Monthly Archives: February 2025

I Like to Laugh

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Valentine’s Day dance

I like to laugh. Uproariously. I like to banter. When words or actions touch my heart, I like to cry. I savor conversations that lead me to your spirit and you to mine. I want to feel safe.

Jody and I found a welcoming community where we belong. Our spirits, the essence of who we are, no longer need to be hidden. Our sense of being different has melted away. We fit.

On our arrival, several Minnesotans stopped by our RV lot, gave us a dern-tootin’, you betcha Minnesooota hello. “Dun-chya-no, dere’s a dance dis evening at the clubhouse. Yah. Yah. You wanna come wid?”

Shortly after we met a lady walking her dog. After chatting, we realized we had found ourselves a dog sitter.

Winter games, one week of competitive fun play, started the day after our arrival. Variations of ping pong, billiards, shuffleboard, bocce ball, corn hole, mind games and kids’ games kept us busy from morning to night. Over 120 community members participated. All organized by volunteers.

The Resort encompasses fifty acres and features 278 homes and RV lots. Many overlook freshwater lakes, conservation areas and preserves.

What’s not to like?

The Resort is a predominately lesbian, gated community.

I wondered what our son and daughter would think of us owning an RV lot here. Would they feel welcomed? Would friends, relatives, nieces and nephews, want to visit? How would I feel living 24/7 in a community of women? Was I essentially gating myself from the outside ‘real’ world? Was I labeling myself a lesbian? (I hate labels).

These questions bothered me. I listened to my body. Paid attention to how I felt when joining activities, walking the dogs, and visiting residents. Jody and I discussed on many occasions the path that brought us here.

What I like most about The Resort is the feeling of acceptance regardless of age, body size, clothes style, or how you look. Friendliness awaits as soon as you step out of your house or RV. Waving Hi, saying hello, is natural and expected. The Resort is safe. I can be myself. I can have meaningful conversations.

My unease finally came to rest when I determined that Jody and I did well for ourselves. The Resort is a wonderful resting place for our spirits. We enjoy the camaraderie and budding friendships. What matters most is that it is a place for us.  It’s a home where we are comfortable and laugh often.

Tending the Garden

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On walks through the Arizona neighborhood where we are staying, many yards have been let go because of the severe ongoing drought. Prickly pear cacti that often look plump and rosy are shriveled and wrinkly. Shrubs and trees are brown and brittle—not dormant, but dead. Here and there, homeowners have planted clumps of yellow and orange flowers. In the struggling landscape these small patches are obviously tended and watered. I understand the wish to cultivate one small burst of joyous color.

My husband and I are grateful for our escape from Minnesota’s frigid cold (-11 degrees air temps the morning we left). While here, I could easily drift into wondering about our sons, their wives, and our granddaughters (everyone’s OK, but thinking about them is a hard habit to shake). Dismay and foreboding about our democracy remain a dark undertow. 

However, my husband and I are mindful we are lucky to be getting away, so we tamp down those concerns and tend to our joy. Notice the sun on our shoulders, blue sky and high wispy clouds. Hazy mountains in the distance. Soft 75 degree breezes. The pleasure of patio dining and hearing birdsong again.  

We take the break. Turn toward happiness. Are almost carefree.

Another Crisis

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My family moved from Luxemburg, Wisconsin, population less than 500, to Milwaukee during the summer of 1961. From a grade school with eight grades spread over six classrooms, my brother and I were enrolled in a Catholic elementary school with 150 kids in every grade. We had never seen so many kids. 

The first year was rough on my mother who no longer had a part-time job, a bowling league, or knew the names of everyone in the parish. She didn’t even know the names of women on our block. By the summer of 1962 life could be testy in our household. My great-grandmother moved back to Luxemburg and took me with her at the start of summer. 

Our second school year began with more confidence and my mother found a seasonal job. She was happier. Until October 16 when the beginning of the Cuban Missile Crisis moved the world toward danger. People were deeply afraid that Cold War was morphing into actual war with Russia, including missiles falling on the United States. Adults knew about the horror of war. Kids were directed in useless duck and cover drills, crawling under our desks with our hands over our heads.

My mother wanted to be in our Luxemburg home with its dug-out basement, food cellar and indoor pump. Our Milwaukee ten-year-old ranch offered no place to hide. It was too late to build a bomb shelter. She emptied the clothes closet in a spare room, brought in blankets and pillows, water jugs, crackers, peanut butter and other food plus towels, tissue and a bucket. She listened to the radio constantly. We went to bed fully dressed. October 28, she woke us with orders to get into the closet. Blankets had been placed over window curtains, a rug rolled at the bottom of the door. We listened to news coverage throughout the night. The crisis was averted. Nerves remained raw for years.

We’re back to practicing some odd form of duck and cover. And it is just as useless. The stakes are high for every citizen and much of the world.

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