For Rebecca

Friday afternoon, March 27, 2020.  I'm at MIL's house where I was watching my daughter (MIL called a truce so I could do this, but still insisted on dead naming me the whole time, but that's another story.) MIL went to bring Wife home from the hospital.  The surgery went well.  I decided to check facialbook for the first time since early that morning.

That's when I learned that my dear friend and mentor Rebecca Lohr died the night before.  She'd been fighting leukemia for a while.  One of her last facialbook posts also mentioned pneumonia.

Rebecca with a piece of the original Death Star (from her page)

Sometimes, you don't know exactly when you met someone, but with Rebecca, I know exactly when: December 21, 2008.  That was the night of my first Renaissance meeting.  As I pulled into the parking lot, scared out of my mind, I saw a woman walking toward a door.  I opened the car window and called out to her "Excuse me- I'm looking for Renaissance?" She turned and said "You're in the right place.  Welcome!"  I learned that she was the President, or Group leader, or whatever the title was at the time.  I walked in, carrying my girl clothes- no makeup- and my journey began.

After I'd changed and put on my wig, I went to the meeting area, where Rebecca saw me and smiled her Cheshire cat smile.  I remember saying "I must be crazy" to which she replied “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.  You must be or you wouldn’t have come here.”  I laughed.  She knew her Carroll.

Over time, I found Rebecca to be a very complex person.  In so many ways she was a joyful mix of contradictions, yet they all made sense.  That was just Rebecca.  She seemed to be a bit of a loner, yet sought company.  In her, I saw the Awful loneliness of genius.  There were few who really understood the entirety of who she was.  It took me years, yet eventually, I got it.  She was a goth girl, yet wasn't.  Wiccan, yes, but solitary.  Fan girl, but not obsessed.  Mostly.

I'm glad I had those years.

If there was a TG event around Philly, Rebecca was there.  Renaissance, Angela's Laptop Lounge, Monday Night T-Girls, Raven Parties, Keystone Conference... she was there to lend support.  Or maybe she just wanted company.  Hard to know with her.

Henri David Ball, Halloween 2009

In many ways, her fandoms defined her.  She was a sci-fi fan extraordinaire.  You want to talk Dr. Who?  She knew all about it.  Obscure novel?  Read it.  Trek?  Absolutely.  Steampunk?  Here's the pictures.  Ren fair?  Let's go!

Her biggest, most enduring love was Star Wars.  I'm a HUGE Star Wars fan, and I like to think my knowledge is encyclopedic, but next to her, I was an amateur.  Her Star Wars knowledge and collection was unparalleled.  She had binders full of autographed photos of everyone involved- major or minor- in front of or behind the camera.  She'd met Carrie Fisher so many times that they were on a first name basis.  She regaled me with tales of drinking with Jeremy Bulloch (the original Boba Fett.)  Of, ahem, enjoying other substances with other actors.

With Carrie Fisher, from Rebecca's FB page

That was another thing that defined her in a way: she loved her drugs.  She was extremely fond of weed, and often was dreamy eyed because of it, then suddenly have that mischievous look to eye that she knew something you didn't.  She told me of tripping and all kinds of adventures, yet respected that I never did those things, as I have enough issues with just drinking, thank you.  I never judged her, and she never judged me.  I think that's one of other defining traits.  As the Poet once wrote "She knows too much to argue or to judge."  She never judged people.  She just let it all roll.

We shared a sense of humor

She also had her music.  She loved making music.  She was in many bands, but Radium Angels stands out.  Yet again, her music couldn't be defined or pinned down- she fluidly moved between styles.  They released their music as well.

She wrote and published books.  She's been shot at... She... wow, what didn't she do?

She didn't sign it though.

How I'll remember her most though, is that she was a regular at the book store where I used to work.  She would come in two or three times a week, just to hang out.  We'd talk, especially when I was stuck in the music section, which was usually slow.  Prior to my transition, my speaking to her (as well as a couple other transgender women) raised eyebrows.  I smiled and said "they're friends."  After my transition, Rebecca became a mama bear at the store- no one was going to mess with me while she was around.  On a few occasions, she took someone to task about misgendering or otherwise "othering" me, including, once, a manager.  Often, Rebecca would wear her Tardis dress and carry her R2D2 handbag, just to watch people's reactions.  And we even had a little code for when I was being "watched" by management, or if I was really to busy to talk.  It was her idea.

Since leaving the store, I didn't see her as much.  We'd chat through Facialbook.  She couldn't attend my "farewell gathering" as she was sick, but she sent encouragement.  The last messages were so full of hope.

The last messages

On my way back to State College, I looked up through the Twilight and looking down at me, a Cheshire Moon smiled.  I pulled over as the tears began, yet I felt at peace, because I could just see Rebecca smiling at me from above.  She was happy- No more Pain.  As I watched, the moon was slightly obscured by a dreamy wisp of cirrus cloud, and I thought... how appropriate.

Sleep well Rebecca.  The Force will be with you.

Always.

News.

I've written this blog since December 2008.  Over the years, I've done my best to keep my family matters quiet.  I've written about Wife and daughter occasionally, but I never name them to maintain privacy, as well as security.

Wife is a very private person.  Strange, isn't it?  That she would marry someone who spills their guts in writing for so long.  Before I was thrown out, it was like we were total opposites when we went out- I was full of noise, alcohol, and bluster, all covering my inner pain and insecurities.  But really, we are far more alike than different, especially at home.

At the park- a creepy tree

As I've written many times, I write this blog to get things out of my system.  Maybe it's good that so few read any more.  I wasn't going to write about this, but in this time of isolation, in this time of deep depression... I need to talk about this.

Yesterday morning, I drove east to see Wife and daughter.  I have so much work to do, yet I knew that if I didn't go then, it may be a month or more until I see them again.  I needed to see them- to hug my daughter- to pretend for a moment that everything would be ok.

We went to Wendy's in Oaks, drive through of course, then over to the nearby Lower Perkiomen Valley Park.  Wendy's was out of regular coke, so I got cherry coke, and Wife got a lemon coke.  We ate, talking about Daughter's school work and mine.  The sun shone hot through Wife's car windows, making me sweat a little.

Wife then said she had something to tell me that she wanted to say in person.  My heart sank instantly- nothing good ever followed those worlds.

Wife told me she was diagnosed with breast cancer.  It was caught very early- there is a 99% chance of a total cure.  She'll find out Monday if she'll have a lumpectomy or total mastectomy.  She'll tell me when the surgery will happen, but doesn't want me to be there.  She doesn't want pity.  She doesn't want a fuss.

That's how she is.

Daughter was told Friday night.  I understand how she feels- I was in college at PSU when I received a call from my mum saying that she'd had surgery for cancer- past tense.  It was already done.  I remember that surreal feeling of "mum has cancer."

This was different.  Wife and I have been together nearly 30 years.  Next month will be 27 married.  (6 1/2 separated.) To hear the person whom I promised before God and a congregation of loved ones to love, honor, and cherish "all the days of you life until death do you part" tell you she has cancer...

I can't describe that feeling.  I can't.

Hell, I'm crying while typing this.  Daughter and I talked a little later, when she accompanied me to the Wawa to get gas for the trip back to State College.  I told her that it felt like a brick in my stomach.  She told me she was "terrified."  I told her I was too.  I told her that I knew in my head that Her mother would pull through this with flying colors, that the chance of total cure was 99%, and that her mother is tough... but it would take a while for that to get through to my heart.  I told her that we'll get through this together.

After dropping her off, Wife and I spoke privately, and I told her the same thing.  I told her that anything she needed, I was there.  She smiled and said "I know."  But she doesn't want a fuss.  She doesn't want to be patronized.  And as I wrote above, that's her.

We hugged.  I held the hug and told her that I loved her.  She told me she loved me.  I got in the car and drove back to State College.  I was good- I didn't start crying until I reached the turnpike.  But it was a long trip back, as I had to pull over several times as I couldn't see through the tears.

I took this one of the times I pulled over.  Life goes on I guess.

Now I'm here.  The sun is shining, and I'm writing instead of doing my mountain of work.  132 miles awáy live my Daughter and my Wife, who has cancer.  I'm helpless to do anything.

I wrote long ago that I couldn't imagine living without Lisa Empanada in my life, and that was true.  But this is different.  This is Wife, with whom we have a daughter.  We had a family.  Despite our years of separation, I cannot comprehend of a world without her in it somewhere.  I always expected that I'd die first, long before her, and that Daughter would have her to rely upon for decades upon decades to come.  I know Wife will be fine.  I know the percentages, etc.  But I'm still crushed by this.  It just isn't fair.  Nothing in my life is.

Why does everyone I love gets sick or dies as I keep living?  They deserve life more than me, yet here I am.

"Be strong for your daughter."  "Be strong for Wife; she'll need you now."  But she doesn't.  All these miles away, I'm useless, helpless, and she doesn't need nor want me around.

I'd normally say "cue all those people saying 'stop being so negative' and 'pull yourself together.'"  But no one reads my shit anymore.  And I need time to process this.  And I have lots of homework to do.

It's a sunny day outside.

Keystone Conference Cancelled

A version of this was published on TG Forum on Monday, March 16.

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The 12th annual Keystone Conference, set for the end of this month, was cancelled due to concerns over the current pandemic.  It was cancelled by the group that runs it: TransCentralPa.

This was the correct action. 

Many of our transgender brothers and sisters are older, or have compromised immune systems.  If you need an example, the infamous “Con Crud” that goes around gatherings like this.  I know I’d survive the Corona virus, but if someone I knew died after contracting it from me, I’d never forgive myself.  Ever.

Yes, it was the right response, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.  A lot.

My Nametag, had it happened.

Before transition, Keystone was the event that I looked forward to the most- even more than Halloween (and that’s saying something!)  It meant several days of being Sophie among people that UNDERSTOOD.  I made some wonderful friends at Keystone over the years, many of whom I only see at Keystone.  When it ended, the dreaded “Pink Hangover” that each year became deeper and lasted longer.  When writing about the conference either in my blog or here, I often quote my dear friend David Denton, who once wrote:

"It was eerie. When I close my eyes and think about the walk to the Dog & Pony on Sunday morning I swear I can hear dying echoes of the most genuinely delightful laughter. It's like hearing ghosts from the past, Sophie."

And it’s so very true.  Keystone brings JOY- a palpable Joy that charges the air itself.  Most of the attendees go through their day to day lives as guys, but treasure the moments that they can express their inner Truth.  For some, this conference is the ONLY time they can do it.  And now it’s denied them. 

Since I wrote this for the column, I've thought about the years I was "closeted."  I remember that blessed relief when I could FINALLY be Sophie again.  It was all I could think about the rest of the month- that one night out.  Several DAYS in a row?  Heaven.  I told Wife I was going to an "Instructional Design" convention back then.  I hated lying to her- it ate away at what little soul I had left.  (That's why I had to tell her eventually.)  But- I needed those few days.  I needed that release.  Like so many of us, the person who arrived at the conference would not be the same person who left it.  I learned so much each time- and my experiences helped my "confidence" grow.  Eventually, on March 25, 2014, the first day of the 2014 Keystone Conference became my first day living my Truth. 

I think about how the conference changed me.  I think about all that it means to the TG community at large, especially in Pennsylvania.  I think about how much I've changed since coming out. 

The Conference doesn’t mean as much to me as it used to- I mean I still love seeing friends and helping girls taking their “first steps” as I did all those years ago.  However, since I now live my Truth, it’s no longer the “escape” it once was.  For me, it’s no longer an oasis in a painful life of Lies.  But for so many others, it IS.  That’s what makes it so damn important.  That’s why nearly a thousand people were planning to attend this year.  That’s the Emptiness that most of them now feel.  The organizers understand that.  In fact, they had the foresight to put the phone numbers for various Suicide Hotlines on the front page of their website, beneath the cancellation announcement.  Because it means THAT much to some people. 

At the Dog and Pony, March 12, 2020

I know some attendees will still be going to the Sheraton Harrisburg/Hershey (if we're not on lockdown by then) during that time, just to be there.  After all, the hotel staff has been extremely friendly.  I may stop by, just to see who is there.  After all, I’m only 90 minutes away.  Those who are still going Need this time- why else risk health and safety?  As I Needed it.  If I were still pretending to be Him… yes, I’d still be there the whole time as well, assuming I could afford it.  Make no mistake, there IS risk.  I know of two people who passed away at transgender conferences such as this (both from heart failure.)  There IS risk of infection.  This pandemic is no joke. 

I also feel so bad for the conference volunteers of TransCentralPa.  They worked so hard all year on this, just to have it end by circumstances beyond their control.  They put their heart and sweat into this- into making this one of (I think THE) premier TG conferences.  They make it look so effortless.  It isn’t.  I also think about all the money they lost in non-refundable deposits.  That hurts too- after all, they’re a volunteer organization.  Some people decided to donate their registration fees to TransCentralPa rather than have them refunded.  That’s a CLASS move!  It helps defray some of the money lost.

If you also wish to donate to defray the losses, their website is HERE.


So we wait for next year.  We wait for next spring, when Keystone comes again.  We wait for that grand occasion to see dear friends, to show off our gowns and shoes, to be who were really are.  As I wrote in a eulogy for a dear friend last year on my blog:

“At that first Keystone Conference, there I sat with maybe 80 other attendees, listening while Dr. Jeanine Ruhsam, then president of TransCentralPA, spoke to us as peers- as family… She spoke about beginnings- about how every journey has one, and that many in the small dining room (only one of the three available- now the conference packs all three) were just beginning our journeys.  I was one of them.  She also spoke about Community.  How all of us were part of something larger- that everyone here Understood what we all felt… For many of us, me included, it was what we needed to hear.  I'd grown up thinking I was alone: a freak.  I never forgot what she said, or how she made me feel.”


THAT is the power of community, and THAT is the power of the Keystone Conference.  There will be a next year.  A next Keystone.  May we all be there to enjoy it.

Be well.

Sleep well, Blues Man

The night froze around anyone stupid enough to venture out.  The bouncer waited just inside the painted wooden door to check ID and collect the cover charge- usually a few dollars.  The Skeller was packed, sweaty hot, stinking with smoke and stale beer.  People's shoes stuck to the beer muck as they did their best not to step on the occasional broken green glass from the Rolling Rock pony bottles dropped onto the stone floor.  Thread through the crowd to the bar for a pitcher of beer, then off to the left to the back room, where the small wooden stage barely stood in the far corner.  Speakers flanked it, and the crowd stood close enough to hug the band.

On the stage, four guys and one woman made music.  The Blues.  Blazing hot soulful Blues.  The woman was Tonya Brown, a bit overweight, enigmatic, with a voice that burned through the room and the soul.  On stage right stood a wiry man with a porn moustache wearing a "Blues man" Dobbs fedora, and his guitar sliced through the rhythms and told everyone there what it meant to be young and alive, if a little drunk.  Queen Bee and the Blue Hornet Band held court until the wee hours- the best band at Penn State in the late 80s, which is saying something given the great bands around at the time.

Mark jamming at Skull house, April 1988

That guitar player was a self-taught Blues aficionado named Mark Ross.  He'd play slide guitar using one of the ubiquitous Rolling Rock pony bottles.  He traded solos with a series of saxophone players over the years, loved the scene, loved the band, and, above all, he loved the Music.

I don't remember the exact date I met Mark, but I remember where and how.  Queen Bee and the Blue Hornet Band played at my fraternity house one of our Saturday night parties.  They set up in our "club room" on the ground floor, and their speakers rattled the windows.  The room was smaller than the bars they played, but just as packed and hot.  As they set up for the night, I introduced myself to him and we talked as he set up (after he refused my offer of help.)  We talked about music, both current and the blues.  I was still a Blues neophyte at that time, but knew enough to impress him.  And that night, he impressed me.  I made sure he had a steady supply of drinks.

They played our house many times while I lived there, and for a while, played no other fraternity.  Once I turned 21, I quickly became a regular at their shows.  During breaks, I'd talk to Mark when I could- he was always surrounded by fans.  I occasionally hung out with him on the nights the band was off, and usually it was at the Brick House.  We'd get drunk, and talk music.

Mark, 2018.  

Photo: https://www.collegian.psu.edu/news/borough/article_60d66332-9059-11e8-9037-cfe5da7ccaed.html

The band released albums, gained recognition, and toured constantly.  I graduated, and left Penn State behind.  When I visited, I'd always see if Queen Bee was in town, and would see them if they were.  Despite all the people he knew, all the fame the band gained, Mark always remembered my name.

The band broke up in 1999, so Tonya could go to New York City to pursue a solo career.  She died in 2001.

I saw Mark at State College over the years, and we'd drink together.  In 2014, after I transitioned, I reached out to him on facialbook.  I told him my dead name, and mentioned a bar fight we mutually prevented during Summer of '88.  He warmly accepted me.  We chatted on fb from time to time, but I never saw him play again.  He retired from music before I returned for my PhD.

Debut Album

He died last night of the pancreatic cancer he'd fought so hard for months.

Mark understood that to play the blues, a musician had to have heart, and they had to wear it on their sleeve.  Mark's had heart to spare, and he shared it with room after room; crowd after crowd.  He was generous with his time and smile.  He had love, and shared it with not just his family, but with everyone he met.

Skeller stage, January 2018, before Skeller closed forever

During the shows at my fraternity, or at any venue where the crowd could reach, Mark would allow them to occasionally take off his fedora, and fan his fingers with it during a solo.  It was a way of paying tribute to the man and his talent.  Tonight, being his first in heaven, I wonder which blues great will fan his fingers after he takes the stage, reunited with his soul sister Tonya, to share his heart and love to that celestial audience for all time.  Gonna be one heck of a show!

Sleep well, Blues Man.  Thank you for your friendship, your heart, and thank you for the music.

Queen Bee at Skull, April 1988