Friday, September 23

Arguing with Myself: Won’t Someone Think of the Children?



I saw something today that made the little voice in my head
(the one that doesn’t stop until I’ve written down what it has to say)
start gnashing its teeth.

As I left the parking lot where I was waiting for my wife to text me back, a pick-up truck with a confederate flag license plate pulled in.

Now, let’s be clear . . . I’m white.

Not quite blind you with reflected sunlight,
but my heritage just doesn’t get called into question.

My parents were staunch Republicans
(my dad is now an Independent and my mom is a Libertarian, *headdesk*).

In fact one of my dad’s favorite denigrating phrases, for years, was to call anyone who was at all socially progressive a
“Jane Fonda Pinko Commy Faggot.”
It was his favorite insult up until about a decade and a half ago.

My mom (who now denies this conversation ever took place) told me point blank that gay couples shouldn’t be able to get married because the law to legalize same sex marriage (this was probably around 2000, not sure which specific bill) included wording allowing same sex parents to touch the genitals of their children (for things like diaper changes, and medical need) and she didn’t agree with letting pedophiles have that kind of legal loophole.

They are both lifetime members of the NRA,
and vocal Blue Lives/ All Lives Matter proponents.

Now don’t get me wrong, my parents are loving, caring people who have evolved on their views on a number of civil issues
(same sex marriage, interracial marriage,
religious discrimination, and some women’s issues).
And I don’t want to paint them as bigoted or hateful or less than the loving parents and decent human beings they are.

But this is where I came from.

And where I am desperately trying to keep from going back to.

The reason that flag got to me this morning
has to do with the world my kids are growing up in.

on video, with his hands in the air on Friday.

My sister and her husband just had a beautiful little boy, and
I don’t want him growing up in a world where he needs to be afraid of the police
because his skin has more melanin than my kids’.

I don’t want Alani’s beautiful children portrayed as thugs, criminals or sluts
because of the color of their skin.

I don’t want my cousin’s children
demonized for the religion they were raised with, that their mother chose.
For their brown complexions and dark hair and manner of dress.

All of those children deserve to be as unafraid of the police
as my white children are.

Full stop.

My children should not have to worry that their parents’ marriage
is not seen as valid, that someone’s political agenda could see our
legal marriage unmade and
Hunny forced back into a role that would have killed her.

That there are people who would use their lack of understanding, lack of compassion to destroy our family because they aren’t ok with rainbow flags.  

Our children are watching. What message are we teaching them?
What kind of a world are we leaving them? 


#I don't really do hashtags #but this is important #bigotry kills #our kids deserve better

Friday, April 22

“No More”

Since its the 10th anniversary of the beginning of my favorite Doctor’s tenure (David Tennant as the tenth), I finally decided to write the mini-sode that I wished Moffat had given us as an epilogue to the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary special. I mean, seriously . . . how hard would it have been? David Tennant and Billie Piper were both there; it wouldn’t have taken very long to shoot. Really Moffat? 

Anyway . . . Here's my post 50th mini-sode, "No More".


The peace of the darkened bedroom was broken by vague mutterings. 
The dark, sleep tousled head of the Doctor lifted from the pillow as the the small, distressed noises continued on the other side of the bed. His brown eyes widened and single heart raced as he glimpsed the troubled face of his wife,
 still trapped within her nightmare. The movement of his outstretched hand, poised to comfort or wake his beloved, arrested as her eyes snapped open.
“Rose . . .” he began, only to have the words snatched away by 
the flash of gold that obscured the whiskey brown of her eyes. 
He felt his heart hitch in its frantic rhythm as she proclaimed “No more.”




Wednesday, December 10

"Tony"

 
 

A while back I found this on Pinterest . . .

I was almost in tears by the end (The 10th Doctor and Rose are my favorites). On a whim, I recently began reading some of the fan fiction out there featuring the pair and this story demanded to be written.

(Warning, spoilers for events in Doomsday and Journeys End)

Inspired by the idea that it was Rose, not Jackie who was pregnant and that Ten was the father. This features Rose and Meta-Crisis Ten,
set after the events of Journeys End.

So, here it is. My first piece of fan fiction.

“Tony”

It only took one look at the dark haired toddler and he knew. She had lied to him, let him believe the child was her mother’s. How her heart must have broken with each false word. Stranded on that beach where his other self couldn’t reach her, when the sun burned out too soon for him to tell her how both of his hearts beat only for her. The betrayal in her eyes when his other self had refused to tell her those words when they returned to that beach. He had done it for her, and to give this self, created with only one beating heart, the chance to heal. To be redeemed.
She looked up at him, nervously brushing her short, blonde hair behind her ear. Watching the face of this new version of the man she had crossed dimensions for. Understanding dawned in his eyes and she dropped her gaze; she was afraid of the anger she felt sure his eyes would hold.
A soft hand caressed her cheek, startling a gasp from between her full lips.
“Oh, Rose. I am so sorry . . . I should have been with you.” That broken whisper in her ear, forced her to meet his sad brown eyes. “Can you forgive me for not seeing the truth sooner?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Don’t you see why I couldn’t tell you? You would have ripped the universe apart. I couldn’t bear being the cause of that.” Her soft voice trembled as tears filled her dark eyes, her broken heart still aching. There was no point in denying things now. “I waited so long, hoping that somehow My Doctor would come back for me. That we could be a real family . . . When you didn’t come for me,” she paused, visibly pulling herself together. “There was nothing for it. I had to find you. Torchwood was my best bet. I needed you. Our son does too.”
Her hope-filled eyes begged him to understand, to forgive her deception as she had forgiven his other self for leaving her behind. His arms crushed her against him before she was aware that he had moved. Being held in those familiar arms undid her, and the tears she thought had been banished quickly dampened his dark blue jacket. His breath caught as he buried his face in her hair, tightening his embrace and murmuring the soft, loving words that his other self had held back.
She slowly regained her composure, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. Feeling her chin move, he shifted to meet her lips with his own. Long moments of frenzied kisses and whispered reassurances passed before either one stopped for breath.
Still holding Rose against his chest, his glance returned to the child sleeping peacefully on Jackie’s lap.
“So. This is Tony . . .”
 

Hope you enjoyed it - Vixi

 

Thursday, November 27

I just want to say . . .

Thank you.
To those who have stuck with me back when life was challenging in more usual ways;
To those who found my story compelling enough to stay;
To those who have been challenged to think about things in new ways;
To those who are really only here for the sparkly bits;
To everyone who has found something in my words that speaks to them . . . 

Thank you!

Happy Thanksgiving to all.
 May you share time with those you love and support you, 
Have food to share.
And peace, in mind, body and heart.
-Vixi

Sunday, October 12

Unicorn



The woman I love is sleeping. I should be, too.

But this post has been rattling around inside my head 
for such a long time. I have to let it out.

It has been two and a half years since Hunny came out to me and we started on the journey of her transition. It has been beautiful, isolating, freeing, difficult, transformative, terrifying, joyful, bleak, nerve wracking.


And it has been so very worth it.


Some friends have been left behind, not because we didn’t want or need them, but because the changes were too dramatic for their comfort. We have made new friends within the community, helping us to rebuild what others had ripped away. Hunny has found a new community, others who have gone through what she has; those who have shared her struggle.


I have not found the same welcome. 
And I do not ask or presume membership, 
the dues are far too costly and the jacket wouldn’t fit anyway.


I understand many of the reasons why I am held at a distance.
 I am, at once, a representation of the spouse who stayed, and a reminder of the ones who didn’t. By staying with Hunny, by supporting and encouraging her transition, by loving her through everything . . .


I am salt poured into the wounds of those whose 
partners didn’t, or couldn’t.


Conversely, I have had members of the community look at me with such heartbreakingly forlorn hope in their eyes. Eyes that want the kind of love, the kind of life that Hunny and I have together but have already given up hope of ever finding it for themselves.

Eyes that have become resigned to loss and loneliness as the exchange they must make to live authentic lives.


At those times I often feel like an exotic animal on display, 
to be admired from a safe distance. 

To be seen and appreciated but too dangerous to get close to.


The world is often unkind to those who break the mold, and I don’t blame those who have been hurt, who have had to give up everything, for the sadness and anger that they feel when I am around.


Like I said, I do understand.


I still stand with you.


I promise not to bite any fingers that reach into the enclosure.


Sunday, July 27

I Thee Wed . . . Part 2

 
The guests were seated, waiting for the show to begin. As we waited for our cue, Hunny and I turned to each other, both of us realizing that the kids had never practiced their entrances. Elroy led the way, standing where the two aisles converged, waiting to walk both his mothers to the altar. 
 
As the first sets of bridesmaids started walking, the younger kids (Bam-Bam walked with Peach.  Raspberry carried a second ring pillow and walked with Strawberry) forgot their last minute instructions. Alani and Adoree quickly stepped in and each walked with one set. We didn’t want to budget extra for real rose petals (all our flowers were artificial. The venue wouldn’t allow any fake flowers where they might get blown onto the green) so Peach and Strawberry carried baskets with arrangements instead of scattering petals.
 
Finally, it was our turn. Hunny and I walked down the short set of stairs to the grass before separating to each walk down our own aisle. We chose to walk alone (Hunny’s dad is not in her life, my dad wasn’t able to attend, and we’re both adults who choose to give ourselves to each other), meeting together to walk arm in arm with our oldest child for those last few steps.
 
I looked in her eyes as our friend told the story of how our love came to exemplify what is most important. Elroy bound our hands in a handfasting ceremony, tying the cord decorated with pictures of our children,
tokens of the family we had created together.
 
 
Hunny had tears in her eyes while I spoke the vows I had written.

 
And the summer sun was not the only reason my eyeliner ran down
my cheek while she spoke hers. 

 
We exchanged rings, smiling as we repeated our ‘with this ring’s. 
 
And then came the kiss.
 
I dipped her (like in the movies) . . .  Away from the audience.
(In fairness, that was the direction I usually dip her, and I got too swept up in the moment to make sure our friends and family could see us).
 
We walked back triumphantly through the crowd (many of whom forgot to use the bubbles we had provided), and burst into tears in each other’s arms once we got past the last row of chairs.
 
 
 The guests headed inside to enjoy the appetizers and ambiance while we took pictures. Our photographer even managed to get the
picture for our Christmas card this year.
 
 
All photos were taken by our fantastic Photographer Jaymee Lynn.
Here is her website or you can contact her on Facebook.


Sunday, July 6

I thee wed (part one)


So we had our big day.
 
 A year of planning, thousands of dollars invested, headaches and heartaches along the way, drama from family and vendors . . .
 
And when it looked like it would be a disaster,
everything came together into the most amazingly perfect day.
 

 We won’t get the official photos back for about a month (because our photographer is a professional, and my eye liner ran down one cheek so she’ll have to fix every picture) but I couldn’t leave everybody waiting that long.
 
I promise I will share my favorites once I get them.
For now we only have the pictures our friends and family have shared with us.

 
 The big day started with mani – pedis at a crazy busy local nail art salon.
I chose sparkly French tips with crystals for the occasion . . . and not a single picture of them turned out. You’ll just have to wait for the official ones to see them, I guess.
Hunny went a bit bigger with 3D roses and dark purple crystals
to accent her French tips . . .

One of Hunny’s bridesmaids, Dashie, (who we had worried wouldn’t be able to make it) was able to get off work early, met us for lunch (because it was 11:30 by the time our toes were done). She totally came through for us at the last minute.
 After lunch she helped us get our stuff to the hotel, hung out (and kept the mood light) while we got our hair done in our room, followed our taxi
with the stuff we had to bring to the venue.
Dashie was a superstar and totally helped keep things going more smoothly
(and she rocked her purple dress).
 
My sister’s medical procedure ended up being too difficult and painful for her to join us. While we missed her greatly there was no way she could have participated
(in fact, pain killers and sleep were really all she could manage afterward).
 
Once we got to the venue, we had a chance to enjoy all the sweet, thoughtful touches the staff had for us. Hunny’s niece, CareBear, did our makeup (and did great, we were the ones who forgot the waterproof eyeliner). The A/C unit had gone out for the building (including the reception hall), so the staff had ordered
portable industrial units to keep everybody from melting.
 
Adoree and Alani arrived with our children in tow (and got them ready for us while CareBear did our makeup).  Both of our dresses had corset backs, plus we both had amazing corsets on underneath. There was much lacing
(with Dashie the only one who knew how to tighten the corsets),
and neither dress ended up tight enough (we kept pulling the backs up all night).
 
But when it was time to walk  . . . everything was perfect.

Because I was walking to meet Her.
 
 
 
 
(Update on my missing brother: It has been over 3 weeks since he disappeared. Search and Rescue did an exhausting and very thorough, search and other than a few early leads has come up with nothing substantial. It appears that he made his way out of the forest, but that just means he could be anywhere. Here's the post that has all the links for the search.)