LJ Idol Season 8 Week 7 - It's Never Gonna Be Normal
o/` "We will never be a nuclear family
But a rainbow will begin at our feet
And if you take my hand
Beware that this boat can
Run aground making the ocean floor weep" o/`
-- "Pageant of the Bizarre" performed by Zero 7
At some point in recent history, most of western society decided that a family should consist of one man and one woman with any number of children to follow.
I never was one to follow rules and so, according to the tenets of the society in which I live my family amounts to nothing. Nonexistent. Insignificant.
If Mr. Shapeshifter needs time off for one of my medical appointments but a coworker needs the same day off to pick up his kids after school, my husband will be the one the boss asks to reschedule. "Sorry, son, but he's got a family to take care of." Two springs ago, when I nearly died in the hospital, Dee had to pull just about every favor owed him in order to get here soon enough. "You're not even married to the woman!" Dorie's workplace flat out refused to let her come. "She's no kin of yours. We might let you have time for the funeral if you give us notification soon enough." I've even had doctors use that litmus test when deciding on advanced treatment which could potentially save my life. "It's not like you have children, you know. Your husband is young enough to remarry and he could probably find a woman who could have children."
Ouch.
The holidays, in particular, are difficult. "Awww, some little boy is going to be very happy with that!" "Your little girl must be ecstatic about her Christmas!"
No. The toys, games, plushes, and puzzles are for members of my adult household. Growing up didn't mean we instantly grew old and lost our sense of fun.
"Why are you putting up decorations? It's not like anyone will see them. You don't have kids."
No, I don't, but I do still have a family whether you want to call it that or not. It's not my fault you're narrow minded and cannot possibly contemplate a love so different from your own.
My Christmas tree is rich with family traditions, those handed down from ancestors and those we made on our own.
Fifteen years ago, Mr. Shapeshifter and I shared our first Christmas in a 450 square foot apartment. There wasn't room for a tree so he bought me a Norfolk pine. The poor thing stood maybe a foot tall and couldn't hold any decorations but the ones which had already been twisted around its branches. Ever the optimist, I rifled through the Christmas store until I found these:
We were still fairly new to our religious beliefs and finding something representative of them had been tough. I cradled the glass acorn with its red top and white bottom in my hand the way someone else might have handled a baby bird. Moments later, Mr. Shapeshifter found the white and gold frosted pine cone. We paid more for them than we probably should have and they would have to wait two years before they could hang properly on a tree. That year, we strung a simple strand of 20 white lights on our little Norfolk pine and propped them up against the spindly trunk of the tree.
The year we got married, the tree had grown tall enough to hold a few more ornaments. We bought a bunch of those little glass balls with the glitter on them, most of which the cats promptly popped, and one special ornament:
Remember how Wal-Mart and other discount stores used to have those etching stations with the little brass and enamel ornaments? That's where we got this one. The person who was supposed to be manning the station had apparently wandered off or given up for the night, but I convinced a sales associate to let me use the etcher to put our names on the bells.
I'd had visions of a decades-old Norfolk pine following our family holidays through the years but alas... it died in the move to FoxHeart Acres. We had an unexpected cold snap and it was a few days before they could get the electricity hooked up. Subsequent attempts to raise a similar tree, including one of the bigger boys, resulted in dismal failure. Thus another tradition was born: the picking of the very best affordable Frasier fir from a family owned tree operation. That year, the first we had an actual Christmas tree, I bought ornaments to represent all our fur babies:
There's my beloved Plato, now truly an angel kitty, whom I'd had for nineteen years before he finally passed on to his reward on the Rainbow Bridge.
And here's my misfortunate Skyclad, who escaped out the screen door one evening and decided not to come back in the house. I would suppose he's long gone --- I haven't seen him out there in quite a while and he was old when he decided to leave --- but he's got a place of honor on the tree.
It would have been more appropriate to find a bobcat ornament, and we did look for one, but we couldn't find one. By then Nature Company and the Discovery Store had both gone out of business and neither of us felt comfortable ordering from the 'net. Instead, we bought a Siamese figure. Our boy Merlin, a bobcat hybrid, doesn't show much of his Siamese heritage but it's there.
What family celebration would be complete without my service dog, Freyja? She was one of the first non-guide dogs in the area and one of the first to make the rounds of the anthropomorphic conventions. Now happily retired at eleven years old and growing fat in her old age.
Ah, our darling little demon dog! Inu Yasha, dumber than a box of rocks but too cute for his own good. Note the differences of expression on the two dogs' faces. I still don't know how the shop keeper managed to find us two ornaments, supposedly mass produced, which matched our boy and girl.
The year we bought FoxHeart Acres was the last year I remember seeing Wal-Mart offer these ornaments:
More years, more ornaments, more family members:
Anubis, whom I rescued from a county shelter after looking all over for some sort of lab or lab mix. He was the only one left and we took him home. Currently serving as my new service dog and really pleased with his work!
Daisy Duke has her very own Christmas story. I was driving home from the grocery store and had just crossed the SR 16 intersection when the van in front of me tossed a wriggling plastic wrapped bundle out of its side door. I pulled off and waded into the swamp to rescue whatever had been thrown in. It wasn't a baby, as I had feared --- at least not the human sort --- but there was a black and white speckled pup inside. She was so small that her head fit inside a 32 ounce drinking glass (I know because later, at the Christmas party, she tried to drink my water!) We were supposed to take her to the shelter the next day but my foster son Simon pleaded to keep her. Needless to say, even though Simon was removed from our home that January Daisy stayed.
We acquired Festus two years ago, after Plato died. He was a three month old scrap of fur you could hold in one hand. Now he's the largest cat in the household. For those who know from where his name originates...yes, he behaves exactly as named. Lazy bastard!
Inanna is one of our latests additions. We didn't want any more cats, not after Skyclad ran away and Plato died, but the fates felt otherwise. We went to Petco in order to get some supplies for the fish and Mr. Shapeshifter called me over to 'look' at a kitty. She made a soft chirping noise and rubbed against my fingers. If her lovely brindle coloring and polydactyl mittens hadn't sold me on her, the motorboat purr finished it. We agreed that if she was still there the following Saturday we would take her home. Obviously, you can guess the outcome.
Ramses the Small entered our home shortly after last Christmas. Dorie had always had mice as pets when she was younger and she missed them. I took her to our favorite pet store and we picked him out.
Speaking of Dorie:
If you've been paying attention at all, you know that our girl absolutely adores two things: Starbucks and wine. Yes, there is a blown glass wine bottle on the tree for her. However, the Starbucks cup is the one we actually bought when she came to live with us forever.
Dee likes to joke that he picked the only invisible tree ornament. We're all fond of the antique and rustic looking ornaments, which is how we found the owl. For those who are curious about the owl associations, it's both his totem and the symbol for his particular government branch. I know it appears on at least one of the crests for said organization.
When started inviting people over for Christmas parties and dinners, it became a tradition to add ornaments to the tree. Mr. Shapeshifter actually does have a fox or two on that tree but...he forbid any Florida or kitsch ornaments. In our rambunctious group of the usual suspects, that's an open invitation for a prank. I have many of these on the tree, including Mrs. Santa to match this one, several other shell ornaments, a very gauche alligator dressed as St. Nick, ....and a flamingo. Yes, a FLAMINGO. Jim, Carissa, Joe, Kim, and Brian are responsible for many of those. I managed to sneak a few more on when Mr. Shapeshifter wasn't looking.
Another 'official' ban included anything of southwestern origin. As you can see, that didn't last long either!
It wouldn't be a thorough explanation of my 'worthless' and 'insignificant' family without explaining this little guy. I didn't have much to bring into my second marriage, just the clothes on my back, but I did bring this tradition along. My grandfather was a pagan Swede and for as long as I can remember, owing to something in that tradition (I have never found a direct link and whatever else might have been has been buried in Christianity's documentation), had insisted on a cardinal at the top of the tree. My tree has this guy and a few other cardinal ornaments in memory of the man who loved me with all his heart and taught me so much. The red light is something my Pa insisted upon; every tree we had, no matter what the post, had a red light at the top. I wish I could have asked him why, but I never got the chance to do so. He loved Christmas --- it was his favorite holiday --- and so now I too insist on a red light at the top of the tree.
So go ahead...tell me again that I don't have bupkis when it comes to family.
I know better.
But a rainbow will begin at our feet
And if you take my hand
Beware that this boat can
Run aground making the ocean floor weep" o/`
-- "Pageant of the Bizarre" performed by Zero 7
At some point in recent history, most of western society decided that a family should consist of one man and one woman with any number of children to follow.
I never was one to follow rules and so, according to the tenets of the society in which I live my family amounts to nothing. Nonexistent. Insignificant.
If Mr. Shapeshifter needs time off for one of my medical appointments but a coworker needs the same day off to pick up his kids after school, my husband will be the one the boss asks to reschedule. "Sorry, son, but he's got a family to take care of." Two springs ago, when I nearly died in the hospital, Dee had to pull just about every favor owed him in order to get here soon enough. "You're not even married to the woman!" Dorie's workplace flat out refused to let her come. "She's no kin of yours. We might let you have time for the funeral if you give us notification soon enough." I've even had doctors use that litmus test when deciding on advanced treatment which could potentially save my life. "It's not like you have children, you know. Your husband is young enough to remarry and he could probably find a woman who could have children."
Ouch.
The holidays, in particular, are difficult. "Awww, some little boy is going to be very happy with that!" "Your little girl must be ecstatic about her Christmas!"
No. The toys, games, plushes, and puzzles are for members of my adult household. Growing up didn't mean we instantly grew old and lost our sense of fun.
"Why are you putting up decorations? It's not like anyone will see them. You don't have kids."
No, I don't, but I do still have a family whether you want to call it that or not. It's not my fault you're narrow minded and cannot possibly contemplate a love so different from your own.
My Christmas tree is rich with family traditions, those handed down from ancestors and those we made on our own.
Fifteen years ago, Mr. Shapeshifter and I shared our first Christmas in a 450 square foot apartment. There wasn't room for a tree so he bought me a Norfolk pine. The poor thing stood maybe a foot tall and couldn't hold any decorations but the ones which had already been twisted around its branches. Ever the optimist, I rifled through the Christmas store until I found these:
We were still fairly new to our religious beliefs and finding something representative of them had been tough. I cradled the glass acorn with its red top and white bottom in my hand the way someone else might have handled a baby bird. Moments later, Mr. Shapeshifter found the white and gold frosted pine cone. We paid more for them than we probably should have and they would have to wait two years before they could hang properly on a tree. That year, we strung a simple strand of 20 white lights on our little Norfolk pine and propped them up against the spindly trunk of the tree.
The year we got married, the tree had grown tall enough to hold a few more ornaments. We bought a bunch of those little glass balls with the glitter on them, most of which the cats promptly popped, and one special ornament:
Remember how Wal-Mart and other discount stores used to have those etching stations with the little brass and enamel ornaments? That's where we got this one. The person who was supposed to be manning the station had apparently wandered off or given up for the night, but I convinced a sales associate to let me use the etcher to put our names on the bells.
I'd had visions of a decades-old Norfolk pine following our family holidays through the years but alas... it died in the move to FoxHeart Acres. We had an unexpected cold snap and it was a few days before they could get the electricity hooked up. Subsequent attempts to raise a similar tree, including one of the bigger boys, resulted in dismal failure. Thus another tradition was born: the picking of the very best affordable Frasier fir from a family owned tree operation. That year, the first we had an actual Christmas tree, I bought ornaments to represent all our fur babies:
There's my beloved Plato, now truly an angel kitty, whom I'd had for nineteen years before he finally passed on to his reward on the Rainbow Bridge.
And here's my misfortunate Skyclad, who escaped out the screen door one evening and decided not to come back in the house. I would suppose he's long gone --- I haven't seen him out there in quite a while and he was old when he decided to leave --- but he's got a place of honor on the tree.
It would have been more appropriate to find a bobcat ornament, and we did look for one, but we couldn't find one. By then Nature Company and the Discovery Store had both gone out of business and neither of us felt comfortable ordering from the 'net. Instead, we bought a Siamese figure. Our boy Merlin, a bobcat hybrid, doesn't show much of his Siamese heritage but it's there.
What family celebration would be complete without my service dog, Freyja? She was one of the first non-guide dogs in the area and one of the first to make the rounds of the anthropomorphic conventions. Now happily retired at eleven years old and growing fat in her old age.
Ah, our darling little demon dog! Inu Yasha, dumber than a box of rocks but too cute for his own good. Note the differences of expression on the two dogs' faces. I still don't know how the shop keeper managed to find us two ornaments, supposedly mass produced, which matched our boy and girl.
The year we bought FoxHeart Acres was the last year I remember seeing Wal-Mart offer these ornaments:
More years, more ornaments, more family members:
Anubis, whom I rescued from a county shelter after looking all over for some sort of lab or lab mix. He was the only one left and we took him home. Currently serving as my new service dog and really pleased with his work!
Daisy Duke has her very own Christmas story. I was driving home from the grocery store and had just crossed the SR 16 intersection when the van in front of me tossed a wriggling plastic wrapped bundle out of its side door. I pulled off and waded into the swamp to rescue whatever had been thrown in. It wasn't a baby, as I had feared --- at least not the human sort --- but there was a black and white speckled pup inside. She was so small that her head fit inside a 32 ounce drinking glass (I know because later, at the Christmas party, she tried to drink my water!) We were supposed to take her to the shelter the next day but my foster son Simon pleaded to keep her. Needless to say, even though Simon was removed from our home that January Daisy stayed.
We acquired Festus two years ago, after Plato died. He was a three month old scrap of fur you could hold in one hand. Now he's the largest cat in the household. For those who know from where his name originates...yes, he behaves exactly as named. Lazy bastard!
Inanna is one of our latests additions. We didn't want any more cats, not after Skyclad ran away and Plato died, but the fates felt otherwise. We went to Petco in order to get some supplies for the fish and Mr. Shapeshifter called me over to 'look' at a kitty. She made a soft chirping noise and rubbed against my fingers. If her lovely brindle coloring and polydactyl mittens hadn't sold me on her, the motorboat purr finished it. We agreed that if she was still there the following Saturday we would take her home. Obviously, you can guess the outcome.
Ramses the Small entered our home shortly after last Christmas. Dorie had always had mice as pets when she was younger and she missed them. I took her to our favorite pet store and we picked him out.
Speaking of Dorie:
If you've been paying attention at all, you know that our girl absolutely adores two things: Starbucks and wine. Yes, there is a blown glass wine bottle on the tree for her. However, the Starbucks cup is the one we actually bought when she came to live with us forever.
Dee likes to joke that he picked the only invisible tree ornament. We're all fond of the antique and rustic looking ornaments, which is how we found the owl. For those who are curious about the owl associations, it's both his totem and the symbol for his particular government branch. I know it appears on at least one of the crests for said organization.
When started inviting people over for Christmas parties and dinners, it became a tradition to add ornaments to the tree. Mr. Shapeshifter actually does have a fox or two on that tree but...he forbid any Florida or kitsch ornaments. In our rambunctious group of the usual suspects, that's an open invitation for a prank. I have many of these on the tree, including Mrs. Santa to match this one, several other shell ornaments, a very gauche alligator dressed as St. Nick, ....and a flamingo. Yes, a FLAMINGO. Jim, Carissa, Joe, Kim, and Brian are responsible for many of those. I managed to sneak a few more on when Mr. Shapeshifter wasn't looking.
Another 'official' ban included anything of southwestern origin. As you can see, that didn't last long either!
It wouldn't be a thorough explanation of my 'worthless' and 'insignificant' family without explaining this little guy. I didn't have much to bring into my second marriage, just the clothes on my back, but I did bring this tradition along. My grandfather was a pagan Swede and for as long as I can remember, owing to something in that tradition (I have never found a direct link and whatever else might have been has been buried in Christianity's documentation), had insisted on a cardinal at the top of the tree. My tree has this guy and a few other cardinal ornaments in memory of the man who loved me with all his heart and taught me so much. The red light is something my Pa insisted upon; every tree we had, no matter what the post, had a red light at the top. I wish I could have asked him why, but I never got the chance to do so. He loved Christmas --- it was his favorite holiday --- and so now I too insist on a red light at the top of the tree.
So go ahead...tell me again that I don't have bupkis when it comes to family.
I know better.