NOT LIKE THAT

Sixty minutes

2006-06-25T09:39:00.000+10:00

The Sixty Minutes story I mentioned a while ago is on tonight. They will be looking at gay marriage and interviewing real, live gay people. Should make for interesting viewing. I think my mother has watched Sixty Minutes every Sunday night since the program began, so she'll watch this one with particular interest, I'm sure.

Petition

2006-06-11T09:58:00.000+10:00

Warren Entsch, Queensland MP, blokey bloke, and one of the most unlikely of gay rights activists, "is proposing a private member's bill to extend the principles of anti-discrimination to abolish legal inequities in the treatment of people in interdependent and same-sex unions".

If you are a registered Australian voter (sorry, overseas readers), you can fill out the digital petition on Entsch's website.

Straight Australia policy

2006-06-07T08:25:00.000+10:00

The Australian reports today that civil union legislation passed recently in the ACT will be overturned by the federal government. The newspaper reports: "John Howard confirmed that federal cabinet had agreed to scuttle the ACT legislation, saying it was an attack on the institution of marriage." It also reports ACT Attorney-General Simon Corbell's response: "This is not about the institution of marriage, this is about the raw politics of John Howard and Phillip Ruddock's conservative social agenda."

Apparently gay and lesbian activists are now saying that Australia has an unwritten "straight Australia policy". For those of you who are overseas readers, this statement refers to a particularly mean-spirited part of Australia's past. The "white Australia policy", although never an official policy as such, referred to the range of practices by which immigration officials attempted to keep non-whites out of Australia in the early 1900s. For example, applicants' language skills would be tested--but not necessarily their English skills alone. If applicants passed the English test, they would then be tested in another language, and another, until they failed, and were refused permission to immigrate.

Archival information from the ABC website: "A German subject was released last week from Maitland prison and by commonwealth authorities in Newcastle submitted to a test in the Greek language although he speaks German, English and French. As he could not pass the test, he was sentenced in Newcastle to six months imprisonment for being a prohibited immigrant…"
--Telegram from Paul Von Bari (German Consul General) to Governor- General (Hopetoun), December 8, 1903, Australian Archives A6662/1 200

So, a "straight Australia policy" now. No matter what tests we pass, our government will keep changing the rules.

Too small to see

2006-05-25T10:20:00.000+10:00

Lately, I've been thinking about invisibility, the ghost world of things that are all around us, yet unseen.

So much of the world is invisible. Invisible, and yet real—like scents, which can make us dizzy with lust or other, simpler, appetites. Scents, which make us wistful or thrilled at the spice of fresh pencil-shavings, the earthy smell of first rain. Or sounds, which can have the power of a stroke or a slap. We are more confident with objects—a leaf, a crayon, a glass of milk— for they can be held, examined, inspected. We trust these objects, or ourselves, overmuch. We only know a part of the story. Invisible before our very eyes is the composition of matter, the atomic structures of things. We see fully, and yet not at all.

The invention of the microscope changed the way people saw the world. For the first time, it was clear that there was a world beyond our capacity: there were things too small for the eye to see. We were limited by our own vision, until we built new tools, new ways of seeing. Now we know that the world is made of atoms, by tiny things too small to see. They are even too small to view through a microscope, so scientists draw diagrams of them instead, until the time comes when new tools are made for seeing. For the same reasons that scientists draw diagrams, I write. Beyond sight there are elements that I need to understand. I am drawing pictures of my own tiny world, and the things that are beyond view. I am drawing pictures of the microscopic structures of the heart.

One year old

2006-04-29T20:41:00.000+10:00

This blog is now a year old! And it's been visited nearly 5000 times in that year. Thank you all very much for reading.

I suppose I'll keep thinking about stuff, and writing about stuff, and hope that you keep coming back.

SBS Forum

2006-04-27T07:54:00.000+10:00

Interesting news for those of you living in or near Sydney. I was forwarded the following email message recently:

SBS Insight is looking to record a program on same sex relationships on
May 12 at the SBS studios in Sydney. If you haven't seen Insight, it is
a 52 minute 'forum-based'' current affairs program which tackles just
one issue per program.

In this program we hope to look at 'federal recognition' of same sex
couples, and discuss what same sex couples miss out on by not being
legally recognised. We will then move into the symbolism and choices
around civil unions and marriage.

We are looking for a range of couples, and singles (not to discriminate) to
talk about their ideas and experiences in same sex relationships. In particular I would be interested to hear from anyone who might have been adversely effected by the current system. I believe this primarily effects workplace issues, pensions and supers. But we'd also be interested to hear from people who have had issues with adoption and child custody - or any other family law issues.

In a perfect world I would also like to talk to couples who have travelled overseas to engage in a civil union or marriage - or who are planning to do so in the near future.

We are looking to have a colourful and lively debate with politicians,
commentators, and members of the general public about the issue of same
sex relationships.

*

If any of you want to attend, please email me and I'll let you know the contact details for the organisers. Heather and I would love to go if we lived in Sydney.

On distance

2006-04-25T15:16:00.000+10:00

I've been procrastinating lately. I should be working on the memoir, but I'm not. (I'm busy job-hunting, by the way. If any of you hear of anything, please let me know. Notice, too, that I now have a Not Like That email address in the sidebar. Oh yes, this blog is advancing.)

The problem I'm struggling with is writing about my family. It requires a lot of introspection, this process, and sometimes I wonder if I can do it. I guess the scariest thing is wondering how well you know your own family. Sometimes I find myself wondering if I really know them at all. All I can come up with at the moment are a lot of questions. If any of you want to tell me your thoughts, please do. I would welcome your perspective.

Here's what I'm wondering ... What does it take to really know someone--and to really know your family? Is it a shared history, or a shared present? Or continuity?
How do you negotiate relationships with your family when you are grown, and live far away, and pay your own bills, and choose your own vegetables? It is so commonplace, these days, to live so far away. But sometimes it feels to me like a betrayal, or a desertion.

At our Brisbane wedding celebration, my brother told me, in a matter-of-fact way, that "we don't really know each other anymore." In lots of ways, this is true. He is nearly a decade older than I am, and moved out of home by the time I was nine or ten. He lives a long way away, and I see him about once a year. If I had him and his wife over for dinner, I would not know what to serve. But his statement made me feel so lost. Are my family some people I used to know?

I am close to my parents, but it seems like my brothers and I have scattered as we've grown. The age difference probably didn't help. And now we mostly hear about each other's lives through our parents, not directly. Perhaps this is normal. I just assumed it was, until my brother made that comment. Now, I just don't know.

Those stories and more ...

2006-04-23T20:17:00.000+10:00

Today I heard that Matt and Luke are going to be on 60 Minutes (Australia). Matt and Luke are the lovely Aussie newlyweds we met in Toronto just a few days after we were married. We bonded by sharing beers and talking about the overall poor quality of American junk food, apart from Reese's peanut butter cups, which have a dangerous appeal. I'm sure they talked about other, more interesting stuff in the interview. No set broadcast date yet, but I'll keep an eye out over the next couple of months. Can't wait to see it. I only hope that Richard Carlton was not the interviewer. Whenever I see him, I go into strange, involuntary spasms and can only whimper "no, no, please stop the agony". It's happened ever since I was a teenager.

Genetic bibliophilia

2006-04-09T17:31:00.000+10:00

I am eternally grateful that my mother made me a reader. As a child, my passion for books quickly matched hers, as a result of her encouragement. I came to feel that I was bequeathed an estate that stretched in all directions, beyond the eye’s reach. Books gave me the conviction that everything was possible and the world was mine.

The two of us set off on missions every Saturday. A short distance from our house was a secondhand book exchange, where we would deposit our books, magazines, and comics from the previous week, get credit for them, and begin our hunt once more. The book store consisted of two large rooms that were long and fairly narrow. The length was subdivided into alcoves by genre—-crime in one, sci-fi the next, romance another—-so to step into an alcove meant that you were surrounded by books on three sides. The structure of the building, its length and alcoves, meant that little light came in. A few bare bulbs poked from the ceiling, but it always felt like dusk in that shop. The floor was a concrete slab. I would sit cross-legged, leafing through comics and magazines, and feel the cool press of concrete against my bare legs and bony ankles.

Mum headed straight for the paperbacks, particularly romance novels and anything that looked a bit racy. Apart from the children's section, most of the books in the shop were well-worn and reminded me of old people, with their creases, musty smells, and brownish age spots. Like our décor at home, the majority of the paperbacks came from the 1970s and carried the design ethos of that decade. The cover art seemed dominated by browns, yellows, and creams, with the occasional dash of orange or red. Many of the covers featured faded colour photographs of young women with knowing looks, long, heavy hair and liberal coats of eyeliner. Their lips shone pink and glossy, and the women were often bent at the waist, all the better to show how they filled out their microscopic shorts.

I preferred the more colourful children’s section, where I stocked up on Enid Blyton books and Archie and Sabrina the Teenage Witch comics. By nine or ten, I would radiate to the old Dolly magazines and the peculiar British “photo romance” magazines. These were a kind of comic-book style with photographs of real people instead of drawings, with white dialogue bubbles over their heads. I bought them more because they mystified me than interested me.

After stocking up, we would take our haul and head home to spend that afternoon and all day Sunday reading. Not only was Mum pleased that I was reading, I think she was relieved to have a companion who shared her interests. This, perhaps more than anything else, created a bond between us. Paradoxically, it may also have kept us apart.

Memoir

2006-04-08T16:51:00.000+10:00

Strangely enough, one reason why I've been blogging less frequently is because I've been writing more outside the blog as I work on other projects. One of those projects is to try and shape the material from the blog, and additional material, into a memoir.

Someone from my writing class asked me recently why I want to write a memoir. It's a good question. I want to write a memoir because I want to talk about the importance of marriage to Heather and me. I don't want to beat people over the head with politics, but I do want to personalise the argument by discussing a very specific situation--our situation. Ultimately, though, people write because they think they have a story that needs telling. My aim is to tell a story, and to tell it well. Since i am only in the early stages of the telling, I am not forcing my subject matter, either. I am writing about all sorts of things: the wedding, the trip, our life together, my childhood, my family. I think the story will find its own shape as the most demanding, lively voices assert themselves. I have a basic structure at this point, and that is all.

I've been reading lots of interesting memoirs lately. By far the best, though, is Alison Smith's Name All the Animals, a brilliant book about grief, families, sexuality, and love. This information has nothing much to do with the rest of this post, I'm just vigorously evangelical when I find something that I like.

I've been thinking about the importance of reading in my life. Apart from sleeping, I spend more time reading than doing anything else, and it's been like this for as long as I can remember. For me, writing became a natural extension of reading. At first, it never occurred to me that I could really be a writer. I wrote, but I wasn't a writer. To call yourself a writer required massive amounts of talent or nerve, and I didn't imagine I had either. I feared being called a wanker. Now, I couldn't care less.

I love books, I love writing. I've got a story to tell and I'm gonna tell it.

Remy's birthday

2006-04-04T20:47:00.000+10:00

Yes, once again I've been slack. Never fear, I'll soon resume posting the lengthy, navel-gazing entries you've all come to know and occasionally read.

But tonight I just want to wish a belated happy birthday to little Remy, the cutest baby in the blogosphere. He just turned one, and he's still excellent.

Avon Lea

2006-03-14T19:28:00.000+10:00

I was recently re-reading an essay about an interesting part of Australia's queer history. Historian Ruth Ford has written in some detail about Annie Payne, a British migrant who came to New South Wales at some time around the turn of the 20th century (Ford 44). According to the electoral rolls from 1903, 1906, and 1908, Annie Payne worked as a domestic in Newcastle. In about 1908, she met Harriet Brown. Harriet was also a domestic, and she lived across the road from Annie on Watt Street in Newcastle (Ford 45). At some point in the next three years, Annie Payne disappeared entirely and Harry Payne appeared. Payne dressed, and passed, as a man. On 30 August 1911, Harry Payne and Harriet Brown wed in East Maitland (Ford 45). It was the beginning of a marriage that lasted over fifteen years, until Harriet’s death in 1927. The couple moved to Sydney and Harry worked in a variety of jobs, including work as a tram conductor, tram driver, commercial traveller, and rate collector, while Harriet was a homemaker (45).

Did Harry and Harriet consider themselves both female? Or was Harry what we would now call transgendered? These are just two of an infinite array of possibilities. It is impossible to say how the Paynes saw themselves. But I do like to imagine them.

I like to imagine the Paynes in the house they shared in the outer suburbs of Sydney, the house they named “Avon Lea”. Harry coming home, loosening his tie and talking about his day. Drinking tea or beer with Harriet over their kitchen table in their working-class suburb. Feeling proud of the life they had built together. Forgetting their secret, and just living. Mowing the lawn, hanging pictures, going for Sunday drives. I like to imagine this because I know that what Heather and I have is not as new, or as threatening, as some people imagine. I also like to imagine this for Harry and Harriet. Apart from historians, it seems that there is no-one left to remember them, and historians must mainly remember facts. I like to try to imagine the things that got lost behind the facts, small trinkets lost like dropped change.

In 1928, after Harriet’s death, Harry married again, under the name of Harcourt Payne. He married a widow by the name of Louisa Maria Adams. It is unclear if Louisa knew of Harcourt’s biological sex, but given Louisa’s strong, lifelong involvement with the Salvation Army Church, this seems unlikely. Ten years after they married, Louisa Payne also passed away.

I do not like to imagine what happened next. Harcourt was in deep mourning, and his physical health deteriorated. Eight months after Louisa’s death, Harcourt “collapsed in the street” (Ford 47). His doctor organised his admittance to the Lidcombe Old Men’s Home/State Hospital. Harcourt was now 64 years old. Upon admission, he was bathed, and found to be a woman. He was immediately sent to a women’s hospital, examined by doctors, and questioned by police. The story was picked up and publicised widely in the newspapers. Harcourt was deemed to be insane and was held in a mental hospital, where he died a year later. He was buried in an unmarked grave.

Works cited:

Ford, Ruth. “They ‘were wed, and merrily rang the bells’: Gender-crossing and same-sex marriage in Australia , 1900-1940” in Graham Willet and David Phillips, eds., Australian Gay and Lesbian Perspectives 5, Australian Centre for Lesbian and Gay Research, 2000, pp.41-66.

Ideas of home

2006-03-12T18:35:00.000+10:00

I've been thinking lately about ideas of home and family. In particular, I've been thinking about the differences between institutional ideas of home and family, and the real act of family, the act of making a home.

As I've been writing the story of Heather and me, it's become clear to me that I need to think further about my own past. In order to understand where I am now, I need to better understand my past. I especially need to understand my mother's background. She and I have had a troubled relationship at times, and I have not been as sympathetic or understanding of her as I could have been. By writing about her now, I hope to reclaim some of what has been lost to anger and misunderstanding.

When my mother was eight years old, her father went to work one day and never came home. Many years later, my grandmother, Thelma, told me that her husband had a gambling problem, and large debts. His disappearance had an immediate and catastrophic effect on the family. There simply was not enough money to support my grandmother and her seven children. The three eldest girls, who were in their early to middle teens, quit school and began to work. The four youngest—two boys and two girls—were placed in State-run Homes—orphanages, effectively. My mother and her two-year-old sister, S., were placed in a girls’ institution, and their brothers in a boys’ institution.

Within a couple of years, S. was adopted, which was probably for the best. At the Home, the children were beaten, slapped, and fed rotten food on a regular basis. They endured all sorts of horrendous punishments, often for no reason. Like many of the institutions of the time, it was a hellish; 40 years later it would be just one of scores of institutions to be investigated in a State Government’s Forde Inquiry. The Inquiry found that abuse and neglect were commonplace in these institutions, institutions which purported to care for these homeless children of the poor.

Mum was in the Home until she was fifteen, when she was permitted to leave to find work. She returned to live with her mother and one of her sisters. The family never saw Sunny again. When they managed to locate her years later, she didn’t want any contact with her biological family.

Mum was only two years out of the Home when she married my father at seventeen. She had her first child a year later. I think she wanted to have a perfect little family, a perfect marriage, but she had nothing on which to model her ideas of perfection. She and Dad didn’t do too badly, but there have been some bumpy patches. As she’s grown older, many things have come to haunt her, and I think her childhood has a large part to play in this. Never terribly comfortable in social situations, she’s grown increasingly reclusive over the past ten or fifteen years. She avoids leaving the house because she sometimes has panic attacks when she goes to do the shopping. She’ll find herself standing by the laundry powder or the baked beans with the world crumbling around her, her heart pounding, and an absolute certainty that she’s going to die.

She doesn’t travel any more. She came to Brisbane a few years back to see a specialist when her health started to fail. It’s the only trip she’s made in the twelve years since I left home. I thought she would make an exception for the wedding party, but she didn’t. She talked about it a little, said she’d like to, but “who would look after the pets?” I told her she could arrange for someone to feed them, surely; or she could leave enough food for a day, fly down just for the party and return the next day. But she couldn’t.

It’s a pointless task to speculate on how Mum might have been different if my grandfather never left, or if the Home provided a nurturing environment. But I do speculate, sometimes. I wonder how our family might have been different. Some people say that you shouldn’t wish things were different, because otherwise you wouldn’t be the person you are. I do wish things had been different, though. How could I not? If things were different, my mother might have had a chance to be happy. I don’t write those words lightly. I don’t mean she might have thrown dinner parties and gone out dancing. I mean that she might have had a chance to be happy.

A Senate report from 2004 estimates that 500 000 or more Australians were in some form of "care" in the past century. The report contains submissions from hundreds of care-leavers and details the abuse they suffered and the ongoing effects of their time in the institution. The report states: "Submissions refer frequently to a range of legacies including low self-esteem, lack of confidence, depression, fear and distrust, anger, shame, guilt, obsessiveness, social anxieties, phobias, recurring nightmares, tension, migraines, and speech difficulties" (145-46). Apart from the last two, I would say my mother has suffered all of these symptoms at some point, and most of them quite regularly, for all of my life.

In ways that I don't fully understand yet, my mother's experience influences me as well. I want to understand it better. I write; it's what I do to try to understand. And so I will write about my mother.

Visiting the gateway to hell

2006-03-09T15:37:00.000+10:00

On the Monday after the wedding we drove to Niagara Falls to see the Horseshoe Falls on the Canadian side. It was very cold and snowing lightly. I had booked a hotel with a guaranteed view of the Falls; still, we had no idea just how extraordinary that view would turn out to be. We dropped our luggage in our room and immediately headed downstairs to see the Falls up close.

Because it was a Monday in winter, there were very few tourists around. We walked along the footpath, peering over at the astonishing cascade of water. The noise was tremendous, a dull and constant roar. We took photographs all along the walkway from different angles. A massive amount of mist rises from the falls, creating an awesome effect. The mist is so thick that it's impossible to gauge the depth of the drop. I read somewhere that early explorers were terrified of the Falls for that reason: they were sure that hidden within that mist was the gateway to hell.

The next morning we left Canada. First, we stopped at the duty-free store for cigarettes (for me) and ice wine (for Dotty, Heather's grandmother). As we drove over the Rainbow Bridge, heading towards US Customs, Heather reminded me not to mention the wedding. She didn’t want any unnecessary trouble. We handed our passports to the woman in the Customs kiosk.
“Anything to declare?” The woman asked us. I refrained from saying, yes, we're married, and geniuses.
She peered into the car. “Any alcohol, tobacco, firearms?”
Heather told her, “We have a bottle of ice wine, a carton of cigarettes, and some food.”
“What sort of food?”
“Um, a packet of Double-stuf Oreos.”
The woman laughed. “And you didn’t bring me any? Go through. Welcome back.”

Through the centre of the world

2006-03-03T21:29:00.000+10:00

Lately, I've been thinking quite a bit about our trip overseas. It's a little easier now, to think about things, now that some time has passed. During the visit, it was hard to reflect on what we were doing--which was fine, since we were having so much fun--but now I can write about the experience with more perspective.

In particular, I've been thinking about the Mapparium. I read about the Mapparium in a guide book, and was really keen to see it. It is the brainchild of Mary Baker Eddy, the founder of the Christian Science Church, and is housed in the Mary Baker Eddy Library on Massachusetts Avenue in Boston. We went there with Heather’s friend Alan. As a Boston resident and former tour guide, he was a great help in the city, and he kindly offered to show us around.
The oddly-named Mapparium is a large replica of the globe. Built in 1935, it was modelled on the then-current Rand McNally globe, and so grows increasingly outdated as time passes. This is part of its appeal. It is made of 608 panes of stained glass, with land in reds, yellows, and greens, and the oceans in various blues. The colours are stunning. It is thirty feet wide, and is bisected by a clear glass bridge that cuts through the centre of the world.

In the late afternoon, we escaped a cold and bleak Boston day for a guided tour of the globe. From a small foyer, we followed a guide who opened a door into the inside of the world. She took us to the centre of the bridge and told us about the history of the Mapparium. She talked about the globe depicting “a world fixed in time”, and talked about how the world is constantly changing.

The Mapparium has some unique auditory quirks as a result of its design. If you stand alone at the centre of the walkway—effectively, at the centre of the Earth—and whisper as quietly as you can, the sound bounces, curves, richochets back directly into your own ear, as if you were whispering to yourself—or as if God were talking to you. If two people stand at opposite ends of the bridge and whisper very quietly, the sound moves in a different pattern and sends the whispers directly into the ear of the other person. Although they are split by a distance of 30 feet, the whisperers can hear each other with absolute clarity—yet others nearby can hear nothing.

At the end of the demonstration, Alan, Heather and I took turns standing in different places and testing out this bizarre effect. It was intoxicating, somehow—we all felt giddy with it, like schoolchildren. Right at the end, Alan stood at the centre of the world, whispering to himself. Heather and I stood at opposite ends of the earth and privately whispered into each other's ears. What did we tell each other? The most obvious thing, the only thing, the thing that would have been whispered in our places before us by thousands of voices, in thousands of languages: I love you. And it felt like new.

The Brisbane party

2006-02-16T19:29:00.000+10:00

Yes, I am a bad blogger. I apologise for being so unproductive lately, but we've busy planning, throwing, and recovering from our final wedding party.

It happened on the 4th of February, which happened to be one of the hottest days, well, ever. So we packed forty people into our house on plastic garden chairs and gave them beer and sangria. Everyone looked like they had a joyful, beatific sheen, until you got up close and realised it was just sweat.

Heather made a brilliant DVD of a lot of our wedding pictures, which we played on our TV. The best part of all was the soundtrack; Heather added a sort of slow, choral version of ABBA's 'Dancing Queen' (from the Muriel's Wedding soundtrack), and the photos appeared on screen in time to the music. It was magnificently cheesy, and the crowd went wild.

Now all of the festivities are over, we're enjoying getting back to normal. We really enjoyed our time in the US, but it's also great to be home. Now, it feels even better than before we left, because I feel like we're really making a home together. Every decision--even basic ones like new furnishings or gardening plants--is now made against a different backdrop; now I think about it in terms of our home, our life together, our future. It feels just a little different, and utterly wonderful.

One of those backward steps

2006-01-20T08:54:00.000+10:00

Our flatmate David just told me that my mother called last night. On finding out that we weren't home, Mum decided to talk to David instead. She asked about his Christmas. Then she said, 'So, what do you think about Michelle and Heather?'

Pause.

'I think they're beautiful, wonderful people, and whatever they want to do is fine with me,' he replied.

'That's a good way of putting it,' Mum replied.

David, of course, was not impressed. He said, 'It's like ... What do you think of Heather and Michelle BEING LESBIANS AND ALL?'

Some questions are not questions at all, just monologues that end with a rising inflection.

If that's the way you want to be

2006-01-20T06:08:00.000+10:00

We are home again. We arrived back on Wednesday morning, and have spent the past two days chilling out, trying to get back to normal.

Just a few hours after we returned, we saw our neighbour's boyfriend. Now, 'boyfriend' is probably not the right term, since both he and our neighbour are in their 60s or 70s, and that quaint old expression 'gentleman friend' is probably more apt. But the two of them have a kind of spirited liveliness that makes them seem more youthful, and makes 'boyfriend' seem surprisingly applicable. For the purposes of description, I will call our neighbour 'Joyce' and the boyfriend 'Old Mate' (which is what we call him amongst ourselves, anyway).

Joyce has been a really good neighbour in the couple of years we've lived here. She's friendly, but also knows how to keep to herself. We help each other out in neighbourly ways from time to time, and have the occasional chat over the fence. Several months ago, Joyce started seeing Old Mate. He is much more talkative than she, and will often start chatting to us over the fence when we are otherwise engaged--like, when friends are visiting and we're in the middle of a conversation. This is a little irritating at times, but we don't really mind because he's just being friendly. He's also helped us out quite a bit in the backyard with tasks like trimming trees, and chainsawing branches and dead stumps. In short, we have spent a fairly significant amount of time with Old Mate and Joyce, and enjoyed their company.

Joyce knows that Heather and I are in a relationship. We didn't tell her, but she indicated that she knew, and she was fine with it. I assumed that she had told Old Mate as well. I found out on Wednesday morning, though, that he probably didn't know.

I was on the back verandah talking to my friend Deb when Old Mate appeared next door, said hello, and welcomed me home. He asked about the trip, where we had gone, and I told him. We went to America, around the Boston area, and up to Canada. He asked where in Canada, and said that he, too, had been to Toronto and really liked it.

'If you don't mind me asking,' he said, 'was there any special reason for your trip?'

I decided to be honest, since Old Mate knows us a little and seems like a cool guy.

'Actually, Heather and I went there to get married.'

Old Mate's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. I have rarely seen anyone look so horrified. He struggled to find words. 'Oh,' he said. 'Oh. Ah, well . . . '

His stammering went on for a minute, and then he said something weird like, 'Well, if that's the way you want to be . . . I hope it all works out for you.'

I told him we were very happy. Mercifully, he said goodbye and went about his business shortly after that.

Perhaps, after that, Old Mate will never ask me a question again, and I wouldn't mind in the slightest.

Another departure

2006-01-16T02:02:00.000+10:00

Today we start to finish our trip. We leave Boston and fly to Los Angeles, spend the night in a hotel, and then leave for Australia tomorrow. I'm excited to be going home, but sad to be leaving, as well. For Heather, leaving is particularly sad. She misses her family while she's in Australia.

Brisbane will no doubt be very hot when we return. I'm looking forward to spending a couple of days lounging around with nothing to do but catch up with friends, sweat, and go for frequent dips in the wading pool. It will be remarkably different to the climate here; this morning, I couldn't get into Heather's aunt's house because the button that you press on the door handle had ice all over it. I had to rub spit on it until the ice melted. There may be a better technique to resolve such problems, but I don't know it.

Thank you all for your messages of support since Ted's death. We both really appreciate them.

Diamonds and gold

2006-01-11T00:24:00.000+10:00

Several years ago, when Heather's grandmother Lillian died, Ted was devastated. They had been married for over sixty years. In his grief, Ted presented Heather with a diamond ring that he had given Lillian as an anniversary present.

As he passed the ring to Heather, his only grandchild, he said, "Before I die, I want to see you wear this when you get married."

Heather was very touched, but anxious. She knew that she couldn't grant Ted his wish because she would never marry a man, and therefore, she thought, never marry. When she went to Australia, she left the ring with her mother for safekeeping.

On Christmas Day, I spent the morning with Heather and her parents. We spent a long time opening the wonderful array of gifts that we'd received. Finally, I opened Heather's Christmas card to me, which had a small gift box attached. Inside was Lillian's diamond ring. Heather's mother had asked Heather if she wanted to give me the ring, and had organised resizing the ring when Heather said yes.

When Ted arrived later that afternoon for Christmas dinner, we showed him the ring on my finger. By this point, the strokes he'd suffered were affecting his speech, and he was a little difficult to understand. I leaned in close as he spoke to me.

"You have to keep it on now forever," he said. "You can't take it off."

"Don't worry," I said. "I plan to keep it on forever."

"Look for me under your boot-soles . . . "

2006-01-08T03:54:00.000+10:00

Heather's grandfather Ted died on Wednesday morning. He was 96 years old. As I've mentioned in previous posts, Ted was only told about Heather's sexuality back in September. Heather never told him for fear that he might not handle the news well. Ted suffered a stroke and had been increasingly frail over the last year. When Heather's mother and uncle eventually told him that Heather was not only a lesbian, but also about to marry a woman, he didn't bat an eyelid. "If you're happy, I'm happy," he told Heather on the phone. By December, he couldn't walk more than a few steps unassisted and needed an oxygen tank nearby at all times. Despite this, he flew to Toronto to attend our wedding. He was a real champion.

We were due to fly back to Australia today, but instead we flew back to Florida on Thursday. Ted's funeral was held yesterday. Harris, the family's minister and friend, led the service. In a deeply moving remembrance of Ted's life, Harris spoke of his love for his family, his strong sense of justice, and his passion for fishing.

At the graveside, we went up one by one to sprinkle the coffin with holy soil from Israel. Harris read part of Whitman's "Song of Myself", and surely no one could wish for a more beautiful parting statement than this one:

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

Christmas and Hanukah

2005-12-27T01:59:00.000+10:00

Heather's family on her mother's side is Jewish, so we celebrated both Christmas and the first night of Hanukah yesterday. We drank and snacked intermittently for several hours, and then some relatives came over and we had a dinner of potato latkes and ham. Latkes are a bit like hash browns, in that they're fried potato patties, and they're delicious. We also had salad, broccoli, roasted yam, and cranberry and apple sauces. For dessert, we had key lime and cherry pies.

After dinner we played dreidel, which is a gambling game (mostly for children now, I think) involving a top with four sides, each with a different symbol painted on it. Foil-covered chocolate coins, or gelt, are used for betting in the game. At the start of each player's turn, the players all put money into the centre. The player spins the dreidel, and depending on which of the four sides is uppermost when the dreidel stops spinning, the player might get to take all of the money that has been wagered, or half of it, or none. If particularly unlucky, the player has to put more money into the middle. I am pleased to report that I won, but redistributed my winnings to the other players. After weeks of doughnuts, bagels, and onion rings, more junk food is the last thing I need.

It was a different Christmas for me. I missed my family, but I also felt that I am now a part of another family, too. It was a strange feeling at first, when we first arrived in the US, because I didn't really know Heather's family. Now that I do know them, I know how lucky I am to be connected to them.

Merry Christmas to all of you. I hope you had a great time with your families, whatever form they may take.

Florida vs Queensland

2005-12-25T01:53:00.000+10:00

We've now been in Florida for about eleven days. It's where Heather grew up, and her parents still live here. Last weekend we had our second wedding party, which was organised by Heather's parents, Rosemary and Gordon, and held at the very party-friendly house of their minister, Harris. It was a lovely celebration, particularly because Rosemary was so excited and proud. Her enthusiasm is infectious, so it was a lovely, merry night. Harris performed a short ritual to bless our marriage, and gave us sugar to make our union sweet, and salt to give it flavour. We also smashed glasses; I was intially concerned about this because I was wearing my somewhat expensive Camper shoes, but no harm came to them in the end. From his wheelchair, Heather's nonagenarian grandfather, Ted, made a toast to wish us a happy life together. It was all just delightful.

Being away from my family for the wedding and the Christmas period has been difficult. We will, of course, have another party when we return to Brisbane, but it looks as though my mum won't be coming. My brothers, sister-in-law, and Dad will be coming, but not mum. She has been ill for a long time, and doesn't like to travel. Dad will drive down with one of my brothers, but Mum doesn't want to do that. She could catch a plane, but she says she needs to stay home to look after the pets. Whenever I offer a solution, she offers counter arguments.

Seeing Rosemary's excitement and enthusiasm about the wedding has been lovely, but it also saddens me a little, because my mother can't offer that. Rosemary is taking the wedding seriously, I think, and my mum is still in denial. While same-sex marriage is still illegal in Australia, I think mum will see this as a pretend wedding. It seems that she can disregard the sentiment, the commitment, the symbolism of our wedding, as long as the legality is in question. I have to get to a point where I really don't want or need my parents' acceptance. Because all of this waiting is wearing me out.

Chilling

2005-12-15T02:26:00.000+10:00

I haven't blogged in a while because the lead-up to the wedding was quite hectic. We have been busy since December 2nd, but we've also been trying to relax. Two days after the wedding, we met up with Luke and Matt, two Aussie guys who themselves recently wed in Canada. Along with Elizabeth, we had a few beers at a great little bar in Toronto's West End. We complained about the cold, sang the praises of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and swapped wedding stories. It was a really enjoyable way to spend an afternoon.

The next morning, Heather and I went to Niagara Falls. We stayed at the Ramada Plaza Fallsview, one of a string of hotels that stretches alongside the falls on the Canadian side. Architecturally, it is a very odd hotel, because it is shaped like a ... well, like a toilet brush, I suppose. A thin shaft containing elevators and stairwells and not much more goes up for about 25 floors, level 26 is a restaurant, and level 27 is the first floor of actual rooms. We were on the 28th floor, with an awesome view of the falls.

As soon as we arrived, we went downstairs to walk along the perimeter of the falls. It was -3 degrees and there was snow and ice everywhere. The falls were incredibly beautiful.

The accidental photographer's pictures

2005-12-05T00:19:00.000+10:00

Thank you all so much for your kind wishes!

Here are some images that the news photographer just sent to us [removed]. We go to Niagara Falls tomorrow. As always, I will keep you updated.

To have and to hold

2005-12-04T00:02:00.000+10:00

We are married!

The last couple of days have been incredibly busy, so I'll do a quick recap. I spent Thursday with my friend Elizabeth. We did some serious dress shopping, and finally found a gorgeous dress on sale at a shop in the Eaton Center. We had several drinks on Thursday night, and I stayed with Elizabeth in the Kensington Market area.

Yesterday morning, Elizabeth and I got up early and I got my hair cut. We bought some beautiful tulips and other flowers and rushed back to prepare for the wedding. We made several posies for various friends and witnesses and I made two bunches of tulips for Heather and myself. Finally everything was ready and Elizabeth and I went out to the street and tried to hail a cab, which took ages. It was snowing, and at times the wind was coming in massive gusts that nearly blew us over. It was beautiful, though--in a very Canadian way. Finally we found a cab and arrived at City Hall with only a few minutes to spare.

As soon as I got out of the elevator, I saw Heather and started apologising for being late. She took me aside and said that she needed to talk to me. "Okay," she said. "My mother is here, and my uncle and grandfather." Without telling us, they had all flown up for the wedding. It was very exciting, but also nerve-wracking, because I've never met any of them before.

"Also," Heather said, "there's a photographer here. He works for Bloomberg. He wants to take pictures of our wedding." This was all very confusing, so I just agreed to everything. I found out later that Norm, the photographer, wanted to take photos to supply to Bloomberg, which is apparently a global financial news service (hardly the sort of news that interests me). Norm needed the pictures because same-sex marriage is about to become legal in the UK, and it will probably be the subject of many news stories. Norm's pictures of us may accompany articles in any of 900 newspapers worldwide. He took heaps of photos, and he'll provide us with a CD of them. So, serendipitously, we had a professional photographer for free.

The ceremony was brief and not as terrifying as it might have been. The celebrant was lovely, and everything went very smoothly. I found saying things like "to have and to hold" quite surreal. Was I really saying it? Was I really getting married? As Heather said the vow "for richer, for poorer" to me, we laughed simultaneously because we were both thinking it will definitely be the latter.

After the ceremony, we went downstairs to Nathan Phillips Sqaure and had more photos taken outside City Hall and beside the ice-skating rink. Afterwards, we went out to lunch with Heather's mum, uncle, and grandfather, my friend Elizabeth, and Fred, a friend of Heather's who had flown up from Florida for the ceremony. In the evening, we went back to Heather's cousin Rebecca's place for a party. Rebecca had decorated and catered beautifully, and everything was lovely. It was a lovely, exhausting, wonderful day.

The hall and the dress

2005-12-01T00:31:00.000+10:00

After Pickering City Hall, we headed into Toronto on the train. We arrived at Union Station and found that we could get to Toronto City Hall by walking underground for ten minutes through the city's extensive network of shop-lined tunnels. We went to the wedding chambers to have a look at the layout and find out more information about the service. It will be a very quick ceremony (about 15 minutes) in really simple surroundings, but I think it'll be nice. Afterwards, Heather took a picture of me outside City Hall.

We walked along Queen St and headed to Kensington Markets in search of my wedding dress. We found a shop with the most beautiful dresses in the world, but they cost about $300, so we can't really afford one. I am tempted to put it on the credit card, but we'll have to see how desperate and covetous I get in the next two days.

Marriage licence

2005-12-01T00:03:00.000+10:00

We are staying with Heather's relatives in Pickering, which is a half-hour train trip from Toronto. We went to Pickering City Hall yesterday to get a marriage licence.

East heaven

2005-11-29T23:22:00.000+10:00

Our road trip is complete. We are in Canada, and it is nowhere near as cold as I'd been led to believe.

We left Newburyport on Sunday morning and drove to Northampton, Massachusetts, where Heather once lived for a short time. Heather's friend Carey showed us around the town, which is really quaint and lovely. That night Carey took us to East Heaven Hot Tubs, where we sat in a private outdoor hot tub. Snow had fallen and was piled up in the corners of our courtyard and the air temperature was about three degrees. According to Heather and Carey, the tubs are best of all when it's snowing outside. Then you sit in freezing temperatures, warm as can be in the tub, and watch the snow melt as it hits the water. Snowing or not, though, I thought it was fantastic.

Style

2005-11-27T01:20:00.000+10:00

Lately, most of our time has been spent shopping for wedding clothes. And it has been difficult. A few days ago, Heather and I discovered that we had really differing ideas about the style of our wedding attire. I was leaning towards the more traditional, formal style. I wanted to wear a long skirt or dress--not in white, but still fairly traditional in some respects. But Heather never wears skirts or dresses, ever. If I dressed formally, she would also need to dress formally, but she would need to wear a women's suit of some sort. She didn't want to do this because she would end up looking kind of butch while I would look very girly indeed. She didn't want us to look like women dressed up as a bride and groom, because we aren't. And I can fully understand her point. So we're going for a different style altogether, a more informal look. That way, we can both wear something that expresses who we are, without looking like a strange copy of heterosexual bridal parties.

Heather has bought her wedding clothes now. She even bought new bras from Victoria's Secret -- you can see her wielding her purchase with great pride in the image above. This was a photo-worthy moment because Heather has not bought anything other than sports bras for at least seven years. I still can't quite believe that she did it.

I still haven't found what I'll be wearing. I have a skirt, and that's it. We're shopping today, so hopefully I will find something suitable. Tomorrow we leave for Toronto. Over two days, we'll be driving up there. I'm really excited. Road trip! Wedding! Completely unprepared! Aarghh . . .

Thanksgiving

2005-11-26T12:09:00.000+10:00

I experienced two significant firsts yesterday: Thanksgiving and snow. I woke up early, about six am, ran to the window, and the street was all white. Fortunately Heather's friend Kara had loaned us snow jackets the day before, so we put those on (dressing is such a damn process in the cold) and eventually went outside. It was snowing lightly, and to my surprise the snowflakes reminded me of bushfires, because ash falls just as delicately and unpredictably as small snowflakes. We made little snowballs and threw them at each other. Heather told me how to walk in order to avoid slipping. I tried to catch snow on my tongue. It was all so fabulous, but the snow only lasted a couple of hours after that, and then it rained. We spent the rest of the day inside.

J. cooked the Thanksgiving turkey, and Heather's aunt cooked almost everything else. Heather and I roasted some pumpkin and sat around for the rest of the day, talking and watching everyone else do things. At around 4:30 we ate the most delicious meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, pumpkin, peas, cranberry sauce, and gravy. And wine. Afterwards we had coffee and pumpkin pie. This is such a fantastic tradition! I think we'll have to celebrate it in Australia (at our place, I mean) from now on. It's very important to embrace Heather's cultural traditions and make her feel at home. If it means we have to consume large amounts of roasted foods, so be it.

More weight

2005-11-24T02:11:00.000+10:00

On Monday we went to Salem and were shown around by Heather's friend M.L. and her partner Heather, who live there. We ate luch at a kind of diner called Red's where all the waitresses are funny, know all the customers by name, and talk with thick Boston accents. I ordered a roast beef sandwich with fries. When my food arrived, I thought I must've mumbled, for there was no sandwich to be found, just mounds of roast beef and chips. I didn't want to say "but I ordered a roast beef sandwich", so I began moving the slices of roast beef around, hoping that some bread might appear. Finally, deep beneath the layers of meat, I found a couple of very thin slices of white bread. Sandwiches are different here.

After lunch, M.L and Heather took us to the Salem Witch Museum. The town is famous, or infamous, for its witch trials of 1692, as described by Arthur Miller in The Crucible. Nineteen people were hanged after being falsely accused of practising witchcraft. Another was crushed to death when he refused to admit his guilt. Stones were placed on his chest to try to force him to confess. He wouldn't confess, but simply said: "More weight." His accusers added more weight until he was crushed to death.

We watched a retelling of the events and then wandered out into a display called something like "Witches through the Ages", which talked about changing attitudes to witchcraft. Finally there was a wall with the words "Fear + Trigger = Scapegoat" painted in really large letters. Underneath there were examples of how, using this equation, fear leads to persecution. For example, Japanese Americans (fear), plus Pearl Harbor (trigger) equals war camps for Japanese Americans (scapegoats).

Today the morning news reported that a group in Massachusetts is lobbying to have gay marriage banned again. It is currently legal here, and has been for two years. The conservative lobby group is collecting names on a petition, because they strongly believe that marriage should be between men and women only.

Peace

2005-11-23T01:12:00.000+10:00

On Sunday, Heather and I slept late and wandered into town for breakfast at around 11. We bought Dunkin' Donuts hazelnut coffee and sat in a little square in the weak sunshine. Nearby, a small group of protestors with rainbow-coloured banners and bright coats held a very small rally against the war. They told us to tell our friends in Australia that all Americans do not support the war. "We are here protesting every Sunday," they told us. "And support is growing. Resistance to the war grows every week. Tell your friends."

Dinner in Boston

2005-11-23T00:37:00.000+10:00

On Saturday night we had dinner with four of Heather's friends and her cousin, J. We drove into Boston's South End, and although the parking was extremely limited and the traffic was crazy, the drive gave me a good chance to see a bit of Boston. We're really busy with family commitments at the moment, in the lead up to Thanksgiving, but we'll do some sightseeing in Boston as soon as possible.

We ate at a restaurant called Garden of Eden and the food was delicious. Afterwards we went to a tiny jazz club called Wally's Cafe. For me, the best part of the evening was walking from place to place and looking at the beautiful brownstone buildings. Everything is so old and gorgeous. Often there was steam spilling out from the buildings, from steam heating, and I got Heather to take a picture of me and J. in front of one of the vents. When we returned to our car at about 2am, there was frost on the top. Driving home, we passed a clock that told us the time and the temperature in big neon letters. At 2:30am, it was minus four degrees.

First impressions

2005-11-19T03:28:00.000+10:00

We're here, and it's amazing.

After a very long flight we arrived at Heather's family's place in Newburyport, which is just outside Boston. It's a very small, old town and all the houses are beautiful: colonial style, pristine, and often three storeys high. It's also a wealthy town, very neat and tidy, with a quaint town centre that consists of a couple of streets of bookstores, gift shops, cafes, and clothing shops.

Today I went for a walk by myself to get a donut and coffee. The whole way into town I was chanting to myself "cars drive on the right, cars drive on the right", because I still can't get my head around that. I managed to get myself to the convenience store, which has a little Dunkin' Donuts shop right at the back. It's a very popular spot with cap-wearing old men, who sit and drink cheap coffee at their leisure. It's good to be indoors, since it was two degrees Celsius at 10:00 this morning.

Heather's relatives are great. Her aunt and her grandmother live together on one side of a duplex, and her cousin J. lives on the other. We're staying with J. The house, Heather tells me, is a couple of hundred years old. Heather's grandmother is gorgeous and funny and lovely. She and Heather look very alike, so now I feel that I know how Heather will look when she's old. Heather's aunt is lovely and funny too (humour seems to run in the family), and J. was very sweet this morning, when she hugged me and said "Welcome to the family."

So far, everything is wonderful, but cold. And little things are different--things that I didn't expect. Like, alcohol is really cheap (and you can get it at the convenience store), and shops give matchbooks away for free. I've got to run now, because we're going to see Heather's friend Kara in Salem, the home of witchy stuff. I'll put some photos up soon--within the next couple of days.

No more sleeps

2005-11-16T07:16:00.000+10:00

Heather has been counting down the sleeps until we leave. It is Wednesday, at last, and there are no more sleeps. We leave the house for the airport in about an hour.

Everyone told me that I wouldn't be able to sleep before the flight, but I slept soundly, except for being woken at 2:30 by the loudest thunderclap the world has ever heard. We ran around the house closing windows and rescuing the poor, terrified cat. I thought about the trip for a little while then, but just went back to sleep.

I have said all my goodbyes. My mother is worried sick and kind of excited. Dad was pretty casual. My brother asked for an I Love NY t-shirt, and my other brother told me not to jump into Niagara Falls. Our friends have wished us well and eaten farewell cakes with us, or drunk goodbye beers. Everything is packed, I hope. One final check, and then we're off.

I can't believe that the next time I blog it will be from America.

Dad's visit

2005-11-14T07:30:00.000+10:00

My Dad has returned home after spending four nights with us. It was great to see him, and I really enjoyed his visit. We didn't talk much about the wedding. The night of his arrival, though, we sat in the dark on the front verandah and chatted about a few things. He told me he likes Heather, he thinks she's a good person, but that he's from a "different generation". I knew what he meant, so I didn't really respond.

Finally he said to me, "You know what you're going over there for?"

"Yeah," I said.

"That's not recognised here in Australia, is it?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, that's sort of good in a way, isn't it? Because if things don't work out, in a few years, you'll be able to get married again."

To a man, he meant.

He also told me that, being of a different generation, he didn't really understand "it", but he thinks of Heather and me as being like his aunts, who were twins and shared a house together for about fifty years, just the two of them. These aunts were a really important part of our family, very much loved, and when I was a kid we came to Brisbane four times a year to visit them.

I feel a little frustrated by this, but Heather sees it as a positive approach; it's not everything that we could hope for, but it's certainly not negative. I am not the most patient of people, it must be said, so sometimes I wish my parents would just hurry up and accept our relationship. Process it, dammit, what's taking you so long? In reality, there is no guarantee that this will ever happen.

Dad definitely likes Heather, though. He asked her for instructions on the best way to drive north out of Brisbane. From him, this is a very big compliment.

A room with a view

2005-11-09T17:01:00.000+10:00

Angst sidetracked me in that last post. What I actually meant to say was Oh my god we're going to Niagara Falls! I've booked! We'll be staying at a hotel right near the falls. Best of all, we've booked a room with a guaranteed falls view. So insert Heather and me into this picture. But we won't be reading books. As if! We'll be pressing our noses flat against the glass, with big, wide grins on our faces.

Up in the air, down in the dirt

2005-11-09T16:00:00.000+10:00

In one week, Heather and I will be up in the air, on our way to adventure and wintery weather. I am underprepared. I need to finish marking my students' essays, work out what the hell to take with me, organise money, and buy a few more winter clothes in the next week. And a billion other things that I probably won't remember until the day before we leave.

My Dad is arriving today to stay for a couple of days. He was meant to come next week and take us to the airport. However, due to some weird miscommunication, that plan fell through. The "communication" part was him telling me he was coming. The "mis-" part was his failure to tell me that he planned to stay for a week. He assumed that this would be okay. I assumed that he would only stay a night or two, since he's never stayed longer than that on any of his previous visits. When he told me on Sunday that he was planning to arrive on Wednesday to stay for the week, I was, erm, surprised. I told him that he couldn't possibly stay for a week, since we currently have a very overcrowded little sharehouse. David's girlfriend Liz has moved in, and Emma's boyfriend stays every now and then, which means we often have six people in our three-bedroom house. Adding a seventh, even if he is my Dad and it's only for a week, would simply not work. Dad took the news quite well, but Mum, as it turned out, did not.

That's how I came to answer the phone on Sunday to hear my mother bellowing: "Michelle, you fucking disgust me!"

"Huh?" I said, as one would.

She repeated the same sentence and I hung up on her, as one would.

In families, little things get blown out of proportion so easily. Mum completely overreacted to what she perceived as my slight of Dad. When I later told her that she could not speak to me like that, she accused me of all sorts of things, including lying and being a bad daughter. I don't know what the hell is going on with her. Maybe she's freaking out about the marriage. Maybe she's freaking out about the trip. I don't really care either way. I just wish she'd calm down and be happy about stuff for once.

Over there

2005-11-02T11:34:00.000+10:00

I have been shopping a lot lately. I now own a warm, puffy Kathmandu vest in the colour "smoky rose". I also have a very stylish piece of cabin luggage in charcoal. Winter clothing is a shopping priority, but it's also generally ugly, so I'm finding it hard to be enthused. On the weekend, I went underwear shopping instead, because I was suddenly fearful that my old Bonds undies wouldn't look too impressive if some Customs person has a look in my bags. So I am getting a little sidetracked, I think.

Elizabeth (my un-bridesmaid) and I have decided to have a kind of hen's night just before the wedding. Just the two of us, running around in Toronto, and drinking. I'm really excited about this plan. I'll stay with her the night before the wedding, and we'll meet up with Heather and her friends for breakfast the next day. The only problem we face is working out where Elizabeth should stay in Toronto. One place initially sounded appealing, but further online research revealed that some travellers found the place riddled with bed bugs. We've taken that one off our list of potential lodgings. I will also withhold this information from my mother, who would undoubtedly add it to her list of awful things to be found "over there": hurricanes, murderers, and bed bugs.

Image of Cimex lectularis, the human bedbug, from http://www.biosci.ohio-state.edu/~parasite/cimex.html

Bridesmaid

2005-10-23T09:54:00.000+10:00

We've known for quite a while that Heather will have a handful of friends present at the wedding in Toronto. I doubted that any of my friends would come, though, since it's such a long way to travel. But the best news of this week is that my friend Elizabeth, who lives in the UK, will be joining in the festivities.

Elizabeth and I have been friends since Year 10, and our friendship came about almost by default. All of our friends were in the school choir, which rehearsed at lunchtime. (I, too, was in the choir for a time, but dropped out after we had to sing "From a Distance", the Bette Midler song.) Apart from the cool people, who weren't in choir and also weren't our friends, almost everyone else seemed to be singing at lunch time. So Elizabeth and I struck up a friendship that has endured to this day. I am so pleased that she can join us. A bridesmaid for me!

Kidding. Sort of.

Bon voyage

2005-10-18T17:40:00.000+10:00

I just spoke to my parents. Dad wants to come to Brisbane to drive Heather and me to the airport when we go overseas. He'll drive for eight hours to get here, just to make sure he sees us off on our big trip. It's so lovely.

On the downside, I also had a really big argument with my mother because she demanded the contact details for Heather's parents. I said I'd give them to her on the weekend, but she got kind of melodramatic, and demanded them now. In response, I got increasingly resistant. Things went downhill quickly, and ended in much yelling and a small amount of profanity.

I called back a few minutes later and managed to discuss things more calmly. Mum, in particular, is just worried. She's always been an anxious person, and having me go overseas is a big deal. She doesn't think of it as a commonplace event, because she's never done it and none of her kids have, either. America is the scary, crazy place she sees on the news and Law and Order. It's no wonder she's scared. "Why do you have to be over the top, though?" I asked her.

"I've always been over the top about you. I'm not going to stop now," she said.

I just have to acknowledge their fears, I think. I also need to tell them our itinerary so that they feel a bit better informed. That way, hopefully their anxiety/excitement ratio will favour the excitement.

Diamond earrings

2005-10-14T21:16:00.000+10:00

Heather picked up our wedding rings yesterday.

These rings, as you may recall, have been on lay-by for a couple of months. When I got home last night, Heather reported that she had the rings. However, there had been a bit of confusion at the jewellery shop. The sales assistant who was serving Heather asked: "Do you want to wear them now?"

Heather couldn't work out what the hell the girl was asking. Wear them now? Wedding rings? Two of them?

"Uh, no thanks," Heather said.

It all became clearer (and stranger) when the sales assistant took Heather's final payment and tried to give her some diamond earrings in return. (When I heard this, I laughed, and wondered if we could've made some money by pawning the earrings.) When Heather pointed out the mistake, the sales assistant made a joke about how she was just making sure Heather was paying attention. She also asked if Heather had my permission to pick up the lay-by, since my name was on the slip. Heather only just restrained herself from saying, "Duh, that's who I'm marrying." I kind of wish she had.

Comment spam

2005-10-10T07:43:00.000+10:00

I love it when my readers leave comments. And I want you all to leave comments whenever you like. Unfortunately, I've been getting a fair bit of comment spam. Now, to combat this, when you leave a comment you'll be asked to do a word-verification task. It's really simple and will only take a second. Sorry about this, but it should mean that the annoying commercial comments won't appear from now on.

Something wonderful

2005-10-09T12:09:00.000+10:00

I spoke to my mother on the phone yesterday. She wanted to know where Heather and I are going and what we'll be doing on our trip. As I've mentioned here before, I will be the first one in my family to go overseas. Up until now, my parents and brothers haven't really asked much about the trip. I suppose that they haven't known what to ask. Yesterday, though, Mum was keen to know all about the travel plans. I outlined our itinerary and told her what we'd be doing in each place. I told her I'd send postcards from each different location.

"I'm so proud, Shelly," she said at the end of the conversation. "I'm so pleased that one of my kids got to do something wonderful like that."

I felt so happy and sad all at once. I'll send them so many postcards that they'll run out of fridge-door space.

Credit

2005-10-06T21:46:00.000+10:00

We leave for the United States in five weeks and six days. I am excited and nervous. I know the time will fly because I have so much to do in the meantime--and so many things to buy. I still haven't bought warm clothing. (It was 33 degrees here today, so warm clothing was the last thing on my mind.) I also haven't bought wedding clothes of any sort. Or travel insurance. I did, however, extend my credit limit today. A week ago, the bank sent me a letter offering to double my credit card limit. "While you may not use your new limit every day," the letter said, "it's reassuring to know that it's there if you need it." I accepted. What the hell. You don't get married every day, either.

As long as you're happy

2005-10-01T20:46:00.000+10:00

Heather’s mother, Rosemary, is really excited about the wedding. She wanted to be involved in organising the post-wedding party in Florida and gave Heather and me a list of the names and addresses of her closest friends so that we could send them invitations. Her enthusiasm is so reassuring and welcoming; I’m really looking forward to meeting her, and Heather’s dad as well.

A few days ago, Rosemary asked Heather if she thought they should tell Heather’s 95-year-old grandfather about the wedding. This would be a big deal because he does not know that Heather is a lesbian. Also, Heather was nervous because she remembers, with some degree of unease, an incident from several years ago. Her grandfather, Ted, is a widower; his wife died in 1997. The day of the funeral, after going to the cemetery, Ted gave Heather her grandmother’s wedding and engagement rings and told her that he hoped to see her married and wearing the rings before he died. Heather told me this story just a few months ago, and I could tell from the tone of her voice that she felt a little guilty. Her grandfather meant, of course, that he wanted to see her marry a man and wear the rings. Heather is comfortable with and proud of who she is; she also loves her granddad deeply. Though she didn’t say it, I got the impression that she felt she was letting him down somehow, in a way she could never fix.

So when Rosemary asked is she could or should tell Ted about the wedding, Heather didn’t know what to say. Not knowing if it was appropriate, she left the decision up to her mum. Rosemary called earlier today and put Ted on the phone.

He said to Heather: “Your mother’s told me of your decision to go to Canada … As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

In the whole wedding process so far, the most astonishing part has been the reaction of our families. I suppose that I imagined the worst (I do this often; it’s my way of being on the safe side), and the reality has been far better than I could’ve imagined. I’m so relieved and pleased.

Happy birthday, Heather!

2005-09-30T17:54:00.000+10:00

It's Heather's birthday today. Happy birthday, my love! Tonight we will join our friends for tapas, fun, and sangria!

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/bigpru/44747230/

Definitely not a fad

2005-09-29T22:04:00.000+10:00

Last week we sent out the wedding invitations to our Australian friends and family. It was a relief to finish the damn things, but it was also a little nerve-wracking to send them to my parents and brothers. Although they all knew about the wedding, receiving a formal-looking invitation is another matter. It makes things official, somehow. I was worried about how they might take it.

Mum called on Monday night to tell me she'd received the invitation, and that it was lovely. "I don't know what Dad thinks about it, though," she said.

I am used to this by know, of course. "Oh well," I said, "I'd like you all to come to the Brisbane celebration. It would mean a lot to me."

"Oh yes, Dad will come, and Aaron [my brother]. Aaron's excited already."

Mum is ill, and has been ill for a long time, so she doesn't know if she'll be well enough to make it to the party. She is also reluctant to leave the pets. This is not as much of an insult as it sounds; this is just the way she thinks. A lot depends, too, on her health at the time of the party. So we'll just have to wait and see.

Tonight I spoke to Mum on the phone again and she told me some momentous news. Last night she outed me to her best friend. Mum's friend, who has known me since I was born, suspected as much. She was at my brother's wedding last year, the wedding Heather and I attended together. It seemed pretty likely that we were a couple. Mum's friend took the news in her stride, like she's taken most things. Mum told someone that her daughter is a lesbian. And the world didn't fall apart.

I am so proud of my Mum tonight.

Ascendancy

2005-09-25T15:41:00.000+10:00

The Courier-Mail and Queensland Pride newspapers have recently reported some unpleasant news regarding a Gympie politician. (Gympie is a smallish country town a few hours' drive north of Brisbane.) The unpleasantness comes in the form of Cooloola Shire councillor Ron Owen, a pro-gun wanker, former president of the National Firearm Owners of Australia, and former editor of what the Courier-Mail yesterday referred to as "the ultra right-wing, pro-militia magazine Lock Stock & Barrel". I suppose there's no surprise, then, that he also hates gays.

Owen has previously printed and sold bumper stickers with slogans like "Register poofters, not guns" and "Gay rights. The only rights gays have is to die (Lev 20:13)" (note the highly convincing Biblical reference). In a council meeting a month ago, Owen was asked how he could claim to be a champion of the underdog when he expressed views such as this.

"That's because I probably don't class gays as human," he said. "I don't think gays are downtrodden. In fact, they are in the ascendancy in our community. It's an illness, isn't it?"

Some good soul in Gympie has started a petition that will ultimately be sent to the Anti-Discrimination Commission. In this situation, I personally doubt that much can be done. And I wonder if, when a person expresses views as extreme as these, the public outrage it causes is enough. That said, though, I am writing from the relatively comfortable position of my metropolitan home. But I imagine that any attempt to reprimand him via official channels would give him extra cause to promote himself as a victim, and as the outspoken voice of the underdog. It's a tricky situation.

And Owen obviously does see himself as an underdog (now that's perverse). It's telling that he states that gays and lesbians "are in the ascendancy"; he obviously feels highly threatened, otherwise he wouldn't use a term like this. The poor old thing knows that idiots like himself will all be dead soon from old age and the artery-clogging effects of mean spirits. There will be ever-fewer people of his ilk to carry on his legacy of hate. Ron Owen can see his own obsolescence fast approaching. And that must really hurt.

Bits and pieces

2005-09-21T22:24:00.000+10:00

I have been a very slack blogger lately. That will change now, though, because I submitted my thesis yesterday (yay!). Expect more frequent updates from now on.

All I have to do now is work as much as possible to make money for the wedding trip. It is now less than two months until we leave. I'm kind of excited, but also very much in business mode. There's so much to do before we leave, and I'm just trying to stay focussed and get it all done.

We have finished the invitations but not yet posted them all. We've also been making plans for the party in Massachusetts, which takes place on New Year's Eve. It will take place at Heather's friend Kara's place, and we thought it would be fun to combine the wedding celebration with a NYE party. Kara suggested that perhaps we could have a theme, so now we're thinking it'll be a 1920s-themed party. Dress ups! And a fabulous excuse for cocktail consumption (as if we needed an excuse).

Neither of us have any idea what to wear to our wedding, so that's something else we have to work out. It's actually very tricky. I want to dress up, but I don't want to look like a traditional bride, obviously. Any ideas for alternative bridal attire?

Old souls and clean slates

2005-09-16T08:37:00.000+10:00

Several weeks ago I went to my friend Axel's birthday party, a champagne brunch. The small crowd that assembled ate pastries and sipped champagne and caught up on the events of the past year. We are all friends with Axel but don't see each other independently, so there is much to tell at these annual get-togethers.

One friend brought her two young children, including her infant son, who is just over a year old. He was a charming baby with a brilliant smile. In moments of stillness, though, he adopted a look of deep meditation, a far-away look that suggested an old soul. I was fascinated.

"He looks," I told his mother casually, "as if he's reflecting on his past lives."

His mother thought about this for a moment.

"I don't think I like the idea of my kids having past lives," she said. She preferred the idea that this baby was fresh, new, and unburdened. A clean slate. This got me thinking about my own parents.

I suppose parents need to think like this. As a society, we have such a strong belief in the parent's shaping, nurturing role--and there's no denying the importance of parenting. But sometimes it turns out that the child was a changeling all along.

Months ago, I wrote here about my mother's reaction to my sexuality. She said she couldn't understand how I got to be the way I am, because "your father and I are not like that." I suppose my point is this: whether a child is an old soul or a clean slate is a matter for debate, but however you see it, when that child grows, there will be sides to their personality that are completely foreign and unexpected. And the problem is not how these elements got there, it's how to understand and accept them now that they're visible.

Passport to adventure

2005-09-15T15:35:00.000+10:00

I finally picked up my passport on Monday. I'm pretty excited about it, too. Now all I want to do is go places!

We are still putting the finishing touches on the invitations. We hope to finish them off tomorrow. They are black and silver, and they look very slick.

In other news, I think I'll be submitting my thesis on Monday. It's kind of astonishing, and a big relief. (Well, it will be a big relief on Monday.) But then I'll probably spend weeks worrying what the examiners will think. Still, I am pleased. All these exciting things happening at once. Life is good.

An "oh my god" moment

2005-09-10T19:07:00.000+10:00

We worked on the invitations today. The guillotine makes the process incredibly quick, but speed comes at a price: we had to stand at a strange angle to do the actual slicing, and poor Heather, who did most of it, feels practically crippled with back and neck pain. Still, it's mostly done now. We still need to glue the different layers of the invitation into the card itself, which is a fiddly and irritating task, but we should be finished by tomorrow afternoon.

Looking at the invitations today as we finished a few of them, I had an "oh my god" moment. That is, an "oh my god, I'm really getting married" moment. This is not new information, but apparently it's still nerve-wracking and awesome news to some part of my brain. Marriage, that part of me is thinking. And, shortly thereafter, marriage = forever. I suppose something would be wrong with me if the prospect wasn't a little terrifying. I wonder if this is something you get over once you get married, or if married people sometimes think the same thing.

By the way, I must say that the invitations look damn fine.

Another outing

2005-09-06T16:58:00.000+10:00

When Heather called my work to leave the message that my Dad had arrived, she spoke to my supervisor.

"Who's calling?" the supervisor asked.

"It's Heather, her partner," she replied.

Suddenly I was out at work, and I didn't even know it yet. I don't have a problem with that, but I did feel a moment of panic when Heather told me. It's sometimes hard to tell whether caution or frankness is the best policy. This new workplace has a very young staff, for the most part, and quite a diverse one. It seems like an accepting place.

I came out (on my own, this time) to a few people yesterday, at break time. At least one of the guys I spoke to was gay himself, and it was really nice to chat to him. But it's funny how coming out is seen as a kind of one-off event. That's how I saw it several years ago when I told my close friends, my eldest brother, and, later, my mother. I didn't fully realise that it was a process that will have to continue throughout my life as I meet new people. I suppose that the very first time you tell people is so terrifying that you almost have to see it as a one-time event, otherwise you might never do it.

It's much easier now, though, than it was at first. Especially over the past few months, I feel more at ease than ever before. I feel stronger, and more certain that coming out is necessary. Every time I avoid honesty about my life, I deny Heather, and my true self, and our relationship. In some ways, too, avoidance denies the validity of all non-heterosexual relationships. Obviously, it's important to be cautious when instinct tells you so, and some people will never respond well to gay people. But sometimes the best way to avoid invisibility is simply to refuse to accept it in the only realm we can really control, the mundane, everyday reality. Being out to our families and friends, having the guts to say, "she's my partner" at the bank and the doctor and the phamacy, openly discussing wedding stationery at the card shop. All of these things are important--not so much to remind straight people that we exist, but to remind ourselves.

Fathers Day

2005-09-04T13:36:00.000+10:00

Last week, my father said he might come and visit. He lives many hundreds of kilometres away and visits maybe once a year, usually because he wants to inspect a car or truck that someone's listed in the Trading Post. He only ever stays for one night.

I was excited when he said he might visit because it looked like he'd arrive today, on Fathers Day, which would be fortuitous. I was a little bit nervous, though, since it's only been a few weeks since the unexpected eruption when I yelled at Mum and Dad about wanting some acceptance of my relationship with Heather. Still, I thought it'd be all fine once we were all together in person, and I was looking forward to seeing him.

"Sunday will be great," I said. "I'm working all the time lately, but I've got Sunday off. And don't forget, Heather and I aren't at home, because we're house-sitting in New Farm. But Dad can come and stay with us there." We didn't make any solid plans, but it seemed likely that Dad would come.

On Friday night, I sat down at my desk at work and was just about to start for the night when a supervisor waved her arms about at me. I went over to her, and she handed me a Post-It note. "You just got a message. Um, your Dad just arrived at your house."

At this, my mouth dropped open and I made a strange yelping noise.

"Why is that so shocking?" asked the supervisor.

"Because he lives eight hours' drive away," I said, thinking: and because I'm stuck here for four hours while Dad and my girlfriend have to interact without me.

I called our house (not the place we're house-sitting) because I had a feeling Dad had gone to the wrong place. Sure enough, Emma answered, and told me that Dad had shown up unexpectedly on the doorstep. She'd called Heather, and sent Dad over to the New Farm house. There was nothing I could do, so I just tried not to think about the potentially awkward scene unfolding in New Farm.

After work, I headed home and found that Dad was asleep. He and Heather had sat around drinking coffee for a couple of hours and chatting, and now he was resting after his long drive. I woke him up (as he'd requested) and we talked for a while. I didn't bother asking him why he hadn't let me know he was coming, or why he went to the wrong house.

"Did you like your surprise?" Mum asked me on the phone the next day, meaning Dad's arrival.

"You need to tell me these things in advance, Ma," I told her. But I knew she wouldn't understand.

In the end, it was all fine, anyway. I had just been overly nervous and protective. Heather and Dad got along well, and it was really nice to see him so close to Fathers Day. With my parents living so far away and seeing us so infrequently, I think it's sometimes especially hard for them to get used to the idea of Heather and me being a couple. But this morning on the phone, Dad said,"What are you doing today? Are you and Heather just hanging around the house?"

And I really liked that. It means that now, when he imagines what I might do on a lazy Sunday, he's not just imagining what I might do. He's thinking about me and Heather.

Hyped

2005-09-01T23:23:00.000+10:00

I should be asleep. But I'm excited, because yesterday we paid for our tickets to the US! Now we just have to save a lot more money so we can actually live while we're over there.

I've been working this evening, which is another reason why I'm still awake. Can't quite calm down yet. Work was fun tonight, and I can actually feel myself drawing closer and closer to this goal. It's a really good feeling. I received confirmation via email that my passport will be ready within a couple of days, too, so that's exciting as well.

I can't quite believe that it's all happening. But it is. Yay!

Bridal registry

2005-08-29T14:23:00.000+10:00

The wedding plans are occupying more of our time as our departure date draws closer. Heather, in particular, has been doing a lot of the work. Yesterday she was designing our bridal registry site. We've decided to go for the online option for a number of reasons. Working out what to do about gifts has been tricky. Of course, we don't expect people to get us anything, but some would really like to. The problem is, we'll have to carry back home with us any gifts we might receive overseas. So crockery is out of the question!

More than anything, what we really want is to pay for Heather's application for residency. She's still on a student visa until she finishes her PhD, but eventually she will have to apply for residency based on our relationship. Since we aren't spouses (and won't be, even after we get married, according to the Australian government), we can apply on the basis of our "interdependent relationship". But the application procedure costs well over $2000. So help towards paying for the application is the first thing on our list for potential wedding gifts. We plan to make the application shortly after we return.

We found a great site, Not Another Toaster, which is an online bridal registry. Most couples just write an itemised list of the activities they'd like to do on their dream honeymoon, and wedding guests can contribute towards those experiences. It might sound complicated, but it all looks pretty straightforward when you see it in practice. Patrick from Not Another Toaster has been really nice and helpful, and it's a gay-friendly service, so we decided to go with them. It's an Australian company, but also has an office in the US, which is a real bonus. We think this will make the whole process a little simpler.

As far as invitations go, we know how we want them to look, it's just a matter of making them. We have all the cards, extra cardboard, and other assorted stationery items. We've also arranged to borrow a guillotine from work (yay!). Now it's just a matter of finding the time and patience to do it all. But we're close!

It's funny, now that I think about it, this idea of a "bridal" registry. I don't really feel like a bride, because that equates with "straight" in my head. So what am I, then? What are we, if not brides-to-be? Hmm.

The love chamber

2005-08-25T18:19:00.000+10:00

Today we received some information in the mail from Toronto City Hall Wedding Chambers. It was a confirmation of our booking, information about how many guests we can bring, and a reminder of the ID and documentation we need to bring. This is a picture of the wedding chambers. Note (as if you couldn't) the lovely heart-shaped plastic wreath and faux-wood concertina door. Yes, it's kitsch. But, god, I'm excited.

Firsts

2005-08-22T17:29:00.000+10:00

I applied for a passport on Friday. When I mentioned this to a few people, they gasped. Not because I applied for a passport, but because I got to be 29 years old without needing one before. What can I say? I was always broke before. Now, I'm a long way from being rich, but I'm definitely going overseas. If I have to eat noodles, so be it.

I'm the first person in my immediate family to have a passport, just as I'm the first to go to university. Actually, I'm the first to finish high school. Mum did Year 10, my brothers did Year 10 and 11 respectively, and my dad went to Year Seven before quitting to get a job. I still can't quite believe that. He's done pretty damn well for himself, all things considered. When I was in grade seven, we thought we were responsible because we had to raise the flag every morning. (And Mum was probably still trying to hold my hand when I crossed the road.)

First in all these things--and another. Yes, I'm the first one to be a big homosexual, as far as we know. I feel proud of all these things, but also sad. Sometimes, it feels like every new step is a step away.

We've booked

2005-08-18T23:13:00.000+10:00

Heather was just on the phone to someone at the Toronto City Clerk's office and ... we've booked our wedding ceremony! We will be getting married on December 2 at Toronto City Hall. We wanted to do it on the 1st of December, but they don't perform weddings on Thursdays. So, Friday the 2nd it is. Yay!

Convenience vs necessity

2005-08-18T19:48:00.000+10:00

Heather bought more invitations today. We have the whole design planned; we've done some test-runs, and we're pretty excited with how they look. In fact, along with our flatmate Emma, who's been helping us with the aesthetic decisions, we've been bandying the word 'classy' around quite a bit.

Heather's been increasingly involved with the preparations as time goes on. Now, since I am really close to submitting my thesis (read: going half mad and turning into a bitch), Heather is actually more interested than I am in the preparations. She had the scissors, card, and ribbons out this afternoon and was anxiously discussing the likelihood of finding a guillotine, which we need to cut the various papers and cards we'll be using. I think we'll be able to con some people at uni into letting us borrow the School's guillotine. But Heather is talking about buying one.

This is one of those issues to which we have .. erm ... differing approaches. I think it might have something to do with my dad. I remember being fourteen and wanting to buy a sleek and stylish racing bike from my friend Lisa. Dad, being Dad, refused this request.

"I'm not buying you a bloody bike," he said. "If you want a bike, we'll go down to the cop shop and tell them you lost one. Pick one up for free."

I'm ashamed to say it, but I think Dad's approach has shaped my attitude to money more than I had realised. (Although, I must point out that I harassed Dad for so long that I did get the bike, eventually.)

In short, I don't tend to buy anything unless I have to (unless it's fun, or edible, or both). On the other hand, Heather's middle name is convenience. If it makes things simpler, she'll buy it. Now, a guillotine is not, in my opinion, fun, and it's certainly not edible. But it would be convenient to have one at home during this process. The debate will continue.

Rally report

2005-08-17T17:24:00.000+10:00

Heather and I went along to the rally on Saturday with our friends Kylie and Miranda. There were only about 35 people there altogether, which was a bit disappointing. It was incredibly cold that day (or so everyone kept saying), so that may account in part for the poor turnout.

All of the speakers were interesting, and I learned things I hadn't previously known. For example, the Democrats' Andrew Bartlett said that, although there was meant to be a Senate inquiry into John Howard's proposed legislation to amend the marriage Act, the Government actually rushed through the legislation after listening only to conservative commentators at an anti gay marriage forum. Although many thousands of people made submissions to the inquiry, these submissions were not considered, and the legislation was passed.

I also learned about two more groups who support marriage equality: Australian Coalition for Equality and Action Reform Change Queensland. I'll be adding these to my links list soon.

Romantic comedies

2005-08-14T23:32:00.000+10:00

I spoke to one of my brothers on the phone tonight (not the married one). I didn't tell him about the wedding, but Mum did, after my meltdown a week ago. He told me that the news didn't bother him, since he's "pretty liberal about these things", and he thinks I should do whatever I want.

"Are you going to have kids?" he asked.

"I don't know," I told him.

"'Cause they can do that now, you know. With donors, and all that."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not sure. We'll have to see."

It was kind of cool to have that discussion, although I must admit to finding this talk of children a bit unsettling. Someone else asked me the same question at a party earlier today. I didn't expect that anyone would ask us that. At least, I didn't expect that anyone would ask it quite so quickly after hearing of the wedding. I knew that it happens to straight couples, but it didn't occur to me that the same would happen to us.

On another note, tonight I watched Sweet Home Alabama, the Reese Witherspoon movie. I also must confess that I watched The Wedding Planner on TV last week. Yes, I did. Let's call it research, not poor taste, okay? Please stop reading now if you haven't seen these films and don't want the ending spoiled ...

What bothers me about both films is the ridiculous premise that you can be romantically involved with someone (for years, in one case), plan to marry them, and then leave them at the altar for:
a) the person who was designated your soul mate at the age of ten amid an electrical storm; or b) someone you've known for about three days and haven't even kissed.

And the dumpee realises immediately, and with great serenity and no hard feelings, that the thoughtless git who is dumping them is actually making the right decision for all concerned. Come on! This is a romantic comedy? I don't mean to be a spoilsport, but when did being a deceitful, irresponsible arsehole suddenly become so romantic? Maybe I'm expecting too much from my J. Lo movies.

Venue change

2005-08-12T17:25:00.000+10:00

The venue for the rally has changed! It's now at Roma Street, 11am for an 11:30 start.

I just hope you all read this in time ...

Rally tomorrow

2005-08-12T10:39:00.000+10:00

Sorry for the late notice, but please try to come along tomorrow (Saturday) to a rally for marriage equality. From the AME press release:

Australian Marriage Equality (AME) has announced that a National Day of Action calling for Same-Sex Marriage will be held on Saturday August 13. Events will take place in 5 Australian Capital Cities, Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, Hobart, Perth and in one overseas capital, Mexico City, Mexico. The event coincides with the first anniversary of the Marriage Amendment Act 2004 which banned the recognition of overseas same-sex marriages and defined marriage in Australia as between one woman and one man.

The rally starts at 11:00am at the QUT entrance to the Goodwill Bridge, Brisbane City.

Please come along! If you are in another capital city and want the details for that location just let me know.

Mum gets the lingo

2005-08-11T12:18:00.000+10:00

On Monday morning, I found the number for PFLAG (the support organisation for parents and friends of LGBTIs) in my hometown and called Mum to pass it on. She told me she’d been up until midnight the night before, but didn’t say why. I instantly had a feeling that she’d called Lifeline or some other telephone counselling service. When I told her I had the PFLAG number, she said she already had it, and that she’d called them the night before and left a message. This was pretty exciting news. She’d actually called the Brisbane branch, rather than her local branch, so I gave her the regional branch’s contact number. Mum wrote it down and said she would definitely speak to them.
That night I called again to see if she’d made the call. It turned out that a woman from the Brisbane branch of PFLAG had returned Mum’s call.
‘Was she nice?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Her son is gay. She said she just treats her son’s partner like another son.’
Yes, my mum said partner. She’s getting the lingo. It’s such a small change, but to me it felt like she’d jumped on a Mardi Gras float. The woman at PFLAG also told Mum that if her son’s partner wasn’t invited to extended family gatherings, none of the immediate family went either. Overall, it sounded like a really positive exchange for Mum. I was really pleased. I thought I’d remind her to call the regional branch as well, since they hold meetings in Mum’s town.
Mum wasn’t so sure at first.
‘But I’ve spoken to someone now,’ she said.
‘That doesn’t matter. You can speak to someone else. And these ones are local.’
‘Yes, I might call them,’ she said.
‘You may as well,’ I said.
‘Yes. Get a second opinion,’ she said.
She makes me laugh so much sometimes, my mother. ‘Yeah, a second opinion,’ I said. Just in case the Brisbane branch got it all wrong with their message of tolerance, love, and acceptance.

Reasons to never leave the house

2005-08-10T21:31:00.000+10:00

On Sunday evening, after my meltdown, I visited my friend Kylie to talk about what had happened. I’d been feeling melancholy all day, and I just couldn’t shake the feeling. Kylie got engaged herself just over a week ago to her lovely boyfriend Pete (of Medium Hardcore t-shirt fame). She pointed out the stark contrast between our families’ reactions to our respective nuptials. Her family is thrilled, excited, proud. My family is … well, you know.

When I arrived home from Kylie’s place a couple of hours later, Mum had called. Heather had spoken to her for about forty minutes. Mum said that she had spoken to Dad, and told him that Heather and I plan to marry. Mum asked Heather the same question repeatedly: ‘I don’t understand it. Can you explain it to me?’ She didn’t just mean the wedding plans, she meant, I think, that she didn’t understand anything about our relationship. Could Heather explain it?

I need to say now that Heather needs to be beatified really soon. In her kind and patient way, she tried to explain our love to my mother. This despite the fact that Mum asked Heather some questions that would have irritated just about anyone—questions like:
1. ‘But aren’t you going to return to America?’ (No, she isn't.)
2. ‘You don’t plan on taking Michelle with you, do you?’ (See Q1)
3. [After Heather explained that we’ll be applying for Heather to stay in Australia based on our relationship] ‘So, you’re planning on getting residency based on your relationship with Michelle? Are you using Shelly to stay in the country?’ (Um, no.)
4. ‘What about having kids. Don’t you want kids?’ (You don’t surrender your ovaries and uterus when you get your lesbian licence.)

The whole while, Heather apparently walked around the house mouthing ‘oh shit!’ to our housemates, who instantly recognised that this was a Crazy Parents Call. Heather came through like a star, of course. I don’t know if she managed to explain the nature of romantic love generally, and ours in particular, to my mother, but she gave it her best shot. I do wonder, though, if she’ll ever have the courage to answer the phone again on a Sunday night.

An unexpected eruption

2005-08-08T20:42:00.000+10:00

After that somewhat disappointing phone call with my mother, I got upset. I thought about the exchange for about ten minutes before I called her back. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise how upset I was until I was talking to her. The minute I began to speak, I lost the plot and started sobbing and swearing. I was so upset that I can’t actually remember what I said. All I can remember are some of the key catchphrases of my one-woman fracas. Slogans of remarkable lyricism, like:
‘I’m so fucking sick of this!’
‘You’ve known about me for years. It’s time you got used to the idea!’
And my personal favourite: ‘I just want some fucking acceptance!’

In response to my horrendous bawling, Mum was quite upset and remarkably sympathetic. She told me how much she and Dad love me, and how sorry she was that I was upset. She said she felt that she couldn’t really talk to Dad about it. ‘How do you know that?’ I asked. ‘Mum, you haven’t tried. You don’t know—maybe he’ll surprise you.’

Poor old Dad, meanwhile, was in the bedroom, listening to Mum’s responses on the phone down the hall. He had no idea what was going on, but knew that I was terribly upset. He chose this exact moment to pick up the bedroom phone.
‘What’s the matter, Michelle?’
‘Nothing,’ I said.
‘See,’ Mum said. ‘You can’t talk to him about it, either.’ She had a good point. So, democratically, I began to yell at Dad too. I don’t remember what I said, exactly, but I do remember telling him that I was sick of him ‘asking about fucking Axel all the time.’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ I yelled. ‘Do you think I don’t know what you’re asking when you ask that? I’m with Heather, and that’s the way it’s going to be!’
If Dad made any response, it was very, very quiet because I don’t recall one. Mum told me she was really sorry, and she felt terrible that I was so upset. She said she’d talk to Dad when she got off the phone. She said this twice, and for once, she really seemed serious.

I hung up the phone and went outside. Heather was reading the paper. Silently, we looked at each other for a second. ‘Did you hear that?’ I asked.
‘Sweetie, I think the whole neighbourhood heard that,’ she said.
For the first time in days, though—ever since I caught the flu—my head felt clear and I could breathe. Nothing like an emotional meltdown to get that mucus flowing.

Running out of air

2005-08-08T20:39:00.000+10:00

Much has happened since my last post.

Heather and I went shopping on Saturday to buy more cards and paper to test-run our invitations. We went to a couple of stationers and found that Eckersley’s seems to be the cheapest—and they were really helpful, too. Later that afternoon we found some nice white gold wedding bands at Michael Hill in the Myer Centre. (We’re still broke, so we’ve put them on lay-by.) We were particularly pleased because the woman who served us was really friendly and didn’t hesitate to talk about commitment ceremonies—in fact, she broached the topic first, not us. At other jewellers we’ve visited, the staff have skirted the issue and not known quite what to do with us, so this woman’s unprompted recognition was really affirming.

And that brings me to yesterday morning’s events. I called my parents, and spoke to my Dad first. We talked about the car (it’s making a funny noise) and our health (he had the flu for three weeks, and I have it now). Then he asked after my friend Axel, and whether I have seen him lately. Now, Dad has never met Axel, as far as I can recall. Regardless of this, he has hoped for many years that Axel is my boyfriend. I even once said, ‘Dad, stop asking about Axel. He’s not my boyfriend, and that’s that.’ But no. Dad persists. Apparently, he now hopes that Axel can save me from my lesbianism.

We finished up our conversation, and then I had a general discussion with Mum, the aimless kind of talk that ends with one party saying, ‘Well, I don’t really have any news’ even though they’ve been telling you their non-news for ten minutes. Since I did, in fact, have news, I decided to mention yesterday’s shopping expedition. It was important to me because, hey, this is my wedding. So I just started telling her.
‘Heather and I bought some invitations yesterday.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, you know how we’re getting married when we go overseas, and we’re having parties to celebrate afterwards? We need invitations to invite people to the parties.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘And we put our rings on lay-by, too.’
Silence.
More silence.
I suppressed my desire to end the silence. As I waited, I could almost feel the 700-odd kilometers that stretch between us. Finally, she spoke.
‘I can’t really say anything because I’m still getting used to the whole idea.’
‘Well, that’s fine,’ I said. ‘But you also need to know that this is really important to me. I mean, this is my life.’ I waited for her to say something, anything, that would make everything right.
‘Oh, that’s what I was going to ask you,’ she said in a great rush. ‘Have you seen the news yet? Those poor bloody Russians in the submarine. I wonder if they’ve run out of air yet.’

Sick

2005-08-04T18:18:00.000+10:00

I am sick. I'll write more soon, when my throat is no longer on fire.

GTAH #1

2005-07-31T15:07:00.000+10:00

This is the first post in a new, occasional series called Great Things About Heather (GTAH). Every now and then, I'll describe a great thing about Heather. There is no particular order, so don't assume a hierarchy.

GTAH #1: Heather is extremely patient, and she also likes to explain stuff. These are great qualities because it means she always catches me up when I've missed part of a television program. The scenario usually goes like this: I come into the living room ten minutes after Law and Order has started. I probably don't have a particularly good reason for missing the first part of the show.

'What's going on?' I ask.

'This chick's husband is dead,' Heather tells me.

'Oh. Shot?'

'Yeah, two times in the head. Point-blank range. A jogger found him in some bushes in a park the next morning.'

'Did the wife do it?'

'Don't know yet. Could've been anyone. The guy was a right-to-lifer, protested outside abortion clinics all the time. He apparently had some run-ins with an abortion doctor, and with pro-choicers. But I get the feeling things weren't quite right with the wife, so it could've been her, too. Mariska's going to interview the abortion doctor next.'

'Ahh.'

And that's how it goes. Heather gives me her summary, and we get on with watching the show. And she's never, ever said to me, 'Why don't you watch the damn thing from the start, instead of asking me to explain all the time?'

Back to the future

2005-07-31T14:07:00.000+10:00

Yesterday's Sydney Morning Herald reports that Australians are getting re-married more often. Where once multiple marriages were generally the domain of celebrities, now it fairly common for Australians to marry three times. 'Between 1989 and 2003, these unions increased by 55 per cent nationally' the paper reports, and 'there were close to 10 000 ceremonies' where one partner was entering a third mariage. And I can't even get married to a woman once!

In another article, the paper reports that a third of all Australians are idiots. Well, that's effectively what it reports when it tells us that one third of Australians think that homosexuality is 'immoral'. The article was accompanied by a bar graph which depicted survey respondents' opinions on the issue according to their religion (and non-religion). Baptists, it appears, hate us the most, with 75% of Baptist men and about 63% of Baptist women believing that homosexuality is immoral. Overall, about 26% of women and 43% of men agree that it is immoral. The results come from a recently-released survey of almost 25000 people by the Australia Institute. The article also discussed what many academics believe to be an increasing conservatism within Australian society -- not only with regard to sexuality, but across the board.

I don't know what to say about all this. I just wanted to share the bad news, I suppose. And to say that I'm apprehensive, as well. How many steps backward can our society take?

links at last

2005-07-29T15:13:00.000+10:00

I finally worked out how to do links!! And it only took me three months! I don't have many yet (I just did a quick test run). But I will. Oh, yes, I will ...

I'll also try and put up photos again soon. I've just been kinda busy, and we're out of batteries for H's digital camera. But I know that you guys love the pictures, so I'll get onto that before Christmas sometime.

Customer (dis)service

2005-07-27T17:07:00.000+10:00

It's been another one of those beautiful, blue winter days, and I am listening to the suburban noises of dusk: heavy traffic on Milton Road; the outraged yaps of yard-bound dogs at the sight of their luckier peers walking past on leashes; and the shrieks and growls of neighbourhood children at play. Heather has just gone to the shop to buy ingredients for tonight's dinner. One of the best things about being in a relationship must be that you don't have to cook every night. Oh, sure, the union of two souls is great, top of the list, but the diminished chore-load is right up there too.

I have been technically unemployed for the past month or six weeks, but I have two jobs starting up next week. The last six weeks haven't felt like a holiday, since I've been so worried about money, but now I feel like I can actually watch a little daytime TV and generally lounge about guilt-free until next week. And read books!

Yesterday I went into the city and bought another David Sedaris book. I bought Naked a few months ago and loved it. For anyone who's not familiar with Sedaris, he's a gay American guy who writes hilarious autobiographical essays. Read 'True Detective' from that collection for a story so funny that you run the risk of choking on your own saliva.

Anyway, I saw another book of his, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, at a bookstore in the city and decided I could really do with some more of his humour. I was kind of excited, the way you get (if you're a book nerd) before the purchase of a promising book. I took my book to the counter, wondering if the sales assistant would recognise me for the woman of taste that I am. I proudly slipped the book across the counter.

'Just that one, thanks,' I said. I seem to say this frequently, even though I'm always stating the obvious.

The sales assistant took my card and swiped it. 'Have you read his stuff before?'

Finally! Acknowledgement and a sense of communion would be mine.

'Yeah, I read Naked, and I really enjoyed it,' I answered coolly, as I entered my PIN.

For a minute, the woman didn't respond. The minute my receipt started printing, she said, 'Yeah, this one isn't as good as that. Not as funny.'

I felt as though it was Christmas Eve and Santa had jumped up and down on my gifts, handed them to me amid the tinkle of smashed glass, and said to me, 'Here you go. Merry Christmas, kid.'

Margaret Cho's Assassin show

2005-07-22T12:19:00.000+10:00

We went to see Margaret Cho's Assassin show last night, one of Heather's birthday presents to me from six weeks ago. I laughed so hard that I was exhausted and a little delirious by two-thirds of the way through. Not quite so funny were the dickhead hecklers and outright morons who felt the need to talk loudly, make rude comments, and generally dampen the good spirits of all of us who had the misfortune to be near them. Particularly shocking was one audience member's response to support act Bruce Daniels. Daniels said quite early on in his routine that he is a proud, gay, African American. Later, some dickhead yelled really loudly: 'You look really white. What are you, anyway, black or white?'

Daniels responded masterfully, first asking how the question was relevant, then saying something like: 'I didn't realise this was a dialogue. Oh, actually it's not. 'Cause I'm ending it right now. Shut the fuck up.' The audience roared with approval. Still, that incident really unsettled me. What kind of idiots was I surrounded by?

Well, for the most part, I wasn't surrounded by idiots at all. The audience loved the show. Someone behind me sounded like they were having fits, they were laughing so hard. It's rare to hear people actually shriek with laughter, but that's what people were doing all around me. Except for the drunk morons nearby who seemed to not ... quite ... get ... it. So they chatted among themselves instead, and made sly, snarky comments in response to Cho's jokes -- but never loud enough for Cho to hear and mete out her (no doubt) severe vengeance.

More than anything I'm wondering what kind of idiot goes to a Margaret Cho show without knowing what she's about. Is there this world that I don't know about, some parallel universe where people will spend $55 a ticket on something completely unknown, and just assume they will enjoy it? Maybe after last night, and the 'Laura Bush and Lysol' joke (among others), they'll think again. I can only hope so.

Aside from all that, Yay for Margaret! Come back soon!

Tarnation

2005-07-19T12:40:00.000+10:00

We went to the Dendy cinema on Sunday night to see Tarnation, Jonathan Caouette's documentary about his relationship with his mentally-ill mother. It was, at times, hilarious, unsettling, and very moving, and Heather and I thought it was great. We walked into the city for the film, and walked back home afterwards in the cold winter night. It's really pleasant to go walking after seeing a film; like having a stroll after dinner, I suppose, it seems to aid the digestion.

Seeing the movie also made me surer about this blog. Sometimes I wonder if blogging is too self-involved, and whether it's presumptuous to think that anyone else is interested in my life. But Caouette's film is really self-involved, and it works. It works because he has a story to tell -- a small story, a family story -- and through hearing his story, I could better understand my own family stories. And, no doubt, by telling his story, Caouette understands things better himself. That is also what I am trying to do here in this blog. Place my little jigsaw pieces and gradually form a picture -- for myself, and for anyone else who is curious to see what results.

Lesbian colours

2005-07-17T11:39:00.000+10:00

A few months ago I was reading a book about lesbian weddings and commitment ceremonies. A whole range of couples talked about planning and executing their ceremonies, and it was interesting to see how every couple takes a different approach, incorporating elements of the traditional and non-traditional to suit their style. One thing that bothered me, though, was a particular couple who described how they decorated their house for the ceremony in 'Lesbian colours'. Not just lesbian colours, folks, but capital-L Lesbian colours.

At the time, I asked Heather, 'What are Lesbian colours?'

Neither of us knew, but we guessed that purple was involved. Surely if the couple meant 'rainbow colours', they would say so. And besides, the rainbow symbols are not specifically lesbian colours, but indicate GLBTI stuff more generally. So what are these Lesbian colours?

Just now, I just did a google search for 'lesbian colors' and also the Australian spelling, 'colours'. One result was for a site called 'Wet Lesbian', which contains the phrase: 'Their main wet lesbian colors wet lesbian are wet lesbian dark blue and black wet lesbian'. Although very interesting, this didn't solve my dilemma. 'Mature lesbian colors' came up in the curiously-named Very-Older-Pussy dot com. (Doubtful that the site would enlighten me, I didn't click on the link.)

Intriguing as all of this may be, I still do not know what Lesbian colours are.

I would really appreciate it if any of my lovely readers can help me out here. Firstly, what are Lesbian colours? (Even if you don't know, make a suggestion. Live a little.) Secondly, if Heather and I have a colour theme for our wedding celebrations, what Lesbian colours should we use?

Putting out the welcome mat

2005-07-15T17:00:00.000+10:00

Today we went to Toowong Village to do some shopping. In Kmart, I looked at crap clothes while Heather amused herself by playing a rally car game on the store's Playstation. We bought a new welcome mat for the front door, since it's been raining a fair bit and we've been getting wet footprints in the house.

On the way out of the shopping centre, I thought I'd have a quick look at Scribblers, the stationery shop. We still haven't organised invitations, so we'll have to do it soon. I went in looking for pre-cut cards and nice papers that might be used as overlay. We ended up looking for quite a while, holding up favourites from time to time for each other to inspect. We rested the Kmart bag holding our welcome mat on the floor while we looked.

A young sales assistant asked if we required help, but we were just browsing. Then an older woman asked if we needed help.

'No, we're just looking, thanks,' we told her, and continued our browsing. We had relatively lengthy debates over some papers as we worked out what we agreed on and how our tastes would fit together. Later on, the older woman asked once again if we needed help, and we told her once again that we were fine.

Heather got sick of the whole process and went outside after a while. I continued looking for a little bit, and then saw the older woman approaching once again. I looked up at her to smile and, I thought, rebuff what would undoubtedly be another 'can I help you?'. But, strangely, this time she gave me a really nasty look. For once in my life I thought 'nah, it can't be personal' and continued about my shopping.

I collected a few samples, bought them, and met Heather outside. She was looking kind of churlish.

'Did that bitch check your bag?' she asked.

'No, why?'

'She fucking checked mine!'

'Really, the older woman?'

'Yeah, she followed me out of the store and said: Can I just check your bag? We do bag checks from time to time. And so I showed her my bag with the mat in it, and she wanted me to move the mat around so she could see inside.'

Bag checks at a stationery shop?! This woman really acted as if Heather had stolen something. It was really irritating to me because the woman was initially quite pleasant, and only got nasty after she realised we might be lesbians. That is, after overhearing our discussions about paper colours, prints, card sizes, and wedding plans. These very specific types of discussion aren't the kind you have with a friend, I guess.

It's hard to know what the woman was thinking, but I just think she wanted to piss us off so we wouldn't come back to flaunt our queerness in her little shop. She wanted to do anything she could, anything at all, to express her disapproval. Sometimes this kind of discrimination is worse than the overt stuff, because to some extent we're prepared for the overt stuff. But not this.

So much for welcome mats.

Hire cars

2005-07-12T08:24:00.000+10:00

Heather and I have booked our flights to Boston, and also our flight to Florida, where we will spend two weeks with Heather's Mum and Dad. We've decided to hire a car for our time in Boston, and that way we can drive to Canada for the wedding. I love road trips! I'm so excited! The minute Heather suggested driving to Canada, I wistfully imagined us driving around after the wedding with tin cans and a 'Just Married' sign attached to the back of the hire car. I'm such a nerd. And I watch far too much TV.

We still haven't done the other important stuff like, um, invitations and contacting a celebrant. We've got a few months (four and a bit), but still, we need to get organised. I wish I could delegate some of this organisational stuff to my mother, like lots of brides-to-be seem to do. But that seems kind of unlikely, under the circumstances. Progress is slowly being made, though. Yay!

Selling Normal

2005-07-08T09:49:00.000+10:00

Love in Action is not the only organisation to promote 'degayification' (as the movie Saved put it). There are plenty of organisations out there who claim to offer a similar 'service' -- just google for 'ex-gay' to find them. Not all of these groups are church-affiliated, but many are.

The biggest problem for me with regard to these organisations is that they promote shame. Everything they do, in fact, is about shame. Some of them claim to only want to help those people who want to reject their own gay 'lifestyle' (these organisations seem to uniformly deny that there is a genetic component to sexuality). Yet, if you live in a family/community/world where being gay is seen as shameful, of course you will feel ashamed, unless you can find support from people who let you feel normal.

This blogger has some very interesting comments and links on this matter. Also very useful is Ex-Gay Watch, a blog that keeps an eye on the activities of ex-gay groups.

I want to make it clear that I have no problem with Christianity, or any religion for that matter. I respect other people's religious beliefs. I do have a problem with this ex-gay rubbish that ruin lives and creates so much hate and unhappiness -- or, even worse, feeds off pre-existing hate and unhappiness for the financial gain of a few crooked salesmen who are selling 'normal'.

Love in absence

2005-07-06T14:51:00.000+10:00

I recently read about a 16-year-old American boy who is writing a very interesting--and very disturbing--blog, as reported by Purple Pew. 'Zach' writes about his parents' decision to send him to what he calls 'a fundamentalist christian program for gays' (Think But I'm a Cheerleader, only true). The program is called 'Refuge', and it is run by a scary Christian group called Love in Action. According to the Refuge site:

Refuge is a ministry designed to be a safe place for young people and their families to find true freedom from addictions through the power of Jesus Christ. At this time Refuge is an outpatient program for young men and women ages 13-18. Refuge is designed to minister to adolescents struggling with broken and addictive behaviors such as…

-Pornography

-Drugs and alcohol

-Sexual Promescuity [sic]

-Homosexuality

I won't describe how awful this organisation is; I'll leave it to Zach's blog and the organisation's own site to do that.

The blog hasn't been updated in a few weeks, so it may well be the case that Zach is still in the program (internet use is restricted during the program, as stated in the program rules that Zach publishes in his blog). The program is two weeks long, but may be extended by up to six weeks.

It's clear from the tone of Zach's posts he's in a pretty bad state at the moment. I only hope that he can find some help somewhere, away from his family, and just be himself. And be happy.

Organisations like Love in Action drive me crazy! More on this in my next post ...

Heather's Mum is funny

2005-07-03T21:35:00.000+10:00

Heather's mother emailed her a joke the other day. I think I'm going to like her a lot ... here's the joke:

Four friends who hadn’t seen each other in 30 years, reunited at a party. After several drinks, one of the men had to use the rest room. Those who remained talked about their kids. The first guy said: “My son is my pride and joy. He started working at a successful company at the bottom of the barrel. He studied economics and Business Administration and soon began to climb the corporate ladder and now he’s the president of the company. He became so rich that he gave his best friend a top of the line Mercedes for his birthday.”

The second guy said: “Damn, that’s terrific! My son is also my pride and joy. He started working for a big airline, then went to flight school to become a pilot. Eventually he became partner in the company, where he owns the majority of its assets. He’s so rich that he gave his best friend a brand new jet for his birthday.”

The third man said: “Well, that’s terrific! My son studied in the best universities and became an engineer. Then he started his own construction company and is now a multimillionaire. He also gave something very nice and expensive to his best friend for his birthday: a 30,000 square foot mansion.”

The three friends congratulated each other just as the fourth returned from the restroom and asked: “What are all the congratulations for?”

One of the three said: “We were talking about the pride we feel for the successes of our sons. What about your son?"

The fourth man replied: “My son is gay and makes a living dancing as a stripper in a nightclub.”

The three friends said: “What a shame....what a disappointment.”

The 4th man replied: “No, I’m not ashamed. He’s my son, I love him and he’s lucky, too. His birthday just passed and he received a beautiful 30,000 square foot mansion, a brand new jet and a top of the line Mercedes from his three boyfriends!”

Chattels

2005-06-30T16:05:00.000+10:00

Heather and I are housesitting for friends in New Farm. It's a lovely worker's cottage, and we have it all to ourselves, apart from two adorable kittens. It's surprisingly pleasant to be woken up by two playful bundles of fluff at three o'clock in the morning. Even more pleasant is waking up to find the kittens asleep, entwined, between Heather and me.

Today I was thinking about the possibility of writing something (apart from the blog) about the wedding. An article or, should I ever muster the work ethic, a book. And I thought about what I told my Dad when I came out: 'I won't be running around telling lots of people about my sexuality. I don't want to embarrass you.'

The problem, of course, is that if I write about the marriage, it becomes a very public event. If I published something, my parents would probably be mortified. My last name is very distinctive, and very easily linked back to my immediate family. If my last name were Smith, things would be easier.

I was sitting outside the New Farm library today thinking about this. I got there half an hour before they opened, so I had plenty of thinking time. I was thinking that I could adopt Heather's last name, since, firstly, it's hers, and secondly, it's quite a common name. Then I would have the freedom to publish whatever I want, free of my family's concerns.

I thought about this for a few minutes before realising that all of these concerns are about ownership, in a way. Ownership, which historically was one of the most important -- and most sexist -- parts of marriage. Is this really what I should be spending time worrying about? My father's right to 'own' part of my story? Passing that right over to Heather?

Absolutely not. It's my story, name, right. I'll write about it all I bloody want. I love my family. But I won't let them control what isn't theirs.

Commitment and coming out

2005-06-27T21:29:00.000+10:00

Several days ago, Jean left a comment on one of my older posts about coming out. She said that a family wedding invitation was the impetus for her coming out, as it was for my own. I wonder if this is a common reason for making the announcement. The minute someone in your family announces a wedding, there's so much discussion about marriage. Not just the specific marriage of your sister or brother (as in my case), but marriage in general becomes a favoured family conversation topic. In my case, I started to think about the idea of commitment. Not only my commitment to Heather, but also my commitment to not disclose my sexuality to my dad. I thought about the promise my brother was making, and I thought about the long life that is, hopefully, ahead of me. I couldn't commit to a lifetime of lies. I knew I needed to come out to my dad. And I'm so glad I did.

Relief

2005-06-25T10:39:00.000+10:00

I've been quiet lately because I've been marking. It's the end of semester, and I've had about 120 essays to mark in two weeks. Let's just say that it hasn't been a fun fortnight. But I've marked almost all of them, with just a handful left to do.

Today is Pride Fair Day, so Heather and I are going to West End to hang out with friends and be proud and fair. I've barely left the house for the past fortnight, so I am perhaps overly excited.
I do believe I'll get drunk today. In the park! In the daytime! With my spunky girlfriend! Yay!

My mother has worked it all out

2005-06-19T09:29:00.000+10:00

My mother called two nights ago, when I was out, and spoke to Heather. Her much-loved poodle has a cancerous tumour, so she wanted to let me know that the dog had an operation and everything is fine. She told Heather the news, and then told Heather not to tell me. She said she'd call back the next day and tell me herself. Heather was confused by this. 'Does she expect me to keep secrets from you?' she asked. I explained that, no, she doesn't, but Mum likes to feel that she controls information flows between the entire family. She kind of sees it as her role.

In the same conversation, she asked Heather, not for the first time, if her parents 'knew about her' (ie, her sexuality). Heather said, once again, that her parents are fine with her sexuality. Mum said she was a bit worried about our trip to America, because she was worried that Heather's parents 'might be mean' to me, because I am Heather's girlfriend. Heather reassured her that all will be fine, and that her parents have met her girlfriends before. But Heather couldn't help but feel that Mum was projecting some of her own attitudes, or her and Dad's attitudes, onto Heather's family. Heather felt a little bit defensive.

So I called my mother last night. I told her that, firstly, Heather would always tell me stuff because we don't keep things from each other, and secondly, what was all this stuff about Heather's parents?

'Oh, I was just worried,' Mum said.

'But you've asked Heather about that three times now, Mum. These are Heather's parents, of course they're going to be nice to me.'

'Well, that's what I thought,' she said.

'So please don't ask Heather about it anymore,' I asked.

'Okay. You know what? I've been thinking about it.'

I had no idea what she was talking about here, but I didn't interrupt. I figured she was still talking about Heather's parents. But that would be logical.

'I've been thinking about it, and I've decided something. I wasn't sure at first, so I had to think about it. But I've decided I'm just going to treat you the same. Take you as you come, sort of thing.'

'Oh, you've worked that out have you,' I said.

'Yes.'

'So you've realised that I'm the same as I always was.'

'Yes.'

'You know, Ma,' I said, 'that there are groups for parents that you could talk to, if you wanted ...'

'No, I don't need to,' she said. 'Because I've worked it all out now.'

'Oh that's good. I'm pleased to hear it.'

'But your father still doesn't like the idea.'

And so, it goes on. In baby steps. But in steps nonetheless.

Playing house on the first date

2005-06-17T22:01:00.000+10:00

Someone once told me a theory that a couple’s first date, viewed retrospectively, is often a microcosm of the relationship that follows. I don’t know whether this argument has any scientific basis, but it’s certainly interesting when I look back on my first date with Heather. Although I wouldn’t necessarily say it was a microcosm of what followed, certain elements of that night that have interesting metaphorical implications.

By the end of the week that we met, Heather and I were having coffee fairly regularly. I decided I should organize an event that involved alcohol. So I told my officemate Emma of my plans to seduce Heather, and we planned a social activity. I told Heather that I was asking a few postgrads along to the campus pizza restaurant on Friday night, and I hoped she could make it. In truth, I only asked Emma and Heather. We ate pizza, chatted, and drank beer. Emma managed to disappear after dinner, and Heather and I were left alone. Since neither of us had other plans, we decided to get a six-pack and keep drinking. It was Orientation Week, and there was a concert on campus that night. Undergrads swarmed all over the place, and the music was so loud we could barely hear each other, so we needed to find somewhere quiet.

We bought beer and went to a park just outside the university grounds. We sat on a park bench in the dark and talked and drank. My flirting became more and more overt, and finally I made my move. As you have probably guessed, Heather didn’t reject me. In fact, things went so well that we soon moved from our bench to a little cubby house. The kind of cubby house found in suburban parks—made from treated pine, with a simple roof and walls. It was raised off the ground and accessed via a ladder. We sat in that little house and talked and kissed for a long time. It was so exciting, but so easy at the same time. It was clear that we really liked each other.

Students crossed the park from time to time, but they didn’t see us hidden in our house. But later, a group of guys came to the park. They were drunk and loud, and they came straight for the cubby house. Heather was lying down, and they couldn’t see her clearly, but I was sitting up. They came right up and looked up at me.

‘What’s this?’ one asked.

I was pissed off, and didn’t immediately notice the threat.

Another asked, ‘What are you doing in there?’

Stupidly, I said, ‘Minding our own business, what are you doing?’

‘No, no, not minding your own business,’ he responded. ‘What are you doing?’

I knew we could have a bad situation if I didn’t handle things right. Heather stayed down and kept quiet, thank goodness.

‘We’re just talking, that’s all,’ I said.

‘Well that’s our cubbyhouse. We want it back. Now.’

‘Okay,’ I said calmly. ‘We’ll head off then. Just give us a couple of minutes to pack up our stuff and we’ll be gone.’

I couldn’t believe it, but the guys agreed without argument. They went to another cubbyhouse nearby and waited while we packed up. We were really scared that they would come after us when they saw us leave. But they probably didn’t know what was going on; how could they?

We were scared, but it was all okay in the end. I went back to Heather’s place that night, and never really left.

When that friend told me the theory about first dates being a microcosm of the relationship, I thought about that night. And I thought about same-sex marriage being illegal in this country. Marriage is the cubbyhouse. Right-wing politicians are the boys. Idiots who claim to own something that everyone could share.

World's greatest handyman

2005-06-13T21:26:00.000+10:00

In my Department at uni, there are heaps of postgrads whom I've never met. And yet I somehow managed to meet Heather almost the minute she began her PhD. I was heading to the common room to make coffee before heading downstairs for a smoke, which is how I spent most of my time at uni before my scholarship ran out. Just before I reached the common room, I saw Heather at the computer room door. She was a cute, new dyke in a drab, brown corridor; of course my interest was immediately piqued.

Before we got swipe-card entry to the computer room, and because there was a shortage of keys, postgrads often had to knock on the computer room door to get others to let them in. I always knocked loudly and persistently, because of the Department’s preponderance of surly, antisocial types who refused to answer the door unless severely disrupted. Since it was her first day, or close to it, Heather was knocking on the door very tentatively.

‘Knock harder,’ I told her. ‘Don’t be shy’. (Ah yes, full of meaning in retrospect, isn't it?)

Heather said, ‘Oh, I’m not being shy. I was just in there a minute ago, and I don’t think there’s anyone in there.’ She was clearly not timid at all.

We got to talking and I offered her a coffee. She accepted, and then I realised I only had one cup. I remembered my officemate had recently stolen a cup from the common room, and it was still in our office.

‘We do have a spare cup,’ I told Heather. ‘I don’t know whose it is. And I’m really sorry, but it’s kind of ugly. It says in big letters: World’s Greatest Handyman.’

Heather laughed, and said, ‘That’s alright. That's perfect. Because I am, in fact, the World’s Greatest Handyman.’

I think I began to fall in love right then and there.

On the cusp

2005-06-09T15:23:00.000+10:00

Today is my 29th birthday. Housemates and friends have given me lovely presents, and I've bought myself a few as well. The wonderful Heather bought me a chess set (because I don't know how to play, but would like to), two great CDs, and tickets to see the comedian Margaret Cho when she visits Brisbane in July. Also, Heather is also taking me out to dinner tonight, so I am both spoiled and excited.

I was feeling a little bit funny about being 29, until I mentioned it to Angela at work today. She said something along the lines of: 'Why feel strange about being 29? What's the alternative? Being dead?'

This is, I think, a good point. Angela also suggested that I use the day as an excuse to over-indulge. So that's what I'm going to do right now . . .

Obscurity

2005-06-04T20:36:00.000+10:00

I've recently stumbled across a fabulous site, Hey! It's That Guy, which lists actors who have built extensive careers, but never managed to achieve any real fame. Hence, when you see them on screen, you exclaim 'Hey! It's that guy!' The descriptions of the actors' careers is hilarious.

Certainty

2005-06-04T19:03:00.000+10:00

We had a party last night to celebrate Geminis generally and Caz and me in particular. It was Caz's birthday yesterday, and mine is on Thursday. We had a really nice night, although I didn't get to talk to people for as long as I would have liked. At parties I always seem to miss out on catching up with a few people.

Towards the end of the night, a friend asked me if I was certain about getting married. I had been thinking about it just the day before. Doing a bit of the 'what ifs': what if we fall out of love, what if something bad happens, and so on. Then I realised that speculating on the 'what ifs' is pointless -- all that I can really know is what is. And this is what is: with Heather, I laugh more than ever, and worry less than ever. I've never had so much fun, or been so loved. You can make these decisions as simple or as complex as you want, I suppose. I would rather go for simplicity. Last night, I looked my friend and said: 'Yes, I'm certain I want to get married.'

Woe

2005-05-31T22:03:00.000+10:00

Caz was just telling me and Heather that she was born on a Sunday, and according to the old rhyme, 'The child born on the Sabbath day/ is blithe and bonny, good and gay.' We laughed at this for a bit, telling Caz she must be gay, ha ha (she's not).

It all turned a bit sour when I decided to find out what qualities this rhyme ascribes to me. Caz could only remember the glowing lines that described her birthday. So I found out that I was born on a Wednesday, looked up the rhyme, and this is what is said: 'Wednesday's child is full of woe.' At last I understand how I got to be like this.

Heather was born on a Saturday, and apparently 'Saturday's child works hard for a living.' Probably so she doesn't have to be around her woeful girlfriend all day. Glad I didn't know about this news when I was a child. I'm going to sulk now.

Affection

2005-05-30T20:55:00.000+10:00

On a gorgeous Saturday afternoon last year, Heather and I went for a stroll near Albert Park in the city. We had only been dating for a little while then, and we just wanted to touch all the time. Of course, some idiots drove past, saw us holding hands, and screamed insults at us. Tonight we were walking home from a friend's house when I realised then that we no longer hold hands on main roads, only on the side streets. And never in the daytime, only at night.

Blood orange sorbet

2005-05-29T17:10:00.000+10:00

Heather and I went out to dinner with friends last night. I fear that what I'm about to write will sound like an advertisement because everything was utterly delicious. We went to Mondo Organics, a West End restaurant that serves organic food. I had crispy squid stuffed with seafood, pistachios, and rice, and Heather had the 'grilled organic eye fillet, potato, roast tomato & basil ragu, black olive & red wine jus'. Michael had the fish, and I think Elizabeth had the 'spinach & almond rotolo w ricotta, herb, roast garlic lemon cream, roast tomato & harrisa caponata'. Yum! Fortunately, there was a glossary on the reverse of the menu so we could work out what things were. Even better (in my opinion) were the desserts. The chocolate pudding was so delicious that I think I'll have to go back regularly just for dessert. Heather was rapturous over the blood orange sorbet.

Elizabeth and Michael had said previously that they wanted to help celebrate our engagement in some way. We said we thought it would be silly to have any formal sort of engagement party. When we met at the restaurant, Elizabeth and Michael gave us an envelope containing two gift vouchers for massage treatments at a place in New Farm! It was such a lovely idea, and we appreciated it so much. And then, to top it all off, Elizabeth and Michael paid for dinner when we weren't looking.

It's funny how having other people want to celebrate with you makes you realise that, yes, there actually is a lot to celebrate. After dinner, we felt grateful to Elizabeth and Michael, but we also felt grateful to have each other. We always do, but it was an even stronger feeling than usual. Elizabeth and Michael have been married for a few years, and we talked to them about what it was like to get married, how they met, and so on. It was a really nice, intimate night. I can't really explain it, but I felt like Elizabeth and Michael gave us so much (beyond the wonderful dinner and gift vouchers), some kind of pure acceptance and encouragement that made everything feel just right.

Medium hardcore

2005-05-28T18:28:00.000+10:00

My friend Pete has a T-shirt that says ‘Medium Hardcore’. I’ve been wondering lately if this two-word slogan summarises my political beliefs.

The thing is, when you’re a dyke who believes in gay marriage, it sometimes seems like everyone wants to have a go at you. Radical queer activists think you’re conservative and throw their ire at you. Conservatives think you’re radical and throw their bibles at you (or try to run you over in their SUVs). Anti-marriage feminists think you’re crazy and throw their Andrea Dworkin books at you.

Yes, I’m exaggerating slightly. But to some extent, this is what it feels like. I think the only way to deal with it is to say fuck you to everybody (apart from the people who agree with me, of course). I believe what I believe. Medium. Hardcore. Whatever.

I think I’m going to get one of those shirts.

My mother's supportive response to the wedding news

2005-05-24T20:01:00.000+10:00

Some weeks ago, I told my mother that Heather and I were thinking of getting married in Canada. At first, I said that it was something we were just thinking about, to try to ease her into the idea. I think she knows as well as I do that this is Michelle-talk for 'I've decided'. She immediatelly changed the topic.

I persisted, 'So, if we do this, will you come to the wedding?'

Mum said there was no way she would ever go to Canada, which I knew already, since she's never been outside Queensland as far as I know, and for the last ten years even the prospect of a drive to the shops has made her kind of shaky.

'No,' I said, 'I mean to the Brisbane party. We'll have a party here when we get back. Maybe in February. Will you come?'

'Oh, I don't know,' she said. 'Don't tell your father about it.' She may as well have that phrase tattooed on her forehead.

'Oh well,' I said, quickly moving into sulky, passive-aggressive mode. 'I just thought I should invite you, because it would be nice if my family was there to celebrate my wedding, you know. How could Dad come to the party if he doesn't even know what we're celebrating?'

And then Mum had a brilliant idea. 'You could tell him it's a birthday party.'

Hmmm. Or . . . not.

Girly

2005-05-24T00:26:00.000+10:00

I think my mother always hoped I’d be more girly than I am. I was a classic tomboy as a child, always sporting scratches, scabs, and bruises from various adventures. I loved trees, and would climb for what seemed like hours on end. Or stop climbing, after a while, and just perch on a limb, looking and thinking, until I was called down. My feet were always bare, and black with dirt.

Mum is completely different. Particularly when I was younger, appearance was very important to her. She was meticulous about being neat and tidy and creating a good impression. She wanted this not just for herself, of course, but for her kids as well. She would rub rouge on my cheeks before taking me to school, and this was when I was still in primary school. Like lots of girls I knew, my ponytails were so tight that my head actually hurt when my hair was loosened at the end of the day. Very occasionally, my taste would agree with Mum’s; I think that’s how the sneakers with rainbow holograph Velcro-strips ended up in my possession. (Hey, it was the 80s.) But such concurrence was a rare thing indeed.

When I was perhaps ten years old, we attended a family wedding. I had no particular role in the nuptials, but Mum disregarded this fact and dressed me as though I was some kind of flower-girl. I wore a white, lacy dress with a thick, pink waist-ribbon. I believe there may also have been white, lacy knee-socks. If I remember correctly, it was after this incident that I really started to protest in response to my mother’s fashion crimes.

At my brother’s wedding last year, Mum was thrilled to see me in the bridesmaid’s dress. For weeks afterwards, she passed on the glowing comments of neighbours and old friends I’ve never even met: ‘And Joyce down the street, you don’t know her, she said you looked absolutely beautiful.’ And I like these positive comments, they please me, but at the same time I know that Mum is so thrilled because I’m not always her ideal daughter. She loves me very much and is proud of me, I know this, but she just wishes I were more regular. With a job she understood, and a life she knew more about because she wasn’t scared to ask, and, ultimately, a husband, child and mortgage.

When Mum looks at those wedding pictures, I think she sees that ideal daughter. And I think she pretends for a bit. When I look at those pictures, I see myself looking unusually dressed-up and made-up, with a hairstyle that took an hour to complete. And I liked the game of it, the play of it, but it’s not who I am – or who I ever could be. Maybe Mum will understand this someday, and maybe she won’t. The latter prospect makes me a little sad, but this is the way it often goes in families, I suppose. I don’t have kids, but it seems that much of being a mother is about planning and hoping for your kids. Maybe once they’re grown, it’s hard to give up this planning and hoping and find some kind of acceptance.

Invites and outvites

2005-05-23T19:49:00.000+10:00

Yesterday Heather and I went invitation shopping. We went to a place called Invitation House in Albany Creek, which is a fair distance from here, but we were in the mood for a drive. On arrival, we looked at the stock for about five minutes before deciding we needed a snack so we could concentrate on the task ahead. Unfortunately, we didn't realise that the opening hours would be so brief on the Sabbath day, and when we came back ten minutes later, the shop was shut.

We really liked what we saw in those first few minutes, though. It quickly became apparent that it's much cheaper to print the invitations yourself, so that is what we will probably do. We can buy simple, pre-cut invitations that will look really good with a few basic additions. If you're in the market for invitations, check out the Invitation House site.

An even more exciting stationer (there's a statement to prove my nerd credentials) is Outvite, who do gay and lesbian wedding invitations and other queer cards. A great name and absolutely beautiful cards -- and best of all, you can click on an invitation, type in your own text, and see the invitations as they would appear with your own wording. The prices are pretty good, too, but it's an American company, so with shipping costs added in, Heather and I probably can't afford these very lovely invitations .

Invitation House has a Fortitude Valley store as well, so we plan to go there soon and start making some serious stationery decisions. It's all a bit grown up, really.

On the demise of the rake

2005-05-22T11:34:00.000+10:00

I have decided that in Hell it is always Sunday. And every one of your neighbours has a leaf-blower.