would you not understand? What else about me is foreign to you? What fear or distaste will you hold against me, deep in your heart?

So I didn't call you. Because when I thought about calling, I thought about topics of conversation, about words. I would like to believe that I would hear no more words from you that wwould chill my heart. But I can't be sure. So I don't call, and the words do not get said. Your question made me separate from you, and now I find I am stuck in that separation. I want to find my way back. But the destination may no longer exist.

Your loving cousin, as I always have been,
Me

"I can be changed by what happens to me. I am not reduced by it." -- Maya Angelou.

I love this - it's very useful for a number of things.

In other news, today is not one of my good days. Not even one of my okay days.

Bat jammies!

I am liking.

Regular readers know the Witch has mobility problems. Many people also know that the Witch does not drive. Almost nobody, before this post, have known the Witch's terrible secret: the Witch does not drive, in part, because the idea terrifies her.

The Octopookit wishes to help address this phobia by taking the Witch to a go-cart track (the Witch is, of course, terrified by this idea). However, in the meantime, the Witch has driven a motorized vehicle for the very first time (and it was only moderately terrifying). Read on:

We went shopping for groceries and other items in the Big City, namely Renfrew, yesterday. Shopping is hard on me, as it tends to entail a lot of standing. So I decided that, for once, I'd request the use of one of those motorized carts. It took a while for two cashiers to locate the key and figure out how to start the thing. And then - I was off!

I admit I crashed into a couple of things, mostly because nobody told me you can't steer while in reverse. And I did muster up quite a lot of adrenaline. But I didn't break anything, and I didn't run anybody over. And my body felt better than it would if I'd used the cane the whole time. I'll be doing it again, and they'll probably even let me do it again in that store. But I still think I shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel of a car.

Fibro sucks and its brother sucks and its car sucks and its college lacrosse team sucks and the horse it rode in on sucks.

I'm just sayin'.

I've been wanting to make a nice chatty post or ten catching everyone up with what's been going on. The main problem is that "what's been going on" covers so much ground that I won't ever be up to filling in all the backstory like a good blogger before I give you the latest. So here's a quick outline:

1. I have a new wheelchair. A secondhand manual. Its name is Rustbucket.

2. I got really sick. It lasted a long time. A virus mutated into a sinus infection that felt like pneumonia and sounded like tuberculosis.

3. Just as I started to get better, I needed to buckle down and start preparing for the wedding of TG and the Caitiecat. For this event, I was in the wedding party, and was also making The Cake. The prep involved a whirlwind trip to Ottawa to gather items, stash my little girls with the Ferty Godmother, and have my handmaiden gown made by krynne - by sewing two blue sarongs together in such a way that they can be easily detached and returned to their existence as altar cloths. Incidentally, while the two sarongs are almost identical, the front one is patterned with dolphins, while the back one has turtles on it. But the turtles and dolphins were more watery than turquoise Celtic knotwork would have been.

4. After the trip, came a week in which I prepared the cake layers and most of the decorations, learned my lines, helped customize my wheelchair to hold my cane and a few other things. I was pretty beat the whole week. The weekend had been a very hard one, and I was trying to recover AND gear up for an event. Some of my former symptoms reappeared, which was worrying.

5. I went and did the wedding thing, it was great but very tiring. It is a long way from Granolatown to K-W, and the way back was longer due to a large and rather crucial stretch of highway being closed. We got home a good bit later than intended, after having forged our way through twisty, hilly country roads in search of the way home - oh yeah, and I get carsick on twisty, hilly country roads. Also, my throat began to get sore again on the Sunday, and it got worse.

6. I have been resting a lot. My throat is starting to ease up, but is still sore in the tonsils, from which the problem emanates. I would like to have them removed, have wanted to have it done for years, but the medical community has been resistant. I shall have to have another try at convincing the doctors that repeated flare-ups coming from my permanently engorged tonsils suggests they are no longer protecting me from anything, but are in fact a liability.

7. I have just had a shower. I was very much in need of one, and it feels great to be clean. There will be clean sheets on the bed, too.

Ganked from kaninchenzero because I'm avoiding baking more cake which I now have to because one layer bit the dust nastily #&(&^$%*&#.

I skipped some questions. Nyer. 70 points if you spotted the pun in the title of this post.

For Invisible Illness Week

1. The illnesses I live with are: Fibromyalgia, CFIDS, depression, hypothyroidism, possible PCOS.

2. I was diagnosed with [them] in the year(s): Fibro/CFIDS: 2006, depression: 2001, thyroid: 2003.

3. But I've had symptoms since: probably lifelong for all of them, although the fibro/CFIDS got serious in 1998.

4. The biggest adjustment I've had to make is: Having to say "I can't" when my mantra used to be "No problem".

6. The hardest part about mornings is: Getting up, if I have to. Or wanting to, but needing more sleep, and not being able to get it. Also needing to turn over - my back hurts so severely when I wake up that the slightest movement hurts - but continuing to lie there will make it worse.

8. A gadget I couldn't live without is: The phone. I love to talk to people, and this way I can do it while lying down at home.

9. The hardest part about nights is: Not being able to sleep, and being in so much pain that I contemplate suicide.

10. Each day I take: Celexa and Synthroid or Eltroxin, plus painkillers as necessary. I use minimal painkillers because they increase my fatigue levels, and I don't have much life to spare.

11. Regarding alternative treatments, I: Would like to do more of them, if I had the time, money and energy to try them out.

13. Regarding working and career: I deeply miss my lost life in which I would have had a satisfying job to work at, which would also get me my own money and respect from other people. I became seriously ill so young I don't even have memories of what I had, because I hadn't gotten there yet.

15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality is: I will likely never be better.

18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed: Moving without hurting. Dancing, walking, swimming, bending over, reaching - those kinds of things.

19. It was really hard to give up: Everything?

20. A new hobby I've taken up since my diagnosis is: Playing an on-line game - something I would have considered a waste of time when I had the brainpower and body for more creative and active choices.

21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again, I would: Get some housework done, then go outside and run around.

22. My illness has taught me: It's possible to live with pretty much anything, but a sense of humour is deeply valuable. And happiness is a choice.

23. One thing people say (about my illness) that gets under my skin is: "That's caused by X", or "what you do for that is...". You have not a fucking clue, please go away and shut up.

24. But I love it when people: Accept me as I am without wanting to theorize/fix/cross-examine, but do take into account my special needs, and don't act like there's anything unusual or unreasonable about them.

25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: I ain't dead yet.

27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: It can be interesting, and even inspirational. Not in the Hallmark sense, but in the creative sense.

28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn't feeling well was: Turn up at my door with a hot lemon drink, enough homemade mac and cheese for two nights and some sweet treats as well. That was done by someone who now hates me with a passion. Kind of funny when you think about it.

30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel: I'm really pleased if anyone read the whole thing.

I went to a Solstice party today (or yesterday, really) held at an organic farm near Granolatown. It was wonderful. I commented that I felt like I was at a family reunion, I just didn't know all my family members yet.

There was a potluck. There was a clothing swap, to which I brought a brown cloak with gold trim which was snatched up by the owner of the farm, my lovely hostess. I got for myself a green and purple tye-died top which everyone agreed looked great on me - it just needs a little work to accommodate my boobs. I'd like to try putting in ribbon-tie insets on the sides. I also scored a purple tank top with a fairy painted on it, a black broomstick skirt, and a pair of black canvas shoes, which I think I'm also going to have a try at customizing.

There was an area set aside for the kids with soap mixture and bubble wands - I had fun helping the kids make bubbles, and making a lot myself! A woman was doing henna and facepainting - she did a henna dragonfly motif on my right foot, and I helped keep the kids settled while she painted faces. I also applied some temporary tattoos to the kids.

There was music and dancing - I did some drumming, and later danced, not as much as I would have liked of either - it does make me sore very fast! I talked to people who had been waiting to meet me, knowing that there were "two new Pagan ladies in Granolatown, up from Ottawa". I went up to one woman to compliment her on her necklace, and found myself grabbed in a tight hug by someone I hadn't seen in a long time, but who was thrilled to see me! I'm afraid I still can't remember who she is, though!

The Octopal found a new friend - a 19-year-old who is very bright, and into gaming. They talked together almost the whole time. Unfortunately the girl is leaving for the States in two days - but her family is local, so she surely will return. I commented that it's a good thing I'm secure in my wife's love for me...

I am very happy, also very tired and sore. On getting home, I took a bath to wash off a mixture of sunscreen, bubble soap, watermelon juice, insect repellent, woodsmoke and a lot of plain old sweat. Than I took a strong dose of painkillers.

A slightly belated Happy Solstice and a fond goodnight to you all.

This is my post for Blogging Against Disablism Day 2009.

Renee, of Womanist Musings, has a post called Walking Away: The Luxury Of An Ally. It's based on two posts by vriane, available here and here. Astute readers who know what the word ally means will instantly note a problem with using these two posts as the base for an article about the privilege of allies: the issue at hand is transphobia, and Vriane is a trans woman. She is, therefore, not an ally in this situation, despite her action, which Renee criticizes as coming from "extreme privilege".

Here's some of Renee's words about vriane:

Isn’t this lovely. S/he finds the stress of dealing with the real life issues of transwomen to difficult and therefore s/he is going to withdraw. I wonder if Monica or Lisa Harney would like to spend one day of their existence not having to deal with transphobia? Do you think that either of them could declare that trans issues are just to stressful and bow the hell out of it all because they felt like it?

Can you hear the dripping sarcasm and scorn? I can. The Monica referred to is Monica Roberts of TransGriot, who links to Vriane's post in this post, via a dismissive reference to someone being "stressed". The quotation marks are Monica's, and in context they imply either that Vriane is not really stressed, or that there is something invalid about being stressed out.

Vriane's two posts do indicate a high degree of stress. She's experiencing high anxiety levels "that can be crippling and distort one's perception", along with nervousness, fear and anxiety. She also cites personal reasons for why she is choosing "to limit [her] following of current events by not following anymore, at the moment, both TransGriot and Questioning Transphobia". Vriane mentions several times that this is not necessarily a permanent course of action, but one made for the time being.

When I read Vriane's posts, I see some indications that she might have an anxiety disorder. I don't know whether she does or not, or what other issues may or may not be going on in her life. She is discussing a personal decision, made not as the privileged luxury that both Renee and Monica think it is; but with regret, and out of need. And I will not judge whether her need is "real" or not. I cannot possibly know. But I can grant Vriane the dignity of accepting her word for it, of letting her be the arbiter of what she does and does not need, of allowing her to be the expert on her own limitations.

( Read more... )

Someone just said something genuinely funny in a YouTube comment!

I was just watching an Eddie Izzard clip, and trying not to choke and/or wet myself. Casting an eye over the comments, I found this exchange:

He's like from the Great Britain, isn't he. Like the really big Britain?

Nah, just from one of the small Britains. One of the travel ones with magnets on all the pieces for when you go over bumps.

Last night I went to gather up my two little girls, who get their "outy time" upstairs while Freddy roams the parlour. Elise, as is her recent habit, was sleeping hard in the fabric shower curtain we just replaced with one that lets in more light. She continued to lie passively, all squinty-eyed and sleepy, as I carried her downstairs, and tenderly placed her in her hammock. She then made an immediate transformation from a weary little scrap of fur to a bright-eyed fert demanding to know why she was being put in her cage. She wasn't tired at all, and just wanted out, Out, OUT!

This is where I add that she'd been out for hours, and had chosen to spend most of it conked out in the shower curtain.

It has come to the oft-wandering attention of the Witch that somewhere in fair Britain a women-only BDSM event called Tipping the Velvet is promoting a testosterone-free environment. With an asterisk. And the asterisk leads to the sweet little notation that Tipping the Velvet is for genetic girls only. In the name of testosterone reduction, transwomen are forbidden.

In the interest of raising the collective IQ of humanity somewhat above that of pineapples, the Witch would like to present these fascinating little factoids:

Pre-operational transwomen take testosterone blockers, the effect of which is to reduce the amount of testosterone in their bloodstream to less than that present in the blood of a normal genetic female.

Post-operational transwomen have had their testicles removed, eliminating virtually all of their natural testosterone. The amount of testosterone they are left with is less than that present in the blood of a normal genetic female.

So what we learn from this, if we study the above data closely and well, with a clear head and a discerning eye, is that, as a group, transwomen have less testosterone than female-born women.

So, in the interests of testosterone reduction, who should Tipping the Velvet be eliminating?




[Should probably add that the Testosterone Fun Facts presented here are backed up by my doctor, certified gynecologist and endocrinologist, and main man for Ottawa TSs. Also, I found a study that shows slightly lower T levels for MTFs versus age-matched pre-menopausal women here.

The Octopootie and the Witch have been talking, and have reached a Major Decision. There exists a situation, or possibly a small collection thereof. The main points here are as follows:

1. There is so little counter space that dirty dishes colonize the entire place after one meal. What they do after a week is something to behold.

2. The Octopal has no time to do dishes.

3. The Witch is too busy being largely bedbound to do dishes.

4. When the Witch is able to do dishes, it hurts a lot.

5. Having the washing machine next to the sink means dirty dishes get piled on top of it. And yes, it is a top-loader.

6. Having the dryer across the room means that the Witch has to keep the basket empty (instead of making up the next load) so she can pile all the wet laundry in it and shove it across the floor with her feet (to save her back) to the dryer to unload it. Instead of getting the empty basket the hell out of the way until needed and conveying the laundry in a simple manner that does not threaten to upset the cats' food and water dishes.

Solution: find a way to get some plumbing redone in the kitchen, so that the washing machine can go live next to the dryer. And then...get a new device to put in the place of the washer! A device new to both Witch and Octopet, but of good general repute. Yes! It's...a...dishwasher! The Witch considers these gadgets decadent, but apparently there comes a time.

I'm starting to be reluctant to go into the ferret room. Just before supper, I popped in to gather up some bedding to wash. Bailey, my lovely little soft-furred, bright-eyed foster with the amazing leaping ability and penchant for causing trouble, was lying on the floor in a pose that could mean only one thing. When I picked her up, she was quite rigid.

Bailey had a heart condition that was astonishingly resistant to treatment. While I knew that in theory she could go at any time, she was so joyfully active and healthy-looking that I expected her to live a full, hyperactive life. In sad fact, she had just turned three.

Bailey is survived by her cagemate Freddy, who will need extra attention as he copes with being a single ferret now.

Whirlwitch's Fruitcake

My own version of a recipe from a vegetarian restaurant. Totally vegan, alcohol- and fat-free, and otherwise virtuous. Totally does not taste like it either. You'd swear it was sinful.

1 cup raisins
1/2 cup each currants and chopped dried pineapple
1/4 cup each chopped dried papayas, apricots and dates
apple juice for soaking
1/4 cup each chopped walnuts and almonds
3/4 cup rice or whole wheat flour
1 + 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp each allspice and cloves
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup applesauce
1 tsp vanilla
juice of 1 orange

Put all the dried fruit in a pot and add apple juice until the fruit is covered. Heat to boiling point, stirring occasionally. Turn off heat, cover pot, and let sit overnight.

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Butter one 8" round tin or a deep loaf tin.

Strain the fruit, reserving the juice (will jazz up herbal tea amazingly, and is a great base for punch). Mix the applesauce with the orange juice, vanilla, cinnamon, allspice, cloves and baking soda in a large bowl. Add flour to the drained fruit and mix until it is well coated with flour, then add the almonds and walnuts and stir in well. Stir any remaining flour into the applesauce mixture, then add the fruit and nuts and mix thoroughly. Pile into tin. Mixture won't expand, and can fill tin to top.

Bake for 2 hours. Cool in tin before turning out.

This is the Witch blogging from the fine haven of Granolatown. In February my cousin died, not unexpectedly, but suddenly, and sooner than we might have thought. Not to be outdone, my beloved Charlotte followed suit, dropping dead in the middle of eating her soup. After that I didn't feel communicative for a while, although the Ferty Godmother vindicated my opinion of her by emailing to see what was up when I went a week without contacting her. Not to mention taking Charlotte's remains on their final vet visit, AND bringing them back to me in altered form. Also not to mention that every drop of soup Charlotte ate in her last months was prepared by FG's awesome hands. (Her Fertyness claims to be a bitch. The Witch says; "Bichnes: Ur Doon It Rong! Pllllbbbththtt!")

I am now sitting with a wine cooler, which is going right to my little medication-addled head, but is making me chatty (typey?). Speaking of meds - ultra-max-strength Motrin seems to be taking off some edges nicely these days. My it's-different-than-what-the-doctor-ordered-but-it's-what-the-rural-pharmacy-had-and-it-does-exactly-the-same-thing thyroid med doesn't seem to be cutting it, though. The happy pill may need upping, cause it ain't upping, but maybe it's me who's downing.

My Playmobil collection groweth mighty and vast. Yea, though I walk through the House of Half-Unpacked Chaos I shall revel in my playthings, and numbers upon numbers arriveth via international post by the benevolent directive of the Ebay. I have no place to PUT them, mind. I just put down my bottle and took out two unicorns and a family of foxes. Hurray! Bartender, another bottle of that stuff, please. Hold the flower fairies.

My lower digestive system has taken issue with my takeout dinner. I am now trying to be in a separate room from myself.

Hey, the bottle is empty! No bartending, the Octoputter spent all day out at the control shack, got in with dinner, listened to an email message, walked a client through computer-related matters and then headed back out to the control shack to try to fix things.

I am largely horizontal these days, but I did have a shower today, and consequently feel rather more human than I might otherwise. I should have kept a bit of alcohol back, so's I could swallow down the pill I'm not supposed to have with alcohol. Horizontality shall be assumed soon enough, although first I must watch over the washing of the wife's work socks.

The late April Fool's Day joke from Mother Nature has almost finished melting away. Granolatown features a swift creek, which never completely freezes - an approaching sign of spring is when you can hear the water rushing under the ice. With the spring swell, it's quite something to behold - I like to pause on the bridge when I go walkies for the mail and treats.

Dry Worksocks, Spinning Towels What kind of movie would this be? Discuss. Thank you and goodnight. More updates soon.

Charlotte just died. I'm in shock.

So the Witch is out for the evening at that fine establishment, the Wilno Tavern. She has been strutting her differently-abled stuff on the dance floor until the band blipped off for a break, and has now bellied up to the bar for the purpose of snagging a much-needed iced tea. Enter an unkempt lout stage left, who glances down at the Witch's ever-present companion and dancing partner (namely her cane) and says, to wit: "Hey, I know some women have to beat men off with a cane, but you're not that good-looking."

The Witch is unaccustomed to uncivility of this magnitude, but manages to reply with only a half-second pause: "That's only your opinion. Ottawa has different standards." Could be snappier, but on the whole, not too bad for an off-the-cuff response to a situation that the Witch is blessedly unfamiliar with. Definitely jerk - 0, Witch probably - 1/2.

So I'm still sick, but on Tuesday I lugged myself out of bed because the alternative was the Octopup going to Ottawa to select cabinets without me. Can't let that happen! We fulfilled a top-secret shopping mission that will not become clear for another 36 hours, picked up the last of our stuff from the old house, and hit the Play Value to see if this year's Playmobil Easter eggs were out yet. They are, and damnitall, the fairy that sold out before I knew about her last year WAS NOT RE-ISSUED! I shall pout most alarmingly! (Yes, I'm a fanatic, why do you ask?)

Then off to Habitat for Humanity's Re-Store to look for kitchen cabinets. We got a base cabinet - minus top, doors and shelves - that will fit between the stove and the dryer (our kitchen is a bit odd), plus a nice green marbled top and two wood doors to go with it. The doors fit, and match, but are not the same width, so the "center line" won't be one. We also picked up four 30" wide two-door cabinets that will be stacked in pairs along one stretch of wall, plus a wider one that will go over our new countertop, a short but very deep cabinet with a lovely finish that can go over the stove if we put it on legs to help hold it up, and a small cabinet that matches the over-the-stove number and will go on one side of our sole existing wall cabinet, which is over the sink. The last two mentioned are the only ones that match, the others are all...vaguely similar, in that the doors are all medium-coloured wood. Our kitchen will look a bit dippy, but at least we'll be able to store stuff in it! We also got a light fixture that will give us the appropriate amount of light in the parlour (as opposed to the ridiculous amount we're getting now). Best, all that lot cost a bit over $500 (Canadian, y'all).

We still need to get one or more cabinets to go on the other side of the sink, over the washing machine, and about seven feet of base cabinet for one wall, plus possibly a wall cabinet for an area beside the window. And some storage for the bathroom, which can actually take a real linen cupboard, and then perhaps we shall replace some of the other light fixtures about the place, including the hideous chandelier in the dining room. A stove hood would come in handy too, but we were too tired to think of that on Tuesday until after our purchase had been made.

Once at home, pretty well comatose, but still disappointed over not being able to fetch home my sought-after fairy, I looked for her on E-bay. No luck there, but I did find a long-retired fairy that disappeared years back, before my Playmobil obsession had fully matured. She was gone by the time I realized I wanted her - so given this second chance, I picked her up in a heartbeat, and then went on to acquire some other retired pieces, including an Eastern magician, a pleasingly old-world Santa in an ermine cloak, an elk, a gold unicorn, a small landscape and six silver goblets. You do not wish to know what I paid. Hell, I don't wish to know what I paid. But I am happy.

NeoCitran Total. Gotta love the stuff. The Witch is as sick as a dog, but with this delightful potion, is way too zonked to care. The Octopoot even managed to put up some garment hooks in the bedroom without waking the Witch. And since Octopound got sick first, and is eminently noisy when sick, the rest was very much needed.

More bed now! Must get a good night's coma.