Mouse Hunt

Still shaking off the rust:

If you have delved at all into the first four or five years of posts here (and why haven't you?!), you know that my wife's reaction to my sartorial quirkiness has ranged from tolerant to I-wish-I-could-afford-to-get-outta-this-marriage. More recently, she has come to understand that it is not going away, but neither is it a threat.

One indicator is the laundry. I have done the bulk of our laundry for several years, in order to include my underwear in the wash without making her think about my proclivities. Very recently, she has begun grabbing my underwear from its special hamper to wash with everyone else's stuff. No toxic words, no drama, just clean underwear. Nice.

Last weekend, we heard a late night thump in the kitchen. We found one of our cats with a little gray mouse in his mouth. Not dead. The cat kept putting the mouse down, batting and chasing it, then carrying it for a spell. He would not come to us, nor could we entice him to take it outside. 

Instead, my wife screamed as the cat ran to our bedroom and promptly lost the mouse. The next half-hour played out like the 1997 comic masterpiece(?), Mousehunt. We reached under the bed and dressers, armed with small plastic storage boxes, hoping to corner the little bugger. We came close several times. The mouse ran over my bare foot at one point.

We had to pull stuff out from under the dressers and bed in our frantic search. From under my chest of drawers, my wife pulled out a waist cincher and a copy of My Husband Betty. In the past, this could have been the catalyst for some unpleasantness. The new dynamic prevailed, though, and she merely handed the stuff to me without a word or even an eye roll. Not an outward eye roll, anyway. Maybe internal.

And I wasn't terribly embarrassed either. I would have broken an arm diving past her to conceal my stash not so long ago. Now it's just a sidenote during a suburban safari. Be vewwy quiet...I'm hunting mouses.

Oh, the mouse has not been found. Pray for us.

Return of the Mojo

I was reading through some of my recent posts, "recent" only in the geologic sense of the word. I realized that I had left a plot thread dangling. At least one, though I only noticed this particular arc. Plus, it gave me an opportunity to create a post before I missed an entire calendar year!

I have shared previously my frustrations in taking on the presidency of my local support group, TransKentucky. There was no one else to take over when the previous leader burned out and left quite suddenly. I quickly learned why she burned out. I also learned that group leadership is not one of my strengths. I am pro level at long, awkward silences. The meetings soon were attended by only six to eight folks a month, including newbies that usually did not return.

The nadir of my time in the hot seat was the Pride Festival in June 2017. As a closeted transperson, I had to delegate responsibilities to others for this very public event. A proverbial train wreck was the result. We had a tent and a table, with no signage, no literature, and a few very despondent volunteers to answer the occasional inquiry, like "Who are you all?" Not the group's best moment, nor mine. The buck stopped with me, and I readily owned the mess. 

See? Happy.

I eventually served for 18 months as the big cheese. The numbers at the meetings began to pick up, and I was able to add a couple of leaders into my circle of one. Both were very capable and much more charismatic, as well as being unafraid to be the public face of the group. As Pride was nearing again, I made an abrupt decision to hand over the reins to Rylie. It was very sudden. She slept on it and agreed to do it. My spontaneity cost us the other moderator, though. I guess she was offended to have been passed over, but she never said so, and she never returned.

So now I am Rylie's girl Friday, much more content to be in a supporting role. As a bonus, I have been able to skip meetings when I want. I just wrapped up a four month absence from the monthly meetings. This last week I found myself really wanting to go, so I buckled down and did the necessary prep. 

It was great. I had been missed by many, and I was energized in the discussion and the social time afterward. I sought out a sad fellow sitting alone while everyone mingled. I kept watching him across the room, and seeing myself as I was my first 40-plus years, paralyzed by social anxiety and unable to initiate a conversation. I spent about 15 minutes talking with him, avoiding the small talk that I knew I always hated. Maybe I was a little invasive and direct, but he opened up some. I am much better suited to the one-on-one stuff. 

I just thought I should dispel the notion that I might still be president of my group. Nope, and much happier playing second fiddle. I now joke that my time was a caretaker administration, or an interregnum between real leaders. I kept most of the balls in the air, enough to get us into a new period of growth for TransKentucky. For me, growth through adversity.