Two Dykes and Their Cast of Thousands

2006-12-26T20:53:00.000-08:00

Christmas memories. I know that its a little late to be writing about Christmas, since today is the 28th of December. But I have been tied up with various and sundry things for about a month, and I'm just now getting around to writing about Christmas, so please excuse the timing of this and the next few posts.

I grew up in the late 50's and 60's. Christmas was such a magical time of year back then. I know that people say 'magical' now for all kinds of things, and it tends to cheapen the word, but Christmas really was magical back then. There were no constantly glowing neon signs, no fancy displays in store windows, no special effects on the television and in movies. And in small towns, like where I grew up, this was especially true. Our streets were deserted by five pm. There was nothing open in our town after dark. No gas stations, no convenience stores, nothing. Things were so much simpler then and we were so naive. And you know, it was wonderful to be naive.

Christmas brought the city decorations out of storage and onto the lamp posts in our town. A few red and green lights, a bow or two and we thought that the town was beautiful! I have fond memories of my parents and I driving around, looking at the Christmas lights, singing Christmas songs. And of course, we would turn out for the Christmas Parade. But the big excursion was the trip to Alexandria (the closest larger city, 30 miles away) to see their Christmas lights, and then go to Wellan's Department Store downtown to look at the window displays. We would ooh and ahh over the fake snow and displays of Christmas merchandise, all for sale inside, of course. The year that they put some animation in the display (I believe that it involved some elves moving back and forth) we were mesmerized by the miracle of modern engineering!

Home decorations back then were fairly simple. You had a Christmas tree, of course. But not one of these fancy trees like they have now. I remember going with my mother and father to pick out a tree. We had to hurry, because the day that the trees came to town, everyone wanted to get down there and get the very best tree. The Christmas tree lot (if you could call it a lot, I remember it as an alley behind the Morgan and Lindsay Five and Dime store) was small, and the bare light bulbs hung over the trees, illuminating the scruffy little sticks with needles that we called Christmas trees back then. The trees were all "Charlie Brown" Christmas trees. None of those tall, full, bushy trees that we get now. These were skinny little trees with scraggly branches, but to us they were beautiful, and the smell was incredible. I try to smell the trees that are sold now, but they never have the heady aroma of those scrawny Christmas trees of my childhood. It took a lot of comparing, turning the trees and looking for the bare spots, but we always found the perfect tree. We took it home and put it in the little green and red Christmas tree stand.

Of course we had lights on our tree. We had strings of those ceramic lights that would not light if even one bulb was out or even unscrewed just enough to break the connection. I remember spending hours trying to find the culprit that was keeping each string of lights from lighting up. I was so happy when they started making the strings of lights that didn't require each bulb to be lit in order for the string of lights to work. And those ceramic lights got so hot, it's a wonder we didn't burn the entire neighborhood down, but we were lucky, no burning Christmas trees for us. My wife and I tried putting the old ceramic lights on our tree last year, but the lights got so hot, I suggested that we go back to the little miniature lights that stay cool this year. Sorry...practicality wins out over reminiscing this time.

Then came the ornaments. The early ornaments that I remember were just plastic bells and lamps and paper mache' birds. But I desperately wish that I had more of those ornaments now than just the three that are hanging on our tree right now. How did those old ornaments get away from us? Did we decide that they were too old-fashioned, and that they were out of style? Did we decide that newer, sleeker, more colorful ornaments deserved to be on our tree? I'm not really sure what happened to them. My family moved several times during the years, each time to a larger, 'better' house, all within the same town. Did some of the ornaments get lost or broken in the moves? Or did we just discard them because we were tired of them? I remember, as a child, painting little wooden cutouts of elves, Santa, bells and stars to put on our tree. Did my little painted ornaments (although I am sure that they must have been masterpieces, since I painted them) shove the other ornaments not only out of the nest but even off of the tree? Did they push the old ornaments into a box for unused ornaments, a box that would be discarded at some future time? Maybe the discarding happened in 1975. That was the year I got married in May and made my home 100 miles away from my hometown. That was the year my father died in October, and that December my mother decided not to put a tree up any more just for her. I'm not sure, but I suspect that was the year that the old ornaments met their demise.

I also remember some unusual ornaments from the 60's that I had on our 'real' tree. You see, my mother had an aluminum tree on display in the picture window in our living room (the room that no one was allowed to enter except when we had 'company'). It was a silver tree with the rotating color light wheel. We were not allowed to go into the living room, and there certainly were no gifts allowed under that tree. We had a 'real' live green tree in the den, and that's where the gifts went. That's also where the ornaments went. On the real tree. I remember some ornaments that I am the only person in the history of the world to ever own. The reason I say this is that we (my wife and I) have looked high and low on EBay, on sites on the internet and in antique stores, and we have never ever seen ornaments like these anywhere. There is no record that anyone has ever owned anything even resembling these ornaments. They were round plastic ornaments, with the front half of the ornament clear plastic, and the back of the ornament was a plastic that glowed in the dark. There were little scenes in the ornament, and you could see them with the lights on or off, since the ornament glowed in the dark. Some were nativity scenes, others were scenes with Santa and elves, and some were rocking horses and other toys. I do not have any of these left to prove that they ever existed, and we have looked high and low for them, but cannot find a one. But I do promise, they did exist. I will continue looking for these, if only to prove that they really did exist. When I find one, I'll post a picture of it, just to prove that my memory isn't going yet. Finally, on top of all of the ornaments, there was the tinsel. I never liked tinsel, even as a child. If you did it correctly, it took forever to put on, so usually it ended up in clumps. And taking it off to save for next year took even longer. Someone in my family must have liked it. It just wasn't me.

As far as the rest of the decorations go, there weren't many. A wreath on the front door, a plastic Santa and his reindeer flying on his way to bring us our presents, a snowman holding up NOEL sheet music that was lit by a bulb inside of him. My favorite decoration (besides the tree) was a little Santa, 6 inches tall or so, lit from the inside by a C7 bulb. His hands are outstretched, and he is flocked, velvetty feeling. I always looked forwards to putting him by the tree and turning his light on.

And of course, we can't forget the nativity scene. Early in my life, we had a cardboard nativity scene, which, oddly enough seems to have met the same fate as most of our ornaments circa 1950-60s. The nativity scene that I have now (and put out each Christmas) came from Woolworth's in the early 1960's. Every weekend, my mother and I would go to Alexandria, which was not only the closest city to my home town, but also the residence of my mother's sister (Aunt Lucille). Since I was an industrious child, and earned an allowance, I looked forward to going to Alexandria and especially to Woolworths. There we would have ice cream at the soda fountain, and I would get to spend my little money. I collected fourteen pieces of a nativity scene, one or two pieces at a time (15 to 35 cents apiece) until I had the whole nativity scene. I saw on EBay that these figures are prized now, but I would never part with it. Not because of religious sentiment, but for memories of another time and place. I can remember walking the hardwood aisles, with all of the merchandise displayed on flat wooden tables with partitions between each item for sale. I remember picking up and considering each figure, trying to decide which one was needed the most. I'm sure that I bought many other things from this Woolworth's store, but this is the one that connects me to the store the most, and connects me to that point in time, and the memories of my Christmases past. But more than anything, my memory of Christmas is a feeling, a feeling that I try to identify and put into words. I cannot describe the feeling fully, but I keep on trying. Maybe I'll capture it one day.

2006-12-03T20:42:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a while since I have written a new post, or even visited the blogs that I usually look at every day! I have been fighting the internet, mostly AOL, which just disappeared from my computer with no prior notice. I don't mean that my account disappeared, I mean that the AOL program disappeared. All I could get on with was AOL Explorer, and that was kind of iffy. So I spent a while trying to figure out what error 23-something was, talking on the phone to AOL technicians, and I finally had to just reload AOL. But in the process, now everytime I try to get online, I have to restart my computer. Between that and school, I have just been out of touch. (It's the weeks before Christmas-we have a lot to do before we get out for the holidays, including a Christmas program that we have to participate in and decorations to make, vocabulary to learn, and a lot more that I don't have time to list.) I also have an ex-mother in law (but she's more like my real mother, only better) with a broken hip in the hospital. I will be back with a new post later this week, and I will be visiting everyone that I love to keep up with (you know who you are!). Talk to you later this week!

2006-11-21T15:23:00.000-08:00

GAY BINGO!!! That's where we were on Saturday night! We went to Dallas on Saturday, spent the night and returned home on Sunday. The highlight of the trip was ...GAY BINGO! I'm not sure if this is just a Dallas occurrance, or if this is a national trend, but if it isn't going on other places, it should be! The location was an old theater, complete with stage and rows of seats. Long tables were placed over a row of seats, so that you had a row of seats, then tables, then seats, then tables, etc. On the stage was the "bingo machine" that lit up the numbers called, and a large cage, draped in chiffon. When we entered the theater, we picked up our packet, which included 2 sets of sheets for 10 games. We went on in and found our seats, which in itself is kind of an amazing story. We chose a row that looked like a good distance from both the front and the back (far enough back to make running to the bathroom fairly easy, far enough front to be able to see and hear adequately), and we eased down to the end of the row and sat down. Later some other people came looking for their seats, and we discovered that the row and seat numbers were written on our packet. And (here's the amazing part) we were sitting in the exact seats that we were supposed to be sitting in! I know, amazing, right? Out of all of the seats in the theater, we had lit in our designated chairs. We knew at this time that we had good vibes...winning vibes!

Before we sat down, I told my wife that we needed to buy the markers for the games. She said, no, they were included with the price of the packets and 10 games. She pointed to the brown paper bags on the tables (at each seat) marked "CHIPS", (you know, chips=markers). We sat there a few minutes, and I decided to check out what color markers we had gotten in our bag. I opened the bag in front of my seat and discovered....chips. Nacho chips. With picante sauce. I immediately went and bought several markers for us(right after I finished laughing). By the way, the chips were actually pretty good. I should mention that in addition to bingo markers, they sold drinks, tshirts, photographs, and 5 additional "bonus" games. They were also selling raffle tickets, and since my wife had a slight attraction to a cute little baby-dyke drag king, we ended up with quite a few raffle tickets.

Neither of us had ever played "professional" bingo. I noticed that the guys that were sitting next to us had their markers out and were going to town marking out spots on their game sheets. I asked what they were doing (my wife hates it when I do that), and they said that they were marking out the ones that weren't needed. Those of you who have played "professional" bingo might know this, but we did not realize that the games had different patterns that had to be filled in to win. Silly me, I thought it was up and down or across that won the game. So, after finding this out, I began marking out my sheets in earnest. My wife just sneered at this activity. She had that whole "It's just a game" attitude. Well, I'm not competitive, I just needed to be able to do what I came to do. Which was WIN AT GAY BINGO! I mean, the whole evening was festive, a lot of fun, but if you play GAY BINGO, you play to win, right? Well, I marked and marked and marked, while my wife sat there, enjoying looking at all of the queens in their costumes. About five minutes before the games started, my wife was suddenly bit by the bug and started frantically marking her sheets! I'm not sure why, but she did. And surprisingly, she did get them all marked.

Each GAY BINGO night has a theme. This time it was "fairy tales". Queens in various fairy tale dress went up and down the aisles, looking for someone to put in jail. It turned out that the cage on the stage was the "jail". Various infractions could land you in jail. Talking or texting on your cell phone was one. Another was calling BINGO when you did not actually have it (you had to be very careful). Also, not doing the required motions to certain calls was another. (We were schooled in the special motions for B7, B13, and of course, O69). If you were "jailed", someone had to pay $20 to get you out of captivity. I made sure that I did what I was supposed to do. I didn't really want to lose $20 and be humiliated by being placed in a jail on the stage and jeered at by queens in Raggedy Ann costumes.

By the way, the theater was packed, and before the games began, we were asked to stand up and repeat the GAY BINGO oath. This included the promise that we will continue playing GAY BINGO until everyone is treated the same, homosexual and heterosexual alike. I would say that the audience was about 50% gay, 50% straight. Very nice to see.

The games finally began, and we got firsthand experience on how much having your sheets premarked helped. We watched as one girl got put in jail for texting on her cell phone. We felt sorry for her, but we were playing GAY BINGO, no time for sympathy. We got into the games, but we were never expecting to win. But, on the third game, I had one spot left. They called the next number and I told my beautiful wife that I had bingo. I stood up to call out "GAY BINGO"! My wife was pulling on my arm, no, don't, you'll get put in jail if you don't have it. But I had it. I told her that. She said, "You'd better be sure". I was sure. They took my card, checked it, and yes, I had won GAY BINGO! They took me out to the cashier, where I had to put down all of my pertinent information. I thought that I had probably won a candle or paperweight or something like that. But then they started counting the money into my hand...10, 20, (Oh boy!, I won 25 dollars!) 30, 40, (I can't believe that I won fifty dollars!!!), 50, 60 70, 80, 90, 95. Ninety five dollars!.... I couldn't believe it. I NEVER win anything! But if I only get to win one thing in my life, I'm glad that it was GAY BINGO!

I went back into the theater and told my wife. She informed me that the "special games" paid $250 or more. I had no idea that it was such a big deal. I guess that I was having so much fun, winning didn't matter. Anyway, we finished the games. No more wins for us, but the guy that I had pestered about how to mark the game sheets won a trip to Las Vegas. But even if I had not won, we had fun. GAY BINGO happens once a month, so we plan to go back in a few months. The dressing up would be fun, and every month there is a different theme. (I'm an old Rocky Horror cast member, so you know that I love to dress up.) If anyone out there lives close enough to Dallas to go to a game, let us know! And if anyone out there has GAY BINGO in their town, let us know also! Is this a national phenomoena? Or is it just a local amusement? Anyway it winds up, I loved GAY BINGO!!!!!!
**note: I tried to put a photograph with this post, but I am having many technical problems. But hopefully sometime in the future I will be able to publish photographs of GAY BINGO!

2006-11-13T16:46:00.000-08:00

Oh no! I got tagged! I didn't even know what this meant until I saw it on Gogo's site. So, here is my:

10 Wonderful Things That Start With 'S'

1. Sweet Tea - Living in Louisiana, we have a southern tradition of serving iced tea either already sweetened or plain. I didn't realize that people in other states were not so fortunate. And on top of it all, down here, if you want more tea, you just ask for it, and it is poured into your glass...over and over and over, as much as you want, for just the price of the first glass. I was surprised when I traveled up north and found that if you asked for more tea, you received another glass of tea (still unsweetened, by the way) and a charge on your bill for the second glass of tea.
2. Snakes - OK, so everyone wouldn't put snakes on the wonderful part of the list, but I can't help it if I am drawn to reptiles and amphibians. To me, snakes are graceful, beautiful creatures. And yes, I'll say it, I really like holding them and feeling their muscular bodies move in my hands. I find them fascinating. Now, I can't say that I am particularly fond of venemous snakes, and I would definitely kill one if push came to shove. But I have to like them from afar, because my beautiful wife has drawn the line at snakes. And I would rather have her in my arms than a snake any day.
3. Swinging- One of my favorite things to do when the weather is nice, especially in the spring, is sit on the swing in the backyard with my beautiful wife and watch the birds and squirrels and enjoy our gardens. We can sit there without talking, just swinging and enjoying the smells, sounds and feel of the day. Everything else is inconsequential when we are there on the swing together.
4. Silence- Silence is golden. Especially when you have been in a classroom all day with absolutely no silence. I value silence highly, maybe because I have so little of it. Even at home, there are the sounds of the tv, the animals, all of us talking to each other. Don't get me wrong...I love those sounds. But I also enjoy a bit of silence every now and then.
5. Sea Lions- I have always liked sea lions, since the first time I saw them with my family as a young girl at one of those vacation spots in Florida. They are just so cute, so intelligent. I think that actually they are not as sweet as they look when they put on a show, but who is?
6. Surprise!- Who doesn't like surprises? Well, good surprises, at least. Surprise parties, surprise gifts, surprise activities of the good kind. Not the "Surprise! The IRS is auditing you!" kind of surprise, though.
7. Summertime-I love the summer! I love everything about the summer, except for the mosquitos. I just love the feel of summer. I love working in the yard, growing things to eat and flowers. I love the hummingbirds, the butterflies, all the little creatures that are out and about. And one more thing, my ex-husband once (and only once) said something profound..."It's easier to scrape the sunshine off of your windshield than ice and snow." I love summer!
8. Screen doors- I remember how it felt, sitting in the kitchen in front of a wooden screen door, shelling speckled butter beans or purple hulled peas and enjoying the cool breeze that the attic fan pulled in. I can still hear the sound of the spring stretching as the door opened and the sound of the screen door clapping shut whenever someone came in or went out. Sadly, you don't see many screen doors like that any more.
9. Sex - I don't want to embarass anyone, but everyone knows that if you are talking about wonderful things that begin with S, you simply cannot leave sex off of the list. OK, making love is better (actually MUCH better), but you have to admit that sex is pretty wonderful.
10. Sisterhood - That is such a powerful, wonderful word! If we don't stand up for each other and take care of each other, who will? Together we are powerful, a force of nature, something to be reckoned with.

5 Bad Things That Start With 'S'

1. Swollen- Maybe it's just me, but I have never known anything that is swollen to be a good thing.
2. Slugs- I hate slugs. They get in your garden and eat your plants, destroying all of your hard work. And they aren't very attractive either. At least snails have that shell that makes them a little cuter, but slugs have no redeeming cute-factor.
3. Sadness- This one is pretty much self-explanatory, isn't it? No one likes to be sad or to have a loved one who is sad. I know that into each life some rain must fall...but I don't have to like it.
4. Shrimp- This is on my bad word list because I am allergic to shellfish, and if I eat shrimp, I will end up in the hospital, which would not be a good thing.
5. Sorry- This is what I am, because I am so late posting this. I can make excuses...too busy at school, finishing everything before Friday (and Thanksgiving holidays), a trip to Dallas to play GAY BINGO! (hopefully I will post something on this tomorrow), and my AOL acting crazy. But the bottom line is, I'm Sorry.

2006-11-09T16:23:00.000-08:00

Fall. When I was a child, you could tell it was fall, because you could smell the burning leaves and see the wisps of smoke as they made their way up into the sky. I remember raking leaves and picking up pecans. I don’t know that I was any help with either task. I’m sure that I ate a good many pecans, and I‘m also sure that I jumped in many a pile of leaves, causing leaf havoc. But after a few jumps and the subsequent re-raking, a jumping ban was put into place. Then my father would light the pile, and the smoke would drift into the sky, along with that instantly recognizable smell of burning leaves that still defines "fall" to me, even today.

Fall meant back to school clothes. School dresses, made of durable (read scratchy) material, sometimes plain, sometimes a fancier plaid, that tied in the back were the staple of every little girl’s wardrobe. Back then, girls didn’t wear pants to school. Pants were reserved for "play clothes", to be worn afternoons after school and on the weekends. And the pants that we DID wear either had an elastic waistband or zipped on the side, not down the front like a boy’s pants. I suppose the same people that made the rule of buttoning boys shirts and girls shirts on opposite sides made the rule about the zippers. I'm not sure exactly why these clothing rules were made, but I had to play by them, like it or not.

Back to school supplies. Do you remember the smell of new crayons? What size box did you get? Eight? Sixteen? Twenty-four? Forty eight? Sixty four? Or were you one of the most fortunate to own a box of 128 beautiful, sharp pointed crayons in every color imaginable, and which came in a box that even had a crayon sharpener in it? The only smell better than new crayons is the smell of a new can of play doh. Both are truly intoxicating. I teach, and get to smell both quite a bit, but they still make me remember my elementary years and those first days of school each year. Put them in your little book bag (no backpacks then-we carried a book bag with a little handle, like a little briefcase, but in plaids and bright school colors) with your new pencils and scissors, and you were set for school.

Back then, when I grew up, we burned our trash out in the back yard in a large metal drum. Every evening we would take our day’s trash, in a large brown grocery bag, out to the trash can. Put the paper bag in the can, light the edge, watch it burn. It was a special treat to be allowed to light the bag. You had to have been very good to get that honor. The fire lit up the area above the barrel. If you watched the trash bag burn for a few minutes, large pieces of ash, which were pieces of the brown paper bag, would soar into the sky, propelled by the heated air from the fire, then slowly drift back to earth after they escaped from the force of the heated air. I was fascinated by the trash barrel and the huge pieces of bag, reduced to ash. It was as though they danced through the air, til no longer in the spotlight, they were resigned to their return to earth.

Fall also meant Thanksgiving. Even though I am a little heavier than I would like to be at this stage of my life, I was a terribly skinny child. I’m not sure why. My mother fried almost everything that we ate and we had rice and gravy at every meal (I grew up in south Louisiana, remember?). But I was just not that interested in food. And we didn’t have a big family, so Thanksgiving was not ever a holiday that even I cared about. Usually Thanksgiving was a meal for the three of us, not much different from any other meal, except for the turkey and cornbread dressing. Every now and then, relatives would come to our house for Thanksgiving or we would go to someone else’s house. But my mother and father were the babies of their families, and they did not have me until they were both in their forties. So there wasn’t an abundance of children in our extended family. My closest cousin was at least ten years older than me. Most were twenty to thirty years older. So the prospect of Thanksgiving dinner did not even contain the excitement of having someone different to play with. It was usually just me, trying to not be noticed too much, or someone would insist that I eat lima beans, which I detested. I sat in front of a plate of lima beans for hours on more occassions that I would like to remember.("You can't leave the table until you have eaten all the food on your plate-there are children starving in Korea who would love to have those lima beans.") When people did come to our house for Thanksgiving, I remember Momma getting out dishes that I NEVER got to see. Different plates, little cut glass dishes (for pickles and olives) and pretty drinking glasses. I wondered why we didn't use those things all of the time. Now I know why.

One more thing defines fall to me. Here in the south, there is an excitement that comes with fall. For ten weeks every fall, people's minds were on one thing...football. Playing football at recess, playing football in front and back yards all over town, and yes, HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL. Football season is the highlight of most small town southern schools. Ten weeks of excitement and hoping. Hoping that the season will extend beyond those ten weeks for your high school this year, all the way to the playoffs. Everyone was involved in some way or another at my school. I come from a small south Louisiana town. Population approximately 5,000. Not far south, like New Orleans, south like Ville Platte. Of course you grow up going to the games, but when you hit high school, it ceases to be simply a diversion on fall Friday evenings and becomes an integral part of your life. During football season, everything revolved around the football game to be played that Friday. Each grade (Freshman-Senior) would make huge signs to hang all over the school with catchy slogans, such as "Whip the Wildcats" or "Butcher the Bears". We would work on these every afternoon after school, starting on Monday, then hang them on Thursday. They were judged by someone (I never knew who judged them) and during the Pep Rally (held every Friday afternoon), the class with the best signs would win the "Spirit Stick", which was an exciting event. We were just crazy about football. Everyone (I would wager 85-90%) of the high school student body was involved in one way or another in the football machine. Personally, I was in the band. My best friend at the time was in the Pep Squad. And of course, there were the cheerleaders, and finally, the actual football players themselves. Parents were there working in concession stands or in the bleachers, watching the games. I do not remember missing a single game during the entire time I was in high school. We even went to the rainy games, with our rain gear on. I played piccolo, so I could not take my instrument out in the rain (the pads would get wet and be ruined), but the brass and percussion went on playing, and we were there to support them and the team. So ingrained was high school football, that to this day, on Saturday mornings, I read the prep scores in the newspaper aloud to my beautiful wife. Not just my home town, but any town that we might have played during my years in high school. I get great joy out of seeing a team that consistently beat us being trounced by anyone else (of course if the team that does the trouncing is my high school, that makes it even better).

I can't say that fall is my favorite season, but I do have some fond memories of fall activities, fall smells and tastes and sounds. Most of the things that I assosciate fondly with fall do not even exist for me any more. We are not allowed to burn leaves, and raking leaves into a garbage bag just doesn't have the same feel. My fall "back to school" clothing excitement doesn't really exist either. One thing is for certain, you would never catch me in a little plaid "school dress" and knee socks ever again. (Note to wife: if we ever decide to play "school girl and gym teacher", you have to be the school girl.) No more burning trash in a metal drum. And since I teach in an elementary school, and I am 150 miles away from my home town, no more excitement over football games. But, when it comes to Thanksgiving, I don't need a special day, because I am thankful every day. I am thankful for my beautiful wife, for our son, for our jobs and home and all of our "cast of thousands". I am thankful that we make enough money to be able to feed the "cast of thousands". I am thankful for so many things that I can't even begin to list all of them. I am even thankful for the opportunity to write these posts, to be able to share my thoughts and memories, and especially thankful for all of you who read it and let me know that it made you laugh or made you think or made you remember something important to you. Thank you!

2006-11-08T20:34:00.000-08:00

???????????????????????????????????????????? I have a question for everyone out there. Why does the sidebar sometimes drop down to the bottom of the posts? I thought that it was because a post was extending out into the sidebar's space, so it forced the sidebar to go down to the bottom, but now I'm not sure. I deleted the post that seemed to be the offending one (the sidebar was where it was supposed to be until that post was added), and I was hoping that the sidebar would move back up to it's rightful spot. But it didn't. I want to get everything back like it should be, but I just don't know how. I also tried going into the template and reducing the margins or the width of the sidebar, so it would fit in what space I had, but couldn't do that. If anyone knows how to fix this, please let me know!

2006-11-07T21:53:00.000-08:00

Your IQ Is 140

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average
Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius
Your Mathematical Intelligence is Genius
Your General Knowledge is Genius

Quick and Dirty IQ Test

http://www.blogthings.com/quickanddirtyiqtest/

2006-11-06T21:31:00.000-08:00

Well, I am entering a new period of my life, I think. I haven't been feeling quite like myself recently. Some of my complaints include extreme fatigue, difficulty concentrating, forgetfulness, mood swings, headaches, weight gain, increase in allergies, some loss of balance, and night sweats/clammy feeling/hot flashes. If those of you under 40 have not figured it out yet, I'm sure any readers over 50 know exactly what I am going through. Yep, it seems like I have hit menopause. For some reason this didn't even occur to me. The main give-away is not available for me to use as a guide. I had a partial hysterectomy five years ago, and when they take your uterus out, no more menstrual cycle. But, the rest of your reproductive system is there, functioning as it always has, So when you get to that point in time, there is nothing to reference it to, no dead giveaway, no less frequent monthly visitor to point you in the right direction to the correct diagnosis. Actually, figuring out that my symptoms are probably menopause is somewhat comforting. At least I know that I'm not just crazy, deathly anemic or losing my mind. I don't have to worry about a brain tumor causing my forgetfulness, loss of balance or headaches. I'm not dying from some energy-eating condition or creature (like in a Star Trek episode). And see, I told you long ago that the weight gain is not my fault! That is quite a relief. Now, comes the figuring out how to deal with these changes. The main thing that is bothering me is the fatigue and the difficulty concentrating. I used to read constantly, but now I just don't have patience or concentration needed to read for an extended period of time. And the thing is, I see books that look terribly interesting, buy them, then they sit there, waiting to be read. Magazines are a little easier to read, because the articles come in small portions, and I don't have to concentrate for any great amount of time. The fatigue is terrible, because there are things that I would love to do, but I just can't get the energy up to do them. Every action seems to wear me out. I worry about losing friendships, because I cannot always manage to get the energy up to go out. I worry that my wife will get tired of my naps and headaches, mood swings and being "jumpy" all of the time. I worry that I might not being doing my best job at school. I worry that I might not be such a good mother, because I can't listen and concentrate on what our son is telling me. But, I'm going to research this, find out what I can do to help the symptoms, and concentrate on getting back to my old self. Every woman goes through this at some point in time, so I'm going to ask around, talk with women who have been through this already, get some insight. Then hopefully, I will have enough energy to do what I need to do to get back on track. And I also hope that my family and friends will stick with me until I get things all balanced out. So if you see a woman who has lost her energy and seems particularly jumpy (and sweaty), it may be me. Just be patient with me until I get things under control. Yes, I know that I'm not the first woman to experience these symptoms, and I won't be the last (note to my beautiful wife, who is 9 years younger than I am: get ready sweetheart!). Women have been going through this for as long as they have been on this earth, and I'm sure that I will get through it just as they have always done (hopefully with my dignity and life as I know it intact). Wish me luck! And if anyone has any advice, please share it!

2006-11-05T14:38:00.000-08:00

Is this sexy? Or is it just a male fantasy? After having posted the Dove Real Beauty video, I was thinking about the whole "beauty" thing. One of the extremely wonderful things about being married to another woman is that for the most part, lesbians don't buy into the whole "male idea of beauty". My wife tells me that her ex-husband constantly complained that she didn't dress "sexy" enough, wanted her to wear the Victoria's Secret type underwear, complained that she didn't wear makeup and wanted her to be "more feminine". My experience was somewhat the same. My ex-husband bought me corsets, thongs, other "sexy" lingere, and complained when I didn't wear them around the house. You know, cleaning the kitchen and washing clothes are perfect times to wear a see through camisole and matching thong. He begged me to wear low cut clothing, to show off my (then) perky breasts. As you know, I wear makeup (OK, I fell back onto the makeup wagon-but that's another story). But for my ex-husband, my understated makeup was just not enough for him. He took me to cosmetic counters to get "made over", but I always left feeling that I looked like a... um, let's just say not like a person making a living during the daylight hours. Now, before you read this next part, I have to state that I am in no way the Lesbian Authority on Appearance. I am just a normal everyday lesbian who likes to observe and study other people. That said, I must say that, like straight people, yes, lesbians do care what other women look like. Most of us have a "type" that we tend to look at with more lust than others. For instance, take the L word...Shane is the main object of lust on that show. But, there are others who prefer the other characters, although I must say that I have never met anyone who liked Jenny. I'm not sure if that is because of her looks or her character's personality. But I believe that I can safely say that Shane is the favorite character, as far as appearance goes. (Sorry, I digressed.) But, I venture to say that lesbians don't limit their relationships to women that fit a certain type of attractiveness. Being the "type" that someone is attracted to might catch their attention, but I believe that for most lesbians, our relationships are forged on a much deeper level. My wife and I are soulmates. We connect on a level that I don't believe you can ever have with a man. Not because men are "bad". But because men are just different from women. They don't have the same thoughts, the same experiences, the same needs. I read somewhere (and I have been looking on the internet to find this study again, but haven't been able to locate it) that one of men's top 2-3 priorities in life is having an "attractive" wife. What this is saying is that men are defined by their wife's attractiveness to other men. How shallow/crazy is that? Now, let me say that I know that every man (or woman) is not the same, and this does not apply to all men, but the fact that it is one of the top 2-3 priorities in this study tells you that it IS an extremely important thing to a LOT of men. But back to the issue at hand. My wife is beautiful to me, and she tells me that I am beautiful to her. My weight increase, issues with letting my hair grow out again, and a rogue pimple every now and then do not diminish her love for me. My ex-husband would have me at Weight Watchers, with a new hairstylist and to a dermatologist right away. AND, he would have used the fact that to him, I was losing my attractiveness, as a rationale for cheating on me. See the difference? Again, I don't think that ALL men are like this. I'm sure that there are some decent men out there somewhere. There have to be. I just have not seen (or heard of) very many of them. And to be fair, there are lesbians who are manipulative, who cheat on their girlfriends, and who are just as abusive as men. We are not perfect by far. Nobody is, gay or straight. But I do feel sorry for women who have to worry, as they get older, how they will cope with the physical changes, wrinkles, age spots, body parts that have experienced the effects of gravity, weight increases, and gray hair. The ones that constantly worry that their mate will be looking for someone younger, thinner, prettier. And I am blissfully thankful that my wife will never try to put me in skimpy lingere and ridiculous clothing, but instead cherish me and the changes that my body goes through as we grow old together. Just as I will cherish her in the same way. And that's real beauty.

2006-10-27T21:03:00.000-07:00

http://www.styledash.com/2006/10/23/doves-evolution-of-beauty-campaign/

I stumbled on to this video and I thought that it was interesting. I am trying at this time to load the picture that goes with it, but if the picture does not get loaded, just click on the link above. It only takes a minute or so to watch, but I think that it is well worth the time.

2006-10-24T16:30:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween From Us and Our Cast of Thousands!
From left to right: Our son (The Cowboy), Pizza Puss (Mr. Jack O'Lantern), Pooh (The Wizard), Bad Little Dog (The Princess), the author (Arrrg, A Pirate), Sugar Pie (The Scarecrow), my beautiful wife (a beautiful butterfly).

2006-10-20T22:56:00.000-07:00

This is our son's cat, Pizza Puss, another member of the "cast of thousands". I KNOW that Pizza Puss is an odd name. Our son, who is now 20, named the cat Pizza Puss when he was 8 years old. Pizza Puss took to our son immediately. One of our cats had a litter of kittens in a laundry basket. When they got old enough to climb out of the basket, one kitten would climb out and run right to our son. Of course, this endeared the kitten to him. He chose the name Pizza Puss because he had yellow-orange fur, like cheese on a pizza. You have to understand that we have had cats with odd names throughout the years. We had Donut, ABC, 123, Donut #2, and dogs with names like Peeves and Mr. Body. So you see, Pizza Puss is not that strange. Anyway, this cat loves our son SO MUCH, I've never seen a cat bond to anyone like that. When our son is here, Pizza Puss is sitting on him. He sits on him while he reads, while he studies, while he watches tv, while he plays video games. The ONLY time Pizza Puss is not on him is when our son is eating. When our son goes to visit his father and grandmother, 100 miles away, Pizza Puss sits in his chair and waits. If he is gone for an extended period of time (for instance, he stays several weeks at a time during the summer), Pizza Puss comes and sits by me, and waits. (Maybe Pizza Puss can tell that there is a genetic link from me to our son, I'm not sure exactly why he sits by me.) Pizza Puss prefers to drink from running water. He meows to tell you to turn on the water in the bathroom sink, so he can drink. If he has to drink from still water, he dips his paw in the water and licks it off. Pizza Puss is 12 years old now, and not in good health. About 2 years ago, one of his ears started bleeding. We thought that he must have ear mites and that all of the scratching caused it to bleed. We treated the ear mites, but it continued to bleed. Finally we took him to the vet, and the diagnosis was cancer. The vet said that they could operate, and hopefully get it all. They did operate, but they couldn't get all of it. We were informed that we could do another surgery, but that might not get it either, and that they would not put him through another surgery if he were their cat. They sent him home with the diagnosis that he probably wouldn't live another year. Well, he is a tough cat, and he has lasted more than a year. He gets a little off balance when he tries to jump from one piece of furniture to another, but I would get off balance if I did that too. He is getting a canned cat food diet, (the other kitties are extremely jealous-even when we tell them that he has cancer and needs some special attention). He doesn't get fussed at nearly as much as he used to. And he is the only cat that can get on the kitchen counter without getting shooed away or sprayed with the water bottle. I will hate to see him go, first because I like him, but more because of our son. When Pizza Puss dies, it will hurt our son down to his very soul. They have been inseparable since Pizza Puss climbed out of that laundry basket 12 years ago and chose our son to be his person. Pizza Puss has been his companion and confidant, offering unconditional love. He has seen him through divorce, a move to a new city, a move to this house, the loss of a greatly loved grandfather, adolescence, elementary school, middle school, high school and two different colleges. If love could keep someone here on earth, Pizza Puss would be here forever. Personally, I am just grateful for every day we have with him.

2006-10-13T23:29:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of me in my Mighty Mouse costume, in 1959. Note the hard plastic mask, held in place by a thin piece of elastic. When you breathed, the inside of the mask would become very moist and uncomfortable. This was before the powers that be decided that makeup was better than masks and started encouraging those who wore costumes to wear makeup instead, to make it easier to see. I doubt very seriously that this costume was flame retardant either. You know, the way things used to be, I'm surprised that many of us baby boomers survived to adulthood. But we did, and now we have fond memories of Halloween past. You know, I’m going to sound like I am REALLY old in this post, but I am compelled to write it. I have been watching and thinking about how much everything has changed in my 50 years on this earth. Things have become…I don’t even know what to call it. Too complicated, maybe? Too materialistic? I’m not sure, but I know that things are very different than they were when I was growing up. Take Halloween, for example. As everyone probably now knows, I’m 51. I was born in 1955. This means that I grew up during the late 50s and the 60s. Back then, you could carve a pumpkin, put a candle in it, and you were set for Halloween. Go get that plastic Halloween costume with the hard plastic mask that was held on by a elastic band, (as shown above) and you were all set to get a sack full of candy. Maybe, if you were lucky, you made some things at school that you could tape up in the windows of your house. The only kind of candy you could really expect to get back then were those peanut butter things, maybe Pixie Sticks. Or perhaps some caramels or an apple. If you hit a really great house, a homemade popcorn ball or maybe a candy bar of some kind. That was it. I don’t remember whole aisles of Halloween candy in the grocery stores. No “fun size” candy bars, no sacks of every kind of candy imaginable. But we didn’t care. Back then, we were happy with anything! We had fun. And you could go Trick or Treating anywhere, becasue we weren’t afraid of everything. We didn’t know that there were predators lurking out there, waiting to snatch us up, or at least give us tainted candy. (which is a myth, anyway, but don't get me started on that) Nowadays, Halloween is an entirely different thing. First of all, we start decorating for Halloween around the first of October. And even then, it seems late, because the stores have had Halloween merchandise since the first of September. Halloween is no longer a holiday for kids. OK, let me say now that I KNOW that Halloween was not originally for kids, but when I was a little girl, in the 50’s and 60’s, it was for the kids. You didn’t even see costumes for adults. I can’t imagine my mother or father putting on a costume and going to a Halloween party. Instead, one person (my mother) had the task of taking me Trick or Treating and the other person (my father) had the job of staying home and handing out Halloween candy at our house. No partying for them! Back then, people didn’t decorate their houses for Halloween, other than the jack o’ lantern. There were no Halloween lights, no Halloween garland, no wreaths for the front door and decorations to put on the lawn. There were no Halloween nick-nacks to put around the house. Things were so simple then. And to tell you the truth, I think that I miss the simplicity. I say that, knowing full well, that I like to decorate for holidays. But I’ve been very nostalgic lately, (hmm, I wonder if it has anything to do with turning 51?) and I'm just not sure if I would like for things to be that way again or not. I know this..these days there is so much pressure (and expense) to keep up with the neighbors. And with the coworkers. I am always looking for some “cutesy” vests or shirts or jewelry to wear to school. As a teacher of small children, I am required by law to wear these types of things for holidays. And here in the south, people actually come to your house for no other reason than to see your decorations. Talk about pressure! Yes, these things are cute, but do we really need them? Well, obviously we don't NEED them, but is it a good thing that these things are out there, available for purchase? Or was the simplicity of that point in time better? I'm not sure. But one thing that I am sure of...we can't go back.

2006-09-29T23:13:00.000-07:00

In honor of National Coming Out Day, October 11th, I thought that I would list some of the posts on this blog that have dealt with our queerness. If you ask me, I think that these posts are some of my most "inspired". So, if you have not read these before, or if you read them then, enjoyed reading them,and would like to read them again, here's the list. If you are straight, reading this, welcome to our world. If you are queer, I hope that you identify with and enjoy these. I have put a little description of the post next to the links, just to make it easier. And I promise, at some time during this next week I will be back with something new and exciting!

2006/07/ive-been-thinking-about-my-toaster.html (Recruiting lesbians)
2006/07/i-hate-to-fill-out-forms-of-any-kind.html (Am I single? Married? Divorced? What a dilemma!)
2006/07/doma.html (Defense of Marriage Act)
2006/07/i-guess-that-all-dykes-at-some-time-in.html (Which of us is butch or femme?)
2006/07/why-do-lesbians-and-gay-men-always-get.html (Differences between lesbians and gay men)
2006/06/is-it-just-us-we-seem-to-be-way-more.html (Our interest in other homosexuals)
2006/09/being-out-is-wonderful-thing.html (Being out)

Also, if you would like more information on coming out, or just queerness in general, click on this link to go to Human Rights Campaign-Coming Out Section. http://www.hrc.org/Template.cfm?

2006-09-29T21:57:00.000-07:00

This is my beautiful wife's cat, Sugar Pie, another of our "Cast of Thousands". Sugar Pie was originally going to be named 'Sneaky Pie', because of Rita Mae Brown's mystery book series, but my wife said that he was too sweet to be a 'Sneaky Pie', so she changed it to Sugar Pie. The first thing people say when they see him is "That is the biggest cat I have ever seen!". Well, he is big, but not the biggest cat I've ever seen. He's a Maine Coon, and they run big. Sugar Pie came into my wife's life long before I met her. He came to her door when she was living in another state with her (now ex-) husband. He wandered in, and immediately started bonding with her. Her ex said that Sugar Pie was the reincarnation my wife's mother, because her mother didn't like him, and neither did Sugar Pie. (I might add that Sugar Pie loves me!) He is a very sweet kitty. One of the cutest things he does is sit up, like a dog does, and beg, using his paws to tap you or just wave in the air. When he does this, I call him Jabba, because he looks like Jabba the Hut from Star Wars. One thing that I felt badly about (and still do) is that when I came to live with my wife, I displaced cats in the bedroom. You see, I have a pretty severe allergy to cats. But I love cats, and would never dream of asking my wife or my son to give up their cats. So, I have two requests, first, no cats sitting on me, and secondly, no cats in our bedroom. That way, when I am trying to sleep, I won't be breathing in all of the allergens, and hopefully I will sleep better, being able to breathe and all. So, the cats that slept with my beautiful wife before I moved in, were banned from the bedroom. They did not take it very well, and really, who can blame them? For the first week that I lived here, we got almost no sleep. The cats sat at the bedroom door, meowing and sticking their paws under the door. They shredded the carpet and scratched at the door. We put up a divider screen in the entrance to the hall. This did not deter them at all. So, ever the problem solvers, we bought a bi-fold door and put it at the entrance to the hall. They learned how to open it fairly quickly, and then make a mad dash down the hall to continue demolition on our bedroom door. Finally we bought a hook and eye kind of lock and started locking the door. This was the solution. (This worked well except for the one time that our son was still up when we went to bed, and I locked the door out of habit and locked him out of the hall (and his bedroom). He managed to take the top of the door out of the track and get in.) Sugar Pie is one of the sweetest kitties I have ever known, and I hate banning him from the bedroom, but I have no choice really, if I want to be able to breathe. I hope that if he really is my beautiful wife's mother (reincarnated), that he/she forgives me for banning him. And I hope that he/she knows how much I love my wife and is happy for us and for the bliss that we have found together.

2006-09-24T12:42:00.000-07:00

Our garage and our guest room exist to torment me. Give me any nasty or difficult job. Weeding, cleaning the carpet, dredging the ponds, any task at all. Just don’t ask me to clean out the guest room or the garage. When my son and I moved in with my wife five years ago, some things ended up piled in the garage until they could be sorted out. It was almost a year before we tackled that. Well, before I tackled it. Since it was basically all of my stuff, I was the only one who could sort it out. And we had boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff. Merging households is never an easy task. You are bound to have some of the same items. You know, two microwaves, two toasters, two sets of dishes, two sets of pots and pans. And I liked my stuff. I liked my microwave, my dishes, my pots and pans. I knew their quirks (you have to set the microwave for 2 minutes and 42 seconds to get the bacon just right). And of course, we got rid of both of our old toasters, thanks to the nifty new toaster I got for converting my wife to homosexuality. So some things stayed, some went. For instance, my wife has a lot of things in the kitchen that belonged to her mother and grandmother, and she keeps these things for sentimental value. Most of them aren’t really used, but she knows that they are there. I have a lot of books and little nick-nacks that don’t do anything, but I like having them (one of my hobbies is looking for small bizarre ceramic creations from the 50's and 60's and another is collecting cheap snowglobes from the same time period). We finally managed to get our two households merged into one. My wife was very pleased that I came with a great many holiday decorations. Not just Christmas, mind you, but Halloween, Thanksgiving, Valentine’s Day, Easter, Mardi Gras, and maybe a few more. Therein lies a huge difference between my wife and myself. My wife does not need cute little things to sit around the house. She led a fairly Spartan existence before I moved in. Maybe that came from moving quite often when she was married to her ex-husband. Maybe she never needed a lot of possessions. I suspect that the truth is a combination of the two. As for me, I have no earthly idea where my penchant for collecting cute, yet useless things to decorate the house came from. We didn’t decorate like this when I was growing up. Actually, I don’t think that anyone did. Life was much simpler back then. But, as I was saying, my wife was glad that I had some of those things. She said that the first year my son and I were here, it was like going shopping over and over, because everything that I pulled out of the garage for every holiday was new for her. And I think that I corrupted her, because now she actually looks for cute useless things for various holidays (mainly Christmas, but Halloween gets its fair share also).

But the problem with having all of this stuff is that you have to find a place to put it. Luckily for me, we keep the outside garage door closed all of the time because of the cats. Their litter boxes are in the garage, on the far wall, pretty much out of smell range from the rest of the house. That meant that I could leave my junk in the garage and go through it when I had more time. I did go through it the next summer, and cut my amount of boxes other than holiday boxes down to six. These six hold most of my sentimental keepsakes. Things that I just was not ready to get rid of, like the clippings of my parent’s deaths, souvenirs of places I visited when I was a child. old photographs of unidentified people. (Somehow the original owners of these photographs did not feel the need to identify the people in the photographs. I know that these people are kin to me in some way, but I have no idea who they are or how they are kin to me, and now I have no one to ask.) The garage, though, is the least of my worries, clutter-wise, since we don’t need to go in there very often, usually just to retrieve boxes for whatever holiday is coming up, and because we have left a series of paths, so getting to whatever you are looking for is not that difficult. No, for me, the most dreaded, cluttered beyond belief, place is …the guest room. The guest room. Just saying those three words sends chills down my spine. The guest room. I really am waiting to tackle the guest room until I am able to purchase mountain climbing gear. It started simply enough. I didn’t have enough room to put all of my clothes (year-round) in my closet. So I put the ones that I am wearing at this point in time (Louisiana summer) in my closet. The other clothes (for when it gets a little cooler around here-Louisiana winter) live in the guest room closet. The problem with this is that switching out is not all at once and that you have to keep summer clothing handy at all times. You never know when, in January, you might have a few 80º+ days. Hot humid, sticky 80º+ days. So you see, there is a need for summer clothes year round in Louisiana.
I also have clothes that do not fit in the closet of the guest room. So they live on the bed in the guest room. For some reason, I have the inability to get rid of clothes. For example, I know that I will never wear a size 10 ever again. This is one thing that I am sure of in life. But I don’t want to get rid of those size 10 clothes. Just in case. Never mind that if, by some miracle, I DO lose enough weight to fit in a size 10 again, I would use this as an excuse to buy NEW size 10 clothing. I just don't want to get rid of the clothes. Here is a list of some of the things in our guest room. A set of my wife’s 80 year old aunt’s china, a silver aluminum Christmas tree, that we paid too much for to put in the garage, the color wheel that goes with the aluminum tree, boxes of things that we find during the year that will eventually be Christmas presents, two cat carriers (for visits to the vet), some notebook paper, miscellaneous school supplies, a couple boxes of books, video tapes that I don’t want to get rid of yet, a fan, a sewing machine, a box of thread and other sewing equipment, a box of gift wrap and ribbons, a computer monitor and printer, a lamp, a DVD player, at least one aquarium, some purses, things that were just too good of deals to pass up, but that we don’t know what to do with yet, boxes that we put Christmas gifts for my students in (All year round, if we see a really good deal on something for them, for example, simple puzzles or books, we purchase 12 of it, because I never have had over 12 students by Christmas, so we figure that 12 will be enough..better to have some left over than not enough.). You can see that our guest room is not a very neat place. I swear that I am going to clean it all out, and then somehow it doesn't get done. And I admit it, the mess in there is 95% my fault. And again, I am the one who will have to clean it out. Every now and then I do a little straightening in there (after Christmas is fairly easy, because we have taken out the tree, revolving light, and Christmas gifts.) So we semi-straighten it up, only to have it junked up yet again in a few weeks. One day, I will get it all cleaned out, so that someone could actually sleep in the guest room. That might be what I need to get me moving on it. I don't know. But I will definitely get it done before we move to our dream house. Or at least I think I will.

2006-09-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

As you may know, some people (we call them rednecks) have cars up on blocks in their front yards. Although we live in Louisiana, we do not have cars on blocks in the front yard. Actually, we have a couple of extra cars in our back yard, but not in the front, and they are not up on blocks. They are merely biding time there, fairly inconspicuously, unseen from the street. We would put them in the garage, but there is no room in the garage for cars. But although we don't have cars on blocks in the front yard, we have something better. Much better. We have vacuums in the foyer. As you can see from the photograph, we have an abundance of vacuum cleaners. In fact, we are rich in vacuum cleaners. How did this happen, you ask? Well, there's a fairly simple explanation to this question. You see, when my son and I moved in with my wife, I owned a vacuum. And she owned a vacuum. They were almost the same vacuum, one being a little newer than the other one. The one that I owned was approximately 6 years old, and still was a good vacuum. It did what vacuums are supposed to do, and did it well. Hers was a little less effective, so we decided to use mine. Hers was relegated to the garage (which is one reason that the garage does not have room for cars). We have been together for over 5 years. About a year ago, my vacuum started getting pretty tired. I mean, it was over 10 years old. It was ready for retirement. So we put it out on the curb for some southern recycling. (Why throw it away when it could find a home with someone who doesn't have such stringent vacuuming standards?) I'm sure that some of you are appalled that we would just put something out on the curb, but in Louisiana, this is a common practice. In fact, most of us do a little wagering on how long it will be before whatever we put out there is gone. Some things go very rapidly, some take a few hours. Put a hot water heater out there and you'd better move out of the way, they'll knock you down to get to it. Anyway, we started using her vacuum, which had been resting for four years. We used this vacuum for a little over a year, and it started looking like it was time to retire also. So we had to go vacuum shopping. I remembered that I was the one who had messed up with the towel shopping strategy, so I told my wife that SHE needed to pick out the new vacuum. I was not having any part in the selection part of this purchase, since I didn't have the best track record in this area. So we went to Wal-Mart and my wife picked out a vacuum that she thought would be acceptable. We marveled at how inexpensive vacuums had gotten in the 10 or so years since either one of us had bought one. We brought our new vacuum home, and I did something very uncharacteristic for me. I took it out of the box, and threw the box away. I NEVER do that! I save boxes for years (yet another reason the cars cannot live in the garage), just to be on the safe side. But not this one. We tried the vacuum out. For some reason, it left little trails of something. I'm not even sure what it was. White pet hair? Powder carpet freshener/deodorizer stuff from years of cleaning up behind stinky pets? I didn't know what it was. But I knew that the carpet looked terrible. We worked with the vacuum, tried different things, but nothing worked. And we discovered we didn't like bagless vacuums at all. Having no bag meant reaching up in the filter to get all of the pet hair out. That was just plain nasty. Well, since we threw the box away (my wife NEVER keeps any box, so I can say we-if I were not here, there would not be a single box in the garage, and maybe we could park those extra cars in it), we were stuck with this vacuum. But we HAD to have a vacuum that worked. With all of these pets, a vacuum is an essential appliance. (Come to think of it, I should have held out for a vacuum, when I got my toaster for converting my wife! Oh well, I guess hindsight is 20/20.) So we went back to the store to look for a different vacuum. My wife picked out another vacuum. It is a very pretty vacuum cleaner, but you know, pretty doesn't get your floor clean. This vacuum did the same thing as the other vacuum that we had just purchased. Is it that we are all incompetent at vacuuming? I would like to think that we have a little sense. At least enough sense to vacuum. But obviously not. I'm sure there is something that we are doing wrong. But I have no idea what it is. So, we're back to the old vacuum. The other two sit there. One waits to go back to the store (I kept the box this time). The other waits for some destiny that we have not figured out yet. And the one that was pressed back into service just when it thought it was reaching retirement is not happy. If anyone reading this knows why these vacuums are not vacuuming correctly (I guess I could call that Dyson guy, he seems to know a lot about vacuums), please let me know. I don't really want a fourth vacuum in our foyer.

2006-09-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

This is my beautiful wife, jumping one of the jumps at her horse show yesterday! She won two second place ribbons, one for each event she was in. I am so proud of her, and of her horse, Speck. He loves to jump, and he can turn on a dime. She was in the Jumper Division, Power and Speed and Open Speed. This is English style riding, like in the Olympics. Arent' she and Speck wonderful to look at? And I have to add that this was her first Jumper event. She has done Hunter before, but never Jumper. So I'm extra proud of her good showing!

2006-09-13T22:10:00.000-07:00

OK! Here we go! THIS is the link to the article about the belly fat. I'm fairly certain that if you click on this, you will get to the article that I spoke of in a previous post. If it still doesn't work, I'm just going to give up on putting links in my posts. As always, barely computer literate. And I haven't lost ANY weight yet. I'm going to try harder, now that I've found my link to the solution to my problem (and we all know that it just isn't my fault).

http://diets.aol.com/fitnessandexercise/lose-belly-fat

2006-09-08T21:37:00.000-07:00

I have to make an announcement....the image below, the one of the big stomach, is not me. I'm sorry to say this, because all in all, it's not a bad stomach. The shirt is just a little too small, that's all. Actually, I need to tell you that I did something wrong, because when you click on the stomach OR the link at the end of the post, you are supposed to go to the site that has the information about what is making our stomachs big. Sorry for this error. I suppose that you could just copy the information at the bottom of the post and get to it that way. I am sorry for any inconvenience and/or confusion that I might have caused. You must remember that I am barely computer literate, and I am doing good to even find my way here when I get online. Thank you for your patience.

2006-09-07T21:37:00.000-07:00

Being out is a wonderful thing. If you can do it. I’ve been thinking about it because of National Coming Out Day, which is coming up in October. Personally, I am out to a very few coworkers (only the safest people, because of my job), a few friends and to my ex-husband’s family. That’s it for now. Oh, and to the folks at AARP. My wife, on the other hand is totally out at work, and with most people that she deals with. But not to her aunt (her only living relative). Since I've been thinking about coming out, I've been thinking of the pros and cons to being out. And since I'm obsessive-compulsive, I have sorted some of those pros and cons into what I call Personal Pros and Cons and Global Pros and Cons.
Personal Pros
Number one on this list has to be not having to think before you speak. It’s just so much easier, isn’t it? If you are out, there are no secrets to hide (at least not about your sexual orientation). My wife is out at work. Everyone knows about us and asks her about me and about our son, just like with a heterosexual marriage. I say that the people at her job deserve a huge commendation for being as open minded as they are. But I guess that since she works for the ‘liberal media’, that sort of thing is to be expected.

Number two on the Personal Pro list is that when you sign up for AARP, and you give them your spouse’s name, they give them benefits also. We were very surprised when my AARP card came and there was also one for my wife. And she isn’t but 42! She is actually receiving AARP benefits a whole 8 years early! Can you imagine anything any more thrilling than getting AARP benefits when you are only 42? It is a bittersweet reward though, because now, what does she have to look forward to when she turns fifty? (And on a side note, in the AARP magazine, there are references to and letters from the queer community. Who knew getting old could be this affirming?)

Global Pros
Well, there is this thing about being a positive role model for the younger queers out there…generation Q. The more people that are out, the better for those coming up. Personally, I look forward to the day that I retire for good from my teaching job, tell everyone that I am a big old dyke, remind them of the good things that that they have said and/or thought about me, and see how that jives in their mind with me being a lesbian. I personally think that homophobia will not be won by mass demonstrations and showing of power. I believe that homophobia is conquered one person at a time. Every time one of us comes out, the people that we know are touched by the fact that someone that they like or love or admire or enjoy being with is a homosexual. And that is what will change the opinions of the world.

Personal Cons
Number 1 on this list: Isn’t it obvious? Loss of job, loss of income, loss of house, loss of car, loss of food etc. Here’s what goes through my mind before I think about speaking of my wife or just being queer in general. Who am I talking to? What do they know? WHO do they know? How can they use this information against me? Will they tell someone who will tell someone who will use this against me? It’s like playing Six Degrees of Queer Bashing. (You may laugh, but this actually happened to me. I slipped and introduced my wife as my wife to someone without thinking it through to the end of the equation. She told a friend, who told a friend, who works at my school. I had to go explain my position to this person and hope for the best. I was lucky, but I haven't forgotten the lesson.) I guess that even when you are out, your mind must go to such thoughts too, but maybe it just doesn’t matter. I think that one’s job would have a lot to do with the worry of being out. Some jobs are "queer friendly" and some are not. For example, I am a teacher. I work with young special education students. I do a lot of diaper changing and potty training. Some of my students can’t talk. It’s just too easy for someone who does not like homosexuals to cook up a scenario to cause me grief and maybe cost me my job. (If you think this doesn't happen, you haven't been paying attention to the news for the past 20 years.) And with only two years left before I actually go home, I don’t want anything throwing this off course. If I left now, I would be leaving behind a pretty good chunk of change, thanks to DROP. Maybe I’m imagining too much here. But I don’t want to try it and find that my worst thoughts are true. Better to wait two years than lose future financial security by taking a stand on this issue at this time. Call me a coward, but I just can’t risk it.

Personal Con Number 2: Harassment. I know that men have more to worry about than we do on this issue, but I still don’t particularly want to be harassed. Verbal harassment is fine, I can take that, but I don’t want physical harassment at my age. Remember, I have a hip just waiting to be broken!

Personal Con Number 3 -Upsetting old people. My wife has an aunt who is in her 80’s. She is fairly religious (except for the cocktails that she enjoys quite often), and really has a dislike for homosexuals. She has made this perfectly clear in the past. She is my wife’s only relative, and my wife is her only relative. She thinks that I am a very good friend of my wife and she does allow me to help her with things every now and then, if my wife is not able to help her at that time. We KNOW that coming out to her would upset her, and so we choose not to. She needs us, and we see no benefit in upsetting her and causing her to be estranged from her one relative. As far as we are concerned, she will never know. I must add that if she were a little more open-minded, we would tell her. For instance, my ex-husband’s mother (who is like my mother, but only better) knows all about us. She loves my wife, no, make that adores my wife. She is in her 70’s, but much more open minded. She calls us both her daughters (really).

Global Cons Well, I can’t think of any. And to tell the truth, my Personal Cons are really just rationalization. I know that being out is important, and I will come out. WAY out. Give me a couple of years, and I will be right out there in front leading the Pride Parade! Well, if Shreveport had a Pride Parade. OK, maybe I’ll start the first Shreveport, Louisiana Pride Parade. My wife and I could be in it, the Bad Little Dog, maybe even Pooh Dog. I can just see the Bad Little Dog in her rainbow finery, growling at bystanders. We could throw her at any protesters we might have. That would shut them up! Any suggestions for the parade? Let me know. It’s never too early to start planning!

2006-09-04T13:13:00.000-07:00

See, it's not my fault! According to this article, the reason my stomach is big is that I have too much stress and too little sleep. Oh, and that I probably eat too much trans-fat. Well, that might contribute to the fat, but somehow I think that my sitting on the couch, watching tv and eating the wrong things (besides the trans-fat) contributes much more to the big belly situation than the stress and lack of sleep. Also, I have read that some of the medication that I take makes you gain weight. The problem with blaming the medicine is that I have been taking some of this medication for over thirty years, fifteen of which I was thin. But, with my new resolution to get fitter, I will keep all of this in mind. My first step will be to finish this birthday cake as soon as possible, to prevent prolonged eating of something that is obviously making me fat. (I wonder how much trans fat there is in a Baskin-Robbins ice cream cake?) Next step, try to walk around the block at least once. The gym keeps writing me little post cards, begging me to return. According to them, they have missed my dynamic personality and witty comments and things just aren't the same without me there. (Well, they DID say they missed me and wanted me to come back. I just figured that they just left the rest of that off of the postcard because there wasn't enough room.) And now that it is getting cooler (highs in the mid to upper 90's), I might be more inclined to get in the yard than I was the last part of August, when the high temperatures have hovered around 100-103 degrees. (You must remember that summer in Louisiana starts in April or so and lasts at least until Halloween.) And I will make more of an effort to take a more balanced lunch to school instead of things easily carried in a tote bag. So, my plan is in place, and hopefully I'll be a little more fit by this time next year. I'd love to end up as fit as our friend Sharon, who does triathlons, but you know, I don't see that happening. I'll settle for taking a few pounds off, being able to walk and climb stairs without having to catch my breath, and having a little more energy. Again, wish me luck! http://cdn.digitalcity.com/ch_diets/bellyfat

2006-09-03T19:46:00.000-07:00

I turned fifty-one today.** It’s a sobering number, 51. When you turn fifty, there are celebrations. You get your AARP card, your discount card to certain department stores. “Oh, you look good for fifty”, they say. They sell special napkins and cups and balloons for fifty. There was even a character on Saturday Night Live who was excited about being fifty…”I'm Sally O'Malley, and I’m fifty!” You can really get into that 50th birthday merriment! But nobody celebrates 51. Fifty one is when you come to the realization that your life is over half over. I mean, realistically, how many more years do you have once you reach fifty? It’s not the middle, or at least I doubt that it is. I am not planning on making it to 102. I suppose that is a possibility, with modern medicine the way it is, but I really doubt that I will make it to that century mark.

I have a few regrets in my fifty prior years. Most of them deal with my mother, an uncle, and an ex-husband. But my biggest regret is not meeting my beautiful wife 20 years ago. I regret that I will not have as much time as I would like to have had left to spend with her. There are so many things that I would love to have done with her. For instance, we have a lot of traveling we want to do…we have even thought about buying an RV and traveling, but I don’t think I’ll be up for that if we don’t do it pretty soon. Roughing it is for younger people who still have good backs. And some of the things we want to do would make me look pretty ridiculous. I mean, in less than 20 years, I’ll be seventy. I’ll be really slowing down at that point, I think. She’s still young (nine years younger than me), and she still looks young. I, on the other hand carry too much weight to look young. I don’t have gray hair, and not a terrible amount of wrinkles, but still I couldn’t pass for too much younger. Let’s see the two of us at a punk rock concert. I would look like someone’s grandmother trying to be cool. See what I mean? I really don’t want to be responsible for freaking out multitudes of teenagers or twenty-somethings.

I have been thinking about this for a while. I need to get more active. I know that. Maybe this birthday will be just what I need to make me get off my big rear and get moving. (Actually my rear isn’t the problem, it’s my big stomach that’s going to kill me.) Activity would help me lose this weight, strengthen these bones (like I have said before, I’m a hip just waiting to be broken), and help my heart work better. I see older people who are active, full of energy. I can do that too. Maybe by fifty-two, I’ll be a whole lot healthier. I’ll work on it, and let you know how it turns out. Wish me luck!

** OK, I admit that I did not tell the complete truth in our profile. It just seemed easier to say “two dykes in our forties” than “one of us is in her forties and the other is fifty”. Forgive me for taking liberties with the truth.

2006-08-21T22:28:00.000-07:00

This summer has been liberating for me. This will go down in history as the summer that I pared down the amount of makeup that I wear to what I consider a bare minimum.

First, let me first explain how I got to the point of wearing as much makeup as I did before I had this epiphany. I was a small child. Very skinny, very small, and very young looking. And, because I skipped second grade, I was one year younger than all of my classmates. For example, when I was a junior at good old Oakdale High School, I was just turning 15 years old, about 4 ft 9, weighing about 85 pounds. I had no reason to wear a bra. Those showers after PE were like torture, trying to hide my body (or rather LACK of body) from the classmates that would make my absence of “womanly charms” known all over the school. I was even late losing my baby teeth and cutting my 12 year molars. I didn’t start my period until I was 16, and a senior in high school. I was what you call a “late bloomer”. I felt very much like a little girl, but I wanted to feel like a teenager, and I wanted to fit in, to be accepted by the “in crowd”. My mother said “No! Absolutely not!” to the request to wear makeup like the other girls did. Which, by the way, was her answer to pierced ears, shaving my legs, and wearing nail polish. And no, we weren’t Pentecostal, she was just an older mother(she had me when she was 40), with older ideas about how a "young lady" should look and what a "young lady" should and should not do. Her favorite admonishment was “I have to live in this town”. The only bit of mercy for me was that I was allowed to wear a little bit of “rouge” my senior year in high school.

The next year, I went to a college 150 miles away from my mother and my small town in south Louisiana. Watch out! The FIRST thing I did was shave my legs. Then I pierced my ears. Next came the makeup. I was determined to look older than my 16 years. (That’s also when I took up the nasty habit of smoking. I just wanted to look older. Now I know that young people who smoke just look idiotic, but at the time, I thought that I was so cool. And that I looked much older. Now I cringe when I think of how ridiculous I must have looked.)

Makeup was as exciting as I had thought it would be. Eyeshadow colors were beautiful, and eyeliner definitely showed that I was now a college woman. Lipstick, foundation, blush (not rouge, like my mother wore), and nail polish in every color under the sun (kind of like now-except that it was NEW then, not recycled from the 60’s and 70’s….this WAS the 60’s and 70’s). Mary Quant, Twiggy, false eyelashes, this was breaking new ground. By this time, I actually needed a bra (not needed as in the way I need one now, since gravity has done its evil deeds, but needed as in at least there was a little something there to put in one). Twiggy had made thin popular, and for once in my life, it was GOOD to be my size. And makeup brightened up my life. It made me feel pretty, sophisticated, mature, like I fit in. I embraced makeup. If I felt unsure about my body, size or baby face, makeup made it clear that I was not 12 years old. Or at least I thought that it did. (And really, isn't that really what counts?) Over the years, I have refined my makeup techniques, learned how to use the new products as they came out (except eyeliner pencils…I learned how to put on cake eyeliner a’ la Maybeline, which was just about all we had back then. I have never been able to get the hang of the pencils). I have eagerly awaited the new season’s new colors at the makeup counters the way some people await the new car models or new television seasons (I know, some of you didn’t even know that cosmetic companies change their colors every season…well, add to their collection and feature new colors. Just take my word for it, they do). I have read numerous articles in magazines about makeup application and color ideas. I have browsed makeup counters, dreaming of the many products and/or colors that I didn’t have the money to buy that month. So you see, makeup has always been my friend. Something to disguise myself with, something to hide behind. Thirty years ago, it was something to make me look older. Now it’s something to make me look younger. It’s interesting how time changes one’s perspective….

Up until this summer, I wore makeup everywhere. Not only to work, but also anyplace else outside my home. To the convenience store up on the corner, to WalMart, to the bank, everywhere. I did not venture out in public without makeup on. But this summer, I didn’t teach summer school, as I have done for the past umpteen years. I was just at home most of the time. This meant that I didn’t wear makeup except for the few times I went anywhere. I don’t know if I just got used to seeing myself without makeup, but I started thinking, “you know, I’m really not hideous without makeup.” That’s right…I determined that people wouldn’t turn to stone if they saw me sans makeup. My wife loves me with or without makeup (and believe me, she has seen me at my worst), and she assured me that I looked just fine without makeup. So I ventured out a few times without any on, and gradually increased the time spent without my safety net. I thought about the people that I teach with. I could count on one hand the number of women who wore makeup to school. Not many. I guess they figure ‘what’s the point?’. At this time of year in Louisiana, its 103 degrees out there, with 95% humidity. Any makeup you put on is going to get sweated off by 9:00 am anyway. Why bother? I have not worn my usual makeup since school started, and so far, no one has said a thing to me about the absence of my lifelong security blanket.
But still, I cling to wearing some makeup. I don’t think that I will ever be able to give all of it up. I still put on some blush, and a little color on my eyelids (something close to my skin color). But that's all. I consider this quite an achievement, thanks to all of the emotional baggage tied up in my old makeup routine. But I think about how easy it would be to “get back on” the makeup wagon. This is my attempt to simplify, to be myself and be happy and comfortable in my own skin. I still look at the ads in the magazines and linger at the cosmetics counters in the stores. It’s been a long (almost 35 year) relationship with makeup, so its hard to say goodbye to something that I have depended on almost my entire life to make me feel like I fit in, to help me disguise my insecurities and hide my flaws (real or imagined). Wish me luck….and I reserve the right to relapse at any time, especially if I am in a situation that needs poise and confidence. Wait! This is not just about looking good anymore is it? Oh god, another epiphany! Why does writing have to be so cathartic?

2006-08-18T23:13:00.000-07:00

I’ve been thinking about our son a lot recently, probably because he has a birthday very soon. You know, the right wingers seem to think that we are not good influences on our children. Are they right? Are we corrupting our children, screwing them up so much that they will never have happy, satisfying lives? I can’t speak about all children. The only one I know very well is my own son. He was 15 when I came out to him. He didn’t blink an eye. He knew my (now) wife because she had been staying with us quite a bit, and after a few months, I decided that I should tell him. I’m sure that he would have figured it out sooner or later, but we were tired of sneaking kisses and holding hands when he wasn’t in the room. His response was, “Oh, ok”. When I told him that we wanted to get married, but it wouldn’t be legal here in Louisiana, he asked us where it WOULD be legal. At that time, Vermont was the only place even offering civil unions, and that’s what I told him. He said, “Let’s take a road trip to Vermont”. Now, I knew that I had raised him to be a good feminist and good Democrat. He helped me work for Bill Clinton in the 1992 presidential campaign (when he was six years old), and again in 1996, and he has helped me with many other Democratic political campaigns for local, state and national offices during the years. He and I are what we call “yellow dog democrats” down here in the south. He has helped me with National Organization for Women rallies and protests, and he even sat with me at the NOW booth at the Ouachita Parish Fair. We have watched the news together, fussed at the TV and analyzed the propaganda. He refuses to look at anything that portrays women as sexual objects (such as beauty contests and certain well-known underwear commercials). In fact, once I was watching the Miss USA Pageant, because it was held here in Shreveport, and I wanted to see the little mini-commercials about our city. He came into the room, took one look, and said, “I can’t believe that you are watching something that treats women like objects”. Some kid, huh? So, I knew that I had raised him to be open-minded and non-judgemental. Why would he be anything other than accepting of me and my relationship with my (now) wife? But it’s different in theory than in real life. In real life, it’s kind of scary. What if he got upset? What would we do? I had already subjected him to a divorce, turned his world upside down, and moved him 100 miles away from his father and grandparents. And now, I’m telling him that I’m a lesbian, I’m in love with another woman, and the three of us are going to be a family. And all he said was “Oh, ok”. And wanted to go with us to get legally civil unioned. In the 5 years since this conversation, my wife has taught him to drive, taught him to cook and taught him to work for his allowance. His grades were less than desirable in middle school and ninth grade (my wife and I met the summer after his freshman year). Three years later, he graduated in a liberal arts magnet program from a top high school here in Shreveport, with honors (and a 3.9 average). He is a junior in college now, on a scholarship, majoring in psychology, and has been on the Chancellor’s List for all but one semester. He does not drink, smoke or take drugs. Everyone mentions his excellent manners, and caring ways. So, even though I can’t speak for any other children, I don’t think that being raised by lesbians has hurt our son at all. Now, I do have to add that he occasionally calls my wife the “stepmother of dark destruction”, and there is an occasional grumble about some assigned task that she has given him. But he loves her and she loves him. We are a happy family. The only drawback that I can foresee is that our son will probably never be able to enjoy the # 1 male fantasy…..yes, the lesbian fantasy. I have never talked to him about it (and never will, ewwww), but I would think that might be a little difficult for him to think about (my moms…ewwww). But hey, if that’s the only harm that we have done, he’ll just have to find another fantasy.
We love you son! Happy Birthday!

2006-08-14T15:52:00.000-07:00

My wife and I are looking at houses. We would like an older wooden house, up on piers, with hardwood floors, an attic fan, original tile bathrooms. It's more of a "feel" that we are looking for. I don't know if I can describe it, but I will know it when I feel it. I wanted to be out in the country, so I could have a whole pack of bad little dogs, but my wife thinks that we need to be in the city, where there is easy access to a hospital. Since this will probably be the last house we ever live in, I guess that I agree with her. I'm 9 years older than her, so I can see her concern. I mean, I've got hips that are just waiting to be broken. Anyway, these are pictures from a bizarre house that we toured. These photographs will make more sense after you read the whole post. The photograph above was taken in what we called the "grand ballroom", looking back into the "unknown use room" at the top of the steps. There are steps and handrailings, which would afford you a grand entrance. The curtains to the right of the "unknown use room" cover a tiny window to the bathroom with the tub in it. The handrailings to the left of the photograph are the steps up to the kitchen. The steps up to the master bathroom are off to the right and cannot be seen in this photograph, but are visible in the photograph at the bottom of this post. Anyway, as I said, my wife and I are looking at houses. We don’t plan on moving next week, but we are looking at doing something in the next few years. I have been reluctant to look at houses, because if we find THE perfect house, and we are not able to move right now, I will be upset. I just figure that there’s no point in looking until you are serious about buying. But it is fun to look at houses, I suppose, especially when you get to tour the strange and unusual. And during the search for a house, I actually learned something about my wife that I didn’t know. We have been together for five years, married for four of those five years. We have many things in common, such as religious views, work ethic and our love of animals. We are both hard core skeptics and liberal democrats. We are both only children, with older parents who are all now deceased. We like the same kinds of music and the same movies. There are a few differences, though. Just enough to make things interesting. I thought that I knew most of our differences, but we discovered a new one when we went house-looking. This house was interesting from the outside. It had a kind of “hidden garden” in the back yard, a greenhouse, from the outside we could see that it had two chimneys. It had a carport and a garage, plenty of parking room, and a place to sit and watch the hummingbirds. So my wife called the realtor so that we could see the interior of the house. This realtor had never been inside the house, so we got her honest attempt to put a positive spin on it. She was saying that it had a "lot of potential". I’ll just say it point blank. This was one of the most bizarre houses I have ever seen, outside of some of the ones in my dreams. In the dining room, there was a curtain in the middle of the wall. There, behind the curtain were the remains of a window. The sill was still there, and the frame, but there was a piece of paneling covering up the actual hole where the window had been. On the other side of the nonexistent window was the glassed in porch. Obviously, when they glassed in the porch, they covered the window up, but why didn’t they do it correctly? Who knows? In the bathroom with the bathtub in it (there were two other bathrooms, but neither had a tub in it), there was a window, covered by a curtain. When you pulled the curtain aside to look out of the window, there was another curtain on the other side of the window. And when you exited the bathroom, there was another room that we weren’t really sure about, I'll call it the "unkown use room". Then came the "grand ballroom" room. This room was huge! It was much lower than the rest of the house, and you could access it from the kitchen, master bedroom or room of unknown use. There were steps and handrails going down to this room at all three access points. I felt like the music should be playing and I should be dressed in a beautiful gown, making my entrance into the ballroom, to adoring applause. It was not a square room. The far wall, which had a fireplace, was at a 30 degree angle to the rest of the room. The master bedroom windows looked out on the "grand ballroom", as well as the tiny bathroom window, which was covered by the gigantic curtain. It was just plain bizarre. The real estate agent (who, by the way showed no surprise or shock when I was introduced as my wife’s partner, give her 2 points for that) was pretty apologetic about the entire house, and she understood that we weren't really ready to gut the entire house in order to make it livable. She said that she would keep her eyes out for something that we would like, then we left. We had a few more errands to run, and for a few minutes, we discussed the strangeness of the house, how the real estate agent was very nice, that sort of stuff. We were driving around, running our errands, and I started talking about the house again. My wife said, “Why are we still talking about that house?” I was speechless for a moment or two. “Because it was strange,” was all I could think to respond. Why were we still talking about that house? What kind of question was that? Isn’t it obvious why we were still talking about that house? My wife explained her line of thought. “Well, we aren’t going to buy it, we saw it and didn’t like it, so why keep talking about it?” I had never heard something so crazy in my entire life! What do you mean, why keep talking about it? It was strange, it was bizarre, it was so interesting, and a good source of speculation about WHY the people who had lived there had done the things that they had done to this house. Obviously they had added the grand ballroom on, but why had they not taken the windows out of the master bedroom? You don't see too many windows looking into another room of your house. Why had they built in seating in the grand ballroom? What did they use the "unknown use room" for? There was already a dining room, so surely they didn't have two dining rooms. Why did they put a HUGE curtain in the "grand ballroom" to cover up a tiny window in the bathroom with the tub? Why didn't they just take that window out also? Why had they even added the "grand ballroom" on? What did they do in there? The whole house perplexed me. And I wanted to talk about it. I couldn't comprehend someone NOT wanting to talk about something as bizarre as that house! But, that's where we stood. Any anyone who has ever tried to talk about something with someone that doesn't want to talk about it knows who is going to win that one! You can want to talk all you want, but if the other person doesn't want to talk, theres not going to be much talking going on. So, reluctantly, I let it go. But, she has lapsed once or twice, and we have had a few mini conversations about the house. During one of these mini conversations, we actually came up with a use for the "grand ballroom". We decided that we could make that a gay and lesbian meeting place. Not a bar, mind you, just a place to meet and talk. And the "unknown use room" could be a stage, where all the drag kings and drag queens could make their grand entrance, sing a couple of numbers, then float down those steps to their adoring audience. You know, maybe the house wasn't that bad after all. That would be a lot of fun, to provide Shreveport with a queer "coffee house" of sorts. But with all of those steps to get up and down, I up my chances for a broken hip. You know, now that I think about it, drag kings or not, I don't think that this is the house for us.
This photograph was taken from the far wall of the "grand ballroom". You can see the huge curtain that covers the tiny bathroom window, the built in seating on that wall, and the steps leading up to the master bedroom. The windows of the master bedroom look out over the "grand ballroom" Notice the ugly gold indoor/outdoor carpeting (covering a concrete floor with no pad underneath). The possible stage with its railings is seen to the left of the huge curtain covering the tiny bathroom window.

2006-08-10T21:27:00.000-07:00

Another of our “cast of thousands” is a Dalmatian named Pooh (above, in our "garden room", which is a nice name for the screened in patio-type room where our tools and lawnmowers live, kind of like a mud room). He actually belongs to our son, but he’s my baby. Our son got him when he was about 9 years old (our son, not Pooh), and named him Mr. Body (he was big into Clue at that point in time). I must tell you that our son has always had a creative flair when it comes to naming pets. We have had cats named “ABC”, "123" and “Doughnut”. The cat that he has now (I’ll tell you more about this cat later) is named “Pizza Puss”. He came by that name because when we got him (my son was 7 at that time), he thought that his orange fur looked like cheese on a pizza. But, I digress. The dog’s real name is Mr. Body. But I call him Pooh. OK, sometimes Pooh Dog, Pooter, and/or Pooter Dooter (how embarassing-must I tell all of the strange things that we say and do?).

Pooh came to live with us about 11 years ago. I had told my son that he could get a dog. We already had a Beagle and a Golden Retriever, but he wanted a dog of his own. So when he was visiting his father, 100 miles away, they got a puppy. A four week old puppy. When he returned from his weekend with his dad, they brought the puppy back to Shreveport. I couldn’t do anything about it, because there we were, 100 miles away from the puppy’s mother. He was a teeny little dog. He could actually fit in the palm of your hand. I had to get up every two hours, warm canned dog food mixed with milk and feed it to him. This went on for several weeks, until he got big enough to eat regular food on his own. Because of this early bonding, Pooh thinks that I am his mother. He got the name “Pooh” exactly the way you would think that he did. He was so little, he couldn’t go out to use the bathroom. At four weeks old, the mother dog is still cleaning the puppies up herself. They are not housebroken at this point in time. So, I guess that I said something to Mr. Body about being a little “poo poo puppy" (notice how that rolls off of your tongue), and it just stuck. I added the h when I had to tell the vet his name. Pooh will come to our son if he calls him Mr. Body (our son refuses to call him Pooh), but not to anyone else. An interesting aside here is that the Golden Retriever, who was about 15 years old, who had never had a littler of puppies and who had been spayed, let Pooh nurse on her. And amazingly, she got milk in. Pretty soon she had not only Pooh nursing, but several cats as well.

As you can probably tell from the picture above, Pooh is not the sharpest tool in the shed. He gets confused quite easily. Pooh is also the wussiest dog on the planet. He is afraid of everything. The cats, Bad Little Dog, thunder, the doorbell, the vacuum, fireworks, flashlights, pretty much any noise or unusual occurrence. A few times the three dogs have gotten out of our fenced-in yard. The other two dogs go on a world tour, which causes us great worry and a canvass of the neigborhood, leaning out of the rolled down car window calling their names. Where is Pooh, you ask? On the front porch. Sitting by the door. He takes the trouble to get out of the fenced yard, then is too scared to go anywhere, and just sits on the porch and waits for us to return home.

Pooh is also the sweetest, most gentle dog I have ever known. He loves everyone and everything. He is very protective of the very cats that he is afraid of. If another cat somehow gets into the yard and tries to fight one of the outside cats, Pooh gets courage from somewhere deep inside and chases the intruder from the yard. He is also extremely protective of me. If I am sick and have to stay in bed, he begs to be let in the bedroom with me, and he will stay there, at the end of the bed, for days, until I am well, only leaving to eat and go out to relieve himself. You see why I love my Pooh Dog.

I worry because Pooh is getting more and more neurotic by the day, and I wonder if he isn't having doogy mental problems or maybe little doggy strokes. He has recently started getting extremely anxious for no apparent reason. He will come to me, shaking, insist on climbing on top of me, not just next to me, but literally on top of me, and whining. There is nothing obviously wrong with him, and even once he gets on top of me, he continues to be anxious, whining and shaking. Then in a little while he is back to his old self. I don't know why he is doing this, but if anyone has an answer or theory, please let me know. I hate the thought of Pooh getting old and dying, but I know that one day it will happen. I just love him as much as I can now, so that when it happens, I won't worry that he didn't know that I loved him. I know that I will miss him, but I'll always be thankful for the time that I did have with my sweet Pooh Dog.

2006-08-10T21:13:00.000-07:00

Thisis one of our daylilies. When I moved from the city I used to live in (100 miles away) to Shreveport, I dug my daylillies up and moved them with me to the first house I lived in here in Shreveport. When I moved in with my wife, I dug them up and moved them over here. When we move again, I'll move the daylillies yet another time. They are such beautiful flowers, and they are really hard to kill (another check in the plus column). I think that's why they are one of my favorite flowers.

I'm not sure if anyone has wondered where I have been this week, but just in case you have wondered, I am back at work. I know... I can't believe that school started back on August 7th either. What happened to school starting after Labor Day? It's 103 degrees here in Louisiana! I hate putting small children on the bus when it is over 100 degrees outside. Think how hot it is in those big metal boxes! Anyway, I'm getting back in the swing of things. My aide got transferred to another school, thanks to our mighty King George W. and his "No Child Left Behind", so I have not had any help this week at all. Because of this, I've been staying until about 6:30 every day, trying to get things just right. Due to this unfortunate situation, I am so tired when I finally get home that I have just not had the energy to write. At least not coherently. But thanks to the free time that I had this summer, I have found that I really enjoy writing this blog, and I hope that people like reading it. I also love reading other people's blogs. But since we like to eat at our house, I guess the correct thing for me to do is to cut back on the reading and the writing and get back to work! You know, if we were just properly compensated for our efforts to destroy heterosexual marriage, I wouldn't have to work. I could just stay home and write anti-DOMA propaganda. Married heterosexuals would have to step up their defense strategies and get ready to defend their marriages from a barrage of short (yet humorous) essays designed to destroy the institution of heterosexual marriage. Sounds like a good plan to me. I'll contact the Queer Authorities, and I'll let you know how it turns out.

2006-08-04T21:29:00.000-07:00

We decided this summer that we needed new towels. This all came about because we had a hot water situation during the month of June which caused us to take baths in our son's bathroom instead of ours. Since we were using his bathroom, we used his towels, and we noticed that his towels were a LOT better than ours. His towels are what those in the towel business call "thirsty", and they do an excellent job of what you need a towel to do. This prompted us to decide that we really needed better towels in our bathroom. So began the quest for new towels. We discussed the prospect of buying towels before we went shopping. MY idea was to buy one each of several different towels, test each of them to see which one worked the best, then buy more of the one that we liked the best. Of course, there is a problem with this strategy that we did not foresee. If you buy one of enough different types of towels, you won't NEED to buy any more. You will, at this point, have a collection of one each of many different types of towels. But, as I said, we were on a quest. There was no logical thinking on my part involved in this venture. [Author's note: Notice that the shopping strategy is MY idea. This is because my wife does not care what kind of towels we have in our bathroom, just so long as there are towels and that they are clean. Therefore, she does not have a shopping strategy. Believe it or not, this happens quite often. She says that she is just practicing Buddhism, and not fixating on material possessions. Personally, I think that it is because I am the type of person that advertising agencies wish populated the planet. You advertise it, I want to try it. But, that's another story entirely.]

So, my wife humored me, and we went shopping for towels. The first store that we went to was one of those big box kind of household furnishings/linens stores. At the store, we mysteriously turned into Goldhighlightedlocks and her wife, Curlybrownhair. This towel is too soft. This towel is too thick. This towel is too thin. This towel is too big. This towel is not the exact shade of red that we want. You name the problem, we found it. You would have thought that we were negotiating world peace. People buy houses with less inspection than we gave those towels. Finally, we found a towel that we thought might work, so we bought it. To be perfectly accurate, we bought one towel, one washcloth and one hand towel. (Well, they each have their own specific job, therefore they each have their own necessary qualifications to be accepted as our towels of choice). We went to several other stores, inspected and bought acceptable towels from each of those stores, and headed home to try them and evaluate their performance.

Who needs Consumer Reports? We had our own Two-Dyke Consumer Report Test Squad. That night, I was the Designated Tester of the first set of towels. I drew my bath, dropped the washcloth in the water, and watched the pink spread through the tub. It was slightly reminiscent of "Psycho". Oops. Not good. But it's too late now. I braved the colorful water and took my bath. You know, I didn't realize that towels/washcloths need to have a certain amount of friction to do their jobs correctly. This washcloth glided over my face and body. I just didn't feel like I had gotten clean. The towel did dry fairly well, but it was also a bit too soft. Points against this towel for the pink water and the softness. Not looking good for towel number 1.

The next towel contestant was utilized by my beautiful wife. She took her bath, dried off, came to bed. "Is that a rash all over you?" I asked. No, it seemed that there were little bits of red towel lint all over her body. Everywhere. But it was fun getting them off of her. Give that towel one point for fun.

The Towel Trials continued until we had tested each and every towel that we had purchased, and rated each one accordingly. That's when we came to the realization that we now had plenty of towels. We didn't need to purchase any more, not even any more of the ones that we liked the best. So, our towels don't all match, not exactly. But they are in our bathroom, so no one will ever see them but us. And some of the towels work better than others. But at least we have new towels. Since that's what we set out to do, I guess we have accomplished our mission. We'll just know better than to let me determine buying strategy next time.

2006-08-01T23:05:00.000-07:00

If you have been reading this blog faithfully, but still aren't sure if you are a dyke or not, here is a questionnaire to help you determine your Lesbian Status. Now, look deep within yourself and be brutally honest, its better to know now, than to find out after you are married and have eight kids (although better late than never). And, by the way, if you DO discover from taking this quiz, that yes, you have gained admittance into the ultra-exclusive Queer Society, I am the one to put down as recruiter, although I didn't physically recruit you, I am responsible for your new Lesbian Status. (And please say that yes, you will be out, because I really need a new food processor). Thank you in advance for your cooperation.
http://www.seethru.co.uk/games/quiz/lesbian.htm

2006-08-01T20:36:00.000-07:00

This is Roscoe, our Bearded Dragon. Roscoe has lived with us for about two years. He is a handsome dragon, and for those of you that are not familiar with Bearded Dragons, the reason I know that Roscoe is a he is that he puffs out his "beard" and it turns black, usually when he is unhappy with something, such as a teakettle whistling (he lives in the kitchen because it is the warmest spot in the house). When he is not puffed out like this, his beard is the same color as the rest of his face. Roscoe is a spoiled Dragon, he even gets hand fed mealworms if he doesn't want to come down from his perch when it is time to eat. I love all reptiles and amphibians, but Roscoe is my favorite. Unfortunately, I had to sell my Ball Python when I moved in with my wife, so no more snakes for me. I have found that most people agree with her stance on the snake issue, so I don't even try to get sympathy anymore. But I am happy with Roscoe. He is not able to hang around outside of his cage, like some Dragons do, because we have Bad Little Dog and numerous cats. (The two other dogs would probably run from him.) Bearded Dragons are from Australia, and they sometimes "wave" their front legs in little circles when they see other Dragons. They say that they sometimes wave at people, but Roscoe has never even attempted to wave to me, even though I provide him with a steady diet of mealworms (which, by the way are NOT actually worms), greens/vegies, and crickets. He will cock his head and listen to me, and definitely recognizes my presence, but no waves. That's OK, simply being a Bearded Dragon is enough for me. I can live without waves.

2006-07-29T21:53:00.000-07:00

Today’s baby dykes have it made. They have the internet, with its availability of information and the ease of finding other dykes to chat with or even meet. And even though we are still fighting for simple civil rights (they are NOT special rights, so don’t even think that!), there is much more acceptance of queers today than there was 30 something years ago. If there had been this wealth of information years ago, when I was growing up, I think that my life would have been quite different. When I was growing up, I had major crushes on my friends who were girls. In fact, I had a “best friend” named Denise, from third grade until sixth grade, when she moved to another city (and broke my heart). We were never apart. We were in the same class at school. We walked to her house after school, where I stayed until my mother picked me up in the evenings. On the weekends, we spent the nights together, and back in the age where we didn’t realize that there were predators lurking out there, we spent all day together on Saturday and Sunday, riding our bikes all over town, seeing what we could find to get into. At some point, we decided that we needed to “practice" kissing, so that when we eventually got boyfriends, we would know how to kiss. I’m not sure who thought of this, but it was a brilliant idea! So we spent a great deal of time “practicing”, and I was in heaven. After she moved, I had several other friends and we all needed to practice as well (OK, I know whose idea it was these times). Finally we just got too old to call it “practicing” any more (and by then, we had real boyfriends to kiss), so that came to an end. Fast forward to college. When I got to college, I heard that there were lesbians living in my dorm. Ooh…. I needed to find them. Just to see them, that's all. I roamed the halls, looking for any sign that indicated “dykes in area” (Damn! Where were the rainbows when I needed them?). I was like the dog chasing the car…I had absolutely no idea what I would do with them if I caught them, but I definitely wanted to catch them. I was an art major, and there were some REALLY gay guys who hung out at the art building. I was no expert, and hadn’t developed gaydar yet, but anyone could have picked them out of a crowd. I wanted to talk to them so badly, but I didn’t know how to approach them. Another strike out. Then came the phone call…… It was the night before the end of finals. My roommate had already finished her finals and gone home. I was alone in the room, and the phone rang. “May I speak to Debbie?” Now, at this time, Debbie was an extremely common name. Everyone my age probably knew at least five Debbies. So, I assumed that he meant my roommate. I told him that she had already gone home. That’s all he needed. He proceeded to tell me all about how she was his friend and about how she had told him all the things that she wanted to do with me, but she was scared to approach me. Funny, I had never gotten that impression-as a matter of fact, she was engaged. But I bought into it. I listened for about 10 minutes, as he continued to get more and more involved (and more and more breathless). Finally, the climax of the story came (and so did he) and I realized that I had been listening to an obscene phone call. But I didn’t feel violated, I felt disappointed. So that meant that he didn’t really know her, that she had never said those things about me? Damn! You know, this should have been a clue. But back then, people didn’t really talk about being gay. So I never found any lesbians, never got any information about being a homosexual. I dated a lot of “pretty” boys, the prettier the better. (This was in the early 70's, there were long-haired boys aplenty.) I had posters of rock stars like David Bowie and Marc Bolan and other “glam rockers” on my walls. Still no clue. Instead, I did what I was supposed to do. I met a nice boy who treated me well and that I could get along with. I married him, and I went on with my life. (More about this part of my life in a future post) Since then I have thought about it, and I truly believe that I am one of the ones who, had I had access to the information and the acceptance that we have today, would have been out by the time I was 18 years old. It wouldn't have taken me 44 years to find the love of my life and to finally be "home". It wouldn't have taken me so long to finally be in the place where I should have been all along. But, if I had realized that I was a lesbian at 18, my life would have been much different. I wouldn’t have married the nice boy, I wouldn’t have been blessed with a wonderful mother-in-law and father-in-law (who are still like my own parents, but even better), and most importantly, I wouldn’t have my son. Maybe it took me longer than it should have for me to get to where I am supposed to be, but I think that the detour was worth it. And you know, I might have started the battle to destroy heterosexual marriage a little late, but I'm in the fight now. Heterosexuals, be ready to defend your marriages! We're in love, we're happy, we're totally devoted to each other...I can feel those heterosexual unions crumbling even as I speak!

2006-07-27T21:50:00.000-07:00

Why do lesbians and gay men always get grouped together? This is something that has perplexed me for years. Our magazines, our newspapers, our protests, our parades, you name it, we are all grouped together. I suppose that it’s because 10% of the population is a small demographic, and without each other, it would be an even teeny tinier niche market. If we want power in numbers, we have to be counted together. But if you really look at it, who has LESS in common than lesbians and gay men?

Now, I must add a disclaimer here. I am by no means saying that all gay men fit into this description, nor do all lesbians. We are all individuals. This post is meant to be amusing. So please, don’t take it personally. I do not mean to offend anyone. I’ve just worked the stereotypes left and right. But, when you read it, you’ll know that I’m right at least part of the time.

Let's examine the question... Who has LESS in common than lesbians and gay men? OK, gay men like other men. In fact, they love other men…but they do not seem to care very much for women (except for fag hags, because fag hags adore them and find them endlessly fascinating). Now, I can’t say that ALL gay men do not care much for women, but I’ve been called a “fish” by enough of them to say that a large percentage of them feel that way. At best, I think that most gay men tolerate women. And I suspect that lesbians fall a little lower down on gay men’s list of favorites than straight women do, especially if the straight woman in question is fashionable and/or glamorous. Gay men usually have a keen sense of fashion, they know the designers, they know what is hot and what is not. They take great pride in their appearance. And its no secret that dykes, for the most part are NOT glamorous or fashionable. We are more comfortable than fashionable. We prefer comfortable clothing such as shorts, jeans and t-shirts, comfortable shoes such as running shoes and Birkenstocks, easy care hair, little or no makeup. We don’t know the names of designers, and we don’t intend to learn them. About as close to designer labels as we get is ordering something from the L. L. Bean catalog. No frills and sequins for us! But gay men love glamorous women. If you don’t believe me, let's take a look at Cher and Rosie O’Donnell. Which one is the gay icon? You don’t see the queens up on the stage in a t shirt, shorts and Nike Cross Trainers belting out a song from “Grease”.

Now let's examine the other side of that coin. It seems that most lesbians don’t seem to care very much for men…no, contrary to popular belief, we don’t actually hate them, but except for our fathers, our sons and other assorted male family members, we really don’t seek them out for too much personal contact. That is kind of a shame, because many of us can talk with reasonable accuracy about power tools or the intricacies of professional sports. We could easily be Billy Bob’s new best friend. If we are in a work situation with men, we are friendly coworkers, but we secretly try to outwork them whenever we can. It adds an interesting dynamic to male/female coexistence. However, I think that lesbians would have to put gay men over straight men on their favorites list. Probably because they are witty and fun to be around, and it's just good to be friends with someone who "plays for the same team". Oh, and because a gay man will never hit on us or suggest that we go home and "party with him and his wife".

Personally, my wife and I play this little game called “That’s Reason Number 2,485”. For those of you unfamiliar with this game, it involves sighting men that make us EXTRA glad that we are lesbians. For example…we’re in Wal-Mart, and we see some man in nasty camouflage clothing, dirty, torn shirt, unshaven, greasy hair, with about four teeth in his mouth. This is where one of us says, “That’s reason number 986”. That's all there is to it! It’s a simple game, that’s why it’s so much fun to play. And the fact that you are NOT with the man in question means that you WIN EVERY TIME! One more disclaimer….lesbians do not become lesbians because of men. We are born, not made. No man has the power to turn a straight woman into a lesbian, so, straight men, get over yourselves!

Here’s another difference between lesbians and gay men. There are a lot of gay men with money out there. Men that live in fabulous homes, go to the circuit parties, hire interior designers, drive expensive cars, vacation all over the world. For the most part, you don’t see dykes with that kind of money. Well, maybe tv stars, but your run of the mill dyke does not have the means to fly out to the Dinah Shore Weekend or up to P-town on a whim. I'm not really sure why. If I ever figure it out, I'll get back to you.

Yet another difference…when gay men are “on”, they are the life of the party. They are sparkling, effervescent, witty, charming. On the other hand, dykes aren’t known for their wild sense of humor and glamorous parties. And if you are somewhere with mirrors, you will know where to find the gay men. Dykes avoid the mirrors…gay men are drawn to them like moths to a flame. And speaking of parties….could any two groups be any farther apart than gay men and lesbians on their choice of music? If you go to a gay man’s party/bar/club/store, any place where you find gay men in charge of the music that is playing, you will find the technopop, the driving beat going steady. I personally think that it is all one long song….there’s no beginning or end to it. Now, check out the lesbian music…ballads, folk music, sometimes we even get rocking with some music by Melissa Ethridge. And to be fair, there are a few new faces in lesbian music that add a little spice to it, but basically it’s a much different fare than the gay men’s music.

We have some differences, but if we have to be lumped together with any other group of people, gay men would be my group of choice. If we want power in numbers, we will have to put up with this togetherness. “Dykes on Bikes” and “Our Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence” will have to peacefully coexist in the Pride Parades and be happy!

2006-07-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

We have a little game that we play at our house. I think that it is probably a fairly common game, as I have played the Work Edition with my coworkers on the rare days that we are working at school without any students and are allowed to leave campus for lunch. The name of the game is “Where Do You Want To Eat?®” The objective is the same, no matter where you play. You want to determine where your group (be it family or coworkers) is going to eat lunch/dinner. The Work Edition of the game is slightly trickier, because you don’t know the other player’s tastes as well, and an added complication is that you don’t know their financial means that well either. But the rules are basically the same. In Round One, the players stand around in a group and say “Where do YOU want to go for lunch?” The correct response to this is, “I don’t really care, where do YOU want to go?” To play this correctly, each person in the group must be asked the same question and must respond with the same answer (see above for correct question and response). Once the question and its response has completed this cycle, Round Two begins. Someone says, “Well, we could go to XXXX”, then pauses, “or YYYY”. The correct response to this statement is “Yeah, either one is good for me”. Notice that still no decision has been made. Round Two is completed when this cycle of statements has made it around the group. (Note: Round Three is where the Home Edition differs from the Work Edition.) In the Work Edition, Round Three goes like this… One person says, “Where is everybody else going?” another says “I’m not sure, let’s find out.” Everyone stands around while one player tries to find out from another group where they are going. Unfortunately, they are also playing the game, so they are absolutely no help whatsoever. Finally, in Work Edition Round Four, one person in the group has the courage to speak up and say “OK, lets go to XXX” Now, this takes a great deal of courage (or maybe that person is just starving and doesn’t want to waste the little time they have to eat standing around in a group deciding where to go). The reason that being the one to select the place to eat requires great courage is because if the food/service/ cost/distance from work/ temperature in the restaurant/anything else is not satisfactory, that person will feel as though he/she has personally failed their group. That person will NEVER again suggest any place to go, as they are forever marked as an unsatisfactory eatery selector. In the Work Edition, we also have a Bonus Round, (played at the end of the meal) which involves everyone looking at their watches until one person says, “It’s time to get back to work, or we’ll be late.”, thereby causing the moans and groans of everyone in the group. Another successful game of "“Where Do You Want To Eat?®” Work Edition has reached its conclusion.

Now, back to the Home Edition. As I said, the Home and Work editions of the game start the same, but often, in the Home Edition, instead of standing in a group, you actually play in the car. And since we don’t have another group to ask, the Home Edition skips right to Round Four, the round in which someone actually selects the place to eat. However, in our family, we have worked out a plan, in which each player names one or two places, then the other player(s) (sometimes there are just two of us playing) say either, “That would be ok,” or “No, I don’t feel like that”. Note that this does not actually cause a place to be selected, it merely eliminates several choices. At this point, we go into the Lightning Round, where a decision has to be made, so the driver (me) will not just be driving around town aimlessly. Sometimes we simply say, “It’s your turn to pick”, and we force one person to make a selection. The fly in the ointment with this strategy is that all players still retain the power to veto any choice. It gets terribly complicated at times. We have thought about making a spinner, with all of the restaurants that we frequent, so that we can just spin and make the decision easier. But wouldn’t that take away all of the fun and excitement of playing “Where Do You Want To Eat?®”?

2006-07-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

Here's the top view of the "mystery" butterfly. The ones that I looked at online all had more white on them. I couldn't find anything that matched exactly. Anyone who knows the name of this butterfly, please let me know. Thank you!

2006-07-25T18:22:00.000-07:00

Well, these photos finally loaded! The photo on the top is the butterfly that I cannot identify. I think that it looks like a Gulf Friterary, but I'm not sure. If anyone can identify it, please let me know! The inside of the wings are a dusty orange, with three little white spots on the top of each wing near the head. The photo underneath (in the middle) is the Spicebush Swallowtail and a bee that didn't mind sharing the zinnia. Its funny, because wasps at the hummingbird feeders chase the hummingbirds away, but obviously bees have better manners.
This bottom photo is the Tiger Swallowtail. At least that's what I think it is. I know that it is a Swallowtail, but I'm not positive about the Tiger part. I have a few other photos that are pretty decent (of the butterflies), and I may post them at some time in the future, so be forewarned! Butterflies are much less aware of human presence than hummingbirds, or if they are aware, they don't seem to mind. At any rate, it's fairly easy to get butterfly pictures. I hope that you enjoy the photos as much as I enjoy taking them!

2006-07-24T20:45:00.000-07:00

Today was a “Wild Kingdom” sort of day. I mowed the both the front and the back yards and encountered a plethora of small animals/reptiles/amphibians/insects that most people probably wouldn’t even touch. I not only touch them, I love them. Along the side of the house, I found a rough earth snake .....a pretty good sized one at that (they don’t get any bigger than about a foot long). I have no idea what it was doing in the middle of the yard. They usually are found under rocks (where they can find the little bugs that they eat). I moved it to a safer location…it didn’t seem to be particularly thankful, but I was glad that I saw it before I mowed over it. In that same area, I caught a little leopard frog (see picture at the top of this post), which surprised me also, because they usually stay close to water. I also moved him to a safer place. And in the SAME area, I saw not 1, not 2, but 3 teeny tiny little anoles (The little green lizards that some people call chameleons. They are not real chameleons, but they do change color, and the males puff their red throats out). These were probably no longer than 1 ½ inches. Two inches tops. I didn’t even try to catch them, because they were so little, I was afraid I would hurt them. Around back, I saw another leopard frog, but it jumped into one of the ponds before I could move it. I also saw a teeny little preying mantis on the trellis over by the roses. It was only about 1 inch long. And I saw several interesting grasshoppers. The dragonflies were out in force, as usual, as well as the hummingbirds, and all of the other birds that come to our feeders. But the highlights of my day were the butterflies at the cottage garden. There were three… a yellow swallowtail, a spicebush swallowtail and one that I couldn't identify. I was lucky enough to get some pretty good pictures. I know that this isn’t a particularly amusing post, it’s more of a “reflect on what really matters and what is beautiful in the world” type of post. If there is one thing that I have gained from teaching young children, it’s the chance to see the “wonder’ a child has when he/she sees something for the first time. That ‘discovery” moment. As adults, we take so many things for granted. Not only take them for granted, we consider them a nuisance, something to get rid of, dismiss. We don’t appreciate what we have in nature and how perfect it all is. Spider webs, for example. We pull them down, curse their presence, and hope that the spider does not rebuild. But if we take time to look at the spider web, at its intricate design, we can appreciate how this spider has developed its web, and how it functions in our world. Interconnectedness. Everything has a place and a function in our world. I’m thankful to be a part of it, and I am thankful for the ability to recognize what I have.
The photo on the left is a green anole. Anoles change color from a grayish brown to different shades of green, to blend in with their background. The photo on the right is a rough earth snake. The rough earth snake looks bigger in this picture than they are in real life. They are usually between 8 and 12 inches long. They have a teeny little head, and couldn't bite you if they tried. Author's Note: I planned to place some photographs of the butterflies in this post, but as usual, they wouldn't load. I guess the program was just humoring me when it let me load these three pictures. I would say that 85-90% of the time I cannot load pictures when I try. But, I will keep trying, and sooner or later, I"ll get them loaded. Please check back. Does anyone else have this problem?

2006-07-22T21:00:00.000-07:00

Well, here's my latest hummingbird picture. Unfortunately, my wife's '83 El Camino was in the background, so I got a pretty good shot of the tire. But the hummingbird is not too bad. My wife said that I ought to have some kind of software that I could use to get rid of the tire in the background, but I'm not quite that computer savvy. The flowers are 'Black and Blue Salvia'. They grow like crazy in our cottage garden (in the back yard), but for some strange reason, they die in the front yard. It's a pity, because they are really pretty. The other photograph(at the bottom of this post) is one I took of the fish in one of our ponds. It's a koi pond, but they are really just goldfish. These do very well, and they are only about 20 cents apiece, a far cry from the koi prices. And I don't care one way or the other. They are both pretty. The goldfish just don't have the little catfishy-looking whiskers that koi do. The greenish things are water lettuce and the other little beige things are floating fish food. You can see all the teeny tiny babies. That's actually why I took the picture. I really like it when we have babies. I love to work in the yard. I think that I got that from my father. There's just something that feels right about getting your hands dirty, sweat dripping off of you, making things grow. After years of gardening, there are a few things that I have noticed about working in the yard. Certain truths, so to speak. For instance, I have found that while mowing, if I am going to run out of gas, it will be when I only have a 3 foot by 8 foot section left to mow. And if there isn't any gas in the gas can to refill the mower right that minute (which will involve putting on a bra and going to the convenience store to refill the gas can), that 3ft X 8ft section will be in the FRONT yard rather than in the unseen back yard. The same holds true for trimmer line. Another truth is that if you plant two of the same plants, one in the front yard, and one in the back yard, the one in the back yard will flourish, and the one in the front yard will die (see Black and Blue Salvia, above). And still another: no matter how you stretch it, your hose will always fall 3 feet short of reaching whatever it is that you want it to reach. I was working in the yard today, weeding, and wishing that I had mulched better earlier in the summer. Living in Louisiana, our summers are hot and humid. Today we topped out at 105 °, with 92% humidity. That's pretty darn hot. If you want your garden to do well, you pretty much have to mulch your plants. And when you mulch, you should put down at least an inch to 1½ inches of mulch. Now, I HATE mulching. It's not so much the actual mulching, it's the buying the mulch and getting it home that's the real pain. In order to put down 1½ inches of mulch, you need a good many bags of mulch. I usually figure out how many bags I think I need, then double that number. Let's just say that you need 20 bags of mulch to properly insulate your garden. First, you have to go to either a Homo Depot type store or WalMart to buy your mulch. My car will hold 2 bags in the trunk and 3 in the back seat if I really cram it in there. You have to deal with going in, hauling the mulch to the checkout, standing in line, paying for the mulch and putting it in your car. Invariably, the bags will have tears in them and you will have mulch all over your car. That's another one of those truths I was talking about. So you take the five bags of mulch home, then go back for five more. Stand in line again, load it up again, get even more mulch in your car. By that time, I'm tired of WalMart or Homo Depot or any other place that sells mulch. I refuse to make two more mulch runs. But I obviously don't have enough mulch to do the job correctly. Do I spread it thinner than needed? Or do I mulch some of the garden correctly and wait on the rest of it? And how do I select which part of the garden deserves to be mulched first? As I was contemplating the choices, an idea occurred to me. Mulch Trucks. Like ice cream trucks. Except they would play something like "Farmer In The Dell". All the gardeners could run out to the truck and get their mulch. "I'll take 20 bags, sir/mam." No WalMart, no Homo Depot, no mulch in the car, no four trips to get enough mulch. Problem solved. I talked to my wife about this idea, and I think that maybe after I retire (just a few more years), we might load up that '83 El Camino of hers with mulch and give it a try. We have been looking for a job that we could work together. This just might be it.

2006-07-19T22:43:00.000-07:00

Up until very recently, my wife, son and I did not own cell phones. And we were proud of it. We didn’t NEED no stinkin’ cell phones! Not only did we not own cell phones, we thought that we were so superior to everyone else that did, because we could manage our lives without having cell phones glued to our ears. And we were horrified at the people who were rude enough to talk on their cell phones in public. But, since my son drives 100 miles every other weekend to see his dad and his grandmother, and my wife drives 30 miles several times per week to groom and ride her horse (he doesn’t live with us-he lives on a farm in the country), I worried about them when they were on the road. So the more I thought about it, the more I thought that we needed cell phones. Just for emergencies. That’s right. Oh, we don’t need any fancy phones, we all said. Just a simple phone, just in case of an emergency. We all agreed on that… just your basic phone would be just fine. We did our research, we talked to friends and coworkers who, of course, all had cell phones. We looked at brochures and the propaganda that they call commercials. We selected our plan and network. The night before we went to get the phones, I made a confession. “I’ve been thinking, and if we don’t have to pay too much, I might like a camera phone-you know, just in case I see some freaky people at WalMart, I might want to take a picture.” (This happens quite often, remember-we live in Louisiana. If you want to be entertained, go to a WalMart on a Friday or Saturday night around midnight and marvel at the way people actually go out in public. Sometimes I wonder if they have mirrors at their houses.) Anyway, I said, that’s it…no other luxuries…I don’t need text messaging or picture messaging or anything like that. Just the camera… just for emergencies. My son confessed that he had also been thinking that a camera phone might come in handy. OK, so we will look for camera phones. But plain phones except for the camera. Nothing else fancy. These are just for emergencies anyway. The next day we went to a local electronics store to purchase our phones. We surveyed the “free” phones. Well, there you go, there’s a camera phone, and its free…. it just happens to have text messaging and picture messaging and all those other fancy things that we will never use, but since we want camera phones, this one is as good as any other. So we got the phones. The ones that had the text and picture messaging, but only because they had the camera, and that’s really all that we wanted. We probably wouldn’t even use the phones. Just in case of an emergency, that’s all. Oh, and in case I saw someone freaky at WalMart. The most amazing thing to us was that we got three camera phones (with all of the totally unnecessary and obviously never-going-to-be-used extra amenities) and walked out of the store without paying a cent. Nothing. That was in itself amazing to us! Who ever heard of getting three phones with all that extra stuff for free? So we took them home and got them out of the boxes so that we could figure them out. The first thing I did was take a picture of my beautiful wife. And then I sent it to her…well, I had to at least try the picture messaging, since I had taken the picture. She sent one back. Oh…this was fun! The three of us spent the next few hours playing with our phones. We text messaged, picture messaged, downloaded ring tones, you name it, we did it. But just to try these features out to see if they worked, because remember, these phones were just for emergencies. Two days later, we left for vacation in Pensacola, Florida. Our son stayed home, by himself, to take care of the Cast of Thousands. We had numerous “emergencies” that merited photo or text messaging during our trip. We sent pictures of us on the beach, at the zoo, at the Oceanarium. We even sent a picture of a Wendy’s chicken nugget that looked like Mickey Mouse (see photo above). He sent us pictures of the dogs and the cats. We spoke several times per day (I think that he missed us). After that initiation, all bets were off. We were like “dykes gone wild” on the cell phones. When she was in meetings and couldn’t talk, we text messaged back and forth. Unfortunately, I did not see any freaky people, but I did send her pictures of my garden at my school and I even sent her a picture of the supper I had waiting for her, to encourage her to hurry home. One morning around 3 am (I am a night owl, especially when I am not working), I changed her ring tone to me saying “Honey, answer the phone…pick up the phone…answer the phone honey.”. At 3 am, doing something like that is absolutely hilarious. I am very thankful that at 10 am the next day she thought it was just as hilarious (although it confused her at first…she thought that she must have had the speaker phone on). By the way, this is one of the reasons that I love her so much. She enjoys my crazy jokes as much as I do. And surprisingly, she has not changed the ring tone back to “London Calling” yet, because she says that she likes hearing my voice imploring her to answer her phone.

We have had the cell phones about six weeks now. Our first bill came about two weeks ago. WHAT??? When you text message or picture message, the person who receives the message gets charged too? That’s just not right! No one told us that! But it’s worth it, for the enjoyment it gives us. (How’s that for rationalization?)

We are now officially “cell phone users”. We keep our phones on from the moment we wake up until the time we go to bed. Our “just for emergencies” phones are now used more than our land line (which we have actually been thinking of getting rid of). And, my wife, who was the most stalwart of the “no cell phone holdouts” is experiencing ‘cell phone envy”. One of her co-workers has a RAZR, which she says is a positively beautiful thing to behold. But, you know, it seems a shame to pay that much for a phone that would be just for emergencies.

2006-07-18T20:50:00.000-07:00

My son called me yesterday, to tell me that the Sci Fi Channel was now showing "Dead Like Me" on Tuesdays at 6:00 pm. Needless to say, I was thrilled! "Dead Like Me" is my all time favorite television show. It originally was a Showtime original series, but only ran two years. For some unknown reason, despite critical acclaim, Showtime cancelled it, and put "Fat Actress" in its place. "Fat Actress"! What were they thinking? Anyway, I am hoping that they will not only show the past episodes, but will pick up where the series left off. The only thing that might cause a problem is that Mandy Patinkin is now doing "Criminal Minds", and I think that show is doing pretty well, so he might not be available. His character (Rube) was a major character in the show, but I guess that I could get used to someone else in that role. I wouldn't like it, but to get the rest of the cast back, I would accept it. If you have never seen this fantastic show, I will try to tell you a little about it. Or, you might want to go to the web site, which will probably sum it up better than I can. http://www.deadlikeme.tv/index.php .
Here's my summary:
The main character is Georgia Lass (George), an 18 year old college dropout, very unmotivated, withdrawn and moody. Her mother makes her go get a job, but the first day on the job, when she is at lunch, a toilet seat from the space station Mir falls to earth, killing her. But, rather than going on to where ever you go when you die, she becomes a "reaper" (as in grim reaper). There are reapers everywhere, it seems. They look like ordinary people, work at ordinary jobs (since they don't get paid to reap, they have to live somehow), and do ordinary things. She has issues with the idea of being a reaper, and the first several episodes deal with those issues. You get to know her fellow reapers (who also all have some kind of issues) Mason-the British screw-up, Roxy-the no-nonsense meter maid/police officer, Betty-a free spirit, Daisy-man-crazy actress from the 1930's, and Rube-gruff boss-father figure. Rube is the one that hands out the assignments, however we never see who gives him the assignments (they are slipped under his door). Every day they meet at 'Der Waffle Haus' restaurant, and Rube gives each reaper their assignment(s) (name, location and estimated time of death) for the day and it is their job to go "reap" that person. Now, they do not kill the people, they only reap their soul, hopefully seconds before they die. Then they take the person to a place where they go towards the lights and disappear. We don't see where they go either. There are also little imp-like creatures that sometimes cause the deaths, called "gravelings". No one can see them except reapers, and even they have to look out of the corners of their eyes to see them. I know that this sounds kind of complicated, but it really isn't. The show is a dark comedy, and very funny. Through the two seasons, you get to know the reapers, see their ups and downs, jobs, relationships and living arrangements. There are some serious issues too, mostly about the effect of George's death on her family. (They cannot let anyone know that they are still here on earth, or that they are reapers, and in fact, they look different from the way they looked when they were alive, so that no one will recognize them.) Well, I'm not a television or movie critic, so I don't know if this description will entice anyone to watch the show. But if you do, I think that you will like it. If you don't want to wait for the Sci Fi Channel to show all of them, or don't get the Sci Fi Channel, you can also rent the box sets at video rental stores (I'm not sure if Netflix has them). When I watched the episode today (yes, even though I have the DVDs, I watched it anyway), there was a short scene in there that was NOT in the Showtime version OR in the DVD set. That gave me hope that they might be willing to invest in this series and continue it. I would be overjoyed if they do, but if they don't, I always have my DVDs.

2006-07-15T22:12:00.000-07:00

One of our cast of thousands is a bad little dog. She came to live with us three years ago. We already had two dogs, but I’m a dog person. I grew up with dogs. They were my confidants, my best friends, my buddies that would hide under the house with me when I heard my mother calling my full name. (Is there anything more terrifying to a child than hearing their full name called? Any time you hear your full name, you just know it can’t be good.) I think that I love dogs because of the unconditional love that they give you. It doesn’t matter if you leave for five minutes or five hours, dogs are always ecstatic to see you return. Don’t get me wrong, I really like cats, but I am extremely allergic to them, so I don’t encourage them to come and sit on me. Besides that, I was not allowed to have a cat as a child because “they get on the table and lick the butter” (ok, so she was right about that). Therefore I never developed that close “cat person” bond with them. In fact, I was not around cats at all until I married a cat person (my ex-husband) and finally had cats of my own. So that’s why, three years ago, even though we already had a beagle and a dalmatian, I wanted another dog. I wanted a yippy yappy, jump up and down, pick-me-up-this-very-instant little dog. You know, a little dog like the ones in the movies that jump up and get the jail keys and bravely save their masters. A little dog like the ones you see in the tabloids being carried around in fake celebrities' purses. That's the kind of dog I wanted. All I can say now is that the adage holds true…be careful what you wish for. My wife agreed to this, which shows just how much she loves me. We found this particular bad little dog at the Caddo Parish Animal Shelter. They told us that she was half Jack Russell Terrier and half Rat Terrier, but to me she looks exactly like a Fox Terrier. The people at the animal shelter also told us that her name was Emily. “What a sweet name for a sweet little dog”, we thought. A sweet little dog! Hey, that’s exactly what I wanted! We gladly gave them their $50 and hurried out of the shelter before someone else snatched such a sweet little dog away from us.
Once we got home, we soon found that she didn’t answer to Emily. We tried changing her name to Rita Mae (after Rita Mae Brown, for all you non-dykes out there). She didn’t respond to Rita Mae either. We obviously had to find a name that she could own…one that fit her and that she would be proud to acknowledge as hers. In the meantime, she was tearing up everything in the house that she could reach. She was tearing up stuff that we didn’t even know we owned. She was chasing the cats, getting up on the laundry table/24 hour cat food buffet (formerly known as an air hockey table) to eat the cat food (which is, to a cat person, a major offense). When she was outside, she would chase squirrels and birds. When you let her back in, she would fly around the room, on a circular flight path, in front of the tv, around the coffee table, up on the back of the couch, and back around the room again and again. And every time she would do these things, we would say, “Stop that, you bad little dog!”. Of course, she didn’t stop. But soon we noticed that when we said, “Stop that, you bad little dog!”, she still wouldn’t stop, but she would look at us. We knew that we had found her name. Bad Little Dog. We’ve had Bad Little Dog for three years now. She is still a bad little dog and she has not slowed down one iota, although thankfully, she is tearing up fewer things. She has refined her hunting style, and now hunts like a cat, crouching in wait for the unsuspecting doves who feed on the ground under the bird feeders, shaking her rear end and stubby little tail side to side, until she pounces on her prey, who, much to our relief, always gets away. But she is nothing if not vigilant. She goes on “lizard patrol” and can sit for hours in the daylilies and roses, watching for lizards on the walls. Unfortunately, she does manage to get a lizard on occasion. She is also an accomplished hunter of rough earth snakes. Her favorite snacks when out in the yard are ants. On the nights that it is either thundering or fireworks time, she gets to sleep in our bed. She burrows under the covers, finds a leg or foot to lick and goes to sleep. She is a handsome dog. He stomach is hairless, and feels like a piece of raw chicken. We sometimes call her "Chicken Belly", which she ignores completely. I love the Bad Little Dog, even though she would never get the keys to my prison cell and rescue me, and if I put her in my purse, she would shred it in just a few minutes. She is definitely MY dog, which is fine with my wife, since she is a cat person, and merely tolerates the dogs. Bad Little Dog will sit by me for hours, sometimes licking my leg or foot, whatever is handy. She will lick for ten or fifteen minutes, her eyes getting heavier with each lick. Towards the end, the licks will get slower, sometimes stopping with her tongue still on my leg. Then she sighs and she’s asleep. She looks so cute and sweet when she is asleep. We enjoy it while we can.

2006-07-10T15:49:00.000-07:00

I’ve been thinking about my toaster. You know, the one I got for converting my wife to homosexuality and leading her into our “alternative lifestyle”. At the time, I was happy with the toaster. I mean, it’s a four slice toaster that holds bagels also, what’s not to like? But, as I said, I’ve been thinking about it, and it hardly seems fair. In the past, conversion to homosexuality was strictly a personal thing. It wasn’t until the Defense of Marriage Act that we were given the huge responsibility of destroying heterosexual marriage. That’s quite an ambitious project, don’t you think? That’s why I have come to the conclusion that now, since the stakes have been raised, we deserve better appliances. I’m not really sure what we should get instead, maybe it should be flexible, on a sliding scale…depending on age, level of activism, whether or not they intend to be out. Converting a young (20ish) person who would be an out activist would certainly merit a top reward, like an Ipod or maybe even a video camera (which would actually be a twofer, because of the ability to use the camera to make subversive videos and thereby use this technology to further our cause). It’s obvious why an out person and an activist person would add to your score. But I must make a clarification here…the younger, the higher level, only because this gives them potentially more years to work on the destruction of heterosexual marriage. In no way do I personally value a 20 year old more than a 60 year old. I just think that if the conversion involves an older person, say someone in their 60’s or 70s, the reward should be a little less, because in all probability they will have less time to work on our cause. And anyway, people are already used to two elderly women living together (remember the librarian and the church secretary in your home town?). If we are going to fight this Defense of Marriage Act, we’ve got to get serious about this conversion thing! We’ve got to get busy! Someone like Shane from “The L Word” could furnish their entire house in just a few months! What an incentive! I think that I should send this idea to the queer authorities, and see what happens! Don’t get me wrong, I may have come up with the idea, but I can buy my own appliances. I’m as much committed to the cause as anyone, but I will have to fight the DOMA in my own way. I don’t intend to ever collect another reward for conversion, no matter what they dangle in front of me. My wife is reward enough for me. I’ll keep my toaster, thank you!

2006-07-10T15:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not working this summer. This is the first time in 5 years that I have not taught summer school. The only reason that I didn’t work that particular summer is that I was in the hospital. In fact, in the past 20 years, I’ve only missed 2 summers. I even taught the summer that I had carpal tunnel surgery. But this year, everyone thought I should rest. I suppose its been good for me, my hot flashes have tapered off, and my right eye has not been twitching nearly as much as it usually does. I’m not mainlining antacids either. But I miss it. So, now with a seemingly endless amount of time, I’ve had to adapt. First of all, I shouldn’t say that I am not working this summer. I’m not teaching, but I do have a summer job. I am the Doggy Doorkeeper. With three dogs, I have a lot to do. Let them out, let them in, let 2 out, let 1 back in, let 1 back out, let 2 back in, well, you can see where this is going. But I have found another pastime. Actually, it is more like a hobby. An interest. Ok, it’s an obsession. Hummingbirds. We have 12-16 hummingbirds in our yard (or maybe more-they go so fast and fly up in the trees and over the house, so its hard to keep count). They spend all day zooming around the yard; going from one feeder to another (we have four feeders at this point in time). They fuss at each other with a peculiar little squeaking sound and chase one another away from the feeders and all around the yard, sometimes getting within a few feet of us. I’ve actually spent a good deal of time wondering how much damage one would do if it hit you at full speed with that needle-like beak. Ok, watching them is fun, but I am not satisfied with sitting with my wife on the swing, enjoying the breeze, watching the hummingbird drama every afternoon. I must get a photograph. Not just any photograph. THE photograph. The absolutely best, artistically perfect, can’t wait to frame and display, award winning, magazine quality photograph. Forget that I have a fairly inexpensive, little Kodak digital camera with no extra lenses. I intend to get that photograph. So there I sit in my lawn chair (because the swing isn’t close enough to the feeders for me to get THE picture), as still as I can be, waiting for one of them to get into the exact position for that perfect photograph. But it eludes me. I will get that photograph. This is my quest. (I can hear the sounds of “The Impossible Dream” playing in the background). It might take me a while, but I will get it. And just so you will know how the project is progressing, I will post the best pictures that I have taken of the hummingbirds. And when I get THE photograph, you’ll be the first to know.

2006-07-06T21:27:00.000-07:00

Another one of our "cast of thousands". This is Monte. He and I have a love/hate relationship. I am the human, and as the human, I am the boss. Somewhere along the line, Monte missed that lesson. His main goal in life is to escape from the hell that is the air-conditioned, comfortable couched, bottomless food bowl house that we call home. Being a teacher, I have the "teacher voice". That and a pop on the head pretty much taught him that running out the door when it is opened is not a good idea. The reason that I am such a cruel jailer is that 1) he has no fear of the street, 2) he likes to chase birds and 3) he picks fights with one of the outside cats (not Our Sister of Perpetual Aggravation-the other one, Carmen. NO ONE picks fights with Our Sister of Perpetual Aggravation). Before you cry "cat abuse!" for the remark about a pop on the head, I have to tell you that I have a minor in psychology and understand behavior modification. When I first arrived at his house and found that he was a pretty accomplished escape artist, I used continuous conditioning, popping him everytime he neared the door that I was entering or exiting. That, along with the "teacher voice" NO! a few times, and he reined in his desire to escape. He's a pretty quick learner, and soon, the pop was no longer necessary and the teacher voice alone did the trick. Occasionally, he needs a little reminder, but not very often. But even with our escape situation, he still loves me, and insists on sitting on me as much as possible, despite the fact that I am highly allergic to cats. Come to think of it....maybe he doesn't love me so much after all.

2006-07-06T21:05:00.000-07:00

I guess that all dykes at some time in their lives have to ask themselves this one burning question....am I butch or femme? Where do I fit in the grand scheme of things? When my wife told her ex-husband (by the way, he was an ex-husband before I came along) that she was in love with, and marrying a woman, he asked her a derivation of the age old question..."Who wears the strap-on at your house?" My response to that question was, "Who wears the strap-on at YOUR house?" He was not amused. I thought that thinking was in the past, but I see in the gay press that it is alive and well. Actually, my wife and I discuss this "butch-femme" thing every now and then, and the funny thing is that we both want to be the "butchest of all". After discussing this for five years, we decided that the only fair thing to do is to look at the facts and decide once and for all, which one of us is butch and which one of us is femme. OK, first let's take a look at us....I have shorter hair than she does, and her hair is cute and curly (even though she does absolutely nothing to it). Put one check in the butch column for me! But wait, I wear makeup-pretty much every day, and she wears none-never. One check in the butch column for her. And, I have to confess, for the amount of makeup I wear (eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick...the whole nine yards), I deserve TWO checks in the femme column (damn!). Neither of us wear dresses anymore, so that's a butch check for both of us. However, her footwear (she sometimes wears sandals or low pumps) is occasionally femmier than mine (I wear nothing but athletic shoes-different colors, but still athletic shoes). But, since I have heel spurs and a medical reason not to wear other type shoes, we'll call that one a draw. We both occasionally get manicures (but always with clear polish), so we can call that one a draw as well. I wear much more jewelry than she does, so I'll have to take a hit in the femme column. I think that I am leaning a little more to the femme column at this point. But let's look at the jobs we each do around the house. She does 95% of the cooking-1 femme for her, but I do 95% of the laundry-1 femme for me. I mow the yard-1 butch for me, but she edges and weedeats-1 butch for her. I sew when needed (mend garments, hem pants, sew curtains)-1 femme for me, she irons-1 femme for her. I own power tools-1 butch for me, she's the one that fixes the toilet-1 butch for her. I get between her and crazy men in WalMart (a whole other story)-1 butch for me. She cleans the bathrooms-1 femme for her, I clean and mop the kitchen-1 femme for me. This butch/femme thing is getting way to complicated for me! I heard somewhere along the way that lesbians are fluid, that we are not bound by labels anymore. Personally, I think that we are just us. We do what we like, we make it work, we're happy, and that's all that counts.

2006-07-04T15:30:00.000-07:00

I hate to fill out forms of any kind. Trying to fit all of the necessary information into those little boxes is tedious at best. I hate explaining that I have absolutely no blood relatives (oh, you poor thing), and I hate having to justify why I list my ex-husband and my ex-mother-in-law under friends (how hard is it to understand that you still get along with your ex-husband, and that your ex-mother-in-law is like your own mother, but better?). But the trickiest question for me is the one that says 'Marital Status: Single? Divorced? Married?'. Every time I get to this question, I sit and stare at the page, trying to work out the answer. Of course, as you know, I am married. Just not legally in the state of Louisiana (at least not yet). So, if I check married, what will happen to me? Will the truth-in-marital-status police come for me? I know that I am married, the state of Louisiana just doesn't recognize that I am. I also know that I am definitely not single. I feel guilty, like I am denying my wife and our life together if I check single. There's no way that I am single. And to complicate things further, yes, I am divorced. But what does that have to do with anything? Is it their business that I am no longer married to the boy I married as a young, naive nineteen year old, fresh out of college? I think not. And please explain to me the difference between divorced and single! In either case, you are not married. Is there something special about your singleness after you have gone through costly legal wrangling to remove your check from the married box? So there I sit, trying to figure out which box to check. It would be much easier if they would just recognize our marriage legally. But since that isn't going to happen soon, maybe they could just put a box on the forms that says "in a committed relationship" or "domestic partner". Or better yet, leave the whole thing off! Yeah! What business is it of theirs what your marital status is? Let's start a movement....privacy! Leave it blank! Write in "Its none of your business"! Stand up to the powers that be! Why does the dentist need to know such personal information? No more will we be pigeonholed into the overly complex: Married? Single? Divorced?. I can see the grassroots movement growing! Who's with me on this?

2006-07-01T22:34:00.000-07:00

DOMA...Defense of Marriage Act. They should just call it the LNLQMA (Let's Not Let Queers Marry Act). At least then, there would be some truth in advertising. To be honest, the name 'Defense of Marriage Act" perplexes me. Is heterosexual marriage in such a fragile state that it needs defending? If it is, it isn't for lack of trying. I know people who have been married three, four, even five times. It seems like they should have gotten it down pat by the third or fourth time. Maybe its because so many heterosexual people have taken marriage for granted, broken their vows, ignored the 'til death do we part' clause, and made a mockery of marriage by marrying in haste or in a drunken stupor, only to get it annulled 24 hours later? Do they feel threatened by us because we take the rite of marriage so seriously that we face contempt of court, public outcry and ridicule just trying to get the same rights that they have, yet do not appreciate? When my wife and I got married, (we had a commitment ceremony in our UU church), we were asked, "Why are you doing this? It isn't even legal." We responded that our relationship, our commitment to each other was too important NOT to do it. To publicly proclaim our love and devotion deserved a ceremony. We knew that we would still have to legally acquire the simple protections that heterosexual couples automatically receive upon saying "I do". But our love deserved this ceremony, whether we received these same protections or not. If/when marriage for homosexuals becomes legal in our state/country, we'll be first in line. But until then, we consider ourselves married, legally or not.
In the meantime, in keeping with our most important goal in life (i.e. the destruction of heterosexual marriage), we would like to offer these three compelling reasons to destroy heterosexual marriage: 1. It would put an end to the men who approach lesbians in the gay bars and ask "do you wanna come 'party' with me and the wife?" 2. Women would not have to deal with the problem of 'male empty container syndrome' in their refrigerators and pantries.(Hey, we're just trying to help our heterosexual sisters out!) 3. It would mean that we wouldn't have to listen to straight women complain about their husbands all day long. (People think that lesbians do not like men, but if you listen to straight women fuss about their husbands, you'll know who REALLY dislikes them!) Well, back to our alternative lifestyle...I have to get a load of clothes out of the dryer! More later!

2006-07-01T22:24:00.000-07:00

This is one of our kitties, 'Our Sister of Perpetual Aggravation' (formerly known as Harriette). She is a sweet kitty, but always looks and sounds very aggravated. (Don't worry-no animal was harmed in the making of this blog)

2006-06-30T17:33:00.000-07:00

Is it just us? We seem to be WAY more interested in people that we suspect of being fellow queers than they seem to be in us. And its not always easy to make the identification. Gay men are fairly easy to ID, but confirming dykedom is a little trickier. Since we live in Louisiana, simply having a mullett and wearing "comfortable" clothing does not guarantee that someone is a lesbian. I have observed women in the local WalMart, positive that they are dykes, only to have their mostly toothless husband/boyfriend and 6 kids under the age of 5 walk up to them. Before I go any further, I want to clarify that the process of identification is just a hobby. No wagering allowed. We mean no harm, we don't want anything, we simply want to see who else belongs to the elite "Lesbian Club". The first clue to look for is anything with a rainbow on it. This should be a requirement...all dykes must wear something with a rainbow when they are out in public. If this gives us no clue, next we look at the ring finger. But yet again, this does not guarantee that we have found one of us. There are a lot of lesbians (and gay men) who wear wedding rings now (including us). Next, look in the shopping cart....lots of makeup? probably not a dyke (unless its me)...organic produce?....signs are good....Cosmo and Glamour magazines...sorry, not this time...Southern Living and Family Circle?...maybe she just likes to cook (by the way, my wife/partner/love of my life informs me that Southern Living does now feature gay male couples in their magazine, but dykes are strangely absent). But back to the question at hand, is it just us? When we are driving in the car, sometimes we see a car (or even better, a truck) with rainbows and HRC symbols and triangle bumper stickers. Two women are in it, sitting beside each other. We are like little kids playing the "I spy a dyke vehicle" game! But, as we pass them (so that they can see our bumper stickers and fully appreciate that we are ALSO dykes, they do not as much as turn their heads in our direction...no wave, no excitement, no pointing at our stickers. What a letdown. So, what is it? Why are we so much more excited to see other lesbians than they are to see us? Is it validation we need? Is it a sense of belonging? Does anyone have a clue?

2006-06-29T01:15:00.000-07:00

2006-06-28T22:35:00.000-07:00

I guess that since this is the first post, there should be some information about us. We have been together for over five years, "married" for four years. We live in Louisiana, which is an adventure in itself. We both work, one of us is a teacher, the other works in the "liberal media". At the present time we have three dogs, six or eight cats (depending on how you count them), five turtles, fish, a large lizard, a guinea pig and a horse. We have flower gardens and a vegetable garden, koi ponds and bird feeders. We also have a son who is in college. Neither of us smoke, drink or take drugs, and we don't go out to a bar very often (usually only if we are on vacation). Neither of us are what you would call "butch" or "femme". We are just ourselves. Only one of us is out at work (not the teacher). I doubt very much that anyone on our street knows that we are dykes, despite our rainbow flag and windsock, HRC and rainbow "Celebrate Diversity" bumperstickers. We will be posting interesting (hopefully) happenings in our lives, comments on current events, opinions, and updates on our main goal in life-destroying heterosexual marriage by being a "married" lesbian couple. Hopefully you will find some of this interesting and/or amusing. Probably there will be a lot that is not terribly interesting, but we will try our best to keep that to a minimum.