Return of the Sun



We went to the Morrison Planetarium the other day, where despite Whoopie Goldberg’s reassuring voice, I felt the usual claustrophobia at the limitlessness of space and yet the finity of our Sun. My daughter was scared most of the time, but we’re not exactly sure why.

It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’ve been wondering what my daughter, and generations to come, will find (and make) of these digital scribblings then of the past. My domain will have expired, and likely my WordPress blog underneath it too. Will there even be domains anymore? What of the Internet itself? All those pictures on Flickr? And What of Facebook? Will my Twitter archive be available?  What about those picture books we’ve printed from Flickr and the blogs we’ve turned into Blurb books? Seems like the newer things are, the shorter they last.  Will there be no hard-bound dusty spined volumes in our girl’s future? Perhaps nothing but an old Google cache — maybe even accessible by some odd unforeseen device such as a private air, space, and time machine… There’s a thought.

It’s odd to know that something entirely new – something inconceivable at present – will then exist to provide the history and context.  As we stand over the brink of one year and look into another, I marvel at how it is that sometimes we can’t really know — and sometimes we know better only in retrospect.

And on that note… I feel it’s impossible to wrap up the year 2009 on its last day, but after the passage of time I begin feel a little clearer about that other old year, 2008.

That was the year we lost Prop 8; we got married, and we also got banned from marrying.  It was the fuel for the worst of days in which I wish we never got up and fought so that people could be so legally ugly to us, and call us psychotic and worse, hurt us, and blame us right here in our homes.  It was perhaps the set-up that led to Question 1 in Maine, confusion in New York and New Jersey and elsewhere, and most profoundly atop much hard work, strife and sadness within the LGBT organizations while “Protect Marriage” rubs its hands in mean glee.

And then I shake my head and I see it there — a brief glimpse of the future, in the light by the sea where we got married.  I see the light in our family and in our friends’ eyes. I see the light in the field across which my daughter runs, stretching towards the brightness of the moving sun, and I know we’re never going to pack it all up and go home, because we LIVE HERE, in this warmth of love and kindness, together with our friends and family, in the light by the sea.  No longer is it the year of failure and loss, but it continues to be the year meanness loses and kindness follows the sun, as day follows night, every single moment of every single day.

I asked my daughter if she learned anything new after our visit to the stars of the Morrisson Planetarium. “I learned that the Sun is a star,” she said wonderously. Twinkle twinkle, little star. To my wife and child and family and friends and community: All the best wishes as one year switches to the next.  You light up my life.

And we begin again.

pale birthday

pale birthday

i have a cold and feel like i should be spending the whole day in bed napping. but my life is not as important as yours anymore and i can’t even grab a kleenex to wipe my dripping nose as i try to breastfeed in bed, nor can i get up to catch wanda’s prolific hairballs. leanne got up to sleep upstairs last night because she couldn’t sleep for lucy and for me coughing. i am in fear that you will catch a cold and not be able to breathe. can’t take a weekend away to sonoma or do things i used to do but what are those?

you are crying in the playgym and i have to try to find a way to divert but i am too exhausted to carry, hold you.

and i hadn’t even realized it is your month birthday – one month old, today.


Happy birthday, marvelous beautiful Moya!

A piece of string walks into a bar.
The bartender says “we don’t serve string here.”
The string walks out, works itself into a frenzy and ties itself up.
The string goes back into the bar.
Bartender says “aren’t you that piece of string?”
String says, “I’m a frayed knot.”

Giggle. The kind of joke that is much better heard than read.

And just the kind of humor that Moya passes around. Sweet gal. Here’s to your beautiful self.

my heroes

yesterday i started with a ‘poor me’. leanne was sick; mom was bothered by travelling to our party. leanne had fought with bryce; religion had divided again; for god’s sake, shouldn’t it just be my birthday?
by the end of the day however i felt more blessed than i can remember. leanne pulled through and didn’t stop though she was sick. she unveiled a spectacular flourless chocolate cake; it was devoured. ellen and kit and ian came; they brought a flourless almond cake that was moister than any almond substance i’d ever had. spike drew kit’s blood. spike drew someone else’s blood too. the tripled-recipe of redlentil soup was devoured. mom and dad stayed awhile despite being exhausted and the threatening storm. marlena came and brought lots of stinky cheese (along with alan, and her daughter leah and john) and everyone ate it rapidly! uncle jim left a happy birthday message. richard called. robert sent email.
conversations with jim and jerene and michael and marcy around the coffee table had to do with homelessness and social injustice. leanne and gerald and craig and shu and jared and marc up at the counter countered with gender dysphobia. jane and jim had to leave after a short time due to allergy attacks. amanda and ellen and david brought a book on farralon, beautful food porn. blake brought her newest beau john. i embarrassingly said that i wasn’t as old as eve was when asked. but abbe had made such a fabulous fortieth bash at the seabowl that i felt 40 was more of an honor.
ann and young and jacob, the wonderful harvii.
brooke and a new girlfriend; and whiskey and wine.
john brown and my dad talked about emergency medical services. john is known as ‘poxmaster’ brown.
andy andy andy. andy brought candy from canada.
silly david. i have not yet applied the stick-on nails.
i remembered the other day about how when we were in provence and it was a week away from flying back i dreamt about terrorists on the plane. i remember that i thought it was freaky when i remembered it. however, it is also clear that it would not have been unusual for me to dream about planes and terror. nonetheless, i hope everyone rests in peace, alive or departed or dead, and that everyone at least once gets to feel as special, and have as special friends, who are all heroes, as i did yesterday.