Tag: Betsy

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My Most Meaningful Vacation, by Betsy

So, what is it that makes a vacation meaningful anyway? I can’t honestly think of any vacation that I have ever taken that was not meaningful. Some maybe were more meaningful than others that is definitely true. I will have to focus on vacations of the last, say, 50 years. Choosing from all the vacations of my lifetime is too overwhelming. My memory just isn’t that good.
I have had a few trips abroad—the heart of Europe as well as remote places like the Orkney Islands off the north coast of Scotland, the train trip through South Africa, plus visits to Canada, Mexico, and Central America. All these trips were memorable and certainly meaningful. Simply experiencing other cultures, and other ways of life is about the best educational experience a person can have. We learn from living among or simply observing others that our way is not the only way.  Our language is not the only language, our humor is not the only kind of humor, our cuisine is not the only kind.
My idea of a great vacation is an exploit filled with excitement, new experiences, and adventure.  I have traveled on vacation by plane, train, boat, car, bicycle, and on foot. One of my most memorable “vacations” was cycling across the United States, from Pacific to Atlantic. I have written several stories about that trip which I took in 2005.
The thing about traveling by bicycle is that you see so much more detail along the way, including the wildlife, sometimes in the form of road kill.
Probably most of my vacations have been of the camping variety. I love camping whether in the wilderness or just off the highway.
When I was married to Bill and the three children were young, we used to take backpacking trips. Bill was always looking for fishing opportunities. I hated fishing. Not enough action. But there was plenty for all of us to do on those adventures while Bill was fishing. I very much enjoyed the hiking, setting up camp,  and being in the mountain environment with nature.
When Gill and I first got together we went backpacking one summer in the Wind River Range in Wyoming.  That was the time she cut a gash in her knee and I saved her from bleeding to death with my Girl Scout first aid kit which happened to have some butterfly bandages in it. She still has a scar on her knee today which I want to pass around the table for all of you to see.
This, one of our first vacations together, could have been meaningful in that it had the potential for being our last vacation together.  But Gill stuck with me in spite of the fact that it was not her idea of a vacation. I actually think it was the butterfly bandages that saved our relationship.
After we had been together a short time, we went to a style of camping more to her liking—car camping. Gill had a VW camper van—a Westphalia— in which we had taken some day trips during our courtship. It may not have been an actual vacation, rather a weekend, when we took the Westy to Rocky Mountain National Park. This was a meaningful trip to me, and I will never forget it. It definitely portended of a meaningful ritual which would become a part of my life every day for the rest of my life. We were driving along through the park admiring the sights when Gill pulled over off the road and came to a stop. “It’s tea time,” she wailed. She jumped into the back, opened the galley, put the kettle on and brewed the tea, and served me a dainty cup of perfect British tea—with milk, of course, not cream.  I am a person who likes structure and some rituals. So, I became hooked on four o’clock tea time for life.
I also became quite enamored of the idea of a camper van for road trips. The Westy was very old and worn out and had to go soon after we started living together. But we both were enthusiastic about having a camping vehicle. So, a few years after selling the Westy we bought a used VW Eurovan—a later model of the Westphalia.  We named her Brunie, short for Brunhilda. She was a big boned woman. The three of us —Gill, Brunie, and I—spent 13 years together, traveled over 200,000 miles in too many trips to count. It was an awesome relationship. All of our vacations together were meaningful because we traveled in almost every state, except Hawaii and Alaska, always had a comfortable place to sleep, we felt safe, and were always warm and dry. Because of Brunie we saw the country, we learned history and geology, we experienced things and places we never dreamed existed. I might add we met all kinds of people who would always approach us in the campground wanting to meet us? No wanting a look at Brunie. 
Some of the more memorable places we visited had been selected as a destination like the national parks, state parks, oceanside settings, historical sites, desert oases.  Others we just happened upon by chance.  We always kept a diary on these trips because we knew as we grew older we would forget where it was that we saw that amazing sunrise, that moose grazing beside the road, those sheep on the cliff above, that approaching tornado. Or all we had, learned, heard, and experienced would become blurred.  And Gill was constantly snapping photos, so we have thousands of those to remind us. Some places were quite ordinary, some elaborate, some filled us with awe, some sights were beautiful beyond imagination, some curious, but not one was not worth the visit. Some of our favorite, nearby places we have been back to several times such as Hovenweep, Canyonlands, Hamburger Rock, Arches N.P., and  Yellowstone.
There has not been one trip or sojourn that was not meaningful.  Most meaningful? Impossible to say.
© 1 Dec 2017 
About the Author 
Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.
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My Favorite Literary Character, by Betsy

Using “literary” in its broadest meaning I have had several favorites. They always seem to be the Wonder woman types. Women who can solve problems single-handedly, certainly take care of themselves, handle themselves heroically in crisis situations, and always come out on top. Yet they have human frailties as well–just so we know they are not actually other-worldly. In my youth Nancy Drew was one. Today my hero of choice is Anna Pigeon, Park Ranger. Anna has all the traits I admire: she is a nature lover, a steward of the natural environment, strong, independent, smart, able to figure things out, courageous, but always struggling with her human vulnerabilities.

Nevada Barr, Anna’s creator, is a very successful writer. She has won many awards for her books of the last three decades. She became interested in the environment and started working summers for the National Park Service as a Park Ranger. And so is her character Anna Pigeon a National Park Service ranger, working in law enforcement. The Anna pigeon series of 18 books begins in Guadalupe National Park and takes the reader into as many national parks from desert to the Great Lakes.

Anna’s exploits are always based on some environmental issue. Her stories often have an unexpected twist, but Anna always gets the bad guy, often showing up the local law enforcement officials a la Jessica Fletcher in Murder She Wrote. Ms. Barr aways offers lots of suspense and excitement and a good look at the parks in which her stories take place.

Nevada Barr’s first novel published in 1984 was interestingly about two lesbians. It appears Ms. Barr is not a lesbian and probably learned early on that marketing to a lesbian readership would be severely limiting. But curious that she started out in this vein. I recently borrowed the book, Bittersweet, from the library as I have not ever read it.

Anna pigeon was created in 1993 in Track of the Cat which takes place in Guadalupe National Park. In the ensuing years her adventures take us to such exotic places as Yosemite, Rocky Mountain Park, The Natchez Trace, The Carlsbad Caverns of NM, The Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island National Monument, Isle Royal in Lake Superior NP, Glacier NP to name a few of her favorite places. Her favorite places and mine. Perhaps that has something to do with my enjoyment of the books.

But it’s not just the settings of the stories. One gets to know and love certain people in Anna’s life quite well after reading just a few of these books. Anna’s dead actor husband who was killed in an accident crops up in Anna’s thoughts rather regularly. She struggles with the grief of losing him for many years and finds herself struggling with the temptation to drink too much alcohol for the rest of her life. Her sister Molly, a New York psychiatrist is a constant mentor and colorful personality as are the many associates in the park service with whom she works.

Gill and I were particularly thrilled when we saw in Hard Truth which takes place in RMNP that Barr had chosen for her main character a friend of ours, Toby, who is sadly no longer living. When Nevada Barr was in Estes Park researching her next book she met Toby, a woman severely disabled by rheumatoid arthritis and wheel-chair bound. The author was so impressed with our dynamic friend she based the main character of her new book on this woman.

Ms. Barr, who herself worked for the park service before she started writing books, paints for the reader a picture of the politics, the heroes and the villains, the secrets and favors, the drudgery and the incredible stress that goes on from day to day in a job in that agency of the government.

In the following two decades Anna serves in about 16 other National Parks. By 2009 Anna, now married but still a Park Ranger, is aging along with her new husband. In Barr’s 15th book our heroine is on leave and the couple is in Big Bend National Park. Although she is older Anna still has the qualities I admired in her in the beginning. I’m glad that she too is aging, along with me. There is something unreal about a character who does not age with time. Such a character is private investigator Kinsey Milhone, the creation of Sue Grafton in the alphabet mysteries starting with A is for Alibi, etc. I believe Grafton is now up to V or so. A very ambitious pursuit –a mystery novel for every letter of the alphabet. I enjoy those books very much too. But Nevada Barr’s Ranger Pigeon is my favorite.

Gill and I have visited most of the Parks in which Anna Pigeon appears. Many times in anticipation of a visit we borrow the audiobook from the library and start out on the road listening to the book which features the park we are about to visit. Perhaps this is one reason I enjoy these books so much. We can get a preview of the park while being entertained with a great story. Then while enjoying the park we can let our imaginations soar because we now know all that goes on behind the scenes underneath the natural beauty of the park features, now we know the sometimes ugly reality of the lives led by the park employees and visitors.

I am not a qualified judge, but I do not consider Nevada Barr’s books to be of superior or lasting artistic merit. If I were a student of literature, I am quite sure I would pick for my favorite a more classic, universal character, but I presently am not a student of literature. There are many more books out there that I have not read than books I have read, so who knows how many other characters might exist whom I have never met. I like to read books that are relaxing to read and fun to read. Books that feature characters whom I admire. Among those whom I have met Anna Pigeon is that character.

© 10 March 2014

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

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My Most Meaningful Vacation, by Betsy

So what is it that makes
a vacation meaningful anyway? I can’t honestly think of any vacation that I
have ever taken that was not meaningful. Some maybe were more meaningful than
others that is definitely true. I will have to focus on vacations of the last,
say, 50 years. Choosing from all the vacations of my lifetime is too
overwhelming. My memory just isn’t that good.
I have had a few trips
abroad—the heart of Europe as well as remote places like the Orkney Islands off
the north coast of Scotland, the train trip through South Africa, plus visits
to Canada, Mexico, and Central America. All these trips were memorable and
certainly meaningful. Simply experiencing other cultures, and other ways of
life is about the best educational experience a person can have. We learn from
living among or simply observing others that our way is not the only way.  Our language is not the only language, our
humor is not  the only kind of humor, our
cuisine is not the only kind.
My idea of a great
vacation is an exploit filled with excitement, new experiences, and
adventure.  I have traveled on vacation
by plane, train, boat, car, bicycle, and on foot. One of my most memorable
“vacations” was cycling across the United States, from Pacific to Atlantic. I
have written several stories about that trip which I took in 2005.
The thing about traveling
by bicycle is that you see so much more detail along the way, including the
wild life, sometimes in the form of road kill.
Probably most of my
vacations have been of the camping variety. I love camping whether in the
wilderness or just off the highway.
When I was married to
Bill and the three children were young, we used to take back packing trips.
Bill was always looking for fishing opportunities. I hated fishing. Not enough
action. But there was plenty for all of us to do on those adventures while Bill
was fishing. I very much enjoyed the hiking, setting up camp,  and being in the mountain environment with
nature.
When Gill and I first got
together we went back packing one summer in the Wind River Range in
Wyoming.  That was the time she cut a
gash in her knee and I saved her from bleeding to death with my Girl Scout
first aid kit which happened to have some butterfly bandages in it. She still
has a scar on her knee today which I want to pass around the table for all of
you to see.
This, one of our first
vacations together, could have been meaningful in that it had the potential for
being our last vacation together.  But
Gill stuck with me in spite of the fact that it was not her idea of a vacation.
I actually think it was the butterfly bandages that saved our relationship.
After we had been
together a short time, we went to a style of camping more to her liking—car
camping. Gill had a VW camper van—a Westphalia— in which we had taken some day
trips during our courtship. It may not have been an actual vacation, rather a
weekend, when we took the Westy to Rocky Mountain National Park. This was a
meaningful trip to me, and I will never forget it. It definitely portended of a
meaningful ritual which would become a part of my life everyday for the rest of
my life. We were driving along through the park admiring the sights when Gill
pulled over off the road and came to a stop. “It’s tea time,” she wailed. She
jumped into the back, opened the galley, 
put the kettle on and brewed the tea, and served me a dainty cup of
perfect British tea—with milk, of course, not cream.  I am a person who likes structure and some
rituals. So I became hooked on four o’clock tea time for life.
I also became quite
enamored of the idea of a camper van for road trips. The Westy was very old and
worn out and had to go soon after we started living together. But we both were
enthusiastic about having a camping vehicle. So a few years after selling the
Westy we bought a used VW Eurovan—a later model of the Westphalia.  We named her Brunie, short for Brunhilda. She
was a big boned woman. The three of us —Gill, Brunie, and I—spent 13  years together, travelled over 200,000 miles
in too many trips to count. It was an awesome relationship. All of our
vacations together were meaningful because we traveled in almost every state,
except Hawaii and Alaska, always had a comfortable place to sleep, we felt
safe, and were always warm and dry. Because of Brunie we saw the country, we
learned history and geology, we experienced things and places we never dreamed
existed. I might add we met all kinds of people who would always approach us in
the campground wanting to meet us? No wanting a look at Brunie. 
Some of the more memorable
places we visited had been selected as a destination like the national parks,
state parks, oceanside settings, historical sites, desert oases.  Others we just happened upon  by chance. 
We always kept a diary on these trips because we knew as we grew older
we would forget where it was that we saw that amazing sunrise, that moose
grazing beside the road, those sheep on the cliff above, that approaching
tornado. Or all we had, learned, heard, and experienced would become blurred.  And Gill was constantly snapping photos, so
we have thousands of those to remind us. Some places were quite ordinary, some
elaborate, some filled us with awe, some sights were beautiful beyond
imagination, some curious, but not one was not worth the visit. Some of our
favorite, nearby places we have been back to several times such as
Hovenweep,  Canyon lands,  Hamburger Rock, Arches N.P., and  Yellowstone.
There has not been one
trip or sojourn that was not meaningful. 
Most meaningful? Impossible to say.
© 1 Dec 2017 
About
the Author 
Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.
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Journal, by Betsy

“With pen in hand I write of our arduous journey from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania to our new home in Niagara County, New York. A covered wagon is the conveyance for the family. The track is badly rutted. The journey will take a few weeks.”

These words are a facsimile of those written by my great, great, great, great grandmother Mary Hershe Long, who moved from Pennsylvania to Niagara County, New York in 1820. This is the oldest example of journaling in my family that I have in my possession. There are many, many other examples such as this and many, many stories that have been told over the years since this one.

Inasmuch as we have taken up this activity of story telling and particularly the topic of “journal” I have come to realize that the women in my family have been great journalists. I don’t mean we have professional journalists in my family. But we do have many women on my mother and my father’s side who have been inclined to write down things that were happening in their lives. Some only recorded the major events, others kept daily diaries of their comings and goings.

I am truly grateful to have the stories of my great grand father and his forebears who settled in the wilderness that was western New York state in the early years of the 19th century.

On the same side of the family, my mother’s, my grandmother did a lot of writing especially for a non-professional woman of her time. Her’s were not diaries per se, but rather narratives and poems describing mostly her grandchildren and other people she loved. For example, “Betsy’s Hanky:”

Bets has a little handkerchief
To wipe her little nose
And everywhere that Betsy runs
She’s sure the hanky goes.

She dusts the car—then wipes her face
She cleans her shoes with this wisp of lace
’Twill be the emblem of her place
And wipe away her woes.

I can learn some things about myself from these words as well as learning about my grandmother.

Another favorite is the story of the Drib Yoj bird and how she flew to the rescue of some very sad children and cheered them up. The Drib Yoj always flew forward, not backwards as her name might imply.

Some of these papers of my grandmother’s are elaborately illustrated. Her writings were all done by hand, of course, and never published. I am fortunate to be the owner of these manuscripts which I am carefully preserving in acid-free plastic protectors.

The same grandmother, Edith Rand, wrote a collection of poems which she had typed (on Rand Company type writers, I’m sure) and bound together into a booklet called “Selected Poems”. I knew my grandmother, but know her so much better having read her poetry. The woman clearly loved life and everything about it, she was full of love and gratitude for everything she had, although her life was not without tragedy.

On my father’s side my great grand mother Cecelia McConnell wrote volumes about her travels across the mid west in a covered wagon, a career teaching on Indian reservations, and her exploits as a political activist. I do not have any of her writings, but I do have numerous newspaper articles describing her experience returning to the east coast in 1938 via one of the first commercial passenger flights as she approached the age of 100 years.

Cecelia’s daughter-in-law, my grandmother, had a daily diary which I lent to my cousin about 25 years ago. In this journal she recorded her day to day activities. From it I learned that she was a very active woman, but the diary tells me very little of her feelings or outlook on life.

My oldest daughter is a prolific writer. As well as the books she has written about her field of study, she keeps a journal in which she records her deepest thoughts and feelings. She does not share her journal and I think regards the journaling as a very private activity strictly for her own benefit.

When I was in my teens I acquired, probably as a birthday gift, a book in which I could record my deepest thoughts and feelings—— or just my daily activities, or both. This diary has enough pages for five years of writing. It actually came with a key with which one could guarantee to keep it free of any prying eyes. I long ago lost the key but fortunately it was left unlocked so I could look and see what I was doing/ thinking/ feeling in my youth—not much, really: a typical entry

“Dear Diary,

School was okay today. After school I had my hair set for the Freshman Frolic…….

Audrey was not in school today. DARN!

“Dear Diary,

Today Mother and Marcy and I went to Morristown to get Easter stuff.”

Like I said—not much. Even if I did allow you, my friends, to look inside this journal, I guarantee you would not find one single word about my deepest, darkest secret. There are no words in here about my sexual orientation as the idea of confronting the subject had at the time not yet entered my consciousness.

On several occasions during my adult life I have attempted to record my deepest thoughts and feelings in a journal. I have actually 4 of these journals. In my later years right after I retired, I did write about some of my deepest thoughts and feelings—especially about coming out and being out. I have never managed to fill one of my journals, however, but it is interesting to take a look and be reminded of what I did and how I felt in past years.

I did a fair amount of writing in my job, so when I retired, writing of any kind did not have an immediate appeal.

As I later wrote in 2013 in a piece for this group called “One Monday Afternoon”

“The only writing I did (after retirement) was in our travel log as we journeyed here and there in our beloved VW camper van to many different parts of the U. S. “Mileage today was 350. Spent the night at Frigid Frosty Forest Service campground. Woke up to snow and froze our butts,” would be a typical entry into the journal.”

I have kept in storage all my diaries better known as appointment books since 1989, a habit I developed at work. If I need to know when something happened, I can look in there, but no deep thoughts or feelings can be found in my appointment books.

One day about twelve years into retirement Gill and I were presented with the opportunity to join a certain writing group at the LGBT Center.

“….a writing group? Creating a piece of writing EVERY week. Telling my story. That sounds like work to me. I’ll have to exercise my brain and delve into memories and emotional stuff of the past and present. Do I really want to do that? Writing. Much harder than talking or thinking or imagining. After all, I thought, writing my story I will have to finish my dangling thoughts as well as correcting my dangling participles. Do I really want to get into that?

That was six years ago. I had no idea I would get so much out of being a part of this group when I was considering whether or not to join.

…… there is tremendous value to me in documenting experiences I have had, feelings I now have or have had in the past, beliefs I hold dear; ie, documenting who I am. The process of telling one’s story is not always easy, but with practice it gets easier. How much value the stories have for anyone else I will never know. But I find it oddly comforting knowing that I am leaving them behind when I depart this life.

Finally I believe this activity of writing and telling our stories gives me a broader perspective of my own life–a perspective perhaps not otherwise attained and certainly a perspective not easily attained.

So my journal has become this collection of stories I have been sharing now weekly for six years. I feel quite satisfied that although it is not a journal in the traditional sense of the word, the pages do tell a story of who I am and what my life has meant to me and my loved ones. Maybe in their later years my great, great grand children, who will never live in my lifetime, or maybe even my grandchildren, who do know me even if only slightly, will want to read some of the stories to understand more about who their grandmother was just as I am fascinated to learn about those who came before me.

© 3 August 2017

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Bicycle Memories, by Betys

I now know I had a trike. I have a photo of it. But I don’t recall it. The first bicycle I can remember that was mine was a blue probably Schwinn with big old fat tires. When I grew to be old enough to ride out of my neighborhood, I went everywhere on that vehicle: to school, to the store, on “bike hikes” on the week ends with my friends. One day I was riding down a small hill on Morris Avenue. I got going very fast—too fast really— the handlebar began to shake back and forth Before I knew it I was out of control. At the bottom of the hill was a roundabout—right in front of my dentist’s office. I hit the curb of the roundabout and flew into the shrubbery in the middle. Next thing I knew I was in my mother’s car on the way to the surgeon’s office. My dentist, Dr. Bienville, had seen the accident from his window and went running to save me. He carried me into his office and called my mother who took me to the doctor. I suppose he checked my teeth first. I only suffered a nasty cut on my face which the surgeon did a great job of stitching up. I still have a scar which is barely discernible now 70 years later. I sure loved that blue bike, but it was never again ridable.

When my children were 2,4, and 6, we went to the Netherlands to live for two and a half years. As is the case for the Dutch people, bicycles were our main mode of transportation in the crowded streets of that country. In the 1960’s I had never seen child carriers for bicycles in the United States. But they were as prevalent as tulips in Holland. All kinds. Between the two of us my husband and I could easily carry our 3 children about on bikes with no problem. Safety was not so much of a consideration back then. No one wore a helmet, not even did we put them on our children’s heads. I suppose some heads had to be sacrificed before anyone thought of using helmets. One of our favorite weekend activities was riding our bicycles on the ever present paved paths through the Dutch sand dunes, one of the few undeveloped natural places in the Netherlands.

Back in the U.S. in the 70’s and in Denver, I didn’t own a bicycle. But we were able to remain a one car family for many years because Bill, my husband, used his bicycle to commute the two or so miles to work every day rain or shine.

It was not until the late 1980’s that I started cycling again—riding to work and around town on errands.

In 1986 I took my first long distance bicycle trip with my daughter and her boy friend both in college at the time. Still no helmets to be seen. There were bicycle shops but they only housed bicycles and parts—no paraphernalia of any kind—no spandex cycling shorts with padded crotch, no handlebar mounted computers to tell you how fast you were going, how far you had gone, all meteorological info you could possibly need, what day and time it was, and your location coordinates—none of the accessories we see in the shops today.

But that cycling trip around western New York state, and the Allegheny Mountains in Pennsylvania was a wonderful and memorable adventure for me. I think that’s when I became hooked on cycling.

In the 1990’s now an out and proud lesbian, I bought a blue Fuji and rode the MS 150, a 150 mile ride from Denver to Pueblo and back to raise funds for the MS Foundation. This ride is not a race, but many riders joined teams for the purpose of training, socializing, and supporting each other on the ride. Early on I found myself joining the “Motley Spokes team.” The competition was about raising money, not riding fast.

During these years I pedaled several charitable rides in various parts of the country and met many wonderful people. I have been very lucky as well as I have many times been able to bring my own personal sag support with me. Gill has always been willing— actually she has mostly wanted to come along (not on a bicycle) to satisfy her wanderlust. Unfortunately sometimes she becomes engrossed in her own bird watching, wildlife viewing, picture taking activities and is distracted from her duties as a sag support. She tends to turn her phone off so as not to disturb the wildlife—not helpful to a stranded cyclist. Once riding in North Dakota in a vast open area with no one in sight, the sky turned black and looked ominous. “I wonder where Gill is, I said to myself.” “This looks like tornado weather.” Two hours later I arrived at the town that was our destination for the day, but I was a bit scared, I must admit. And there she was. No bad weather where she had been. Just tons of birds.

My best cycling experience and most memorable was across the southern tier of the United States from Pacific to Atlantic. This was a two month, 3800 mile fully supported tour with a company called Womantours. That was in 2005. This trip has provided me with endless material for story time. Most of you have heard some of my ramblings about this particular adventure. And I suppose I will continue to refer to it as long as I am telling stories.

I have loved my bicycling experiences and the memories they have provided. I guess that’s why I love a bicycle trip. It’s always an adventure. And I love adventure.

© 30 May 2016

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Don’t, by Betsy

My mother was not big on “don’ts.”  I cannot remember either of my parents
issuing constant “don’t do this’s, don’t do that’s, don’t forget to’s…,
etc’s.”  When they did, it was usually
for my safety: “Don’t climb too high, don’t jump off the roof, don’t swim out
too far.” 
In spite of the dearth of don’ts uttered by my mom in my
younger years, it changed as I grew out of childhood into adolescence and young
adulthood. As I grew older, I heard one “don’t” on a fairly regular basis: “Don’t
get pregnant.”
I’m not sure why my mother was so fearful of this one aspect
of my behavior. I had never given her cause to worry about my general
deportment in the past.  I had been
anything but a wild child. I usually stayed in line. But when I was dating boys
in my later high school years and into college, my mother was definitely
worried about my virginity. Perhaps she was projecting the feelings she
remembered having when she was the same age. 
Little did she know, her daughter had no chance of losing her virginity
as long as I was dating “nice” boys. There was no chance I would lose control
and “go too far.”  I suppose I could have
reassured her, but we, my mom and I, never talked about such topics especially
topics involving feelings. This was not uncommon in those days just as my mom
probably never talked about feelings with her mom a generation before.  Perhaps if my mother and I had been
comfortable talking about feelings, just maybe I would have known more about my
inner self earlier in my life. Perhaps I would have understood better who I was
really instead of proceeding simply according to the standards I knew.
I also know that my mother was concerned about appearances
and how her family looked to others. I think this was common in those
days.  And her eldest daughter becoming
inappropriately pregnant certainly would not look good.  I sometimes wonder which my mother would have
chosen had she been given the choice: You have a daughter who is unmarried and
pregnant, or you have a daughter who is a lesbian. Either would have
unthinkable to her I’m sure.
I am not being critical of my mother. This was a cultural
characteristic. My scanty religious training did not promote the peeling of the
onion skin to reveal secrets about ourselves, especially secrets having to do
with our sexual proclivities.   In my
experience religious doctrine, the ultimate standard upon which we all based
our conduct, not only did not promote introspection, but discouraged it.
I did not do much better as a mother with my daughters. After
all, like my mother, I had never been taught the importance of, or more
importantly HOW to talk about personal and intimate subjects with my children.
Also, children by nature certainly are not comfortable revealing deeply held
feelings which often they are reluctant to admit even to themselves that they
have.
In my old age I find myself in a continual process of sorting
out that which should be spoken from that which must simply be accepted and
from which I must detach—detach with love, but detach— and go on my own
way. 
BTW, on the very, very outside chance that anyone especially
children or grandchildren and more especially in-laws—should anyone happen to
ask me for any advice or even just an opinion, I will be glad to offer the best
I have to give based on my long experience.
© 5 Jun 2017 
About
the Author 
Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.
Posted on

Dancing with the Stars, by Betsy

For what reason I do not know, but this topic brings to mind images from my childhood. We can all remember being outside in the dark of night, lying on the ground on our backs looking up at the stars. If you look at a group of stars long enough, they start to dance. At least they look as if they are dancing-jumping from here to there in a very lively fashion. Of course we know the stars are not dancing, rather our eyes or brains are playing tricks on us. But I felt that vision from the past deserved space on this page.

Another image from childhood relates to dancing, but certainly not with any stars. In about the 6th grade in my homogeneous, non-diversified community of Mt Lakes, New Jersey, a suburban very small enclave within commuting distance of New York City, most of the boys and girls in my class at school were enrolled into dancing classes at the local community church.

The dances that were taught were the fox trot, the waltz, the rhumba, and the jitterbug. This was about 1946. Perhaps our parents’ motivation for sending us to dancing school included their belief that young children should be distracted from the news reports coming out of Europe in the aftermath of the 2nd world war revealing the horrors and the reality of the conflict.

More likely our parents sent us to dancing school not so much to learn to dance well, but to prepare us to enter the social world and to learn the proper decorum and social graces needed for high school years and beyond. Anyway, it was the thing to do and all my friends attended with me on those Saturday afternoons.

This was strictly ballroom dancing of course. So equal numbers of girls and boys were needed. My partners usually were Tom Brackin and Mousey MacMillan. STARS—they were not. I preferred Tom to Mousey, but somehow I always ended up with Mousey. I never did know what his real name was……

During college and early adulthood I mostly danced with the man I eventually married and who was the father of my three children. I can’t call it dancing as I think back on it, however. It was more like a shuffling of the feet, in place, more or less, or not at all, in time with the slow, dreamy music while in a bear hug type embrace. As for the jitterbug neither one of us ever felt confident enough to do it in public in spite of the dancing lessons of earlier years.

During the two decades of raising my children, I don’t think I danced much at all. I probably didn’t even think about it. So there was a huge gap of time between the pre marriage dancing and entering the world of dancing that the lesbian bars presented.

When I came out, never mind I was middle aged, dancing became very important. I was looking for some stars. If the dance floor was the place to find my star, then on the dance floor was the place to be. In the excitement of finding myself and my new life it seems at first I was somewhat blinded —not by the stars I danced with but by the ones that were in my eyes.

As the next several years raced by I learned a lot, stuff that I had been rather sheltered from in my youth. As a fledgling lesbian, dancing was an important part of my life. This is one of the few places where, I learned, we go to meet women—places where you dance—the Three Sisters, Divine Madness, Ms. C’s.

It was at Divine Madness one night that I did in fact meet the love of my life, the one with whom I would spend the rest of my life. It was not so much the dancing. She had other qualities and characteristics that attracted me. But dancing with her was fun. Thanks to the Mt. Lakes Community Church dance classes and Mousey McMillan, I could be waltzed around the dance floor as long as she was leading and she didn’t mind that I counted under my breath—1,2,3,1,2,3— rather than trying to converse. The conversation could come later after the dance. “This woman is very special,” I thought.

“Can you do the Two-Step?” she asked one Saturday night. She, being a lover of country music was a fan of this lively jig. The only two step I had ever known or heard of was the Aztec Two Step, some unpleasant digestive ailment I picked up while traveling in Mexico one summer.

“I’m not familiar with it,” I said, “but I’m game to try if you lead and don’t mind counting aloud for me if I need help.” Yes, I did need lots of help, but somehow it didn’t matter. I was dancing with a STAR—my star— and we’ve been dancing ever since.

© 23 July 2017

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

Posted on

Birthdays, by Betsy

The following is an imaginary voice from the Universe heard inside a woman’s uterus by a viable life preparing for its day of birth.

“Now is the time for you to make your choice. You may choose from these two options: gay or straight. In other terms—homosexual or heterosexual. Before you decide let me explain the consequences of your choice.

“If you select the gay option you will have many obstacles in your life that you otherwise would not have. You will be considered abnormal by many people from the start, you could very easily find yourself being discriminated against by employers, landlords, merchants, and service providers. The law may possibly not offer any recourse for you if and when you are discovered depending on how the movement goes and the state of civil rights. You could actually be put in jail if you are found out.

“You may feel constrained to stay in the closet for a long, long time, maybe forever. That means denying your truth to yourself and to others. This could have a serious impact on your emotional and mental health—possibly on your physical health as well.

“If you try to express your sexuality and live as the person you are; i.e. live as an openly gay person, you risk your safety, security, and well being. You will keep your self esteem and self respect however. But there may be a price to pay for that.

“If you select the straight option life should be easier for you. You will derive benefits from marrying a person of the opposite sex. As a woman you will be safe if you serve him well. You will be secure if you do his bidding. You will have no difficult choices to make because they will all be made for you and to your advantage if you stay in line. The only risk for you is that you might screw up because you don’t realize that you have all the advantages.

“As I said, it’s your choice.”

The above scenario is, of course, absurd. None of this would happen because this choice is not available to us. This choice is never given to any of us before birth. We are born LGBTQ or heterosexual or gender fluid or whatever else yet to be defined—whatever else exists on the sexuality spectrum.

The choice is made when we become aware, conscious, of ourselves—our feelings, what drives us, with whom we fall in love. We make the choices later in life when we understand that there IS a choice— and that choice, as we all know, is not who we ARE by birth, but whether or not we choose to LIVE as an expression of who we are.

Personally, I understand very well the consequences of denying who I am and living as someone I am not. Once I became aware of my sexual orientation I was able to make that choice, respect myself, and be happy and fulfilled.

Those who wish to change us LGBTQ’s, punish us, put us away, or whatever, seem to imagine that we all experience the above in-utero scenario and we should be punished or, at least, forced to change because we made the wrong choice. We made the choice in-utero and were born gay yes on our first birthday, because we chose to. REALLY! Or, if they do not accept that absurdity, they want to punish us for expressing our real selves—for living as gay people.

I choose to live in a world which accepts every newborn baby for exactly what it is—everything that it is. I choose to welcome every life into this world as perfect as I did one week ago my first great grand child.

You know, I’m convinced he’s gay because of the way he waved when he was born. Then when he started primping his bald head his mother and grandmother and Auntie Gill were convinced too. He’s lucky. He knows he is loved by us all—gay or straight.

© 14 November 2016

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

Posted on

Anxious Moments, by Betsy

Anxiety: A feeling of unease about an imminent event with an uncertain outcome.

Below is a list of situations which have produced anxious moments for me.

1. The first time Gill and I came to the Storytelling group was one that came to mind. I was very anxious about reading my piece to that room full of men that day when the topic was “porn.”

2. Presentations I have had to give for work or any kind of public speaking can certainly produce an anxious moment.

3. I well remember anxious moments climbing and hiking on a particular narrow trail on the side of a cliff in the Canyon Lands NP wilderness on an Outward Bound challenge. The kind of trail where you are aware that one mis-step means certain death. Just thinking about it makes my palms sweat.

I could come up with a number of other anxious moments. That is just a sample.

I’m sure athletes experience many anxious moments waiting to compete. I imagine almost any tennis, football, or baseball player, or racers— any individual or team sport player who takes his competition seriously might give this description of his/her anxious moment. Let’s say a case of pre tennis tournament nerves might sound something like this:

“I was experiencing the extremely uncomfortable feelings of anxiety early this morning. Around 5 AM I was unable to sleep for the unease and by 7 I was doing specific exercises to relieve the agonizing stress—deep breathing, listening to music, trying to relax, etc.

“Finally relief came at 8 o’clock as I knew it would. My doubles partner and I met our opponents and walked out onto the tennis court and started to warm up for our first match. I don’t know about the others, but my most anxious moment started to dissipate the instant I began swinging my racket. I don’t know why just getting started relieves the tension, but I know it does. I have been there before.

“I may have another anxious moment if we have a close match and we see any chance of winning.”

You might think these are the words of the Brian brothers or the Williams sisters or any other doubles tennis team playing in a world class competition at Roland Garros or Wimbledon or the US Tennis Center. But no, these are my very own thoughts and feelings before this morning’s match in the Denver City Open Tournament in—now get this— in the over 80’s women’s doubles category! Super anxiety in spite of the fact that barely anyone even enters this category. Last year there were just two doubles teams so we got to the finals. Only one other team entered the competition and they beat us. We gave them a run for their money ‘though, but they did beat us.

However this is not a puny tournament. There are over 550 entries from all over the region this year in this 10 day competition held at the Denver Tennis Club. Anyone can simply drop by any time during the event to see some excellent tennis live.

This year in the over 80’s women’s there are three doubles teams. (No women ever compete in singles in the over 80’s category which demonstrates how much smarter women are than men.) So we will at least get to play two matches. We are not guaranteed to make the finals, however.

I do keep asking myself, “Why should this cause anxious moments for me?” Another good question is: “Since it does cause anxiety, why do I do it?” I guess it’s because my partner from last year asked me to. And, well, I’m doing it. So I guess I want to. Also, we just might win.

It occurs to me as well that the reason I set myself up for these anxious moments is the same idea expressed in the old adage: “Why do I keep beating my head against the wall? Because it feels so good when I stop.”

© 9 June 2017

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

Posted on

The Gayest Person I Have Ever Known, by Betsy

What does it mean to be
the gayest?  Using the word gay in its
generic sense and being a woman myself, I will discuss the term gayest in
relation to the only woman I know about whom I can make that judgement. And that
would be yours truly.  Now that I think
about it I find that I do not know how to apply the adjective to anyone except
myself.  How do I know how gay someone
is? How do I know how straight someone is? 
Are we talking about their libido? 
I don’t think so.  I have heard of
lesbians with very strong libidos, but I don’t consider them to be gayer than
others.  On the other end of the scale I
have known a few women who have a dislike and distrust of men in general,
suggesting that they may have been abused in the past. These women avoid men,
prefer not to associate with men, gay or straight, relate only to women and are
considered by themselves and others to be lesbians. Yet they are not interested
in sex with a woman either.  They are
basically asexual.
 Or perhaps we’re talking about
a gay person who never associates with straight people. Does this make a person
gayer than one who has a more diverse group of friends and associates.
Certainly not.  Could it mean a person
who is more secure in his/her gayness. 
Possibly.  But I reject that as well.  That just means the person is more secure,
not GAYER. 
And so, I repeat. The
only person whose degree of gayness I might have any idea about–has to be
myself.  And to compare my degree gayness
with that of others, I have to be able to measure the degree of gayness of
others.  And I have just made the case
that such a measurement is impossible. Hmm..This presents a problem.
But wait!  Enter the queerometer.  Just when the problem seems impossible to
solve, I remember the queerometer.  I
discussed this very issue once before in a piece called “Queer, Just How Queer.”  Could we not just as well have called it “Gay,
Just How Gay.”  I’m going to revisit what
I wrote then.
Imagine that we could
measure an individual’s degree of sexual orientation by taking, say, a blood
test.   This would be an ugly world
indeed with a rigid caste system.  The
most heterosexual would be on top and the most homosexual on the bottom. 
Newborns would be
immediately tested at birth.  Here’s one
scenario.
“Congratulations, Mr. and
Mrs. Jones.  You have a healthy baby boy
measuring only two on the queerometer.  He will be your pride and joy.” 
Or, the dreaded scenario:  “You have a healthy baby boy, Mr. and Mrs.
Jones.  He has 10 fingers and 10 toes and
all his parts.  I’m sorry to tell you
that he tests positive on the queerometer. 
He’s a 9.6″
“Oh,” says Mrs. Jones,
gasping for breath.   “A 9.6 !  Does that mean, does that mean?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” says
the attendant.  “At the age of eight years
you will be required to turn him over to the Department of Corrections.  He will be yours until then.  Enjoy!”
Or the following
close-call:
“Congratulations, Mr. and
Mrs. Jones.  You have a beautiful baby
girl.  She appears to be in perfect
health and all her parts are in the right place.  However, she does measure a five on the
queerometer, which, as you know, is high. 
The state will provide you with all the materials you need to guide her
in the right direction.  If you use the
manual wisely and stick to it, she will turn out just fine and I’m sure she
will live a normal life and give you many grandchildren.”  
Or imagine a world in
which LGBT people took on a particular hue at puberty.  Say, a shade of purple.  The really dark purple ones would be the
really, really, queer ones, and the light violets would be only slightly
inclined to be homosexual or transgender, or bisexual, or queer.  I can see the pride parade right now.  A massive multi-shaded purple blob oozing
down Colfax.
Alas, this does not
answer the question at hand: who is the gayest person I have ever known. The
queerometer fortunately does not exist and we hope it never will. So, the
question “Who is the gayest person I have ever known” remains unanswered.   As I write, an appropriate answer comes to
me.   WHO CARES!  And the more people who don’t care, the
better off we will be.
© 28 Jul 2014 
About
the Author 
 Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.