Moment in Time

Everyone has a "moment in time" which is so profound it is burned into his or her memory for eternity. This "moment" can be either a special moment shared with someone, an event, a series of events, or an act of kindness bestowed by a friend or stranger. It marks a time in one's life when they were truly happy, oblivious to the problems in their life or the problems in the world around them.

I have such a "moment;" a moment that was such a special time, shared with someone very dear to me. I sometimes wonder if it really happened or if it was a dream. I know if I died today, that I would die knowing that at that moment in time I was truly as happy as anyone could ever be, I was fulfilled, and I shared that special connection with someone whom I loved and who returned that love.

My love lives half a Continent away. Like many relationships today, our relationship started in cyber space. After several weeks the relationship progressed from "computer chat" to telephone conversations. Our first telephone conversation amazed both of us; it lasted through the night and we watched the gray fingers of dawn spread across the night sky. We shared many sunrises after that, half a continent apart, but so close emotionally.

Every moment I spent with him, whether online, on the phone, or in person was special. From our first meeting, we connected, just as my intuition had told me we would. But this connection was unlike any other either of us had ever experienced. With each phone call and meeting, that bond became stronger -- much stronger than I think either of us had realized was possible. My "moment in time" occurred during our last meeting. I have a quote listed in my collection of quotes: "A kiss on the beach while watching the sun set on the horizon is the closest you can get to heaven while still on earth" - SLG. It is from my "moment in time" that this quote originated.

We had three glorious days and nights to spend together. We spent as much time alone as we could; not leaving each other's side for more that a few moments. He did, however, have the opportunity to meet my impassive 4-year-old, who willingly climbed into my love's lap, comfortable in the safety, kindness, and warmth that he felt emanating from this special man. This interaction between my love and my child reinforced what I already knew --- my love was indeed extraordinary

We spent our time together doing special things we enjoyed, such as hiking along a nature trail, enjoying the quiet solitude provided by nature's setting. Our last day together, we decided to go to the beach. The weather was cool, almost cold. We arrived at the beach just as the sun was setting, our timing was perfect, for we both wanted to watch the sunset on the beach. As the sun made it's way towards the water's edge, we walked along the beach. The tide was out, and we walked and waded through puddles of water and cold, wet sand with our jeans rolled up to our knees and our feet bare. The water was as cold as that from a mountain stream high in the Andes. Walking along the beach, joking about swimming in the frigid water, watching the gulls diving for food, and stopping frequently to share kisses and caresses, the rest of the world slowly faded and we were alone but for the cool breeze, the sun, sand, water, and the sea gulls.

As the sun reached a point on the horizon that it began to disappear, we sat on the sand and watched. We were surrounded by the warm, golden-reddish glow from the setting sun as it slowly disappeared beyond the horizon, into the water. Mesmerized by the beauty of the sunset, the beach, and the emotions we felt for one another; it was almost as though we were no longer of this earth, but set apart in our own world. Long after the sun had disappeared we sat on the beach, holding each other, kissing, and staring deeply into each other's eyes -- seeing into each other's soul.

Later in the hotel room, we expressed our love for one another. I would say that we "made love," but that doesn't adequately describe what transpired between us. It went beyond anything physical and emotional. Even to say that it was a spiritual experience seems insufficient. We WERE one; one heart, one soul, one being. We sat on the bed and talked for hours; detached from the world. Nothing existed but us in that moment in time. We both prayed that time would stand still, for everything to stop so we could stay in this Utopian cocoon that had been spun around us.

We laughed; and we cried, for a future that could not exist -- would never exist for us. You see, cultural differences make that impossible. What many people fail to understand is that I respect his beliefs and his culture, and would never ask him to go against traditions and culture that are so ingrained in his being. I love him too much.

But I know that whatever the future holds for either of us, I will always have my "moment in time" lovingly stored in my memory. A place I can escape in my mind and relive those feelings and that special connection he and I shared; for I know, neither of us may ever have that connection or that "moment" again, with anyone else.
©Copyright 2000
SLG
All rights reserved. No further use,
reproduction, or distribution in any form,
including print, electronic or otherwise, may be
made without the express permission of the author.

Full Moon Rising

Did my ancestors dance naked in the light of the full moon? Is it my Celtic heritage that's responsible for one of my fantasies that takes place under a full moon? My fascination with the full moon and its spellbinding lure must come from my Celtic heritage because I also enjoy watching the lunar eclipse. Some magical forces seem to surround you while watching the moon become slowly dimmed by the shadow passing across it's face, concealing the brightness and then finally taking on a red glow before the shadow gradually reveals the brightness illuminating from earth's only constant companion. Many times while gazing at the full moon in all it's splendor, I have wondered what it would be like to actually experience this fantasy of making love to someone special, while bathed in the incandescent light of the full moon.

After having lived out one of my fantasies, and allowing him to read my writing about the experience, my "partner in crime" asked me if I had any other fantasies I wished to fulfill. Jokingly I told him, yes, that it also has an outdoor setting, but that this fantasy takes place under a full moon. "After all," I told him, "my ancestors danced naked under the full moon, though I have no intention of dancing." I guess the joking manner helped me to be honest and open with him. I'm usually a very open person, but not ordinarily about sex, so this avenue of communication is alien to me.

Anyway, a couple of days later, I realized that it should be time for a full moon. So I searched the web, and found that the next full moon would be this week. I fired off a humorous e-mail telling him of my discovery about the day of the full moon. Knowing that he usually goes to bed fairly early because he has to awake early in the mornings, the e-mail wasn't really intended as an invitation, but just a continuation of the communication. I figured the more I exercised this new openness, the more comfortable I would become. A couple of days later I chatted with him online and nonchalantly asked if he had received my e-mail about the date of the next full moon. He stated yes, but what could we do about it. Not sure if I was serious or joking, I told him I could always try to find a baby-sitter and drive to Lafitte. He commented that would be nice. I immediately began looking for a baby-sitter.

Thursday evening as I drove across the bridge that separates the north shore from New Orleans; I watched the full moon rising, and the waves in the lake turning to silver cascades carrying the magical lunar light to the shore. The moon smiling down upon the lake, seeming so large, so close you could reach out and touch it. Then as it rose higher, it seemed to be floating away from the earth, knowing that most inhabitants cannot appreciate it's mystery and lure.

By the time I reached Lafitte, the moon had chosen a place in the night sky where it could edify any mortal willing to share in it's glory and its mystery. From its position it served as a lantern, lighting the way to the site which had been chosen for viewing the full moon and the lunar eclipse. The wind was brisk and full of fury at times; whipping around us as we made our way to the secluded area surrounded by marshes and woodland. Arriving with our "refreshments" I discovered he had planned well, for there at the end of the path was a tent and wood ready to be set ablaze to create a campfire for warmth. He playfully stated that someone must have planned on camping and that we would make use of their preparations as he lighted the fire.

How long we stood mesmerized by the flames caressing the firewood, I'm not sure. I've always loved watching a campfire, enchanted but at the same time respectful of its blaze, I chuckled as he told me that he was always fascinated by fire. I smiled and thought, "Another thing to add to the list of common interests." We talked about abstract ideas, things that I'm usually afraid to discuss because most people look at me like I've lost my mind. Since it was still some time before the beginning of the lunar eclipse, he suggested that we make ourselves comfortable in the warmth of the tent. I agreed. Entering the tent, I realized how much preparation had gone into this setting. There inside the tent was an air mattress, large enough for two, with covers to keep the night chill away.

Laughing, I removed my shoes and crawled under the covers. Shivering and holding each other until our combined body heat raised the temperature in the tent or at least under the covers. We removed our jackets, and once again sought the warmth of each other and the covers, but this time with caressing touches and kisses that made my body feel as though I were the firewood being caressed gently by the licking flames of the fire. The fire outside had died to burning embers, but the light of the full moon and the fire being stoked inside the tent set the perfect scene for the amorous but erotic pleasures that followed. We made love several times. We did dance naked under the full moon; the dance of passion and love. We missed viewing most of the lunar eclipse, but I felt as though we were a part of the magnificence and edification bestowed by the full moon and the eclipse.

Yes, we made love. I have always felt like the physical and sexual encounters with him can in no way be called just sex, it's more than that, at least for me. At one point that night, after we both reached that point that some would call nirvana, or heaven, still close, connected, he asked me if I was comfortable. My response was, "I'm always comfortable when I'm with you." He responded that he knew that, but he was referring to physical comfort. I laughed and told him that I was comfortable. And thought to myself, why can't his emotions and feelings be as transparent to me as mine are to him.

So did my ancestors dance naked under the full moon? Yes, I'm sure they did. Probably anyone who comes from a Celtic heritage can say that somewhere in their family history are stories of witches or pagans who participated in monthly celebrations of the full moon and elaborate celebrations of the occasional the lunar eclipse. Of course, those who celebrated either during ancient times were branded lunatics or witches. A lunar eclipse was viewed as a bad omen -- a sign of some impending disaster. To some degree people still hold to these superstitions. And I guess that's one reason that many people don't know this nocturnal side of me, like the moon during the total lunar eclipse, it remains in the shadows. I too have "danced naked under the full-moon," but my dance was not simply a dance in celebration of the full moon or the elaborate celebration of the lunar eclipse. It was more. It was a celebration of life, of love, and of hope.

Driving home later that night I noticed that the moon was hidden, whether it was because of the lights or because it had become so overcast, I wasn't sure. Or maybe it had just made an appearance that night for us. I'd like to think so. I know no one could have enjoyed the full moon or the eclipse that night more than I did. I guess it's his turn now. So do I ask him about his fantasies or wait and let him tell me?

©Copyright 2000
SLG
All rights reserved. No further use,
reproduction, or distribution in any form,
including print, electronic or otherwise, may be
made without the express permission of the author.

Nature Calls

Anyone who knows me well, knows how much I enjoy nature and being outdoors. My idea of heaven is sitting under a large oak tree, listening to the melodious sound of the various local birds, noting the diversity of life forms co-existing, and breathing the fresh air. Except for the fact that I enjoy a hot shower on a very regular basis, at least once or twice a day, I think I could live happily in a primitive shelter in the woods or on the side of a mountain somewhere.

Well, this past weekend, I had the opportunity to live my "idea of heaven" for a short period of time. And I guess in a way, extend or expand my definition of heaven. For weeks I had wanted to see the little town of Lafitte during the daytime. It's a quaint little town, though like most small towns now days, it is suffering "growing" pains. The town has still managed to maintain the character that makes small towns so wonderful. I stayed overnight in Lafitte with a friend or boyfriend; I'm not really sure what to call him. I've given up trying to define the relationship and just accept whatever happens.

Sunday morning dawned gray and overcast, very humid with the temperature in the upper 60s, comfortable some would say, but a bit too warm for me. We showered and decided to visit Jean Lafitte National Park to continue the exploration and walk we had begun the afternoon before. We packed a few supplies and started out for the park. When we arrived, it was obvious we would pretty much have the trail to ourselves. We chose the longer trail, though I think he had his doubts as to whether I could make that long of a trek. I explained to him that I had spent hours upon hours roaming through the woods as a kid and even as a teenager. The woods became my refuge from pain, my sanctuary where I could take out my thoughts and examine them. In the woods I could weigh all the factors of a problem and make a decision without interference from the "real world" that I was usually trying to escape if only briefly.

We walked along slowly, usually quietly, trying to catch glimpses of the wild life and enjoy the magnificence of the surroundings. What most people fail to understand is that if you are there to enjoy the wild life, you can't make too much noise, or the wild life won't stay around to be enjoyed. The majestic cypress trees, most with the roots lying on top of the ground, sheltered the fields of palmettos and other species of plant life. It was a wonderful sight to behold. Occasionally the wind would blow through the palmetto leaves and it would sound like a light shower sweeping gently through the park. We walked almost halfway down the trail and decided to stop and take out the wine and snack we had brought. We drank the wine and snacked mostly in silence. There was little need for conversation, we both understood that. We were there to enjoy nature together. I don't know about him, but I have found it difficult to find anyone who understands my passion for nature and the need to sometimes just sit and be absorbed into it. It serves as a method of meditation for some, myself included.

We packed everything back up and continued our hike. As we walked along he suggested that we find a secluded spot for some erotic pleasure. I laughed but I don't remember assenting or dismissing the idea. We reached the end of trail where it looped around and started back to the entrance about the same time I started feeling this minor discomfort. Of course, being a female, and having drunk water from the canteen and wine from the bottle -- I was faced with a dilemma; either rush our return to the entrance and seek restroom facilities or use nature's natural "facilities." Well, rushing back wasn't really an option in my mind; I was enjoying the walk too much for a little inconvenience to get in the way. Little inconvenience, hell, it was a big inconvenience, which any woman who has had the misfortune of needing to use the bathroom in the wilderness can tell you. So we found a large cypress tree, big enough to screen my movements and I proceeded to remove my jeans and panties and use "nature's facilities." It was a combination of embarrassment and comedy. Had it been anyone else, I would have been rolling on the ground with laughter.

Once I was again fully clothed, we proceeded on the return loop. The silence was broken only by the numerous armadillos scrounging through the leaves looking for insects and occasional giggles from thinking about my earlier predicament. I began to think about what he had said earlier about finding a secluded spot. What he did not know, what no one knew, was that was one of my sexual fantasies -- making love in broad daylight, in a secluded area in the woods. I debated with myself, should I say something, was I adventurous enough to follow through? I had jokingly told him earlier that he was "corrupting" me. With him, I seem to have few inhibitions, I can't explain or understand it. I mulled over these questions for a few minutes, very few, I'm ashamed to admit, and I finally asked him if he was going to find a secluded spot. I didn't have to elaborate; he knew what I meant.

We had not progressed very far when he found a very large cypress with a small clearing on the side away from the trail. We had brought a large towel to sit upon (or so I had thought) when we stopped to drink the wine. The towel was spread out on a relatively level spot. What followed is almost like a dream in my memory, some moments being hazy and others being intensely vivid. I don't recall much foreplay; nature had provided that with the setting and the natural chemistry between us. And I won't describe the details of what transpired it was too special for me to share with anyone but him. But we did made love under that big cypress tree not too very far from the trail on which we had been walking. And the reality surpassed anything I could have possibly fantasized. Euphoric is the only word that even comes close to describing the act of making love with him under that cypress tree in all the wonder and glory of nature. Needless to say, I now have a second definition for heaven.

Driving home from Lafitte that afternoon, I was in a daze. I was still reeling from the experience and a bit shocked that I had actually acted out one of my fantasies. He does seem to have some "influence" over me. I tend to go with my feelings and desires and yes, lately I'm surprised quiet frequently at my action -- surprised and shocked, but with no regrets, none at all. As I pulled into the driveway at home, I remember thinking that I had read a story he had written about a fantasy he had that had something to do with a shower…and I just smiled to myself.

©Copyright 2000
SLG
All rights reserved. No further use,
reproduction, or distribution in any form,
including print, electronic or otherwise, may be
made without the express permission of the author.

Dance with Me

His name was Sam. It was the early 70s, and the federal government had demanded that the schools in Mississippi integrate. Oak Grove was a small rural school in Lamar County in south Mississippi, small enough that the elementary, junior high and high school were all on the same campus. Under the federal mandate, the “black” school was closed and the students were divided between three schools in Lamar County. In the high school, we had six females and one male that were bused in to attend Oak Grove. Tension was very high; this was a new experience for all of us. I cannot even begin to image the fear and anxiety of those seven students. The first weeks of school it was like everyone was walking on eggs, nothing in our education had prepared us. Most of the white students had never even conversed with someone of another race, so we were at a loss.

Within the first 6 weeks of school, one of the new female students and one of the older male students got into a fight. No, not an argument, this male student actually struck the female. Now, I’m sorry, I don’t care what a female says to a male, physical violence is not to be tolerated. Both students were expelled and the black students threatened a “walk-out.” Parents pulled their kids out of school for the week. There was talk of canceling the homecoming activities scheduled the next week at the school. After much debate, cooler heads prevailed.

Homecoming week at school was filled with the usual excitement and activity. Girls worried about whether this boy or that would ask them to the homecoming dance, which was held in the gym after the football game. Boys apprehensively approached girls, praying they would not be rejected. Still, the racial tension was present, though not as prevalent. The homecoming court had been elected. The maids and homecoming queen selected, and their escorts chosen. I never knew who chose the escorts, but the escorts at that time were always football players, and Sam was a football player. He was a freshman. So he was selected to escort the freshman maid. Nothing was said, for Sam was a very quiet, well-respected young man. And he was a football player, which in some high schools is the equivalent of being a “god.”

After the football team lost the game (we always lost) students crowded around the entrance of the gym awaiting the dance. Girls in their finery, boys in their suits. I had a date, though for the life of me, I can’t remember who he was. The six new female students all brought dates. Sam went alone. The new students gathered on one side of the gym, in one corner, all but ignored by the rest of the student population. A live band had been hired to play at the dance. I silently watch the group in the corner, occasionally several couples would venture onto the gym floor, dancing in a corner close to their safe haven near their friends. Sam stood there, smiling and watching everyone else dance.

I have always loved to dance. My heart sank watching Sam stand there, alone while everyone else was having such a good time, dancing, laughing. I excused myself from my date. Shaking, I walked what seemed like a mile across that gym floor, to the secluded corner where Sam stood. I had become friends with several of the girls and we spoke and exchanged greetings and compliments as I approached the group. Turning, I spoke, “Sam, dance with me.” Sam smiled and replied “Girl, you don’t know what you’re asking. They’ll crucify your reputation.” I smiled, “I never cared much for what people thought, especially ignorant people. And just think of the story you’ll have to tell your grandchildren" I continued to persuade, he finally agreed.

We walked onto the dance floor, Sam stopping in the corner where the new students had been dancing. I turned, grabbed his hand and led him to the middle of the gym – in the center of all the white students. We began to dance to the fast beat of the music. Slowly, the dance floor emptied. Sam and I were alone on the dance floor. I glance around and Sarah and Shirley, two of the new female students grabbed their dates and ventured onto the floor. Not quite in the center where Sam and I were, but their presence on the floor was noted. The song ended, I looked at Sam and we both understood we would stay there until the other students returned to the dance floor. One by one, couples begrudgingly began to return. By the end of the second song, it was as if nothing had happened. Sam returned me back to my date and went back to his secluded corner.

The other girls in his group took turns dancing with him after that, but no other white girl approached him, and Sam was too smart to attempt to ask one to dance. I had to find a ride home from the dance that night. My date was furious, not because I had danced with another guy, but because I had danced with a black guy. He never asked me out again, which was good, because he would have gotten a piece of my mind and a refusal if he had.

Sam became my first male friend. We spent a lot of time talking about the state of the world and the things that should be changed. We also talked about interracial dating. Sam and I were never interested in each other in a romantic sense, and we both agreed, the citizens of state of Mississippi weren’t ready for that yet. Little did I know that I would later be married to someone who was “Hispanic” or that I would come to love an eastern Indian to the point that I would have gladly given my life for him. And yes, the world is still reluctant to accept what they consider interracial relationships.

My reputation, well, Sam’s nickname was “Sunshine” – and the rest of the year I was dubbed “Sunshine’s girl.” I would just laugh. See, I was a rebel, and though I didn’t realize it at the time, my reputation as being rebellious and standing up for a cause was enhanced. The racial tension that had surrounded the first months of school dissipated. The following three years progressed without any more racial incidents.

Sam and I lost touch after high school. But I sometimes wonder, one day will he tell his grandchildren about this insane white woman who was crazy enough back then to ask a black guy to dance during a time when that was forbidden?

©Copyright 2001
SLG
All rights reserved. No further use,
reproduction, or distribution in any form,
including print, electronic or otherwise, may be
made without the express permission of the author.

Footnote:

My senior year in high school, the junior class put on a "skit" selecting 10 students from the senior class and portraying what they would be doing in ten years. I was one of the seniors they chose to portray. "I" was dressed in fatigues and carrying a machine gun. I was flattered, because you see, this "rebel" has always had a cause.

Tribute to my Uncle

The following story was written right after my Uncle died. Today my family got together for Easter - and my Uncle Eddie was on my mind a lot today, so I decided to post this (originally Titled "Funeral for an Uncle").


My uncle died unexpectedly this week. He was a good man, with a quick smile and teasing manner. In all my years, I never heard him say anything negative about anyone. He was a gentle man, soft-spoken, a hard worker, and he lived like God wishes us to live. He was always willing to help, to do whatever someone needed. He was special; and we all loved him.

The small funeral home in the small town of Sumrall, Mississippi is not elaborate like those in cities. It's simple. The employees are friendly and know just what to say to the immediate family members, because they usually know the family members personally.

I spent many weeks during the summer at my Uncle Eddie's home. I remember when he built his home. Yes, he built his home, using some materials collected from homes being restored or torn down in the "old" part of Hattiesburg. He labored on the house during his spare time, which Uncle Eddie never really had spare time. Besides a full time job, he had cows and usually a garden. Not your average "home" garden, this garden fed the whole extended family living close enough to come "pick" what needed to be picked and that Uncle Eddie couldn't use. My father and all my aunts and uncles living in the area filled their freezers every year from Uncle Eddie's garden.

When I was about seven, I remember "helping" him "shoo" the cows from one pasture to another. I was a "city" girl; raised in Hattiesburg, which really wasn't that big during that time. But I definitely didn't have much experience herding cows or spreading hay for them during the winter. The first time I ever rode a horse was at his house. I rode behind his oldest daughter, a year older than me in age and years wiser in the ways of the country. I was scared to death as the horse calmly walked around the cleared land around my uncle's house. As we rounded one corner the horse decided it was going under a big oak limb. My cousin ducked, I didn't. After he made sure nothing was broken my uncle gently carried me back over to that horse, me screaming that I didn't want to ride any more. Uncle Eddie told me "When you get throwed off a horse, you have to get right back on, or you never will." He put me back on the horse's back and told me that when I showed him I was really having fun I could get down. My butt was sore for days after that, whether from the fall or from riding for so long I don't know; but that day I learned that when you don't succeed at something, don't be afraid to try again. You will eventually be successful. The lesson I learned that day has helped many times in my life; times I was ready to give up and turn away. Then I would hear Uncle Eddie's voice saying, "When you get throwed off a horse, you have to get right back on, or you never will," and I would find the strength to get back up on whatever "horse" it was at the moment.

My cousins and I used to roam for hours through the woods on the land surrounding the house. I felt safe in "Uncle Eddie's woods." Every Sunday my family would "go to the country," which meant we were going to see my Uncle Eddie and his family. Every Easter was spent in that welcoming house. Everyone came; uncles, aunts, and cousins would come from as far away as Chicago and Miami. We would have the traditional "pot luck" lunch and eat until we could hardly move. Then the kids would be secluded inside the house while the adults, and later the older kids, would hide eggs for the small ones to find. I don't ever remember a year that all the eggs were found. I don't know if Easter will be at celebrated there this year; and it saddens me. The best memories of my childhood were spent at Uncle Eddie's and Aunt Margie's house; from hunting Easter eggs; "snipe hunting;" roaming the woods; basketball, football, and baseball games with my cousin's; eating sugar cane on the back porch (which had just been cut from the fields); sleep overs during the summer and sometimes weekends (when my grades were good) during the school year; and yes even picking peas and butterbeans out of Uncle Eddie's garden.

We buried him today. The funeral was nice, as funerals go. The weather was cold, wet, and gray; reflecting the feelings of those who were grieving the loss of this extraordinary man. The music was beautiful, the flower arrangements colorful and fragrant, and the sermon was nice. But I would have liked the preacher to have said more about how Uncle Eddie touched all of our lives. He spoke of how he was a good Christian and how the day before his death, my uncle was at the hospital visiting the sick.

I hate funerals. I know they are necessary for the living to say goodbye to the loved one and to provide "closure." I never know what to say to people, so usually I just hug them and let that do my talking. I was doing okay until I walked over to my Aunt Margie. As I hugged her, she told me "He was always worried about you. He said just the other day that he knowed something was wrong right now with you and that he was really worrying and wished he could do something." The floodgates opened and my tears started flowing. It had been several months since I'd seen my uncle, and in that time, yes several things had gone wrong, but not even my own parent knew of it, so how did he? He didn't say much, and he wasn't college educated, but he was the personification of wisdom. Yes, he was a good Christian as the preacher said, but he was so much more to those whose lives he touched. So even though he's no longer of this world, he still lives in those whose lives he touched. And he will continue to live as long as those lessons he taught us as children are taught to our children and their children, and their children….. I hope that one day my grand child will tell my great grandchild a story about his or her great grandmother being put back on a horse after being knocked off by a limb; if not, it's in my words on this page to forever immortalize that lesson Uncle Eddie taught me.

©Copyright 2000
SLG
All rights reserved. No further use,
reproduction, or distribution in any form,
including print, electronic or otherwise, may be
made without the express permission of the author.