better than ever

Urinary tract infection.

And a second allergic reaction.

So I don't think it was the face mask (my apologies to Lush...). More likely, it was the nori(seaweed). I had sushi on Sunday night, ate my leftovers last night at about the same time, and had raging hives around midnight. Again.

I love sushi, and I've eaten it before, of course. But usually the sushi I eat is made by a good friend of mine, who either rolls her nori on the inside of the roll, or doesn't use it at all. The sushi I had in Toronto had the nori rolled on the outside - much larger quantity.

And I only had 3 rolls each day...that's how allergic I must be to the stuff!

I went to visit my parents yesterday in St Marys. For those of you who don't know, any angst-filled writing I create about my childhood is rooted in that town. I have a love-hate relationship with the place. It's even worse now. I spend most of my time living my life the way I want, but as soon as I get close to home, it's like this invisible noose drops around my neck - it's very loose, but I can still feel it, and it threatens to choke me if I move the wrong way.

That's how I used to live every day, one short year ago.

I am out to my parents, but not the rest of my family. Haven't figured out how to get there yet...but there is this schism, and it gets wider every time I go home. I'm just not comfortable.

On the way down yesterday I thought to myself, "Fuck it. Whatever. I'm tired of living like this, and I'm just going to be who I am." If people want to know, they can ask. If I feel like telling them, I will. My nieces and nephews are all bright, savvy kids, and I'm pretty sure that the older ones have caught on already - or else Megan has told them, because the girl can't keep a secret to save her life. I'm not going to be one person on Facebook and another on Blogger, just because I have family on Facebook who might be - horrors!- offended if they find out that I'm queer. So linked facebook with my blog, and vice versa.

The people that matter - my brothers and my sister - well, I love them, and I know that they will, perhaps reluctantly, perhaps with doubt and fear, learn to accept that this is who I've always been. My sister knows anyways.

My brother the priest is home for a week. He lives in Boston while he's finishing his M div. Okay, he's not a priest yet - he's a Capuchin mendicant - but within a few years he will be. My parents dote on him, he can do no wrong. And really, I've come to like him a lot better over the last year or so. Since he's had time away from the family. Since he's been out in the world, meeting different people, working in soup kitchens and mission churches in the middle of nowhere. I don't like his religion, and I don't like his politics, and I never will, unless he makes this radical shift away from the institution he's marrying. What I stand for, he's publicly against, regardless of his personal thoughts. A permanent divide.

He's a big guy, and a diabetic. He's lost about twenty pounds since Christmas, which is great. My mom tells me, as we're going to visit my grandmother (in a nursing home) "I hope he doesn't lose too much."

"Well, why not?" I ask her. "It will make him a lot healthier."

"Because, then he won't be himself anymore."

ohhh...so perhaps if he loses all his excess weight, like I did....there may be aspects of his personality that come forward, which my mom may not be able to cope with very well. That's what happened with me. I'm starting to get it. You see, all the changes I've made, which are positive to me, are just new to her. She doesn't understand it yet, and maybe never will. And because she's only beginning to discover who I am, she's a little bit scared. You're supposed to know your kids, right?

Don't worry, Mom. I'm fine. Better than ever, except for this stupid uti and random allergic reactions.

At the nursing home, my grandmother didn't recognize me. Not unusual - she is 98, she's developing dementia, and my appearance has changed a lot. But that was the first time, and it's hard to see her like that...

Last but not least, I bring you a photograph of my youngest daughter:



It may be a bit hard to see, but she's the little blonde kid on the swings. Her uncle took her to the park while I was visiting my grandmother.

What's interesting about this picture is that she appears to be pumping herself on the swing, without any adult assistance at all. This is the kid who swears up, down, left, right, and sideways that she does not know how to swing by herself. And my brother informed me that she was telling smaller kids how easy it was, and giving them pointers.

Faker! And now I have photographic evidence.