si-nister wisdom 53

Old Lesbians/Dykes

Sinister Wisdom 53
Summer /Fall 1994
Publisher: Sinister Wisdom, Inc.
Managing Editor: Elana Dykewomon

Guest Editors for #53: Dotty Fowler, Ida VSW Red, Jeanne Adleman, Joyce
Pierson, Kate Rosenblatt, Marge Green, Mickey Spencer, Rosemary
Hathaway, Vera Martin
Contributing editor: Gloria Anzaldua
Volunteer Coordinator: Susan Levinkind
Advertising Coordinator: Jamie Lee Evans
Fulfillment: Dolphin Waletzky
Proofreaders & Typists: Angela Koenig, Carol Ann Baker, Caryatis Cardea,
Jessica Bucciarelli, Susan Goldberg, Susan Levinkind
Office help, correspondence and accounting: Carol Ann Baker, Laura
Munter-Orabona, Linda Shear, Nina Wouk, Susan Levinkind
Thanks to Bobby Rothschild and Rebecca Kutlin of Tamed Technology
Distribution and mailing crew: Angela Koenig, Carol Ann Baker, Dolphin
Waletzky, Hadas Weiss, Laura Munter-Orabona, Lisa Horan, Mady
Shumofsky, Ramona Galindez, Samara, Sarah Carrol, Susan Goldberg,
Susan Liroff, Susan Levinkind, Susan Purcell
Reader for the Womyn's Braille Press: Judy Freespirit
Cover art: by Mickey Spencer, OLD LESBIANS: We Are Everywhere (detail),paperpainting, 22" x 22", © 1989; see artist's statement in contributors'
notes.

SINISTER WISDOM, founded 1976
Former editors and publishers: Harriet Ellenberger (aka Desmoines)
and Catherine Nicholson (1976-81)
Michelle Cliff and Adrienne Rich (1981-83)
Michaele Uccella (1983-84)
Melanic Kaye/Kantrowitz (1983-87)
Carya tis Cardea (1991-94)
Copyright © 1994 Sinister Wisdom, Inc. All rights reserved to individual artists and authors.
ISSN : 0196-1853. Printed in the U.S. on recycled paper.

Sinister Wisdom, Inc.• PO Box 3252 • Berkeley CA 94703 • US

Summer/Fall 1994

1

A Journal for the Lesbian Imaginationin the Arts and Politics_________________ Contents
3 The Guest Editors • Introduction
5 Del Martin & Phyllis Lyon • Old Lesbians Are MoreThan Survivors
11 Joyce Pierson • Interview with Catherine Nicholson
18 Dorothy Fowler • 6:15 Sestina
20 Marjory Nelson • Welcome Home, Kid
23 Joan Corbin • A Surprise24 Monika Kehoe • College Teaching on the Move
31 Bernice Dambowic • A Lesbian Voice
32 Carol Ehrlich • Coming Home
36 Ida VSW Red • Seasoning
41 Helen Howard • Kissing Rosie
46 Kate Rosenblatt • Peg and Emily
50 Rosemary Hathaway • Ode to an Old Woman From an Old
Woman
51 Emma Joy Crone • Notes from Hornby Island, B.C.
54 Miriam Carroll • Imani
55 Pat Pomerleau • Amelia Earhart Didn't Cook
59 Janny MacHarg • Niche Picking
61 Mab Maher • The Woman Across the Street
66 Frances Lorraine • A Day in the Life of One Old Dyke
69 Elizabeth Freeman • Is It Only Genes?
71 Joan Miller • Yes, a Happy Heart Attack
74 Mary Flick • Unfinished Letters

Sinister Wisdom is a multicultural, mul ti-class, born-womonlesbian space.
We seek to open, consider and advance the exploration of community
issues. Sinister Wisdom recognizes the power of language to reflect our
diverse experiences and to enhance our ability to develop critical judgment, as lesbians evaluating our communities and our world.

2

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

76 Ann Stokes • Chalice of Green78 Grear Greene • Friends of Dorothy
82 Vashte Doublex • Ageful Equals Rageful
84 Catherine Nicholson • liThe View After 70 Is Breathtaking"86 Ruth Mountaingrove • One Old Lesbian's Words
91 Bernice Ybarra Miller • A New Love
92 Elaine Mikels • In the Prime of My Old Age
96 Rosemary Hathaway • Anniversary
98 Carmen de Monteflores • Of Time, Trees, Apples and a River
102 Shevy Healey • Traveling with Ruth and Shevy
108 Sally Miller Gearhart • Wondercrone: Her Humble Origins
115 Guest Editors' Process Notes
119 In Memoriam
121 Contributors' Notes
126 Books Received
129 Ads and Announcements
142 Notes for a Magazine: Change on the Horizon
144 Upcoming Issues§§§
ARTcover Mickey Spencer • Old Lesbians: We Are Everywhere
4 Cam Jancek • The Guest Editors, April 27, 1994
10 Elaine Mikels • Jess McVey, Sculptor & Artist
22 Marjory Nelson • untitled
49 Louise Gilbert • Old Woman
60 Ruth Mountaingrove • Pat Bond as Lorena Hickock
67 Frances Lorraine • untitled
85 Elaine Mikels • Baba Copper
90 Ruth Mountaingrove • Buffy Dunker, 81
101 Carmen de Monteflores • Tree Trunk
114 Marge Green· OLOC Photo Collage
119 Frances Lorraine • Old Dykes Gather

Summer/Fall 1994

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Introduction

Weare nine old dykes over age 60. We name ourselves "old" toreclaim both the word and the respect for women and age diminished by patriarchy over time. We have volunteered to edit thisspecial issue of Sinister Wisdom by, for, and about old lesbians/
dykes because we want the voices of old lesbians to be heard.
The works published in this issue reflect the lives, interests,
choices, imagination, creativity, and emotions of many, obviously not all, lesbians over 60, as each one speaks only forherself.
During the past ten months we have been intensely committed to the myriad tasks necessary to produce this issue. We havelearned that, despite our many similarities, we do not all havecommon priorities. Value conflicts often came to the fore inmany compelling questions. For example:
What is politically oppressive language? Who is allowed to say what? While we agreed with Sinister
Wisdom's policy of refusing to print oppressive language,
sometimes we didn't agree on what was oppressive.
We seem to agree about identifying and combatting
ageism, but do we require that contributors agree with
us? We grappled among ourselves about what is or is
not ageist.
What about "literary standards" in writing? How doesthat issue affect our commitment to being inclusive?
Whose standards are they anyway? How can we respect and deal with our differences?
All these andmany other important considerations had to beaddressed within Sinister Wisdom's publishing schedule. We constantly struggled in our group process to reach consensus. We
developed our collective answers as we could. We have tried toremain true to the spirit of Sinister Wisdom and its unique placein lesbian literature.

4

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

We encourage old lesbians to write and speak out - to write
about being old, lesbians and dykes, to break the silencing of old
women. We invite all of you to read this issue with pleasure andcuriosity, and for the mirrors of your lives - past, present, andfuture.
Dotty Fowler
Ida VSWRed
Jeanne Adleman .
Joyce Pierson
Kate Rosenblatt
Marge Green
Mickey Spencer
Rosemary Hathaway
Vera Martin

Guest Editors present at the April 27, 1994 meeting .
.

Cam Jancek

From 1. to r., standing: Kate Rosenblatt, Joyce Pierson, Jeanne Adleman,
Marge Green, Ida VSW Red; seated: Dotty Fowler, Rosemary Hathaway.
Vera Martin and Mickey Spencer were unable to be present.

Summer/Fall 1994

5

Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon

Old Lesbians Are More Than Survivors

In the 1950s, at a meeting of the Daughters of Bilitis, the firstnational Lesbian organization we helped to start in San Francisco
in 1955, a young Lesbian asked, "Where are all the older Lesbians?
What happens to them when they get old?" We were in our early
30s then and had no idea. We had become involved with DOB in
the hopes of meeting other Lesbians, no matter what age, andexpanding our social circle. But now we know.
Lesbians of our generation who have survived to old age
have lived through the McCarthyism of the' 50s, purges of homosexuals from the U.S. State Department and the armed services,
police raids of Gay bars and private parties, release of names andaddresses of those arrested to newspapers and employers, andpolice harassment and brutality. Teenagers could be forced bytheir parents to go to a shrink to be "cured" or institutionalized
and/or subjected to shock treatments as aversion therapy. Many
were disowned by their families and had to cope in a hostile
world.
Lesbians in our age bracket grew up in a time when sexuality
was not discussed - let alone homosexuality. We didn't knowwhat words to look up to describe our feelings, but we knew
instinctively we should keep quiet. In isolation, thinking "I am
the only one," we struggled with our sexual identity. Once weacknowledged we were Lesbian we had to work to achieve selfacceptance. It wasn't easy to maintain ones self-esteem when all
the literature available described "perverts" who were supposed
to be like you but with whom you couldn't possibly identify.
While there were never any laws against being a Lesbian,there were laws against its sexual expression. The church declared us immoral and psychiatrists said we had a personality
disorder. With those three strikes against us - illegal, immoral
and sick - many, as a matter of self-preservation, burrowed
underground, lied by claiming lovers of the opposite sex, met6sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

furtively in Gay bars, or hoped that "the one" we cared for would
surreptitiously convey that the feeling was mutual. If we were
exposed as Lesbian we faced losing our friends and family, ourjob or career. There was also the ever-present threat of blackmail.
Not surprisingly, many of us suppressed our feelings andopted for socially accepted heterosexual marriage. Others led adual life, pretending to be heterosexual on the job and amongfamily and being ourselves in the privacy of our homes and a .
network of close friends. Both these options had a price - lying
to self and others, denial, hiding our true selves.
Being open - fighting back, taking risks, coming out, andworking for social change - while having drawbacks, has many
rewards. Discrimination still exists in many quarters and hatecrimes are increasing. One can lose a family but gain a community, personal support and resources to challenge economic andsocial discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. One alsoachieves personal freedom and affirmation.
Lesbians have been blazing trails in anti-oppression activism for decades. Those of us who have reached old age - in orout of the closet - are survivors. We have been inventing ourlives in various phases - learning how to turn negatives into
positives. Old age is no exception. Ageism is another hurdle in
our lives.
In 1979 we were asked by Betty Berzon to write the chapter
on "The Older Lesbian" for the book Positively Gay. We were inour 50s then and hadn't given the subject much thought. (Apparently we had gotten over the shock we felt when Jess Stearn inhis book The Grapevine published in the 1960s referred to us asmiddle-aged women.) We culled the research literature and foundonly a few tentative studies with a small number of subjects not surprising since most old Lesbians were in the closet. Berzon's
assignment forced us, however, to begin thinking about our own
old age.
We went to a community college seminar on "How Not to Be
a Bag Lady in Your Old Age." As usual it was geared for heterosexual women. One topic of concern to us was how to protect theother if one of us was stricken with a catastrophic illness. A

Summer/Fa ll 1994

7

lawyer from Legal Services for the Elderly explained that a married couple would have to spend down to the limit of cash assets
allowed before Medicaid would kick in. He said the family
home would be left intact as long as the "spouse" resided there.
We asked, 'What about us? - a Lesbian couple whose home isheld in joint tenancy." He had not been asked that question
before. He paused a moment, pointing out that, no matter the
longevity of our relationship (now 41 years), legally we are strangers! "In your case, you'd probably have to sell half the house," heconcluded. That would be difficult to do with one bedroom, twocats, and no inside doors except to the bathroom. Much later we
discovered that as long as we kept saying that the one in thenursing home would be coming home, the government wouldn't
force the sale of the house.
We had had our wills made when Del's daughter was ateenager. When she reached mid-life and our grandchildren ad ulthood we decided it was time to update our wills. We also foundit necessary to draw up powers of attorney for decisions regarding health and financial matters in case one or the other wasincapacitated. We had always kept our bank accounts and otherassets in joint tenancy, but after the "bag lady" seminar, we
divided most of them into separate living trusts so as to protect
each other from being wiped out completely in case of a catastrophic illness. That's eight legal documents to cover what istaken for granted by married couples.
In the early '80s it was difficult to reach, organize, advocate
and provide services for older Lesbians who were invisible. For
example, when Del received the newsletter announcing her
speaking engagement for a group of older Lesbians in Washing/
ton, D.C., she found herself referred to as the co-author of
Woman rather than the title of the book, Lesbian/Woman .
Carole Migden, now a member of the San Francisco Board ofSupervisors, when she was executive director of Operation Concern, San Francisco's Lesbian/Gay mental health agency, decided that we were entitled to a share of public funds for seniors.
She took our case to the Commission on the Aging, and eventually obtained funding for Gay and Lesbian Outreach to Elders

8 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes(GLOE). We were invited to serve on GLOE's Advisory Board.
Thus began a new phase in our lives as activist aging Lesbians.
Of the 3.1 million Lesbians and Gays over 65 in the UnitedStates, San Francisco has its share, and GLOE, after a little morethan a decade, has tapped only the tip of the iceberg. We have
tried to educate and sensitize other senior centers about Lesbians and Gays with good results. It is only with persistence that
we finally got a listing in the Senior Information Directory to let
closeted Lesbian/Gay elders know that services they might need
are available in a safe environment.
Betty Berzon edited an updated edition of Positively Gay
which was published in 1992. When she asked us to update ourchapter she figured we would just have to make a few changes.
We told her we would have to write a completely new chapter.
Times had changed since 1979, and so had we.
The first West Coast Celebration by and for Old Lesbians
was held at California State University, Dominguez Hills, in
1987. That experience changed our lives significantly. The organizers of the conference limited participation to Lesbians 60
years of age or more, their brochure saying the "limit was imposed because old Lesbians are especially sensitive to thoseyounger Lesbians and feminists who see themselves as committed to the old and tend to represent us, speak for us, and name us
in ways that are self-serving, exploitative and ageist." The age
was chosen, they said, "because the degree of oppression isgreater beyond mid-life, after 60, when most of us know what it
is to be perceived as 'old'."
Our first breakthrough was openly admitting our age on ouridentification badges. We reclaimed the word old in its positive
sense just as we had done with the terms Lesbian and dyke. Old
denotes chronological age, a stage of life which can be a new
beginning, tying up loose ends, learning and changing, doing
things we have always wanted to do but never seemed to havethe time, creating new endings. "We refuse the lie that it isshameful to be an old woman," said the brochure.
Many participants had never before given thought to ageism
and how it affected them. Some could not differentiate between

Summer/Fall 19949

the natural process of aging and the unnatural practice of ageism.
We, having had our consciousness raised at both the first old
Lesbian conference, and the second one in 1989, are learning to
avoid what Page Smith, in his column Coming of Age, called thetemptation to blame old age for a host of things not necessarily
connected with it at all. Memory lapse can happen to people atany age, but when it happens to someone old, there seems to be
an irrepressible impulse to say, "I must be getting senile." That's
blaming old age, Smith pointed out.
Many Lesbians fear winding up in a nursing horne or insenior housing with only their memories and no one to sharethem with. Lee Lynch, in an article entitled "What about the Old
Lesbian," asks "What if I fall in love with a woman down the halllike I did in college? Will I have the same choices of seeing ashrink or expulsion?" Indeed, housing is a high priority among
Lesbians in or anticipating old age because of the threat of heterosexism and homophobia in existing facilities.
A young gerontologist who was at a woman's 85th birthday
party said, "I hope I can be here to help you celebrate your 90thbirthday." The old woman replied, "You seem healthy enough tome, you should be able to make it."As old Lesbians we refuse to look at this phase of life as aterminal disease. We acknowledge that death is inevitable. We'accept that. But we aren't about to sentence ourselves to death
now. There is too much to do, too many new adventures toexperience. Besides, we have a date for New Year's Eve 1999 tosee the new century in.

10 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Jess Mc Vey, Sculptor & Artist
Elaine Mikels

Summer/Fall 1994

11

Joyce Pierson

Interview with Catherine Nicholson
Catherine Nicholson, co-founder of Sinister Wisdom, was interviewed by guest editor Joyce Pierson for this special issue by andfor old lesbians / dykes. Catherine gives a historical perspectivethat always brings fresh insights.

JP: What was going on in the women's liberation movement andwhat radicalized you before you founded Sinister Wisdom?
eN: In 1976 I was 54 years old and in love with a 30-year-old
woman. The year before, I had quit my tenured full professorship at the university in rage against sexism. I was a member ofDrastic Dykes, a local lesbian "terrorist" group. For the first timein my life I had become a political activist. My partner Harriet
Desmoines and I created Sinister Wisdom (SW) out of our love foreach other and our rage against the whole patriarchal structure.
The style of the first issue expressed our defiance and rebellion
against the oppressors of women. We saw ourselves as descendents of the Furies, the Erinyes from Greek tragedy as well as thecontemporary Furies in Washington, DC, the radical group started
by Charlotte Bunch.
The time was one of expanding consciousness, a sort ofbursting out, kicking over the traces, sticking out our tongues at
the fathers, the brothers, the bosses, the husbands - like Medusa on the cover of Elana Dykewomon's book, They Will Know
Me By My Teeth, that's where we were - a leaving behind of ourbirth identities and changing our names. It was a time of naming
the enemy: men and men's institutions. It was a time of simplifying, of cutting out in a way. The labrys, the double-edged axe
I saw as cutting away the old and carving out the new. Moving
toward other women, hugging in circles and believing in the
power of women-loving; of discovering what women and we
lesbians had in common. Coming together, we realized there
were more than one of us - the sharing gave such excitement in12 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

the 1970s. Sinister Wisdom in the beginning showed a real emphasis on feminist process. Harriet and I weren't looking for finished works and the results were rough and explosive. One of thewriters included in that first issue was a 74-year-old California
lesbian, Elsa Gidlow. In her book, Ask No Man's Pardon: The
Philosophical Significance of Being Lesbian, Elsa wrote:
What needs to be understood is that erotic love between women is not a deviation from some presumed"normal." The Lesbian, to use a designation with anhonorable history, is not a spoiled, failed or diverted
so-called heterosexual woman. Neither is she a pseudomale frustrated within female flesh and bones - thefew who feel so are frustrated by society's ignorance
and persecution. She is from birth and perhaps prenatally an essentially different being with different needs
and desires. She is constituted as she is because Nature
has made her so. After lifelong meditation on the matter (I am 74 years old as this is written), after observation of and discussion with others who do not fit thecrude male-female categories, plus wide reading, I will
go a step further and say, Nature needs the Lesbian as
she is. She needs me as I am.
JP: What an exciting time . . . .
CN: It was a very exciting time and Harriet and I spent a lot oftime with the Drastic Dykes, talking together, doing consciousness-raising, reading and thinking of ways to change the world[chuckling]. I was surrounded by younger women. Most were in
their twenties, Harriet almost thirty, and there I was in my fifties.
JP: What was it like for you to be 20 to 30 years older than theother women in the group?
CN: I had to tread lightly then because of age and power differences. As a professor and director of plays, I was accustomed totelling younger women what to do and what to think. With theselesbians I was on a level playing field . We had come together tounlearn patriarchal behavior - to exorcise the "pricks in ourSummer/Fall 1994

13

head" so for me it meant shedding the privilege and power thatthe university had granted me. It was terrifying at times, but
exhilarating too. I was learning new ways of relating to theworld, new possibilities - it was like being reborn as a characterin a science fiction novel. And I needed this transformation.
Living in academia for so long had made me cynical and arrogant; now I felt alive and creative, and full of hope.

JP: What did you and Harriet want to accomplish with SW?
CN: We wanted a national magazine. We wanted to give lesbians
space to write - a journal that would stimulate lesbian ideas andwriting that would break lesbian silence. And it did! SW andother publications nurtured the growth of lesbian literature. We
began small with only $1500 of our own money. That first issue
came out at the U.S. Bicentennial- July 4, 1976. It was symbolic,a bold declaration of our lesbian independence.
JP: What impact has SW had on your life?
CN: My world got a helluva lot bigger! In the summer of 1976
after the publication of the first issue, we attended the weeklong Women in Print Conference near Omaha, Nebraska. We met
women - mostly lesbians - publishers, printers, librarians,bookstore owners and distributors. We helped to create a network of feminist publishing that is still alive today. As SW grewin size, circulation, and sophistication, we became acquainted
with lesbian writers - poets, philosophers and activists. In thefirst five years of Sw, we moved from Charlotte, NC to Lincoln,
Nebraska, and we traveled around the country promoting thejournal - at Modern Language Association conventions,
women's studies conferences. We met all kinds of lesbians doing
all kinds of shit work to support themselves while writing. We
stayed in lesbians' homes, ate at potlucks - we talked andlistened, argued, sang, laughed, marched to take back the night,
held hot dripping candles in solstice rituals, applauded concerts
by Alix Dobkin, Deidre McCalla, Meg Christian and Holly Near,
listened to the poetry of Adrienne Rich, Audre Lorde and Judy
Grahn. We talked shop with various editors from Conditions,14 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Womanspirit, Spinster's Ink, Dyke Mag and Daughters, Inc. SW
definitely was instrumental in changing my life.
JP: Tell us about SW #10 in 1979, Sinister Wisdom's first special
issue on age and ageism.

CN: Susan Leigh Star, who was our poetry editor at the time, had
become close friends with Baba Copper, a 59-year-old lesbian
from California. The first issue on age and ageism grew out of .
their collaboration. I remember being aware of the irony that in1979 I was 57 and it hadn't occurred to me to do a special "on 'being old and age." Of course I was in complete denial about
ageism. I continued to be for another ten years. I attended the1987 West Coast Conference for Lesbians over 60 because mygood friends Barbara Macdonald and Cynthia Rich urged me to.
I had read and valued Look Me In The Eye, but I really couldn't
apply it to myself.
JP: It's been seven years since that first conference. How do you
connect old lesbian analysis to this stage of your life?

CN: Oh, it's a central factor of my life now. I was in San Francisco
in '89 for the second West Coast Conference and was in on thecreation of OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing Committee, now
Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). When I moved to Durham
in 1990 to be part of a cooperative apartment complex founded byold lesbian Elizabeth Freeman, a former West Coast activist, I felt
less isolated - at least there were two of us! Now there are fourof us here and we're beginning to make some impact locally. In
March 1993, I discovered that the National Gay and Lesbian Task
Force (NGLTF) was planning to hold its biennial national conference in Durham. When I learned that old lesbians and gay
men had not been included in the planning and that "creatingchange," the theme of the conference, did not include ageism, I
suddenly turned into a fire-breathing dragon. At The March on
Washington, I met with OLOC's organizing committee and asked
for their support. We worked hard to get the NGLTF planningstaff to understand the distinction between "aging" and "ageism." After much negotiation, we finally got five minutes duringSummer/Fall 199415

the opening plenary to advertise our "fishbowl" session, which
was scheduled during the lunch hour to make it accessible toeveryone. We were determined to attract the attention of theyoung lesbians and gay men. We composed a guerrilla theater
performance designed to shock them. Vera Martin, Rosemary
Hathaway and Ruth Silver, three California OLOC members,
and David Pittman, a member of NGLTF, were our performers.
Ramona Morgan, an artist from Durham, designed the outrageous masks the performers wore, and I announced, as the sideshow barker:
I want to invite you to a performance: When?: 1 PM
today. Where?: Here. Admission: FREE. Bring your own
lunch if your stomach can stand it! What?: A Freak
Show, A Horror Show unlike any you've ever seen
before. Right there before your very eyes, appearing
with special dispensation, (albeit reluctant permission),of the staff of NGLTF, are your deepest and scariest
fears - not creatures from outer space but monsters
from inner space - old lesbians and old gay men.
You've seen them in cartoons; you've seen them onbirthday cards you've recei ved since you were 22; you've
seen them in commercials on TV, advertising security
systems; but you've NEVER seen them in the flesh
until today. COME and get your thrills without fear ofcontamination: you will not be forced to speak to them,or - god forbid - to touch them. They will perform in
the prophylactic of a fishbowl setting. They will tell
you how they've experienced ageism in this youth
culture - they will ACT UP before your very eyes andall you have to do is LOOK and LISTEN. Here are someof the monsters you will SEE and HEAR!
It worked! At least 100 gay men and lesbians found their way
to the remote room where the planners had stashed the old folks'
activities. I'm very proud of our action at the National Gay andLesbian Task Force Conference.

JP: Catherine, what do you think of SW now?

16 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

CN: I really appreciate the quality of writing in S W The issue on
multiculturalism was wonderful, "Tellin' It Like It Tis'." Both
"Lesbian Resistance" and "Lesbian Body" were exceptional. The
editors have been very successful in attracting writers of diverse
backgrounds. Elana's notes in SW #51 expressing concern about
decreased circulation and what that means about SW caused me
to think about why some people no longer read it. Many stillrecognize SW and have great respect for it despite the fact they're 'not reading it. In reality, the lesbian world has changed. I find SW
is seen as essentialist, perceived as old-fashioned, which is heartbreaking to me. We worked so hard for lesbian identity andvisibility, but now that lesbians are identifying with queer nation and gender studies, lesbian identity seems outdated.
JP: How do you relate to what is happening or not happening in
the women's revolution, particularly the lesbian movement?

CN: My main goal is to make lesbians visible. Since the 1980s I
have focused more on women's theater and lesbian drama, whichin the eyes of the world lags way behind the gay drama now winning prizes. My major concern is how lesbians can be represented
on stage, in television and in films in ways that reflect our real
lives. The taboo against lesbians is so great that once lesbians
become visible, they are immediately erased. Of course there was abrief period last year of lesbian chic, but that was just media hunger
for novelty. Maybe it didn't hurt us but it didn't help much.
I was very interested in the media's interest in RoseanneBarr's lesbian kiss episode. Roseanne is powerful and her popularity is important to us. Television has the means to provide
opportunities for lesbian visibility. The pitfall of course is that
too much of current television programming reinforces stereotyping. Roseanne's lesbian kiss episode, for example, dramatized the fears straight folks have about homosexuality in themselves - they could laugh at themselves, see the absurdity of it.
I want the whole world to know who we are, it's something I
want to see in my lifetime.
JP: Catherine, you've given us a lot of information about Sw,
we'd like to know more about 74-year-old you.

Summer/Fall 1994 17

eN: Well whew! Every time anyone asks me what I'm doing now,
my mind goes blank just like my new computer screen when I
push the wrong button. I'm trying to learn how to use thisgoddamned machine that's smarter than I am. So, why am I
dealing with a new g-d computer at my age? I'd finished alesbian play I'd been working on for years, but the program on
my computer had become extinct. Now I must retype the wholeplay onto this new microsoft dos brain.
This week I'm going to a North Carolina state conference on
breast cancer with a group of lesbians from Durham who areprotesting the omission of lesbians from their agenda. Last week
I attended a city council meeting to support the Human Relations Commission's proposal to include lesbians and gays inthose classes protected from discrimination in hiring and public
accommodations.
When I succeed in inputting my new play into my newcomputer data base, I will proceed with plans for a reading by the
Lesbian Thespians; then more revision, more reading, etc. until- maybe, if it's playable I can get it produced. If not, I will moveon to the next project - perhaps another OLOC activity, perhaps
writing more ''breathtaking views after 70." * What I won't do iswrite my memoirs!

"See Catherine's poem on page 84.

18 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Dorothy Fowler

6: 15 Sestina
What good will it do anyone or me to write one?
I mean, will the world change if I find the right word
to end a line with? Then in turn find the other five
I'll have to find to fit together with the first one,then after that have to squeeze out thirty more lines
from some drawer in my brain and onto the blank paper?
So here I am at 6:15 AM with this new piece of paper
at the second line of the second stanza of this early morning sestina,
a form described in the book as a poem in six six-line
stanzas from somewhere in medieval France. The six end wordsof each line in the last five stanzas appear differently
than in the first one.
In thinking about it, maybe I should have started at five0' clock in the morning instead of six. Actually, this is the fifth

time I've tried to get this form down on paper.
The other four were different from this latest one;they were all attempts to describe in sestina
form the end of my last relationship in 400 words
or less, but I got so upset each time I tried I missed the deadline
when the thing was due. For me, the hardest lines
to write are the first and last lines of each stanza; the other fiveseem easier by comparison. This may be because
one stanza's end word
matches the end word of the next one's first line - my paper
begins to look like some version of an FBI-censored sestina.
Stanzaically, there seems to be no safe place to go
after the first one.

Summer/Fall 1994

19

The musing goddess says there's only 11 more lines
to go after this one,which calls to mind from somewhere in the past a line
written by one now dead poet, "writing poetry [read sestinasl
is a series of narrow escapes." Like relationships, they have a 50-50
chance of survival- it's always a risk
to make commitments on paper,
hard as they are to keep - it's more like finding the words
as they fit together to move poems and lovers forward
to a finely worded
fabric made of lines, a whole piece wherein each one
stands together and alone. Sounds wonderful on paper.
So here I am, near the end of the sixth stanza (fourth line),
just a few days before my sixty-fifthbirthday - writing my first exponential sestina.

20 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Marjory Nelson

Welcome Home, Kid
Toward the end of 1993, when nights were growing longer andthe sun was on her journey south away from us, I approached mysixty-fifth birthday. It was a miracle, I thought, that I, who had
expected never to grow up, could live so long.
Where would I go from here? I didn't know. What I wanted
was not more new experience, but a period of time to reflect uponwhere I'd been and what it meant to me. I yearned for stillness,and close friends, for a place of not knowing, and space for that to
be all right. I had a sense of wanting to gather in the fragments ofmyself 1'd left along the way, as in a harvest, a sense of settling in.
Most of my life I have felt homeless in the world. In a recurring dream, I'm forced to pack up and leave my house, never toreturn. I decided that what I needed was a shelter for my soul. I
needed a home.
What kind of home could shelter all these different parts ofme: where could the trapped housewife visit the radical dyke,
the wounded child be comforted by a nurturing grandmother? I
thought about all the people l'd lost along the way. Where could
I grieve? I wanted to think about the movements I'd been part of.
What happened to them? What happened to me in them? Whatkind of shelter could protect an old woman with aU· those raw
feelings I'd learned in therapy were mine? And could my bodybe my home? I thought about my struggles with being a woman;with being fat; with sexual desire; learning to accept and livewith illness, disability and pain. What could be my shelter fromapproaching death?
I had a fantasy of spending myoId age building little castles.
With clay I shaped a round woman with moats and folds, with
two strong arms for walls and two heads for towers, and called
it my birthday castle.
I pulled out boxes of mementos to look for pictures of places
I've lived, people I've lived with. The volume of my collection

Summer/Fail 199421

was staggering. Was I expecting my children or my friends to go
through it after my death? No. I decided to create one book tohold what mattered to me. The rest could go to archives, mychildren or the trash. I would call it my Soul Book. That felt right.
I gathered photos of various houses where I lived as a child,or with my husband and children. I found pictures of me as ateenager trying for glamor on the steps of my parents' house; meand my love, Polly, in front of the motor in which we left Buffalo,
NY, in 1977 looking for an older women's movement.
I decided to take all the different places, combine them on
one page, and in that way, create a new home for me. It would bea castle. At a copy shop, I had the pictures reduced to several
smaller sizes, until some figures were about a quarter of an inch.
In the center of the page went a painting of my current self withmy inner child; around that, all the other pictures. To see all thesefaces on the same page was a stretch. I sketched steps, turrets andgardens to fit the scenes together. Ideas cackled. I cut out a pictureof me, a fat old dyke, and set her in front of my Grandmother'shouse. Grandma was a proper Victorian lady. What would she
say to see this lezzie on her lawn?
I have only a few photos of myself as a young child. One isof a 10 year old standing beside her playhouse in the backyard,
with her dolls lined up on the porch. She is smiling because her
Daddy told her to, but she hated that playhouse. I had to "play"there in the freezing weather of New Jersey with dolls that wereclammy from the cold. When I'd beat out my anger on them, thewindows steamed. Remembering steamy windows in a shaking
motor home when Polly and I made love, I pasted the old dyke
next to the child and her playhouse. That helped, but not enough.
I drew steps connecting the playhouse to the house of the Woman's
Party in Washington, DC where in 1970, a 42-year-old hippy me
stands with a flag on her way to the women's march on the Pentagon. I invited the kid to come along.
How else could I help this child? There's a picture of me withmy mother in front of our cottage at the Jersey bay shore where
my father worked every summer; a place thick with mosquitoes,with no plumbing, no electricity, and a privy in the back. On thatparticular day, I hated my mother, I hated the shore and I hated22 sinister wisdom #53 - O ld Lesbians / Dykes

myself. The picture shows my mother smiling brightly and a fat,miserable little girl, head bowed, sitting on the step below her.
There was so much pain in that child, I could hardly look at her,even the tiny replica of her on my home page. So, I cut out
another copy of the child and set her on top of the motor home.
All right! No longer in abject misery, now she was looking downat Polly and me, ready to ride along to Cambridge, Minneapoli&,
Spokane and Seattle, and then down to women's land in Oregon
to camp out with the women of the Older Women's Network, andeventually to settle in San Francisco, the gayest city in the world.
Welcome horne, kid.
For my birthday celebration, I went out for dinner with myvery closest friends. Maybe when I'm seventy, I'll be ready for a
big party to launch me further into old age, but for sixty-five, I
wanted quiet, warm intimacy. I showed the home page to myfriends, pointing out the kid riding high on her new perch. I alsobrought my little clay castle, bright with colored candles, andasked each woman to light a candle and talk from her heart. I lit
one too. It was a lovely ritual, one that still warms me. That's
about home, too.

Summer/Fall 1994

23

Joan Corbin

A Surprise
There was your thighso round and fullso smooth in those
faded blue jeans
in the chair next to mineas near as my knee
alive to me as noother thigh in the world
my eyes loosed upon itwith no answer to thewhy of such a communionwith you not aware
any more than a wildmongoose lying there
would dream of mydesire(stillsleeping)

24

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

Monika Kehoe

College Teaching on the Move *Commencement in 1935 was a glad and sad time for me. At last
I was to have the Ph.D. I had coveted for so long, but Sister
Gretchen, the Literature professor, the one I wanted most of ail
to be at my graduation, was ill and couldn't come. I had notinvited my parents, had not even informed them. I did not thinkthey would be interested. My buddies from college all worked at
hard-won paying jobs and couldn't attend either. Self-pity enveloped me like my academic robe as I watched other candidates
being congratulated by their families . All the same, when myturn came I was too thrilled to feel sorry for myself.
Sister Gretchen had been my mentor all through college. She
had been more than that - a spiritual lover who had encouraged
me to persist when graduate school seemed impossible. On thedays that were bleak with waiting for news from the university,
she brought me pieces of cake or fruit from the convent refectoryat lunchtime. She carried them across the campus, tucked up in
the wide sleeves of her habit, while I waited in her office like ahungry puppy, greedy for a biscuit and the affection that camewith it. Now that I had the degree I had coveted . for so long, I
wanted to make her proud of me.
The Great Depression was still limiting employment opportunities, but I was lucky enough to have a job lined up before my
degree was conferred. I went almost directly from the August
Commencement exercises into college teaching. My contract at
a small metropolitan Catholic college stipulated room and$1800.00 per year for six courses, or eighteen hours of teaching
per week, plus "other related duties."
The secular faculty were required to observe the same hours
as the nuns and dormitory students. We would not have keys and* An edited, shortened version of Chapter V, "Pedagogue," in Monika's
memoir-in-progress.

Summer/Fall 1994

2S

the doors would be locked at seven in the evenings during theweek. Resident staff were also expected to attend Mass daily andreceive cOmmunion. This was too much. After the first month I
requested permission to live off campus. It was granted, providing I sacrificed the maintenance part of my contract for which theCollege could not reimburse me. The "Sister-President" called
me in for a confidential talk and warned me that I was not toinvite students to my apartment.
With such a heavy schedule and modest income, I was unable
to celebrate when I got my first pay check. In due course, it wasa great thrill to purchase my own car, a used Ford Phaeton witha collapsible canvas top - an even more gorgeous vehicle, to myeye, than the new rumble-seated roadster my mother had bought
for me earlier. Sometimes, now that I no longer enjoy driving, I
marvel at my youthful passion for cars, and I wonder why they
have played such an important part in my life. Was it that they symbolized escape for me, first of all as a teenager trying to get awayfrom home, then later from other feared entrapments? Or was it
only because I was a member of the first automotive generation?
Thanksgiving recess was the first chance I had had to drive
back to show my previous vehicle to Sister Gretchen and to takeher for a spin. Religious rule still forbade nuns to leave theconvent alone, so she had to bring another Sister along. We had
an uneventful ride into the suburbs while my rear-seat passengers struggled to keep their veils under control. It was windy andnoisy even with the top up and they had insisted on my fastening
it into place before they got in. In those days the Sisters were notpermitted to go riding just for pleasure; they had to have a destination whenever they went out in a car. In order to conform to
the regulations, we stopped at the hospital on the way back, tovisit one of the older nuns who had a terminal illness.
I was swamped with work. In addition to the extra-heavyschedule of classes I had been assigned, I had to prepare a lessonplan for each one with a copy for the supervising nun who
always sat in the back of the room.
Besides the work difficulties, two lovers from my undergraduate days were planning to move in with me as soon as I was26sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

settled, but by Christmas I had already become infatuated with
Helen, a Senior student at the College. I wrote two of those "I'msorry but it's all over" notes.
The following summer Helen and I set off to drive to California.
I wanted to try to get another job, this time in a secular college.
By then it had been eight years since my last vacation. Afterthat I had spent seven consecutive years in uninterrupted schooling - four as an undergraduate and three as a graduate student.
I had taken full course loads even in summer, as well as during
the regular sessions. I had to, in order to retain my scholarship.
Now, I had just completed my first year of teaching under heavy
stress. I was twenty-six and I thought I was burned out. I reallyneeded a holiday and a change of scenery.
Three incidents stand out in my memory of that two-weekcross-continental drive. The first was a rather frightening experience of being asked to leave a tiny town in Nebraska where we
had stopped at a general store to buy some cold ham for lunch.
We seldom ate in restaurants; they were not part of our trip's
budget plan. We were, I recall, dressed in shorts; it was a hot day.
The town marshal or sheriff met me on the steps of the store totell me that my attire was indecent.
"Either you get some clothes on or you mosey out of here. We
don't want your kind in this town." He had a shiny badge pinned
to his left breast pocket and he chewed tobacco which he spat outof the side of his mouth, just as the cowboys did in the B-grade
Westerns.
The next shocker happened in the evening, a few days later,when I walked into the rest room of a gas station and a woman
screamed. I had on sailor pants and a pea jacket, to match, anoutfit I thought quite jaunty and appropriate for touring throughthe Rockies. When I asked her what was the matter, and she
recognized I was not a man, she apologized.
As we got farther West, we wore sneakers and jeans in thedaytime. I bought a Borcelino pork-pie hat which Helen said
looked sharp with my new cowboy boots that I began to wear
most of the time instead of the sneakers. Their high heels gaveme quite a lift and I tried to walk like William S. Hart, the John

Summer/Fa ll 1994

27

Wayne of my youth. The next Sunday we stopped .at a village
church in Nevada where some kind of a fiesta was in progress.
They were obviously going to serve food after the religious
service so, being hungry, we knelt on the prie-dieu behind thelast pew where we wouldn't be noticed - we thought. After thealtar-boys with their swinging censers had passed and the bells
stopped ringing, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned aroundand an elderly priest motioned toward my hat. When I didn't
respond promptly as he expected, he stooped over and whispered: "Remove your hat in church." I did what I was told and hehobbled away apparently satisfied. Undoubtedly he too thought
I was a man, and men were supposed to remove their hats indoors, especially in church.
The next four years confirmed me in the androgynous lifestylethat society frowned upon. They were spent at Mills, a women's
college where Helen took a secretarial job and I carried anotherheavy instructional program. The first year was again difficult.
We had to live "in residence," a euphemism for dormitory accommodation, and learn to keep up a pretense of being "roommates" which probably fooled nobody. But at least there was nocheck-in time for faculty or staff, and we had our own keys. Nor
were we required to attend chapel. It was my first real freedom
from religion. Near the end of that year, however, the bad news
came that Sister Gretchen had died of a heart attack. I was crushed.
With her sudden death I felt a loss I had never known before. The
last restraining influence on what she called my "wild ways" although she never knew their extent - was gone.
By the second year at Mills, I was able to build a small cabin
in a nearby canyon for $2,000, a cost equal to my salary for one
year.
Planning and designing our house, then watching the redwood structure take shape, filled every day with anticipation.
The interior of knotty pine, the fireplace, the half-door, the builtin bunk beds and desk - all were innovations that the contractor
advised against. He said that such irregularities would reduce
the resale value of the property. Resale! We would live in thathouse forever!

28 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

The place belonged to me legally so that I paid the bills andwas the more economy-minded. Helen contributed her laborwhich included the housekeeping chores and was more than her
share. We lived there for exactly two years before I got hopelessly
entangled with Doris, a student-assistant at the College, andHelen moved out in disgust.
Such entanglements seem to be inevitable in academe especially in women's college settings. The student-teacher relationship as in the film, "Liana," promotes what used to be called" crushes."
Doris couldn' t move in because she had to keep up the appearance of still being a college resident. Her family called weekly,
long-distance from the East Coast; she didn' t dare be off-campus
every time they phoned.
Besides, transferring to my house w ould have caused more
raised eyebrows at the College. Students as w ell as faculty w ere
already beginning to talk. One of my colleagues made a rather
sly remark about m y offering such a convenient student hostel
near campus. As the youngest faculty member in a fairly stuffy
academic environment, I was naturally popular w ith the students and turned to them for m y social life. This did not endear
me to my colleagues. Although I didn' t really care w hat they
thought, I d id care about the job. I realized that I had to be more
careful.
Just before Christmas in 1940, about the time that new college contracts were to be issued, I received a no te asking me tovisit the Dean' s office. This was enough of an oddity to make meapprehensi e, but I was stunned, hen I got there to discover that
Helen, , hom I trusted completely, had told the Dean all about
our relationship. As a result of her disclosure, the President had
decided my con tract was not to be rene~ ed.
The Dean poke frankly, pointing out that, being the elder of
the t" , a well as a p rofessional person, I wa the responsibleh U of the affair. Furtherm re, the College mu t consider its
reputtion.
tu ents" ere to vi it m house for the remainder
f ti\e ademi ear under threat of "appro ri tea tion" beingt ' en 0 . n t me.

Summer/Fall 1994

29

It is difficult, at this distance in time, to recollect what I
thought about the moral question at issue then. I was no longer
a Catholic and viewed sin as a culturally relative concept. "Situational ethics" is, I believe, the descriptive phrase used for what
was then my point of view. I was almost completely unaware offeminism as a political movement. I had heard of the "suffragettes" but I had absorbed the conventional view that they wereridiculous. At that stage, at the beginning of the forties, I would
never have connected feminism with lesbianism anyway. Feminism' was relatively respectable while homosexuality was supposed to be equivalent to insanity. The Church condemned it asa mortal sin and most people abhorred it as "unnatural."I blocked the entire issue from my mind, refusing to think
about it, and continued to feel comfortable only in the role I had
come to assume. I couldn't identify with women - faculty wives,
for instance. I always tried to avoid them at college gatherings.
They seemed to me such sad sacks with nothing to talk about but
babies and cooking or other domestic trivialities. It was as if I
feared that how I saw them would rub off on me. I did not perceive myself as female nor did I want any part of femininity. I
wanted to be human; to be strong and lithe, not petite or pretty.
My image of myself was boyish, not mannish. I wished I weretaller, maybe five-feet-ten. I rejected the Hollywood polarization of
masculine and feminine and was drawn, instead to male hermaphroditic types and tomboy girls. I coveted what contemporary
feminist psychologists would call the androgynous personality.
One oolleague at Mills, the Chair of the Philosophy Department,a middle-aged woman who shared a home near the campus witha much older female professor of Mathematics - both distinguished academics with tenure - seemed able (or dared) to giveme emotional support. But even this was never expressed verbally.
No allusion was ever made to the presumed cause of my separationfrom the College. However, I was invited to spend a great deal oftime at their house, where I had lunch or tea, and was even allowed to stay one night in their guest bedroom. The entire matter
was treated as if it were some unspeakable affliction which weunderstood had set us apart but could not be mentioned.

30 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

After I recovered from the initial shock of losing my job atMills, I got mad. I looked around for some means of revenge. By
a fortunate coincidence, a distant "cousin," a Notre Dame graduate I had known since our teens, turned up for a visit. He had
gotten my address from my mother and, so long as he was in thearea, had doubtless thought he would stop in for a little freehospitality.
When I told him my story, Jim admitted to being a homosexual himself and that he, too, was involuntarily unemployed,
having recently been fired from his civil service post in Washington on the same charge. We found enormous comfort in ourcommon "difference" and spent hours discussing whether or not
we were crazy or the world was off its trolley. We decided in ourfavor and hit on a brilliant idea for recouping society's approval,
to our mutual benefit. We announced our engagement.
Various relieved administrators gave showers for Jim andme, and we accumulated a large number of expensive electric
appliances, cut-glass monstrosities, embroidered pillow-casesand valuable bric-a-brac of all shapes and sizes. We had enoughash trays to supply the Hilton chain of hotels. Much of the stuff
we promptly returned to the stores that we could identify as thesource of their purchase, where we collected refunds sufficient
to live on through the rest of the summer until my house was
sold.
Meanwhile, I was lucky to hear of a vacancy in a small
Catholic woman's college in Ontario, Canada, where, at a time
when relatively few women had Ph.D.s, I was promptly accepted. This second experience of teaching in a religious institution, even though in a slightly foreign setting, was almost as
constraining as the first. By the end of the academic year, I was
ready to return to the U.s. At the nearest point of reentry, Detroit,
I took and passed a civil service test for Parks and Recreation
Director. I thought to return to sports - at least until I could findanother vacant post in higher education.

Summer/Fall 1994

31

Bernice Dambowic

A Lesbian VoiceI am holding a crimson packet close
to my breast
Do I look like prim faculty tiedwith a bun?
My pants bag at the seam, sneakers soiled
with time tread on Whitman's "Leaves of Grass"
The rounded gravel is softenedby this tramping poet
An open flap beckons me to a pitched tent
where booming words echo:
I am language
I am human
I am woman
Where is my voice? Peanut butter sticks
to the roof of my mouth
Do I swallow my need to be heard?
Distanced from the crowd, a smiling teacher waits to unbend
my trembling hands, to hear my words
Her melodic voice dimmed by age matches my own
Raising my notes in the billowing breeze, lifting
my pen to catch the sun, I am no longer eating
at the window32 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Carol Ehrlich

Coming HomeFirst I was straight, then I became lesbian. Lesbian is better.
It was a long journey to lesbianism for me - I ran into manydead ends along the way. I was born in 1934, the only child of
lower-middle-class parents, in a small Missouri town. The area,
called "little Dixie," had been on the Confederate side during the
Civil War. Although that conflict had ended 70 years before, it
was still fresh in the minds of some. The slave auction block infront of the county courthouse was proudly pointed out to visitors; every year men dressed up in Confederate gray and Union
blue and refought the war. Schools and neighborhoods weresegregated, and jobs for black adults were scarce. As I recall,
black women might find work as maids, and black men {called"boys" by whites) might be hired as janitors or handymen. As far
as I know, no other jobs were open to blacks.
Back then, the Democrats were the conservative party, andthey completely dominated electoral politics. At the time I graduated from high school, in 1952, I knew one Jew, no blacks (except
for one man who mowed lawns), no liberals, no Republicans.
And no lesbians or gay men.
Since the state university was located there, I imagine there
must have been at least a few Republicans; Jews and liberals on
campus - and maybe even some closeted lesbians and gays. But
no black students or faculty - integration began, very gradually,a year later, when I was a freshman.
Growing up where and when I did was a confused andconfusing experience. There's a great deal I don't remember
about my young life, but I think I always felt as if I were living
underground - sometimes as a guerrilla, but mostly as a fugitive. Messages from the outside, in the form of books, news
magazines, and movies, made me aware that there were less stifling environments that I wanted badly to find. Yet I couldn't
make a coherent pattern out of the almost random information

Summer/Fall 1994

33

that I took in. One of my strongest memories is the horror I felt,
at age 10, upon seeing a newsreel film about the Allies' opening
up of Auschwitz and Buchenwald. I was emotionally overwhelmed by the evil that brought about the Holocaust. But I
didn't question the evil of slavery; and the romanticized versions of the Civil War that I ingested left me feeling that thewrong side had won. Later, during the cold war period of the' 50s,
I was sure that world Communism was out to enslave us all.
If my politics were shot through with contradictions, mysexual politics were as well. My close relationships were withgirls and with women. I feared men and couldn't face the universal assumption that I (like all other females) would marry one.
Yet my early sexual attractions were almost all to males.
It took me many years to form a coherent view of the world
and of myself. It took several different environments and many
painful experiences before I could begin to corne home to who I am.
How and when did I become a lesbian? Although I had
occasionally been attracted to women, I didn't corne out to myself till 1980, when I was 45, and I didn't act on my knowledge
until the next year. By then, I'd been married twice and had an
adult daughter.
The path that eventually led to lesbianism began in the late1960s, when I became involved in the antiwar movement. In thehalf-dozen years before that, I had moved away from my racism
and political conservatism, and when the antiwar movement
seemed like a vehicle for overturning a corrupt political orderand building a better one, I plunged into it.
It didn't take long for the women's caucus of our local organization to become disgusted with the male-dominated politics
we encountered. We discovered radical feminism and a whole
new view of the world. This was the most profound shift inconsciousness I'd ever had: I thoroughly agreed with the analysis that men as a group oppressed women as a group - that men
were colonizers and women the colonized.
Like many radical feminists, I was straight. But under thesurface, some even more subversive ideas were burrowing into
my mind. In the course of searching out every radical feminist

34 sinister wisdom #53 - O ld Lesbians / Dykes

analysis then in print, I found the writings of a lesbian feminist,
Martha Shelley. I was very taken with her perspective that radical feminism had to move one crucial step further. For it was onlyin lesbian relationships that genuine equality could be found,because women had not been socialized to desire power overothers.
Shelley's analysis, in addition to my own surfacing feelingsof attraction to women, eventually directed me to lesbianism.
Probably only a bookish person like myself could have been so
naive as to think that relationships between women would be
egalitarian, just because we're women. After all, we've all beensocialized in the same corrupt society. Discovering how much thereality can differ from the ideal has been one of the most difficult
lessons I've had to learn. Just the same, I'd like to thank Martha
Shelley, wherever she is, for pointing me in the right direction.
Today I live on the East Coast with my lover and life partner.
I am almost 9 years older than she is. We've been together since1981. We have our ups and downs, of course, but basically weenjoy the same things and have very similar outlooks on life.
As we get older, both of us are out in more and more situations. The only people with whom I've specifically not come outof the closet are those few remaining links to my painful andhidden childhood: my mother, the two 70-plus cousins whowrite to me every Christmas, two childhood friends who keep intouch. All women - but none intimates. I hid from them then;I'm still in hiding. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.
The city where I now live has been my home for almost 25
years. When I acknowledged my lesbianism to myself, almost 15
years ago, I didn't want to be in the closet to anyone, but alifetime of intense privacy, of keeping many of my secrets evenfrom myself, made my coming out less than "..'niversal.
From the beginning, I wanted my daughter, who lives on theother side of the continent, to know. We'd just begun to emerge
from several years' estrangement, so I didn't dare guess how
she'd take such a radical change in her mother. But she was and has continued to be - very supportive. At almost 40 she issingle, and says she has always been straight. Since we haveSummer/Fall 199435

lived apart for almost 20 years, there is much I don't know about
her. But she is proud of her lesbian mother, and she relates reallywell to my partner.
As for those I know and come into contact with in my home
city, I have fewer and fewer islands of evasion. My co-workers
know, as does my boss. My partner and I don't put up signs in our
windows, but we make absolutely no attempt to hide who we arefrom our neighbors. At demonstrations and events such as PrideDay, we don't avoid the 1V cameras. When a local group working
to disseminate positive images of lesbians and gays asked me topose for a group picture that would appear on billboards all over
the area, I thought about it for a day or two, then said yes.
As I age, I feel I have less to fear and less to hide. As an old
lesbian, I am who and what I am - and others can take it orleave it.
Becoming a lesbian was like finding a home I'd never had .
I've changed from feeling like a solitary woman in an underground chamber to knowing that I'm a member of a thriving
community. My subcommunity is associated with the feminist
bookstore, the women's cafe and the lesbian fiction group. These
institutions, particularly the bookstore, are very important to
me. The bookstore has been here for over 20 years, and to me
seems tremendously important. That's because it's both a repository of lesbian/ feminist culture, in a society that tries to deny ourculture's existence, and a community center where women canconnect with themselves and with each other.
I find my connections in local institutions like the feminist
bookstore and the cafe; in lesbian neighborhood associations
and at potlucks; in reading groups and political action groups. I
love the women in my community - and as I grow older, thefeeling of mutual support and love grows stronger for me, andmore essential.

36

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

Ida VSWRed

Seasoning
The young dyke says: "You don't look sixty-one - I can't believe you have children older than me." I'm tempted to correct
her grammar and then respond as I heard one vital old lesbian do:"Take another look - this is exactly what seventy (or sixty-one
or eighty) looks like!" But I know I'm just one of many ways tolook and be sixty-one. Because I feel naive and green, I resent thecommon notion that age and experience necessarily produce
wisdom. I don't know how to be old, but I realize that many
elements, aspects and states of being always coexist in me.

I am a ripened, grey dandelion head floating down Cripple Creek,
allowing myself to tumble over and over, bump into boundaries,
release seeds, round Russian River bends, and flow gaily forward .
I am a child's big, red rubber ball bouncing through a field of daisies
to a mountain cabin where I rest by the open fire and marvel at thefloor-to-ceiling cases of books I've been writing in my sleep.
By day, I read the obituaries, looking for women, scanningtheir lives, wondering how mine stacks up, trying to take credit
for my accomplishments, such as fine grown children; a longassociation with amateur theater; a librarian and editor's careercompleted; unfailing interest in poetry, autobiography, reading,writing and performance; a first year of retirement rich withtravet grandchildren, work with Mothertongue Feminist Theater Collective and Gay and Lesbian Outreach to Elders and new
and old lovers and friends.
I am an exuberant and curious pigtailed five-year-o ld on a swinging
bridge ... awkward teenager opening Pandora's box ... a young wife
posing as a matron in a navy silk sheath ... harried part-time,
temporary, para-professional worker ... mother of two, Brownie
Scout Leader, Sunday-School Teacher ... re-entry grad student always reading, wondering ... beginning teacher in love with literature, ideas, my students, their writing ... an actor publicly revealingSummer/Fall 199437

details observed, feelings hidden, personalities submerged ... a poetscreeching to a halt mid-commute to catch the flicker of a lightningbug phrase .. . an antique porch rocker with many coats of paint andlap enough for all my little ones ... a dreamer's open palm stretchedout to catch a subtle distinction, a valuable connection.
My work at the University of California Institute for Healthand Aging made me painfully aware on a daily basis of theageism, poverty, chronic illness, and lack of social support facedby old people, especially old women. Like others in the glass
house of aging policy research, I maintain a high level of denial,
yet my internalized ageism and personal doubts and fears about
aging are near the surface. Will I be able to remain financially,
emotionally, and physically independent? If not, will support beavailable and will I accept it with grace? Will I be able to maintaina resilient spirit, be an asset rather than a drain on thosearound me? Will I have the courage to handle chronic illness or
physical decline, the loss of loved ones, rapid changes in theworld around me? Will my daughters respect me and will we stayclose, share our lives? Will I see my ideas, my ambitions come tomaturity?

I am a well-worn Appalachian dulcimer reverberating the strum of
blue-ridge mountains, blue-grass fields trimmed in queen anne's
lace, fringed chicory, brown-eyed susan, and tough, tangled bittersweet bursting open at first frost.
I am a flat, gelatinous, silent eleven-year-old, a pasty-faced chameleon who can only sit and watch since desperately trying to do asothers do is a miserable failure and insisting on drawing thepaperdolis
my own way prompts ridicule - sit and watch, won't play, won't
compete, won't try, won't, just won't - a blank tablet to be drawn
on with a sharp stick, images that disappear when the shiny grey pageis disturbed.
I can't read the pink arts pages. I am plunged into feelings ofdesperation and defeat by accounts of the accomplishments ofactors, directors and authors. I have given family and economic
independence priority over intellectual and ar tistic work. Now
I feel too discouraged, too outdated, too scared of memory loss to38 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

attempt a serious actor/writer/scholar's life. Caustic streams ofenvy, comparison, self-recrimination, and bitterness surge up
and drive me to the shut-down, depressed emptiness that masquerades as ordinary life. Even going to the movies, usually asaving grace in which my inner process smooths itself out, isbecoming painful. None of these feelings of hurt and loss isenough to jumpstart me into action. Instead, I insist on ordinary
life's being enough. I latch onto it with a will, truly believing I
deserve to have easy days in which to relax, drop my self-consciousness, and recover from the feeling of having failed myfamily's expectations and my own.

I am a prickly animal, small, sensitive, low to the ground, hardly athreat until I unexpectedly shoot my piercing quills into some convenient, unsuspecting target.
I am a sea anemone, habitually clinging to my traditional place at all
cost until I become too, too dry when I let go, float, give myself overto sea change.
I am a spider, flinging myself into the unknown, confident of finding
a mooring for the web I create of myself, believing in survival, true
to principle, faithful to community.
One of my first reactions to the early feminist idea of awoman-identified life was that, at forty, I was too old. I had neverbeen independent. That was for modern young women like thefirst dyke I loved - fifteen years my junior, beginning her adultlife in blue jeans. I had a hard time imagining a change of"lifestyle" - a new concept - at my age. While I was on thefence of indecision, a lesbian twelve years my senior forced me
to notice her. She was both romantic and cynical, hidden andblatant, tough and soft. An evening in the presence of her vitality
and a night caressing her beautifully aged skin convinced methat for lesbians there is no such thing as "too old." So I took theleap into dykedom. Now I am older than she was at that time. I
haven't found the structures for equal relationships, lesbian
theaters and feminist doctoral programs I long for, but I nevertheless imagine that life is full of possibility at every turn.

Summer/Fall'994

39

I am a huge brown pre-pubescent bear poet named BoBo from Blue
Rock Junction, lover of life, playful & serious, tender & fierce, selfpublished because typesetters could never get the rhythm of the Rs
in my GRRRs.
I am a galax leaf-large heart with sharp, ragged edges, evergreen,
running wild, migrating toward the sunset where ...
Wet tongue caressing my clit
fingers rhythmic in my cuntshe lures me back to feeling
Teeth sharp on my left nipple
she shoots me into ecstasy past
every pleasure/ pain principle
into free-fall from cliff edge
vaulting over a rainbow ofstar-spraying rockets tobarrel falls down cascades
and long beyond the beyond: an orgasmic commencement
to my early retirement.

I am a swashbuckler in chartreuse & fuchsia satin with cardboard
boots, fake as the drugstore cowboy, authentic as my first family ofVirginia genealogy with our single Spanish Gypsy, French sea explorer, and Native American among the predominantly German andEnglish/Scotch/Irish farmers and merchants.
I am a heavy, inherited matriarchal mantle ... keepsakes cherished ...
stories embroidered, braided, patchworked by generations of women:
the common woman's fate - AND -love doves on a rainbow
dragon kite ... interlocking women's symbol ... lesbian feminism:
the seasoning ... a trail discovered from eastern virgin hemlock to
pacific shore.
I am a calliope with romantic ballads and old-fashioned roses magically transforming intoa computer-both, descendants ofa woman's
weaving card - binary logic bent to aesthetic need and practicaldesire.

40

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

At my birthday party, when I told a friend's five year old myage she responded enthusiastically: ''Wow! You'll really be a big
girl now!" Age, size, and power seem wonderfully linked in her
reality. On optimistic days, I agree, believing I will be able tocontinue living with lesbians who give our attention, courage,
support, love, and inspiration to one another and help each otherbecome our fullest selves, our strongest force for change ..

I am a bearded crone simultaneously juggling zits and hot flashes foryears on end ... a color never seen ... a biscuit baked with buttermilk
and tears.
I am a pile of slimy green overcooked spinach on the floor, crying,whining, complaining, pouting, too sad, too mad, too caught inmisery some days to notice that ...
I am an aging woman, at sixty-one innocent and experienced
enough to know my ball bounces on, fertile seeds constantly
rise, new shoots celebrate my existence, unknown paths await,
new selves rush to join old ones in the miracle and mystery of thepresent moment.
I am&

•

Summer/Fall1994

41

Helen Howard

Kissing Rosie'Edie! Cut it out! How come you are kissing another little girlright on the mouth?" Rosie and I snuggled on the living room couch.
My mother's voice spun out like hot wire. She was pretty mad.
It was only one of my new games. I found the pressure andfeel of Rosie's mouth on mine exciting. And she liked it, too. Her
small chunky body spread warmth in me. Kissing her was notlike the dry pecks on the cheek from aunts and uncles.
"I can't watch you kids every minute, Edie! Pop is busy withcustomers and you see I have to help him!" Ma's voice rose in a
way that made me pay attention. Our grocery store was a busy
place. Even I had to help out sometimes.
Rosie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand: Her face
flushed, her lower lip trembled, her flat chest heaved. If she
started to cry, it would make me feel bad. I stood at least half a headtaller and made up most of our games. We played trains, pretended to be cowboys and what we thought were Indians, andlately I had made up a few new ones. Good ideas came out of theSaturday afternoon movies - such as the Mommy and Daddy
game, the Big Sister game, and the Hospital game in which theDoctor kisses the Nurse for a long time.
"You better go home now," my mother told Rosie. "Yourmama will be coming home from work soon." Rosie scurried out
of our living room, flew down the stairs through our crowded
grocery store, and out into the street.
"Her mama is one of our best customers!" my mother went
on. ''Where do you get those crazy notions about kissing?"''They kiss a lot in the movies, Ma."''That's for grown ups, Edie. Not for little girls!" Some of thesteam dribbled out of me. The movie I loved was Greta Garbo
and Robert Taylor in Camille. They kissed a lot.
The feel of Rosie's soft moist mouth on mine still burned. My
head felt light and I could sense the hard knot inside my chest42 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

melting when she pressed her body against me.
Rosie Adelman had become my best friend . Since I was in thesixth grade and she was only in the fifth, I had certain rights. Like
making up our garnes, for instance. We had been playing the
Mommy and Daddy game. I was the Daddy. This kind of pleasure
felt different from anything else, even pitching a strike-out inour baseball garnes, or getting 100 on my spelling tests andhaving Miss Murphy, our teacher, brag to the whole class about it.
Rosie often carne over after school. Her mother worked at Sears in
the dress department. I heard her tell my mother that she took
advantage of the good store discount. That's how Rosie owned
two closets full of pretty dresses, and lots of shoes and socks.
Rosie had big black eyes with long lashes. Her dark curly
hair tumbled across her forehead. I used to think she could be amovie star, a Shirley Temple without the blonde curls. I often
wished I was as pretty and cute as Rosie.
The Adelmans lived in a brown stucco house a block awayfrom our grocery store. We lived in four little rooms behind thestore, so their house seemed like heaven. Dark mahogany tables,
plump sofas, oriental rugs, a Victrola with stacks of records, a realoil painting in the bright blue and green of ocean waves, andyellow waxed flowers in a Chinese vase made me wish I lived inthat house, too.
Rosie had her very own bedroom. Her bed was covered witha pretty spread, baby dolls in white starched dresses and pink
panties, and two stuffed animals, a bear and a dog. Me? I slept
with my younger sister. When I flung my underwear on the floor
at night and crawled in, I snuggled against her soft warmth.
Chicago winters could be full of ice and snow blowing acrossLake Michigan. When the temperature dropped to zero, we
huddled close to the potbellied stove in the kitchen. When thestove glowed red hot, the kitchen grew warm and toasty.
In Rosie's house, the radiators blew a lively steam from thefurnace. No one had to throw sticky lumps of coal in a stove.
Their new refrigerator, stacked with cold meats, fruit and cakes
her mother bought in our store, gave me and Rosie a chance to eat
all the treats we wanted.

Summer/Fall 1994

43

One Sunday afternoon, my mother and I were invited to visit
the Adelmans to share a freshly baked apple pie. I found a clean
pair of knickers and a blouse and combed my unruly brown hair,straightened my bangs. We knew Mrs. Adelman loved to bakecookies full of walnuts and raisins, cakes with chocolate frosting, strudel, even whole wheat bread. She said mixing and pounding the dough was relaxing. It took her mind off her troubles
with her divorce, and left snacks for Rosie after school.
Sun poured into the kitchen that afternoon. White curtains
with a red flower design billowed out the window. You could eat
off their floor, my mother said. The table was neatly set withplates, napkins, glasses of milk for me and Rosie, and coffee cups
for them. A crusty apple pie oozing juice was planted in the
middle of the table. It smelled wonderful. The kitchen with thepretty curtains and sunshine was cozy. My mother smiled withpleasure.
Rosie and I behaved ourselves. I drank my milk slowly anddid not fill my mouth with chunks of the pie. Mrs. Adelman
threw me a pleased look and told my mother she was happy her
poor Rosie had such a nice little friend. Would I like another sliceof pie? I said "please" and "thank you." This caused Rosie toerupt in giggles and I pinched her leg under the table. She
pinched back. Hard. I squealed. Mrs. Adelman frowned and said
we could go upstairs and play.
The attic was full of worn furniture, old-fashioned pictureswith dark heavy frames, and Rosie's baby buggy.
'What do you want to play?" I asked Rosie.
She shrugged. I tried to turn a big old radio on, but it did notwork. Downstairs, in the kitchen, we could hear our mothers
laughing. I bet Mrs. Adelman poured some sweet wine into mymother's glass like I had seen her do once before.
Rosie yawned suddenly, then plopped down on a mattresslying against the back wall. "I'm tired .""Me too." But my heart began to thump. I asked her whatkind of game she wanted to play. "The Prince and Princess, or theDoctor and Nurse.""You choose," I insisted.

44 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes"Let's play the Prince and Princess."
I gasped as she stretched out on the mattress and closed hereyes. "0. K" I said. "Fair Princess," I began, touching her forehead with my finger tips. "You have been sleeping a long time.
You must get up now. You can come back to my palace with me.
I will marry you. You will be Queen of all the land!"Rosie smiled. She loved being made a queen. When she got
all dressed up, her mother would call her "my little queen." Ileaned over, stroked her hair and cheek, then placed my lips onhers. Her hands reached for my head, pulling me close. The crisp
starchiness of her dress felt cool. She smelled like perfumed
soap. I throbbed with a strange flow of pleasure.
The house was quiet. I thought I heard Rosie's mother calling, hut it seemed far away. Then I heard footsteps. They musthave sneaked up to the attic, because there they were in the
doorway making funny noises in their throats. I jerked awayfrom Rosie. All the good feeling drained out like water gurgling
down the sink. Rosie let out a short cry. She quickly turned on her
side so she would not see her mother.
''What's going on here? You little devil!" Mrs. Adelman yelled
at me.
My mother's eyes were blazing. She grabbed my arm so hard
I thought she would tear it off. "I warned you!" she shrieked. I
was pulled off the mattress, thrown across the room and fell
against the brass frame of Rosie's grandmother'$ picture. The cut
on my chin bled. The sight of my blood made Rosie howl.
"Little girls don't kiss each other like that!" Mrs. Adelman'seyes turned into flinty nails, sharp, fierce, hateful.
"I don't know what gets into that child." My mother clearly
blamed me.
Mrs. Adelman began to cry. "Can't you control your own
child?" she shouted at my mother.
"I do my best!" my mother replied angrily. "You wait on
customers all day and see if you can watch your kid!"
It was time for me to leave. I brushed past Mrs. Adelman andmy mother, tumbled down the stairs, tore out of the house. My
harried father had a burst of afternoon trade and called for me toSummer/Fall 1994

4S

wait on two small boys smudging the candy counter glass casewith their dirty fingers.
I ran past them into the flat behind the store and slammed thedoor. What was so terrible? Did I hurt Rosie? Was kissing a sin?
We liked our games. We felt close with the hugging and kissing.
It was a new and special feeling.
That evening I stayed in bed. I could hear my mother scurrying about the kitchen banging pots and pans. She asked myfather to bring in some cold cuts from the meat counter. She did
not feel like cooking.
"How dare that woman talk to me like that?" She was realmad. "Such nerve!""She'll get over it," my father said wearily. "And what's all
the fuss about? Edie likes to imagine things. So what's a little
kissing? Who did it hurt? Maybe she'll grow up to be an actress .""It's not natural!" my mother shouted. "Two little girls!""Natural. Schmatural. Big deal! If it was a boy, it would havebeen better?" my father snorted.
"No wonder her husband left her! She's a mean woman." Mymother slammed the ice box door. "Spends a fortune on clothes."•••
Mrs. Adelman quit shopping for groceries in our store. Things
calmed down. One of the other neighborhood kids told me Rosie
now played with Sara, her nine-year-old friend from next door.
I knew Sara had trunks full of dolls, all dressed in different
clothes, like in a dress shop.
One afternoon I walked by Rosie's house. Both of them weresitting on the front stairs. Sara held a big fat baby doll in her
arms. It looked soft and cuddly with lots of curly blonde hair, ablue nightgown, and white booties. Rosie was bending overkissing its pink painted mouth. Sara poked her. Rosie sat up real
fast when she saw me. A mixed-up look flitted across her face.
She stared at me, then stuck her tongue out and turned her back.

46 sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

Kate Rosenblatt

Peg and Emily*
After supper and the movies, when Natalie has left, Peg andEmily are drifting in the hot tub, which is central to the back yard
and available to all the women who share the small community
Peg has formed out of her garage, the in-law cottage and her own
house. Peg looks at Emily and asks, "Is it getting too hot for you?"
Emily reaches out, finds an arm .. . squeezes it and asks,''What? I was somewhere else ... thinking about all the surprisesin the past weeks about us being in the hot tub tonight and how
different it is from the first time I came over and nearly died ofembarrassment when you invited me in." She tugs at a strand ofhair behind her left ear ... something Peg has noted that Emily
does when she's stressed or uncomfortable. "I was thinking,especially about you 'n me .. ." She takes a deep breath.
Peg speaks softly. "I'm glad we stayed out here. I didn't want
to appear too eager - or make you anxious, but I did want us tobe out here by ourselves."
Emily ducks under the water and comes up with Peg's handon her shoulder. Peg gently kneads Emily's neck and shoulders.
She rubs her neck working her fingers up to Emily's lower skull.
Emily smiles and releases a sigh. "I guess we're just going tohave to figure out how to say what we want around it all. I wanted
to be with you before we turned in, but wasn't sure ... just didn't
know what ... and ... mm-um, that's lovely. Do you want me to
do your neck?""No, it's okay for me to massage you and for you to just enjoy
it ... without doing or being anything. In time maybe we'll beable to say - 'I want to make love, do you?' Now, neither of us
wants to rush the other and I'm still not sure whether your beinga Lesbian will last ... ". This is a shortened version of the chapter in Kate's novel-in-progress, Five
Old Wom en.

Summer/Fall 1994

47

Tears gather in Emily's eyes and she sniffles. "I'm just not
used to having anyone attend to how I feel." She sniffs again,
laughs and says, "I only cry in the happy parts of movies.""Sh-sh, woman. Just lean back while I pleasure you." Peg
continues rubbing Emily's scalp gently. The motion turns slowly
to caressing. Her fingers wander around Emily's ears, down
either side of her neck, under the chin ... touching ever so gently- skipping from chin to ear to the side of her neck where she
rests her palm as her thumb strokes under Emily's chin.
Emily moans slightly as her body rests against Peg. She
whispers, "Lady, your hands are corrupting me."Breathlessly Peg asks, "Are they? Good, then these corrupters will just wander on. Your face has beautiful planes." Shegives a light laugh and cups Emily's breast in her hand, saying,"You have adapted to my strange ways in a ve-e-ry short time."
She rubs her thumb against the nipple in her hand, crooning .. .
"Lovely, so very lovely. I think you must have been with womenin another time .. . "There's a loud gasp and Emily breathes, "Peg, I love it. But
slow down, pl-ea-se. This old woman's body has waited so longand needs to take it slowly to prevent explosion." She lets out
another deep breath. 'Who ever would have believed the passion stored up in this funny old woman!"
She moves a little apart from Peg, at the same time tentatively
letting one foot move onto Peg's crotch. Peg catches it and presses
it against her so that Emily can feel her body's accelerating
rhythm. Peg caresses the foot and ankle, raises the foot, draws the
big toe into her mouth and sucks noisily on it. Letting it loose,
she again places it between her thighs and laughs heartily. "Justthink ... a couple of weeks ago we were wondering what, if
anything, we were going to do about our mutual attraction."
Emily looks up at her. "I guess I was kinda forward, huh?""Em, it wasn't a one-way street you know. We talked about it."'Well, I guess I'm not as shy as I led us both to believe. I sure
like this." She draws closer to Peg and hugs her. She places herlips softly on the side of Peg's neck, just below her ear and kisses.
Then she slowly licks where she'd kissed and brings her tongue

48 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

to Peg's ear, darting it in and out like a dragonfly until Peg pulls
Emily's .mouth toward her own and their open mouths meet,
tongues exploring - inside and out, the pleasure building.
"Whee," breathes Peg as they move slightly apart. "I can't
keep this up in here - it must 1000 degrees! Let's move.""Now's the time to initiate my new bed," invites Emily,
holding Peg's hand as she rises.
"Emily Thayer, sometimes your boldness shocks me," Peg
grins and takes Emily's hand.
"Peg, it all feels so right. I do believe I've been waiting forthis all my life. If I'm being too brazen for you, I can try to be ashy, simpering, southern girl ... but I don't think I'll be half as
much fun." She laughs and rumples Peg's hair. "Come on. Let'sgo." She throws the towels over them and they run dripping andlaughing into Emily's house.
As Peg drops her towel, Emily walks up behind her, puts herarms around her, hands under both breasts. Peg eases herself
back against Emily's full, warm body, her butt hard against
Emily's stomach. Then Emily stirs. Peg turns around and pulls
Emily's mouth down toward her own, pushes her tongue deep
into Emily's mouth, rubbing her tongue across teeth, the roof ofher mouth then out over her lips ... back and forth gently from
corner to corner, until Emily pulls back, gasping and laughing.
"Oh, honey ... you get me so excited 'n scared .. . I guess by
nature I'm truly a low-down hussy.""Emily, you're beautiful and I wouldn't be surprised if I fallin love with you ... not just lust after your Rubenesque body.
Come lead me to your virgin bed ere I die on this spot."

Summer/Fall 1994

Old Woman
Louise Gilbert

49

50

sinister wisdom #53 -O ld Lesbians / Dykes

Rosemary Hathaway

Ode to an Old Woman
From an Old Woman

The sparkle in your eye and sidewise grin
Attract me
Old woman

I want to know you

Your urge to learn, try new adventures
Matches my own
Old woman

I want to share with you

Your wrinkled weather-worn face
Feels sensuous beneath my touch
Old woman

I desire you

Your hands, calloused and scarred from years of living
Bring me pleasure
Old woman

I am yours

Summer/Fall 1994

51

Emma Joy Crone

Notes from Hornby Island, B.C.
My identity and self concept have continually changed during
my aging process. The challenges are constant and I admit I thriveon them. For a long time, when younger, the various struggles forsurvival (financial, work, relationship, marriage, housing, etc.)
were overwhelming. Now I look back and see that living life to its
full depth gave me gifts galore.
Born in England in 1928 during the depression in an industrial city, my parents provided me with strong working-classethics of work and poverty consciousness. My father was a waiterand my mother, a boarding housekeeper who became a single
mother when she could no longer tolerate my father's gamblingand drinking his wages away. I discovered the love of women
during my adolescence in wartime England but it was nevermanifested because of the times in which I was living.
My working life was mostly secretarial but in my 30s I had an
opportunity to train as a hospital welfare worker. I was assigned
a post in a geriatric hospital and there for the first time experienced the attitudes and oppressive behaviour towards old women.
I could fill pages with stories of neglect and disinterest by both
relatives and medical staff. This was the beginning of my awareness of the indifference, invisibility and dishonor accorded oldwomen. At the same time I was unaware of lesbianism around
me. I feel old lesbians have always been invisible, particularly inthe mainstream of life.
My personal freedom was attained when I took my life inboth hands at the termination of a child-free and uneventful
marriage. After a year's mourning for so-called failure I migrated to the U.S. where my feminism and lesbian self surfaced(in the 1960s) becoming a source of great joy and expansion. I was
40 and did not see that old women were not represented. I was
more often than not the token "older woman" surrounded byyounger women who thought I was "great for my age."52 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians I Dykes

My lovers have, in the main, been younger than I. It was not
until I was 56 that I started to notice ageism, experiencing it not
only in .mainstream society but in the lesbian community andliterature. Today I am with a woman who is 27 years younger
than I. We celebrated my 66th birthday with a group of younger
women and a middle-aged woman. My lover and I noticed theirembarrassment when we sat together on a couch embracing andkissing.

•••••
About the same time that I began to notice ageism was also
a time of discovering myself as a writer. To find peers I put out
a newsletter called A Web of Crones from 1985 to 1989 whichbrought connections and correspondence from all over the world
and I still network with women world-wide today. During theperiod I put A Web of Crones out I had Crone gatherings on thisisland in British Columbia where I now live. I continue to increase my visibility as an old lesbian whenever possible. Recently I read poetry for a video on environmental issues, being
interviewed as an "elder" but also making sure it was known
that I was a lesbian. A recent interview I did with a newspaper
woman caused an article on lesbianism and ageing to appear ina Victoria, B.c. paper. These are my ways of fighting back.
In Canada there is little awareness of old lesbians' needs.
Being a survivor when younger was a challenge easily met. Now
that I am old I admit to some resentment towards those upperand middle-class women who appear unaware of past struggles
and present anxieties. I will not always be able to live in the
country which I came to in my 50s because of ill health. I have noinheritance or family to bolster my finances, no trips to women's
festivals to be with lesbian sisters in "safe" places. I have survived on welfare for 15 years and now live on the fixed incomeof a pension.
One of my main concerns, and one I was brought strongly intouch with during my years as a geriatric worker, is the situation
for women of low income who may be shut in because of illhealth and are therefore dependent on the services of a patriar-

Summer/Fall 1994

53

chal bureaucracy. Shut-ins is the term used by the social services
whose only concern is to keep us tidily in place - fed, housed,cleaned and medicated. What of old lesbians' independence andpersonal autonomy? What of mental stimulation? What of those
without the ability to articulate their needs - assuming thatanyone wants to hear the needs of an old lesbian?
Recently I have heard that in Victoria, B.C. two women havebegun to share the above concerns with others and are attempting to create an outreach via nursing programs and day care
centres for seniors in an attempt to find old lesbians. It is being
hard to find women to commit to this venture.
Once again, with ageism, as with the many fights we haveendured against the "isms" in our society, we have some work
ahead of us. I find it even harder because many do not feel it is
an important enough issue. But I am now living the reality of age
and I want to be in the forefront of this final battle, even though
the body is slowed down and the joints creak. While my mind
and voice are strong, while I can still press the keys of thistypewriter - I will not be stilled.
Let's celebrate our age, the lesbians we know, the times welive in, our privilege to be able to speak out. And never forget ourforemothers who endured in silence.

S4 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Miriam Carroll

Imani*C all her old woman

She is Grandmother, you know
She smells hot moist old.
She reverberates against walls of inaction and silence
She is skin stretched taut
She is the beatCall her old woman
She is sinews pulling her tightly
She is wood hewn to carry her soundCall her a drum old woman drum
She is a tingle of metal held by her old bones
strong counterpoint flavor to the drum
Call her old woman
She can be rattle
hissing snake sounds
tin bell thonking along merrily
She is the dancer the weaver the miller the stone
Call her old woman
She is the smudge the smoke

the essence of Spirit

She is the altar . the candle the gifts She is Love
She is Guardian of The Sacred Space created in good
Faith
Call her old woman

Call her IMANI. At an inspiring multiracial Healing /Spiritual Weekend, I was given thename IMANI, which is the last day of Kwaanza, and is in the spirit of faith .
It was an appropriate name, as I had already taken the name Faith in the
Wiccan tradition . I wrote this poem in joy of my naming.

Summer/Fall 1994 55

Pat Pomerleau

Amelia Earhart Didn't Cook
The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy.
- Helen Hayes

We sat on camp chairs and lay on camp cots. Black iron with thefinish chipping off, and we drank iced tea and looked at thenight sky. The family talked about the disappearance of Amelia
Earhart. What was a woman doing, flying around up there anyway, they said ... What was she doing up there with that man?
They weren't married, were they?
One of the realizations that came over me was that Amelia
Earhart probably didn't cook. Amelia Earhart wore trousers, cut
her hair short and had a man helper. And she wasn't his wife.
Amelia didn't belong to anyone and she didn't sit at home withbabies. She didn't spend endless suffocating hours talking politely with other wives about recipes and discussing the best andcheapest place to get your hair done.
I didn't think I could fly, maybe couldn't be like Amelia thatway, but eventually I did talk Mother-Auntie Boss into letting
me buy a pair of blue jeans. We went down to the J.e. Penney
store and bought them. They had elastic around the waist. I was
pretty sure Amelia didn't wear jeans with elastic around thewaist. I was pretty sure Amelia had trousers that had a fly inthem. But anyhow, I felt that I was making some progress in mylife just by having any kind of blue jeans. Mother-Auntie Bossgave some money to the store clerk and she put the money intoa little black box that hung on a piece of wire and then she pulled
a handle and the money and the box zipped up along the wire to
the wooden balcony in the J.e. Penney store and another woman
who sat behind some windows up there took the money out of
the little box and it all came zipping back down to the main floor
and the clerk reached up at just the right moment and plucked itout of the air, right off the wire. I thought that little box was sort56

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

of like God. There was a sort of holiness about the J.e..Penney
store. The cashier and the woman clerk wore black dresses withwhite collars and cuffs and their hair was done up in back and it
was all very neat in the J.e. Penney store.
It was a lot neater, by far, than were my efforts to figure out
how to make my life better. It always seemed to me that it was
like trying to cut the legs off a pair of pants in order to make ~hemshorts. You kept adjusting the alternate leg to make it even withthe other leg, going back and forth from one leg to the other,cutting, trimming, adjusting. Finally, figuratively speaking, all
you had left was a zipper and a couple of pockets. That was mylife in the bosom of my family. I spent a lot of time hoping, andworking, and figuring, and losing.
So I often climbed up into my Grandmother Dick's fig tree
and sat there in the leafy silence. It was safe there and a haven ofsanity. I thought maybe the little black box that may have contained God, and certainly did hold some spare change, would zip
down into that tree one day while I was sitting there, and my life
would then be better.
Sometimes the family, when they sat under the fig tree in theback yard in the hot evenings, talked about Eleanor Roosevelt.
None of them liked FDR and they didn't like Eleanor either. One
or two of the men had voted for FDR way back when he firstbegan. But none of them approved of his wife. Always running
off and not minding her own business, they said. What was a
man to do with a wife like that? Why didn't FDR CONTROL her,they said. It was just another reason why FDR wasn't a goodpresident. That Eleanor!
The family was sure she had influenced FDR to do some ofthe stupid things they said he had done with agriculture, trying
to get the country back on balance. When the local people were
upset with Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath and they piled up copiesof the book and torched them, Grandmother Dick, who read only
the headlines in the papers, thought it was another of FDR's
crazy programs, inspired by Eleanor. She threw down the paper.
"Buck!" she yelled at my father. "Look at this! There will be no
raisins this year! They're burning the grapes!" That Eleanor!

Summer/Fall'994

57

I knew Eleanor didn't cook. Didn't have to. All those servants! Everybody always said the Roosevelts were like the Royal
Family. None of them cooked! I began to have a fantasy of Eleanor
sitting in the fig tree with me. Eleanor, with her big teeth and herHyde Park accent. Eleanor always wore a dress. I couldn't imagine Eleanor in J.e. Penney jeans, or a cowboy hat.
I had dreams of Eleanor ascending the fig tree in a long black. skirt, her purse clutched in one hand. A square black purse
clutched in one hand. A wide brimmed hat sat on her head at justthe proper angle. And she grinned her toothy smile at me as she
arrived at the large branch where it forked, about eight feet off
the ground. She settled herself in the crotch and said, ''Well now,
Patsy. Let me tell you, though you may not think so just now,
everything will be all right. You needn't think about husbands
and babies and trying to figure out when peas should go on thestove if they are to finish at the same time the fish does ... " I would
sit there, holding onto a branch, swinging my legs, and trying tocover my skinned knee with just one hand. I was in awe of theGreat Lady and I was hoping we wouldn't be caught. My folks
wouldn't like it if they knew I was talking with Eleanor Roosevelt.
I began to populate the tree with certain other people.
Amelia Earhart would be found. She would be found safe onsome South Sea island. She would come down to that squalid
little oil town in the California desert where I sat in Grandmother Dick's fig tree, and she would make a speech. She would
fly in there some day. There was an airport there. There was alanding field with a long runway. There was a shed off to one
side, and it was usually festooned with tumbleweeds that hungonto the rough boards on the downwind side. There was awindsock that often hung limp.
I thought if I was very lucky when Amelia came to Taft, shewould find the old green house on Taylor at the end of the dirt
street, by the big wooden oil derrick and she would climb up into
the fig tree and take me by the hand and look deeply into myeyes. She would remove her helmet and shake her curly hair andthen she would reach over and run her long fingers through myDutch Boy Bob.

58 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

I was in an ecstasy of anticipation. Then she smiled and said,"Come with me./I I climbed down from the fig tree and followed
Amelia into her Piper Cub airplane with the red and white wings
and we flew away. Flew away from Taft.
We lived happily ever after on a large ranch and I had horses
and she had her own private airfield. I didn't cook for Amelia
either. Food materialized as magically as she herself had materialized in the fig tree.
.

•••
Afternoon passed into early evening and, in a slight ruffle ofwind, shadows of fig leaves shifted over the ground at the footof the tree. Not enough wind, probably, to lift the windsock out
at the airfield at the edge of town. I climbed down from the tree
and, taking care not to loosen the scab on my knee, I hobbled overto my own house. Taking care, too, not to jiggle or to knock loose
any of the images I carried in my head . The precious images of
my friends, Eleanor and Amelia.

Summer/Fall 1994

S9

Janny MacHarg

Niche Picking
Over a year ago my niece Sherry phoned about the final resting
place of her mother's remains. Her mother, my sister Claire, wasvery ill in a nursing home. The ashes of my mother Gaga are ina book in a niche at the Chapel of the Chimes. Claire despises ourother sister Chloe and Chloe's beady-eyed little husband Morty.
I also have contempt for them as they hate people of all different
religions and races - and homosexuals, too.
The niche my mother occupies is paid for, and there is room
for three more urns. My niece does not want her mother sitting
next to Chloe and Morty for all eternity. I, as the other sister, havethe power to sign people into Gaga's niche. Sherry wanted me tosign my partner Evie and myself into the niche so that Claire, mymother, Evie, and I would take up all the room and keep Chloe
and Morty out of there. However, Evie insists on her ashes being
scattered, and if she wants that, I want it too.
My brother-in-law Morty died in November 1992 and Chloe
died in January 1993. They were living with their daughter in
Utah. Utah is a dry state. Chloe and Morty had been consuming
a fifth of bourbon a day for the past sixty years. When they werecremated, it took six days each to put out the conflagration. Theirdaughter Deedee put their ashes on her mantel and planned tobring them to the Chapel of the Chimes. She did not know there
was room for four in Gaga's niche. My sister Claire died December 15, 1993.
It has all worked out to perfection so far, thanks to our Higher
Power. The Chapel of the Chimes is terraced. Chloe and Morty
are in a niche that is knee high. Their son, my darling nephew
Michael, killed himself because Chloe and Morty's alcoholicbrutalization of him was too much to bear. His niche is slightly
up the hill- waist high. And, as fate would have it, my motherand Claire are side by side in the Court of the Everlasting on topof the hill at eye level.

60 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

May the gods and goddesses be praised!
Cryptic Note: My niece Sherry told me that her friend Yvettewas scattering her husband's ashes when a small piece of him
flew back and lodged in her eye. She had to be rushed to theemergency hospital. When I tell Evie, maybe she will change hermind - there is still room for two in Gaga's niche.

,

Pat Bond as Lorena Hickock
Ruth Mountaingrove

Summer/Fall 1994

61

MabMaher

The Woman Across the Street
Betty thought my fascination with the woman who lived acrossthe street from me was odd. Each morning at 11:00 this woman sat
down before her window facing the street, her golden retriever
lying along the window bottom on a box covered with a yellow
afghan. From time to time the woman dropped her head as if
taking a rest from the street action by reading a book lying on alap pillow. They sat there, largely motionless, until dusk. Even in
the afternoons when fog came in over Twin Peaks and the tip of
the palm tree before her house blew wildly, they were still there.
Once a day I waved to her from where I sat writing at my deskin the apartment building across the street. Often she would
wave one of her dog's paws at me and I'd catch up one of my cats
to return the greeting until they anticipated the ritual and fled . I
didn't know her name and assumed that she didn't know mine.
This' couldn't be attributed to anonymity in the city for I knew
my San Francisco neighbors on a first-name basis. I just had noneed to know her name; what more could I possibly know about
her if I found out her first name? What difference would it makeif she were Mary or Sally, for I never needed to say her namealoud? As a matter of fact, it occurred to me one day three years
into my living across the street from her that knowing her firstname would destroy some of the intimacy between us and add
in the false premise that we conversed. When I mentioned thatthought one day to my friend Betty who saw her from my window, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Odd. Destroy intimacy, you say?"
So I went into a long monologue as to why names are notnecessarily vital data about people, saying that many names arecanned . anyway, early expressions of parents' post-birth joy orregret. Although Betty loved to talk about words, this was not acompelling topic for her so she started searching in my refrigerator for food and mumbled, "I suppose not."62 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Betty worked as a legal assistant on 24th Street and came to
my apartment during her noon breaks and we chatted aboutproble"m s in our lives. Near my computer I kept a notebook inwhich I wrote down problem sentences which needed sensuous
adjectives and lively adverbs. Betty was a laser I invited to probe
them and suggest details; she magically introduced whole sentences to the words she added as if they couldn't live without her
insertions. She gave adjectives to nouns, shaping them together
with a brilliance neither had alone. She slipped adverbs in besideverbs with such skill they seemed wedded. Betty held in long
inhales as she waited for "the words she wanted, making me
worry that one day one of my sentences would kill her.
I often felt that if the richness of Betty's language could havebeen shared more in her everyday life she would have received
more tenderness from others. I believed Betty was addicted to
our noon hours because then she found outlets for her expressions of beauty that her life did not offer her.
She came back now munching and sat down asking, "Well,what is vital data about her? If you are as close to her as you claim,
what do you know factually about her?" She drew a string of thecelery stalk down to the bottom and off.
"Not much," I replied. "And yet perhaps more than ... " I was
thinking that I knew more about the woman across the street
than I did about Betty, a fact which troubled me. I knew manyfacts about Betty's life that I had gathered over the months andshe knew hundreds about mine. Most of them hung onto scaffolds we could have named "life's problems."
This day Betty wanted to pin me down on what I knew about
the woman across the street. I knew some things: her being awhite-haired woman about 80, visited often in the mid-afternoon by a nun in habit, a friend to her golden retriever, a reader,
generally pleasant, undisturbed by fog and most likely a Catholic(for a priest came to see her), and housebound as far as I could tell.
"So that's it after three years of waving to her?""Yes," I said. Then I added, "But I know much more about
her. And why do you want to know what I know about her
anyway?"Summer/Fall 1994

63

"It amazes me how close to her you feel."
The discussion ended there for Betty shuffled her feet as if
wanting to move the topic somewhere else. I wanted to go on at
length on how quantitative measurements are often used to determine intimacy, as if adding up all the facts known about a person
equals knowing him or her. I wanted to ask her if she felt that all
facts about people are observable or if some, unnoticed, can slip
in at you through the heart? I wished to question why there wasso little real intimacy between us. But Betty was enjoying celery
and didn't seem to want that wreck~d by any philosophicalruminations .
About a month later the woman disappeared from her window. I thought she had gotten ill and so one afternoon I watched
for the nun to corne, then approached as her car pulled in to ask
if the woman was ill. The nun brusquely replied, "No, Morn's
just hanging out in the back room now. She's had a deep loss."
I walked back across the street, wondering why I hadn't
concluded before that the nun was her daughter. But who had thewoman lost? There was no evidence anyone lived there with her
but maybe a sister or son or friend somewhere had died .
It carne to me later in the middle of writing about my cats: anawareness that landed like a thud on sad, leaden feet. She lost herdog, her golden retriever. Why had I not known that? For if shewere in sorrow for anyone else, she wouldn't have deprived her
dog of the window. She loved him far too much to do that.
The next day I saw the daughter and asked if her mother's
dog had died and this time, in a congenial tone, she told me thedetails of the dog's death. Her mother had gone to bed one nightwith the dog at her feet and had awakened the next morning,
stretched out her foot to play with him and felt his body cold andhard. It had shocked her, scared her into retreating into a rear
bedroom. Her mother had always before had time when she lost
someone to death and she had lost many. This death of her dog
was wi.t hout warning, a shock that sent her into a depression thatwould not lift.
I knew now that I had a sad fact to blend in with the others
that I knew about my neighbor: she was not who I thought she

64 sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

was. She was capable of depression.
I grew aware then that this relationship I had with the woman
was about images. I felt guilty that I had a picture in my mind of
who she was, a picture that was permanently framed inside her
small window and my mind. Who she really was seemed unimportant to me. I was bouncing an image off her, using her like theback of a handball court against which I cast my hopes. about
aging. She was stability when I became old; I didn't wish for any
other particulars about her because I wanted all the facts about
her to fit my image, no more and no less. With the exception ofher attachment to the Catholic church and likely her non-lesbianidentity, she was who lone day was going to be, so why mess upthat serene image with facts which challenged it?
Across the street had become a safe distance to place an imageof aging for I couldn' t yet build one out of the circumstances of
my own life. At 60 years of age, I had hundreds of facts about
aging, all carefully selected as one does an insurance policy,
knowing the big things that are covered but scanning the fineprint. I had become an avid reader of articles on seniors. Few ofthem proved comforting; most omitted mention of lesbians. I
often thought, how many hopeful facts would it take to make animage that would comfort me in old age? 1000, 2000?
A t any rate I didn' t see the woman. I began to think of old age
as barren with losses which send one retreating into the backro ms of w hat life is left. A short time later I turned my desk toeliminate any view of the woman' s house.
As usu al Betty came over to help me w ith my w riting but
didn' t a k about the oman. Then one day she commented, "So
now your fe, facts no longer ha e a figu re to cling to."I 1 oked ou t my"\ ind ow, hoping the woman would appeart r fute B tt ' , ord .
She ch w on a ra cucumber. "That was a cheap shot, huh?
ou ju t ha e an other fact. She' not there for you now."
11
tart d own m face and I thought how 110 ed people"\! h "\! ere not ther for me, wa back to w hen I was a little girl.
am in arthriti pain 0 mu h of the time, Grandma blind and"l , n Da
un hI to hear me ph icall or emotionally.

Summer/Fall 1994

6S

I had grown up in a family whose members were all lost ininward, individual pain. This woman across the street whom I
had made into an image was there for me, telling me that old age
at least is a time of peace.
I believed the pain I felt would just go away. And to tell thetruth, as time went on the image eroded and I wasn't aware that
I had relegated it to any back room of my mind. I was sure I had
numbed her out, as one can any image of hope.
But I went on writing and Betty continued· to fill in thesensual details.
Weeks later I glanced out my window and saw a small tailwagging in one corner of the woman's window. My god, I thought,
can this be? The woman must have come back with a new dog.
Then the body of a puppy, one leg totally white and the otherbrown-spotted, leaping up and down off the box, came full view
into the window. Soon after came the woman to seat herself therewith a cup of beverage on the sill.
Stunned, I sat there, then moved full view into my window
to begin waving wildly. She attempted to pick up the puppy's
paw to wave, then shook her head in a gesture of it-is-impossible. She bent over laughing and came up waving her own hand.
I waved back for the longest time. I didn't know what to dowhen I stopped. I paced my room and went through a pile of old
writing. Then I decided to call Betty but I got her answeringmachine. I said into it as steadily as I could, "Hi, Betty. The
woman across the street has just come to her front window witha new little puppy." I paused, unsteady, wanting to cry. "1 wanted
to tell you that soon I'll have more data about her." At that, themachine's curt buzzer sliced my words off. I thought that was
just as well for my voice broke as I continued, "I'm going over tofind out who she really is. You know, things about her that won't
fit into my bare-bones image."
I fantasized Betty somewhere off in her office, startled by myadmission of change, which I knew she couldn't even hear. Evenso she would still have a new, semi-formulated fact intimate to
me to ponder.

66 sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

Frances Lorraine

A Day in the Life of One Old Dyke
As I leave her mountain home, my daughter hugs me and says,"I feel really grateful I've got a seventy-one year old mom who
is young enough to babysit her six year old grandson." Driving
home in the early morning light through the Merced River Canyon on a road I know so well, I ponder her remark. She meant it
as a compliment, so why do I find it faintly patronizing? I know
I am an old woman. I like being old. Perhaps there is a tiny partof me that doesn't accept aging.
Today is my afternoon at Coming Home Hospice. My daughters say that four years as a massage volunteer at the hospice havechanged me - I take it they mean for the better. Admittedly,
spending an hour in wordless communication with people whoknow they are dying - gazing into eyes filled with pain andwonder, touching and stroking emaciated bodies - has altered
my way of thinking. Living thirty or forty years beyond whatsome of the young people will ever know makes me more appreciative of whatever years I have left. I want to give somethingback to them, even if it is just love. Or simply loving touch.
I cross the Bay Bridge at 11:30 a.m. and head forSan Francisco's
Mission district where I live. Waiting for the light at Valencia and16th Streets, I watch the denizens of my neighborhood in theirusual diversity of costumes and skin colors. My nostrils are titillated by delicious odors of meat smoking on grills and simmering salsa piquante, and I realize I am hungry. At home I greet thecats, change and fix lunch. I like living alone, if you can callliving in a small condo with two cats, one of whom reads mymind, living alone.
At 12:35 I leave home and walk the eight blocks to the hospice. Barely in the door, I meet Cynthia. She asks for a massage,and I follow her to her room. Her boyfriend is on his way out andsays he will call her. Closing her eyes, she lies down on her bed,
her silicone breasts making two stiff peaks on her chest. Cynthia

Summer/Fall 1994

67

is in the process of changing her gender but has not yet had therequisite surgery - it seems unlikely that she ever will.
I stroke in silence until suddenly her phone rings. She opens
her eyes instantly, grabs the phone and says, "Yes - uh-huhyes - uh-huh - I love you too," and hangs up. As she lowers herhead, she looks at me, her dark eyes swimming behind thicklenses, and says, with a woman-to-woman shrug of the shoulders, "Men!" I smile and nod, amused, but saddened to think ofher short life as a man trying to be the woman he believes he is.
I move on to old friends and new patients I haven't met
before, and soon it is 5 0' clock, I am exhausted, and I must write
down the time spent with each patient before I leave.

•

68 sinister wisdom #53 -•Old Lesbians / Dykes

Walking horne I am in a familiar altered state, floating about
an inch above the sidewalk, drained but exhilarated, seeing
everything around me in brilliant color, hearing sounds, but ina calm, serene place inside myself. This doesn't happen every
time I leave the hospice, maybe one in four, but when it does I am
all loose limbs and rippling muscles, feeling totally relaxed andinexplicably elated.
At horne, I flop in a chair, put my feet up, and fall asleep fora while. When I wake, I shower, change and head to North Beachfor dinner with a friend who cooks a la Fran<;aise in what is still
an Italian neighborhood. We drink a little wine, tell each otherstories of our lives, smoke some grass and enioy her wonderfulcooking. Later we take a postprandial stroll with her dog, then shewalks me to my car and I leave, reflecting on the pleasures of having
friends and lovers who are my own age - or at least over sixty.
Driving horne along the Embarcadero with its spectacularnight views, I recall arriving from the east coast twenty years ago
and being driven over the bridge at this time of night, enchantedby the glittering city lights, and having the overwhelming feeling that I was coming horne. I remember how sweet and accepting my daughters were when I told them their mother was now
a militant lesbian feminist. Two admirable women I would loveeven if we weren't related.
Moonlight fills my room as I undress. When I was a kid I used
to look up at the heavens and wonder what was out there, why
I was here, why anybody was here. I still cannot quite grasp theidea of infinity, but I believe that we are here for no reason that
we can know. We live and we die the same as a blade of grass oran elephant, and we go back into the earth and· nourish it - orshould - like everything else on the planet.
As I stretch out on my bed under the duvet, waves of unconsciousness flowing over me, I think of Diana, a twenty-sevenyear old woman I met today who is dying of AIDS. She asked fora full body massage, her silky, ivory skin unblemished except for
the needle marks in her arms, the ugly scars on her wrists. As I
slide into sleep, I remember the fear I saw in her eyes, and I hope
her spirit will find peace in the death she seems to have been
seeking.

Summer/Fall 1994

69

Elizabeth Freeman

Is It Only Genes?
When I talk about how healthy I am, someone always says,"Oh, you inherited good genes." If so, how do you account for myfour siblings - a sister dead from breast cancer, a brother deadfrom diabetes, a sister well but her colon lost to cancer andanother sister hardly breathing with emphysema. And what
about me? Seventy-four. Never been ill in a hospital. The mostserious illness I've had is the flu. Never broken a bone. Sexuallymore active than ever. Closest to my normal weight I've everbeen. While I worked at a paying job I never collected a dollar
from my health insurance. When I retired I collected a full year's
worth of unused sick leave (180 days). I took off only what I
called my "mental health days."
I have been aware of maintaining good health since I was
fifty when I started doing yoga and taking calcium and vitaminsupplements. Then I hit my seventies. I started taking it easy. I
felt myself slowing down. Well, you're getting old, I said tomyself. I gained some weight, started having aches and pains,
got short of breath, had bouts of depression.
My doctor thought I might have a heart condition; my bloodpressure was pretty high. Nope, my heart was fine. He suggested
I take an exercise program for three months. I started going threetimes a week. I knew I needed exercise; however, there wasalways something more important to do than walking. I walked
past the stationary bike a dozen times a day and never saw it.
Structure was what I needed.
I've been in an exercise program three times a week for a year
and a half. I lost the flab and built up my muscles. I needed not
only aerobic exercises, but weight training as well. The latest
research indicates that muscles can be developed well into oldage. It has been shown that some women in nursing homes using
wheel-chairs for years have started walking after a series of weightlifting exercises. So, I began.

70 sinister wisdom #53 - O ld Lesbians / Dykes

Today I feel ten years younger and am stronger than I havebeen in my life. I have a lot of energy, sleep better, and haven't
been depressed since I started the program. Best of all, I am told
I can look forward to many more years of vigorous health, walking, and dancing.
Four years ago I fell in love with a woman six years younger
than I. This relationship has been the most wonderful thing tohappen to me in my life. We don't live together, but we spend thebetter part of nearly every day together. I rejoice that I am alesbian, financially secure, healthy and happy with a strong,
supportive lesbian community.
Many young lesbians worry about being in a nursing homeamong heterosexuals. They talk about establishing an Old Dykes
Home. However, when I talk to old dykes about this, they almost
unanimously reject the idea. I believe an old lesbian ghetto is no
better than the sunbelt communities where one seldom sees achild. Intentional communities, such as those planned in the cohousing movement, include a diverse group of residents. The
cooperative apartment I live in was planned with old lesbians in
mind. Now it houses three old and four young women.
Luck, genes, food, exercise and sex have contributed to mygood health. For me old age has been the best of times.

Summer/Fall 1994

71

Joan Miller

Yes, A Happy Heart Attack
After chorus, the night before my heart attack, I drove by myex's. I didn't know why. My hands wouldn't warm up, even in
my armpits. In my journal the last words were, "Am I coming
down?"The next morning the alarm went off at six, time to get up andswim. I didn't feel like it. I thought, "I'm retired - I don't haveto," and stayed in bed. But I did have to move the car before eightbecause Thursday is street-cleaning day on our side.
I parked the car two blocks away, too far from the curb, I saw
when I got out. I went back, parked it right, and started to walk
home. As I stepped off the curb, I felt heartburn that I couldn't
burp away. And then, carrying nothing heavier than the car keys
and simply strolling down a slight incline, I got a killer heart
attack that pressed on my breastbone like a boulder and pushed
into my left arm down to the fingers. I'd read about that.
Worse than the pain was the rising nausea . I barely made it
back to the bathroom before exploding at both ends. I collapsedon the couch in a terrible sweat, pants still around my ankles, andfell sideways to rest. But I decided to call Kaiser first.
I pulled up my pants, found the phonebook, squinted atthose tiny numbers, and punched them in.
"I think I'm having a heart attack. Can I talk to an advice
nurse?"The operator shouted at me! "If you think you're having aheart attack, call911! No advice!!" And she hung up!
I did what that wonderful woman said . Then I called 911 backbecause I'd forgotten to give my name. The sirens started rightaway, and they were coming toward me, for me, a sparkling bannerof so·u nd. I got my Kaiser card. I opened the door. I sat down.
First came the firemen, handsome, tall, silent, and smiling,
black giants against my bright morning windows. Then camethe paramedics, one unwrapping an oxygen mask while asking,72 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes"On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is the pain?""Eight," I guessed. It didn't seem very scientific. The little
pile of litter left behind showed me later that they had also used
a tourniquet, needles, nitroglycerine.
'We're ready to go." They put me in a small red chair withlittle wheels, took off my watch, put my purse in my lap, andtilted me back. "No, you don't need a jacket. It's warm out."
I was rolling toward the elevator. "Would you flush the toilet,
please?" I asked a fireman.
In the lobby, they slipped me onto a gurney and popped me
into the ambulance. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is the pain?""Six."''Drive slow," said the big paramedic. He put a strip in mymouth and radioed · Kaiser. Another strip and we were there,
heads popping out of Emergency to greet us, people all over me
as soon as I was inside.
Somebody said, "On a scale of 1 to 10 -"I don't know what miracles they worked. I learned that heart
attack management is superb now if they can get you soon enoughand administer some substance that dissolves the clots choking
the heart (I think). My pain was easing but my lips and tongue
were so dry (a side effect of nitroglycerine) that I was begging forwater, even a wet cloth, while they were trying to revive my
blood pressure and pulse.
Soon I was in ICU, the Intensive Coronary Unit, facing agreeting group in my single room. "Who's your personal doctor?" asked a gorgeous young woman who I hoped was a dyke.
"I don't have one. I just moved back to The City."'Well, you do now! she said, and I felt like a kid chosen fora team - adopted - thrilled. A woman in a white coat from
Emergency was still with me, smiling, and my beautiful malenurse with a ponytail was already taking care of me. He put wires
all over me, needles in me, a catheter up me, and a hose in mynose, but none of them hurt. A permanent blood pressure cuff
squeezed my arm every few minutes, and I slept while a blackcolumn of monitors flashed green lines and numbers to the pros.
My vacation had begun.

Summer/Fall 1994

73

People find it hard to believe I really enjoyed my heart attack,but I have always loved the care and the company in hospitals.
This time I learned that a heart attack is not nearly so painful as
giving birth, which, on a scale from 1 to 10, I would call SO. And
it doesn't last a quarter as long. And my time in Kaiser-SF'scritical coronary unit was so healing and interesting and funny
and complicated that it was much more pleasure than pain. I
wish I could have understood all the medical procedures, buteven the small ones fascinated me. Do you know they take yourtemperature in your ear now, measure the oxygen in your blood
with some kind of clothespin on your finger?
And the people you meet! I was going to say there weregorgeous homosexuals but the heterosexuals were way above
average too; it was a privilege to be admitted to that company. My
night nurse, for instance, had a PhD. in electrical engineeringand played five instruments, including piano and cello!
I asked her if I could have died.
"Yes," she said, after a slight hesitation. "You saved your own
life by calling so fast."
Her words reverberate in my mind. They make me feel freeand strong. But she also said men don't - won' t - call fastenough, insisting the pain is merely indigestion, and delaying
until the damage is fatal.
When I graduated to transitional care, I had a room with aview, a roommate with stories to tell, great food, and the continuing fascinating mix of people who work at Kaiser, people you canreally talk to, laugh with. I kept laughing and falling in love all
week, a wonderful way to feel at seventy.
In addition, news of the attack brought old friends and new
to my side. Calls came from all over, including the East Coast, theEast Bay, the North Bay, the Valley. Dottie invited me to submit
to Sinister Wisdom. Ruth came from GLOE to be my first visitor.
Margaret, from the swim team, brought flowers . Clarke andSarah ·p romised short, rehabilitating walks. And Jeanne told me
to write about this whole experience, which has felt not diminishing but actually enriching.

74 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Mary Flick

Unfinished Letters
January 1993
Dear friends and relatives,
Starting on November 22nd, 1992, I've been in and out of thehospital with a series of traumatic episodes and as a result everyone has been concerned and worried about me. Some of you haveheard the gruesome details. I shall spare you the worst parts but
the fact was that on Sunday Nov. 22, my son Peter and I had justbeen to church. I was driving and Peter was along as he planned
on working on a dent in the new Mazda my partner Ginny andI had just bought. I was stabbed with a horrendous pain in mylower abdomen - couldn't drive - Peter took over and we
ended up at Mt. Zion emergency room. I had a perforated intestine, it was decided, and surgery was scheduled for the next day.
Skipping the intensive care episodes, I discovered that I had
a colostomy, which could be "reversed" in several months. The
good news is that the intestine was not malignant, but a spot wasseen on my left lung. It hadn't been on a previous X-ray.
After 13 days in Mt. Zion Hospital, healing nicely we thought,
I came home. In a few days I was so short of breath I had to go
back into the hospital where it was discovered, after more tests,
that I had blood clots in my legs and lungs. So an "umbrella" wasplaced into my abdomen to keep further clots from my lungs andI was put on blood thinner and kept in hospital for 10 days until
it was decided I could again go horne.
After a few days horne, I awoke one morning with a severe
chill and then a high fever. OK - another trip to the doctor,
another hospitalization to find that I had an infection in myblood needing an antibiotic for at least a month. So after another10 days in the hospital I am now horne with an IV setup, and anurse comes daily to give me an IV for an hour.
Next week I will go into the outpatient clinic to start anevaluation and new treatment for the spot on the lung - whicha biopsy had confirmed was malignant. ...

Summer/Fa li 1994

75

February 1994
The middle of February 1993, Ginny and I went on our usual
annual retreat to Wildwood with our 19 women friends, Women
with Wings. We had a wonderful time although I was pretty tired
and couldn't participate in everything.
Further tests had to be done to see if I was strong enough tostand lung surgery and a minor operation was performed to test
lymph glands in my chest. The results didn't show malignancy,
so on February 26th I underwent surgery and the upper lobe of
my left lung was removed. However, further tests of the lymph
glands were suspicious and it was decided that radiation shouldtake place on my chest - as an outpatient at the Tumor Center.
This took six weeks, five days a week, 30 times I reported to theCenter. I withstood the radiation well- didn't become nauseated and didn't lose any weight. That ended on June 1st and I felt
wonderful. The back surgery for the lung removal finally healed.
It was a slow, painful process, but I felt well enough to plan a trip
to see my daughter and her family in Port Townsend, Washington. Ginny and I flew up for the 4th of July weekend and had awonderful visit. We were taken out on the Sound one day in a
new motor boat. We also went to a great "fiddle" concert.
We had planned a vacation in August with Ginny's sister,niece, and cousin from New York. A reservation for two cabins
had been made for the last week of August at Big Sur Lodge.
Ginny's sister Jerry brought her ten-year-old grandson John
along, too. I began to have a worrisome, aching arm and hip so on
Sept. 9th I saw the oncologist, who ordered a whole body bonescan. When that showed suspicious areas, an MRI was done,
which revealed that the cancer had metastasized. There was a
new tumor in my left shoulder and two in my lower back. So two
more weeks of radiation were undergone on the two areas. This
radiation was stronger, and this time I became nauseated and thepain did not lessen for quite a few weeks . ...

[Mary did not survive to see her work appear in this issue. After yearsof living valiantly with cancer, she died on February 13, 1994 at age
seventy-nine.]

76

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

Ann Stokes

Chalice of GreenThe dense green downed.
Unable to stand up to windthat would not secede, cold
brittled right into its trunk.
This hemlock, with needles more
plentiful than memories, fell
uphill among friends .
Walking in woods all my life
I had seen many fallen.
Giant-stepped over them,Sprawled thighs either side,
Slipped eyes under curledlichen and brown fungus
roofing secret caves. Yet
in my own small countryof pointed firs, this fallcaught on my marrow.
She who loved trees died
under a mountain ash,out-walking her prime. At
ninety-three she had taken
a picnic close to maiden hairrested her head for a maiden
dream put her wedding ringon her right handand slept into death.

Summer/Fall 1994

This woman, my Mother,spent her life longing for light; transformed
when she touched, oh brief seconds.
It was she who sat me at three
in the pine needles, to heardark silence catch lightthrough heaven-fed limbs.
Her dream became vision,lightening my grief down thehemlock's root through richearth into magenta, magnified
and magnificent.
My rushing heart
carries this body, without restraint,
to a chalice of green
where moss thickens, loss deepens.

7778 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians I Dykes

Grear Greene

Friends of Dorothy
This past year I have attended three memorial services fO.r blacksisters or, as they used to say in the old days, "friends of Dorothy"- meaning that the women were lesbians. The services focusedon esteeming these women, recognizing their intelligence, creativity, productivity, success, and their capacity to love. The
women were recognized also as having had successful relationships, intimate and interpersonal, with other black women andtheir partners. One woman was out to her family and the world.
The other two were not.
During the memorial services, several of us took turns tellinghers tory accounts about each of the women's lives, recognizing
our personal sense of loss and the greater loss to the community,in that each had died relatively young without having achieved
all her goals or having impacted her society or the general community in a manner in which she would have preferred.
Some of their family members attended the special memorialservices; each family preferred to have a funeral service in the
church of choice in their community. I attended one of the funerals
and experienced the entire service as a bad joke. Lots of wailingand crying about the loss for the family in general, very little said
about the woman as a viable, loving person with an intimate personallife - a life far above the heavy emphasis the family choseto place on the woman having been a good daughter and a hard
worker. No one acknowledged that the woman was also a lesbianin a fifteen-year relationship with a loving companion and friend- a woman, incidentally, not invited to attend the funeral.
I began to think about myself and the many other black
lesbians who no doubt will live and die without ever having
received special recognition or having been esteemed as persons
by their own families. I began to think how I had for many years
engaged in a rather collusive rela tionship with my family andmany of my close friends. Many times I would fake an interestSummer/Fall 1994

79

in their prearranged blind dates for me with men. I would often
roll my eyes and wink when asked about my sex life or thecurrent man in my life. It was easier for them to associate me withmales, real or imagined, in order to suppress real concerns about
my never bringing males home for family members to meet. We
all played the game, pretending I was like all the other black
women in my family and the immediate community.
I did not feel comfortable coming out, and for a long time
didn't even know how to come out. In my youth in the black
community, an out lesbian was considered to be at the verybottom of the varying levels of low-life. I learned this lesson
early when a woman in the community returned home afterWorld War II and began to dress like a man and drive a taxicab.
She was the pariah of the community and, even as children, wewere warned not to go near her, talk to her or accept any gifts fromher. I don't remember much about this woman other than that
she was always alone. I never recall seeing her with any other
women or men.
I was an extremely parent-identified child and assumed therole of caretaker at an early age. I was assertive, self-directed, andeager to please. No one had to tell me to straighten up and be a''big girL" I taught myself. I began working at age ten at odd jobs
such as babysitting and helping to care for older women in thecommunity. Later, I was the first in the f<tmily to support myself
and get a college education, undergraduate and graduate, and to
take a job as a white-collar professional.
I became a financial resource to my family at an early age. The
harder I worked, the more money I contributed to the householdand/ or lent to familial borrowers who gave little thought torepaying me or esteeming me for my successful management ofmoney. I was the one who remembered and gave gifts for special
occasions, birthdays, etc., to be remembered myself by the family only at times of financial need. My sense of success became
counterfeit in that my value was based on the amount of myfinancial contribution to the family. This was because of mysuccess and the fact that I was single, not a parent, and notpartnered with a male.

80 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbia ns / Dykes

By the time I was thirty, my role as family banker had beenwell-established. Family members knew that if they had a financial crisis, they could come to me for assistance. Emotional blackmail - exclusion from specific family gatherings - was often
used to keep me tied to the financial needs of the family. If I did
not share my income in certain ways, then I was not included as
a viable member of the family. Family members no longer asked
me why I wasn't dating or why I engaged in most social activities
alone or with other women.
When people outside my family asked why I wasn't married,family members would quite pridefully remind them that I was"too smart" - meaning intelligent - to put up with a black man.
Everybody would laugh, including me. When I was not in goodfinancial standing, I would often be the butt of other family
jokes about "funny people." Mine was the sad-funny type oflaughter because as a youth I was often reprimanded for being"too smart" - meaning independent.
At thirty-five, with four years of successful therapy under
my belt, I learned how to say no and began closing all accounts
to family members who requested financial assistance. Thisbehavior definitely placed me in a new role. Anticipating rejection on a grand scale, and experiencing some sense of loss, I was
totally surprised at the outcome. When I refused to continue tocontribute to the financial success of family members, there wasno remaining avenue for interaction or exchange. I was shocked
to realize the amount of internalized rage caused by my dysfunctional role within the family. When I began to manifest the anger,
I also began to feel better about myself.
At about that time, I moved to California and began what I
call learning how to love myself, share my closet, and be a lot
more open and active in my community. I built significant bridgesof friendship with the black and white women in my community. I gave new focus to my work; my self-esteem soared and I
was on my way.
I created a family for myself - or, rather, a family of choice
formed around me - and I was freed up to the extent that I no
longer had to mentally look over my shoulder, wishing andSummer/Fall 1994

81

wondering if I was loved and if I would reconnect with myfamily of origin in a newly productive manner. From age fortyfive to fifty-five, I focused primarily on my life-style and role asa black lesbian in the black/white community.
I found that the black community often induced the same
pain and anguish that I experienced in my family. I am strongly
aware of the penalties the black community extracts from me.
The community views me as a misfit because I am an assertive,
self-directed, self-loving, independent woman - traits that would
be acceptable in the black community if I weren't a lesbian, traits
seen as positive in heterosexual black women but viewed as
male when exercised by me.
Those attitudes and ideas about lesbians are expressed in thenegative behavior of heterosexual females and males. The markof oppression lies heavy on my shoulders: homophobia on one
side and racism on the other. At age sixty, I am mastering walking
the middle line and have tempered my mettle to deal with theoppression on both sides of me.
I hope my story will serve as a source of empowerment to freeother lesbians from the burden of the yoke I have borne for solong - free them to make friends, interact with their chosencommunity, expand themselves and realize that we can create
our own families. I hope more black lesbians will or alreadyrealize that relationships with relatives can be maintained without having to surrender one's identity or true sense of self.

82 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Vashte Doublex

Ageful Equals Rageful
It's no accident that I am editing a newsletter for old lesbians and other women with the new title We are VISIBLE.
Being invisible is one of many rages. First as an inunigrant,
then as working class, as a woman, as a wife, as a lesbian and now
as old.
Sometimes I say to myoId friends, "And what do you do withthe rage?" and they nod, shrug or laugh at my audacity.
In the '70s, when the women's movement was in full swing
and I came out as a lesbian, one of my favorite statements was,"I can be angry at anything you care to speak to me about!" Allthe pent-up rage of years of sitting on myself in so many aspects,
shaping myself into the required image, holding in my stomach
and my very being.
Eventually even the anger got stale and, like so many of us,
I tired of the struggle and wanted to love and be loved, to savemyself and the planet in a less aggressive way. The systemeagerly awaited to incorporate me while 12-step and other programs enticed me with promises of peace and serenity.
But it's not working.
I've been sweating for twenty years, more even. And why do
I sweat? I am told it's MENopause. I have often talked myself
into believing that it is connected with shame about my origins.
Once, in my radical days, I researched the depletion of adrenalin
due to women's constant fear and anxiety living in a patriarchy
where she is constantly subjugated. At one time this gland produced and excreted estrogen, thus naturally replacing the estrogen which no longer came from the ovaries. But the research got
lost somewhere in our efforts to take full responsibility forourselves and quit blaming men. Am I sweating out my rage?
At the grand age of 67 I am still working a 40 hour a week job
I'd leave tomorrow if I had enough to live on. The reward for ten

Summer/Fall 1994 83

years' work is a pension of $650 a month - at the age of 70. GuessI didn't plan my finances right, make the right investments, savemore, work harder. So it's all my fault, isn't it? Could this be areason for rage?
My work is with ordinary people, most of them living on
what is called "welfare." In Canada, it's called a pension, something a person deserves after working all their lives, received
without the humiliation of reducing themselves to abject poverty. With that as a shadowy model, it's small wonder that manyof us go into old age with the ogre of poverty as companion. Thatfear keeps me separate from my companion lover as we both
work out our time in different parts of the country. Rage!
I'm angry about the new age salve which attempts to muteout my rage. If only I would meditate more, do affirmations,practice yoga, give up chocolate and coffee, if only I would be a"real" vegetarian, grow my own vegetables, spend less, live in acabin in the country. It's not that I don't believe in these and try
to do and be them. It's that my rage is important too and I want
it to be valued in this new age.
It keeps me on my toes around all important feminist issues
and I am grateful for it. I don't want it to be a contradiction tocompassion and love. For me it is the Yin Yang of staying ahealthy happy old lesbian. I use the ocean as my guide. One day
she is so peaceful and calm I can see my face in. her surface. The
next she rages and roars with all the power she holds inside. Thatis how I am too.

84 sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

Catherine Nicholson"The View After 70 Is Breathtaking" *In Camino Real** (the play, not the place)there's a sound - a man-made sound - alarming
the arrival of the clownish scavengers:
It's time

it's time look out

look out!

(it's not a whistle, but it's shrill
Two notes which two? C sharp? G sharp?
I'm tonedeaf - No flats, I know no flats!)
In the mountain town where I lived before,
it startled the rock doves from their daily
Quaker meeting on the high wire outside my window
a slow-moving ponderous vehicle lurching up
my solemn hill
warning
It's time it's timelook out look out!

(it's a horn - yes, a horn, but which one?
oboe? saxophone? No. two .notes like breath
an iamb - a dactyl- a trochee? I can't recall
where's the Book?
I've lost the Book?)
Now in this southern city where the cicadas drown
all other night sounds, I'm startled awake It's coming - where? which street? Up Acacia acrossMinerva down Gloria -* The title is from William Maxwell's Billy Dyer and Other Stories (New York:
Knopf, 1992). This is the first piece of an unfinished series of reflections onlife in my seventies.
** By Tennessee Williams

Summer/Fall 1994

It's Time

8S

it's Time look Out look Out!

(If I can name it, if I can hear it exactly, if I can snatch

the precise words from my memory, if I can bring my palate
my teeth, my tongue, my lips, my breath, my brain together
at the right moment to tell you all, allofyou whatitis-)
then
well,
that's it.

Baba Copper
Writer: Over the Hill, Reflections on Ageism Between Women

Elaine Mikels

86 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Ruth Mountaingrove

One Old Lesbian's Words

I did not become a lesbian until I was 48. At the sam~ time, I
moved from the east to the west coast where I have spent mylesbian life. What caused me to move 3000 miles? Why, love, ofcourse. Love I had dreamed and fantasized about from the time
I was thirty when one day I realized I wanted a woman friend ofmine sexually, a woman who loved me but could not permit
herself such an indiscretion, but twenty years later was quite
upset when I fell in love with a woman who was willing to loveme back sexually. Was willing to share my life.
Before that my life had gradually been changing from suburban housewife with four children to full-time research assistantwith four children to flaming feminist/separatist with two children at college, one graduated from high school, and one still in
the fourth grade, who left for the west coast and began a new life
with me and my lesbian lover in a heterosexual commune.
The commune's emphasis was on Krishnamurti teachings.
Here for the first time I was in the closet. My lover quite rightly
realized the homophobic nature of the community and at first
kept us firmly closeted. Gradually we began to come out to someof the women. Two years later one of the women betrayed us, andwe were expelled from the commune.
Our next home was a 10' x 10' cabin on gay men's (later gay
women's) land. My lover wanted to have a child with me. Thatchild was Woman Spirit, a quarterly magazine we published forten years, with the help of hundreds of women. Later when
Womallspirit was se en years old we added The Blatant Image, afeminist photography magazine. We even had a press, ew
oman Press, which we used to publish a poetry book and a
songbook of mine. All of these publications are still a ailable.
But after fi e ears we were e pelled from that land not becauseof being lesbians but for our feminism. e were uppit womenand that was more than tho e particular ga men could take.

Summer/Fall 1994

87

Having been burned twice putting time and energy into
someone else's land we were able, through a series of fortunate
circumstances, to buy what my partner referred to then as "a rag
tag piece of land" in the mountains of Oregon. Work on the landand buildings over sixteen years has gradually transformed it
into a valuable holding (according to the tax assessor) . This land 'is "Rootworks," which is owned by both of us equally. A place
where women, mostly lesbian, come to visit and sometimes tolive.
My life changed again in 1984 when my partner decided
thirteen years was long enough for a relationship. The publication of both magazines came to an end along with six years of"Ovulars," week-long summer workshops for lesbian photographers. I left Oregon for California where I have lived ever since,
making trips to "Rootworks" where I still have my darkroom,
my study, my desk in the office. Where I still share food with mypartner when I visit.
My life now centers around the coastal towns of Arcata /Eureka. I went back to college here, graduating in 1990 with a
Master of Arts in Photography.
Many lovers later I am now single, 71, an Old Lesbian. I amon the board of our local community television station (ACAT),
work as an RSVP (Retired Senior Volunteer Program) person in
charge of the Ink People's darkroom. Ink People is a local artist
studio group. I have produced feminist and lesbian programs for
KHSU FM for eight years. Locally I have had many photographic
and painting exhibitions, one-woman as well as group shows.
Once in a while I slow down, pace myself, maybe take a day
off. I've noticed that it takes longer to recuperate from a flu orheal from an injury, but I do heal. It takes time and teaches mepatience.
One of the real pluses of living in Arcata is Humboldt State
University where the statewide Over 60's program allows me totake any course the college offers by paying only $3 per semester.
I live on my social security in a federally-subsidized onebedroom apartment in what I call the project. We residents are amix from the very old to the very young.

88 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

I am able to purchase occasional large-ticket items like acomputer and printer by using my savings. Of course, even abrief medical emergency would use up what's left. My partnerand I have talked about putting our land in trust for women. Till
then we are at risk of the state seizing the land if we have an
accident or illness we can't pay for, but so far, I have been able tostay out of hospitals . I credit homeopathy (my doctor is also an
M.D.), a sensible diet and a consciousness of how much energy
I have.
I am out selectively in my town. The college knows I'm
lesbian, the artist and writing community likewise, and of course
the lesbian community, but I don't make a big deal of it at the
project.
It is very difficult to move into 60 and then 70 in a society thatvalues youth and in many cases actively hates age. So how is it
tobe a lesbian at 71? Mostly wonderful. As I approached 70 andthen left it behind there were those cultural promptings that said
70 was really old and what was the use of creating more art,
writing, music when there was so much out there already. Whendeath seems plainly closer in my seventies than it had been in myforties or fifties.
Do I experience ageism? Well so far in my seventies no one
has approached me as a lover though I am just as sexual as I wasat sixty. However, AIDS has made me think more than twice
about a sexual relationship. The thought of dental darns turns meoff. Cuddling has always appealed to me though in my experience, it is difficult for most lesbians for whom cuddling goeswith sex. Very difficult to keep separate. I hope that we lesbians
will evolve some touching and satisfying ways of being witheach other that do not include the risk of death. I have to add,
though, that sex has always been problematic for me. First as ateenager with the parental injunction not to get pregnant. Then
as a married woman with five births, scared that I might become
pregnant again. Now as a lesbian in the 1980s and '90s confronted
with the possibility of AIDS. While it's true that lesbians are thelowest reported risk group, it is also true that we are the invisiblegroup. When I went for an AIDS test, my result was not recorded.

Summer/Fall 1994 89

There was no place on the chart for that information. I thinkunder-reporting has given us a false sense of security.
I see ageism in my life at the DMV where it is assumed thatmy reaction times are slower when actually it is my eyes thathave been my handicap since I was born nearsighted. I hearageism at the clinic or the doctor's office when I am told by thenurse that she hopes to be as spry as I am when she's my age.
When the doctor says whatever problem of mine he's referring
to is normal for my age. Whatever normal is.
But to get back to lovers, let's not forget that Buffy Dunker
came out as a lesbian at 72 when she fell in love with a pitcher ona woman's softball team.
As I get older I find I no longer want to live with anyone on
a 24-hour basis. I enjoy my independence too much for that. But
I pay for it in this coupled society (heterosexual and lesbian)because it means I am single at the movies, art receptions, coffee
houses or parties unless I am lucky arid can invite or- am invitedby someone.
Aging and the limited income of social security mean thateven though I have no trouble getting around, I do not have themoney to do much of it. Which brings us to class, also a problemof aging. Lesbians who have pensions to add to their social
security, or other financial resources, have more options for travel,
housing, entertainment. But rather than being divided by this, I
hope all of us old lesbians, from poor to upper class, will join
together to change society's ageist attitudes, particularly theageism of young and middle-aged lesbians.
The ovular book on lesbian and feminist ageism is Look Me
In The Eye by Barbara Macdonald and Cynthia Rich. Barbara's
many keynote addresses, always incisive and to the point, and
the West Coast OLD LESBIAN conferences, in 1987 in the Los
Angeles area and 1989 in San Francisco, have made ageism visible
and have been important in changing our own and younger lesbian
attitudes. With the formation of aLOe, "Old Lesbians Organizing for Change," there is work going on on a national basis.
I attended both OLD LESBIAN conferences/celebrations.
Took photographs, and wrote articles for Off Our Backs on the90 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

1987 conference. Took some photographs and sat in on the beginning ·of aLOe in 1989.
I live in a rural area with few old lesbians. My best friend, 61,
just moved away. Other old lesbians are not political. I am left
feelmg much less supported in any fight against ageism. But wemust not accept ageist attitudes as such. We have a right to betreated as who we are, old lesbians in our sixties, seventies,
eighties and however long we live!

BufIY Dunker, 81
Ruth Mountaingrove

Summer/Fall 1994

91

Bernice Ybarra Miller

ANew Love

I've found a new love now
A very jealous, possessive lover
Who steals time away from other pursuits
Who invades my thoughts by day
And robs me of sleep at night
Ideas, and thoughts and stories are my lovers
That long to be put to paper,
That must be told. They cannot wait.
They tumble like a brook down a bank
So impatient, they can scarcely wait to be put on paper
Before they fade away - never to be recaptured.
My lover is a compulsion to write.

92 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Elaine Mikels

In the Prime of My Old Age

A t seventy-two I am going through another midlife crisis. It has

taken me this long to feel my oldness and to face the possibility
that I could be physically, emotionally and financially . dependent on others and that some day I shall die. In my autobiography,
Just Lucky I Guess, it was evident that I saw myself as ageless andlived in a way that eternally made me seem so young. Losing
some of my' hearing ability and finding that my memory is not
sharp were the first signs for me that indeed I was getting old andthat I had better see myself in a more realistic way. This realization didn't mean that I would have to stop living an active life butthat I would have to work harder keeping myself fit and accept
whatever physical or social limitations might confront me. I wasdepressed for several weeks until I saw that I still had many
years ahead of me and that they could be joyous ones if I played
it right.
In the last five years my life has changed radically. One of thebiggest accomplishments I've made is living alone by choice
where I am no longer dependent on a lover for love and validation. With a lover I always fell into a dependent mode. I know I
have felt strongest when I lived alone, traveled on a shoestringin foreign countries or started my own social or political projector organization. In lover relationships I never cultivated friendships and I never learned how to make friends. The old fear of
rejection constantly hovered over my psyche when I would reachout to others and try to connect with them in a deeper way. My
being single now doesn't mean that I hold to a non-couple ideology. It only means I realize how dysfunctional I was in a
primary relationship. I am now challenged to become healthy
before getting involved with a lover again. Living alone, however, has been no easy task. It has been extra hard for me since mylast relationship was an intense and joyous one, and painful forme when we broke up.

Summer/Fall'994

93

To pull myself together, I became involved in the activities
that interested me in the past. I found that it wasn't easy. I justdidn't have the physical stamina to go to four or five meetings aweek, take those long hikes or bike rides, or drive 600 miles a day
when I took trips across the country. Traveling on a shoestring inforeign countries is something I still do though I no longer roughit by sleeping at youth hostels, campgrounds or under bridges.
I like hot water and a private bath and know I'm limited totraveling during the off-season and finding out of the way places.
In the last two years I have spent many hours in a caregivingrole with my sister who is suffering with Alzheimer's. My sister's
illness demands the best of me. I have to learn to be patient,gentle and caring, and not to take things personally or feel manipulated when she constantly changes her mind, has moodswings or makes outrageous demands on me for my time andenergy. My greatest adjustment was seeing my sister - a childgenius, career attorney, activist and super-mom whom I had
always looked up to for strength - deteriorate before my eyes.
In the past, I've protected myself from being involved with theillness of family and friends by living far away from them andnot keeping in touch.
And now I am facing my own illness, leukemia in its earlystage. I'm determined to cure myself. I have believed all my lifein the patriarchal medical profession and was skeptical of natural healing methods. Faced suddenly with my own demise, I had
to change my point of view. I've listened to those who had thisdisease and became open to alternative approaches. I was told to
avoid stress. I consciously did the things that made me feel goodabout myself and helped me stay centered. This meant I had tolearn to be cool and not get upset with my sister's behavior. I also
took stock of what gave me joy. I immediately went to the animal
shelter and brought home a cocker spaniel, which has always
been a favorite breed of mine. Now with Hillary's company, I am
taking long hikes in the Santa Fe foothills as the days startgetting warmer.
During the winter I took advantage of being a "senior" by
getting free installation of cable television. I took the conscious
step of dropping out of groups that were no longer stimulating,94 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

and I stopped seeing people whom I felt didn't care for me orweren't accepting of my politics or lifestyle. I enjoyed the lesbian
discussion group I started where we did a lot of socializing and networking, but later found that I needed to be with people whose
social/political concerns were similar to mine. I found them when
we worked for the passage of a civil rights law that would include sexual orientation, but after it failed we formed the Human
Rights Alliance to get it passed at the next legislative hearing.
One of the most important and stimulating experiences I've
had in the past five years is knowing and working with old
lesbians on the steering committee in OLOe, Old Lesbians Organizing for Change. It has brought my two worlds together: mystrong identity as a lesbian and my social/political activism. My
only regret is that I am unable to find lesbians my age in Santa
Fe who have a perspective similar to that of OLOC members.
Since I am much more in touch with what I like to do, I no
longer feel the need to conform or push my ideas on others. My
friends tell me that I am mellowing out in myoId age, but I stillrefuse to compromise my political ideals. Instead, I have becomeless strident in my approach and avoid taking myself so seriously. I use humor rather than heavy rhetoric to influence others.
What excites me now is how the mass media is embracing
lesbianism and making it more respectable to middle America andseeing many laws being passed to protect our rights. This achievement is in sharp contrast to the '40s and '50s when I was oppressed, thought of as sick and perverted and lost my job for being
a homosexual. I am grateful that as a lesbian I no longer have tolive a double kind of life, although many other lesbians my age
in Santa Fe and elsewhere feel the need to remain in the closet.
Financial insecurity for many lesbians in my age bracket is a
big worry. Living on my social security, which is considered by
the federal government as being below the poverty line, required that I utilize all the entitlement programs I qualified for.
I thought twice before getting a job because medical coverage
and rent in Santa Fe would require an income far beyond myreach. So I've had to radically change my life-style and takeadvantage of 5.5.1., which brings my income up to the poverty
line. I receive a small amount of food stamps, Medicare andSummer/Fall 1994

95

Medicaid, and subsidized private housing. My income did notinclude many of the luxuries I was used to: new clothes, expensive food items (like meat), eating at restaurants and purchasing
books, newspapers or magazines. I've learned to borrow reading
matter and pick up a newspaper in a cafe and volunteer to help
at lesbian events, or usher at concerts and the theater to coveradmission costs.
By living frugally, I can squirrel away enough money to go
snorkeling every two years, which for me is a must. My daily
expenses on such a trip were only a little more than what I spend
at home, so the air fare was the only big expenditure. I now travel
to promote my book, and its sales luckily cover my expenses. I
traded in my car for a mini motorhome and have joined RVing
women. It's a delight to be meeting and talking with lesbians
and sharing our experiences. I avoid large cities, even though it
would help my sales, for I can't deal with freeways and large
populations. I've become a country dyke. My last twenty-fiveyears have been spent farming in New Mexico, living in thewoods of Oregon or spacing out on the coast of Maine.
r now see myself more as a writer. Writing is a tough challenge for me, but it is a wonderful outlet for my creative energy.
It falls into the same category of other things I have tackled in mylife; starting a halfway house for young mentally ill adults without knowing what I was doing, and years later developing anorganic farm in northern New Mexico, raising goats, chickens,ducks and growing vegetables as well as building my own adobe
house. I learned by doing and listening to the advice of others.
I've never been afraid to try something new, whether it was
traveling in an offbeat manner, or starting a project when I wasa social worker or a peace activist. I'm convinced that even today
in my seventies, this part of my personality is still intact. My
friends were surprised when I decided to publish my book since
I didn't know the first thing about doing it. But after receiving
the tenth letter from a women's publishing company, I said tomyself, "I'm tired of getting rejection slips. To hell with it, I'll
publish it myself." And I did . Now I am engrossed in writing A
Lesbian Journal at Seventy-two which covers the tumultuous yetcreative period of my life from 1988 to 1993.

96 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Rosemary Hathaway

Anniversary

It has been 15 years. That is 780 weeks, 5460 days, or 181,000

hours. Reduced to numbers it is overwhelming, inconc;eivable,
frightening, but those years, those weeks, those days, those hours
have been a gift - the lifeblood of my being.
The excitement of exploration is gone - we have exploredeach other again and again. The newness of experience is gone we know each other well. These things are not a loss - they arelessons well learned.
Oh!! It has not all been good or passionate or rewarding.
There have been times of anger, regret, wanting to leave. There
have been times of no desire, no touching, no intimacy. These
times passed and the sharing, caring loving returned.
We know what delights, we care what delights. We knowwhat offends, we care what offends. The erotica of us is not thesame - there is no longer the unknown. There is safety andpleasure in the knowing. The unexpected does not wield its edge
- the expected is wanted and desired. The excitement of discovery is replaced by the excitement of long loving and everlasting
desire.
I still warm at the unevenness of your walk, the melody of
your laughter, the fire breath you exude when you are crossed. I
still am in wonder at the softness of your breasts, the curve of
your back as it reaches for your buttocks, the sweet smell of yourjuices.

Summer/Fall 1994

97

Carmen de Monteflores

Of Time, Trees, Apples and a River
Five years ago 1 planted an apple tree in the yard in honor of mysixth child. 1 was fifty-five then and she was just six months old.
Last Fall 1 counted thirty-six apples on the tree, not counting theones we shared with squirrels and raccoons. 1 am reminded ofthat harvest tonight as 1 lie awake in the middle of the night,
which 1 often do now, hearing a faint crackling and seeing theglow still coming from the log in the fire. My little Ester, whocalls me "mama," loves for me to make a fire. It makes us allEster, her "mommy" Laurie, who birthed her, and 1 - feel as if
we are on vacation. But this fire is special to me in another way:
the slow-burning wood came from the ninety-year-old acacia
near our back fence.
A big tree with dense foliage, it shaded Ester's playgroundand made a deep, soft layer of leaves for the children to scatterand fall on. The acacia had also been the tree from which Andrea,
my youngest child until Ester came along twenty-three years
later, hung a heavy rope and would swing from the top of theneighbor's shed to the grass in a big arc of laughter 'a nd delight.
(I found the rope recently and Andrea hung it up again, this timefrom the date tree, for Ester to climb.) It was also the tree on which
our two yard squirrels chased each other and spied on us andwhere finches, chickadees, robins, jays, mourning doves andmaybe an occasional cedar waxwing and woodpecker left theirsongs, their nests and sometimes a precious feather.
Last Spring, a neighbor, with whom 1 otherwise had poor relations, noticed that the big branch from which the rope had once
hung had a "stress crack." It was fortunate he became aware of it
because it was not visible from our yard and because this branch,which was half as thick as the massive trunk ' of the acacia,
stretched directly over Ester's playground. At first 1 doubted ourneighbor's motives, but when we called the tree serv.ice and foundout what "stress crack" meant, we became as alarmed as he was.

98 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

The branch had to be cut. But, this wasn't all. In the process
of examining the tree, the arborist discovered large fungi attached to the base of the trunk that indicated "crown root rot," aslow decomposing of the core, which would eventually destroy
the tree. He recommended cutting it as soon as possible. A strong
wind, he said, could bring the huge branch crashing down on theswing set and on another neighbor 's property.
A few weeks before Ester was born we had lost a large, although
not as venerable, Monterey pine that shaded the patio. The roots
were too shallow and it was virtually leaning on yet another neighbor's cottage. And last year our pepper tree in front of the housealso lost all its branches under the weight of encroaching ivy.
I love trees, although. I confess to some neglect of the pepper
tree. (Was it graduate school? The younger children leaving home?
Trying to survive years of profound change: a divorce after seventeen years of heterosexual marriage, coming out, going back toschool, setting up a professional practice, the breakup of a tenyear lesbian relationship, a skiing accident and the major knee
surgery that followed?) The news was shocking. We couldn' t
believe it. Our tree was diagnosed with a terminal illness andwas going to die shortly. Within a few days the arborists tiedropes to the large branch to prevent it from falling down in astrong wind. It was painful to see it strung up with lines, like adying patient waiting out its final hours.
On the last afternoon before it was going to be cut, Ester andI gathered all the different kinds of flowers from the yard andspread them at the base of the tree. I hugged it and spoke to it.
Spoke for all the creatures who couldn't say words and who
perhaps couldn't anticipate what was going to happen. (Sucharrogance on my part! Maybe their voices and rituals sustained
and comforted it better than I could .) I imagined the sky without
its leaves, the ground without its shade, the wind without its
branches to dance with, the birds without shelter for their songs
and the squirrels without their playground.
It took three and a half d ays to fell the tree. The arborists wereintrepid and precise, proud of themselves and their skill intaking down this enormous life, their dark silhouettes against

Summer/Fall 199499

the bright light. We suffered this death as all catastrophes areborne, holding to one another, Laurie, my life companion, Ester
and I. The arborists were kind and respectful of our feelings, but
we, and the other creatures of the yard, scattered at the sound of
the saw and the sight of the branches falling, crawled underrocks, ran to other gardens or inside the house. None of us wereable, for weeks, to look at the empty space left in the sky, or tolisten to the silence, or comprehend what the pile of wood meant.
Some pieces were too heavy to move, their hearts and years
exposed cruelly to the sun, transforming too quickly into logs, tobe used, climbed on, stacked, sat on, chopped, and some day,burned.

•••There is yet another tree in my life. It is a flam boyan, flamboyant-tree, Delonix regia, also called "fire tree" in Central America
and "flame tree" or "royal poinciana" in the U.S. As a childgrowing up in Puerto Rico, I used to climb it and play with theflowers and buds in my games. Recently it has returned to me ina different form.
This year my daughter Maria and I decided to create our own
production company to produce my second play and her performance piece. Maria is thirty and I have just turned sixty. For bothof us it has seemed like a very significant year. After somedeliberation we agreed on the name Rio Loiza Productions. We
promptly designed stationery, rented a P.O. box and voice mail,and went about finding out how to create a business.
Rio Loiza means Loiza River in Spanish. Loiza is the area in
Puerto Rico where my mother was raised, on the northeast coastof the island. As far as I know, there is no Loiza River, although
there is a Rio Grande de Loiza, and a Rio Herrerra near the house
where mami, my mother, grew up.
I have never talked much about my history to the children
because I was for many years an assimilated Puerto Rican. I
began to tap into my history about a decade ago when I started
writing stories about abuelita, my grandmother Provi, which later
became the core of my novel, Cantando Bajito / Singing Softly. But

100 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

at the time of that writing, my background was not yet part of the
dialogue and ritual of my relationship with my children, or even
my relationship with myself. It was, in fact, the writing itself thatnecessitated a re-vision of my origins.
Maria and I found out in the past year that Loiza was thename of a cacica, a native woman chief, who lived and ruled in thearea of the Rio Grande de Loiza, an area in Puerto Rico where"some of the most powerful spirits and gods of the islal).d lived"rSteiner, p. 24) and where later there was a strong African influence as well. We also found out that the indigenous people, theTaino Indians, had a matrilineal organization. liThe family name,the ownership of the land and the tribal leadership were inherited through the women." ('Steiner, p. 33.) Rio Loiza then became
for us the source of the stream which connected the cacica, myancestors, abuelita and her forebears, mami (also named Carmen),myself and Maria. As we sat at the kitchen table, we decided that
this matrix of history, meaning and relatedness would serve as
the placenta for Maria's and my creative work.
At the same time as both of us gathered information on thehistory and culture of Puerto Rico, I also began to make sketchesof the various scenes in an effort to make concrete for others what
for me was a very visual play. I had done hardly any drawing or
painting for many years. From childhood to age 36 I had been apainter and art was a huge part of my life. When I stopped
painting I felt an immense loss. I have yet to fully understand thereasons underlying this event.
After the first few sketches one of the images that emerged
was a brilliant flamboyan, which has become an even more central
part of the play than I originally anticipated. More than a symbol,
it is a presence through whose green veins a germinating force runs.
My collaboration with Maria is about relatedness : being in
relation to each 'other as well as relating a story and experiencing
the connectedness that comes from telling, especially telling
who we are.
*Stan Steiner, Islands: The Worlds of the Pu erto Ricans, (New York: Harper
Colophon,1974).

Summer/Fall 1994

101

•••
I watched the tree all summer. Counted the fruit in its branches,tied the ones that were too heavy. Made sure there was no trail ofants on its trunk. Grieved for the fruit blown to the ground bywind and rain. Sat in its shadow planting flowers and pulling
weeds. Watered its roots, its ground.
I watched an apple every morning. Getting big, its green skin
like the belly of a pregnant woman. I smelled it, pressed it when
it was larger than my palm. Looked at the calendar, as if it could
tell me when it was time. Searched around, afraid it was going tofall or be stolen by squirrels, birds, worms, a playful cat.
Today I pulled it off the branch. Felt the weight of all thosemonths in my hand. Held it against my cheek and took a bite.
This tree I dug into the earth to plant gives me what it bears
from its love of sun, its joy of rain and wind. It feeds my blood,
my pleasure, my hunger for union. Blesses my limbs; teaches me
to die.
I want to be like a ripe apple. Learn to be food for other lives.

(('" )
~(
'

,

{
I

\

\

Tree Trunk
Carmen de Monteflores

102 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Shevy Healey

Traveling with Ruth and Shevy

In July of 1992, my partner Ruth and I and our 16 pound cat
started off "to see the country." We decided to give ourselves one
year, surely time enough to indulge our wanderlust: We underestimated. The year has come and gone and we are still on theroad.
With absolutely no experience, we began our journey in a 26'
fifth wheel, which hitches onto a three-quarter ton truck. We
have had to learn all about hitching and unhitching, connecting,maneuvering and backing; most of all, backing! We can now
marvel at our courage, our foolhardiness, our sheer and blessed
ignorance.
We are both on the Steering Committee of Old Lesbians
Organizing for Change (OLOC)1, a national organization of lesbians over 60 determined to confront ageism. From the start,
Ruth and I had the blessings of the OLOC Steering Committee
to be spokespersons for OLOC and to meet with as many old
lesbians as we could find . This has added a special richness anddepth to our travels. Our OLOC contacts have enabled us to meet
and talk with countless numbers of lesbians about our lives, thestate of lesbians, of old lesbians and of the world itself. We havevisited with a variety of lesbians, from life long to just coming
out at 70, from having thirteen children and grand- and gteatgrand-children to never having any, from having severe disabilities to being jocks. We have made many friends, and for someone
who doesn't like to read short stories because endings come tooquickly, one of the wrenches of our travels is having to say somany goodbyes.
Ruth and I have been the honored guests of some twentythree lesbian gatherings in fourteen states in which I facilitated
1 To be a Member or a Supporter of OLOC, or to get some of its educational
material, contact OLOC at: PO Box 980422, Houston, TX 77098.

Summer/Fall1994

103

workshops on ageism. These groups have been organized by old
lesbians in various parts of the country, gathering together anywhere from five to thirty-five old lesbians to begin an OLOC
group, or to simply talk about ageism.
OLOC has only been in existence less than five years. It was,after all, the Number 10 Summer 1979 issue of Sinister Wisdom,which first published Barbara Macdonald's "Do You Remember
Me?"2 and Baba Copper's "Notes from the Fifty-Ninth Year. 3
These articles marked the beginnings of the consideration ofageism in the lesbian and feminist communities, leading to theFirst and Second West Coast Conferences by and for Old Lesbians and the establishment of OLOC in October, 1989.
As one of the founders and organizers of the First West Coast
Conference (1987), I participated in hammering ·out the policies
which today are the foundation for aLOe. It was a wrenching,intense and expanding experience. I will never forget either theprocess or the lessons learned there. The uncompromising nature of our struggle was charted from the start by Barbara
Macdonald who struggled with us tu break new ground and takefirm stands in confronting ageism. She held the line, both on theissue of reclaiming the word "old" and in setting an age limit of60, for those two issues most clearly define the parameters of theconfrontation with ageism. We finally agreed that lesbians undersixty could attend our conference only if they were in special
relationship to lesbians over sixty. They were eligible to attend
only "under sixty" workshops, thus still enabling old lesbians tomeet together without the often inhibiting presence of younger
lesbians. There was never any intent to minimize the problemsof mid-life women, simply to focus at long last on the issues ofold lesbians.
That step was a real first. We were somewhat nervous about
what response to expect to our conference call. We felt as if we
11This article is now included in Look Me in the Eye, Old Wom en Aging andAgeism, by Barbara Macdonald with Cynthia Rich, Spinsters, Ink, S.F., CA,
1983,1991.
3 This article is now includ ed in Over the Hill, Reflections on Ageism Between
Women , by Baba Copper, The Crossing Press, Freed om, CA 95019, 1988.
2

104 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

were throwing this big party and no one might show up. It is now
history that there were over 200 participants in each of the Firstand the Second West Coast conferences. But the struggle wasdifficult and left some scarring and some casualties.
Without question, Barbara Macdonald provided then andcontinues to provide the theoretical base and inspirational impetus for the subsequent movement against ageism, the formationof ,OLOC, and its growing place in the lesbian and ~omen' s
movements.
It is not very surprising, then, that in our travels Ruth and I
find the same basic political struggles occurring today whenever
OLOCs first get together. It's still a tossup as to which is the mostdreaded word, the "0" word or the "L" word. We have heard moresuggestions to substitute both the words "Old" and "Lesbian" in
Old Lesbians Organizing for Change than can be imagined, from
Amazing Amazons to Senior Sapphos - all designed, of course,
to make both "Old" and "Lesbian" more palatable to those offain t heart.
Actually, it isn't even a Jossup. Our experience has been thatfor the most part it is easier to talk about being a ,Lesbian and all
the issues around coming out. This has been on the minds of old
lesbians for years. But talk about being Old, that's new. Old
lesbians, as all old women, are so used to denying their aging that
this denial as well as revulsion of aging comes up often in theageism workshops we've been part of.
With the proliferation of "Over 40/ Over 50" groups, the single
largest issue again seems to be whether to allow lesbians under
60 to be part of the local group. For those who do opt to allow
lesbians under 60 in their group, it is clear they cannot be an
OLOC group, even though they may use OLOC materials. I canunderstand the discomfort, often even fear and anger, of holding
the line at 60 as the groups' age cutoff. After all, my first reaction
at our West Coast planning meetings was, "What's the big deal
about 'over 60'? We can't possibly refuse admission to a lesbianin her fifties interested enough to want to come." Well, we could
and we did then, and we have been doing it ever since. And indoing this, we have elevated the problems of those of us over 60

Summer/Fall 1994

105

to the realm of important political consideration, as well as
making sixty an age to celebrate. Learning to say "no" to younger
women and learning to call ourselves "old" - these are our first
lessons in empowerment for they teach us to value who we are
and the uniqueness of our contributions.
In small towns and rural areas where there are but few lesbians,
this policy presents a special challenge. In some instances, thesolution has been for all age groups to meet together for a general
presentation and social time, then to separate into over and under"
60 small discussion groups. In one such group, the over 60 lesbians
were relieved not to have to participate once more in a discussionof menopause, for them an old story of no particular interest.
In another over 60 group, one old lesbian was able to acknowledge for the first time some of the ways in which her age
created difficulties with her considerably younger lover, andhow much anxiety she had about the mere mention of age. Afterour discussion, another old lesbian was able to acknowledge
that, yes, she was ageist when she "preferred" to be with younger
lesbians and to shun her own age group. Since she believed she
didn't "look her age," she didn't want to invite the social ostracism she feared.
I have heard a lesbian in her thirties talk about her fear thatgrowing old means being so undesirable that "no one will haveme." Another lesbian in her twenties, while professing her love
for older bodies (her hobby was photographing old women),talked in the next breath about her careful examination of her
own body on a daily basis to be sure her stomach was still flat andher face unlined. A lesbian in her fifties was able to recognize her
own ageism as she told of pressuring her mother to dye her hairbecause she didn't wan"t her to "get old."
At one meeting I was questioned at great length by an old
lesbian about what kind of life I had lived when I first became
active in OLOC. I wasn't sure what she was driving at but answered as best I could about my work, my interests, etc. She
asked over and over again whether I had been happy. Finally she
explained her questioning by telling me that her life was so good
now after sixty that she was sure mine had to have been very bad

106 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

to make me want to talk about such a "down" subject as aging.
After a few minutes of dialogue she said to me, "You mean you're
involved in OLOC for enrichment reasons?" "Sure," I said, "mineand yours."
It is painful to hear an old lesbian speak about how she hates
the word "old," how it revolts and disgusts her, and how she will
never grow old because she is "young at heart," and besides, sheeats well and exercises every day.
.
My experience is that when I bypass the term "ageism" andsimply open up honest talk about what the lives of old lesbians
are like, every single one of them has a story to tell of slights by
younger lesbians, of feeling invisible at socials, in the bars, inthe market, at professional meetings, of worrying that she will
be seen as just a complaining old woman if she talks about someof her health concerns, of resentments against doctors who patronize her, fear of teenagers who ridicule her and on and on. The
list is very long.
We found that the vast majority of the old lesbians we meet
are non-political and non-feminist, or more accurately, apoliticaland what I would call "a-feminist." Yet, in every aspect of theirlives, they are a challenge to the patriarchy. Although steeped in
the culture of patriarchy, they are, in fact, very different frommost heterosexual women. For one, to the extent that they havenever had to depend on a man's paycheck, they are independent
in a most basic way that heterosexual women are not. Many of thelesbians we have met have worked most of their lives in nontraditional occupations, from construction worker to cab driver,police chief to union organizer, professor to doctor (we had a finemeeting with Dyke Docs), fisherwoman to landscaper, and all
occupations in between. These old lesbians have, without conscious political choice, been pioneers in the struggle to broaden
job possibilities for all women. Some life-long lesbians, whose
work life was uninterrupted by child rearing, have been able torise to the top of their professions (we met a Lt. Colonel!).
Most important of all, these old lesbians have never, and do
not now, look to men to meet their important needs, either financial or emotional support or sexual gratification. In actuality,

Summer/Fall 1994

107

men are largely irrelevant to their basic personal functioning. So,
no matter whether they consider themselves feminist or not, andmost that we've met do not, by their very existence these old
lesbians are on the cutting edge of feminist struggles.
The overriding common denominator in all the groups we'vebeen to has been the universal seeking, really craving, of community. Old lesbians welcome a place to talk about their concerns with people who understand and respect them. While on
the one hand they experience all the ridicule and injustices ofageism, they have never felt so free, particularly when health is
not a problem. Some who have been in the closet all of their lives,
particularly those who have retired from repressive homophobic
institutions such as the armed forces or the educational and medical systems, now want out, at least in so far as being with otherlesbians. We talked with one old lesbian who had been in thecloset all of her working life, having held a job as a very highpowered administrator. Now in her retirement, she wanted nothing more than to finally "join" the lesbian community. She maintained this resolve in the face of her life partner's refusal to joinwith her. She continued to maintain this resolve even after her
life partner of thirty-seven years left her altogether, ostensibly
because now, sadly, she questioned whether she really had beena lesbian after all.
As OLOC's traveling emissaries, we get to eat at some terrificpotlucks, have some great laughs, and meet some outstanding
lesbians. We say, at least a few times a week, "Thank you, Goddess" - that we are lesbians, that we are old lesbians, and that
we are involved in OLOe, for that connection gives our life
special meaning and impact. Our ongoing examination of ourown aging helps us to sort out the real processes of aging, which
are interesting and expanding, from the spurious expectations
fostered by ageism.
Neither one of us ever dreamed, even in our wildest
imaginings, that in our seventies life would be so rich.

108 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Sally Miller Gearhart

Wondercrone: Her Humble Origins

1M other, you're not going to California alone, not at your age."''What age do you want me to go at? I'll be seventy-threewhen I leave, seventy-three when I get there. I'm going on thefive o'clock Greyhound bus.""You can't. You've got a doctor's appointment tomorrow tohear about your tests, and ... ""I know what the tests say. They say I got the Big C galloping
all over this sweet body. They say I go back in again for all thechemo and that even if I do their blessed treatment I'm on theway out. They say I ought to rest until the angels come for me. I
don't give a hang what the tests say. I feel fine. I'm going."''What happened to you this morning? You weren't like thisyesterday ... ""Right. Yesterday I was about to look up and be dismissed.
Yesterday I was feeling rotten. Today I don't feel rotten. Today
I'm going to California.
"Mother, we don't know anybody in California since Jackand Kathy left ... Mother, stop! Mother! What are you looking
for? Mother!"Angela was heaving boxes out of the storage closet with avigor that would shame her hefty grandchildren. "My backpack"Lisa fairly screamed. ''What are you going to do with yourbackpack?""Not the big one, honey. Just the middle-sized one. I'm notgoing to take the snowshoes.""Snowshoes!"''Well, they might come in hand y ... but no. No snowshoes."
She climbed over the boxes and looked squarely at her daughter.
"Child, I know you don't understand. I don't understand. Maybe
I can explain when I get back If I get back""If you get back!"

Summer/Fall '994

109''Well, I may not.""May not?""Firstborn, if you don't hush that echo I'll screw my ears
closed. Now, will you be taking me down to the station or do I calla taxicab?" Without waiting for an answer, Angela swung past
her daughter and into the old solarium that had been converted
into her bedroom. She began tucking sock-pepper, denturepaste,
and other necessities into the pockets of her pack, only half
paying attention to the voice that followed her. She was sweeping the bureau top's pills and medicines into the wastebasket
when she heard Lisa's bargain.
" ... only if you'll call me every night along the way."
Angela shoved her cache of silver dollars into the front
zippered pocket. She trotted over to where Lisa leaned against
the doorframe. She raised her eyes barely an inch to meet thoseof the other woman. "I knew you'd give me no trouble, daughter. You always were the one with the horse sense.""You mean I've always let you have your way." Lisa washolding desperation at close bay.
"I mean that twenty years ago you let me double you on myHarley. Ten years ago you shut Arnold up when he palavered
about a nursing home. Last Sunday you announced to my grandchildren that I was not to be coddled. And now you're going todrive me to the bus. You got horse sense." Angela kissed herdaughter's pale cheek. "Let's go."
Then she stopped. ''Wait!'' Back to under her bed. She pulled
out a dilapidated dress box held together with bungies. Inside
she found the shoes. "I knew I'd have a use for them." With aflourish that almost landed her on the floor, she kicked off her
footwarmers. "British Walkers," she said. "Got them in 1941.
The man said they'd last the duration." She slipped the heavy
pumps over her stockinged feet, gave her polyester pants asmoothing, and slid into her scarf and long camel's hair coat.
''Wish I'd kept my sweats," she muttered . Then to Lisa, "Reckon
Arnold'd lend me his old Forty-Niners jacket?""You'd be lost in it. Here. You dropped your glasses."
Angela took the glasses and pressed them into the familiar

110 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

crevices over her ears and nose. She peered through them andthen flung them onto the bed. "See better without them.""But .. . "i'Sh-h-h. Don't say it. Don't ask. I don't know why. I justknow I could spit in a fly's eye at fifty paces. I don't need them."
She reached into the drawer for her wool watchcap, pulled it overher curls, and smiled brightly at her daughter. "You tell thoseMemphis doctors I haven't felt so good since your daddy and I
went skydiving at Playland. Now let's go.".
Angela hadn't told her family - not even Lisa - that she had
no intention of riding the bus beyond Memphis. Nobody else
had to know that instead she'd be going straight to the big
middle of the city to the once-romantic roofgarden of the old
Lafayette Hotel.
She stood there now at the last flight of the narrow back stairs
that led to the roof. She was alone at last. She paused at the firedoor, reminded for an instant of her debility during these lastyears. That heavy door was an obstacle she could no longer
negotiate. Then with a mighty smile she pushed lightly with her
fingertip on the door's release bar. The door swung wide andshe stepped into the night air.
There were times, she remembered, when you could smell
the river from here. With only an inner nod to some ancient
memories, she began a careful exploration of the old rooftop. As
she stepped away from the fire door she disturbed occasional
shards of broken tile and thin chips of cement.
She rounded a cumbersome cooling plant and gasped. The
city below her was giving off a special high luster in the cold citynight air and she gazed at the pattern of sparkle and dark that
identified pockets of New Memphis development against theblack of deserted office buildings. To her left and above her
swung the interlacing lights of the lately completed southernarm of the elevated roller-road .
Angela shivered in anticipation of what she was about todare. Another crazy impossible thing . But this time she was adifferent person, really a different person. And her confidenceSummer/Fall 1994

111

reading went clean off the scale. She chuckled. Ever since thatspider, she mused, taking off her watchcap so the w ind could
exercise her hair.

•••••''Don't do it," said the grand momma longlegs.
Angela looked eyeball-to-eyeball with the nutty brown halfmarble that stood between her and her hidden sleeping pill
stash.
"Shut up," she growled. "It's my death. I'm going to die it."
"It's too early," said the spider.
"Look," Angela said, "this is none of your business. I promised myself that if I felt this rotten with one more dawn I'd checkout on my own. Well, it's dawn. And I feel rotten. Now get outof my way. I gotta give this stuff time to work.""Take your hand out of that mattress . I have to talk to you."Angela McBurney Anderson - union steward, witness forpeace, dolphin liberator, ex-WAAC captain, MYF Worship andEvangelism chair, and center forward queen of the half-court for
Galax High's class of thirty-seven - froze in cowardly obedience. She knew a life-changing moment when it hit her in theface.
The spider pranced from the bedside table onto the flimsy
pink bedjacket she'd taken to sleeping in. It stopped beside thepearl button. "Lie down. You're about to be tapped .""Tapped?" Angela fell back onto her pillow.
"Tapped." The spider carefully stretched each long, angled
leg before continuing. "Charged. Chosen. Commissioned. Destined . Grabbed. Instilled. Ordained. Sent. Zapped. Transformed ."''Why me?""Surely you can be more creative than that."''Why me?" Angela persisted.
"Because you're female, old, Scotch-Irish, intelligent, capableand you live on the Mississippi. You're the Crone. There's another female like you, only a generation younger, being tappedright now on the Nile. She's the Mother. And one who's two

112 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

generations younger than you being tapped on the Yangtze.
She's the Maiden.""Is tha tall?"''What do you mean?""I mean what have you got against the Ganges and the
Amazon and the Danube, to name just a few."''That will corne later. We only need the triple aspects rightnow." The spider executed an eight-legged flex . "Are you readyfor me to spin a little haze across your countenance?"''What for?""So I can tell you about your new powers and where you're
to go and what you're to do."''Will it hurt?""You'll love it."An incredibly noble and high resolve overtook Angela. And
a lot of curiosity and excitement, too. She relaxed her arms byher side and closed her eyes. "Go for it, Arachne. What have I got
to lose?"She awoke at midday, hale and hearty. It took her only a few
hours to prepare for departure. She decided she never wanted towash her face again or at least not for a long time, so soft was thememory that lingered there .

•••••Angela hitched her backpack to its most comfortable position and tied it secure around her waist. She moved to the edgeof the roof and sat on the tar-covered ledge. She looked down on
a thousand roofs. The wind pulled on her torso. She smiled.
Then, without even a smidgin of pain in her hip, she swung her
legs up unto the parapet.
Slowly she shifted to all fours. Very slowly. She decided not
to look down again. No sense being too full of herself. Then she
stood erect, facing now into a stronger wind. She was cold onlyaround her ankles where her polyester pants fell short of thetops of her British Walkers.
Then, with a laugh that had in it only a hint of a cackle, sheSummer/Fall 1994

113

raised her arms above her head, bent her knees, and leapt out into
space.
She sank only a few feet before an upward draft lifted her out
toward the Mighty Mississippi, up and out against a grey nightsky. No human ear heard her leave, no eye saw her soar; though
as she sped through thickening clouds her cry of exhilaration
startled some pigeons who were returning from overtime freeway reconnaissance. With her heightened hearing and new abilities in obscure languages she picked up the pigeons' consultation with one another. "Is it a bird?" they asked. "Is it a plane?"
Then she sang out her line on cue: "No! It's Wondercrone!"
She called up in her memory the holy place that was her
destination: a solitary snow-covered mountain rising out ofautumnal mists and at this moment catching the last rays of lightas the California sun fell oceanward.
In her head she heard the cry of the Valkyries and the strainsof a mighty Valhallan chorus. In her heart she heard a stranger
symphony, far more ancient, far more distant, like no melody or
rhythm she had ever imagined. It was this music that warmed
her as she flew west and northward over unsuspecting rivers
and plains.

114 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Summer/Fall 1994

115

Guest Editors' Process Notes
Dotty Fowler: From our group process I learned more skills ofediting and how important it is to love and support writers.
Beyond that the experience translated into a long series of unanswered questions. Most of the submissions were excellent and I
especially appreciated the writings of old lesbians of color three submissions out of the thirty-five received or just under
10%. I began to speculate on the connections between race, classand age and writing for an identifiably lesbian publication. Whowrites for Sinister Wisdom and who reads SW? And what effect
did the fact that the editorial group was composed of mostly
professionally trained women have on the outcome? Was there
white bonding among us in spite of the presence of two African
American women? And class bonding? What does consensus
mean? And when do we begin to listen to somebody else besides
each other? I hope this issue of SW will bring the reader pleasure
and to a place of beginning.
Ida VSW Red: Editing with eight other lesbians highlights someinner conflicts I am experiencing as I age: academic literarystandards vs. hunger for the variety of lesbian experiences andmodes of expression; commitment to group process vs. productas a priority; emphasis OIl> peer equality vs. utilizing specializedskills; strong opinions vs. consensual process; doing a job "right"
vs. getting the job done in the time I'm willing to give. Like art,
the editorial process challenges me to face my contradictions. I
greatly admire the efforts of my sister volunteers in the struggle
to give birth to SW #53.
Jeanne Adleman: In July 1993 I signed on to help edit this issue
because I thought I had something to contribute and could do itwith love. As we have worked with - or sometimes against each other, I developed a system for my behavioratmeetings:
state my opinion; listen to everyone else's; be happy when others'
are better than mine or speak up briefly for what I want and, if
others do not agree, let it go. I am not the only one who has tried116 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

to satisfy the entire group and failed, no matter how hard shell
tried. After months of stressful effort, I hope the satisfactions too
often missing in the process will flow from the issue in print.
Joyce Pierson: Being a volunteer guest editor for SW #53 hasbeen exciting and hard work. I have learned a lot about writingand editing, my emerging old lesbian identity; learning anew
the realities of the personal is political and the importance oflesbian voices. At sixty, I continue to be amazed at how hard it is
to work collectively and feel satisfied with so-called feminist
process. It seemed to me that as a group we became so taskoriented, we forgot to pay attention to our group process and we
suffered the consequences as the workload increased toward theend of the production. I also want to celebrate the work we didand our commitment and passion for old lesbian voices that arereflected in the pages of this issue.
Kate Rosenblatt: The process of editing was very difficult forsome of us. Personally, I was naive and did not know enough toinsist on writing standards for the works we received. Timepressures affected our decision-making process and I relied on
the knowledge of others who had more editing experience. I
often gave over my own intuitive feelings to what seemed likethe voices of knowledge. Questions arose - some were neveranswered. There were questions of value, i.e., what is oppressive
language? Who is allowed to say what? We did not always agree
about what is ageist. I wish we had had a year to put the issue
together.
Marge Green: I was happy to be included in this group of old
lesbians for this issue. It was really exciting contacting lesbian
writers whose work I have read and getting reacquainted withsome whom I have not seen for years. However, I was just getting
into reading the submissions, talking and sharing my experience with others when I had a heart attack and had to haveemergency by-pass surgery! This took me out of the process. I
felt lost, rushed and not on track with what was going on whenI returned. Despite all this major trauma, I liked being a part of
the group and the extended lesbian community.

Summer/Fall1994

117

Mickey Spencer: There are inherent contradictions in producing
special issues of feminist journals, having to do with how muchcontrol the host editors exercise over the production of the special issue. Yet the editors of host journals, whose numbers bydefin~tion do not include enough women with these special
experiences, now need to find members of these groups who
have the time, energy and political awareness to do the job!
Once the special editors are chosen, by whatever means,they / we need processes for working together to get the issue out
within the host magazine's constraints of time, space and form.
Ideally the processes would enhance rather than diminish theimpact of the guest editors' special experiences. One problem iswhether there is enough time and expertise for the guest editors
to develop these processes or whether they must be provided insome way by the host editors or others. Among the processes
special editors need in order to get on with their / our work is one
I am especially concerned with: access for women with disabilities so that our points of view can be represented in any special
issue. Access must be established from the onset in order fordisabled members of the group to participate fully.
I have no solutions to these contradictions: I don't know how
or by whom the special editors should be chosen; who is responsible for disability access; which feminist processes work bestfor which circumstances, or who should choose them. I hope a
lively discussion of these questions will lead to more effective
special issues, produced with more joy than pain. I hope that,eventually, special issues will no longer be necessary because allgroups will be adequately represented in our feminist journals
as a matter of course.
Rosemary Hathaway: I joined the committee for this issue firstand foremost because I wanted OLD Lesbians/Dykes to be readand listened to - we are much ignored in our own community.
Secondly I wanted working class voices on the committee. I
commend and am grateful to my sisters for all their dedicatedwork. I wish we would have had time for more discussion,planning, working through differences - alas we did not do thator make the time. The spectrum of experiences reflected in the118 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

issue is not as broad as I had conceived and hoped for. It is,however, a small cross-section of old dykes speaking out. Listen
to them.
Vera Martin: When asked to join the group of guest editors forthis issue of Sinister Wisdom, I agreed with great reluctance. I felt
coming in that I had no credentials for such an assignment otherthan that I am an avid reader and very selective about what I read.
I am a person of color and added to the diversity of. the group.
During this process I was struck with what, in my opinion, appeared to be an extreme effort to make sure each contributors'
submissions were politically correct. Many times I found thisvery stressful and, to be honest, a bit overboard. I made the best
contribution to the process I could by being as honest as possible
with my suggestions and comments. Never forgetting that I haveabsolutely no talent as a writer or an editor, I very often felt mypresence served no purpose. I learned more about feminism,
more specifically radical feminism, than I ever felt I needed to
knOw. I hope the readers of this issue find the submissions easy
and insightful as I did. I have no plans to undertake such a task
as this ever again. I learned a great deal and feel honored to havebeen asked.

Summer/Fall 1994 119

We lovingly remember and honor
Old Lesbians who died during
the year we worked on this issue,
and also honor their survivors.

Old Dykes Gather
Art used on the poster for the West Coast Celebration II and
Conference of Old Lesbians in San Francisco, California, 1989

Frances Lorraine

120

sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

Time Honored
Traditions
MARY
BORN 1915
MARRIED 1935GINNY
BORN 1936

DAUGHTERBORN 1947

ENTEREDCONVENT1959

SONBORN 1951

LEFT
CONVENT1962

HUSBAND
DIED 1965

JOINEDRETIRED 1980
MERCHANTMARINESGRANDSON
1980 . ._ _ _ _ _ 1985 _ _ _ _ _. . BORN
1982,

Lesbian Lovers
GLAAD
Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation

The Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD)
has launched a print advertising campaign featuring an old
lesbian couple. The ads, scheduled to run in local and national
publications, will challenge the defamation by omission thatmany older lesbians and gay men experience. To receive more
information, call GLAAD at 415-861-4588.

Summer/Fall 1994

121------------_Contributors' Notes
Ann Stokes (1931) - Author of A Studio of One's Own, Naiad
Press, 1985. Have been a lesbian forever, a feminist since thewomen's movement took off in the early '70s.
Bernice Dambowic (1929) - My poetry is my first attempt to
express my personal thoughts as an older lesbian, mother andwoman. My work with people who are differently abled has andwill continue to affect how I see the world.
Bernice Ybarra Miller (1922) is coming out as a writer, poet andlesbian publicly in this special SW issue. A life-long lesbian,Bernie has a history of combatting lesbian oppression. Her
mother's family came to California in the 1700s and were cattle
ranchers long before California statehood.
Cam Jancek (1933) is a 61-year-old lesbian and a new Nancy
Drew freak. She lives on the east side of the San Francisco Bay
Area with her lover Marge.
Carmen de Monteflores (1933) - Born in Puerto Rico. Grew up
climbing trees and flying kites. Moved to the U.S. at 16 andbecame assimilated until I came out as lesbian at 40. I'm still
reclaiming my various identities.
Carol Ehrlich (1934) - I was born in Columbia, Missouri ofwhite, lower middle-class parents. Since 1971, I have lived in
Baltimore, Maryland. I support myself as a copy editor and am
a lesbian feminist activist.
Catherine Nicholson (1922) is a white lesbian. In 1976, she andHarriet Desmoines founded Sinister Wisdom in Charlotte, North
Carolina and were its editors and publishers until 1981. She now
lives in Durham, NC.
Del Martin (1921) & Phyllis Lyon (1924) serve on the Advisory
Board of Gay Lesbian Outreach to Elders (GLOE) and are members of Old Lesbians Organizing for Change (OLOC). Del also
serves on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors' Senior Services Planning Task Force. They are co-authors of Lesbian/Woman,
which is in its 20th anniversary edition.

122 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Dotty Fowler (1927) is a white middle-class lesbian activist ofEnglish/Dutch origins who thinks of writing poetry as an international political conspiracy.
Elaine Mikels (1921) - Jewish, reform, upper middle-class. Livedin Hollywood and Beverly Hills. Father was a doctor.
Elizabeth Freeman (1919) - In myoid age I have participated increating safe living space for old and young women, published(Crones' Own Press) four books written by older women, afounding member of OLOC (Old Lesbians Or'g anizing for
Change) and part of a wonderful, supportive Lesbian and Gay
community. Prior to coming to Durham, North Carolina, I lived
in Wolf Creek, Oregon. I have a wonderful lover (aged 69).
Emma Joy Crone (1928) lives in a rented studio on Hornby Island,
B.C., Canada. She writes to increase the visibility of old lesbians,
enjoys her garden, walking; is a pagan, anarchist feminist lesbian.
Frances Lorraine (1922) is an old dyke artist, writer, and daydreamer who enjoys living in San Francisco and loves life but
never takes it too seriously.
Grear Greene (1934) is a black professional, employed in the Bay
Area for the past twenty-five years. Born and raised in the Midwest, her life experiences cover a variety of work and educationin the mental health profession.
Helen Howard (1920s) - Jewish - white - professional. I am alifelong writer who has from time to time burst into print, bothin fiction and in professional writing. I am presently planning thinking - imaging a lesbian novel.
Ida VSW Red (1933) writes and performs with Mothertongue
Feminist Theater Collective in San Francisco, is retired but stillworks, is published in several lesbian anthologies, and longs toportray strong women on stage.
,
Janny MacHarg (1923 - along with prohibition) is a politicalsongwriter and activist for peace, labor movement, women's,
gay & civil rights who is "proud to be old and a survivor" and. believes "ordinary people with guts will prevail."Summer/Fall 1994

123

Jeanne Adleman (1919) is a life-long social/political activist whocame out at the age of 60. Of working-class background, she is acounselor, writer and coeditor of Racism in the Lives of Women, abook due out this Fall.
Joan Corbin (1921) - I'm a 72-year-old middle-class white Lesbian artist-writer born in Michigan, living in California since
1946, with partner of 35 years.
Joan Miller (1923) is a retired editor living in San Francisco. She
recently refused to testify against a man the police caught breaking into her car, because conviction would have meant prison forlife for a nonviolent crime. She is forming a group, Citizens
Against Three Strikes (for nonviolent offenders) c/o Box 30, 370
Turk Street, S.P. 94102.
Joyce Pierson (1933), feminist and lover of children and books
came out at age 49. Now at age 60 she is an active member of the
Bay Area lesbian community and wants to be a writer when she
grows up.
Kate Rosenblatt (1922) is a 71-year-old white, middle-class dyke,
playwright and novelist, active in Old Lesbian affairs in the Bay
Area who loves to snorkel in the warm waters of almost any
ocean.
Louise Gilbert (1922) - Life-long feminist, studied art from age
7 in well-known schools and with renowned artists. Born middleclass, worked in factories as union member. Activist in old left
communist party and civil rights, peace, & women's movements.
Professional graphic artist, assistant muralist to Anton Refregier
on Rincon Annex mural in San Francisco.
Mab Maher (1933) is a writer living in southern Oregon and amember of the Oregon Women Writers Group, which meets up
and down 1-5. She has published many stories and essays.
Marge Green (1933 ) is an African American Lesbian who has
been in the nursing profession for over 40 years and is currently
finishing an internship in psychotherapy. She loves reading
about lesbians and being involved in aLOe. She and her partner of 11 years live on the east side of the San Francisco Bay Area.

124 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Marjory Nelson (1928) is a fat, feminist, radical old dyke, a proud
grandmother, who writes, paints, gardens & loves the women's
community, friends & her practice of therapy in San Francisco.
Mary Flick (1915-1994) wrote and performed with Mothertongue
Feminist Theater Collective and Options for Women Over Forty
and was for many years an activist with the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom and other feminist andlesbian groups. She wrote, ''The strange thing about getting old,it seems to me, is that only my body ages, not my spirit, mypersonality, my soul, my inner,self."
Mickey Spencer (1927) - I am an old, white, Jewish, middleclass, fat lesbian feminist; disabilities prevented me from attending Sinister Wisdom editorial meetings. I came out as a lesbian in the
1970s. Before that I was married for 15 years and I have two adultsons. I was co-editor of Broomstick, a national anti-agist journal,
from 1978 until it stopped publication in December 1993.
Artist's statement (front cover): I have been an artist all my
adult life. A few years ago, increasing disabilities (arthritis andsensitivity to chemicals) made it necessary for me to give up both
sculpture and acrylic painting. I therefore learned to work inwater color. I also invented another medium which is chemicallysafe, using tools of my other occupation as a magazine publisher:
I wax the back of colored paper, cut it with an X-acto knife and"paint" it on a backing. After burnishing the completed "paper
painting," I secure it behind Plexiglas.
Rather than being a compromise, I was delighted to find thatthese changes in media stimulated my creativity and opened up
a whole new way of working.
Miriam Carroll (1930) delights in her Atlanta home, shared withher spouse and traditiorial dog and cat. She finds it impossible
to condense her life into 35 words.
Monika Kehoe, PhD. (1909) - Author of Lesbians Over Sixty
Speak for Themselves, a national survey published in 1989, is Research Associate in the Center for Education and Research in
Sexuality at San Francisco State University and a member of the
Editorial Board of the Journal of Homosexuality.

Summer/Fall 1994

125

Pat Pomerleau (1931),3/4 French and 1/4 Cree on Paternal side &undisclosed, closeted, White and Red on Maternal side, lives in
Santa Rosa, California with a bilingual dog named Sparkito. He
is teaching her Spanish. When offered a milk bone, she will sit
up, shake hands, and say: " j HOLA!"
Rosemary Hathaway (1929) - I am a Caucasian, Working-class
Sagittarian Lesbian Feminist believing in women and our ability to enhance and enrich the world.
Ruth Mountaingrove (1923) is primarily German of grandparents who were farmers and entrepreneurs. She is working class.
Her father was a postal carrier for the U.S. government. She
worked her way through college.
Sally Miller Gearhart (1931) is a white, southern, barely middleclass writer-activist-professor living in Mendocino County on a
mountain of contradictions. She authored The Wanderground,appeared in The Times of Harvey Milk, sings barbershop harmony,and accompanies a large pit bull on long walks.
Shevy Healey (1922), foreign-born Jewish activist is proud to bea founder of Old Lesbians Organizing for Change (OLOC). She
and her partner Ruth Silver have been traveling throughout the
U.S. meeting and greeting old lesbians.
Vashte Doublex (1927) - Born in Montreal, lived many years in
England including through WW II and now in Mendocino, California. Her origins are white working class, she works full time
as a social worker and is editor of We are VISIBLE, a newsletter for
agefullesbians and other women. She is a published writer andplans to continue to make her presence visible.
Vera Martin (1923) - I have multicultural parents and I selfidentify as an African American. I retired from a Southern California local government agency after forty years of service. I ama member of the Black Gay and Lesbian Leadership Forum, andon its Board of Governors. I am a charter member of Old Lesbians Organizing for Change (OLOC), currently serving as thenational coordinator.

126 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Books Received ______________
About the Books Received List: We list (almost) all the books we
get in the mail. Unfortunately, we never have room to review
everything we think should be. I tend to list books here by books/
authors/presses I think are important (although all books fromone press are listed together), with an emphasis on lesbian-ownedpresses. If I've read all or part of a book I may add subjective
qualifiers like "read this." While the presence of adjectives canbe interpreted as editorial endorsement, the absence of them onlymeans I'm going by the publisher's press release - Elana

The Me in the Mirror - autobiography of a disability-rights lesbian activist - self-aware, funny, outraged, engaging - byConnie Panzarino. 1994, $12.95, Seal Press, 3131 Western Ave.,
Suite 410, Seattle, WA 98121.
Reverberations: across the shimmering CASCADAS - philosophy
creates poetry creates a tough glistening spirit speaking practicallyof lesbian mystery in more than one language at once, by Jeffner
Allen. 1994, SUNY Press, State Univ. Plaza, Albany, NY 12246.
Dyke Ideas: Process, Politics, Daily Life - a non-coercive series of
essays in lesbian philosophy (no "shoulds" here), by Joyce
Trebilcot. 1994, SUNY Press.
Unruly Women: The Politics of Confinement & Resistance - anunusual feminist text on women in prison, dedicated (in part) to"all the unruly women, men and children whose resistances tosocial injustices are the hope of the world," by SW contributor
Karlene Faith. 1993, $21.95, Press Gang, 101-225 East 17th Ave.,
Vancouver, B.C., Canada V5V 1A6.
Skin: Talking About Sex, Class & Literature - challenging, funny,
outrageous, cool, deliberate and collected - essays, autobiographical narratives and performance pieces by Bastard Out of
Carolina and Trash author Dorothy Allison. 1994, $13.95, Firebrand Books, 141 The Commons, Ithaca, NY 14850.
Staying the Distance - a grown-up lesbian cowgirl western, byFranci McMahon. 1994, $9.95, Firebrand.
Normal Sex - prose poems as deep stories of gender development& emotional awareness, by Linda Smukler. 1994, $8.95, Firebrand.

Summer/Fall 1994

127

What Is Found There: Notebooks on Poetry and Politics - at once
comforting and demanding, full of wonderful quotes from ahundred sources, by Adrienne Rich. 1993, $20 (cloth), W.W. Norton.
Everywhere House - a lesbian mystery set in '70s Seattle with arefreshingly thoughtful, political background, by Jane
Meyerding. 1994, $9.95, New Victoria, POB 27, Norwich, VT 05055.
The Kali Connection - a drug murder mystery and an "Easterncult" lead reporter Lynn Evans to Nepal, by Claudia McKay.
1994, $9.95, New Victoria.
The Island of Floating Women - a collection of stories, many with
Jewish and lesbian themes, by Batya Weinbaum. 1993, $9.85,
Clothespin Fever, 655 4th Ave., Ste. 34, San Diego, CA 921Ol.
New Poems - on lesbian themes by Elizabeth Hall. 1993, $7.95,
Clothespin Fever.
The Lessons - lesbian detective Elizabeth 'Tenacity" Mendoza
tracks a serial killer of dykes, by Melanie McAllester. 1994, $9.95,
Spinsters Ink, POB 300170, Minneapolis, MN 55403-5170.
Listening In: Dialogues with the Wiser Self - a feminist distillationof both common sense and inspired spirituality, the first bookfrom a new women's press, by Ellen Meredith. 1993, $14.95,
Horse Mountain Press, POB 446, Haydenville, MA 01039-0446.
Intolerance: The Parameters of Oppression - analysis of how oppression is related to six parameters: race, class, gender, sexual preference, age, and mental and physical health, by Lise Noel (translated from the French). 1994, $19.95, McGill-Queen's University
Press, 3430 McTavish St., Montreal, Quebec, Canada H3A 1X9.
Flashpoint - a novel of politics, consciousness, gay rights and theLPGA, by Katherine V. Forrest. 1994, $22.95 (cloth), Naiad Press,
POB 10543, Tallahassee, FL 32302.
Wednesday Nights - stepping out on her lover, Lyla Bradshaw is
accused of murdering rapists and has to decide whether or not touse her alibi, by Camarin Grae. 1994, $10.95, Naiad . .
Edited Out - an old coverup unearthed by newspaper copy
editor Carmen Ramirez turns nasty in Oklahoma, by Lisa Haddock. 1994, $9.95, Naiad.
Smokey 0 - romance and rivalry in the new Women's BaseballLeague, by Celia Cohen. 1994, $9.95, Naiad.

128 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians I Dykes

Kathleen O'Donald - immigrant Irish and English lesbians engage in interesting political and personal struggles in the NY
garment industry c. 1909, by Penny Hayes. 1994, $9.95, Naiad .
.Staying Home - lesbian artists deal with getting pregnant in atimely book about the dyke baby boom, by Elisabeth Nonas.
1994, $10.95, Naiad.
Crosswords - the 2nd Victoria Cross mystery, set in London, byPenny Summer. 1994, $9.95, Naiad.
Certain Smiles - erotic short story collection, by Dorothy Tell.
1994, $9.95, Naiad.
Sweet Cherry Wine - sex, suspense, rock 'n' roll and detox
combine in this thriller, by Carol Schmidt. 1994, $9.95, Naiad.
Worlds of Women: Sapphic Science Fiction Erotica - five stories bylesbians and bisexuals, edited by Cecilia Tan. 1993, $5.95, Circlet
Press, POB 15143, Boston, MA 02215.
Becoming Visible: A reader in gay and lesbian history for high school andcollege students - with excerpts from gay & lesbian materials anda que'stion guide for students, by Kevin Jennings, editor. 1994,$9.95, Alyson, 40 Plympton Street, Boston, MA 02118.
Have You Ever? 391 questions to help you know yourself and others is, exactly, pages of large-type questions, by Anna Van Evera.
1994, $6.95, Alyson.
Butch II - Mike the Dyke, back from Chile, engages in a fight forsocial justice while looking for "Ms. Right," by Jan Rayn. 1994,$8.95, Lace Publications (an imprint of Alyson).
All That She Can Be: Helping Your Daughter Maintain Her Self-Esteem- straight advice that might be useful for dyke moms to skim, by Dr.
Carol J. Eagle and Carol Colman. 1993, $11, Simon & Schuster.
Violence Against SjM Women Within the Lesbian Community published survey with essay material, by Jad Keres. 1994, FT
Survey, POB 30145, Philadelphia, PA 19103.
Fat and Furious: Women and Food Obsession - appears to recycle
the old "it's your swallowed rage at your mother" approach with
12-step solutions & no political analysis, by Judi Hollis, PhD.
1994, $22 (cloth), Ballantine, 201 E. 50th St., NY, NY 10022.
Patience & Sarah - a reprint of the very tender 1969 lesbianclassic, by Isabel Miller. 1994, $10, Ballantine/Fawcett.

Summer/Fall 1994

129

- - - - - - Announcements and Classified Ads
PUBLICATIONSESTO NO TIENE NOMBRE, revista de lesbianas latinas en miami,
is a forum for latina lesbians with a Miami twist. Open to all
forms (Spanish, Spanglish, English), $10 per year (checks to:
Tatiana de la Tierra). Guidelines, subs to: 4700 NW 7th St. #463,
Miami, FL 33126.
MAIZE, A Lesbian Country Magazine. $lO/yr (4 issues). Single
issue $3.50. New address: MAIZE, POB 130, Serafina, NM 87569.
WE ARE HERE - national resource guide for lesbian and gay
youth, pub. by the Gay Youth Comm. Coalition of the Bay Area,$5 (pay to WeAre Here) from: 2215 Market St., #479, SF, CA94114.
SEP - publication for lesbian separatists only since 1986. Ask alesbian separatist how to reach us. Be a part of the contagious
spread of dyke separatist courage!
TEEN VOICES - by, for & about teenage and young adult women,
sample $2: Women Express, POB 6009 JFK, Boston, MA 02114.
WANT THE WOMYN'S COMMUNITY AT YOUR FINGERTIPS?
Get What You Want! Join SisterNet & find work, play, "stuff," friendship (or more), teachers, prof. contacts, businesses & goddesses
like yourself to share with. Womyn-only and bimonthly. Send
large SASE w /2 stamps to: SisterNet, 977 Seminole Trail #274(SW),Ch'ville, VA 22901 for info & special offer for new members.
CALLS FOR SUBMISSIONSFAT LESBIANS - Fat-positive writings and art by fat dykes
sought for a big, fat anthology. Deadline: Nov. I, 1994. Send bio
with work to: Mev Miller, POB 300151, Minneapolis, MN 55403.
BLUE COLLAR, WORKING CLASS AND POOR LESBIANS'
identity anthology: who decides who's a lesbian? What a real
lesbian looks, acts, sounds like? What we call ourselves? For
info, send SASE to: POB 8939, Minneapolis, MN 55408.
DYKE REVIEW MAGAZINE - "We don't judge it, we justpublish it." Looking for features writers from your area as well
as all publishable forms of dyke expression. Call 415-621-3769 or
write: 584 Castro St., Ste 456, SF, CA 94114.

130 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

LESBIANS OFF THE RAG! A MENOPAUSAL ANTHOLOGY- Narratives sought from all cultures, classes, ethnicities, abilities and ages, inc. fictional, lesbians who found menopause.positive, found ways to alleviate unwanted symptoms and/or
never had children. Send to Lee Lynch and Akia Woods, c/oNew
Victoria Publishers, Box 27, Norwich, VT 05055.
LESBIAN LAND CULTURE ANTHOLOGY - Seeking workthat reflects the innovations and adaptations we make to live
sustainably with the land and each other. SASE for guidelines.
Word Weavers, POB8742, Minneapolis, MN 55408. Eds: Nett
Hart and Jean Mountaingrove. Deadline: October I, 1994.
YOUNG WOMEN HEALING FROM ABUSE - send all formsof publishable expression for a new anthology to the Birch
Heather Project, POB 11244, Portland, OR 97211.
WOMEN AND THERAPY special issue on therapy and class. 1
page abstract (proposal) w / bio and phone number by Oct. 1,1994
to Marcia Hill, 25 Court St., Montpelier, VT 05602.
LESBIAN CONTRADITION seeks non-fiction from women who've
experienced the Far Right around lesbian/ gay & women's issues.
Ongoing column. LesCon, 584 Castro St. Ste. 356, SF, CA 94114.
MULTICULTURAL LESBIAN RELATIONSHIPS anthology.
First-person, cassettes, interviews O.K. Topics: racism in andoutside relationships, having/ raising children; socializing/ friendships; language differences, etc. For guidelines, info: SASE toRene Dawson & Terri Jewell, PO Box 23154, Lansing, MI 48909.
BLACK LESBIAN CULTURE: PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE Putting all"correctness" aside, let's be honest and claim ALL weare, have been and will be for centuries! For guidelines, info:
SASE to Terri Jewell, POB 23154, Lansing, MI 48909, running
deadline.
LESBIAN SEX ANTHOLOGY being edited by a Black bisexual
feminist and a Jewish lesbian seeks passionate poems and stories. Deadline: Aug. 31, 1994. Send work or queries w /SASE to:
Women's Press, #233-517 College St., Toronto, Ontario, Canada
M6G 4A2.
RISING TIDE PRESS, a new lesbian publisher, seeks full-length
lesbian novels. For guidelines, send SASE to: Rising Tide Press,
5 Kivy St., Huntington Station, NY 11746.

Summer/Fall 1994

131

THE SAGE WITHIN - The Spiritual Lives of Everyday Women
seeks prose on how women incorporate spirituality into daily life.
All faiths, paths, backgrounds. Query with SASE to: Hummingbird Press (was Stoner Press), POB 8116, Santa Rosa, CA 95407.
SPINSTERS INK is seeking feminist writing by women of color- full-length novels and non-fiction works. For more info: POB
300170, Dept. C, Minneapolis, MN 55403, (612) 377-0287.
SHORT FICTION BY WOMEN, new guidelines available - SASE
to: Rachel Whalen, ed., Box 1276, Stuyvesant Sta., NY, NY 10009.
LESBIAN EROTIC short fiction for third Alyson anthology.
Deadline: Sept. IS, 1994. SASE to: Lucy Jane Bledsoe, POB 10211,
Berkeley, CA 94709-5211 .
WOMAN OF POWER issue #25: "Overcoming Prejudice; Celebrating Difference; Cultivating Diversity." Deadline: Oct. I,
1994. SASE for guidelines: POB 2785, Orleans, MA 02653.
EVENTS/ORGANIZING/CONFEREN CES/RETREATS
FAT WOMEN ARISE AND CELEBRATE OUR BEAUTY at theFall Fat Women's Gathering co-sponsored by NAAFA Feminist
Caucus, Fat Lip Reader's Theatre, Making Waves and Radiance
Magazine. Oakland, CA, Sept. 30-0ct. 2. For info: Judy Freespirit,
407 Orange St. #101, Oakland, CA 94610 (510) 836-1153 or e-mail0005348398@mcimail.com.
LESBIAN NATURAL RESOURCES (LNR) is a new organization dedicated to developing rural lesbian community, providing grants & assistance with land purchase, establishing land
trusts, tax exemption & land skills. Emphasis on making thisresource available to lesbians of color. For more info, write: POB
8742, Minneapolis, MN 55408-0742.
LESBIAN SEPARATIST ANNUAL GATHERI G for femaleborn, nonsadomasochist Lesbian Separatists from around theworld, Oct. 7-10, Santa Cruz, CA. For info & pre-registration: The
Annual Gath~ring, POB 21475, Oakland, CA 94620; specify print,
braille or cassette.
OLOC - Old Lesbians Organizing for Change helps form newgroups of lesbians over 60, provides ageism education, stimulates existing groups to confront ageism. OLOC, POB 980422,
Houston, TX 77098.

132 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

WOMEN, WAR AND PEACE: THE VISION AND THE STRATEGIES - international conference of Women in Black andwomen's peace movements. Jerusalem, Dec. 20-31, 1994. Activists and scholars invited. Contact Erella Shadmi, 4/11 DresnerSt., Jerusalem, Israel 93814. Tel: (2) 718-597; Fax: (2) 259-626.
4TH ANNUAL WOMEN'S STUDIES CONFERENCE at S. Conn.
State Univ., 'Women's Voices/Women's Powers: Theory, Action,
Transformation" is Sept 20-0ct. 2, 1994, as well as a WOMEN'S
FAIR. Women's Studies Program, SCSU, 501 Crescent St., New
Haven, CT 06515 for more info.
WOMEN IN HIGHER EDUCATION, 8th International Conf.,
Jan. 5-8, 1995, SF, CA. Panel and paper proposals due by Sept. 1
to: Director, Women's Studies Program; Univ. of Texas at El Paso,
500 W. University, El Paso, TX 79968.
COTTAGES AT HEDGEBROOK - A Retreat for Women Writers grants cottages and meals for writers for a stay of up to threemonths. Application deadlines: April 1 and Oct. 1. For applications: 2197 E. Millman Rd., Langley, WA 98260.
NORCROFT - A writing retreat for women provides space andfood for up to four weeks between May & October. Write for 1995
applications: POB 300105, Minneapolis, MN 55403.
INTERNATIONAL INFORMATION CENTRE AND ARCHIVES OF THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT (HAV) has moved
to: Gerardus Majellakerk, Obiplein 4, 1094 RB Amsterdam, The
Netherlands. Fax #: +31 20-6655812, Phone: +31 20-6650820.
(AD)VENTURESYELLOW BIRCH FARM. Small cottage on working farm in
Downeast Maine. Beautiful, remote, unspoiled Cobscook Bay.
B&B or weekly rental. Brochure, (207) 726-5807.
LESBIAN ART RETREAT on beautiful Oregon Coast. Toxicfree, safe, creative environment in a rural setting. $175/week inc.
meals with other working artists, separate living and studiospaces. Private instruction avail. RIVERLAND, POB 156, Beaver
OR 97108, (503) 398-5223.
SALLIE & EILEEN'S PLACE, vacation cabins for women, in thewoods. Mendocino, CA (707) 937-2028.

Summer/Fall 1994

133

LESBIAN PARADISE! With 20 charming rooms, 100 mountainacres, pool, hot tub, hiking/ skiing trails, yummy breakfasts, peace
and privacy. We're your perfect vaca tion choice year round! HIGHLANDS INN, Box 1185R, Bethlehem, NH 03574 (603) 869-3978.
SPINSTERHAVEN is open for summer camping, $3/night donation, no facilities, 43 acres. Write or call POB 718, Fayetteville, AR
72702, (SOl) 442,"7164.
BUSINESSESThe residents of Susan B. Anthony Memorial Unrest Home
(SBAMUH) announce the arrival of FOR WOMEN ONLYBOOKS into our S.E. Ohio community - the only bookstore
located on womyn's land in N. America. For info, send $1.00 to
Diann or Marnee, Box PR, 13479 Howard Road, Millfield, OH
45761, tel: (614) 448-2509.
.
A SIMPLE MATTER OF JUSTICE 57 min. official video of the 1993
March on Washington, by JEB. $28 .50, inc. shipping from
Moonforce Media, POB 2934, Washington, DC 20013.
VIDEO FEMMES now distributes through Canadian Film Dist.
Center, SUNY, Feinberg 128, Plattsburgh, NY 12901-2697, (800)388-6784 for catalog of women's & lesbian films & videos.
RED RIVER, 100% Cotton Menstrual Pads, comfortable, ecological, economical. Made by Land Dykes. Write for brochure:
Red River, Box 130, Serafina, NM 87569.
SUPPORT

THE L.ABYRIS PROJECT: Helping Lesbians Heal from Incest wants a safe home for all lesbians having trouble surviving due
to incest memories, as well as a meeting place for local survivors.
Community-based, holistic, realis tic, feminist healing. Send
checks or SASE for info: New Mexico REEF /Labyris Project, POB
40097, Albuquerque, NM 87196.
LAVENDER L.E.A.F. is the Lesbian Emergency Action Fund ofmoney given anonymously, available to any S.F. or Alameda
County (CA) woman-born lesbian of poverty or working classbackground who needs it. Lavender L.E.A.F.'s long-term goal is
to diminish economic disparities among lesbians. Send checks,
queries to: L. Leaf, POB 20921, Oakland, CA 94620.

134 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

SPINSTERHAVEN, INC., a retirement haven for older women
and women with disabilities, promoting physical, cultural andspiritual well-being of women. Membership info and donations, POB 718, Fayetteville, AR 72701.
WHIPTAIL WOMYN'S COLLECTIVE provides a womyn-only
dyke-identified, drug-smoke-akohol free space in S.F. & needs
all the help it can get. Send $, questions, energy to: 3543 18th St.
Box #29, SF, CA 94110.
LESBIANS IN CRITICAL NEED have been sending us increasing numbers of requests to run announcements for their personal funds . Instead of printing these individual appeals, weurge you to contribute frequently and generously to local organizations. Imagine if we just told you your childhood best friend,
your favorite gym teacher, an admired dyke activist or your firstlover had metastatic cancer and couldn't pay the doctor bills; or
had developed E.I., could no longer leave her house and had no
way to get or pay for groceries. Then make a contribution toLavender L.E.A.F., The Dykefund, the Charlotte Maxwell Clinic,
The Women's Cancer Resource Center (these are S.F. Bay Area
resources, find the ones in your community). We need full support networks as well as money - dykes willing to shop, drive,
talk, listen, organize.

AD RATES
Deadline to reserve space in:#54, Lesbians & Religion: September 7, 1994 (Pub: Dec. '94).
#55, Open theme: January 6, 1995 (Pub: April 1, '95).

Classified: 40~ a word, $5 minimum.
Display: $200 whole page, $100 half, $75 third, $50 quarter, $35
2x2, for camera ready copy.
Write for other deadlines & size sheet.

Summer/Fall 1994 135

e1!KITCHEN TABLE: Women of Color Press
Help keep Kitchen Table alive for the
next generation of feminists of color
Dear Sisters,
When Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press was started by Audre
Lorde and Barbara Smith in 1980, its founders pledged that it would
become an institution. Thirteen years later Kitchen Table is still alive
and is the only U.S. publisher for women of c.olor. But in these hardtimes, there is no guarantee that Kitchen Table will always be here,
unless women nationwide take an active part in securing its future.
As you know, the Press has published award winning classics like
This Bridge Called My Back, Home Girls, and Cuentos; you may notknow that it has always functioned as a service organization andpolitical support network for feminists and lesbians of color as well.
If it were not for publisher Barbara Smith's years of leadership andunsalaried work, the Press would not have survived. Because we
cherish Kitchen Table, we believe its existence should not depend
upon individual sacrifice. We want the Press to grow and gain accessto resources that will enable it to sustain its high quality work. We
are committed to raising the funds to accomplish these goals.
We the undersigned take responsibility for preserving Kitchen Table
and the work that has given so many of us the strength, the vision,and the hope to fight for our lives and the lives of those we love . We
urge you to join us, for Kitchen Table Press' survival depends on us
all. Thank you in advance for your generosity.
Dorothy Abbott, Tania Abdulahad, Mary Ader, Cathy Cohen, Gloria DeSole,Bea Gates, Jaime Grant, Naomi Jaffe, Joo Hyun Kang, Laura Kaplan, Andrea
Lockett, Judith McDaniel, Helen Quan, Vickie Smith

Yes! I'll help ensure the future of KTP. Please accept my contribution.
0$1,000 0$500 0$250 0$100 0$50 0$35 OOther
Name ________________________________________________
Address
City------------------------::-S-:-ta--:-t-e---------Z:;i:-p-------Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press, PO Box 908SW, Latham, NY 12110

136 sinister wisdom #53 -Old Lesbians / Dykes

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138 sinister wisdom #53 -•Old Lesbians / Dykes

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140 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

reviews

f lnifTER
WlfDOmSince 1976 . . .

"One of the most populer and widely read
lesbian periodicals in existence"
Joy Parks, Wom en's Review of Books

plays
se x

humor
revolu tion
visiondiversity
survival
defiance" .. .comes fro m and speaks to t he hearto f th e feminist movement."- Susan Griffi n, Ulne Reader

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THE CURRENT ISSUE, SINISTER WISDOM #j3
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Available on tape for prinl-impaired womynSummer/Fall1994 141

sinister wisdom
Some Current & Back Issues#52 Allies includes 10 interviews by Jamie Lee Evans with lesbian activists.
#51 An open issue where lesbians lay claim to our lives.
#50 Not The Ethics Issue we had planned (read it to find out why). But there isgreat work on ethics & more. Guest edited by Caryatis Cardea and Sauda Burch.
#49 The Lesbian Body: here' s where flesh and theory meet - Includes lesbians of color, roles, disability, body image, fat, sex, menopause and more.
#48 Lesbian Resistance: investigations into the activist heart of our courage- including messages from dykes in prison.
#47 Lesbians of Color: Tellin' It Like It Tis'. Special 160-page issue edited bylesbians of color, includes new work in all forms - essential reading!
#46 Dyke Lives. New, international fiction and poetry.
#45 Lesbians and Oass. The first issue edited entirely by poor and working classdykes includes analysis, personal narrative, poetry, fiction & a graffiti wall.
#43/44 The 15th Anniversary Retrospective. 368 pages, over 90 lesbians' workfrom the second wave. An amazing, indispensable source collection!
#42 Lesbian VoiCes. Our first intentional all-lesbian issue includes legal theory,
racism, Israel, hair, surgery, the effects of rape on relationships, much more.
#41 Italian-American Women's Issue. Guest edited by Denise Leto & Janet Capone.
#40 Special Focus on Friendship. Essays, fiction, editorial discussion transcript.
#36 Special Focus on Surviving Psychiatric Assault/Creating Emotional Well
Being in our Communities. Includes testimony, prose, poetry and essays.
#35 Passing. Investigations into trying to appear other than we are.
#34 Special Focus on Lesbian Visions, Fantasy, SciFi. Includes work on
disability, separatism, building and transformation .
#33 Special Focus on Wisdom. Lesbians of Color, non-violence, war stories,
incest, leaving a will, assimilation & The Real Fat Womon Poems.
#32 Special Focus on Illness, Death, Mourning, Healing, the disappeared,
hunting season, dealing with suicide, cancer, new ritual observances.
#31 Special Focus on Sex and Fiction, coming out in the south, Found Goddesses.
#28 Special Focus on Women & Work; Body Image, Size & Eating.
#26 Special Issue: To Go To Berbir by Jill Drew, a book-length journal written
by an American nurse working in Beirut during the 1982 Israeli invasion.
#21 Separatism revisited, Jewish survival & defiance, Black lesbian writing,photos of dykes in drag, suicide, bars, letters about anti-Semitism.

We recently found a case of slightly damaged copies of #39, On Disability ($5 ea.).
Sinister Wisdom #1-19,27,37 & 38 are out of print. Photocopies can be provided$5 for the first article, $1 for each add. in the same order ($17 for a whole issue).
Allow one month for deli very.

142 sinister wisdom #53 - Old Lesbians / Dykes

Notes for a Magazine ___________~
Change on the Horizon
It's my great pleasure to introduce Sinister Wisdom's new
editors: Akiba Onada-Sikwoia and Janet Wallace. They will takeover all aspects of publishing SW in February of 1995. The call for
their first issue, #56 on Language, is on page 144.
I first met Janet in 1983 at the last Women in Print conference
and have known her work as a writer, editor and member of Macdykes off and on since then. Akiba was among the first womyn
I called about putting out the Lesbian of Color issue (#47: 'Telling
It Like It 'Tis) in 1991 when she was an editor of Ache, a journal for
Lesbians of African descent. Janet and Akiba are experienced,
capable, thoughtful, visionary lesbians.
Sinister Wisdom is graced by this change. I will edit #54,
Lesbians & Religion with guest editors; Caryatis Cardea, Jamie
Lee Evans and Sauda Burch will edit #55, an Open issue. I hope
you will continue to support all of our work. Subscribe, talkabout Sw, keep sending us your writing and art, arguing with us,
subscribing. Your engagement makes our efforts worthwhile.
- ElanaStatement of Purpose
We are two Colored Dykes committed to supporting therepresentation of diversity within our Lesbian communities.
After numerous conversations, several panic attacks, deep
thought and much gratitude, we have accepted the opportunity
to become the next publishers of Sinister Wisdom. Currently weare negotiating with several wimmin, of cultures different thanour own, to join us on this exciting journey.
Akiba Onada-Sikwoia

I am a 51 year old, out-of-the-closet for 36 years, Black womonof African, Native American and Irish descent. As a Writer, Poet,
Performing Artist, Healer and Survivor of the multitude of oppression perpetrated against Black wimmin and children, my
primary work has its focus in healing with the acknowledgementthat Spirit holds the form.

Summer/Fall 1994

143

I believe that our life stories are all that we have - they are
how we've survived. To be able to have a public venue that
supports the telling of our stories, especially as Two Spirited
Winunin/Lesbians, has often been a privilege - when it should
be a necessity.
I am a product of the convolution of experiences in my life.
My writer self has grown out of my painful process of healing,
re-birthing and the grueling challenge of finding the courage to
speak. It has felt devastating to have this precious gift of my truth
not venerated. It has been frustrating to have someone else decide that what I have to say would be more appropriate were it
expressed in "their language."lowe much gratitude to the first womon who said, "Akiba,
you're a writer," and to all those wimmin after her who recognized that what I had to say and the way I needed to do it was
indeed of value. I feel honored to now have the opportunity tosupport other wimmin to do the same.

Janet Wallace
I grew up in San Francisco and now live in Oakland. I plan
to introduce myself more fully later, but for now I'll say that I am
looking forward to being one of the publishers of Sinister Wisdom.
When I first heard about the editors wanting to pass Sinister
Wisdom on to Women of Color, I immediately remembered thelong hours I'd spent on layout and design for Ache (a journal for
Lesbians of African descent) and shuddered. No more giving
blood to a publication, I thought, at least not in this lifetime.
A month or so later, Akiba approached me with enthusiasm
about how publishing was in her destiny. Did I want to participate in this project, she wanted to know. We talked about it
among ourselves, and later with Elana and Caryatis. It impressedme that the journal was already 19 years old. I would be a member of the 6th group of women to take it over. I decided that, withthe right group, it would be worthwhile and probably fun.
I .feel like a caretaker for something precious and special. I
am serious about the responsibility and want to see the publication thrive and continue to evolve.

144 sinister wisdom #53 - Old lesbians / Dykes

Upcoming Issues ____________----'-_#54 Lesbians & Religion - out in December!
#55 Open - to be edited by Caryatis Cardea, Jamie Lee Evans andSaud a Burch. Now's the time to send us all those manuscripts thathaven't fit our themes! Deadline: October 1,1994#56 Language - The deadline for Akiba and Janet's (see p. '142143) first issue will be February 1, 1995. .

The subject oflanguage is complex and evokes many responses
such as issues of power, privilege, class, race and color, culture andall the phobias. We envision works addressing questions such as:
Who gets to speak for us? What is the importance or non-importance of being bi-, tri-, or multi-lingual? When words like sexism,
racism, homophobia, fat phobia, ageism are used to define youroppression, do they define your experience? (For example, overthe past 10 years the definition of racism has changed - at one timethe dictionary equated racism with economical power, now it's
hard to find a dictionary with that definition in it any more.) Who
gives definition to these words? Who creates the language we use- does it come out of our communities, does it represent thediversity of them?
What does it mean to use a certain kind of language? Who are
you when you use tha t language? Are you rep res en ting yourself as
you see yourself? Or are you representing yourself in a way thatyou think will be more accepted? What does it mean to define
yourself and or your experience in the language of an oppressor?
(For example, rape defined by men who 99% of the time are therapist.) What does it mean to be born into a language that is not thatof your ancestors with no access to the language they used? Islanguage just words or is it a way of communicating our feelings,
giving meaning to our experiences. How about words like disabled, dumb, mute, blind, etc., do they describe the abilities wemay not have or do they make us victim?
You certainly do NOT have to express yourself in some sort ofintellectual discourse. It can be fiction or poetry. It can be, if you areso blessed, pictorial rather than textual. It can be a diatribe. In fact,
it can be just about anything that we can print on a page.

MANUSCRIPTS, SUBSCRIPTIONS, BACK ISSUE ORDERS &CHANGES OF ADDRESS
Please send all to: Sinister Wisdom, POB 3252, Berkeley, CA 94703
Submission Guidelines
All written work should be mailed flat (not folded), with your name andaddress on each page. Submissions may be in any style or form, or
combination of forms. Maximum submission: five poems or two stories
per issue. We may return longer submissions. We prefer you type (orsend your work on 31f2" discs, ASCII or Mac, with a printout). Legible
handwritten work accepted, tapes accepted from print-impaired
womyn. All submissions must be on white paper. SASE MUST BE
ENCLOSED. Selection may take up to nine months. If you want acknowledgment of receipt, enclose a separate, stamped postcard. GRAPHICARTISTS should send B&W photos, stats, or other duplicates of theirwork. Let us know if we can keep artwork on file for future use.
We publish only lesbians' work. We are particularly interested in workthat reflects the diversity of our experiences: as lesbians of color, ethnic
lesbians, Jewish, old, young, working class, poor, disabled, fat. We
welcome experimental work. We will not print anything that is oppressive or demeaning to lesbians or women, or which perpetuates negative
stereotypes. We do intend to keep an open and critical dialogue on all theissues that affect our work, joy and survival. See page 144 for details on
upcoming issues. We are open to suggestions for new themes.

Sinister Wisdom, Inc. is a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization. We provide
free subs to women in prison and mental institutions (15% of our mailinglist), as well as reduced price subs for lesbians with limited/ fixed incomes. • Enclose an extra $10 on your renewal to help cover publishingcosts (larger donations accepted). • Give Sinister Wisdom for birthdays,
holidays, special occasions. • Consider doing a benefit or subscription
drive for SW in your city.
We need lots of lesbian energy to keep printing. • We particularly needvolunteer or commission grantwriters and ad sales reps. • Our equipment
wish list includes (in order) an office-quality Mac-compatible laser printer,a scanner & OCR software, a CD drive, a fax or fax-modem. Thanks to eachof you who participates in reading, writing for, building Sinister Wisdom.

It's still a tossup as to which is themost dreaded word, the "0" wordor the "L" word.
- Shevy Healey

I began to think about myself andthe many other black lesbians
who no doubt wi"ll live and die
never having received special
recogn ition ...
-Grear Greene

The strange th i ng about getti ngold, it seems to me, is that only
my body ages, not my spirit, mypersonality, my soul, my inner
self.
- Mary Flick$5