Simple Gifts and Magical Moments

I am a grub, Yes, A grub. Creeping along, I consume, All that I can To change. I know, A caterpillar Is more appealing, But most Become moths, Desperately seeking The light in the darkness. And metamorphosis, Is a messy process No matter what. Inside you ooze, As you destroy What you were. As a grub I will not take flight In a dazzle Of butterfly color. No, I will be firmly on earth - Grounded. And like the dung beetle I will take the crap Of others, And create something. And my carapace Will be strong And iridescent In the light of the day.

There is always hope. Do not let the weight of all that has and can go wrong. Instead reach for what you can do. Yes, a single match can set a forest fire, but what that teaches us is that a small spark can be mighty. And if you can't do anything today, remind yourself that there is tomorrow and the day after and the day after. You will have your chance to to act as that small flame of hope for our great mother, the Earth.

Last week I wrote a long post, that apparently didn't get posted. The shooting at the Pittsburgh Synagogue really got to me. A lot of people are talking about the current political climate and how that seems to be a trigger for this shooting. That may be true. However I think a lot of people don't understand how deeply antisemitism is embedded in our country. I grew up on stories of my Grandfather escaping Russian soldiers, who were killing Jews, and coming to the US. The US  was much better, but he still got beat up for being a Jew. My mom talked about going to a private school, were she was the token Jew. She got to go to the school but was excluded from all social events. The synagogue that I went to when I was younger was subject to regular vandalism. Someone also tried to burn it down and the only thing that saved it was a good citizen who saw the flames. I have had to debate going to services when there was a "credible" bomb threat. I went as did many ...

Seven years ago today,  Floyd brought his intense and energetic spirit into my life. Even though, I adopted him, I feel he chose me. I had lost my sweet, Schmoozer not long ago. I have always felt somewhat purposeless without a dog. So, although I was still aching from the loss I was looking for a new companion. The rescue group talked about his energy and fear in careful terms, trying to admit his issues but make him sound appealing. I could read between the lines and kn When I went to meet him, he did better with me than I or the rescue group expected. That didn't mean he came to me with tail wagging. Floyd life was full of fear and he spent his time hiding, pacing, and cowering, but when we met he didn't try to hide. He maintained his distance and was panting so hard, that if he was a human I would have assumed he was hyperventilating. His eyes were big and frightened and he panted in fear but he also seemed to stare into my soul. Normally, when I introduce myself ...

As the heat wave passed, I whispered to myself, "I will dance in the rain". I've been told I can't dance, but the rain doesn't care. I've been told that I'm odd, but weather isn't bothered by human expectations or concerns. The rain didn't come until the sun had slipped down beyond the ocean and dark had claimed the day. It was cool outside and rain slippery fingers were chills against my skin. I reached to the sky accepting the offering and danced.

So... on a day with lots of crazy drama at the veterinary clinic, this man comes up to the desk of the vet office. He's asking me for something, but he's either not saying it right or I'm not understanding him past the heavy accent. He shows me his phone and it says sodium chloride. I pause and then say uncertainly, "That's salt". He says yes and says solution with "dopper". I am quite sure I looked at him blankly. I am trying to learn all the veterinary pharmacy items so I can get my "clerks" license and dispense medications, but I have no freaking idea what salt solution with dopper could be. What strange medication is that? He consults his phone and says "dropper, with dropper" and show me a picture of a bottle with a bulb dropper. You would think this would clear the mystery up, but no, it doesn't. He wants saline solution that comes in bottle with a bulb and dropper? Am I missing something? So I wander to the back and ...

In nature everything transforms. Species, seasons, earth and water ebb and flow, birth and die. This is where I find hope.

I've been thinking about making this post but have been hesitant. I decided for Pride Month, to go for it. For many of you, this is old news. I am transgender. I am bisexual. I am also a man. I am also short. I am also silly and all sorts of other things. They are all labels and describe parts of me, but not all of me. For a time I was really open about being trans. Then Trump happened and I changed my career and I got burned out on being a curiosity. I was very open about my transgender status because I wanted people to have an opportunity to talk to someone and take away the stigma and misunderstandings. But honestly, it became exhausting. I also felt like I was often seen as a trans-man, not a man. Or even a pseudo-man, not a man. After waiting decades to transition, that took a toll on me. And, going back to Trump, to be honest, it can be scary to not fit into the norm and these are especially scary times. But people have to know, we are out there in the world. And people ...

Yesterday, I took a mini-hike with my dog, Floyd. I headed out long before sunrise. (This is one of the things I love about night crew, my sleep schedule makes pre-dawn trips easy). On the drive, a large owl flew low over my car. I couldn't tell if it was a barred owl or great horn owl, but I believe it had something in it's talons. If you've never been out at pre-dawn, there's something magical about it. The world is quiet. There's no true daylight but there's a slowly brightening glimmer. The transition from quiet to song is so gradual you can miss it. Robins sing first and then come the thrushes and soon the woods are in full symphony of song. I was out of cell phone range and no humans were around. I had Floyd with me, but there's still something about that sense of aloneness that reminds you that you are a small thread in the grand fabric of life. Floyd felt it too, his bright echoed the wild spirit all around. Sunrise arrived as I was getting...

Floyd finds bones distressing. I firmly believe he was baited with food or abused around food as a pup. His early days were so full of trauma. He has gotten over a lot of his issues since I adopted him. He takes treats from people. He doesn't run away cowering if food is combined with a command. He doesn't eat so fast he chokes. One thing he hasn't lost is the stress a really good dog treat can bring him. Early on, the few times I tried to give him a bone, he'd just walk around whining. He'd put it down. pant, pick it back up and look around fearfully. I'd end up the bone away because  he couldn't relax enough to actually enjoy it. We went a long time with no bones, then I tried again. It was a similar experience, but with a little less angst. I'd take the bone away give it a day for him to calm, reintroduce it, and eventually the bone would be ok. Having it come back, even though it had been taken seemed to bring the fear level down. Then a ...

The scale of this is all off, but there's something about it that appeals to me. It makes me think of aliens and hurt and the strangeness of the world.

You have to follow a path and at first it's wide and easy to follow but then it's like Robert Frost. On the trail less traveled the leaves brush against your skin and clothes. It gets narrower and soon you're at a darker place, deep under the trees, and it smells like earth. A small stream is running through and a big, big maple hangs over. This is a good place to stop and it seems a bit like childhood. It's a place to build a bridge to Teribithia; a place of pretend and rope swings; a place of discovery. If you listen, though, you can hear the river calling so you jump across the stream and keep going, leaving this place behind. The path is obscured with branches and dense like a jungle but it gets brighter ahead and soon you emerge at the river. You stand at a bend and it's wide and slow, but this is mostly a river that moves. She climbs and splashes down boulders and eddies around logs and has all these different voices - the soft and slow, the crash and the roar...

The cottonwood enticed my attention With her new shawl of delicate green And winking raindrop jewels. I marveled at her supple body Contorted in a sinuous bend. When she had stood Exposed and naked I had passed her by. Unheeding. Now I stopped, Entranced By her exotic display, As she danced To the forest’s rhythm, Instead of my frenetic, Human pace.

I grew up watching those dramatic TV movies with the happy ending. You know the ones, where someone is dying of a horrible disease or some catastrophe has struck. At the end of the movie there's a dramatic moment where somehow it all has meaning. The music comes up and you're left with the idea that all the hurt was part of some greater scheme and everything is now going to be alright. I understand why those movies are made and why we want to believe. The idea that there's some greater purpose to tragedy and pain allows us to deny our powerlessness. I know that life is unfair. Bad things happen without plan or purpose. Death more often brings fear and pain, then nobility. The people I admire most in the world are people who know and accept those realities and yet still have hope and the ability to inspire. People who strive to do what they believe is right, with no certainty of success. I hope that I can be like that. I don't aspire to greatness. I live my life on a ver...