Hope that Spring has come to you in the North and that Summer is holding off for you in the South. This month I have assembled a selection of incidents and ideas that have occurred to me in the recent past. As I am now working fulltime (more about that later), have been on hormones a while, and have been living 24/7 for a year or so, I wanted to stop to look back over some of the salient moments. Maybe you can share these reminisces, maybe you can anticipate them, or maybe they will mean nothing to you. At any rate here they are (in no particular order).

You're in Drag

Not necessarily a good thing to be said to someone who is living fulltime, but I recently appreciated the comment very much. My partner, Judi, and I were going to a Christmas party for our 5-year-old granddaughter. The granddaughter is not aware of my lifestyle and as our interactions are only once or twice a year, it has been less than vital that I/we disclose. So I dug through the closet and found a button-down shirt and an old tie with Christmas decorations on it for the occasion. During the drive, Judi looked over at me and smiled and said, " Gee honey, you look like you're in male drag." I beamed. What a compliment, don't you think?

Er, Miss?

Right after the first of the year I was shopping for a lamp for our new apartment home. It was Saturday and I had showered and shaved where I needed to but, otherwise, had not done any 'damage control' or fluffing and folding. I was androgynous to an extreme and wore sweats and a loose shirt and sneakers. A sales clerk in a Pier One walked up behind me and asked, "May I help you, sir?" I turned around and before I had a chance to respond to the affirmative, he back-tracked and corrected himself by sayin, "Oh, I am sorry, Miss." Emphasis on the Miss. I doubt he knew that he had just made my day, and sold a lamp too! Perk of the Job

While I have been working on my doctorate I have taken many part-time jobs, mainly in an androgynous or male persona. Now that I am working fulltime as a woman, and everybody at work knows me only as Stacy and she and her. The funny, at least to me, thing is when, in conversation, I fall into think "he" and they say "she." Psychologists may call it cognitive dissonance, but I call it an inward smile. I laugh to myself remembering not to be too critical - after all; I lived as 'he' for more than forty years. I am the one who needs training now! By the way, if you have not experienced it, there is no bigger treat for me than getting a paycheck made out to my true self, Stacy, for work that I did as my true self, Stacy, in a place where I am accepted and considered as my true self, Stacy. This and money too? Cool.

Hold that Elevator

Those of us who grew up and lived some measure of adulthood as men know about holding doors open, pulling chairs out, and those other things that 'real women' appreciate and radical feminists feign. Not long ago I was walking into the lobby of a large corporate office building in Pasadena. I had an appointment on the 25th floor or some such and so headed for the elevators. My heels clicked on the marble floor and I must have been attentive to my walk on the slippery surface because as I got to the elevator door, I looked up to see a man holding the elevator door open for me. To my surprise and infinite pleasure was a business-clad, handsome gentleman was patiently holding the door for me. I scurried in and thanked him and off we went. I thought of what a sweet gesture that was and that I was privileged to receive it. I thanked him again as I got off at my floor and he rode on.

So, did he hold the door so he could get a glimpse of whatever was making that easily identifiable sound across the lobby? Or was it because he was a pseudo-closeted crossdresser and he wanted to enjoy my company? Or perhaps, he had never seen a 6', 200-lb. person of any gender walk in heels on that slipper marble floor before? Oh well, whatever the reason, I caught the elevator and got a warm peace for most of the rest of the day.

A Wink and a Nod

About a year ago I found myself driving on the I-5 south from Portland. The freeway here is wide and the on-ramps are long and flat. Traffic was light and I drove up on a truck scales and noticed a lumbering big rig moving out of the scale yard and onto the freeway. I moved over a lane and kept on. I pulled even with him about as he reached freeway speed and he glanced over. Simultaneously, I glanced at him. The flirt had begun. A huge smile came over his face and he gave me a little nod. Again, as with the elevator, I could imagine him looking at me for a thousand reasons. So, I get to chose which one I believe. He liked the way I looked in the dew of a Northern Oregon morning along the I-5 corridor, and I appreciated it.

A Wink and a Nod, Part II

A similar but much more drawn out occurrence befell me on a trip to LA from Phoenix. If you have driven the 10 between the two metropolises you know that desolate is a kind descriptive adjective. The truckers in Arizona, where the speed limit is 75, pay that number no heed whatsoever. I like to make that drive with the sun at my back, so it was early morning and I was doing about 78 (me officer, speeding? No Way, my speedometer must be off a tick). I noticed the unmistakable profile of a diesel semi- closing in on me and I readied myself for the inevitable thunder-rush of wind and derbis as he blew by me. He did close on me fast, but when he got along side, he nearly slammed the brakes on to match my speed. "OH shit," I thought, "here's trouble." I could outrun him, I could allow him to pull away, and I did try those two things. But as soon as I thought he was well behind me, he closed the gap again. "Ok," I thought again, "let's see what he wants." I pulled into the left lane and got even with his cab. There we carried on a seventy-five mile an hour, hand-gestured conversation. In essence what I got was that he liked what he saw, too. I got the name off his truck and tried to contact him, to no avail. I thought perhaps he was a trans-trucker and was celebrating my chutzpah in be so far 'out.'

One Last One

Sometimes you just have to say something, so I did. Judi and I were staying at New York, New York Casino in Vegas. We were doing our usual gambling, losing and winning, and enjoying time out of the routine. The have the cutest food court area there. It is made to look and feel like the streets of Brooklyn in the 20's (I think, though I have never been there). We were walking from the tables ('21' you know) to our room in the Chrysler Tower, a path which requires transiting through the food area. As we rounded a corner, I felt the stare somewhere out there (hmmm, Dr. Suess anyone?) and as I neared the dear woman, I felt her inquisitiveness and curiosity. We walked on by and as we turned to go into the elevator I told Judi I would be right back. I had to say something to this woman. So, across the cobblestone (faux, of course) I trod back to where she was still seated eating her ice cream cone. I approached and she quickly diverted her eyes. Standing next to her chair, I bent over and in a soft whisper told her, "You know, it's rude to stare." She was visibly embarrassed and then I added, "But I understand. Have a nice day, I'm going to!" With that, I patted her shoulder and turned on my heels and disappeared into the crowd and onto an elevator. Sometimes you just have to say something. So I did.

As always, I welcome your comments at trnsfxd@ix.netcom.com.