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Ruth, my mother-outlaw
Feb. 28th, 2024 04:53 am Ruth, my spouse's mother, my mother-in-law whom I called my mother-outlaw before John and I got married, has departed this world. She died well, in an excellent setting of love and affirmation which she chose.
She and I met at the Science Museum of Minnesota about forty-one years ago, when I was volunteering there in Anthropology Hall. I often say that Juan and I met in a folktale: One day at the hearth, my teacher of spinning and weaving and dyeing called to a passing young man, "Come here, my son, and hold this yarn that Elise might wind it up into a ball." And he and I both thought the other interesting, and that was the beginning.
Early on, Ruth said to him, "Now, when* you break up with her, you make sure to do it in such a way that you can handle running into her around the house, because she was my friend first."
Best mother-outlaw ever.
When Juan proposed to me, I said I needed to go ask his mother for his hand. I went to see her, explained the situation, and Ruth said she had only one question for me.
"The two of you aren't going to get all conventional on us, are you?"
"Certainly not!" I said.
"In that case, I think it's a fine idea," said she.
And so we did.
It can be very handy, if one is polyamorous, to have a mother-outlaw or in-law who is an anthropologist. "Hey, Ruth," I would say, "We're being exogamous again." Ruth would smile and ask me how many places to set for the next upcoming holiday dinner.
Anyhow, my mother-outlaw has departed this world. There will be many people in many places writing remembrances of her and of fun and adventures they shared. I just wanted to take a moment right now to appreciate the woman who taught me to spin and weave and dye fibers, who told me when and where the good drag performances were and often took me along, who shared a quest with me to eat pho at every place in the Twin Cities that offered it, and who welcomed our otherloves to her table and home. Best mother-outlaw ever. She will be missed, but more than that, she will be gladly remembered as long as stories are told.
*She didn't think we had enough in common, possibly temperamentally, to make a long-term match. It's been 40 years of keeping company this year, 33 of those as married.
She and I met at the Science Museum of Minnesota about forty-one years ago, when I was volunteering there in Anthropology Hall. I often say that Juan and I met in a folktale: One day at the hearth, my teacher of spinning and weaving and dyeing called to a passing young man, "Come here, my son, and hold this yarn that Elise might wind it up into a ball." And he and I both thought the other interesting, and that was the beginning.
Early on, Ruth said to him, "Now, when* you break up with her, you make sure to do it in such a way that you can handle running into her around the house, because she was my friend first."
Best mother-outlaw ever.
When Juan proposed to me, I said I needed to go ask his mother for his hand. I went to see her, explained the situation, and Ruth said she had only one question for me.
"The two of you aren't going to get all conventional on us, are you?"
"Certainly not!" I said.
"In that case, I think it's a fine idea," said she.
And so we did.
It can be very handy, if one is polyamorous, to have a mother-outlaw or in-law who is an anthropologist. "Hey, Ruth," I would say, "We're being exogamous again." Ruth would smile and ask me how many places to set for the next upcoming holiday dinner.
Anyhow, my mother-outlaw has departed this world. There will be many people in many places writing remembrances of her and of fun and adventures they shared. I just wanted to take a moment right now to appreciate the woman who taught me to spin and weave and dye fibers, who told me when and where the good drag performances were and often took me along, who shared a quest with me to eat pho at every place in the Twin Cities that offered it, and who welcomed our otherloves to her table and home. Best mother-outlaw ever. She will be missed, but more than that, she will be gladly remembered as long as stories are told.
*She didn't think we had enough in common, possibly temperamentally, to make a long-term match. It's been 40 years of keeping company this year, 33 of those as married.
