LesbosOnTheCouch -and I AM BACK

Hello all of my faithful LesbosOnTheCouch readers. I know that I haven’t exactly been writing quite what you had expected…Truly, I know that my family crisis’ and such aren’t exactly what you’d expect from LesbosOnTheCouch – but the fact of the matter is that we all experience these things- whether or not we are On The Couch. Yes, sickness and death and family crazy come even to those of us who sit On The Couch, even if we think that couch is so far removed and distant from said family. The truth is, it all finds you. It all just sneaks up and tries, without even knowing, to sit right down On The Couch, too.

Well, I am back –and yes, I am still haunted by the crazy – No, I don’t think I’ll ever get the voice of my mother at my aunt’s funeral out of my head, Who wants a lollipop? (REALLY)- Or my childhood glee at being told by my uncle that I can have all of the shoes in my aunt’s closet. (Again, REALLY) and on both accounts, it seemed perfectly normal at the time. –Or watching Jeopardy every night no matter who was in what hospital or hospice, receiving morphine, breathing her last breath, or dying alone.

So, here I am at 6 AM on Saturday morning, writing and thinking…so I am back –so what. What should I say –how I missed my love so much could no longer think straight (okay, now I am just being silly – ‘think straight’; I never think straight….)…

Maybe I should write about how sweet the spring and summer smell from my bedroom window, how lying in my love’s arms is the only place I want to be… about how lucky we are to have each other and how sad it is that some of us don’t even have that. Maybe I should tell you that chocolate ice cream really can make bearable most all pain – and if it doesn’t- then add a good shot of brandy and you won’t even remember what it is you were feeling miserable about in the first place (unless of course the next day you have to wake up and attend a funeral).

I could tell you all, I should’ve flown back earlier, I could’ve been there with her, I would’ve been a better person had I gotten there on time and follow this with,  If only I was there, if only I had stayed…if only…

I could tell you all of these things. These are what I try not to hear myself say when my mind and my heart converse at night. But really – what would that do for you –or me?…

Instead, I will honor her memory once more. Since my aunt was a teacher, I will take this to be her final lessons –some of the many lessons that she so generously shared with me throughout her life.

And the final lessons –ENJOY, LOVE and LIVE your life, each day as if it could be your last (because it could). Take all of the ‘could’ve, should’ve and would’ve’ out of your vocabulary and simply be in the moment, with your love, with your loved ones –friends or family, with your dog and with your ice cream. Smell the spring even if you’re sneezing and wheezing like crazy, eyes watering and nose running…just be.

She did.

For Ellen

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

I get off the plane – but it’s too late.

She was my aunt. She was my friend. She was my big sister and my confidant. For years we’d speak two or three times a week. She listened to me, she counseled me. She usually knew what to do and if she didn’t – she could comfort me and lend me her belief in me that I would find the way. When I told her about my new love and my decision to be the person that writes this blog – a lesbo on the couch – she accepted. Without question she accepted the woman of my dreams. When there was war and my child was thus engaged, my aunt would call me -and ask -and listen. She never pretended to be something she wasn’t. She never asked why I chose the paths I’ve chosen.

My boys knew her as my aunt and theirs. She never forgot a birthday, an anniversary a holiday. When I got here, at her house… going through her files, her possessions -I found her secret. Lists and notes and files – everything written down and meticulously documented. Every  happy occurrence and bit of news. When I started my new job, the time and place recorded. How I felt when I saw these things can only be explained as pure joy – simply and completely loved. Here was this person, my aunt, and me and mine – so important to her that all we’d done recorded and documented in such detail.

And when I found my poems – all of them from high school and beyond, the cards, the drawings and trinkets sent from far off and nearby – she kept them all. All the stuff from her grand nephews – every picture they ever made, every gesture they every sent. She kept it all…and all I could think was that I regret not sending more. She treasured us so much…so she said – and now I know.

I love my aunt Ellen and she loved me. I am lucky to have had her in my life. I am lucky she took me into her heart. I am blessed to have had her these past 49 years. The world was blessed to have had her 64 years. I miss her already. I will miss her always.

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…