Author: jnelson

Posted on

The Accident by Betsy

My first pregnancy which resulted in the birth of my oldest child Lynne was a so-called accident. The discovery of my unintended pregnancy was overwhelming, anxiety producing, and stressful–for about one day. Quickly when the reality of what was unfolding set in, the wonder, excitement, and joy of it firmly took hold in my psyche. 

My oldest daughter is anything but an accident to me. She is a joy and always has been to me and her father. Her conception may have been unintended, but SHE is my pride and joy as are her sister and brother. 
At the time this accident occurred, my husband and I were hardly in a position financially to start a family. However, we had the resources we needed to adjust to the situation. It would only be one or two years before we would intentionally have considered starting a family, and so we were able to welcome the accidental pregnancy. 
Unfortunately it is not so in most cases of unintended pregnancy. Here are some interesting facts on the subject.
Births resulting from unintended pregnancies are associated with adverse maternal and child health outcomes, such as delayed prenatal care, premature birth and negative physical and mental health effects for children. 
For these reasons reducing the unintended pregnancy rate is a national public health goal. The U.S Dept. of Health and Human Services “Healthy People 2020” campaign aims to reduce unintended pregnancy by 10% over the next 10 years. 
Guess how many pregnancies each year in the U.S. are unintended. Close to half–49%. Of the 6.7 million pregnancies 3.2 million are not intentional. Of the two million publicly funded births, about one million resulted from unintended pregnancies, accounting for one half the total public expenditures on births. Total public expenditures on births resulting from unintended pregnancies were estimated to be $11.1 billion in 2006.
The rate of unintended pregnancies in the U.S. is significantly higher than in many other developed countries.
In 2006 of women aged 15-44, those with incomes at or below the federal poverty level the rate of unintended pregnancies was five times higher than that of women of higher income levels. The unintended birth rate for those poor women was six times higher than that of the higher income group. 
The unintended pregnancy rate for sexually active teens is considerably higher than for women overall. 
Facts prove w/o a doubt that contraception works. Sixteen percent of women of child bearing age do not practice contraception. These 16% account for 52% of all unintended pregnancies in the U.S. Two thirds of the U.S. women who correctly practice contraception account for only 5% of unintended pregnancies.
Without publicly funded family planning services the number of unintended pregnancies and abortions occurring in the US would be nearly 2/3 higher among women overall. The number of unintended pregnancies among poor women would nearly double. 
The costs associated with unintended pregnancies would be even higher if not for continued federal and state investments in family planning services. In the absence of services provided by publicly funded planning centers, the annual public costs of non intentional births would increase 60% to $18 billion.
Oh why, then, are so many states shutting down their family planning centers? Why do the states doing away with family planning services think that abortion is the only service provided by these centers?

2

Why, oh why is it that political discussions focus on abortion only. I don’t think I have ever heard a politician discuss the pros and cons of contraception.

Let me repeat: without publicly funded family planning services the number of unintended pregnancies and abortions occurring in the US would be nearly two thirds higher among women overall. The number of unintended pregnancies among poor women will nearly double, and safe abortions will not be available to many. Shutting down publicly funded family planning clinics is hardly the answer. The overall cost of these actions to society as a whole is difficult to foresee as the consequences are many and far reaching.
Just last Friday Oklahoma based Hobby Lobby won a temporary injunction against the Obamacare requirement that employers provide contraceptive coverage for their employees. The conservative Christian owner’s site their religious beliefs as their reason for avoiding the required coverage.
Republican controlled legislatures in several states have recently shut down hundreds of family planning clinics or abortion clinics as they are usually characterized by the media.
In response to stringent abortion restrictions that the Texas GOP controlled legislature approved last week, the Democratic caucus of that state is asking the lawmakers to study the impact that sex education and family planning support has on reducing the abortion rate. Sex education and family planning support–as if that were a unique idea!
Sex education and family planning are so obviously lacking in our culture. In recent years Texas and many other states have defunded women’s health clinics and Planned Parenthood causing many clinics to shut down. If as they say they want to cut down on the number of abortions, then why, why shut down the means for women to acquire contraceptives and information. As a result of these actions the Texas health department has projected that unintended pregnancies and births will certainly increase, especially among those with the least resources.

3

Many unintended pregnancies turn out to be welcomed, as mine did. But in too many cases families,young teens, single women, people of meager means are unable to meet all the needs of a new life–material needs and emotional needs. Often the parent or parents themselves are terribly needy. In these cases the choice to continue or not continue the pregnancy should certainly be available. But in a society such as ours there is no good reason not to have an adequate support system in place for those families to turn to when help is needed.

  
Source
1.   Guttmacher Institute, Fact Sheet, December, 2013


© 13 July 2013

About the Author



Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

Posted on

Grief and Its Enterage by Beth Kahmann

Grief greeted me unexpectedly.

Like the other day, when I tipped my toe in a icy cold pool
My mind, as well as my blood was frozen, stymied,
The scene reminded me of a generation of life’s collectible sorrows, all lined up in a row of dominoes, waiting for the first tile, of many accidents, assaults, barrages, ballistics and statistics of fallen human souls in an insanely, archaic savage battering, smatterings of shard glass thrown aimlessly afoot.

Not unlike the slinky that we placed upon the top of our musty, worn out wooden floors. With each step, year after year, catastrophe after calamity, corruption after collision,
Decision after division after dying, and after death.

Grief, then rage filled me and fueled my heart with madness, until I felt like a mummy, entombed in sadness. More than likely, until the day I perish, grief might accompany me on the many trips I take til that final resting place, ’til that final resting place.

©  25 February 2013

About the Author 

Beth is an artist, educator, and is very passionate about
poetry.

She owns Kahmann Sense Communications (bethkahmann@yahoo.com).
Posted on

For a Good Time by Ron Zutz


For a good time, walk out the door. Feel the fear,
and stand up anyway. Inhale slowly, deeply. Take the first step. Despite
trembling arms, grab the door handle and twist. Walk out despite a tightening
chest.
For a good time, move toward the light. Step over
the bumps and around the cracks. Keep walking when balance wobbles. Move around
puddles. Move toward life.
For a good time, see the sun twinkling through
green leaves. Ignore palpitations. Feel breezes. Hear people laughing, and
ignore premonitions of doom.
For a good time, show up.

© 12 August 2013






About the Author



Ron Zutz was born in
New Jersey, lived in New England, and retired to Denver. The best parts of his
biography have yet to be written.



Posted on

One Summer Afternoon by Nicholas

One summer afternoon I went to the Botanic Gardens to see what was in bloom and to watch the plants grow. They didn’t grow much while I was there so I sat in the Asian garden and jotted down some notes for future stories.

One summer afternoon I remembered the bike ride I took that summer morning to Washington Park going past Ray’s apartment, making a loop around the park past Steven’s house, and then back home.

One summer afternoon I took a writing class on how to put together a memoir that might interest readers. The instructor guided us through exercises on how to construct a narrative with plot, characters and dramatic tension. Just like writing a novel except you’re not supposed to make it up.

One summer afternoon I went to Cheesman Park and saw young men without shirts on running along the trails and playing volleyball. They did not seem to be having as much fun as I was.

One summer afternoon I took the bus into downtown to run some errands and hang out, read the New Yorker and have a really good coffee at Common Grounds on Wazee Street. Downtown is always full of people busy doing their things.

One summer afternoon I took a nap in our cool basement on the sofa that Jamie and I call “the couch of narcosis” because it will put you to sleep, guaranteed.

One summer afternoon I walked into the hospital to see Jamie for the umpteenth time and had a flash of familiarity as if this was just normal life. I told myself to stop that, I don’t want to think that going to the hospital is our normal life.

One summer afternoon Jamie and I stood in front of our house chatting with a neighbor about changes on the block and then some other neighbors who were walking their dog stopped by and filled us all in on some other gossip. We like our neighbors a lot.

One summer afternoon, I discovered that PrideFest is pretty irrelevant to my life. It seems that the crowning achievement of lesbian and gay liberation is skinny hairless young boys walking around in public in their underpants beneath the colorful logos of many huge corporations that want to sell them those underpants and other things.

One summer afternoon I picked fresh arugula from my garden for dinner that night.

One summer afternoon I cut the grass. Don’t mow your lawn in the afternoon; it is too damn hot.

One summer afternoon Jamie and I just fell into bed—and we weren’t sleepy at all.

One summer afternoon I flew into San Francisco International Airport, got on a train into the city, and spent a week of summer afternoons and evenings visiting friends and family, feasting on fabulous meals, going to museums, walking along the ocean, breathing fresh sea air, and eating chocolate cake.

One summer afternoon I went to the shopping mall not to do any shopping but just to wander through a cool environment on a hot day.

On this summer afternoon—and on many summer afternoons and in other seasons as well—I am sitting in a small room to hear what other people do with their summer afternoons.

© 17 June 2013


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

The Sprint by Phillip Hoyle

Morning Pages excerpt, September 19

… I’m writing my Morning Pages, the daily exercise I’ve employed the past fourteen years. I am at the beginning of Page 3. So here I hope to sprint. Get into racing position. Put pen to paper. Ready, set, go. The gun sounds. I bound down the college ruled lanes filling each line with words, phrases, sentences. Eventually they form a paragraph, but that doesn’t seem so important while I sprint.

It’s speed I pursue, a record for swift writing. I want to write faster than I can process what I’m doing, to get caught up in the action of it, to open my mind, to disconnect through the physical movement, to discover my writer’s second wind as it were, but how can I sprint writing such complicated sentences? So I write. I don’t care about anything but the speed. Write, write, write. This is no texting with buttons to push, no Twitter, no Facebook, no images except written, but I write, ink runs along the track, a wild spewing of images, ideas, even ideals, like the ideal of being the best, somehow perfect in this sprint, a record-setter. Oh well. I have finished this short jaunt. My page is full. The tape has broken. I pant. I am an artist in a hurry. I am doing the work. I write; I paint; I massage. Life is good. My life is good. Yes.
September 20
…I’m having a slow morning with watering the lawn out front, playing cards, stretching, making data entries, eating fresh-baked cookies, drinking coffee, talking with Ruth, and now at this late morning hour (it’s 11:30), writing my Morning Pages. Perhaps I’ll try sprint writing like I described yesterday.
I work in spurts. Always has as far back as I recall. My lack of physical coordination may have contributed to this style or need. Even more influential are the speed of my thinking and feeling and my fast-changing interests, call this last my tendency towards multi-tasking. Or ADD. Whatever.
I’ve been sitting here attending to this writing.
I hope to be bitten by the inspiration bug so I can successfully write about my most Unusual Day, this week’s challenge in my storytelling group. I still haven’t settled on a topic—a particular day—although I have listed several possibilities. I want to write on something I’ve never before tried to describe. The realization that I have fallen in love is my topic now. I’ve worked on it before, but I don’t think I’ve looked at each instance. Somewhere I wrote a list of such experiences. But I don’t want a list; I need to make a decision for a particular experience. 
I’m thinking about Michael O., the two of us looking at each other. I found the realization of his interest quite moving. When I saw him again I thought, “Oh that guy.” I was pleased. Invited him to stay for tea. Pleased when he called to talk. Then to meet for coffee. I recalled my first impression of how clean he was. I heard his nasal voice and thought of Steve, my longtime lover. I wasn’t especially attracted to Michael’s voice, but I liked his offbeat humor. I liked his kind manner. I was confused when another guy answered Michael’s phone. Later I asked. Michael told me it was Chuck. I didn’t understand. He told me they had been partners but that he was in the process of moving out. He had already been searching for a place to live. We had dinner with his friend Frank. Leaving the restaurant I met Chuck although I didn’t put it all together until later.
Michael brought me gifts: lotions and lubes for sex. I was really pleased. I liked the open signal that approved of and encouraged our love making.
My most defended self speaking.
I accompanied him to an eye appointment. I didn’t understand why none of his friends arranged to go with him. 
“I always go alone,” he said. 
“Not when you’re having your eyes dilated,” I protested. I drove the car home. I didn’t like the inattention of his ex-partner and current friends.
February brought bad news. I had information; I observed swelling lymph nodes. I asked him to be sure to have his nurse palpate them. They started tests. He was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He would have to start chemotherapy.
Chemo started. I agreed to stay at his house on the nights following his treatment but preserved several days to stay at my own apartment. I didn’t want to signal to his friends that he didn’t need them. But I felt manipulated by the fact no one volunteered to stay with him. I realized Michael was unable to ask. Still I defended some of my independence and looked forward to being alone, to have coffee and walks with Tony, and so forth. 
I had worked downtown giving massages that day. It was one of my free nights. I walked home up Capitol Hill. As I turned south on Downing, I realized I wanted to be with Michael. When I got to my place I called. “What are you doing?”
“Not much.”
“Would you like if I came to spend the night?” I asked.
“Yes, I’d love that.”
So I got on a bus and made my way out to his street. I realized on that unusual day I’d rather be with Michael than preserve my precious independence.
But I realize that while I have been writing without stop, it was not a sprint. I actually took time to feel into what I was recalling. Fortunately I liked the topic. I’ll sprint tomorrow or some other time I need entertainment.
I am an artist. 
Life is good; my life is good. Yes.

© Denver, 2010

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

Weather or Not? It’s Too Darn Hot by Phillip Hoyle

I recall hearing the same weather adage used in different parts of the country as if it described a particular distinctive in each place. The adage: If you don’t like the weather, wait a few minutes; it will change. I first heard this saying in Kansas where the wind seemed always to blow. The constant wind seemed to be accompanied by fickle temperatures and varying precipitation, and sometimes even the wind changed by increasing, declining, or becoming a threatening vortex that threatened one’s property and life.

When as an adult I moved first to Texas, then Missouri, then New Mexico, then Colorado, and then Oklahoma, I heard the same claim. I’ve heard the adage spoken about atmospheric conditions in Ontario, Vermont, New York, California, North Dakota, and Wyoming. Surely the same is said in Wales, South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. I suspect I’d hear it in Russia, China, and Bora Bora if I were to go to those places and understand their languages. Am I complaining about human complaining and sameness? Not really although we can get really boring.

What I am interested to say today is that I’ve learned more about myself by observing the weather in contrasting climates. For instance, while living in Mid-Missouri, a place with high humidity, wide seasonal changes in temperatures, and the same number of contrasting hot and cold fronts as the rest of the country, I would get headaches when the barometer plunged. Eventually the headaches became intense enough I would leave work, go home, take ibuprofen, and lie down to sleep. Within an hour I’d be just fine and return to work. A few years later I moved to dry, dry Albuquerque. I quit having the headaches, but eventually I noticed I’d have a change in mood when the barometer plunged. I was more fascinated than concerned. I’d never noticed any change of mood in my whole life being mostly sunny and hopeful and silly and laughing. The mood swing would last about one hour. For that I was thankful and eventually connected these events with the old headaches I’d had in Missouri. Finally I realized that in Missouri I constantly had sinus and Eustachian tube problems. The barometric change caused the headache that probably masked a mood change. In the dry air of New Mexico I liked having a simple mood change because I didn’t have to interrupt my work. I learned to take the ibuprofen anyway and within an hour or less my mood went back to generally sunny.

The new experiences did raise a question for me. I had observed my father’s increasing difficulties with depression as he aged. Was I in for the same? Thankfully, I have not yet experienced what he did, something I suppose relates to inheriting my mother’s positive outlook which surely arose from her brain chemistry. My dad’s health often challenged him; his heart attacks, the rare tic douloureux (trigeminal neuralgia) pain disease, spinal meningitis, and eventual stroke made life difficult. Depression was not surprising. Now I too have experienced depression, thankfully at a sub-clinical level. I take St. John’s Wort to good effect and when the barometer drops, sometimes double my dosage.

I have another weather query though. How does climate change affect the weather? Will global warming change the weather and one’s experience of its power? My experience suggests that one still suffers the weather wherever one lives; I say suffer because one has no real control of the weather. I also found that a change in my life from straight to gay seemed like a move to a much better climate. Overall, my life seemed enriched and often more fulfilling. My life seemed more authentically ‘me’ bringing thrills, insights, and a sense of rightness. Still the headaches, mood changes, and general challenges of life moved with me into this new authentic-feeling climate. You know what I mean; in summer it can still be too darn hot even if your baby is the same brand of gay as you!

© Denver, 2012

About the Author


Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen practicing massage, he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists and volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot


Posted on

Do I Have Your … Hand In Marriage by Lewis



[The
following readings are taken from the Commitment Ceremony of Laurin Foxworth
and Lewis Thompson held on November 18, 2000, exactly three years before
same-sex marriages first became legal in any state of the United States.  The venue was the First Unitarian Universalist
Church of Detroit, MI.  It began with a
poem written by Laurin….]

Connection



The sun, moon, stars, and clouds,
Rain, snow, drizzle, fog,
All accept me as I am
Love me, caress me, enfold me.
Water and sun envelope me,
Warm me to the core.
Breezes play with me–all over!
Branches and stalks brush me to say, “Hello”!
The green shoots, the myriad flowers,
The many-colored leaves and clouds
Delight my eyes, my soul.
Soaring, flitting birds lift my spirits.
Earth’s aromas intoxicate, enthrall.
And we are one with the universe,
Whole, content, loved. You and me.

[Next
came the “Welcoming of the Guests”, written by me and spoken by the
Rev. Larry Hutchison.]

Dear friends and family, Laurin and Lewis have called us here today to witness the public declaration of their love and caring for each other. In that sense, this is a very personal event but because this is a union service of two gay men, it is also unavoidably a political one. No singular act of loving and commitment undertaken by two individuals on behalf of each other causes so much consternation as this one. It has baffled churches in America for decades–even centuries–and continues to stir the ire of “average” Americans like no other issue. Therefore, your presence today is in itself an act of courage, as well as of love. For what greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined together in order to strengthen each other in all labor, to minister to each other in all sorrow, to share with each other all gladness, to be one with each other in the silent, unspeakable memories of the heart, and to transform their private happiness into social blessing?

[The
following reading is from One Hour to Madness and Joy from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman.]

O, the puzzle, the thrice-tied knot, the deep and dark pool, all untied and illumin’d!

O, to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
To be absolv’d from previous ties and conventions, I from mine and you from yours!
To find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of Nature!
To have the gag remov’d from one’s mouth!
To have the feeling today or any day, “I am sufficient as I am.”

O, something unprov’d! Something in a trance!

To escape utterly from others’ anchors and holds!
To drive free! To love free! To dash reckless and dangerous!
To court destruction with taunts, with invitations!
To ascend, to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate soul!
To be lost if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fullness and freedom,
With one brief hour of madness and joy!
[That
which follows is the “Blessing of the Congregation”, written by me
and read by the minister.]

The ceremony in which we are all now participating is a bold, even revolutionary act. As you all know, many in our society do not yet recognize the validity and worth of the Holy Union we today celebrate and affirm. Indeed, many are openly hostile to two persons of the same gender who decide to commit their lives to one another. We hope that, some day, men who love men and women who love women will no longer feel the scorn of those who do not understand that love on its worst day is holier than scorn on its best. In the meantime, we can express the joy and approval which we feel for Laurin and Lewis as they publicly affirm the love they feel for each other and the commitment they make to one another today. Let me therefore ask those gathered here this question: “Do you–friends and family of Lewis and Laurin–freely give them your blessing now as they enter into this new relationship and do you promise to give them your love, understanding, and support during both good times and bad? If so, say “We do.”

[The
following was the vow that we each spoke in turn to the other.]

Do you…promise and covenant before these friends and family assembled to take this man…to be your life partner, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you hereby pledge your faith to love and honor him all the days of your life?

[Next
came the exchange of rings.]

Round like the earth, sun, and moon, bright as the skies and worked by the craft of human hands, these rings are symbolic of the foundation of your lives together and they will give brightness in the days to come. They call from you the human craft of loving. As you give, receive, and wear these rings, remember the vows you have made.

[The
closure of vows.  The five lines at the
end were borrowed from an author whose name I do not remember. I posted them at
the end of a letter I wrote to Laurin when he was wavering between staying with
his wife, Mary Lou, or leaving his home in Hylton Head and moving to Dearborn
to live with me.]
As your civil union brings a new meaning to love, so your
love brings a new meaning to life. 
Because love comes from the heart, true love comes from knowing your own
heart–
“You have to find out who you are and be that.
You have to decide what comes first and do that.
You have to discover your strengths and use them.
You have to learn not to compete with others,
Because no one else is in the contest of being you.”

[The
“Charge to the Couple” is borrowed from “The Book of Pagan
Rituals”.]
Above you are the stars
Below you are the stones.
As time does pass
Remember…
Like a star should your love be constant.
Like a stone should your love be firm.
Be close, yet, not too close.
Possess one another, yet be understanding.
Have patience each with the other
For storms will come, but they will go quickly.
Be free in giving of affection and warmth.
Make love often and be sensuous to one another.
Have no fear and let not the ways or words
Of the unenlightened give you unease.
For the spirit is with you,
Now and always.

[Next
followed recorded music from the album “Exile” by the San Francisco
Gay Men’s Chorus.  These are the lyrics….]
Take to your road, as I to mine.
But let us walk
This time together.
Our two roads lie side-by-side,
So, let us walk,
To walk this time together.
Hold to your mountain,
As I to mine.
But let us love
This time together.
Both our mountains touch
The same blue sky,
So, let us love,
To love this time together.
Cling to your house, as I to mine.
But let us live
This time together.
One light we share,
One love we claim.
So, let us live,
To live this time together.
One road, one mountain,
One house,
And together…
One family.

[Finally,
the Pronouncement/Declaration of Civil Union.]

Inasmuch as Laurin and Lewis have grown in knowledge and love of one another, because they have agreed in their desire to go forward in life together, seeking an ever-richer, deepening relationship, and because they have pledged themselves to meet sorrow and joy as one family, we rejoice to recognize them as partners in life. Will you kiss as a seal of your Holy Union?

© 9 September 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

Tender Loving Care by Gillian

I came out to the world in the early eighties; the early nineteen-eighties, that is, not my early eighties. I was around forty. I came roaring out of the closet in a letter printed in the Boulder Camera newspaper, as I lived in Lyons at the time, and it felt great.

Beyond words great. 
I was free, I was me – the me I was born to be. 
Free at last.
OK.
Now what?
I didn’t have to hide the real me any longer. Great. But what did that do for me? Yeah yeah it did feel wonderful, but it had to lead somewhere. Feeling free is terrific but I needed action. But what action? I hadn’t a clue. I knew what I wanted but I hadn’t a single solid idea of how to go about finding it. A few other lesbians made themselves known to me at work after I came out, but they were in long-term relationships and had little to suggest by way of meeting others. All they had to offer was The Three Sisters bar in Denver, or start playing softball, neither of which appealed to me. I have, as most of you know, no aversion to bars and alcohol, but was quite incapable of conjuring up in my imagination any vision of what a lesbian bar, or its clientele, would really be like. How was I expected to dress and act? Going to this place alone offered rather a scary prospect.
Almost as scary as taking up softball!
At that time, gay and lesbian gatherings and organizations often kept pretty well below the mainstream radar and were not easy to find. I looked in the Boulder paper and found very little. But then, one Sunday, I spotted a small ad. The following weekend was the monthly meeting of a group called TLC – standing not for Tender Loving Care, as I had supposed, but for The Lesbian Connection. This group proclaimed its purpose as offering an alternative lesbian gathering for those outside of the college community. At each meeting there was a speaker and a following discussion. It all sounded rather staid and not in the least bit scary. It was held in a church community room for God’s sake!
The next Saturday I turned up at my first TLC meeting, and in the first ten minutes I knew I had found a home. There were more lesbians there than I knew existed in the entire country, and it seemed to me that every single one of them was warm, and witty, and wonderful. Of course they were not. They were just like any other group of people; some were indeed warm, some witty, some wonderful, but others were boring, aloof, or just plain obnoxious. But I loved that group of women who folded me into their arms and their lives and propelled me into a lesbian social whirl I so craved. They eased my entry into this new world; they welcomed and supported me in my new life. Some became firm friends for life. As far as I was concerned, the initials TLC certainly did stand for Tender Loving Care. That was what I found there, anyway.
The group continued for several years, eventually dying a natural death as such organizations do.
These days Betsy and I again gather with a lesbian group which meets monthly, but this one is OLOC, or Old Lesbians Organizing for Change. We meet at different places throughout northern Colorado, from Denver to Estes Park to Loveland, and all points in between. This group, as the name implies, has somewhat loftier aims perhaps than the old Lesbian Connection, but many of the same women are there, and a similar number of women attend the meetings. 
The social time and energy we once used in dancing and parties and wild weekends, we now tend to expend in support of old friends in care facilities, and hospitals, or struggling to stay independent at home. But the laughter and the camaraderie remain, as does the tender loving care.
These wonderful groups, past and present, played, and still play a huge part in my GLBT existence. But the icing on that particular cake is, now, this very special Storytelling group.
I find, within it, that same humor, the same sharing and caring and support, the same laughter and tears, as in TLC and OLOC. I consider myself incredibly blessed to have been welcomed into such groups throughout my lesbian life; groups which, whatever the name, could all most appropriately have been called Tender Loving Care.

© 19 April 2014

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 now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

Posted on

Competition — In the End There Are No Losers by Betsy

I have heard many people often declare themselves to be very competitive. “I am a very competitive person, they declare. Maybe that’s why I love sports.” 

I examined this statement when I approached this topic because I am one of those people who loves sports, but, I find myself somewhat reticent to declare myself to be “competitive” by nature. “Why is it,” I ask myself, that I am hesitant to call myself competitive. After some deep soul-searching I find that the answer is very simple really. Being a competitive person means one is a person who likes to win. So, I surmise, when a person declares him or herself or another person to be a competitive person, now I know, deep-down the real meaning of that declaration. That person likes to win. 
Surely, I am not that person, AM I?
Think about it. Surely “being a competitive person does not mean you like to lose. Well, for that matter, does anyone like to lose? 
I honestly believe that some people do not care as much as others. “Why is that?” I ask. Why is it so important for some and not for others? 
Are we talking about only sports here? In our culture winning in sports is very important. However, some of us learn, hopefully, that how we play the game and being a good loser–being a good sport–is ultimately the most important factor. After all, in sports competition, 50% of the participants have to lose. That’s a lot of losers. 
Watching the recent Olympic Games in Sochi, the difference between the silver medalists who considered themselves winners and those who were devastated because they missed out on the gold medal was notable.
The Olympics is an awesome display of the competitive spirit. I do believe that one must want to win to dedicate him or herself to the rigors of years of training and then hold up to the pressures of the moment (often measured in one hundredths of a second). I consider it an achievement of greatness just to be on the team. 
So I guess what it boils down to is another question to ask myself. “What is winning? What does WINNING mean for me?” The simple answer: in sports ultimately it means being the best I can be–in ALL ways–including being a good loser but having played the best I could at the time. I have found myself being completely outmatched on the tennis court–overwhelmed. A very humbling experience and put the competition into perspective. The best I can do at a time like that is just stand back and clap. But put in the right perspective I do not believe the humbling experience ever hurt anyone really. 
I think the same rules apply in other areas of life as well. There’s plenty of competition out there for jobs, promotions, rewards, recognition, etc. But competition is simplified in sports and games. There’s a score, a final decider, a winner and a loser.
In other areas of life there’s politics, emotional dynamics, prejudices that enter into the outcome of the competition. And who is the decider of the outcome? That’s beyond our control usually.
I guess what is really important in competition is attitude. When I do not come out the gold medal winner in an event, whether it is sports or anything else, life does go on.
And going on with a bad attitude or a chip on my shoulder or feeling the victim is certainly not going to buy me anything positive or self-enhancing in the future, is it?
Why do we play games and participate in sports activities? Certainly not to make ourselves feel miserable. Yet I have seen plenty of times people who pay lots of money to do something that in the end has made them feel miserable because they did not win. 
Seems like kind of a risky use of good money. Would it not be a better use of funds to buy some kind of entertainment such as a play or good concert? But on the other hand in THOSE kinds of activities there is no potential for the glory of winning. 
So perhaps the truth is that in the end competition in games and sports provides a structure for an artificial prop for the EGO. There it is again! The ego–its ugly head pops up once again. 
My experiences at losing in competitions and my writing exercises are a constant reminder: “Betsy, keep your ego and yourself separate. They are not one in the same thing. My studies of Eckhart Tolle’s writing have taught me that. A good lesson indeed and one to be remembered at all times. Because in the end there really are no losers.

© 14 April 2014

 About the Author


Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

Posted on

Hospitality by Will Stanton

When I was starting college back in the LGBT “Dark Ages,” society as a whole often was not so accepting or understanding about homosexuality as it appears to be now- days. This was especially true in small towns such as mine. Perhaps most devastating was the situation of parents not accepting or supporting their own children’s orientation or the fact that they had developed same-gender relationships. Parents who discovered that their sons or daughters brought home “special friends” often lacked kindness and hospitality, to say the least. Sometimes, confrontations could leave lasting scars. On the other hand, if young people were lucky and parents were better informed and more empathetic, parents might be surprisingly understanding and supportive.

At the time when I was only beginning to understand anything about the world of LGBT, a met a young couple of gay guys whose story was so special that I never have forgotten it. I attended an invitation-only party in Cincinnati. The guests were all young guys, several of them from the nearby university. One very affectionate couple drew everyone’s attention throughout the evening, partly because they were so stunningly good looking. I was not the only person frequently glancing at them but, at the same time, trying not to stare. We were curious about them also because they appeared to be unusually young for college students. The somewhat taller of the two, David, was an intelligent and self-assured brunette; whereas Peter, the more boyish partner with gold-blond hair, seem to me to more closely resemble an angel than a mere mortal. They obviously were very much in love, although they did not make an unseemly show of it.
Of course, those at the party who did not know the couple were very curious about who they were and how they had become partners. Part way through the evening, some more assertive person simply asked them to tell about themselves. So, with each partner contributing to the answer, they told us their story. The details were so interesting that I never have forgotten them.
My first surprise was when David said that he had just turned seventeen, somewhat younger than many college freshmen; however, it was his friend Peter who surprised me even more when he revealed that he was only fifteen and starting college. Oh well, it must be nice to be so intelligent as well as so good looking, all at the same time.
It turns out, however, that Peter’s early life had not been so pleasant. He was an only child of two upper-middle-class, professional parents from New York whose thinking and attitudes were extremely lacking in understanding, empathy, and perhaps even love. Apparently, they always had suspected that Peter was, shall we say, “different;” and they certainly did not approve. For several years, Peter had felt oppressed and unloved. The parent’s unthinking, harsh treatment left Peter continually feeling sad and lonely. Peter said that they told him that it was just as well that he was leaving home so that they would not be reminded each day of how disappointed they were in him, this despite that fact that he was a straight-A student and never had been in trouble. How could any parent say such a thing? No wonder he was unhappy.
David, too, was an only child. In his case, however, he appeared to be quite happy and well grounded. His parents apparently had been very loving and caring.
As fate would have it, the two of them were assigned to the same dormitory double-room, perhaps because both of them were younger than many of the other freshmen. When the two of them first met, David said that he immediately was very attracted to Peter, yet he discreetly made no overt indications of his feelings.
As the days went by, David observed Peter and saw that he was extremely studious, always attending to his school-work, frequenting the library for research, but he never went to any parties or social gatherings. Peter was polite and pleasant enough to David, but his shyness kept him from expressing himself very much. Also, Peter never spoke of his parents or his home-life. To David, Peter seemed to be in a constant state of sadness.
It was Thanksgiving break that gave David his first real clue that something was not well with Peter’s home-life. David was looking forward to returning home for Thanksgiving, although he had noted that his frequent phone conversations with his parents seemed to indicate that they were beginning to understand that he had not found a girlfriend but, instead, he often had spoken of his roommate Peter. When David asked Peter if he planned to be going home for Thanksgiving, Peter replied that he was not; he would be staying at school and just spend his time with his studies. David thought that this was somewhat strange but refrained from saying anything about it.
David drove to his parent’s home in Connecticut for Thanksgiving. He told us that, although he felt the accustomed love from his parents, they seemed to ask more questions than usual about his social life on campus and also what was his roommate Peter like. Then David’s mother surprised him by stating that, since Peter did not wish to go home for the holidays, he would have been welcome at their house as their guest.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas break, David made a point of quietly and unobtrusively becoming even more caring and supportive of Peter. Peter said that he noticed and appreciated the kindness and affection. Over time, they became very close. As Peter gradually learned to trust David and his love, he found comfort and safety during the nights lying in David’s arms.
Then as it came time to prepare to depart for Christmas break, David received a phone-call from home. After some time, his mother inquired as to Peter’s plans for Christmas and suggested that he be their guest for the holidays. She insisted that David ask him. Peter silently shook his head, “No.” When David relayed that reply to his mother, she asked to speak directly to Peter. David turned the phone over the Peter, and she spoke to him with great warmth and caring. Peter agreed to come home with David.
David and Peter drove back to Connecticut for the holidays. David reassured Peter that he would like his parents and would feel very welcome in their home.
Peter said that, as they drove through the gates of the estate, he was surprised by how large David’s Georgian-style home was. It was easy for me to guess that David’s parents were very well off. I also guessed that, because of their position in society, they would be especially particular about David’s friends and whom he would be bringing into their home.
David and Peter said that both parents met them at the front door and invited them in. After they cleaned-up, they sat in the breakfast nook, had some refreshments, and chatted with each other. Peter said that David’s parents made him feel very relaxed and comfortable. After dinner, they sat in the living room and continued to talk throughout the evening.
Now here’s the most memorable part of their story. The most intriguing comment that Peter made to us about his experience with David’s parents was about the direction that their polite but persistent questioning took. They did not give the appearance that they were concerned by the fact that their son’s companion was a boy rather than a girl. Instead, they appeared to be thoroughly checking him out as a person. They wanted to make sure that he was well-bred and of good character. Apparently, Peter met with their approval.
Possibly even more surprising to Peter was, as the evening was closing, David’s mother stood up and announced that she would be retiring for the evening and then said to Peter, “We have a guest bedroom if you like, or you may wish to stay with David. You know best.” Those were the exact words that Peter told us, and I never have forgotten them. I’m sure that you have guessed right: Peter and David did sleep together during their visit.
I always have been impressed with David and Peter’s explanation of how the two of them found each other, how loving and understanding David’s parents were, and what wonderful hospitality they showed Peter. Although that was the one and only time that I ever saw David and Peter, I have not forgotten them. I would like to think that have been together ever since. Now, in a world that has far too much sadness, this is the kind of loving story-ending I like to hear.

© 2 July
2013



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.