Preparation, by Lewis Thompson

This is a difficult
subject to write about.  First of all,
doing something that requires “preparation” usually implies that
something is about to happen that I would just as soon not happen at all, such as
an appointment with my attorney, having blood drawn, restricted diets, going
for a job interview (those days are behind me, thank heavens), or having a
colonoscopy.  But it also occurs to me
that nearly everyone occasionally has these things happen to them so it would
only bore them to hear me talk about how I prep myself for them, as it likely
is very close to their own groundwork. 
One exception,
however–and perhaps someone will have chosen to write about this–is preparing
oneself for one’s own death.  And, when I
say this, I don’t mean wills and durable-powers-of-attorney.  I’m talking about how people choose to die–the
when, where, and with the assistance of whom. 
However, I haven’t prepared the necessary groundwork to write about that
subject, so I shall have to punt and simply describe what I see as the
requisite characteristics of something for which preparation is normally
required–or not.  Here is my list:
1.   
My first rule on the subject of
preparation is to never prepare for something that can be avoided.  Preparation is work, some of it unpleasant or
tedious.  It’s much better simply to
change your plans to allow you to avoid any preparation and simply relax and do
something you enjoy instead.
2.   
Second, never make preparations yourself
that you can get someone else to do for you. 
I like to have a clean car when I begin a road trip.  I used to wash my car myself, which only
detracted from the pleasure of travelling. Now, I take my car to the car wash
and have the hard work done by someone else. 
I can recoup the cost simply by driving slower, thus saving on gas.
3.   
Third, I avoid potlucks.  At potlucks, you are expected to prepare
something to share with others.  Since I
don’t cook, I usually skip potlucks–unless, that is, I take the time to take
advantage of my 2nd point and buy something that someone else has made and take
that.
4.   
Similarly, I avoid family reunions.  I used to spend hours trying to memorize the
names of my family members so I could properly greet them at the reunions.  Since I had nine aunts and uncles and dozens
of cousins, that was very time-consuming. 
Fortunately, they were scattered to the four corners of the USA, so it
was rarely necessary.
5.   
As I mentioned before, I don’t cook.  The closest I come is when I make popcorn in
the microwave.  Cooking is nothing if not
preparation.  Now, I take advantage of
wonderful cooks who do the prep for me. 
They say time is money and, in this case, it is money well-spent–on
such things as eating out and frozen entrees and dinners.  I won’t tell you which brands I like because
I’m not prepared to try to beat you all to the frozen food aisle at Queen
Soopers before they’re sold out.
As I’m not prepared to
write any more, I’ll just stop here.  If
you take only one thing with you from this little missive of mine, let it be
this:  preparations are for people who
are either anal-retentive or control freaks. 
They should think about being less prepared and more available to enjoy
life fully.
© 17 Aug 2017 
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 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.

Preparation, by Gillian

Oh, Heavens! The things
that spring to mind! An ounce of preparation is worth a pound of cure,  Preparation H, emergency
preparedness, hope for the best and prepare for the worst, look to the past to
prepare for the future, and prepare to meet your maker.
In my younger days I
suppose I did quite a lot of preparation. I recall preparing, with my mother,
for my first day of school, for my church Confirmation and after it for my
first Communion, and probably many more firsts. They tend to pile up on you in
your youth. Then, in school and college, there were endless tests and exams to
prepare for. I prepared to go to college and, in what seemed like no time,
prepared to leave.
Then, without any
conscious intent, I seem to have entered a long phase of my life when I made
little, if any, preparation for anything. Events occurred in an apparently
random, haphazard, way. This went well; that did not. This happened; that did
not. Oh well! Shrug it off. Move on. I most assuredly did not prepare to come
out; certainly not to myself, anyway. You cannot really prepare to be hit by a
runaway train.
Now, in the latter part
of life, I find myself regressing, in the matter of preparation as with many
other things, to the ways of my youth. If I don’t prepare for just about
anything and everything, I shall forget some vitally important words or deeds,
or both. When we prepare for camping or road trips, Betsy and I now set up
‘staging areas’ where we collect things for weeks before we leave, so as not to
forget some essential. We used to basically just get in the car and start
driving, and get wherever we got. Not anymore! We plan the route, fussing over
getting through congested areas before or after rush hour. Or sometimes we plan
quite lengthy detours to avoid braving six lanes of freeway at 5.00pm. On the
other hand, we need to prepare a route that gets us to a campground in time to
settle in before dark. No more midnight arrivals for us!
One thing I know for sure
about preparation; it can be incredibly beneficial when it comes to
practicalities, but for emotions it’s a bust. At least for me. I tried, if only
vaguely, most of my life, to prepare myself for the death of my parents. That
is, after all, the normal natural course of events for most of us. It didn’t
work; I might as well never have given it a thought. I was simply felled by
their deaths. Devastated. And the heartbreak went on and on. It was at least
ten years before I was really OK with it, and that was only after a lot of work
on my spirituality. We have too many friends ending up in hospice lately.
Naturally, given those circumstances, we give it our best to prepare ourselves
emotionally for imminent loss. It doesn’t seem to help. Grief remains grief
even though it is not accompanied by shock. Even though we tell ourselves it
was for the best they didn’t linger longer.
When Betsy and I decided,
two years ago, to get legally married while we were on a visit to California,
we truly meant it when we said to family and friends, ‘Oh it’s no big deal.
We’ve been together for ever after all. It’s just signing a piece of paper.’
Wrong again! We were both
completely taken by surprise by the strength of emotion we felt. Both so close
to tears, we could barely say those words we had waited almost thirty years to
say.  We had thought we were completely
prepared, and once more might as well not have given it a thought for as wrong
as we got it.
So all I’m trying to do
now, as far as emotional preparedness goes, is preparing to be surprised. I
shall prepare by acknowledging that I don’t have a clue how I’m going to feel,
wherever and whenever, about anything. And again I surprise myself. This
unpreparedness actually feels good. It’s liberating. It’s living in the moment.
I shall know what I feel
when I feel it. What on earth is wrong with that?
© 24 Aug 2015 
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.

Preparation, by Ricky

The Scout Motto is “Be Prepared.” I was a scout, so I learned as a young teenager to think ahead and prepared for any situation. It did not matter if it was for an upcoming camping trip, scout meeting, school tests, potential rain or snow fall, driving on less that a full tank of gas, or fixing dinner for my siblings; I always tried to have everything I might need to successfully complete the activity.

One rather dramatic failure to look ahead was when Deborah and I bought a new Toyota Land Cruiser to prepare for a job within the Sheriff’s Department which I did not get. I obtained two used “jerry cans” each of which held 5-gallons of gasoline and bolted their “holders” to the side of the vehicle. When it was time to use the gas while on a trip to Sacramento, I poured the gas into the main gas tank and soon thereafter the engine began to miss and eventually would not run at all.

Fortunately, we were near our destination in Sacramento and our friends came and towed us to their home. One of their friends diagnosed our problem to be a clogged fuel filter. I had not anticipated that the “jerry cans” were older and had rusted inside. Eventually little particles of rust in the gas had clogged the fuel filter. After installing a new fuel filter and cleaning out the “jerry cans” and refilling them with gas, we were able to finish our trip without any further trouble.

© 16 August 2015

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

Preparation, by Phillip Hoyle

So many years of schooling
So many books to read
So many papers to write
So many exams to take and pass

So many programs to plan
So many choirs with anthems to know
So many sessions to prepare
So many hymns and responses

So many family things to do
So many trips to plan
So many changes to embrace
So many needs to understand

I had learned to make all these preparations for school and work and family, but nothing prepared me for being gay. One would think with so many institutions and people in my life I’d have been prepared. Education? Church? Parents? No help anywhere. The man who sexually molested me said I wouldn’t have to masturbate after I got married; even homo-he didn’t have a clue!

My parents told me nothing. I don’t know what they even knew about homosexuality let alone transgender and intersex, but I suppose my dad knew something given his over-emotional reaction when one of my sisters pointed at a guy we passed on the street and said, “He’s a queer.” Well I guess I did learn something from the event: watch what you say around your parents. But I had already learned that from years in school and church and as a result already sported three English vocabularies appropriate to various settings.

I don’t know how old I was when the queer word was spoken although I’d heard its old-fashioned usage as odd like my grandmother said and I had heard it in its pejorative use in school—well on the playground there. But the truth of the word’s meaning was obscured by silence and anger. What did I imagine? I don’t know. I was probably a sixth grader at the time.

Norms of behavior were taught everywhere. Fortunately for me, my family accepted, affirmed, and tolerated unusual persons, but their conditions were like being uneducated, of another race, from another country, in a less than honorable profession, developmentally challenged, blind, crippled, or of different religious commitments. There were no GLBT persons. The guy who my sister called queer was developmentally disabled, the second child of a family living in poverty. Who knows if he was actually homosexual or not? Perhaps he was. I never heard anything about it. The two developmentally challenged boys from that family were called any number of things, but my dad gave them rides home from church and treated them with respect.

My only preparation for my inevitable encounter with GLBT folk or culture was to emulate my parents: to be kind, to “do unto others” as the phrase goes. In my case it was also to discover that even though I generally fit in well with my peers, I myself was other. Eventually I realized my only real preparation for gay life was to love myself, to do unto myself as I had been taught to value and love the others.

Hebrew tradition explicated in ancient documents how to treat strangers within the community. The code was based on the notion—really an ethnic memory—that we were once strangers. Thus we treat others like we wish we had been treated. It’s a powerful image for social reform, one I didn’t hear a breath of in the first presidential candidate debate the other night although I heard lots of religious posturing and self-righteousness. From the point of view of being an outsider, this treatment of strangers serves as the fulcrum of ethics—at least for me.

I wonder what would have happened when my sister said queer about the kid if I had piped up and said, “So am I.” I didn’t say anything and nothing happen, but I did learn the major lesson that prepared me to successfully live a gay life: keep your ears open to language and feelings, both blatant and nuanced. It is a lesson of safety and eventually of self acceptance.

I’m pleased I came from a family that did not harbor many fears, thus my ability to appreciate and embrace others different than I and especially those different like I am different, and just as important I learned to clarify that difference within me. Lucky me, to have learned a use of an ancient and religious value that opened me to love rather than to judge others and myself.© Denver, 10 August 2015

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