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I have a Facebook account in my "other name", the one that is still official.  A couple of days ago, I went into that account to see how my profile page looked from the outside.  When I did so, there was a friend request notice.  From whom should it be, but a high school sort-of-girlfriend with whom I had not had contact in twenty-two years.  Needless to say, I was trembling.  The title of this post says it all; our relationship is much the same as theirs.  We are that close; closer in some ways, I believe, than spouses.

I confirmed the request there, then ran to my account and put in a friend request.  I was awake at around 03:00 this morning, and looked in on my Facebook account, as I usually do.  There she was; she had just confirmed my own friend request.  We started chatting back and forth, then her line dropped.  I grabbed my cell phone and rang her up (I had found her number about twenty-four hours ago).

Three hours hater, she had to finally get some sleep, and we ended what promises to be the first of many conversations to come.  What she said to me at one point pretty much epitomizes our relationship:

Isn't it great how, even after twenty-two years, we pick up right where we left off.

Yes, Deb, isn't it?  I disappeared when I ended up in the booby hatch in 1989.  Once I was on the network, I would, from time to time, try to find you; for whatever reasons, it didn't work.  I was so afraid that you were dead; I knew that your health wasn't good.  Then you found me.  You're not getting rid of me this time, Lady; you're stuck with me, for good or for ill.  We exchanged the words at the end of the call.  I love you, Deb; I always have, I always will.  Thank you.  Thank you for being you.
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I've had some leftover turkey and dished out a cup of chocolate ice cream.  Perhaps, I should install my dentures and make a sandwich with some of the Thanksgiving bread I baked.  I'm still cleaning up; most of that is the dishes.  I love cooking; washing dishes is another matter.  Still, washing dishes is one of those things grownups have to do, even those who never really grew up.

Raien and PJ, I hope that you won't take this out of context, but one of the consequences of an absolutely awesome Thanksgiving with you is being reminded of how abjectly lonely I am, the rest of the time.  It is being reminded of my status as Homo segregatum, "Isolated man".  Even as it is painful, though, it is a good and necessary thing to be reminded of this; I need to learn how to deal with it, as this loneliness is a consequence of the person I am.  By "the person I am", incidentally, I do not exclusively refer to my status as a transwoman, though that is surely a part of me.  I refer, instead, to all of the things listed on the bill of materials that describes this entity called Diana Athena Clarion, not the least of which is my hyperintelligence.

I am remembering a scene I once envisioned, about forty years ago.  Shortly after Xmas, my mother had just finished informing me of what a rotten piece of shit I was, at a volume approaching that of a Saturn V launch as heard from the press site.  Part of her tirade consisted of "You can just take that fruitcake you gave me and have it yourself!"  I did not do that, of course, but into my mind came the scene: me alone, siting on my bedroom floor, fruitcake in hand, crying inconsolably while I took bites from it.  I am crying now as I remember, as I write this.  This is what I have to learn to deal with.

Raien, PJ, this is why I did what I did on Thanksgiving Day.  I had to relieve the loneliness and isolation, I had to reach out, I had to share.  This surely does not mean that you were mere tools; I think that I somehow knew that you were the good and honorable people you showed yourselves to be, and I hoped that I could be good company to you.  I hope that I was, and can continue to be.  This is where the learning begins, learning how to drive Homo segregatum into extinction.
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Chalk it up to my innate laziness, but I'm still in the process of breaking down the Thanksgiving setup.  Well, maybe not laziness; maybe a reluctance to put away things that evoke such happy memories.  I do need to do this, however, because I live in the present, and the present includes a winter holiday tree that I believe will go right where the Thanksgiving table now stands.

Speaking of winter holiday: [personal profile] oraien , you do realize that you and PJ absolutely have to celebrate same with me, right?  In a flash of inspiration, I thought of what I hope would be the perfect gift for PJ; I'm preparing it right now.  Fear not, I know that I can think of something for you, too.

And Raien, I had noticed you looking at my wall of 5"x7" prints from NASA's glory days.  What I had somehow missed telling you was that they are captioned on their reverse sides.  Do I have a favorite?  Of course I do.  Fourth file, second rank; Buzz Aldrin saluting the US flag on the lunar surface, in the very early morning EDT of 21 July 1969.  If you want to talk about gifts, that was one I shall always remember; I had turned 12 years of age on the previous day, the 20th, the day of the landing.

There are two chairs to take back to Melody's apartment; after a run through the washer, the tablecloth will also go back.  Then, let the decorating commence.
dclarion: (Default)
None at all.  I have absolutely no idea why, but this song is on my mind.

dclarion: (Default)
I dismember a partially eaten turkey, remembering two people who shared it with me.  Stripping bones of meat that will become sandwiches tomorrow, I remember the people who sat with me at my table.  There are dishes to wash, dishes from which they ate as we conversed.  I remember a flash of utter bewilderment, disbelief that these people were here, that they were here of their own accord.  I remember a twinge of sadness when it was time for them to return to their own home, their own life.

The dishes will eventually be washed and put away.  The remainder of the soup and rosemary potatoes and turkey will eventually be eaten.  The table will be struck, the props put away.  But the memory of the day will always remain, the joy of this gathering shall never leave me.

Thank you Raien and PJ.  I thank you for all you have given me.  Mine is a debt of gratitude, a debt upon which I will gladly make payments, hopefully for the remainder of my days.
dclarion: (Default)
Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you so much for writing me off.  Yes, I'm serious.  I thank you for what you did, I thank you for making me want to avoid loneliness so much that I threw caution to the wind and invited two essentially complete strangers to share my Thanksgiving table.  I thank you for this because they are the most amazing people I have met in my fifty-four years.

Thank you Raien and PJ for visiting me, for dining with me, for conversing with me.  Thank you for petting the kitties.  I was instantly comfortable around you, and I hope that you felt even the tenth part of that comfort around me.  Yes, I am selfish when I say this, but I hope that our newfound friendship can grow.

Yes, Diana, there is a Santa Claus, and he came early this year.  I will always remember this Thanksgiving as one that gave me more to be thankful for by the time of its completion than I had had at its inception.  Raien and PJ, I thank you once more, and I will thank you each day of my life.
dclarion: (Default)
Thomas J Turkey has been in a pot of brine in my defrigonator since Sunday evening. Earlier today, during a brine change, I was able to extract the TurkeyStuff™ from the cavity. It was still pretty well iced up, but the outside of the bird is softening up. Tonight, I'll put a pound of black beans to soak, and start a soup tomorrow; this way, it can age for a day before serving. I'm still not sure how I'll do the bread, but I'm tempted to get it going Thursday morning, to be risen and ready to shove into the oven while the turkey is coming down to carving temperature.

[personal profile] oraien , I'm hoping that you and PJ find your visit here enjoyable, and I want to thank you again for assenting to share my table.

May 2013

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