The New Normal

March 13th. Really? I haven't written anything since then? I've got a couple essays in mind, so wish me luck in putting fingers to keyboard.

In my own defense I will note the following events since March:

• Lingoman and I took a semi-last minute trip to Scotland for our ninth anniversary in April. Documentary to be released on YouTube soon and linked from here.
• The Deepwater Horizon incident happened (and is still happening). I contract with NOAA you see, so I have had a total of six days without some kind of work since April 20th.
• Féis Shiàtail 2010 happened. I was a co-chair so in addition to the oil spill work, I helped run this 100+ person residential Gaelic festival.

But I still can't believe I haven't written anything. Yes, the recording project is about to take a leap forward. Yes I'm thinking about Halloween costumes already. No, I didn't go to Pride in Seattle, but will be going to Pride in Vancouver. OK. That about covers it.

Here's a teaser to keep you interested: The upcoming essay is about the difference between freedom of religion and freedom to force your religion on others.

Holiday Greetings and Bad Feelings

Now that we're safely months after the stress and excitement of the holidays, I want to share a thought that occurred to me during this last year's seemingly inevitable conflict between people who wish others well broadly with Happy Holidays and those who wish narrowly with Merry Christmas.

I'm confident there are many layers to this strangely divisive conflict. When I was a child, I heard both greetings, and it was understood that Happy Holidays meant Christmas and New Year, not holidays from other religions or cultures. It seems to me that a portion of both Christians and people I refer to as "culturally Christian" feel very threatened by our increasingly diverse society. Even though they are and likely will remain an enormous majority of the US population, they make claims of being 'oppressed' by anyone who doesn't say Merry Christmas. It has always seemed childish to me.

This year I had an experience of conflict with a Christian friend, however, that gave me an insight. In the midst of the usual go-round of "I say 'Merry Christmas' to you because you're Christian - why do you say it to me, knowing that I'm not? It's rude!" it occurred to me that when I offer a holiday greeting to someone, it's about their identity because I'm offering it to them. Maybe there's another perspective in which I offer my religion's blessing because it is mine to offer. I'm not sure what guidance that gives me about how to manage religious diversity in my circle of friends, but it's interesting to me anyway.

One of the arguments that my Christian friend put forward this year, however, feels wrong to me. Something along the lines of Christmas having become a secular holiday. What? No! Keep the Christ in Christmas! It's important to you guys! Besides, all the trappings of trees and gifts and lights feasts are from my religion. If you're going to steal all our beautiful practices to dress up your Middle Eastern desert religion, at least have the courtesy of making good use of them!!!!

Project 11: Halloween Costumes

Last Halloween, when I had just received my sewing machine two months earlier and was still slightly puzzled by thread tension knobs and bias tape, Lingoman made a trip down to Seattle. After picking him up from the bus station, we went out for a meal in Baile Ard and saw a young woman in the most exquisite Wonder Woman costume I had ever seen.

That gave me the idea of making costumes for us this year. I shopped online and found a pattern for costumes that looked like something out of World of Warcraft (which we both play). They were pretty challenging. Using heavy weight interfacing covered with lame to simulate armor was quite an adventure in sculptural sewing!

We planned to attend the Parade of Lost Souls in Vancouver, and LCD Seattle decided to join in the fun at the last minute, so I made him an Evil Monk costume. Unfortunately, the parade was not held this year so we just did a photo shoot at the Vancouver City Hall and went out to a gay dance bar.

Many Thanks to Xena Warrior Princess (not pictured for privacy reasons) for helping me out of my funk and giving new, exuberant life to my 10-year-old custom made leather battle dress.

I lost count of how many people stopped us on the street to get their picture taken with us. It was a truly fun time, and I succeeded in convincing Lingoman and LCD Seattle that going out in costume can be great if your costume is high quality.

Now... for next year...

A Dozen Days

On Friday, October 9th I became very ill with the flu. I don't know which kind, and I don't much care. I had a high fever and violent coughing through Sunday morning and I managed to give it to Lingoman. Happy Birthday, Honey! (don't know how that could have happened) Anyway, the upshot is that I was so sick that I didn't smoke after dinner on Friday, nor on Saturday at all, and neither did I do so on Sunday.

At that point, I thought that maybe I should give quitting a try, since I was already part way through the process. For the last ten years I had been a half-pack-a-day smoker, which in the greater scheme of things isn't that bad. You have to smoke a whole pack a day for 20 years before they can measure a statistical increase to the likelihood of getting lung cancer. Even so, I did theoretically want to quit for all the usual reasons.

So there I was on Sunday, October 11th, having not smoked for a couple days. At that point I was still coughing from the flu. It's now been 12 days since I accidentally quit and I'm still coughing a lot. The Intertubes reassure me that it is because my lungs are repairing themselves and are very sensitive. It sucks anyway. I can't practice singing and I'm getting horrible cold sweats every afternoon. Apparently this is normal for quitters. I just hope I don't gain too much weight.

Ding! Level 43!

For many years, my circle of friends has had the habit of asking what we refer to as The Birthday Questions at birthday parties. They are:

1. What was the best thing that happened to you at [insert age]?
   
2. What was the most difficult thing that happened to you at [insert age]?
   
3. What are your goals for [insert next year age]?

Since I won't be having a birthday party this year, I'm going to answer the questions here on the blog.

1. The best thing that happened while I was 42 was the trip to teach at Big Sky Folk Harp Festival in Montana. Lingoman went with me, which made it very enjoyable. While I was there, I attended a workshop by Debra Henson-Conant that clarified my need to sing on my CD. I've started voice lessons for the first time since college and have been lucky enough to make huge strides in my vocal skills.
   
2. The most difficult thing was my first bout of depression since I was in my twenties. It might have been brought on by too many years of breakneck activity. I'm going to hope so, since I just don't have time left to be depressed.
   
3. My goals (unfortunately) remain the same as last year. I've only lost 18 pounds instead of 40 and my CD is far from done. Progress not perfection, right?

Recording Project Update

There's a guy who can fix that

I haven't written about the recording project in a while, but I have been working on it fairly steadily. It's been a twisty road, though. Recording yourself is a great learning tool, as long as what you want to learn is how far you are from where you want to be.

I've spent the last several months practicing harp, fiddle and voice intensely. My initial vocal recordings were shaky at best, which was a blow to my confidence. I did a lot of singing in college, but haven't done much since and my old skills were very rusty. I was not making much progress, and I was starting to wonder if I should give up on the effort and make a straight-forward harp recording, leaving the rest of my creative work behind.

Then something wonderful happened.

I taught at the Big Sky Folk Harp Festival, and while I was there I attended a workshop by a Blues / Jazz harp player called Deborah Henson-Conant. Blues and Jazz aren't my thing, but I was interested in learning more about this woman who had risen to such prominence in the harp world. I was expecting her to be witty and entertaining, but what I got went much deeper.

She told the story of her own journey of singing with the harp, which she didn't do at the start of her career. When she decided to, however, she was discouraged by friends, audience members and critics. She was told that she should not sing; that her voice was terrible and that she was holding her career back by insisting on doing it anyway.

At this point I was on the edge of my seat because what she was describing was my own inner dialogue on the subject.

She then shared a story about something that had happened to her years earlier. She was teaching at the Edinburgh Harp Festival and met the members of Síleas, Patsy Seddon and Mary Macmaster. Patsy and Mary are a singing harp duo, and Deborah asked Patsy why they sang on their CD, since in her opinion, the singing wasn't as strong as the harping. Patsy answered "It's what we do."

Punch in the gut. Tears. It's what I do too.

Side note

I've always enjoyed Patsy and Mary's singing, but I do agree that it has gotten stronger over time.

Deborah went on to say that Patsy and Mary's singing got better and better over time and now rivals their excellent harping. The theme that Deborah came back to several times was "There's a guy who can fix that", referring to getting help when you need to do something better than you are currently able.

Message received.

As if to confirm that receipt, a few hours later at dinner, I was sitting at a table with another harp presenter (the fabulous Verlene Schermer) and several other friends and the subject of playing the fiddle came up. I remarked that as a self-taught fiddler, I wished that a friendly violinist would put together a program of just the parts of classical violin technique that fiddlers need. Verlene turned to me and said, "I don't usually teach violin, but maybe I can help you with that."

Verlene spent an hour with me correcting the worst problems in my technique and the results were astounding. Intonation problems vanished. My tone warmed up. Fast bowing passages that had always sounded sloppy started to resolve like an image on a web page slowly going from a blur to clarity. I had found the 'guy' that could fix that.

That evening it was Deborah's turn to entertain. Again, I'm not into Jazz or Blues music, but the woman is a jaw-dropping performer. And the voice. The voice on her! That was the part I couldn't believe. This was the person that was told not to sing? Madness!

And so, in a couple days I'm starting voice lessons for the first time since college. I have to sing on my CD. It's what I do.

Thank you, Deborah.

Happy 10th Ballardiversary!

Ten years ago today, I moved from a dark, oddly-shaped studio apartment in Northgate to an adorable duplex in Ballard. The place had just been vacated by a co-worker, who tipped me off to its availability. It was perfectly laid out for me, with a bedroom (yippee!) kitchen, dining area, living room, front yard, back patio and parking place and the rent was unbeatable. $650 a month!

After I moved in and got settled a little, I had a series of housewarming events over a weekend. Friday night was the house blessing and spellcasting party. I made up little spell kits with complete instructions and folks had a great time sprinkling saltwater, reciting charms and stringing up rowan berries. Saturday was a drop-in buffet for those with evening commitments and Saturday night was a grand céilidh with somewhere around sixty people singing, playing tunes and drinking gallons of scotch. Sunday was a "survivor's brunch" complete with a reenactment of the assault on the Death Star from Star Wars using primarily French cheese for all the actors and ships.

Over the next seven years, countless wonderful and moving things happened in that house. I threw at least twenty huge céilidhs for the Slighe nan Gaidheal community. There were times when every room, including the tiny bathroom, was packed with happy, laughing, singing people enjoying the little home I had made for myself.

My friend Pandora and I started the Winter Solstice Banquet, which usually entailed a full day of decorating, a day and a half of cooking and a full day of washing dishes and cleaning afterward. The traditions of heartfelt reflection and honest sharing that evolved around the Winter Solstice table will stay with me for as long as I live.

One year I held a birthday céilidh for my dear friend Kat which her evangelical parents attended. I was pretty nervous about not offending them and with controlling my reactions if they inadvertently offended me. I kept myself in an icy grip of self-control, but despite my fears we had a truly wonderful evening and found common ground despite our differences.

That house was also the last of my homes that my mother ever saw. The year that I moved there, I decided that I wanted to host the family Christmas celebration. It was a very big deal to me and it came off really well. I took the last photo of my Mom that I ever would that day. We blew it up and framed it for her memorial service.

Lingoman and I met while I was still living there in 2001. In the early years of our romance, he would come down to Seattle fairly often so we spent a lot of time in that house getting better acquainted. One weekend, we were getting ready to go out of town when I discovered an enormous dragonfly perched over my dining room table. I mean enormous and it had apparently decided to settle down and start a family with my Ikea light fixture. Being the son of a biologist, Lingoman had no problems capturing the guy unharmed and releasing him outside to rejoin the dragonfly dating pool. That next Solstice, he gave me a beautiful cast aluminum tray decorated with dragonflies. Every time I see it I think "he will help me deal with my fears."

In January 2006, I received notice from the landlords that they had sold the place to a developer, who would be tearing it down to build townhouses. After crying for a week, I picked my self up and started looking into buying a place, since I never wanted to get that kind of letter again. With help and guidance from my wonderful realtor, Sara, I found the condo in which I now live. I moved at the beginning of August, 2006. It's a nice place; comfortable and convenient, but not set up for entertaining. Life has become rather solitary as a result and I struggle with that.

The developer didn't get around to demolishing the place until January 2nd, 2007. I got a call from my former neighbors while I was driving Lingoman to the airport to fly home. By the time I got there, it was all over. You can see my stove on which seven Winter Solstice Banquets were prepared in the pile of rubble if you look closely.

I often ask myself if I would trade the more upscale conveniences of this place to have my little duplex back. The answer is still 'yes.' I would go back if I could.

What Pride Means to Me

This story, like so many others, begins with my mom. In the extremely long, tortured process of coming out to her, I never had to convince her that being gay is innate. I think she knew about me by the time I was 5 years old. It took some effort, though, to open her eyes to the number of people who are not heterosexual. Every year the Seattle media would cover the Pride parade and Mom would assert that "all those people aren't gay." Sometimes she would follow up with "they just want the special benefits" or "I don't see what there is to be proud about. It's not something they had to earn."

I had my work cut out for me.

Trying to explain what Pride is about to my mother, though, prompted me to dig deeper into my own thoughts about it. Here are some of the things I came up with:

• Gay Pride is the name of a movement, and movements have to come up with tags, handles and titles for themselves. In my mind, a slightly more accurate title would be Gay non-Shame, but that doesn't have quite the ring to it that we need.
• Gay Pride also comes from my sense of connection with the gay men, lesbians and other sexually non-conforming people throughout recorded history who have achieved great things. Alexander the Great conquered the world. Sapho's poetry is still studied. Leonardo da Vinci's genius continues to inspire people throughout the world. I reminded my mother that she felt pride for my accomplishments, even though she never took a music lesson in her life.
• Gay Pride is not just about being gay, but also about having survived being gay in this society. It's something that most straight people never think about since they are surrounded by a world that is slanted toward them. Most gay people are raised by straight people and learn to hate gay people before they know that they're gay. I remember the moment I realized that I was one of those people vividly. I think I was about eight years old. I had already been exposed to plenty of negative stereotypes of gay people both from my family and on TV, and absolutely no positive images.
• Gay Pride is our chance to be visible for one day a year. Even in today's more progressive society, a child growing up gay even in a city like Seattle, will almost never see affirmative images of gay people. It feels like we're not real; that our lives and experiences are not worthy of inclusion in society. Benign neglect is the term, I believe.
• Gay Pride is a chance to feel safe for a few hours. Long before I moved to Seattle I would come to the Pride parade just for the sake of having a day without worrying if someone was going to think I was gay and be hostile to me. For gay people living in enemy territory, those few hours are precious and irreplaceable.
• Gay Pride is the best place to celebrate our progress with our straight allies.

If anyone is interested in coming to Pride this year, you can get all the information here:

Seattle Out & Proud