larkandkatydid

My boss slaughters his egg chickens either every fall or every other fall depending on how old they are when he gets them, on the logic that the personal hassle and carbon foot print of getting chickens to lay eggs in the winter is not worth it. As he was explaining this recently, a newer co-worker asked how he hid that from his children.   And she’s new, which means she’s never had the delightfully goth experience of watching my boss’s two charming dimpled daughters who are ALSO deeply unsentimental farm children respond to you with utterly withering scorn if you ask them something like, as I once did, “oh, what’s that chicken’s name?” The oldest daughter, all of four years old at the time,  told me in a firm, Wednesday-Adams-talking-to-a-moron voice, “We’re going to eat them. They’re not pets.”

My boss, who is gentle and does not respond to people with scorn when they ask innocent questions, instead told her, “Oh, we’re pretty open with them about the facts of life. They know where babies come from and where chickens go.”

Anyway, that phrase haunts me and I wanted to share it with you. It sounds like some 19th century grandma saying. 

minkidoodles

so i took a modern architecture course to fulfill a creative arts university req this semester and i have several conclusions now that’s done:

1. modern architecture? ugly

2. brutalism? somehow, even uglier

3. post-modern architecture? okay so now they’re actively trying to make it as bad as possible

4. neogothic? art noveau? art deco? absolutely spectacular, let’s have more of that

minkidoodles

to illustrate:

modern architecture:

ugly and boring

brutalism:

worse

post modern:

what the actual fuck am i looking at

art nouveau:

ooh hell yeah

wlw-love-stories

To clarify, I’m not a wlw. I’m a mlm. But this story is wlw related, and I hope it can make people feel better about themselves, especially those who took a while to come to terms with themselves.

I came out as gay when I was 16. The reception was varied. My mom’s side generally accepted me in a lukewarm way where you can tell deep down they’re kinda not ok with it, but are trying to be nice. My dad’s side of the family rejected me pretty harshly. So, as you can imagine, I felt pretty alone.

I live in the US while my maternal grandma lives in Canada. We go to visit her shortly after I came out, and she eventually became aware of my sexuality from the hushed whispers. There’s a stereotype that older folk aren’t too accepting of the LGBT community, so I was nervous given she was 71… but I was wrong. She accepted me. Not only that, but she seemed to genuinely accept me. I didn’t get the vibe of lingering discomfort (and I’m very intuitive with that sort of thing). It was a relief.

She ended up getting an email address, and we’d keep touch via email. We’d talk about the typical stuff: school, work, friends. But she also asked me about my love life, seeming genuinely interested. It didn’t seem unnatural to her that I’d be pursuing boys instead of girls. She was the first to hear about my first boyfriend, and by far the most supportive of it.

Fast forward 2 years. I’m 18. I was about to go into college (somewhere more liberal, for my own sake). I had been in a relationship for almost a year now. Things were going pretty well. I was still in touch with my grandma. Then one day, she asked if she can vent about something. I said of course.

Her email was long. She talks about how she was never really attracted to my grandfather (he died when they were 65 of a heart attack). She considered him her best friend, and she missed him dearly as a friend, but nothing more. She admitted that she considered it a relief when the two grew older and the once flaming hot passion cooled down to a mere sizzle.

She told me how she was into women her entire life, though she denied it for a while. She reminisced about repressed crushes on ex best friends, finding female celebrities attractive and denying it, basically a lot of stuff that seems pretty typical of the stories of lesbians in denial. 

She told me that it felt too late to be a lesbian. She was 73, had been married to a man, never was into women, and “past her prime.” I could only imagine how painful it was to have denied such a major part of herself for so long. When I came out at 16, I couldn’t imagine waiting another day, let alone so many decades.

I can’t pretend like my response was perfect and insightful. I was still a dumb 18 year old. But I did my best to assure her otherwise, and that she may as well live the rest of her life the way she wants to. I forget exactly what I said, but she thanked me and we moved on, talking about my upcoming college or something. The details escape me.

Fast forward another 5 years, to the present. If anything, her love life is going better than mine. She found a partner (also on a similar boat - in her 70’s, once married to a now dead man, denied her true sexuality), and she’s been with her for 2 years. I finally got the chance to meet her a year ago and they're so cute together and it’s the happiest I’ve ever seen my grandma.

It’s never too late to be yourself :)