Have I Figured this Life Out Yet? ...Part Two

So, I've been doing a lot of thinking. This is not necessarily good, but that's what the brain is for, right? It can't help itself. Somehow it just keeps on thinking. No help from the peanut gallery needed. When last we talked about family secrets - here - I mentioned that I didn't have any notion that I had two brothers. Heck, I only knew about one brother - that stinky, annoying turd that was always teasing and picking on me. And now I had another brother??? Older than the first one? Please say it ain't so.

It was.

I seem to have been born into a world of secrets. I didn't know it at the time. Wasn't even really aware of it. Do you know that keeping some secrets can be a betrayal? It's a betrayal of heart, of hopes and of dreams, and truth. Somehow it feels like much of my family life was shaded by closely guarded secrets. Funny thing about secrets. One way or another they do come out. What you've hidden away from others, and from yourself, may fester and ferment, and morph into something totally unexpected. There's no control when you hide something away from your heart.

My half-brother was the first major family secret I learned about as a child. It wouldn't be until I was 50 that I would learn of yet another sibling - this time a full-sibling.

But, I don't want to get ahead of myself. Stay tuned.

As it turned out, I came to consider my half-brother Ron the more trust-worthy of my siblings. He is a straight-shooter, kind-hearted and smart. He always had a smile and hug for me, never selfish. There's not much to say about my other brother. Oh, he was an okay brother to me, but kind of distant. We were relatively close when I was 16 years old and he was leaving for Viet Nam - stationed in Cam Rahn Bay. He actually let me use his Forest Green Karmann Ghia VW while he was gone. That was cool. But, after his tour, he and I never much bonded. It probably didn't help that he was stationed in Florida and has lived there to this day. Still, when we did get together - it was always oil and water.

Life goes on, and I learned to keep my own secret, because my parents were so over-bearing in their world view (can you say "ultra-conservative?"), I could not bring myself to discuss anything of this nature with them. I think I have identified as lesbian since high school. Maybe even before that, but clearly I had leanings in that direction in the late 60's, early 70's. I really had no clue what I was feeling. I just knew that when I dated guys, there was never a spark, and hardly an interest. All my girlfriends were head-over-heels for guys. Me? Not so much. But, I was clueless even when my fantasies turned to the girls I knew and liked so much.

Until college. I lived in the dorm of a Catholic college, while attending a commercial photography school nearby. Ha! My parents must've thought I would stay out of trouble that way. The joke was on them - only they didn't know it. I think Catholic girls are the most risk-taking females on the planet. Sure seemed that way to me. Had my first ever love & crush there. Painfully wonderful. Painfully secretive. Wonderfully involving. Whew!

So my world became Dorothy's Lively Secret. Indeed, little did I see that I was following in the footsteps of my family. Indeed, it was not the healthiest way to become an adult.

Then I made it worse. I joined the Navy. In those days there was no "Don't ask; don't tell." It was more simple than that:

"Hide."

Still, it was amazing how many cool women I would meet in the Navy. It actually was liberating, in a warped kind of way. It was also where I would meet my future wife - in Keflavik, Iceland, of all places...

Does all this make sense? Ask me questions if you're curious about anything.

Have I Figured this Life Out Yet? ...Part One

I was an Air Force Brat. I thought I was the younger of 2 kids (well, really 4 kids, total (I think), but I'll save that story for later in this series of posts).

Me? I had the good fortune to be born in 1954 in San Francisco, at Letterman General Army Hospital in the Precidio. My Mom and Dad were fresh back from being stationed in Okinawa, where they had been quartered in a Quonset Hut. They were stationed on Hamilton AFB, probably living in luxury by comparison. My Pop was a pilot - he had been a fighter pilot in WWII, instructor, helicopter pilot, rescue helicopter pilot in Korea, and a transport pilot in the late 50's and early 60's.

When I was 2 years old my Pop got a transfer to McChord AFB in Tacoma, Washington. I have memories of growing up on Woodbine Lane, friends, family. Rain, snow, kindergarten where I learned to shake hands and be polite. Up until I was 5 years old, I thought I only had one brother, my brother Jack was 10 years older than me. When my Pop again got transfer orders, it was to Hickam AFB in Honolulu. That was when I learned I had a half-brother, who was a year older than Jack. He knew he had a brother, but no one had thought to tell me, just a dumb little 5 year old. That is, until it was time to go to Hawaii - and my parents thought maybe they should tell me since they were going to bring him up from Arizona and then be with us in Hawaii.

At first I remember being incredulous. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around the concept of another brother, and one who was older than Jack. I don't recall how my mom and dad told me, I just remember being quite excited. I recall loading into the Caddy and going for a ride to the Tacoma Bus Station - It was probably Greyhound or something. This was 1959, I think. I remember one of the first things Ron ever said to me was, "How ya doing, Bean Pole?" And that was his nickname for me since forever. He's since transferred it to my daughters, a name I willingly allow them to use.

He is my mother's son, from a previous marriage. Mom won't talk much about that time to this day. Ron still tries to draw information out of her about his origins... That's another story as well.

We had a yellow MG convertible at the time. I remember the running boards on it, and the wonderful leather seats. Pop sold it before we left for Oahu. I wish I could really remember that car better. The "family car" was a powder blue 1956 Caddy. That was some comfy car. We would take holidays and drive down to Santa Barbara on old Highway 99 and 101, to visit old family friends, the Bettencourts. I would stretch out across the seat with my bed pillows. No seat belts in those days. I remember stopping at a motel where each room, or suite, was just a very tall, A-framed, pine log cabin. Reminded me of tee-pees. I slept in a bed in the loft. Sweet! On one of those trips, at 4 years old, I caught my first fish off the Santa Barbara pier. Somewhere in a dusty box there's a small black and white picture of me proudly holding up and displaying my 4" fishy. How cute can you get? Ha!

It was nearly my 6th birthday when we packed up our bags, our home, ourselves, and drove one last time down to California - destination Travis AFB. From there my own Pop would be piloting the C-118 passenger turbo prop plane to our new home in Honolulu, Hawaii - Oahu. The next four years would be my formative growing years. They would imprint me for the rest of my life.

Sappho: Back When the Internet Was Young

Way back "when," I worked at UCSB in the 80's, the Internet was young and wild. For most people, it didn't even exist. I mean, it certainly didn't become a successful commercial entity until the mid-90's, as an extension of ArpaNet.

I was in the Electrical Engineering Dept., building digital laboratories for engineering students. I brought in a few HP mini's of the day, and in the mid to late 80's it was these kinds of tasks that got me interested in UUNET. There weren't well-defined email protocols out there yet, and my email was sent via UUCP to cooperating computers. At the same time I had pulled down news feeds from UUNet, which was your basic bulletin board-like way of communicating via email lists... or something like that - very public, and not at all private.

I was interested in connecting with other lesbians - something very daring for me. After all, in my twenties, I was most certainly not out at that time. Matter of fact, I was pretty damned closeted. It's a sad truth, I know. I am almost ashamed to admit it. But, facts are facts, and there you have it. So. Where was I? Oh yeah, connecting with others of like mindedness. Well, it's lost in the bowels of my memory axons, but somehow I came across an email list called, "Sappho." I think this must have been after the first version of Majordomo list software was released.

O. M. G. There must have been 500 women subscribed to that list from all over the world. At that time - what a concept! There was an incredible amount of email flying back and forth and all over the place. There was a LOT of inane email and one-liners interspersed with some real gems. It was like a hunt to find those gems in that high noise to gem ratio of an email list. In a way, it was a precursor to the blogs and comments of today. It is interesting to see those of like-mindedness seeking each other out to share and exchange. Somewhat like those email lists of old.

After being on Sappho for a few years, it got tiring that so much trivia flew around, and it seemed like there were sub-conversations going on between some 10 to 20 members. We split off into another, more private list. The premise for this list was that we all loved writing and were interested in sharing our writing and ideas with one another. That focus never was very keen. Eventually, there was a rift among some list members, and again we had a split.

This list has (about) 12 women on it now. We have been "together" from the beginning - I'd say about 1988, or so. None of us has met all the members of the list. Some of us have met only one or two members. I think I have met all but two of our list members. We span the continent from Vermont to Texas to Wisconsin and out to California, and more. We have grown close over the years, surviving cancer, partner deaths, new partners, child births, job loss - everything life can throw at us over twenty years.

It's a lot like having a coffee circle of friends. A resource that we each hold very close to our hearts.

I thought to share this with you as a way of commemorating the longevity of such bonds. They seem tenuous, but they are really strong.

It is somewhat like the fibrous bonds that bloggers share. I know bloggers that have met and felt very close to their new friends. It is a lot like that.

Our world is indeed getting smaller. Our world can be our community.

Silly Life Ratings

I was a bit intrigued by one of those silly rating questionnaires that you can take, then get the results to post on your blog. I saw it over at dr. sardonicus' Poll Hill Sanitarium (sounds like a place I might need to hang out at one day - heh...). Honestly, though, I was hesitant. I'm not sure if folks take these things seriously, or not. Or, even if it matters.

Can you say, "Ambivalent?"

Okay, so here it is:

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	8.9
Mind:	8.6
Body:	8.4
Spirit:	8.4
Friends/Family:	8.4
Love:	9.1
Finance:	7.3
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Like the doc, I attribute the Love score to my very own spouse. There is no more wonderful a person. I don't deserve her, and often wonder what in the hell does she see in me. I am just grateful for very huge favors.

Life is good.

The Steps of Aging

Lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about aging.

Over on Maria's blog, Just Eat Your Cupcake, in one of her posts last month she talked about how she felt a bit out of sync with her Easter guests (my paraphrasing). I'm right there with you, Maria. We spent Easter day and evening with a family we share a lot in common, but timing isn't one of those things. Our friends, Diana and Jerry, are parents to Michael and Ryan. Diana and Jerry were both born the year I graduated high school. But Ryan is the same ages as Katie, and Michael is a few years younger than Megan.

Nearly ALL the parents we schmooze with are much, much younger than we are. I mean, our own children are the ages of what our grandchildren could have been, had we had any kids in our early twenties. Especially the lesbian parents. They are sooo young, it feels like we have so little in common.

Um. Now I really do feel old.

Once I left college (which I started when I was 25, after six years in the US Navy - another blog topic for another day...), I always felt just a little out of step with my friends and co-workers. Maybe even a little wiser, I'd think to myself very smugly. That was then.

Now, I feel as if I am always trying to keep up with these young whipper-snappers. And I’m not talking about the kids!

Tangentially, my oldest sibling is my half-brother and he is eleven years older than me. I am the youngest. The "baby." I have a brother ten years older than me - he nearly died last year. His wake-up call finally came, at 62. Now he is belatedly taking care of himself, I think he finally grew up.

Takes some of us longer than others, I guess. We have a full-sister that is younger than both my brothers, but older than me - and she was given up for adoption. (Yup. Another blog topic to explore. Anyone making a list?) She found us a few years ago. It's odd to go 50 years of life thinking I'm the only girl-child, and then learn I have a sister. Hard to wrap my sense of self so differently.

Now, parents are aging and dying. My Mom is 82 and she just keeps going and going like the Energizer Bunny. She has a hard time getting up and down stairs, but is doing okay. I do worry about her, alone in the house I grew up in, now that Dad is gone. But, she says she will stay in that house as long as she can take care of herself. She has friends look in on her, my niece and her husband keep an eye on her, my bother and I drive or fly up there whenever we can, or when we’re needed.

It makes me wonder what life for Kandy and I will be like as we age. We have no family locally. I worry a bit about that, when I’m not worrying about day to day things. I wonder if even then I’ll feel out of sync…

A Little Girl and Her Dad

I was the youngest kid of my Mom & Dad's brood. Sort of an after-thought - or that's how they often put it. Think accident. My place in the birth order is one of serendipity and lack of birth control in the early fifties.

My Dad was a Captain in the Air Force when I was born. I was born in San Francisco at a hospital that was torn down recently - Letterman Army Medical Center - in the Presidio. By the time I was ten years old, he had retired from the Air Force as a Colonel.

Then the fun started.

He searched high and low and found a Ryan PT-22 for sale. It looked a little like this:


Instead of the military colors, he painted it white with red sun-burst striping on the top and bottom of the wings. It was a pretty thing. Notice the pilot sitting in the rear seat?

Guess where I sat?

You betcha! In the front cockpit - with leather helmet and goggles. My parachute seat-pack served as padding for my fanny. Every time we went up he said to me,

"Debbie. If we have any problems you have to jump. See this big handle? You pull real hard as soon as you're clear of the airplane.

"Got it?"

He was so stern, what else could I say?

"Sure Dad. Got it!"

And then we'd taxi out onto the run-way. This was always the scariest part for me. Revving up the engine, then starting out going faster and faster. I could see the pavement speeding by on each side of the cockpit. The Douglas Firs were a green blur. And then, finally, we lifted off the runway, clear and smooth as could be.

Mt. Rainier was to our right in all her majesty. We'd usually go up about 2000 feet and cruise around a while. Then Dad would jiggle the stick (there is no steering wheel in these old planes). It was his way of asking me if I was ready.

I jiggled the stick back at him in return.

The next thing I knew we were climbing straight up. UP - vertically until just when I thought the engine might quit he'd roll the plane over and then we'd come down the other side of the loop, curving downward but then coming back up again.

It was beyond exhilarating.

It was my DAD.

It was ME.

It was beautiful.

We'd do eight point rolls, and smooth rolls, and loops. We'd bank and roll and just have good times.

I have vivid memories of hanging upside down in my seat and seat-belt and seeing Mt. Rainier - upside down.

How many people can say that?

I miss my Ol' Dad. I really do.

He died two years ago today, eight days after his 84th birthday.