30th Anniversary for the Royals and for Us: Everyday Magic, Day 871

1395194_10151778218117684_495372906_nA bit over 30 years ago, just a few days before we got married, Ken and I jumped up and down, screaming and hugging each other and a bunch of his cousins in a Kansas City basement. The  Kansas City Royals staged a wild and unlikely comeback to win the 1985 World Series. A few night ago,  when the Royals did it again, we leaped out of our chairs to kiss and jump around, this time in a small cabin in the woods where we went to celebrate our 30th anniversary, but not without buying a radio so we could hear the game. Helluva anniversary gift, and one that’s been making me think about marriage and baseball.

Of course, there’s huge differences. Marriage is not about winners and losers, unless that marriage is not really all about marriage. Marriage isn’t dependent on superstar power, one savior to rescue the game, but then again, neither are the Royals. Baseball is a sport, multi-million-dollar-paycheck business, and it won’t do your dishes or laundry or remind you to change the oil in the car. But both are institutions imbued with certain habits and values:

  • In baseball and marriage, nothing happens, nothing happens, nothing happens, nothing happens, everything happens.
  • Even in the nothing happens moments, there’s a lot of work to be done: throwing yourself into the wall to catch the pop-up, staying up late to resolve the stupid argument about who is more exhausted, and making contact with the ball — whatever is speeding toward us at the moment, even and especially when the pitch is tricky.
  • It almost goes without saying that working together as a team is essential in both enterprises although in marriage, it’s not so much that you’re working together against a common opposition, but for a common proposition.
  • Watching what happens with great awareness, curiosity, care, and tenderness is vital to both. If you screw up, if your partner or teammate screws up, you need to walk it off, work it off, brush it off. That requires a lot of on-the-fly forgiveness: letting go of grudges (even if they resurface later on) and aiming your attention toward what’s possible with all the strength and courage you can muster to make happen right now.
  • Celebrating the wins and mourning the losses — honoring the rituals of the life cycle as they unfold — speak at the core of marriage and baseball although I haven’t (yet) dumped a cooler full of iced Gatorade on Ken.
  • Begin again: while this is the best slogan I know for life, it’s obviously deeply inherent to baseball 12191709_10156164857440484_2573764896691263636_nand marriage. We will completely fuck up in horrendous ways sometimes. We will unwittingly hurt each other out of laziness, fear, anger, or grief. We will forget the one essential ingredient for the big meal and have to go back to town, miss the doctor’s appointment, eat the wrong thing and suffer the consequences, say the worst thing without meaning to, wear the shirt inside out when giving a public presentation, just miss the car in the lane we switched to, and give the wrong directions. Likewise, baseball players will miss the easy catch, strike out all four times at bat in an evening, get nabbed stealing a base, lose it and call the umpire a name that gets them thrown out of the game, say mean things to players on the other team or their own, and do all manner of mistakes. Each game, each day, each inning, each series, each trip into town, each night we crawl into bed exhausted — all are moments we begin again.
  • Comebacks are mysteries, but then again they’re not. My marriage, like any marriage tattered and shined up by many years, has had lows lower than I can fathom, particularly one afternoon many years ago when we were driving through desert in western Colorado, and I was sure this marriage wouldn’t survive this family vacation (then again, we’ve had a lot of lows — and outrageous highs — on family vacations).  But we found our way back to each other and through a morass made of inertia, anger, exhaustion and fear. The Royals have shown us throughout this series improbable comebacks, like the last game when, in the 9th inning, Eric Hosmer’s steal — diving into home base to score the tying run. It was composed of instinct, running fast, thinking that this was a stupid move, and sheer guts. It may not always be so dramatic with millions of fans around the world cheering when we turn back to each other for a comeback — walking into a room for marriage counseling, stopping in the middle of a fight to apologize, taking the other’s hand when we’re sure such vulnerability will break us open — but it’s a comeback all the same.

So here’s to holding it together and looking for the magic everyday in marriage, baseball, and all else that gives us the same possibilities: friendship, good work, following our passions, awakening to the beautiful earth, loving our animals, and celebrating our turns around the seasons together, alone, in community, and in our hearts.

Pairs of Rattlesnakes, Kayaks, and Beloveds: Everyday Magic, Day 856

Mr. Rattlesnake just hanging in his pillow case (outside of course) before moving to his new home.
Mr. Rattlesnake just hanging in his pillow case (outside of course) before moving to his new home.

It was a weekend of unlikely pairs. First, there was the matter of returning the pair of rattlesnakes our friend Hank caught right against our house a few days ago. The Mr. and Mrs. had  just a little too close for comfort, pretty much on the other side of the wall of our bedroom, and although they were docile, because we wanted to welcome another pair–a pair of kayaks–to that area and didn’t want to accidentally step on rattlesnakes when loading or unloading, something had to give. After Hank drove around with them (contained of course) and housed them (he said Mrs. Rattlesnake rattled whenever he played the piano, but please know she was in a plastic tub with lid the whole time), he and Ken decided to put them back in our area, but far farther from the house.

The wrangling of snakes is not for the weary or timid. As I watched Hank open the tub where Mrs. had been angrily living for a few days, then hold her head gently down with a stick and reach in to grab her around the back of her head, I couldn’t help but scream. A lot. An experienced scientist and snake handler, he lifted her with ease, then dropped her in one of our pillow cases for the trek up the hill with Mr., already in his

Frank and Sandy say goodbye to their kayaks
Frank and Sandy say goodbye to their kayaks

pillow case. Ken, Daniel and Hank went on a great walk to find the perfect place near a rocky outcrop with the kind of habitat the rattlers prefer, and let them loose. They said Mr., a rather laid-back character, went straight into a hole in the ground. Mrs. coiled up and rattled at them until they were out of earshot.

The snakes out of the picture, we turned our attention to picking up the kayaks we were buying from friends Frank and Sandy, an endeavor that turns out to be almost as complicated as relocating rattlesnakes although not nearly as dangerous. After finding out weeks ago the cost of a car carrier, we set out to make our own, or rather Ken did while I drank tea on the porch. It took, as all home projects take, more trips to the hardware store thanIMG_4264 anticipated and a whole lot of “hold this while I hammer the nail” moments. Finally, tied into place on the CRV, we trekked to our friends’ house, and loaded up the kayaks. Let’s just say the tying of the kayaks into place would have earned most eagle scouts advanced badges. Frank and Sandy said goodbye to their old kayak friends, and we said hello.

We also said hello to a new pair, Dave and Marcia, ready to make the leap into marriage after four years of loving one another. It was my first time officially doing the marrying of a couple (I married another couple with my friend, Danny, who was the official Universal Life minister, and I married Courtney and Denise long before marriage equality was a glimpse in our Kansas eyes). We hauled a vase of sunflowers, a whole lot of black-eyed susans, a crystal bowl for a Buddhist water blessing ceremony, and accorded gadgets to make this computer loudly play Mannheim Steamroller’s “Sky” and Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

Marcia and Dave just before the wedding
Marcia and Dave just before the wedding

At the foot of Wells Overlook tower, we gathered in a crescent, starting with a smudging ceremony once Ken managed to light the sage they brought from their California home and the cedar for their Kansas roots. Their vows shined like a full moon on a summer’s night, full of beauty, steady light, and overwhelming awe in ordinary weather. The wind blew surprise gusts, tossing the little table we set up for wedding ingredients. The shade and sun mingled also, and when it was over, everyone hugged everyone, especially the new pair.

Now I will rest my pair of feet, drink a pair of glasses of water, and feed the pair of insistent cats, and later perhaps dream of kayaks, rattlesnakes, and a pair of beloveds happy in their new homes.

A Big Gay Wedding For Kansas: Everyday Magic, Day 799

IMG_0081The grooms walked Michael’s mom down the aisle between them. When they arrived at the front of the church, led by a wide line of children, friends and family ringing small bells, they each turned to hug Michael’s mom with all their heart. Thus began one of the most joyful and meaningful weddings in my life and surely in the life of Kansas.

Michael and Charles were joined together in holy marriage on May 3 at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Manhattan, authorized by all of us there, the authority of their love and 30+ years together, and surely by the blossoming trees and sweet wind of this spring day. While the state of Kansas wasn’t in on the authorization of this marriage YET (and that’s a big YET), the rest of the known and unknown universe sure seemed in complete alignment. The guys were legally married some months earlier in California, but now in Kansas — where Michael is a minister, Charles a retired attorney, and both writers andrabble-rousers — this wedding lands on home ground.

This will be the new billboard in Manhattan, KS
This will be the new billboard in Manhattan, KS

The ceremony itself was stunning. One groom could hardly stop crying, the other kept making us laugh so hard that we would cry ourselves into tears, and the music, readings, silence and vows were as beautiful as sunlight. Throughout the ceremony, in what was said and what didn’t need to be said, it was clear that we had all arrived at a new time: one in which gay and lesbian marriage had arrived, IMG_0074even in a state that had already gone to great lengths to slam the door against it. Many of my friends and I joke as to whether Kansas will be the 48th or 49th state to recognize gay marriage (I tend to think we’ll do it before Mississippi and Alabama, but who knows?), but thanks to my dear friends Charles and Michael, recognition may come sooner rather than later. These good men are one of two couples suing the state of Kansas to file taxes as married, and in lieu of wedding gifts, Michael and Charles asked for contributions to All’s Fair Kansas, the organization fighting for marriage equality here in the land lately known as Brownbackistan.

Thea Nietfeld reading a beautiful piece she wrote
Thea Nietfeld reading a beautiful piece she wrote

Having known Michael and Charles for over 20 years, I have no doubt that all of us in Kansas or who have Kansas states of mind are very fortunate to have such committed, loving, wise and kind men putting themselves out there on our behalf. While it might be presumptuous for a straight woman like myself to say this, I believe so much that marriage equality lifts all of us up. It breaks the cycle of silencing and choking shame that forces some to swallow their pride, identity and truth, which cannot help but diminish the health and strength of individuals, communities, cultures, even a whole state. Freedom is truly only complete when it isn’t tarnished by giving privilege to some at the expense of others. Love too is more complete out in the open.IMG_0119

As I watched Michael and Charles marry, like most everyone else crying, laughing and cheering in that church, I felt such awe and love for these men: for their courage, their beauty, their truth. For their love of flowers and adventure and each other. For their vision of community here in the heartland. For their art and heart, and willingness to very soon after the ceremony, sing together with many of us on the dance floor, “Going to the chapel, and I’m going to get married.” And for doing just that on this day.

True Love Isn’t Rose Petals: Everyday Magic, Day 786

100_1855Over 31 years ago, I fell in love with a decidedly, according to popular media at least, unromantic man. No rose petals leading a path to a candle-lit dinner. No charismatic charms displayed through gifts perfectly chosen, and sometimes on birthdays, holidays, even Valentine’s days, no gifts at all.

For one thing, he doesn’t like roses, except for native wild roses, although he’s learned not to insult the roses I’ve planted in our yard. For another, he doesn’t think in terms of societal gestures of romance. But true love? Here’s some of what it’s looked like for us over the years:

  • 100_0806As soon as he returns from a nine-hour day of work, plus commuting 45 minutes each way after waking up at 5:30 a.m. he puts on his coveralls and rushes outside in the snow to shovel a path to the cars, including clearing my car, so no one in our family slips.
  • Sleeping on lumpy hospital cots beside me after surgeries, bringing me large cups of hold water to sip during hours of chemotherapy in between reading aloud to me bizarre bits of the paper, and taking off for the one pharmacy open at 2 a.m. once to get me drugs to ease my pain.
  • Changing thousands of diapers without prompting. Hauling babies and all their bags of diapers, juice, toys, bibs, extra clothes and more. Rocking those babies in the middle of the night after I woke him up, even if I had to kick him a little because he sleeps through anything. Waking up early to make those creepy-crawling kids of ours pancakes while he downs an extra cup of coffee and lets me sleep in.
  • Never once even hinting that I need to not be a writer despite the hours it sometimes took away from him having some free time for himself between work, children, the farm, and helping his family.
  • Accepting my far louder family with curiosity and appreciation even if we broke out into show tunes at the drop of a hat and considered a great family gathering to include six kinds of dessert and karaoke.
  • Holding my father’s arm in the last moments of his life while telling my dad how good it was to see him (after flying out with me on little notice, then driving hours in the snow on little sleep).
  • Saying “Oh, no!” when I tell him I think I’m getting a cold, and then expressing genuine empathy.
  • Doing the laundry. All the laundry for the most part. Including the laundry for three kids, one of whom changed her outfit every two hours. For over 30 years.
  • Laughing so hard at the parts we love in our favorite movies, reminding me of the first time I heard him laugh in abandon when we went to a park late at night and swung on the swings very high.
  • Processing thousands of nuances of interpersonal mishaps wIMG_1216ith me to help me find the way forward with love and respect for all.
  • Cleaning the dog vomit on the floor, and much of the kid stomach flu evidence over the years because I can’t do it without throwing up.
  • Lying awake late at night with me, scheming about events we’d organize, projects we’d launch, and communities we’d support, and then, in the daytime, working with me to make it all happen.
  • While not caring if his shirt is fraying at the edges, letting me parade before him in multiple outfits so he can advise me on what best fits the occasion and makes me look best.
  • Simply not caring if I gained or lost 20 pounds.
  • Not objecting when I scooted my freezing toes under his warm feet in bed on a winter’s night.
  • Occasionally writing me a love letter so beautiful that I no longer care that he forgot a birthday, and in recent years, actually remembering birthdays, holidays and Valentine’s day, not because they matter to him but because it matters to me.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of us no matter who we love and how we love, and may we find the romance in folded laundry, a hot bowl of soup, and someone who truly gets who we are.

The Love of Justice, The Justice of Love, and Why Courtney & Denise Should Be Able to Marry in Kansas: Everyday Magic, Day 761

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2001 Real-But-Not-in-Kansas Wedding Portrait

When Courtney and Denise asked me to marry them, I said, “Sure, but you know, I’m not legal to marry anyone.”

“D’uh,” said Denise, giggling.

“Like it matters,” added Courtney.

At the time, early 2001, gay marriage was so small a glimmer of possibility, something we all thought might happen in our lifetime, maybe when we were passing around pictures of our grandchildren. Making due without being able to make up for this injustice was all we had.

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The wedding procession in 2001

So on May 5, 2001, we gathered at Ken and my house south of Lawrence, and gleefully paraded with family and friends alongside the woods to the southeast corner of a field. Denise was crying and swirling in her wide-swinging white dress while Courtney was laughing and rolling her eyes. They held hands, looked at each other, Denise giggling and crying at once, as they came to the exact place where I would marry them.

We got to know Denise in her job at Free State Credit Union and through the Merc, and Courtney when she was a para for our oldest son in 5th grade. Over the 1990s, we become close friends, the kind who can take naps on one another’s couches or leave a dinner conversation to do something on the computer for work, no explanation needed. It was as if we had been family for decades before we actually met, and we hang out together, in I Love Lucy terms, not like Ricky, Lucy, Fred and Ethel, but more like Ricky and three Lucys.

So of course I could be a pretend rabbi, acting in faith that this was a real marriage, and one day the world would catch up Courtney and Denise. They had been together for years, and all of us had just been through Denise’s thyroid cancer together when Courtney had to endure the insult of fighting to see her beloved in the hospital because they were both women.

The wedding happened at dusk in a slim gap of sunlight on an afternoon of rain. The whole wedding party stood in a circle around the bride and bride, my daughter Natalie excited to be ring bearer in her white pants and rainbow shirt, my sons and husband wrapped close, smiling and crying with joy like all the other guests there.

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Denise, Courtney and their son

In the 13 years since the not-real real wedding, Courtney and Denise had a son, Marek, born during a very joyous if not long labor at the Topeka Birthing Center. Denise decided to become a nurse, and after two years of prerequisite classes, got accepted into the prestigious nursing program at Baker University, graduated with flying colors, and now works at Stormont-Vail Medical Center. Courtney was finally able to leave her job at the post office to throw her immense energy into Courtney and Denise’s family family, Homestead Ranch, where they raise goats, chickens and other critters, grow immense amounts of vegetables, and hand craft the best goat milk soaps and lotions on the planet. Marek is close to 10 years old, and excels at Karate, making holiday ornaments to sell at the farmer’s market, and he plays a mean game of Apples to Apples. The whole family has run a booth at the farmer’s market, waking in the dark and wee hours every Saturday from May through November, for years, and cater to a loyal following.

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Marek at Homestead Ranch

A family business and farm. A child and his education. A home full of dogs, cats and tree frogs. A rich life with plenty of bouts of Guitar Hero and other games to play together. Spectacular turkey dinners with all the trimmings on Thanksgiving and beyond. And now land where they plan to build their dream house in coming years.

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Married in Iowa, So Why Not Kansas Too?

Throughout the years, we’ve come to know each other’s extended families, shared the sorrow of a close friend’s sudden passing, the loss of fathers and mothers, birthday parties and bar mitzvahs, and an outrageous amount of spaghetti and meatball dinners. Those in our family who, at first, had complaints about a lesbian couple, like much of America, softened their position over the years, eventually dissolving away such complaints. Courtney and Denise effectively, simply by being who they were and being around, changed the minds of people in our extended families as well as people they met through work, kids’ activities and the farmer’s market, about gay rights.

Yet it took until July of 2013 for Courtney and Denise to get legally married, and they had to travel out of state to Sidney, Iowa for the ceremony because our home state doesn’t recognize marriage between two women. They also had to work long and hard to get Courtney covered on Denise’s health insurance, and they still can’t file taxes jointly. Our dear friends who live and love a lot like us, and yet have to wait in the background for the light of equality to slowly reach them and other-than-hetero-identified people.

The advancement of gay marriage has moved a million times faster than I never dreamed when I was growing up, watching gay or lesbian friends or acquaintances cast, at best, as exotic, and at worst, as repugnant. Yet when it comes to my friends and so many other Kansans who have waited years, decades, lifetimes, to be able to simply say “my wife” or “my husband” and reap other legal, economic, religious and social benefits, the wait is excruciatingly slow.

It didn’t matter in 2001 that I wasn’t legally sanctioned to marry anyone. It should have, and it sure matters even more today that Kansans who aren’t of the heterosexual variety must either have no1521965_10151888355412684_155270190_nn-legal weddings or leave the state.

What does matter: Love. Justice. Community. Let’s work in community for the love of justice, and the justice of love.