The Year of the Dragon...I Pray...

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

(please forgive me if I have misunderstood any that I have aligned with)

Two thousand and eleven, it is, it was and now it is not. Time is here and not here all the same. The Chinese year, this year, 2011, was the year of the rabbit…2011, over and gone. Two thousand and twelve, it is the year of the dragon.

Rabbit, as defined by Webster's on line dictionary- any of various lagomorphs that are born furless, blind, and helpless, that are sometimes gregarious, and that include especially the cottontails of the New World and a small Old World mammal (Oryctolagus cuniculus) that is the source of various domestic breeds.   

Rabbits are herbivores that reingest their own droppings. Rabbits are soft and cuddly. Rabbits might be quick and energetic – but they are prey animals and so fearful and quite helpless in the face of danger.

This year is a year of strength…The year of the Dragon, two thousand and twelve seems to already hold more promise. A dragon, dragons are strong fearless creatures.

Dragon, as defined by Webster's on line dictionary- a mythical animal usually represented as a monstrous winged and scaly serpent or saurian with a crested head and enormous claws. For many, Dragons have major spiritual significance. ''In many Asian cultures dragons were, and in some cultures still are, revered as representative of the primal forces of nature, religion and the universe. They are associated with wisdom—often said to be wiser than human…

Yes, 2012, from here –end of 2011- looks like it could offer a doorway to positive change.

Please do understand – I am grateful for the sun and the moon and the stars. I love that our Creator had given me my Love, my children, my boys, my friends –my life. But 2011, with all its goodness has been so filled with pain and the ache of loss…The ache of long term loss, the forever ache of the death of loved ones.

My aunt Ellen…she's gone and left a gaping hole in my heart and soul…and now Sara…mother of mine and so many others…She was taken, too – ripped from the earth and our lives in a violent storm of crashing metal and fire.

These two women--- as strong as they were and as loving and wise…they left us at the age of 64 and a few months…What did they know and why did they both choose to leave at this time? Were they as the rabbit – blinded by the soft fresh grass, the sunshine and the call of the birds? They did fall prey, each to her own tragic end. The year of the Rabbit; it is over.

For those of us for whom faith, facts and coincidences help us make sense out of the nonsense and grasp the impossible -Sixty four is: The maximum number of strokes in any Chinese character, the number of sexual positions in the Kama Sutra, the number of codons in the RNA codon table under genetic code, the number of crayons in the popular Crayola 64 pack, the number of demons in the Dictionnaire Infernal, in chess, the total number of black (dark) and white (light) squares on the game board, the atomic number of gadolinium, a lanthanide, and the name of a song by the Beatles.

For both my Aunt Ellen and Sara, it is the age that they will never live beyond. For them 65 does not exist.

I pray that for those of us they left behind, 2012 will be a year to live; A year to live? What do I mean by that?

They are gone. From both Ellen and Sara, there are lessons to learn about life and about death.  I do not believe that if Ellen was healthy she would have chosen to end her life at 64. But after looking at the possibilities, she did choose to end the fight and the struggle and the pain. She chose to die. She believed that her death was preferable to pain.

Sara – she definitely did not choose this time to die. For Sara, every day was an adventure and a thrill. Life was to be embraced and enjoyed – Each day to be lived as if it might be the last…And this is what Sara was doing up until the moment she was taken…

And this is what I will take from these two magnificent women-

v  To live life, each day as it is the last.

v  Not to struggle to survive, but live until it is time to go

v  To be kind and giving

v  To love and love some more

v  Enjoy health, body, mind and soul

v  See…the world has so much beauty

v  Love is to give and to receive

v  Do – until it is impossible to do more

v  Rest and get up and start again

The year of the Rabbit – passive and prey; it is over. And in this year, this year of the Dragon – I will be fearless and strong with the primal strength of the Dragon as my talisman. I will fly and try to channel their collective wisdom…and live. I pray to the Creator to show us all -especially those left in this puddle of tears- I pray for the strength, the wisdom and the faith of the Dragon.

**Drawing by my talented son, Ya'ir Preiss

Sara is gone

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

I am one of the luckiest people that I know. I have had many mothers throughout my life time --- and Sara was one of these. She was one – she was always one.

Sara was one. She was one and she was one and only in so many ways. I’ve know Sara and Avner for over 32 years. They adopted me in Syracuse while we were trying to study and learn and grow in the snowiest and coldest place I’d ever been.

From the very beginning they took me into their home, into their hearts. Sara sensed right away that something was missing in me – she sensed my need and she put herself out there, selflessly and wholly. She put herself to me fully and without hesitation. She was the first to hold me tightly and not let go – ever.

She was the first to teach me that I was loveable and worthy of love. She held me and no matter what I said and no matter what I did… she held me – and in many ways, she sustained me.

She talked to me openly and honestly. She was one of the first to open me up and give me safe haven. Their home in Syracuse became mine, their boys became my brothers. In Syracuse, every holiday, every event, every birthday and celebration, I was included…I was included, I was surrounded, I was engulfed and I was loved as I was an unconditionally. Sara saw something in me that I didn’t yet see in myself.

I don’t know how or why she did it. She spent so much time with me, helping to heal and become whole…She saved me from myself more times than I care to remember… – she saved me from so much, most of which she did not even know, -or care… What I had done, what had happened to me – this was only important to her, because it was important to me…but she taught me, she tried to teach me, that I was more than my past. I was more than my pain.

This is the Sara that I have been so very blessed to have known. This woman, a true mother of the earth…Sara was warm and alive. She taught me what it meant to be a mother first hand…she talked to me about things that no one else dared or bothered to speak of. Sara was the first to accept and understand –everything…she ‘got it’ all.

Sara was fearless in every way. She was fearless in the way she lived, in the way she loved and in the way she expressed herself. She was not afraid. She knew that life is a gift. She knew that time is precious. Sara did not believe that time spent giving and loving and talking was wasted time. All time spent, a gift… and this gift she shared with me in a way that can only dream of understanding. Share was fearless. Share was generous. Sara was warm and loving. Sara treasured life. I consider myself to have been so luck – so blessed. Sara shared with me her most treasured gifts – her family, her love and her time---her time cut short.

I believe that we are better people for having known Sara…and now…

Sara has left us. It is impossible to grasp. Sara – fearless, loving and strong and bold is no longer here to share and be.

Blessed be Sara in death as she was in life.

Monday Morning Ughs with a SLAB

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

In the morning, I wake up. I don’t want to go and I think that nothing can actually get me out of bed. What could possibly be so important that I need to leave this nice warm space?  My Love’s breathe warm on my face.  Her lips parted slightly smiling at me as I open my eyes…

Then something strikes me in my hollow head and the words begin to play…Whatchu laughin at? My Love says to me. 

I don’t even know but already I can hear the beginnings of words sounding in my ears…She says, I am thinking of making another lasagna. Do you feel like it? If you don’t want to eat it, you can take it to Stig. I bought a nice fresh slab of regatta cheese. What do you think?

What do I think…I think that I am just slightly west of insanity and a bottle of chardonnay! Work – what is wrong with me? Why do I have to go? And what's that word slab- where did it come from?...S L A B…hmmmmmmm.

Stig is always hungry he can always eat- and so can I…but I am no longer supposed to be eating everything whenever I want. I have to put up boundaries and not be extreme. Lasagna is apparently now 'extreme'. Coffee is 'extreme'. Chicken is 'extreme'. Obviously chocolate is 'extreme'…but dried fruit and honey too? And bread and potatoes and spaghetti and milk and wine and – beer and -What is a poor starving girl with an eating disorder called, I-like-to-eat, to do?

 …Funny, my eating is extreme, but everything else in my life is so balanced?! ..My mind is off wandering again- where was I? Oh yeah-

She said I can give Stig some lasagna, that might make the day better… yeah, that could be a good reason to get out of bed and go to work on a Monday morning – Stig is my work buddy- my work twin, if you will. He is everything that I am not. He is male. He is tall. He is dark. He is a kid – not even past the middle of his twenties. He’s athletic and most of all – he gets me – and we have fun…Sometimes so much fun that if I have had enough valium, life at work would almost be a three ring circus.

Let me give you a fresh, straight off the weather report example…

I get to work in the morning – it’s raining in my office – yes, you heard right, raining. That might not sound so bizarre - except that our office is on the second floor of a three story building! It is literally dropping large plop plop drops into the bucket that someone has so nicely wedged into the space behind the desk of one of my work colleagues. The carpet on the floor is swollen with water under and around my desk and hers. A light fixture is hanging precariously down from above where the ceiling tile has mysteriously disappeared…And it smells, oh yes it stinks- it reeks,  – it is just plain foul smelling and malodorous!

Stig, my fine hairy friend has a stuffed nose. He cannot smell the rot…but he can see that work is not something that will be easily accomplished in this mess.

That was Monday… Friday – the stink is gone and the water has mostly dried up, for now. Someone shoved the light fixture back in the ceiling and The Boss has sent the Coo to yell at the landlords…They mostly shrugged…rain can’t be stopped- water not their fault…

During the week, workers could be seen going up to the roof, playing with electrical wires, putting up emergency exit signs that point to an exit less wall…one even came into the office and said- we are doing this for you…As if having a dry office is some outlandish expectation.

Another week comes and goes, tomorrow will again be Monday morning. My Love's breath will warm my face and we'll make each other laugh…I won't want to get up…but I will…who knows, maybe the sun will have dried up all the rain…

One thing is for sure, I will go into work and play my part- rain, electrical wires and wind will not keep me in bed, yet again.

The Garden or, Oh, My Back!.

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

I thought that this day wasn't really here. I actually thought this day had no business in my life and wasn't going to come…and yet here it is.

My Love has decided to spruce up the garden with some winter bulbs. She ordered hundreds of them – literally and today we decided to plant! (Actually, today they got here. Today I am home. Today we both had some work we wanted to avoid. Today there was some housework we really wanted to avoid. Tomorrow it is supposed to rain.)

My Love was out there first, sorting the darn things. "Could it be I've overdone it?" she asks. "I mean could I have ordered too many bulbs?"

Never my Love, we can do this and the garden will be even more beautiful! Never mind that the people we rent from seem to be getting restless, pestering our lawyer and wanting all kinds of paperwork and other stuff…A sure sign in my mind that they want us to leave…a sure sign in my Love's mind that they are bored.

I went outside and was given the task of 'turning the soil' - because if we don't turn the soil it won't turn itself. My Love started placing the bulbs were they were meant to be…Do you have any idea how many bulbs are hundreds of bulbs? Well, let me just say that the garden looks like a mole's New Year's Party! I am quite certain that our landlords will not be so thrilled if they show up before the spring, when the winter bulbs are to bloom…We've taken their nice weed infested front yard and hoed and weeded and turned the soil!

Anyway, I hoed… (No kidding, I hoed.) I turned the ground inside out for what, 15 whole minutes. Then I went inside to get some water. Then I went inside to look for something (where did I just put that hoe?) Then I came out and asked my Love some questions. Then I told her that maybe I could do this for another half of an hour. Then I realized that I couldn't, so I started grunting louder and making some suggestions that I knew she wouldn't like…

Soon my Love said that I should go write. She really didn't want me to have a back ache latter…Go in and write….

So here I sit at my computer writing about the day I didn't want to come. The day when my back lasts for forty five minutes of garden work? No, the day that my attention span is so warped that garden work bores me to moan and groan and make dumbass suggestions, happy to have my Love – a full five and one half years younger than me still enthralled with planting bulbs, sure that my advancing age and belly are keeping me inside…

I am such a snake!

And More Double D!!!....

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos
...and more Double D.

Surely the Commander and Chief of the Men’s League had some agenda. It was highly uncharacteristic of him to request a meeting when such tension between the sides was at such a high point…He must have something planned….

Again Jane’s mind wandered. - Commander in Chief Dward. Oh, he was a handsome man, but his tender looks were deceiving, as was everything about him.

Jane hadn’t gotten to be Second Cowander on her outright knowledge and Judo abilities alone. That uncanny ability to perform hundreds of different tasks simultaneously – while her mind would focused on one something else in particular She could be teaching her JudoJuniors, or lecturing to the higher echelon… and all the while forming a new method or plan or theory that could – and often did, change the way of the world that she and the WFM had formed. How they all went about their daily duties and what exactly their goal was to be, this was a large part of Jane’s philosophies put into practice. Indeed Jane’s brilliance was one of the main and most vibrant sources of the force behind the Woman’s Forward Movement.

Jane, still lost in thought had already gotten into her transporter, checked the controls and spoke through her panmittter to base and programmed the coordinates of the clandestine meeting into the transporters guiding system.

“Ready Jane,” her transporter responded upon receiving the hand that that was so familiar these past few years, mission after mission. In a matter of minutes, Second Cowander Jane Double D had reached her destination –A cave hidden deep in the recesses of moon plane II.

The landing just outside the cave was barren. Either Dward hadn’t arrived yet or had come early enough to manuever his transporter to shelter. Double D suspected the latter. It was unlike Dward- Commander In Chief- to be late for anything, especially a meeting that he himself had requested. D walked up to the entrance of the cave, waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before entering. From the entrance she could see Dward kneeling by the altar. For a very short moment, Jane saw not Dward the Commander in Chief of the Men’s League, but Dward, long time Judo companion and favourite foe on the mat…No one could challenge he moves –no man had the nerve, the substance to challenge her the way he had.

Most of the men, upon seeing Jane on the mat, resplendent in her Judo Whites fell weak in the knees at the very sight of her goddess like body, flowing and strong – and then proceeded to severely underestimate the strength of ‘the woman.’’

Not Dward- He may have let his hormones, his affections and prejudices get the best of him off the mat –but on the mat he knew –Double D was one of the best, the quickest and the most knowledgeable Judoists to practice in this century- if not greater!

"Dward."

"Double D."

They exchanged the embraces of old friends, and D was relieved not to have to engage in immediate contra-contra tactics…maybe they could avoid a confrontation of the forces, after all.

Dward, who was the host- the initiator of this meet, offered the wine. "So what's this about Dward? Wine, secret meeting…Why the call to arms? You can't possibly think we passed the bad air?

"D, slow down. First friends, then foes…I see you wear the pin of 2^nd Cowander. Congratulations. I understand this puts our meeting at different level-But Jane Double D…How can we just skip the part where our histories and attractions offer us respite from the possibility of conflict between our 2 sides.

"Dward, ever the man and the manipulator of womankind… How can we talk of affections when the possibility of air strikes and even all-out war stand in the balance…?"

"But Jane, that's just my point. We must, for the sake of averting war, make love."

The reference to the past was not lost on Double D. She has been remembering the days before the great Split that separated the men and women. The times when she and Dward fought on the same team, shared the same goals and dreams.

Dward and Double D fall into a pensive silence- both lost in a barrage of memories as they sit side by side on the stone bench that lines the dimly lit cave.

Dward turns to Jane and lifts a tentative hand to finger her pin. Jane, prepared for such a move executes a flip, chop and hold- Dward, gasping and laughing is on the floor- Janes knees in the soft of his neck, arm contorted in the air.

 ....

LesbosInTheCar

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

We all give objects human characteristics --- I know that we all do this. And My Love and I are no different…for us, our car is one of those objects and I do declare our car has opinions of its own and maybe its opinion isn't exactly those of My Love and I…

The other day while we were on the way home, we were driving up the winding and curving road to our home, and our car starting beeping. You know that beep. Not the old time beep of the horn, but the beep of beep beep – (meaning beep, something is wrong beep something is wrong, beep, fix me, beep, fix me - Fix me!)

Beep – but there was nothing wrong with the car – The mechanic says it is just an ''electrical issue'. I disagree. I think it is my car making a statement. Why did it choose to make these loud beeps just as we were going up the winding and curving road?

Car dear, we have to talk.

The car ignored me and continued to beep up the road.

Now listen here. My Love and I are not straight.  The car went quiet. There is just nothing straight about us…and you belong to us, you are our car.

The beeping was reduced to one beep every other turn and curve.

We like the curvy twists and turns. We live a winding and curving life. The thing about curves and turns – you cannot see what is coming up next. With the winding and curving road, life is just full of surprises…some good, some not so good. Living the lives we live full of curves and twists seems to give us a hope and a fullness that we lacked before we knew each other – before we had you, dear car.

Our bodies curve and turn. Our bodies twist and turn and bend to meet every challenge life has to offer. My Love and I bend and twist with laughter. Our time together is joyful…and we are who we are and this curviness fills us with laughter and joy.

Face it car, you can't beep at every curve, twist and turn and be our car. We are the LesbosOnTheCouch, and to you, we are the LesbosInTheCar…You are our car. So stop beeping and Get Over It!

Amazingly enough, the car stopped beeping. I guess she gets it. I guess she's happy to. Who knows, maybe she is one of the Lesbos too.

The Last of the Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream Will Be Gone

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

One more spoon and the last of the chocolate fudge brownie ice cream will be gone. One more spoon and I am on my way to the rocky road of trying to eat healthy – seems that trying to eat healthy ought to be called starving my soul – and not in the bosom of Abraham…maybe if I could just keep my soul in the bosom of My Love for an extended holiday of bobbobo booby bobs I wouldn't need to eat ice cream. Does anybody think that I can get some time off from work for booby bobbs in the bosom of My Love in the name of losing weight and being healthy – or how 'bout in the name of losing weight so as not to feel like a beached whale at my son's nuptials? Maybe if the bosom of Abraham doesn't work for me and I can't get time off for the bosom of My Love – maybe the bosom of Sarah or Mary would be a more acceptable pretext.

Let's face it. I love eating. I love food. I love cake. I love ice cream… but it doesn't stop there…I love a good sandwich and fries, pizza and spaghetti, pasta of any kind as long as it has tomato sauce… I do wish I could love my body the way My Love says she does but, I don't. I wish I could see myself through My Loves' eyes, but I don't…so, in an effort to love my body the way she does and the way I believe we all should love ourselves in order to be happier, well rounded well-grounded and easier to live with, I have come to a decision. ---I am going to embark on a road trip to un-beach the whale- to unwrap the blubber and needless and dangerous flubber…I say this with an empty ice cream container next to the computer on my desk- the empty ice cream container – the last of its kind to sooth my soul – the last of a long line of wonderfully chocolate treats- so long chocolate fudge brownies…. I say this with trepidation and tears in my eyes. I already miss my old friends…and they are still just a sniff away…I say this as we pass through Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New year and wing our way towards Yom Kippur- the Jewish Day of ultimate sacrifice – a fast day – (and I don't mean fast as in the opposite of slow – this day goes by anything but ''fast.''  How fast can a day go when you can't eat or drink anything? Slow, I tell you! Slow!)

Anyway, back to me and my body…I didn't always feel this way- I used to actually be slim…and then when I wasn't slim anymore, I sort of pretended not to notice and not to care- and then I got my eyes lasered…and now I can see myself in the shower. I can see myself in the mirror without looking for my glasses- I am just there- all there…all of a sudden, I am always there in front of myself…it's scary…I didn't realize how my glasses had protected me from having to see me…Oh well… I had an image of me as thin- well, darlin' I have some news for myself – I am babababa booming big…and I don't much like it….and then there was the Spencer Tunick outing of my blubber – there it is out and bouncy for all the world to see…oh yes, that shiny white whale in the front and center – that is me…big bush – that'd be My Love…But big bush is lovely and sexy and healthy and right ----big big me, not so much

So let's see where this goes….how long can I actually do the healthy thing (almost said straight and narrow'', but I am not straight and narrow- well that's never been my thing)

I bought myself a treadmill…and now I tread every day…but apparently this isn't enough. Apparently I must not eat in the late evening – after dinner no more snacks of ice cream and nuts and pizza and hamburgers and and and and stuff…no more stuff…

Again I say- what I am going to do with all that free time left on my hands and mouth…how will I relieve the tension and amuse myself without using any more energy that I don't have--- booze is apparently not good either, except for a glass or two of wine…aha, there it is.. A saving thought or two…I can have wine and boobs…and TV to boot….

Yeha…I may be saved…Love, Love – do we have wine? And is it time for the bosom thing? I do love you…

Posing for Spencer

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

Apparently nothing stops me. Apparently I have finally reached that point in my life when I do what I want to do.  Apparently I really do do what I want. Apparently this can be a good thing – so it is.

A few weeks ago My Love sent me a link. I thought it was clear enough. Spencer Tunick was to be in Israel for a photo shoot on the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth, an endangered and beautiful biblical area, slowly disappearing – evaporating into space.  His team was looking for about a thousand models to pose for him. I read the article. I signed up… simple.

So what did you think of the article? says my Love.

Oh, I already signed up and sent it in.

What? Really? Okay – let's do it!

And so it began. My adventure as a Spencer Tunick model…

We didn't tell anyone we knew we were to join the shoot. And the organizers didn't tell anyone where at the Dead Sea the shoot was to be.  They didn't want the paparazzi and the politicians to interfere. And we didn't want our friends to influence and comment about our participation before the fact. When we got the directions – where to meet the bus at 11:30 at night, we still hadn't really told anybody we were doing this and the organizers still hadn't told anybody where it was to be…We were in cahoots, the organizers and My Love and I.  Telling somebody would have given somebody the ability to point out to us what we were actually about to do through their eyes. And telling everybody would have compromised the shoot for Spencer Tunick.  

Spencer Tunick's pictures are world famous. He's the 'crazy' artist who photographs hundreds of people nude in very public places…and then his pictures are sold and appear in very public places. But we knew that – one of the reasons we wanted to do it was because those who pose in his pictures get a copy of the real thing! …A real Spencer Tunick picture, with us in it at the Dead Sea, in the nude…of us in the nude at the Dead Sea. The same picture that will appear in people's homes, on line, in museums of us nude in the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth.

As the day approached, I 'googled' Spencer Tunick and his work.  Lots of people… lots of bodies… lots of butts… And lots of boobs… Butts and boobs… Boobs and butts... lots of them, in lots of vey spectacular places. Wow…I would get to be one of those bodies in a spectacular place… There was something amazing just thinking about it. The oneness of all the nakedness – of all of us being there – just being there and naked for the picture and the art and the cause

And now that I had my own eyes, I thought nobody would really recognize me anyway…right? my eyes, my boobs, my butt, my big jelly belly and all those other people with theirs…at the Dead Sea …alive today once more for a single photo shoot in the year 2011 before it disappears forever…And me and all my parts, am there.

So we got on the bus in the middle of the night…and road to the designated secret beach at the Dead Sea. It was dark and the night was full of stars. People joked. People dozed…we sat and listened and watched the sky and dosed ourselves.

Spencer came and gave directions. We could keep our clothes on until the very last minute. And then we were to go into the sea.  The Dead Sea shoot was actually in the Dead Sea itself. We thought that we would be near the sea, on the dry salty plateaus that have become even drier in the last 2 decades…

At first, for all of the excitement, nobody really heard or paid attention to the directions.  As soon as Spencer said something about clothes – everybody started stripping in the dark… and then pretty much we were all just kind of naked…naked and waiting for the sun to begin to rise…

My love and I thought we would be the last in the water so that we could get out easier and not go in so deep. My love and I thought – but we didn't think it through…

At some point, after we had gotten directions from Spencer, and after we were already in the water lying on our backs, I heard through the bull horn, ''Ma'am…Ma'am, you there... I know this is hard for you – but you are in the first row of my picture – if you can't keep your body still, you can get out of the water. ''

I looked up and saw that Spencer Tunick was indeed talking to me. What, me? Uh oh…didn't think…first row…bobbing boobs, big bobbing belling…first row. Snap Snap…Guess I got my body still…with boobs a bobbing.

And we continued to get directions and we continued to bob in the water. The Dead Sea is denser than any other body of water. It's thick and oily like Grandma's chicken soup…and so in this thick soup you cannot get your buoyant parts to go down. For the entire shoot in the Dead Sea, I felt my buoyance….my old songs --- babababa booby bop…bababab booby bop, took on a whole new meaning…My boobs just bopped and bobbled, too…my jelly belly bopped, my butt bopped…And it was amazing! It was all truly amazing!

The sun rose and shone. Spencer gave us directions: get down on your knees and let the water move you up and down (booby bop), lie this way on the water with your head north and feet south (belly and booby bop), face the Jordanian mountains and stand still (keep from bopping)…walk onto the rise and stand still – ouch those salty dry grounds really hurt…

The beauty was intense. The oneness and the Oneness were even more intense. I was there. We were there. My Love and I, a part of history, a part of art – just us and our bodies and 1000 others ---Posing for Spencer Tunick.

Eye balls and other such weirdnesses

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

So, here I sit, at my computer, writing my blog – glasses less- Yes I did it – The big laser releasing glasses from the eyeballs surgery….Wahoo and yahoo and yeeehaaaaa!

Seriously, that is how I feel. I wake up in the morning, roll over and see the clock on the wall, the trees outside my window and my love clicking away on the computer…But my patient readers, I ask you to humor me – and maybe yourselves and let me begin at the begining …

I have been wearing glasses since the 3^rd grade and probably didn't see very much before that…they weren't too quick and observant of such needs back in the 60's…so I walked into a few walls, never saw a star and didn't recognize anyone on the street – It was New York, kinda…The first real tell it all sign was when I walked in the corner of a bulletin board at school and with blood gushing down my face and my teacher screaming at me for not paying attention to where I was walking (?)Duh, what bulletin board? It must of occurred to somebody that maybe I was having just a bit of a problem seeing where I was going and didn't actually see the bulletin board as it was sitting so close to the wall, it just was actually the wall in my vision!

Anyway, Now MY FACE is NAKED!!! Truly NAKED, NUDE and BARE... I am bare faced…or is that bearfaced?

It all started when I realized that I couldn't read without putting the book up to my nose…and writing – well, let's just say that a candle wouldn't have been much help to me in the dark. And those damn multifocal lenses…I could get them for the price of a kidney or two…

So off we go to get my eyes examined…and what do ya know,  the doc says that I am a 'candidate'  for surgery (the Presidency, I understand is out) …So, it's off to set the appointment…

No makeup for a month…(HEHEH..does she not see me, I am sitting in from of her, maybe she needs the surgery)

No  perfume…. (No smelling pretty, mmmm…good)

No swimming for at least 6 weeks. (Wait, is she talking to me?)

No going to the gym for two weeks (Let's not even go there!)

No this, no that….

And then…No washing your hair for 5 days… (I looked at my Love and said, "Eeeeeeuw  NO WAY!….FORGET IT!")

Obviously she convinced me other wise and the appointment was made…Thursday at 5PM… And we are there…Yes we are –THERE.

They call me in to be prepped…I sign the consent form...I sit wriggling in my seat, they give me a sedative, put a cap and gown on me – As if I'm graduating in to some higher level of something…Beth Cohen, BS in glassless…

And then I am still wriggling in my seat, the nurses and doctors confer-I think they are giggling and whispering about me, I can't see, they've already taken my glasses, they are wearing surgical masks and pill one is beginning to take effect.  I suffer from anxiety attacks, so they give me another bigger and better pill…weeeheee, I am singing and dancing and rocking to the music ( in my head ), play that funky music white boy….play that funky music till you die, till you die…oh.

The doctor comes out with his mask on and I hear, "So you wawawawawa wawawa? And you agree to wawawa? Whaaaa whhaaa? What's the matter with whaaahwhaaa.Waahaaaawahhh?"

HUH?

"So you wawawawawa wawawa? And agree to wawawa?"

OMG---they want to cut my eyeballs out and give it to the guy before me?!!!! I run for the door to the waiting room as the surgical team chases after me in their lovely flowing green gowns and I burst out –"LLLL, come quick, they wanna give my eyeballs away…they want to do an apendectemywwaaaa instead…they…. they……blaaaahhh bllaaaah ooops, don't trip too late, ….Did I agree to that?"

"What? Shhh baby, it's alright, I am here."

Turns out that they just needed my consent to start the procedure and wanted to make sure that I hadn't changed my mind…Well, maybe, just maybe, that was a conversation we should have had before they gave me all of the CALMING pills!

So they lead me into the room and put me on the bed. I am only slightly agitated, so the nurse sits down to hold my hand, which I promptly crush as if it's an empty soda can, or a really written terrible poem I decide to chuck---or as if I've just started to realize that they are about to laser my eyeballs!

So, here I am lying on the table for the world's longest 10 minutes in the world. The nurse leaves, apparently I've crippled her for life and she is now looking for a job as a sales person for prosthetics.

This is really bad for me because I feel a flailing coming on…Yes, I not only have a flailing mouth and incessant noisemaker,  -I am an appendage flailler. ..it is quite obvious to me, even with all the drugs that flailing at this moment is a VERY, VERY Bad Idea.  So, to make up for my 'loss of nurse hands to squeeze to death', I stuff my hands in my pockets and start singing…It really could have been anything – but I believe it was some way down Moses type song…. My doctors, as intelligent as they are, couldn't quite understand what I was doing. Apparently in the 10,000 plus such procedures that they had performed, nobody ever sang. Oh well…I guess, I taught them something!

And we are done! (And just for the record, it did not hurt…) I get my plastic bug eyes put on and my Love gets instructions for putting drops in my eyes and other stuff which I really just couldn't understand…I was too busy looking around through the bug eyes AMAZED! Even with the plastic bug eyes, I COULD ACTUALLY SEE!

Well yes, I can see…but let's face it. I am still me. I can see…as my lunch drops onto my shirt and into the space between my shirt and my boobs. I see as my beer runs down off my chin…I see the crumbs falling onto the floor… I see these things…but they still happen. I still happen.

The other day I was eating a lovely colorful salad that my Love had prepared for my lunch. I could actually see the vegetables and the nuts and the cheese. I also watched as they fell into their spot in my bra. My colleagues laughed as I pulled the sprouts out.

When I got home from work that evening, we ran off to a party…and came home rather late. I stripped down and got into the shower, admiring the shower tiles and my toes, still a new experience for the eyeglassless me.

When I came out, my Love was shrieking, she thought there was a cockroach on the floor…I calmly bent down and picked it up. No cockroach, just a booby nut from lunch, released from the confines of my boob and bra.

Terrific mornings....

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

There are these terrific mornings...I wake up early, my love makes me a cupa and I go off to work – just knowing that she will be there for me when I come home. I get to the office – it’s still quiet.

The thing about the quiet…it doesn’t really last…soon the hustle and bustle begins- mostly in my head – Strangely enough I am focused all day…I mean truly focused.  I make my calls, write my reports and prepare the plans and more reports for the next day, week…I don’t hear the people around me unless they sing my name…and even then they aren’t really there…just movements outside the head….(ok, so I exaggerate…I love these people too….even if I don’t really see them)

And then I go home…If it is not yet dark, the drive is pleasant. I love the drive when the sun is shining and the music is blasting – sometimes I put in an old CD – yes, I am a Joan Baez and John Denver diehard. I love sitting in the car singing the old tunes….Country roads, taking me home to the place I belong…..the night they drove old Dixie down…while I sing low sweet chariot, coming to take Oscar Mayer home…just as Someone Saves my life tonight – right before the Bitch is Back from the boxer and the fighter and a nnnnaaaa by my name I carry a reminder of every,,,blllaala til I cry out –I am leaving I am leaving but the fighter still remains singing la da de dadadada….And then – Daylight Comes and We Are Home…aaayyoh…AAAAAAAAyoooooo! Daylight comes and we are home////

But as soon as I walk in the door – it all changes. My Love envelopes me in her warmth and caring – looks me I the eyes and loves me too.

And then the silly – the Loopy begins…Here I am, loopy again….ah ah…the race to crazy has begun…I don’t even need a beer – and I am rhyming nonsense and speaking the language of the babbling wo-man. Soon the old songs, mostly commercials come in – sometimes with a twist…you know the Oscar Mayer one …the rocking the booty in the bosom of Abraham…or maybe shooting the sheriff, but not the deputy.- I love shooting the sheriff – and did you know that once upon a time they shot a canary? And soon the giggles begin…the giggles can be extremely dangerous…they usually come with some very loud and fragrant booming – (I recently learned the word Dutch Oven – who would have thought? Do you think the Dutch know?)

And who knew about Toe Jam? Not me , we didn’t have Toe Jam growing up – just the regular grape jelly…but Toe is special. Apparently when you get into bed at night the sheets are hungry and the toes so kindly share their jam with the sheets  - And THE BLANKETS.  And watch out – soon the whole bed bottom is covered. This means, no putting your head down there – no twisting the blankets with the toe jam side up to the face – toe jam is ok as long as its by the feet – but watch out – if it hits the face and you get toe jam on the face – or the Nose…well…that is just not ok;..and that brings me to the nose.

Have you ever noticed that noses come in 2 forms; hard and smooshy. I, have the smooshy kind. My nose can be squooshed almost completely flat to my face –Admittedly with some breathing difficulty. My love – her nose is hard. Her nose, doesn’t bend, mush or even move – even when she is laughing hysterically running to the ‘other room’, her nose just get a little crinkle…and that’s it…Who would have thought. I have a theory. I don’t think that smooshy noses can be with other smooshy noses. I think that one nose must be smooshy so that when you kiss the other nose can smoosh it…and the kiss can still be good.

Any way…At some point you must wonder, what exactly did you hear through the grape vine and how? You can no more hear something through a grape vine that I can squoosh my loves nose to her face or get her to agree to put head on the Toe Jam side of the bed even if it is The Midnight Special, while someone saves my life tonight as I roll around the basement floor ----whoo whhooo whooo – Dutch Oven coming, warning warning….woops to late- an oh no we put the fan on – Dutch oven on the face-

What a life.

Shower me a Blue Fridge...

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

It’s a holiday- we are all to be dressed in white…Everyone looks so lovely.

In the wooded area, dark and green and cool the little girls are running and skipping, while their elders sit on the benches by the picnic table, sipping their coffees and wine. In the distance we can hear the gentle babbling of the water as it falls down its soft algae covered slope into the pool below. The water from the pool can be seen from a certain angle as the sunlight plays though the leaves of the trees and sends sparkles of light dancing in the air.

Off in the corner of the clearing there is a refrigerator. A line of girls, still in there play clothes wait their turn. Apparently the fridge is actually a shower room, but we are all hesitant…How can we get in there to shower with all of those refrigerator shelves?

The girls open and close the door…and open and close the door again. I really want to take a shower and put on my white dress too…But I can’t figure it out…how will I fit in there with all of those shelves…I look for my Love – I know that she will have the answer.

My Love comes up to me and takes my hand…she opens the door to the fridge and steps in. As she does I see that the fridge is actually a much larger room with shower heads sprouting from pipes that line the walls and the ceiling. A little girl is sitting at the entrance. She was the first to go in, no questions asked – she knew …She’s already showered and sits on the floor in her white dress which looks yellow and quite frilly in the off white light of the fridge. She is smiling and giggling as she puts on her shoes. Her hair is short and straight around her head with bangs just above her eyes. Her face is round and freckled. The happy seven year old ties buckles her shoes and my Love points me into the shower as she stands by the door keeping watch.

I shower with great difficulty. The shower heads are all over and they go off and on as if independently orchestrating a concert of water and spray.

After my shower, I want to put on my white dress and run and skip and sip my wine…I open the bag, which is my dress and shake it out. Hey, it’s green and short and snaps at the legs…

I guess I will stay in my jeans…and sneakers…and have a beer. Where are the fridge shelves anyway?

Self realization -Really?

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

“Write with your non dominant hand ten things that you are thankful for.” This was an exercise given to me by my acupuncturist, trying to help, me deal with a deep back pain that we decided was connected to stress…imagines that – stress!!! Who could possibly be so stressed that her back just decides not to cooperate with living for an entire week? Absurd! What on earth do I – or anybody else for that matter have to be stressed about?  Somehow we came to the idea that this stress is connected to my self realization. How is this even possible – or sensible? I am, after all, forty nine years old. Could I still not be self realized? If I am not self realized now, when exactly is this going to happen?

Of course I am self realized! I am here aren’t I? I’ve got this pen in my hand and I’m writing aren’t I? (And yes, I still write with an actual pen, or even a p e n c i l, on paper!!) I am married to the Woman of my dreams. I write whenever I get a few minutes away from the job that pays the rent. I read. I laugh allot with my love and with my friends. I eat. I sleep. I pray. I pray allot. I laugh allot, too. I’d say I’m pretty self realized. Wouldn’t you?

Well, then why am I so afraid? Why does this panic grab me in the chest and squeeze me so hard –straight through to my spine- I can barely breathe? Why does this panic seize my muscles and freeze me into an ice cube so hard and stiff that if dropped, I’d shatter into a million pieces before melting into a puddle, barely noticed on the floor, to be wiped up and tossed away?

And if I am not realized now, when will I be? If the past years are any indication of the speed of time, then the next bunch of years will definitely pass too quickly to realize anything else at all, let alone my self.

Will I get to know my grand children? Will my children return to me? Will that be the sign of my self realization, when my offspring realize me? Or, will I be self realized when I am lying in the ground, covered with sand and dirt and rock, one with the earth? I think that is when it will take place, my self realization….one with the earth, one with my maker, one with The Maker….Self realization me as part of The Whole.

So, forgive me, I am rambling, yet again…I am going to do it… The exercise….Ten things that I am thankful for, written with my non dominant hand…

1. I am thankful for the love I have received.
2. I am thankful for the love I receive now.
3. I am thankful for healthy children.
4. I am thankful for my Love.
5. I am thankful for the Creator whose sun warms my body.
6. I am thankful for the laughter.
7. I am thankful for the crazy.
8. I am thankful for the breeze in this hot summer.
9. I am thankful for the sleep that gives my mind the much needed rest from my crazy.
10. Beer. I am thankful for my beer.

and more Double D

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

and more Double D....

Jane goes back to the preparation room where the Juniors anxiously ready themselves ~ "Well JJ's – looks like I won't be with you for the readying process but, fear not – You are in good hands. Just remember all that you have learned and no harm will come to you and if it does, well, RUN!!!" says Jane with a wink and a smirk.

Jane has changed into her formal whites – which are the same as her informal whited, except whiter and shinier, the white linen of her formals mixed with a very fine silk that reflects the sun's rays and the moon's halos. She returns to the office of the Cowander in Chief where she is to receive the exact coordinates for the intersex meet, but a surprise awaits her.

The Cowander is Chief says, "Jane, I know this has been a long time in coming…We, the top of the Woman's Forward Movement have decided that a change must take place before the intersex meet. Women…" (In walk Kate and 2 other top WFM officials.)

"Jane, we send you on this mission not only as our ambassador but as a warrior – a defender of the principles of womanhood and all that she embodies. As such we empower you to negotiate freely and with full authority. We, your comrades give you this…( a pin is presented and pinned on her upper collar). You are now Jane, Double D 2^nd Cowander of the Woman's Forward Movement. "

Ordinarily such a presentation would not be made so ordinarily. Ordinarily there would be a big party with plenty of pomp and circumstance. Today however is different, the intersex meet is scheduled to take place and the future of the WFM as well as the ML are in the balance. There is no time to think and no time to celebrate.

Jane leaves the office of the Cowander in Chief a bit dazed but she quickly recovers and heads straight for the portopad where her transporter awaits her.

Jane, in addition to being the highest ranking Judoist in the WFM, is also an Ace pilot, having clocked many hours as a rogue driver in the days before the WFM initiated transformation and advantation for women of the planet, before women could be full Belted Fighters.

As Second Cowander Jane Double D gets into her new dome shaped transporter her mind begins to wonder and she sees herself so many years before, maybe 20 years back, to her first transporter – if you could call it that. It wasn’t even dome shaped – more of an uneasy lump – bright red in color. It was an eye sore –It stuck out like a bright red pimple on an otherwise clean and clear white telepad. But, it was hers and, it was her first was her first. She remembers with fondness, it’s loud and smoky takeoffs and near crash landings. She remembers it with a fondness the way she remembers all of her first loves – Her first Virlican sea crab, her first Irish truffle, her first man, her first woman.

Jane shakes off the urge to reminisce and focuses on the task at hand. For Jane, the new Second Cowander, the ability to compartmentalize and redirect her focus at any given moment was one of the gifts that made her who she was and got her the recognition she deserved. Although she might argue that this recognition came about only after the male/female split, that fact is, that even before the advent and coming into power of the WRM, Jane’s abilities and innate talent for focusing and analysing any given situation was recognized fairly early on. The only problem was that before the WFM, all the praise Jane received got her exactly nowhere. She was not able to move up the ranks and most of her ideas practicalities where implemented by her male counterparts. ..mostly without so much as a thank you – but a whispered kind of silent acknowledgement that ‘this’ could only have been done with Janes amazing brain.

And here she is, some 25 years later, fully respected and openly acknowledged as being one of the leading political and analytical diplomatic figures of all time….And in both the WFL as well as the Men’s League...

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You see, I need to write...I really do...
My question remains, What do you want to read? Should I blah blah bla about my life and how my Love and I blindly forge forward while sitting on the Couch? Or should I put in these fantasy chapters of the book I hope to publish before I take my dying breath, while sitting on the Couch?
What should I do?