Taken Away March 2023
There have been times in my life when someone just took me away and suddenly my burdens were less and my hopes increased. Sometimes in small ways and, not infrequently, in wonderful and large ways.
My Uncle Sheldon took me away on a camping canoeing trip in my very dark early days of family violence. We camped through New England, sleeping in a canvas tent, cooking by the fire. It was a red canoe and was strapped to his new Studebaker wagon that was white with red leather. I loved the car and this was a favorite uncle. He brought me away from home to show me that there are other ways to live, that people can be kind, that I could have safety in my life. It was part of my survival and grew into a strategy when ever intensity and trial were overwhelming me.
Peter, a boyfriend while in my 20’s, took me away to a gay resort in between by two jobs at a summer camp and pre-school. The resting space between these two intense jobs was too small. I always began each session more tired that I could offer my best. It was a maddening cycle that could not be avoided.
Peter, a slightly older man, came to the rescue. Gay space on the coast with no schedule or demands. I slept like a dead person for two days and then began to enjoy life again. He was such a good and kind man to do this with me. Another life saving time by being taken away.
While I lived in Boulder and was moving my focus from the rape crisis to the AIDS pandemic, I became so thoroughly exhausted that I confessed to a close friend that I no longer had the energy to have sex. This was alarming to both of us. We both agreed at our young ages of 32, me, and Billy 22 that sex was a first priority and opportunity for sex was rarely to be turned down. One of us carried a bit of infamy for saying yes to the wrong people and it wasn’t me.
Seeing that I was sinking in my work, Billy packed up his pickup with camping gear and lots of great food and off we went several hours south to the Great Sand Dunes National Monument. The sand dunes lay between two mountain ranges. They are shaped by the hot desert wind in summer and much cooler temps in winter. It’s an amazing space to let go of whatever should go. And there was lots of that to release.
I ran naked in the dunes in daylight and chewed fat steaks at night. We had some good smoke and read Winnie the Pooh aloud, laughing deeply over Eeyore’s sarcasm. This was a life saving trip. I needed to feel life without obligation surrounded by beauty and trust in a young friend to take care of me. This gave me the total awayness required to return to the trenches.
Here’s one that’s perhaps the most extreme. Once upon a time, maybe 20 years or more ago. Marshall came home on night in January and said, “Pack your bags. I’m taking you out of here!” It was an excellent and loving thing to do.
I was finishing up a very busy year of healing work. My witness to other’s pain had been huge. I came to November ready to rest and restore. But news came from 3 or 4 corners of dear ones in crisis and I had to respond. At least I did until Marshall said Enough! I’m taking you away before you’re killed by overgiving.
We did not have a history of vacations. Mostly we had work and more work. There were some beach vacations with his family. That seem to set a trend as we both enjoyed beach vacations.
And lo, Marshall had talked with a friend about a Caribbean island that was “out of the way” and not touristy. There were enough flyer miles to do this – fly to Miami and then Guadalupe, a French territory.
Oddly enough, what should have been a stressful landing was just the beginning of laughing at all the absurdities. I was very tired from work, but I was more than ready to be rescued and Marshall did a great job of that.
When Marshall handed the taxi driver the name of the hotel for our first night, the cabbie said, “You want to go there? Are you sure?” It was soon apparent that the hotel as advertised didn’t mention the number of homicides in nearby streets confirmed by gunfire. This made one less concerned that the sheets were dusty and the sound of rats scurrying amidst the metal roofs was so loud.
Marshall was afraid that his poor choice of a hotel would make me angry or frighten me. But for the most part I thought the whole thing so absurd as to be hilarious. Like I was watching Lucy and Ethel go to the Caribbean.
The next morning we schlepped our bags to a dock where a ferry would bring people to various islands. We wanted to go to Les Saintes. But we couldn’t find an English speaker and we had nether French or Spanish to offer. Alas, we came to a port, guessed this might be it and stepped off hoping for the best.
It was the right island, but the hotel Marshall had read about was under renovations. A young receptionist made a call and then walked us up the hill to a hotel that had one room left if we wanted.
Again, what could have been a catastrophe, is instead a funny but disappearing obstacle leading to paradise. The room was the hotel’s cheapest, in a very fancy place. It was a large room, protected by the heat with marble floors and concrete walls, plus wall openings with no windows and a large lizard in the banana tree outside the bathroom non-window.