This Blog's For You

My friend Songbird has a wonderful blog, Set Free, which I read daily, share with my partner, show to friends, and generally revel in. I have known Songbird as long as I can remember, and despite periods of living in different cities and being out of touch, we have always had a deep bond of faith and friendship. And now, because of her, I have a blog!

When we were little girls our fathers were law partners: hers older and famous, mine younger and just starting out. Because Songbird's father was famous, she got to meet other famous people. When Songbird met Nixon, I neither knew nor cared, but Captain Kangaroo was another matter, and I got a little rush of awe every time I passed the photo of Songbird and the Captain standing together. (Both of us met Pat Robertson and Tammy Faye Bakker, but that's a story for another day.)

The Songbird of long ago lives on in the older and wiser Songbird of today. Then, as now, there were books, music and church. Songbird could read by the time we were in kindergarten and skipped a grade in elementary school. She could memorize anything, and amazed us all by reciting the entire fall television line-up. (Once, when my father misplaced the paper, he had me call her on the phone to find out when a certain program came on.) In middle school, she wrote a novel set in the Napoleonic era, featuring fainting couches and broken hearts.

Always, there was church. Songbird's Baptist church and my Episcopal church occupied a huge space in each of our lives, and between us, we may have created the first, last and only Southern Baptist/Episcopal youth group partnership. And there was music -- I played the guitar (badly) and Songbird sang (beautifully) at church and in school.

Not long ago, Songbird's blog played matchmaker, and we were re-united. I am grateful beyond all reason to be back in Songbird's circle. She remains the same sensitive, insightful, and minutely observant person I've always known. More than that, she knows the trajectory of my life, which has had its share of ups and downs, and accepts me as I am. It feels like a blessing. Thank you, Songbird!

P.S. Here's Songbird when we were just a little older than her daughter, the Princess.

(Note that even in early adolescence her skin is p-e-r-f-e-c-t. I am still jealous.)

When Giants Walked the Earth

Pioneer Gay rights activist Barbara Gittings at the first homosexual rights demonstration, Philadelphia, July 4, 1965. (credit Kay Tobin Lahusen)

Barbara Gittings was a remarkable woman. She and a group of activists marched for gay rights in front of Independence Hall every 4th of July from 1965 to 1969. These protests were the forerunners of the Stonewall rebellion in 1969 and the New York Pride parade in 1970. In 1970, she and Frank Kameny persuaded the American Psychiatric Association to have homosexuality removed from the APA's list of psychiatric disorders. As her friend Frank Kameny said, it was psychiatry's most successful treatment ever, curing hundreds of thousands of people in one stroke of the pen. She and her partner of 46 years, Kay Lahusen, were part of almost every major event in the early years of the gay rights movement.

This winter Barbara died after a long battle with breast cancer. No, not a battle, as one of her friends said at her memorial service on Saturday, "Cancer is not a battle. If it were a battle, Barbara would have won it." She was that strong, that brave, that invincible.

Many people spoke at the memorial and told wonderful stories of Barbara's life. For personal reasons, I loved this story best: In the late sixties or early seventies, one of Barbara's friends, a Cuban refugee, was soon to become an American citizen. To celebrate, a group of women went to Rusty's, a lesbian bar in Philadelphia. Police raided the bar. Though worried for their own safety, the group was even more alarmed at what an arrest might do to their friend's chances for citizenship. The police lined the women up and demanded that they show identification. Barbara to the rescue. She reached in her wallet and produced -- ta da -- her ACLU membership card.

There were no arrests that night. Gotta love a card-carrying member.

Here is Barbara as I knew her. She was a librarian, and as I listened to the speakers at her memorial gathering, I wrote a thesaurus entry for Barbara: smart, brave, witty, relentless, courageous, creative, and resourceful. Whenever I was with her I felt smart, brave, witty, relentless, courageous, creative, and resourceful, too. She had the gift of encouragement. She always left me feeling stronger and braver and ready fight for the good. She still does.

Easy to Spot in a Crowd

I watched Oprah the other day, which is my own guilty pleasure. Oprah featured the Dove Pro*Age models, over-50 women who posed nude in a Dove ad campaign. They were beautiful, and many of them had gray hair.

The very next segment was called "Turning Back the Clock" and featured, among others, make-up maven Bobbi Brown. When asked what was the most effective anti-aging tool, Bobbi pooh-poohed plastic surgery, Botox, and injectable fillers, then gave a two word answer: "hair color." I guess those Dove models could look a lot younger if they dyed.

Disclaimer: I am a slightly vain 46 year old woman who has had gray hair (now almost white) for nearly ten years.

Here's the truth:
1. People can't tell how old I am, and they usually guess older. In fact, more than once, someone (usually a complete stranger) has asked, "Do you have prematurely gray hair, or do you just have amazing skin?" I always smile and say, "Both."

2. My partner says this means that I will look the same at seventy as I do now, and no one will ever figure out how old I am. I'm not sure that's a good thing.

3. My children never want me to dye my hair. For a long time I thought it was because they liked it, but recently I learned that my hair makes me easy to spot in a crowd or in the bleachers at a game. At least it's practical.

4. The first time my sister, Beth, saw me with gray hair, she burst into tears, not because she didn't like it, but because it reminded her of our father, who died much too young. He had a shining white head, a ready wit, and a huge heart. So, I think I'll keep the gray hair.