And So the Year is Ending

When I first opened my eyes this morning, it was to realize that today would likely be just like yesterday and the day before and the day before.  There was that gentle sort of distant politeness between us.  He hadn't slept much, and the sleep that I had was hectic and disturbed by painful and frightening images playing over and over from the last blowup between us. 

I knew that He'd written a post last night.  He hadn't said a word to me about the contents of that post, and I'd been too afraid to look.  This morning, with my stomach in knots, I sat down to look.  What He'd written was so raw, and so painful, and so far from my own experiences of the same events.  I felt despair.  How could we ever hope to bridge the enormous gap that seemed to loom between us?  It felt as if there was nothing at all that we shared -- no common ground. 

I made breakfast.  I tried to eat something.  I ironed some of His trousers that we just recovered from the back of the closet, and I organized His closet to accommodate easier dressing next week when I go back to work.  I made a shopping list -- He wanted some eggnog, and I'd found a recipe that I wanted to try.  Too, I wanted to get the makings for a simple cheese fondue for our dinner this evening.  I needed to pick up some of His dry cleaning, and I needed to drop off the last bag of "too big" clothes at the local Goodwill donation center.  I gave Him my itinerary, made sure He had what He might want or need while I was gone, and got His permission to go. 

I was gone for about 45 minutes.  When I got back, He seemed actually glad to see me, and He gave me a hug.  A real hug!  He held me close and caressed me as if He was somehow reminding Himself of a long forgotten memory.  And then, He asked me if He should spank me before or after we had lunch... 

Just like that.  I didn't know what had happened, what had changed.  I gasped.  I worked not to dissolve into tears.  I was so hungry...  Shaky and desperate to eat.  I think I somehow sobbed, "please, after lunch -- I really need to eat, Sir?"  and so the die was cast. 

I made the lunch.  He had some soup and some summer sausage and cheese.  I had a grilled cheese sandwich. 

I made the eggnog, and gave Him a cup.  He liked it well enough, although He didn't think it tasted very much like eggnog.  I'm not really sure how eggnog is supposed to taste.  Seems like I'll need a new recipe.  It did make Him sleepy, so we cuddled (yes, cuddled) up on the couch so He could nap a bit.  It felt so good to just snuggle together. 

When I woke up, He'd been up and collected some paddles and spanking implements.  He was clear that He wanted to seriously spank me, and clear that I'd finish up blistered.  I was anxious, frightened, desperate to somehow please Him.  In my mind there was nothing that He could do to me that would ever be worse than Sunday afternoon. 

We started with me over His knee -- a position that we haven't tried since the last surgery.  In the beginning, He had me leave my leggings on, and spanked over the top of my pants.  Paddles and straps and some sort of short multi-sticked canish thingy, and a new two strand rubber strap were part of the "warm-up" phase of things.  He told me that He loved me.  Over and over and over.  And I declared, "I love you, Sir."  Over ad over and over.  Then He had me pull down my leggings and panties, and went back after me on bare skin.  I breathed, and gasped, but I was determined to behave as He expects.  More than anything else, I wanted to please Him -- I wanted to not dissapoint Him. 

Then, He told me, "You are not done yet.  Get up."  He took me into the bedroom and pushed me down over some pillows.  He got a big, heavy lexan paddle, and for the first time, began to lecture me about ever considering ending our relationship; about ever believing that He didn't love me; about remembering that I was His.

Sobbing; contrite; I responded with quiet "yes, Sir" and "no, Sir" answers.  The paddle blows fell hard and fast, rocking me into the edge of the bed.  I held on.  I sobbed, but I was quiet, and I stayed where He'd put me. 

He pulled the singletail off the hooks, and began to whip me.  I don't know how many strokes.  I know that I have a number of welts this evening.  I never moved.  Not an inch. 

Finally, He told me that there would be one more set with the paddle, and then it would be over with.  And it was.  Over with. 

We made love.  Really.  It was good for us both.  Afterwards, exhausted, spent, relieved -- I simply curled into Him and just tried to breathe.  For the first time in days and days, I felt good and relaxed and at ease.  We laughed.  We held each other.  We shared kisses.

For all of you, who have supported us through our recent "bump," thank you!  We are, I think, going to be OK.  Here, for your edification, are the last "butt pictures" of 2009.  We will ring out this year with a deep sense of relief, and we will look forward to a much better, and hopefully easier 2010.

All the very best good wishes to all of you for the coming year.

swan

Here

It seems that, if we are going to work this out, it will perhaps happen here where it all broke apart.

I don't know what to say, and I don't know how to move forward.  Clearly everything I've offered so far has been viewed as manipulative.

That is the reality.  I can't change the way He sees me now.  I can only work to see if I can try to repair and rebuild what I've obviously destroyed.

Realizing that walking back through the "history" of this disaster is going to seem like I'm making excuses, I want to say, up front, that I haven't got a single excuse for anything I've done.  I was wrong, have been wrong, and stand convicted of all the horrible things that He says I've done through all these days and weeks and years.  So, the history is just that -- history, and like all history, it reflects the biases of the teller. 

My "craziness" goes back a long way.  The words that document it are all in the archives here.  If anyone cares, its readily available.  I'm not going to reprise all of that.  It doesn't seem germane or helpful.

This year has been terribly difficult -- a year of surgeries and illnesses and huge life changes.  The outcomes have been ultimately good from a health perspective, but getting here has been a battle.  Of course, it wasn't my battle.  Only Master and T had surgery.  The changes for me have all been peripheral to their journey.

I've had more control this year than is the norm.  I've been caretaker and decision maker and manager and keeper of all the bits and pieces.  I've tried to offer that as a service. I'm not sure I have been successful in the doing of that.

I've tried to be upbeat and hopeful and patient and optimistic.  I've played cheerleader, keeping us focused on the future -- the goal.  I've sorted clothes and taken all the photos and celebrated each medication that we crossed off the list.  I've been the support "staff."  That is the role that was appropriately mine to play.

I went to Denver.  By the time I left, I didn't want to go.  I was afraid.  There wasn't much of anything that I could point to and say THIS is what I am afraid of.  I was just wishing that I didn't have to leave and afraid that I wouldn't be able to come back.  That sort of nebulous, crazy, emotional weirdness doesn't make any sense to anyone.  I know.  It just seems crazy.  It was a pretty good trip.  The baby is delightful.  I was lonely and ready to come home way before it was time. 

I took a book with me to read on the plane and at the airports and late at night in the hotel.  It was given to me at a Catholic school teacher conference I attended recently.  It is called "Rediscovering Catholicism," by Matthew Kelly.  I don't know why I decided to read it.  I've long since left my Catholic upbringing behind.  Still, I teach in the Catholic school system, and part of me thought maybe I should "update" my understanding of this particular group of people.  Too, I thought, as I read, that I could posit counterarguements and logical dissents to each of his points.  What happened, instead is that I got more and more agitated as I read.  More uncomfortable and more distraught.  More "convicted" of all the evils and failings and sins he writes of.  There is an old saying about being raised Catholic:  "give us a child until they are seven, and they are ours for life."  It is worse than an alcohol addiction.  There is no "one drink" for a recovering Catholic.

Poisonous mix:  fearful, tired, strung out -- and then stupidly filling my addled brain with the very worst voodoo Catholic bullshit.  I did it.  To myself.  No one to blame but me.

I came home, but I wasn't really home.  I was already lost. 

Everything else is what it is.  I wasn't good in our only play session.  All the fear and all the anger and all the panic boiled up and poured out as incoherently as everything else.  Convinced that I am bad and unloveable, it was easy to believe that He didn't love me -- and that was the worst of the bad things I've done.

I set up another blog thinking maybe I could write there, and He could read and decide what should be public and what not.  I thought it was a small way of putting the control back in His hands.  He thinks that is a dumb idea.  So.  That's that.

Now, He won't play with me.  Now He doesn't trust me.  Now He says that I am controlling and manipulative.  Now He is polite and careful with me.  Now He is looking forward to me going back to school. 

I am sad.  I am lost.  I am afraid.  I don't know what to do.  I don't even know what name to use... 

Thank you all for reaching out.  I am sorry that I have not got anything more to offer than that. 

sue (?)

Where I Am

Yesterday as we rode about town on errands sue said, "Don't you think that we should write something 'letting them off the hook' on the Blog so they know how we are?" I agreed. She also asked (later) if she should put up our 9 months post surgical pictures, with a comparison to our old clothes, and I said she should. She put them on The Herons Transforming and not The Heron Clan. Then she asked me today if we should put them on The Heron Clan? I said yes. She asked if she put them there, if she could list the post about that as coming from me and not her. She was too embaraassed, or too upset, or something, to post anything on The Heron Clan under her name. So our pics are up. She posted them but signed my name to the post for whatever value that has or doesn't have.

So how am I/we? I am going to respond more to how I am. We should be talking more which would give me more insight about how she is, but we are not--sad but true. I think we are avoiding potential confrontations that might occur after such an ugly time between us.

Before I go on, this is so much wrapped up in sue's and my angst, I want to thank and love and appreciate my/our t for her tremendous affection and support and love through all of this for us both. I love you my sweetie heart and thank you for loving and supporitng us.

Where are we? Well we are pleasant again generally. We are no longer hysterical with each other as we were last Sunday. We are getting through the days OK. I am still mostly home due to my surgerical recovery and sue is off for Christmas vacation until next Monday. I never could have believed it, but I am looking forward to her returning to school. I am always thrilled to have more time with her when she is off, and grieve the loss of contact with her when school resumes. I think when school resumes this time it will be a relief.

How are we? I have struggled with what to say about this. sue has told me that she is starting a Blog for only she and I to communicate on. Somehow her invitation for me to join her there has gone awry, which is entirely plausible what with Blogger and all. I have asked her how a private Blog for only the two of us is of any greater value than the two of us simply emailing (or to be really "radical" talking to each other). She has told me that it would give me a chance to decide if what she posts should be posted in public. I am assuming based on that, that she is feeling the problem I had with her post of last weekend was that it was public. I have told her that while there is a minor embarassment factor to having our "stuff" public (my god after what we've blogged her the last 5 years that issue seems as absurd as the rest of this current dilemma does to me) this is not about publically airing our issues (which I think we've done pretty consistantly the last half decade.) I've told her it was more about her wanting to end our relationship about imaginary relationships with imaginary women. She has so far had no response to this. This is typical to our impasse it seems. She asserts that our relationship is compromised by my secret spanking relationships with other women. I assert there are none. She then becomes quiet but very distrubed unless she tells me that had I the opportunity to spank other women I would. In a likely huge strategic blunder, I agree, and we are off to the races.

So how am I? Well, in terms of this I am way better than a few days ago. When all this broke out I had a terrible day. She aserted she was going to leave us and die. I was devastated and asserted she could not leave and that I would (and did) physically prevent her from leaving and that I would die. I drank huge quantities of my newest preferred tequilla and was intent on dying. It was a very ugly day for us both. Quite frankly I am not sure how we survived the end of it. I was blacked out. And sue is not talking, and not posting, so you will have to come to understand the remainder of that story from her someday, if ever.

By the next morning she had sent me an apology as "an unworthy slave" and had deleted her post as is on the Blog now. How sincere this is in terms of how she actually feels, or if it is a manipulation here to prevent my being as draconian in my reaction last weekend, I don't honestly know or trust.

Today we had a pretty good day. I have been pretty active the last few days with all this and with having to help my 91 year old dad with an outpatient surgery (which sue helped me do hugely). I still am finding that if I have very active days I become quite dragged out and symptomatic. I did make it into the office to do some year end stuff late today. She is working admirably at being very service submissive/slave-like, and is achieving that well which is for me after our last seven and a half years very comforting. We did make love in the middle of last night. I would never broach possibly spanking her. I am too wrapped up in the concept of spanking being consensual and self-determined by the spankee to approach that with her again. I am feeling she no longer wants BDSM with me, and that besides that she lives believing there are mystery women living under our bed, who may be saying things in her head, who she believes I am spanking, leaving me feeling insecure and unable to relate.

So how are we? This seems to be the unanswered theme here. I don't really know for sue. She seems less acutely obsessed than a few days ago. She is melodramatiacally reactive at times is frequently verging on tears. She has made frequent references to things as being her fault, even when they clearly were not, stating that everything is her fault. I am comforted and feeling like OK there may be hope of resuming our normal lives after the holidays. I am feeling sad that we had no holidays. After being so ill for Thannksgiving I was really looking forward to Christmas. Her going away to Denver immediately before Christmas was sad and I was very afraid, the way holiday air travel had gone in recent years, we wouldn't have her back until after the new year. When we did, I had no idea she would react by announcing she was ready to end our relationship because of my imaginary relationship(s) with imaginary women. I was floored and devastated.

I spent last Sunday feeling pretty determinedly suicidal. Now I feel that we are both going to survive. I am very bouyed by many of the supportive comments, and some of which have particularly helped me understand what sue might be motivated by. I am totally mystified by her feelings, her behavior.... her antipathy to me, which now has evolved into her guilt and seeming resumption of loving me.

I am sincerely trying to decide if we are dealing with some huge emotional crisis that we should all just hang on and love our way through, or the on set of some serious emotional pathology. We have tried getting mental health care before, and we know it is not available for us in our community because we are poly.

Thank you to all those who have offered us your support. We have received some particularly helpful, non-judgemental, insightful, and supportive comments.

This is not one of my more articulate efforts and I hope I haven't made everything worse,

Thank you,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.
.

"After" Photos -- Nine Months

We have passed the nine-month mark since the bariatric surgeries (which happened back on March 23). It has been an amazing and wild ride, and I don't think we really ever quite had a picture of where we would be at this point.

One of the things that has characterized our passage through this transition has been the sheer size of the physical change. Both T and I have gone through many, many, many wardrobe changes as the pounds have fallen away. We've hauled bags and bags and bags and bags of discarded, too big clothing to our local Goodwill. Too, we've bought our share of "replacement" items from Goodwill. I have laughingly remarked that I mostly just rent clothes from Goodwill -- keeping them for a few weeks and then returning them to rent others. Whatever we call it, that process has kept us both looking pretty decent, and has saved us a small fortune.

One bit of foresight on sue's part was that, as I began to shrink, she put away a pair of the largest size pants so that "someday" we could take one of those amazing "after" pictures that you sometimes see -- the skinny new body in the former fat pants. We also managed to hold onto the shirt jacket that I wore home from the hospital right after the surgery -- mostly because I just liked it so well that I was never quite willing to turn it loose. T manged to hang onto a couple of great big shirts (one of which was too small for her when she had her surgery), to help remind her of the size that was.


Yesterday, we pulled out the camera and took some of those "after" photos. Perhaps as clearly as any other images, these photos give a clear impression of the radical change that has happened in our lives in 2009.

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Here I am Again: One More Time Redoing My Life Script

It should come as no shock to readers here that a key aspect of my life, my sensual erotic orientation has focused on a deep seated compulsive need to spank others. It has been that way since my earliest conscious memories, has never left me, or flagged. Throughout my life I struggled to find a way to have this admittedly strange and intense need accepted and embraced by a woman. To have my central sexual identity embraced and loved. For me to be loved despite or even because this is who I am. I have failed again and again. It appears I still am.

I had a long terrible marriage during years that I was for the most part denying and/or trying to "get over" my needs regarding spanking. I did have some relationships, more like friendships, which included expressions of spanking that, while they were never going to progress to becoming in depth loves, provided outlets for expression and respites of acceptance. Brief periods where I didn't appear too sick and wrong to be cared for by another person because of this need.

Eventually there was (thank god) my divorce and then there was t. She was part of the BDSM community and embraced me as who I was. She loved me. All of me. She did not work around my need for spanking, she loved me because of it. She participated in it. She loved me totally and cared for me and gave to me as no one ever had. We had this two years of wonderful bliss which ended in her becoming horribly ill and almost dying. Our fairy tale appeared likely to become a tragedy. Amazingly, against all odds, she survived and recovered her health. There was one unfortunate casualty, one negative permanent side effect. She had in all the pain she lived through lost her eroticization of pain. She no longer could tolerate spanking. She didn't hate spanking, or think it was wrong, in fact she wished she could still be part of it. But she could not. Our life in terms of my sensual erotic orientation was ended. We still loved each other and were hugely dedicated to each other as we remain today. But there was to be no further spanking between us (at least not with me as Top.) She encouraged me to find others to express this need. She liked friends from the BDSM community and embraced the women I played with whom she laughingly labeled her "stunt butts." Life seemed pretty good compared to my fear that I would lose her all together and be plunged back into loneliness.

As she had been ill I had found in an online DD LISTSERV I was part of a woman in Denver with whom I had connected and who had offered me great support. It was swan. Readers here know the long story of how that on line connection became a deep real time friendship, and love and eventually the other part of the love of my life, our family for the last seven plus years. A key aspect of this relationship was that this wonderful woman discovered with me that she was a masochist and was a very high end spanking practitioner mostly on the bottom end of the power exchange. We loved totally and played and connected deeply around our sadomasochism and I was never more fulfilled in my life. It was clear in those days that my life included spanking friendships with a number of women. In fact some of her earliest visits to us we had the "stunt butts" in for parties which featured lots of gratuitous spanking so she could meet them and they her.

It has become increasingly clear and certainly never more so plain than in swan's post below that this has changed. swan cannot tolerate me talking about spanking with anyone other than her let alone playing with anyone. Further she has come to increasingly find being spanked to be a process she feels abused in. She feels hugely guilty about it and complains that she is falling short in that she can't do it as well as some imaginary cadre of women whom she feels I spank whom she generally refers to as the "spanking chotches." It is difficult to discount these competitors in that there are no women other than her whom I spank. The fact that they don't exist beyond her fears has nothing to do to prevent them from wrecking our relationship no matter how many times I point out the absurdity of this.

So here I am again. Just as when I was 6 now I am at age 60 unable to find a way to have my inner most identity embraced or accepted. I lack a way to express it or share it and have no alliance with a woman to express it.

I love sue beyond everything. I want to continue with her and of course with t. The fact is that there simply is no way for me to ever be accepted and valued for who I am. I have many "socially redeeming" gifts but there is this fatal flaw in my personality, my character which makes me unlovable and unworthy of ever really being accepted loved by a woman.

So here I am again. I am doubting at this point in my life I really have the where with all or the time and energy to try to begin again.

Tom

Good Gravy!

Guess I WAS out of it yesterday, to miss this last post. Geeze-Louise! I had a nasty migraine and was not able to get online, let alone see this coming.

Swan.....NO LEAVING! No selling!! No packing!!! No moving!!!! I NEED You. I love you. And I would be lost without you. You can go to Denver to squeeze the baby, hug your kids, view your mountains, but your place is here with us.

I am thinking it is time for the "S.A.D." light to be brought out. Every winter you get depressed and the light seems to relieve some of this. So break it out, Sista!

For those who asked about how I was about the entire beginning of Tom & swan....well, I was pretty damned sick. They connected while I was in intensive care, so I hadn't a clue about what was going on. Hell, I was so medicated, I didn't know anything for almost 10 days! And when I finally came home, I slept alot....Tom did most of my home care....and I was still pretty oblivious to everything, let alone the relationship that was developing. And I think the relationship wacked them, too. They were not heading for what happened....it just did. Nobody snaked their way into our lives with the intent of destruction. There was no "Plot", there was no "Plan", there was no nothing!

When I finally surfaced, I thought Tom had found a friend. I liked her. I thought her husband was "unique". I thought we could all be long-distance friends. Things changed, and if I am to be honest, I could see what was happening, but had no CLUE about the final outcome. I was figuring that I was heading for a release and a separation (remember we were not married yet) and Tom was going to be alone. I figured it was going to be a "fling"....sort of a long-distance "stunt-butt" relationship.

Then we all met. I LOVED HER. Shy, adorable, NORMAL, not emotionally needy, and a very strong woman. What was not to love? Delima, for sure. But we were still doing the long-distance friend thing at that time. I felt connected to her. Like Siamese sisters, long separated. We clicked immediately. How sucky was that?

And then they dropped the "we love each other" thingie in my lap on the night of my wedding reception.....THUD! Well, that certainly opened my eyes. No hiding from reality anymore. And my life started spiraling. I had been single all my life. I found the man of my dreams. I committed. And it was going to fall apart.

Not so. It took me awhile. I did the whole loss, anger, crying, frustration, acceptance thingie. And when they got here for good, I still was resistant. I dragged my heels like a petulant child. But they just held my hand and gently tugged anyway.

And here we are. Certainly there have been moments that we have butted heads. Mostly over the kitchens but we get over it pretty quickly. She has SPOILED HIM ROTTEN. So when she leaves, I have to work TRIPLE-HARD to keep up his expectations. A Dom/Master is alot of work, for those of you who don't have one.....think long and hard about it before you do!

Swan, you can go to Denver, but you have to come home to us. We are family and NEED each other. You are my better half, not Tom (G)! You make me a better, stronger, and healthier person. So squeeze the baby, hug your kids, view your mountains, but come HOME TO US!

Your place is here. On the other side of Tom.....holding my hand behind his back!

T

Caught in a Debate with Myself

I've deleted what was here. It should have never been put here. Ever.

I was wrong to ever think this way.
I was wrong to write this.
I have been wrong in more ways than I can even count.

Sorry seems pretty empty.
There's no easy way back.
Maybe if I can remember my place and live it for enough days, things will be better.

I'm just sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Forever sorry.

sue

Retrospective -- May, 2009

Coming into May, it is clear that things were returning to some sort of "normal" for us, and the breadth and scope of the writing expanded accordingly. I am clear that this little exercise is baffling our readership, but I am intrigued as this stream of consciousness set of entries evolves for me. So, be patient, and I'll move on in good time.

swan

If poly grabs you by the throat and won't let you go, then you should do your best to figure it out. Otherwise, there are way easier ways to get through life * * * I am not dreadful to look at (I hope), but I am not "sexy" by any definition of the word * * * For me, "sexy" means something very specific, and for right or wrong, that is about a physical presentation in the world. I am simply not able to get to that place where being a really good cook or an excellent musician or a really accomplished homemaker becomes "sexy." * * * they do make ash paddles, and they are functionally superior to maple. It is interesting that major league baseball has come to learn what John Hanson could have told them long ago. Baseball bats of maple will break readily on impact and ash bats will endure impact * * * I am feeling as if I can't come "back in." I am feeling stuck in hyper-vigilant, control-freak mode. I am so tired and so worn out, and I just can't seem to let go and relax back into place. A feral creature is defined as having escaped from domestication and become wild. That's a really good description of where my head seems to be * * * rebooting was His response when He would perceive that I was engaged in self-talk that was self-denigrating and emotionally harmful to my well-being * * * marriage proposal, put forward as a non-proposal; in fact put in the form of command -- removes the thrill of romance, perhaps. The command encapsulates the legal commitment that is not recognized in the existing relationship, and refuses to acknowledge that there is any choice in the imposition of that legal status. To require a slave to enter into marriage conveys certain legal advantages on the partners; works to preserve and protect the integrity of the relationship; recognizes that marriage is a contract. For those already engaged in the contractual relationship that is the Master/slave dynamic, the layering on of an additional contract should pose no hurdle at all * * * power-based relating is about the balance that is created when two partners choose to deliberately and consciously manipulate the power and energy that exists between them in relationship. He and I have been doing it for some years now, so we have some knowledge and experience between us. In particular, He brings a great depth of experience to our dynamic, and He knows me so well, that there is very little that happens with me that He doesn't see and understand. The Dominance that He practices, with regard to me, is almost reflexive and instinctive, and as such it becomes over-arching and all encompassing. It happens almost as naturally as breathing * * * We had a great time imagining the conversations that our friend was likely to have with the other sales staff (especially with the gal who blew us off), and later with Mrs. Walter as he described the really big sale he made to the crazy family of three * * * My new baby grandson arrived this morning at 5:17 * * * I am resigned, for now, to having to periodically confront my own personal fears and demons with regard to His approach to poly. I know, as I am in the midst of the storm, that the misery is temporary; that I'll be angry and frightened and hurt, but that the emotional turmoil will resolve to something calmer. I know that my wish (in that maelstrom) to see Him have to struggle with the same challenges is one of those places where I kick at the constraints of our dynamic. I also know that being challenged and emotional does not mean that I am actually unhappy at some fundamental level. It means that there is growth occurring * * * I live with joy. I know that I am where I ought to be, in exactly the place I was born for. There is nowhere I'd rather be, and no two people in the world with whom I'd rather be. We are creating the world according to our own lights and the vision we share, and it is a very good thing * * * His expectations are very simple -- He wants to be cared for and loved; to have what He wants and needs provided smoothly and without His having to cause it to happen. He wants to be treated with respect and deference. He wants a willing play partner who will submit to His sadistic drives. He is not interested in layering on rules or rituals * * * Isn't he just too adorable * * * The Dominant partner is worthy of respect because of the quality of their character. They may exhibit normal human weaknesses, and occasionally (or even regularly) fall short of perfect, and they remain worthy of respect. There is no way for such a person to "lose our respect" assuming their character remains intact. Engaging in relationship with such a person will require us to make the investment of our trust faithfully and steadily and diligently even when our emotions and fears and whims and wishes might tell us to do otherwise * * * this year, as the anniversary season approached again, I found myself contemplating what sort of gift to give Him. I wanted to find something that would speak to Him of how very much I love Him, how much I value our relationship dynamic, how lucky and grateful I feel to be His, and for all the years we've shared. I wanted something that would be a clear symbol of all we've shared to this point, and stand for all the years I hope will be ours in the future * * * Here's an article about the incipient movement to push for equal marriage rights for multi-partnered relationships, specifically "triads." * * * I have come to believe that the anonymous ones betray the truth of their own lives. It is their own frustration and bitterness that makes it so impossible for them to tolerate the choices we have made to "live the life we've imagined." To someone who feels trapped in a relationship that is lifeless, loveless, hopeless seeing people live as we do must be terribly painful. For someone who lacks the courage to reach out and grasp the dreams they are afraid to acknowledge, our very existence must feel like a slap. Their anger is about desolation and despair and depression and doubt. The darkness within which they dwell is palpable in the words they leave scattered here

We Wish You a Merry ...

It is the morning of December 25th, and our household is up and in motion. We'll gather, in just a bit, with our loosely connected, and widely divergent family, and we'll eat and drink. We'll exchange gifts and we'll enjoy the coming together. It will be Christmas.

Some, knowing how we feel about the myths promulgated as "Christianity" might wonder why we celebrate this holiday each year. We've wondered that ourselves, upon occasion.

The truth is that for all the insistence that "Christ is the reason for the season," this winter holiday is not inherently Christian. It is far older than the upstart religion that usurped its symbols and pageantry. The world celebrates at this midwinter time, and we are as drawn to the season of celebration and family and giving as anyone -- no matter our religious views or lack thereof.

So, our home is full of music and light and newly opened packages. We are grateful for warmth and health and home and love. We are replete with cookies and hot cocoa and warm drinks made up with a bit of rum. We'll gather and rejoice with those we love, and we will reach out to those in our community who struggle and suffer at this season of joy.

Part of what we will celebrate on this joyful day, is the gift of your friendship throughout this last year. And part of what we wish this day, is that whatever your situation, whatever it is you believe about this day -- that you and yours are well and safe and happy and secure. May the day be full of gifts large and small for each and everyone of you.

swan

Retrospective -- April, 2009

April was a difficult and stressful month for us. The surgical recovery absorbed much of our attention and energy. Still, even in the midst of that, we found places to laugh and wonder at life. Here's a look back at the month of April --

I have a very highly developed "WHAT IF" thought process. I am a worrier. My recollection is that I've done it all my life. I never really fully relax. I am forever projecting into the possible future and fussing about things that I cannot get a handle on * * * It is always intriguing to watch healthcare professionals as they confront our reality. Many, even most, simply choose to not acknowledge it. It really does seem that for the most part they believe that it isn't something that they need to know about, and so they simply look past it * * * He looked at that pillow and He looked at me, and He said, "awwww, Honey, I'd love to, but I just don't think I can * * * I've proven to myself, that I will do what is needed -- anything that is needed, and never balk and never blink. I am not just playing; not just pretending. I am more than "up to" the task of being His, and if there was ever any doubt, then it has been banished in these last few weeks. Anyone who wants to go toe to toe for the position that I hold in His world -- just bring it * * * Recuperation just takes time * * * the place where I go to recharge is to Him -- the security and safety of His care and His arms is, for me, a refuge. That hasn't been available, and I am beginning to feel the strain * * * Nothing is happening here outside of the day to day work of recovering from major surgery and learning an entirely new lifestyle * * * Today, April 23, is Master's 60th birthday. There are lots of important historical events that happened on this day (see the list below), but for me and for T, the most important thing to ever happen on this day was the birth of this wonderful, good, caring, strong man that we love so very much * * * As we've gone through the preparations and the actual surgery -- and the recovery process, so many of our readers have reached out to tell us that they are holding us up in whatever way they can. From around the world, people we've never met, except in this cyber neighborhood, have reached out across the distances that separate us all, and kept our bodies and souls and hearts and minds inside some sort of metaphysical circle * * * The first one of the recovery! * * * the good news is that the long wait is over. We woke up this morning and luxuriated in a slow, lazy, Saturday morning. And then it happened -- He pulled me in and announced that it was time for me to get a good spanking. I froze in my place, tucked in against His chest and was afraid to move --afraid that if I moved or said anything, I might make the moment vanish in a puff of smoke. But no, He told me to get my pillow, and we were off * * * And so it is that I have come to put down roots, literally and figuratively, in this place I now call home. There are no soaring peaks and very few of the stunning vistas that were my joy in my Colorado home, but here there are lovely colors and a warm and musical springtime and bleeding hearts in my garden

Holiday Baby

Morningstar asked for some baby pictures. So, here you go... my little guy dressed up in his Santa hat. Happy holidays, everyone!

swan

The Difference Between a Submissive and a Slave

I left last Saturday afternoon. Tonight, I am back home safe and sound -- and thrilled to be here. I was away for four nights.

While I was away, T took care of Himself, and from all appearances, she did a terrific job. He seems well and happy and good. T, on the other hand, looks a tad frazzled, and she does seem glad to have me back. I get it. I really do. The Man is work!

As we were headed to dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant earlier this evening, T told me a funny story...

The usual bedtime routine that I follow with Master involves me tending to a number of little chores and details as He and I get ready for the night. Usually, once He decides it is time to head for bed, I begin checking the door locks, gathering up His used beverage glasses and dirty tissues, filling His drink bottle for the night, turning down the bed, putting away His various shoes, setting out His slippers/sandals beside the bed, tracking down the remote, fluffing the pillows ... Once I get it all set up and tidied, He will come in and get undressed and climb into bed. Once He's settled and covered up, I usually offer Him some Vicks to help keep His sinuses clear overnight, and then I put hand lotion on His hands and rub it in for Him. Sometimes, I rub an herbal calming cream on His forehead as well. I've done it like that forever.

So Teresa, working to try and make my absence as easy on Him as possible, followed that same routine with Him as well -- the first night, and the second. On the third night, she was worn out and tired, and went off to bed while He and I were on the phone, checking in across the miles. When He got into the bed, she gave Him the Vicks, and then squirted some lotion on His hands, and asked Him if He could rub it in Himself.

In retelling the story tonight, she said that He just sat there in the bed, with His hands full of lotion, blinking at her as if she'd asked Him to perform brain surgery... Finally, He said, "Well, I guess that's the difference between a submissive and a slave. A slave rubs the lotion in and the submissive just squirts it on Your hands and tells You to rub it in Yourself."

I gather she protested that she'd done it the other two nights, to which He simply responded that a slave does it every night. That made her laugh, and I guess it must have been a pretty funny moment. Last night, T did rub the lotion in for Him, and then reminded Him of their conversation from the previous night. The consensus? Submissives get it taken care of 3 out of 4 times. :-)

I'm thinking He is just spoiled rotten! But that should take care of the continuing conversation about the difference between submissives and slaves.

swan

Retrospective -- March, 2009

Reviewing March was an interesting exercise. We were so caught up in the preparations for and immediate aftermath of the bariatric surgeries -- and your kind and supportive comments were so ubiquitously a part of that journey. I know that we were too busy in those early days to really say "thank you," the way we ought to have done. Please know now how very much your care and support meant to all of us, and know too that we will never forget the kindness you showed our family...

We are continuing to be who we are and to deal with our lives as we always do. The immensity of the huge change and the extensive ordeal that is on the horizon is simply consuming all our collective energy * * * The red paddle remains a fixture at the heart of our sessions these days. He is all wrapped up in it -- loving just about everything about it. I am getting better with it as time goes on, but there is a point that comes up everytime we play with it, where I am simply desperate, frightened and miserable, and convinced that I have somehow, by reaching that point, failed miserably. That is a very emotional place for me. It reduces me to tears. Not so much from the pain itself, but from the sense of not being what He wants me to be... Except that it really isn't that way at all. He likes that place where I suffer. He told me this morning, "You are a sadist's dream." I understand that intellectually, but I struggle to comprehend it emotionally * * * We know that is one of the realities with which we will have to cope as we approach and then recover from this very serious surgery. We've gone through periods before when there was no possibility of play, and it is never easy to contemplate or live with. We also know though, that healing occurs and things do come back around * * * I find it ironic, and more than a little frustrating that this particular bit of perverted fantasizing is making its appearance now when we are all fully wrapped up * * * Except that I am just not willing to open the doors that wide. I understand this is a public place, and it has become our custom and habit to welcome a host of "strangers" and on-lookers into our lives. Many of those strangers have grown into friends, and it is good. Our welcome is not unlimited however. We do reserve the right to simply refuse to deal with people who come here with less than honest or respectful intent. Further we preserve some of the inner workings of our dynamic and our relating for ourselves. We do not share details that might cause discomfort or emotional upset for one another * * * each person's kink is unique unto them self, like a fingerprint, and that when we think we see the same or similar practice in another we are in fact noticing that theirs is like our own, but that similarity may only be superficial. Ours is unique as is theirs. That being accepted then, each relationship would have a "joint fingerprint" that would represent the confluence of those (however many) "fingerprints" dynamically interacting * * * It is almost 10:00 in the evening. Time for bed soon * * * I know that taxes are not sexy, and a slave that prepares taxes isn't the stuff that fantasies are made of, but our taxes are completed * * * I can remember the date we married (6/16), the date of the reception (9/22), our first date (Sunday after Bird-Day).....but this one seems to get me every time. Tom always remembers every date. Hell, he probably remembers the first time he pee'd as an infant! But I never can remember. But today, is more important than all of those other dates. Today is the anniversary of the day he made me His * * * Now we just need the stars to align. We need grandpa to be found to be basically well. We need the doctor to do his work with skill and compassion. We need to find our way to the other side so we can begin to live the rest of our lives * * * I imagine I'll remember, quite vividly, just who I belong to as I wait for Him and T in the hospital tomorrow morning. I am feeling warm, stronger, safe, better equipped to make the journey ahead * * * That is a foundational reality that goes with our dynamic. It very seldom comes up, and I don't usually smack into the fact of that truth. Most of the time, we converse and banter and debate, and my opinions and ideas get weighed into the mix, and it is easy to believe that I have an equal say. It isn't true * * * Every now and then, sitting there watching the whole business, something will strike me as meaningful. Not necessarily meaningful in the way that is intended, but with a message that speaks to my heart in the moment. That has been the case in the last week, with a hymn that is being sung during this season of Lent. The music line is particularly evocative -- and it does seem to be stuck in my brain, but the words speak to me about my life; about our lives * * * Both Master and T came through the surgery just fine. Both are resting. T seems more comfortable at this point than Master -- He seems to have some pretty significant pain * * * At first, I found it just annoying and frustrating, but I'm working my way up to fullblown anger over it all. I might be less angry if their policy statement simply made it clear that they are praticing moralistic, judgemental censorship that declares that their choices are more right than those that others might make. But they are at great pains to claim that they respect all people and value differences. Since that is part of their organizational value system, I wonder why I don't feel respected or valued * * * I think we ought to be able to insist that we are human, polite, responsible, educated, honest, committed ... and that those things ought to commend us. It ought to be enough. It probably won't be enough, and it is likely that we'll need to fight for a very long time before we are allowed to live openly and safely in the communities that are our homes, but I hope we never lose sight of those qualities of character that commend us * * * Service, in these difficult days, is even more vital, even more appreciated, even more needed than it is when He is well and strong. I have carried endless pitchers of ice; poured cup after cup of juice and tea and cool water. I've cleaned up the messes -- the vomit, the urine, the feces, the pus. I've bathed Him, kept clean linen on His bed, fluffed His pillows, straightened His blankets. I've opened and closed the window to His room, and adjusted the fan -- now on, now off, now on again. I've watched the care He is given and questioned when I didn't understand or didn't like what I was seeing -- keeping a running list in my head of the medications, the vital signs, the visible extent of the infection, the foods consumed (or not). It isn't my role to play "cheerleader," but it is important that I am there with Him, believing in what He cannot presently see of the future, supporting, holding, listening, advocating

Retrospective -- February, 2009

A look back at February, 2009 --

There is so much potential good that can reasonably be expected to come out of all of this, but I keep running into the dark corners in my mind where terrible, unspeakable, scarcely imagined disasters happen as we go through this, and it is almost more than I can bear * * * "prickly" seems to be the best word I can think of to describe our relatedness these days * * * weekend "kink" events are a place where we've always gone as a way to immerse ourselves in "our" culture -- to refresh and renew and really relax in a setting where we do not have to pretend or hide. This time, however, there's trouble brewing in Paradise. A radical, right-wing, religious group has learned the details of the event, and they are making a fuss with the host hotel, and working hard to stir up the community to oppose our right to gather and enjoy our time with one another * * * It is interesting to note that once again Christians, historical victims of persecution and discrimination, are doing their darnedest to prevent people who choose to live lives outside of the precepts of the myth they base their lives on the right to have a self-determined existence * * * To their credit, the more mainstream media seems to have determined that we are not a story and gone on to cover the news * * * In the end, it turns out that in that place, it really doesn't matter about age or size or physical beauty. We are there creating something unique and rare together as a community, and the oddest looking ones among us start to look like family by the time the weekend ends * * * The generational evolution of the BDSM community and practice continues. I am getting to have been at this long enough to perceive the evolutionary changes * * * I do not know the half-life on naturally produced endorphins. I only know that still today, I am fuzzy headed and loopy and feeling completely out of focus -- lost in the fog still * * * ownership is a unilateral reality. He owns. I am owned. Property does not dictate terms or make demands. Even the fact of feeling unhappy or unsatisfied is a limited sort of option for me, should it come down to it. He'll indulge that for a time, but will determine when it should be no longer an impact in His presence * * * believing in limits burdens us with edges, barriers, and walls that encircle and constrain our lives and our imaginings. We agree to give up a good deal of freedom in order to gain what feels like safety * * * This transition from Judeo-Christian polygamy to monogamy having been "legislated canonically," a huge and highly successful historical revision took place. Today, when Rick Warren says that, "Marriage is one man and one woman, and always has been throughout all time in all cultures," (paraphrase) no one blinks. No one questions it. We've been taught that is true. It is one of the foundational fairy tales upon which our culture is based. It is, of course, a complete lie, but we are all products of our culture.We grow up watching/reading love stories, listening to love songs, celebrating Valentine's Day (a fabulous old Pagan holiday which involved the whipping of women to celebrate their fertility....how perverted our culture has become in turning it into a feast of chocolates, roses, and greeting cards), and knowing that somewhere there is for us our "one and only one," and that there must, and can only be, "our ONE." We know that it is simply not possible to love more than one at a time, and that if we did, we would certainly be deluding ourselves and damaging our relationship with "our ONE." * * * Here are my loves, celebrating with a festive breakfast * * * We've laid eons of social constraint over the top of our animal natures -- trying to wipe out what is written in the dendrites of our brains. How interesting that we've posited a creator that would frown upon us behaving in precisely the way we appear to have been "created." It really isn't about religion, or morality, or politics. It is about what we are * * * I understand and accept that it is His desire and dream to add more people to our family. I don't like that. It doesn't make me happy. It scares me. When I am talking my way through ideas like "compersion" and the "naturalness" of living in poly relatedness, I am talking to myself. I am gathering support and advice that I can hopefully use. I am not "trying to justify" anything. To anyone. I am working. Hard. Trying to practice what I will someday have to live. When I discuss limits that are not "mine" but His, I am not talking about some imaginary abstract impossibility. I am looking into my future and hoping to develop the skills that I'll surely need to live up to agreements I take very seriously * * * I've been through some amazing, awesome, wicked sessions on St. Andrew's crosses. These simple to manufacture, uncompromising, darkly evocative bits of dungeon gear have been my companions in pain and suffering and ecstasy for many years * * * It just made me giggle. If you haven't heard it or seen it, here is the Zain Verjee report on "PEANUTS." * * * To me, the fact that He and I don't always agree on everything seems crystal clear, but obviously, not everyone gets it. It is, I imagine a misunderstanding about the nature of how He and I do M/s. It is really simple actually -- Master is always right. Even when He's completely wrong. I don't have to agree with Him on things. I sometimes don't. He still gets to do it His way. And there are times when that makes me absolutely nuts. I fuss and carry on and agonize over it all, and it changes nothing at all. Polyamory is particularly prone to that happening. He and I just don't experience it, understand it, or see it the same way. * * * I need time; time to hunt down the various yammering voices in my mind and quiet them; time to remember to breathe; time to focus on His touch and His scent and His breathing; time to quell the emotional storm that can rise up in me at the first twinges of real pain, and remember that there can be joy and pleasure in this if I can simply "get there." * * * We've set up a separate blog to try and capture the journey that our family is beginning into the world of bariatric surgery and post-surgical life * * * Some of us (mostly of the Democratic persuasion) developed a coping strategy during the last eight years of dismal political darkness. During those long, painful years, we came to share various versions of "Drinking Games" that were passed around on-line prior to presidential speech events (like the State of the Union). I don't know how many people actually participated in the drinking part of Presidential speech-making drinking games, but I do know that the grim humor was one thing that helped us get through it all... * * * In our house, bondage is used in its most prosaic form. Here, when bondage happens, it is for the sole purpose of restraining me so that He can whomp on me without either of us worrying about me staying put. There is no desire or need to do anything fancy. Tie me down or cuff me to something so that my ability to move is limited * * * the "friendship blogger" award * * * There is a part of my awareness that feels as if I am preparing for a long, long journey; far from home; into places that are unfamiliar, scary, and potentially dangerous. I want to figure out some way to carry with me the things that offer me comfort and security and a sense of who I am... There are no suitcases that will carry what I will need for this trip * * * Danny has now branched out into making paddles. We bought one at Winter Wickedness. It is bright red, made from acrylic plexi, and it feels just wicked. Master loves it, but from my perspective, it has knife-blade sharp edges, and absolutely no give. He claims that it is better than many of our other paddles; that it doesn't bruise me or leave welts, or break my skin. The first couple of times that I encountered it, I just really hated it, but I think, maybe, I'm getting a little better with it. I don't hate it as much as I did a week ago. Still, I think (not that anyone cares) that Danny really ought to stick to leather

Anniversary

It occurred to me early this morning that it was December 21, 2004 that swan, complying with my direction to start a Blog to create a greater sense of connection and community for herself, posted "Naming is About Claiming" at our predecessor Blog TheSwantsHeart.Blogspot.com. It was the beginning of what now, five years and over a half million hits later, has been our blogging experience.

None of us Heron Clan family members can imagine our lives without this venue of expression, connection to others, and the friendships it has brought us.

To all those who read here, thank you for being part of our lives and for your friendship over the past half decade.

All the best,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

In Case Anyone is Wondering

I am in Denver. I have spent two wonderful days with my son and his wife and their little guy. I am tired but really enjoying just being here with this baby -- he snuggled up on my chest and went sound asleep this afternoon. And so there is little to report that is very "interesting," but this trip will definitely end up feeling like a success...

swan

Retrospective -- January, 2009

Master and I were talking this morning about the coming end of the year, and feeling some sense of relief and maybe even triumph that we've survived this wild and challenging year together. We've never really been inclined to look back too much at the end of calendar years, but this year seems very different. So, in the interest of trying to "capture" the flavor of these last 12 months, I've thought to construct a series of monthly "Readers' Digest" condensed versions of the year that was 2009. I've extracted little bits that seem evocative to me of the various posts for each month, and will put them up in order. If you wonder what any of this string of consciousness is about, follow the links back to the original pieces. Here, for anyone that might find this sort of thing interesting, is January --

Heron Clan New Year's Eve at home. Steak, King Crab legs, baked potatoes, green beans and asparagus wrapped in Prosciutto, Merlot and Champagne * * * Every cell in my body was wishing I could just curl into a ball and go back to sleep, but He was happy and jolly, and I was loathe to spoil His mood * * * when the reality was right there, it was the hardest thing I could think of to do -- just staying put, just getting through it, just remembering to behave as I know is expected * * * We have a culture in the lifestyle that causes us to lean toward the belief that it is the submissive who is vulnerable to abuse by scene predators. We are much slower to see, understand, and react to the ways in which the top part of the power equation can be victimized and harmed by unethical and unscrupulous bottoms * * * That is likely, the purest description of the path we travel with our partners as we seek to create good, healthy, fulfilling power dynamics -- mutual surrender to the very essence of our place in the world. It is an inextricable connection: the One who knows and understands, who has the vision of what life is and what it can be becomes the focal point and the available repository for the trust of which they are worthy. When we each find that place, that balance, then the power that we hold between us is unleashed to create the lives we dream as possible * * * We are simply feeling beleaguered and bewildered in the face of this array of medical hurdles. Master, in particular, is frightened, and angry, and very much hurt at this turn of events. To have worked so hard to have it all turn out badly anyway is a huge disappointment * * * Our session started with some hand-spanking and some knife play and I could feel myself settling into a good head space. I heard Him breathe into my ear the words, "I want you so much!" It was as if a door opened in my mind and my spirit soared. To be wanted is much different than to be loved * * * what ever happened to beat and get beaten? Because, that really is the core of our thing, and it seems that there is no place at all for our kind of BDSM * * * Our house is still "bent out of shape" that the odious Rick Warren will be giving the invocation at the Obama inauguration * * * I am declaring that this entire year is Christmas in this family. Christmas makes Him happy, and I absolutely believe this will be the year that we give ourselves the gift of a happier and much longer future together * * * unlike some paddles that can "sink" to the bottom of the pile and go un-remembered for periods of time. This one seems to never ever disappear from view -- or use * * * I think that the foundation for power-exchange is some sort of relationship that connects two human persons, and it is my belief that relationship is not defined by rules, but by the kind of knowing that grows when we spend a bit of time with one another * * * I am working my way around the edges of the notion that I will always be necessary because I am unique in my own self, and therefore not "replaceable." * * * He began to stroke me with a knife blade, and I found myself following the strokes and sinking into the rhythm as my breathing began to calm * * * I am entirely sure that there are a fair number of people who will be more than happy when May comes and goes and they don't have to read anymore posts here about my coming grandbaby * * * We have, for a good long while, believed that it might be that people like us, in unconventional families, practicing poly, could look northward to Canada for some sort of refuge from the narrow-minded bigotry that pervades the culture here in the U.S. It seems we may have been very, very wrong * * * let's face it -- people lie. They do. We do. In big and small ways, and for a thousand different reasons, the human animal practices deception * * * my subconcious self is still there, still doing the work of living this life

SPAM is Creepy

We are inclined to keep this blog as accessible as possible for those who want to read and comment here. Our comments have been left as open as possible, and we generally do not moderate that function of this Blog.

However, in the last couple of months, we've begun to attract that particularly obnoxious variety of spammer that markets pharmaceuticals to improve "performance" and shady offshore financial deals and computer software of some sort of indecipherable nature. It started slowly at first, and oddly, seemed to only happen at one older post written in May of 2008. Honestly, we'd have never even seen these things if it weren't that Master gets all of the comments left here in His email. Generally, if one comes through on some older post, He will forward it to me, knowing that I won't see it otherwise. I didn't worry too much about it in the beginning -- precisely because of WHERE the comments were being left; way back there in the realm of blogging ancient history.

However, as it has gone on, it has started to bother me. It may be "ancient history" in the blogging world, but it is MY ancient history, and this post, like most of the rest of the content here, means something to me. When it got to the point that eleven of the fourteen comments were spam, I hit the creepiness limit.

So, this morning, I've gone in and cleaned out all of that junk, and I am reinstating the CAPTCHA feature on comments, and instituting comment moderation on posts older than 14 days. I dislike having to put people through that, but I am feeling compelled to utilize the available tools in order to protect the integrity of our comment streams. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but hope that our regular readers and commenters will understand.

swan

At the Airport

I am sitting at the airport. Waiting for my plane -- the first leg of the journey west to see the kids and, of course the darling baby.

Master and T drove me here to the airport along roads that were wet but not icy as the second winter storm of the year dropped just over an inch of snow on us over night. I got checked in, ticketed, and we did the hugs and kisses at the security gate. We waved and blew kisses back and forth as I made my way through that line and, I made it through the security check nuttiness without a hitch.

The two of them are headed home, and I am here watching the planes and luggage carts do their odd sort of dance out on the tarmac, nursing a coke, and feeling very flat and ambivalent about the whole business.

I think I should be feeling excited and happy, and I will be glad to see them all, and get my little man in my arms ... and it really is only 4 nights, but there is a part of me that just wants to stay home, curl up safely and quietly and rest in the security of my own life and my own world. I am not thrilled to be battling my way across the country, schlepping my computer and my belongings, worrying about flight delays and weather and security gates and the location of my ID and my boarding pass. I am worried about Master and T. I don't want to be away from them.

What a mess! I want time with this grandchild, and I want to have time to see my kids, but I want them in my world. This business of uprooting and leaving everything familiar and comfortable for the privilege of a few days with the baby is frustrating and irritating and wearisome.

I have the grumpies. Maybe, by the time the wizards of air travel have done their magic and landed me across the continent, I'll feel better. I do hope so.

swan

I'm Not As Good As Some People

I really don't keep much track of where the things that I write here end up. I pour out whatever is in my heart and on my mind, and then I am pretty much done with it. Most of my regular readers know that I don't even respond very often to comments left right here on this very blog.

Sometimes, not often, someone will ask if they can link to or quote from a piece I've put here, and as far as I can remember, we've never told anyone "no." Other times, I'll hear from someone that they've put up a link to one of my posts, or the stats will go wild, and I'll go look to find a link, and that is just fine too. That is precisely how I got wind that a friend had put up a link to the bit of silliness that I wrote last weekend about the awful billboards that blight the highway north of town. I saw the bump in the stats, and went to look:

It wasn't hard to find My Stuff Linked On LJ (Remember that I showed photos of the offensive billboards, and then stated that on Saturday morning, the farmhouse at the place was engulfed in flames. I noted that as ironic, and stated the hope that no one was hurt), and I was surprised that there were as many comments on the thing there as there were right here on The Heronclan. I was particularly interested to find this bit of judgemental commentary --

I don't think the 'verse works like that. Don't think that tragedies and calamities are the work of an angry G-d. Don't think the Universe throws your misdeeds back at you in the form of a burning house. I've lost too many good people who hadn't done anything to earn the tragedies and calamities that befell them, to believe in that kind of Universal tit for tat.I know the poster is a friend of yours and I am worried that what I'm about to say will piss you off, and I regret that - but in good conscience I have to say it.I'm sad that the person who originally took and posted the pictures on the internet thinks it is funny or in the least, ironic. No matter how hateful those billboards are (and they're pretty bad!) there is an element of "HA!" in posting those pictures. If there wasn't? They wouldn't have posted the pictures and commentary, no matter what kind of small qualification they put at the end about the farmers having shelter. Because the message is not, "Oh how sad, gosh I hope those people are okay." it is, ultimately, "Look! HA! Served them right."

Now. Clearly that commenter had to come to this blog to look at the entry in question. There is absolutely no barrier to commenting here, and so this sort of gossipy, snippy, holier-than-fucking-anybody snideness could have been put right here in front of ME. It wasn't. The commenter didn't dissent to my face. The commenter went off somewhere else and proceeded to talk smack. Such junior-high-girl-clique nonsense!


But. That's how it WAS handled, so let me address the plain judgement of the comment that was deliberately put where I would not have that privilege or opportunity:


I never once said, implied, or thought that to have the home burn to the ground "served them right." Read what I wrote. I noted the irony of the situation. I will stand by that. I find it rich with irony that someone who puts billboard size threats on the side of the road gets zapped by the same "divine omnimpotence" that they would undoubtedly insist is gunning for "people like me." I don't buy that sort of theology. I just note its existence and find it interesting in this particular circumstance.


Beyond all that, however, I do find these billboards offensive and hateful. The people who put them out there on a public highway are entitled to subscribe to whatever sick, irrational, nasty belief system they choose, but I do not have to endorse it or embrace it or give it any quarter in my world. The fact is that "those people" are protected by law and by social custom and prevailing assumptions. They don't need me to like what they do. They are entitled to their point of view, and they are entitled to put it in my face. They are of the majority culture. They may be at the fringe of that majority culture, but they are "in" where our household is "out."

Those billboards are, in my opinion, HATE SPEECH. They are intended to incite a certain segment of the population to go out and hunt down infidels and stamp them out. No one with an ounce of sense believes that those roadside diatribes are going to change MY mind about anything. Clearly, those signs are not aimed at me, but the hatred that they are meant to generate IS.


I do not believe that anyone has the right to incite others to HATE. I do not believe that people who work to create hatred and violence against those who are different have any right to continue in that endeavor. I believe that people of decency and integrity ought to clearly identify that sort of thing for what it is and stand to say, "This is wrong."


So... in response to the snide and catty person who called me to task over there -- I don't know if you will ever see this, but your opinion is your own, and you are entitled to it. I find it sad that you were too cowardly to address it directly to me. I'm sorry that my simple observation offended your sensibilities, but I make no apology for my views on people who spread hatred and intolerance.



swan