Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory



I slept thirteen hours last night. Hard.

Who sleeps thirteen hours?

I spent an hour last night at the local Hobby Lobby, with my baby sister and her fiancee choosing flowers for her wedding in January. I used to dabble with flower arranging, worked a in a flower shop or two, and helped out on holidays here and there over the years. It’s a big project, and feels even bigger because I’m not quite on board with the idea of her getting married at such a young age. She is just a baby! I realize I’m projecting some of my own personal baggage onto her, but I’m trying to keep it in check. She and Fiancee will be getting married in the local Mormon temple, which means that anyone who is not a worthy member of the LDS church, will be unable to attend. As a sinner, I get to wait outside while the ceremony takes place inside, and then the couple will come out and we will disperse to the church meetinghouse for a reception in the cultural hall, which is pretty much a multipurpose room and gym and sometimes there’s a stage on one end. Of course, they raise the basketball hoops out of the way for things like wedding receptions.

Lest you think I am not respectful of other people’s life choices, I am. I will make the flowers beautiful, and I will truly wish her well. I hope that she is happy, and that, unlike me, she doesn’t feel, in twenty years, that her choices were limited by the Mormon status quo. I used to be bitter. Now I’m just a little regretfully wistful.

I seem to be fighting with Special Man, and I’m not exactly sure why. I see a pattern, in myself, that I’m not sure how to change. I’m a terrible fighter. I want to withdraw, run away, apologize and make it all better. It’s not the apologizing that I take issue with. It’s that I use it as an avoidance strategy. It’s one I used with my exhusband often. Walk on eggshells, be the compliant good girl. Lose myself in keeping the peace. And now I’m hung up on being heard, and I wonder if it’s making everything worse; if I’m making everything worse.

So there it is. I’m going to nest in today, let the kids order pizza, eat some chocolate, and watch movies. If I can get some puppy cuddles in, all the better.



I should be asleep.

The house is dreadfully quiet. The children have gone to my mother’s for a Thanksgiving meal, and I have been left alone to sleep. I got home from work this morning at 8am, and I’ll leave for another shift a little after 6pm.

But I can’t sleep.

I’ve had an amazing year, and I have so many things to be grateful for. It’s a little bit melancholy-inducing to be alone right now, but I am holding tight to the chance to reflect. Last year at Thanksgiving, my blog was not even a thought in my head. I’ve learned so much about myself through writing and interacting with others, that I have to put it on the list of things I am thankful for this year. This list would also include the standard, “children, loved ones, home, and career” items, but more specifically, I am grateful for the growth I’ve seen, in my relationships in each of these areas of my life, and the development I feel within myself. My connections are stronger, my goals clearer, and my motivations better defined.

It’s interesting, how at forty-four, I feel like such a newcomer to my life. It’s an absolutely glorious feeling.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.



Oh my.

CC’s parents are here in town for Thanksgiving. CC’s siblings are coming tomorrow, they are planning a big dinner with both turkey and lamb, and they are spending most of this week doing family things. I’m not exactly sure what spurred CC and Special Man to decide that this would be a good time for them to come out as poly to her parents, but they did. I haven’t had a chance to hear the details of how the conversation when this morning, but SM texted me mid-afternoon and said it was “a little awkward, but okay. As long as we’re happy they’re happy.”

So tonight, 6:30pm found me sitting in my car, in the parking lot of the sushi restaurant where Special Man and I had our first date more than two years ago, psyching myself up to go in and have dinner with my boyfriend, his wife, her boyfriend and his wife’s parents.

I was freaking out, gentle readers.

Not because I expected anything dramatic. I was fairly confident that there wouldn’t be any talk of polyamory specifics, and that I wouldn’t be fielding any difficult questions. It was just completely surreal. I’m on the verge of being completely out as a person that I absolutely never envisioned, for most of my adult life. Two of my sons and I have had fairly in depth conversations in the last 24 hours, and they know that meeting CC is forthcoming. They know that she and SM have been together for many years and that they live together.

Somehow, the kicker for me, is the fact that they are married. I have stopped short of telling them that part, but I refuse to have them meet her until I’m able to say it, knowing that once I do say it, I am completely and totally out to my entire family. I am letting them absorb, or at least I’m telling myself that I am letting them absorb before I give them this final bit of information.

I raised my now teenaged children very conservatively, in an extreme religious environment for most of their childhoods. I am living a life and teaching them things now, that are completely at odds with where we were ten years ago. I am afraid that this will be too much for them. That they will be angry, confused. I mean, really, even I was confused when I first started exploring polyamory. Of course they will be confused.

Dinner was pleasant. CC’s parents are adorable and kind and just downright nice. CC’s boyfriend, who I can’t think of a clever name for, was also there, and that helped my comfort level a little bit. I kind of wondered what they were thinking about this whole situation, but everyone seemed content with small talk, and so I certainly wasn’t going to interrogate them.

I’ve felt a bit emotionally distant from SM since we got back from Ohio. I can’t put my finger on why exactly. It was hard for me to be with him for those four days, and then not have him here at all. It’s almost as if I’m having some Partner Withdrawal. I need a hit, man!

This afternoon the kids and I had a mini-Thanksgiving ourselves, as I have to work both Wednesday and Thursday nights this year, and will be sleeping all day Thursday in between my shifts. My brood will spend Thanksgiving day with my mother, and I’m grateful for that, as it lessens my Mommy guilt just a little.

Tonight, as I left the sushi place, CC’s father hugged me and it really did feel good, and okay. I’m interested to talk with her, and find out what it means to her to be out to her parents. Though I’m out to my own father, I am fairly apprehensive to have that conversation with my mother.

But it needs to happen soon. If only so my brain will stop thinking about it.

Good night, little brain.



Someone asked me a question last night that was much harder to answer than I expected it to be.

“So what’s your kink, Ginger?” he asked.

I like some kinky things, and I dislike others. I love fire. I dislike electricity. My feet are a crazy hot erogenous zone, and respond to all sorts of things. I enjoy thuddy impact; but I do like enduring stingy impact. I’m not a huge fan of rope, though I like being restrained and constricted. I love a struggle.

But that wasn’t really the question.

I’ve been thinking on this all morning. I’ve often said, that my favorite thing about the kink community is all the people I have the chance to meet and know, people I might not ever have crossed paths with in my day to day life, had I not found this circle of association. I love the diversity and range of personalities and experiences that I get to interact with; those connections, whether brief or ongoing, serve to teach me things about myself, and about who I am.


In the end, my kink is not the people themselves. It’s the dance. It’s that energy exchange which occurs with each interaction. Ultimately, it’s finding those rare people who, somehow, I simply click with. I do not play with many people, and this is because that indefinable, positive energy connection is so very important to me. When that is present, I feel safe and strong and vulnerable and open, and for me, that is the absolute hottest thing in my world. It allows me to give myself over to the dynamic, and to let it be what it’s going to be. That connection, left unlabeled, lets the dynamic develop organically and I am free to give myself over to it, without predetermined expectations of role boundaries. I love the unknown aspect of that.

I adore allowing myself those infinite possibilities with each new person who crosses my path.

So the next time someone asks me, “What’s your kink, Ginger?” I’m just going to smile and say:

“This. This is my kink. You and me, and everything that comes next. Dance with me.”



There’s a tentative plan in place for me to meet CC’s parents next week when they are here for Thanksgiving. The idea that she and Special Man are going to come out as poly to them on Monday and then introduce then to their respective partners on Tuesday at a family dinner is mind boggling to me. It’s and interesting position for me to be in. I’m not emotionally vested in the opinion of her parents, but I am vested in CC and SM.  I want it to go well for them, and I’m also curious to experience a piece of this coming out from the fringes.  Although I’ve told my Dad everything, I’m still apprehensive about talking with my mother about polyamory. I’m planning to do it soon, within the next two months, and then have a sit down with my children. They all know the phrase non – monogamous and are aware that we are “non-exclusive”, but I want them to know about CC and the place she has in Special Man’s life. I’m also ready for her to meet them, though that will come when she is ready.

I’m teetering on the cusp of something I can’t quite put my finger on. I feel it in my bones: something new and exhilarating.  I need to stay mindful and aware of the things happening around me. 

I don’t want to miss anything.

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Written last night as I sat in a plane flying over Chicago, on my way home to Idaho.

I don’t love flying.

It’s not that it’s horrible or anything, it’s just not particularly pleasant. There is little privacy for conversation, and really, the noise of the plane makes small talk difficult anyway.

I do however, love traveling to new places, which is something I’ve not had nearly enough of in my life but which has slowly moved to the top of my WANT list.  Special Man sits beside me, fidgeting and restless, watching old episodes of “West Wing”, (an excellent and highly recommended series, in fact, one of my sons is named for one of my favorite characters. Yes, I really did that.)

We are an hour from home, and I feel the weight of it. I loved the hours and days we had together. I was better for having him there. “You’re being so nice to me,” I said, several times this trip, which caused him to respond, “You say that as if it’s something new.”  And it’s not. I’m not sure if it was the amount of time we had together that amplified this nurturing I felt from him, or the fact that I was trying so hard to take care of myself. To be comfortable and competent in a completely new environment, with completely new people, doing something I really wanted to do, but was frankly terrified of.

So as it comes time to say goodbye to him for a week, I’m happy and tired and just a little wistful. I’m so grateful he’s in my life, and there’s just a little bit of a disconnect for me when I know in my head that while I would really never want to actually cohabitate with him permanently, part of me has a hard time letting go of him and saying goodbye.  I had my moment, when I took out my new phone/tablet and wrote:  I wish you were coming home with me.  I poked him with my elbow, and showed it to him.  I slowly started to erase it, not wanting to look at his face.  He put his hand on my leg, and I knew he was there, and that he loved me.  I had to process, to let go a little.  I have more to say about that, but it will come after I think on it for a little while. I leave you with a brief list of things I learned this weekend.  There is much, much more, but I am weary and I need to sleep and regroup. 

1) You can never, ever, drink too much coffee.  You can, however, have too much of the Waffle House.

2) Yes, I CAN pack for three days in one carry on.  (And that included a flouncy petticoat to wear under my pinup girl dress for the Poly Prom.)

3)  Always have a Plan B. And a Plan C.  Then, be flexible enough to revert back to Plan A when your people rally. Let people take care of you sometimes.

4)  Observe and learn. Then observe some more.  Embrace YES. Make peace with no.  

5)  There are good and kind people on the planet. They are not perfect. And neither am I.

6)Tornado sirens are confusing.

PS. Ohio rocked. Thank you to my new friends for all your kindnesses. ~Ginger

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I am a lucky girl. This weekend taught me so much about myself and the things that I want and need, and the things that just ARE. I’m heading to the airport in Columbus, and will be home later tonight.  I have much brewing in my head, and cannot wait to get it all out and onto paper. Tomorrow.

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I have to stop looking at quotes.  Good grief, you wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to Google a few interesting and profound quotes for my presentations, but HOLY HELL, the sugary sweet, two hearts-one soul, perfect love, LOVE is the answer to all life’s questions….   ugh.  I have to stop.

My mother came over today.  She looked around, and she said (quietly so as not to embarrass me, I think), “This is the cleanest I’ve ever seen your house.  I like it.”  I wasn’t sure what to say.  I’m sure she also saw my Day Of The Dead altar, which still stands with it’s sugar skulls, and it’s iconic crucifix flanked by pillar candles.  I’m not sure she recognized the ceramic bride and groom that she and I picked out together twenty-two years ago to sit on top of my wedding cake, and which now represents the broken marriage I tried so hard to fix for so many years.  There it sat, on my altar, as my mother praised my clean house, and I found myself wordless.

“Thank you,” I finally said, but those were the wrong words.  They were the only words I had, however, and I gave them to her, because in the end, she did and she does her best, and I suppose that is all any of us can say.  I know that she loves me.  Special Man laughed when I told him many months ago, about the birthday party I had when I was ten, that nobody came to, except for my mother who stood at the end of our big table and took pictures of me, alone, in a party dress.  I smiled for the camera, and she was being a good mother, taking pictures of her oldest daughter.  She was trying.

I wish I knew where those pictures were.

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Almost every day since my last post, I’ve had something that I’ve thought, “I should write about this.”  And each day, other things have taken priority.  I should have taken notes.

In about twenty-four hours, SM and I are leaving for Ohio.  I am facilitating two classes on Saturday, for a small poly conference.  I decline to say “teaching”.  Somehow, that sounds like I’ve got all the answers, and I’m some kind of expert, which I am decidedly not.  I am looking forward to this experience, though to be honest, my presentations are not quite done.  I suspect that no matter how extensively I prepare, I will leave feeling like I had to wing it.  I refuse to write a script.

I have a lot to do, between packing and finishing up these classes.  It’s a calm panic I’m feeling.  Mostly I’m happy to be doing something outside of my comfort zone.  I always feel good and happy afterwards.

My daughter, who is seven, had downloaded an app onto my e-reader that was called “Fashion Icon”.  I’m thinking dress up, paper doll type game, so I was particularly surprised when her interactive game allowed her to flirt, have a drink with a boy/man, and “lose confidence” when she was deemed not as fashionable as a competitor.  I hated it.  If you flirted with a boy you passed on the street, your other boyfriend would dump you, because, she explained, “You can only have one boyfriend at a time.”  And never mind if she wanted a girlfriend.  Everyone in Fashion Icon city is straight.  And monogamous.  And horribly insecure.

Also, chocolate apparently was the solution for a lack of confidence.  Now that’s a good message.  Let’s self-medicate with food.