Far far away from my couch...My mission and why I didn't post last week.

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

My Sweet Lord what a week…I must admit, I have spent the past three weeks very far from my couch. I missed my couch so much that upon arrival and return to my humble home, the first thing I did after visiting my shower was sit in our couch until My Love pried me off and rolled me into bed, where I fell asleep even before I was laying down.

I missed our couch…our home.

I did spend some time sitting on another couch – I was visiting a sick loved one -and her couch, although quite soft, came with way too much baggage…Her couch came with a husband who wasn’t too thrilled that My Love came to help me through the tough time on his couch and had us both be introduced as nieces…but that being said- I wasn’t there to see him or to actually sit on his couch…I will therefore refrain from complaining about both him and his couch.

Instead I want to share the finer points of my visit…I want to tell you, because I believe this important and I want to encourage you, to know that it is not to be feared to the point of frozen immobility, I want you all to know that sometimes – if not always, this time can be one of opportunity for sharing in a very special love and sacred moment... I helped a special person in my life put her affairs in order and decide the road she wants to take on her journey from this world. This was and always is a difficult task, maybe the most difficult and meaningful task to share with another, to do for another. There are always other loved ones around not willing to accept decisions and methods, especially when they involve the end of a life on this earth. I believe with all my heart that when the time comes we should all have that final voice, the refusal of yet another chemo or trial drug, the decision to not meet another alternative medicine man or woman, the DNR…I believe this, but that does not mean that when I agree to help with these decisions I do not cry over what that means is down the road.

I also believe that once these decisions are made, ice cream is definitely the best alternative to all and any drastic and exceptional methods of prolonging life. Ice cream under these circumstances is the most wonderful tasting ice cream –filled with silliness and laughter and salty tears.

That brings us to silliness…laughter. What does it mean when we make jokes and laugh when someone we love is dying?  What does it say about us when we allow ourselves to fart out loud just because it can be funny and normal when there is nothing normal happening around the dying person? Her skin is yellow, her body is frail, her strength is gone, and her control is leaving. So my hiccups, my farts, my spilling a bit of water here and there, some crumbs and sacred chocolate ice cream on my shirt – that becomes the normal – the reminder that we all have moments that we are not in control…that losing control can also be a sign of life – of living still, a statement that this process can be normal – and maybe should be more normal. As painful as dying and losing someone we love dearly can be, there can be no denying that there is nothing more normal then life, as we have come to know it, coming to an end.

I write this with wet eyes. I am a believer. I believe in the One who formed the earth and all that dwell upon the land, the sea and fly through the skies. I believe in the One who is benevolent and caring and loving and good. I believe in the life after and reincarnation. I believe. ..But I will miss her…and holding her hand as she slips away from us, telling her I love her and watching her suffer the goodbyes, this is all difficult. And this is all a part of life and the cycle of life and the spiral of our soul to higher ground.

Night time dream.

I sat very quietly in the bright orange plastic tent, as the little boys with painted faces and silver hair laughed and screamed obscenities at the preacher who was standing on a plain wooden box. The preacher was from the past. He was wearing a straight black coat and white shirt buttoned up to his throat.

Nothing was right about the surroundings. The orangeness of the plastic was repulsive. Suddenly, he inhaled deeply and began to preach. His sounds were harsh, yet melodic and comforting. I had within me a strange desire to get closer to hear his words, but as I approached, the preacher slowly began to melt into the orangeness. His words turned sour — and all was wrong with his being. Even his own narrow tie seemed to choke the words from his mouth. Yet, motionlessly I sat and uttered not a word. I watched from within myself.

The orangeness was too bright. The little boys were too loud, their silver hair too gold. Music rocked loudly through the orange plastic tent. I began to laugh and dance and screamed obscenities at the man who was standing on an old wooden box. The preacher with all his sour goodness just melted and shrunk slowly, very slowly into the nothingness of the plastic.

I was sorry to see him go, although I wasn’t quite sure why. I had a feeling — a vague and distant idea that without him the tent and all would flare into flames and be undone. This thought, however, quickly vanished and as he melted away I became quite small with a painted face and silver hair. “Wait! Stop!” I shouted inside myself.

His disappearance cut at my soul. And my appearance cut even deeper. I danced with the little boys, I was a little boy, I screamed obscenities at all who entered our tent. I was now one of the boys.

What do you think?

Blue, blue, blue...RAWHIDE...

Forgive me my readers, today I am fuzzy and foggy and a bit dazed. In two days time I am making a family trip. I will be on a mission, a difficult mission. My mind is soft from planning and thinking of the days to come. So today, in this blog I am allowing myself to be in the here and now. ..Just here and just now.

As always, I am ‘sitting, sitting, sitting, sitting, sitting, RAWHIDE…!’

Okay, so maybe that’s an exaggeration…maybe I’m not always sitting…at least not just sitting. And sometimes I’m not sitting at all. Sometimes I actually walk or sleep or dance…Yes. Sometimes I dance. We like dancing. And it doesn’t have to be a special occasion- sometimes we can just dance in the living room when the music hits us- My love remembers to actually put the music on, while I am always surprised when the music shows up.

But right now I am just sitting. I am at the hairdressers, ’Lisa of London’- I love it! Here I am nowhere near London and yet, I’ve got myself my own Lisa of London and a true Londonese hairdresser! She’s great – perfect for me (except she’s too damn skinny!)

I come in with my love. I’m getting my hair a bit blue today. Yes, you heard right. Blue. One blue streak on the side, and I want a bit of a blue on the grey thing in the front. Blue. Yes. I wanted a dark, deep BLUE STREAK. Lisa just says, ‘’okay.’’

She asks me a few questions, where, how, etc. and then she does it. And I know once it’s done she'll love it as much as I do, just because I do. These are the people we all need in our lives. Those who love what we love about ourselves, as much as we do. I am very lucky. I have a few of those in my life. Most of my friends, after the initial shock of whatever crazy thing I’ve come up with, they say cool and love me and accept my weird. Some others, my sister, my aunts and uncles and even Lisa of London, they can accept me for me, and smile and love me as me. My Rabbi definitely fits into this category. He’s my wonder and guide. My eldest son – I think he’s a fan of mine. I think he likes having a mom who dreams of being a ‘dike on a pink bike’, who streaks her hair blue just because she feels like it; who sits on the couch and drinks beer with her friends; whose best friends are not only women her age but people of all ages…I am so lucky to have these people, these accepting souls in my life.

Maybe this is my fantasy that the people in my life are so accepting. Maybe I let myself believe they accept this and me and all of the me’s that are me. But, maybe it’s real. And if not, maybe it really doesn’t matter. Maybe what matters is that I believe that I am accepted, that I believe that I am loved. ..So, I see myself accepted I see myself loved and therefore I am happy – loved and accepted…

Did you know that blue in grey makes purple? I have blue and purple streaks in my hair. Maybe you are one of the people in this world who needs to ask, ‘’Why?’’ Maybe you are one of those who can't accept without understanding what is and why I've chosen to do this. Maybe it started when we were invited to a costume party and I couldn't decide what to be. I've always loved the color blue...the deep blue of the night sky, the darkness of the blue sea as the darkness of the nighttime reflects in the dark sea; dark blue sky: dark blue sea. So beautiful, so peaceful; I decided to go dressed as something blue. Something blue, something calm, something soothing, swishing like the waves on the sand; something blue, something calm, something dark, yet sparkling with the life of a million stars – Blue. Maybe.

The party is over and the blue was much quieter than I had intended. Too quiet and the Blue begged to come again. “Let me out with you, let me be with you, let me share with you – the Blue, the quiet, the calm…Let me be blue with you.’’

Maybe that is how it happened. Maybe those are the whys and maybe this is why I’ve chosen all that I’ve chosen. Maybe…

I do have blue and purple streaks in my hair. Did you know that blue in grey makes purple? Blue…and purple…I am loved. I choose to be happy, calm and soothed.

... Off the Couch?

She wants to know when we are going to get off the couch. “Soon”, I tell her. But even as I tell her that soon we will get up off the couch and go outside to the beautiful sunny garden or the shady porch, I know that it is Saturday – Shabbas for some…and I will not move.

She’ll get up and open the windows and the shutters. The wind will blow in from the screen door…The birds will make so much noising it’ll sound like the philharmonic is at the door. ...Ahhh…peace.

I love my weekends. Saturday…Sunday…even Friday has a sweet ring to it when it falls after Thursday, which has followed a very long and excruciating Wednesday. We wake up on Saturday – I go and do my rituals and return to the bed of my love, where I promptly and without any hesitation whatsoever, fall into a deep sleep. The afternoon will be half over, and the sun will be hanging low in the sky before I roll myself out of bed and on to the couch. “So, nu? When are we going to get off the couch?” She says this not more than slightly irritated.

“Oh? You want to do something, go somewhere?” As I say this, I am thinking faster than she could know, OK. She’s thinking of something for us to do. Maybe she’ll bring up a walk or something. Oh God, not a walk. Can’t she see that all I want to do is sit here and sit here and sit here? Maybe drink a beer. ..and watch some scifi…or a movie, even one of her movies….But please, all I want to do is sit HERE. Right here…here and…

She’s still got that look on her face – and she’s talking. -Shit, I’ve missed something. Hopefully I haven’ already agreed to go for a walk, or to the beach, or to visit some friends we haven’t seen for ages – or at least a couple of weeks. Then she’s quite. She gets up and leaves the room. Are you angry at me?

“Think again.” She says. As she returns to the living room, as she turns to me, still sitting on the couch she hands me a beer and the remote control…’or I could read to you.”

Wow. I am lucky. She gets me. She knows that this is it. This is all I want from my weekend. This is all I really want from my life. Right now…Yeah…I know for certain and beyond any doubt in the world that I am the luckiest being alive. In this moment, this very second, I’ve got my bliss. I’ve got all that I’ve ever wanted both past and present. I am who and what I want to be…Yeah to us and many more just like us. ‘Yea’ for the lesbosonthecouch….

The bosom of motherhood

For years I would dream of the comfort of a soft bosom to rest my head. As a teenager – in college, I fantasized about my female professors. We'd have these long intellectual, emotional discussions – and I'd leave her office feeling 'charged,' 'high' on the power – the energy we had shared.

Intellect – emotion – so powerfully shared with a woman. There is nothing stronger. I've never felt anything so intense. This is still my greatest and most accessible pleasure.

I can remember one professor in particular –Her subject: the philosophy of education. I would go to her office and sit, as so many had sat before me, listen to her theories –her voice, her confidence…Her words may have been important at the time, but it is the sound I remember- the feeling her voice invoked, the warmth, the safety the understanding and the softness. The soft sounds, the strength in the female presence of her voice and body together- the scent of her room, her body... All of these combined – and I knew then, all was right…The strength her presence aroused in me was something special. Exactly what that something was, remained a mystery at the time, and yet carried me forward… a few more days, months and years passed, and I was still able to continue on that borrowed strength.

I had many mothers. This is not an original thought –or even an original sentence but, it is the truth. I had many mothers; many contributing to the part of me that could never become whole. I always had my Gram- the mother of all the mothers in me. She was warm; she was loving; she fed me and nourished me; kept me warm -and tried to keep me safe. There was Sara, a friend, a mom, a counselor. She was the first to actually give me the mother love – the safety – the physicality, the holding and the touch.

Time moves on and on and forward. I am with Anne. Again… intellectual intensity with a woman; this time coupled with a verbal intimacy. I share parts of me with her that I have never dared share with any other. I have a feeling that is so strong and overpowering. I think that I love her more than I have ever loved another. I am confused. I think I may be in love. But, I do not understand how this could be possible. I am smart, but apparently not that smart. I didn't get it then. I c o u l d not comprehend. I turned it off instead. What would I do with it anyway?

Then my therapist -and therapy… She was brilliant, warm, and insightful and filled with emotion. Then my Shiatsu mentor – her touch!!  Heaven landed her hands on my empty body.

All brilliant women, all women; each one I loved, I still love. I couldn’t get enough love. And yet, I still didn't understand...

In all my fantasies – they hold me, they caress me, they take my cheek to their breast…and then the fantasy just stops, as though a button is pushed, the show, and the thought just ends where it is – stops and goes no further. If it wasn't for the brilliance of my therapist, my love for her would have kept me in therapy for a lifetime. But she was smarter than me. She understood what was still so well hidden, implicit in my stories. She opened me up, showed me what was there, taught me to accept and see myself as I was…She taught me and then released me.

The release was one of solitude, like a whoosh of wind on your cheek on a cold night. A release filled with expectation and uncertainty. I wandered about my daily life and wondered incessantly. I thought the release would let me live. But instead it left me alone and vacant. Alone…until I understood and knew. I needed to get up, get out, get free and find what I deserved. Someone, who could love me as I needed and as I wanted to be loved, someone, like me…like me…

And yeah, lucky me, I found my Someone and today we are the LesBosOnTheCouch…

And now it's time

It is now time to tell my story. It is time to uncover not only the evil but also the good. I am, after all, a complete person. Inside my being there lives a history rich with all the emotions that define what it means to be human. I woke up today — so different from yesterday. So much to live for — such joy…The sun bright and warm…

My skin soaks up the warmth even as I hang the laundry out to dry on the line. It is so hot and dry. The laundry will be dry in an hour. This is my weather. I wait all winter for this feeling of life that has been given to me by the Lord’s sun…

Understand, I do appreciate the winter months. I love the rain and curling up in bed as the thunder shakes the sky and the rain floods and nourishes the earth…But spring — spring to summer…the sun, bright and warm, and toasty and safe, that is my time, the time when my breathing is easier and the air feels so much sweeter.

The sun’s warmth is the ultimate hug. One of the greatest Gifts given to us here on earth; given to us who search, sometimes unknowingly and mostly blindly for that ultimate love that I call ‘peace.’ I wait for the spring-summer sun. Sometimes I don’t even know that I am waiting — and then, it happens…

One morning, I’ve left the blinds and window open. I wake to the warm breeze and the smell of sweet flowers. The heat is already floating over the bed. I kick off the covers, roll over and kiss my love. I’ve been called by the sun. I need to go out, even if just for a moment — even if just to hang out the laundry…even if just to say a silent ‘thank you’ for this gift of warmth. The heat warms my body and soul alike. The sun brightens the world and brings light to gloomy thoughts and deeds.

All winter long I look to the sky hoping the sun will grace us with a wink, a foreshadowing of the spring to come. I live in a moderate climate, in a country suffering from droughts and ‘too-short’ winters, and it is with an (almost) guilty heart that I say these things, that I feel this way.

A little bitchin' is good for the soul...

I sit here at my desk at work-  I think I want what everybody wants. Every birthday wish for the past 48 years was for Health Wealth and Happiness. Sometimes some Wisdom was thrown in for apparent good measure. So, here I am, nearing my 49^th birthday. Praise the Lord, I am Healthy – and believe me, I am not selling Health short. I am full on aware that without the Health the rest doesn't really matter. So, after 49 nears, half a life time – or maybe more, but who can count- I am Healthy (rather round, but healthy), again, praise the Lord...And Happiness...well that comes and goes and comes and goes and...I guess what I really would like to know – WHERE THE HELL IS the WEALTHY?  I truly believe, and this is where the Wisdom comes in (and I thank those who wished me that, because hey, at least I believe that I have some of that...or how else would I know what I'm missing and to be thankful for the Healthy part!) So, all of you birthday and well wishers, "WHERE IS THE WEALTHY?"

Come on, you all know that with the wealthy the happiness comes easier. And with the wealth it is also easier to deal with the 'not happiness' and the waning wisdom that comes with age (yes, I can plainly see that while in some area I get wiser, in others, just plain dumb)...Seriously. I would welcome some answers.

I don't mean to complain. I have love – both to give and get. I have the GREATEST love, in my wife. I have a job that I really enjoy (except for the part when I have to actually move my rather large butt out of the house to get there). And yes, except for the fat butt, the beer belly, the failing eyesight, the gas (oh come on, you know what I mean), the regular sagging of age (again, you know), etc...But hey, I want to hear from you bright and wise people out there...where and when is the wealth?

H, so I should stop complaining, heh... Ok, you are right...but this is the way I feel..

So, in between the laughter and the giggles I continue to write. Sometimes to complain and bitch and mone and sometimes to share the fun...My wife and I - We are the LesbosOntheCouch...