Tag: Betsy

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Hair, by Betsy

Since there is virtually no one left above ground who was
there and able to remember when I was a newborn babe, I will have to resort
to photos.  I am quite sure I was born
with no hair at all.  When some finally
grew in as a toddler my hair was a color that now many women I know pay big
money for; i.e., blond, really blond and evenly blond.
This did not last long. In early and middle childhood; i.e.,
second grade through puberty, my hair was what was commonly referred to as
dish-water blond. I remember my mother, who was a brunette from birth, rinsing
my hair with lemon juice hoping it would lighten a bit, or at least she hoped
the citrus solution would keep it from going to the dark side.
Like many girls at the time I also had braids.  On very special occasions, when I put on my
velvet dress with the lace collar and Mary Janes, my mother would make “rolls”
above my ears before braiding. When I had rolls, I knew I had to be on my best
behavior.
As adolescent girls and young women we did spend a lot of
time and energy on making our hair what we thought at the time was presentable.
Getting a permanent wave required enduring several hours of
discomfort—bordering torture.  But those
of us with straight hair felt compelled to do something to give our hair some
pizazz.
We employed many kinds of tools and devises to curl our hair.
We wrapped wads of hair around old socks and tied them to hold the hair on the
sock until it curled. So-called curlers came in all shapes and forms besides
the socks. sponges, wire sausage shaped objects, etc. We would go to bed with
these things on our heads—regardless of the pain inflicted while trying to
sleep.
After the hormones kicked in my hair did darken steadily
until late middle age when it became a dark brown. Now, guess what.  It’s going full circle, back to its original
colorless form.
 I know many, many
women of my age group who refuse to reveal that they have any gray hairs. They
go through the monthly ritual at the hair salon enduring hours of treatment costing
lots of dollars to do this. I have never been able to understand that because I
know some women whose white hair is quite beautiful.  I suspect there are men who do the same
cover-up.
Some societies value and revere the signs of old age. Not
here. But I suspect our corporate, capitalistic culture has a lot to do with
it.
I can make the claim in all honestly that I have never put
much effort or resources into making my hair look like something it was
not—except for the lemon juice, which really was non-effective, a couple of
permanent waves out of a bottle, and the socks.
And that’s all I have to say about MY hair.
© 22 Jan 2016 
About the Author 
 Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.
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Moving, by Betsy

Fernwood
Place, Mt. Lakes, N. J. to Charles St, Hammond, La. to Wells College, Aurora,
N.Y. to St. Rochester, N.Y., to University Apt., Rochester, N.Y. to Scottsville
Apt to Quaker Rd, Scottsville, N.Y. to 3 different places in Leyden, The
Netherlands, to Glick Place, Ft. Detrick, Frederick, Md. to 2025 Ash St.,
Denver, CO, to Glencoe St. to Dahlia St. to Lakewood Green, Lakewood, CO.  Over my lifetime of 80 years I have moved 14
times. That means I have moved on the average every 5.7 years of my life.  That would not be too bad for a nomadic
tribe, but I am not a nomad—at least, I didn’t think I was. This seems like too
many moves to me.
The
longest stay in one place, 15 years, was the Fernwood Place home in New
Jersey.  This is where we lived when I was
born. We left this home for Louisiana when I was 15.
So
there followed many moves. After that it would be only two or three years of
being established in one place.  Funny. I
never realized that my home had been disrupted so often until I started writing
this piece about moving.  It doesn’t feel
like I moved a lot but it turns out I did.
There
are some benefits to our moving a lot. One is that my birth family at the time
became very close. When I was young and we moved to the deep south we all had a
huge adjustment to make.  Being with my
siblings and/or my parents made me feel secure. For my brother and sister and
me during that period of adjustment, there were no life-long friends present to
distract us from the familiarity of each other and the rest of the family.  While everything was new, I appreciated more
that which was familiar to me; namely, my siblings and my parents.
The
same situation existed when I was a mother. My children were quite young when
we moved to a very unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar language.  At first, they had to stick with each other
and with us their parents just to get through the day.  They appreciated the familiarity of each
other.
There
is another up-side to all the moving. When you move you tend to throw things
out that you don’t need. You can move them, but that can be expensive and if
you haven’t used something in the past five years, why keep it?
Books
are an item neither Gill nor I have ever thrown out over the years and so
between us we accumulated lots and lots of books. The last time we moved, the
moving guys remarked that they had never seen so many books. ‘Though we have
been in our current home for over 5 years and plan to stay here, we have gotten
rid of about 1/2 of our books just in the last year.  It wasn’t that hard, really.
I
have talked with people who have lived in the same house all their lives. They
seem very calm and settled which is understandable. However, universally they
say they dread ever having to clean it out. 
They don’t even know what they have. Well maybe they won’t have to clean
it out, but someone will.
Gill
and I have been in our Lakewood home now for 5 years. If I am still upright 10
years from now, I will have been here 15 years. Hey! I lived in my birth home
for 15 years. I will have gone full circle. Is that an omen for the future?
After 15 years in the same place, if I am still alive will I have to go to
assisted living?  Maybe my time will come
and I will leave in a box. Good thing I’m not superstitious. Any of those things
could happen, but I do not believe it is pre-destined. It does give me a goal.
Be in one home for more than 15 years.
© 3 Nov 2015 
About the Author 
 Betsy has been active in
the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old
Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been
retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major
activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a
volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading,
writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage.
She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren.
Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her
life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.
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Where I Was when Kennedy Was Shot, by Betsy

November 22, 1963—I had to look up the exact date—I don’t remember where I was, but I can go backwards and figure it out. We came to Denver in 1970. Before that we lived in Leiden, The Netherlands. We went to the Netherlands in 1966 from Scottsville, New York. My youngest child was born in 1964. My second child was born in 1962, so the time we are trying to pinpoint was between the births of my 2nd and 3rd child. In fact I would have been pregnant with my 3rd child at the time. I can visualize our home in Scottsville. I must have been at home. Yes! I would have been at home; I had two babies to take care of.

I do remember now watching the news on TV as the tragic event was unfolding. At the time I tuned in Kennedy was in the hospital still alive. I do remember the announcement shortly after, that he had expired, that doctors could do nothing to save him.

Then there was the swearing in of Lyndon Johnson on Air Force One.

What is more memorable to me is watching the heartbreaking funeral procession down Pennsylvania Avenue— the riderless horse, the casket, Jackie Kennedy and John Jr. and the famous salute the young child gave to honor his father. These are all images that have been etched into the memories of most Americans—and there were very few who were not paying attention at the time.

Trying to remember that day I find to be an interesting exercise. I am asking why do I not remember how I felt about our president being assassinated. Thinking back, my emotions seemed flat when viewed from the perspective of 2017. Not only can I not remember feeling what would seem to be the appropriate emotion, but also I cannot come up with the physical place where I was at the time of the incident without calculating where I must have been.

In retrospect that disconnect with my past seems odd to me. I have not often thought about being unable to be in closer touch with the Betsy of November 22, 1963 until considering the topic for today.

In recent years I have come to the realization that in my day-to-day life before I came to terms with my sexuality I was not fully “present.” I was partially “shut down.” Not depressed, not withdrawn, not unhappy—just not fully present. As if some of my nerve endings were absent or deadened. I did not drink too much, I did not do drugs. Yet looking back from today’s vantage point it feels as if at that earlier time I was not an integrated person. I was, in fact, some other person especially in one very important basic aspect.

So it has been very useful for me to write on today’s topic. It has given me some added insight into that part of my life—a time before I understood my true nature. And writing even these few words helps bring a measure of clarity.

Another less personal thought generated by the topic for today comes to mind. That is this: After the Kennedy assassination many assumed that presidents no longer would expose themselves to any possibility that a lone gunman could snuff out his/her life by simply squeezing a trigger from a distant, unsuspected, isolated location .

Anyone who is president has enemies. And enemies who are dedicated to ridding the world of the hated powerful person. It only takes one to pull that trigger. Literally millions of dollars are spent to protect the president and his family. More in the current administration that ever. So I suppose it would be more difficult today than in 1963 to pull off an assassination.

The gun issue at this point rears its ugly head. I haven’t heard it suggested by the NRA that the president himself be armed at all times, as is suggested for the rest of us—the school teachers, shop keepers, mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, people living alone, people living with others, single people, married people, sick people, healthy people, virtually everyone should carry a gun, says the NRA.

In spite of his support of the NRA, I doubt our current president carries a gun. And since Kennedy’s assassination, presidents have not been hiding from public exposure. Since then our presidents have chosen to walk or ride out in the open, wave to the crowds, and make themselves visible. And I don’t blame them one bit for doing so. I understand the feeling. They want to be totally visible just as I myself was driven to be.

I have often made the statement to family and friends, “I refuse to live in fear.” Applying common sense is a good thing, but living in an emotional state of fear, unable to live life to the fullest because of what COULD happen or because of what happened to someone else is handing victory over to the enemy and capitulating to an unknown entity which wants to exercise its power at your expense.

Kind of reminds me of the same pep talk I gave myself at different stages of coming out. But then it’s not my life that was at steak, just my quality of life or perhaps a temporary emotional set-back. But the principle is the same. Living in fear is no way to live.

© 3 April 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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Games, by Betsy

1982 was an eventful year: the closet door opened for me completely that year. And I stepped out with my head held high. At the same time the world of athletic opportunity opened for members of the LGBT community world wide. 1982 was the year of the first and inaugural Gay Olympics. This event started out as and has continued to be the largest sporting and cultural event specifically for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people. The event is modeled after the Olympic Games. It was early on that the Olympic Games authorities pressured the Gay Olympics authorities to drop the name “Olympics” lest there be some perceived connection between the two events. Thus the title “Gay Games” came to be.

The following is the statement of concept and purpose of the Federation of Gay Games:

“The purpose of The Federation of Gay Games, Inc. (the “Federation”) shall be to foster and augment the self-respect of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and all sexually-fluid or gender-variant individuals (LGBT+) throughout the world and to promote respect and understanding from others, primarily by organising and administering the international quadrennial sport and cultural event known as the “Gay Games.”[4]

The games held every four years are open to individuals and teams from all over the world. Entry into the games is not restricted to GLBT individuals. All people are welcomed into the competition which has become the largest sporting and cultural event in the world exceeding the number of athletes participating in the Olympics.

The 1982 and 1986 events were held in San Francisco. Since then athletes have gone all over the world to compete in such countries as Canada, the Netherlands, Australia, Germany. Paris is slated to host the 2018 games.

In the late 1980’s I was making friends and acquaintances in the LGBT community. Though I had never heard of the Gay Games, I knew a woman active in the lesbian community who played tennis and had been a high school tennis coach. I had actually been on the court with her a few times. She asked me if I would like to enter the women’s tennis competition as her doubles partner in the upcoming Gay Games. “What’s that?” I answered. All I needed was the smallest explanation and I was ready to pack my bags for Vancouver, the site of the 1990 Gay Games.

The competition was quite wonderful I did come away with a silver medal in tennis. Preparing for the event was equally satisfying. We actually had a Colorado tennis team made up of probably a dozen men and women—mostly men. I soon discovered that there existed a A Gay Games Team Colorado made up of maybe 200 athletes including swimmers (mostly), runners, cyclists, and many others. We had uniforms—really nice—black with pink trim warm up suits. We were given a send-off at none other than Boetcher concert hall. I remember standing on the stage with my 200 or so team mates with balloons dropping from above when the cheers went up from the full hall of supporters. I stepped on one of those balloons, fell down, and came very close to being trampled by my teammates.

Or was that the send off for the New York games of 1994? I’m really not sure I remember correctly. But I know I did have the privilege of attending two Gay Games events—1990 in Vancouver, and 1994 in New York City. Two of the proudest moments of my life were marching with my team into the stadiums in those two cities in their opening and closing ceremonies.

The New York event drew 12,500 participants from 40 countries.

That games experience was very special in that my lesbian daughter was participating as well— as a member of the Connecticut women’s soccer team. 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. (aside:) the reason Lynne and I were able to march together was only because Colorado and Connecticut both start with C. Team Connecticut directly followed Team Colorado in the alphabet and in the parade of athletes. What luck!!

I say we were marching with 12,000 LGBT “athletes.” 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. “

Some of this I wrote about a few years ago in a piece called “Game, Set, Match:” I love this one particular anecdote and want to take the opportunity to repeat it here:

“Four years {after the Vancouver Games} 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 events of that day did much indeed to define our very strong and positive future mother-daughter relationship.

These amazing games have continued every four years since their inception in 1982 and I have described my participation experience in just one of the competitions, tennis. There have been and continue to be literally hundreds of such competitive exhibitions from croquet to weight lifting to volleyball and basketball to diving and water polo—all events similar to those of the Olympic Games.

There is another aspect of the extravaganza which is worthy of mention ‘though I am not as personally familiar with its activities. The Gay Games includes cultural activities as well. Many, many LGBT choruses, musicians, and performers of all kinds gather to perform for all audiences, and to share their talent and craft.

I truly believe the Gay Games has more than fulfilled the dreams of Tom Wadell and those others who were its founders. There is no doubt the games continue to bring the LGBT community together in friendship and sharing, to “elevate consciousness and self-esteem,” and “to alter outside opinions whose foundations lie in ignorance.”

Those who work to ensure the event’s future are all heroes and heroines.

Neither my daughter nor I have been to any of the games since New York, but we will both remember our experiences for the rest of our days. I was indeed privileged and I am very proud to have been a part of both the Vancouver and the New York Gay Games.

© 10 January 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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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 wellbeing. 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 grandchild.
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 Nov 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

Bicycle Memories, by Betsy

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 weekends 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 2 1/2 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 boyfriend 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.
Posted on

To Be Held, by Betsy

When I was an infant, the scientists–physicians and psychologists–who knew everything there was to know about mothering, all proclaimed that holding your baby too much was not a good thing. The consequences of this seemingly natural human behavior was, in fact, risky. Babies could grow up expecting to be held all the time. They would become dependent on being held, they would become “spoiled.” Also at the time cow’s milk or cow-milk-based formula created by humans and promoted by the forces of capitalism, was better for a human baby than human milk which was, after all, only poor mother nature’s formula for what is best for a newborn.

Years later when I became a mother the same thinking was prevalent–except for the milk ideas. There had sprung up in recent years a group of rebel mothers called Le Leche League. The group promoted breast feeding among new moms. They had a book which described the benefits of not only the milk, but also the process of delivering the milk, not the least of which was to hold your baby close while feeding him. They held the notion that there is a reason the female human body is configured as it is. That properly and naturally feeding your baby required holding him close.

I actually heard many mothers at the time say “The problem is that if you breast feed your baby, you will become completely tied down to him/her.” When I told my doctor husband this, he had the perfect answer. “Well, a mother SHOULD be tied down to her baby. That is how a baby survives and thrives.”

My oldest child did not have the benefits of breast milk for very long. The pediatrician instructed me, a very insecure novice mom, to begin supplementing the breast milk with formula after two months or so. Why? Well, baby needs more milk and it was believed baby could not get enough milk from its mother alone. I soon learned that once you start the process of bottle feeding, baby learns really fast. It’s much easier for her to suck milk from a bottle than from a breast. It flows much, much faster out of a bottle and, well, they don’t have to work so hard to get it. Then, of course, they don’t want the breast milk, demand for the rich liquid plummets, and the milk-making machine quickly becomes non-productive.

I later learned that breast milk is the best, there is plenty of it as supply usually meets with demand, and it works perfectly for about one year, longer if one wishes, and if the feeding is supplemented with a source of iron.

Actually, in a society driven by corporate profits the truth is the main problem with breast feeding is that the milk is free, so long as the mother is properly nourished and hydrated. No one is buying anything. No one benefits monetarily from that method of feeding, no one except baby and mother. No corporate profit is to be made. Baby and mother alone benefit.

It seems that to be held IS important–not just for babies but for children and adults as well. Being held promotes healing, comfort, security, well being of all kinds. It is hard to imagine how it ever came to be regarded as detrimental. Yet the notion continues in some minds.

One of the first complete sentences my oldest child ever uttered was, “I want to behold.”

Of course when we first heard this we asked, “Behold–behold what? A star in the East?

“What do you mean, ‘I want to behold?’ Oohh! You need comforting and reassurance. You want to be held,” we said realizing that our brilliant three year old was not familiar with the passive form of the verb to hold.

Holding in a loving way and being held is loving behavior. What adult does not want to hold a kitten or puppy immediately when he or she see it. I think holding each other as an expression of love is something we learn or at least become comfortable with early in life. I think we could use more of it in this troubled world of ours. I’m all for it.

© 8 October 2012

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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Getting Old, by Betsy

After pondering this subject I have to say I believe getting old when applied to the human condition is a state of mind. Of course, we attain old age simply by living and staying alive for many years. But getting old means more than that to most people. To me it implies a downward spiral to the end of our life in its current form–the only form we now know. We do talk about our clothes, electronic devises, machines, houses cliches as “getting old.” However in this case “outdated,” worn, or over used may be a better description of what is happening.

Here I want to discuss what getting old means to me and most people I know today.

Literally it means we have lived a long time, right? But implied in the phrase is the notion that we can no longer function as well as we have in the past because we are getting worn out.

Life is a journey. Getting old means getting closer to the end of the journey we know as living. But most of us do not know where or when that journey ends. If I were on a journey around the world, and I did not know where or when the journey was to end, would I not want to continue to experience every day to its fullest? It would be impossible to rush to the end, even if I wanted to, since I know not where or when the end is.

And so, until I have arrived at my final destination or can see it clearly, I will try my best to live everyday to its fullest.

I realize this is very short, but I must stop here as I am getting tired, it is time for my nap, and my arthritic fingers are screaming at me.

© August 2, 2015

About the Author

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

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Once in a Lifetime, by Betsy

There are many things I have done once in my lifetime. Which of those things has enough importance that I might want to write about it, I mused. Mistakes, I hope, are not too numerous.

Although, if they were made only once in my lifetime, at least I can say I haven’t repeated them.

I’ve had some once in a lifetime opportunities. Some of those events, adventures I have written about. Missed opportunities? Well, I guess I missed them so I don’t even know what they are.

Some important decisions are made once in a lifetime with consequences that last a lifetime.

In the category of decisions clearly THE most important with lifetime consequences was the decision to come out—that is, to come out to myself. I don’t remember actually making that choice in my head, but I’m sure that’s what took place. But trying to put my finger on exactly when that happened, I am stymied. Coming out, I realize, is not a onetime event. It is an on-going, hopefully progressive process. The once in a lifetime event was when it all came into my consciousness that I would have to make the choice to live as the person I was born to be—or not. That meant I would have to stop playing the role I had previously chosen and drastically change my lifestyle. The implications of doing this were, at the time, and I do remember the moment—the implications were quite profound and rather threatening. However the choice not to do this was no longer possible for me.

Analyzing further as to why I delayed making this choice until I had lived almost half a lifetime, it occurred to me that I never repressed my homosexual feelings. I acknowledged and accepted them from day one. I was totally conscious of my sexual feelings, and that I was attracted to those of my own sex and not those of the opposite sex. I remember every girl/woman to whom I was attracted and exactly how it felt and how it felt to want to look at, sit next to, touch, and, yes, get into bed with, and..do what lesbians do. I was very much aware of my feelings, I realize now, and I accepted them as absolutely natural. I had no guilt or feelings of revulsion. What I didn’t accept, and what I repressed for all those years was acting on those feelings.

I suppose one reason for that is that in almost every case and until I came out, the object of my desire was also unable or unwilling to reciprocate or initiate some sort of action. Had my feelings not gone unrequited, or had I been able to initiate acting on the feelings, my life may have taken a different course. That may be the number one reason I did not come out sooner.

Another reason I did not act on my feelings is that somewhere in my experience I learned that there was something taboo about expressing this oh-so-natural feeling I had. This didn’t make sense to me, but apparently held great importance—enough importance that it became my code of conduct.

Reason number three is that I also believed it might all change one day, and my feelings and attractions would somehow turn on a dime. When I met the right man, my feelings would change, and then my behavior would be in sync with my feelings.

Needless to say that change never took place even though I stayed married to the same man for 25 years. The three children were probably one reason the marriage endured.

Now that I think about it, for me at least, there’s not much that happens just once, never to have any consequences or influence or effect on future circumstances.

© 20 November 2015

About the Author

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

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The Recliner, by Betsy

I do not own a recliner. In fact I never have owned one. I do not recall ever having one in our house when I was growing up. So I cannot say I really miss having a recliner. But I cannot say I never sit in one either because I have utilized certain recliners throughout my life. At this time in my life I find myself in one twice a year on a rather consistent basis.

I have always been conscientious about taking care of my teeth. Early in life my parents made me do that. So I guess I developed a good habit then which I continued into adulthood.

As a child my visits to the dentist were frequent. Like most children I dreaded them. I regarded them as trips to the torture chamber. The day my baby teeth were all gone and my permanent teeth were in place, my dental problems began and so too my frequent visits to the torture chamber began.

I was never offered the option of fluoride to protect my teeth which teeth were above average in their propensity to decay. In the 1940’s when fluoridation of water was first introduced, it was from the start controversial. In the 1950’s and 60’s fluoridation of the public water supply was regarded by some as a communist plot to undermine the health of the people of the United States. This belief had been especially entrenched on the east coast where I lived. Consequently it was not until I was about 60 years old then I had my first fluoride treatment.

By then, however, I had had most of my molars drilled out to nubbins and filled with amalgam which lasts about 40-50 years. When I came to Colorado in1970 and had my first appointment, every new dentist I had said the same thing. “Now open please. Ohhhh, hmmmm, I see you’re from the east coast. Your teeth seem to be in good repair—mostly repair.” Well, my fillings had been there for 40-50 years and they were beginning to crumble.

Fortunately I had a wonderful dentist when I was in my 50’s and 60’s. I had a good job which provided some kind of dental insurance. My dentist said to me, “ We have to replace all your repaired teeth with crowns.” That meant almost all my molars needed crowns. It took about ten years to accomplish that. It got so that every visit to the dentist when I walked in the door the staff would announce , “Betsy’s here for another coronation!” Dr. Jones said to me once, “I only know one other person who has more crowns in her mouth than you, and that’s my wife.” Anyway those crowns are still serving me well today. I would love to have some of the glue they use to glue them on. Wow, what a glue that is—really strong and never dries out.

They say you can’t remember pain. Maybe you can’t recreate it, but I sure can remember it was painful in that early torture chamber. That was before they used novocain. And the drill was so very slow. Dr Bienville, my childhood dentist, was not my favorite person. He would hold the drill in his hand and say, “This won’t hurt.” I knew good and well it would hurt. The instant the torture devise touched my tooth the nerve would send a searing hot pain down my arm to the ends of my fingernails or leg and toenails depending on the tooth being drilled. Yes, it was torture. And it would go on for what seemed like hours.

My teenage dentist was not much better. By then we had novocain and once that was very painfully injected into my gum, I knew there was a God. Mercifully, no pain while drilling.

Getting the injection was painful, the needles were huge, but the pain of the needle didn’t endure for hours like the drilling.

Dr. Young, however, had other means of causing discomfort. He, not so young, loved young women. He was always trying to wipe his hands on my bib, right in the area of……..well you can guess. Yes, he did that. I had been warned about this by my friends, and didn’t think he would try it on me, but sure enough, he did. From then on, I took to sitting with my arms crossed over my chest when his hands were free. He got the message and probably worried that I might tell my mother.

Today I really don’t mind going to the dentist. His cute young always female assistants do all the work and they are gentle and friendly chatting away as I sit there unable to form a word in reply.

I have to say I am a bit intimidated by the exam which entails her probing the edges of my gums and announcing a number from 1-5 depending on how bad the gap between my tooth and the gum is. A quick probe and the number is announced and recorded. I dread hearing “3” as that’s a bad score for any tooth. Several fours and I know I’m in trouble. I always feel like I’m on trial when they do that exam. Will I pass, or will I get scolded for not flossing enough. Flossing, they say, is essential for healthy gums. I must say their strategy is effective. I find myself flossing all the time so I’ll get a good score. They know I like to compete even against my own gums. It works.

Over my lifetime I have not just observed—I have experienced huge strides in the practice of dentistry. A clear journey from the torture chamber to the recliner and pain free application of new techniques and preventive treatments.

I also realize I have been one of the fortunate ones. Even though my teeth were prone to decay easily, I have lived a long life with the same teeth, at least the roots. And the bad parts have been repaired and replaced so that I enjoy a healthy mouthful of efficient chewing machines. This is something for which I am very grateful. Had I not had any dental care I know I would not have any teeth—at least not my own—and along with that I would be having chronic problems with my mouth and who knows, probably problems with my overall health as lack of dental care can cause many general health problems.

So thank you, thank you to all my dentists and their cute young technicians in whose recliners in which I have been fortunate enough to lie.

© 3 February 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.