Author: jnelson

Posted on

Choices, by Ray S

  
Never had
to make a choice or decision because my mother always did that for me. That’s
what mothers do.
The US
government decided I was draftable like all the other boys my age in 1943.
Faced with making a choice as to what branch of the service would want me, it
resulted in a trip to the US Army Air Corps office and enlisting in their air
cadet program. It seemed the best choice of all evils and besides I didn’t think
I’d fit nicely into a tight white sailor suit.
Footnote
here: Can you imagine me flying an airplane? I couldn’t even drive a car then.
The Air Corps was making all of our choices now having replaced Mama. As good fortune
would have it, the cadet program was oversubscribed, so the powers that be (or
were) scattered all of this wet behind the ears pubescent material to the
winds. The talented ones went to aircraft mechanics school.  The rest of the class members, having
finished basic training in the wilds of Gulfport, were shipped off to a
military police contingent where they were assigned to 11 pm to 7 am guard
duty. Here we could reflect on our recently basic training that had taught all
of the little boys how to be good little soldiers, drink beer, smoke
cigarettes, strip down and reassemble a carbine, report on parade grounds at 6
am dressed only in your issue raincoat for “short arm” VD inspection (and he
wouldn’t show us his), learn the intricacies of KP duty, and checking the
scenery in the barracks shower.
Eventually
through discovery, familiarity, or unknowing choices, the appearance of latent
libidos or the right time and the right place, this boy found out what people meant
by the pejoratives “queer” and “fairy.” However there was a conscious effort
called ‘in denial’ to not own those words openly for some thirty to forty years
hence.
Dating and
girls:
It was a
blind date that never ended until she delivered an ultimatum. The morning of
the wedding the butterflies kept saying, “Do you really want this?” But, the
die was cast, no choice, just make the best of it — for fifty-five years. And there
were many good times and some not so good.
Is chance a
choice or is choice a chance? A sunny day in June, crowds gathered at Civic
Center Plaza, and I chose to hang out on the perimeter of all the action
observing what PRIDE was all about.
Another
CHOICE, after all of this time it was becoming easier—attending a SAGE of the
Rockies conference. Meeting and learning to know there was a place for me in
this beautiful tribe; and I belonged. Knowing I could reach out and love freely
and openly. Finding I finally could come out of a closet I had lived in all of
these years. I realize now that I might be the only person that didn’t know or
suspect I was and am queer—in the most positive sense. My closet like many
others suffered from structural transparency.
Now I am
faced with another CHOICE. Trying to determine is this ‘indiscriminate love’ or
‘unconditional love’ that I feel for all of you; and is there really that much
of a difference?
© 11 July 2016 
About the Author 
Posted on

A Stroll at the Denver Art Museum, by Phillip Hoyle

Artists sometimes open our eyes to realities and injustices
the society tolerates. Friday at the art museum my granddaughters Rose and
Ulzii took off on their own. I walked with my daughter-in-law Heather, one of
the most intelligent and creative persons I have ever known, also one of the
most open personalities I have ever spent time with. She and I have been good
friends ever since the day my son Michael brought her and her three-year-old
son to our house. She’s highly educated, teaches writing at college and
secondary levels, and with my son has reared a quartet of unusually bright and
talented youngsters: two boys, two girls.
Heather and I sat in chairs in the ‘Matisse and Friends’
gallery on the first floor of the Hamilton Building of the museum while the
girls went their own way. They had become tired of Mom and Grandpa talking so
intensely over the previous two days! Sitting there Heather and I discussed the
art and our two days of visits and interviews at culinary schools, of bus and
light rail trips around metro Denver, of meals and walks, and of her children,
the boys as well as the girls whom we had accompanied the past two days.
Then I suggested we take my favorite stroll through the
museum accessed by riding the elevator to the fourth floor. There we saw mostly
empty walls since most of the area was being re-hung. We walked down the huge
staircase beneath the impressive Calder mobile. At the foot of the stairs we
turned to the installation with grey foxes cavorting in a red café. Heather was
especially thrilled with this work. We walked on through the narrow north
hallway and entered a gallery that usually offers some kind of audio-video
experience. Although I had seen the current installation several times, Heather
had not. She caught the title “Lot’s Wife” and with her deep curiosity took in
the tall mannequin with white skin, white clothing, and long white hair, a
figure that from her meadow-like setting gazed at a projected lakeshore.
Heather read it as a depiction of Lot’s wife after she had glanced back toward
Sodom, the hometown she and Lot were leaving, a glance against Yahweh’s
command. In the ancient story from Genesis due to her disobedience, the wife
turned into a pillar of salt, thus the white the artist selected. Then Heather
noted the thick, muscular neck of the figure, then the very male profile of the
face. The artist wants to push us! Oh my God! Was Lot’s wife a man? Was Lot
homosexual? Was his wife transgendered or a cross-dresser? The questions piled
up. The rationalizations multiplied. The objections flourished. And finally the
truth of it settled on both of us. Gay folk cannot turn away from who they are
even in the face of nearly universal opposition!
I know from a careful study of the ancient text and its
ensuing interpretation that the story’s meaning is not anti-homosexual. It’s a
story about lacking hospitality, but of course these days that sounds too
wimpy. The Hebrew God demanded hospitality to strangers not rejection. That
demand is at the heart of biblical story after biblical story in the Hebrew and
Greek bibles. But our artist, Canadian Kent Monkman, wasn’t worried about
historical interpretations. He, a Cree Indian, is concerned about the deeply
embedded prejudice inherent in our culture and society that fears anything
Native and homosexual, anything queer, or as Wikipedia defines it in its
article on homophobia, anything LGBT! Whoa! LGB and T. Yes.
Heather ‘got it’ as my artist friend Sue would say.
Gods can often seem unfair, especially ancient Gods evaluated
by post modern humans. It just doesn’t seem right that when Apollo couldn’t
resist looking back at Eurydice that she then disappeared and couldn’t
make the trip from Hades to be reunited with her husband. It doesn’t seem right
that when Lot’s wife (of course they left out her name—which in this
interpretative context seems like double trouble!) glanced backward at her
hometown she was leaving to avoid its destruction that she was destroyed
anyway.
The artist now seems to be telling LGBs and Ts to watch out.
Don’t look back at your fears; don’t doubt the truth of your own reality; don’t
get scared at what you are becoming—or you may become a pillar of salt or melt
into nothing. DON’T BE AFRAID.
So my little stroll through the museum challenged me to leave
my own homo fears and embrace this new life, one of possibility, challenge, and
hope.
Watching Heather process the installation gave me hope for
our family of young adults establishing themselves in creative work, of the ability
of the supporting generations to help them, of myself to keep getting over the
deeply hidden fears generated by being so truly queer.
* * * * *
Here’s my testimony!
In addition to being deeply loved by a number of men I have
never been so assisted in this fearless task so much as I have by coming week
after week to this SAGE storytelling group—telling my stories and hearing
yours.
The process of community, sharing, paying attention, working
to express exactly what I have experienced and mean conspire to keep away the
fearsome temptations and to clarify just what I need to pay attention to as I
continue to grow as a truly Queer, truly LGBT person.
Thanks to you.
Thanks to artists like Kent Monkman.
Thanks to a changing social scene that supports even more
changes in the lives of LGBTs as Qs, and more.
© Denver,
Dec 2014 
About the Author 
Phillip Hoyle
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
Posted on

Movies, by Pat Gourley

Unlike many of my gay
male brethren in particular, I am not a great fan of the big screen.  A consistent theme in my life has been to
almost exclusively read non-fiction books and that spills over these days to
rarely seeing any movie that is not a documentary. I am fond of anything
dealing with political themes but in rather cowardly fashion I suppose I do avoid
films on the climate crisis. I find them very valuable but so disturbingly truthful
and realistic I can’t watch. I suppose I do watch documentaries because I am
lazy and it’s easier to just sit back and have it all laid out for me. Reaching
for the popcorn is easier than reading and having to continually turn the page.
Perhaps this avoidance to
film dates back to the first movie I ever saw in a theatre and that was
Disney’s Old Yeller. A quick
refresher: the movie takes place in Texas in 1869 and the star is a loveable
yellow lab, who would put Lassie to shame any day. Yeller of course had the
advantage of being teamed up with a much more relatable friend in 15 year old
Travis. Lassie was burdened with Timmy who seemed destined in every episode to
make really stupid choices that only his dog could save him from. What of
course so seared Old Yeller into my
psyche was that he gets rabies fighting off a predatory wolf and has to be shot
by Travis. I never really got past this despite the Disney attempts to soften
the ending with a new puppy for the family. Sorry, the damage was done. I
actually don’t think I saw any movies after that until the James Bond movies
came out and the obvious draw for me to these films was James and not any of
the Fox-News-personality-type female sexual partners central to every Bond
film.
I do though appreciate
how important film is to the LGBT community and the tremendous impact this can
have in both very positive ways and damagingly negative reinforcement of out
internalized homophobia. So much of our early coming out is the struggle to find
the “other”, a soul we can relate to. The search to find someone else like us
is often relentless. The game-changing realization that I am not alone is
certainly a recurring theme bringing us back again and again to celluloid
escapism as a way to soothe our pain. Gay men in particular may want to be fucked
by the leading man but it is the strong female leads that have been our succor
for decades and we grasp at any hit of a queer character or theme.
Perhaps the singular
patron saint of the tortured history of Queers and their portrayal in film was
Vito Russo. He is best known for his landmark book the Celluloid Closet, still easily available and I suspect or hope a
copy or two is in The Center’s library. Russo
was one of the founders of GLAAD in 1985; previously know as the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation.
In recognition of bisexual and trans-persons the organization is now just GLAAD
and no long an acronym.  GLAAD was
initially formed in response to the hateful and vile portrayal of persons with AIDS
by the New York media particularly the New York Post. Vito Russo himself died
from AIDS in 1990.
GLAAD remains quite
active today keeping a watchful eye on all forms of media for inaccurate
portrayals of Queer folk. They have developed their own criteria for analyzing
how LGBT characters are portrayed called the Vito Russo Test. This link is to
their web site: http://www.glaad.org
This Vito Russo Test is
patterned after the “Bechdel Test” which is used to look at how women are
portrayed in film. I have included the criteria for the Russo test and they are
as follows:
1.The film
contains a character that is identifiably lesbian, gay, bisexual, and/or
transgender.
2. That character
must not be solely or predominantly defined by their sexual orientation or
gender identity. I.E. they are made up of the same sort of unique character
traits commonly used to differentiate straight characters from one another.
3. The LGBT
character must be tied into the plot in such a way that their removal would
have a significant effect. Meaning they are not there to simply provide
colorful commentary, paint urban authenticity, or (perhaps most commonly) set
up a punchline. The character must matter.
These criteria are taken from GLAAD’s 2016
Studio Responsibility Index. Unfortunately, this year out of 22 films with
significant LGBT characters only 8 or 36% have met these criteria and that is
apparently a significant decrease from recent years. http://www.glaad.org/sri/2016/vitorusso
Our struggle continues; so to the
barricades brother and sisters or at least to the theatres with a
discriminating eye.
© 25 July 2016
About the Author  
I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled
by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in
Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an
extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California. 

Posted on

Good Hunting, Nicholas

For the last few years I have been compiling memories in the
form of memoir essays. It’s fun and interesting to recollect what I have done
with my life over the years. I do not see myself writing an autobiography, however,
but rather being selective on episodes to delve into. I do not begin at my true
beginning with my childhood which, to me, seems as uninteresting now as it was
then. A pretty ordinary stretch of life filled with good memories but little
drama, a time that I don’t see as worth writing about.
So, it’s not really my life story that I am filling pages
with but reflections on where life has taken me. It has taken me many
fascinating places. And I enjoy remembering where I have gone. Memory is, to
paraphrase a common saying, like drinking sea water—the more you drink, the
thirstier you get. Writing a memoir is like a quest. You might say, I am
hunting my past.
I was remembering an episode in my past last week and the
more I thought about it and wrote out the story, the more that came to me. The story
was about the day a kind, older man tempted me out of my closet. He didn’t
succeed. I was foolish enough to pass up the opportunity he offered. I thought
I had written out the story. But then, wait, something else happened back then.
He said something to me. What was it? I plied my memory until it started coming
back to me. He said something like, “You don’t have to be alone, you know.” I’d
forgotten that last part.
The tools I use in this hunt include not only my memory of
events—fond or not so fond—but also documents, old journals, and, lots of
published clips from my days as a journalist in San Francisco. I sometimes even
do some research and fact checking.
I have all the documents, for example, of the struggle with
my draft board from 1968 to 1972 that culminated in my refusing induction into
the U.S. Army. Having long had a fondness for writing, I wrote for some
underground papers in California back then and actually found copies in the San
Francisco Public Library. Some of those pieces I’m proud of and some I dismiss
as just getting carried away with the rhetoric of that era. Did I really call
the President of the United States a pig? Well, he probably deserved it.
The only time in my life that I kept a personal journal was
when I began coming out. I wrote in it faithfully almost every day for a few
years and found it a great way to see who I was and how I was changing. Some
memories are flattering and some are not. At times, I am roaring with happiness
from new found friends and experiences. Other times, I am wishing it would all
go away and I could just be normal, whatever that might mean. It helps to see
the bad with the good.
My hunt has produced results, maybe I should call them
trophies. I am seeing patterns that I like. It seems to me that my life has
been blessed with two Spring times and maybe even a third. Twice I have felt
desperate and besieged by forces beyond my control and twice I have responded
to those challenges by entering a time of creativity and change. The first time
was when I decided to drop out of college and take on the military draft. That
led to a multitude of incredible experiences. The second spring came of course
when I embraced being gay and found friendship and love, challenge and
strength, community and history.
And the third spring? Well, it seems to be right now. As I’m
growing older, I find myself again in a period of challenge and change and
great creativity at the same time. I like remembering my past, chasing it down,
writing it down. This hunt has its satisfactions in knowing the ground on which
I now stand. Where I’m headed is growing out of where I’ve been. I like being a
hunter and the hunt goes on.
© 19 Sep 2016 
About the Author 
 Nicholas grew up in Cleveland,
then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from
work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga,
writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.

Posted on

Help, by Louis Brown

Basically
the Beatles lyrics speak for themselves. I was thinking “Help” could
also mean “the Help”, the servants as in a turn of the century upper
class household. Think “Upstairs, Downstairs.” A study of social
class structure in England, back then. I wonder if the other authors of our
group have thought of the Beatles. Some have, I bet.

I Get by with a Little Help from My Friends
Help!
When I’m Sixty-Four



[Here is a link to see the lyrics to the above songs. Ed.] 
© 16 Sep 2016 
About
the Author 
 I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City,
Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker
for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally
impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s.
I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few
interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I
graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.
Posted on

Long Ago, Far Away, by Lewis

[The following is a confidential
memorandum, dated May 25, 1998, which I delivered to The Rev. Jamie
Rasmussen, then-pastor at Grace Community Church in Detroit, Michigan, after
listening to a tape of a sermon he delivered titled, “What Would Jesus Say
to Ellen DeGeneres”.  This was
shortly after Ellen came out on her TV show.] 
Although we did not
exchange names, we met this past Friday when I came into Grace Community Church
to buy a tape of your sermon titled “What
Would Jesus Say to Ellen DeGeneres?”. 
You were surprisingly young and full of sunny energy as we passed in the
office doorway.  You asked me what tape I
wanted.  I told you and you said that you
had given that sermon and told me to let you know what I thought of it.  I thanked you and went on my way, tape in
hand.
I have listened to the
tape three times now and would be happy to share my thoughts with you.  Let me begin by saying that I am a gay man of
52 who has been in a monogamous marriage for 25 years.  I have two adult children and a very
comfortable life, at least on the surface. 
The fact is that my wife and I have decided to begin a gradual separation
process because I have come, finally and almost inevitably, to the conclusion
that I can no longer feel happy and fulfilled living without the love of
another man.  For most of my adult life,
I bought the popular myth–as I believe you have–that homosexuality was a
“lifestyle” which involved choosing whether I would engage in sex
with a woman (my wife) in the context of a loving, caring relationship, or with
a series of men, always without real human connection and love.  Placed in this context, the choice seemed
rather simple.  After all, weren’t these
urges I felt merely lust, a desire for a quick fix of heated passion followed
by days and weeks–even months–of desolation, guilt, and shame?
Though you may not
believe it, let me tell you that no heterosexual can possibly understand the
torment that came from trying to live my life ever faithful to what society
expected of me and in complete sublimation of my truest inner nature.  I felt like the Ugly Duckling who never, ever
sees a swan but always thinks of himself as different, degenerate, inherently
unlovable.  Over the course of the past
half-dozen years, I have been gradually emerging from my cocoon of self-hatred
into the light.  I have discussed my
orientation with counselors, friends, clergy, family, and co-workers.  I have become active in the politics of
gender identity and sexual orientation.  I
learned that my own internalized homophobia can be overcome and that I, too,
sometimes misjudge people by stereotyping them as “homophobic”.  My wife and kids know that I am gay and love
me just the same.  (I told my wife even
before we were married that I was attracted to men.)
You need to hear that I
WAS NEVER CONFUSED ABOUT MY SEXUAL ORIENTATION–at least since the age of
13–but only terrified of being discovered. 
In your sermon, you keep referring to gays and lesbians as
“confused”.  They aren’t the
ones who are confused.  It’s you and
people like you who are confused–confused about what it means to be a
homosexual.  You seem to feel, if I interpret
your words correctly, that gays and lesbians are “OK”–that is,
worthy of “unconditional love”–as long as they don’t act on their
feelings of attraction.  Can you imagine
someone saying to a heterosexual, “I love you as a person but I hate it when
you act on your feelings of attraction to a person of the opposite
sex”?  What you are asking of gay
men and lesbians is to do one of two things: 
1) get married to a person who may or may not know what they are getting
into and live a false existence for as long as the marriage lasts; or 2) remain
celibate (and, therefore, essentially loveless) for life.  What a choice!  Both essentially deprive a person of the
greatest joys of human existence while condemning them to countless hours of
pain and self-recrimination!
Your kind of
“unconditional love”–loving the “sinner” but hating the
“sin”–is pretty cheap!  We
know that Jesus loved the thieves who died with him on the cross, as well as
the men who caused his death.  He forgave
them and welcomed them into the Kingdom of Heaven.  Are we to believe that a lesbian or gay man
who commits an act of love with another human being, regardless of gender, is
less worthy of acceptance than these are? 
The Jesus I know is SILENT about homosexuality.  How do you presume to speak for Jesus when he
himself was silent?  He did say that the
greatest commandments are these:  to love
God with all my heart, mind, and soul and to love my neighbor as myself.  Is it possible that he thought of all
people–straight or gay–as “neighbors”?
On the subject of
homosexuality as “sin”, I rely on John Boswell’s Christianity,
Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality (still in print and available at the
Grosse Pointe Public Library and at Barnes & Noble).  On pages 100 thru 114, he addresses all three
scriptures you cite in your talk, going back to the original language for
contextual meaning.  He concludes, with
regard to the citation from Leviticus,
that the Hebrew word “toevah”,
there translated as “abomination”, as in “Thou shall not lie with
mankind, as with womankind:  it is an
abomination”, does not usually signify something intrinsically evil but
something ritually unclean for Jews, like eating pork or engaging in
intercourse during menstruation.  Boswell
points out that the word “toevah”
is used throughout the Old Testament
to designate those Jewish sins that involve ethnic contamination, as in the
stock phrase “toevah ha-goyim”,
meaning “the uncleanness of the Gentiles”.  Such an interpretation would have no
significance for Christians.
With regard to the Romans I citation, Boswell argues that
the persons Paul condemns are manifestly not homosexual.  He is speaking of homosexual acts committed
by apparently heterosexual persons. 
“The whole point of Romans I,
in fact, is to stigmatize persons who have rejected their calling, gotten off
the true path they were once on.  What
caused the Romans to sin was not that
they lacked what Paul considered proper inclinations but that they had
them:  they held the truth, but ‘in
unrighteousness’ (v. 18) because ‘they did not see fit to retain Him in their
knowledge’ (v. 28).  [I]t is quite
apparent that…Paul did not discuss gay persons
but only homosexual acts committed by
heterosexual persons [emphasis in the
original].
Finally, as to the
citation from 1st Corinthians 6:9,
Boswell’s argument is purely semantic. 
Of the two Greek words used in the original and now taken to indicate
that “homosexuals” will be excluded from the Kingdom of Heaven, one
applied, up until the 20th Century, to masturbation–a “sin” no
longer widely considered worthy of condemnation to Hell–and the other, best
evidence suggests, meant to Paul’s generation a “male
prostitute”.  Thus, we see that upon
close examination of the cited passages, nowhere does the Bible actually
condemn homosexual acts between committed, loving, lesbians or gay men–at
least, if they are Gentiles.  I encourage
you, Jamie, to study the Roswell text yourself in its entirety.
You almost had me fooled,
Jamie.  I was ready to concede that you
really cared about gays and lesbians. 
Your voice has such a compassionate ring to it.  But near the end, you betray your real
feelings when you announce your opposition to the efforts of gays and lesbians
to secure the same rights to be free from discrimination that you and other
heterosexuals take for granted.  You even
raise the tired, old red flag of protecting the children!  What of those gay or lesbian children who may
have been in your audience?  Evidence
shows that many gay boys realize their orientation by the age of 11.  How would they feel about themselves after
hearing your speech?  What kind of a
future can they look forward to–either devoid of intimacy or condemned by
God?  Why wouldn’t suicide seem
attractive?  You’re right to be concerned
for the children but the threat comes from the vibes of your own sound system,
not from some faceless gay pedophile.
[In researching what Rev. Rasmussen has
been up to in the interim, it appears that my excoriating memo did nothing to
damage his career in the ministry.  The
very next year, he left Detroit to lead an old, historic church in London,
Ontario, in transitioning to a “small-group-based, outreach-focused”
one, whose membership grew by 29 per cent in the two years he was there.  In 2001, he left London for Chagrin Falls,
Ohio, where he pastured at the Fellowship Bible Church for six years, growing
its membership from 650 to 1400. 
“Chagrin” is an apt word for my reaction upon learning that
since 2007, “Jamie”, as he prefers to be called, has been the Senior
Pastor of Scottsdale Bible Church with its 6000 adult members and 10- to 12,000
subscribers to the church’s newsletter. 
He has a staff of two dozen pastors and ministers and 100
employees.  Incidentally, he never
responded to my memo.]
© 16 Sep 2013 
About
the Author 
I came to the
beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the
state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my
native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two
children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married
to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was
passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were
basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very
attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that
time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.
Soon after, I
retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13
blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to
fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE
Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.
Posted on

Slippery Sexuality, by Gillian

Sex itself is of course
physically slippery, as designed by nature. Metaphysically, metaphorically,
sexuality can be every bit as slippery.
It took me about forty
years to get a good grip on mine.
In my early years, I
would catch tantalizing glimpses of it, slithering sneakily about, just under
the surface, but before I could even reach for it, it plunged back down into
the murky deep; out of sight but never quite out of mind. Certainly, never
completely absent from other body parts. I felt its presence but could not, or
would not, identify it.
In my thirties, it began
making itself more visible; more identifiable. Like a dolphin beside a boat it
now skimmed alongside me, only occasionally disappearing beneath the surface waves,
and more often leaping into the air in full view. It taunted me, it beckoned
me, this beautiful slippery temptation. It called to me, come on, come on,
come out and play! Sometimes it led, sometimes it followed, but it never fell
behind. Occasionally it forged ahead, leading the way with its blissful
athletic leaps. This way, this way! For the most part it stayed by my
side. Sometimes the joyous frolicking threatened to capsize my boat.
Only with great effort did I keep it afloat.
It was a mirage, I knew.
This was no reality. Not my reality. No reality I wanted any part of. I blinked
and shook my head, and sure enough it was gone. The glorious creature
disappeared, no longer leaping before my hesitant self to show me the way. I
was left adrift on a sunless sea, once more becalmed and rudderless. It would
return to beckon me again and again, each time looming a little larger, but
although I occasionally reached a tentative hand in its direction, more rarely
even touched it, still it slithered away. I could never quite grasp it. The
leviathan returned to the deep.
Approaching forty – a
little early for a mid-life crisis, surely? – that seductive dolphin somehow
grew, matured, became huge, became that whale, that very leviathan which I had
somehow always sensed it to be. And I became that legendary mermaid. Despite my
slithery tail, I was suddenly on its back, hanging on to the slippery creature
with all my strength as we crashed together into the waves. Then we were no
longer two entities but one. I had embraced it fearlessly, wholeheartedly, and
become one with it. I was a part of it and it was a part of me. I swam against
the tide: against the waves, against the currents. They were powerless to stop
me, powerless to redirect my journey. I knew exactly where I was going and I
had the strength to get there.
Now I lie in the sun on a
beautiful beach. I snuggle into the caress of the warm white sand, just as I
cuddle into the warm caress of the wonderful woman I love; my partner of almost
thirty years, my spouse, my wife, the love of my life.
I am home.
© 16 Apr 2016 
About
the Author 
 I
was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to
the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the
Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30-years at IBM. I married, raised
four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting
myself as a lesbian. I have been with
my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty-years. We have been married since 2013.
Posted on

Christmas 1905, by Cecil Bethea

Christmas should be a joyous
time when memories from years long gone bubble up in our minds.
We have honed the past
into a golden world never marred by human
excess.
Historians
know there are exceptions to this ideal.
For men at Valley
Forge, Christmas could have been another day of hunger and misery.
When the armies in blue
or grey along the Rappahannock near Fredericksburg,
Fought
by day and sang in unison by night,
Christmas could have been a day of dread.
The
Dust Bowl seared
© 5 Dec 2005 
About the Author  
 Although
I have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my
partnership with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and
nine months as of today, August 18th, 2012.
Although
I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the
Great Depression.  No doubt I still carry
invisible scars caused by that era.  No
matter we survived.  I am talking about
my sister, brother, and I.  There are two
things that set me apart from people. 
From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost
any subject.  Had I concentrated, I would
have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
After
the University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver.  Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s
Bar.  Through our early life we traveled
extensively in the mountain West.  Carl
is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian.  Our being from nearly opposite ends of the
country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience.  We went so many times that we finally had
“must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and
the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming.  Now
those happy travels are only memories.
I was
amongst the first members of the memory writing class.  While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does
offer feedback.  Also just trying to
improve your writing helps no end.
Carl
is now in a nursing home; I don’t drive any more.  We totter on.
Posted on

Where Do We Go from Here?, by Betsy

If you take this to mean where do we go when we die—I don’t
have much to say about that. People have many different beliefs about an afterlife, beliefs which require a leap of faith. 
Although some of the beliefs I have heard of have a certain comforting
appeal to them, I do not actually believe in any of them. I don’t deny that
anything is possible, but I always seem to end up going with what I know to be
a fact. The only thing I know about where we go after death is that I don’t
know.  That I know to be the only truth
that I am currently capable of understanding or of knowing.
Where we go from here, in my view, is a question better
applied to our life here and now as mortal humans.  I like to know where I am going. For example,
after story time today I will get in my car and go to my daughter’s house after
doing a bit of shopping at Sprouts on the way. After that I will go no where
until tomorrow morning when I will go to my closet, put on some tennis clothes
and drive to the Denver Tennis Club and I will have no trouble finding my
court. After tennis I will do certain things most of which I had planned ahead
of time so, let us say, I know where I am going in my own world in so far as I
am in control of it. Now if the weather does not permit, then I will not do
what I just described. So I guess where we go from here often is conditional.
I like to at least have a sense of where my group is going as
well. I believe it is important for citizens and their leaders to know in what
direction their community, state, and country are headed. A good thing to know,
but not always palpable.
There are other factors that make our futures uncertain and
therefore make us feel a bit uneasy. This is an uncomfortable time for our
country, I believe. It must be because so much campaigning is going on we are
all very much aware that our leadership will be changing soon. I must admit, I
am more than uncomfortable about where we would be  going if Mr. Trump is elected, or any of the
Republican radical extremists who are running for president.  Then the question becomes “Where do I go from
here?”  Europe? Canada?  I don’t think so.  Bad leadership is a good reason to stick
around  and fight for what I believe in
and to be sure to vote in upcoming elections, including the local ones. 
I like some structure in my life and so I am a tad
uncomfortable not having a plan for my day—even if that plan is to sit around
and read a book all day long.  I like to
know where I am going both in the short term and the long term. I’ve noticed
that when I don’t know where I’m going—one of those brief lulls in the day when
I have finished something and don’t know what I am doing next—I often find
myself going to the refrigerator and not because I’m hungry.  Now what good does that do?
 I play tennis year
round outdoors. I have to admit I am not comfortable in the winter and bad
weather not knowing from week to week whether we will  be playing or not.  So much for short term planning. I’m not
averse to spontaneity, but generally I like to know where I am going.
I haven’t always known where I was going. There was a period
of time looking back when I was not too sure how to put one foot in front of
the other. Growing up gay certainly added tremendously to the confusion. Our
adult role models help guide us as to where we are headed, but growing up gay
in the 40’s and 50’s there were no lesbian role models—at least not in my life.
Of course there were lesbian women out there, but they could not allow
themselves to be known publicly as Lesbians. 
Once I accepted, and acknowledged to myself that I was a lesbian I had a
lot to learn suddenly about where to go from there. I didn’t even know any
lesbians. Once I started looking, however, I did find some friends who helped
“show me the ropes” so to speak. Soon I had many friends, but also I was part
of a movement. Nothing like being part of a movement to help you find your
identity and your place in society. Mostly ‘though where I went after
acknowledging my sexuality was in the direction of the coming out process. This
in itself has proven to be a journey, 
quite a long one—at times both rough and arduous as well as smooth and
easy along the way.
As I said in the beginning, I know where I am going from here
today and maybe tomorrow I know where I’m going or supposed to go. But thinking
about it I realize that except on a day to day basis, I haven’t known where I
was going.  Especially going into
different phases of life.
When I married my husband, I didn’t have any particular plans
for the future. Only for the short term. 
I don’t remember even planning to be a mother—not until I became
pregnant.    As for a job, I sought a job
in the field of work I wanted, but mostly I took what was available at the
time.
When I retired, I did not know in the long run where I was
going except to say that I would now engage in the things I like to do and
pursue my interests only now in retirement, full time rather than only when I
had a chance.  I didn’t really plan where
I was going. I was going to live life as best I could.  I honestly think most people conduct their
lives this way.
 When and if one does
make the choice as to where to go from here the question arises: “Do I ever
arrive?”  I don’t think we ever know our
destination—just the direction to take, the road to take. And that choice is
determined by our basic character—our morals, the strength of our convictions,
our sense of justice,  our values.
Some have said the
journey is more important than the destination.
The way I see it life is a journey with no ultimate
destination. It’s more of a journey with pit stops where one perhaps chooses a
new direction or a different road from time to time.
In my old age I would like to take the road that keeps me
healthy and happy. But roads often have their barriers and their potholes.  So again for the long term I
don’t know where I go from here. But I do know the direction I want to go.
Beyond that I don’t know what happens after this life, but whatever it is I’m
quite sure it’s good.
© 4 Jan 2016 
About the Author 
 Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

Posted on

Movies, by Will Stanton

My taste in movies is somewhat eclectic, yet I do insist
upon good quality in order for me to thoroughly enjoy them, rather than merely
tolerate them. To me, good quality means intelligent thoughtfulness and
experienced creativity in all aspects of film-making.  Among other criteria, the movie should have a
theme that is worth watching and considering. 
That usually means adult topics. 
I will clarify what I mean with a few just a few movie examples.
Already, that leaves out so many Hollywood movies of today
that are based upon comic books and their almost endless sequels, impossible
action-adventures with superheroes and villains. Apparently, the scripts are written by
Southern-California twenty-year-olds with little formal education and virtually
no cultural upbringing.  They are not
interested in making good quality movies; they just want to make lots of money,
catering to easily satisfied audiences.
I also have developed over the years a concerned sense that
such “100% good guys versus 100% bad guys” themes indoctrinate Americans, e.g.,
adolescent boys with limited rational capabilities, into believing that all
challenges in life are threatening and physical, as opposed to cerebral and
spiritual, and that we must attack and kill the enemy to solve all of our
problems.  The degree of gratuitous
violence in so many movies worries me. 
It stands to reason that this general behavior now is reflected throughout
our society, ranging from pervasive lack of civility, pervasive crime, mass-shootings,
unwarranted wars, and bad votes.
I also find even the dialogue and acting often
distasteful.  So many young American
actors regularly are supplied lines that are supposed to sound clever and cool,
reflecting affected self-assuredness, hubris, and arrogance.  Also, their facial expressions and
body-language are so affected, portraying arrogance or even physical threat to
others.  I cringe each time I hear and
see such behavior.  I prefer natural,
unaffected portrayals.
In contrast to banal films,
there have been many movies and television series that I have admired and,
consequently, often have watched more than once.  Some are from independent film-makers.  A good number of these have been British or
other foreign film-companies, writers, directors, and actors, who demonstrate a
high degree of maturity and professionalism.
For example, the superlative
1979 BBC series “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” is one of the all-around
best-quality productions I ever have seen. 
To begin with, the superb writer of the book, David Cornwell (pen-name
“John le Carré”), has worked for both British MI5 and MI6, most likely has
continued his contacts, and obviously knows what he was talking about.  Secondly, this well-informed, highly
intelligent man writes honestly, reflecting the good, bad, and often mediocre
behavior and character of governments and human beings.  Then, the screenplay-writer also was
excellent, as well as the director and all of the crew.  For the leading role, they chose the
consummate actor Sir Alec Guinness as George Smiley.

Once word of that selection got about, the casting-director
had his choice of the very best actors in all of Britain.  In addition to their great experience and
professionalism, their appearances, voices, and mannerisms fit the roles like a
glove.  Unfortunately, a discerning
viewer must obtain the uncut, British Region-2 DVDs for the best experience and
clearest plot-development, for some crucial scenes were cut for U.S. audiences in
order to force the episodes into one-hour time-slots; and the idiots used those
shortened episodes for the American DVDs. 
Also, don’t bother to watch the more recent movie-version.  I gave it a C- rating in my review on Amazon.
For theater-movies, I admire
many aspects of New Zealand director Peter Jackson’s “Lord of the Rings.”  For the thousands of people involved over
several years in this major project, this effort was a labor of love.  So much care went into making these films that,
for example, the set for Hobbiton was constructed and planted way in advance of
filming so that the flora would have a chance to develop.  Professional sword-smiths were hired to
create masterpieces for the major characters. 
Fine-tuning the script continued to the very last minute, requiring the
London Symphony Orchestra to also 
fine-tune their  sound-track recordings.
 Even after Jackson won the Oscar with
the final episode, “Return of the King,” he had his crews continue filming to
make improvements for the DVD sets to come. 
I know of no other film-project that has done this.
American independent
film-makers and foreign film-makers have made many films over the years that
explore human nature and realistic situations, such as docudramas like the
acclaimed, German film “The Bridge.” 
Based upon a true, 1945 event in the last days of the war, schoolboys
were forced into uniforms and ordered to guard a small bridge in their own
village, the very route American tanks were approaching.  One boy was severely wounded.  All the others perished.  The western allies required Germans to view
the film to further emphasize the terrible consequences of their too easily
having let themselves be led in to a catastrophic war.  “The Bridge” is considered to be one of the
two best anti-war films made.
I also appreciate serious fiction, such as the British
“Remains of the Day” that explored the unnecessary self-denial and repressed
emotions of an all-too-traditional butler. 
I realize, as much as I appreciate these films, that many people who are
used to hyperkinetic, childish adventure-films, don’t care for mature, cerebral
films because these are regarded as “too slow, too boring.”  As a matter of fact, just such a person gave
me his copy of the “Remains” DVD because he was disappointed that it didn’t
have more action and wartime violence.
One of my all-time favorite
films is Italian director Luchino Visconti’s prize-winning “Death in Venice”
based upon, what many literary critics declare to be, “the best novella of the
twentieth century” and written by “the best novelist of the twentieth century”
Thomas Mann.  The Cannes Film Festival
awards once held a retrospective contest covering films from a quarter of a
century.  “Venice” won the grand prize
and was declared “a masterpiece.”  The
cinematography alone is a masterpiece with many scenes resembling tableau-artwork.   The lead actor Dirk Bogarde deserved  “best-actor” 
awards from all such contests. 
Most of the sublime accompanying music is by the great composer Gustav
Mahler.

Because of my interest in the remarkable voices and music
of the European Baroque era, I like the unique, Golden-Globe-winning film
“Farinelli,” loosely based upon the reputation of the acknowledged greatest
singer in history, Carlo Broschi, stage-name “Farinelli.”
As entertaining as the film
is, anyone who has bothered to learn history knows that the screenplay
accurately reflects only about 10% of the real person, 20% based upon the
reputation of other contemporary singers, 20% based upon the Baroque culture
and opera of the time, and 50% simply made up to entertain the audience.  Even so, I enjoy the film.  There is no other like it.  I recommend the music CD.
I do admit, however, that not all the films which I enjoy
are worthy of winning Cannes’ Palme d’Or, perhaps the most prestigious
film award.  Even my most sober friends
and I have enjoyed the “Harry Potter” movies. 
In addition to their being very imaginative, they seem to succeed as an
antidote to the banality of the real world, even despite the scripts’ frequent
egregious errors in diction, grammar, and style.  And, I have to admit also that I often have
watched some good quality films and DVDs simply because I am inclined to
identify with attractive characters whose attributes and lives appear more
interesting and satisfying than, too often, my own life.  I’m not sure that the practice of watching
such films is of any practical purpose, but they are a captivating distraction.  Still, some are included in my DVD
collection.
And, last of all, if I suddenly became a billionaire, I
would like to produce to perfection several films based upon topics dear to my
heart.  Of course, that is a real
fantasy.
© 31 May 2016 
About the Author 
I have had a life-long fascination with
people and their life stories.  I also
realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or
fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual
ones.  Since I joined this Story Time
group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.