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They cut down all the rose bushes in the backyards. Our townhouse shares a long and narrow backyard with all the houses on our block, which backs up to a major road. A few weeks ago they boarded up all of our front doors and fenced off the front of our houses to do some major reconstruction, so we have to use the back door and walk around the block to get to our cars. They built scaffolding so the people in the houses upstairs from ours can climb in through their balconies. I moved all my pots of flowers and herbs to our back patio, so at least there’s a little beauty there. And until last week we had rosebushes lining the brick wall separating our yards from the sidewalk. But they chopped them all down. Maybe this was in an effort to make it easier to walk back there, especially when you are pulling a wagon full of groceries in or recycling out. I would rather enjoy the roses and have to squeeze around them, but no one asked me.
In the seven weeks since Randy died I have had to inform numerous strangers about this so they can help me with various accounts and transactions. I’ve said it so many times to customer service representatives and the next agent available that sometimes it sounds like a flimsy excuse even to me. Of course, this situation is covered in their protocols, and they express their condolences and I have to say thank you. Transitioning and reconciling all of Randy’s subscriptions and accounts and the shared bills that he’s been paying for 22 years has been vastly more complicated than I ever would have anticipated. Even though we both knew the life expectancy with glioblastoma is not good, we thought we had more time. We thought sitting down too soon to share the passwords and add my name to everything would be acknowledging that he was about to die and it would somehow come sooner. This was clearly foolish on our part.
We buried Randy, in a green cemetery, under shady trees and overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains, 10 days after he died. Walking from the car to the burial plot and seeing the shroud containing his body was one of the few times I’ve cried in front of anyone else. I’ve done a lot of crying in my car. We wore his soccer jerseys and tossed flowers into the grave after we shared stories about him.
The days between then and the celebration of life were a blur of processing, preparation, and people coming in and out. And we adopted a cat. A few days after Randy died, the kids and I were sitting around staring at each other, or into space, or maybe we were talking about something that I don’t remember. I asked, “should we get a cat?” The kids pounced on the idea. We spent several hours at the animal shelters near us, and now a friendly and feisty tuxedo we call Tina Fey lives in our house. I wish Randy were here to play with her.
For some reason I thought that things would get easier after the service. The days that followed might have been quieter, but they were harder. The celebration of life was extraordinary. The church was packed. The music, which was immensely important to me because it was so important to Randy, was perfect. Everyone’s remarks were exactly what needed to be said about Randy’s life. At the reception I stood and talked with people for two or three hours straight. My friends took care of everything so I didn’t have to worry about it. People were so kind. I met friends of Randy’s for the first time. Friends of mine who I hadn’t seen in more than a decade came out. And every word that everyone said reminded me of exactly how much I had lost and all of those joyful, silly, and special moments I would never experience again.
Grief never goes away, they say, it just gets more manageable, or maybe less overwhelming. I’ll have to report back to you on that in the next 20 or 30 or 40 years. One day recently I received two separate packages in the mail, both unexpected. One was from a friend of Randy’s who lost her first husband many years ago, soon after they were married. The other was from a friend’s mom, who lost her husband a couple years ago. Both packages contained small, thick paperback books, the exact same size and with covers in similar color palettes, offering 365 days of guidance, wisdom, and affirmations on grief and loss. So far I’ve read one page from one of the books, which was a quote by Mister Rogers, whose words are always gentle, thoughtful truths. Some day I will read more. The books will stay on my nightstand.
I talked a lot with a counselor from the Smith Center for Healing and the Arts about anticipatory grief. The Smith Center is an excellent organization in DC that provides support and services for people living with cancer and their loved ones. Before I started meeting with the therapist there and joined the online group that she facilitated, I didn’t know there was such a specialty as psycho-oncology. Now that I’ve worked with her, I feel like everyone whose life is impacted by cancer should have a psycho-oncologist. It turns out, of course, that when you have cancer or you’re taking care of someone with cancer, there is such an enormous list of things you have to think about and figure out and deal with that you don’t even realize what else you need or understand how to find it. But if you find yourself in this situation, first, I’m sorry, and second, ask a friend to do some research for you into these kinds of services.
Anyway, anticipatory grief. Knowing what’s coming even though you don’t want to think about it. Wondering (obsessively?) what exactly it’s all going to look like and how it’s going to happen even though there’s no way to know for certain. Trying to prepare for a worst-case scenario while hoping for something better and while everyone around you seems to be hoping for a miracle. Trying to figure out what your journey is and what your person’s journey is and where they differ and where they intersect. Trying to figure out who needs to know what and when, as if you can protect other people from their own grief. I always imagined that it would be easier for those left behind by someone who died after a long illness because they were expecting the death and it wasn’t a shock. I don’t know what gave me that idea, because it is stupid. There is no easier or harder–it’s all terrible. Maybe it’s less surprising or shocking in the moment, but that doesn’t make it feel any less sad. Part of that anticipation is also the day-to-day grief for the person you once knew–in my case the person I fell in love with 23 years ago–because that person has left the building, never to return. Some part of me kept thinking, as Randy got sicker and sicker and became less and less like himself as I knew him, that I had already mourned for him. Not so much. Feeling frustrated by the changes in his behavior and personality and feeling the anguish of watching him suffer didn’t reduce the sum total of my grief by knocking off some points in advance. Apparently it doesn’t work that way.
Now I am watching my mom suffer. She turned 81 the day of Randy’s burial. I was supposed to join the rest of my family in celebrating her with dinner at the assisted living place where she and my dad have been for a few months. Not surprisingly, I had a migraine and I couldn’t go. Not long after that, she was admitted to the hospital with an infection. And weeks later, she is still hospitalized. She is not dying, but she is not living in any meaningful sense of the word. She’s had some good days and enjoyed visits from family and friends. She was especially happy when her brother and sister-in-law and nieces and nephews came up for Randy’s service and were able to spend many hours in her hospital room. But lately she has not been eating or drinking and she is confused and upset most of the time. When I went to visit her today, I stood in the hallway outside her room and heard her crying and yelling at the nurse because she wanted to get out of bed to use the bathroom, but she hasn’t been able to get out of bed since she’s been in the hospital.
My mom has had so many and so many kinds of health challenges throughout her life that it’s kind of astounding that she’s survived all this time. The way that major illnesses and chronic conditions have impacted her ability to function and severely limited her independence and autonomy has been heartbreaking. Her world has shrunk and her anger has grown. In particular, since her stroke in summer 2024, she hasn’t been the same. I have tried so hard for so many years to do everything I can think of to support her and my dad. Things have been so rough for both of them in the past few years. Today after I stood in the hallway outside my mom’s room, I had to go out of the unit and into the waiting area and cry. I texted my dad that I didn’t know how he manages to sit with her every day. He told me that being with her is an act of love, even if she doesn’t or can’t recognize it. I finally went back to her room and sat with her and held her hand while she talked like someone talking in their sleep. She said words and phrases that I caught, but I couldn’t follow an overall thread. When she seemed upset I tried to comfort her, but I didn’t know quite what she was upset about. Often she would stop talking and close her eyes and her mouth would be open and her brow furrowed. Everything about her face looked tense and uncomfortable. I moistened one of the little foam swabs on a stick and put it on her lips and in her mouth so she could moisten them. I listened to her. I tried to make affirming noises or responses to her rambling. I was reminded of Randy’s final weeks when he would talk about things that made absolutely no sense or were completely out of context and I just said things like, “right, I understand, that makes sense. I get it” over and over again.
You know how when you’re in the middle of a specific life experience, that circumstance suddenly seems to surround you? As in, every book I pick up or movie I watch now seems to involve someone who is very sick or dying or someone who is experiencing huge grief and loss. Even in the real world, I’ve heard so many stories from people who say it was such a privilege for them to be with their parent or spouse or best friend in that person’s final months or weeks or days or hours. How there were laughter and tears and wonderful stories shared and boundless love affirmed and angels and unicorns and rainbows. I guess I don’t hear or read as many stories of watching this person–who brought you into the world and loved you unconditionally and gave you everything she could–grow weaker and more fragile and lose the larger than life personality and warmth and wit she was known for. It doesn’t feel sacred to see her suffer.
I should have known something was really wrong with my mom a few weeks ago when we told her we were getting a cat and she was excited for us, because she does not like cats. She has never liked cats. She is 100% a dog person. And truthfully, deep down I am not a dog or a cat person. I am a baby person. I make friends with every baby or toddler I encounter and I would love to have more babies and toddlers in my life in some other way than raising them myself. But I understand what animals can do for people, and Tina Fey has been therapeutic for the kids and me, even if she can be a little bitey at times. She must have intuited that I was writing about her because she literally just jumped on the bed and onto the keyboard and when I pushed her off she tried to eat my toes. Otherwise, she’s very soothing like I said.
At the suggestion of a friend, I got a bird feeder for the backyard, so Tina Fey can look outside at the birds. My friend said it’s like cat TV. There is also a bunny that lives in the backyards that hasn’t been scared away by the construction. Niki took a picture of it yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I’ll buy some colored chalk and we’ll draw flowers or self-portraits on the bricks. If I knew how to knit I could yarn bomb the scaffolding. If I can make myself get out of bed tomorrow and create something, it might be a good day.
More about Randy and his life
Blog post about Randy by Tiffany Tagbo
Order of service from the celebration of life
Randy’s celebration of life
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© Christopher Mueller
Here’s a short story of love and liberation for your Sunday enjoyment.
Chapter 1) For Christmas, my sister and her family gave us tickets to Hedwig and the Angry Inch at Signature Theatre (Arlington’s answer to Broadway). Hedwig is about gender identity and exploration, and liberation, and relationships, and figuring out how to love who you are and encourage that freedom in others. It’s funny and aggressive and profane and tender. It blew us all away.
Chapter 2) Hedwig is a two-person show with the energy of a rock concert (the kickass band is on stage and integrated into the production) combined with the pathos of a tragedy. The stars have to be on and radiant 100%. Hedwig, played by Sawyer Smith (they/she), in particular, does most of the talking, teasing the audience, singing (think diva with spectacular range), and dancing, all while wearing fabulously creative costumes and gravity-defying wigs. Yitzhak, played by V Sterling (they/she/he), is Hedwig’s partner/assistant/foil depending on the moment, and also sings like an angel or a demon, depending on the scene.
Chapter 3) Anyway, this is not actually a theater review. The important bit about this show is that it affected Niki in a way that I have never before seen them react to or connect with a piece of theater. They were profoundly moved by seeing Hedwig. It meant a lot to them. That night after the show we waited around for a while to see if we could meet Sawyer and V, but eventually we had to go home before they appeared.
Chapter 4) I knew the Hedwig was closing tonight and I had hoped to take Niki to see it again, but tickets were almost all sold out and quite expensive, as the show was extremely popular. Apparently it was a record-breaking run, but I’m not sure what record it broke. Last week I stopped by the theater, sat in the lobby, and wrote a letter to Sawyer and V. I told the actors about Niki and our experience at the show and how we hoped to come again, or, if we couldn’t get tickets, to at least meet Sawyer and V. I gave them my email address and phone number. I asked the people at the box office for an envelope and to please deliver the letter. They promised to leave it in the dressing room.
Chapter 5) Last night I got a text from Sawyer, saying they thought the show was sold out but they’d definitely be happy to meet us after today’s matinee. I looked on Signature’s website and discovered two seats left for the matinee. They were pretty pricy, however, so I figured I would buy them in person so I could try to get the student price ($25) for one of the tickets. When I got the message, Niki and Randy and I were in the middle of watching an especially intense episode of Andor, so I waited until it ended and I ran out of the house, yelling behind me that I had to run an errand immediately (and unintentionally freaking Niki out). I sped to the theater only to discover the box office was already closed. I explained the situation to another employee, who suggested I email the box office right away with my request and call them as soon as they opened this morning. I had wanted to keep my errand a secret so that if it didn’t work out to see the show, Niki wouldn’t be disappointed. But after I got home we went out for ice cream and I had to explain to them what I had been doing because they were alarmed at my sudden, unexplained departure. They promised that even if we couldn’t get tickets, they appreciated me making the effort.
© Christopher Mueller
Chapter 6) I called the box office this morning at 10 (from church, as I was helping lead today’s service) and left a message. I called again at 11, when my part of the service was over, and left a message. Shortly thereafter I got an email from the box office saying that unfortunately those tickets had been sold, but that we could come for the rush period before the show in case someone turned in their tickets or didn’t come. The matinee was at 2, and the rush period starts at 12:30, so the email suggested we bring things to do.
Chapter 7) With water bottles, books, playing cards, my laptop, and a phone charger all in my backpack, we arrived at Signature at 12:30, identified ourselves, and settled into a pair of purple armchairs to wait. Niki read a novel. I wrote an article. We watched people walk through the lobby doors. At 1:45, one of the box office staff came over to where we were sitting. I felt certain she was going to say that everyone had shown up with their tickets and we would have to go home. Instead she said, you’re in luck, there are two tickets in the front row center that opened up. Niki and I leapt out of our seats, our hearts racing. We followed her to the counter to pay, and even more fortunately, the tickets cost only $30 each because that’s the rush price. I hadn’t even known that was a thing at Signature. Everyone at the box office seemed genuinely happy for us.
Chapter 8) We took our seats. If you’ve never been to Signature Theatre, you should know that there’s no bad seat in the house—actually there are two theaters there and they’re both pretty intimate and the way the stage and seats are arranged, you can always see what’s happening. But when you’re in the front row (which we’ve been privileged to be for Into the Woods and In the Heights), you can see everything, like every expression and teardrop and bead of sweat on the actors’ faces and every stitch and sequin in the costumes, and every clever detail of the set. So in the front row for Hedwig, we were approximately a foot or two away from the actors at any given time. We were close enough that Sawyer took Niki’s hat and placed it on top of their voluminous blond wig for a moment. We were close enough that Sawyer made eye contact with Niki and winked during another song. We were close enough that Sawyer reached out and clasped the hands of everyone in the front row, and for an instant held Niki’s face in their hands. The whole performance was even more phenomenal the second time, and left Niki in a puddle once again.
Chapter 9) Afterward we made our way to the lobby, still feeling the emotional aftershocks of the show. A little while later, once most of the audience had left, Sawyer and V (and Marika Countouris (she/her), the awesome keyboard player in the band and the show’s musical director) emerged through the stage doors. Sawyer and V came out with arms wide open to give us hugs. They were so kind and sweet and posed for pictures and signed Niki’s program. Sawyer told Niki to keep being themselves and called them angel. Then they gave us more hugs.
Chapter 10) Niki gave ME a lot of hugs in gratitude for making all that happen. I couldn’t have made it happen without the pro tips from the box office staff and the generosity of the actors, who were willing to connect with Niki, during and after the performance, and show them some love. Niki is 12 and I don’t know what’s going on in their head a lot of the time, but I know they take in a lot of what’s going on in the world. Right now, there’s a lot of hate and cruelty swirling around in the atmosphere. As much as we tell Niki we love them and we have their back and we’ll do whatever it takes to support and protect them, I suspect they know there may be battles ahead they will have to fight on their own. In the first song in the musical, Hedwig sings
Enemies and adversaries
they try and tear me down
You want me, baby, I dare you
Try and tear me down
Niki won’t forget seeing Hedwig sing that just for them.
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It’s been a rough week to be the parent of a trans kid and an advocate for the queer community. I told a friend that it feels like you’ve just recovered from a gut punch, caught your breath, and stood back up, when another punch comes straight at you. Of course, this is what it feels like to be just about anyone in the US since January, unless you’re a rich and powerful white cis straight man. If your demographic or your job or your ethnic group or religion hasn’t already been attacked, just wait a few minutes.
I’m trying not to feel like I’m being dragged under the waves, but it’s hard. Thank goodness there are always books! Helping people feel connected with other humans since the invention of the printing press!
To celebrate Pride month, I’m writing about 30 of my favorite LGBTQIA+ authors and books that center queer characters. I’ve been posting on LinkedIn and Facebook, and I shared the first 10 titles here. Now here’s the second installment of 10 more books.
No. 11) Sir Callie and the Knights of Helston by Esme Syses-Smith
I was not expecting to feel so seen by this book. While 12-year-old nonbinary Callie is the main character here, the author does an outstanding job conveying the struggles of Callie’s dad to protect and advocate for his kid (and other queer or outsider kids he encounters) in an exceedingly traditional (read: hostile) environment. Yes, this is a middle grade book, but in many ways I felt like it was written for me.
No. 12) Pink, Blue, and You! Questions for Kids about Gender Stereotypes by Elise Gravel – français
https://elisegravel.com/en/
Elise Gravel is one of our favorite authors. She is imaginative, compassionate, and funny, and she explores all kinds of topics in her books. Pink, Blue, and You! examines some of the myths our culture perpetuates about gender and invites readers to decide for themselves what they think about what kind of activities and attributes are appropriate for different kinds of humans.
No. 13) The Magnus Chase trilogy by Rick Riordan
https://rickriordan.com/…/magnus-chase-and-the-gods-of…/
God bless Rick Riordan. He’s most famous for the Percy Jackson universe, but he’s written a lot of other books as well. Riordan does a terrific job featuring characters who are diverse in race, ethnicity, socioeconomic status, religion, gender, and other ways without tokenizing these differences. He’s also helped publish a variety of authors whose fantasy series are rooted in lore from around the world.
But right now I’m talking about the Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard trilogy, set in the world of Norse mythology. This series includes genderfluid and pansexual characters, and reading the books with my then-eight-year-old helped them find the words to come out as nonbinary.
No. 14) Augusten Burroughs
https://www.augusten.com/about.html
I am in the middle of listening to Augusten Burroughs’ Lust and Wonder, which apparently came out in 2016 but just came to my attention recently. If you haven’t heard of him, I recommend starting with Running with Scissors. Most of his books are memoirs, but his life has been so unusual you might think they’re fiction. I love his honesty and insights and he’s funny as hell.
No. 15) The Heartstopper series
https://aliceoseman.com/heartstopper
Heartstopper started as a web comic that quickly amassed a huge following, the became a series of graphic novels, and then was picked up by Netflix for several wonderful seasons, which are expected to culminate in a feature film this year. The stories are about these teenagers who are so normal and so unique in the way all teenagers are. They have challenges with their parents, or bullies, or self-image, or anxiety, AND they have each other AND they are all figuring out their sexuality and gender identities. The books and the show are incredibly sweet and true and heartbreaking and joyful. I would recommend these to folks who don’t necessarily have LGBTQIA+ kids (that you know of), but would like to (or should) learn more about what it’s like to be a queer kid.
No. 16) Spin with Me by Ami Polonski
A question that isn’t always explored in books about queer identity is what it means when a person who thought they were straight develops romantic feelings for someone who is gender expansive. That’s a central theme in Spin with Me, a beautifully written story featuring a girl who temporarily moves to a new town with her dad and makes a new set of friends. Fun fact, after we finished this book, Niki wrote a message to the author through the author’s website and got a response right away!
No. 17) Brandi Carlile‘s Broken Horses
https://brokenhorsesbook.com/index.html
Brandi Carlile is one of my favorite artists and someone I think is just a beautiful, brilliant, badass human. She is one of the few musicians who my husband and teenagers and I all equally love. We’ve seen her in concert several times. So if you don’t know her music, listen to it now. Then read her memoir. Better yet, listen to her memoir because she sings throughout it, songs you won’t hear on any album, but that influenced her or meant something important to her at some point in her life. She’s not only a songwriter, but she’s an insightful and talented memoirist as well.
No. 18) Dear Mothman by Robin Gow
My kid recommended this to me a while ago and I just remembered to read it. Dear Mothman pierced my heart in the best possible way. It’s about being a trans kid who feels very alone, then finally seen, and suddenly alone again and the lengths they go to to find acceptance and love. And it’s a novel written in verse, which is always cool. And Robin Gow is a trans author who I’ve just discovered has written several other books which I plan to read immediately.
No. 19) Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid
https://taylorjenkinsreid.com/books/the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo/
While LGBQTIA+ people today certainly don’t have it easy, given the political climate fomenting homophobia and transphobia, coming out as a queer person in 2025 is definitely not as seemingly impossible and dangerous as it once was. This book explores the lengths to which gay people in show business went to keep their private lives secret, and the effect that had on the people they loved.
20) Over the Top by Jonathan Van Ness
https://jonathanvanness.com/books/
I am such a Queer Eye fan that I have the lego set on my desk–a little lego version of JVN is styling the hair of the lego version of their former high school music teacher. I love Jonathan because he always makes people feel good about themselves no matter what, because he’s spent a lifetime learning to feel good about their own identity in the face of negative messages from all fronts. Over the Top is JVN’s first memoir, but he’s also written other books–fiction and nonfiction–for kids and adults about loving yourself just as you are.
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You know why I post about all these queer books and authors? Because reading builds EMPATHY and UNDERSTANDING. Reading helps us understand the thoughts and ideas and experiences of all kinds of people. Reading fiction achieves this as much or more than reading nonfiction, because it’s more accessible to many readers.
Anyone who questions why they would read about queer people if they’re not queer needs to examine this logic. Humans have been reading about people who are not like them as long as there have been books because humanity is made up of a million flavors of people and it’s a blessing and a gift to be able to learn about and explore the things we have in common and what makes us unique. We gain insights and new perspectives by reading about people from different periods in history, different places, different cultures, different religions…why wouldn’t we read about people with different gender identities and sexualities? The world is populated by billions of extraordinary ordinary people whose lives have meaning and value.
Ideally, we all have the opportunity to get to know lots of kinds of people in real life. But when that’s not possible, there are always books. I urge you, even if you’re not queer or don’t have queer loved ones (that you know of) or don’t have queer kids, read some of the books I’ve recommended. And if you DO know or love kids or adults who are lgbtqia+ please read some books I’ve recommended. Or other books by or about lgbtqia+ people. If you work with children or young people in any capacity, read some of these books. There are a ton of great book lists.
If you want to be an ally, learn more about the people you say you support. That’s a place to start.
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While Trump was pouting at the lack of public enthusiasm about his tank parade, I drove down Langston Boulevard from where it begins in Arlington just across the Potomac from the District of Columbia, all the way through the City of Falls Church into the Falls Church part of Fairfax County. The peaceful protestors lined the streets for more than seven miles.
Here’s my quickly assembled video–the soundtrack provided by my “music for the rebellion” Spotify playlist.
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To celebrate Pride 2025, I’m writing about 30 of my favorite LGBTQIA+ authors and books that center queer characters. Reading builds empathy. Our world could use more.
Here are the first 10 of my 30 recommendations.
No. 1) TJ Klune https://www.tjklunebooks.com/
TJ Klune possesses a marvelous talent for creating characters–whether they are human or in any number of other fantastical forms–who immediately take up residence in your heart. His books are achingly good and I want to live inside them. I haven’t read all of them (yet) but I especially loved The House in the Cerulean Sea (and its companion) and the Wolfsong series.
No. 2) Becky Albertalli https://www.beckyalbertalli.com/
In a bookstore, you’d find Becky Albertalli’s books in the YA section, but I find that to be a meaningless way to categorize books. Certainly, many young adults like to read about other young adults, but we also encourage kids to read books about fighters in the French Revolution, and enslaved people, and old men in any number of settings. So I think books that happen to feature young adult characters can still appeal to and be relevant to readers of any age. Anyway, I love Becky Albertalli. I’ve read almost all her books (except the two that I just discovered on her website) and they are all compassionate and funny and sweet and teach me something about how to be a good and authentic human in a world that doesn’t always reward those traits.
No. 3) Laurie Frankel https://www.lauriefrankel.net/this-is-how-it-always-is.html
When I read this lovely book about a family whose youngest child expresses at age five that they are transgender, it was a couple years before my own child came out as nonbinary. I was inspired to read it because of other trans kids we knew, and the book proved to be sweet, heartbreaking, thought-provoking, and useful. Of course every individual’s story is unique, but unfortunately many of the challenges that gender-expansive kids face are common. I recommend this to anyone who has a child or was a child.
No. 4) Casey McQuiston https://www.caseymcquiston.com/
My daughter and I had the pleasure of seeing Casey McQuiston interviewed on their One Last Stop book tour by their best friend Sasha Peyton Smith and we’ve been smitten ever since. Casey’s books are smart, hilarious, and steamy and I would love to be friends with Casey in real life.
No. 5) Steven Rowley https://www.stevenrowley.com/about
Steven Rowley narrates his own audiobooks in such an engaging and witty way that I expect him to call me on the phone to invite me to brunch at any minute. I adore his writing and his narration and I love how he talks about being gay in the context of family and all kinds of relationships, especially about what it’s like to be a “guncle.”
No. 6) The Civil War of Amos Abernathy https://michaelleali.com
I read this with my nonbinary kid and we both learned a lot. I love books where the kids are smart and are willing to dig deep to show the less open-minded adults in the world what’s really true. Amos Abernathy is an openly gay middle-school-aged historical reenactor whose best friend–also a volunteer there–is a young Black woman. They love history but they also want to shine a light on people whose stories aren’t usually told.
No. 7) Freya Marske https://freyamarske.com
I devoured Marske’s Last Binding trilogy, interestingly recommended to me by my Unitarian Universalist minister. I’ll let Alix Harrow explain why: “Mystery! Magic! Murder! Long looks full of yearning! This book is a confection, both marvelous and light.” —Alix E. Harrow, author of The Once and Future Witches
No. 8) Becky Chambers https://www.otherscribbles.com/about
If you asked me to describe my vision for how the world should work, my hope for how all beings would treat each other, and my philosophy about how I want to live my life, I would hand you a stack of Becky Chambers’ books. Start with A Prayer for the Crown-Shy, which you can read in one sitting, but ideally will reread several times. My Unitarian Universalist minister and I created a whole Sunday service about this book and its companion, A Psalm for the Wild-Built. Just thinking again about Chambers’ characters makes me sigh with contentment.
No. 9) Disco Witches of Fire Island
Several years ago I happened to pick up The Sign for Home, a marvelous, fascinating novel about a college student who is DeafBlind and a Jehovah’s Witness, neither of which comes up a lot in books I’ve read. I’d never heard of Blair Fell before or since, until Disco Witches of Fire Island suddenly appeared. It’s the kind of book that you stay up until 2am to finish, which is what I did last night. The disco witches in question are a delightful group of compassionate, intuitive, and colorful friends who’ve made it their mission to protect unsuspecting young gay men from harm, while also caring for each other through the AIDS crisis and beyond. And of course they do it in spectacular style to a pumping soundtrack.
No. 10) The Miseducation of Cameron Post https://www.emilymdanforth.com/mcp
This book is a beautiful affirmation of identity and the struggle to remain authentic in the face of homophobia and hate. While the book was published 13 years ago, unfortunately the battle rages on between people who support and embrace all gender identities and sexualities and believe that each individual knows themself best and should live their truth vs. the small but virulent faction that fears difference and promotes bigotry, discrimination, and intolerance (and joy and the freedom to love).
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At my Unitarian Universalist church, we have a ritual every Sunday of lighting a candle of compassion, accompanied by a few words of meditation or prayer or our hopes for a better world–whatever you want to call it. Yesterday I served as the lay leader for the service and this is what I wrote when I lit the candle.
Each Sunday we light a candle of compassion for those in our community and around the world who are struggling or suffering. At this moment in history, the number of people who fall into those categories seems to be growing exponentially.
As UUs, we strive to cultivate equity, justice, and generosity, among other essential values. Meanwhile, a lot of people with a lot of power are working hard not only to remove these words from our shared vocabulary, but also to destroy their meaning and manifestation in our society. Which means we need to dig deep for compassion and hold tight to love. Our faith compels us to double down on kindness and refuse to abandon our commitment to our fellow humans.
It’s not always easy, though, as we bear witness day after day to selfishness, callousness, and utter disregard for humanity. So we must start by offering compassion to ourselves. We need to do what it takes to care for ourselves if we are to continue caring for others.
We share our compassion with all people who are isolated, persecuted, marginalized, or abused because of who they are or how they look or where they live or what they believe or their desire to be fully themselves. We hope for them mercy, relief, wholeness, and ease. We extend compassion to those who feel demoralized, devalued, and lost, and wish for them affirmation and encouragement and the understanding that something better is possible.
And, as we begin our celebration of pride month, may we offer our compassion to our LGBTQIA+ siblings and those who support them. We hope for them not just safety and belonging, but also love, and joy. We strive for a world where members of the queer community are not just accepted but authentically embraced.
May we extend compassion to all who need it, including ourselves.
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Listening to the fire wondering what exactly makes the sounds. Do flames make noise? Is it the reaction of the wood? Would it sound different if something else were burning? Trying and failing not to think about the devastation of Los Angeles. Wondering why it can be hard to get a fire you’ve built to catch while houses not intended to be burned seem to ignite so easily.
I didn’t know until yesterday what caused the sudden smoke. Every year when I build this fire it will burn respectfully for hours until without warning the room fills with smoke and the alarm blares and I have to open the windows and the door. I’ve just learned that this happened because of a particular piece of wood I’d added, which was not completely dry inside. What I still don’t know is why the dampness leads to smoke, or why one piece of wood stacked on top of another would be harboring remnants of water and not the piece below it or next to it. Is there a way to look at the wood and know what’s inside? Maybe someone who has spent more time with wood could discern it.
There is so much more I don’t know about the fire. How does the configuration of the logs determine the shape of the conflagration? What role does the oxygen play? Why are the ashes white and gray instead of the color of the wood? Why do the remains of a log look black and then collapse into dust when you poke it? How is the grate unaffected? Or does it eventually break down? This one is broken in part, but still solid enough to hold up the firewood. What makes some things burn and not others–like the grate, the screen, the fireplace tools. If a house burns down, do those pieces made of iron survive? If that is true, why don’t we make more of our existences out of iron? Or would it all eventually melt if left too long alone with the flames?
I think of a friend I used to have who always built the fires when we all went together to a cabin in the mountains. He was proud of his Boy Scout roots and seemed to relish the responsibility. I never asked him how he did it and he never stopped to explain and I thought it was some mysterious formula shared among scouts and certain dads and servants from novels about English aristocrats. There’s such an appeal to reading those books although I can never read them without imagining how awkward it would be to have a cadre of people catering to your whims and doing things for you that the rest of us do for ourselves, like getting dressed, and making dinner, and answering the front door. I think of a young woman wearing an unnecessarily frilly uniform making the rounds of every fireplace in the unnecessarily massive mansion every cold, damp morning, and laying out the kindling and the firewood just so, in case a member of the unnecessarily wealthy family decided to entertain themselves or others in that particular room on that particular day. I think about the classes of people whose money and power were passed down from one generation to the next while so many more others worked to make a living, or struggled to find work, or struggled to make a living.
And this is not unlike today, although many of the details have changed and the props and costumes and sets have changed. We still have the absurdly affluent doing whatever it takes to become more affluent and keep the serving class in poverty and with no choice but to serve or starve, or to serve and starve anyway. For centuries the divide and disgust was undisguised. Then in recent decades, discrimination became more discreet. And now, the curtains have been pulled back, but not to reveal sunshine–instead only darkness. The self-appointed wizards shout without shame that they will not tolerate anyone who is different from them–anyone who is not a straight, white, rich, egotistical man with anachronistic ideas. They will not allow anyone else to flourish, to thrive, to own their worth, to revel in their uniqueness, because if the rest of us claim our power and feel free to share our ideas, their power over us will diminish. Their ideas will be challenged. Their selfishness and greed will no longer be unhindered. They are damning the principles that many of us hold up as the ideals of humanity–the importance of including all because everyone deserves to be included and everyone’s contributions are needed, the theoretically democratic notion that all of us are created equal–possessing inherent worth and dignity–and entitled to treatment as such, and the seemingly simple but historically abused concept that our differences–the endless variations in how we look and act and think and communicate and love and live and move in the world–are extraordinary and awe-inspiring and cause for celebration, not condemnation.
The four cardinals perched in the tree outside this window have gone now. Where, I have no idea. What signals the birds to stop their feeding and flitting is unknown to me. I saw those cardinals as my ancestors, keeping watch or imparting a message I couldn’t quite understand today. But they’ve flown, leaving me to turn my focus back to the fire, gratefully absorbing its warmth while I wonder what happens now.
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Dear World,
Apparently some other voters elected this unfathomably cruel, heartless, short-sighted, ignorant individual to the White House. It’s hard for me to understand why they did this. I voted for Kamala Harris.
Nevertheless, not only my family and friends and many people I know, but millions more who I don’t know are being or will soon be directly and egregiously harmed by the likely illegal actions of the administration in its first two weeks alone. People’s lives will be irrevocably changed. People are going to suffer. People are going to die. Not just liberals or immigrants or queer people, but millions of innocent people across the United States and around the world who are (in many cases unknowingly) being targeted by the dangerous and destructive policies this administration is implementing.
What’s happening is heartbreaking and gut-wrenching. We cannot let this man or his enablers break us. We cannot let them win. It is clear they intend to throw everything they possibly can in our faces until they beat us down. We have to stand tall, and when we fall, help each other up. There’s no panacea for this insipid sickness. There ARE a lot of humans out there committed to doing good in their communities and in the world. There ARE a million little things we can to do care for each other, support people who are doing the hard work, do what we can when we can, and step back and rest when we need to, because that’s just as important.
We are sailing in rough waters through a violent storm. Hold on. Hold on to each other. Cry when you need to cry. Laugh when you can laugh. Find ways to keep creating, building, sheltering, protecting, uplifting, singing, listening, learning, teaching, nurturing, giving, imagining, caring, loving. We need all the energy we can muster. Let your righteous indignation and your holy anger fuel your work. And remember to breathe. We’re going to need stamina for this fight. And snacks. Don’t give up.
If you need me, let me know. If I need you, I will do the same. We need each other to survive. And we will. Together.
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I would get lost on a path
I would get wet under a roof
I would be jolted awake by silence
No one else can come to the rescue
It’s just me vs. the jackhammers
the narcissists the black holes the ignorant
the sirens and the mass of melting neurons
My cup has been emptied
Every drop leaking out before
I can bring it to my lips
I know I am not the only casualty
The brilliant rainbow and the fluffy white clouds are littered with bodies
I am not special
But I once was
You Ask a Lot of Questions 