Passage

In this part of the world, the agricultural year is ending and Death, a necessary element of Life, predominates as growing things roll into fallow time before life returns in the spring. The other night, I described to C how my pagan practice has changed over the years, and now I don't engage in much ritual or pageantry, but rather I simply feel the seasons, the cycles, the shifts as energy mutates and transforms. I honor it quietly, feel it deeply.

Last night my grandfather took passage from what we know of this life. I am profoundly relieved. Yesterday was quite awful, as I felt him dying all day, and felt his children's pain in watching their father die. Although I am nearly 800 miles away from where it took place, the energy of the events surrounded me.

Today I have a sense of peace and am glad that he has taken passage into the Mystery. Grandpa frequently referred to death as graduation, that one completes this life and moves ahead to the next thing. Though much of my family and I may differ in how we conceive of what happens after death, I am comfortable with the graduation analogy. He completed his time in the form in which I was blessed to know and experience his spirit.

My love for him is intense and honoring his life and celebrating his passage feels highly appropriate during this liminal time in the solar year, as light fades and solstice begins its approach.

Rites... updated ... and updated again.

Before I moved away from the only state I had ever lived, I made a difficult but deliberate decision. I did not make the 12-hour trip to see my grandfather. I wanted to remember him how he was during my previous visit, about a year before. I knew I might live to regret that decision, and I didn't make it lightly.

About an hour ago, I was told that Grandpa is en route to Salt Lake City to undergo surgery after taking a fall. More details as they become available. **Update: he broke his hip, had surgery, developed pneumonia, is now doing better, and I've talked to him on the phone.**

He's worked so bloody hard his whole life. First as a miner, then as his town's garbage collector, then as a thoughtful and supportive grandfather to his fifteen living grandchildren, many of whom had no other grandparents except for him. He would say to me fondly, "You were the first one to call me grandpa."

During my tearful call to TW, she offered to take him flowers at the hospital tomorrow. Her angelic presence and willingness to be at his bedside in my stead deepens my devotion to her. That's what's so wondrously surprising - that my devotion could grow any deeper than it already was.

**SECOND UPDATE: Just heard that he's suffered a stroke. As of yesterday he was doing much much better, was actually sitting up, eating solid food, coherent, and was being transferred to a rehab facility sooner than initially expected. Sometime during the night he had a stroke, his pneumonia is back with a vengeance, and his body is full of infection. If the antibiotics are going to work, we're told, they will do so within the first 24 hours. And so we wait. And I fight back tears at work while coping by writing this update.**

Queer

Go here for the above book.

I upset someone today, using a word that rolls off my tongue as naturally as breathing.

My employer and teacher seemed rather rattled when I mentioned that of the fifteen living cousins on my paternal side, three of us are "confirmed queers." He questioned my using queer, and apparently assumes it reflects low self-image. He said he doesn't think "gay" has the same negative connotation. It may be useful to mention that he graduated from law school two years before I was born.

Although I grew up in a small town, and certainly heard "fag" used pejoratively, and probably "queer" too, I just feel really happy (gay, if you will) about the word queer. I was surprised by his reaction. The word is so normalized to me that I found myself blinking and stammering, surprised that I felt a need to defend my position.

Sure, I'll concede that my mom wailed a bit when I first used the word around her and I recognize that not everyone is thrilled with its use. But dammit, if I can't use the best umbrella term I know, for the sake of someone else's comfort, who the hell is accommodating and tolerating who?

So what does this mossygrrl do when she is baffled? She goes to the internet.

~ The wikipedia page on queer seems nice and round and overviewish, as wiki is wont to do.

~ I enjoyed the tone of this page from a queer spirituality blog.

~ This post talks about reclaiming, making distinctions between the Q-word and the N-word.

~ A how-to-decide guide for whether it's okay to use the word Q/queer made me grin.

Yet, for all my fervor and comfort with the word, I am now also thinking about effective communication. Shutting down pathways for connection by using a term that sets people on edge is not effective. And yet I find "queer" so normal. Is that ironic? Undoubtedly my comfort with queer is affected by the fact my undergraduate degree was in gender studies in the 1990s. Educational status certainly plays a role.

But beyond academia and postmodern mental masturbation maneuvers, at a very core level, the word queer is not only comfortable, but also comforting to me. It's broad and inclusive and makes space for me. It made space for me as a bi married person. It made room for me as a kink-curious person. It made room for me as a polyamorous person. It makes space for me now, mono and seemingly "lesbian." It doesn't require me to define myself too narrowly, providing space for fluidity and movement.

To me, being queer means being free.

Destination Spot

At my see-ya-later party I reiterated that if/when my peeps found themselves in the NW (or wanting to find themselves in the NW), I encouraged them to come visit me.

My wish is coming true! The first weekend I was in my new home, D stayed with me amidst my boxes on his way to a wedding in Olympia. My lovely lover TW stayed with me last week; 42 days until she's back for Thanksgiving. This evening I'll have dinner with my cousin and his wife, who are here visiting his brother, who moved here right after I did. Early tomorrow G and S arrive, taking a grrls' road trip in their respective post-breakup states of being. Slumber party at Casa Moss! Yesterday I chatted with J who is finishing his season in Alaska and is planning is PDX visit and I heard from S a while back about her plans to be in town for a wedding in December. Add to that the plans of N&S to vacation in the NW in the spring.

I love that everyone is coming to me, that I have a steady stream of visitors to anticipate.

Hooray for being a desirable destination spot!

Luvy Wuvy

In honor of its twentieth anniversary, a quote from the indomitable A Princess Bride:

Westley: This is true love - you think this happens every day?

Instead of being 766 miles away from me, my love is within a couple hundred miles. Right now she is on the coast and as I'm now working to pay off that mortgage-size student loan debt, I had to stay in Stumptown.

When she leaves Monday the 8th, I'll start counting the days until Thanksgiving.

M-m-miners

Maybe I should make this a mining blog.

Because I was at work, after seeing this headline I had to consciously set out of my head the complex layers of gold, consumption, labor, and (in)justice. We're assured that the trapped miners have water and the mine is well-ventilated and that no one has been hurt so far. And maybe I'm just playing into the trapped-miner-sexy-media factor. But this stuff really strikes me. Strikes me deeply, as I've discussed at length here and here.

I guess it's like looking at a bad accident. Or listening to Neil Diamond. Sometimes you just can't help yourself.

Or more accurately, I can't help myself.