MORE FROM GINNY BATES: SETTING UP HOUSE

(Ginny and Myra's house on Roy Street, first floor -- Click on image for larger version)

(Ginny and Myra's house on Roy Street, second floor -- Click on image for larger version)

This is an excerpt from my novel-in-progress, Ginny Bates. If you are already a familiar reader, skip down to Read More. If not, here's links to background information in the sidebar to the right, third item from top.


12 June 1986

The next evening, after they were finally able to get out of bed for more than bathroom breaks and gulping down orange juice, Ginny took Myra on the naked guided tour of her house. "It's funky and will need a new roof in a few years, which is why I could afford it, but the bones are lovely and without rot. The studio here, which they had as a family room, I really bought this place for the light in this one room."

"Painter girl."

"Absolutely. But it's huge, and we could put in a wall down the middle, with a sliding door, and that half over there --"

"The half with less light?"

"Yes, that could be your study. On the other side of the dining room are two tiny rooms, one of which I use for storage, but we could do anything we want with that space."

"You know, I'm not sure my cat is going to tolerate your dog."

"Juju is a complete bottom."

"Doesn't take on any role like her mom?"

"And we could make the back yard fence catproof, so Alice would have all that territory to claim as her feline domain She would let Juju have a few scraps of house, I think."

"As long as we're facing remodeling, let's think big, Ginny. I mean, I've got the money. Let's talk future."

"I thought we were." Ginny had stopped in the kitchen and was leaning across the counter, her elbow next to a cutting board holding dried beet pieces. Her hands still had pink stains in places from the beets. Her full breasts tucked up under her in Hollywood cleavage as she faced Myra on the other side of the breakfast bar.

Myra said, "Well, here goes nothing:....... Do you want kids?"

Again one of those long Ginny pauses, long enough to shut down one or two circuits in Myra's brain before flooding back into life again.

"Yes. I want children. And I want to be pregnant."

"Let's go try, then."

Later, Ginny pointed to the ceiling over her bed. "You know, there's room up there."

"What do you mean? An attic?"

"No, I mean this Bauhaus roof is unobstructed up to sky. We could add a second story onto the front of the house here. Two bedrooms, a bath, stairwell."

"Or elevator. For when we are too old to use the stairs."

Ginny rolled over on top of her and they went on.

The next morning, after first light, Myra woke up with Ginny spooned behind her, an arm holding her tight. She could feel Ginny's breath in the hair on the back of her head. She gently placed the soles of her feet onto the top of Ginny's feet and relished the sensation of them being a completed circuit. After a few minutes, Ginny shifted a little and Myra heard her breathing change.

"You awake?"

"Mm-hm. I want to wake up feeling like this for the rest of my life."

"We can give it a shot. Here, Ginny, I want to roll over and see you."

"Mmmm. Your face smells like me."

"I know. I don't want to wash it off."

"Myra, you'll find this funny -- but I've always thought of myself as having a low sex drive. Just not as interested in it as other folks, especially once I came out. See, I knew you'd laugh."

"Gin -- there's sex, which I've had a lot of and you not so much, and then there's making love. In particular, there's two women making love."

"'The best they know how, and for the best reasons.'"

"Exactly. And not only am I thrilled to discover we're a match for each other in desire, I think we're a match in experience, too. Appearances to the contrary."

"The dialectics of Ginny and Myra?"

"That's a position paper I'm ready to work on." Myra kissed Ginny's forehead, each eye, each cheek, then her chin.

"I think it's time we put something in our bodies besides -- well, yes, that, but I was going to say orange juice. It's all gone, anyhow."

"What day is it, Ginny?" They both had to stop and think.

"Friday! My god, the last meal I had was those hash browns two days ago!"

"C'mon, angel. I have sustenance in the next room."

Myra put bread in the toaster while Ginny began beating eggs. She added grated edam and chopped tomatoes before pouring it into a skillet. Myra sliced up a couple of fujis, a banana, and the remainder of a basket of blackberries.

"You have yogurt?"

"No, but there's ricotta."

"Excellent."

They wolfed their breakfast. Myra said "I need more."

"Me, too. But all that's left is bread. And beets."

"Let's take our first shower together and go to the market."

The shower led them back to bed for a while. Later, near noon, Myra lay on her back and said "I'm just now really taking in your room. Not a thing up on the walls, what's with you, artist-girl?"

"I wanted to repaint these awful walls. One of my plans for the summer."

"What color, if not white?"

"This isn't white, it's oyster with pearl overtones and grimy fingerprints. And -- I can't decide which color. I know about some of the other rooms, just not this one. I guess I must have been waiting for you to come along."

"I haven't lived with a lover, at least not full-time, since Astrid. But I'm ready for that, too. I think."

"You better be sure. So -- what color would you pick for our bedroom walls?"

"That shirt you wore to the Dance Brigade? That color."

"Are you kidding me? That's vermilion." Ginny sat up on her elbow, laughing.

"Well, I'm a fire sign, what can I say. But I'd want more light in here. Maybe turn this wall the bed is up against into a glass wall like in your dining room."

"Our dining room. And that's brilliant, Myra. Glass brick -- it would totally go in this house. All the sunlight would make balance the red. A blazing womb of a room."

"I need for the carpets to go, though. Too much allergies and mold in carpeting."

"Yeah, these are not worth saving, anyhow. Clean wood or stone floors, bright walls, glass everywhere -- I think we're compatible, girlfriend."

"Let's go get more food, Ginny."

"Maybe we'll make it out the front door this time."


That night they went to Myra's flat to sleep. Alice was cheesed at having been left alone so long -- she had a self-feeding cat bowl, but it was the principle of the thing. As Myra held her and checked her phone machine messages, Ginny wandered around looking at the apartment.

"How many books do you have, anyhow?" she asked Myra when Myra was done listening.

"Several thousand, I haven't done an official count."

"Why are you still using milk crates and boards for your shelving? You can afford better."

Myra looked a little shocked. "Because it works just fine. Mama always said 'Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without.'"

Ginny laughed. "Well, I dare not come between a dyke and her mama, I guess." Then she said "Ever since that first potluck, I've looked for your car wherever I've gone, every event you might be at, and I could always tell it was your Honda by that bumpersticker you have -- 'My mother made me a lesbian / If you give her the yarn, she'll make you one too.'"

Myra hugged her with Alice in between them. "And see, my mama did make you your very own lesbian." Alice protested and Myra stepped back.

"Seriously, though, Myra -- when we live together? Real bookshelves. These crates are probably crawling with germs. And your books deserve better c -- holy shit, you've got a complete run of Dyke!"

"Yeah, and look inside the first issue -- there's a postcard in there I got from Liza Cowan, answering a letter I wrote her asking how come she and Penny named their publishing company 'Tomato Publications'. She said it was because of a national survey asking people to identify their favorite vegetable -- men chose cucumbers, and women chose tomatoes."

(Sherwin Williams Goddess postcard by Liza Cowan, copyright hers)

Ginny was laughing but still reading titles. "Complete run of Quest, looks like. A bazillion Majority Reports; Lesbian Tide; Chrysalis; zowie, is this an original copy of The Redstockings Manifesto?"

"Yeah, and next to it are the CLIT papers."

Ginny touched them reverently. "You got an archive here, babe."

"Look at these five rows -- all poetry. And that one cabinet with doors on it over there, next to the turntable -- women's music albums."

"Myra, how could you afford this when you were living hand to mouth?"

"I lived collectively a lot, and every time someone moved out and didn't want stuff, I'd take it. When the household subscribed to something, after everyone was done reading it, I'd store it away safely. And, well, sometimes I did without in order to buy a book. Like that volume of Elsa Gidlow's poetry, signed by her -- it was only three bucks, but that was two day's meals at the time I got it. Still, it was worth it."

"Someday we'll have a shelf full of your books, Myra." She moved back in for a kiss, and Alice finally wriggled to the floor, stopping to wash herself clean of Ginnyness.

"And walls covered with your paintings" murmured Myra.

"And our children running everywhere" said Ginny, licking the hollow of Myra's throat.

Myra said "Uh, how many kids do you want to have? I was thinking about maybe two."

"Two's good. You have one, I have one?"

Myra looked worried. "Actually...no, I don't want to be pregnant. Just never had the desire for it. Is that a problem?"

"Nope, I was being generous. I'm totally into it, I'll do 'em both."

"Why, Ginny? Why do you want to -- have all that discomfort, and vulnerability, and then having to give birth?"

"It's like gardening for me. Making new life. Or painting. I like the idea of creating with my flesh and nutrients."

"Okay. I'm glad you do. But -- I want a good long time before we add on a permanent roomie, while it's just me and you, Ginny Bates."

"We got a ways to go before I plant any seeds, honey. We have to have the boy talk, and define family, and figure out if we have compatible child-rearing beliefs. And I have to get enough fucking with you out of my system before I can stand to share my body with anything else. Speaking of which..."

"I was just gonna say. Let's go break in my bed" said Myra. She turned off lights as they went down the hall.


The next day, Ginny asked Myra "Why haven't you bought yourself a house, now that you have the money? Why are you staying in an apartment?"

Myra looked uncomfortable. "I don't know anything about buying houses, for one thing. My family never owned one, unless you count trailers. And -- I had other work to do. Still do, but the biggest job is out of the way."

"Am I that job?" asked Ginny, a little startled.

"No, of course not. Letting myself have a real relationship, that was number one."

Ginny grinned. "So I just happened to come along right at the point you were ready to start looking?"

"No. Somewhere in the back of my mind, you were always there. An idea, a possibility. I know that's not especially romantic..."

"Myra, it's better than romantic. Anyhow, back to the house -- If you move in with me, are we clear my house will become our house? You'll be a houseowner, then. Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, I want the house, too. That house, in particular. It's got a feel, you know? But I have tons to learn, and -- I feel defensive about how much I don't know." Myra's cheeks were a little red.

"Shame?"

"Yes, dammit."

"Okay. Ask me questions, if you want, or -- however you learn -- books I'm guessing."

"I'll hoover up from any source I can, Ginny. Do I -- should I pay you half of what you've put into the house so far?"

"That's a good question. The thing is, we've mentioned renovation, and there's a lot of expense in that. How about if we make a renovation plan, figure out the cost of that, figure out much value it will add to the house, and then talk about how to share it?"

"That makes sense, Ginny." Myra sounded relieved. She pulled out her notebook. "Shall we brainstorm?"

Ginny sat down next to Myra on her couch. "Okay. It's going to need a new roof sooner or later, and if we really do add on a story, it might as well be sooner."

"Roof" wrote Myra. "In that case, let's put solar panels on."

"Good. And -- really, with the storage room in use, there's only two bedrooms downstairs. I'm thinking two more bedrooms upstairs, with a bath in between."

Myra looked at Ginny, emotion flooding her. "For kids. For real."

"For real, Myra." They kissed.

"Then, Ginny, we need a play area, too. Maybe a big hallish kind of playroom."

"And a deck upstairs as well as downstairs. The upper deck could be covered, for rainy days."

"With a wall of glass, yes. I know it's an energy issue, but I want as much glass and windows as possible, Ginny. I am constantly sun-starved here."

"There's lighting that helps with that, Myra -- do you know about it? It's called full-spectrum, and it's like daylight inside."

"Really? Fuck, yeah, Ginny. Let's put it everywhere in the house, I mean it."

"You got it. I love light, too."

"And serious heating, so our house is never damp and cold."

"There's heating that goes in the floor, warm travels up, you know. Since we're redoing the floors, anyhow, to get rid of the carpets -- "

"Excellent. You hear that, Alice? Heat coming from the floor itself. No more chilly kitty tootsies."

"What else, Myra? Oh, I know, the plumbing in the kitchen needs some kind of attention. And the fridge is old."

"Isn't that an electric stove?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Ginny, I insist on cooking with gas. But what I'd really like is one of those huge old-fashioned stoves with a griddle in the middle."

"Bet we could find that. We're going to have to hire a designer, Myra, as well as a contractor."

"You mean like an architect?"

"An architect, and maybe a designer as well."

"I don't know the difference." Myra's voice had a tinge of shame again.

"I'll explain it as we go along." Ginny squeezed her arm. "We need a cat-proof fence in the back, and a permanent pet door into the back yard instead of that insert into the sliding door would be better."

"I just realized -- where are we going to put stairs to the second story?"

"I don't know, that's for the architect. I imagine where the pantry is now, and behind that is a closet off the family room -- that's a chunk of space."

"And the family room, your studio, Ginny, you really want to split that with a wall and give me a study in there?"

"Of course. I adore the idea of us working side by side."

"What if we need quiet to work?"

"We'll have a door in the wall. We can get it soundproofed. Although I'm not a noisy painter, Myra, I don't know what you're imagining."

"Oh, listening to music or the like."

"I don't hear anything when I work."

"Okay, Gin. But sometimes I listen to music. Which reminds me -- our bedroom? I want it completely soundproofed, so nothing from the outside will ever wake me up again."

"Yeah, I noticed the trash pick-up this morning outside your bedroom" grinned Ginny. "Okay, here's one from me: I want a jacuzzi in our bathroom, a tub big enough for both of us -- "

"That'll be one big tub" remarked Myra.

"And a bidet."

"Ooh-la-la" said Myra, writing. "Actually, if the architect can pull it off, I'd like a little bathroom off my study, like a pissoir. So my concentration is not interrupted much if I have to go."

"Now you're getting into the spirit of things" said Ginny. "Okay, well, here's my dream: I want a swimming pool. The backyard is huge, there's room for it. A heated pool, so I can swim all year. And a hottub."

"In addition to a jacuzzi?" said Myra, a little shocked.

"Yes. One for looking up at the stars, one for inside."

"A pool is -- extravagant" said Myra.

"It's exercise, honey. And our friends will love it." When Myra still looked doubtful, Ginny added "And our kids -- think about how much fun it will give them over the years."

"Are you playing me, Ginny Bates?" grinned Myra.

Ginny batted her eyeslashes.

"Well, let's talk to the -- architect for that?"

"Yes. And I want raised beds in the backyard to grow veggies in, so I can do concentrated and companion planting."

"Now that I love, Ginny. Okay, well, I'd like to have a generator, in case of emergency. Plus a serious security system, and fire sprinklers, and emergency exits from windows, like in the kids' room, for sure."

Ginny looked at her. "What are you worried about, honey?"

"The patriarchy. Full of danger" replied Myra soberly. "And air filters, HEPA filters, to keep the air clean as well as light and dry, man, that would be so good for my lungs" she said, writing quickly.

"Okay. On the non-essential end -- I don't like the kitchen cabinets, I want glass-fronted ones of real wood, and I want stone counters, not formica." Before Myra could reply, Ginny said "And a stainless steel sink without chips in it. And a new washer and dryer for the storage room, and a sink in there for rinsing stuff out." She paused, to let Myra get all that down on a new page.

"Whew" said Myra. "We've gone a little nuts, here."

"No, Myra, nuts would be insisting on having a two-car garage instead of the carport out front and expanding our small living room into a palatial salon of some sort" laughed Ginny. "I mean, yes, this will cost a shitload, but so much of it is health or safety related. Or will permanently add to the value of our home."

Myra looked at Ginny, letting the sound of "our home" settle into her brain.

"One thing you haven't mentioned, Ginny, is the walls."

"Oh, for sure repainting every square inch. But -- " Ginny looked suddenly hesitant.

"How about if you pick the colors?" said Myra diplomatically.

"Really, Myra? Are you just being generous?"

"Yes, and it's fine with me. I mean, talk to me, of course, but I want your color sense to reign, it hasn't failed me yet."

Ginny kissed her sweetly. "In that case, you get to pick out all the security and safety features, go for it. As long as I don't have to wear a transponder."

"Deal."

After a minute, Myra said "But Ginny, I just remembered -- no pink. Not under any kinda name."

Ginny laughed. "Did you have that crammed down your throat, too, as a little girl?"

"God, yes."

"I'm with ya, angel. No pink."


The next morning, as they were eating breakfast, Ginny said "This table is too small for us, honey."

Myra looked down at it. "Everything's fitting on it just fine, whaddya mean?"

"I mean for the dinners we'll be having at our house. Big group dinners. We need a new one."

"Oh, Gin -- I'm not much on furniture shopping..."

"I know, and I'm not talking about a binge. We have the built-in shelves and workspaces going in, and we can cobble together what we've got for a living room. And we have that new king-size bed picked out. But we need a dining table. And something to store dishes in, come to think of it."

"See, the list is already growing." Myra had a pained expression on her face.

"I'm thinking used furniture stores, garage sales, where maybe we can pick up something good and redo it ourselves."

Myra brightened up. "Oh, recycled furniture. Okay, I can get into that."

"We can check out estate sales this weekend. In the meantime, there's a part of town with a bunch of thrift and antique stores. Let's go cruise that street."

After three stores, Myra was beginning to get antsy. Ginny was drawn to every possible objet d'art within view, but her own interest was waning. The next place, however, had a back wall of books, and Myra was on it like a duck on a junebug. Ginny started at the front of the voluminous room and began working around the periphery.

Myra had an original Tom Swift, a copy of Girl of the Limberlost, and a 1970's anthology of Plath already set aside when Ginny called her: "Myra, come over here, look at this."

Myra carried her books with her possessively as she joined Ginny behind a row of metal filing cabinets lined with awful contact paper. Ginny swept her hand over a massive roll-top desk covered in bric-a-brac. "Gorgeous, isn't it?" she asked.

"Which, exactly?" asked Myra.

"The desk. All the drawers are intact, I think it's cherry or maybe walnut, and that's an original finish."

"I already have a desk, Ginny."

"That's a work table, not a desk. You're a writer, you need a desk."

"But this is huge. And I think it's theirs, not for sale."

"It is indeed huge. We have lots of room, however, at the new place. And it is for sale, I already asked."

"How much?"

"Myra, that's not the first question. The first question is, do you like it? Can you see yourself writing at it?"

Myra handed her books to Ginny and began pulling open drawers, looking at the pigeonholes and then squatting at the keyhole, trying to imagine sitting at the desk. Finally she turned and said "Yeah. I admit, it's my kind of desk. So now, how much?"

"We can afford it. I make this call as our financial advisor. Let's tell 'em we need it cleared off to make a final decision, I want to see it as it will look in your study."

They helped the gay man who owned the place stack the debris on top of it into boxes. He handed Ginny a rag and she dusted it thoroughly, almost sensuously. Then she and Myra stepped back and looked at it again. Ginny put her mouth to Myra's ear and whispered "It's saying 'Myra, Myra, take me, baby!'"

Myra laughed. "A little creepy, Gin. But -- " She turned to the man. "We're buying it."

She turned back to Ginny. "Where do we put it, though, until the house is ready?"

"We rent a storage space. This afternoon, when we we're finished shopping."

"Okay, but I'm not done with the books here."

"Fine, I'm not done, either." They split up again, Ginny saying to the man "We also need a dining table, do you have anything in that line?"

As he led Ginny to a room on the side, Myra returned to the bookshelves. After ten minutes and several more finds, Ginny called her again. Myra went into the side room, crammed with tables and wooden chairs.

Ginny's eyes were dancing. She pointed to a long, wide table painted an institutional shade of green. "It's got two leaves -- it can expand to 14 feet long!" she said.

"Oh, my god, that color is hideous" cried Myra.

"Yeah, it'll have to be stripped. But come here, look at the leaves, which didn't ever get painted". Ginny pointed to slabs of wood leaned against one edge.

"It's tiger maple, Myra. I can't believe someone was stupid enough to over that. So we'll never have the original finish back. But that makes it affordable. And once I strip and refinish it -- you won't believe how beautiful this will be."

"I'm sold. What style do you call this?"

"Arts and Crafts. This is probably from the 1940s, Myra."

"I really, really like the lines of it."

"So now we know what kind of furniture you like" Ginny was buoyant. "If you like this, you'll like Shaker too, I bet. You have excellent taste, my love."

Myra murmured "You should know." Then, aloud, she asked "Does it have chairs?"

"Not matching, no. But I can find enough in this room to go with it -- no two will be alike, that okay with you?"

"Preferable, actually. Big-assed chairs, Ginny. No arms and no Colonial, is all I ask."

"Leave it to me. Go back to your books."

As Myra was leaving, she stopped and said "How many?"

"Chairs? Well, let's count -- five friends, plus a date for Allie -- "

"Here's hoping."

" -- Alveisa and Petra -- " Ginny went on. "Future children -- "

The shop owner interrupted and said "The table, fully extended, will seat 16."

Myra laughed. "Fella knows how to make a sale. Sixteen it is. We can scatter the extra around the house when the table is in everyday use."

When they paid the bill, Myra went pale at the total.

Ginny squeezed her arm and said "I'm putting it on the Visa, in case we decide to pay it off in installments." She told the owner she would call him before closing to give him instructions about delivery. Then she helped Myra carry out two armloads of books.

At the car, Myra said "There's storage units south of here, shall we go find a place?"

"Not yet" said Ginny. "Jeffrey said his friend Lawrence gets furniture and things from the same sorts of sales, and his inventory is just as interesting."

"Who is Jeffrey?"

"The guy we just bought our table from, Myra, weren't you listening? Anyhow, Lawrence's store is three blocks away. I want to go there next."

"But we don't need anything else" said Myra.

"He has books" offered Ginny.

Myra put the car in gear and drove where Ginny pointed.

Lawrence's store did indeed have books. But before Myra could get to that section, she was stopped by a floor to ceiling cabinet full of Fiesta Ware. Ginny came back to stand beside her. Myra said, in a reverent tone "My grandmother had these kinds of dishes. I loved them, utterly loved them."

Ginny began picking up plates and bowls, looking at the colors. "Oh, My, I love them too. And, my god, that shelf is Shawnee. And that's a Blenko pitcher -- Myra, let's get dishes for our big new table!"

Lawrence wandered over and introduced himself. Ginny said they had been referred by Jeffrey, and Lawrence shook their hands. Then Ginny asked for a box or basket to begin putting their purchases in. Lawrence returned swiftly with cardboard boxes, and Ginny began picking out everything but the Fiesta Ware, leaving that to Myra. "Sixteen of each" said Ginny. "No, make that seventeen -- in case of breakage. As many different colors as you can."

"Okay" said Myra happily.

"It's fun to be rich today, isn't it, honey?"

"Yes, this I can understand. Look, a butter dish!"

Lawrence, standing nearby, cleared his throat after the word "rich" and said "Is there anything else you're interested in?"

Ginny grinned at him. "Yeah, we'd like a bedframe, headboard maybe, for a king-size bed. Shaker or Arts and Crafts, and modern is fine, I don't think there'll be king-size otherwise. And a sideboard or china cabinet for these dishes."

"What about lamps? Or paintings?" said Lawrence.

Myra laughed. "We've got the paintings covered, thanks. But if you have old frames..."

"And I'll look at lamps" added Ginny. "Here's one box filled, you can carry that to the counter, if you will."

Lawrence was happy to oblige. Once the dishes were selected, he led Ginny off on a furniture and accessories search, while Myra started for the books. She turned after a couple of steps and said "Gin? You don't need to consult me about the china cabinet or the bed, I'm going to like whatever you like."

Ginny blew her a kiss. Myra dove into old book world.

After an hour, Ginny found her and put her arms around Myra from behind. "An entire set of encyclopedias? From what, the sixties?"

"1958. It's called the Children's Book of Knowledge, and we had these when I was a kid. They're full of poetry and stories." Myra was flushed with excitement.

"Well, I know you left decisions up to me, but I have a couple of things I'd like you to look at" said Ginny. She helped Myra haul everything except the encyclopedias to the counter -- they'd let Lawrence box up those.

"First -- this is an old banker's lamp, with an original green shade. The brass patina has been messed with already, so we can polish it up bright. For your desk -- do you like?" said Ginny.

"I've always wanted one. Yes" said Myra.

"I got a couple of floor lamps, too. And the headboard and sideboard, but I'm sure you'll like those. Now, this is the other idea I had..." Ginny gestured to a stack in the corner of what looked to Myra like the old-fashioned psychiatrist's couches you saw in Tony Randall movies, except almost as wide as a full-size bed. There was a least a dozen of them, in filthy, split leather with stuffing pouring out.

"What, one of those? Why -- where would we put it?" Myra looked at them distastefully.

"Daybeds for our work spaces. To take breaks on, read on, cuddle up together on. The wood is mahogany, and we'd of course re-upholster them" said Ginny.

"I should think so" said Myra. "Them -- you mean more than one of these?"

"One for each of us. And get this -- Lawrence said these come from an old brothel that used to be near the waterfront."

"Hell, Ginny, that means -- does that mean -- ?"

"Yeah. Lots of women earned their livings on those. But, as I say, no original fabric will remain. These are cheap, Myra, but a lovely design in rosewood, I think."

"Are you going to redo the upholstery yourself?"

"Not one of my talents, I'm afraid. But I will pick out the leather to be used."

"Leather, huh?" said Myra, gazing at the relics. She couldn't quite see it. Still, Ginny's eye was much better than hers in this regard. "Sure, why not?"

"All right, then. I'm done here. And I'm starving."

Suddenly Myra was, too. "Okay, let's pay the piper and get lunch. We can bring the books -- except the encyclopedias, we can have those taken to storage."

"Storage unit after lunch. Then home to make calls to upholsterers."

"And read" said Myra.



Ginny let the remodelers do all the taping and prep work on the interior walls of the renovated house, but insisted on leaving the actual painting for her and Myra. Myra was not so keen on the idea. Ginny said fine, it would take her twice as long but she could do it herself. Myra raised an eyebrow and said "Little Red Hen?"

Ginny laughed. "Caught me. But, honestly, I just want to do it."

"Is part of the reason because you are going to be switching out colors midway through?" asked Myra.

"Es possible" said Ginny. "But you are not gonna want to live with me if I'm not happy with a wall color."

"I very much doubt that" said Myra. They settled in to looking over the hundreds of hue cards Ginny had gathered from paint stores around town.

"Let's be clear" said Myra. "I'm here to do three things: One is to say 'Okay, whatever you think is best', because I am ignorant and also love your style; two is to learn from you, if you will be so kind as to explain why one thing is better than another; and three is to marvel at and takes notes on the imaginative names they are giving these colors."

"It's nice to have a job description, isn't it?" said Ginny cheerfully.

Every single paint choice had to be especially mixed, which was no surprise to Myra, really. The day the paint store delivered their cans was a red letter day. The dropcloths had been left behind by the crew, so all Ginny had to do was pry open a bucket, stir it with a critical look on her face, dip a brush into it and lay it gracefully onto the selected wall. She would look at it for ten minutes or so, from different angles, sometimes shining a flashlight onto it, then sigh, close the bucket back up, and go on to the next one. Myra sat against the door and ate piroshkis from a bag she'd picked up earlier, unable to take her eyes off Ginny's face. Every now and then Ginny would walk over and lean down for a bite of Myra's piroshki.

Finally every bucket had been sampled, with silent opinions appearing to weigh heavily on Ginny's shoulders. She put the brush into a can of water and settled down next to Myra, opening a bottle of Odwalla. She took a long drag, then rifled the bag for a fresh piroshki.

"Anything to report?" asked Myra.

"I have to think about it. I need to wait until it's nighttime and see how things look with just moonlight in the rooms and also with the new overhead lights on."

"Okay. What do we do until then?"

"I've got seed catalogues, we could talk vegetable garden. After I'm done eating."

"Now that I know something about" said Myra. "My mama grew much of what we ate; wed've gone hungry a lot more often if she hadn't."

Ginny pushed her shoulder against Myra's tenderly. "What's number one on your veggie list?"

"Tomatoes" said Myra promptly. "I used to sneak out when she wasn't looking, ducking down behind the row, and hook a ripe one, warmed through by the sun, with a thin coating of dust on it. Nothing ever tested better. I'd have to lean over to eat it so the dribbling juice didn't land on my shirt and give me away later."

("Tomatoes on the Vine" by Kelly Cameron)

"Tomatoes are very, very primal female" agreed Ginny.

Myra looked speculative. "What?" said Ginny.

"I was just remembering...Mama always tried to grow watermelons and canteloupes, it being the perfect climate for it and all. But sometimes yard space was hard to come by. She devised this trick of building a trellis that went 5 feet up into the air, and she'd train the canteloupe vine up the trellis. When it flowered and produced a little green beginning 'loupe, she took rags torn into strips and tied them to the trellis like little hammocks, and she'd lay a baby loupe into each hammock. That way the vine didn't spread out and take up precious garden space, and the canteloupes were supported in mid-air. I used to sneak out there, too, behind the trellis when the canteloupes got to medium-sized. I'd reach my hand under the hammock and helf that globe slowly up and down; I couldn't get enough of the feel of it in my palm."

Ginny was laughing. "A lesbian in training!"

"And I knew enough to keep it secret" said Myra. She took a drink of Ginny's Odwalla.


The next morning, when Ginny was getting dressed, she went through her T-shirt drawer in growing exasperation, then shut it irritably and opened Myra's drawers. She pulled out one of Myra's large white Fruit of the Loom shirts and began pulling it on.

Myra, almost awake, said "Hey. You keep stealing my shirts."

"They're comfy." Ginny wiggled adorably, running her hands over the shirt.

"Yeah, but you use 'em to paint in. Which means I can't wear 'em again. You need to buy your own set."

"Or you could just buy extra" grinned Ginny.

Myra sighed. "Okay."

Ginny sat down on the bed next to her. "Even wearing a shirt at all is something I do only if other people are going to be around."

"I know, Ginny. Believe me, I like how you dress. Or don't."

"Why don't you go naked more often?"

Myra pushed her brain to wake all the way up. "I don't know. I get cold, for one thing. It's chilly here all the fucking time. And -- around you, my snatch is always a little wet, I need to wear pants or I'd leave spots every time I sat down."

Ginny giggled. "I know, that's why I keep my cunt aired out. This baby's gotta breathe."

Myra began giggling with her. "I read that in nudist colonies, everybody's expected to carry a towel with them wherever they go. For sitting on."

Ginny got up again and opened the closet door, looking at her side. "The truth is, My, I'm not happy with my wardrobe these days."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Most of my dress-up clothes were bought with work in mind. But since I'm not going back to my job -- or rather, my job has changed -- I could have any kind of fancy clothes I want. Plus the everyday stuff for around the house."

"So, go get what you want" said Myra, sitting up. "I've noticed you only have two pairs of jeans."

"I'm not wild about jeans. I like pants that flow, like drawstring pants. I like velvet, and silk, and jersey or wool knits. And color."

"Like that red shirt?" said Myra, reminiscently.

"Vermilion" corrected Ginny. "And yes."

"So get things like that."

"I don't see them very often. Not in the color and fabric I want. You know, when I went to the fabric store to pick out the leather for recovering our daybeds, I walked past racks and tables full of the most fabulous materials. It was like being in a paint store."

Myra slid her feet over the side of the best. "So make your own, then."

"I don't know how to sew. But you do, don't you, honey?" Ginny's voice was suggestive.

"No way. It's very time consuming, and I don't have the skills to design stuff, anyhow." Myra headed for the bathroom. Ginny trailed after her. As Myra sat down on the toilet, Ginny stood in front of her and pulled Myra's face into her belly.

"Maybe I could find someone to make clothes for me -- based on my design. I've always dreamed of a certain kind of tunic...And I could pick out all the fabric." Ginny's voice was getting excited.

"Mmm...Sounds good. Call Jen, I remember her talking about a friend of hers who made clothes, I think. Have you had breakfast?"

"No, I was waiting on you. I could make Ginny eggs."

"Yum. And toast me an onion bagel, will you? I'm going to shower first."

"And wash off my smell all over you?"

"Just for now. You can repaint my canvas later."

Ginny bent down and kissed Myra, then went to the kitchen.

A couple of days later, Ginny got off the phone and said "Jen's friend is named Belva. I'm going over there now, to get measured and talk ideas with her. Then I'm going to shop for material! You want to go with?"

"Not really. I told Chris I'd meet her for lunch downtown."

"Later, agitator."

When Myra got home, she put on a pot of black beans to soak and carried Alice to her desk, where they began work on reshaping a trio of poems Myra hoped to submit to a special issue of Calyx. After an hour, she shuffled back into the kitchen and chopped onions and garlic, adding these to the beans along with cracked black pepper and a sprig of thyme. She brought the beans to a boil, turned it down to a simmer, and started a pot of brown rice. She handed a treat to Juju, then set a lovely piece of halibut to marinate in teriyaki sauce. As she headed back to her study, the front door opened and Ginny came in, her cheeks rosy, her arms full of bags.

"Come to the bedroom, show me what you got" called Myra.

Ginny was exuberant, dumping all the fabrics onto Myra's bed in a huge heap. The hues and patterns were dazzling, the textures sumptuous. Alice found the materials as irresistible as Myra did, and had to be redirected several times. Ginny rattled on about what each length was going to become, showing Myra sketches, until she reached the bottom of the pile.

She held up a fold of soft wool in a rich, warm brown spangled with golden shooting stars. "What do you think of this?" said Ginny.

"Oh, god, that's the most beautiful yet" marveled Myra, taking it from her. "It feels like cream to the touch, and this pattern -- I've never seen anything like it."

"It's your colors, Myra. The colors in your eyes. I got it for you."

"For me? But -- "

Ginny pulled a tape measure from her pocket. "Stand up, angel. I know how to measure now. I'm going to get her to make you an outfit from this."

They had a lot of fun taking Myra's dimensions. When they were done with that and with the subsequent necking, Ginny said "The red and white horizontal stripe you liked, too? I'm going to get her to make us matching Mo shirts from that. Just for fun."

"We can never wear those out in public together, not as a couple. You understand that" said Myra severely.

"I know, Allie would disown us. Listen, I'm going to run all this over to Belva's, I'll be back soon."

"I'll wait on broiling the fish until you're here."

"I'll do a salad. I'm taking Juju with me." With a last kiss and a rustle of bags, Ginny was off, Juju dancing along beside her.


At dinner, Myra said "We need to get the housepainting done. I'm itching to move."

"Okay, let's talk schedule. I also need to refinish the table. And then I think we should hire movers for hauling the big stuff."

They made notes on a legal pad. Myra said "The kitchen counters are finished, and the flagstone floor went down today. Wanna go over after dinner and look at our new kitchen?"

"You betcha."

On the drive over, Myra's Honda registered in the hot zone. When they got there, Myra popped the hood and looked at the radiator. She explained some rudiments of the internal combustion engine to Ginny. After a while, she said "It's the water pump, dammit."

"We'll call Sadie in the morning, have it towed."

"Maybe" said Myra. "This might be something I could do."

"But why, Myra? We can afford the repair."

"Well, we can afford to have someone else refinish the table, or paint the house. How about if tomorrow, you start on the table and I replace the water pump? Just for the ethic of doing things ourselves when we can."

"Okay" grinned Ginny.

"Wow, this front yard has been completely destroyed, with all the construction, huh. Good thing you potted up your roses and gave 'em to Ms. Schevitz to watch."

"Yeah. That glass brick wall on the front bedroom is so gorgeous, Myra."

"But look how, with the light on inside, you can still see into the bedroom. At least shadows. That's gonna be a problem for privacy."

"I'm planning to plant bamboo all along the front of the window."

"Doesn't bamboo take over?" asked Myra.

"Not the clumping kind. And then maybe daylilies, and then all my roses and garlic."

"Garlic?" Myra looked like she hadn't heard right.

"Yeah, roses like garlic. And we'll always have fresh garlic for cooking."

They walked into the house. The dining table, along with 16 chairs, had been delivered and put into the studio.

"The linoleum back here really looks like stone" marveled Myra.

"But oh so easy to clean up. This cherry parquet in your study is going to be fabulous against the dark wood of your desk. And I'm thinking you should go with the moss green for your walls, instead of the lighter green."

"Wasabi green, is what I've been calling it. Yeah, I agree. Serious green for a serious writer. I can't believe you're doing just plain white for your studio, though."

"To avoid color reflection. But I'm going with a saffron leather for my daybed."

Myra asked "And dark green leather for my daybed?"

"A cross between olive and jade."

They had wandered back into the kitchen. "I'm glad we went with this granite for the counters -- what was its name, black impala? Remind me to buy a huge butcher block, though, for cutting veggies" said Myra.

Ginny hopped up on the counter and pulled Myra to her. "Remember kissing me here, that first night we came to my house?"

"I'll never forget that kiss, Ginny. Mmmm....shall we break in our new kitchen?"

"Let me lean forward on you a sec so I can slide down these pants..."

It was almost 10:00 by the time they left. Myra said "I don't feel good about driving my car as it is. Let's walk down to 15th and catch a bus."

"Or a cab. Tomorrow before we come back, I need to stop by the hardware store" said Ginny, linking her arm through Myra's as they walked down the hill.

"And I need to buy a water pump, maybe a tool or two."

"If the weather holds, we could start on actual painting the day after."

"When do we call in the crew to install our pool?" asked Myra.

"And hottub" reminded Ginny. "Whenever we want. Once that's in, we can deal with the backyard wreckage, have the downstairs deck built."

"Plus raised beds for vegetables!" said Myra.

"Uh-huh, and a new tree for the back corner. I need to talk with the Limons behind us, make sure they're okay with a Japanese maple that will eventually shade a portion of their yard."

"Planting trees. That's a permanent step to take, Ginny Bates."

"My point exactly" grinned Ginny.


The next morning, after an early breakfast, they ran their errands in Ginny's car and got to the house by 10:00. Myra helped Ginny carry the table out to a spread tarp in the churned-up back yard. They changed into work clothes, and Myra went to her Honda, idiot book in hand.

Two hours later, she had finally managed to get the old water pump off. The space available for hands to maneuver in a Honda engine was brutally tight, and one bolt was recalcitrant. She finaly hopped in Ginny's car and went back to the auto parts store for some penetrating oil, and that enabled her to muscle the fucker loose.

As she was examining the water pump, trying to verify that it was in fact malfunctioning, Ginny came to the carport, covered in wood dust and sweat, her mouth mask propped on her forehead.

"I'm hungry. Let's get takeout from Aux Delice."

They walked over, placed an order, then sat on the bench out front so as to not disturb the other customers with their mismatching grime. They washed their hands back at the house, and sat on their new stairs, the light from the clerestory windows in the stairwell restoring Myra's mood. They refilled their take-out cups with ice water from the new refrigerator's door, and kissed before parting.

When Myra went back to her car, Ms. Schevitz was out front, working in her garden. She straightened up and walked across the street to chat with Myra. A small woman with keen black eyes and iron-grey hair, she had an East Coast accent Myra could never quite nail down.

"How're our roses doing?" Myra asked.

"As well as they can in pots" said Ms. Schevitz.

"Well, we sure appreciate you babysitting 'em. Sometime in the next week, we should be able to return them home. I bet all this construction has made us pretty unpopular on this street."

"Feh, don't worry about it. That crew you hired, they were faster than most. And almost all women, I noticed. Means I never had to worry about pishers relieving themselves against my garage door."

Myra laughed.

"And you, what are you doing here with your car?"

"Replacing the water pump. I hope."

"I never saw women do all the things you and Ginny and your friends do. Just goes to show, doesn't it?"

"Indeed. Listen, Ginny's in the back stripping our future dining table, go on through the house and say hello if you want."

"All right. If you want lemonade or some tea later, come knock on my door."

"Thanks, Ms. Schevitz." Myra leaned over and gave her a peck on her cheek. Ms. Schevitz dimpled and went into the house.

By the time Ms. Schevitz passed back by, Myra was bent over in the bowels of the engine. Getting the water pump back in, aligned with the parts around it, was even harder. She struggled for three hours. Her hands got slick, from sweat as well as oil, and as she was trying a new technique involving using a big screwdriver as a lever against a flange where her hand was holding it steady, the screwdriver slipped around the metal and struck her left forefinger.

She didn't even feel the pain at first. With a jerk, she managed to get the flange seated properly, and stood up in relief. Then she noticed a drop of blood on the side of her car, and looked at her hands. A very deep, screwdriver-wide gash was pooling dark red blood on the last digit of her left finger. As she watched it, the throb hit. She looked around for something to wipe it with, but all her rags were filthy. Loosely wrapped the cleanest of these around her hand, just to catch drips, she walked into the house and went to the bathroom.

Running water of any temperature over the gash was agonizing. Still, she persisted, washing it out as best she could. The bleeding didn't want to stop. She wrapped toilet paper around her finger until it was a bulbous thick wad of paper and no blood showed through. She applied pressure, crying out loud at the pain, and sat down on the toilet. She felt a little shocky.

She was not aware of how much time passed. She was afraid to look at her wound, afraid it was really bad. She sat leaned forward on the toilet lid, trying not to pass out, waiting until she felt able to stand up again and go finish her job.

Suddenly she heard Ginny say "Myra?" She looked up at Ginny in the doorway. Ginny looked at the bloody sink, then Myra's hand, and said "Oh my god, darling, what happened to you?"

Myra burst into tears. "I cut my hand. I can't get it on, Ginny, it's too hard!"

Ginny sat down on the edge of the tub next to Myra and pulled Myra into her arms. Myra kept sobbing "I need to call Gil and ask him how to do this, what am I doing wrong, but I can't, I can't ever call him again!"

"Oh, angel, I know. It's okay, I'm here. You don't have to do this alone, we'll figure it out." Ginny kissed Myra's face and held her until Myra could think again.

"Myra, let me look at your hand."

"No, Ginny, I'm scared to look at it."

"Then don't you look, but I have to." Ginny gently unwrapped the toilet paper. The last layers were completely soaked with blood, and had to be teased away from Myra's skin. Ginny sucked in her breath, and Myra had to peek.

"Honey, this has to have stitches. It's not bleeding, but we can't leave it like this."

Myra nodded miserably.

"I'm going to wash up and change clothes. The table is stripped and cleaned off, I covered with a drop cloth and can begin finishing it tomorrow. Once I'm ready, we're going to the emergency room, okay?"

"What about my car?"

"I'll put your tools away and call Sadie to have it towed to her shop. I'll do that from Ms. Schevitz's and leave her the key, okay? Here, lean over and drink as much water as you can from the sink while I wash up. Is your hand hurting?"

"Like a motherfucker."

"I don't have any aspirin or anything with me, dammit."

"That's okay, Ginny. I should wait for the ER, see what they want to give me."

Ginny had stripped and was rinsing sawdust from her hair. She soaped down her body, squatting in the tub, and used the new showerhose to rinse off.

"No towels. Well, I'll use the second T-shirt I brought to dry off as much as I can...Okay, Myra, let's try standing you up. Are you dizzy?"

"A little."

"Lean on me, I'll walk you to my car, you can sit there while I deal with your car."

At the emergency room, they had to wait two hours to be seen by a doctor. After Ginny raised a ruckus, they did give Myra some pain medication. Ginny got her a Coke and some peanut butter crackers from vending machines, which with the pain pill helped Myra settle back and close her eyes.

Once they were back at Myra's flat, Ginny washed Myra in her tub, Myra holding her bandaged hand in the air to keep it dry. Ginny dried her off, too, but Myra was able to dress herself in sweats and T-shirt. As Ginny began making soup and toast, she handed Myra the phone and said "Call Allie. Talk to her and stay awake until you can eat, okay?"

Allie wasn't home, so Myra called Chris and told her story there. Chris didn't laugh at all, and offered to come over.

"No, Ginny's got it covered. As soon as I eat, I'm going to crash. This pain medication is making me goofy."

"Then call me tomorrow. Dammit, Myra -- no, you just rest, I'll talk with you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, Myra. I love you."

Chris seldom said things like I love you. Myra was touched as she hung up the phone.

She had to sleep on the opposite side of the bed from usual to keep her hand elevated on a pillow. Ginny spooned her from behind all night. In the morning, her throbbing hand woke her up. Ginny got her a glass of milk and a banana to eat right away, so she could take another pain pill. Then she made breakfast, complete with hash browns, and brought it to Myra in bed.

As they ate, Ginny said "Okay, change of plans. We're going to get more help, Myra. We're only going to do the jobs we really, really want to do. I think maybe you can't let yourself off the hook, responsibility wise, so I will be questioning you as we go along. Is that okay with you?"

Myra nodded, then handed the catsup bottle to Ginny so she could get the lid off.

"I do really want to be the one to paint our bedroom" said Ginny. "And I have to do the stairwell, because of how I've planned the color progression. And the children's bedroom. But the rest of the house? I'm calling the same folks who are doing the outside tomorrow and asking them to do the inside as well. I'm letting go of as much as I can, saving myself for the best, and I want you to follow my lead, Myra."'

"Okay. These hashed browns are as good as I've ever had, Ginny."

Ginny grinned in pride. "I put butter in the pan instead of oil."

"Primo."

"How are you feeling? Are you able to get out of bed today?"

"Oh, yeah. As long as the pills hold out, I can do anything." Myra meant it, too.

"Then after I make some calls, let's use the blessing of another sunny day. Let's go back to the house, complete with first aid kit and books, foods, comforts for you. You can sit on one of the new chairs in the backyard -- I only had to clean those off, not refinish them. I'll do the table while you rest. Then we'll come back here and curl up together, watch movies."

"Sounds good. I need to call Chris back."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, Allie called after you went to sleep. She gives you her love."

"Could we have them all over for dinner tonight? I mean, you'll have to cook."

"Absolutely, Myra."

"I'd cry if I weren't so high. I've never in my life had somebody pick up the slack for me like this."

"About time, Myra."

The following Monday, with painters inside and outside the house, Ginny declared it to be "vermilion day" and drove Myra over to the house so she could paint their bedroom.

"I can't handle a roller yet" said Myra, "but I could use a brush on the parts next to the trim."

"Are you sure you want to?" asked Ginny, looking at her critically.

"Uh-huh. This color is so luscious, it makes my heart race to look at it."

"Yeah, same here."

As they transformed their bedroom, they talked.

"Ms. Schevitz's accent, Ginny -- what is that?"

"Boston Jew, honey. Her parents came from Galicia."

"And she's widowed, right?"

"Yeah, a while ago. She has a niece and nephew here. They never had kids. From what I can tell, Myra, she and her husband were Wobblies."

"Wow. No wonder she's cool. I'm glad she's our neighbor."

"She was so sweet to me as I was moving in. She's the one who told me about the people down the street with puppies, said I should have a dog to share this big house with. Not a husband, a dog."

"So that's how you got Juju? From someone down the street?"

"Yep. Runt of the litter."

After another few minutes of silent working, Ginny said "So -- how are you going to feel about us having a son? Or sons?"

Myra lowered her brush and thought for a minute.

"To be completely honest, Ginny, I'd rather have girls. It's not that I prefer girls, per se -- "

"Coulda fooled me" laughed Ginny.

"No, I mean as children. I absolutely believe gender differences are the result of conditioning, Ginny. Anything that matters, anything to do with personality. And boys can't help what's coming at them any more than girls can. But at some point, we do become responsible for sorting out the lies. So my slack for men, especially piggy men, is way shorter."

"I agree with you about the conditioning thing, Myra. That's why I'm fine about having a son."

"I trust us, Ginny. But boys have to grow up in this world, too. I've seen so many wonderful, brilliant, loving women raise sons as best they can, and those boys turn out to be awful men. It's not up to the mothers alone."

Ginny was silent a moment, then ventured. "Like your mom."

"Well, yeah. So, if we have a boy -- I'm scared about it. Scared about how he might turn against us."

"That's hard to hear, Myra. What if a daughter turns against us?"

"I know that's possible, too. But all parenting is a grand experiment, Ginny. You learn as you go along, unfortunately. I'm willing to do my best with a boy. I mean, you don't have men in your life, either. What is that about, are you like that 50% of lesbians who don't like men enough to have more than the token friend and of course the family they were raised with, but god forbid somebody should call them a separatist?"

Ginny laughed. "Like Jewelle Gomez says, 'I don't hate men, I hate the patriarchy'? Yeah, maybe. I know I'm a cultural separatist, except for my family and of course little boys. But I do prefer female-only space, and I'm not afraid to admit it."

"Well, and for me the caveat extends to men of color. In fact, I'd rather be in a mixed race, mixed gender situation than with just white women. I had to get over my discomfort about race, about not knowing what to do or say when I was one of only a couple of white folks in a room."

"Boot camp with Allie and Chris, huh?" asked Ginny.

"Some. But I did it without them, too. And you'll need to, also. For one thing, with me, you and Sima there, it's already three strong white presences."

"Makes me think, any son we have is going to grow up surrounded by powerful women. Aside from my dad, I can't think of a male we'll be giving him access to." Ginny looked dismayed.

"I know. But I don't think I'm willing to manufacture a relationship with a man just to achieve a balance. Not when they run the fucking world the way they do. He's going to be exposed to male domination soon enough."

"And if the point is, Myra, what are the human values we want to impart -- which I believe feminist values are, at baseline, what human beings would choose if they weren't clobbered by sexism -- "

"Exactly, Ginny. Plus, aren't Pat and Patty planning to have kids?"

"Yeah. At least two, like us."

"Well, the average in lesbian births is running 75% male. We'll likely be awash in boys eventually" said Myra.

"Or we could just stick to puppies" laughed Ginny.

"And kittens" added Myra. "Holy moly, look at this wall, Ginny. It's a thing to behold."


When the painters finished, the living and dining room were cobalt, the spare bedroom was a light pumpkin with mocha accents, the guest bathroom was butter yellow with cornflower blue tile, Ginny and Myra's bathroom was aquamarine with bright white tile, Myra's study was an olive-jade green, Ginny's studio was cream, the second bedroom upstairs was robin's egg blue with ivory trim, the children's bathroom was cyan with pale peach tile, and the upstairs hall was mango. The only areas left undone were the children's bedroom and the stairwell.

When Allie came over to see the transformation, she walked from room to room and finally said "I feel like Frida Kahlo blew through here." Ginny's face lit up, and Myra said "You just paid her the biggest compliment ever."

"So, what's the plan, Stan, for the stairwell?" asked Allie.

"My concept is that you rise from the ocean, all this blue down here, to the light of the sun in the upper hall. As you go, you pass through the visible spectrum -- green to yellow to mauve to the hall. With occasional sundogs of violet and red. It'll mean fading and feathering." Ginny gave a surreptitious nod of her head in Myra's direction, but Myra saw it.

"And I can't manage the technique, is that what you're implying, Ginny?" asked Myra.

"Well, you're not completely healed yet from your injury -- " Ginny temporized. Allie was grinning.

"Oh, hell, Ginny, it's okay, I'm not a painter, I can admit that. I'm going to unpack books and arrange my desk while I blast some music" said Myra.

Ginny kissed her cheek and said "You'll be part of the mural process in the children's room, I promise."

Myra put Sweet Honey on the turntable and sat down in her fancy new desk chair to make a plan for her books. Not everything would fit in her study -- children's books could be put in their room upstairs, and reference books she didn't need instantly at hand could be stashed in the shelves that would line the stair landing once the painting was done. After a couple of minutes, Allie poked her head around the door from the kitchen and said "Would it be okay if you turned that up? I'd like to hear it."

"Shu-wah" said Myra, spinning around to adjust the volume. As the next song began and her speakers were belting out lyrics, she realized she didn't want to work, she wanted to watch Allie and Ginny. She walked through the kitchen to join them, singing
"By the rivers of Babylon
Where we sat down
And there we wept
When we remembered Zion
The wicked carry us away
Captivity required from us a song
How can we sing King Alpha's song in a strange land?
So let the words of our mouth
And the meditations of our hearts
Be acceptable in thy sight
Over I"

Myra sat on the landing as Allie and Ginny mixed a couple of small buckets and sat down on the bottom step, one on either side, to begin their rise from the deep.

"What is the ceiling going to be?" asked Myra.

"Indigo."

"And what are you going to do about these walls up here at the top?" asked Myra.

"Rollers" said Ginny.

"Can you feather with rollers?" asked Myra.

Ginny grinned at her. "I can."

Allie said "Switch sides with me -- I'm left-handed, I should be where you are."

They exchanged sides of the stair, and after a few minutes of focus on the painting, Allie asked "Now, tell me about this mural idea you got."

"Hmmmm" said Ginny, distracted for a moment. Her side was already done as high as she could reach. She poured the paint from her bucket into a roller pan and screwed an extender onto a roller brush, standing up to reach the high corner of the wall. Finally she answered "The bottom section of the bedroom walls all the way around, we're going to cover with this new stuff they've got, it's a two-coat process, that dries into something like a blackboard. So the kids can draw on the walls all they want."

"Art indoctrination" said Myra.

"Yes, but also pragmatism" grinned Ginny.

"What about the doors and the closet?" asked Allie.

"Glossy washable enamel on the doors, except the outside of the closet is all mirror" answered Myra.

"So the upper walls -- all the way around the room will be a thread of rivers, lakes and oceans, with scenes from children's books on the banks. All different kinds of landscapes and characters. And the ceiling will be a starry sky, with a moon and then the sun coming up in one corner, and it too will be filled with children's book characters who fly" said Ginny.

"Not just books, but also some movies and cartoons" said Myra.

Ginny frowned slighty. "Mostly books, though, Myra. I don't want to get too pop-culture."

Myra snorted. "All literature was once pop culture, in its day."

"You know what I mean. Mary Poppins from the P.L Travers' books instead of Disney."

"Gimme an idea of what I'll be needing to draw" said Allie. "I may need to bone up."

Ginny laughed. "Myra has an outrageous stack of children's books she's bought, in addition to what she already had, you'll have anything you need to look at."

"Research" insisted Myra. "Plus, for the kids to read."

"I'm not complaining" said Ginny.

"I got a list" said Myra, pulling out her notebook and flipping through the pages. "Here we go: Madeleine L'Engle's series, The Secret Garden, Joan of Arc, Pocahontas, Eloise, anything by Edith Nesbit, Alice in Wonderland, Trixie Belden, Heidi, Winnie the Pooh, The Wizard of Oz -- "

"No Flying Monkeys" interjected Ginny.

"Why not? They're fantastic creatures" argued Myra.

"Too scary" said Ginny.

"Well, scary is often part of children's literature. I mean, the Billy Goats Gruff, Little Red Riding Hood -- "

"Not those either" said Ginny. "Normal drama is okay, but no monsters or horror stories."

Myra looked obdurate, and sat silently for a minute. Ginny stayed focused on her painting. Myra finally began reading again: "Mary Poppins we already said, Heather and her Two Mommies, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, Little Women, Beatrix Potter, Ginger Pye, Narnia, the Bobbsey Twins, Water Babies, the Marguerite Henry horse books, Really Rosie -- "

"What's that one?" asked Allie.

"Carole King."

"Oh, yeah. What about Pippi?"

"Got her" said Myra. Then she said, looking at Ginny, "How about Maurice Sendak? Lots of his books have monsters or goblins in them."

"He's okay" said Ginny.

"But what makes those okay?"

"They're just not as scary" said Ginny, finally stopping to look at Myra.

"Did you have a bad experience with the Flying Monkeys, is that what this is?" asked Myra.

"I was terrified of them, yes, but that's not all I'm talking about" said Ginny. Allie was grinning to herself.

Myra sucked her teeth for a minute, then resumed reading. "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch, Pollyanna, Limberlost and Freckles, Five Little Peppers, the Boxcar Children, The Adventures of Perrine, Island of the Blue Dolphins -- "

Allie interrupted again, staring at Myra. "Every one of those you just read was about orphans."

"Well...I guess my mama pushed that theme on me, her being adopted and all."

"Yeah, but I read 'em too, Myra."

"Well, Allie..." Myra looked at her gently.

"Okay, go on."

"Harriet the Spy, Robin Hood, Madeline, Babar, Danitra Brown, Ramona and Katie John, Swallows and Amazons, All of a Kind Family, Charlotte's Web, Wind in the Willows -- "

"Now those critters were so faggy" said Allie.

"I know" agreed Myra. "Badger, he was like a Daddy Bear. And Mr. Toad -- "

"Drama queen" said Allie.

Myra resumed: "Stuart Little, Podkayne of Mars, To Kill a Mockingbird, Peter Pan of course, Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry, Judy Blume's books, and those of Joan Aiken, Annie Oakley, Calamity Jane, Pecos Bill, Dr. Seuss, Little House on the Prairie, all the Green Knowe books, Julie of the Wolves, Linnea in Monet's Garden -- "

"I never heard of that one" said Allie.

"It's new" said Ginny. "Fabulous book about Impressionism."

"Strawberry Girl, Baba Yaga, A Hundred Dresses..." Myra's voice trailed off. "That one just about killed me when I was a kid and read it."

"I don't know it" said Ginny. "Is it too sad to be on the list?"

Myra looked at her. Allie spoke up. "It's about a girl who wears the same dress every day, because she's so poor, but brags she has a hundred dresses in her closet. The other girls trash her constantly for it."

Ginny stopped painting and looked at Myra. "Why does she lie about it?"

"She's not lying. She's this amazing artist, and she draws dress designs, over a hundred of them. But they don't find out until after she's moved away" said Myra. She swallowed to keep from crying.

Ginny blew her a kiss and said "Definitely on the list, then."

Myra took a breath and looked at her list. "Goodnight Moon -- the author of that, she slept with women."

"No shit?" said Allie.

"And also You Are The Rain, which is by May Swenson's lesbian lover."

(May Swenson, poet, and partner Zan Knudsen, author of "You Are The Rain")

"I didn't know that, either" said Ginny.

"That's what we got so far" said Myra. "But it's still way too white, European, even."

"Sacagawea" said Allie. "Harriet Tubman. Ishi."

"The Five Chinese Brothers" remembered Ginny. "La Llorona."

"Oh, and Lawrence Yep's books" said Myra, writing these down.

"Sounder" said Allie. "The People Could Fly, Cornrows, Ashanti to Zulu, Justin and the Best Biscuits in the World -- "

"Damn, girl, slow down" said Myra. "What's that last one?"

"It's new, about black cowboys."

"Far out" said Myra. "Oh, and Anne Cameron has at least one kid's book out."

"Buffalo Woman, and The Girl Who Loved Wild Horses" said Allie.

"Sounder. Call It Courage. And Now Miguel" added Ginny.

"I, Juan de Pareja" said Allie. "Anpao."

They all fell silent at the same time.

"Hell of a list" said Ginny, eventually.

"Hell of a mural" agreed Allie.

"And now I got a lot more books to buy" said Myra happily. "In fact -- " She got to her feet.

Ginny laughed. "You haven't put away what you've got already. But go, anything at all for our future children, who better count on reading to the exclusion of all other activity, from the looks of it."

Myra kissed her on her way past.

"Hey, My?" asked Allie. "While you're out, if you're near a Top Pot, will you grab some doughnuts? And a big cup of their coffee for me."

"Chocolate cake and maple raised, right?"

"Yeah" said Allie.

"In fact, Myra, we'll be hungry by the time you get back. How about getting some takeout for us?" added Ginny.

"Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean, Thai?" asked Myra.

"Japanese" said Ginny. "Go to Aoki's and get sushi. Yellowtail and eel, for sure."

"Plus ton katsu for me" said Allie.

Myra went to Red and Black and ordered all the books from Annie. Then she stopped at a local coffee retail outlet -- not Starbuck's, she refused to support them -- and bought the best espresso machine they had, plus several kinds of international coffee beans and a grinder. She got a dozen doughnuts and then stopped for Japanese food last. When she got home, she carried in the coffee machine and set it on the counter, calling out a hello. Ginny and Allie were out of sight, on the upper flight of stairs. Returning with a second armload of food and coffee, she found Ginny and Allie in the kitchen, marveling at the new machine. Allie hugged Myra around all the bags in her arms.

"You'll have to teach me how to make a decent cuppa" said Myra happily. Ginny dug into the sushi and began mixing wasabi with soy sauce as Allie set up the machine and chose beans for this initial brew. Myra crunched sweet potato tempura and fed Allie alternating bites until the coffee was made. Ginny had finished her share of the sushi and looked longingly at Myra's teriyaki. Myra spooned some onto Ginny's plate and added the tempura mushrooms, Ginny's favorite. They finally sat down at the table, instead of standing in the kitchen, to finish their meal. The smell of coffee and fresh paint was so thick in the air it was almost visible.

"Where are the books?" asked Ginny suddenly.

"On order."

"I thought of another to add to the list, Tuck Everlasting."

Myra scowled and said "Absolutely not."

Ginny was astonished. "What's wrong with that book?"

"It's a nuke fam family that becomes immortal and can't separate from each other for all time. The kids can't ever go out on their own, nobody ever develops independence. What a horrible fucking idea" said Myra vehemently.

"Well, when you look at it that way..." conceded Ginny.

"But I realized I left off some important stuff, too. Wonder Woman -- "

Allie exclaimed around her seaweed salad "How on earth did we forget about her? And Storm, for godsakes?"

"Yep, and an even more reprehensible oversight: Ripley. With Newt, of course."

Ginny stopped chewing and said "Uh..."

Myra's face went stony. "What?"

"My -- no aliens, okay? Ripley and Newt, yeah, but no monsters, especially not the worst monsters of all time. And no guns."

Myra blew. "You can't fucking have Ripley without her flamethrower, that's just ridiculous. And the name of the whole damned series is Aliens, you've got to have some indication of what she's fighting against!"

Ginny dug in her heels. "No weapons on the walls of our children's bedroom. And no monsters. I mean, Myra, it's not even a book, it's a movie."

"But it's not just a movie, Ginny, not to me, and you fucking well know that!"

"I do, and it's extremely important to me, too, now. Myra, I'm not trying to censor you, it's just a question of protecting our children from ideas and images before they're developmentally ready to handle it."

Myra resumed eating, chewing angrily. Ginny put her hand on Myra's and said "I don't want us to fight about this."

"Yeah, which means I have to fucking give in" said Myra.

Ginny was silent for half a minute, then said "Yeah. You do."

Which made Myra giggle. "Well at least you have the eggs to admit it. You know, everybody talks about how bossy Leos are, but they can't hold a candle to Aquarius!"

Ginny and Allie grinned at each other. Allie said to Myra "Listen, when your kids are twelve, I'll personally come over and paint Ripley flaming a nest of embryos on any wall you want."

Myra gave her a high five and said "You're on."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, but kept quiet, instead reaching for another piece of Myra's tempura.

The window-wall at the front of their house, fronting the living room, was the same glass as on the back walls of the house, very thick and faintly blue-green, reminding Myra of the 1960s. The light it allowed into the living room, filtered through the mass of hydrangeas out front, was also faintly blue, or perhaps that was backwash from the cobalt walls of the room. But Myra and Ginny had installed a horseshoe of track lights facing the fireplace, and in these sockets were full-spectrum lights that mimicked the sun, so on a sunny day there might be two different kinds of light splashing around the room, bouncing back and forth from the white ceiling to the blonde pine floors.

Well -- Myra referred to the ceiling as white, but Ginny jumped on her, saying it was actually "snow". Myra replied that snow was white, with a 'duh' tone in her voice. Ginny strode back to her studio and returned with a tube of Titanium White, squeezed a messy dollop onto Myra's forearm and said "Hold that up to the ceiling, now that's white". Myra conceded the point irritably as she tried to get the paint off with paper towels.

And the floors were technically longleaf yellow southern pine, a name that Myra loved to roll around in her mouth -- she wanted to find a way to use it in a poem. The wood had been salvaged from another old building, stripped and laid down over their new radiant heating system, then varnished and the edges hidden with a matching trim of yellow pine. The fireplace surround and mantle was also resurrected old pine. Ginny declared warm and cool to be in balance here at the front of the house. It certainly was a lovely place to sit and read, or take a nap, or play with small children on the floor.

Cobalt extended down the hall toward the back on the right as you came in the front door, although the left side of that hall was all glass, framing off the dining room. And it was cobalt in the short hall toward Myra and Ginny's bedroom, but swam through the rainbow up to mango at the very top of the stairs. The kitchen was mostly white cabinets with glass insets or white tile, except for the glossy black granite counters and the stainless steel appliances. The kitchen was Myra's laboratory, and its color came from the food she assembled there. The flagstone floor was just stone-looking -- Ginny had a name for its color, but Myra could never remember it.

The pine floors stretched into Myra and Ginny's bedroom, which was definitely the hottest room in the house, in every sense of the word. It wasn't just the vermilion walls, or the wall of frosted glass brick whose light was much warmer than the other glass in the house. Twice a week Ginny cut yellow and orange floribundas and arranged them in a brass vase on their dresser, bits of flame that drew the eye. The ceiling here, too, was white except not-white, something Ginny called nacre, a word Myra kept meaning to look up. And the Roman blinds giving them privacy at night -- for their glass wall faced the street, and all of Ginny's profusion of roses and screen of bamboo in front was not enough to keep anyone on the sidewalk from observing the silhouette of what they got up to in their king-size bed -- the shades they had custom-made were also supposed to be nacre.

Except Ginny found them to be off, not quite right, a subtle difference Myra simply could not see. At least once a week Ginny commented on the "shades that are the wrong shade" with an aggrieved tone. She said it was too expensive to have them redone. But several years later, Myra wished she had insisted they replace them. Ginny almost never repeated herself, and this weekly complaint irritated Myra all the more for its rarity in Ginny's behavior. Myra mostly counted on the fact that despite how extraordinarily well she knew Ginny, and how four times out of five she could predict the general sense of what Ginny would think about a given topic, still, the particular of how Ginny would express herself never failed to interest Myra. I mean, interest her all the way down to her bones. And that one time out of five, when she had Ginny pegged completely wrong, well, that kept things exciting.

Myra left lights on during the day in the house. The solar collecting panels on their new roof provided 40% of their electricity, and Myra said this was one area she needed extravagance: light. Real light, enough to remind her of Texas. She didn't want to come to resent living here in Greyopolis after years of light deprivation. Ginny the painter had no problem with how bright their indoor world was.

The color of the outside of the house was also left to Ginny, and it took her literally two weeks to settle on a deep, dark tone she called kale green. She wanted something that would absorb what warmth could be squeezed from cloudy skies, that would hide damp and mold, that would not clash with the glass walls, and would set off her mobs of flowers. Ginny chose a sapphire blue for the front door, glossy and thick. She had a small crescent window cut into the door and set with amber glass, so a floating golden moon often spilled onto the entryway floor when light poured through the peep.

Right after their first child was born, Ginny found an old beaten copper cornice or molding in a second hand shop, something that had one been part of a larger frieze, perhaps, depicting a tumult of salmon fighting their way up a cataract. Some idiot had painted it, so she was able to buy it on the cheap. She stripped it down to gleaming glory, and found a way to attach it to the front door outside where it would not drip green tarnish onto the wood. After that, when directing people to their house it was easy to say "Look for the green house with the blue door, with the fish swimming under the moon." By the time their first-born was in high school, the patina on the salmon was so beautiful, every time Ginny came home she stopped a moment to admire it.





Copyright 2007 Maggie Jochild.

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REFLECTING

(Old Slave Block in St. Louis Hotel, New Orleans -- The name over the middle alcove is "M. Barnett", which was my birth name)

My great-aunt Lee did not care much for Thanksgiving. She observed it, because there seemed to be no real alternative, but she took pains to point out that it was a "Yankee" holiday, imposed on the country during the Civil War when the actual founding colony of America, Jamestown, could be ignored. As a child, I was taken aback by her pronouncements, just as I was shocked when she showed no approval for my having memorized the Gettysburg Address: She said I could find far more admirable language to commit to memory than that of "Mr. Lincoln", a President whose virtues she felt were grossly overstated.

She certainly knew her history. She and my great-uncle John Thomas spent countless summers as re-enactors at Colonial Williamsburg, residing in the Berkeley House in authentic pre-revolutionary style. They were both teachers of history and English, in public schools and colleges. They were instrumental in getting the Texas State Archives founded here in Austin. Aunt Lee is the source of our voluminous, impeccably documented genealogy, remarkable in a family line of poorly-schooled subsistence farmers. She was ferociously supportive of higher education for women, and she saw no schism between Darwinism and faith in an almighty Creator -- she had no difficulty believing in both, and scorned those who did have trouble. And -- she and Uncle John were John Birchers who longed for a return to an era when "blacks knew their place." Her given name was that of her hero, General Lee.

I loved her very much, contradictions and all. Having to sort through this love has been very good for me, enabling me to be much more successful as an anti-racist activist dealing with my own people.

And, I suspect Aunt Lee was right about the political mythmaking behind Thanksgiving's origins. According to Wikipedia, "On December 4, 1619, a group of 38 English settlers arrived at Berkeley Hundred, comprised of about eight thousand acres (32 km²) on the north bank of the James River near Herring Creek in an area then known as Charles Cittie (sic) about 20 miles upstream from Jamestown, where the first permanent settlement of the Colony of Virginia was established on May 14, 1607. The group's charter required that the day of arrival be observed yearly as a "day of thanksgiving" to God. On that first day, Captain John Woodleaf held the service of thanksgiving." However, "During the Indian Massacre of 1622, nine of the settlers at Berkeley Hundred were killed, as well as about a third of the entire population of the Virginia Colony. The Berkeley Hundred site and other other outlying locations were abandoned as the colonists withdrew to Jamestown and other more secure points."

My first white ancestor in North America arrived at Jamestown in 1609, Captain James Davis. What occurred at Jamestown and its environs over the next few decades is, I think, more essential to establishing the character of the futured United States (and offering object lessons about the problems we've still not addressed) than the 1621 colony of Plymouth Plantation in New England. But the New England version makes for a prettier story, with a hint of nobility about it if you ignore some details, and certainly the Civil War era marks a period of extreme anti-Southern public relations, most of which have economic reasons rather than a sincere moral antipathy toward slavery on the part of the industrial North.

In addition to James Davis, a Cavalier, I also have ancestors from the Camp, Carter, Randolph and Tarpley lines, names familiar to those who study colonial Virginia and especially the James River region. However, these enter my genealogy from another source, not the line that was shared by Aunt Lee. And they are in the minority. Most of my forebears, like hers, were indentured servants, Scots renegades of the class referred to by Sir William Berkeley (of Berkeley House and Plantation connections) when he said "I thank God, there are no free schools, nor printing; and I hope we shall not have, these hundred years; for learning has brought disobedience, and heresy, and sects into the world, and printing has divulged them, and libels against the best government. God keep us from both."

America likes the notion that we were founded by hard-working folks seeking liberty, especially freedom from religious persecution, who came here and transformed a virgin wilderness into the richest nation on earth. We give thanks to this myth every November, and the voices who keep pointing out how very off plumb it is are considered killjoys.

Well, I come from a long line of killjoys. Here's the basics:

---The first settlers were funded by capitalists who expected to make a profit from these ventures, pure and simple. The push to find means of income, not just survival, scarred the early colonies deeply.

---Earlier European contact had introduced diseases which decimated many Native populations, and they were still reeling from this assault, emotionally and practically, when British Isles folks appeared. If tribes had been in their normal state, it seems unlikely any colony would have survived -- the land was simply not "available" for the taking, no matter what religious beliefs the colonists held.

---Colonists who came seeking "religious freedom" were in the minority and did not want freedom in the sense that we understand it -- rather, they wanted to impose their own religious doctrine on their communities. (Sound familiar?)

---If your ancestor came during the 1600s, the odds are greater than half that s/he was an indentured servant. The practice of indentured servitude was violent, destructive to family life, and set the cultural stage for the advanced, most vicious forms of slavery which survived in America far later than in other parts of the industrializing world.

Thus, class divisions between the early colonists were profound and had extreme outcome on survival. If you don't understand the details of this, you will be baffled as to why so many former indentured servants would jump at the chance of introducing African slavery even though they understood its evil.

A couple of years ago, PBS had one of its re-enactment series, Colonial House, wherein a group of ordinary people were trained in the details of life as it was in a 1600s New England colony and set down in a re-created village for six weeks, with cameras recording what transpired. For me, the most riveting outcome was the personal journey of Danny Tisdale, a progressive black man from New York, publisher of Harlem World magazine, who came to the "colony" in the role of a free man of color. Despite tremendous concessions to modern sensibililties, life there turned out to be so arduous, day to day, that at one point this highly intelligent man realized if the option of buying slaves sailed into the nearby cove, he would be tempted. This revelation was so painful, he left the experiment early, unable to resolve the internal crisis it presented.

I know we're currently in a period where Big Lies are the norm, and fundamentalist nuttiness is deliberately seeking to taint all history and science we've ever taken for granted. But the best antidote to dishonesty is, as always, honesty. Educate yourself: An excellent place to start would be to read Albion's Seed: Four British Folkways in America by Brandeis history professor David Hackett Fischer and/or read the extraordinary essays about this book (three so far, fourth yet to come) by Sara Robinson at Orcinus. Give thanks for what makes sense to you, resist the urge to buy and spend, and love your imperfect beloveds as best you can. Forgive the wretches who populate your family tree even as you make sure you are not a chip off their block. A good life lasts for generations.

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MORE FROM GINNY BATES: CHRIS KASH-KASH

(Lapwai Nez Perce reservation, Idaho, 1893; missionary Kate McBeth and some of her theological students; bottom right is James Kash-Kash)

A double dose of my novel-in-progress, Ginny Bates, since Kat evoked the character of Chris Kash-Kash and since it is the so-called holiday. This is an excerpt from my novel-in-progress, Ginny Bates. If you are already a familiar reader, skip down to Read More. If not, here's links to background information in the sidebar to the right, third item from top.


3 October 1986, at a Friday night dinner

Once the new dining table was installed and all the painting was finished, Myra and Ginny's place became the permanent location for weekly Friday night dinners with their friends. Once a month, they had a meeting of the Feminist Fund after Friday dinner. The rule was: Dinner was for friendship, not talking business. Sometimes Alveisa brought Petra, sometimes not.

Myra had made a huge pot of risotto the day before. That Friday, she made riso sar tu and Ginny fried cod cakes with Myra's direction. Their friends brought other potluck offerings. As everyone filled their plates buffet style from the breakfast bar, Chris said "Anne Cameron is reading at Red and Black Wednesday after next."

(Anne Cameron)

"All right!" said Myra. "Can we sit together?"

"I heard she's just finished a sequel to 'Daughters of Copper Woman', I hope that's what she's reading" said Sima.

"That book -- " said Ginny. "It was one of those books that changes how you see everything. You go into a little period of chaos."

"Chaos" mused Chris. Ginny wasn't watching Chris's face, but Myra was. She sat down at one end of the table. Ginny followed Sima into the dining room and sat at the other end of the table, still talking.

"Yeah, it was like everything I'd been raised with was held up to a lens, and the light was harsh, you know? Because it was so different. The language, the culture, the very way the book was put together. It even caused my girlfriend and I to have this big fight about sex, of all things."

"Bonnie? Was it Bonnie then?" Myra wanted Ginny to start paying attention to what she was saying, but she couldn't help focusing in on which girlfriend it had been.

"Yeah. I mean, we were already dealing with -- issues. Her past. And she was raised Christian, so she had all that crap. But then the sex in 'Copper Woman' was so -- "

"Different?" said Chris softly.

"Yeah, and then there's all that rape later on in the book, and she flipped out, couldn't keep reading it. Told me if I kept going, she didn't trust me not to be affected by it."

"Did she think it was just better not to know the truth?" asked Sima.

"She had strong limits, and she was willing to find a comfortable life within those limits. Which is okay, I guess, if you can stand living that way."

Myra was trying to come up with a change of subject, but Allie asked "What do you mean, Christian crap? About sex? As opposed to what?"

"Well, I've had two lovers who were Jewish and one who wasn't, before Myra" said Ginny.

Myra interrupted "Four, Ginny, you've had four besides me."

"Oh, right. Okay, two of each, then" Ginny was momentarily disconcerted. "So that's a small sample. But my Jewish lovers did not equate sex with anything spiritual. If there's no spiritual transgression in sex, which is largely true in Judaism, then it doesn't have the so-called erotic charge of naughtiness, or whatever the fuck it is. Especially with Catholic women, seems like."

There was a sudden silence at the table. After a moment, Alveisa said "Maybe you could say more about what Judaism does believe about sex. I can't pretend to be an expert."

Myra wanted to kick Ginny under the table, but they were at opposite ends.

"Well, one thing is that making love with your spouse is considered a mitzvah, and especially good on the sabbath. You're actually not supposed to go too long without sex."

"But the definition of spouse -- that won't include any of us, will it?" asked Chris pointedly.

"Only in some reform traditions, at least so far" said Ginny. "But you see what I mean? Religions that equate sex with sin leave a residue either way that you drag into bed with you, either inhibition or attaching some kind of extra oomph to what is, after all, nothing to do with finding god. Not any more than god is present in all activities and beings."

After another group silence, Chris said slowly "There are lots of residues we bring to bed that have nothing to do with religion. And for some of us raised Catholic, the path to being able to lie down with a woman without residue is not about our religion..." She stopped, then looked at Sima whose face was distressed.

"Excuse me, please. I need to get some night air" said Chris in a careful tone. She pushed back from the table quietly and walked outside to the yard.

Ginny suddenly put the pieces together. She registered horror, and turned to look at Sima, who was looking out the window at Chris. Myra stood up and, the closest person to the door, got outside before anyone else could move. She sat down on the bench near where Chris stood and said "I'm not here to defend her, let me be clear about that."

Chris gave her a brief tight grin, then continued to look up at the stars. They sat together in silence for several minutes. Finally Chris breathed heavily and crossed to the bench, sitting next to Myra but facing the opposite direction, away from the house.

"I miss home" she said.

"Yeah" said Myra.

"Not the same way I do, Myra" said Chris.

"I know. I'm not stupid" said Myra without heat.

"No, just different."

They shared another minute or two of silence.

Chris spoke again. "You two -- I know you two cross a lot of bridges to get to each other, but there's some things you agree on without even noticing. Makes it easy on you."

"Are you talking about sex?' asked Myra.

"Bigger. You -- I'm not downplaying what a tiger you are, what you've survived, no one else I'd rather have by my side in a fight -- but you're tender-hearted, Myra. Your feelings get really hurt when somebody doesn't like you."

"I think of you as tender-hearted, too, Chris. You're one of the sweetest people I've ever met" said Myra.

"I got scar tissue where you don't" said Chris, very softly.

Myra turned and put her arms around Chris.

"Like that, there" said Chris. "Your saving grace is that you just do everything you can think of to love the people around you, you never stop trying to think of ways to nurture us. And it keeps us moving forward with you, because you really mean it. Even when you aren't getting it, you want to get it and you love us, and over time it works."

Myra tried not to feel hurt. She waited.

"Somehow, you've held onto that -- extra. And now you got a girl who means to be the light of your life forever, who wants every last speck of love you can give her, in all the ways you can find to show love. You're a well that will never run dry, and she's got a thirst that will never be quenched."

Myra kept reminding herself to just listen.

After another minute, Chris looked at Myra. "I'm not trying to put you down. I just -- don't lose your balance, Myra. Don't think she's the key to your balance. And -- I don't -- " Chris couldn't find a way to say it right to Myra's face.

Myra took a wild guess. "If I can only get as far down as your scar tissue, I'll stay right there and love you just the same. I'm not going to drift away from you because I've got a honey pot in my bedroom now."

Chris's ability to cry had mostly been scorched out of her. But this direct hit helped her push aside the fear long enough for tears to well up into her mouth. She leaned her big body heavily on Myra, and Myra buried her face in Chris's hair.

Sima was watching through the window. Ginny was trying to apologize to Alveisa, and Sima didn't meant to interrupt her, it just came out of her: "My god, Chris is crying."

She turned and looked at Allie, stricken. Allie said "Good. Myra's got the touch. You'll be taking her home later, Chris'll need you then." Then she added "Can we just stop trying to do criti/self-crit? Ginny, let it go. You got stupid, you didn't mean to but you did, and you'll clean it up. We ain't gonna leave you about it. Not this time." She grinned. "Do you have dessert? Let's quit looking out the window and find something else to talk about."

Ginny stood up, her legs wobbly, and forced herself into the kitchen to get the pound cake with huckleberries on top, handing it across the breakfast bar to Allie. "Here's forks and a server, Al. Get the little plates from the sideboard, will you?"

Sima gathered up dishes and brought them to the sink.

"I don't think Chris was really done eating -- looks like Myra wasn't either, should I save their dinner?"

"Here -- I'll put their salad in bowls and stick it in the fridge to stay crisp, and we can put the plates in the oven on low to keep everything else warm." As Ginny pulled two different colored bowls from the cabinet, Sima kissed her on the cheek and said "We're inlaws as well as friends, I hope you know that." Ginny's face lit up, and she kissed Sima back gratefully.

Chris's eyes burned after crying, a sure sign she'd gone too long without a purge -- toxins built up. She rubbed her face on her arm and sucked snot back deep into her nose.

Myra laughed as the echo of this sound back from the far fence. "You wanna just blow 'em all off and go out to a movie? We could slip out the side gate."

Chris grinned at her. "If we were five years younger..." Then "When we go back in, is she gonna be all guilty and subdued?"

"If she is, just kick her ass, Chris. Treat her like you would me."

Chris grinned even wider. "You need ass kickin' on a regular basis, that's true."

"I've got the build for it. It don't hurt me much. And hers is just as big."

"What's with her not being able to remember how many lovers she's had? I mean, it's an itty bitty number, not like yours."

"I fucking don't know, Chris -- it's this dyke goddess from Denmark she keeps forgetting, the woman who apparently awoke her libido. It drives me nuts. It's a way of putting that lover into some exalted 'other' status. I can't compete with a goddamned fantasy from the past."

Chris was really laughing now. "Well, count your blessings, at least you're not a stinking Catholic."

They howled together. When they were calmed down again, Chris said "The truth is -- let's hear it for what Jewish women bring to our beds."

"Praise Jesus" agreed Myra without thinking. It set them both off again.

November 1986

When Myra got in from working a fundraiser garage sale with Chris, Ginny met her in the dining room, eyes sparkling "I got a phone call from a local gallery, a little place but I really really like their style, and they want to talk with me about doing a show there!"

Myra grabbed her and they danced around the room happily. "How did they know about you?" Myra asked.

"That juried competition -- well, you wouldn't know about it -- I was in this show last year and one of my pieces got some honors. And the guy who runs this gallery remembered me from that. I need to go in Friday afternoon with a selection. Which means I need to make slides of all the canvases that are possibles. Which means we need to go buy a camera, because I don't have one good enough for this kind of close-up indoor work."

"Let's go" said Myra.

On the way to the camera store, Ginny said "I also need to do something about varnishing."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to varnish all my canvases, to preserve them for as long as possible. In the past, I've had it done by this art restorer I know, but it's really something I should learn how to do. Most of the paintings I have right now are at least six months old, I could varnish a lot of them right away. I need to take a class or some kind of personal instruction in it, Myra."

"Go for it, Ginny."

At Friday dinner, Ginny was able to announce that she would be having a small, limited show at the Motion Gallery the following February. Allie kept high-fiving her and going "God damn! God damn, Ginny!" She promised to help Ginny with selection and installation. Myra kept asking questions, hoping to learn enough to be useful in the future.

Ginny found a varnishing and preservation course she liked, but it wouldn't start until January. Reluctantly, she and Myra hauled a carload of her canvases to her restoration friend and paid for it to be done. Myra hired their contractor to come back out and create a ventilation system for Ginny's studio that would handle the demand of varnish work. She also insisted that Ginny splurge on an outfit for the opening, either in a specialty store or handmade by Belva, that made Ginny feel dressed to the nines.

"What are we going to do the week they're putting in the ventilation system?" asked Ginny. "I won't be able to do any painting, and I don't think you'll be able to work, either."

Myra grinned at her. "We could have a honeymoon."

Ginny's grin was huge. "Oh, yes. Check into a hotel somewhere and live on room service and each other?"

Myra laughed. "I like how you think -- but I meant maybe a little traveling."

"I've always wanted to see Crater Lake" said Ginny.

"Me, too!" exclaimed Myra. "But I don't think it's open this time of year, is it?"

"Ah, no. How about Yellowstone?"

"I've been there. But -- have you heard about the Channeled Scablands?"

"The what?"

"I read about it, Ginny. It's this spectacular region east of here where the geology was shaped by the biggest flood in history for which there's clear evidence. Created the Columbia River Gorge and Willamette Valley, among other things. It'll be clear out there, cold but not rainy. We could take Juju and her red sweater, rent a jeep, stay in sweet little motels at night. Get away from everybody during the day -- you could draw, I could write."

(Google earth photo of Channeled Scablands -- The town at the north edge of the picture is Coulee City, WA, next to the Grand Coulee dam)

Ginny was glowing. "We might not ever come back."

"We'd have to -- if only for Alice."

"What will be do about her while we're gone? We can't leave her in the house, not with work crews around."

"I'll ask Chris and Sima to take her for the week -- she really loves Chris, always has."

The next day, Myra announced she had arranged jeep rental in Othello; they decided to wait until they got there and could look at the local lodgings before deciding on a place to stay. They packed and turned over the keys to the contractor the next day. Then they headed out on their first road trip together.

Once they were out of the city, Ginny began poring over the maps Myra had bought at her beloved map store. "You know" she said, "we could go from lake to lake in the wilderness refuge nearby by boat -- how are you in a canoe?"

"Lousy" said Myra. "But I'm a birder, maybe I could add to my life list, so I'm willing to try."

Ginny looked at her inquisitively. "Are you scared of the water, or what?"

"No -- hell, you've seen me in the pool. It's just that I have trouble telling my left from my right. I'm great with compass directions but my kinesthetic sense sucks."

"Okay. I'll tell you what to do if we go canoeing."

"I bet you will, Teach" said Myra.

Ginny returned to the maps. After a few minutes, she said "Whoa. Did you know Hanford was just a few miles from where we're going?"

"Fuck, no. You mean the wildlife refuge is located next to a nuclear site?" Myra was incensed.

"Well, let's drinks lots of bottled water, and if we can find a health food store, we'll buy nori or something else that has lot of natural iodine in it" said Ginny. "Try to keep ourselves from picking up as much contaminants as possible."


In Othello, they drove through town twice, looking at all the motels, before stopping at three and asking to check to inspect a room before renting. One place turned them down flat. The second had a strong reek of cigarettes. But the third, the Twilight Inn, was run by an elderly couple who cheerfully handed Ginny a key. The room was clean, quiet, had a new-feeling queen bed and a wide table they could both work at. The floor was tile, they allowed dogs, and next door was a cafe boasting home-cooked food. They paid for five nights, hauled in their bags, and unpacked before walking to the cafe for lunch.

As they walked back to the motel, Myra said "Pick up the jeep first or go looking for canoe rentals?"

"Neither" said Ginny, locking the deadbolt and closing the curtains. Myra said "Oh" and began taking off her pants.

A couple of hours later, they emerged to get the jeep, driving back to the motel to leave their car. They found a small store that had a health food section and bought snacks to store in their cooler. Then they asked directions to a boat rental place, arranging to pick up a canoe in two days and buying maps to the local lakes. Ginny saw a sign for a farmer's market on Saturday mornings, and Myra spotted a used bookstore that was just closing. They checked out a second cafe for dinner, which didn't live up to the first cafe but the pie was passable. On the way back to the motel, they stopped at a park and played chase the ball with Juju until she was exhausted. The sunset seemed to fill Myra's lungs with air. She handed the ball to Ginny and pulled out her notebook, scribbling down a few lines.

Back at the motel, Myra wrote for another hour while Ginny sketched three views of a hill they'd seen on their drive. Juju was given a blanket nest on an overstuffed chair and acted like she was getting away with the forbidden. They watched half an hour of MTV, then went to bed and made love again.

The next day they drove to Drumheller and began exploring the Scablands by jeep, Ginny insisting on having the first try at four-wheel drive. Juju found the bouncing from rough terrain unsettling, and began whining constantly until Myra put her in the floorboard up front. As they came over a rise and discoved a small reed-encircled bright blue pond in the middle of terra cotta-colored rocks, Myra told Ginny to stop. She pulled out her binoculars and studied the pond for a minute. As she handed the glasses to Ginny, she said in a rapturous voice "At the northern end, not in the water -- those are sandhill cranes."

Ginny took a look and said "Oh, lovely -- I've never seen one before."

"Me neither" said Myra happily. "First addition to my life list with you." She fished a battered old notebook from her pack and began writing. "You might not be able to tell it from here, but they're three feet tall. Wingspan is over seven feet."

"Wow. I love their red caps -- reminds me of whooping cranes" said Ginny, not letting go of the binoculars.

"Sandhills are close cousins to whoopers. But they have a better ability to adapt to change, so they're not endangered. At least, not yet."

Ginny murmured "I'm afraid whooping cranes are a lost cause." She didn't notice Myra's stiffening or scowl. After a minute she said "Are their cheeks white, or is that just a reflection?"

"Buffy white. And the older ones have rusty patches on their backs" said Myra. The change in her tone registered with Ginny, who lowered the glasses and looked at Myra.

"I don't like hearing people be hopeless about the survival of other living things" said Myra. "It's not smart, and it's not honest." Ginny was shocked at the anger on Myra's face.

"I didn't mean it that way, honey" said Ginny. "I'm sorry, I really am -- I didn't realize whooping cranes meant so much to you. Of course I want them to survive, you should know that about me."

"It isn't whoopers, per se" said Myra, struggling to calm down at least her voice.

Ginny waited a minute, then said "I'll never know if you don't tell me."

Myra managed a small grin, licked her lips, then said "As far as we can see around us -- from here to almost Seattle -- it was Nimipu land for tens of thousands of years."

Ginny said, a little hesitant, "I don't know what Nimipu is."

Myra forced herself not to react to that, either. "The real name of Nez Perce."

"Ahhh...shit, Myra." Ginny took Myra's hand, and suddenly they weren't in any kind of opposition any more.

"I'm a bleeding heart, Ginny, and I''ll never be ashamed about it" said Myra. "I'll go to any personal lengths to redress wrongs. There's so much I can't fix, but what I can do, I'll do." Her voice carried tears.

"I know that about you, Myra, and adore it. It's one of the first things I loved about you" said Ginny. "I'm the same way, just a little bit behind you."

Myra laughed. "How about if we say today you officially caught up with me, and we're going on together in step? Or in jeep, as the case may be."

Ginny leaned over and kissed her lingeringly. Then she said "I know this is very Sierra Club whitey of me, but I want to take some photos of all this, using the wide angle and the telephoto -- I'll be painting it, I think, and will want the reference."

Myra handed her the camera bag from the back. Ginny took several shots of the pond, the birds, the landscape around them, then several more of Myra and Juju. Myra took the camera from her at one point and shot some candids of Ginny. Finally they held the camera in front of them and took one of them together, cheeks side by side. Ginny reached for the ignition and said to Myra, "Jeep on?"

"Jeep on."

The next day, as they ate breakfast at their cafe (where the waitress now knew to bring Myra a Coke first thing), Ginny said "Patty and Pat are having a Thanksgiving get-together at their place. Do we want to go to that, bring our other friends, or host something at our house?"

Myra swallowed her hash browns and said "Uh...I don't celebrate Thanksgiving. At least, not in the usual sense."

Ginny paused, then said "What will be doing then?"

Myra smiled at the "we". "For several years now, we've gone to work at the meal service through the UIATF, making and serving dinner for anybody who doesn't have another place to go. The holiday kinda sucks for a lot of Native people, as you can guess. On Wednesday, beginning at noon, we make pies for hours. Then we go back by 5 a.m. on T-day itself and do the rest of the meal. It's a blast, it really is. Last year I donated the entire cost of the event, and we were able to feed a hundred more than they ever had. Shit -- I meant to call them and make sure they knew I was funding it again this year. Shit, shit."

"We'll go back to the motel and call from there" said Ginny. "This is you, Allie, Chris and Sima?"

"Yeah, and any other friends we can persuade. Although once you've done it, you keep coming back. The food is good, the company is better, and you don't go into a stupor in front of the fucking TV."

"I'm all for it, Myra" said Ginny. "Did Chris start this tradition?"

"You'd think so, but no, it was Sima. The first year they got together" said Myra.

"Why wasn't I ever invited by her or Allie, I wonder?" said Ginny. Her tone was a shade hurt.

"I dunno. You were with girlfriends some years, I guess, or -- well, Allie's private. She may spill her guts at an AA meeting, and certainly she does with me, but otherwise -- she keeps her shirt buttoned all the way up."

Ginny stole a piece of Myra's toast, then said "As long as we're on holidays -- do you celebrate Christmas?"

"I never pass up the chance to give presents" said Myra. "Good presents, things I've put a lot of thought into. But no, I don't do a tree or the usual stuff. Except -- " she began laughing. "I have this miniature wooden nativity scene that belonged to my Mama and I put that out on a shelf, because of the memory of her. And the little baby Jesus is loose in his cradle, and every year Alice steals him, takes him away and hides him. In the mornings, I go looking under chairs or the bed, finally find him and put him back in the manger. She leaves him alone all day, but at night, her and Jesus, they got something going on."

They were both laughing. Myra said "Check it out when I show it to you, there are faint teeth marks on his little head. Anyhow, on Christmas Eve and Day we've done the same thing for the last couple of years, make pies and cookies, then cook dinner and serve it. Same place. When we get home afterward, we exchange gifts and sing together."

"Christmas carols?" asked Ginny, surprised.

"One or two. Then we do Joan Baez, Bobby Dylan, The Supremes, TV theme songs, and always wind up with Meg, Holly, Chris and Alix, of course."

"Oh my god, I can't wait" said Ginny. "Our kids are going to have such a good time with us."

Myra was struck silent by this, her eyes gleaming. Ginny pulled out cash to pay their bill plus a 50% tip, their habit at any working-class restaurant, and they went back to the motel.


On the first Friday in December, Chris and Sima came over early. Sima and Ginny were in the kitchen, finishing dinner, so Chris joined Myra in her study.

"I don't have work next week -- my temp position ran out, and they don't have a new one for me -- so if you wanna get lunch some time, let's make a date" said Chris.

Myra pulled out her datebook, and as she was flipping through to the current week, she said "That sucks, Chris, especially right before Christmas. I mean, you don't get paid holidays anyhow."

"Yeah, well, part of the landscape when you choose to stay temping."

Myra looked at Chris with a serious expression. "I really wish you and Sima would let me at least augment your income, set up a trust."

Chris grinned, but not her usual loopy grin. "What, you're not supporting enough women, you want an entire harem?"

Myra was stung. "That is so unfair, Kash-Kash."

Chris didn't apologize, but she said "We need to settle this, once and for all."

"Okay. Wanting your financial security is not just a selfish whim on my part, and it's certainly not romantic, as you implied. I mean, I work for economic justice on a global scale, dammit. I can't make it happen globally, not yet, but I fucking would like to see you and Sima not worrying about making rent. I know what that feels like."

Chris's face softened a little. "I don't think you can erase my worries, Myra, and I'm not sure you should be wanting to."

"I'm not talking abour erasing all your worries, you fuckhead. I'm not a complete co. But -- "

Chris interrupted. "The thing is, Myra, I already know I'll never get swept away now. All of us who are your close friends know it, since you won the lottery. We're not stupid, we know in an emergency you'll bail us out. Why isn't that enough for you?"

"Well, first of all, because you've never just said that out loud to me."

"Myra, you're running that white girl thing of 'We gotta put everything into words or else it's not real' crap. Trust our communication on all the levels its occurring, will ya?"

Myra wanted to go sit next to Chris on the daybed and feel Chris's warmth, so she'd stop feeling attacked. But she was pretty sure it might hack off Chris further, since Chris was maintaining eye contact with her. She sighed and said "Okay."

"And I need to work for a living, Myra. I need flexibility, and more down time that most, so I stick with temping -- but I need to earn my way. You ought to understand that."

"I do, Chris. But there's lots of ways to earn your way."

"Well, I need it to come from strangers, let's put it in those terms, then. I need a world connection, for balance." Chris's face registered discomfort. Myra was really glad she'd stayed where she could see Chris clearly. She stayed silent.

"I'm living the life I want to live, in most respects. And the things I'm missing money couldn't buy me" said Chris.

After a long silence, Myra said "I hear you." She met Chris's eyes squarely, and finally Chris smiled.

"Well, I know you like the last word -- anything you burning to say here?" said Chris.

Myra grinned ruefully. "Damn, nailed. Yeah -- will you let me get you and Sima on a health plan, like Allie is? You can control it yourselves, it's just a lot cheaper to have health insurance and be preventative than to pay for hospital bills after catastrophe. I'm thinking maybe we can get a group plan for the members of the Feminist Fund board -- we might have to pay everybody a stipend, to push that through, but we can keep it nominal."

Chris grinned "You sound like Ginny, and I mean that in a good way. Yeah, I'll talk it over with Sima."

"And -- when we're all old, sitting on the porch and gumming a piece of chicken -- I'm your retirement plan, okay? You can spend your fucking Social Security check on motorcycles or whatever."

Chris laughed out loud. "All right, I'll accept that, too. Which is a hell of a lot more than any other working dyke I know has. Now, are we done with this?"

"Yes."

Alveisa joined them all for dinner, since there was to be a meeting of the Feminist Fund afterward to discuss publicity and seeking donations to further the Fund. After crawfish etouffee and key lime pie, the table was cleared and Myra handed out legal pads for notes while Ginny made tea and tried to persuade everyone to take a vitamin D tablet. "I think the entire population of this city is D deficient" she said.

"I'll kick off the discussion" said Chris. "Where do we want to stand on funding projects that involve alcohol? You know, like community events that sell it."

Everybody except Sima looked surprised.

"I hadn't really thought about it" said Myra. "But damned good question."

"I don't want to be in the position of telling other people how to manage their addictions" said Allie. "And I know, not all drinkers are addicts, but folks who can't go to an event that doesn't serve booze do have a problem."

"Well, is limiting funding to substance-free events trying to co someone?" asked Ginny.

"I think of it more as similar to saying we won't fund something that isn't completely accessible to folks with disabilities" said Sima. "We're expressing our preference, not trying to stop something."

"And -- we can have a preference, but how far do we go in making that public?" asked Alveisa.

After a pause, Myra said "I feel a little nervous about taking a stand. Isn't that fucked? I don't feel that about anything else we take a stand on."

Chris grinned at her. "It's just that ingrained in our community. We're not supposed to push ethics around drinking, or sex, or commitment -- we're supposed to stay in our box, the dysfunctional pathetic ones who have no control over our behavior."

"Internalized oppression, y'mean" said Myra. Chris nodded.

"If they ever was a group that's clear about addiction, it's us" said Allie. "Might as well claim it."

"Okay, I'll work on wording for a guideline, we can critique it later" said Myra, making a note.

"Which reminds me -- in our guidelines, I don't want us to use the word victim. Not anywhere" said Allie.

"Why not?" asked Sima.

"It's disempowering. Nobody's a complete victim, but labeling whole groups that way leaves everybody stuck. I want us to use Ricky's language" said Allie.

"Ricky Sherover-Marcuse" clarified Myra. "She leads these incredible workshops on race and class, and gender, and sometimes anti-Semitism. She uses the terms target and non-target for a given oppression, and insists that everybody is both target in some ways, non-target in others. It reflects the complexity of what's really going on."

"Marcuse?" said Ginny. "Like Herbert Marcuse?"

"She was married to him" confirmed Myra.

"And she's Jewish?" asked Sima.

"Yes. And working class" said Myra.

"She hammers on the pet dog of privilege, too" said Allie. "If it's really privileged to be white, or male, or whatever, how come those folks are so fucked up? She sifts out economic privilege from what's going on inside your head when you grow up with that shit, which ain't privilege at all."

"She the one that did the Power Shuffle that time?" asked Chris.

"Yeah, she originated it" said Allie.

"That just blew the room away" said Chris. "Okay, I'm down with it. Write it up, Myra, and we'll chew on it."

Myra looked around the table and got nods from everybody, and made another note.

Chris said "I heard a new one today: What did one co-dependent say to the other co-dependent after they had sex?"

After a pause, she answered "It was good for you, was it good for me?"

Everybody laughed, but Myra and Ginny completely lost it. Myra's face went a deep red, and Ginny was snorting uncontrollably. They were looking at each other, and when Chris said "Looks like I hit the bull's-eye", Myra and Ginny laughed even harder. Ginny stretched her hand across the table and Myra took it.

August 1987

The following weekend, Myra and Ginny drove Chris and Sima to a blueberry U-pick farm outside of the city. On the way there, sitting in the back seat of Myra's Civic, Chris asked "Is this the same size car you had when you were dating Kya whatsername?"

"Kya Tovar. And yes, it is, how come?" said Myra, looking in the rearview mirror at Chris.

"Well, me and Sima are just plain filling this back seat, and Kya, she was about as big as you -- I'm trying to wrap my mind around that time you woke me up early that Saturday."

Myra's face went a little pale. "What time was that?" asked Ginny, swinging halfway around so she could see Chris. Sima punched Chris in the ribs., and Chris grinned. There was a long silence, then Myra cleared her throat and said "It's a funny story, Gin, but it involves me and a past lover. Two lovers, actually."

Ginny looked at Myra for a minute, then said "Well, I don't want to be the only one in the fucking car who isn't poring over the details on her mind. It better really be funny, and I want to hear it from you, not Chris."

Myra took Ginny's hand, and Ginny let her for a few seconds but then said "You need both hands to drive, especially if you're in story-telling mode" and pulled her hand out of Myra's.

"Okay." Myra felt distracted already. "I was dating two women at once, and Kya knew about Blue but Blue didn't know about Kya."

"Is this Blue Rosenthal?" asked Ginny.

"Yeah, you know her?"

Ginny just sighed.

"So, I would go out with Kya on Friday nights and we'd go to old movies or some event, and afterward we'd go to one of our houses and have -- buddy sex. It was mostly just -- recreational. But I was romantically involved with Blue, so I hadn't told her about Kya."

"I can see how that might impede romance" said Ginny in a flat voice.

"This one night, we'd been to a double feature, got out around 1:00, and we were pretty worked up, been making out in the dark and all. And when we got to my Honda, Kya said 'My roommate's parents are in from out of town and they're staying in my bed, so we have to go to your place.' And I looked at her in dismay, because my friend from Oakland, Claire, was crashed in my bed -- she was in town for some business thing. We had no place to go."

"And for anybody else, that would be the end of the story" said Chris, laughing.

Ginny glared back at Chris. "I said I wanted to hear it from Myra."

Myra felt her pulse speed up. She focused on the road and continued carefully. "We decided to find an isolated spot and make out in my car. So we drove around, and we wound up at a park on top of -- well, let's just say a hill in a very urban area, but we found one little dark patch where nobody was walking by. We crawled into the back seat -- it somehow seemed more private. But we were both wearing overalls, so to gain -- access, if you get my drift -- "

"The fucking dashboard gets your drift" said Ginny.

"We had to strip down pretty much naked. Except for our boots of course. And even then, I remember pushing my big white ass up flat against that little popout window and praying nobody was around. Because Kya only liked oral sex, I guess I should say."

Myra paused and stole a glance at Ginny. Ginny was watching her, no expression at all on her face.

"Well, that was the first time I was ever with a woman who ejaculated. I'd never even heard of it, actually. All of a sudden there's this liquid in my mouth, and I knew it wasn't pee, and it was kinda sweet, actually -- "

"Do you need this level of detail?" asked Ginny. She could hear Chris trying not to laugh in the back.

"Some of it. Anyhow, it wound up getting all over the back seat and wetting it down pretty good. Fast forward to dawn, when we're done. We go out for breakfast and then I dropped her off home. I walked her to her stoop, and when I got back to my car and opened the door, this unbelievable funk rolled out at me. And it was then, at 6:30 in the morning, that I remembered I was supposed to pick up Blue in an hour, with her sister who was visiting from the East Coast, and take them to Bainbridge for the day. I was the only one with a car. But my car was -- indecent."

"That's when she came to my--" Chris's voice was interrupted by Sima's hand over her mouth.

"I panicked. Allie was already at work, she was cooking then, so I drove to Chris's house and woke her and Sima up. I was crying, actually, I was so upset. And after Chris got done laughing herself senseless, she reminded me that Blue was an animal lover, that my roommate had rowdy dogs, and I could just claim the dogs had peed in my back seat. She got up and made me a bucket of soapy water, and I scrubbed the seat down, then put down trash bags and a layer of towels. I just had time to rush home to shower and change my clothes before I had to pick up Blue."

Chris was laughing out loud now, and Sima was giggling too.

"Did you ever tell Blue about Kya?"

"No. She broke up with me like three weeks later, anyhow." Myra stole another glance at Ginny. Ginny was not even smiling.

"What hill was it, Myra?"

"I don't think I should tell you. It doesn't have any bearing on the story, and you'll just hate it from now on if you know where it is."

"Is it near where we live? Do we drive that hill?"

"No, I swear. I haven't been there in years." Myra tried to take Ginny's hand again, and this time Ginny let her.

After a few minutes of silence, Ginny turned to face Chris and said "You know what? I do want to hear everything about Myra's past, and I appreciate her not hiding the less than commendable parts from me. But it needs to be her telling me about her sexual shenanigans; she'll pick the time and place well, I trust her to do that. Does that make sense to you?"

Chris stopping grinning. "Yeah. It just came into my head, sitting back here -- "

"But it doesn't have to come out of your mouth, does it? The fact is, you're one of the best-spoken people I've ever met. What's the point in rubbing my face in things?"

"So to speak" said Chris without a second's pause. Then her face went bright red and she began "Oh, god, I'm sorry."

But that one made Ginny laugh. While she laughed, she said "You're a moron, Chris Kash. Get over whatever it is you think about me and Myra hooking up in this way she's never done. This is the real deal, and you can stop worrying that I don't know what I'm doing or that I'll get scared off."

Chris stretched out her hand to Ginny, and Ginny reached back to shake it. "Deal" said Chris. Ginny turned back around and put her hand in Myra's again.

"You know, Dakin did female ejaculation too" Ginny said conversationally. "I remember well that taste you're talking about."

Chris beat on the back of Myra's seat as she yelped with laughter. Myra forced herself to grin, and kept focused on the road.

January 1988

Myra met Chris for lunch downtown on Tuesday. After ordering, Chris said "I know you and Ginny are pretty busy, and now working on making a baby, but I want to ask you to do something with me."

"Name it, pal" said Myra.

"Do you know about the Lesbian Work Group?" asked Chris.

"I've heard of 'em -- I think Oak might be in that group" said Myra.

"Are you two on bad terms? Didn't you dump her for Myra?" asked Chris.

"Hell, Chris, do you really think I dumped women?"

Chris sat back with her arms folded and didn't answer.

"Okay...I guess they'd call it that. Why do you like me so much if I've been such a jerk?"

Chris grinned. "I wasn't in the category of women you thought you could jerk around. I followed Allie's lead."

"Anyhow, no," said Myra, "Oak and I aren't on any kind of terms, good or bad. I think she's happily involved with somebody. Why are you asking?"

"That group's starting up something called the Palestine Panel Project, which is going to be an art project to educate, well, not just our community but also the larger community about Palestine. The real story."

"Awesome, Chris. Are you and Sima involved?"

Chris grimaced slightly. "Well, Sima doesn't trust it. She agrees with me that anti-Semitism means Arabs as well as Jews, but she's been so burned by lefties who use anti-Israel rhetoric as a cover for Jew-hating. She wants to see how it shakes out. And she's tired of being held up as a 'good Jew' by groups like this. So, she's sitting it out for the time being. But yeah, I want to get into it."

Myra waited. Their salads came and they occupied themselves for a minute with dressings. Myra took Chris's hand, kissed it, and said "Thanks for this meal together."

"Aside from how hard it's going to be at home if this group turns out to be crappy on the issue, I'm also...I'm sick to death, Myra, of being the only Native woman in a buncha white lesbians. Even white lesbians I agree with on every other level. My lover is white, well, Jewish which passes most of the time as white, my coworkers are white, most of my friends are white and the ones who aren't still aren't Native. I go to my people's community events and I do meet Native dykes here and there, but not radicals like we are. And they're never Nimipu."

Chris's voice had gotten very soft. Myra leaned toward her to hear better. Chris began eating her sliced mushrooms one by one with her fingers.

"I don't know what else to do" said Chris, finally.

"How many...how many of you are left?" asked Myra gently.

"Around 5000." Chris put her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.

"I'm your sister, Chris" said Myra. "For all time. Though I know it's not the same. And yes, I'll go with you and make sure you are not tokenized. I can carry that off, you know I can."

"Even if Ginny wants to go, too?"

"Ginny can handle herself with regard to the Jewish identity thing, and my guess is she's clear enough to also be an active ally to you, but that's up to you two. But I'm telling you, I'll be there for you as primary." Myra's voice was fierce.

"Okay." Chris glanced at her and a little relief showed on her face. "It's kinda pathetic, me having to asked a Southern white girl to be my running buddy around race."

Myra decided to see the humor in this instead of taking it as a slight. "We could place a personals ad, see if you can do better."

Chris laughed, then said "Have you talked with Allie since she went on her date with that woman who answered her ad?"

"No, we've just left messages the last couple of days. I still can't get over Allie even trying the personal ads thing. How did it go?"

"Well, first off the woman wasn't over 30 like Allie had specified, she was about 22. She was black, that part she got right. But after they'd talked for like a minute, the woman asked if Allie could give her a ride later to her methadone clinic because her husband had the kids and needed the car." Chris was laughing hard, and Myra joined her.

"Oh, tell me you are kidding. Husband? Methadone? What the fuck did Allie do?"

"She just got up and walked out. Not a word."

"Godalmighty. I'll bet that puts an end to the classifieds for her" giggled Myra.

"Yeah, Allie looked pretty shellshocked."

"I just can't believe she's still single, Chris. She's -- well, you know how I feel about her" said Myra.

Chris nodded. The waitress brought their entrees.

After a minute, Myra said seriously "What else, Chris? What else can I do?"

Chris had some expression pass over her face briefly, then she said "I don't know anything else."

"There's something, I can see it. Tell me, spit it out, Kash-Kash."

Chris set down her fork. "My sister and her kids...they still live out where I grew up. My mother's gone but I still have family..."

"You're in touch with them, I know. Do they ever come into Seattle? Would they come if we got them a hotel room?"

"I'd rather...go out there. It's at least a four hour drive each way, so it means an entire weekend, really. And Sima will do it with me, and she's great, she's the best. But we could use back-up...she could use back-up for her end of it, and I could use another person helping me...You met me that first six months out of the lockup, Myra, you know what it looks like when the lug nuts are loosening up..."

"I'd be honored, Chris. I'll commit to as many weekends as you want -- oh, hell, not when Ginny gets really pregnant, we can't do it then. But until then, we're yours."

"Not Ginny" said Chris, looking at her. "Just you. Three white lesbians are too many. I mean, taking you is stretching it, I expect you to figure out how to blend in, whatever it takes."

Myra looked back at her. "I hear you. Okay, Chris. And, again -- I'm honored."

"Yeah, well, you get to be our token" grinned Chris.

"Power doesn't flow both ways, but I get the joke" said Myra. "Why are you not eating your brussel sprouts?"

"They taste like dirty gym socks. You want 'em?"

"Sure. Listen, call me at home tonight after I've talked with Ginny and I've got my calendar handy, and let's schedule trips plus the Palestine group thing."

"And don't call me Kash-Kash in front of my family. They haven't reclaimed it like I have."

"Okay."


A few months later, Chris showed up at a Friday night dinner with a tight body and her smile that wasn't a smile. After one look at her, Myra set down the squash she was hollowing out and said "What's up with you?"

"Oh, there was a meeting last night" said Chris shortly.

"The Palestine Panel Project?"

"Kinda. Our focus is expanding, some of us are pushing to change our name. I like Dyke Community Activists." Chris stopped herself again.

"Well, what happened?" said Myra.

Chris sat down at the breakfast bar. "This woman came up to me afterward. New to Seattle, moved here from Connecticut. She wanted to know if I was a berdache." Sima put her hand on Chris's shoulder as she walked past. Myra closed her eyes for a second, then said "I wish I'd been there."

"More to the point, I wish I hadn't" said Chris. "I also wish I could time travel, so I could go back to Zuni-land and tell Weiwha to keep her fucking mouth shut around white people."

"Time travel would be so incredibly useful" agreed Myra.

"Whoever said 'A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing' was talking about anthropology, I'm sure" continued Chris.

Myra laughed, and then Chris did, too.

"So what did you do?" asked Myra.

"Well, Annie Gagliardi was there, and she stepped in. Explained to the idjit about how offensive the word berdache was, about how it didn't mean lesbian or gay. She was right on the money, too" said Chris.

"Annie's a good one" said Myra fondly. Ginny glanced at her.

"But she hadn't gotten done before Connecticut says 'Oh, you mean they're transgender, and then she goes to me 'I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend.'"

Myra pounded her hand flat on the counter a couple of times. "I bet you any amount of money you name that Connecticut doesn't know the name of her fucking state is a Native word."

"I won't take that bet, I'm sure you're right" grinned Chris. "So, Annie says 'No, berdache is not transgender, either.' But part of what's going on is that Annie talking about gender as a construct, and this idjit is hearing 'penis or vagina', and, well -- I stepped in."

Sima, a glass of juice in her hand, was now grinning widely. Myra leaned on the counter, closer to Chris.

"I told her the word would never have any meaning for her because she was sitting up on a butte with binoculars, watching people talk from a distance and even if she could lipread, she'd be getting it wrong. I told her if she wanted to dissect cultures, to start with her own people, understand the sociological organization of suburbanites and private schoolers first. I mentioned Motel of the Mysteries, which cracked Annie up but didn't register with Connecticut. Instead, she says 'I didn't go to private school, I went to public K through 12.' I asked her where, and she says 'New Canaan.' So I asked, 'And college?' She goes silent, trying to decide whether or not to lie. But then she says 'Brown.' Which was a good time for me to leave, I thought."

Myra was hugging herself in laughter. Ginny had come to stand near her, and she said quietly "Don't smack me down. But why isn't it transgender?"

Myra put her arm over Ginny's shoulders. "Because transgender is a modern construct. Going back to apply it to a nonwhite, nonmodern culture is inherently racist as well as inaccurate. It's like people who call abolitionists anti-racism activists. The fact is, a lot of abolitionists were fine with racism, just not with slavery. Our modern comprehension of racism doesn't apply to the mid 1800s."

Sima said "It's like goyishe who think schlemiel, schnook and schmuck are interchangeable terms. Or that putz is an okay word to use in polite company."

"I get it" said Ginny. "So, find our own damn words?"

"That's part of it" said Myra. "Plus, remember how we rampaged through herstory, naming this or that woman as a lesbian?"

"Like you do with Doris Day" said Chris.

Myra glared at her briefly. "Doris Day is still alive. My point in, lesbian is a modern construct, and no matter how much pussy Emily Dickinson may have licked, or not licked, we can't say what she would call herself now. It's far more accurate to say, instead, that her love poems were written to women, instead of claiming her as a dyke. Dyke is for us who mean it here and now."

"Well, then, what about those cultures where there was an alternative to what they defined as strictly male or strictly female?" asked Ginny.

"Each of those tribes has their name for it," said Chris. "And it may not be the same word for both genders. Only about a third of the tribes who had a so-called third gender gave permission for women to exercise that option. But even in saying that, I'm using gender in a modern sense, not the way they would mean it. At the First Nation lesbian and gay gathering this year, I had dinner at a table with an Ojibwa woman who was proposing we use the term two-spirit, which comes from her culture. I don't know if it'll fly, though. We have a lot of options to choose from."

"Whatever you come up with, the white boys will steal it to mean gay. Or transgender, now" said Myra.

"You people love our ideas, our names, and our sacred places so much" said Chris. "Just not us."

"But we give you stuff back in return" teased Myra. "Blankets full of smallpox. Whiskey. Haircuts."

Chris snorted in laughter. "What does connecticut mean, anyhow?"

"I dunno, let's go look it up. Gin, will you finish this squash?"

Myra and Chris headed for her study.


(Around the beginning of February 1989 -- Margie is two months old)

Allie and Alveisa came for dinner. As they all ate, Margie in a baby seat on the end of the table, Allie said "I've been talking with the design school you told me about, Ginny. I had an interview with a woman in admissions, and it looks possible."

Ginny was excited. "When would you enroll?"

"There's a summer session that's just basics, but I have to take them and I might as well get it over with, tedious as it will be. It'd be accelerated, two and a half months instead of four, so I'd be slammed and bored at the same time. But then in the fall I could take the courses that really matter to me, and get mentored in specific ways. The degree doesn't matter to me as much as picking up skills and contacts."

"So you could start in June?" asked Myra.

"Yeah. I'd be a lot less available for you two. I'll still need my Margie time, though" Allie said, raising her voice into a trill to repeat "Margie, Margie, gotta have my Margie". Margie managed to find Allie's face and stare at her intently.

"Whatever it takes" said Ginny. "We'll feed you and give you baby time and otherwise help out any way we can. Tell me you're gonna go for this, Allie."

Allie grinned at her. "I think I am."

Everyone cheered. Ginny said "You and I need to pick back up our art meetings, too. I'm ready to think a little bit about my career again -- as long as we meet here and Margie can join us."

"Absolutely. How about next week?"

"Wednesday? After my Al Anon meeting?"

"You're on."

Ginny turned to face Allie and Myra together. "Listen, you two, I wonder if you'd be willing to bring something up with Chris. When Sima and I were hanging out together a couple of weeks ago, alone in my room, she was holding Margie and she almost started crying. She said she wanted to have children more than anything. I said, well, why don't you? We'll help out. And she said Chris said no. Like that was the end of it. We got interrupted at that point, so I didn't get to follow up with her. But I was thinking, maybe you two who've known Chris longer, maybe you could reassure her and bring her around -- I mean, she clearly adores Margie, it can't be that she's anti-kid."

The silence following this was profound. Myra looked at Alveisa, finally, and said "I'm about to tell something confidential. Not to leave this room, ever." Alveisa nodded.

Myra's face was stony as she turned to Ginny and said "When Chris was locked up in the mental hospital, she got PID. Unclear whether it was from her time on the streets or from ... rapes in the hospital. They were giving her electric shock therapy and didn't want to have to interrupt their schedule too much, so they sterilized her. Hysterectomy."

Ginny looked like she'd been struck. "Against her will?"

"Everything they did in there was against her will" Myra said harshly. She stood up and walked toward the back of the house. She went out the door, across the deck, and to the bench at the far back of the yard, sitting down with her hands in her pockets, staring at the ground.

Ginny said, "Oh, shit." Then she asked Allie "Will you watch Margie while I go after her?"

"Don't" said Allie. "It's really cold out there, if she needs space that badly, give it to her."

"I think she's mad at me" said Ginny.

"She's mad, but not at you" said Allie. "I think Sima was just confiding in you, sharing her grief but in no way asking you to do something about the two of them."

Ginny felt sick. She wanted someone to make it better, then caught that line of thought and interrupted it. The silence at the table got through to Margie. She waved her arms and made a breathy sound. Ginny picked her up and murmured "It's okay, everything's okay here, angel."

Allie began clearing the table. Alveisa stood to help her. In a few minutes, when Myra came back in, she went to Alveisa first and apologized for her departure, saying she just needed a chance to clear her head. Alveisa said she understood. Ginny was nursing Margie by this time. Myra looked at her, then went to Allie standing at the sink and said "Hey."

Allie faced her and put her arms around Myra. Myra hugged her back tightly. Ginny could tell Myra really needed to cry, but she only cried with women of color about racism when she was specifically invited to do so. Probably Allie needed to cry, too. They hugged instead, and then Myra made tea for everyone.

When Margie dropped off, Ginny took her in to bed and lay down with her. Myra followed in a couple of minutes and said "You going to sleep now?" Ginny nodded. Myra came over and kissed her gently on the mouth. "We're okay. Can I wake you up when I come to bed?" Ginny nodded again, with relief. Myra left to sit and talk with her friends.

But when Myra came to bed, Ginny was sleeping hard and still her face was lined with exhaution. Myra didn't have the heart to wake her up. She pulled Ginny into her arms, in their dark cocoon, and whispered "I love you just as you are, Ginny Bates."

The next morning, when Myra got up for breakfast, Ginny was doing yoga on a pad in the living room with Margie lying on her back next to her. Juju was watching from under the dining table -- Margie's grabs were painful. Margie was kicking her legs vigorously, then straightening them out. Her full cheeks were red, just like Ginny's. Myra laughed in delight at the sight of them.

Rolling over onto her side, Ginny said "I toasted a new mix of granola this morning, and I think you in particular will like it. No raisins."

"Thanks, honey." Myra got herself a bowl of the mix cooling on the counter, added yogurt and sat down in the easy chair so she could watch the yoga session continue. Ginny's long-sleeve shirt -- it was a very cold day -- was showing spots of moisture over each nipple.

"You're leaking" observed Myra, munching. "Damn, this is good granola." she added.

"Yeah, she's not hungry at the moment. I'm going to express as soon as I'm done here."

"Margie, my adorable guru, did you have a good night's sleep?" Myra leaned over so Margie could see her face clearly. "What do babies dream? Is it all physical sensation and glorious new experiences? Your brain must be in such overdrive, yes, sweetheart, your incredible brain is just the busiest thing in this house. Can't wait for you to tell me what goes on in there."

Then Myra said to Ginny "She had so much more hair when she was born. When it comes back in, I'm hoping hoping it looks like yours."

"Maybe it'll be blue with magenta streaks" said Ginny, finishing her routine and cozying up to Margie, talking to her. "Are you planning to be a punk baby? Are you going to audition for the Dead Kennedys? Do you want us to put rips in the knees of your onesies?"

"Who knows what kind of music will be popular when she's a teenager?" said Myra. "I hope I don't hate it. I'll be huddled in the study playing Alix and Cris and ranting about how you can't even understand the lyrics."

"At least it won't be fucking disco" said Ginny.

"Yup, disco is finally dead" agreed Myra.

Ginny got up to retrieve the breast pump. When she returned, she rolled Margie onto her stomach, saying "Change of scenery, puddin'." Then she pushed the pump over her left breast and turned it on. Margie found the sound of the mechanism highly interesting and kept trying to angle for a better view. Finally, as they were watching her, she managed to get both elbows at her side, and with a monumental effort, she raised her head and chest up about an inch.

Myra and Ginny shouted at the same time, Myra spraying a little granola into the air. "Did you see that!" yelled Ginny.

"Liftoff!" cried Myra. Margie's face was completely shocked. Myra shoved her bowl onto the end table and picked up Margie exuberantly. "You pushed yourself up, Margie!" she exclaimed in a lower but no less excited voice. "You are amazing! Look out, there's no stopping you now!" She showered Margie with kisses, then leaned her over so Ginny could do the same. Margie bumped her head on Ginny's shoulder in jubilation.

Finally Myra put her back down on her belly and said "Have at it, baby Amazon. We're your eternal audience." Margie began trying to move her arms again near her body, trying to find the muscle memory to repeat her accomplishment. Myra crunched granola and watched almost breathlessly. Ginny switched the pump to her other breast and also hovered over Margie like a bird of prey. When she managed to raise herself up a second time, they cheered again.

"Wait till Allie sees this" said Ginny, "Her head is gonna explode."

"Another landmark for the baby book" agreed Myra. "I think she needs changing, I can smell it from here."

"Finish your brex" said Ginny. "It can wait till we're done, it's not slowing her down any."

"I'm done now" said Myra, carrying her bowl into the kitchen. She grabbed the diaper bag on her way back.

As she was changing Margie, assuring her she would put her right back down, yes indeedy, she said to Ginny "How about you, did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah. You didn't wake me up, but I guess I needed it."

"You always need it, honeybunch. We can talk now if you want." Myra put Margie back down on the mat and walked the diaper into the bathroom, washed her hands and came back. Ginny stashed her bottle of milk in the fridge and washed out the pump before returning to sit on the floor next to Margie.

Myra said "I don't mean to be condescending, but I kinda want to talk to you about our particular circle of friends. I mean the ones who were my friends and took you in."

"Okay" said Ginny, a little wary.

"It's that exile thing again. They don't get to live in their communities of color. I mean, they do, to some extent, but they also exist at the margins and outside of those communities. Remember Combahee?"

"I know this, Myra. It's the same for me as a Jew."

"I figured you did. But -- you have Sima, who gets it about being a Jew. And I have the others, who get it about being working class, at least in some ways, although race refracts class differently. But Chris, and Allie, and Alveisa -- they're all one of a kind-ers among us. White people look at them as people of color, you know, anything not 'us' is target for race. But they don't lump themselves all together. And in order to be part of the women's community, so-called, and especially to be part of our family...it's not just that they don't have anybody like them in terms of race, it's also that Chris and Allie both have horrific pasts, terrible things that were done to them because of racism, absolutely, but are not necessarily a common experience to their race."

"We do all have the connection of recovery programs" said Ginny, a little argumentative.

"But not from the same side of recovery" said Myra. "And yes, I connect with Allie and Chris about being -- survivors, I guess you'd say. But -- there's a difference between being codependent or white liberal or whatever you want to call it, and recognizing there's a gulf that somebody just can't cross on their own. A gulf caused by oppression and vile, vile things done to them. And the work of crossing it isn't always 50/50. It's like how Anne Wilson Schaef says, not all disagreements between people require both sides to meet in the middle -- sometimes it's up to one side a lot more than the other."

"Well, how do you know when that is?" asked Ginny.

"No hard and fast answer. The main thing is to listen. Shut the fuck up, including what's in your head, the emotional chatter, and listen. Don't analyze, don't try to connect it to your own existence, drop the fucking ego and just listen. And with those two, in particular -- Allie won't say enough, you have to work really hard to get her to spit it out, and Chris starts off saying too much, but that's because of the overlay of the mental hospital. If you aren't crazy when you go into a place like that, you are when you come out. Mouthing off for her is a survival mechanism, and it can be a good roadmap to what's going on -- it was my technique for years, that kind of mouthiness, that's how Chris got close to me because she could read the signs -- but underneath, she's just as quiet as Allie. I'm a writer, I've chosen to break silence on a daily basis. They aren't."

Ginny thought for a minute. "Allie was molested as a kid, wasn't she? She identified herself as an incest survivor once. Do you know about it?"

"Yes."

"Did she tell you, or did you ask her?"

"Both, I guess. It didn't come out all at the same time."

"Why hasn't she told me?"

"I don't know, Ginny. I think you're good for it. But you'll have to bring that up with her. Just make sure you're ready to hear whatever it is."

Ginny looked at Myra keenly. "That bad, huh?" Myra didn't reply.

After a while, Ginny said "Thanks." Myra said "You and me, babe. And when you do listen, and you need somebody afterward to help you move through the grief of what you heard -- that's me."

"Likewise, Myra."

Margie distinctly made the long I sound, electrifying both her mothers. Ginny picked her up and crowed "I, I, I!"

"I think she's trying to say Myra!" said Myra.

"Of course you do" laughed Ginny. Myra slid down onto the floor beside them and pulled them both into her arms.


11 April 1997, Friday

Shortly after noon, the phone rang and Myra answered. Sima asked "Listen, is Chris there with you?"

"No. Isn't she at work?" said Myra.

"She left early today, they said. Have you talked with her?" Sima sounded worried.

"No, is something wrong?"

Sima hesitated. "Have you heard the news about Michael Dorris?"

"God, no, what is it?" Myra had read all of his books, as well as those of Louise Erdrich.

"He killed himself yesterday" said Sima.

"Hell and damn!" said Myra. "Why, why would he do that?"

"Well, My -- Chris heard through the grapevine that Louise was about to file charges against him. For molesting one of their daughters."

Myra was stunned. She wanted to say "That can't be true." But that's what everyone always said about molestation, and it usually was true. She didn't know how to rearrange her brain to account for this ugly news. Then she remembered Sima was calling about Chris.

"When did Chris find out?" she asked.

"Last night, and we talked about it briefly. Then I tried her at work at lunch, and they said she'd left, but she didn't mention it to me. I already called Allie, and she hasn't seen her either" said Sima, her voice sounding a more ragged now.

"This is tough to hear, Sima, but it won't send Chris off some kind of deep end" said Myra. "I mean, is there something else going on?"

"I -- I don't know" hedged Sima. "I have to get back to work, Myra. If you see her or hear from her, will you please let me know? Tell her to call me."

"I will. Don't worry, Sima, she's okay. I'll see you for dinner" said Myra. "If she's not home when you get off work, leave her a fucking note and come here, don't sit around waiting on her."

"Okay."

When Myra got off the phone, Ginny was standing there, looking at her questioningly. Myra told her both pieces of news. Ginny sat down and said "Oh, no. That's just awful. And were you being honest with Sima, about not worrying?"

"About Chris? Yeah, if that's all that's up, she's fine. But I don't know if Sima told me everything." Myra sat, thinking hard for a minute. After a while, she reached for the phone, then stopped herself.

"Do you know where she is?" said Ginny.

"I might. I'm going to take a look, she used to like one spot way back when, if she needed to think things through. Probably Sima doesn't know about it." Myra stood up and headed for the front door.

"Don't you want to tell me where it is, in case Sima calls?" Ginny said to her back.

"Nah, don't get her any more worked up. I'll either be back soon or I'll call you" said Myra.

She heard Ginny's irritated sigh but ignored it as she pulled on her jacket and left.

(Kikisoblu, daughter of Chief Joseph, circa 1900 Seattle, photo by Edward Sheriff Curtis)

The grave of Kikisoblu, daughter of Chief Seattle, was an irregular granite slab right next to the drive through Lake View Cemetery, once part of Volunteer Park. It took Myra ten minutes to get there, and as she drove slowly up the slight hill, she could see that a figure was sitting on the ground, leaned against the back of the headstone. She parked and got out of the car. Chris craned her neck around as the door slammed. When she saw Myra, she scowled and said "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Well, good afternoon to you, too, Kash-Kash" said Myra amiably, walking over to read the brass plate attached to the headstone. After a minute, she said "They still only have her identified as Princess Angeline, the name the damned missionaries gave her."

"I asked you a question."

"Sorry, I wasn't sure" answered Myra. "Sima's looking for you, said you weren't at work, called me."

"Oh, hell, is she on her way here, too?" said Chris, standing up in agitation.

"No, I didn't think of this until after I hung up. Thought I'd check first."

"So, what, is there an all points bulletin out? Crazy Indian dyke, needs to be rounded up?" said Chris bitterly.

Myra stared her down. "I'm not going to fight with you, Chris. I'm not freaked out about you, I just wanted to see if you were here. You know, you're not the only one who Michael Dorris meant a lot to. I could use talking about it, myself."

The hostility in Chris's eyes drained away. She shrugged, then sat back down on the grass and leaned against the headstone. After a moment, Myra joined her.

"Do you think the accusation is solid?" asked Myra.

"Funny, you asking that" said Chris.

"I know. I just -- want it not to be true. For once."

"I don't know, My. But if it is coming from Louise, then -- it must be real."

"That poor family. He just bailed on 'em" said Myra.

"Yeah, well, we know that what looks like" answered Chris.

They sat for a while in silence. Then Chris said "I just pray to god this doesn't change all the good he did around fetal alcohol syndrome."

"Hear, hear" said Myra. "And the Native American Studies progress."

"Wanna go get a beer?" said Chris.

"Don't I wish" laughed Myra.

Chris suddenly relaxed, and threw her arm over Myra's shoulder. "You really didn't come to check up on me, did you?" she said, mostly to herself.

"No, and Sima shoulda known better too" said Myra. "You want to tell me what else is going on?"

"We had a fight last night. She wants us to go back and spend a week with her sister's family during the summer."

"And you don't want to? I thought you liked New York" said Myra.

"I do like New York. But they've moved to some industrial rathole in New Jersey, at least an hour's train ride from the city. And damned if it won't cost just as much to stay in some crap motel there as it would in New York, with crime and stench extra. Her sister says we can stay with them, but I fucking can't stand her asshole husband. I mean, Abram would be a Lubavitcher if he wasn't scared peyes would make him look faggy."

Myra cracked up. Chris continued "And if he tells me that 'Fukahwee tribe' joke one more time..."

"So it's money, locale, prick in-laws -- are those the obstacles?" said Myra.

"Don't even think about offering to pay for something" warned Chris.

"Hadn't got that far" grinned Myra.

Chris let out a long breath, and sat with her palms upright on her knees for a minute.

"I was thinking about going to Idaho this summer" she finally said. "Staying on some family land for a few weeks. Maybe longer."

Myra was suddenly scared. "Are you thinking about moving out of Seattle?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Hell, no. But I need -- something. I could use regular sweats, and time with elders." They sat through another long pause. "I've thought about training. Maybe in Seven Drums, or Dreaming."

"Wow, Chris. I got to say, I can imagine that."

"Well, I haven't mentioned it to Sima yet."

"Ah. And I can see how the stuff with Michael Dorris might have brought things to a head."

Another long silence, this one very comfortable. Chris said "So, there's two pieces. One is that if we do the East Coast trip, I can't afford to go without work for any other part of the summer. I probably can't afford it anyhow. And the second is, I'm not sure if I want Sima to go with me to Idaho. I mean, mostly I'm sure I don't."

"Well, did ya talk with Kikisoblu here? She have any words of wisdom?"

Chris chuckled. "She said Clinton most certainly did have sex with that woman."

Myra laughed out loud. "Not by how they apparently define sex. I mean, if part A doesn't go into slot B, it doesn't matter what fluids flow forth, it ain't the real thang."

"Then please, god, keep sending me the imitation, 'cause I do like to come" said Chris.

After another pause, Chris said "You all going back to Galveston this summer?"

"Yeah, but David can't make it in June, so we're thinking about doing it in August."

"Maybe that's when Sima and I should go to New Jersey, so she'd have you around the rest of the summer. Would you be okay with me being out of town for a month or two?"

Myra looked at her. "Yes, as long as you promise to come back." Chris looked back at her and didn't need to answer.

Myra said "Don't bite my head off, but isn't Dreaming kind of -- apocalyptic?"

Chris chose her words carefully. "You remember how during Reagan's second term, after he started talking about a winnable nuclear war, you made me and Allie swear that if the news announced incoming missiles, we'd all meet at a prearranged location so we could at least die together?"

"Yeah" said Myra, embarrassed.

"Have you rid your system of all that Baptist indoctrination they pounded into you when you were little?" continued Chris.

"No. Still comes up sometimes" said Myra.

"Well, let me know when you are, and we'll discuss Dreaming then" said Chris.

"Fair enough" said Myra.

Chris pulled her arm out from around Myra's shoulders and stared off into the distance. Myra wondered what had come up for her. Chris cleared her throat and said, "If I do go to Idaho -- can I borrow the money from you?"

Myra closed her eyes briefly against the surge of emotion inside her head, then said in a completely normal voice, "Yes." She now knew how extremely important this was to Chris.

All of a sudden Myra said "Shit -- I told Ginny I'd get back to her right away. I need to find a phone."

She scrambled to her feet as Chris said "Not many here in the graveyard, Mrs. Bates."

Myra said "Where did you park your car?" and looked around. At that moment, Allie's little truck came around the curve and idled to a halt.

Chris said "Well I will be goddamned, I must be an open book to you two."

Allie called out the window, "I'm tired of listening to your girlfriends go on about you."

"I'm heading home" said Myra.

"I took the bus" said Chris. "Wanna give me a ride?"

"Sure. Oh, fuck, I need to stop by the store. Allie, will you please go call Ginny and tell her I've got Chris, we're going to buy groceries for dinner tonight and then I'll be home? And have her call Sima?"

Allie sighed and said "Maybe I'll get the machine. What are you making for dinner?"

"Whatever Chris wants" said Myra, looking at Chris.

"Let's get some Polish sausages and grill 'em, but crumble one up to make gravy with it" said Chris. "With mashed potatoes. And artichokes. And one of your pecan pies."

"Ginny and Sima won't eat most of that" said Allie.

"I'll make stuffed sole, Sima loves it. And pickled beets" said Myra.

"Is it going to be all tense when I come over tonight?" asked Allie.

"Nope" said Chris. "We'll have it worked out by then."

"Fine by me" Allie said, putting her truck in gear. "Make me some collards, will ya?"

"Got it" said Myra, getting into her car and leaning over to unlock Chris's door. "Thanks, Allie."

October 1997

On Saturday afternoon, Chris stopped by. She let herself in and walked back to Myra's study, where Myra was sitting on her daybed, holding Alice wrapped in one of Gillam's old baby blankets.

"She any better?" asked Chris.

"No. She's not eating."

"Where's Ginny?"

"She and the kids went out shopping for stuff to make their Halloween costumes this year. Listen, I don't want to wait for her to get back, will you help me with Alice?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

"The vet gave me this contraption to feed her with, but it takes two people to make it work."

"What do you mean, I thought she wasn't eating?" asked Chris.

"She's not. That's why we're having to force feed her."

Chris's face registered shock. "You mean, like a tube down her throat?"

Myra suddenly realized what this might mean to Chris.

"Never mind, Chris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking you."

After a moment, Chris said "You shouldn't be doing it."

"If I don't, she'll die."

"Then that's her choice." Chris was really mad. She had almost never been mad like this at Myra.

"She doesn't know what she's doing. She just feels like crap. If we can get her built back up, then she has a fighting chance."

"Her liver is failing, right? She's fifteen years old. How much of a chance will she have with that going on?"

When Myra didn't answer, Chris continued, her voice getting harsh in a way Myra had seldom heard, "How do you know what she knows or doesn't know? Have you asked her? Or listened? What do you expect, that she'll suddenly develop the ability to write you a note? She's stopped eating; she's fighting you fucking forcing her to eat. She's trying to lie still and let go. She's telling you what she wants, in the only way she can."

Myra stared at Chris. "She's not a person, Chris, she doesn't know enough..."

"Listen to yourself, Myra. Listen to the argument in your head."

"I have a responsibility to her."

"Yes, you do. But you're not living up to it. You just don't want her to die. She's been your faithful companion, long before Ginny came along, and you don't want to lose that. So you're forcing her to stay when she's ready to go."

Myra began crying. "How can I be sure?"

"Listen to her. Ask her and listen to the answer." Chris stood up and said "I'm going out back for a while, leave you two alone. Drop the crap, Myra. Push yourself and trust the answer." Chris went out the sliding door.

After half an hour, Ginny and the children came back home, talking loudly and carrying rattling bags. Gillam ran back into the study, then skidded to a stop when he saw Myra weeping in Alice's fur. Alice's eyes were closed, and she was gently kneading Myra's arm.

"Mama?" he asked.

Ginny was close behind him. "What's wrong, Myra? Is she -- "

"She's alive" said Myra, "but she's ready to die. She really is."

Chris came in from the back, having seen Ginny and the kids return home. She sat down next to Myra and said "You clear, sparky?"

Myra gave out a sob and said "Yes. But I don't know what to do. I don't want to take her to the vet's office, she hates it there."

Chris said "I know a vet who makes house calls." She got up and went to the phone in the kitchen. Ginny slid in next to Myra and said "Oh, god, honey." She put her arm around Myra, then reached out an arm to Gillam and to Margie, who had come into the study, wide-eyed. "We need to say goodbye to Alice, my darlings. She's going to pass out of this existence into another one."

Both children began weeping. Ginny held them as they put out their hands and stroked Alice gently. Alice began purring.

"She loves you both so much" choked out Myra. "She is so happy we made a family around her. She's had the best life ever with you kids."

Chris came back in and said "She'll be here in an hour. I'm going to get dinner started for you all."

Ginny stood up and said "Bless you, Chris. I'll help you."

Once they were in the kitchen, Ginny whispered "You did this, didn't you? You got her to let go."

"Yeah."

"I didn't know what to do. I guess I should have called you earlier this week." Ginny looked stricken.

"One of her talents is hanging on. But it's not so useful sometimes."

Ginny hugged Chris and said "We have an organic chicken, cut up. How should we cook it?"

"Chicken and dumplings. Something Myra's mother used to make. I can do that part if you'll do the rest."

"Deal."

In the study, Myra said "Will one of you get that big poetry anthology, the blue one, from the poetry shelf? And there's a book of children's poetry, too, the one that has all the Edward Lear in it. Let's read some animal poems out loud."

They took turns reading, handing over the book as tears caught up with them again. Alice kept her eyes closed but continued to purr. Myra felt like she was the only thing keeping Alice warm.

After the chicken was under way in the dutch oven, Chris asked Ginny in a low voice "Where do you want to bury her?"

"Oh, god. I hadn't thought about that." Ginny began crying. "Under the maple, she loved to climb that tree."

"I'll go dig the grave" said Chris. "I left a message on our machine, so Sima may call."

"I'll tell her to come over" said Ginny.

Chris walked quietly out the back door to the garden shed, and after making sure the children weren't watching, she got a shovel and walked to the back of the yard.

Ginny made brown sugar-glazed carrots and steamed green beans, two of Myra's favorites. She went to the freezer and got out a blackberry pie, starting it to bake. She whipped cream for the pie, and made a pitcher of lemonade with real sugar instead of honey. As she was setting the table, Sima arrived. They were still hugging and catching up when the doorbell rang.

Ginny froze. Sima said "I'll get it. I know the vet, she's an old friend of mine."

Ginny turned off the burners on the stove and went to the sliding door to call Chris, but Chris was already on her way back in. At the door, she whispered to Ginny "Do you have something special to wrap her in?"

Ginny closed her eyes to think. She walked to the linen closet and pulled out one of the baby blue silk pillowcases she and Myra had brought with their first set of sheets as a couple. Then she talked with the vet and paid for the house call. They walked together back to the study.

Myra had heard the doorbell and knew who it must be. But Margie and Gillam looked at the stranger with her medical bag in dawning panic. Ginny squeezed in between them and said "It's going to be okay. It won't hurt her a bit, I promise. And she won't feel bad any more, like she has all week."

Chris picked up Gillam, who clung to her, beginning to sob heavily. Ginny pulled Margie onto her lap. The vet knelt in front of Myra and patted Alice's head. Alice still didn't open her eyes, and still she was purring.

Chris began singing something. She handed Gillam to Sima and knelt on the other side of the vet, closing her eyes as she put one hand on Alice and one hand on Myra, singing steadily. Myra felt a heat in Chris's palm, and hoped that heat was traveling into Alice as well. The vet said "I'm going to give her an injection into a vein. You need to move her a little, so I can find one in her flank."

Myra moved Alice gently, and Alice offered no resistance. Myra kissed her and said "I love you forever. You've been my best friend." Alice flexed her paws in and out once.

Gillam choked out "G'bye, Alice." Margie echoed him. Ginny put her arm around Myra's shoulders. The vet looked at Myra, and Myra nodded. As the needle slid past Alice's fur, she still did not react, though her tail was twitching. But less than a minute later, the tail went still and her purring stopped. Myra felt life leave Alice. She wailed, then, and Chris's singing became keening. The vet stood up, and Sima took her place, holding Gillam so he could put his hand on Alice as he wept.

The vet let herself out. After everyone was cried out, Ginny handed the silk pillowcase to Myra. Together she and Myra wrapped Alice, now heavy, in the silk. Chris helped Myra to her feet and let Myra lean on her as they walked out to the yard, where it was almost dark, Ginny carrying Margie and Sima carrying Gillam. Myra laid Alice in the hole, and had trouble standing back up; Chris helped her again.

"Let's all tell our favorite Alice story" said Ginny. They went around in a circle, and were laughing by the time it got back to Ginny. Then Myra leaned over and took a handful of dirt from the pile beside the grave and sprinkled it onto the silk wrapper. Gillam began sobbing again. One by one, everybody put a handful of dirt into the grave. Gillam went last, looking away as he dropped his dirt. Myra picked him up after that, and he wrapped his arms and legs around her.

Chris began filling in the hole. Margie began wailing again, too. When Chris was done, Sima hugged her from behind and Chris leaned back into her. She propped the shovel against the fence, then turned to hug Sima in return.

They trailed back into the house, which smelled deliciously of dinner. Myra didn't think she could eat, but she knew the children should. Ginny was on it.

"I'm going to cook the dumplings. Everybody go wash up, and then we'll have dinner. Gillam and Margie, I'll put your servings on your plate, just a single serving of each item. But if you eat all of that, you can have as much whipped cream as you want on your pie."

Myra took the children into their bathroom and they all washed hands together like they had when the children were babies, everybody's hands soaping and rinsing each other. At the table, they held hands and had their moment of silence. Then, as Ginny served, Myra told the story of the time she and her brother Gil had found a giant frog when they were children in Brazil and tried to set it loose in their mother's bedroom as she took an afternoon nap. By the time the kids had stopped laughing at how bad she and Gil had been, they had eaten half of what was on their plates.


A couple of weeks later, Myra was trimming the blackberry vine when she noticed an object underneath the maple tree. She walked over to have a look. Set into the ground, above where they had buried Alice, was a slab of black marble. Painted on it was a beautiful portrait of Alice. Underneath the picture was her name "Alice Boo-Boo", her years of birth and death, and a quote from Judy Grahn: "Bless this day oh cat our house". Myra sat down beside the grave and wept a little bit. Next spring, a throng of orange and white tulips grew up around the stone where Ginny had planted them.

(The real Alice Booboo, as a kitten)

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