The sweetest memory

My heart beats in my ears, echoing the beats as they get closer together. My breath speeds, shallow and and fluttering beneath my chest. Words surface but will not enter my mouth, instead linger in my throat.

A hand brushed against mine sends electricity into my body and fire into my cheeks. My body feels more alive, as if every moment before this one it has been void of life.

We move closer together, close enough that the heat of our bodies combines in a red energy between us. Though my mind had been racing only seconds before, I cannot seem to recall a single thought now. I can feel hot breath against my face, then, closer still, on my lips. They tingle with anticipation of the moment. Finally our lips meet. A surge of energy reaches down the pathway deep inside connecting our lips to all things sensual.

My body arches as if any space between us must be consumed. We are more intertwined than we will ever be again, for this moment comes only once. It is a moment to be savored, treasured and tasted like a fine wine. It cannot last forever, such rapture sustained for too long would seem like euphoria but be insanity in disguise. And so it passes and becomes a sweet memory. That of a first kiss.

Wave your flags

This week is Pride Week. Events around the country are being held celebrating pride in the freedom to choose a queer lifestyle. These events celebrate the diversity that is life, love, and family. Feather boas, rainbows, and leather abound. Stereotypes are played out in grandiose ways, but there are much more than just stereotypes. Moms, dads, college kids, accountants, doctors, lawyers, and regular people everywhere get out and support gay rights, strides in the movement, and the promise of equality. This happens this week in particular because it was June 27, 1969, that the first of a series of riots began at the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in Greenwich Village. The patrons were sick of being picked on and they started a revolution. They paved the way for the generations to follow. That's how things get done, that's how change comes about.

As I was contemplating on how to write this blog, I felt torn. I wasn't sure how to convey my thoughts and true pride for the queer community. I cannot honestly say that I have overcome that deficit. I can only say what pride means to me.

Honoring pride week means honoring love, without limitations and expectations. I told a friend the other day my thoughts on unconditional love and trust. We come into this world possessing both of those qualities. The trust fades and we cannot ever recover it, at least not while this world contains people who take advantage of that trust. But the love, while it fades, is not something forever lost. Unconditional love is something we can relearn after the innocence of childhood fades. We can learn to see human beings as what they are and love them where they are at. One day we'll get it. That will be second nature.

Honoring pride week also means honoring families. Families come in all forms, they always have. No one questions whether grandparents raising their grandchild is a family or not. I cannot see how anyone can question two women or men who love each other, and the kids they are raising, as a family. I have never been as proud of serving a family in birth as last year when I served a lesbian couple. They were so much in love and had so much love to give to a child. I knew they would only make our world better by parenting their beautiful son together.

Finally, honoring pride week to me means honoring change. My generation, and the ones just before and after, have been ones to foster great change. We ask questions and do not accept injustices. We incite riots and revolutions. We are evolution in progress. That is certainly something to be proud of.

I am glad the ones before us did not back down. I look forward to the day when little children have to ask their mommies and daddies why we remember Stonewall because equality is commonplace in our world.

Rape not my Cunt

Got your attention? Good. That's what I was going for.

Let me begin by explaining that my title is taken from a book called Cunt by Inga Muscio. Absolutely every woman should read this book. It is hands down the most powerful book I have ever had in my possession. As a matter of fact, every man who loves a woman should read it too. The book is about the power of not only the word cunt, but more importantly the power of being an owner of one. Seriously, buy it. Read it. Give it to your friends, sisters, mothers, wives and daughters.

Long ago cunts were revered. They were mysterious and sacred. Cunts were cherished by their owners and worshipped by their lovers. The temples (of the Goddess) were filled with women. The world, spiritually and physically, was one of feminism. Women were revered for their ability to give life and nurture. They were desired for their eroticism and respected for their...well they were just respected. The time before our world was one filled with patriarchs was a beautiful one. Or so I'm told.

I wonder how we went from a world like that to one where cunts are far from worshipped. The word itself has come to mean something negative, an insult to be spat at its intended target. Such a beautiful word turned into something so ugly. Originally, the word was a derivative of words synonymous with royalty and even the Goddess, like bathing a woman in purple silk.

It is time we stop raping our cunts. They are raped by the patriarchial bias in our society. They are raped by role expectations. They are raped by people who have forgotten how beautiful our cunts actually are. Then there's the saddest of all. They are raped, quite literally, in dark alleyways, in cars, in beds and against walls. They bleed blood from their trauma and cry tears from their heartbreak.

We must own the word and its power. We must own our cunts and their power. Inga says in her book, "All cunts belong to every woman." I can think of no reason we should not protect them as we do our own children.

I'd like to offer these words in dedication to all cunts that have been abused in one way or another, and hope that they can begin to offer beauty and healing.

Encyclopedias, notebook paper, and a big ass bug

Today I was reminded of a funny story and thought I'd share. When my ex-husband and I were married we lived in a tiny little rental house. Now, he was a paramedic and so I came home most nights alone since he worked graveyard (well, really he worked about 95 percent of the time but that's beside the point). So anyhoo, back to the story.

Most people who have known me a while may notice that I tend to turn on lights in a room before I enter. Yes, this is because I am afraid of the dark. So, I get the door open and the light on inside, then I take a step in the house. It took literally no more than a step for me to realize something was amiss. Hovering above me on the ceiling was a praying mantis.

Now, anyone who knows me at all knows I really do not like bugs of any kind for any reason. So this praying mantis posed quite a problem for me. In order to enter my own house I had to walk under him. Eyeing my enemy, I took a flying leap toward my cordless phone about four feet away from me. I dialed my then husband's pager and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally he answered.

Here's the conversation that followed:

Me - Honey! Come home quick! There's a praying mantis on the ceiling!

Him - And?

Me - You have to come get it!

Him - Now I can leave work and come kill a praying mantis for you.

Me - Well shit! What am I supposed to do?! I can't stay here with a bug crawling around above me!

Him - Get a broom and sweep it down then kill it. Sheesh.

Me - Ok, hold on.

So I grab a broom and sweep. Miss. Scream. Sweep again. Miss. Scream. Sweep again. Miss. Scream. Sweep again. Well, you get it.

Me - Gotta go honey, I can't get this damn bug.

Him - You're an idiot.

Finally after a couple of more sweeps and misses I managed to flick the mother of all praying mantises down to my kitchen floor. Oh shit! I had not thought about him crawling toward me! So, while he was still in shock from being flung through the air I threw a piece of stray notebook paper on top of him. See, I had a plan. On the bookshelf right next to me was the set of encyclopedias I'd had since I was ten. I picked up a couple of them, probably volumns N and O. Then I realized I wanted to make sure I finished to job and grabbed G and H for good measure. Then I stood back, perfected my aim, and dropped the books on the notebook paper. Unphased by the minor earthquake I'd created, I stepped over the book pile and fixed my Ramen noodles (code for dinner when you are young).

The next morning I was awakened by a conversation that went something like this:

Him - Candice, why is there a stack of encyclopedias on the kitchen floor?

Me - I killed the bug.

Him - Awww shit.

A Poem

A Survivor Is

One who has been through hell and lives to tell about it.
One who has walked over fiery coals and has blackened feet to prove it.
One who has fought wild animals and wears the scars as banners.
One who has been beaten down too many times to count and still stands on their own two feet.
One who soars like an eagle in spite of clipped wings.
One who dances the dance of life to the music of years gone by.
One who refuses to just exist but instead insists..

Insists on fighting to see another day.
Insists on clawing their way back out of hell.
Insists on flapping their wings until they can finally take off.
Insists on living and breathing and dancing and laughing and one day...

One day when they look back and see the flames of hell,
One day when they look down at their blackened feet,
One day when they examine their body for the fights they've wone,
One day when they see their wonderfully sturdy legs,
One day when they soar high above the world,
One day when they dance like never before...

That day...they realize...I am a SURVIVOR.

May 2001

A little fiction

This is a short story I wrote for my final in Creative Writing a couple of semesters back. I'd love some feedback, comments, kudos, general love! LOL Seriously, let me know what you think!

The Long Goodbye

My husband was on his deathbed. He had cancer. The battle was one he had been fighting for months. Finally, tonight his fight would end. I had met him after my first year in college. We spent the entire summer together. The painful separation, after returning to college, drew me back to the love of my life. We had been inseparable ever since. I had hardly touched him in months because of the cancer. I was afraid to touch him, as if the cancer would crawl from his body into mine. This night, as we sat waiting for his death, I began to long to touch him. The uncertainty of when death would come was heart wrenching. His last breath could be seconds, minutes, or even hours away. Still, I knew it would be this night, and I waited with uncertain dread and anguish.

As I looked at him now, my sweet John, I was reminded of the day we'd met. I had just finished my freshman year at NYU and was spending the summer on the beach in Florida with some friends. Our first night in Florida, the only bathroom in our tiny rental house broke and we pooled our money to call a handyman. I think I must have forgotten my name when I opened the door and he was standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, tan, with a crooked smile, and muscles that showed beneath his shirt.

"Hi there" he said, "Did someone call for a handyman?"

I stuttered my reply and invited him in. The other girls were at the beach and I laughed inside thinking my mother would have a stroke if she knew I was alone with a boy.

The thought of that evening made me laugh inside all over again. The feeling of a laugh rising up inside of me felt foreign, like being somewhere for the first time. I had not laughed in so long and felt guilty over the impulse. As I sat there looking at him, I was astonished at how little he looked like himself these days. His body, once strong and able, now looked small and frail, like a withered flower wasting away in the summer's heat.

Our years together had been good, John's and mine. Our marriage was not without trials, but well worth the effort we had put into it. We made sacrifices for each other, and when our children came along, we made sacrifices for them. We were pleased with our lives, even through tough spots, as long as we were together.

I had left him that first summer, headed back to school. I got about as far as my dorm room. The loneliness I felt that night as I lay in bed overwhelmed the silence around me. Thoughts of John and our summer together flashed through my head. We had been blissfully happy then. Like most couples, we began consumed with the passion that was each other, we couldn't be in the same room without touching each other, a hand, a cheek, a simple brush of skin on skin to feel the electricity that passed between. But this particular night, the longest night of my life, I laid in my cold bed in the solitude and silence and longed to be back in Florida.

And back I was, the very next day. Leave it to the whims of a nineteen year old girl, my daddy would rant later when he found out I'd left NYU behind. But I didn't care what anybody thought. I knew I had found the love of my life and I couldn't let us be separated by anything.

Looking at my frail, sweet John, I noticed a faint smile on his lips. I wondered if our souls were linked so deeply after all of these years that he was remembering the same sweet time as me. I bent closer to his ear and spoke, "Remember John, the day I came back to Florida. You were so happy you cried. I've never regretted that day, never regretted coming back to you."

How could I regret the moment that changed the course of my entire life? John and I had gotten married a short month after that. We didn't tell anyone about our secret life, not until a few months later when my period was late. I probably could have gone on forever without telling anyone, mainly out of fear of my Daddy. But when we found out our little Ashley was on the way John said to me, "My sweet Emma, we can't just start a new life. You'd never forgive yourself for keeping grandchildren from your parents. Come now darling, it's time to face the music." And so face the music we did, together. That road trip back home to Alabama was torture. Fear doesn't mix well with an untimely Fall heat wave and morning sickness that couldn't tell time. I'll never forget how mad Daddy was the day we told him and Mama everything. I don't know how long it took for him to be alright, but by the time the baby was here all was forgotten.

Ashley came into the world on a stormy Sunday morning. It was just about sunrise when she made her appearance. Her mass of dark curls and deep chocolate eyes captured everyone around her, including my daddy.

Thinking of the birth of a child always made me feel warm inside. As if my body glowed at the remembrance of bringing forth life. I sighed deeply and once again turned my attention to John. He seemed to be struggling a little more to breathe. Each breath he took was short, raspy like a limb scraping over the tin roof of a shed on a windy day. His skin was pale and seemed to hang off of his wasted frame. Remembering our years together only made me long to touch him more, yet I still refrained.

Rather than feel my guilt over my fear of him, I went back to remembering. Our second child, Jesse was born in the summer of 1973. His beautiful blond halo put him in sharp contrast to his sister, and with him our family was complete.

John and I weathered more than a few storms over the years following. We struggled many times to make ends meet in the beginning with John's work being seasonal and me at home with the kids. John was so proud to start his own contracting company in the eighties, and I was proud of him. Life for our little family seemed to be perfect. We all thought so.

By 1991, both of the kids were gone. Ashley was a senior in college, and Jesse had just left starting his freshman year. John and I were happy to spend some time getting to know each other alone again. For a while, the house was quiet. We no longer had idle conversation to fill the silences, there were no more cheer leading practices, football games, or Saturday gatherings of neighborhood kids around our house.

As I sat reminiscent of the years past, I realized that our life was flashing before me. This is what happens when you die, I thought to myself. Even though I knew it was John who was dying, not me, a part of me, perhaps the biggest part, was dying as well. The peaceful look crossing over my sweet John's face told me he was replaying our life as well. His breathing was slower now, shallow and soft. I knew he would not be with me much longer.

We had not known of John's cancer for long. Only a few short months. In the beginning, when we were just starting all of John's therapies, he would whisper to me as we lay in bed at night, "It's been good, right Em? Our life's been good." Each time I'd respond, while choking back a sob in my throat, "I wouldn't change any of it, John." We prayed for John's therapies to work, we even prayed for a miraculous disappearing of the cancer. But our miracle was not to be. The cancer had invaded too much of his body, and John declined faster than any of us would have thought.

After a few weeks in the hospital, John wanted to come home. The doctors said keeping him comfortable was all that was left. So I took him home, my sweet John, and set up a bed for him in our study that overlooked our gardens. He's always loved the study, especially in the summer when all of the flowers were in bloom.

The children had said their goodbyes to John. Ashley had come last week with her husband and their two children. She laid her head in her daddy's lap and cried while he stroked her hair. They had gone home that day, promising to visit again this week, since they were only a few hours away. Jesse called everyday for the past few months. He had visited some for a while, but his wife was very pregnant with their second child, making her unable to travel much. They had promised to visit next month after the new baby arrived.

Despite all of the plans, all of us knew John would not live to see them. None of us were fooled into thinking our miracle would suddenly appear. All of us had made peace with John's dying, including John.

I did not realize I was crying until I felt a tear fall on my hand. I looked at John and was overwhelmed by the emotion of loving him and sharing life with him and losing him. I grabbed his hand, crying. I spoke in broken sobs, "Don't...leave...me..." I leaned my head over on his chest. He was so thin I could hear his heart beat as it thread the blood through his body. My body trembled with the grief I felt rising up inside of me. A peace I cannot describe entered the room and I felt a stillness wash over me. I felt John's hand come to rest on my head.

"I love you," I whispered into the hush of the night and I heard John sigh as his heart fell silent and his body relaxed beneath me.

Take a cha-cha-cha-chance

So today is my birthday! It was 28 years ago today that I shot into this world, as it has been told to me very much like my first daughter was born. I must say I have never been good with birthdays, at least not mine. I am not a spotlight person and let's face it, birthdays are all about spotlight. I've gotten better about that though and today is all about ME!

Today I will celebrate my life. I will celebrate the things I have accomplished, the people who love me, the people who I love, and the life I have left ahead of me. I am a wife, mother, lover, friend, counselor, sister, daughter, woman, temple, goddess. I am a revolutionist, a survivor, and a feminist. I am all of these things.

I possess and make the most of my ability to give and sustain life. I love with everything I have in me and have been guilty of trusting so much it hurts. Each day I am a new person and I am never the same as the day before. I am proud of the woman I am and the woman I have yet to become. I am a lifelong student of life and am thankful I am able to teach some along the way.

Even as I'm typing this the clock above me is chiming midnight, announcing the beginning of my day. So I'm going to celebrate it! I will celebrate all of these things I am and all of the people I love who happen to love me back. Just for today. Well, maybe not just for today. But it's a damn good start!

Sing with me!
na na nananana
You say it's your birthday
It's my birthday too, yeah
They say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you

Yes we're going to a party party
Yes we're going to a party party
Yes we're going to a party party.

I would like you to dance
Take a cha-cha-cha-chance
I would like you to dance