Moving out, moving up

As if my partner’s transition, our new puppy, and our upcoming marriage weren’t enough, we decided to go out and buy a house. This is shaping up to be the most intense 12 months of our lives. And we’re not quite halfway through yet.

Tonight is the last night we will spend in this high-rise apartment where we’ve spent the last 20 months or so. I’ll miss some aspects of apartment life – not having to shovel snow, cut grass, rake leaves, or make any kind of repairs or renovations. But I will relish the extra space and added privacy. I’ll love having my own yard where I can garden, and perhaps the best part, my own laundry room, complete with folding table and a bar to hang clothes.

My sweet ass laundry room.

My partner is really pumped about having a garage and a basement, complete with a workshop where he can build stuff. I’m stoked to have a real office, so we won’t have to have the computer in the same room as the television. Makes it hard to get work done sometimes.

I’m actually supposed to be packing right now – of course I couldn’t pack up all my clothes until I’d put in my last day at work because there’s no telling what the weather would be like or what I would feel like wearing. So I’ve got clothes as well as kitchen stuff to pack up. Marnie is being good and taking a nap so as not to interfere with the packing. (She likes to attack the tape gun while we tape up boxes – it makes such an inviting noise!)

The movers arrive tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., and we’re hoping to have everything in the house ready to unpack by noon. It’ll be a busy day, but well worth it. So all that to say I may not be online much for the next little while until we can get ourselves set up. I do hope I can get caught up on some blogging once the office is set up. Cheers!

Broken promises

About a week after I posted “Turn and face the strange . . .” my partner and I got a puppy.  Life has been a crazy whirlwind ever since. We had a month of sleep deprivation, the first two weeks of which we were complete zombies. Then things started to settle down with the puppy, and we bought a house. Combined with my partner’s transition and our wedding in May 2010, things are a little nuts, needless to say. Here’s our little baby girl:

Which means my blogging has fallen to the wayside. And I broke my own promise to keep track of my partner’s changes. I’m hoping to post an update soon, now that we’re back from a week’s vacation, but appointments with lawyers, real estate agents and mortgage brokers might put a dent in that plan, too.

I’m sad to see the Night Court video I posted in “All it takes is love” has been removed. If I can find it elsewhere I’ll post a new link.

For now I can report that our puppy is now four months old, just got her last set of puppy shots, and is well on her way to becoming a well-bred and well-trained companion. I can also report that my partner has been on oral testosterone for four months, has gone through various mood swings and physical changes, but is well on his way to being a well-bred and well-trained man. : )

All it takes is love

I was 11 years old when I saw an episode of Night Court about a man, tail-chasing Dan’s best friend from college, who became a woman. They called the procedure a “sex change,” which I object to, but we’ll deal with that later.  She was lovely. Really lovely. So much so her old best friend Dan didn’t recognize her. I was completely fascinated by the storyline.

In the episode, the writers touch a little bit on what her reasons were, and most of the characters have very measured and rational reactions to the news (except of course for Dan, who hurls some terribly hateful comments at her). Then we learn she is engaged to a man who is fully aware she is a transgendered woman, and I was fascinated by him too. What kind of person do you have to be to be willing to marry someone who had a sex change? ran the thoughts in my 11-year-old brain.

I think I can say from experience now that all it takes is love.

Gender, as I like to say, is a tricky thing. It is nearly impossible to define, but many people define it very literally by a person’s anatomy below the belt. To the extent that any change in that anatomy results in the impression of a completely different person. Check out this language from Dan when he learns his friend is not just dressing in drag, but has in fact has the full surgery:

“This is a gelding. My friend is in a bottle of formaldehyde somewhere.”

What I love about this episode, called “Best of Friends,” is that it is clear from the beginning that Dan is being a close-minded asshole. While he is shocked by his friend’s news, in the end he accepts her decision. The story had a big impact on me, at an age where I was starting to be more aware of the differences, and inequalities, between men and women.

You can watch the whole episode in three parts, beginning here:

BTW, I totally had Markie Post’s hair back then, only with a little less volume.

Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes

There are lots of exciting changes going on in my life of late – some very good friends are expecting their first child, three friends are getting married within the next three months, my partner and I are getting a puppy next weekend. But the biggest change happening in my life is an ongoing one. It started several months ago (at least from my perspective – in reality it started years ago) and will be going on for the next couple of years.

My partner, fiancé and best friend is transitioning from female to male.

Right now, I’m sitting here imagining what your reaction is, dear reader. I’ve delivered this news to a number of different people in the last month, and every single reaction has been about the same: a pause of surprise followed by a few questions and ending in full support and even expressions of admiration. Mind you, everyone I’ve told so far has met my partner and knows what a remarkable person he is. This is the first time I’ve written the words out for a wider audience.

I’m wondering what your gut reaction is. Confusion? Disgust? What sort of frame of reference do you have for this situation? Part of me is wondering because I haven’t told my parents yet, and I’m not expecting it to go well. (See previous posts for their reaction to my coming out.)

Gender is a funny thing. It’s one of the biggest assumptions we make. Gender, like sexuality, is viewed as a binary: everyone is either male or female, straight or gay. I prefer to think of both of these things as continuums, with varying shades of grey. It’s certainly a lot more interesting (and a lot more fun).

Ironically, the whole thing makes my coming out rather moot. One of my coworkers, upon hearing the news, said “I guess you’re not a lesbian then.” She’s right – and I never claimed to be one. Because people knew I was dating a biological woman, they assumed I was a lesbian. But next May, when my partner and I get married, I will officially be marrying a man. I can understand why some people would be confused by that.

So with my partner’s full consent, over the next little while I’m going to try to blog more often, and keep a record of our experiences as he goes through this transition. I’m so impressed with the support we’ve had from people who know and love us, I want to try to make other people understand so they can be supportive  and understanding when they encounter a transgendered person in their own lives. And don’t assume you won’t. In fact, you probably already have.

And these children that you spit on

As they try to change their worlds

Are immune to your consultations

They’re quite aware

of what they’re going through

And these children that you spit on

As they try to change their worlds

Are immune to your consultations

They’re quite aware

Of what they’re going through

Dear Ottawa, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways

In less than two years of living in Ottawa, I have done some pretty amazing things. So here’s a list of what Ottawa’s given me in the last 22 months:

Concerts/performances: Melissa Etheridge, Alanis Morissette, Rufus Wainwright (RUFUS!!!), Margaret Cho, Sam Roberts, Show Tune Showdown (2008; also attending the 2009 edition on May 9 – a fun and hilarious evening)

Plays/theatre: Wicked, Mama Mia, Spamalot, Top Girls, Macbeth (at the NAC – terrible!), Broue, Corteo (Cirque du Soleil)

A Company of Fools performances (a must see when in Ottawa): Romeo & Juliet, Tempest in a Teapot, Richard III in Bouffon, 

Other: the Haunted Walk (Ottawa and Kingston), Roller derby (AWESOME!! We’re going again in June), a screening of Nosferatu (silent film) with a live band (including Balinese gamelan), the Diefenbunker, The 1930s: the Making of the New Man (exhibit at the National Gallery)

This doesn’t even cover the free things: Busker Festival, Tulip Festival, weekly trivia at a local pub, knitting groups, skating on the Canal . . .

Damn I love this city.

Try, try, try, try again

I’m not normally a particularly tenacious person. I’ve got a lazy streak, and can walk away from something if it’s proving too frustrating or difficult. It appears the one time in my life this does not apply is knitting.

Last year I started knitting what looked like a fairly innocuous top in the beloved knitting book “Fitted Knits” by Stefanie Japel. (It was all the rage among young knitters about a year ago. She’s got a new book out now.) I fell in love with the very first pattern in the book – a split-neckline cap-sleeved tee – and as I have limited experience knitting sweaters and tops and it was ranked as an easy one, I thought it would be a good place to start.

It’s a top-down construction, knit in the round which is not the traditional sweater construction, and I was excited to give the circular method a try, especially since I don’t like sewing much. 

Attempt #1 – I got about 80% through the top when I tried it on and found I had knit the wrong size. That is, I knit for a 38″ bust (I’m a 37″) and it was huge in the neck, and a little loose in the bust. I decided to frog it and cast on again one size down (36″ bust). I also didn’t like the fact there was no waist shaping, so decided to add some.

Attempt #2 – I got about 50% of the way through when I found the neck opening was still huge, but the bust fit quite well. The keyhole in particular seemed to be a problem. The fabric was puckering at the hole, and not a little bit. You could fit a hand in there, and get a pretty nice view of my bra without much effort. Time to frog again. This time I decided to cast on for the smallest size and increase to the medium size in the same amount of rows.

Attempt #3 – I got about 30% of the way through (finally learning my lesson) and tried it on only to find there was still a large pucker at the keyhole, though the bust was still fitting great. At this point, I have invested countless hours into and nearly $100 into a pile of cotton that simply will not be made into a wearable top. This, and the fact that I am beginning to hate the yarn I’ve chosen (the colours are starting to make we nauseous) lead me to nearly throw the entire project off my 10th floor balcony.

Attempt #4 – I say, Screw the keyhole! I cast on the for smallest size, increase only minimally for the first few rows so that I can join the yarn on my circular needle, then proceed to increase to the medium bust size. I knit to just below the bust and try it on – looks ok, but I need to knit the edging on the collar before I know for sure. Try it on again – not bad. Still a little wonky around the neckline, but totally wearable. 

I am now nearly finished Attempt #4. I have to knit and sew the edging on the sleeves, then block it and sew on the little clasp at the neck. Have a look.

 

The collar isn't standing up - hopefully the block will correct that.

Just need to knit the edging on the sleeves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m still not sure this is actually something I’ll wear in public. It’s pink, for christ’s sake! I never wear pink. At least this has been a valuable learning experience: Keyholes suck!

Wedding progress

We have a date:  May 15, 2010.

As an accountant, my partner assigns special significance to numbers, and she likes the numbers this date creates: 5-10-15. Which is cool in itself, but when added together, they make 30. The number 3 is her”signature” number, so to speak, so the date is perfect.

We also have a location for the reception: a lovely old historic restaurant in the market. Before we started looking for a venue I had an image in my mind of what kind of space I wanted for the reception, and when we walked into the restaurant I knew we had found it. Old stone walls, large wooden roof beams, black window frames, wooden floors. It’s perfect – a warm, cozy and friendly space. The last thing I wanted was a big empty and impersonal hall.

The wedding ceremony itself will likely just take place at City Hall, which has a wedding space that only holds about 10 people including the couple getting married, so we would have to leave most people out of the ceremony. We’re both fine with that. To me the exchange of vows is very personal and intimate, and I’d rather have a small group of people there who really love us and support our decision.

Which brings me to the next item on my To Do list: telling my parents we’re engaged. At this point, I’m less concerned about their disapproval and more concerned about my mother being pissed that we’re having the wedding in Ottawa. And that I don’t intend to invite any of my extended family. And that we plan to have a wedding with no church, no priest, no white dress, no bridesmaids, no flowers, no bouquet toss, etc. By most western standards, it won’t even look like a wedding. But it’s exactly what we want, and it will reflect who we are as a couple.

Birthday blessings

Yesterday was my 35th birthday. It’s a bit of a milestone, but nothing that would warrant a big to-do or much fanfare. My partner asked me what I wanted to do to mark the occasion, and I said I’d like to have some friends over for a pot-luck games night. Nothing fancy: just good times with good friends. Which is exactly what happened, but to me it was so much more than that.

It ended up being a very interesting mix of people, from friends I’d known a few years, to some I’d known about a year, to a couple of people I’d never met before. It’s always a risk, bringing people together from different sectors of your life, but in the end it was a good mix. Not to mention we were pretty well-matched in our game playing. We each won a game of Outburst, with less than a five-point spread between teams each time.

MC and I have been busy the last several weeks, and hadn’t had guests over in ages – probably since long before the xmas holidays. The bus strike has also put a damper on the social lives of many Ottawans. So it was a real pleasure to host so many close friends (and a couple of strangers). I guess it’s silly, but I just felt incredibly grateful to have all these great people around me on my birthday.

This feeling of gratitude was amplified by the fact that my parents didn’t contact me at all on my birthday. No phone call, no card. This is very unusual, especially since we haven’t spoken since the xmas holidays. My brother at least sent me a card. It’s strange. In high school, I remember my mother being jealous of my friends and telling me that the only people you can really count on in life is your family. In reality, it’s my friends who have always been there for me, who celebrate my life choices and accomplishments, and my parents (my mother in particular) who are the first to judge and criticize and generally let me down.

Maybe they were busy yesterday. Maybe they thought I would be out on my birthday since it fell on a Friday night so they didn’t bother to call. Maybe they’ll call today. Maybe it’s time to stop worrying about it.

A most Canadian moment

I had an experience on Saturday that ranks among the Most Canadian Moments of My Life.

I recently joined a curling league, thanks to an invite from some good friends. I’m still very much a novice at curling, but it’s a fun night out with friends, and certainly a very Canadian pastime.

This past Saturday, however, was the Canada-Russia game in the world junior hockey championships. The game started at 7:30 p.m. and curling started at 8. I was surprised so many people turned out to curl. One of our players was sick, so she watched the game at  home and texted scores periodically to her husband who was curling with us. As we played our ends, people kept asking what the latest hockey score was.

At one point, I found myself standing on the edge of the ice, waiting to sweep the next rock, and taking a peak at the game on the big-screen t.v. which was visible through the large windows in the bar overlooking the sheets. That’s right: standing on a curling sheet, holding a broom, watching the Canadian junior hockey team on t.v. 

We finished a bit early to go upstairs and catch the last few minutes of the game. There were only five minutes left, and Russia was ahead by one. As the clock ticked down, the room became more and more silent. At around the 45 second mark, someone said “there’s still lots of time.” I thought these people were crazy. The game was over, I thought; Canada was out of gold medal contention. Big deal. Then, as we all know now, Eberle pulled a miracle and scored with just five-point-something seconds left. The bar erupted — curlers were on their feet, cheering, hollering and pumping fists. I admit I kind of got swept up in the excitement and may have shouted a bit too.

Of course we had the joy of watching the deciding shoot out, and there was more rejoicing. Curling, hockey, beer. All in all, a most Canadian evening.

I actually like Alanis Morissette

“You see everything. You see every part. You see all my light, and you love my dark. You dig everything of which I am ashamed. There’s not anything to which you can’t relate. And you’re still here.”

Besides being lovely love song lyrics, a couple of these sentences are excellent examples of how to correctly avoid ending a sentence with a proposition. It makes up for her utter failure to grasp the concept of irony. There are several good songs that screw up the preposition thing. For example:

“But if this ever changing world in which we live in makes you give in and cry, say ‘live and let die.’”

In iTunes, I use the rating feature religiously. I still haven’t re-rated every song (3,805 at last count) since transferring my files from my old iMac to the new one back in August, but I’m 75% there. But poor grammar can cost a song a star, and GNR’s “Live and Let Die” is not on heavy rotation, largely because the grammar mistake drives me nuts. In their defence, I’m pretty sure Paul McCartney makes the same error in the original.

I hadn’t planned to write about these things when I sat down at the computer. I was about to complain about how the holidays, the weather and the transit strike here in Ottawa were driving me to a new level of exhaustion. But Alanis came on as I sat down to write, and the music took over. Then again, my mind is in such a weakened state that it doesn’t take much to throw it off track. Must be bedtime.