Chopping Block

I can't write. It's not that my mind is empty or that I have nothing to say - the words are there. When I'm in the shower, they fly around in my head, rearranging themselves in lovely sentences that give me faith that something is coming...

"Family reunions should not come with the warning 'Be careful. The water moccasins are hanging from the trees.'"

"I know the smell of stale beer and the sweet sharp smell of yesterday's lime."

But, when I step out of the shower, I let them evaporate like the steam on the bathroom mirror because I don't know what to do with them. They don't fit what I'm writing now. Well, I should say they don't fit with what I feel I am supposed to be writing now.

I've always written with a purpose. For a deadline. For a reason.

I don't just write.

In my writing group, I joke that I don't want to waste my words and there is truth in that. I only want to write what I can use, so, I let go of the water moccasins and limes.

I know that I am being careful. I am filled with doubt. I am scared about the change that is coming in my life even though I know this change is good.

I can't write.

But maybe if I'm less miserly with my words, I will be able to.

So, let me tell you a story without a purpose...

I chopped jalapeños and compulsively washed my hands afterwards because I always end up touching my eyes and lips and then end up with Fire Face. Not surprisingly, I touched my eyes and lips and, as everything was facially aflame, I washed my hands a million times more. Then, I went upstairs and changed my tampon and was forced to ponder the question, "HOW MANY TIMES DO YOU HAVE TO WASH YOUR HANDS BEFORE THE JALAPEÑO JUICE IS OFF OF YOUR HANDS?!"

The End

There. Now, I have hopefully broken through my writer's block and issued a public service announcement about the dangers of mixing jalapeños with delicate parts of one's anatomy. My work here is done.

Reflections on A-Camp: The Power of Stories

"Hi, my name is Vikki."

Those were the first words I wrote on this blog. It was February of 2006 and I had no idea what I was doing and didn't know that those words marked a new beginning.

I never imagined that this blog would help me become the writer I always wanted to be or that it would bring incredible people into my life. I never imagined that it would lead me to a stage in New York and to a mountain outside Los Angeles.

But it did.

As I sat on that mountain last weekend, I thought a lot about those first few words - the opening line of what has become my story.

I have been an out lesbian for 22 years, longer than many of the women at A-Camp have been alive. I came out at a time when there were no out actresses, actors of musicians, at a time when the only role models we had were those we could find in college, community centers or bars. This was long before the gayby boom and talk of marriage equality. This is my cultural context, one that leads me to think (more often than I'd like to admit), "Things are so much easier now."

But A-Camp reminded me that I should never mistake "easier" for "easy".

I've never gone through conversion therapy. I've never gone back into the closet rather than lose my parents' financial support for college. I've never felt the isolation particular to the mix of race, culture and queerness. I've never been homeless. I've never had to come out to my girlfriend as trans.

The weekend was full of stories and each one changed me, reminding me of the power of the personal narrative. When we allow the fight for equality and justice to be blurred to the point of abstraction, we lose our power because our strength lies in our humanity - in our heartbreak, in our courage, in our compassion and patience.

Politicians change laws but stories change lives.

Everyone has a story to tell.

"Hi, my name is Vikki."

This is my story. What's yours?

All Good Things

This picture is a great (and almost complete) summary of our week spent at the cabin. We read a lot, drank some good stuff, took some beautiful pictures and enjoyed the lake. Of course, this picture doesn't show the kids and they were there. The beauty of it all, however, was that they were doing their own things - swimming, reading, rocking in the hammock, fishing and much more.

But all good things must end and we are now back in Minneapolis.

Today was the first day of school for the kids and the first day back at work for Luisa and me. She started her day by leaving the house at 4 a.m. to catch a flight to the Bahamas. I started my day by waking up at 4 a.m. when Miguel came into my room and said, "I can't go back to sleep" and then latched onto me like a bed barnacle.

This fall will be a busy one. I'll be heading to A Camp in September and the Aiming Low NonCon in October. I'll also be finishing the Foreword program at the Loft. Luisa will be in the Bahamas this week and DC later in the month. In October, she'll head to Bangkok! The kids will have school and soccer and martial arts and music.

There is so much on the horizon, so much that is routine and so much that is not.

I am ready and unprepared at the same time.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step...and a double espresso...