Summer Plans

As happens most summers, people travel and enjoy the sunshine. I will be doing the same. I’ll be adding shorter aways here and there as the summer progresses but here are this planned so far:

I am currently out of town as of the publishing of this post. I’m taking my first long trip to Eastern Washington to unplug for Four entire days. I left yesterday (Wed the 17th) and I’ll be back Sunday evening, ready to get together with fun new folks Monday.

The next big trip is for the solstice. I want to soak up the sunshine over the longest few days of the summer so I’m leaving town either Friday afternoon or Saturday morning the 16th or 17th of June and not coming back until Thursday the 22nd so I’ll be back just in time for Pride Weekend.

The next long trip is Friday August 11 to Tuesday August 22 (a whole week and two weekends! Yay!) and I might steal a few of my lady friends for this trip so check ahead with Verona, Claire, and Adelle at least.

An finally September, my big long road trip down the Pacific Coast Highway (or at least parts of it). I’ll be leaving around the 9th to the 11th and coming back Maybe the 26th or the 27th.

I may do some one or three day jaunts to Vancouver BC, Portland, or Eastern Washington in between those big trips but they’ll be a bit easier to schedule around and I can be more flexible.

All these trips are more or less reflected on my calendar but I wanted to make the big ones stand out for planning purposes. While they are for personal pleasure, I may be tempted into taking an appointment here or there depending on the gentleman. My trips in June and August take me near Spokane and that general vicinity and my trip in September takes me down to LA and San Francisco, just so you know.

I hope you all are enjoying the lovely weather and that I get to meet up in between our busy outdoor adventures!

An Exquisite lover is better than a mediocre listener

I sometimes find myself in a mood. Last time this happened I wrote about the golden girl, repainted into a muted version of herself. This time I wrote about the patrons at the same establishment. It’s not meant to be anything other than amusing. There are some private jokes and some floppy phrases but it’s two hours to publish and I haven’t written anything else yet so you get my odd, whimsical stream of consciousness. A kind of prose poetry for one who hates poems.

She’s a round faced Julia Roberts and he’s the blandest gent who ever gented. Some thick rimmed hipster tickles some ill tuned ivory as the radio fades. A commercial pops up: support public radio.

I rarely hear conversation truly murmur. Usually it roars, ebbs, or rings. Happy minute pops up. Chocolate and booze oozes carefully. It’s a short menu. The golden girl gleams on the corner. The slow pop of jazz blends the rustle of cash and squeak of leather under the sensuous cackle of comfortable laughter. Glug. Sweet, sour, lonely, surrounded.

The fish slowly explore their minuscule prison as a white coated professional looks on. I feel out of place without my heels; even Seattle casual insinuates elegance here. Strangers are friends and lovers avoid eye contact. Tennis shoes, haha.

My head feels pleasantly funny. I get moody when my partner is out of town. There’s something about knowing an oft warm home is dim and cool. My morning is too soon. Tomorrow will be languid yet tonight.. the night. This music inspires shadow and long glances. I’m tempted to seduce two young men but the pleasure of seduction ends at its inception. I’d rather be skillfully seduced but I doubt the existence of a satisfactory sensualist. I’d rather pay a pro.

A hundred jokes here. A dozen glasses; wine sloshes over the rims. The old school commode rings its wet call from the back. Feed me! demand the ATMs. Nothing over 10$ but no liquor either. Infinite secrets between the lines, stuffed into the stiff wooden pages.

POP!!!

Ah Ella. That croon. It tempts. Feel. Drink. Lust. Despair. The music is the only thing here that changes and even that simply cycles. Our bartender can never leave. We need him and he needs us. Capitalism and socialism both here, living yet fighting.

Julia and her perfect bland look blankly in each others’ direction. They’re thinking or listening or something. Their conversation is the sole absence.

Rev: Alice Carrol

One of my beloved clients gifted me a two hour (!) massage with Alice Carrol. She and I have met and played before but this was my first time receiving unidirectional bodywork from her.

Her incall is reasonably convenient though I didn’t drive so I can’t tell you about parking. Straight up the Hill from me, I got my blood moving by walking the whole way. She let me in to her vintage building and a few flights of stairs later we entered a small, dim studio. She offered water and tiny donuts and we sat and chatted for a few minutes about what I wanted. Her studio is in an old building so it’s a little rough around the edges but she keeps it spotless and manages to work around the limitations of size and age.

Alice is extraordinarily accommodating. I said I was looking for a bit of deeper work in my shoulders and also that I wanted to experience her ‘standard sensual massage.’ She told me that, like myself, she constantly adjusts her bodywork to fit the vibe and needs of the client. We agreed I would take a warm shower to relax and we would regroup after.

I emerged warm and cozy from her small bathroom to find soft music and a sarong-wrapped Alice awaiting me. I lay face down on the table and settled in to relax.

Alice is deaf, meaning if she can’t see your lips, she can’t read them. As many of you know, I have a hard time not talking but in this case I had no option. The soft, familiar music, extremely dim lighting, and loooong sensuous strokes took me somewhere I don’t think I’ve ever been before. Her style for bodywork is deep, strong, and flowing. She constantly reapplies warm oil as it soaks in and she intersperses body-wide strokes with deep kneading by strong hands. Like, really strong.

After an eternity of indeterminate length, the depth of her strokes changed. Slowly, subtly, her hands slipped from heel to calf to buttock to shoulder, around, and back again. Again and again, almost hypnotic, her touch and silence directed my attention inward. It had been a long busy few weeks and I wasn’t sure my body would respond with arousal to her sensuous attention but I felt myself growing warmer with every pass of her hands.

She invited me to turn over onto my back so she could minister to my sore pecs and breasts, arms and forearms, and my rumbling tummy. She teased me about the mischievous brownie in her wanting to play with my nipples and with a look I invited her in.

Working on women sensually isn’t as simple as working on men. Our arousal is neither simple nor obvious and the rarity of female clients means, at least with me, I’m more timid and nervous. She slowly, slowly circled her hands towards my center after deeply kneading sore spots in shoulder and chest.

We paused for a moment to assess my body’s response. She definitely had me thinking about receiving her hands intimately and it was part sexual arousal, part curiosity that led us to deeper pleasures. Suffice it to say her touch is intuitive and she watches carefully for your reactions. It was tricky to give feedback in the dim light but she always made me feel welcome to speak up and ask for what I wanted. While I didn’t reach a climax, I reached instead a state of complete mindlessness.

After a shower and getting dressed again I expected to sit and talk shop for a bit but I found myself staring absently, vaguely searching for conversation and finding very little cranial movement. That’s unusual enough for me that once I noticed it, I just enjoyed it. There is a women’s only, clothing optional spa a few blocks down the hill from her apartment and in place of forcing myself back to reality, I walked emptily down to strip and sauna.

My full cognitive abilities didn’t return for an hour. A long, dim, quiet hour surrounded by naked goddesses sighing and gasping and whispering.

Alice gave me an opportunity to relax, receive, share, and enjoy without any pressure to perform or return. Her hands worked me over and her silence centered me. I have no doubts that, given the opportunity, she will do the same for you.

It did!

I promise: I wrote this on time and meant to schedule it, I just wasn’t connected to wifi when I wrote it. Thus It’s late but I hope you’ll forgive me.

I’ve seen Rogue One: A Star Wars story twice now and both times I was in tears by the end. Every criticism I had of The Force Awakens has been met and mastered by RO.

Since the original characters hadn’t entered the story yet, I have no expectations about their appearance to be met or dashed, aside from the magnificent return of James Earl Jones as the voice of Darth Vader. The only other returning characters were princess Lea in a perfectly appropriate cameo and General Tarkin, master of the Death Star.

The character of Han Solo was replaced by rebel pilot Cassian Andor. While not as witty or devil-may-care, Cassian is as gritty and real as Han Solo would have been had we seen more of his back story. Cassian, someone we should be rooting for as hero of the rebellion, does some very bad things in the name of the movement and faces a crisis of conscience so big it takes half the film. He’s not nonchalantly blasting obviously bad guys, he’s a soldier following orders who winds up sacrificing every shred of energy and self interest for a greater cause. He’s the Han Solo I was hoping for in TFA: complicated, brave, not always very nice, but dedicated to something he’s spent his entire life working towards.

Our female lead, playing the precursor to the clever and courageous Princess Leah, is Jyn (gin) Erso. Caught up in the machinations of governments she has no interest in, Jyn begins as a self interested prisoner and grows into the one to deliver the most stirring speech of the film. The father-daughter dynamic trikes me particularly as I am very close to my own and with his sacrifice as the catalyst I don’t see her change of heart as artificial.

It’s also worth noting, and has been noted before, that there is no romance in this film, as well there shouldn’t be. They’re in the middle of a freaking war and while some people respond to stress by seeking sex, many don’t. It makes sense for strangers to remain strangers when Jyn uses her wits and strength as a tool instead of her sexuality. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that but it’s refreshing to see the change.)

I complained that the plot of TFA trivialized the search and sacrifice for the Death Star plans because they used the same plot device but everything was an accident instead of carefully planned. This film tells the story that TFA cheapened and does it in a way that made me laugh, made me cry, and sent me home elated. Here, finally, is a Star Wars film that takes itself seriously!

It was said by a friend of mine that Miticlorians ruined the force. The attempt to explain how the force works took some of the mysticism and ritual out of it and tried unsuccessfully to drag a space opera into the realms of science fiction alongside Star Trek and Aliens. There is one character in RO:ASWS that renews the drama and mysticism of the force. He also provides both comic relief and the most poignant scene in the entire film. I had to hold my hands over my mouth to keep from sobbing in the theater both times and the act of writing about it is bringing tears to my eyes. Like legit tears welling up and falling down my face.
And of course the droid. The droids are always the comic relief. The clever, the foreign, the oddly loyal but sometimes kooky hunks of metal that help keep the humans safe. Even the droid was complex. Even the machine had heart.

I had a problem with the fan service in TFA because it felt out of place. The phrases we recognize didn’t fit in the context they were put and so it took me out of the film when I heard them. In RO, it was hella appropriate because the timelines are so close. I think RO leaves off a week or less before ANH begins and so when we see original footage from ANH, it makes perfect sense! When we see an artfully computer rendered princess Leah, it makes perfect sense! When the uniforms and the fighters and the sets are all the same, it makes perfects sense! I walked away immediately wishing to watch ANH so I could ‘find out’ what happens next!

Suffice it to say that, while it did take the entire first half of the movie to introduce our characters, establish back stories, deal with everyone’s crises of conscience, and introduce the real heart pounding action, I didn’t ever feel bored. In short: I loved it! This is the film we will remember as the turning point in the franchise (I hope) from a fun yet frivolous space opera to a grittier, more complex story of fierce loyalty, real passion, quick wits, and the perennial crowd pleaser: the underdog story.

I noticed something on my second viewing that I’m happy to discuss with the more politically minded but it’s a pretty deep topic and so I’ll leave you with this thought for your second viewing: pay attention to all the rebel uniforms. There are factions we are supposed to like and factions we are not supposed to like. The uniforms evoked associations in me as an American viewer around various guerrilla forces including American forces in Vietnam and Insurgent forces in Iraq and Afganistan, (as portrayed by media; I’ve never seen either in person). It was pretty clear to me who was supposed to be the bad guy and who was supposed to be the underdog, though they never fought each other directly.

In any case, I enjoyed the movie very much and would be happy to geek out on it with any and all interested parties. Or uninterested parties. I’ll geek out on anyone if I get the chance. I’m so happy!

Getting Fresh

I’m sitting here on the couch watching Joanne Wier gets fresh. Its a cooking show on public television where this mid thirties woman ‘teaches’ her students how to cook. It’s a fun twist on the traditional cooking show and it means she gets to have these nice young people from different backgrounds come share her craft and take away a few truisms regarding flavor and cooking methods.

This episode she’s adding prosciutto di parma to a salad. Prosciutto di parma, if you don’t already know, is a type of cured ham that I think of as rich man’s bacon. It’s rich, its salty, it’s got nutty, earthy flavors, and you don’t need much of it to make a powerful statement. It’s made in Italy and shipped to your local Whole Foods so you can try it yourself. It goes well on pizza, crisped in the oven and crumbled over salad, or as a component of your charcuterie before or in between courses.

I once tweeted at Joanne Wier that the whole time I’m watching her show all I can imagine is her banging her students. She makes comments that you only think are dirty if you‘re already a little naughty minded. So I see them all the time. “Feel it on your tongue” and “I definitely got some seed” popped up recently. There’s this one student who has been on her show multiple times. He’s a brazillian ballet dancer and he positively oozes sex appeal. My partner and I are in full agreement: they’re totes banging. The best part though? Her social media manager tweeted back! Haha. Either it’s a slow day for her Twitter feed or they know exactly what they’re doing when they giver her shows suggestive titles. In an episode called “Citrus three ways” she says “Get ready to pucker up and get fresh.” I mean, c’mon..

The fun thing about food, though, is that it really is a sensual experience. Watching an episode of America’s Test Kitchen really is like watching porn, except instead of my pussy getting wet and desirous it’s my mouth. You may remember my short suggestive essay on succulent pulled pork shoulder. The descriptions and feelings of pleasure are very similar between good food and good sexual experiences. Temperature differences, slick moisture, earthy, salty scents and flavors, the visual aspect of a well presented plate…. All run parallel to stimulus we feel in our sensual encounters.

A friend of mine has a stipulation that any restaurant you take her to should be at least three stars on yelp. It sounds kinda elitist at first but what she’s telling you with this is that food, like sex, is important to her and she doesn’t want to waste her time or yours on it if it’s done poorly. She limits her volume to intensify the pleasure and I can certainly agree with her on valuing great sensory experiences.

I’ve noticed my tastes changing as I learn more about good food and as I age. I notice nuances in truly subtly delicious food. I need and want less of it when it’s more satisfying. I desire salt and umami more than sugar. I’ve even kinda lost my taste for straight chocolate. I like it with salt or ginger or sour fruits or in delicious buttery brown cookies but by itself, even a dark, bitter bar, it’s overwhelming. Same thing with pizza and pasta and even salads: If it doesn’t have good flavor and texture, it’s hard to enjoy it

I remember the best steak I’ve ever had. We were at the Metropolitan Grill, Bananas Foster at the table next to us, a mouthwatering, perfect, rich steak on my plate (or what’s left of it), and my eyes rolling with pleasure at every bite. It’s definitely number one on my list of greatest steaks, with numbers 2-5 going to home made, seared and baked ribeyes. Aside: Take me to the metropolitan grill and get that social time for free! After Valentine’s Day. Until then I’m vegetarian. Sigh.

I’m planning on being vegetarian for six weeks starting in January. As some of you have noticed, I’ve lost some weight. I feel fucking hot as hell but there are those few pounds left to shed. In the aftermath of the holidays and their emphasis on food and drink, a simple cleanse sounds like just the ticket. I’m not looking forward to it but I am looking forward to bikini weather and this year, for the first time, I’ll be really ready.

And yes, I’ll post pictures 😉

I want to wish you a very happy Holiday Season. Thank you, again, for your warm support over the last few years.

December Sunset at the Market

I was walking past the Market yesterday on my way to meet with Raquel and talk party planning when I stopped for a moment. The sun was low but the day was yet young and so the streets were busy. It was icy cold so everyone I saw was bundled up in their thick scarves and warm jackets, moving quickly but easily in clusters to and fro. Above their heads the sky was bright orange and Alkai stood in sharp releif. The water taxi busily plowed its way across the sound, sparing commuters from the infernal West Seattle Bridge. The water shimmered, reflecting the clear winter sun and I stopped for a long moment to appreciate it.

I did this in Paris, too, lying down at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, waiting for its majesty to fade and my sense of awe to subside. It took a full twenty minutes of looking up before it began to feel normal. I was only about a hundred yards from one foot, lying down looking up the length. That’s a good angle for photos of tall women, too, exaggerating the length of their thighs and catching that tantalizing under-boob.

At first I watched the elevator rising and falling, taking folks past the innumerable stairs to the tippy top. Someday: Je marche les escaliers de Tour de Eiffel. But not that day. When the movement got old I contemplated the perspective: its feet curve outward as they approach the ground, exaggerating its height by playing tricks with your eyes. My eye followed the long, elegant curve over and over, drawn irresistibly to where it disappeared into the sky. I’d seen images before and there were far better ones on the post cards than anything I captured, but sometimes you don’t really recognize things for what they are until you’re right up close.

Paris doesn’t have a lot of tall buildings but its uneven topography, at least from my approach, meant it snuck up on me a bit. It didn’t really begin to impress me until I was just on the other side of the river. Even then, it doesn’t quite awe. Not yet. Not until I stand right in front of it, nearly between its toes, do I feel tiny. Minuscule. Admiring the achievements of greater folk than I in a harder time than today.

Standing in the Market yesterday, watching the sun set over a bright crowd, I felt that sense again. The sense of walking a road paved by many others before me, who worked harder than I have, creating something lasting and beautiful.

I have a countdown timer set to the solstice so I know exactly how long the days continue to shrink. In my mind I repeat ‘only three month before spring’ as a mantra, shielding me from the cold along with my black wool and double layer of socks. I hate the cold, but standing there, taking a moment out of my day to appreciate and enjoy the natural and curated beauty of this city, I didn’t mind it so much. I snapped a photo on my pocket computer/camera/notebook and walked on to a warm meal prepared by creative experts to talk seriously about throwing a party. I love this city. I hope I don’t get priced out and have to move.

Giving Thanks

I’m at home right now, though it’s a new home. My parents just moved for the third time in ten years. My childhood home is housing someone else’s dreams now. I went back to look at it once. I wished I had the courage to knock on the door and look at the changes they’ve made. I wonder if they’ve replaced the linoleum in the kitchen and found my name scrawled in large wobbly letters on the bare floor.

I’ve not yet seen the new house, they bought it while I was in the UK and I’ve been too busy lately for any more prolonged trips. Apparently there’s a wood fired sauna so I’ll have to bring my bathing suit. Normally you do a sauna nude but I’m definitely not going to do that around my parents. That would be weird.

I’ve scheduled this post to publish after dinner, when we’re all sitting around the TV feeling like the turkey, picking a show to watch and wearing pants with elastic waistbands. We’ll probably wake up late tomorrow and have pancakes for breakfast. Leftovers for dinner. More TV watching. I’ll go for a walk with my mom and we’ll try to avoid talking politics with my raging right wing uncle. Three days sounds like a very long time to avoid talking politics with my raging right wing uncle. Sigh.

It’ll be good, though, to see and show love to my family. My parents are very close to my heart, though I think they might not feel that way. I think because I don’t call home often that they think I don’t think of them often.

And yet It will be good to return to my little studio apartment, write more, read more, meet my beloved clients, live in the reassuringly homogenous pocket of ladies I adore. Soon is coming the season of quiet indoor socializing, hot tea and hot toddy’s, exquisite hours of warm comfort wrapped in fuzzy robes and relaxing.

But today I’d like to give thanks. Not to some entity in the sky but to the real, present gentlemen who have supported and encouraged me these last few years and the ladies who have built me up and shown me strength. Thanks for a community of sisters instead of a sea of rivals. Thanks for financial and social security instead of fear and apprehension. Thanks for the pride I can take in my work, my space, and myself.

Thank you, and happy Thanksgiving. I hope you are well and well loved.

The winds of change

I’m moved in. Not really but I have keys and the first load of never ending laundry rumbles away in the closet. It’s dark in here. I have the blinds turned down for privacy since there is another building right across the alley, and it’s a dim day, anyway, dull dusk at 5pm. There’s no furniture here yet, only the lamp in the corner. I can still see the odd empty space next to the plant at the old place in my mind’s eye and hope it doesn’t startle Claire too much when she stops by for her evening call. I’ll be ready, if rudimentary, to entertain at the new place Sunday.

A lot of things have changed this month, or it feels like they have. I’ve started on a slow but hopefully not as slow as I put it on weight loss program. I didn’t realize quite the extent of my ‘voluptuousness’ until I switched back from summer dresses to jeans. Denim is far less forgiving and emphasized how high my waist has risen. Oh I still look fine and my face is as open and inviting as ever but I have this image in my mind of a trim girl with taught legs. My muscle is toned, it’s just under a layer of padding a bit thicker than I’m happy with. So for the next six months it’s smaller plates, less wine, fewer chocolates, coffee with cream instead of lattes, and more walking.

Between the new place, return from abroad, winter approaching, and the change in public transit I’m establishing, or trying to establish, a new routine. Wake up an hour or so before I need to leave the house (unless I have something before 10) and relax. Wake up naturally, brew some coffee, have a piece of toast with homemade jam, catch up on Reddit, and prepare for the rest of the day. Be in town by 10:30 and spend time writing, cleaning, relaxing, and socializing unless I have an appointment. Catch a bus home and have fresh homemade dinner with a glass of wine and read a bit before bed. Saturday can be a stay home and do fun home stuff like special lunch or host a cocktail party. Maybe some evening I invite colleagues over to my new place for a few drinks and to play with the stripper pole! 😉

My ambitions are always ahead of my accomplishments but formalizing and sharing those intentions often helps. The time I tried Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and totally failed to follow through comes to mind but this is a bit simpler and easier to accomplish. One thing that seems oddly easy is my French language practice. I picked up a bunch of new words last month and am having a great deal of good luck with DuoLingo, a simple smart phone app that gives you small tasks and phrases and a daily goal to meet. I’m enjoying it and am able to at least translate visually. French pronunciation is so different from English and even Spanish that I have a terrible time hearing and interpreting.

So exercise, language, social events, what else is new? I’m sure I’ll think of something but in the meantime I’ll try to keep you amused with anecdotes and current events as I find them.

Oh, and an apology to those of you who registered for my newsletter and got a dozen or so copies: apparently it’s a glitch with the software. I’m working on a fix and will try to stay on top of it next month. Thank you for your kind patience.

Boys Aren’t Allowed to Play With Legos or Are You Fucking Shitting Me Seattle!?!

I’ve reproduce the full text and linked to the article in question at the end of my post

You’d think that in as progressive an area as Seattle and its suburbs, people would at least treat children fairly. Miss Keller, a teacher on Bainbridge island, our local bedroom island and haven for wealthy families, doesn’t let boys play with Legos. When allowing girls and boys free choices in play items, she was upset when girls generally played with dolls and boys generally played with Legos. Instead of allowing the kids (KIDS!!) to make their own choices, she imposed her idea of what girls ‘should’ play with on her students. I hope I’m not the only one who sees the irony here. She argues that it’s totally fair to lie to her male students (“I always tell the boys, ‘You’re going to have a turn’ — and I’m like, ‘Yeah, when hell freezes over’ in my head,”) about what they are and aren’t allowed to play with because the poor girls are told by society that they should play with bakeware sets and pretend to be nurses. Instead of encouraging boys and girls to, I dunno, play with whatever feels good to them and create an atmosphere where feminine and masculine traits are seen as normal human behaviors that range along a spectrum and are found in both boys and girls, she restricts the opportunities of her male students in the interest of ‘making it fair’. While I empathize with her desire to see greater gender role flexibility in men and women, I don’t think requiring girls to play with ‘boys toys’ is any better than requiring girls to play with ‘girls toys’.

Academic and gay porn performer Conner Habib said during the SASS panel last March that the Gay and Lesbian movement didn’t win gay rights, it won straight rights for conventionally gay people. By creating a category for gays and lesbians that was essentially straight white nuclear families except sometimes with two mommies or two daddies, the movement eliminated the broad range of sexual expression from the movement. By forcing girls to play like boys, Miss Keller is destroying the rich continuum of gender expression and creating a classroom culture that calls certain behaviors bad or good depending on which gender is expressing them, exactly what she purports to fight with her ‘only girls play with legos’ campaign.

Growing up, my brother got Kinects, Legos, Star Wars memorabilia, model airplanes, and toy trucks, as does my nephew now. My parents made him share them with me, though usually they didn’t need to force him. To us it was normal for me to play with both dolls and Legos and my brother and his friends sometimes played with me and my barbies. I was less interested in Legos so I played with them less often and we usually included some violence into our doll’s lives but the crossover was totally normal to us. Now, I have well rounded interests in physics and horses, human relationships and the chemistry animating my own body, I’m a scifi fan who reads high fantasy, I like dicks burgers and fancy sushi, and I look forward to sharing all my interests with my nieces and nephews alike. Maybe instead of forcing people, male or female, gay or straight, introverted or extroverted, theoretical or practical, meditative or exploratory into some narrow expression of their dominant traits, we can appreciate the nuances and richness of behavior and emotion present in each one of us.

To Miss Keller: I think you have the right idea when you bought pink and purple Legos: break down gender stereotypes around color. Maybe instead of forcing girls to play with them, you could have also purchased super hero action figures for the girls to play with and let each child make his or her own choice.

http://www.bainbridgereview.com/news/343127562.html

In Karen Keller’s kindergarten classroom, boys can’t play with Legos.
They can have their pick of Tinkertoys and marble tracks, but the colorful bricks are “girls only.”
“I always tell the boys, ‘You’re going to have a turn’ — and I’m like, ‘Yeah, when hell freezes over’ in my head,” she said. “I tell them, ‘You’ll have a turn’ because I don’t want them to feel bad.”
Although her approach might anger some parents, Keller is sticking to her guns: It’s all part of a plan to get girls building during “free choice,” the 40 minutes of unstructured play time embedded at the end of every school day.

Injustice or ingeniousness?

For years, Keller, who has taught at Captain Johnston Blakely Elementary since 2008, watched with discouragement as self-segregation defined her classroom — her boy students flocked to the building blocks while her girl students played with dolls and crayons and staples, toys that offered them little challenge or opportunity to fail and develop perseverance.
She did her research and concluded that something had to give; her girl students were indeed missing out.

Play linked to spatial skills

Lego play, Keller found, has been widely attributed to accelerating development and helping children fine-tune spatial and math skills, two of the largest areas of cognitive disparity between men and women.
Further, female STEM role models are few and far between, and part of the reason for their underrepresentation, Keller believes, are the gender stereotypes women are socialized into from an early age.
She faults toymakers for reinforcing those roles — “the stuff LEGO is marketing for girls is just so limiting;” ‘girl’ sets replete with themes such as baking, cooking, care-giving, homemaking, decorating and hair styling — but she also faults teachers for not taking action.
“I just feel like we are still so far behind in promoting gender equity,” Keller explained.
Which is what led Keller to her classroom experiment.
If girls were given the opportunity, would they develop different play preferences? She thought so, and she could cite a study or two to back the claim up.

Guiding “free choice”

At first, Keller tried enticing her girl students with pink and purple Legos.
“But it wasn’t enough,” she said. The girls weren’t interested and the boys just expanded their palettes.
So this past fall, when Bainbridge Schools Foundation announced its Classroom Enrichment Grants, Keller saw her chance to affect change.
She asked for funding to purchase LEGO Education Community Starter Kits for three Blakely classrooms, writing that “while it’s not necessary to board up the playhouse and adopt the babies out, concrete steps can be taken to ameliorate the gender gap in the kindergarten and present engaging ways to develop girls’ spatial skills.”
What she didn’t tell BSF, however, was that the boys wouldn’t get to play with the new 1,907-piece sets.
“I had to do the ‘girls only Lego club’ to boost it more,” she explained. “Boys get ongoing practice and girls are shut out of those activities, which just kills me. Until girls get it into their system that building is cool, building is ‘what I want to do’ — I want to protect that.”

It’s a fair practice

In Keller’s mind, it’s a fair practice “because fair is getting what you need to succeed or to get better.” Fair doesn’t have to be the same, and she says her kindergarteners get that.
At least for now.
While Keller sees more girls in the building area than before, it’s still not the norm, she said.
So the boys will just have to wait their turn.

Updates as of 5.21.16

Updates!!! So much has been happening of late that I thought even those of you who don’t receive my newsletter may want to know what I’ve been up to.

Most recently: I went to Portland! The nubile and buxom Numina Faye consented to join me on my Portland Venture. It was what I would consider a success but I’ll still be trying different timing next time. I went Monday through Thursday and I think next time I’ll try Thursday evening through Monday and see what changes. Our lovely hostess shared her home in absentia and we enjoyed her hot tub, enclosed and screened off from the neighbors; I don’t think we wore clothes almost the whole time we were actually home. The only problem was that I wanted to get some great photos and all I got was the one ‘selfie’ after she let me give her the simplest of manicures.

I’ve had emails sitting in my inbox from as long ago as February and I sincerely apologize both to my potential clients and my pocketbook. Anyone sending me an appointment request will meet with the professional skills of Rose, my new Email manager. I wanted to say something so no one is too terribly surprised. I still look at it and I will continue to answer any social missives (as best I can). Those of you who feel seriously uncomfortable with someone else being involved can reach me via my private phone number you received in my directions but I do not save phone numbers so you will have to identify yourself every time and give me some context and even then no promises. She and I are still working out scheduling kinks so please bear with us but so far things have been sleek and smooth. This means that new friends and those looking for closer to last minute appointments will be better attended, something I have begun to slack on because…

I’m becoming more of an activist and community organizer!! I’ve begun helping with SWOP (the sex workers outreach project, reached via www.SWOP-SEATTLE.org) and some of their outreach and activism as well as simply gathering an intimate group of colleagues and evolving my own view of my work. More to come there.

I’ve had some major family upheaval including weddings, moves, and some very interesting conversations. My family is quite conservative and sometimes their political leanings pain me but they are truly good people, the kind of Christians I imagine Christ himself would gently, lovingly accept despite their flaws. Very much the Samaritan, not-stone-the-woman types. My family exposure reminded me of a book I heard of recently: Chester Brown’s ‘Mary Wept at the Feet of Jesus’. One of my beloved clients gave me the opportunity to read Brown’s graphic novel while in Portland and it sparked a few interesting thoughts. As a former Protestant my religious education was long running and pervasive. Brown’s religious education is far more in depth and less About studying the Bible alone versus studying it along with all the things that have been said about it. There are several things I would have changed, first among them being the placement of his extensive notes. The cartoons are unimaginative and disengaging, particularly for some one who knows the stories already. They may have been more engaging first, if they were simply more; more dialogue, more images, etc and second, if they were preceded or immediately followed by his analysis. That analysis was by far the most interesting part of the volume. I loved the succinct yet thorough analysis of parables and stories and his theory regarding Matthew’s genealogy was certainly intriguing, but overall the book as a form of entertainment was kind of blah. I still plan to read his memoir, ‘Paying for it’ because it’s a client story which I am so interested in. He’s a Christian who voluntarily and, it sounds like, respectfully saw sex workers for over a decade and wrote about it; how can I not want to read that!?!

Aside from that the only major updates are: things are good. Life is good, business is good,the weather has been weird but before that it was good, the future looks good, everything looks pretty, well, good 🙂 Thank you, as usual, for being part of the good.

Oh, and Old Cowboy has made it safely through surgery and is at home, still recovering but in good spirits! 🙂