Teachers, by Phillip Hoyle

Teachers: I’ve had a lot of them. Some I recall for their
names, others for their engaging communications, still others for the lack of
impact they made on me. From grade school I recall Miss Weenes whom we second
graders called Miss Weenie, although not in class, and Mrs. Schaffer who read
“Treasure Island” to us, my first novel; there were others whose names escape
me, but I do recall the woman who taught us cursive writing in fifth grade leaving
me with a rather readable hand and the rather effeminate man who taught music
in fourth and fifth grades introducing us to Bizet’s “Carmen.” From junior high
I recall Mr. Moon who at the board always pointed with his middle finger and
who told memorable stories about science, Miss Oliver who taught Latin not only
to me but to my older sisters and to my mother, the effective algebra teacher who
also taught my mom and started geraniums in the windows of her classroom, and
Miss Costello who sent home a mustard plaster recipe when too many students got
colds. From high school I remember Mr. Martin the choir director, Mr. Snodgrass
the band director, Miss Perkins the Latin teacher and drama coach, and Mr. Unruh
the football coach and government teacher. In college, I remember Dr. Van Buren,
President Lown, Mr. Secrest, and Professor Jamie Morgan; in graduate school,
Mrs. Kiesgen and Dr. Lee; in seminary Dr. Duke, Dr. Routt, Dr. Hoehn, and Dr.
Rowell. But that’s only the beginning of the list. I also had music teachers in
piano and voice studios, art teachers at the Oklahoma Art Workshops, leaders of
numerous seminars and workshops at hotels and conference centers, and informal
mentors whose revelations and advice paved the way for a rich life of learning,
work, and enjoyment. Trying to list all my teachers indicates I learned many
things from many different instructors over a long life. I owe a lot to these
people.
Mother taught us kids to respect our teachers although she
well knew they had feet of clay. She supported them through her tireless work
in the PTA but also challenged them when their behavior overstepped their role
of teacher and nurturer of young people. So when I heard harangues from the
pulpit that some faithless people scandalously thought of Jesus as only a
teacher, I felt unsettled. Mom taught us that being a teacher was one of the
very best occupations anyone could pursue. Of course, those preachers were
defending the orthodox doctrine of the divinity of Christ. I was not concerned with
orthodoxy and thought if Jesus back then or as a spiritual presence could teach
anyone, he could be my teacher as well and earn my deepest respect. Like Mom, I
liked my teachers. Two, though, stand out as the most influential: the first
for inspiration, the second for technique.
I knew Dr. James Van Buren by reputation long before I got
to school and took his demanding class, “Survey of Biblical Literature.” After
that there were other classes in biblical studies, philosophy, theology, sociology,
and literature. Studying in a small college, I got to make a rather thorough
study of this professor who was both the hardest one to get good grades from
and the one who opened worlds of knowledge most widely. I can say confidently
that Dr. Van taught me how to run successfully on the liberal edge of
conservatism. By ‘successfully’ I mean not only getting beyond political
hurdles but also doing so while maintaining theological self-respect and
integrity. He taught me to read broadly, to think openly, and to communicate
creatively. For instance, he lectured on Christian humanism, Christian
hedonism, Christian stoicism, and Christian Epicureanism insisting that
Christian thought was not a complete philosophy in itself but a base from which
one examined and utilized perspectives of the ages. He taught humor as an
essential ingredient in the most serious communications and sex as a broadly
celebrative dynamic of life. In Dr. Van’s approach God as the creator and
approver of creation served as the starting point and essential part of a
healthy approach to life, morality, and ethics. He insisted that creative and
playful thinking stands as a necessary component in one’s life and insisted
religion should never become a wooden legal transaction or set of rigid laws.
He taught an appreciation for beauty through arts, literature, science, and everyday
interactions with fancy and plain people. Poetry, storytelling, drama, and
lively insights transformed theology into a process for living. The arts
pointed to dynamic creativity in the name of the Creator.
This overweight professor rested a little notebook on his
stomach as if it were a lectern. This enthusiastic professor lectured from the
book of Job on the dances of whales in the ocean, leaping about like one of
them himself. This insightful professor opened the way to Shakespeare, Milton, and
Whitman. This scholarly professor had been granted a DD and then earned a PhD
in English Literature, his dissertation an examination of Old Testament Apocryphal
references in John Milton’s poetry. This superlative teacher supported in me my
love for books and libraries and my proclivity toward creative thinking in
matters of education and religion. I continue to think about Dr. Van Buren’s
advice, knowledge, and approach whenever I try to solve problems or speak from
my own heart.
I knew Dr. Karen Bartman years before she was conferred a
doctoral degree in piano pedagogy. She served as the church’s music coordinator
and organist where I worked as associate minister and director of the Chancel
Choir. We made music together for several years before I studied in her piano
studio. I recall this teacher for both her pianistic and pedagogical techniques—carried
out with consistency, musical depth, and always the encouragement to keep
making beautiful music. I’ll never know if I could have learned piano technique
at an earlier age, but I did learn it in my late thirties under her tutelage.
When I approached my 40s crisis (a la Goldberg and Sheehe), I became
“angry with the gods of literature” as my friend Gerald put it and went on a yearlong
book fast. I joined Karen’s studio to learn to play piano, knowing I’d have
about three hours a day to practice, time I would not be reading books. I
remained a student in her studio for two and a half years. Since childhood I had
played—my father said banged—the piano but always with great limitation. Gerald
once said I was quite musical but had no technique. After two years of Karen’s
discipline I played a piece for my dad. He declared, “She’s a miracle worker;
you’re not pounding.” Even Gerald seemed impressed at her work and my response,
and Dr. Bartman said what she appreciated about teaching me—an adult—was that I
always played musically.
This physically fit teacher sat at the keyboard with
perfect posture and insisted I do so as well. This enthusiastic teacher with
beautifully strong hands didn’t just give me scales and arpeggios to strengthen
my hands but showed me how to execute them in ways that engaged listening,
phrasing, and trusting that my hands would know where they were on the
keyboard. This insightful teacher showed me how to ground myself at any point
in a phrase, a measure, or a beat giving life to the composition in
performance. This scholarly teacher helped me know Bach, Mozart, Brahms,
Schubert, Schumann, Chopin, Debussy, Mompou, Shostakovich, and Prokofiev in
ways I had never grasped even after extensive graduate study in musical style
analysis. This superlative teacher inspired me to practice with confidence that
I could play effectively and beautifully. Eventually I quit piano instruction
and returned to books and writing. Still, I continued to practice and put to
use my grasp of her technique when I played. From her I learned the value of
technical proficiency. Her consistent teaching encouraged me to continue to
develop as an artist and to bring artistry to bear in all my work.
In summary, Dr. Van Buren taught me to love life and the
arts, Dr. Bartman encouraged me to find consistent techniques for any creative
work I undertook. My life as a learner continues inspired and enabled by these
two great teachers. There have been plenty more teachers, loads of learning,
and lots of creative outcomes that today I celebrate along with this litany of my
teachers’ names.
© 1 Nov 2011 
About the Author 
Phillip Hoyle
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com 

Passion, by Betsy

Passion: an intense desire or enthusiasm for something.
Passion is energy, – feel the power that comes from focusing on
what excites you. – Oprah Winfrey
I have a passion for a few things:  First, for certain people; namely, my loved
ones—my partner, my children and grandchildren.
Second, I have a passion for music–not all music.  Mostly for the classical of the baroque, classical,
and romantic styles and a little contemporary. 
I am very limited in my ability to perform music.  I do like being a part of a choral group and
have been doing this for much of my life. 
But listening is stirring and inspiring. 
I use my iPod when exercising. 
Nothing like a Schubert or Brahms quartet to keep me moving and working
hard on the stationary bicycle, elliptical or rowing machine. Some music does
excite me and gives me energy. Often fellow exercisers ask me what I’m
listening to.  When I tell them, they
give me a very strange look as if to say, “Don’t you know about rock!  You poor thing.”
My greatest passion is for sports. That is doing, not
watching. I am a mediocre spectator fan—well, that’s probably an
exaggeration.   I don’t pay a lot of
attention to which teams are winning or losing. 
Occasionally I’ll watch a tennis match on TV or even a Broncos
game.  But given the opportunity I would
a thousand times prefer to play, compete, or do most any activity
involving  physical action, motion,
skill, and/or a desire for adventure.
I must mention one other passion I have.  Now in my later years, I have become aware
that I have a great respect – I think it qualifies as a passionate respect for
the truth.  Perhaps that is because I
spent a good portion of my adult life living a lie.
I have noticed that what may appear to be a person’s passion
turns out to be short lived and it is no time before the individual appears to
be passionate about something else.  This
is particularly manifested in children and young adults.  They jump from one interest to another, I
suppose, exploring different areas of interest until one of those areas becomes
their deepest passion.
As I was giving this subject further consideration, I came to
the conclusion that passion and obsession are very closely related.  I had this thought when I realized that I had
made a glaring grammatical error in last week’s writing and I actually read it
using the wrong part of speech and didn’t even notice.  The realization hit me in the middle of the
night the next night as I lay in bed. I thought, “Surely I didn’t write it that
way.”  So I jumped out of bed at 3:00Am
and checked my paper.  Yes, I had written
it that way and read it that way.  Very
upset with myself, I had to wake Gill up and tell her.  “I can’t believe I did that,” I said.  At that moment I realized I have a passion
for the correct usage of the English language and its rules of grammar.
Understand.  I DO NOT have a passion for
writing, but the use of the language definitely intrigues me. This goes back to
my high school days when my English teacher, who taught me for all 3 years of
high school English, exposed us to very little literature.  Mostly we studied grammar and a little
writing.  Most in the class thought the
grammar was rather boring, but I loved it. 
I guess I have the kind of mind which loves to analyze and that’s what
we did.  We analyzed sentences most of
the time and learned rules of grammar and word usage. So…..When does passion
become obsession?  At 3:00AM.  Ask Gill. Passion becomes obsession when one
becomes dis-eased over what she thinks she has a passion for.  (Oh, oh, there I go, ending a sentence with a
preposition.) 
© 22 April 2015 
About the Author 
Betsy has been active in the GLBT community
including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for
Change).  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.

Gay Music by Phillip Hoyle

I like my music gay! For more than one reason I am planning to spend several months hearing mainly gay music. The first reason for this insistence seems most immediate: my current health crisis that demands from me a sense of upbeat expectation of a recovery from my present difficulties and from the therapies the doctors devise. So I’ll play gay music to speed along the healing process. The second reason for this gay insistence relates to having just retired from fifteen years of giving therapeutic massages, mostly to tempos largo, lento, and adagio. Back then (it’s been over a month and a half) I wanted my massages to promote relaxation and so avoided country and western songs, rap, abstract jazz, metallica, and most rock ‘n roll. I played almost no Nashville, no Broadway. Now seems the time to quicken the pace and lighten the mood. So it’s gay music for me in the coming months.

I’m a habitual shelf reader from my many years of roaming library stacks. I’m a methodical one preferring to read from left to right, following the ascending numbers of the Dewey Decimal System. So I’m going to read the shelves of my small CD collection to select my first round of music playing for the weeks to come. Luckily I no longer have a catheter in place so I can comfortably sit on the floor to view my low-down shelves.

So it begins, shelf one. Mathias organ music. I’ll skip that. Oh Dupré. More organ music but too dour and over serious for this man in recovery. Skip, skip, skip, skip. Hmm. Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto? No, I have always found this particular recording just a bit too screechy. I don’t want to put myself on edge. Skip, skip, skip. “Songs of Atlantic Canada”? Surely this album is out of place among these classical works, but I recall how accessible the arrangements of regional folksongs are. Guess I’ll select this Cape Breton Chorale album and think of my Canadian friend Bill, who gave it to me and has for years been thoughtful and supportive. John Tavener’s “Ikons” presents glorious, creative music but … no, not now. Just not gay enough. “Lend Me Your Ear” by Double ‘O Six. That’s a possible listen with classically trained voices. Very choral though all soloists who do crazy things to Chattanooga Choo Choo, With a Little Help from My Friends, and other pop pieces. Here. “Pieces of Africa” by the Chronos Quartet. I might put that on right now and reread the get-well note from my African son Francis. Oh, an album of Charpentier’s Christmas music. Yes. Even though the composer accidently poisoned himself and his family by serving the wrong kind of mushrooms, his music evokes a delicate gaiety. Well, it’s French Baroque with a light touch. Hum. “Albinoni’s Adagios.” More Baroque, although Italian. I really like these but heard the album way too many times over the last twelve and a half years playing it for one of my long-time clients who listened only to classical music. As I mentioned, too many adagios in my recent past. Oh Dianne Bish’s “Great European Organs.” That sounds like a gay album. I clearly recall Bish’s pant suit—all gold sparkles—from when she concertized the Cassavant at East Heights United Methodist Church, Wichita. If she’d had a candelabrum she’d have seemed a twin to Liberace. How gay that would be?

Brahms. Lovely Brahms, but his “German Requiem”? They can play that for my memorial service that I hope is a long ways off. Hovhaness’ “And God Created Great Whales.” That one always picks me up, especially when the humpback whales make their first appearance. “The Choral and Vocal Arrangements of Moses Hogan.” Some of that album is somber but I’ll surely enjoy his stunning arrangement of Elijah Rock. Yes. And here, for a change of pace, Handel’s “Chandos Anthems.” I know at least a few of the anthems that can serve me for a special meditative gay moment, especially the soprano and tenor duet In the beauty of holiness with its long descending melismas spun out and interwoven by singers and orchestra. It thrills me. Brahms again; his ‘Complete Intermezzos” played by the Russian Luba Edlina. Yes. These always lift me with their lush harmonies and inventive melodies. I’ll float along with Brahms. While at it I guess I’ll hear Bach’s “Inventions and Sinfonias” played by Glenn Gould, for me always an exquisitely gay experience.

Okay, shelf two. Pop music. Hmm. Here we go. Imogene Heap’s “Speak for Yourself” will do good things for me with her always musical and creative command of synthesizers, her invention and variety. Yes. Of course Cyndy Lauper’s “The Body Acoustic” will be on my playlist. I probably will indulge in it daily, like She Bop and Girls Just Want to Have Fun. I like so many more of these pop CDs but played most of them too many times in massage. I’ll give them and me a rest! Now this one looks good, Keith Jarrett Trio’s “Up for It.” Yes. Jazz. I’m so pleased I’m doing this. And another jazz album but this one Jacques Loussier’s “Play Bach,” his jazz trio’s renditions of JS Bach pieces, an album from 1960 that I first heard in high school. I especially am ready to hear them improvise the Gigue from Partita No. 1 in B flat major, BWV 825. I’m feeling better already. Then another kind of gay music: “Whirl” from the Fred Hersch Trio. This album will surely move to gaity, both by the music and by the knowledge that all three men are gay! Oh and the three volumes of “Verve Remixed” with their most inventive remixing of jazz standards, many from my favorite singers, with hard-hitting dance beats. Certainly I’ll spin those albums for their tremendous energy. Now this should be fun, “The Original Cast Recording of Forever Plaid,” another CD from my Canadian connection of a musical we saw together, pure nostalgic fun. Sure. And how could I not select Dinah Washington’s “Finest Hour.” Any day she is okay for me. . Oh I’ll have to skip these Miles Davis pieces. Too blue for the occasion. Guess I’ll skip the whole blues section for now with probably one exception; here it is, Cyndy Lauper’s “Memphis Blues.” She thrills me with her tremendous range of feelings and styles. Jai Uttal’s “Monkey” gets in, also his “Mondo Rama” with its high school kids. I am lifted by his traditional Indian raga, jazz, and rock fusion.

I’m tired from all these decisions. So … that gives me a good playlist that ought to last for a while. I hope they’ll lift my mood, help make me clever and gay, of course. So … I’ll just skip all the R. Carlos Nakai and other Native American flute players. I heard them too many times with my client who for over ten years wanted to hear only these pieces during her massages. “No strings,” she’d say. “They make me tense up.” Besides, if I were going to play Native American pieces, I’d want war dances. That’s not very gay sounding of me although Stonewall showed that gays in pumps and frocks can go to war. I think right now I’m just angry at disease and failures in my own body. I’ll pass on the flutes and war drums.

I’ve got plenty of music to soothe me with gaiety. I’ll even listen to some of these albums with my gay partner. Suppose that will double their effect? I hope so.

© Denver, 2014 


About the Author 

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com

Passion by Betsy

Passion: an intense desire or
enthusiasm for something.
“Passion is energy, feel the  power that comes from focusing on what
excites you.” — Oprah Winfrey
I have a passion for a few things: First, for
certain people; namely, my loved ones—my partner, my children and g-children.
My second passion is for music;
namely, classical music of the baroque, classical , and romantic styles and a
little contemporary.  I am very limited
in my ability to perform music.  I do
like being a part of a choral group and have been doing this for much of my
life.  But listening is stirring and
inspiring and I usually never forget something I have heard that has touched my
soul.  I use my ipod  when exercising.  Nothing like a Schubert or Brahms quartet to
keep me moving and working hard on the stationary bicycle, elliptical or rowing
machine. I do mix in some fast-paced Abba for variety most of which I find very
energizing.  My music does excite me and
gives me energy. Often fellow exercisers ask me what I’m listening to.  When I tell them, they give me a very strange
look as if to say, “Don’t you know about rock? You poor thing.”
My greatest passion is for sports.
That is doing not watching. I am a less than mediocre spectator fan.   I don’t pay much attention to which teams
are winning or losing.  Occasionally, I’ll watch a tennis match on TV or even a football game.  But given the opportunity I would a thousand
times prefer to play, compete or do most any activity that requires physical action, motion, and either some
skill, or a desire for adventure.
My deepest passion?  I had to search my soul a bit for this.  Now in my later years, I have become aware
that I have a deep passion for the
truth.  Perhaps that is because earlier I
spent a good portion of my adult life living a lie.  After all, until I came out, that’s what I
was doing. Since we do not know the truth about most things from mundane items
that come to us through mainstream media, to metaphysical questions such as
what lies beyond this life—since we do not know the truth about these things, I
have become very conscientious about separating fact from belief.  Since this is all my brain is capable of at
this point, I leave it there.  
I would like to mention one last point
about passion in general.
As I was giving this subject further
consideration, I came to the conclusion that passion and obsession are very
closely related.  To illustrate: I DO NOT
have a passion for writing, which does not always come easily. But the use of
the English language and the application of its rules of grammar is near and
dear to my heart.  This goes back to my
high school days when my English teacher Miss Dunn who taught me for all three
years of high school English, exposed us to very little literature.  Mostly we studied grammar and a little
writing.  Most in the class thought the 3
years of grammar was rather boring, but I loved it.  I guess I have the kind of mind which loves
to analyze and that’s what we did.  We
analyzed sentences most of the time and learned rules of grammar and word
usage.  I, therefore was quite horrified
when I realized that I had made a glaring grammatical error in last week’s
writing and I actually read it using the wrong part of speech and didn’t even
notice.  The realization hit me in the
middle of the night—the night following our session here–as I lay in bed. I
thought,”Surely I didn’t write it that way.” 
So I jumped out of bed at 3:00Am and checked my paper.  Yes, I had written it that way and read it
that way.  Very upset with myself, I had
to wake Gill up and tell her.  “I can’t
believe I did that,” I said.  Later,
thinking about passion I decided I do believe I have a passion for properly
applying the  rules of  English grammar….Or is it a passion?  Some would call it an obsession.  So, where do we draw the line between passion
and obsession? I believe that passion is actually obsession when one says to
oneself, “I wish I could have let that go.” 
To put it another way.  When one
becomes dis-eased over what she THINKS she has a passion for. (Oops! Did anyone
notice that!  I just ended a sentence
with a preposition.)
© 24 Oct 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.