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Blue Skies – Socialism, by Louis

(a) The tune “Blue Skies” has an implied theme of long easy life without problems, a life of easy sailing.

(b) For me “Blue Skies” means optimism for the future.

(c) Nowadays, most Americans are wondering why our government is so hostile and backward. Also why do we have a perpetual war going on in Afghanistan and elsewhere?

(d) The answer is because we are stuck with a backward form of capitalism. Companies like Halliburton buy the government, exclude more peace-oriented political candidates. They purchase Republican governors who repress the vote and make a joke of democracy.

(e) Michael Moore’s recent movies point out that other in other western democracies the governments govern and promote the best interests of the citizens. “Where to invade next.” Universal health care is taken for granted. In France women are given a couple of months off with pay before and after child birth and after birth have a nurse, all paid for by the government. That was his movie “Sicko”. In Germany, working people have affordable housing in lavish housing complexes. That is because they have real union protections.

(f) Bernie Sanders’ campaign has opened up discussion of the merits of socialism. Under socialism, the profit motive is taken out of the business of weapons manufacturing. Without the profit motive, war-making pretty much stops, and we have world peace.

(g) I used to have discussions with my friend in New York City about what is the proper definition of socialism. As far as I last knew, it is the “Public ownership of the means of production.” This means that the public owns the public utilities such as gas and electricity, the companies that manufacture weapons for the military (which is all much smaller scale as compared with what we have now).

(h) Countries like Holland, Sweden, Denmark, France and most other countries on earth, have accepted socialism as the normal way of life.

(i) Under socialism, government officials are forbidden to accept campaign contributions from private people or corporations. Breaking this rule incurs severe penalties. In the U. S. this practice is accepted as normal practice. As a result, actual democracy is pretty much killed off.

(j) So Blue Skies reminds me of the socialist future we can all expect. It will be peaceful and devoid of financial worries, with universal health care.

(k) Socialism will come when the people face death by starvation at the all too predictable downturn of the business cycle. When that happens, 99% of jobs disappear. There will be no way to survive. When it’s death or socialism, people choose socialism.

(l) Back in 1840 in France, socialism was all the rage. The poet Victor Hugo believed the poet is also a prophet. In that spirit Victor wrote several prophetic poems, “The End of Hatred,” “The End of Hunger,” “The End of War,” and “The Triumph of Socialism”.

(m) Blue skies Smiling at me Nothing but blue skies Do I see

(n) Bluebirds Singing a song Nothing but bluebirds All day long

(o) Never saw the sun shining so bright Never saw things going so right Noticing the days hurrying by When you’re in love, my how they fly

(p) Blue days All of them gone Nothing but blue skies From now on

(q) (Scat)

(r) I never saw the sun shining so bright Never saw things going so right Noticing the days hurrying by When you’re in love, my how they fly

(s) Blue days All of them gone Nothing but blue skies From now on

(t) Songwriters (u) 13 Songs With Deeper Meaning Than You Think Hlntv.com

(v) (w) The Most Frequently Played Song in the World is One We All Hate Mentalfloss.com

© 17 May 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.

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Security by Gillian

Security, like living happily ever after, belongs in the never-never-land of children’s tales. It rarely exists; certainly not in modern reality, and in fact I doubt that it ever was thick on the ground. In those long ago days of our childhood, perhaps we locked the doors at night and counted ourselves pretty secure. But we had other terrors much worse than a midnight thief. Prior to Salk’s invention of a vaccine in the early 1950’s, we, or certainly our parents on our behalf, lived in constant terror of polio attacking our young limbs. Childhood diseases raged through schools and communities: measles and mumps, chickenpox and whooping cough, diptheria and meningitis. Today we are protected from most of those diseases but still left with little security as to health. We have to worry about old sicknesses returning in a new resistant form, or new ones – at least to us – suddenly appearing in the news, such as bird flu and sars, West Nile and Zika. Added to that, we have the fears of not being able to pay for the health care we need, just as our forebears feared it for themselves.

But at least our forefathers did not suffer from our insecurities of lack of privacy. Perhaps we have a physical privacy they lacked, but we live in constant trepidation of just how much personal information, down to the minutest detail, is available to anyone who cares to pluck it from the ether. Just this weekend I began filling out on-line applications for car and home insurance. I was amazed and appalled by the amount of data that was entered for me automatically the moment I put in my name and the first digits of my street address. It knew the answers to it’s own questions about me: it knew Betsy was my spouse, it knew every detail about her. It informed me that we are both retired and have no dependents. It filled in the year and model of our cars. Yes, I know none of this should surprise me, and at some level it did not. But there was something very unsettling about seeing it in action. A form meant for me to fill out was completed almost entirely, and accurately, by some unknown and invisible entity in cyberspace. I was a minimal presence in the whole process.

Not that here is much security in insurance, anyway. As our beleaguered climate swings from one extreme to another, natural disasters abound, and insurance rates soar. Before long I fear that all but the absolute minimal coverage will be unaffordable to many. Even if you can afford it, it is frequently unavailable. Live near the coast? Live in a floodplain? Well, gee, it just might flood there, so you can’t have insurance because you might need it. And these so-called floodplains are seriously iffy anyway, identified by computers in the garbage in/garbage out mode. I used to live in Lyons in a little house on top of a 100-foot cliff above the river, but the house location was identified as high risk of flooding and I could not buy flood insurance; not that I would have, anyway. In the terrible floods of 2013, most of the town of Lyons was washed away. But my old house stood firm and dry.

Our use of computers and all they offer can destroy our illusions of security in countless ways.

I have always, I believe, been a faithful friend. I value friendship highly, chose friends carefully, and feel safe and secure in those relationships. One of my longtime friends was a man I had worked with at IBM for thirty years. He had been supportive at the time of my coming out; he and his wife invited Betsy and me to their home and they visited ours. After he and I both retired we sent e-mails back and forth – jokes and cartoons and such – in the way most of us do.

We had a distribution list of old colleagues and scattered this silliness around. Suddenly, one day, I opened up one of these messages from my friend to find, to my disbelief and horror, pages of gay-bashing rantings. This was not tasteless homophobic humor, which I might, just possibly, have forgiven. This was pure vitriol. Hate-mongering gleaned and forwarded from all around the web. Tears poured down as I re-read it, fancying the first reading to be some kind of delusion. No. The hateful words remained. I just could not believe that he had kept such feelings from me for so many years, or that he had sent this garbage to me. I could only suppose, and still think, that he simply lost track of who exactly was on that particular distribution list. They can be dangerous things if you don’t pay attention. Whatever the reason, his true colors were clear to us all. After a night of sleeping on it, or, to be accurate, tossing awake on it, I replied. I acknowledged my heartbreak over such an ending to what I had always believed to be a firm and sincere friendship. I searched hopefully through my messages the following days, and then weeks, honestly expecting a reply; some kind of apology, some kind of explanation. None came.

I never heard from him again.

I never quite recovered from that incident. It robbed me of an innocence over friendship which I doubt I can regain. But I have tried to deal with it rationally and without allowing it to drag me down into complete cynicism and destroy other friendships, or my desire to make new ones. I have learned to say, with almost complete sincerity, that another person’s homophobia is their problem not mine. The same could be said, I suppose, of duplicity, but I find that so much harder to bear. It is not my friend’s homophobia that hurts so much, but the pretense, the subterfuge, the deceit.

Now, securely at home as a member of this storytelling group, I feel something very like my old innocence return. Perhaps lost innocence can be regained, after all. I feel safe and secure here.

I don’t fear that you are going to exhibit any duplicity; any pretense. I don’t believe that you are saying mean-spirited things about me behind my back. Oh sure, a little gossip and tattle-tale, but not real hard-core back-biting derision.

Security like that is hard to find. Reviewing it reminds me of the honor which has been bestowed on me and the pride I feel in being a member of this group.

© March 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.

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Aw, Shucks, Good Enough Is Great, by Betsy

Until later in life I never gave a lot of thought to making choices. I had my rules of conduct and, I suppose, used that as a guide to choosing. I did make choices everyday of my life, but I never think of it as “shall I do this or shall I do that.”

It all seemed to come quite naturally and was part of a routine or structure. Back in those days we didn’t have the options that present themselves today. I do believe life was simpler. We chose a path to follow and took whatever came along on that path. We made the most of what was good enough and we made good enough work for us.

I don’t remember choosing between a man and a woman until many years later when I became aware that I had the choice. Even though I was attracted to women, marrying one or even spending my life with one was not an option for me back in 1950. So I, a homosexual woman, married a man. Nevertheless, you will never hear me saying today, “Aw sucks, darn! I spent 1/2 my adult life with a man.” No, I will never say that; those years were good enough, and good enough was great then. I still feel that good enough was and is great.

It serves no purpose to regret any of the paths I followed in my younger years. Had I felt I had more choices, my life would be different and that is hard for me to imagine right now. I love my life the way it is and the way it has been. I love my children and my grandchildren as well as my life partner and spouse. I would not have my children and grandchildren if I had chosen differently in 1950. I probably would not have my beloved Gill had I chosen differently back then. So, I’m glad I went with “good enough,”

I often hear contemporaries say, “I lived in the best of times.” Aw shucks, I’m going to go ahead and say the same thing. If I suddenly, magically became a young person, I would be mind boggled by all the choices presented to me every day. Not just among the plethora of consumer products put in front of us daily, but the choices of life style, career paths, subjects available to study, places to visit, etc.

I am aware that there are many people in this world who have no choice except to take the easiest path to survival. Mind you, I do not believe that desperate situations, inaccessibility to basic, life sustaining resources is good enough, by any means. Such inequity that exists in the world is very wrong. I am blessed that I have never been in such a situation. So I am keeping the discussion here to choices that have been made available to me throughout my life and that have affected my life.

I never spend too much time choosing the right consumable product because I honestly do not feel it’s that important. I like to think my time is better spent in other areas of life which may or may not require making choices. For example, I know I should exercise so, if it is time to do that, It is already on my agenda, I do not have to make a choice about that. The choice is merely between the gym, the bicycle ride, the walk around the neighborhood, etc.

When it comes to choosing clothes for myself at the store, I confess I am not very diligent. Often I come home with something that is not good enough. Then standing in front of my mirror it’s “Aw shucks, this just isn’t what I thought it was.” I think the stores have trick mirrors that make things look better on you than they really are. I have learned in my later years that my lovely wife can pick out clothes for me much better than I can. So I don’t go shopping for clothes unless she will come with me. Usually I get her article of choice home and realize it’s not just good enough, it’s perfect. I don’t buy too many clothes anymore ‘though. Most of the stuff I have held on to are the things that were good enough when I bought them so they are good enough now, even if they are 20-30 years old.

Fortunately as I approach my 80’s I have everything I need and do not find myself having to make choices about what to buy. The choice of what to do comes up occasionally, but that usually has been predetermined and I simply follow an already structured agenda. I like structure. Maybe that’s because I don’t want to be making choices all the time.

I’m afraid I have almost driven my lovely wife crazy with this characteristic or mine.

“Shall we go to Mexico or Hawaii for our vacation,” she asks. My answer is truthfully, “I don’t care, or I don’t know.” “Well, which would you rather do?” she asks. “How do I know,” I answer. “I’ve never been to either place.” Poor Gill.

On the other hand I hate being wishy-washy. If a decision has to be made, I will gather as much information as I conveniently can and just pick one. Too much deliberation just complicates it. It usually turns out that it was good enough and it was great. I can’t ever remember coming home from a pleasure trip and saying “Aw shucks, we should have gone to that other place.” This “aw shucks” situation should be avoided at all cost. But I truly belief it is totally unlikely to occur in my life, because I’m sure most any other choice would have been good enough as well, and therefore the perfect choice.

© 6 April 2015

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 wife of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Security, by Will Stanton

A person’s sense of security or insecurity may be based upon realistic concerns, concerns such as feeling the need to minimize the possibility of home-break-in, avoiding dangerous locales within cities, or perhaps concerns about local terrorism. In many cases, there are some rational steps people possibly can take to provide a greater sense of security.

There is for me, however, a concern (and this is a concern that progressively has worried me over the years), about a more subtle and perhaps even more dangerous sense of insecurity that plagues certain kinds of people and, consequently, society as a whole. That chronic sense of insecurity may warp those people’s emotions and thinking, resulting in actions that are harmful to others and to the society in which they live.

As I have stated several times earlier, there are various ways that people feel, think, and behave, part of that being based upon what they may have learned from their life-experiences, plus part of that literally based upon how their brains are structured physically. For example, everyone is a mixture of rational thinking and emotions. Research shows, however, that there always has been a group of people who appear to be much more prone to emotional responses and less rational, open-minded thinking. As a potentially terrible consequence, such people are more easily manipulated by devious people with harmful intentions. Also, they become very tribal, work together, often with anger and “fire in the belly,” making them too often more politically effective than more cerebral, better informed people.

Manipulating people’s fear and sense of insecurity has been around ever since the creation of humankind, and I have seen much of that over the last several decades here in America, notably in politics. Whereas it appears to me that one of the major political parties contains a good percentage of people who are open-minded, search for facts, try to think rationally about them, and to form logical, constructive conclusions, there is another major party, with much evidence I might add, that contains a large percentage of people who are more prone to fear, hate, and anger. Consequently, some politicians have mastered the craft of manipulating these people to side with them, to support them, even to the extent that the people vote against their own best interests. These voters not only form opinions that are against what is good for them and society as a whole, but they do so with great emotion, even abject anger against other persons who have formed more rational opinions.

I always have been a student of history, which has taught me lessons about human thinking and behavior. One of the most striking lessons I have learned is from a very revealing quotation from one of the most notorious individuals of modern history, a quotation and lesson that certainly are a warning to what is occurring today here in America. What this person said, along with my comments about each part of it, should ring an alarm bell.

This monster of history was asked how he was able to so control the masses of people in his country. To start with, he maintained that most people are ignorant. Now immediately, some of us might respond that this assertion is an overstatement; yet I ask everyone to recall how ignorant people were shown to be when Jay Leno went on the street and asked simple questions of many people, including graduate students, teachers, businessmen, and even government officials. Need I also mention the recent Republican so-called debates?

Even more harshly, the political leader stated that most people are stupid. Now, I know that this term too frequently is used simply as a slur to denigrate people, yet I have noted for many years that certain people do seem to lack the ability to think rationally. I occasionally over thirty years have tested an acquaintance of mine to ascertain whether or not he can follow simple processes of logical thinking; and, truthfully, he never has. He always responds in irrational, emotional ways, so much so that his thinking is very distorted. I recall in the year 2000 during the Presidential election, this individual actually wrote a letter to the Republican National Committee stating, “If Al Gore steals this election, I volunteer to lead the first tanks into Washington.” In addition to his statement being dramatically irrational, it is quite ironic, now that there is strong evidence that the theft actually was the other way around.

The notorious quotation goes on to state that all the leader had to do was to employ (first of all) fear, and we have witnessed in the U.S. how effective fear-mongering by certain political leaders has been over several decades, stirring up the citizens and priming them for manipulation. “Let us political leaders, along with the top one percent, do whatever we want, and we will make you secure.”

Secondly, he also utilized hate by demonizing certain peoples based upon race, religion, sexual orientation, political beliefs, etc.; and those persons today who are easy prey to such manipulation increasingly express opinions and beliefs that can be quite shocking and unsettling to those of us who have more empathetic, civilized beliefs. In this way, the manipulators can misdirect the public’s attention away from the real problems and constructive solutions by blaming everything on other groups unlike themselves.

And thirdly, he employed anger, and we have seen both verbal and physical violence as a result. This certainly was horrifyingly true in his time and his country. Here in the U.S. in the recent Republican debates and town-hall meetings, we have seen anger too often expressed among the candidates and audience. Several times now in Donald Trump rallies, we even saw violence against dissenters and journalists. One Trump supporter even shouted out, “Sieg heil!” Such violence can spread throughout society as a whole, rather like metastasized cancer. For example, at the beginning of the 20th century, one of the two most spoken languages in the U.S. was German, the language of a large portion of our emigres, along with it being the language of medicine and science. Yet, with the advent of the Great War, suddenly German-Americans were hated. The German language unthinkingly was banned in all schools. Shop-keepers of German heritage had their windows smashed, and others were physically beaten. During World War II, many innocent Japanese, Italian, and German families were sent to prison camps, the German families being the last to be released.

Now we see such fear, hate, and anger being directed toward Mexicans and Muslims, among others. (I suppose certain people always will fear and hate homosexuals). My belief is that the more knowledgeable one becomes, the more rational one’s thinking, the more empathetic and understanding of others, then the more secure one becomes in his own mind. A lack of a sense of security too often is within people’s minds, not necessarily within the real world.

© 02 March 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.

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Terror, by Ricky

Not to “down-play” the feelings, but terror is nothing more than extreme fear. Fear caused by circumstances that are too horrible to even think about, like: being buried alive or being a passenger on an airliner that is falling to its doom from 40,000 feet or catching the Ebola virus or discovering too late that vampires, werewolves, and zombies are real. Since these thoughts really are too unsettling to think about, I will write about other forms of terror. (Those of you with weak hearts or stomachs may wish to skip reading this posting. Going to read on are you?? Well then, you have been warned.)

Among the less fearful terrors in the animal kingdom are the Wire Hair Fox Terror, the Boston Bull Terror, and the Scottish Terror.

Moving up the fear ladder, most of us can remember Dennis Mitchell, commonly known as Dennis the Menace. His neighbor, Mr. Wilson, considered Dennis to be a Holy Terror. Another such boy you may recall is Johnny Dorset who was made famous by O. Henry in his book, The Ransom of Red Chief. Johnny is such a Holy Terror that his kidnappers have to pay the boy’s father to take him back. Even “The Little Old Lady from Pasadena” is known as “The Terror of Colorado Boulevard”. Hmmmmm. Here’s a thought. Before their son was old enough to know right from wrong, would Joseph and Mary have described a mischievous Jesus as being a Holy Terror?

If you stop and think about it, we all have been a terror at one time or another. Most notably when we try to open a small letter or package where the instructions tell us, “To open, tear along the dotted line.” The act of doing so identifies us as a tearer. People who are very good at tearing are known as tearerists.

To paraphrase FDR, “The only thing we have to fear is…” in two years Republicans may again control Congress and the Presidency. Now that is a fear worthy of producing terror!

© 17 November 2014

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Olden Times, by Ray S

Who makes this stuff up?

“With a Song in My Heart”

Being of aged mental capacity it is very difficult to recall any olden times, especially when, if I can recall the times, they not so worth dredging up.

But, the key word did ring a bell and sent me down memory lane to another time and place called “Tin Pan Alley.” You know the stereotype that claims many of us always love show tunes and some even know all of the words.
The key word is “olden” and with homage to one of my 20th century musical heroes, namely Mr. Cole Porter, I offer up this bit of rhyme:
“In Olden Days a glimpse of stocking

Was simply shocking, but heaven knows,
Anything Goes.

Good authors who once knew better words
Now only use four letter words writing prose,
Anything Goes.

If Mae West you like or me undressed you like
Why will nobody oppose—when every night
Anything Goes.”

Hope this has jostled your musical library enough to remember your own oldies but goodies,
For instance:

Remember Maurice Chevalier singing on the streets of Paris “Thank heaven for little boys.”

Or poor misguided Nelly Forbush singing “I’m in love with a wonderful guy.” When it really was a wonderful girl, and yes a wonderful guy, only he was singing about another he.

Last but not least I offer the old blues number “Love for Sale” which noted in fine print BOGO free.

Happy Olden Trails.
© 16 May 2016

About the Author

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Sorry, I’m Allergic, by Phillip Hoyle

I’m
allergic to several fine particles such as house dust, essential oils, and some
burning incense. They sometimes provoke histamine reactions such as itchy eyes,
tears, sneezes, or a runny nose.
In
my late 30’s I became allergic to MSG when it is used in high proportions in
the food it seeks to enhance. I started getting hives when ingesting this food
additive. Originally the itchy red spots showed up just in the hair on my head,
then later in my ears, then on my cheeks, eventually on my neck, and finally on
my shoulders as well as all the other places. The hives tend to itch for about
20 minutes and then subside. A doctor friend gave me Benadryl when I got hives
at a meal. When the medicine went to work some twenty minutes later, I wasn’t
itching but was so sleepy I yawned until our friend left. I decided the
treatment wasn’t really effective for me. I gave up eating anything marked MSG.
In
spring and fall I tend to have congestion in my sinuses. I usually blame
pollens or other things in the air. I abide them and their attending
discomforts, usually without treatment. My relationship with allergies seems
pretty mild and way too lame to provide fodder for stories, a fact I’m actually
happy to report.
But
who wants to hear such good news except the person receiving it or their
partner who may have to suffer with them sneezing, wheezing, blowing, and
complaining? Oh I do snore and wonder if my partner will develop an allergic
reaction to this condition. He rarely complains, and for some reason I almost
never am aware of my snoring.
My
sister Holly was allergic to Tommy Shane, the boy next door. She’d get
congested and develop hives anytime he came around much the same as she would
get when eating fresh strawberries. Fortunately she eventually found a guy she
was not allergic to and they have been married for decades.
No
one in our family was allergic to work.
Sometimes
when fresh cut flowers are on display in the living room I find I have to move
to another room. I blame it on the strong aromas of some of them but suppose
more realistically my reaction is to the pollen they bring into the house, but
to say so seems as lame as telling my history professor my paper was late
because one of the children was ill. Oh well. I just don’t talk much about my
tiny allergies that seem like almost nothing compared with the skin allergies
my mother and my next younger sister endured. They seemed especially reactive
to springtime elm pollen. Mom also was allergic to some household cleaners. She
wore gloves and smeared lots of petroleum jelly on her hands at certain times
of the year.
I
feel fortunate that I am not allergic to any of the art materials I choose to
work with.
 That’s about it. Really boring…
I
can’t even think of a personal story to treat allergies as a metaphor so broad
is my acceptance of people. So you can probably conclude that if I were to make
the excuse, “Sorry, I’m allergic,” I’d probably be lying or at least
exaggerating a non-condition in order to get out of some situation I didn’t
want to cope with or some activity I just cannot abide.
© 15 Sep 2013
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
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Queer — A Defining Word, by Pat Gourley

It is quite amazing to me
really how little of my childhood years I remember beyond vague, though some
significant, generalities. I suppose I could view this as suppression of lots
of terrible stuff but I really think it is more a matter of not much out of the
ordinary or worthy of sublimation ever happening. Lord knows my rather intense
at times Catholic upbringing and schooling might have been a source of great
consternation and resulting psychopathology, but for whatever reason I think I
sailed through those years queer as a three dollar bill and largely unscathed.
As I have written before
(my apologies for the repetition) one episode though that has stuck with me was
when I asked my mother what the word “queer” meant.  I think I was about 12 years old when I first
heard it used. She said it was a bad word and I should never use it. I then
went straight to the dictionary but the only definition provided that stuck
with me was that it meant “odd”. I went back to her with this piece of
information but she persisted that it was not a word to incorporate into my
vocabulary. I suspect that I or someone near me had been called a “queer” and
being totally oblivious to any homosexual connection with the word thought this
to be a weird choice especially delivered in less than loving fashion.
Queer
to this day remains a loaded and offensive word by some LBGT folks, despised as
much as the “F” word. The “F” word being “faggot” of course and not “fuck”. I
could have written about “Faggot” as a defining word but thought I had enough
to tackle on my plate with “Queer”. And I actually thought for a fleeting
minute of writing on the word “fuck” one of my favorites but decided to keep it
closer to home. And besides other than this little phrase I ran into on Facebook
the other day I don’t have much more to say about “fuck”: “I have been told I
am going to hell for my excessive use of the word FUCK. I have rented a bus if
any of you fuckers need a ride.” From Fsensitivity Web Site
Back to Queer. Certain
words used to describe us are ones that we have simply and innocently appropriated
like “gay”.  Others are words that have
been used to denigrate and belittle us, some of which we have reclaimed and
others not so much. The use of language to offensively describe some folks as ‘other’
has often been used as a means of control. Though for a minority struggling for
self-definition and empowerment the re-appropriation of often-derogatory words
is I think a legitimate exercise that can enhance identity and liberation. And
such is the case I believe with the word “Queer”.
In looking for the
origins of the word I kind of fell down an Internet rabbit hole. The use of it
as a derogatory term aimed at homosexual folks may well date back to 16th
century Scotland. The actual roots of the word seem perhaps lost to time.
However, my go to person, for meaning of the Queen’s English if you will, remains Judy Grahn and her seminal
work from 1984 Another Mother Tongue. Grahn
states that the original word was “cwer” (c-w-e-r) without directly attributing
any tribal or national origin to that word. After an hour or so of floundering
around the ether a possible source for “cwer” I stumbled on is that it was old
Welsh in origin. However, don’t take that to the bank.
Let me quote Grahn’s take
on the possible meaning of this descriptive moniker:
“
‘Sinful,’ ‘of the devil’ and ‘evil’ are all expressions that have been used
very effectively against gay culture, as has ‘queer’, which derives from cwer,
crooked not straight, kinked. Perhaps the difference between queer and straight
originated very simply with the difference between the straight-line dance of
male/female couples and the Fairy round dance”. From Another Mother Tongue. Page 276.
So perhaps it was a word
used originally to acknowledge that we were different from straight folks in a
rather kinked or crooked sense and that the evil or sinful associations were
added later. Maybe we were the ones who preferred to dance in circles rather
than in straight lines and this bit of nonconformity was one thing I hope,
among many, that set us apart. And of course anyone set apart from the norm was
often then fair game for ostracism that could become nasty.
I suspect there is a rich
history to this word “Queer” that is lost to the mists of time. I am choosing
to reclaim it as a defining word, one that helps set us apart from the
hetero-hordes. A word that hints at our uniqueness and the valuable
contributions we bring to the human tapestry by way of our otherness.
© 19 Feb 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

Cool – Barak Obama, by Louis

Cool as a cucumber, means
people with a calm, unflappable demeanor. Recently, “cool” has been a
colloquial adjective used to describe President Barack Obama. “Cool” can also
mean, “aware of issues and problems that most people are not aware of.” Again
President Obama has been described as having all these “cool” qualities. At one
time, Mr. Obama had these qualities, but he has caved in to the corporatist democratic
tendencies of his party so that he has slowly but surely turned into yet
another unsuccessful president.
It was good he was
against the War in Iraq. But recently he has sent U. S. troops back in and is
renewing a battle the American public is against. Mr. Obama seems perfectly
comfortable with perpetual pointless war in the Middle East despite the
widespread opposition by the American public. He happily continues a pointless
endless war in Afghanistan. Another war the American people are against. I
think that is one reason Senator Rand Paul became rather popular in Colorado.
He spoke out against our unthinking interventionist foreign policy that does
not benefit the American public in the slightest. Somebody is benefitting, who?
 Mr. Obama has supported trade deals that are
designed to disenfranchise American labor unions, to disenfranchise working
people. Many of his liberal allies have told him his disastrous trade policies
such as the Trans-Pacific Partnership, will result in millions of Americans
losing their jobs. After a while, Mr. Obama answered that the trade deal will
create many new jobs in the U. S. NAFTA and CAFTA have already decimated
thousands and thousands of towns and small cities in the U. S. TPP will be even
worse.
Mr. Obama does not seem
to care. When the public service employees unions were trying to recall Scott
Walker in Wisconsin, Mr. Obama’s silence was deafening. Somehow, despite some
liberal happy talk, Mr. Obama has turned into a hostile bellicose, pro-Wall
Street, corporatist Democrat indistinguishable from the most obnoxious
Republican right-wingers.
Historically Barack Obama
will be counted as another failure as a U. S. President.
© 9 May 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

You’ll Never Know, by Gillian

No, I probably won’t, but I suspect that expression might soon need to be protected under the Endangered Species Act. It surely must be close to extinction. Extremely popular as recently as our younger days, attitudes have changed so much that people rarely say, or even think, these days, you’ll never know … whatever.

Not only people, but computer systems, know more about us than we do ourselves. King Soopers knows what I eat, Argonaut knows what I drink, Amazon knows what I read. A part of us seems to resent and fear this, yet we relentlessly feed the world endless information.

We shout everything from the rooftops. We tell everyone everything, from inane trivia to what would once have been deep dark secrets.

Take Facebook for instance. (Please, take it! I don’t want it.) So many people telling me so much more than I could ever need, or want, to know. Am I supposed to be enthralled by the final success of some friend of a friend’s grandchild’s potty training? Or someone whose name means nothing to me proclaiming that he, without fail, flosses his teeth six times every day? Or the myriad of lunatic responses to this claim from people I don’t know and don’t want to know?

I’d like to say that I hate Facebook, but in all honesty I simply stay away from it so I’m not involved enough to hate it. I do, however, regret the way in which it has created impersonal communication from the personal.

Once upon a time – and not so very long ago – cousin Fred would send a postcard when he visited New York. It would have the same tired photo of the Empire State Building on the front, and some version of wish you were here on the back. Nevertheless, how nice of him, you would say, to think of me. It was personal. It made you feel good.

Now, you look at Fred’s photo-journal on Facebook, detailing his trip to Bangkok. He recounts every event of every day, down to what he ate for dinner. You can imagine his trip much more vividly then you did from the old postcards, but what happened to that warm fuzzy you used to get from them? What happened to the personal touch? What happened to that oh how nice of you to think of me feeling? I haven’t a clue whether he ever gave me a thought or not. He sent this report out into the ether to be read by anyone who cared to do so. I would really get more out of a boring photo and a banal message; at least it was for ME.

A while back I heard via a mutual friend that a good friend of mine had just returned from New Zealand.

‘I didn’t even know she’d gone to New Zealand!’ I wailed.

‘It’s all been on Facebook,’ she replied, looking pitying and puzzled as if I’d just told her I couldn’t read.

A couple of weeks ago, a group of old lesbians Betsy and I belong to were joined for lunch by a few teenagers who shared with us their experiences with being …. um …. and here I shall begin to flounder because I am not too sure what they would consider the politically correct terminology. My apologies to any of you wonderful young people who happen ever to read this, which I think highly unlikely. I think their version of the alphabet soup was LGBTQIA+, the QIA being questioning, intersex, and asexual. What an education these kids are. They talk with assurance about identifying as gender-queer, gender-fluid, non-binary, and half the time I’m not sure even what they’re saying. It’s another language. And here we were, many of us in this room, when we were that age, ignorant of even one word to describe what we knew, at some level, ourselves to be. I recall that huge hurdle, as it appeared at the time, we had to leap in order simply to inform others that we were attracted to those of the same sex, or that we were trapped in the wrong body. Can you even begin to imagine trying to explain to your parents that you are never sure, at any given moment, whether you will feel that you are female or male, or to which sex you may feel attracted. Or that you chose not to identify as any gender. You just are.

For some of them, their preferred pronoun is ‘they’ rather than he or she, which is vaguely possible in the English language but when I try it I find it very confusing.

It was all starting to make my head hurt.

Don’t get me wrong though, I have every admiration for these young people: out to the world, apologizing for nothing, completely proactive on their own behalf. I’m not foolish enough to think it’s easy for them, but none of them is ever going to think, in some secret, inner, self, you’ll never know ….

Everyone knows, and I bet they’re all out, loud and proud, on Facebook.

Perhaps, if I used Facebook, I would be more familiar with the the language of today’s LGBTQIA etc. youth, though I am not ashamed to admit my deplorable ignorance face to face.

Maybe I just have to accept that if I am to keep up with what is happening in the world in general, and with those nearest and dearest, I shall have to resort to Facebook. But I’d still rather receive a postcard.

© November 2015

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.