The Lesbian Chronicles 4 : New Year’s Edition

For this upcoming year 2016, I have decided to choose a gift for myself instead of a traditional New Year’s resolution; because let’s face it,  I am that lesbian who always chooses the road less travelled !

So  delicious is this gift , that I am offering it to all my Huffington Post readers as well. What is this gift that I have yet to speak?

I am offering up the gift of self-forgiveness.

Yes; you read that correctly. I want you all to give yourself the gift of self- forgiveness; and not just the ordinary kind of forgiveness where you excuse yourself for a loud sneeze  while out with your partner at the symphony,  but I am asking you to go deeper, and longer and with more attention to Big Picture Forgiveness.

Forgive yourself people! Forgive yourself for not losing those ten pounds you promised you would lose in 2015; you are still desirable! Forgive yourself for screaming at your daughter when she left the wet towel on the floor this morning for the third day in a row. It’s okay! You are a human being with feelings, not an automaton!

Forgive yourself for not giving money to the homeless man and his trusty German Shepard sitting on the Eaton Centre steps this morning; you were rushing to a dental appointment!

Forgive yourself for calling yourself a loser when that promotion passed you by .You’re not a loser! It was that bum kissing snake in the next cubicle. He sucked up to your boss everyday for months, and stole your promotion away from you. Boo on him, not you!

Stayed up till 4 a.m reading the new Dean Koontz book, and now you are blaming yourself for your unwillingness to leave your cozy bed, despite your alarm going off twice? It’s okay, and you are okay, and tonight you will go to bed at 8.

Most importantly; forgive yourself for thinking that you are unlovable and will be alone ’till the end of your days. You are not unlovable!

These are all the empty places where  self – forgiveness is needed. Just imagine what you would tell your best friend; your kind co-worker; your child; should they came to you with such negative self talk. Be your own cheerleader. Be your own good mother; imagine the arms of the Divine Mother wrapped around you so tight that all you can feel is your own innate goodness. Know you are loved and lovable . Fill all those murky dark places in yourself with light.Because loving yourself is paramount.

This is my gift to you my readers, as well as to myself. Let us all use this gift often and with tenderness.

Happy New Year to all!

The Lesbian Chronicles 2

Lately, I’ve been thinking about boundaries. Growing up in a home with a mother that never met a closed door she would not open, I never had an opportunity to practice creating healthy boundaries. As an adult, I let women in too easily, allowing them to colonize my body and my soul, mostly without my conscious consent. I need to build better boundaries inside and outside of my body. I need to become cognisant of where I energetically begin and end, and learn where other people begin and end as well.

A tandem issue I am grappling with is regulating my emotions. When I am in a group I am not sure when to speak; often I feel stunted and stilted and stuck. I feel overwhelmed by my  somatic experiences. These ‘felt’ experiences feel stronger than what I see or what I hear.

Because I am so sensitive to energies; I have a hard time staying present. I often feel as if I am a pinball in a pinball machine, left to the mercies of the players. When faced with  rage or hostility or someone simply having an off day, I take it in and I experience their anger as a strong uncomfortable feeling in my body.  I think they are angry at me; so I shut down or I blurt out something inappropriate; so hard for me to just stay present with myself.

Inside of me lives a very young girl that has feigned dead for most of my life. That little girl stayed silent to protect me, and as a survivor mechanism it worked well, but I now need to be present for my young self, I do not want to stay hidden and silent any longer.

To combat these issues, I have started taking yoga  classes; ‘senior’ classes to be specific;  me and all the other alta kuckers. ( Yiddish expression meaning decrepit old Jews) As the session winds down, the instructor puts on soothing music and we are asked to just lie still and breathe. While lying prone and allowing my body to relax, probably for the first time ever, I keep hearing a voice  whispering  to my younger self, Katharine- trust life. Trust that life will support you. You don’t need to offer someone your shiniest bauble to be loved. You don’t need to scream out loud to be heard. You just need to try – as the poet Mary Oliver so wonderfully put it  ‘You only have to let the soft animal  of your body love what it loves.’

 

Happy Birthday, Joe Greenbaum

My father, my daughter and I are all born on the 11th. Today would have been my Dad’s 89th birthday. My Dad was brilliant ,idiosyncratic and very funny. He loved good food and good clothes and most importantly a good Jewish joke. In his honour I am sharing this joke . Happy Birthday Joe Greenbaum, there will never be another you.

Sylvia and Irving were two young Jewish people who were in love and wanted to get married.
They both were brought up to believe it was wrong to have premarital sex and were doing an excellent job dealing with their celibacy.

In fact, Sylvia’s family had a tradition that never had been broken. It was that all the women in Sylvia’s family spent their honeymoon in Miami and NOWHERE else since the second part of the tradition was that all the women in Sylvia’s family were to save their virginity for marriage and ONLY IN MIAMI on their honeymoon.

Irving was secretly finding it very difficult to abide by this tradition but, the wedding was only a few days away, and he already had been waiting during the year of their engagement.

Sylvia and Irving were of limited means so they chose to take a Greyhound bus from NYC to Miami.
Their wedding and reception were modest but filled with happiness. When the party was over they were next heading for the Port Authority to board their bus. But before the door to the cab had a chance to close, Sylvia’s mother leaned into the cab, gave Sylvia a kiss and then whispered into Sylvia’s ear,”Remember our Tradition, Sylvia, and that every woman in our family has NEVER broken it.” Sylvia nodded in agreement and then off went Sylvia and Irving to catch their bus.

The bus to Miami was leaving early in the evening and was supposed to arrive by tomorrow evening.. Needless to say that by now both Sylvia and Irving were quite eager to get to Miami. About 4 hours into the ride the driver suddenly felt himself becoming ill and luckily he knew of a nearby motel and managed to pull into the motel parking lot before he became worse. He also was able to call his company who told him to allow the passengers to stay at the motel at the bus company’s expense considering the circumstances. And it would be morning until a new driver would arrive.

As the passengers were given keys to their rooms, the motel clerk handed one key to Sylvia and Irving but Sylvia remained strong and asked for a second key for Irving who was grossly disappointed. The next morning the replacement driver was in the bus and ready to go. He mentioned that there was extremely bad weather headed for the Miami area, but hopefully they
would beat it to there. But as luck would have it, the weather got worse and worse as they listened to the bus radio. Sure enough, Irving’s and Sylvia’s nightmare became true — for their passengers the new bus driver was instructed not to endanger anyone and take all the passengers to safety at the nearest motel. Again, Sylvia and Irving reluctantly took 2 keys — hearing Sylvia’s mother chanting in their minds “Remember THE TRADITION !!

Things seemed brighter in the morning when the storm had appeared to be waning a bit. But, lo and behold when they were just 2 hours outside of Miami they learned that most all roads leading to and also in Miami were badly flooded; and it would be tomorrow before any new traffic were allowed in the area. So off they and the other passengers went to ANOTHER motel. . However, when it came time to get the room keys Sylvia handed back one of the keys and asked Irving to join her.

Irving and Sylvia proceeded to have the most lustfull and satisfying sex over and over again. They were ecstatic and besides themselves with joy. As they boarded the bus the next morning, Irving, who wasn’t going to break the mood by asking last night, asked Sylvia this morning — “Sylvia, I am not at all sorry we broke the TRADITION because it was so wonderful to finally consumate our marriage. But I am so curious to know — what made you change your mind?”

“Well,” Sylvia explained, “when we got off the bus for the third time last night, I heard one of the other passengers say that ‘By the time we get to Miami, the fucking season will be over!”

The Lesbian Chronicles

Many years ago when I was younger and still viable, I dated a whole lot of women. I would  meet them for coffee at my local Starbucks and instruct my daughter Victoria to phone me 15 minutes after my lesbian assignation began. It was rare that I didn’t take the call, and then say to the unsuspecting dyke “I’m so sorry I must leave right away, my daughter needs me.” The reason I almost always answered my phone when dutiful daughter called, was due mostly to boredom ( healthy dyke = oxymoron) as well as major chemistry misses. After many of these mini dates, I invented a system; a series of questions that I could ask my potential mate to see if we could be a match. Questions such as these :

1: How do you feel about your family of origin? (Frankly this is where I lost most of them. Family of Origin, or the acronym FOO, is standard psychotherapy gobbledygook) 2. Are you still close? 3. What do you want to be when you grow up?

Often, they would respond with questions of their own. Once in a while  the question ‘what was my fantasy?’ would come up. I knew where they were headed but I always veered away from the standard sexual response and answered their question in this way. “My fantasy would be an invitation to my partner’s Christmas/Chanukah dinner, at which her father or mother would make a toast and it would sound something like this:

“I am so excited Katharine has joined us here tonight. You have made my daughter so happy. Welcome into our home and into our hearts”. Then all twenty of us would eat a fabulous home cooked organic turkey dinner, or perhaps ingest loads of lakes. We would share stories, and laughter would abound, and I would be able to almost taste the warmth and support each one there had for the other.

Fast forward fifteen years, and this still has not happened for me. But, as my friend Louise’s mother used to tell the both of us each year at this time; ” Girls, this is going to be your year!” And who knows, it just might be. For now, I will continue to live in that place with feathers.

Wake me

I am Sisyphus :

My boulders of terror

and rage

tumbling down

despite

my valiant attempt

to keep them

secured

to the apex.

Terrifying me

with their repetitive

urgency

to annihilate.

 

I am

The Little Match Girl

waiting in the dark,

hands numb

with cold

waiting..

 

on my

Auntie’s stoop

begging

to come in.

Desperate in

my desire

to sit

with my cousin

Gail

on her big comfy couch

and watch

soap operas

while

drinking milk and

eating chocolate chip cookies

still warm from her oven.

 

I am Princess Aurora

asleep for the last

one hundred years

waiting for Love’s

sweet kiss

from a benevolent

Queen,

to awaken

in me

my own

innate loveability.

 

K.A.L

 

Fairy Tales

 Peace   has
       always
  eluded me;
      waiting
 Sisyphus-like
for my rock of rage
  to come tumbling
           down
     leaving me
       flat and full
           of
     self-hatred.
Longing for someone
   any one really
        to show
        tiny  me
    that I matter.
    No one here
      caring to
        care.
      Desperate
   to understand
       my life
 I found the
     answer
not in family
but in fairy tale,
 taking comfort
      in story.
      My life
   understood
through fairy tale.
I was the little match
     girl in the story
waiting in the dark,
her hands numb
     with cold
      waiting
always waiting
to be rescued
and brought in
to the warmth,
she stands outside
         alone,
shivering in her
       darkness.
K.A.L