Tag: Personal essay

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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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Military and Law Enforcement, by Ricky

I once served as a Deputy Sheriff in Pima County (Tucson) Arizona for just short of 4 years. At one time Pima County extended all the way south to the Mexican border during the time that Wyatt Earp was a lawman in that part of the county. So he and I were both deputies in Pima County. I resigned returning to college and pursuing a BS degree in Law Enforcement but the school, BYU, changed the focus of the course so I graduated with a BS in Justice Administration. During my time in Tucson, I was stationed 24 miles north in the Marana Substation and also served about 9-months in the vehicle maintenance section coordinating vehicle repairs and routine maintenance.

In those years I went to 3 fatal traffic accidents; apprehended two armed robbers—recovering $10,000 in stolen money from a drug rip-off; convinced a local “runaway” to return home voluntarily; recovered one stolen car driven by 5 escapees from a Texas Sheriff’s youth farm/ranch—the oldest being only 12; detained for ICE numerous undocumented aliens; eliminated one very potential neighborhood “feud” between a 12 yr old boy and an out of patience new neighbor; arrested 4 California men who came to Tucson to buy bricks of marijuana and who had an illegal sawed off shotgun; tracked burglars through the dessert; became a scoutmaster for the church troop; wrote over 200 traffic tickets; arrested 30 drunk drivers—one of which was a priest (I later learned the local “retreat” was one where the church sent its pedophile priests for rehab); did not arrest one drunk driver because he was only 20 feet from his driveway; got propositioned by a waitress; got propositioned by the CIA; recovered a stolen purse at a high school football game—referring one 6th grade repentant boy to his father and one unrepentant boy to the system via a “paper referral” and released him to his father; was the only lawman in 500 square miles during midnight shifts; in an act of revenge, I collected enough “dirt” on one of my supervisors that he was transferred back to Tucson and decided to resign instead—2-years short of retirement; and saving the best for last, I got married. Working in Marana was exactly like being a Wild West deputy except I drove a car instead of riding a horse. I loved the work.

When I resigned to return to college, I was in the process of collecting signatures to run for the local Justice of the Peace. Although I had more than enough signatures, when BYU called and said there was an opening in married student housing, Deborah and I decided to return so I could finish my degree. She had to quit her medical technologist position so we could go. Shortly after arriving and starting classes, I remembered why I really didn’t like school. I also joined Air Force ROTC so ended up on active duty once again when I graduated.

My first assignment as an officer was to the security police squadron at Malmstrom AFB, Montana as a Shift Commander for the on-base law enforcement and base security flights. The base security flight primarily guarded the nuclear weapons storage area. I spent two-years in that position and then was assigned as a Flight Security Officer for the flights providing security response in the off-base missile field. My flight and I would be away from the base for 3 ½ days at a time. I participated in a few incidents but the one experience I really want to tell you all about occurred after I arrived at my next base in Jacksonville, Arkansas circa 1984.

Little Rock AFB was home to a missile wing supporting the liquid fueled Titan II ICBM. In September 1980 prior to my arrival (1983), one nuclear tipped missile exploded in its silo. This is the story of what happened before, during, and after the incident. This information is not classified so I won’t have to kill any of you after you’re done reading it.

Whenever a nuclear warhead is present, Air Force regulations require that at least two people must be present in such proximity to each other that each can monitor the actions of the other—absolutely no exceptions or violations are tolerated. The Titan II is a two-stage rocket. In order to save weight, parts of the very thin outer skin of the rocket are actually part of the fuel tanks. The fuel is of two types—an oxidizer and the fuel. Both are hypergolic, meaning that when the two chemicals touch, they instantly ignite. The fuel and oxidizer tanks are so thin that the rocket will collapse in upon itself if the liquid fuels are removed improperly as the fuel keeps the tanks from being able to collapse. The skin is so thin that hand-held maintenance tools to be used on the missile or its components have lanyards permanently attached to prevent the tool (sockets, wrenches, etc.) from falling between the rocket and the maintenance platforms surrounding it and puncturing the skin.

So one day all the counts, accounts, no accounts, and recounts (oh wait that’s different story). One fateful day, two maintenance technicians were in the silo performing maintenance on a component internal to the missile. One of the men needed a tool that he forgot to bring down with him. He knew that a tool box (with tools to be used elsewhere in the underground launch complex outside of the silo) was located in the tunnel towards the launch control capsule. These tools did not have lanyards attached. Being stupid, careless, or just plain lazy, he left his partner alone with the missile (major violation #1 and also stupid decision #1) and went to get the unauthorized tool rather than having them both go topside and return with the authorized tool (stupid decision #2).

The tool needed was a socket for a socket wrench. While using the socket, it slipped off the wrench and because it did not have a lanyard, the socket fell between the missile and the maintenance platform around the missile (Murphy’s Law in action). Can you guess what happened right after the “Oh shit” expletive? You guessed it. The socket fell three or more levels gaining momentum before hitting the edge of a platform below and bouncing into the side of the missile puncturing a fuel tank. Instantly, red fuming nitric oxide began to leak setting off the chemical vapor sensors which triggered the alarm. The launch crew ordered the silo evacuated and notified the base of the problem (good decision #1).

The deputy wing commander responded with the emergency response teams. Upon arrival, two environmentally suited fuel personnel went down to the silo to inspect the damage. Upon their report the base contacted the Martin-Murrieta company (the builder of the Titan II) to get their input. After a short period of time, Martin-Murrieta replied: 1st you can’t do anything to stop the leak; and 2nd the missile will explode in approximately 8 ½ hours your local time today. Periodically, the two fuel personnel were sent down to check on the progress of the leak (dangerous or even stupid decision #3). (No civilian or even some military members routinely accuse local commanders of using their brains. Yes, I am biased.) At one time, they even ordered the 740-ton silo cover door be opened so that the explosion would not be contained within the silo. Instantly the highly toxic red vapor left the silo and a large red “cloud” began to drift towards highly populated centers, so the cover was closed (good decision #2).

An order was given to send one man back down to check on the missile (the launch capsule had been evacuated by this time) (major violation #2 & stupid decision #3).

As the 8 ½ hour time limit approached, two environmentally suited personnel were ordered down to check on the missile (stupid decision #4 and also fatal). As the expected explosion time arrived, the two suited personnel were on their way back. The first one had cleared the stairwell coming up completely above ground. The second one was still half underground when the missile exploded. The first man was blown across the complex into the chain link fence where the fence fabric cushioned his impact. The second man was “cut in half” at the waist by the force of the blast. The debris from the incident was stored in an above ground maintenance shed at one of the remaining missile complex sites. I had the pass-key and I actually saw the remaining parts of the destroyed missile and the bloody environmental suit of the airman who died.

Here is the sequence of events at the time of the explosion. The fuel finally leaked out enough that the missile began to collapse. As it collapsed the other 1st stage fuel tank ruptured, the two chemicals touched and instantly exploded; the pressure lifted the 740-ton silo cover door off its foundation rails; the blast spread out circular injuring the two airman; that blast caused the 2nd stage fuel tanks to rupture and they also added to the explosion which accomplished five things; 1st the 740-ton door was lifted quite high; 2nd the nuclear warhead was blasted like a bullet into the bottom of the 740-ton door breaking it into two pieces one being 1/3rd the size of the original; 3rd the larger piece flew about 30 yards and then flattened the Air Force pickup truck that the deputy wing or base commander had been sitting in just 30-seconds earlier; 4th the smaller piece landed about 100 yards away; and 5th the warhead was nowhere to be found (major violation #3—a lost and unguarded nuclear bomb—heads will roll).

The rest of the night, military radio traffic was filled with the euphemisms “has it been found” and “where is it”. The bomb was found the following morning during daylight hours. One of the perimeter security guards was actually sitting on it all night. He never reported finding it because he didn’t know what it was.

EPILOG

1. All security police personnel were shown a dummy warhead during their initial orientation upon arrival at the base (it looks like a large milk can of the type used on family dairy farms);

2. The two environmentally suited airmen were given medals (one posthumously);

3. The surviving suited airman was given a Letter of Reprimand because he was the one who went down alone to check on the missile even though he was following orders—he was supposed to refuse to obey as it was an illegal order; and

4. Nuclear bombs are designed to be “three-point safe”. This means that they will not yield a nuclear explosion if burned, receive a high impact, or hit by a stray electrical charge. The design could never be thoroughly tested. Anecdote: When the person who created the three-point safe design was told that the bomb was found with a large dent (from impacting the 740-ton door) having survived the explosion, he was heard to say, “I TOLD them it would work!”

5. In 1984, I became the project officer for the installation, planning the procedures for use, and personnel training for a DES confidential real-time usage encrypted radio system.

I know this is the true story because I read parts of the official investigation report and reviewed the numerous photographs. One photograph sticks in my mind. It is an overhead shot of the silo taken via helicopter. The silo opening is dead center and surrounding it are compression circles. It strongly reminds me of a dart board or even a target.

Do any of you remember hearing or reading about this event? I was in the Air Force as a Missile Security Officer in 1980 stationed in Montana; I never heard of it.

For other versions of the explosion go to:

http://encyclopediaofarkansas.net/encyclopedia/entry-detail.aspx?entryID=2543

http://www.techbastard.com/missile/titan2/littlerockaccident2.php

http://www.techbastard.com/missile/titan2/littlerockaccident.php

The public versions are different than the official investigative report I read. (Nothing new about that is there?)

What did a Titan Launch Complex look like? Go to:

http://www.strategic-air-

© 31 Mar 2012
command.com/missiles/Titan/Titan_II_missile_complex.htm

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Birthdays, by Ray S

Forgive me because I have used this opening before. Atlanta is burning, panic prevails, and to add to this mix Scarlett O’Hara and her Black slave are driving the wagon hell-bent for election to somewhere that she can deliver her baby girl. And this is the punch line hysterically delivered by Butterfly McQueen: “I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout birthin’ no baby, Miss Scarlett!” Where was Rhett when he was needed?

The one important thing all of us everywhere have in common is our very first birthday. After that first spanking life’s up for grabs.

Some of us have been blessed with so many birthday parties that we can’t distinguish one from another. Sure, if you really think hard, there were special times in a specific year, but if you have survived eighty or so, you can’t remember. Then there is always dementia waiting to creep into one of your parties. Good luck.

On a joyful note: on the occasion of my 91st birthday I was reminded by the receipt of so many congratulatory greetings that my world still loved me and wished me well in hanging on ‘til number 92 crept up. The week featured a lunch or dinner to the point that I was relieved when I had one free night at home.

Be reminded: “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Birthdays—at least mine—give so much love and to give back so very much love.

Sometimes certain birthdays provoke regrets. A love life gone away, a death in your immediate or extended family, or you wonder why you had to wait so very long to discover who you really are and what to do with this newfound knowledge. The latter can become a really happy birthday gift. This is the ever-present specter, ageing, and its complications. Sometimes it seems to be really difficult to reach that ‘happy ending.’

Meantime there is one thing we could do upon meeting another birthday—yours or mine. Reach out and embrace each other. It is the best present we can give each other. Time’s a wasting!

© 14 November 2016

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Ten Good Things about Being Gay, by Lewis Thompson

1. Not being straight (roads are always more fun when curved).

2. Not needing help to put an outfit together.

3. Being able to enjoy “chic flicks” even when not a chic.

4. Having friends of the other gender without all the bullshit that goes with romance.

5. Never having to shop for fishing gear.

6. Being able to mix with both genders at parties.

7. Never being chastised for not putting the toilet seat down.

8. Being able to trade clothes with my lover.

9. Feeling special without doing anything special.

10. Coming to Storytellers every Monday.

© 27 Jun 2016

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.

Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Believing with Hair, by Ricky

Is there any harm in believing in a higher power whether or not labeled as: Allah, God, Wotan, Zeus, Jove, Deity, Great Spirit, Supreme Being, El, Elohim, Ehyeh, Elah, El Shaddah, Elyon, YHWH, I Am, Yahweh, Adonai, Halakha, Jehovah, HaShem, Ihuh, Ho Theos, Ho Kurios, Jesus Christ, Hæland, Heiland, Alpha and Omega, The Light, King of Kings, Lord of Hosts, Ancient of Days, Father/Abba, God the Father, Heavenly Father, Father in Heaven, Nkosi, Jah Rastafari, Olodumare, Khoda, Ar-Rahman, Bahá, Dieu, and Dios? (Refer to: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Names_of_God for additional names.) How could there be harm in believing in such? If there is no higher power, then when we die there will be nothing more. If there is a higher power, then when we die we will continue in one form or another independent of one’s beliefs. If believing in a higher power gives one comfort or motivation to become a better person, then believe. One’s belief won’t interfere with another’s non-belief.

Believing in a higher power allows all of the world’s human societies and cultures to live according to respective sets of behavior that are beneficial to survival and cooperative peaceful coexistence. It allows us all to get along with each other peacefully, if we so choose. Without a higher power to provide absolutely correct principles of behavior, we would be living in an environment of “every human for himself”, the so called law-of-the-jungle. (Oh wait. That is nearly how we live now. Why is that?)

Where harm succeeds in inserting itself into the world of human behavior, it is not caused by a higher power, but the result of humans inserting personal thoughts, analysis, prejudices, desires, and self-righteous noses into other humans’ pursuit of happiness. Just because persons of great wealth, like Mr. Trump and the Koch brothers, have or control all the gold, does not give them the right to make rules for everyone else to obey. They are not the higher power and have no right to redefine the Golden Rule to suit themselves.

While a belief in a higher power was used to manipulate groups of humans to commit massive amounts of violence against others in the past, which continues to this day, the belief in a beneficent higher power is also used to organize humans to create abundant beauty and to lead peaceful and productive lives. I believe in doing and being good. I hope to continue until I move on to another “plane of existence.”

I also believe in the commercial properties of hare. The fur of a hare can be made into a covering for the hairless. This ends the topic of hare as any ideas I come up with just keep hopping out of my mind and off the printed page.

© 25 January 2016

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Rejoice, by Pat Gourley

“Privilege is when you think something is not a problem because it’s not a problem for you.” 

Margaret Sala, Twitter – May 7th, 2016

Definitions of rejoice include showing great joy or delight. For me personally this is something I find impossible following the results of the presidential election on November 8th. I refuse to look for any silver lining and do not accept Donald Trump as my president. To accept the fact that he is now the country’s leader and that this requires support with an effort to get behind him for the greater good would mean to me at least a passive acceptance of all that is so odious about him.

It is no consolation to me that he may very well not have any firm beliefs or policy formulations around anything that he is not capable flipping and flopping on. He is definitely dragging into positions of power lots of folks who are very sure of their beliefs: misogyny, racism, xenophobia and homophobia. I also fear the influence and power of Mike Pence maybe more so that Trump. Trump is a showman and con artist, Pence a zealot.

Though I do not rule out street activism on my part, those days are mostly decades gone by. I am thinking about how best to engage in active resistance to this pestilence. Compromise only congers up the great Jim Hightower and his observation that the middle of the road is only for yellow stripes and dead armadillos.

Now nearly two weeks out from the catastrophe of November 8th I am still waking up thinking maybe this was all a bad dream and then it hits me that it wasn’t and the miasma sets in again. One of my greatest fears is that something untoward might happen to Trump or more likely that he will resign for some trumped up reason or the other before his first term ends. Lets face it the actuarial tables for a 70 year old, overweight, habitual steak eater are not really very good. Those have got to be some gummed up president-elect coronary arteries.

With Trump out of the picture though Mike Pence becomes president and it might then really be time for all women of reproductive age and queers of all stripes to head north for the Canadian border. Despite the disheartening estimate that about 14% of LGBTQ voters actually voted for Trump we may though be the one minority with a unique opportunity to stay in the country and resist.

Over the past 40 years we queer folk have become quite uppity and unlike many other minorities, especially religious and racial, we truly are everywhere. Even if we don’t live in large numbers in rural rust belt settings we still might have biological family there and the coming out process has and will continue to usually have positive impact on the hetero family members left behind. Having lived for years in Manhattan perhaps Trump has realized the power of the queer community and that is why he was interestingly silent on trashing us during his campaign. That analysis though certainly begs the question when you look at his selection of the likes of Bannon, Pence and Sessions.

So I am actually emerging somewhat from the funk and looking about as to how I can productively resist. A free press remains vital. I am donating again with a bit more this year to Democracy Now and I hope to have enough at the end of the year to send a few coins to Paul Jay and The Real News based out of Baltimore. And of course a donation to Planned Parenthood in Mike Pence’s name. That gets him a note from Planned Parenthood thanking him for his support.

And finally, though I am sure many other ways to be a resistance fighter will appear, I am renewing my personal commitment to a vegan way of eating, something that has proven very difficult for me to stick with in the past. The biggest blow to the planet and the survival of much of sentient life in the not so long run may come from Trump’s denial of climate change and the carbon binging hordes he is going to unleash. I will encourage other friends to take a look at the meatless option as a great personal action that does more to decrease one’s carbon footprint than any other action – we really don’t need to be eating one million chickens an hour in this country – really a million an hour.

Please take the time to watch this You Tube video by Neil Barnard my longtime diet guru: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLqINF26LSA

And I hope to see you all at the barricades chowing down on a veggie-burrito or at least on occasion in the fruit and vegetable aisle of any grocery store.

November 2016

About the Author

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Not the Apocalypse, by Louis Brown

Why Donald Trump getting elected POTUS is not the Apocalypse or End of Days, as so many liberals claim:

(1) Most Democratic politicians and rank and file Dems. are “devastated” by DT’s victory. I’m not.

(2) When I could not vote for Bernie Sanders, I chose Jill Stein. But even she is overreacting in her revulsion for DT.

(3) DT claimed, for example, he is going to impose tariffs on products, especially on automobiles that are imported here from foreign countries especially when those products could/should have been produced here. Buy American!

(4) The allegedly pro-Labor Democrats claim that protectionism is in the long run counterproductive because it impedes free trade. Well, yes, when so-called free trade make companies profitable, which it does do, 99.9% of the profits, however, go to the upper 1/10 of 1% of the population. The American working class gets unemployed and impoverished on a massive scale.

(5) Also, DT has hinted that he is going to adopt Rand Paul’s isolationist foreign policy. If he does, that means peace for a change. All we are saying is give peace a chance. What is the actual difference between left-wing pacifism and rightwing isolationism anyway?

(6) DT said he will do business with Bernie Sanders when the time comes.

(7) Most everyone has noticed that Hillary Clinton goes to war at the drop of a hat while Barack Obama has fallen head over heel in love with perpetual war in Afghanistan. The American people do not want this war at least not forever. If HC got into office again, it would have meant more and bigger wars and endless hostile trade deals.

(8) In other words, DT is promising (at least) important concessions to the real liberal left. We should be gratified not “devastated.”

(9) Over my life time, I have been told that protectionism and isolationism are unworkable and extremely destructive in the long run. Considering everything, this is exactly what we desperately need right now.

(10) Did you notice that Hillary Clinton’s campaign attracted the approval and support of three undesirables: Meg Whitman, Michael Bloomberg and Henry Kissinger? That should make you suspicious. “Be afraid, be very afraid!” as Rachel Maddow puts it.

(11) Bernie Sanders heroically and ultimately unsuccessfully tried to dissuade HC from courting the favor of Wall Street and its leaders. I think Bernie Sanders should think in terms of starting a third political party, he should abandon the sinking ship that is and will be soon be the “new” conservative Democratic Party, as it becomes more bellicose and hostile to American working people, the Dem. Party will, next election, definitely shrink dramatically in size and influence.

(12) I thought the election campaign went on too long; the word “hate” was used much too often.

(13) Of course, Hillary Clinton did get more votes than DT, yet DT is going to be President. That does seem unfair.

(14) Anti-Trump Democrats repeated endlessly that DT was a racist and hated and disrespected women. Personally that did not ring true at least not to my ears. DT is not a racist and he does not hate women. In fact, in general, DT seems broad-minded and willing to negotiate.

(15) My elder and elderly brother, until this last election, voted Democratic, Democratic, Democratic in almost all Presidential elections. In this past election, he voted for DT. DT appears to be actually less of a rightwing reactionary than Hillary, if he follows through with his campaign promises. If he does keep his promises, he will be reelected easily 4 years from now.

© 12 November 2016

About the Author

I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City, Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s. I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.

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Greens, by Gillian

Sitting on the patio writing this, I see at least twenty-five shades of green in the plants around me without really looking very hard. Several of them are in the spruce trees, though, and we call them blue, so maybe I’m cheating a little. So I’ll leave them out. Even without them there is still an amazing display of innumerable varieties of greens.

Green was my mother’s favorite color. Now, personally, sorry Mum, I find choosing one color as a favorite quite ridiculous. All colors are incredible in their endless shades of beauty. But she couldn’t help herself. She taught first graders all her life and it’s simply one of the many silly things you ask little kids. What’s your favorite color/animal/food? in turn necessitating choosing one yourself.

On the more sensible side of my mother, however, I don’t recall her ever saying anything as foolish as, be sure to eat your greens! I’m not sure that we had much concept of greens supposedly being an essential part of a healthy diet back in the distant days of my childhood.

We just ate what was available whenever it was until it was gone, and on to the next. I don’t think anyone valued green beans or lettuce over orange carrots or yellow onions.

One of my stepsons, however, went through a phase during which he abhorred all green food. I, even in my pre-destined role of evil stepmother, never insisted he eat his greens. But my husband was not to be so easily deterred from the rightness of things, and insisted.

‘But it’s greeeeen’, wailed Davie, in tears every time beans or peas, lettuce or spinach, appeared on his plate. It was not a dislike of vegetables per se, but simply anything green. This was aptly demonstrated in a masterful stroke of vindictiveness by his sister when she sweet-talked her friend’s innocent mother into making him a green birthday cake, which he greeted with howls and tears and steadfastly refused to eat.

Now, fifty years later, he grows, and eats, all manner of green things and has no memory of what it was he ever had against them.

Whatever it was I doubt it came down in his DNA because his grandmother, mother of my ex-husband, loved to cook collard greens. She fried bacon, then tossed the leaves into the pan and stirred it all up into a greasy green mess which, I am forced to confess, was delicious, though I can feel my arteries grinding to a halt just at the memory.

These days, of course, green is synonymous with healthy: good. We have MAD Greens restaurants, and Green Superfood for sale, the Green Ride to DIA, the U.S. Green Building Council, and green energy. We even have a Green Party to vote for in November. Green is in; green is good.

But I wouldn’t be too sure it will last. After all, we have a long history of believing that the grass is always greener somewhere else!

© August 2016

About the Author

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 been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty years. We have been married since 2013.

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Hunting, by Betsy

I am a hunter. I’ve been hunting all my life, at least for that bit of my life that is within memory, I have been hunting for some answers to some very basic questions. I’ve had my sight set for different targets at different stages of my life. But the answers to the more profound questions almost always elude me. Just like the hunter and its prey. Sometimes I get a glimpse of an answer, only to have it disappear until the next time I seek it out, until one day I hit the target—an answer evolves which satisfies me.

Early in life I sought an answer to the question “Where do we come from?” Lately I’ve been asking “Where do we go when we die—where do I go when I die? Do we all go the same place? My current belief is that we go back to where we came from, which is—I don’t know where. Seems logical. So that question cannot be answered really, that is, we can’t know the answer to that question, hence the belief.

Early in life I asked “What is the purpose of my life?” Lately I ask “What is the purpose of any life? Still stalking an answer to that one.

Earlier I asked “What is my place in the universe?” Lately I ask “What is the place of our solar system in a seemingly infinite universe?” Then I ask “Is the universe infinite?” When I learn that the latest information tells us our universe—just as our galaxy—was born and is dying and does have an end, I realize I have no more questions on that subject. I guess a new universe will be born when this one dies—just like stars, galaxies, and solar systems.

Early in life I asked, “Who am I?” Lately I have come to realize the answer to that question changes daily—evolves with each passing day. I also realize that early in life I did not look inside for the answer to who am I, I looked totally to others for not just clues but for answers. Later in mid-life I started looking in a much better place—looking inside myself.

I don’t spend a lot of time searching out answers to these mysteries of life. Because I realize the answers for most people are held in beliefs. Most of these questions cannot be answered empirically. They are only answered by taking the leap of faith and holding a belief. Early in my life I did that. Lately I have not taken the leap. For some reason I don’t feel the need.

In the meantime, I will continue to fill my day with questions I do have answers for; such as,

“Shall I do the laundry today? Shall I water the garden? What shall I eat? What can I come up with on the topic of ‘HUNTING’ for our meeting today?”

Here’s a good question and I often spend a whole day hunting for the answer: “What can I do to bring some joy into the world today. What can I do to enhance my honey’s day?” These are two good everyday questions. Their answers are also worth a good hunt.

© 26 September 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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Marking the Seasons, by Nicholas

I find flowers amazing. They appear delicate but yet can be strong and resilient. Their shapes and colors vary wildly from the palest shades to the brightest hews. I have tulips in my yard that are pure white and some that are so deep a purple as to appear black.

I trace the progress of the season through flowers, what’s in bloom, what is preparing flowers stalks and buds, and what has finished. Already I have spotted tiny leaves breaking through the ground in my yard. Within weeks flowers will appear.

When I lived in San Francisco, I marked the beginning of spring with appearance in late February of the plum tree blossoms in Golden Gate Park. Any day now, their pale pink flowers will appear breaking the dreary coastal winter with their delicate brightness.

Here in Colorado, at the lower elevations, it is the brilliant yellow of the forsythia that dares to announce Spring. Even though we have many more weeks of winter, maybe even the worst of winter, ahead, these tiny flowers will soon appear. I have two forsythia bushes in my yard. The early one will show blossoms by the first of March. The other one is later by about a month.

Around St. Patrick’s Day, I will uncover the planter boxes on the porch and plant pansies with their delightful array of purples, yellows, oranges, burgundies and splashes of white to brighten those late winter days. Pansies love the cold and are beautiful in the snow. It’s the summer heat that will kill them off.

Then some early daffodils will appear, starting what I call their annual “death march.” I don’t know why this variety shows up so early only to face hard freezes and heavy snow. But they persist and eventually bloom in time for a spring snow to crush them. The snow won’t kill them, just bury them. Fortunately, I also have later varieties with the good sense to wait until the weather is more favorable.

Tulips are beginning to show up but they seem more patient and wait out the winter weather to bloom later. A little bit of snow heightens the brilliance of the colors in bloom. But it doesn’t take much to push them all to the ground.

When it is safe to come out in late spring, the cherry tree will overnight burst into white blossoms. And then the iris will show up. When I was a kid, we called them flags because they bloomed around Memorial Day. Maybe because of climate change, my iris seem to be almost finished by the end of May.

Soon the roses will appear and the first bloom is always the best. My favorite is the bright red rose near the back door.

When the warmth of spring begins to turn into the heat of summer, the hawthorn trees flower. The white flowers are pretty but they, frankly, stink. For two weeks, my backyard will smell of rotten fruit. However, the bees love these malodorous blooms and the yard will hum with the buzzing of thousands of bees harvesting what must be rich nectar.

All summer, my garden will be full of bees attracted to the flowers on the herbs I grow. I use the oregano, sage, chives and thyme from the garden but I think the bees get more use of my herbs. The little yellow arugula flowers seem to be especial favorites.

I think climate change has altered the flowering time for the lilies. They used to be a late summer flower with their oranges and yellows. But now, it seems that they bloom by early July and are finished before August. Maybe it’s the dry heat of Colorado, but late summer sees a lull in flowers. And then in September, some come back to life—like the hot pinks and reds of the impatiens—and bloom again before the cold returns.

Fall brings its own colors as the plumbago produces its cobalt blue flowers along the front walk. And I know what time of year it is by the shade of the sedum. Early summer, its flowers are white. Gradually, the color turns to a pale pink. And in the fall, they deepen to a dark red and then rust. It’s amazing to watch this one flower change color over time.

So, that’s the year in flowers in my yard.

© February 2017

About the Author

Nicholas grew up in Cleveland, then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga, writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.