Tag: Betsy

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Hallowe’en Dinner by Betsy

I was only trying to be
a good mother.  Back in the 1960‘and 70’s
liver was considered to be the best, most nutritious food available.  No other food had all the goodness of beef or
calves’ liver.  That is, nutritionally it
was the best, aesthetically, well, pretty awful, in my opinion.
During that time I was
very conscientious about giving my young children the best in nutrition.  The only question about liver was how
to get them to eat it.  I,
myself, had a hard time, indeed, getting the slightest morsel down.  The texture and the taste, I thought and
still think, are rather repulsive. But a good mother feeds her children
well.   So I determined that once a year,
at least, liver would be served at the dinner table and consumed by all–even
if it were to be a very small amount.  But
how to get them to eat it.  What
was a mother to do.
Hallowe’en offered the
perfect situation.  The children
typically would do their trick or treating as soon as they had finished their
dinner.  Well, you know the rest.  “You may go trick or treating after
you have finished your liver.” 
said I to the three sweet, little, adorable faces with blinking eyes
looking at me in anticipation of the excitement of going out with their friends
for Hallowe’en fun. Ooow!! That was hard. 
Was that cruel, or what.  Oh well,
I wouldn’t make them eat much.  Even just
a couple of bites!  After all, it’s for
their own good.  That’s why I’m doing
this, isn’t it.  Isn’t that what any good
mother would do?
Interesting that when
my daughters, now old enough to be young grandmothers, recently reminded me of
these hallowe’en dinners of many years ago, I replied innocently, “I don’t
remember any of that!.  Are you sure that
really happened?  You know, I wouldn’t
touch the stuff even if I wanted to.  It’s
full of cholesterol and toxins!”
The reality is that I
do remember, now that my memory has been tweaked.  And, yes, this did happen, but I think only
once or maybe twice at most, not the many, many hallowe’en dinners that they
remember. 
At the time those liver
dinners on Hallowe’en were not so funny to any of us.  Eating liver was serious business.  Now we know better.   Now 45 years later, every Hallowe’en, we get
lots of laughs remembering the liver dinner–or was it dinners?  I get teased a lot about this.  I guess my kids grew up and came to
understand what it’s like to be a parent wanting to do the right thing for
their kids.
But as I look back on
it now, I realize I have mellowed a lot. 
I don’t think I would make my kids do that now, especially on
Hallowe’en.  Every once in a while, in
spite of the laughs, a vague, nagging feeling from deep inside emerges and
suggests that maybe that was kind of mean–making them eat liver.  But, then, didn’t someone say that Hallowe’en
has its dark side. 
© 31 Oct 2011

About the Author

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

I
love opera.  I hate opera.  I guess that means I have one of those
love/hate relationships that makes people neurotic, usually about another
person.  But in this case I am neurotic
about an art form.  And a beautiful art
form it is.  There is nothing that stirs
my emotions more intensely than a great piece of music.  A symphony, concerto, string quartet created
by one of the masters.  I don’t care what
period it is from–Rococo, Baroque, Classical, Romantic–any of it can put me
in a  listening trance.  The better I know the music, the more
stirring it is and the more it does for me. 
I
can say this about some opera, but not all opera.  I am a fan of, I  think, what is commonly considered popular
opera.  A Puccini area a la La Boheme will
bring me to tears faster than any Beethoven piano concerto or Schubert string
trio.
Unfortunately,
I don’t know the names of the arias so familiar to opera fans.  I’m really not interested in their titles,
nor do I feel any need to learn the unfamiliar words.  Suffice it to say that I love dramatic
music. 
There
is plenty to say about my hatred of opera, in spite of the love feelings.  I remember one time as a very young adult–20
something–I was in New York City and decided to take advantage of some spare
time, raise my level of cultural exposure, and attend an opera at the Met.  I was very excited about this and just knew
that the experience would increase my developing interest and appreciation of
good music.  I was learning to really
appreciate Russian music so why wouldn’t I enjoy this Mussorgsky
masterpiece.  What I didn’t know is that
Boris Gudanov is probably the longest opera ever written.  And heavy is the only word that comes to mind
when I try to recall this experience. 
The truth is I do not really remember much about it because I slept
through at least one half of it.  The
entire opera is  4 hours and 15 minutes
long not including intermission.
I realize I do not sound like much of a music
lover when I use words like heavy and boring to describe what I truly feel
about some opera–the heavy, boring kind. 
Not to mention names, but I’m thinking of the Wagner-esque type of
opera.  

And
so the development of my appreciation for opera was arrested sometime around the
age of 20 something.  But no
problem.  There are the few stirring
well-known arias that still bring me to tears.
I
must mention another point for love.  The
performers are my heroes–well, more likely my heroines.  In my dreams I am an opera singer.  In my next life I am an opera singer.  Oh, to be able to open my mouth and produce
such sound. Why do I always fall in love with these women?  Perhaps it is their bosoms.  Maybe I love them because they remind me so
much of my grandmother, an accomplished contralto, who often held me as a young
child next to her ever so soft, cuddly bosom.
There
is really nothing I can do to resolve the love/hate situation here.  Just to admit that I probably will never be
an opera-goer and stick to only those few arias I love.

© 7 June 2011

About the Author 

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

We were looking for a trip that would provide both adventure, something different, and a measure of comfort. It was in the year 2000 that our search ended when we read an article in the travel section of the Denver Post. The Shongololo: ten day train tour through South Africa. If this trip turned out to be as the article described it would be perfect. We needed a travel agent representing the South African Company to make the arrangements for us. There was such an agent in Boulder. So to Boulder we went to book our tour on the Shongololo.

The tour started in Cape Town. We decided to spend a few days exploring Cape Town on our own before the tour started. So we booked a room at the Holiday Inn in the heart of the city on Market Square.

We arrived there in mid day and, of course, we were quite exhausted from the arduous trip we had just completed, so we checked into our hotel and went directly to our room to relax and turned on the TV to check on the world news. What we saw was a gorgeous, young, black South African woman delivering the news broadcast by making clicking sounds so unfamiliar to us we laughed. For a moment in our sleep deprived state we thought perhaps we had journeyed not to another continent but to another planet. What we were hearing, we later learned, was Xhosa or the click language. Xhosa is one of the official languages of South Africa spoken by 7.5 million people. Later, on the train one of our guides was to give us a good demonstration of the language.

There our adventure did begin. We were determined to tread that narrow line between being street smart and not letting fear-mongering tie us to our hotel room or at the wildest, organized tours. We had perfect weather – not hard to find in South Africa – and walked for endless miles around the city. We rode the cable car to the top of Table Mountain on of those very rare days when the cloud “tablecloth” did not envelope it and the views from the top were superb. We set off one day to visit a museum dedicated to an old “colored” township which had been demolished during the dark days of apartheid, to make room for white folk who wanted the ocean views the area provided. In the event no further development took place, and the hillside lay barren and empty except for endless windblown garbage. Unable to find the museum, we were told that it had moved, and our informant, an old black man, provided us with two young black men who had been sitting idly on the sidewalk, to be our guides. Ever fearful of being “ugly Americans,” we accepted and set off across this endless wasteland. Betsy and I glanced at each other occasionally with looks that said,

“Are we being stupid? Should we be doing this?”

But one of the young men, who spoke reasonable English, chatted on to us about the current unemployment and other post-apartheid problems, and they seemed O.K.

Perhaps the fact that they were not very big, and we had some notion we could take them if it came to a fight, gave us fools’ courage.

Anyway, it turned out we were not fools. They led us straight to the museum and didn’t even ask for money for their time, although we did give them some before they started on their long trek back into the City. They, and that museum and the friendly people we met there, were one of the great highlights of our trip. Sometimes, when it comes to trust, you’ve just got to go with your gut!

We noticed, while on our own in Cape town, that on the street or in a park or anywhere for that matter, except in our own hotel room, we were constantly approached by South Africans with their hands out asking for–well, we imagined, money was what they wanted. We thought it prudent to NOT hand over cash. And I think we had been advised about this. If we had a little bit, probably we had more would be the message and we certainly wanted to avoid sending that message. We hated the ignoring, so we decided to buy tiny packets of dried fruit which we had noticed in some stores. We kept the packets tucked away in pockets the next time we went out and gave them out as people approached asking for………it turns out they were asking for anything we had to offer and dried fruit was like gold to some. So very grateful they were for a few morsels of fruit. This gratitude so impressed us we wanted to give baskets of fruit rather than tiny packets. But at least we were able to give some sort of response to their supplications.

The streets of Cape Town were full of activity every day. Many people walking about going from here to there, there were always those with their hands out, vendors hawking their wares, crafts, hand made jewelry, clothing, household items, etc. Particularly notable were the groups of young people–usually girls, but not always–performing groups, singing, dancing, sometime simply gyrating to the very lively, upbeat music. The singing was always well practiced, sung in perfect harmony and beautifully. They made choral singing look so easy and they did this while dancing and with no director. We often found ourselves mesmerized by such performances. Of course donations were put into the collection bowl, but talk about working hard for a pittance!

Our escapades on our own in Cape Town were the first indication of what a happy people the South Africans are. This fact impressed us throughout the trip through the country. These people whom one would expect to be full of anger and resentment, many of them struggling to survive from one day to the next, were, at least seemingly, some of the happiest people we had ever seen.

OK OK this is supposed to be about train trip. Yeah, yeah!

After a wonderful time in Cape Town we finally did board the train, and rattled off up the coast of the Indian Ocean.

Have any of you seen, on TV, the travelogue of The Blue Train, another tourist train which winds it’s way across South Africa, as it’s passengers sport dinner jackets and cocktail dresses and sip champagne in their expansive private lounges? Let me disillusion you right now.

The Shongololo ain’t no Blue Train!

Our cabin was tiny, with two very narrow folding bunks huddled on either side of a tiny wash basin, suggesting something out of the shrunken part of Gulliver’s Travels. But it was clean, as was the shower which, far from en suite, was one per each carriage of perhaps a dozen people. Out of 40 or so passengers, there were only two other Americans, who, apparently unprepared, were appalled by the accommodations. However, after the first bout of complaints they gave up, accepted their situation, and ended up being very good sports. The rest of the passengers were a mix of various Europeans, several Aussies, a few from New Zealand and Canada and some miscellaneous, or, as the Brits put it, odds and sods.

The train travels overnight while you sleep. If you’re lucky, that is, as it hurtles round bends accompanied by squealing breaks, only to shudder swiftly to slower speeds while you cling desperately to the strap provided beside your bunk. The previous night, you decide which of several van trips you choose to go on the next day. Maybe a gold mine, wildlife preserve, ostrich farm, museum, shopping, spend the day at the beach or at the winery. Never a dull moment! All the trips were fascinating. You have breakfast, and all the meals were delicious, and then they unload the vans from the flatbeds on which they ride, and off you go on your trip of choice, returning to the train in the evening for dinner and of course exchanges of van stories in the bar.

We loved every minute of it.

The entire trip took place in South Africa and all regions of that country except for one stop in a different country–Swaziland. The Kingdom of Swaziland, a sovereign nation, is an island in the sea of South Africa, completely surrounded by the larger nation with the exception of Mozambique to the East. The Shongololo made one brief stop in Swaziland. When we pulled into the station we were greeted by yet another group of singing, dancing children. These were school children, younger than those we saw in Cape Town, and had been well groomed and trained for this event and they performed with precision. They seemed to be very proud to be able to entertain us and did not expect any reward. Once we filled out the required “arrival forms,” as with all the other stops we were able to depart the train and spend a few hours in the local craft market and a glass recycling shop.

From the vantage point of The Shongololo, which means centipede in Zulu, we were able to get an excellent view of the diverse topography of South Africa. From the coastal towns like Port Elizabeth and Durban through the Drakensberg Mountains to the lush winelands and the Klein Karoo. South Africa is rich in spectacular and diverse scenery. So little time, so many places to see and so many things to do. There is not time or space here to even touch on all the varied adventures and sights offered to us on this trip. But there are two in particular that I must mention.

I do not remember exactly where the ostrich farm was, but we both chose that option on the day it was offered. I may have settled for a day of rest on the train that day had I known I would soon find myself perched upon the back of an ostrich racing around an ostrich corral. At first it was scary but turned out to be good for a lot of laughs–laughs for the spectators. I did not laugh at all until I was allowed to dismount from the bird. They can run like the wind!

Did you know ostrich eggs are strong enough to stand on without breaking. We were given the opportunity to prove it by doing just that before we left the farm.

Since I love swimming in the ocean especially in the surf, when we visited the city of Durbin I had to dig out my” bathing costume,” as they say in south Africa, and spend a day at the beach. The beach, the weather, the Indian Ocean surf–all of it was absolutely blissful. I was paddling around in the water when my bliss was interrupted by a loud, shrill, high-pitched sound very much something I had heard before–oh yes, a life guard’s whistle. When I “woke up” and looked around, I noticed that everyone was running out of the water toward the beach. The whistle kept sounding so it was abundantly clear that there was a reason for leaving the water–the sound of the whistle and the urgency with which people were leaving the water was quite startling, really. Meantime Gill had been sitting in a cafe enjoying a beer, watching the bathers when all this excitement took place. She had no more idea than I did what event had precipitated the hasty exodus so she asked the waiter who calmly explained,”Oh, someone spotted a shark. It happens a lot.” I probably will never swim in the Indian Ocean again. But if I do it will not be blissful ever again. Just scary.

We could go on and on about every single day. They were all great. Good times with wonderful friends we acquired on the trip, especially one Australian couple who came to stay with us in Denver a couple of years later, and we have a standing invitation to visit them. We were certainly the only same-sex couple on the train, but if anyone cared they kept it to themselves.

We were lucky, of course; not all the Shongololo trips went as ours did. The one right before ours was, apparently, something of a disaster. It had poured with rain the entire time, they had been unable to go on several of the scheduled trips due to flooding, and Kruger National Park was closed. The train tracks were slippery and the train derailed at one point. No-one was hurt but it caused serious disruption to the schedule. On top of all this, the British and German passengers were about to start World War Three!

On our trip, the carriages were largely set up by language and we didn’t see a whole lot of the large German contingent, I guess the company had learnt it’s lesson! Not that Brits and Germans inevitably cannot get along, but given that the vast majority of travelers on the Shongololo are our age, and so of World War Two vintage, a little friction is no surprise. We had no problems, although I have to say there was one memorable German lady who could well have precipitated a few quarrels but we were all determined to keep the peace, although the Brits all nicknamed her Hildegard the Horrible Hun.

She was a very big woman with hair dyed something near maroon. She barked tersely at everyone in strident German and strode about everywhere in a way that could only conjure up visions of shining jackboots. The train’s corridors were only one-person wide but she would advance on a group of us heading in the opposite direction, forcing a dozen people to back up so as not to impede her progress. She would also come from her own carriage to ours to use our shower, very much against the unspoken rules, as there was always a long line for the shower at the end of each van trip. But as I say, we were lucky. Everyone just joked about it and didn’t let Horrible Hildegard upset our equanimity. In fact, as we observed the German contingent shaking their heads and tut-tutting over her, she helped us all to bond!

Anyway, Hildegard the Horrible Hun turned out to be the biggest, really the only, negative of the entire trip. Not only was it the best train trip we have ever been on, but it was certainly on of the best trips of any kind of our lives. Sometimes we’re tempted to do it again, but over a lifetime we have at least garnered enough wisdom to know you can never repeat the best things; the best times. We went looking for a little adventure, something different, and we found that and a lot more.

As a postscript, I want to share a very SHORT story with you. We were camping in a fairly remote part of Utah last year, and ran into a young South African woman. We immediately, of course, strted regaling her with our Shongololo experience. She found this to be an extraordinary coincidence, as her childhood nickname had been Shongololo. It’s probably not an earth-shaking coincidence, really, but out in the middle of the Utah desert, it sure seemed that way!

© 8/25/14

About the Authors

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

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

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Revelations by Betsy

I have not had very many secrets in my life. Sure, I’ve had my share of the petty little “nothing” secrets that don’t amount to much. And sure, the secret thoughts about the people around me that I don’t like, ugly thoughts that I would be ashamed to admit to having.

As a lesbian I share the one big secret that most glbt people have grown up with. The really big secret that has taken up residence inside my soul and has no intention of leaving. The really big secret that has permeated every cell of my body. The really big secret that I can no longer live with … or without. After all, this secret is about who I am. So its disclosure was a major revelation by me, about me, and for me.

Interestingly, once I disclosed the secret to myself (that is, my conscious mind) and then those closest to me, it became easier to tell others and I became more comfortable in my new skin.

When my secret first started creeping into my consciousness, I didn’t think I would ever reveal it to anyone. After all, I myself had been resisting the revelation for most of my life. But once I obtained some information about the subject and learned a few things about it, I realized there was no reason to keep it a secret.

After myself, the first recipient of the revelation that I am homosexual was my husband. I know he was braced for some kind of revelation because our lives had been in a total upheaval anyway and I think he was simply waiting for some kind of explanation. The fact that my secret was working its way to my consciousness like a bubble floating from the depths to the surface–this fact had caused some disruption in our lives and in the lives of our children who sensed, as children often do, that there was a secret not being revealed.

The next recipient of the revelation was my oldest child, who at the time was home on a break from college. I remember the two of us walking home on a cold winter’s night in a snowstorm. It seemed relatively easy to make the revelation to her as I think back on it. I wonder if I sensed that years later she would be making the same revelation about herself to me.

I wrote about coming out to my sister in a piece called “Coping with Loved Ones.”

I timed my coming out to my sister, so that she would not be able to say a word after I made the shocking disclosure. Yes, this was how I coped with this difficult situation, ie, coming out to this loved one. We had been together for a few days and the time came for her to go home. We are at the airport at her gate. Her plane is boarding (this was before the high security days). “Last call for flight 6348 to Birmingham,” blared the public address speaker. “Oh, I do have something important to tell you, Marcy. I’m gay.” I said, as she is about to enter the jetway. “Let’s talk soon,” as I wave goodbye. I’m thinking,”Maybe she didn’t even hear me above all the noise.”

I never had to reveal my deeply-buried secret to my parents. My mother died in 1957 right after I graduated from college. At that time my secret had not yet taken the form in my conscious mind. Although I knew good and well what my feelings were I was not yet willing or able to admit to myself what those feelings meant or what they represented. Sounds pretty dumb, doesn’t? But that’s the truth. I had neither enough experience nor knowledge to understand what my feelings meant. So I never came out to my mother.

My father died in the late 1970‘s before I came out to myself. Just before the upheaval in the family took place–the upheaval that led to my revelation.

I have been out for just over 30 years now. I have become quite well practiced in making my revelation to others whether they be friends, family, or complete strangers.

It seems quite natural really. Like revealing to someone that I am, say, left – handed. (which I am not). But no different than something like that. Being gay is not necessarily mentioned unless it is relevant to the conversation. I have found, however, that when we are having a conversation with someone, we are revealing who we are, disclosing more and more about ourselves–what we think, feel, believe–ie, who we are–and who we are includes our sexual orientation. And so the revelation is often made. Happily revealing myself no longer makes me nervous, anxious, trepidatious, or break out in hives. On the contrary my journey has taken me to a place where I feel quite proud to reveal who I am. It is the hundreds of thousands of such revelations that are made every day that help to change attitudes, correct misinformation, and promote understanding and good will.

About the Author

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

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Hallowe’en Dinner by Betsy

I was only trying to be a good mother. Back in the 1960‘and 70’s liver was considered to be the best, most nutritious food available. No other food had all the goodness of beef or calves’ liver. That is, nutritionally it was the best, aesthetically, well, pretty awful, in my opinion.

During that time I was very conscientious about giving my young children the best in nutrition. The only question about liver was how to get them to eat it. I, myself, had a hard time, indeed, getting the slightest morsel down. The texture and the taste, I thought and still think, are rather repulsive. But a good mother feeds her children well. So I determined that once a year, at least, liver would be served at the dinner table and consumed by all–even if it were to be a very small amount. But how to get them to eat it. What was a mother to do.

Hallowe’en offered the perfect situation. The children typically would do their trick or treating as soon as they had finished their dinner. Well, you know the rest. “You may go trick or treating after you have finished your liver,” said I to the three sweet, little, adorable faces with blinking eyes looking at me in anticipation of the excitement of going out with their friends for Hallowe’en fun. Ooow!! That was hard. Was that cruel, or what. Oh well, I wouldn’t make them eat much. Even just a couple of bites! After all, it’s for their own good. That’s why I’m doing this, isn’t it. Isn’t that what any good mother would do?

Interesting that when my daughters, now old enough to be young grandmothers, recently reminded me of these Hallowe’en dinners of many years ago, I replied innocently, “I don’t remember any of that!. Are you sure that really happened? You know, I wouldn’t touch the stuff even if I wanted to. It’s full of cholesterol and toxins!”

The reality is that I do remember, now that my memory has been tweaked. And, yes, this did happen, but I think only once or maybe twice at most, not the many, many hallowe’en dinners that they remember. 
At the time those liver dinners on Hallowe’en were not so funny to any of us. Eating liver was serious business. Now we know better. Now 45 years later, every Hallowe’en, we get lots of laughs remembering the liver dinner–or was it dinners? I get teased a lot about this. I guess my kids grew up and came to understand what it’s like to be a parent wanting to do the right thing for their kids. 
But as I look back on it now, I realize I have mellowed a lot. I don’t think I would make my kids do that now, especially on Hallowe’en. Every once in a while, in spite of the laughs, a vague, nagging feeling from deep inside emerges and suggests that maybe that was kind of mean–making them eat liver. But, then, didn’t someone say that Hallowe’en has its dark side.

© 31 Oct 2011 

About the Author 

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

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Parental Warnings by Betsy

I’m sure my mother was thrilled when she saw that her second born was a girl. Her first was a boy and now this would round out the family perfectly.

However there was a down side for my mother to having a girl child. I think the warnings started about the time in life when a baby starts understanding verbal language. When is that? About age three months, I believe.

“Girls are vulnerable, boys are not.” This was my mother’s ever-present unspoken thought.

Growing up I never felt very vulnerable. Tomboys never do. Tomboys see themselves as strong and adventuresome, not puny and vulnerable. And why in the world was my brother always allowed to do adventuresome things that I never was allowed to do?

“You’re a girl and that’s life,” was the simple answer to that question.

She never actually said the words, but the next warnings came through loud and clear starting around my fifteenth or sixteenth year of life.

“It happens.” Or, “A girl can easily lose control.” Or, “A girl can easily be swept off her feet.” Or, “A little smooching can lead to more intimate contact and before you know it, it happens.” Or, A boy will take advantage if he is given the slightest chance.” Or, “Boys are driven more than girls.”

So the message “Until you are married do not get pregnant” or rather, “Until you are married don’t do anything that would get you pregnant,” came through loud and clear until–well, until my mother became too ill to worry about it any more.

My mother never knew that I was homosexual. She died before I myself acknowledged my sexual orientation. Little did she know that there was virtually no chance that I would lose control while smooching with a boy. After all, I was barely interested in any smooching at all. I wanted to go to the dances, be with friends, etc. But being alone with my boyfriend really did not appeal to me at all. This was something to be avoided.

Spending the night with my girl friend was what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, my girl friends were not inclined as I was and so sexual activity was off limits, even the thought of it was taboo. I never allowed myself such thoughts.

I wonder what my mother’s warning would have been if she then knew what I know today. I can only imagine: “You will end up a lonely woman without a husband and a family. Even if you have a partner, you will never be fulfilled. Who will protect you? Who will take care of you?

It must have been hard enough for my mother to accept that her daughter was somewhat of a tomboy. But to her credit I never, ever got the message from her that I was not valued just as I was, or that I should be more feminine or different in any way from what I was. In the end that positive message was much stronger than her warnings. I was loved and valued just as I was.

© 5 July 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). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Do I Have Your Trust? by Betsy

The
internet is such a great source of instant information.  Put in a search word and in a nano-second you
have more information than you ever needed. 
Often more information than you know what to do with. Sifting through it
can be daunting.  Can you trust that the
information is true?  To separate the
reliable from the suspicious, I apply this criterion:  what or who is the source and are they trying
to sell me something or promote a product or service.  If the answer is “yes” I toss it out as
untrustworthy.   The motive for putting
the information out there is to get me to buy something, not to disseminate
information that could be helpful or to help get to the truth, or to advance
someone’s knowledge.  To report and
promote the truth simply for the sake of truth itself is a noble cause.  Most people, organizations, and corporations
have ulterior motives for promoting their “truth.”   If this is the case when I am searching the
internet I cannot trust the information I am reading.
We
are all familiar with some of the books promoting certain diets–often promoted
as cure-alls for whatever ails you.  For
example the vegan diet will keep your heart healthy well into old-age.  It can actually reverse heart disease claim
its authors.  The Paleo diet of meat and
vegetables, no grains, no starch will keep you from ever getting any disease at
all.  I truly believe the authors of
these books are sincere and I know they are scientific in their research and
presentations of the facts they have determined to be true.  But I also know they cannot all be touting
the truth. The research they have done and they will continue to do is going to
be exclusively designed to support their truth, not destroy it.
I
cannot say enough on the subject of the media and its lack of
trustworthiness.  Many mainstream TV
programs claim to be reporting the news. 
But some are actually making political comments at the expense of the
truth.  The truth all too often never
gets out until it is too late.  Even if
the true story is reported, we still must be very suspicious as to whether or
not it is accurate.
Consider
the now known fact that the Iraq war was based on a lie.  The people and the news media were told that
Saddam Hussein had wmd’s.  We had proof.  Our government reported this information
unequivocally knowing that it was not true and the media passed it on.  Yes, the media did report the lie
accurately.  And then later reported
accurately that it all was a lie, but some effective investigative reporting
might have been very useful in the beginning.   
So
how do we know what to believe or not believe? 
People often select one belief over another because they want to believe
it.  This turns out to be simply a case
of self-deception.  Try changing the mind
of a person who has deceived himself into believing what he wants to
believe.  I personally know very few
people who behave this way.  I suppose
that’s because I prefer to hang with people who value the truth and the ability
to think things through.
Do
you have my trust?  Yes, you do.  I think there is a very high degree of trust
in this room.  When we share our weekly
stories, I believe we are all being as truthful as possible.  In some cases we have to dig deep inside to
put some of our truths on paper or into words.  
The level of trust among us is truly a Monday afternoon gift and at
least for me makes it a whole lot easier to do the digging.
© 16 Sep 2013

About the Author 


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

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Right Now by Betsy

If there is nothing else that I have learned over the years, I have learned this: be present and focus on the moment, the RIGHT NOW, because it really is all there is. It is all that we have in reality. The past is made up of memories, and memories are, after all, a product of one’s mind. As for the future: it is unknown and thoughts of the future are also a product of the mind.

We have a whole lot of ”right nows” happening all the time in succession. By the time I read this, what I am doing right now will be a memory; that is, a vision I create in my mind.

Right now is the most important time of my life. When I contemplate this I realize that right now IS all that is real. So why not make the most of it.

In a recent Monday afternoon story called My Favorite Place I wrote: my favorite place is wherever I am at the moment. Right now my favorite place is here, trying to sort out my thoughts and put them down on paper so you all can get some understanding of what I am trying to say.

Have you ever been in a place where you wanted desperately to capture the moment and make it last forever, such as a place of indescribable beauty and awe such as the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls. Today’s cameras help to do that and make it possible to take home a reminder of that place. But what I cannot take home with me is how it FELT to experience the incredible beauty of the canyon and that awesome power of the falls. The memory is not the same as the experience itself. EkhartTolle speaks of being at one with the universe. Surrounded by incredible natural beauty and power and really taking in the feeling and the peace that it engenders is perhaps the closest I will ever be in my current human form to that connection. This can only happen in the right now.

How many of us have ever completely tormented ourselves over something that happened in the past–a few minutes ago or long ago. Or something bad happens a few minutes ago or long ago and we cannot let go of it. We go over and over and over it in our minds. Both past and future are constructs of the mind, says Tolle. Only the now is real. I like the concept. But yet being human I am flawed. My fragile ego was injured, for example, when I was inadvertently left off a groups’ luncheon e-mail list. A group of which I am a long time member. Did someone deliberately forget me. So I started in with the tapes going round and round in my head. “Why was I ignored? Who did it? Does someone hate me? Why does she hate me? Oh! For Heaven’s sake, Betsy, let it go. It was a simple mistake.” Focusing on the right now has helped me to better manage my vulnerability in such situations. Keeps me grounded in reality.

We all have known people who “live” in the past or “live”” in the future. I can understand how a person could fall into this behavior. When I retired from my job, for an instant I panicked. “ Who will I be? Maybe I will no longer have an identity. I’ll be a nothing,” etc. etc. Fortunately that thought was only fleeting. I immediately shifted gears, found other activities and interests, and established a new identity as an active retired person–a sports enthusiast, a community volunteer, etc. So for me, adjustment to retirement took only a week or so.

Coming out of the closet I had many moments of doubt about what I was doing at the time. I had left a very comfortable marriage and entered a world of insecurities and unfamiliar territory. I had never really lived alone. At the time it was not easy to find, much less join, a community of which I knew little; and on occasion finding members of that community with whom I could hardly relate. This produced moments of anxiety when I longed for my old familiar, comfortable situation I had left–my old, familiar past. But right now, I then said to myself, I know that past was intolerable and that is why I am doing this. I struggled but coached myself to stay grounded in the present.

During the months and years when I was in that marriage but starting to question whether I should be there, I started living in the future. Talk about having your head in the clouds–imagining what it would be like to be in a relationship with a woman and envisioning life as a lesbian. It seems clear that we all need to plan and to dream at times in our lives. But living one’s life and identifying with the future all the time can be dangerous. Would it not be terrifying to wake up one day and realize you’ve missed out on all the right nows and there are none left.

We do get ourselves into trouble, and we do ourselves a disservice when we anticipate not only that a certain something will happen in the future, but also we envision how we will feel about it. We may be setting ourselves up for disappointment or disillusionment.

When I first came out I had much to learn about life and about people. And that is not because I was young. Well, compared to now I was young. But I was not a youngster. I was in my late forties. Yet I had lots to learn. So I experienced a couple of stormy years and stormy relationships and had many moments of doubt about the steps I had taken to change my life. Yes, I was a lesbian, but was this the life I wanted? At first I had many moments of disillusionment with my new life.

The future is not right now. What we think about the future is a contrivance of our thinking mind and not a reality. Does the future therefore deserve any of our energy in the form of anxiety, concern, worry, trepidation. Or on the positive side does it deserve premature visions of happiness, joy, calm, peace, etc. I do believe it does to some extent. Half the fun of a trip, or a party is the planning of it, right? For me it is. And planning for the future is a necessity, no doubt about it. But planning is a useful action done, when? In the right now. What does not deserve our time and energy is wasted worry and anxiety about the future.

In my dotage I am learning that life requires adjustments, sometimes just fine tuning, other times big changes all along the way. I have recently learned that I am having to cut back on many activities that I don’t want to cut back on. Some fine tuning is necessary. If I stick to the right nows, I should be able to make that adjustment easily and positively. I’m finding that being and staying in the right now helps me to do that. No doubt about it. The NOW is a good place to be.
So, what am I doing right now? I am getting ready for another right now.

December 16, 2013

About the Author

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

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The Accident by Betsy

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

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

2

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

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

3

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

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


© 13 July 2013

About the Author



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

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Hmmm, Strange by Betsy

I have an in-law, a cousin, who, himself is not so strange, rather his world of knowledge and know-how seems strange to one who does not study physics. Bill, and his wife Marion, my cousin, are a couple of those spoon benders you may have heard about. Because of his knowledge and belief in the world of quantum physics, and, shall we say some sort of a heightened awareness, Bill and his associates are able to bend heavy spoons with their bare hands, no tools. They twist the handles into cork screw shape using nothing but 10 frail digits and the power of their minds.

Now, you may be saying, “Well, it’s some sort of trick, perhaps a visual trick.”

Trust me, it’s not a trick. Gill and I witnesses the feat with our own eyes.

My cousin gave us the spoon as a souvenir, or as a reminder of the power of the mind. The twisted spoon was carefully laid away amongst our most prized possessions, but somehow is not making its presence known when we most would like to put our hands on it. Perhaps we hid it too well or the magic continues and it has vaporized into a billion particles, but the tortured tool is not to be found in the house. Hmmm, strange.

Bill did the spoon bending as a demonstration of a concept of quantum physics. The fact that it works, perhaps is the result of synchronicity. The phenomenon is based on the theory of quantum mechanics which explains the synchronization of the vibrations of the particles that make up energy with matter. Now apparently, if you can synchronize these things, you too can be a spoon-bender. Hmmm, strange.

String theory is another subject on the agenda of these scientists. String theory has to do with particle theory. I do not speak the language of physics and do not have the concepts and therefore can neither understand nor attempt to communicate what any of it is about. Only that it has to do with the make-up of subatomic particles–the make-up of all matter. The recent discovery of the so-called God Particle has brought much of this to light recently. Even the popular explanations are mind-boggling, I find.

Subatomic particles leave me cold. I cannot see them bouncing around when I look at something and, therefore, am not terribly interested in them.

The theories of quantum physics are to an unsophisticated mind such as mine are, well, strange. Take for example the concept that time is not moving. According to some physicists the idea that the past is gone, the present is here now, and the future is yet to come is but an illusion to us earthly creatures. All of time, all that ever was and all that ever will be is actually present now.

We’ve all heard the advise given that we should live in the NOW, not worry about the future or live with regret for the past. The idea that the Now consists of the past and the future as well as the present moment in time, that the flow of time is an illusion, I find, presents problems when trying to apply this simple advise, live in the now.

All I can do is continue to try to live in my illusionary world and try to focus on what appears to me to be the NOW, hopefully learn from the past, and look forward to the future, but mind you, stay focused on the NOW– and right at this particular NOW I can’t stop scratching my head when I think of my cousin and all those twisted spoons. Hmmm, strange.

© July, 2014

About the Author

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