Tag: Betsy

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New Jersey Memories by Betsy

The
place of my origin is New Jersey. I spent the first 15 years of my
life in a community called Mountain Lakes. At age 15 my family was
forced by circumstances to leave this lovely place and move to the
deep south to a totally different existence. I have had no ties to
New Jersey since I left there–left no relatives behind, and lost
touch with school chums. But I do have memories and lots of them. I
have not had reason to put them down on paper until now. So I am
happy for today’s topic. Isn’t that what telling your story is
about–recording memories?


I
have no idea what Mt. Lakes is like now. But in the 1930‘s and
1940’s in spite of the Great Depression and the Second World War,
Mt. Lakes was an idyllic place. I did not realize it at the time
since I had never lived anywhere else and had nothing else with which
to compare it.

There
was a mountain there (by Colorado standards, a hill) and two
lakes–the Big Lake and Wildwood Lake. Located about one hour by
rail from New York City, this was a middle class community of
business men, housewives, and their two and one half children. There
was an elementary school and a Jr. and Sr. High school, a couple of
stores down by the depot,a post office, and a gas station.
Otherwise it was strictly a residential community.

Our
home was the perfect place to play and to have adventures. We shared
the end of a cul-de-sac with two other houses. We had huge back
yards and beyond that was the lake. On the other side of our street
Fernwood Place was a woods called the Bird Sanctuary. The cul-de-sac
was at the top of a small hill, so to get to the lake or into the
Bird Sanctuary I always was going down hill.

At
the edge of the lake my father had gardens. Flowers and vegetables.
Some of my happiest memories are of the hours spent “helping” my
Daddy in the garden.

This
is also where my Daddy taught me to split logs. (Charlie McConnell
was not one of the business commuters to NYC. Rather he owned a
lumber mill in nearby Rockaway.) I was a rather puny child, but I
learned that splitting the largest logs had less to do with size and
strength and more to do with technique. Daddy taught me that
technique which I have never forgotten and often have put it to good
use.

Our
neighbors on one side were an elderly couple, the Moores. On the
other side was the Noyes family. Their two older children, boys,
were my age and my brother’s age. The three boys avoided me as
they did most girls, except for when they got it in their heads to
play a game about pulling each other’s pants down. Then they would
come looking for me and I was no where to be found.

Among
the other enlightened activities we did that I remember was to go to
the Moore’s back yard which had quite a steep hill, lie down at the
top and roll all the way down. This sport usually took the form of a
competition. Being the puniest, I usually won. I remember Bobby
Noyes throwing up everything he had in him on the Moore’s lawn at
the end of one of those episodes.

Going
to and from school required a walk of a little over a mile. I would
start out through the bird sanctuary, follow the stream then turn
left at the bottom where the stream met the road. I loved the Bird
Sanctuary. It was a wonderful place to be alone or play with
friends. I do not remember ever being taught anything directly about
caring for the natural environment, but we all seemed to grow up with
an innate sense of respect for the wonders of nature which could
always be observed in the Bird Sanctuary.

I
had a rowboat, my brother had a canoe. It was my job to caulk the
seams of my beloved boat and paint the thing every year. That was a
hard job but I was mighty proud of my boat because it was mine.

I
must have learned to swim early in life because my mother gave me
quite a lot of freedom on the water. I give her credit for this.
She had lost her brother to drowning when he was 11 years old. She
must have had to face fears both rational and otherwise. I do
remember well, though that there were no non swimmers or not even poor
swimmers in that community.

Fishing
was one of my favorite things to do. I would rise at sunrise, go to
the kitchen, take out a piece of uncooked bacon, grab my fishing pole
and down to the dock I would go. This was not a sportsman’s lake
full of wild fish. But there were fish there. Out in the middle and
deep down there were bass. Closer to shore there were perch and sun
fish. I could look down over the edge of the dock and see the
sunfish nests. Perfect circles on the sandy bottom, with depressions
in the middle. I would hang my bacon-baited hook right over the poor
baby’s nests and almost always catch something. They were usually
big enough to keep, so I would take two or three of them (they must
have been the parents) and prepare them for breakfast. I was quite
proud of myself and had no compassion for the poor babies left
parentless. What WAS I thinking. I loved the feeling of
self-sufficiency. Sun fish are pretty tasty too. I think I got the
fishing out of my system. I have never enjoyed fishing in my adult
life.

In
the winter the lake froze over. At least that is my memory of it.
The reality is that in my 15 years there the lake probably froze over
maybe a few times, not every year. But I have fond memories of
skating on that lake. The school was at the opposite end from our
house. Between me and the school were various friends and school
acquaintances. On weekends we would gather out in the middle of the
frozen lake somewhere and play crack the whip. Being small I was
usually put at the end of the line or close to it, and at the crack
of the whip, screaming gleefully, but holding on tight, I was
catapulted across the ice at great speed.

Then
we would go over to Powell Street with our Flexible Flyers. The
street was blocked off for sledding. Up and down, up and down all
day long.

Every
summer my parents would take us to the beach at Cape May in southern
New Jersey. We would stay for about a week. That must be where I
fell in love with the ocean and the surf. I loved to body surf (I
still do). I think today Cape May is a gambling Mecca, but back then
the boardwalk and the beach and the surf were magic to me. The
Jersey shore was paradise.

As
I grew into adolescence in Mt. Lakes even though I lived in this
setting, with parents who loved me, friends, security, etc. I began
to realize that I was not like my girl friends in that I did not find
the boys exciting at all. The girls were exciting, but, I sensed
that’s not how it’s supposed to be. The rest is history, either
told in other stories or to be told. But I will always be grateful
for those first 15 years of my life living in a place where I could
learn to love the outdoors, have adventures, take risks and survive,
and develop values that have stayed with me my entire life.

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.

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Going Green by Betsy

     My Daddy was in the lumber manufacturing business. He cut down the trees, took them to the mill, and made boards out of them, then sold the boards to those who use them to make things that people buy; i.e, furniture manufacturers, construction companies, etc. He knew his trees. It was said of Charlie Mac that if he were blindfolded and transported and dropped anywhere in the U.S., he would know where he was by identifying the trees surrounding him.

     It must be in the blood. I love trees, too, although I can’t identify the different species like my dad could. But I do believe they are among my favorite plants. And amazing plants they are. Here are just a few reasons we all should appreciate trees.

     It is widely accepted that the aspen grove is the largest living organism on earth. A single grove of genetically connected trees can cover a mountainside.

     Trees are among the oldest living beings on the planet, too. The bristlecone pine often lives longer than 4000 years.

     Trees can be beautiful as well. We have all seen the vibrant colors produced in the fall by many of the deciduous trees as well as the blossoms in the spring. Trees have provided us with some of nature’s most spectacular shows of color ever seen anywhere. Driving through Utah and western Colorado recently I experienced a visual feast of mountainsides of yellows, reds, and oranges which took my breath away with their spectacular beauty.

     Trees provide us with a renewable resource whose value is beyond calculation. We love trees for all of these reasons, yes. The main value trees have for humankind, however, is their ability to absorb co2 and produce oxygen and to help keep the atmosphere clean.The Amazon rain forest produces more than 20% of the oxygen of the planet as it performs its service of recycling co2 into oxygen.*

     Consider, however, that just as we are beginning to appreciate these forests and their true value, we are losing them at an astonishing rate. There was a time when rain forests covered 14% of the earth’s land surface. Currently that coverage is down to 6%.*Every second another one and one half acres of rainforest is lost to agricultural development, logging enterprises, mining operations, and even tourism.*

     The greatest misfortune is that when the forests are clear cut, burned and bulldozed, the trees, other plants, and indigenous people are gone forever. The plants are no longer the renewable resource which were of much more monetary value than the farm, ranch, or whatever entity that replaces it. Medicinal plants, fruits, nuts, oils and other resources can be sustainably harvested for generations with a much greater economic return when the rain forest is preserved. Such operations provide employment for entire communities of indigenous inhabitants who then earn five to ten times more money than they can earn by chopping down the forest for timber and farming.*

     My dad who ran logging operations for his lumber mill also lamented the disappearance of the rain forests of the world and clear-cutting practices in this country. He knew better than most that the lumber could be harvested without destroying the entire forest. Proper forest management is common practice, yet shortsighted governments, greedy corporations, and unknowing individuals prefer to by-pass these practices for their own purposes–another example of entitled indifference, greed-driven shortsightedness, ignorance, total disregard or denial of the consequences for the future and the good of the whole.

     Perhaps a lesson could be taken from the aspen grove. While the trees within the grove are interconnected through their shared root system, each tree stands as an individual and at the same time is connected to the whole. The trees as individuals are allowed to thrive while connected to and dependent on the survival of the whole grove. At the same time each individual tree contributes to the whole while enjoying its own well being. Is it possible that humankind could do the same?

*http://www.rain-tree.com. Update January 29, 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.

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Game, Set, Match by Betsy

     I started out in the sport of tennis later in life. I discovered that it took very little time away from my three young children to play a couple of sets, not a great deal of expensive equipment, and there were plenty of courts around town, the closest to my home here in Denver being at the time in City Park. This, as well as the fact that I loved it. I started out taking lessons at City Park courts from an old man named Mr. Harper. He could hardly move, but he knew the right concepts and how to teach them. I grew to respect his teaching greatly.

     Through the 1970s and into the 1990s I played many tournaments and leagues as well as for no particular reason at all. I think I still have a few dust-covered trophies in a cabinet somewhere to remind me of the competitions.

     The greatest benefit of playing tennis has been the many friends I made. When I retired in 1998 I decided to get serious about my game and joined the Denver Tennis Club. This is a club for tennis lovers–no swimming, no indoor facilities except locker rooms and sign-in desk and directors’ offices and a place to sit and relax. There is no bar at this club, just a coke machine. The focus is on the 12 outdoor courts located in the heart of Denver where it has been since 1928.

     Many wonderful things have happened due to my passion for playing tennis. Perhaps the best of these was my participation in the 1990 and 1994 Gay Games. The best tennis experience for me was in Gay Games III in 1990. Many athletes in just about every sport along with various GLBT choruses descended on the city of Vancouver, British Columbia, that summer of 1990. Much preparation and practice went into sending about 300 LGBT athletes from Colorado to this Gay Games and Cultural Festival III.

     Our infant tennis team was not well organized and had not had much chance to practice together. But a friend I had know for a number of years, a former H.S. tennis coach, had asked me if I wanted to go to the games and play doubles with her. Of course, I jumped at the invitation. Mind you, one does not have to qualify. You just get your name on the roster and go.

     Team Colorado–all 300 of us–were quite impressive when we finally all stood together in our uniform sweat suits at the ceremonial start of the event–a parade of the 7,300 participants representing 39 countries and 27 sports. The US–which had hosted the first and second quadrennial event, Gay Games I and II, had by far the largest contingent. But many came from Australia and Germany which were soon to become home of future Gay Games events. Canada, of course had a huge interest this being the first games on their side of the border.

     The Province, a conservative Vancouver newspaper, writes on its editorial page:

     “Almost a year ago, we called these gay games ‘silly.’ What’s next? we asked. Bisexual games? Asexual games? What, we queried, does sexual orientation have to do with the high jump? Since then, we’ve been educated. We’ve learned that these games are intended to build bridges, strengthen community and bolster self-esteem. Members of groups that bear the brunt of society’s ignorance and fear need to make special efforts to support each other. And sometimes they need to stand up and be counted. “It is not for us to question — so long as others are not being hurt — how the homosexual community chooses to celebrate itself and to educate us, any more than it is our place to question how native Indians or blacks or women choose to define and redefine themselves.” “What of the AIDS spectre? AIDS as a sexual issue is no more relevant to these games than it is to a convention of heterosexual mountaineers or carpet layers. These games are, above all, about having fun. It isn’t often we get to have fun and, at the same time, learn about tolerance, compassion and understanding. B.C. residents should go out to some of the events of the 1990 Gay Games and Cultural Festival.”*

     Vancouver is a wonderful city and we had a ball. Another comment that sticks in my mind was from another article in The Province. An event called Seafest was going on in the city at the same time as the games. The newspaper described Seafest as a drunken brawl with loud, rowdy, trash dropping people from all over the world attending. It goes into some length describing the unruly behavior of the Seafest participants. The article continues.

     “The GAY GAMES also brought in Zillions of men and women who spent lorryloads of money and indeed cluttered up the sidewalks, but who picked up their garbage, laughed a lot, said ‘excuse me’ and ‘good evening’ and ‘thank you’ a whole ton and, if they got drunk and disorderly, at least had the good taste not to do it under my bedroom window. In fact, the only disconcerting noise in the West End during the games was created by the yahoos who cruised the streets in their big egos and macho little trucks while shouting obscenities at anyone they deemed to be gay.”*

     Gay Games III was in every way a memorable experience for me personally. Gill was there with me cheering me on. Most of our time however was spent sight-seeing and enjoying watching the sports events. It was all quite new to me–all these gay people together. The men competing on the croquet lawn with their exotic hats and chiffon gowns flowing in the breeze as they wielded their mallets– that image will be with me forever.

     I managed to win a silver medal in the tennis competition. All the tennis awards were presented by a gay man whose name I forget. I do remember that he was an openly gay member of Canada’s parliament. Of course he was out. This was Canada.

     Four years later I would participate in Gay Games IV in New York. I was able to share this experience with my daughter Lynne who lived not far from NY City in New Haven, Connecticut. This is when my lesbian daughter came out to me. When I told her I was coming to New York to play tennis in the Gay Games she replied Oh good!! We’ll go together. I’m going to participate in the games too, Mom. I’m playing on the Connecticut women’s soccer team.” Yes, that was her coming out statement to me! We did enjoy that time together and watched each other in our respective competitions and cheered each other on.

     The New York event drew 12,500 participants from 40 countries. It was definitely a proud and memorable moment for me when I found myself marching with my daughter in a parade of 12,000 LGBT athletes through Yankee stadium to the cheers of tens of thousands of supporters and spectators.

     I do like the sound of that word “athlete.” It is important to note that the event was never intended to be focused on athletic ability alone, however. In the words of Olympic track star Tom Waddell whose inspiration gave birth to the games in the 1980s, “The Gay Games are not separatist, they are not exclusive, they are not oriented to victory, and they are not for commercial gain. They are, however, intended to bring a global community together in friendship, to experience participation, to elevate consciousness and self-esteem and to achieve a form of cultural and intellectual synergy…..We are involved in the process of altering opinions whose foundations lie in ignorance. “

     I have not attended another Gay Games since 1994. But the event continues in various parts of the world and has forever etched it’s name in the annals of sporting events.

     I am still playing tennis 20 years after the NY Gay Games–no tournaments, just an old ladies’ league called super seniors and with friends two or three times per week at the Denver Tennis Club. I suppose the day will come when I can no longer hit that ever-so-satisfying backhand down the line winner, but I’m not planning on that happening any time soon. As far as I’m concerned I will keep getting better until I can’t hear those three little words anymore–game,set, match!

Cockburn, Lyn. “Some Games can be a real education.” Pacific Press Limited, The Province, Sunday, August 12,1990.

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.

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Mayan Pottery by Betsy

There’s MY an’ YOUR pottery, and MY an’ YOUR china, and MY an’ YOUR cutlery, and MY an’ YOUR household items of every variety.

When my beloved and I decided to live together, we, of course, were forced to merge many of these above mentioned items. So into the common household they went. Over the years most of the pottery, in particular, stayed in cupboards. Occasionally the need would arise to pull something out, dust off the cobwebs, and put it to use, then put it away for another few years after the guests left or after the special occasion was over.

This is how the conversation would go.

“Do you remember where we put the glazed pot–the one that’s about this size?” Indicating with hand gestures what the thing looks like. “It ‘s the one my grandmother gave me when I was married.”

Depending on who came up with the question, the other would reply, “Well, if it’s the one I think you mean, it’s not blue it’s green and it was given me by my mother.”

“Surely, we can’t be talking about the same piece. The one I’m thinking of would be perfect for this occasion because it’s blue. The one I’m thinking of I have had forever and I can remember the day my grandmother gave it to me.”

“Let’s find it and get it out and then decide if it’s the one you are thinking of or the one I’m thinking of–the green one my mother gave me.”

The piece under discussion is pulled out from the very back of a cupboard. It turns out that it is neither blue nor green but very old.

We both scratch our heads and mumble under our respective breaths, Well, I could have sworn…….and I know it’s mine.” Then out loud, “But it doesn’t matter does it.”

And so it went–many such discussions and discoveries–the origin or ownership of the item never resolved.

Then, sometime around the turn of the century, it came to us almost simultaneously. 

My honey and I were about to have another of the above discussions when we realized that we had been together a long time and furthermore planned to stay together. These household items we talk about are OURS–not mine and yours.

The business of separate ownership is a problem that comes with middle-aged marriage. Each has accumulated stuff and that stuff goes with you wherever you go.

The mystery of past ownership is now, we both agree, a moot point. For some reason it was the new millennium when this dawned on us. Perhaps because we were approaching almost 20 years together. Maybe it was that, or perhaps our respective memories were becoming less and less reliable and we were able to admit that of ourselves and of each other.

I don’t know the reason for sure but the discussions are a thing of the past. MY an’ YOURS had become OURS. And so it will continue to be, I expect, until the end of our days.

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.

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An Old Fashioned Christmas (A Satire) by Betsy

          How could
Christmas NOT be my favorite holiday.  It
was for me as a child an idyllic time. 
          Preparations for
the festivities started early in the morning of the day before Christmas.
Father would ask who wanted to go and help cut down the Christmas tree.  Of course, being a dyke, I never missed this
trip. Father always let me carry the axe. 
We had many trees to choose from–hundreds.  A lifetime supply of Christmas trees in the
woods next to our house. 
          Father would drag
the tree into the house and set it up. 
There it would stand by the fireplace patiently waiting to be
decorated.  Tree decorating always took
place after dinner on Christmas Eve. 
After helping Mother in the kitchen we would gather around the tree
singing carols whilst hanging mostly handmade baubles, snowflake cut outs,
strings of pop corn and cranberries.  
          Then, of course,
the stockings would be hung by the chimney. 
We always took great care in doing this. 
My siblings and I were completely exhausted by this time of the day.
          Oh, I forgot to mention the ice skating. We
always skated on our pond in the afternoon of this exciting day.  It helped to pass the time as the
anticipation of all the Christmas activities was very intense.  Mother said we needed to work off our energy.
          After the
stockings were hung it was off to bed. 
After all, we were told, Santa would not make a stop here unless the
children were asleep.
          Christmas morning
was the best time of all.  We could go
downstairs and empty our stockings any time we wanted.  We could not open any presents until after
the family breakfast and when Father said it was time.  Then he would hand out the gifts
one-at-a-time.
          Before we knew it
it was time to get ready to go to Grandmother’s for Christmas dinner. It was such
a fun-filled day, and we didn’t even have time to play with our new toys and it
was still a fun-filled day.
          Father would go
to the barn, hitch the horse to the sleigh, and park it in front of the
house.  That signaled that it was time to
bundle up, pile into the sleigh, and head to Grandmother’s house. It seems that
there was always on Christmas morning new-fallen snow
sparkling in the sunlight brightly decorating the trees as we flew through the
woods on our way to Grandmother’s house. 
The horse knew the way, of course. 
So even Father could join in the singing most of the way.  So it was over the next hill and through a
dale and we were there.  Grandmother
always had the plumpest of turkeys ready for us for Christmas dinner.  Oh, and Grandmother made the best sticky
pudding for dessert.  We all overate and
began feeling quite sick realizing Christmas would soon be over. The party was
coming to an end. 
          It’s an odd thing
too.  Every year was the same.  Father never could drive the sleigh
home.  I think it has something to do
with his many trips to the barn or the bathroom or somewhere where he would be
alone for quite a few minutes.  He said
he had to take his medicine.  By the time
we got to Grandmother’s he had to take quite a lot.  But that was okay because when he came back
he would feel much better and be really happy–until after dinner at
Grandmother’s and he was so tired he couldn’t even wake up, so Mother would
have to drive the sleigh home.
          So it went for
many years.  How could Christmas NOT be
my favorite holiday?  Does this sound
like a fantastic Christmas?  This is a
fantasy Christmas.  May yours be just as
merry as mine!

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.

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Horizontal Rain by Betsy

          Whump!! The wet bed sheet hit me on the side of the face as I was trying to attach a corner to the clothes line. “I’m trying to hold it steady!” yelled Gillian. Her words were inaudible in the howling wind and driving rain. Our last act before leaving what had been our home for the past five weeks was almost an impossible task. Two women could barely manage, working together, to hang one bed sheet on a clothes line.

          Whump! whump! went the sheet again and again as we battled the relentless wind.

          “Well, we’re leaving the Orkney Islands on a very typical day, aren’t we,” I screamed over the wind.

          “Yes,” yelled Gill. “We better get moving and get this laundry hung pretty fast. We can’t miss the ferry.”

          I wondered why our house exchange hosts had a washer but no dryer. After all we wanted to leave the house in good order. This meant washing household linens at the last minute. And, yes, drying them. But this had to be done using the resources at hand; namely, a clothes line and clothes pins. And it had to be done NOW. We couldn’t leave wet laundry in a pile in the house. Never mind that the wind was blowing about 50 mph and the rain was coming down harder than ever.

          Not that it was unusual for it to rain and blow. In our five weeks visit to these islands north of the Scottish mainland there had been very few days when it did not rain. And the wind–oh the wind. The wind caused it to rain horizontally most of the time. Consequently, the laundry flew horizontally on the line. And today was no exception. The lovely people of the islands have a saying. “If the wind ever stops blowing, we will all fall over as we are forever leaning into it.”

          It had been a magical time–our five weeks on one of the islands of Orkney. In spite of the islands’ abominable weather, we had visited most of the archeological sites many of them newly discovered and older than anything either of us had ever seen before. We had truly enjoyed the rugged coastline with its high cliffs and pounding surf below–the home to puffins, oyster-catchers, all kinds of gulls, and many other birds. The people we had met there were truly delightful as well–living a very laid back, slow-paced, rural lifestyle.

          Now it was time to leave and we would miss all of this for it had been a wonderful experience. But in unspoken agreement we knew neither of us would miss the rain! And my, it did rain!

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.

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I’ll Do It My Way by Betsy

There
are a few issues which are of minor importance to some, but about which I have
remained steadfast in doing it my way.
 Growing up I was not spared from being
bombarded with advertising directed at young women.  Products such as cosmetics–eyeliner,
mascara–foundation garments designed to enhance your breasts and diminish your
waistline, crippling high heels, cancer causing hair removal products, etc,
etc. I decided early on (even before I knew what a dyke was–much less that I
was one) early on I decided these products were not for me.  It probably helped that I did not enjoy
reading “girlie” magazines with their come-on ads sucking in girls who were
trying to hurry up and become women. 
Perhaps this earthy attitude toward life was the influence of my Quaker
grandmother–a very earthy person indeed–and a person I admired very
much. 
Yet,
as a youngster, I had a strong tendency and still have a slight tendency to
want to “fit in.”  It was important to me
to be accepted by most of my peers, especially the popular ones.  I cannot say I never wore high heels–I
did.  I cannot say I never wore
lipstick.  I relented when it came to
lipstick and I still on special occasions put on the stuff.  The point here is that I refused to be taken
over, sucked in, controlled, if you will, by the industry.  Who are they to tell me I need to enhance my
natural appearance?  I cannot say I never
tried some of the products out.  But one
painful pluck of an eyebrow hair, one glance at dripping mascara, one attempt
to run in those spiked heels and I knew none of it was for me. When I came out,
I found that as a lesbian I was much more at home with this rebellious attitude
and stubborn refusal to contribute to Ms. Elizabeth Arden or Mary Kay.
Along
those lines, one other practice that I refuse to submit to is wearing those
tight-fitting, skin-clinging, indigestion-inducing women’s pants with no
pockets. I have to say, in the stores they look great on the manikins, but the
manikins are always holding their breath and never sitting down.  Nor do the manikins suffer the long term
effects of gravity on the body.
 Also, I will not buy a pair of women’s pants
if they have no pockets.  That’s partly
because my way is to not carry a purse. 
It is a nuisance and something to lose, leave behind, or have ripped
off.   How did this purse-carrying
practice come about?  I suppose it’s
because long ago women could not own property, including money, so there was no
need to have a safe place like a deep pocket to carry it.
Here’s
the thing with little teeny-weeny, everyday issues.   I don’t always do this, but I try most of
the time to not let ego or stubbornness get in the way of doing the other
person’s way.  For example questions
like, shall we take this route or that route? 
Shall we travel to this place or that place for vacation?  I have often found that the other person’s
way turns out to be a better way; and besides, if it turns out not to be the
better way, I don’t have to take responsibility for making the wrong choice.
          Then
there are a couple of issues which are of major importance and about which I
have been steadfast, albeit not throughout my entire life.  It was not until I was willing to live my
life honestly that I started doing it my way.  
What
I have in mind here is life style.  Well
actually, not just life style but, living a life according to who I really am,
in other words, being true to myself. 
When I was in my late forties, my children were almost grown and I had
been married for nearly 25 years.  I
finally realized that being attracted to and falling in love with females,
rather than males was not a fleeting, temporary phase of my development.  Instead this was my true nature and was part
of who I was.  I also came to the
realization that sexuality is a huge part of who a person is.  If I was going to ever be true to myself, I
needed to come out. This would not be easy because I had been married to my
best friend, and a good person.  I came
to understand, however, that I would not survive if I did not do it my way and
come out.  That other woman whose role I
had been playing all my life might have survived, but, it would have been in an
unhappy and depressed state and that was not my way.
My
way is to be comfortable in my skin. 
Although it has taken the better part of a lifetime to get there, now I
can say with assurance I am just that–comfortable, happy, content, and at
peace–and that is my way.

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

MY Did It Rain by Betsy

“This has got to be the worst weather yet,
don’t you think,” asked Carole.  “And I’m
getting really cold.”
No wonder. 
We had been pedaling our bikes since day break in the pouring rain.  We were completely saturated and it was
barely mid-morning. 
“Let’s stop for coffee if we ever come to a
shop.”  We had seen nothing but flooded
farmers’ fields for the last 10 miles.  
“We’re going toward the river road. 
The next town should be coming up soon,” said Cathy hopefully.
Another five miles and we did reach the river
road.  No sign of the town or our support
vehicle known as Bo Peep–so named because she was always losing us–her
sheep.  Nor had there been a sign of tour
company’s van and the trailer hauling our luggage and traveling kitchen. 
“It’s getting so dark, “yelled Cathy. 
“The weather just keeps getting worse.  Let’s just hope we don’t get serious thunder
and lightning.  We’ll have to hole-up for
awhile if that happens.  Meantime, I
would like to get to a coffee shop as soon as possible,” I said. Privately I
was thinking, “I MUST get to a coffee shop soon.”
This was Mississippi in late April.  We had completed 2/3 of our cycling trip from
the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic.  Up to
now–from California to Louisiana– the weather had been pretty good.  Not perfect, but mostly dry and benign.   It had obviously been raining here for quite
some time.  The fields in this rural area
of southern Mississippi were badly flooded and the rivers were very high.
Just when the rain did let up a bit we came upon
a low-lying section of road about 1/4 mile long.  The water was completely covering the road;
so deep, we could not actually be sure we were on the pavement.  We had no choice but to carry our bicycles
through the two feet of water to the place beyond where the road became visible
again.  Not only was the road covered,
but also there was a rather formidable current running across it coming out of
a nearby swamp.
          As
we were emerging from this quagmire almost home free, we heard a vehicle
droning along behind us.  It was our tour
van and trailer.  The van was doing well
to get through the flooded road.  The
attached trailer on the other hand, was literally floating atop the water, its
wheels having most definitely left the ground, moving at an angle in the
current while at the same time holding on for dear life to it’s life support,
the van, which we all prayed would not stall in the flood.  We stood gaping in horror at this sight each
of us going over in our heads the condition our belongings would be in by the
time they reached dry ground. 
“My computer is in there, cried Carole.  Mine, too,” screamed Cathy.
Talking about the events of the day at our
group gathering that evening Cathy, Carole and I learned that we were fortunate
to be one of the first groups to finish that ride that day.  We were indeed glad of this when one woman
said “ Walking our bikes through the water wouldn’t have been so bad if someone
hadn’t told us beforehand to watch out for the snakes and alligators!”  The three of us agreed we were much better
off not knowing about those hazards. And we were relieved
to learn that the van trailer kept our belongings dry and secure.
“Of course,” I thought.  “It was floating.  It must be water-tight.”  A good thing! 
We had stew for dinner that night.  Claudia, our cook and heroic van driver, had
purchased everything for tonight’s dinner early that morning before the watery
event.  It was all safe and sound in the
trailer kitchen she assured us.  But I’m
not so sure.  I could have sworn that
stew meat had a gamey, reptilian taste to it.

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

Elder Words by Betsy

The
following is an imaginary letter.  My
mother died when I was barely an adult. 
My father died in 1979.  I came
out in 1982.  I imagine my parents would
have been disappointed that their oldest daughter was homosexual, but I am
quite sure that eventually they would have been accepting.   Although I see my mother as being very
closeted.  They were very loving
parents.  Here is an imagined reply to my
news from my father.

1982
0r so

Dear
Bets,

I
have to say I was stunned by your recent pronouncement.  I don’t know much about this subject.  I have been thinking about it night and
day.  I am struggling.  Maybe you can help me to understand.  You and your family–your life was so
perfect.  Perhaps Bill  has not been the good husband that he
appeared to be.  When you told me you
were getting a divorce, I didn’t understand that either.  Now at least that piece of the puzzle fits.

I
say I have been struggling.  I have to
tell you I do not like this choice that you have made.  However, deep down inside I realize this must
be your true nature and you choose to live honestly and freely.  And I know that is how you need to live and
that is who you are.  I know for sure
that your life will not be easy.   Surely
you are aware of that.  I can only
conclude that you were compelled to make this change in your life style.

In
my struggle to understand and accept your situation one thing keeps coming back
to me.  And that is that I love you.  I wish you strength and happiness in your new
life.  If nothing else, remember that I
love you very much no matter what.

Love,  Dad

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

The Gym by Betsy

 

Throughout
my school years, kindergarten through high school, even in college, gym was my
favorite subject.  I loved gym.  I suppose I loved gym class because I always
caught on quickly, I was never behind or bored, I understood the subject matter
perfectly, I easily passed all the tests, I was always happy to be there in
class.  What teacher wouldn’t adore
me?  I loved gym, I really loved
gym.  And I loved my gym teachers
too.  I even started to pursue a career
as a gym teacher at the age of 40 something. 
I enrolled in graduate school.  I
was going to earn a masters degree in gym. 
I would become a master of gym!  I
actually did not finish this pursuit. 
Somehow as a subject of study and reflection, rather than an activity, I
found it un-stimulating and uninteresting. 
I barely got started when I thought better of it and went to work in the
human services field.

There
was a brief period of time during my high school days when gym–at least what I
considered REAL gym—real gym class was absent from my weekly schedule.  I was 15 years old in 1950.  Because of my father’s work my family had to
pack up and leave our home in Mountain Lakes

, New Jersey.  We had to move to a new town, a new state, a
new part of the country. 

“Oh
well.  There’s a high school there.  It can’t be that different from what I have
known,” I thought.  Little did I know. I
was too young and inexperienced even at the advanced age of 15 to realize that
I was in for a culture shock–big time.

I soon
found myself adjusting to life in small town Louisiana, the antithesis of
Mountain Lakes, New Jersey.  They didn’t
even speak the same language there.  I
spoke New Jersey, they spoke Deep South. 
Oh well, things would get better when school started.  There were all those classes to look forward
to and lots of sports, right?  This IS
high school, after all.  

Did I
say I was in for a change in culture?   I
soon learned that this

definitely
was a culture very different from what I had known, for a girl in particular. I
was soon to learn that girls do not do sports in this culture.  Girls do not sweat.  Girls do not exert themselves
physically.  Girls do not “overdo.” Girls
do not overdo especially when it’s the wrong time of the month.  In fact, when it’s the wrong time of the
month, girls are allowed to skip gym. 
Skip gym!  Oh no!  Please don’t make me skip gym!  I love gym. 
Gym keeps me going all day.  Gym
is the high point of the day for me. 
Except, in the new culture, it turned out, gym was not such a high point
because we didn’t do much really.  Gym
was, well, really, really puny.

 I
quickly learned that in many coeducational high schools in the the deep South
in 1950 girls’ participation in sports amounted to watching the boys.  First of all, I did not want to watch the
boys.  I was not interested in the boys
(although I pretended to be), and I was not interested in watching sports.  I wanted to be doing the sport.  But, alas, I lived in the land of southern
BELLEDOM.  I would have to adjust to a
rather passive existence when it came to athletics.

Youth
often facilitates an easier adjustment to new things, and I did adjust to the
southern culture.  I pretended to be
interested in the boys, and I did become involved in the athletic
events……as a CHEERLEADER.   In the
realm of the gym this was as close as a girl could get to being an athlete.

Yes, I
did adjust, but only superficially.  As
soon as high school was over, I returned to the east and attended a women’s
college where I could participate in most sports and not worry about working up
a sweat.  Oh yes, and sure enough, I fell
in love with my college gym teacher too. 
(Incidentally, I do believe I have never met a self-respecting lesbian
who had not fallen in love with at least one of her gym teachers.)

Now in
my dotage, retired and all, now that I am free to spend as much time in the gym
as I want….It’s amazing how easy it is to find a way to avoid the place.  Excuses abound when I’m feeling lazy or
aching.  But then, the next thing I know,
I’m missing that gym.  There goes that
voice in my head again. 

“Time to
go to the gym, Betsy!”

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.