Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

A fragment that stood out from the rest of the sentence for me, in an essay by Michael Kinsley: "the short list of controversies [...] that are so frozen and ritualistic that debates about them are more like Kabuki performances than intellectual exercises"

(And happy new year for several of my friends!)

Family stuff might get interesting.

The guys who did my roof a couple of weeks ago are back again. This time they're here to paint the two rooms on the third floor. (First they have to patch a lot of cracks.) I had to move a bunch of stuff out of the way, and my mother had asked whether I needed my brother's help, and I said yes, but by the time they got here, most of the stuff was moved and my arms hurt pretty badly and I was scraping four layers (I'd thought it was three, but I discovered a fourth) off the one wall that still had any wallpaper on it, and I just needed help with a couple of really heavy things, but one of the guys wanted my mom to see the inside of the house (which she owns) in any case so she'd know just what she is dealing with (she's never seen the inside of this house before, no) so it was probably a good thing she came even though she was so preoccupied with the mess that I don't think she absorbed many of the finer architectural details or what anyone was trying to tell her about the condition and the required work. Oh, and I didn't get enough sleep and I haven't had breakfast, so I may wind up writing some run-on sentences.

But that's not the issue, that's just why she came here. The issue is that today was the first time my mother has ever seen me in "glenn-clothes". The first time she's seen me in a skirt (kilts and tunics don't count).

I wasn't going to wear my only pair of trousers -- my nice black dress pants -- for scraping wallpaper, and besides, this is "my turf", not a family gathering, a funeral, a wedding, or her house. (When I came out to my parents as transgendered, my mother said (on the phone), "If you have any respect for your mother, you won't wear a skirt around me." I thought a moment and said, "I won't wear a skirt at your house." She heard the change and didn't acknowledge it verbally, but I could hear the change in her breathing: she heard, didn't like it, but knew better than to make an issue of it then. This was a decade ago, long after I'd been out to nearly everyone else who knes me.) So I wasn't sure how she'd react today. I'm also not sure how much that has had to do with her never seeing the places I've lived ... that trend did start before I came out to her, but I still wonder about it. She's only ever been inside one other home, and that was because she had to pick me up to drive me to a family holiday thing.

Now ideally I'd want to have looked a lot nicer for the first time Mom saw me dressed as myself, but again, this was scraping and painting and carrying stuff clothes, not dress up for Mom clothes: a mid-calf faded denim skirt and a loose black t-shirt. She rang the doorbell, I went and unlocked the door to let her in, and she nodded at the peeling textured wallpaper in the entryway and said, "What is this junk?", nodded at the things leaning in corners near the door, "What is this junk?", and nodded at my skirt, "And what is this junk?" No more comment was made (about the skirt anyhow, but she went on and on about my having too much stuff and how messy the house is), nor dirty looks, nor other overt signals, but she didn't face me much of the time and she was in a big hurry to leave again (Mark didn't get a chance to help at all, but I did get to point out a few details about the house and they got introduced to Perrine -- my brother exclaimed, "What a friendly cat!", and my mother didn't notice the presence of a cat until Perrine actually walked in front of her).

She's upset. I know her reactions and her body language and when she's trying not to say anything. She's upset. She just might be too clueful to make an issue of it later, but I can't tell yet. Either way, I'm glad there was no "scene" today. I might hear about this from Mark later ("You really upset Mom you know, and you shouldn't have done that" -- he gets protective of her in that regard) if she makes it obvious to him. Or she might explode at me later (as much as what comes out of her British-influenced upbringing can be called an "explosion") when we're really arguing about something else (or when I think we're arguing about something else), or maybe she'll recognize this as a bad fight to pick and let it lie, or maybe, just maybe, she'll decide that the world did not end when she first saw me in a skirt and that she doesn't have to stay upset about it after all.

I don't think that last one is very likely, but I can hope. The depth to which she buried her reaction today is either a very good sign or a very bad one, and with the information I have so far, it could go either way. Here's hoping.

The step beyond that -- deciding that it just doesn't matter what I wear -- I can't imagine from her. So I'll probably continue to feel as though I'm putting on this odd boy-disguise when I go to visit her (which is part of the reason I see her so seldom even when I have a working car -- it's so uncomfortable to feel that way to visit my own mother. But I can hope that she'll recognize that my wearing a skirt in front of her today was not some big slap in her face, but an ought-to-have-been-harmless dressing as myself and apropriate to the day in my own home. Because I don't want to slap her in the face with my choice of clothing, as much as I wish she would accept me (not just a particular preferred image of me) the rest of the time as well. I just don't want to feel like I have to put on the disguise in my own house. And I don't want to have to worry about her reaction, but of course I do worry.

But hey, looking for the good omens as much as possible: it's the start of a new era -- the first time Mom has seen me dressed as myself -- at the Celtic new-year.

Now to try to get the wallpaper-dust out of my nose and throat, and decide whether to make this my first ever friends-only entry or leave it where my mother, brothers, and sister might trip over it. (Ah, but if I make it friends-only, then my cousins won't be able to see it either, and I don't think Mom reads my journal ... )

EDIT: For anyone coming in late, I wrote a song about my parents' reaction to my coming out.

I wonder whether there's an onstigende wendere (no, that's not a stæfleahtor and my gesamnung does not have a wælwyrm -- read on) that knows this idelgylp and can convert a random webb tramet using these Englisc words. But as long as the Circolwyrde Wordhord is on my leohtspeccabord, it's quite a distraction. (I'm impressed -- it even includes "hundcu"!) I'd better make a æstel. (I hope everyone's ymbsceawere shows the þorns and eðs and ligatures (and any other special regol) correctly. If not, it's a wyrm.)

Okay, so this ærende isn't exactly nyttendfreondlic, I'll admit. But if you're wondering what I'm babbling, you can RTGL (ræde þa gehæmendan larboc) It's amazing what you can find on the woruldwidewebb, isn't it? Please don't bælweorpan me for this. Here, have a grennung. :-)

Wow, that took a lot of sniðan and clifian. My mus got quite a workout!

(Alas, I don't know enough of the language to write the whole ærende in it, so I have to resort to this pidgin. But wow, I'm such a oferleornere for doing this. Blame it on poor sleep. It's naptime.)

Hey, anyone got a wordwyrhta that'll let me enter these characters without having to type þ and æ all the time? Foreadihtung options for 'vim'?