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SOUTHERN VOICE ♦ DECEMBER 29/1994 AS I SEE IT by KAREN SHOFFNER Lesbian trappings As I See It features gay and lesbian writers from across the USA According to my friend's I lack some of the trappings of lesbian ism. I own neither a cat nor a leather jacket. An allergy to animal hair helps explain my cat-less state. As for a leather jacket, well, I'm simply not the leather jacket type. I have a vigorous imagina tion, but still, I have a hard time picturing myself in the sort of leather get-up that seems to be de rigueur among some lesbians. I'm not a vegetarian and don't see a conversion to that dietary regimen on the horizon. I'm not into goddess worship. In fact I worship no deities. (Jodie Foster and Emma Thompson are possible exceptions.) Surrendering myself to any Higher Power is a notion I don't wish to contemplate. I used to see a therapist, but I can't afford her anymore. It's just as well. Her tendency to reduce my life to psychobabble and to ask me things like, "How does that anger feel?" was maddening. I knew it was safe to be weaned when, during one of our last ses sions, I laughed at her for a good five minutes. She had just said something ridiculous. Laughter was the only response. As if that wasn't enough to put my lesbian status in jeopardy, someone recently criticized me for not having enough "women's en ergy." Huh? Let me set the scene. I work part-time in a feminist bookstore. Picture me sitting behind the counter — jewelry case on the left of me, cash register to the right of me — counting the minutes to the end of another work day. Picture a lovely, dark-haired woman walking up to the counter and ask ing, "What's there to do in Northampton?" I might have fi nessed a date with her at this point, but I'm not that smooth so I remained in helpful sales clerk mode. I asked what she had in mind, "Oh, something lesbian," was her vague reply. I suggested a few things, none of which seemed to catch her fancy. As it turned out, she was more interested in telling me the pur pose of her Northampton visit was two-fold: to get in touch again with that time 10 or 12 years ago when she first came out at U Mass and to let go of a relationship. Her account of her coming out was re markable in its detail. For ex ample, she wore a slinky, red disco dress to her first gay and lesbian dance. She told me more about that time than I have space for, so I'll move on. I asked her what she meant by "letting go" of a relationship. She said that she'd brought all the love letters and other trinkets from her ex and that she was going to let them go. I looked perplexed, so she explained, "I'm going to find a fireplace, do a ritual and bum them." I didn't know how to re spond. I took out a map of Northampton to show her places to hang out (and perhaps burn things). I pointed out a lesbian- owned restaurant. This prompted her to rhapsodize about a dyke- owned restaurant from her com ing out days in the happy Valley. She said that that particular eatery didn't allow men, a fact she seemed quite pleased with. I men tioned a dyke-owned restaurant that existed in Northampton in the '70's. My friend,) Lori had read about it in a lesbian separatist newsletter and had told me about it, I can't remember its name, but it was a vegetarian/ no sugar es tablishment where, if one was un comfortable paying for one's meal, one didn't have to. Surprisingly enough, that unusual and finan cially suicidal policy wasn't what put them out of business. The story goes that someone, perhaps a disgruntled employee, smuggled meat and sugar into the restaurant causing an uproar which some how precipitated its closing. I found, and still find, the in cident terrifically funny. I laughed telling the dark-haired woman the story. (Maybe it wasn't sisterly of me to laugh, but life is difficult and short enough without laughing.) She forced a smile and said, in a prissy school teacher tone, "I see you didn't bring very much women's energy with you to work today." This sent me into another fit of laughter. I said, "Women's energy? What's that?" "You don't know what women's energy is?" she asked, incredulous. Alas, I'm still in the dark about women's energy. The woman beat a hasty retreat soon after our ex change without giving me an an swer. Is it something to do with estrogen, this women's energy? Is it non-hierarcichal, mat- riarcical, nurturing? Was I suffer ing women's energy deficiency when I laughed at my therapist? Did that woman find a fireplace? Another woman friend of mine, who has a cynical turn of mind, suggested that the women's energy the bookstore customer talked about was of the sort that numbs critical thought and de mands allegiance to absurdities simply because lesbians are in volved. If there is such a thing as women's energy, I'd like to think that it is more positive then that. So. I don't have some of the typical lesbian accoutrements and I don't have the requisite amount of women's energy. Ain't I a les bian? Karen Shoffner lives in Northampton, Mass, and is a regular contributor to Metroline. OPINION Miracles in our hands by DANNY INGRAM A friend who is a nurse at Piedmont Hospital told me a story about one of his patients who was in the final stages of an AIDS-related illness. The patient had lost his ability to speak so he communicated with the staff us- • The nurse stopped by the patient's room during the last hours of the man's life. There was nothing more that could be done for the patient All medical expertise had been exl thing he could do. The patient responded by writing the two simple words "1 nurse sat wi(‘ held his hand until the young man left this life a short time later. Sharing that transition was one of the most powerful expe riences in my friend's life, and the little piece of paper will al ways be one of his most prized possessions. AIDS is« ' * * 1 ” illness. As if the devastation of one's body were not enough, the stigma of the disease often leads to profound emotional trauma as well. It is difficult to ignore the painful rejection that is so often a part of the journey. To reach out as a volunteer to, persons living with this disease is to invite into your own life a tremendous amount of frustration, sorrow and brokenness. It is also to open your life to the wonder of miracles. Many religious traditions em- dief in the power of healing. I never believed much in healing or miracles. I had no need never encountered anything in my life over which I could not maintain some degree of control. AIDS changed that for me. AIDS took me to places of pain and hatweresospiritu- that there was no way for me to pu experienced for the first time the miracle of healing. One night I sat in a busy hos pital emergency room with my partner who was in pain. The nurses were very busy and there was only one doctor on duty. Af ter a long wait the doctor came over. He performed a number of tests and finally admitted he couldn't make a diagnosis. I could see the frustration in the doctor's face, a look I had seen too often. Doctors like to heal people, and are not accustomed The doctor apologized and asked if there was anything else he could do. My partner whis pered, "I'm really thirsty". The doctor went to get a glass of wa ter, and he gave it to my friend, something he could have gotten a nurse to do. But he did it him self. He did it himself. The tiny miracle of that busy, frustrated doctor's compassion provided ■filM than any other. I have experienced this simple miracle over and over . again. In our own hands we pos sess the ability to heal the broken spirit, to bring wholeness back into the lives of the wounded heart. Each of us has the power to help bring miracles into the world. Sometimes in the lives of others. Sometimes in our own lives. And sometimes it becomes difficult to tell who is really re ceiving the healing—the person who is ill or the person who is reaching out to help. I do not have AIDS, yet I am a person living with AIDS. I don't have a life-threatening disease, yet I have received more healing than I ever knew I needed—than I ever knew was possible. But then "possibility" doesn't matter much to me anymore. Because I believe in miracles. Danny Ingram is the coordina te are healing to one an- Second hand woes What idiot wrote your front page Christmas shopping article? (SoVo, Dec. 8,1994) It's enough to put up with heterosexual stereo typing of gays and lesbians. It is more than I can bear to read that gay men buy designer clothes and lesbians buy second hand clothing at thrift stores. I guess they splurge on the Doc Martens. You owe all of us an apology. Ms. Leslie Bian a non downwardly mobile lesbian Editor's note: The idiot is Adam Sank, and we do apologize for imply ing that lesbians only buy second hand clothes. Adam, however, says he frequents thrift stores and would rec ommend them to anyone.