Happy Birthday

A cousin recently celebrated her 70th birthday.  Her three daughters hosted a grand party, with immediate family, extended family, and friends, from near and far were in attendance, lending to the festive vibe.    

There were games, food, music, dance, and lots of laughs.  

A joy-filled event.  

Love in action! 

And Now This Really IS Twenty Twenty

Greetings and Salutations,

And just like that twenty days of twenty twenty are just about over and out.  Are we all still on the eating better, drinking more water, exercising more party bus? For the record, I am, despite the cheese puffs I'm eating right now.

I assure you, this cheese puff eating is an aberration, not a rule of the past twenty days.

But I don't want to talk about what I'm eating or not eating or drinking.

One of my maternal aunts celebrates her 100th birthday next month! Her kids, grands, and great-grands are hosting an event to mark the occasion.  I plan to be there ringing in her new year.  My Aunt (the eldest of my mom's siblings) always possessed an Alaska sized personality; most of her kids, grands, and great-grands share that trait.

It should be quite the party. It shall be the one good thing about February, a good memory to hopefully over-shadow the other.


(Also for the record, still sketching daily, participating in a challenge--squee!)
(Also also for the record, I have not cut my hair.) Squee.

I ♥ LESBOS

daughter and friend, Pride Parade 

This week, Wednesday, my daughter celebrates another birthday. To know my daughter is to know that she is all about her birthdays. She isn't a party girl in that sense of the word but a sentimental soul who appreciates acknowledgment especially in the form of cards (flowers and other trinkets).

I may have fed into her celebratory style over the years by stretching out the celebration, making cards, offering trinkets. On the event of her 30th, for instance, 30 days of testimonials on this blog.

This year is not a milestone year, but monumental none-the-less, because it just is.

This week, Wednesday is also National Coming Out Day.  Also a very momentous day for my daughter and me. She has stood with and supported me from the very beginning.  And of course, I have stood with her and supported her through her own coming out pronouncement. 

This year is not a milestone year but monumental none-the-less because we need the support of one another  as much, if not more than ever before thanks to the current political climate and rollbacks in protections established by the previous administration

I am pleased, honored, grateful to call my daughter my friend, my sister in arms. May she have a glorious birthday week, a fantabulous actual day of celebration and may all the out voices sing out loud, sing out proud toward supporting our sisters and brothers yet to take those tremouls steps toward living their truth.

more more more 

Three (now Two) From One Thousand

The actor at a table read. 

Last year, I shared this  The year before that, this  And many years before, this .  All that has been said before remains true and even more. In addition to acting and the music noted in previous posts, the man who will turn the page on his 35th birthday on Wednesday, will add a directing credit to his resume.

He has spoken at length of the challenges, the joys, and the pains of the process. And how he is enjoying every minute of it. He said, "If I can cultivate an environment where a bunch of strangers want to work together to create, then much of my work is done.

Casting (an arduous process) is now complete. Rehearsals will begin soon. And then, opening day!

Not sure I can adequately convey just how hard this guy works, how "matter-of-factly" he takes the knocks that come his way, how focused and committed he is to craft, to art, to creativity, to life and how art plays into that.

I wish my son a happy birthday (in two days). I wish his spirit and verve for life and art continues to grow.


                                                                               

Go HERE for more #MicroBlog Monday Fun!

And the Winner Is

Some weeks ago I made an off-hand suggestion that daughter and I attend the 3rd annual Mac and Cheese Fest as it had been some time since we'd had one of our mother-daughter (good friends) outings. The $65.00 per ticket price knocked the possibility out of contention. And then, a couple of weeks ago, daughter mentions, not so off-handedly that her employer was going to participate in the festival, that we could get a deep discount on the tickets, and asked if I (still) wanted to go. For The Win. 

 We, along with hundreds of other visitors tasted offerings from caterers, restaurants, culinary institutes, and the like. We were asked for vote for our favorite/s. After the votes were tallied, the winner: Autumn Asiago Mac and Cheese (as pictured above) was announced.


.                                                 
Chef Lex (in the white coat, here with her wife, Lindsey) and the team took the first runner up trophy from 2015. And this year, For. The. Win. bringing home the coveted Golden Noodle. Yay Team. 

My daughter's words: It's funny how life works out. I had a job offer to leave Chicago and then I got the offer from Amazing Edibles and after being with them from Late spring I grew with them, and I didn't just like my job I loved my job. And making decisions is apart of life but this choice to stay and working with Amazing Edibles has been hands down my best choice since deciding to pursue culinary. I wish everyone could have a supportive, knowledgeable, loving, caring work environment. I'm so happy they chose me and I chose them back! Thank you ladies for always dealing with this silly Dani even at 6am!

Congratulations to an incredible team who contribute to make Amazing Edibles amazing.  FTW.

More Monday! 

  

Birthday Weakend

Obviously, mom was a big part of every one of my birthday celebrations until . . . 

And I'll take with me the memories

To be my sunshine after the rain

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.

And obviously, she is missed. 

After three years it isn't necessarily easier, but it isn't any harder.  

The memory of her enthusiasm and her smile carried me through. 

I am now beyond the half-way mark of the fifties.  
News of a big change was delivered this weekend. .  

Boom. 

It shall remain hard to say goodbye to yesterday. 

#MicroBlog Monday 
click for more. 

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Too Sharp to B Flat

Photo by Amol Art 

My son ("The Actor") is, through a variety of means (youtube tutorials, books picked up in thrifts, and one-on-ones with working musicians) learning to play the blues harp as well as acoustic guitar.

He's played on the streets to the delight of passers-by, he's participated in open mic type jam sessions at one of the few spaces featuring live music, he has held guest appearances with some featured acts.

The actor has been having a grand time learning, jamming, building his repertoire. Though he isn't striving to become a working musician he does anticipate having music in the mix will further enhance his résumé.

Today is the anniversary of the actor's birth. He continues his slice through time with his usual grace and aplomb; staying in tune and razor sharp to the bone.

 Happy 34th birthday to Bluesman slash Actor.

#MicroBlogMonday Check out Mel and others!

Thirty Out Loud

Over the past thirty days I've shared "through the years images" of my daughter in pre-celebration of her thirtieth birthday, which is today. 

Over the past thirty years my daughter and I (and the rest of the family) have shared much, as you may imagine. She has been the source of some of my greatest joys and the opposite. 

Over the past thirty days I have come to recall some moments of the last thirty years, sparking wonder-filled conversations and laughter. 

Over the past thirty years I have helped my daughter navigate; learning as I taught.  

Over the past thirty days, as I've re-visited words and images I am reminded of the tenacity of her spirit, 

the expanse of her personality, the quality of her character. 

Over the past thirty years there have been ups and downs. We survived, I believe because we have been able to talk. And write what may have proven difficult to verbalize.  

Over the past thirty days I re-visited the large and small celebrations; remembering how we've cheered each other's  triumphs. Here's to the happiest of happy days today, tomorrow, and beyond. 

  

Round UP

While Sleeping 

1. With daughter's birthday (23 days) coming and this loosely planned series (posted to FB) of micro-celebrations I've been looking at a lot of photos, bringing up a lot of memories, a lot of "feels."  Thus staying on an even keel has been a bit of a challenge. 

2. And staying on an even keel is vital given the medical terminology, medical billing, and ICD-10 CM proficiency lessons and testing. Cleared the first hurdle as far as the proficiency testing. I felt pretty good when I saw my score. I felt like break dancing. I didn't, of course. 

3. School is back in session which means there are students on the buses during my commute. This is not a cheerful happenstance. Students (okay, not all but some) are obnoxious. And loud. (Not all, I said). 

4. Something happened with our daffodils this season. Not just in my yard, but the entire neighborhood, possibly the town. I haven seen many blooms but precious few daffodils. 

5. Pancakes are awesome. French toast even more so. Noting trumps an omelet (esp. Greek) though. 

On the Eve of the Day

 Decidedly in, I wish I'd made plans to go out. There was a Dyke Delicious event. Some friends I haven't seen in quite a while had planned to attend.

But I didn't. In I stayed. Afraid I would present as too gloomy.

Much like last year. I went hoping the event would shake me out of the gloom.

But it didn't. Too new. Too raw.

And so, decidedly in. Both son and daughter are working and the early day hope was for art to happen.

But, such has not been the case. All day the simplest task turned into a major production, leading to a mountain of frustration, culminating in my yelling at a customer service rep, telling him to fuck the fuck off. Fuck, fucking idiot.

(Remember way back when? see no. 81)

I am feeling queasy but I'm pretty sure it is the bad beer, not the f-u-c-k word.

Dammit. I should have gone out. I should have pushed through, made the extra effort.

But I didn't. Here I sit, decidedly in, having had my fill of bad beer and decent vodka, about to shower away a tear-streaked face, and trying not to dwell on her birth date near the end of this month.

Here I sit, raw with a realization that I while I am a mother celebrated by her own son and daughter (thank you both for your kindness and thoughtfulness) the overwhelming identity is that of a daughter without a mother to celebrate . . .

            in the flesh.

Too new. Too raw. Still. . . .  so, no celebration in the traditional sense; no feast, no fuss.

But an honor . . a must.

So, here's to you, to us, to them.

Skoal.

Fresh(er) (Re)Start

Charles Alston Art 

However many days ago I posted I silently promised that I'd post more frequently. It isn't as though good (and bad) things are happening most every minute of most every day. The problems are 1. deciding if any of those things are story worthy. 2. mustering up the creative energetic flow to tell any of the decided upon stories. 3. Feeling like something other than eating, drinking, sleeping, working, and worrying about all those things (or rather, the effect) and more in unequal measure.

Long story short, I'm lost. Yes, I'm grieving runs deeper. I don't know who I am or what I want, for me. Or, I want too many things for me and

I can't sort it all out 

I can't sort it all out 

I can't sort it all out 

That said, the mandala lessons have helped. The daily prompts have ended as it was a 30-day journey. But, as of last weekend I completed up through lesson twenty-one. I will complete the others in my own time and space, as noted in some previous post. The 30 day journey will continue well beyond and beyond. 

Still . . . being alone, silent, sans color and light except when forced to be otherwise is the order of most days. The goal is to embrace those moments of joy, to seek them out, to create and extend that which brings the joyful noises. 

To wit: happy birthday wishes go out to my aunt (94) my brother (52) and my son (32). Congratulations to my daughter who has just completed the 2nd quarter of a culinary program and powered her way through the end (finally) of a toxic romanticized relationship. I am so proud of her while at the same time sorry I couldn't be more helpful. She says differently but I think she is being kind.

My son (the actor) is cast in a play opening soon with two more booked back-to-back. He has a small part in the pilot of a series premiering in a few weeks. He has auditions for two more screen projects in the coming days. He is writing again.

And I went out on Saturday, spent some time with some wonderful ladies via one of the meet-up groups. We watched an enlightening film followed by energetic conversation. That kind of thing should happen more frequently. 

Like writing. Like art. Like laughter.

Like, celebrating life. 

Officially Fifty-Three

A few things have happened since we were last together; my final (physical) day at work, the family picnic, having no place to go that next Monday morning, my fifty-third birthday, fear, and moving past that . . .

Much like my last (physical) day with my former employer, my fifty-third birthday passed without much in the way of fanfare. There was the FB acknowledgements which were received with gratitude, a couple of greeting cards, phone calls, and hugs from those near and dear. And again, received with gratitude. But otherwise the day (and several preceding) was spent in my room studying manuals toward clearing two hurdles (tests), a gateway to an opportunity, the next chapter(s) of my life. 

Said opportunity was presented to me (and others) at the company's Open House--to which I was invited via email--in response to one of my posted r&#233sum&#233s. At the end of the presentation I opted not to move forward, deciding that said opportunity, "wasn't a good fit."  

That, "not a good fit" haunted me over the next several days. And I got mad.  

Nearly a week later there is an identical invitation to an identical Open House. After advising the recruiter that I'd been the the Open House just the week before and relaying what I relayed at that time, I asked to be considered for the next step--a face-to-face--to further discuss the job, the expectations, the compensation algorithm, and . . . well, me. 

The recruiter agreed to see me and the first two questions she asked were, "why did you feel you weren't and good fit and what has changed your mind"? 

Long story short, I explained about the fear that overtook me and then the anger that welled up until IT beat the fear down. We had a nice conversation after which she asked me to take the weekend, think it over, be sure . . . 

Well, the week before my fifty-third birthday I decided to take a leap, accept the opportunity which meant signing up for two classes, which would lead to my taking the two tests. The materials were received and studying ensued.  

And on the day after my fifty-third birthday I took and passed the tests.  

A week from now, I'll be moving forward to the next chapter, inspired by my mother who, against many odds, beating down her own fears, reached a measure of success in a number of endeavors, given a variety of limitations and hurdles. She worked very hard to provide for my brothers and me.  She was very proud of her accomplishments. And I was very proud of her. 

I'm taking all of that, her pride, her strength, her, "wanting the very best for me" attitude with me next week and beyond. 

But first, cake. 

On THIS Day

Well, actually it was two days ago, but it has been a long, exhausting week what with the new(ish) young dog in the apartment and such. But, be that as it may, my baby celebrated her twenty-seventh birthday on Thursday.

I made her cards with colorful envelopes and said good-bye to her (for the weekend) as she choose to celebrate her day all weekend with a road trip: Atlanta, GA. Well, she isn't in Atlanta proper, but close enough.

By all accounts she's having a grand time. By happenstance, this is PRIDE weekend in Atlanta. I suggested she go over to Piedmont Park and be my proxy. She mentioned that she might.

Goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, I love my daughter fiercely and resolutely. Moreover, I like her. I have fun with her in a manner I never enjoyed with my own mother. I am thoroughly enjoying the woman she has grown into and more, as she continues to develop. She makes me proud on so many levels.

Happy, happy, joy, joy to my only daughter.

Deborah Dear

Dear Deborah, 


Finally, you are officially fifty-two. The daughter has been teasing, calling you, "52" since the day after you celebrated number fifty-one. The taunting, good in nature coming after you did something particularly 52-ish, like forget where you were going mid-step or a word mid-sentence, or something like put your shirt on backwards and inside out, has served as a constant reminder that, well, fudge, you're gettin' UP there.  

But that's okay. Gettin' UP there ain't so bad  especially if you have your health and some semblance of your mind. Or so I've been told. 


That said, dear Deborah, the birthday was several days ago and I'm writing today to tell you that the partying must be over. Enough with the Irish whiskey, French vodka (two martinis at Melting Pot! Really? two?)  Belgian Beer, and the rich desserts. Enough! Truth be known you've been in celebratory mode for the entire month prior to your birthday weekend. 


Well, that's what we'll call it, celebrating.


But I know the truth, and deep down, so do you. And I'm here to tell you here and now, 


Enough! 


No more blaming the heat, heartache, knee pain, crappy dye jobs, or crappier days at work. No more drowning in the dumps because your mom is...well, who she is and your dad, not a dad at all. I won't mention your brothers because well, what is the point of that?  


Enough!  


Your calendar notation for Tuesday reads, 'early AM ride' and did you? NO! It wasn't raining, wasn't unbearably hot. Sure, you were out late Monday (and again, two martinis?okay enough about that, it WAS your birthday, but still . . ) true enough, but if the skipping days doesn't stop doesn't stop you won't get back on track. And you must, you know, get BACK at It and YOU KNOW IT!!  It is so much more than a body thing, it is a mind thing. 


So, have some Hil....  

AND get your head out of your ass and get said ass in gear. I don't give, to steal a phrase from daughter, "two shits and a fuck" about  your looking sexy for the beach (or whatever) but I do want you to feel good. Bump that, I want you to feel GREAT, inside and out. I want you to think, I want you to write, I want you to create. I love what the actor said the other day, "crazy for creatives!"   I want the two of you to collaborate. I want. I want. I want...YOU BACK!! Now, dammit. I want to see you, feel you, hear you fucking Laugh Out LOUD once a day, every day right up to birthday number fifty-three. 


And then some. 


Happy, happy, joy, joy...for realz. 


♥, 


 ME  


  

Seventy Two

My mother will be 72 on Saturday. Her assessment of me hasn't changed much in the nearly two years since I wrote "Skimming the Surface".  The biggest change to our relationship is my brother's return from prison. He, as always, permeates the family dynamic. Her call to thank me for the hand-crafted, personalized birthday card I sent, wound up being about him and his upcoming (reported--kinda like the boy who cried wolf) nuptials. Never-the-less, complicated or not, I wish my mother the happiest of days. 

  

SKIMMING THE SURFACE* 

My mother has decided that I’m complicated. Nothing I say or do can dissuade her from that assessment. In fact, everything I say or do, seems to serve to solidify the opinion she has come to in the past year or so since I came out to her.

She is either unable or unwilling to expound on that which renders me complicated. So, I can only speculate.

I suspect that the “complicated” tag transcends my sexuality.  I suspect that my mother is finally struggling to know who I am after all these years. I suspect that she has come to realize that our relationship for most of my life merely skimmed the surface of the who of us. That we never delved beyond the obvious or the mundane. I suspect she has come to believe that I do not espouse all her values. 

I suspect that said belief makes her extremely uneasy.

The eight years leading into and now the few out of my lesbian-flavored epiphany are all about discovery. I’d spent so many years prior hiding, suppressing, denying, and comporting myself to align ever-so-carefully with what I thought others wanted, that I cast barely a shadow of any authenticity. I walked the walk and talked the talk that everyone expected. Carefully coloring my life within the lines. In my mind, to do otherwise conscripted me to a lifetime of pain and suffering, in line with the messages delivered to me during my early years.

I suspect that she doesn’t believe me when I say, “I’m fine.” I suspect she believes our relationship is tenuous at best and non-existent at worst. I suspect that each time we disagree she believes it will be the last time we speak. I suspect she is afraid. She is afraid that I don’t love her (enough), that I don’t care (enough), that I don’t have (enough) in me to do what she’ll require as she loses more and more of her self-sufficiency. I suspect she doesn’t want that burden for me and me alone. I suspect she’s most afraid that we’ll run out of time, that we won’t be able to repair the mistakes of the past.

These years have been about discovery. I’ve discovered that I’m intensely fierce with my love.  I’ve discovered that my authenticity hasn’t and won’t bring the world to a crashing end. I’ve discovered that my mother is troubled. I’ve discovered it isn’t all about me. I’ve discovered that I can’t fix her; I can love, assist, and try to encourage her, to the best of my ability.  I’ve discovered that troubled or no, she is much stronger than she realizes. I’ve discovered that she supports me, complications and all.

She is either unable or unwilling to expound on that which renders me complicated. So, I can only speculate.

I suspect that the “complicated” tag transcends my sexuality and further that all the discoveries will ultimately lead to a happier, more fulfilled rest of each of our lives.

*As Published in Our Big Gayborhood 

♥ of my ♥

♥ For some October spells Autumn in fuller force. The trees are turning, the leaves are falling, the skies are clear and the air just a tad crisp. For some others October spells Halloween. Costumes are planned (made/secured) treats are purchased, pumpkins are carved, and parties attended. For still others, October spells apples; seeing favored varieties at the local market, bobbing heads in buckets full of them, and dipping them in caramel and rolling with nuts. And for others October spells lamenting over how the marketing of THE HOLIDAYS  seem to arrive earlier and earlier every year. AAARRRGGGHHH!!

♥ Since 1985 October spells birthday.  Or more specifically, D's birthday. My second a final child, a beautifully precious, and quit loud girl child. This girl child from the very beginning of her existence established her world and our places in it. October then, has been about excecuting  the birthday event of the year. The celebrations have taken many forms over the years the once constant being NO HALLOWEEN theme. Ever. This year's low key celebration, no exception.

♥ My girl is twenty-six years old today. Though we have enjoyed a grand mother-daughter bond through-out the years, the years haven't exactly been a cake walk. She has challenged me in ways the actor never did. Yet, we are friends and enjoy spending time together. My girl can be demanding and let's face it, stubborn. But she is also extremely loving and generous. She is smart, funny, and . . . well, she's mah-ve-lous. Moreover, she has the very best smile on the block. I adore that smile.

♥ The last few days have been very trying for her (for us) for a variety of reasons. This birthday will not be among her happiest. Never-the-less, it goes without saying that I wish her the very best for this day and for many, many days beyond. It goes without saying that I hope that she can believe in herself as much as I believe. I know that recent setbacks will slow but not stop the train. It goes without saying that the effervescence she usually exudes will return in full force and for a long, long time.

♥ Happy, happy, joy, joy, to my little girl*  Sweetest daughter, continue to keep your eye on the prize and your back to the wind.

♥ Ma


*it's a family thing. :-)

Seventy-One

My mother turned seventy-one a few days ago and to celebrate I took her out to breakfast this past Saturday. Normally, our trips to dining establishments (well, most any place actually) are fraught with,  well, just fraught.  Mom can be a challenge. But, as we both grow older I find that I'm developing a kind of barrier, I guess, to her, stuff, for lack of deeper, more comprehensive word.  I wrote the following for Our Big Gayborhood late last year which speaks a bit to the nature of that which is between me and my mother:

Skimming The Surface

My mother has decided that I’m complicated. Nothing I say or do can dissuade her from that assessment. In fact, everything I say or do, seems to serve to solidify the opinion she has come to in the past year or so since I came out to her.


She is either unable or unwilling to expound on that which renders me complicated. So, I can only speculate.
I suspect that the “complicated” tag transcends my sexuality.  I suspect that my mother is finally struggling to know who I am after all these years. I suspect that she has come to realize that our relationship for most of my life merely skimmed the surface of the who of us. That we never delved beyond the obvious or the mundane. I suspect she has come to believe that I do not espouse all her values. I suspect that said belief makes her extremely uneasy.


The eight years leading into and now the few out of my lesbian-flavored epiphany are all about discovery. I’d spent so many years prior hiding, suppressing, denying, and comporting myself to align ever-so-carefully with what I thought others wanted, that I cast barely a shadow of any authenticity. I walked the walk and talked the talk that everyone expected. Carefully coloring my life within the lines. In my mind, to do otherwise conscripted me to a lifetime of pain and suffering, in line with the messages delivered to me during my early years.


I suspect that she doesn’t believe me when I say, “I’m fine.” I suspect she believes our relationship is tenuous at best and non-existent at worst. I suspect that each time we disagree she believes it will be the last time we speak. I suspect she is afraid. She is afraid that I don’t love her (enough), that I don’t care (enough), that I don’t have (enough) in me to do what she’ll require as she loses more and more of her self-sufficiency. I suspect she doesn’t want that burden for me and me alone. I suspect she’s most afraid that we’ll run out of time, that we won’t be able to repair the mistakes of the past.


These years have been about discovery. I’ve discovered that I’m intensely fierce with my love.  I’ve discovered that my authenticity hasn’t and won’t bring the world to a crashing end. I’ve discovered that my mother is troubled. 


I’ve discovered it isn’t all about me. I’ve discovered that I can’t fix her; I can love, assist, and try to encourage her, to the best of my ability.  I’ve discovered that troubled or no, she is much stronger than she realizes. I’ve discovered that she supports me, complications and all.


She is either unable or unwilling to expound on that which renders me complicated. So, I can only speculate.


I suspect that the “complicated” tag transcends my sexuality and further that all the discoveries will ultimately lead to a happier, more fulfilled rest of each of our lives.

The recent outing was the most relaxed outing we'd shared in quite some time. We haven't worked out many of our issues, but we (or at least, I) have begun to develop behaviors that keep the complications from bubbling over our surfaces.  

Number One Son

He came into the world in the usual way. Well, usual in that for centuries women were giving birth to babies. Baby boys, even. And in that way, usual as there was nothing extraordinary about his birth, except of course, that it was happening to me for the first time. Not a usual day for me. He arrived sooner than expected. The end of February was circled on the calendar. But, given that he began to make his move a couple of weeks early, he did have the patience to wait inside the womb until I reached the hospital. See, having gone into labor very late the night before, or rather very early that morning, I stalled until daybreak before calling the ambulance. Risky yes, but I didn't want to ride alone, in the dark. It worked out, he waited (another 4 hours in fact.)

I don't remember a birthday since his middle-school days where he didn't have a game, wasn't in rehearsals, or in performance. This year is no exception. He is in rehearsals for a play that opens on the twenty-seventh which was the 1982 circled "due date." Weird, that.

It doesn't, "seem like only yesterday" nor does it feel like twenty-nine years. Some days he's telling me a tale of one his many adventures, donning voices, making the telling an adventure onto itself. And somewhere in there, he'll make a gesture, fix an expression on his face, or affect a particular dialect and I'm transported back to that little boy with light in his eyes and chocolate on his face, fingers, and of course his shirt.

The light is still there as is the love of chocolate, though he is neater.

To my number one son, may twenty-nine be the best one yet and a gateway to bigger roles, paydays, whatever your heart desires and many more adventures.

Peace

Oooooo Origami*

My photos don't give them their full due, but the lovely, ornamental origami animal menagerie was the greatest surprise. They came with the journal, packaged separately, as if they might have a mind on escaping. I have it on good authority that they nearly didn't make it in the package. They created such a stir that one of the journal mistresses admitted to wanting them for her very own. I can certainly understand the impetus. I'm glad she resisted.

The artist who crafted the lovely, bejeweled creatures is married to a blogging fave. She, of the helpful and timely tips. We have known of one another since the beginning of my blogging days and beyond blogs participated in a shared project or two. It has been great, grand fun

getting to know them both. I don't have a permanent home for the folded

paper zoo (yet). But the fanciful creatures are hanging where I can see them and their message, the warm, caring, friendly gesture of a great artistic talent, and grand dame. Yes, I ♥ the bejeweled zoo and I ♥ the creator.

thank you.

*journal madness (7)

We Are Fam-i-ly*

When I first started following blogs way back when I sought out that which was most familiar to me, motherhood and mothers. Then, like now (I imagine) there was no shortage of so-called mommy bloggers.

Eventually, the focus was narrowed to lesbian bloggers, which ultimately led me to a bevy of women who are of a similar age and with similar experiences. Most are lesbians. Most are mothers. Most are writers and / or artists in some other medium.

That is how I became aware of and acquainted with Lori as well as other contributors to the journal. Lori has lived and continues to live a fascinating life. Here tales of family life and adventures in lesbian dating are of particular interest as well as sources of entertainment and information.

Lori is also co-editor of OBG and while we haven't met face-to-face, we have had occasion to speak on the phone. So exciting to put a voice to the face, some timbre to the words and their rhythms that are so familiar.

No question, I ♥ all the pages, and Lori's page is no exception. I ♥ you Lori for taking part and for sharing your thoughts and extending your friendship.

*journal madness (6)