I’m Not Shutting Up

Reflecting on this week, I have to wonder who I am. I enter life with a continuing passion. I have a direction. I check in with people. I give them support. And, I am always angling for helping shape the world around me to reflect my belief that we are all important and we all have something to give. 

To be sure, there are some people I don’t agree with or naturally, actually don’t like. But for someone who has a glimmer of adding value to the world, I am cheering them on. My cheering is as much for me as it is for them. I have to believe I can make a difference. I have to believe there is hope for all of us. Without it, the sticky claws of Depression try to restore their hold on me.  I won’t have it. I can’t tolerate it. 

What can I do to make the world around me a better place?  I vote. I give money.  What really matters to me is whether I show up, add value, and keep swinging at the ball. I never know when I’m going to hit a home run, and it motivates me. 

I give positive feedback or compliments on something I appreciate whenever I can. I give negative feedback when necessary adding in my presentation how my being honest benefits both parties. I speak truth to power.  At this point, I can’t not participate. Life is just too damn short. 

It’s hard to talk about this without resorting to platitudes and cliches. I’ve heard a million of them. I use my words to describe more than an emoji, more than uttering the banal and at this point ridiculous comment of “Awesome!”

As a small child, my mom badly wanted me to stop talking at times.  I ended up with scotch tape over my mouth.  I’ve worked hard to own my life.  Fighting through child abuse, assault, rape, mental illness, physical disability, coming out, gender confusion, and Depression so bleak that every day was a mighty effort. 

I may offend you but by god I am not shutting up. Deal with it. 

L’Chaim. 

Joceile 

9.28.18

Picture by Allan Weingarten, 2018 [Picture of woman with shortish gray hair wearing brown v-neck sweater in restaurant booth]

1985 MEMORANDUM

Found by a friend in some old paperwork from when I worked at the WA ST Human Rights Commission.  I typed this and gave it to my boss.  I have always been a scamp.  Here is the text in the attached picture:

TO: Velma J. Jefferson, Acting Director of Compliance

FROM: Joceile C. Moore, Acting Administrative Assistant

DATE: March 19 (Acting as the 20th), 1985

SUBJECT: STATE WORKERS ACTOR’S GUILD

I thought it important to bring to your attention an event that occurred in this office as (during Yvonne Baptiste’s absence) I am acting Administrative Assistant.  Last week while Terry Quertermous was acting as the Acting Executive Secretary while Jim Medina (Acting Executive Secretary) was away, there was some confusion about who the little blue man in the corner was acting as.  I (then a Clerk Typist III) brought it to the attention of Verdell Pierce, temporarily acting as Compliance Supervisor in the interim while you were Acting Director of Compliance and Louise Tro was yet to be contacted.  She felt that in her acting capacity she did not have the authority to act on it and mentioned that Sherri Apilado, acting as herself, might bring it to the attention of Charles Huey (who is I believe in fact the Chair of the Commission and not now in an acting capacity).

Sherri, sincerely believing him to be a friend of Jane Inman’s, acting as EEOC Liaison, asked Jane if she was acquainted with the man.  Jane Inman acting indignant made it plain that she had no idea what Sherri was talking about.

In any case, it turns out that the little blue man was acting like a janitor in the corner while really being a spy for the Screen Actor’s Guild.  It seems that they are concerned about State workers taking jobs from their union.  So, my concern during my brief day of acting power while Yvonne’s away is:  Do you think State workers acting in our positions should start our own guild?

[Picture of actual memo typed on electric typewriter]

I Can’t Eat Anymore!

Shiffy, Ronnie’s cousin in Montreal, wants to be remembered as a world class wiz with needle and thread. But most notable to me, other than the love and acceptance she shows me, is her mind-boggling ability to provide food on the table for the family she loves.  She brings delectable dishes for a meal...and then brings more delightful dishes, and (really?) more and, (oh my god, Shiffy), more, and (we’re dying here) still more, and (I CANNOT eat any more!) and still more. 

Her son, Allan, says, “Ma, I’m in pain.  My only hope is the dessert cart.”

The spread she puts out would impress any corporate retreat catering company, as well as, bar and bat mitzvahs, weddings, and you name it.  One time, we were meeting Shiffy and Shavey, her husband, in upstate New York at a vacation rental lake house.  Ronnie, Alex, and I were flying, driving, and taking a ferry boat to arrive.  We got to the house and Shiffy proudly tells us she has gone to the grocery store and stocked up on everything we could (conceivably) need for the week.

We were invited into the kitchen and quickly noticed the counters were filled with food and the top of the refrigerator was similarly loaded.  When she opened the refrigerator, it was packed to the brim.  (I was so impressed that I took a picture.)  Not only did we have food for the week (there were five of us), but we also had food for the neighbors which would likely have kept the neighborhood well fed for a month!

It is true that Shiffy is dazzling with a needle and thread.  I still use the 101 Dalmatians fleece quilt she made when I am sleeping in my recliner.  She is prolific and has a basement full of material pieces that she has rescued from the rubbish bins but I would hold her up as a model provisioner for any invading army.  Were Canada only to harness her skills, it could attain world domination merely through other countries’ stomachs.

“No, really, Shiff, I can’t eat another bite.”

Love.

Joceile

9.9.18

Photos:  Shiffy and Alex; Shiffy and Shavey (2006 and 2007) [Picture 1 of senior woman in light gray suit sitting with young woman in black dress, both Caucasian.  Picture 2 of a Caucasian senior couple, man wearing blue suit and tie, woman in black suit sitting at dining table.  Picture 3 of same woman in blue nightgown, proudly smiling next to open refrigerator full of food inside and on top.]

My Lover

Some people may think of her as my wife or my spouse.  I often refer to her as my partner after many years of that being the most appropriate title.  But, I will always think of her as my lover.

Perhaps, this helps with the eternal romantic notion that we are something special to each other.  She could never be my ball-in-chain or the wife.  She is the one I took to my bed and relished her touch and companionship.  It will always be true.  And, she will always be my lover.

Ronnie tells me that it is a more personal term for her and not the best for public essays and the like.  Back in the 80s, in the dark ages, we all referred to our partners as our lovers.  Partners was such a stiff and formal term.  Best used in doctor’s offices or at work.  Perhaps, we didn’t live with them yet.  Perhaps, we didn’t yet have some sort of understanding.  As lesbians, we just referred to our significant others as lovers.  Long term, short term, it didn’t matter.

It probably contributes to that quaint thinking that lesbians are inherently sexual beings and that is first and foremost the point of our relationships.  But, you have to know women’s sexuality to know that sex itself is not always the point.

A male friend once told me that women need to be in the mood and men just need to be in the room.  I’m sure that is an oft told line.  Another one is about the U-Haul lesbians.  This one goes that lesbians just have to spend one night together before they decide to back the U-Haul truck up and move in together.  Both of these lines are silly, of course.  It takes all kinds.

A friend of mine asked me what kind of car I drove.  I told her a Subaru.  She said, “Ah, the cars of lesbians...with a dog in the back.”  Oh, probably.  It’s true in my case.  I read this great article about why lesbians drive Subarus.  Apparently, the Subaru company actually marketed to lesbians in the 90s as one of their target groups.*  I’m here to say it worked.  Certainly, in the Pacific Northwest.

Once, I met another friend’s older mother.  My partner and I stayed at her mother’s house with our two dogs.  My friend told me later that her mother asked, “Why do lesbians always have big dogs?”  It’s hard to say.  Could it be because they have large tongues?

Anyway, my lover of nearly 30 years is sleeping in the living room chair next to me.  It is after eleven, and she has drifted away.  She didn’t notice when I took the dog out for her nightly run.  I left a yellow sticky on her stomach so if she woke up she would know for sure where the dog and I had gone.  Not that there’s a whole lot of other options late at night.  Still, a little confirmation keeps one from worrying.

I see her there.  She often naps a bit in the evening.  I, on the other hand, often nap in the chair in the morning.  I guess the good news is at least one of us is awake and alert during the day.  It’s part of what makes us a good team.  If one of us doesn’t get it, the other will.  Just ask our daughter.

I look at her napping.  Sometimes, she has a little frown.  Sometimes, her face is without care reclined there with her eyes closed.  I think to myself, “Ah, my lover is sleeping in the chair again.”  

Even in my darkest days, I knew I loved her, although I forgot that she loved me for a time.  Such are the vagaries of Depression.  I know with total certainty that she is my lover.  Lover, as a noun, is one who loves.  That fits the bill perfectly.

Good night.

Joceile

9.1.18

• https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2016/06/how-subarus-came-to-be-seen-as-cars-for-lesbians/488042/