Part Two
Living in Other People's Words
Joan Lansberry
November 6, 1996
Today was one of those less than stellar days. More bluntly, I
had a bummer of a day. Work had a few jags. Shall I record the
events for all time, when surely after the years go by, their
significance will pale? It won't matter then that my weak little
ego got tweaked. And for so small thing. That's what I need to
remember to put the day's events in perspective. Years from now,
it won't matter. Yes, that does help.
SMALL TALK
Somebody's talking,
I thought I heard my name.
What are they saying?
Is it to defame
or perhaps to blame?
So I strain my ear
to test my fear.
But I can't quite hear.
I shouldn't try to live
in other people's words,
In other people's lives.
This is not mine.
They do fine in theirs,
That is well and good.
I will learn to
shed these narrow walls,
and leave other halls to find
I will fill it just fine.
It just takes time to kick open
the latches.
JAL 11-6-96, revised 2-22-98
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Tuesday, November 12, 1996
I did not clean up my sewing room today. I did not make the
covered buttons for my cousin Reneé's long overdue ruffly
pink blouse. I didn't do a bit of work today.
Instead I went with Laura into Tucson. It was so good to have
alone time with her. Over lunch we gazed long into each other's
eyes. We've been together over nine and a half years and still we
gaze deeply into each other's eyes, like new lovers drinking in
the other's essence.
While in Tucson we loaded up on groceries from Price Club. We
filled two carts up for the small army we have here. Laura, Julia
and I have quite a household here. We've gained Helina, a
transgendered M to F who has helped us a lot financially.
Felicia, who has been close to Laura for over fifteen years (and
later, us), has been staying with us when she is not working in
Phoenix. She works extremely long twelve hour days, but this
allows her a four day weekend. And Laura's son Anton and his
girlfriend have their own place here in Casa Grande. But they
often eat over here. Laura's son James and his kid James Jr are
getting settled here in a place of their own also. So we have
quite a crew here.
We will be building a separate addition to the house next
February so Helina can have her own private rooms. I never
imagined I'd be in such a large family! Somehow it all works,
though.
November 14, 1996
In February of 1995, an earlier season of changes; Laura, Julia
and I went to the Renaissance Faire, which is held southeast of
Apache Junction (southeast of Phoenix). We met Felicia there. It
was a fun time, eating the huge smoked turkey legs and roasted
almonds, watching the jousts, dances and singers. Visiting the
craft shops was also fun. I found a small circular pendant there.
It has a raised outer circular ring and three raised fat comma
shapes, the fatter parts convening at the center, tails pointing
outward. I wondered if it had any significance. I liked its
simplicity and ascribed my own meaning to the three commas: for
the TRIAD, our Triad of Laura, Julia and I. The clerk said the
design was of Celtic origin. Asking around my Pagan friends, they
thought the meaning could be Death-Regeneration-Life, or
Maiden-Mother-Crone. I figured that might be a possibility. I'd
seen many Celtic designs featuring a symmetry of three. It still
for me, however, meant our Triad.
While surfing the net the other day, I came upon a site which
told all about the
importance of the Triad in ancient Celtic tribes. John F.
Wright did quite a bit of scholarship in his A Compilation of
Triads: the Traditional Laws, Customs, and wisdom, of the
Pre-Christian Celtic People of What is Now Known as Scotland,
Wales And Ireland. The number three held great significance for
the Celts. "From the most mundane to the most arcane, the
significance of there being three parts cannot be missed. Even
the laws and wisdom of Celtic peoples were expressed in a
tripartite form. This form of verse is called triadic, a verse of
this form is known as a Triad." (from the statement of
purpose)
Mr Wright gathered a comprehensive body of these adages called
triads. A couple of the most interesting are as follows:
Three slender things that best support the world: the
slender stream of milk from the cow's dug into the pail, the
slender blade of green corn upon the ground, the slender thread
over the hand of a skilled woman.
Three things which strengthen a person to stand against the whole
world: Seeing the quality and beauty of truth; seeing beneath the
cloak of falsehood: and seeing to what ends truth and falsehood
come.
November 15, 1996
The booklet from my high school graduating class of 1976 reunion
arrived today. Many told briefly what they'd done in the past
twenty years, others just gave their addresses, while some did
not respond at all. Perhaps they couldn't be traced.
I gave a nice bio of myself:
"In 1986 I met Laura Lansberry through a pen pal writing club.
In 1987 we made our home together in Arizona. We like the desert
climate and scenery. I graduated from Northern Illinois
University in 1981 with a BA in Studio Art/Art History with a
minor in Philosophy. Enriching, though not monetarily, I turned
to my skills as a seamstress with alteration and even custom
tailoring in my own home. In my free time I enjoy learning about
computers and exploring the 'net'. Also I enjoyed singing three
years in Tucson's Desert Voices. I would enjoy hearing from
friends old and new."
Out of 418 graduates, 227 did not respond with an address,
leaving 191 who did respond. Out of those 191, forty one left the
general Joliet-Will County area. As for the movers, Arizona and
Texas attracted the most, with five apiece. Florida and
California each attracted four graduates. Indiana and Kansas drew
three each. Virginia, Minnesota and Tennessee got two apiece.
The person who has led the most exotic life runs a sculpture
studio and bronze casting foundry with her husband. They make
fine art bronze sculpture. She's also a certified herbologist,
making medicinal products from her home-grown herbs. And she's
been to Kathmandu, Nepal and British Virgin Islands.
Most people, however, tell the basic story of raising kids and
trying to get by. I was the only one who hinted at a come-out.
Sadly, six of the graduates are no longer with us. Cynthia, one I
remember, was a slender, pretty girl with a nice personality.
She was in my Algebra class and in one of my gym classes. I
wonder what happened to her.
November 17, 1996
I was putting the last two entries on the Web Page editor,
reading them out loud to Julia to check for errors. With a
slight sense of shame I read the reunion bio. I hadn't mentioned
Julia. At the time I thought telling of the Triad would be too
radical for a small town high school reunion. How sad that I was
the only one at all who hinted at the 'lavender' love. What of
those kids, who now in remembering, were most surely of that
large fraternity and sorority? They who only left an address or
didn't respond at all? So few of us have any courage. What tales
of wonderful love are silenced, we cannot know.
And so the tale of loving not only one, but two beautiful
transsexual women did not get told. The fact that loving two
doesn't take away from the love for either wasn't told.
How can the world ever change when the beautiful light of our
truth does not shine through the dismal darkness?
November 21, 1996
I'm blessed to have come from a fairly musical family. I always
knew my deep love of music came from both my father and mother.
When I was wee, Mother would play the piano. Dad would play
either the guitar, mandolin, violin or clarinet, to accompany
her. I would make up dances and nonsense lyrics, singing along as
loudly as I could. Even while in the womb, my mother swore I
kicked in rhythm to the music.
On Dad's side of the family I have many musical cousins. They
sing in church choirs and the like. One cousin, Sharmon, has a
very musical family. All of her children play a musical
instrument. They are in a band and have received special
awards.
What I didn't know about is the musical ancestors on my mother's
side. I recently got curious about my background and asked her
to tell me who my forebears were. All of my mother's people came
from Bohemia, now known as the Czech Republic. I learned
recently that the Celtic peoples in the 4th century
spread out to the area that is now that region. In fact, the
name Bohemia came from those Celts. The Celtic Boii tribe gave
the country its Latin name - Boiohaemum (Bohemia). This seemed to
confirm my deep calling to things Celtic. It's in the blood! So
I wanted to learn more about these people from whom I descend.
My mother's maternal grandfather was a gifted musician. Her Uncle
Jim (James Vosyka) also was and wrote church music. Uncle Ben
(Benjamin Vosyka) played in lots of bands in Chicago in the Big
Band era. He could play the trumpet, saxophone, clarinet, piano,
violin, and all the various guitars. My mother reminisced " When
he came to visit, we always had a big long jam session with him,
Pa, brother Dick, me and maybe some of Ben's Pesek cousins. We
sure had a lot of music when I was a kid... wonderful
memories."
My mother's mother's maiden name was Pesek. The famous gifted
Czech conductor Libor Pesek could be a relative of ours. He has
toured internationally and has recorded many CD's of various
music he's conducted, mostly that of Czech composers he is trying
to educate the world about.
Mother's father's side had its share of prominent musicians as
well. Her Grandma Teresa's father Jacob Lehar had a brother Franz
who had a son Franz Lehar who was the great musican and
composer who wrote the Merry Widow Operetta and other Czech
music.
November 23, 1996
A CLUE
You in pink,
You dreaming
at the top of the stairs,
What did you find
at the top of the stair?
What forgotten pleasures were there?
Did you sip tea
with Kings and Queens?
Did you find the
four-leaf clover?
Did you find
a heart-shaped star?
Did you dance to
music piped by fairies?
Did you find the golden key?
Were there riches untold?
No one knows...
But your smile
as you are there dreaming
gives a clue.
JAL 11-23-96
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November 24, evening
On route to Tucson today, Laura, Julia and I enjoyed a deep
philosophical conversation. We have had many good talks while
confined within a hurtling car. We are enclosed together, while
the rest of the world goes by in a blur. A special intimacy
occurs when you're riding with people you love .
We were talking about short adages. and whether they had any
merit. Laura came up with this gem "Know thyself and love
thyself and do neither to the exclusion of the other."
November 26, 1996
I am in a moody phase. Last night at choir practice did not go
well. The local community college choir didn't turn out to be
what I expected. There are some nice, friendly people in it, and
I have enjoyed meeting them. But there are some strange things.
It is a public college, yet they are doing an entirely
evangelical Christian concert that was designed for churches to
perform. I wondered why they didn't have a more diverse concert,
that would reflect the diverse community at large.
But I put these questions aside and continued to sing with them.
The choir is predominantly sopranos and altos. A few brave
tenors and basses compete. I thought it would be a pleasant
challenge to sing tenor and improve the balance a bit. So I
volunteered. The choir director accepted my offer.
I did not think it odd. At times Desert Voices tenor section was
half female, thereby reserving the male voices for the very low
sounds. Even my high school A capella Choir had one female
tenor. And what used to be the men's Barbershop chorus from
Phoenix features one woman, daughter of one of the men in the
choir.
But it seems to freak this small choir out. The choir director
persists in calling the lower voices 'men'. Choir
directors of Desert Voices have always been careful to avoid
gender specific words.
Last night I even sensed some animosity. The choir director had a
new seating arrangement, which scattered the various parts
together. I overheard two girls in the front row discussing my
singing tenor. "Why did the director have her sing tenor?" "
She didn't. The girl volunteered." " She's not a tenor. She
sounds sick."
One woman placed between a baritone and me voiced her complaint
quite vocally and with a distinct almost nasty bitterness"I
can't get my part. You put me between the MEN! "with
the word MEN being spat out towards my direction.
If singing tenor wasn't acceptable, why didn't the director not
agree? She could have done so by testing my range and telling me
"Oh, those low A's are far too low for you. You make a better
alto."
That was quite discouraging. Not only that, but other matters
were distressing me. On the way to choir practice, I couldn't get
any other radio station to work, except a country music station.
So I left the radio there. I believe Spirit was using it to speak
to me. A song came on which featured the strong lyrics "If you
don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything" Those
words burned into my conscience. Earlier, when I had shown Laura
and Julia the songbook, Laura questioned the wisdom of singing
such a program. I reasoned that there were other gay people in
the choir, so perhaps the evangelical Christian lyrics weren't
meant to attack gays.
Yet another bit of spirit-driven nudging occurred last night. I
was on the net surfing, reading about a Celtic musician's pride
in singing his roots.
After choir practice, while laying in bed, putting all these
disturbing pieces together, I cried. One should be proud of what
one sings. These lyrics, if sung in a gay church, like I did so
many years ago in Hinsdale, would be a healing, a reclaiming of
what was taken from us. But not in the context they were in. I
couldn't sing them with pride. In previous concerts, I enjoyed
singing with pride for Laura and Julia, knowing they would be so
proud to hear me. They couldn't have that deep pride if I sang
those lyrics.
As I lay beside Laura and Julia, who were sleeping soundly, I
quietly sobbed. It would be far more honorable to sing alone in
my sewing room a hymn to the Goddess that no one else would ever
hear, than to sing words which would betray Her. I sobbed some
more.
And so I separated wish from the reality. I quit the choir.
Singing is supposed to be fun.
Thursday, November 28, 1996
The conventions of religion can be quite tiresome. There are
many good people who believe in a popular deity, such as Jesus.
They haven't all used their religion as a club against those who
don't share it. Still, there is something lacking in this
prechewed and spoon-fed faith. I want to forget all that. I
want to venture out and find my own spiritual food, no matter how
I deeply I have to dig. I don't care that the findings are raw.
I want the intense taste of the real, unprocessed thing.
And so, in this poem, I go back to the beginning, before
God/Goddess ever was given a name by any race. We have gotten to
the point where THE NAME is more important than the actual
Entity. Indeed we have put up our fragile plaster idols, whether
mentally or in reality, and these idols have gotten the worship.
What has been spoken of the Divine has become more important than
the Essence itself.
THE SEED
Before there was light,
before there was sound,
before the atoms spun together,
there was the Beginning.
When all was yet night,
the Essence did abound.
In the space of that quietness,
there was the Seed
from which the slow birth
of all that is began.
Into that celestial morning
came the stars, moon and sun,
came the planets one by one,
and then Earth's green flowering.
And tiny living creatures
began to spin their dance.
And the hum of life
evolved into a symphony
directed not by chance
in which we play our part,
in tune, in rhythm
to Origin's design.
JAL, 11-28-96
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