I Am Here…

Today was the first day

I didn’t agonize over her

Does that mean I’m finally healing?

I must confess it feels strange

Not to miss her in that way

This hurt has been

My constant companion

For one year

5 months

21 days

Seems such a short time

To feel so much pain

Doesn’t it?

I want to heal

But I don’t want to forget

How beautiful our love once was

Some things

Are worth remembering

In a quiet place in my heart…

Maybe now I can begin

To write out my past

Then let it go

In peace

And truly begin

To live in this moment…

I’ve been waiting a long long time

To get here

Before I Begin…

I wrote this excerpt in a writing class when prompted to recall a first memory.

I liked it then. I like it now.

Some days the words just flow and you smile…

I wasn’t born abandoned. I had a family once. A dark haired, flashing eyed Ojibwa vixen and an African American ‘Casanova’ gave birth to me and a brother. Two dreamy, idealistic teenagers, who fell in love, got married and thought they knew the world. Thought they would be the difference. They were wrong. We never had a hope of surviving as a family. Each of us had been lost at conception. 

We lived in a small, two bedroom apartment and slept on thin, buttoned, gingham mattresses. My brother and I shared a bed. More than once I woke up soaked in urine. I didn’t mind that much. I loved my little brother and protected him fiercely. Sometimes we’d wake in the night. Alone. Forgotten. The air quiet and sour. The dream of being the difference died after he and I were born….

My teenage parents  and me ;)

It’s funny how every time I read this little piece, I am catapulted right back into that room. That bed. In the quiet. Long dark shadows on cold gray walls. The soft glimmer of muted street light. Summer heat. The smell of urine. Damp wet gingham. My brother’s warmth curled into me. For protection. Safety. And love.

Memories. Friend or foe? We shall see.

I read somewhere that certain trauma and abuse can stunt emotional growth to the effect that one essentially remains at the emotional age at which the trauma/abuse took place, barring conscious efforts at continued growth. I’m not familiar with the science behind these claims and I’m sure they’re an oversimplification, but still…makes you think doesn’t it?

I’d say I got stunted somewhere in the staccato snapshots composed of abrupt, disconnected events between the ages of 2 and 13…or maybe 13 and 22.

Undetermined as of yet.

Still consciously efforting at 53

new beginnings…

Perhaps, after all is said and done, just maybe, this is the place I need to reclaim not only my personal space, but my dignity as well. It seems to have fallen away somewhere in the midst of falling in love. This blog was intended to be a place to share the trials and tribulations of coming out as a late bloomer in my 47th year, but quickly turned into a recanting of a volatile, tragic and beautiful lesbian love story that broke not only my heart, but my once-upon-a-time indomitable spirit. The rabbit hole has become a near and dear friend. A dark, slippery place where I have self-destructed more often than I care to admit…

My story is so much more then what she left of me.

I have lived a long, unjustly painful and somewhat disturbing life, dotted with spectacular glimpses of sunshine and faith. Right now, the demons are running amuck again. Taunting me in new and decidedly hellish ways. I think it’s time to talk about them instead. I need to write. It’s who I am. And I promised myself when I was 14, that I would begin writing my memoirs somewhere in my 50’s. Figured I would have lived a very full life by then. Well, um… I’m about to explode!

So. I begin this, a new blog. Wiped clean of the past. With a new direction. A new face. And with the renewed hope that I will be kinder to myself. And remember that I am a good, warm, and loving person. A true friend and an awesome Mom. Things I really need to start telling myself more often.

Here’s to Dear Sweet Me, and to new beginnings as I record where I’ve been, where I am, and hopefully discover where I’m going.


Lesson Eleven 66

No fanfare, no drama
No recriminations, no denial
No sacrifice, no valor…

No anything anymore.

The words have dried up
They’re dust on the floor
This place only haunts me
We don’t live here anymore
I walk along hallways
That still echo your name
And stare at your picture
In an old fashioned frame
The rooms are all empty
Lifeless and bare
They burned with such passion
Now nothing is there
Just shadows and memories
Heartless and cruel
Constant reminders
Of loss and of you
And the innocent belief
That love would play fair
And that happy ever after
Isn’t so rare…

Lesson Eleven 66
It is.

And it doesn’t matter now
In these tears that I weep
That my soul breathed you in
Or that I fell so deep
Cuz life moves us on
And away from the past
None of it matters
Cuz none of it lasts
I’ll be smarter and wiser
Next time around
Know my self limitations
Keep my feet on the ground
Cuz the price to be paid
Is unbearable pain
For loving so reckless
For loving in vain
So I’m closing this house
To rescue my heart
Hoping that life
Will allow a fresh start
My hand is uncertain
When locking the door
But this place haunts me
And we don’t live here anymore


I feel a sadness beyond any words I can write, and because of that, I can’t write here anymore. There’s nothing left to say now.

Maybe a new blog?


All my cries to the heavens have not been heard, and if they have, the silent answers have not been heard by me. I will try and listen harder.

In the meantime…

Thank you forever, Ann and Stacy Michelle. You’ve been touchstones for me on this incredible journey of love found and love lost. Our story is not over. I promise to stay in touch.

dear manhattan…

my first follower on this blog appeared like a bright and shiny beacon on a dark and stormy night. cliche, i know. but, it actually was a dark and stormy night when i started this blog. i was adrift in an emotional abyss of confusion and uncertainty, blogging my heart out to a black sea of facelessness, having no idea where I was heading or what choppy waters awaited me and my flimsy, bare-skinned raft.

and then she appeared. literally out of nowhere.

a twenty-something from Manhattan. bisexual. beautiful. and from all accounts. rich. she was struggling, clearly trying to find her identity in so many ways. a witty, intelligent and expressive writer whom i have enjoyed reading over and over again. she blogs her heart and passion with eloquent, meaningful prose and has touched my emotional, sensitive soul. relating to her fears, her wants, her hurts and her desires, i wanted to share with her all of my fears and wants and hurts and desires too. there were times when her honesty reverberated so deep inside of me that when she cried, i wanted to reach through the screen and hold her. to ease the ache of her heart.

i breathed her in and the scent was intoxicating. reveling in the heady power of shared wonder and joy. the hope in loves fresh bloom. so sweet and innocent. her wanting, her lust, her dreaming, her sacrifice and ultimately, her frustration. i understood the need in that wanting and the depths she would sink to, to satisfy her lover. i knew how important was acceptance. and i feared for her in that vulnerability. she has no idea how amazing she truly is. that her light shines so much brighter then the love she so desperately seeks. but she is young. there is still time for her to learn the truth of her value.

often, in her late night blogging with liquor loosening her tongue and me in my late night reading, with liquor sharpening my hearing, i have connected so intimately with her that to simply embrace her with my complete understanding was something i felt compelled to do. so she would truly know that she was not alone. that someone out here really understood her heart and her mind as much as another human being can.

i’m not sure why she has affected me so deeply, but she has.

i follow her here. from miles of distance. offering sage advise and sometimes laughter when i know she feels broken. she doesn’t write as often anymore and that saddens me. i am one of several loyal, addicted fans and want so many good things to happen for her. maybe her dreams of love are shattered? maybe her world has crashed and she can’t mend the pieces? maybe her girl has left?

i sincerely hope not.

hopefully she writes again soon.

i am her friend although we have never met.

and i have missed her.

yes gen, this is for you.

Sweetest Gift

Drowning peacefully in the deep mellow tones of Sade. She soothes me like no other and every time I listen to her, she brings out my sensuality, my sex and my soul. Sometimes she makes me cry, her lyrics so potent and memorable and relate-able. But always, I like how she touches me.

Just sent my daughter this text:

“In Sade mode right now :)  Did I ever tell you her song Sweetest Gift is my personal song to you, my beautiful daughter? Well, it is. And, I actually had a conversation with the moon ;) Love you baby. Just more moosh from the mujjah xo”

I’m so in love with my kid.

With her in it, life is always good.

The day she was born, I peeked into heaven.

She truly is my sweetest gift.


The Sweetest Gift /Written by Sade

(Here’s a uTube link if you’re interested )

Quietly while you were asleep
The moon and I were talking
I asked that she’d always keep you protected

She promised you her light
That you so gracefully carry
You bring your light and shine like morning

And then the wind pulls the clouds across the moon
Your light fills the darkest room
And I can see the miracle
That keeps us from falling

She promised all the sweetest gifts
That only the heaven’s could bestow
You bring your light and shine like morning

And as you so gracefully give
Her light as long as you live
I’ll always remember this moment.


OMG! I’ve been PRESSED!!!

We interrupt this segment for a very important message…

Holy shit my lovelies! I’ve been pressed!

And I’m sure that somehow I owe it ALL to you  :)

I’m just so damn excited about it! I can’t contain myself. I feel like I’m walking on a cloud! And how freaking apropo that I get pressed on a day I write a post about the swell of self-pride and personal achievement! Ha! There is a God and her name is Michelle Weber, Story Wrangler Extraordinaire!

And the winning post? The one that got her attention?

Mommy Nearest – Day 8 Ago.

And I quote:

“We really enjoyed it, and we know the rest of the WordPress community will too – you pack so much into a relatively short post, and I found my heart breaking. Your post will appear on the site in the next day or two, so get ready to welcome your new readers. Once your post goes live, shout it from the rooftops! Tell your family, friends, and readers to check out the WordPress home page, and share the good news with your social networks (we’ll do the same). Most importantly, keep up the great work.”

Thank you, WordPress. This means more to me then you will EVER know…