storytelling for truth lovers

  • if you’re a lesbian on the back side of thirty, the short side of time – speak now or forever hold your regret

    if you’re a lesbian on the back side of thirty, the short side of time – speak now or forever hold your regret


    Greetings to all my friends in cyberspace,

    Forgive this commercial interruption intended for my lesbian sisters who I hope will stop for a moment, look at the B-E Collection website and then volunteer to speak out about our experiences not only in the workplace but also other topics of interest recorded in the collection.

    Dianne Barrett and her wife Margaret Elfering began the ambitious task of preserving the stories of lesbians who are over 30 years old with particular emphasis on their careers while widening the scope of topics to include couples in long term relationships/partnerships/marriages and most recently reaction to the overturn of Roe v Wade.

    My personal adventures are included on their website in two places: “The Interviews” (which I thought went well but bring popcorn) and “Your Vote is your Voice” (which channeled my disastrous Southern Baptist preacher upbringing). Yikes! You decide.

    I strongly encourage you to contact Dianne to schedule an interview! No one will ask you for a monetary contribution to anything, which is happy news in these mid-term election asks. Plus, you will have an awesome opportunity to tell your own story in a non threatening environment which can be powerful as well as liberating. And maybe even fun!

    Speak now, or forever hold your regret to pass on a chance to make your voice heard.

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    Stay safe, stay sane and please stay tuned.

  • Pretty’s advice to her younger self

    Pretty’s advice to her younger self


    “If you could go back to that 34 year old attorney from Vermont beginning the first of 48 years as a United States Senator, would you have any advice for him?” asked Robert Costa during his CBS Sunday Morning interview with retiring Senator Patrick Leahy who at 82 years old is the fourth longest serving person in the Senate.

    Senator Leahy responded something about telling the young man nothing was impossible if you persevered, dream big, be your best self – you get the idea. Inspirational. Conventional wisdom from a seasoned New Englander who was the first of his family to graduate from college way back when.

    Of course Pretty and I were watching the interview together this morning – it’s a tradition she introduced to me when we first got together more than twenty years ago – at the same time she introduced me to Sex and the City (the TV show). CBS Sunday Morning at 9 o’clock – Sex and the City on Sunday nights.

    During the next commercial break I turned to Pretty and asked her if she had any advice for her 30 year old self. Without skipping a beat she replied:

    “Exercise more. Eat less. Save money.” I burst out laughing, shaking my head in disbelief.

    “I don’t know how you could have exercised any more, ” I said to her back as she walked toward the kitchen. “You’ve played tennis your entire adult life, you do manual labor in the antique empire every day we aren’t chasing after a toddler granddaughter who has the energy of a bunny battery – I’m saying you’ve definitely done your share of exercise through the years.”

    “Yeah, that’s right,” she said from the kitchen where she fixed a big bowl of grits and three pieces of Sunbeam King Thin enriched bread toast (with lots of butter) for her breakfast.

    “What about you?” she asked as she sat down with her food. “What would you say to your 30 year old self?”

    “Stay away from married women,” I answered. Pretty laughed and nodded.

    Thank goodness the commercial break was over before we got to saving money.

  • Carport Kitty is our Guard Cat

    Carport Kitty is our Guard Cat


    For her many fans who ask, Carport Kitty has survived the summer heat in South Carolina to mark her one year stay with us on our carport. She continues to stand with the people of Ukraine every day of her life – as do Pretty, three barking dogs and me.

    She is now our official Guard Cat – Beware: she does not suffer fools gladly.

  • I dreamed that the Great Judgment Morning had dawned, but was it just a dream?

    I dreamed that the Great Judgment Morning had dawned, but was it just a dream?


    My daddy led the music in the tiny Richards Baptist Church where I was saved from my sins at the ripe old age of nine. The preacher who baptized me that summer had a brief explanation of faith and God’s forgiveness in a private chat before we stepped down several steps into what appeared to me to be a very large body of water behind the pulpit that held the large chair Daddy sat in between the congregational hymns during the worship service. I hated water, had already failed my first swimming lessons in the Navasota, Texas city pool twenty miles from Richards – a failure to be repeated more than once in the next dozen years.

    I forgot the submersion in the baptistry (not totally) and remembered little of the rural conservative Southern Baptist minister’s words before he dunked me in the great pool. One concept stayed with me, though. God forgave me of my wrongdoings that day and forevermore. Brother Jones told me no matter what I did from then on that was even slightly evil, I had a free pass. All I had to say was God, forgive me. Full disclosure: I’ve had to ask for forgiveness in the post-baptism days way more than I did in the pre-baptism ones.

    While my daddy did enjoy leading the small congregation of sixty members every Sunday he truly loved singing solos as the special music for the worship service. My mama played the piano for the church and, of course, for daddy’s spotlight moments. He had no vocal training, but he did have the loudest male voice in the church. His singing gave me free floating anxiety related to possible embarrassment that I tried my best to hide. Mama accompanied him with great intensity, lots of flourishes that covered any problems he had with the high notes.

    Recently I’ve been singing Daddy’s repertoire in my mind; unfortunately I’ve remembered the words to a song Daddy liked to belt out – a song that was a crowd pleaser but my least favorite of his selections. The words to Great Judgment Morning were written by Bert Shadduck in 1894 and published in 75 hymnals according to hymnary.org.

    I dream’d that the great judgment morning
    Had dawn’d, and the trumpet had blown;
    I dream’d that the nations had gathered
    To judgment before the white throne.
    From the throne came a bright shining angel
    And stood on the land and the sea,
    And swore with his hand rais’d to heaven,
    That time was no longer to be.

    Chorus:
    And O, what a weeping and wailing,
    As the lost were told of their fate;
    They cried for the rocks and the mountains,
    They pray’d, but their pray’r was too late.

    On August 08, 1974 Richard Nixon resigned the office of President of the United States. My daddy and I watched the dramatic exit together from his Hermann Hospital room in Houston – he had been diagnosed with colon cancer that day, treatment options sounded grim, prognosis 18 – 24 months. It was a rough day for the country and for our family. I was 28 years old; he was 49.

    Neither he nor I had ever seen anything like Watergate, but the Nixon resignation came at a good time for us: we had something to talk about other than my father’s health. I can’t begin to imagine having a conversation with Daddy during these last days of the ongoing trauma the nation has suffered by the deranged actions of an ex-President who would tamper with the security of a democracy my dad fought to preserve in WWII. What could he think?

    Would he belt out the second verse of the Great Judgment Morning…hm.

    The rich man was there, but his money
    Had melted and vanished away;
    A pauper he stood in the judgment,
    His debts were too heavy to pay.
    The great man was there, but his greatness
    When death came was left far behind;

    The angel that opened the records,
    Not a trace of his greatness could find.

    Did I really dream the great judgment morning has finally dawned for a president who, in my opinion, leaves a legacy of evil deeds far exceeding the wrongdoings of Richard Nixon; or did I actually watch David Muir describe this unraveling last week on the evening news.

    If there is a great judgment morning, I is accountable. He is accountable. We is all accountable. Don’t just take my word for it. Ask Attorney General Merrick Garland who blows the trumpet now and says no one is above the law.

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    Please stay tuned.

  • from antiques to basketball via the Seminole Trail

    from antiques to basketball via the Seminole Trail


    US highway 29 a/k/a Seminole Trail in parts of Virginia – antiques galore for Pretty to explore

    Pretty and me leaving Jefferson’s Monticello

    (photo by Susan Moore-Cooke)

    Pretty in DC at Old Ebbitt Grill established in 1856

    While Pretty collects antique treasures, I collect words; I found my treasure on a WNBA Washington Mystics t-shirt when we went to watch our home girl A’ja Wilson and her Las Vegas Aces play the Mystics in DC. Our home girl scored 22 points and had 12 rebounds in a game the Aces eventually lost to the Mystics, but Pretty and I weren’t too disappointed. We were thrilled to feel the atmosphere of the big city small arena with its diverse enthusiastic fan following. I told Pretty I was transported that night in my thoughts to the first tiny Texas gymnasium in Grimes County where I watched high school girls play basketball seventy years ago – now I watched a professional women’s team “centered in the very soul of our nation.”

    From Jefferson’s home at Monticello to the Lincoln Memorial…from historic Old Ebbitt Grill to a sports arena in the Congress Heights neighborhood of DC, our four day trip last week along the Seminole Trail reminded me my country was built upon the work of those that dared to dream different.

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    Dare to dream different, and please stay tuned.