Another lesbian love letter … happy birthday my love

My one, my truth, my reason for idiotic bliss. I cherish this, your birthday as I have the others who have come before with as much awe and honor as I ever have.

You never cease to amaze me as we grow older, year by year and side by side.

The first birthday we shared I brought you the wrong gift but with all the right intention. You were so sweet about it all, I was embarrassed but glad to be with you.

My crush weighed so heavily on my brain I could barely remember to wrap your gifts.

Since your last birthday we never spent a night alone. You were next to me for cake and ice cream, for laughing until we cried and for beer on beaches. For every sweet moment in between.

My crush still weighs heavily and at times I can barely speak.

Sometimes it is all I can do, I stare in wonder and amazement that you are here with me. No miles to distance us. No goodbye need ever be long.

I am honored to spend this day, the birthdays previous and the days to come celebrating you. Your laugh and your smile. Your kindness and your generosity. Your strength and your courage. I admire you.

I am in awe of your ability to tackle anything that comes our way with strength and wisdom. You surprise me each passing year with your passion and commitment to our little family. I am moved by your beautiful gaze and am transported by your touch.

 

 

My pride, my lover, my best friend and my destiny. I have never been more grateful to be in your company.

Happy 41st my love, my gorgeous. My darling wife.

I adore you more than words will ever say.

 

 

 

Mothers Day in a new light

Today is the first day of May.

Today is the first full month of 2018 that I feel somewhat less lost as a mother, as a daughter and as a woman.

I have grown children, and teenage children, and fur children. I have a wife who I have been accused of treating like a child on occasion. Nobody is perfect, judgmental Judy.

I even have feathered children (I love those little cluckers).

I know, I look way too young to have grown children, thank you for thinking it.

The fact is I do. The oldest are adults, adulting in a grown up world far from my nest.

In case you need a quick refresher note here is a mini version of my sorta-adult life:

A long time ago in a land far away there was a young “know it all teenager” who found herself pregnant and stupid. She married her boyfriend, bought a house with a white picket fence added in a couple dogs and had everything but happiness.

More ridiculous things happened in the middle. Blah, blah, blah …

Fast forward 20 something years and that stupid teenager is a self proclaimed wise(r) woman. She made mistakes. She fell down alot, skinned her knees and nearly broke her neck emotionally and mentally. Eventually that lost girl found her happiness. She distanced herself from her own mother for fouls of a personal nature for years but has since, very recently, found forgiveness. Her grown children are distanced now, not by spite but by miles and sparse communication.

For all of my woes there is a light in distance, there is a summer plan to bring all of my people to the same harmonious place.

By harmony I mean grass and lawn chairs, sipping cold beverages and cheering on a game of corn hole or horse shoes. There will be laughter and loud voices, there will be barking dogs and trash talk. There will be breezes to blow the smoke from the grill.

There will be a stillness inside me finally even in the midst of reunion chaos.

Mothers Day may come in mid May but I am celebrating a little earlier. For the first time in a long time I have something entirely and unexpectedly related to extended family to look forward to.

Something that isn’t a surprise pile of dog poo in the hallway in the middle of the night when I get up to pee.

Something not related to a bag of cheese puffs in the pantry with a single cheesy puff left in the bottom of the bag.

Something uncommonly good to look forward to. Something not at all like a field trip leaving tomorrow at 4 in the morning which I learned about the night before.

Nope. Something really, really good.

Something great is on the horizon. A Happy Mothers Day indeed.

 

Latest-Happy-Mothers-Day-Rose-Images

A wedding day love letter, on the 3rd year anniversary. 

3 years ago I wrote and sent an email to my soon to be legally wed wife. It was an emotional and exciting time and the biggest day of our life together to date. 

As we celebrate this anniversary I wanted to share that originsl very personal email here. I do so with her blessing. 

Enjoy. 

        

We are getting married …. today. Not tomorrow or next week. Today.

I was not sure this day would ever make it here or that we would be ready when it did. Over the last few days as we patiently (and equally at times, not so patiently) watched the countdown timer tick away, I tried to think of the perfect wedding gift. I thought of a million things but nothing seemed right until I went back, all the way back to our beginning.

Do you remember how we started? It was an email, simple words typed and delivered digitally but neither of us could have know what was actually taking place.

It was never just words, never just an email, and neither is this one.

I decided to write you an email for your wedding gift, I know what you are thinking, that you didn’t get me a gift. The truth is you did, I have you, a lifetime with you is the greatest gift I could imagine. You are my whole world. I hope this reaches you with as much joy and surprise as the first one did.

I hope that every message you ever get makes you smile but this one especially I want to be like the first. All the anticipation, the joy, the flips in your belly, all the wonders of sweet enchantment.

Everyday is another chance to make sure you know how much I love you, adore you, need and want you. I don’t want a single day to pass in our marriage that I don’t remind you. Starting with the first.

I am not sure what I would do without you, I don’t want to know a life without you in it. So when we say our vows later today, know that I mean every word of them. Take it all in, just like you did in the beginning. Let your mind replay them over and over just like we read each others emails and texts … over and over again. You are truly my best friend, the perfect lover and the person I want to share idiotic bliss.

I can not wait to call you my wife.

With all my love,

~Cat

Almost there … 

Tomorrow morning is (fingers crossed) the final surgery and I am cancer free.

Tonight though real life is being lived. I am a mom, a wife and my family needs dinner. I began by throwing some chicken pieces in a shallow roasting pan and setting the convection oven to slow cook those bird bits to perfection.

I then snuck off and flopped onto my bed. I snuggled into my pile blankets, called my dogs to join and then began to browse the internet. I will need stuff to keep me occupied this week while I recover and this seemed like a good time to get some ideas.

Typical end the weekend stuff.

Only not so much.

The wife came in and belly flopped beside me. I love her but she has some serious bull in a china shop mannerisms. She landed sticking her chin directly into a rib. She says she heard a noise, I just felt the pain. I ignored her for the most part and continued to browse, pretending not to notice her or the now sharp pain in my upper abdominal area.

She grew bored and demanded attention again … about 10 minutes later. This time she tries to pull me away from my browsing with a little story.

She says that before she came in she “smelled something burning” checked the upper oven, nothing in there, checked the bottom. Just then “a poof of smoke came out” at her but since she “didn’t see fire” she thought it was fine.

She thought it was fine. 

I looked away from my phone for the first time with terror in my eyes. I envisioned my oven engulfed in flames and my kitchen filled with thick smoke which would certainly kill us all.

She didn’t even move.

I started to flail, throwing blankets and attempting without much sucess to get up from the canine restrictions currently imposed on my legs.

I got to the door and the smell was clearly something burning, but it was much more than that. Think self cleaning oven. It was obnoxious. I was sure that chicken had tipped or something and we would be having PB&J for dinner tonight.

By tonight I really mean maybe forever because fancy 2 oven ranges are expensive and I am, as I mentioned, a mom aka cash poor.

While I’m running worst case scenarios in my head she had beat me to the kitchen. She opened the lower oven to show me there was no fire …. to prove somehow she had been fine to ignore the initial smoke and smell of burnt cheese on the oven floor.

*I assume the last batch of pizzas spilled over in there, not that I would know it was burnt cheese since nobody mentioned it.

So by now I see the chicken looks fine, perfectly placed and roasting casually. No need to fight over who gets the last of the good jelly or who has to have the butt end of the bread.

Crisis averted.

The house smells weird and I still have surgery tomorrow but it could be worse.

It could be way worse.

I could be dying. I could be a cancer victim and not a survivor.

I am grateful for stinky smells, family dinners and if my family is in a good mood, even for the last of the good jelly.

It’s good to be a mom.

It’s good to be a wife.

It’s good to be alive.

The tale of a lesbian and her new doctor. Warning foul language ahead.

It has happened every single time I have seen a new doctor since I got married. 

I go in to fill out my paperwork, hand over my ID and insurance card and wait. 

It doesn’t take long before the whispers.Then they call out to me in the waiting room. 

I know what’s coming but before I can approach the counter they shout… 

 “Is your real name Jolynn?” 

“Who is Jolynn?” 

“Your what?” 

“Sorry, your … spouse?” 

Yes. Fuck. Thanks for keeping that on the low. 

Seriosly. 

They don’t do this to straight married women. 

Never would they say … “ma’am this card says Steve. Is Steve your real name? Who is Steve? Oh. Your husband? Is that right? You say Steve is your husband?” 

Never. 

It would never happen. 

It would be unimaginable to think that it is the entire waiting rooms right to know that I am married  … and to who. Yet it has happened on multiple occasions. I happen to need to see an array of specialists and every single office has been incredibly *special* in the insurance process. 

Not that I am ashamed to have a wife.

I parade this rock  around on my finger  like a beauty queen wears a crown. 

When she is with me she is arm candy … like a sexy, smiling, human accessory that holds my purse and tells me my ass looks amazing. 

That’s not the point. 

I’m 100% sure when I get back to the waiting room they will ask if I am pregnant. 

Then they will ask how I can be sure I’m not. 

Today might be the day I explain it …loud and in detail. 

After all if we are sharing we might as well share it all …

Pride. You’ve got it or you don’t.

Yesterday was the Pride festival for Asheville, North Carolina and it was held in beautiful Pack Square Park. We call it home, lots of people call it a vacation destination nestled in Western North Carolina.

We arrived early’ish in the day. It was gorgeous, partly sunny and warm enough to need a little shade but not shorts. The perfect early fall day in the south.

We wore our newly purchased, just for this event, matching t-shirts and held hands as we strolled. You can say we looked super gay but that was the theme. We were headed to Pride after all.

We walked past a few screaming protestors at the festival line. Each shouting ridiculous things about lesbians and something about children. While I know a lot about both I had better things to do than correct them.

I stared quietly, hoping that what I heard about how looks could kill was correct. It seems it wasn’t as none of the preaching, sign holding annonces dropped to the ground.

I passed  by wondering what compels someone to throw that much hate at such a peaceful, colorful group of people in the middle of a city.

Even though extra security was evident, it didn’t take long to forget those sign holding screaming lunatics were even We received so many kind words, thumbs up and sweet compliments on our matching ensemble. It was delightful to be noticed for our love (literally!) in a way much different than the usual stares and glares we get out and about in society sometimes.

There were white tented booths in the park, each with a mission to sell us something whether it be a hand craft, some rainbow colored something or an agenda of some sort.

I would say I wasn’t buying … but who am I kidding. I wanted to soak it all in. I was proud to be there and proud of the businesses who came out to show their support. It was amazing.

I stopped at nearly all 100 or so booths. I picked up beads, sampled wine, picked up more beads, scored some colorful sun glasses, signed up to win stuff, gave to charity, listened to people talk about their organization and bought some cool lesbian swag from local vendors.

We had a couple beers, met up with old friends and watched some people dance.

Watched some people try to dance that is.

We listened to a local drum circle and a group of guys singing their hearts out. We watched “Cher” give a spectacular performance, some Drag Royalty delicately balance crowns the size of Buicks on their heads and some scantily clad performers high kick their way to tips from the crowd.

There were cheers and applause from a park full of people.

So much talent and so much self esteem. Get it girl.

 

Everyone there in unity and rainbow colors in spite of controversial legislation, a nauseating political race, and so shortly after a mass shooting of people just like us … a massacre for simply being proud of who they were.

 

Thank you TD Bank!

 

 

There were speeches and heartfelt pleas to be kind to one another. There is certainly more than enough hate in the world without us attacking each other. There was talk about repealing the stupid bathroom bill – also known as HB2. If you don’t know about HB2 read up here. Basically it means that you are required by law to use the bathroom designated by your birth gender. This doesn’t really mean a change in my life but it could for many, many others and quite unfairly.

None of that kept the community from celebration. It was a great day.

A beautiful, sun shining, peaceful day.

It meant a great deal for us to be there, to represent, to be counted in a community so united yet sometimes just as divided.. The festival in Asheville was held in Pack Square Park right in front of City Hall. I am super blessed to have my life here, my wife and my kids and my friends.

Please, if you have the opportunity, show your love and support.

It matters. You matter. Be counted.

Be present. Be proud.

Have pride in yourself as a member or as an ally to the community.

 

 

Pride Swag. $10 well spent.

 

The time things got up close and personal with the TSA agent

This weekend the kids were scheduled to fly in from a long summer visit at dad’s. The excitement was in the air from the minute I woke up. 

I put on a sundress and remembered the last time I tried to get past security in a comfortably fashionable covering.

 It wasn’t a good idea.

Apparently a long flowing maxi dress makes you look like you might have strapped explosives to your thighs. Not that I have much room … you know with all that thigh gap I don’t have. I could start a fire with the way these thighs rub. No flammable substance down there – I promise. 

Let’s just say I attributed my outfit choice to it not going over well last summer with airport sercurity.

So this year I decided to keep it super simple. A simple Folly Beach Tee and short cotton shorts. Sporty pull on style bottoms with no belts or buttons or zippers or anything that could set off alarm bells or blinking lights … or cause anyone to pull on some blue latex gloves for a pat down. 

I left my untamed curls loose, no bun, no hat, no chance for weapons hidden in there. I was thinking of all the ways I could have gone wrong last time.

I’m usually a flip flop or sandal girl in summer but bare feet in an international airport is down right frightening. I paired my simple outfit with some no show socks and a pair of Nikes. I made a joke to the wife I looked like the typical lesbian stereotype, totally not my style. 

I was slightly uncomfortable in this outfit of choice. I looked like a different person but not a psycho hell bent on distruction. 

Or so I thought.

Even though I generally wouldn’t be seen outside the gym or lounging at home like this I figured I was covered just enough while still being transparent. Or enough to not be stopped in security for suspect I’m about to do something terrible with my clearance pass. The one I was provided to pick up my unaccompanied minors. 

I get to the security line, remove my shoes, put my belongings in the bin. No pockets, no purse, no flowing outfit, no bare feet. I’m good. Right? 

Wrong.

The nice TSA agent waves me into the time machine looking thing. It reminds me of the banking drive thru things that suck the capsules into the building and back. The agent tells me to step into the giant capsule and spread my legs to put my feet on the outside the yellow shoe prints painted on the flooring area. No problem. I do as I’m told and put my hands up in front of me just like the directions show.

I may have even smiled for my virtual strip search picture session. 

I’m waved out and asked to stand to the side. I didn’t realize what was happening. I’m still smiling. Then the body image shows up on the screen with a yellow box on my groin area in the back. What the hell. The lady agent informs me she will have to ask me to turn around and she will need to pat down my “bottom” … seriously? She tells me what she’s doing while I stand there to be frisked for whatever they think they picked up in my naked x-ray. 

To be clear there was NO reason for abnormalities in my groin area .. or any area. No reason for yellow boxes or pat downs. I am certainly not the next lady panty bomber. 

To make things worse after the friendly grope session I had to be further checked for terroristic tendencies. 

Lady agent advised me to turn to face her, palms up so she could wipe this small white strip all over my palms and fingers. They plugged it into a machine and I was told to wait. Once it came back all clear the agents smiled at me and told me I could go. 

I was slightly terrified at this point. Mostly because I wasn’t sure why I needed to be patted and what was wrong with my hands.

 Let’s be honest … I just really wanted to know what kind abnormalities are going on in my shorts. 

I grabbed my belongings and put my shoes on. Totally bewildered and feeling equally embarrassed and violated I headed to find a beer. I ordered and connected to the wifi for a little research while I waited for the kids plane to land. 

I read horror stories about other people having the same things happen. Not at the same time, but nobody could be that lucky. It seems the abnormality in my shorts could have been anything. Or nothing. The hand wipe situation was likely checking for traces of explosives. 

Good thing I wasn’t recently blowing up mines in the backyard. 

All in all I learned it probably doesn’t matter what you wear. 

It doesn’t matter that your lady bits aren’t boarding a plane and you’re just trying to pick up your kids. 

It probably doesn’t matter how you style your hair or what shoes you have to put in the bin.

 It doesn’t matter if you look like you might be on a murderous rampage or if you just want to see your kids get safely off a plane.

The agents have a job to do and no amount of time spent on trying to look innocent makes you any less a threat to the friendly skies. If nothing else I feel a little safer putting my babies on a plane next summer because of all the security. Also I know to arrive early and bring extra cash for the drink I will need once I make it past the pat down and swab. 

I’m convinced at this rate my next trip past security will involve walking to a private room and dropping pants for a personal show and tell.

I’m a little concerned about my relationship with TSA but it appears it is all in an effort for my kids to safely fly across the country 2x a year. It’s worth it. 

Making my own sugar scrub and imagining my death scene

We went to the beach about 2 weeks ago and for the last few days my gorgeous tan has started to peel like glue on a preschoolers fingers.

As I reached for more lotion I wondered how hard it would be to make a scrub.

I’m a tall girl and not tiny. I’ve got curves in the right places (plus some, whatever). The point is you won’t see me buying enough fancy scrub for my whole body. They don’t sell tubs of the stuff big enough anyway.

I did a little search and *voila* a recipe with simple enough ingredients I could probably whip it up and scrub up these flaky legs.

It couldn’t hurt. I mean what’s the worst that could happen?

I grabbed the big container of coconut oil and a spoon. As soon as the spoon touched the smooth white surface it stopped. The stuff is solid. So I think to myself I will microwave it. Pop it in and look for the sugar.

By the time I realized the container was still in the microwave I had found a bowl, measured sugar, spilled some, wiped it up and wondered to myself where the coconut oil went. Ooops.

I get it out, it’s no longer solid but a clearing mess with white globby things of unmelted goop floating around. I scoop the goop chunks and start stirring it in the sugar.

It smells fainternet-meme-of-cat-at-spa-with-cucumbers-on-eyes-and-wearing-a-bath-robefabulous. I start feeling crafty and wonder if I could be famous for sugar scrubs one day. It could happen.

I don’t remember what the recipe called for but I thought it was about half and half so I kept eyeballing sugar and oil scoops until I thought it was just right. I put half into a cute little jar and the other half in an empty plastic container to take to the bathroom with me. One can never be too thrifty.

Plus we only had one tiny jar.

I was feeling extra fancy so I lit the beach scented candle and started the bath.

I perched on the toilet and grabbed a little scrub and started to rub it on my legs. It wasn’t quite liquid, not quite solid, but definitely messy. Some dropped on the floor to make little sugar splats and the rest coated my shins like a sour gummy candy.

I thought it best to probably get over the tub so not to make a mess. I tried to balance with no such luck. My one foot landed into the super scalding running water. In my genius I jump in with the second foot because balancing wasn’t working out.

* pro-tip: your oiled up hands will not hold you up on linoleum. 

I hurry to the front of the tub and turn the water to cold, at this point getting out of the tub seems more dangerous than boiling to death in it.

Remember those dropped sugar globs? Death waiting. I’m not going out there yet.

I get the water just right and settle in. I smoothed the scrub all over my legs and it feels so heavenly I think I should do as much of me as possible.

There is now coconut oil in my eyeball. How does this even happen?

The bathroom is really starting to get a tropical feel. I had closed the door but not turned on the fan so it was getting really steamy. Really stuffy.

Suffocating really.

My entire body is covered in oil and my pores can’t breathe. My lungs are filling with what Yankee Candles considers the beach. This is starting to seem less and less fancy. This might have been a bad idea.

I rinse off. Actually  considering how well water rinses oil I just moved water around but we’ll say I rinsed. I drained the tub and stepped carefully onto a towel in the floor.

Then it hits me.

That light headed, I don’t think I can make it to the bathroom door, dizzy feeling. The one your mother warned you about; the sitting in a hot tub for too long kinda feeling. The one where things get fuzzy and your legs feel weak.

I consider what my dead body will look like when my wife finds me. I’ll be collapsed in a bath towel – right there in the hallway. This will not due.

I wonder if she does find me dead if she will notice my ridiculously moisturized skin.

I have my doubts.

She will probably just wonder where all the sugar went.

Bravely I made it to the bedroom and collapsed into a heap on our bed. I let my body temperature cool while searched for more scrub recipes.

Next time? Adventures in coffee grounds and safflower oil.

I just might make it big one day.

I can’t wait.

Summer sniffles and the zombie apocalypse. That escalated quickly.

If you have ever watched the History Channel or stayed awake long enough in History class you have heard about the worst plagues ever to be recorded.

The Black Death 1340 – 1771

Smallpox  430 BC ‘ish- 1979

Influenza Pandemic / Spanish Flu 1918-1919

The Common Cold Summer Edition 2016

That’s right. I just put a summer cold in with the worst things ever to happen to humans.

Am  I stretching? Maybe.

Am I being a little insensitive? Probably.

It could be the cold meds or it could be that I don’t really care about being politically correct among friends. We are friends after all aren’t we?

It feels a lot like something terrible is happening here, my throat is on fire and my nose is producing an awful lot of mucus. 

I have tissues stuck in my nostrils and I feel like I may need another box of Kleenex soon.

 I can’t seem to swallow and my head feels like it is in a vice.

I have a sneaky little cough that creeps up only when I need to talk.

 

I spared you the picture of the tissue in my nose. You’re welcome.

 

Which is what I do. I talk. All the time.

Right now when I speak it sounds like a small animals plea for help.Kinda squeaking, sorta whispered and definitely muffled.

It feels like giving a speech under water. 

Distorted face and all. 

Just blubbering and desperate attempts at cohesive words. A comical attempt to breathe and speak without the aid of my nose. 

All this open mouth gasping makes delivering oxygen to the lungs I have not yet coughed up very, very difficult.

Then there are the coworkers who don’t dare to cross my doorway. Like there is an unseen germ barrier they are safe from. If they hover just a couple of inches from the safety of the hallway they might not need to be decontaminated.

This can both good and bad.

Sure there are some co-workers I don’t really mind to not see for days but we do have to accomplish things here in the office. Put on your hospital mask and let’s get this meeting over with. We have flow charts and spreadsheets to look at. Let me just wipe off that drool.

I think I may actually have heard the sound of an aerosol can behind me when I left the common room. 

The faint smell of Lysol wafting behind me.

The good news is I am almost oblivious to the uncharacteristic avoidance of my work team as I am the general disgust on friends faces as I shove another tissue into my nostril.

My trashcan is overflowing with snotty little ghosts and the bags under my eyes make me look like a zombie.

Sounding more and more like a frightening history lesson in human suffering isn’t it?

I am barely awake having taken so much OTC cold remedy and barely getting any sleep. 

Sleep is such a generous word. 

I really mean something more like trying to rest in an upright position while ranging from ice-cold shivers to blanket throwing sweats.

 All the while sniffling and coughing and generally annoying my wife all night. She loves it when I wake her all night fighting to fluff the pillows and adjust myself for optimum mucus flow.

I could easily snag the lead role in a horror movie featuring the undead.

While I wait patiently for my chance to be a zombie movie star I will be over here all alone in my office. Half asleep and surrounded by a fog of disinfectant. 

 Whimpering, sniffling and coughing the song of my people. 

The song of the common cold. 

The song of the flu-pocalypse.

 

 

 

 

What I learned today about people

I work in a people oriented business. It’s a small office and sometimes hard not to become an expert listener with so many stories.

I live in a small town type place. I’m raising my family in a house just big enough, nestled on the top of a mountain surrounded by other houses I can’t see but know exist. I rarely see people come in or out of these dwellings. I prefer my privacy but am kind to those who have shown interest in our presence.

I know people from the community from all walks of life. We have other lesbian friends we identify with. We know couples and singles from varied sexual orientation, religion, race and economic status. I have always been proud to be able to communicate freely, sometimes befriending, people of all walks.

I try to make every encounter as pleasant as possible. People I care for and people I don’t cross my path every single day. Not always in person, sometimes on the road while driving or in my social media feeds as I scroll. Sometimes for my work and sometimes in my personal life. Each an experience yet most not life changing.

There is at no point in my day that I allow my interactions to take on a malicious intent. I do not set out to harm others, or to chip away at whatever happiness they carry with them.

I do  not concern myself with the relationship status or the circle of friends people subscribe.

I do not base my entire interaction on what others may offer me personally.

I strive everyday to better, to be a better person. To love more, to understand more, to teach more. To understand and to grow more.

Each day I learn that other people don’t share the same desire. The same ideas about love and honesty. The same approach to kindness and human decency.

Today I was reminded that some people care only about what you may have to offer them. They care to make themselves look bigger, better, smarter, more loveable. All this without the effort to earn it, without the effort to learn it and live it.

All this to achieve attention with no intention above self interest.

Today I learned that the world has a great deal of deception, of worry, of concern for not the greater good but for self worth.

Today I learned what a fragile thing human emotions are. How deeply words penetrate.

What I learned about people today is that they are capable of love and of hate.

We can all make a choice to be villainous, kindness however is basic human nature.