Lavender Roses

What’s this? A bunch of gray haired women over 50? What can they possibly have in common with me, you might ask. Please keep reading.

One way creativity shows up in my life is through my lesbian theater troupe, Lavender Roses Readers Theater. This nine member cast has been performing for spiritual and secular communities in and outside of California since 1993. Our message is one of unity through diversity. Please keep reading.

With a large measure of humor and music, and a dance number or two, we share through our personal stories our similarities, differences, and the joy and challenges we’ve experienced and as we explore our spirituality as lesbians in the New Thought Movement (our branch is Religious Science, a non-denominational metaphysical philosophy that holds that the Divine is in all things). Please keep reading.

In one of our songs, we address the question, what can Lavender Roses possibly have in common with me:

“We are lesbians, homosexuals; we’re dykes, we’re queer, we’re gay.
We may be working class, or professionals, or struggling to find our way.
We may have a mate, we may have kids, and in many ways it’s true—
We are more alike than different, we and you.

We all have fears, we all cry tears; we all have hopes and dreams.
We value family, spirituality; to all of us it seems
That diversity in community is a unifying way
To honor Spirit’s presence each and every day.”

A past President of the Board of Trustees of CSLSR stated, “I can personally acknowledge Lavender Roses for the good they have done in the community and the thought provoking message they bring that is needed by so many. As I watch them perform, my heart swells with pride and laughter; then tears come as I listen to the stories of growing up and living life from a viewpoint different than the mainstream.” S.S.

If you’re interested in booking a performance, please contact Joan for further information at SRLavenderRoses@aol.com.

And to all my sister and brother Pagans, HAPPY BELTANE!

You Can Find Anything at Costco (story relayed with permission)

At a recent gathering of women, the topic of relationships came up. A woman told about the ending of her long term relationship and how she didn’t know if she would ever get through the emotional roller coaster that followed. She lived in dread of bumping into her ex in the community, noted with despair that she felt almost addicted to this man who did her wrong. Would she fall back into the pattern that trapped her originally? Would she fall apart and lose her resolve to move on? If you’ve been in a relationship that ended before you were ready, you might be able to relate to this story.

For five years she suffered anxiety. Then one afternoon, shopping at Costco, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, and there he was—the object of her most pervasive anxiety. Did she throw up? Did she run screaming from the store? Did she aim a well-placed kick? What did she feel? Nothing. Absolutely NOTHING. It was at that very moment she realized she had found closure.

From across the room another woman commented, “Wow, you can find ANYthing at Costco!”

Personal Ads from the Quirky Side of Life

I’m not a big fan of personal ads. From what I hear, people rarely represent themselves honestly. But what if they did?

More For Your Money: Multiple looking for love. Cute, sexy, quietly outrageous, average height, average weight, average hair and eye color (averages based on combined personality traits divided by number of alters) waiting to meet you and bring some excitement to your life. Call Code 303 and leave a message for anyone (specify gender preference). One of us will get back to you. Namaste, Ciao, Bye, Hasta. Ad 303

Interested in a brief affair? Candlelit (hospital) room, breakfast in bed, essence of pine (Sol) wafting in the air. Call quickly as this offer won’t last long (nor will the writer). Ask for Rm. 212, St. Mercy’s Hospital. Ad 304

Looking for more bang for your buck? Suicide bomber looking for one last blowout before moving on. I have a patriotic nature and a wry sense of humor. Not into long-term relationships. I believe in past lives, and am big on atonement. If you call and the phone has been disconnected, you’re too late. Ad 305

Cyber Kids

In a recent e-mail to my brother Bill in Colorado, I bemoaned the fact that some kids today don’t even know what a typewriter is, or a rotary dial phone, or—well, name just about anything from our childhood.

Today’s kids’ language of preference is texting (which still shows up as an error on my spell check—the little man in my computer is convinced I really mean taxing). Bill and his 16 year old daughter Kass (that’s her with the Black Belt) got the giggles over something absurd the other day—you know, the double over, cross your legs kind of giggles. She was finally able to sputter out, “oh my gosh, Dad, I almost yelled LOL!”

Open Window

I saw Alice in Wonderland last weekend. It was sort of a metaphysical-mythological-shamanic journey on acid (well, with the 3-D glasses anyway). Not only was I wildly entertained by the visuals, but also by the extraordinary mind of Lewis Carroll. What kind of brain, firing at what kind of level, would it take to come up with that story line, those amazing characters, that language?

My spiritual/philosophical belief system would remind me that there is no separation from the source of all creation and its expression, making Lewis Carroll no more extraordinary than you are or I am; perhaps just more in touch with his creativity or less inhibited about putting it out there for judgment.

Most people have a slightly tweaky part of their mind that’s kept under wraps, a bent sense of humor rarely shared, or imaginings that they’re glad no one else can peek in on—I know this is true; I hear it in therapy all the time. I had one of those moments just this afternoon.

My friend Trudy, also a therapist, with whom I share a suite of private practice offices, was passing by my office, stuck her head in my open door, and noted the curtain, gently ruffling in the breeze.

“It’s nice you have your window open—and the curtain keeps flying things out. I get flying things if I open my window,” she lamented. We exchanged a few more words and then she left to prepare for her afternoon clients.

Images of a baseball, a swirl of leaves, a Frisbee, a kite, maybe a pigeon or two flying in her window, hovering overhead, landing with a soft thwump or a ruffle of feathers on the couch next to a client, brought a chuckle at the absurd places my mind frequently takes me. Later I shared this with Trudy.

“So you see why I’m reluctant to ever open it,” she said, straight faced.

More Vacation Spillover

At many points during our week in a third world country, I came face to face with my ethnocentrism. Sometimes I forget I have it. The first time I noticed myself aghast at something the native population took for granted was watching a fire burning out of control as we drove along in our air conditioned van.

Burned rubble along the road, patches of ground blackened and deserted, homes reduced to charred lumber stood out against the lush green fields and tropical growth. At one point I pointed out to our guide that the grass was on fire and seemed to be spreading along the roadside. “Yeah,” he responded, “It does that.” My mind swirled—shouldn’t we call the fire department? Does my cell phone work in Belize? Hasn’t anyone reported this yet? Then I reoriented myself: third world country; no fire department to call.

How privileged we are here in the U.S. If we run out of stamps, we go to the grocery store or the bank, usually open until 6pm. In Belize, there’s one tiny post office miles away from anywhere which may or may not be open on any given day. If something catches fire, we call 911 and the fire department sends trucks, ambulances, and help in a variety of forms. In Belize, yeah, it burns. If we want to go somewhere, we hop in our car, swing by the gas station if we’re running low on gas, and go. In Belize, one waits at a little bus stop for a rattley old bus that runs between villages on an irregular schedule, and fills its tank at the one gas pump in the district; or hops on a bike, or even more commonly, walks—very long distances—to get where one is going. If we’re cold in our homes, we turn up the heat. In Belize, there may not be heat available except for what the sun brings.

My eyes are more open now to the things I once took for granted; I had become complacent, entitled. A trip to a foreign country and four little words, “yeah, it does that,” have restored a sense of appreciation for the abundance in and the ease of my daily life.

Belize Adventure

Vacations are great inspiration for potential stories. For instance, I just got back from Belize with friends Trudy, Joan, and sister Sus. We flew into the International Airport, walked into a reception area with a Customs desk on the left. Through my jet-lagged eyes, I saw a huge pedestal behind which three or four mean-looking, suspicious men and women glared down at us weary, scraggly travelers, just daring us to try and smuggle a fruit-fly laden apple into their country. They were heavily uniformed—I have a trauma-based aversion to anything uniformed (even head waiters creep me out) from the 60ies, and possibly armed. I told you I was fatigued—and sleep-deprived. Somehow, we cleared Passport inspection with only a question or two about our intent.

Ahead, we aim for the luggage carousel. By implicit agreement, we all keep a look out for each other, two of us never having traveled abroad. Three of us wander to the right of the carousel, Joan wanders to the left. Slowly, the bags are placed on the conveyer. Trudy and Sus pull theirs off and are waiting behind, out of the way. I spot my little bag with the bright red ribbon and hoist it up off the carousel. Smiling with the success of my trip so far, I turn to Trudy and Sus. We glance around for Joan. Hmm, in such a small space (a one room lobby), where could she possibly be? Oh, yeah, the bathrooms. Joan? Joan? No Joan. Okay, don’t panic. There’s the duty free store just across the lobby. Sure, that’s where she is. No Joan.

How many headlines have you seen on the evening news about women or children who disappear without a trace in foreign countries? All those come roaring back to me in my head. Breathe. Don’t jump to conclusions. Okay. OH MY GOD, SHE’S BEEN KIDNAPPED! My head swivels back and forth, up and down (I knew she wasn’t really on the ceiling—it was just reflex). We speak to someone in the office. They have no idea, figure she’s cleared Customs and has probably gone on outside. No, she wouldn’t do that, we mumble between us.

There were forms to fill out before we could even go out and see if she was on the other side. Once out, we can’t return to the lobby. How will we communicate with each other? Group decision: we’ll go out, hope she is returned by the kidnappers and figures out we’re not in the lobby. Perhaps she’ll find her way through customs and meet us outside. Okay—that’s the plan.

We fill out our forms, have them stamped, and are herded out the door to await our connecting plane. I cast a furtive glance behind me as I leave the lobby. Stepping through the door I see Joan to my right, looking bored, tired, wondering where the heck we’ve been. She had grabbed her bags as soon as they’d hit the carousel and in her expedient little way headed on through Customs to wait for us on the other side.

Relief pours out of my body like sweat from the change of climate. Kind of an anticlimactic ending for a potentially great kidnap/ransom mystery, but I’ll trade that any day for the safety of my good friend.

For information about the Belize Jungle Dome Resort and Adventure Tours: www.belizejungledome.com
Check it out; you won’t be disappointed.