my forays through love and other gastronomical stories

The Lesbian Chronicles 52: Tony Robbins And Me. — March 28, 2017

The Lesbian Chronicles 52: Tony Robbins And Me.


“Trade your expectations for appreciation” Tony Robbins


What I know to be true today is this: That all that I have left in my life is my long standing companion, resentment. I feel, no I fucking know, that I have been cheated out of a good mother and good sister and a father who should have known he needed to leave a will with my name next to a bunch of numbers that would have assigned my safety. Sadly my Dad left no will at all. He did not want to think about the inevitable, focusing instead on the moment, filling his body with smoked meat, and his mind with thoughts of financial gain.  I know I chose to marry a man whom I believed would provide the financial safety that I thought was my due, but when I needed to make a hasty exit, he screwed me over as well, just like my daddy did.

But I really didn’t care about hubby’s money because now, I had Jane. Jane who promised me she would keep me safe. Jane who promised to hold me tight every night until my nightmares eased. I imagined the person I might be if Jane held me long enough to finally feel safe. She would be happy and healthy and productive in the world. Unfortunately after one week of my nightmares, Jane kicked me out of her bed, because when rescuing turned from fantasy to reality, reality was too real for her.

But that’s was okay, because here comes MLC to the rescue on her big white horse, asking only for my servitude to her world view. A fair trade for room and board and occasional cunnilingus. Unfortunately I didn’t understand the terms of the deal, and my princess ways got me kicked out of her castle.

With resentment as my fuel, I quickly found an apartment, and sold the last token from my former princess life to pay for a few months reprieve.

Now that my reprieve is coming to an end, I find myself once again scrambling for financial assistance. Mummy will certainly save me now that I am close to being homeless right? Not right. My wealthy uncle? Wrong again. What about my multi- millionaire sister? Susie had vehemently stated years ago “We are blood!” I didn’t really understand at the time why that mattered but if it mattered to her, certainly she would come up with a few sheckles to help her soon to be homeless sister right? Wrong again. Makes sense since said sister hasn’t spoken to me in years, but a girl can dream right?


No more dreams of family to the rescue for this fair maiden. Because I’m not a maiden anymore and the only commonality that runs through all my resentment stories is me.

This Thursday marks one year of my being binge free after forty years of using food for numbing and comfort. I made a decision to stop harming myself with food, and after ten thousand tries, this one took.

Of course this is wonderful and healing and my body feels so much better, but now I have to deal with life as a fourteen year old, because that’s when I left this world and sent in other Katharine.

Years ago, I worked with the healer Elizabeth van Diepen, who told me I was the most present un-present person she had ever worked with. At the time, I took this as a compliment.

I’m working hard to stay present, I really am. I’m gently taking off the tentacles of resentment that have attached themselves to my body like an octopus, replacing each one with appreciation. This is hard. This letting go of resentment is harder than healing from my years of disordered eating, because of course, anger and resentment are why I started to binge in the first place.

But I’m a fighter. I fought to free myself my eating disorder and I won. I will fight to free myself from any expectation of being saved, financially or familially and I will succeed here as well.

I can and will save myself by beginning to appreciate what I have and to release all that is illusory.  Due ongoing health issues I can’t work as I used to but I am starting to work again as a tarot reader and Reiki master, and of course, a writer.


I can do this. One second, one breathe, one decision at a time, trading in my resentment and expectations for appreciation and gratitude.




The Lesbian Chronicles 51: Heart Songs From My Hopeful Lesbian Heart. — March 16, 2017

The Lesbian Chronicles 51: Heart Songs From My Hopeful Lesbian Heart.

My puppy Lucille and I are camped out nice and cozy under my duvet. Truthfully, she has corrupted both of my pillows with her long and narrow body, but she is the Queen and I’m just her willing lady-in-waiting. I’m listening to The Beatles and reading The Admissions, a novel about a family in The Bay Area of San Francisco whose daughter really wants to get into Harvard (hence the title) as well as The Girl Before, a mystery in the Gone Girl genre. I am loving them both a lot, and think The Girl Before would make a great movie.  Books, Beatles and a Bitch. What more can a not so little lesbian Jewess possibly want?

I had a delightful day today. Got up early and took Lucille for a short walk at the beach. I would have walked longer had Lucille not had a tussle with an escalator earlier this week, and unfortunately lost. Luckily her tiny paw did not break, though she did sustain a few deep abrasions. Lucille was a trooper, only barking twice to let me know all was not okay. I grabbed her up in my arms and rushed over to the veterinarian. As chance would have it  Dr. D was about to leave on vacation, but stayed long enough to bandage up Lucille’s paw.

I love being at the lake. My body feeds on the fresh air, my soul the open space that the boardwalk affords. Back from the beach I  made blueberry pancakes with turkey apple sausage (on a separate plate, of course!) for breakfast. I don’t love cooking, but do love making breakfasts, my specialty the aforementioned pancakes. I prefer organic over processed and high quality food over poor. I am not an in- between kind of lesbian, hence my enjoyment of five star  restaurants and authentic divey diners. I am seriously lactose intolerant, but otherwise I will eat anything as long as it is crafted with care.

Lately I’ve been thinking about tenderness. Coming from a borderline mother and a demanding father, there was a dearth of tenderness in my young life.  As a result, I too did not lead with tenderness while parenting my daughter Victoria. I often felt challenged in parenting, there being a great chasm between who Victoria was and who I wanted her to be.
Vicky wanted a Master of the Universe kind of mommy who worked on Bay Street,  wore power suits and flew the family to Antigua on the company jet. I wanted a Barbie loving, tea party playing, soap opera watching kid. Instead I got a tomboy who hated Barbies and tea parties and often, me. I tried so hard to be what she wanted me to be, but what she wanted was so far from who I was that it proved impossible.

I have worked hard to construct strong but flexible boundaries. I have forgiven myself (mostly) for not being the parent that my daughter wanted and stopped telling myself platitudes  about being the parent that she needed, just letting our history be. I try now to be the best me that I can be, finally understanding that being me is really the only true thing I can be.

All this to say that my next relationship will be built around tenderness and vulnerability . Allowing myself to be seen, and seeing my partner in all her flawed glory.I believe in transparency, and processing and sharing. Not in the it’s our first date and I’m telling you about my incestuous relationship with my brother, but the slow lazy Sunday  kind of sharing while reading the Times. I believe  I’m ready to begin anew.  I have a first date this weekend with someone I met at a Jewish lesbian speed dating event of all things.

I shall let you all know how it went..

Stayed tuned!

The Lesbian Chronicles 53: What Love Is — March 6, 2017

The Lesbian Chronicles 53: What Love Is



     What Love Is: A Poem In Three Parts

                 Part One

It’s 2:30 in the morning and once again

I’m in the bathtub

trying to relax,

trying to heat myself up

so that I may fall back to sleep,

when I realize suddenly

how thirsty I am.

I just can’t bring myself to leave

my now perfectly warmed

rose scented bath.


   Part Two

This is the moment where I wish

I had a partner to whom

I could whisper softly

through the open door so

as not to disturb our neighbours…

“Darling, darling, wake up! Can you

please bring me a tall glass of cool water

along with those juicy looking figs

that we  bought this evening

from St. Lawrence Market?”


Part Three

Love is a verb.

Love is not kissing your wife’s picture

whilst extolling her virtues.

Love is getting out of your comfortable

cozy bed at 2:30 in the morning because

you hear Love’s voice in the guise of your wife breaking through your slumber,

imploring you to please please,

bring a tall icy glass of water with some figs to the bathroom

for your beloved.




%d bloggers like this: