Ma was born in Mansett, Maine to Malcolm and Margaret, and also survived by her siblings Sis, Wayne and special little brother David. She lost her eldest brother Malcolm Jr. too early to remember, and 2nd eldest Charlie a few years back.

As a youth she moved to Abington, Massachusetts (but not her accent, which was always from Maine) where at the tender age of 14 she met the future Mr. Wallent who was a troublemaker from the start, and love was kindled. When she was 16 (and Mr. Wallent was 18) they were married (’51), and true mayhem ensued.

They moved in rapid succession through hurricane and snowstorm through Colorado and New Jersey, through the Army and then back to Massachusetts where their big family then began to bloom. In ’58 and ’59 Sheila and Nancy were born, and then later after nearly ten years of eventful life (kidneys and brains!), in the age of aquarius in ‘69, Michael was born (that’s me, Megan, but that’s a whole other  story).

After a couple of years more in Abington, Hilda and John (not yet Ma and Pa) moved again furtively from Long Island through Alexandria (Virginia), and then to Mystic in ’74, to a house on a long road that Ma really loved. On the way there Ma taught her kids about bike rides, and peanut butter, and the value of love and working hard.

While in Mystic, Hilda became Ma. Ma loved babies. All babies. And she wanted to help them. So she and John (also known as Dad or Pa) decided to become foster parents. Every few months it seemed like there was a new little voice in the house, that would get fed, changed, sang too (she loved them all a Bushel and a Peck), and then they would move on to a family that would love them forever. There was one catch though – Ma loved them forever too. Sometimes the birth moms who had the right idea – that they needed to love by letting go – held on a little too tight – and they couldn’t let go. Then there was Benjamin. Benjamin was in our house for a long time…. Ma loved him like all of us.

Finally, Benji’s birth mom let go, and Benji became part of an awesome family who’s name I can’t remember. (Benji, you are out there somewhere, and you are a 36 year old man who likely has a whole life that’s awesome. Ma still loves you: Do great things.)

That was hard. John’s commute was hard. Change was needed. After Sheila and Nancy were all set with high school they moved with Michael to Wickford, Rhode Island. Ma hated the house on Stonegate, but it became her, and she was there for more than 30 years.

While in Wickford, she walked (how many thousands of times around the block), and she and Pa again became foster parents, and the sounds of nighttime feedings filled the house. Then again, there was a problem. One of the kids that she loved so much couldn’t be let go. Keith…. You are her youngest son. My youngest brother. It tore her heart out, but finally he was let go and caught in one fell swoop.

While on Stonegate, Ma perfected so many things: Green Christmas Tree Cookies, Baked Beans, Babca (God’s food for the first Pa), flat chocolate chip cookies and more than anything, loving all little hearts that came through the door.

Keith was the end of the foster period, and in the early 80’s Ma started to do day care, which was really an excuse to have kids in the house all the time, and she again grew her family. I am not even going to begin to remember all of the names, but Ma would. Morgan, Derek, Emily…. Was it 50? She knew them all, and it became her.

She and John began to travel, enjoying the time they had together. Cruises, Vegas, even a Thanksgiving in Europe! They had a full life.

Ma and Pa retired in the late 90’s from making stuff and managing rooms of children (Ma and Pa respectively), and started to travel even more, but after a few years of the good life John’s kidney cloud returned and from 2002 to 2006 it got hard. John got sick and passed away, and in the interim Ma was the do-er of the stuff that needed to get done. It was wearing.

The Stonegate house went a few years back, and Ma moved to Niantic to be near Nancy.

Last spring she decided that a walk in the back yard with her beloved brother David would be fun, but a bit of the stubbornness that was her hallmark came out and she didn’t need help (when she really did), and she took a tumble, and everything tumbled from there.

Over the last nine months, Ma became at peace with her world, had some more Long Island Ice teas, went to Disney one last time and gave a few more kids a hug.

Today was the end of her breath but not her heart.

That lives on.

Why so long?

Well, busy for one… too much time on the road for work, too busy at home, too busy to even keep up here (my bad).

But, the other more nagging thing for me is that I was avoiding it. Avoiding it because I didn’t want to deal with “telling” all the people who I needed to deal with – and there were a lot. (The maintainence people, the FBO (parking) people, my flight instructor, the other pilots at the FBO, the FAA). So, I was avoiding it.

But, last week Anh and I went to a wedding up in the San Juan Islands. Getting to the San Juans from Seattle in the summer, you have two choices – drive about 90 mins, wait for a ferry, and take an hour ferry trip – or – fly. The flight is around 30 mins. The ferry/drive may not sound that bad – but in the summer, the “wait for a ferry” part might be between 1-4 hours. So, we asked our friend Alex, also a pilot, if he wanted to fly up.

Sitting in the copilot/front seat passenger seat – I felt super lame. Why on earth did we need to ask for a favor when I should have been able to do it myself?

That was it…

Last week I dealt w/everyone (except the FAA), more on that later…. and I flew w/my instructor yesterday.

I feel like a pilot again!

I also have the weight of one more “thing” off my shoulders – and that feels even better.

Here.

Jennifer’s book – “She’s Not There” was super helpful to me and my family, and was a great support to me in coming to grips with the duality of being transgendered and still wanting (deeply) to stay married to Anh.

In the opinion article she discusses the complexity of marriage laws for transgendered folks and the insanity that can sometimes ensue.

Society benefits when people are co-dependent on each other, and not just on the larger society. Marriage codifies that. (Yes, I realize that marriage started as a patriarchical institution that effectively made women property of men. I’m not advocating that type of relationship, but rather a true joining of equals.)

The situations that Jennifer describes are clearly complex… worth a read! Maybe even deliver an (anonymous) copy to your favorite co-worker, neighbor, or government official who may be thinking about this issue in a less-than-open way.

Catchy… like it.

Never really understood the words…. Caught a few….

…It just takes some time.. in the middle – in the middle

That night when I went home, I got it from Amazon MP3 Download (love the service – no DRM – plays everywhere). Here’s the link if you want to play along.

I listened to it a few more times over the past week… liked it more. Started to understand the words…

It just takes some time,  little girl you’re in the middle of the ride
Everthing, everything it’ll be just fine
Everything, everything it’ll be alright (alright)

This morning I was running in yet another hotel on yet another treadmill (interesting image, huh?). Was in the last two minutes of my run, and it came on again. I turned up the speed (6.5, I’m slow!), and ran out the song (extra quarter mile!).

I really listened this time.

Hey, don’t write yourself off yet
It’s only in your head you feel left out
Or looked down on
Just try your best, try everything you can
And don’t you worry what they tell themselves
When you’re away.

This song…. it’s pretty connected to how I feel about my transition.

And, it made me run faster (maybe to get out of the middle?)

Well, a guy, probably in his late 20′s, and D-R-U-N-K sat down in the seat next to me. First hand I lost (20 to dealers drawn-to 21), he says:

“You want a backrub?”

Me: “No thanks.”

Couple more hands….

“It will be relaxing.”

Me: No reply.

“Really”

Dealer: “Hey, She’s Married!”

“Backrub’s ain’t cheatin’”

YUK!

You learn so much at conferences – about customers, your competitors – but this year, I learned something in an area I wasn’t expecting – how much it costs to puke in a cab.

Now STOP! I’m better than that, I did not in fact puke in a cab. However, we did hear firsthand from an expert – our cabbie last night – about the suggested price schedule. Nancy from Western Cab was full of fun facts.

She was complaining about a group of drunken girls she picked up the night before – with one of them having set their alimentary canal in “two way” mode as opposed to the more normative and societally acceptable “one way” mode.

“She wanted change. Up the strip, and wanted change for a $20. Unbelievable!”.

The fare was about $10 – so, we established that the cleanup fee should have been $10.

However, she didn’t puke “in” the cab – but on the door.

What about inside, what’s appropriate for that?

Nancy says that depending on the degree of offense, the fee for that is between $50 and $100.

When Anh and I were in Paris at the beginning of April, in the cab from the airport downtown, Samwich lost it in the cab. He had had some suspect milk, the traffic was stop and go, and the diesel fumes were bad, and he didn’t make it. Most of the damage hit both him and me, but some hit the seat. We cleaned it all up with wipes, but I still gave the driver $50.

I told Nancy this story, and she said:

“You are such a bullshitter.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

From the backseat – “No, that’s Joe Biden”

Choice 5

The voting:

#5: 47

#4: 29

#2: 28

#1: 25

#3: 5

The comment stream would seem to agree – its #5!

Thanks to all of you who voted, I have my new corp bio picture.

Please click on your favorite to vote! Remember, this is *corporate*… for when I’m all pro-fo and stuff.

Choice 1

Choice 2

Choice 3

Choice 4

Choice 5

 Thanks in advance for your help!

The House of Bouillabaise

Miramar is probably the most famous bouillabaisse restaurant in southern France, if not all of France. We had the opportunity to have lunch there, and it was as good as advertised. Quai du Port rings the south side of the main marina, and along that road are a set of restaurants offering French maritime cuisine. On your way to #12 do not stop, do not pass go, just keep going. Miramar is a different beast. They have both inside and outside seating (we sat outside), and the tables were mostly filled with well-dressed, middle-aged French businessmen enjoying a three-hour lunch.

Many of the main-courses are for two (we found this to be pretty common). There are three versions of the bouillabaisse (with and without lobster and one “special” – we couldn’t get a great explanation of “special”). Other super interesting courses for two included various grilled fishes, salt encrusted and baked fishes, and fish in pastry (which are expertly filleted and plated tableside by the “Chef du Table” – a roving outside chef).

We were there for the bouillabaisse, so we went for it. (Regular, no lobster).

To start we had the lobster salad.

Cannibal Lobster

This was perhaps the most beautiful lobster salad that I had ever seen – note how the claw seemingly grasps the tail. The lobster was nicely cooked (steamed, served cold), however the flavors in the salad (peas, beans, carrots, greens, with a light pesto-cream sauce) while independently beautiful, I didn’t hang together cohesively to make the dish.

We also had the scallop starter.

Truffles: Is there anything you can't do?

Also very beautiful. The scallops were lightly pan fried, and sat on top of a bed of slightly crunchy, pan-caramelized onions. On top, there are the thick sliced black truffles. Need I say more?

This dish did hang together much more cohesively. A single bite incorporating all of the elements was an amazing pleasure… it just melted in your mouth.

Next came the bouillabaisse…. It was a production. First, the seafood comes out.

Platter of Happy

Rockfish, a few kinds of whitefish, mussels, small crabs and potatoes are all delivered beautifully, topped with the “Certificate of Quality”.

The server then brings the garlic, mayo and toast platter. There is a process to follow with those – a delicious, garlicky process.

Platter of Process

Step one: Select your toast.
Step two: Select a garlic clove.
Step three: Take garlic clove, and “scrape” on toast, liberally.
Step four: Apply dollop of spicy mayo stuff on toast.
Step five:  Drop in bouillabaisse broth.

Oh, the broth.

Now, you don’t just get the broth with the seafood – no. While your seafood is being filleted and prepared tableside by the Chef du Table,  you are given a fullsize bowl to enjoy. You get to play the above toast game with *that* broth.

Swimming Toast

I had this preconceived notion that bouillabaisse broth was thin and white. Far from it – here it was very much like a thick, fish bisque (without cream). It was also heavily seasoned with saffron and was somewhat curry-like, with a definite yellow color. With an almost spicy background, it went perfectly with the garlic toast previously prepared.

When finished, the Chef du Table presented us with the complete product – with a new base of broth of course.

Almost there....

While the serving was for two – honestly two people could have shared one bowl and been quite satiated. Each of the elements retained its own flavor and texture, and worked well together.

We did finish with dessert – which was ordered right after the main courses were ordered since each was cooked to order as well. I was ready to burst, but we had selected a Gran Marnier soufflé.

Shh!

And, a Baba au Rhum.

....and a bottle of rum!

The Baba au Rhum came with its own separate shot of rum (for drinking) – I know it was for drinking as the cake was supersaturated with rum – and perfect of course. The Baba and the topping strawberry glistened – with deliciousness.

Shining Beacon of Strawberry

As a bonus, a petit-fours plate was delivered, including these delicious raspberry tarts.

More Shiny...

Samwich *loved* these, and when we told the ever-accomodating staff, ten more promptly showed up. I kid you not. Samwich then proceeded to eat the raspberries off the top of each one in a maniacal production line of yumminess.

Restaurant Miramar was an absolute treat. The setting was perfect for people watching along the quai. Eating outside in early spring was like a sneak preview of summer. Honestly lunching there was a great combination of luxury and laid-back-ness that I don’t think we would have had at dinner.

Marseille was an hour-plus from where we were staying, but Anh and I considered going back the next day to try more of the treats… only a fear of another post-lunch-caloric-coma caused us to not make the trek.

Go to Miramar… go after fasting… go with friends so you can try everything.

Most of the time we’ve used a “Sit-N-Stroll” (http://www.strollerdepot.com/items/sit-n-stroll/) which is a convertible car seat/stroller that can sometimes even be rolled right down the aisle. Its super convenient when you have a rental car on the other side.

We didn’t want to take the Sit-N-Stroll this time because we weren’t going to have a car for most of the time we were gone, making it a bunch of dead weight. In addition our experience with France is that it’s not super stroller friendly (curbs, cobblestones, narrow sidewalks).

Additionally, Air France planes (transcon A330’s) have extra-wide armrests that do not completely fold up – this makes it hard to put a carseat in.

The last time we red-eye’d to Boston, Samwich ended up out of his carseat, laying across Anh and I anyway – in that case, the carseat was a detriment, as that was space that he couldn’t use.

For this trip, we had the flight to Paris, and then a flight from Paris to Marseille.

We were able to use it effectively on all the legs, although on the return from Marseille to Paris the flight crew questioned us a bunch, and the FAA stamp didn’t carry weight, since it was France. In the end, they were ok w/it.

Samwich was way more comfortable, and sleeping worked out much better him. On the Paris-Seattle legs, the seat configuration was 2-4-2, and we had window-aisle-aisle, with Samwich on the window, with Anh next to him. On the Paris-Marseille legs, it was 3-3 – so we had three across and chose to put him in the middle. This was a benefit over the carseat, which needs to go on the window, or in a two-aisle plane (2-4-2, 2-3-2, or 3-5-3) has to be in a middle-middle seat.

The only challenge is that the shoulder straps tended to pull the lap belt “up” – so it was a little high. Because there is no “between the legs” strap, he could slide forward too. This isn’t a big deal in an airplane crash, since airplanes typically aren’t rear-ended, but you need to stay vigilant to make sure that he’s properly positioned in turbulence. We fixed this a bit by having him sit on a pillow, which seemed to work pretty well. (Although I’m not sure that’s “approved”).

In the end it wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the alternative, and certainly reduced the lugging weight.