Another Recurring Epiphany

Gender is most often not the problem.

For decades I thought the being transgendered was the major problem of my life.
It's not. If anything, I can list it amongst those things which make me interesting.

I say this as a caution to those who think that a full acceptance of their right-gendered selves or that going through a physical transition will be the solution of all their problems. It may solve a problem of self-esteem, but I can say with confidence that in either of my gender identities, the true banes of my existence still persist.

To wit:

1. Attention Deficit Disorder - it's real, and it can be a royal pain. Imagine life as being a party, a really loud party, and you are trying to carry on a conversation through a cacophony of voices and stimuli. If you do focus, you focus to the exclusion of everything else, and very often upon a detail that, in the long run, is insignificant. My world, then, is like a never-ending "Where's Waldo" book. It can be mitigated by a cup of Yorkshire tea (the Red Bull of teas), and a calmly-composed "to-do" list. (If I don't lose that list...and those phone numbers...and that email address...and that work order number...)

2. I'm a Project Slut. I'm just a girl who can't say, "No." And, unfortunately, unlike Ado Annie, I'm not talking about sex. It may be the legacy of an unpopular childhood, but I have this insatiable need to make myself useful - to the detriment of my own projects.

Now several very sizable chickens have come home to roost, and I've only just been able to squeeze out the time for this posting.

So... Would these propensities vanish were I to transition? Bluntly, no. They are the ingrained behaviors of half a century. (Oh Lord, I've never put it that way!) They will be mitigated only if I consciously discipline myself. But they are not attached to gender. Of course, these problems are my own problems, and I can't put this template upon anyone else, but I will say this: As we explore our gender nature, we should explore the entirety of our selves. Our transition to our true selves may be a the fulfilment of part of our beings, and may well clear the way for further mental, emotional, and spiritual growth, but some major aspects of our selves remain unchanged and must be dealt with separately.

(I come out of this with the feeling that I have belabored the obvious, but at least it explains my absence over the past month and a half.)

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to find that "to-do" list.

Still Here

I have a favorite Yiddish proverb that states, "With one tuchas you can't ride two horses." I've been trying to ride about five. Sufficeth to say, I've not been able to post of late. But once all the ponies are back in their stalls, I should be back at it.

All love to you all,
Jill

It may mean nothing at all, but...

One of the perks of having two grown daughters with jobs, taste, and an inherited lack monetary skills is that I receive a lot of really cool gifts at Christmas. From the elder I received a scroll emblazoned with Einstein's words: “Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand,” a book on fairy lore, a book on filmmaking, and a book of Little Nemo in Slumberland from 1916 to 1928. From the younger comes a gift certificate for Vroman's Bookstore (as you may gather, we are that kind of family) and a coffee mug covered with Shakespearean insults. (For an English teacher, this is the Holy Grail of coffee mugs.)

But there is one, seemingly minor, gift which stands out for me. It is a calendar from my younger daughter. Each month is a sample of wall paper from the factory of William Morris, the great mover and shaker of the 19th Century arts and crafts movement. Now, both my daughters have been dragged to art museums from the time they could walk. One of our great adventures of recent years was taking the Gold Line from Pasadena to Union Station, there catching the Red Line to the corner of Wilshire and Western and transferring to a bus which took us to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art for a showing of Diane Arbus photographs. (Note: If you are the slightest bit down and have just had a major fight with a coworker and are feeling somewhat weird about being transgendered, DO NOT take public transportation on a dismal day to see an exhibition of Diane Arbus photographs.) To my girls, the Norton Simon, the Getty, and particularly the Huntington Library and Gardens are second homes. On a recent trip to the Huntington, I went crazy over a William Morris exhibition, and daughter number two took note. Hence the calendar.

And yet.

Here is July. Chrysanthemums. This is not what I would call a "guy" calendar or a "Dad" calendar. And it contrasts with previous calendars which have been Charles Addams, Wallace and Grommit, Edward Gorey, etc. I didn't make comment other than to express my pleasure in receiving it, but I'm tacitly taking it as tacit acceptance of who I am. It's not exactly the equivalent of going to brunch and then dress shopping with me in Gillian mode, but it's a small, sweet gesture and will add the kind of touch I need to my office. I've said it before and I'll say it now: I'm blessed with these girls.

And on a totally unrelated note: I just looked out my window to watch the Stealth Bomber fly by on its way to the Rose Parade. Thought 1: It certainly didn't get its name from its silence; you can hear it coming for miles. Thought 2: Oh for crying out loud! This is a transgendered blog. Take the plane's name and run with it.

A Midwinter Carol

In the mid 80's when I lived in Phoenix, I happened to buy a Christmas album featuring several Arizona folk musicians. One of the tracks was an Appalachian dulcimer rendition of Planxty Irwin by Turlough O'Carolan (1670 - 1738), the blind harper who composed some of Ireland's most beautiful music. Planxty Irwin is not a seasonal piece; it is simply a harp tune, most likely dedicated to Colonel John Irwin, a contemporary of O'Carolan's. But the tune fit wonderfully with the rest of the music (all of which is in a box of cassettes somewhere in a closet). It percolated in my head for about ten years, then I put words to it. Perhaps it was because I was teaching comparative religions at the time, but I wanted to create a holiday song that touched as many traditions as possible. In going over the words, I find it still doesn't go as far as I would have liked.

Anyway, I thought I'd share it with you. Here is the tune: Planxty Irwin. And here are the words.

Now the year draws to its ending;
Now our harvest is gathered in.
Now, together, we meet, intending
To share our joy as the new comes in.

Here among our friends and neighbors,
We shall laugh and dance and sing,
And share the fruit of all our labors:
The wealth that Nature and God do bring.

Hail the feast! Hail the company!
Hail to Nature and God above!
Hail, Midwinter, we come together
To share our joy and peace and love.

One house now holds eight bright lights,
While in its neighbor there stands a tree.
The third hears songs into the night;
The joy of family warms all three

Families large with loved ones numberless;
Families small with only two;
It matters not: God one and all shall bless.
Bless the multitude, bless the few.

Bless our home! Bless our family,
In whatever form it may take.
Hail, Midwinter, we come together
To praise God for our family's sake.

Solstice brings the world together,
All humanity, hand in hand.
In the warm or freezing weather,
We of Earth must together stand.

Jew and Muslim, Catholic, Protestant -
All believers the words fulfill:
Peace on Earth to all is God's intent -
Peace on Earth to all of Good Will.

Peace on Earth, the Peace of Nature,
For God and Nature are one and the same.
Hail Midwinter, we come together,
And God is God whatever the name.

Peace and Joy be with you all.
Gillian

Out of the Past

My dear friend Jayne sent me this link to the British newspaper The Independent today, regarding the remains of a 2,000-year-old remains of a young Cybellean priestess was found in North Yorkshire. I'm not particularly crazy about the correspondent's gender terminology, but the information is fascinating. I had not realized that there were any Gallae this far north. I'm not surprised, though, since the worship of Cybelle was widespread, and wherever the Romans went, a wealth of faiths followed.

Now, in the midst of writing this, I decided to do a little more research and found a BBC article from 2002 documenting the finding of the remains. The the point to the article in the Independent, it seems, is that forensic studies were done on the remains, and apparently this priestess died as the result of ritually castrating herself.

There is much to be said for ecstatic frenzy. On the other hand, I hope my dear sisters opt for Dr. Bowers or some other qualified surgeon and not a flint knife or a pottery shard.

As regards more information on the Gallae, I must bow to the more knowledgeable. You can find scads of information here . We may not agree on all things, but Cathryn knows her stuff and is a fantastic historical resource.

More Media

It seems that many of us need a good laugh right now. On a hunch I Googled (Feh! I hate that verb) Flying Karamazov Brothers: The Comedy of Errors. I saw this live on PBS twenty years ago, and taped it but now my video tape has deteriorated. Not much regarding transgender here, except for the appearance of the late performer/writer Ethyl Eichelberger. Anyway, I was very happy to see that someone had preserved it, since it's not been available commercially for some years. Enjoy.
Part 1
Part 2

Music

So I've just spent an hour putting a music player on this page. It doesn't turn on automatically, so if you want to be exposed to the kind of music I listen to, scroll (wayyyy down) to the bottom of the page. I hate to make you work just to listen to some obscure piece of music, but since I don't work in html, I'm stuck with this template - which is why that thing is at the bottom of the page in a box it doesn't fit.

I'll be adding to it from time to time as I find stuff that suits my fancy. Be forwarned, though, popular music and I part ways somewhere around 1950, then meet up again in the big folk music scare of the early sixties, and finalize the breakup in the 1970's.

So anyway, if the mood strikes, scroll to the bottom and see what's there.