It's Here!!!

The new and improved Amaranth Womyn Magazine! Check out every page, you won't want to miss a thing from Movie and Book Reviews and where to buy them at a great price, to new articles by the Infamous Susun Weed and our own Shady Grove, HexAngyl, Jacki and others. Not to mention all of the wonderful poems submitted by our readers, as well as a fantastic book that you will be able to read right here in this magazine, chapter by chapter, month by month. This book will most likely be discussed at our book club section of the message boards!

Don't forget, we're always looking for new writers and new talent, so be sure to join us at AmaranthWomyn.com!

We need your voice! AW introduces it's first monthly broadcast of WRAW, Radio AW. Just click on the graphic link to your left for a 2-1/2 show! Filled with your favorite music, comediennes and information. Unfortunately, I was the only one brave enough so far to DJ this little project and I am no DJ. So, please! send us your clips. Please email us for more information on how you can participate and perform.

Additionally, you will note something new to our format... in various places throughout the magazine you will see banners and buttons which, if clicked on, will take you to several different stores, mostly name brand discount shops on and off the net. We ask that if you are going to purchase these types of items anyhow, to please consider going to these sites through our links placed here. Whatever income is generated will be used to pay for what little expenses we have and any monies left over will be given to charities in the name of Amaranth Womyn. Thank you for your support.

On the same note, you may (or may not) be wondering why there are seemingly no links to gay and lesbian shops on our site. The answer is fairly obvious, in my opinion. To anyone who has purchased from many of these "so-called" stores, I need not explain, but for those who have not, I shall put it very simply... I have yet to find one with which I would allow Amaranth Womyn to be associated. The risks of purchasing are too great and most of the products are junk with rainbows on them. After an intense investigation of our own, we found that a good many of these shops are owned by a bleach blond little weasel who shall remain unnamed (first name starts with a "C") who claims to live in Florida (as well as Ohio, or California, or Maryland, or Pennsylvania or New York or Virginia, and on and on) and who claims to be gay, bi, lesbian and transexual (amazing little guy) depending on which site you go to to purchase his products. In addition, he not only fraudulently runs these "shops", as you will most likely never see your money or merchandise again, but he "sells" wholesale to many of the other "shops". This leaves us with a huge problem as these shops have their stores all set up, make sales and then cannot retrieve the merchandise from him (which they've paid so dearly for in advance) and, therefore, cannot get the merchandise to you and wind up making more refunds than lucrative sales.

This is not to say that there are not viable, trustworthy and honest gay and lesbian businesses set up on the net. Quite the contrary. The problem is trying to figure out which ones are and are not owned by or stocked by "him". Because of the amount of work involved to validate ownership and reputation of an internet store we have chosen not to get involved. However! if you are an artisan, a manufacturer or service provider who happens to be lesbian (with only one address!) we would be happy to consider partnering our efforts with you. Please email any inquiries to Amaranth Womyn.

Another addition to our community is the introduction of our new Website Awards Program. Go HERE for details. Winners will be announced right here on the Front Page!

Looking to learn more about your favorite authors at AW? Want to drop them a line? Just click on the header title graphic atop each article for complete bio and contact information!

On the left of your screen you will see a pink link to The Art Gallery! We encourage you to take a look at the gallery which features a different lesbian artist each month. If you are interested in their work please feel free to contact them. It is very important that we, as a community, promote the work of womyn, especially lesbian womyn and their unique influence on society as reflected in their paintings. This is truly a great addition to AW and we are happy to be able to bring this to you. This month's feature artist is Esther Sanguino!

And last, but not least, Amaranth Womyn launches its very first Sweepstakes Drawing Contest... A chance to win your very own Toaster Oven. Are you up to the challenge? See below for details.

Next Issue: March 15, 2002

Wacipi

The Rainbow Flag was created by Gilbert Baker in 1978 for the San Francisco Gay Freedom Celebration. It was then adopted as the Gay and Lesbian Flag which represents the diversity and unity of our community worldwide.

Lavender Blossoms

I brush a stray hair from my face as I kneel within what was once our garden. It is late summer, and I am once again harvesting the lush, fragrant herbs we planted together not so very many years ago. Yet, I must admit, it often feels as though lifetimes have passed since we last exchanged contented smiles over the tender rows of green.

Today I am gathering and bundling the delicate lavender blossoms. I will wrap twine around their stems and hang them from the low rafters. I will immerse myself within the scent which always transports me to the days you sought solace within my embrace. I will remember that sensual, healing fragrance upon your skin as you clung to me as though for survival. I will remember how you always smelled of lavender – as I'm certain you still must. Yes, today, a tear will fall as I think of you.

* * *

I never expected to love you. You were merely an acquaintance encountered eighty-two miles west, just off Interstate 40. A gathering of East Tennessee Buddhists meditating on a mountainside for a long, early-spring weekend.

For me, the retreat was intended as refuge. Married, at the time, to a kind-hearted man who somehow could not help but to find great pleasure in the act of chipping away at my soul, I was eager to discover the space to breathe. How I craved the opportunity to breathe freely, to listen attentively to the music of the cosmos, to revel in the serenity of my faith. No judgements. No obligations. Merely time alone to reconnect with the pulse of the earth, the gentle rush of the wind and the subtle beat of my heart.

I remember looking up from my cushion that first morning to find you standing radiantly beside me. With a warm though nervous smile upon your lips, you set your zafu next to mine in preparation for our first session in the temple. It was your first initiation. It was mine. With the resonant chime of the bell, the session began. The Kenpos' voices filled the temple with blessings, and I felt myself, in an instant, drawn ever nearer toward the divine.

Suddenly, a late-comer appeared at the entrance to the temple, dropped his dharma props and threw himself before the Kenpos' feet. Given the dramatic quality inherent within his display, I wondered if he were sincere. Then again, who were any of us to judge?

The temple silent once more, I returned to the steady surrender of my meditation; yet, with every breath, you reminded me of your presence. You sighed. You rustled. Forever you whispered anxious questions into my ear as though I knew ever answer. I must admit you drove me crazy with your interruptions and timid-though-dedicated efforts; yet, it wasn't long before I found myself welcoming the moist warmth of your breath upon my neck.

We pondered the teachings that afternoon as we sat together for hours upon a small blanket laid gently upon the grass. I shared my grapes, kiwi and juicy slices of apple. You shared your story, drawing me in with your quiet sadness. As I watched your lips form the words of your experience, your sorrow, your fears, your untapped yet fierce strength, I found you as pure and rapturous as a dakini, a most supreme embodiment of the feminine divine. To my surprise, it was all I could do to keep myself from falling. The fortress I had built over a lifetime crumbled with your touch, shattered beneath your smile. Your effect upon me was effortless – yet far too profound for words.

As the first afternoon faded into night, I placed a tender kiss upon your forehead and we bid one another peace. I must admit, I felt a slight tug as I watched you disappear through a canopy of lush rhododendron. Then, I wrapped a light blanket around myself and fell asleep, only to dream of you.

Waking with the sunrise, I found myself lonely, shivering slightly with the chill of the mountain air. Yet, after slipping into a simple cotton tank and tying my sarong loosely around my hips, I made my way, sleepily, back to the temple for morning prayers.

You were there, had been there awhile, aglow with rosy cheeks and hands wrapped snuggly around a steaming cup of tea. As I sat lotus-bound beside you, you presented the cup to me. You offered me a sip. Then another. Nestling as sisters, we remained silent as we observed the little clouds of breath pass through our lips.

With the chime of the now-familiar bell, we returned to the temple where we sat in meditation for hours, just as we had the day before. The chill quickly dissipated as the sun warmed the earth. Indeed, by ten-thirty, the heat had grown intense. Stifling. Flies began to buzz in our ears. Despite my attempts to maintain a focus upon eternity, I could hear you rustle beside me. I knew your back was beginning to ache.

A quiet mountain hike occupied us throughout the mid-day hours. A dinner of rice and steamed vegetables prepared upon the communal stove provided us with sustenance. Our bellies full, we laid together upon the sun-warmed earth. Only then, a magnificent monarch, fragile within its glory, landed upon my bent knee and remained still, with no intent of abandoning us, until it was time for us to rise for the retreat's most climactic event – the fire puja.

As we gathered around the fierce flames, we shared a copy of the evening's mantra – a mantra neither of us knew. We were innocents. Yet, the others seemed to boast of their many initiations as one might collect notches upon one's belt. Though bound firmly within my faith, I couldn't help but to grow skeptical of the offerings flaunted for all to see, bills tucked into prayer scarves with a flourish before the generous souls surrendered themselves, prostrating at the Kenpos' feet. You witnessed it, too. I could see the disillusionment in your eyes, cheating you of your salvation.

The gong. The blazing fire. The chanting grew to a manic intensity. The urge to escape struck us both in an instant. I caught your gaze as you sought my own. Your face aglow with the flickering of the flames.

"Should we?" I whispered.

"You think?" I read your lips, your eyes.

"Yes," I replied without hesitation.

You remained still for a long moment. Then, with hands trembling slightly, you passed the prayer book to the self-proclaimed scholar on your left and with all the composure we could muster, we turned and walked away from that which we held so dear.

Once out of sight, we embraced. Tears began to fall from your eyes as our lips met, and I held you close as I drank the salty drops from your kiss. Our sites once set so clearly upon attaining enlightenment, we mourned our lost journey. Why is nothing as it seems? Where does one go when once has lost the belief in something more?

In silence, we parted. I saw the tears glisten upon your shadowed face as I gazed into the rearview mirror. Headlights cut through the ebony landscape. Then, you followed me down the rocky mountainside road and back onto the interstate. This time driving east into the dead of night.

* * *

Having experienced, for a time, the freedom of my soul unencumbered, I soon came to the realization that I, as a woman and an artist, would never again be the same. Though I had possessed no conscious intention to do so, I had stumbled, unwittingly, upon a journey toward my own personal transformation. Subtle as it began, a storm was brewing. It was only a matter of time before the swirling gusts of truth would rip away the deceptive visage of life as I had known it – only to break with fierce intensity, the thunder rocking the ground beneath my feet.

Initially, I approached my days in typical fashion as I had for over a decade. Having grown accustomed to donning an image of feminine perfection and domestic bliss, I found it easy enough, though somewhat disheartening, to return to my life as a rather eccentric though always charming executive's wife and doting mother.

And, yes, I often found myself thinking of you, although I was, at the time, busily preparing new work for the opening exhibit of Sappho's Garden, the most recent addition to the town's thriving womyn's community.

Indeed, in creating a series specifically for the event, I had little time to brood, even if it had been in my nature. Yet, as the images which emerged from my soul began to flow onto the canvas, I found myself astounded by that which appeared before me. I was creating in an entirely new way, seeing myself and the world around me with a clarity I had not experienced for many years. The lines, shadows, color and light spoke of a time wherein passion could not, despite all efforts, be contained.

In the process, I began to see my life for the lie it had become. In offering those around me precisely what they had wanted me to give, to be who they wanted me to be, I had lost the bold, fiery woman I once had been. The abandonment of my truth had taken place gradually though consistently over the years, finally leaving me void. Although I had retained something which appeared to the world as great creativity and originality of voice, I was finally able to recognize that the blazing fire and the fierce truth within had drained from my life and my work. It was time to reconnect with the woman I had once known so well, to once again discover who I was and what it was that I wanted out of my life.

Yes, we kept in touch, did we not? Heartfelt conversations over hummus and veggie wraps, long walks beneath the unceasing intensity of the late afternoon sun. Yet, at the end of the day, I realized that as things were, there would never be time for us beneath the moonlight.

You recognized it, too, for it wasn't long before your dinner invitations grew ever more frequent. Cards of sentiment began to litter each day's mail, peeking out from behind the glossy magazines, credit card bills and art supply catalogs. I knew you would call each evening. Eleven o'clock – on the dot.

And, so, after months of releasing the old in order to embrace the new, of painting until sunrise, of growing to know you in ways I had never known anyone before or since… the long-awaited evening arrived.

Indeed, the gallery's opening proved itself a legendary moment, not only within the local arts community, but as an unveiling of who I had become through my love for you and the manifestation of that love through my work. Though you had so graciously accompanied me, enduring introductions and interviews that would appear in the next morning's papers, I felt you grow distant even as your hand rested upon my arm.

"What's the matter?" I inquired in a soft whisper. "Is something bothering you?"

"It's just too honest," you replied. "Far too honest."

* * *

The next evening, it was time to once again don the mask.

After serving as the perfect hostess to his colleagues and their all too polished wives, I took a few minutes to soak in the tub before retiring for the night. Though I was desperate to rid my mind of the incessant chatter, I couldn't help but to replay the conversations overheard throughout the night. "Have you read about the merger with… Yes, yes, she had a marvelous estate… They'll never last… So terribly common… Yes, at the symphony…. Such a tart, her little titties bouncing as she plays… As I've always said, great literature is not to be written for the masses…." And, I felt my head begin to swim.

I slipped beneath the covers as he made a final check of the Dow on CNN. I rested my head upon the pillow and lay rigid as he patted my behind and turned down the sound on the television. As we lay silent within our bed of velvet, accented with scrolls of pewter, I held my breath until I felt a readiness to speak.

I explained to him that it was time for me to leave. It wasn't fair to him that I stay. He told me I'd never make it on my own, that I needed him to survive. I conceded that it would be difficult, but it was want I needed to do. Money meant nothing to me, I professed. I needed to live honestly.

I admit, after having spent so many years together, it was difficult to watch him witness the dissolution of the life he expected to remain intact forever despite his apparent lack of effort or foresight. Tears began to fall from his eyes as he turned away from me. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry.

The next morning, he refused to kiss me at the door before he left. I couldn't blame him. My vision began to blur with the emergence of my own tears. I then shut my eyes tight and continued to practice my morning asanas, refusing to allow myself to waver.

Once composed, I picked up the phone and postponed my only engagement of the day. Then, setting out to the garden, I placed my easel in the shade and allowed my brush to dance with the rhythm of my breath. The brush made manifest all that I had so long neglected to give a voice, a sense of movement. Within each stroke was license to rage and wail, laugh and love.

That night when you called, I explained the events of the day and evening before. I was full of hope, eager to embrace the future; yet, to my surprise, you encouraged me to reconsider, warned me of the dangers that lurk, then cut our conversation short.

Days passed before I heard from you again... and I continued to paint.

By the end of the week, the initial papers were filed and I set out to create a new life for myself and my son. Though he loved his daddy, Evan also had experienced the sense of confinement that I had so resented. He was ready to laugh the laugh of a child and to play the way only a child can play.

Yet, even as I handed over my deposit on a quaint little cottage for rent just outside of town, you continued to live every moment in fear of what would happen to you if "they" only knew you were in love with a woman. Though you had always felt that your secret would be kept within the context of one-night stands and casual encounters, committing to a relationship would be impossible to hide. They would take your son, burn you at the stake. So you continued to resign yourself to a fate at the hands of the holy. You were certain that you could never fully live your life here; yet, you were terrified to look beyond and seek something more.

Still, I held fast to my conviction that my love for you would protect us, make it possible for me to love you the way you deserved to be loved. I trusted that it was all just a matter of time.

And, so it was, for once the dust began to settle, you increasingly graced us with your presence, allowing Ky to play with Evan in his new backyard, catching fireflies, until night upon night you sought shelter within my embrace, within my bed. Although you kept your apartment for the sake of appearances, it was obvious that we were gradually and quite happily becoming a family of four.

* * *

Our last afternoon together. I remember it as though it were yesterday. Despite the blazing heat of yet another Indian Summer, we enjoyed each other so easily as we nuzzled together on the porch, nibbling soy nuts and wasabi peas while watching the children play.

How quickly they had become the best of friends. Evan thought of Ky as nothing less than a big brother. He still asks about the both of you and wants to know when Ky might come back to play, if only for a little while.

Your face radiated the same breathtaking beauty of the day we first met as you drew intricate mendhi designs along my thigh. No one knew the brush as well as you did, My Love.

And our young gardens. A source of nourishment for the body and soul. The moment we set the mint plants into the earth, Ky began plucking and feeding Evan so many leaves I was sure his belly would ache. Yet, his smile grew ever wider. We were happy … Or so I believed.

What happened to make you flee that which seemed so perfect? I know, you would say you had no choice. They had discovered that you were happy. That you were surrounded by love. That you shared your bed, your dreams, your life with a woman. They made threats, shouting curses of hellfire and brimstone as they arrived at the doorstep unannounced.

I knew their threats were very real possibilities. I knew that you were hurt, scared, desperate to protect your child from their wrath.

I wanted to be there for you. And, I was. I would have given my life to see you live honestly, freely, able to speak your own truth. Yet, you ran. Abandoning all that we had created together in such short time, only to allow the shackles of religion, Southern culture and hatred to clamp down hard upon your wrists, ankles, soul – mere moments after you discovered that which you had sought, bringing an end to that which had just begun.

I would have done anything to annihilate your fears, to assure you that we would make it through. I would have given my own life if only it would give you the freedom to live yours. To this day, I still would.

* * *

Yes, I have carried on, striving daily to create a life expansive enough to encompass each and every one of my dreams. It's not all that difficult these days. My desires are simple now; I need very little. Though it may appear sparse from the outside looking in, I feel as though mine is a life of abundance. I spend my days painting – in the garden beneath the summer sun; come winter, within my studio with my favorite ragged wool sweater around my shoulders. When so inspired, I even venture out and try my hand at sculpture.

And, each afternoon, I await Evan's arrival as he makes his way home from school. He knows there is always a glass of lemonade or a cup of hot cocoa waiting for him.

Yet, it is within the stillness of the night that my dreams are flooded with memories of you. I often awaken to a pillow soaked with tears and send you thoughts of peace and strength before rising to face the new day alone.

Nevertheless, I will forever take the time to gather and bundle the delicate lavender blossoms, wrapping twine around their stems and hanging them from the low rafters. I will immerse myself within the scent which always transports me to the days you sought solace within my embrace. And, yes, I will someday learn to embrace the loneliness and the loss, to behold the memories which cut so deep, for despite all that I have lost in loving you, there will always be the delicate lavender blossoms which will forever remind me of the sweet scent of your skin.

# # #

Cassandra Snow has worked in various forms of statement over the years – from poetry, playwriting and novel writing to dance, theatre and photography. A graduate of Northwestern University, she is the author of a collection of original poetry, two stage plays and numerous works that have appeared in publications throughout the U.S. and abroad.

© 2001 Cassandra Snow

press release
For Immediate Release
Contact: Suzi Kalmus
Dated material

PAT BOND COMMITTEE ANNOUNCES WINNERS OF PAT BOND MEMORIAL OLD DYKE AWARDS

San Francisco, CA-- The Pat Bond Committee has announced the winners of the Pat Bond Memorial Old Dyke Awards. The awardees will be honored at a ceremony on Sunday, March 3, 2002, at St. John's Presbyterian Church in Berkeley. The award honors old dykes who have made a significant contribution to their community. The awardees are: Marion Abdullah, Dorothy Fowler, Barbara Konecny, Alice Malloy and Carol Wilson. Each winner will receive a cash grant and a photo along with the award.

Marion Abdullah has been active in the Bay Area for many years. She joined the Asian Pacific Lesbian Network and began participating in women of color events. She was a volunteer for the Women's Building and PFLAG, and has been active with AIDS and Breast Cancer. Her first involvement in the senior GLBT community was in 1998, when she attended her first meeting of OLOC (Older Lesbians Organized for Change). Since then she has been an organizer for the annual Elder Conference. In addition, Marion has been active in ensuring an elder presence in many events, including East Bay Pride, Oakland Mardi Gras, and "Creating Change," A national LGBT conference.

Dorothy "Dottie" Fowler is a founding member of various organizations, including Women-At-the Helm, Lavender Seniors of the East Bay. She is also a Board member for Operation Concern and New Leaf Services for Our Community. She is 74 years old. She has been in the Bay Area since 1966, when she worked as the Associate Production Director for the American Conservatory Theatre. She also holds a Masters license for 100-ton offshore vessels of the United States Coast Guard. She has been instrumental in the LGBT senior community.

Barbara Konecny is the co-founder of Women over Fifty and their Friends (WOFF), along with her partner. WOFF has provided a social opportunity for women to socialize. She has been a community organizer for many years and has been involved with Gays and Lesbians for Better Quality, Lighthouse for Gays and Lesbians, Lavender Seniors. She has also been active in organizing demonstrations against the Boy Scouts and the public school system in the East Bay. Her love and passion has been devoted to developing a community for lesbians over 50 in the East Bay.

Alice Molloy and Carol Wilson are pioneers in the women's movement, founding one of the first women's bookstores in the country in 1971. They have continued to serve the women's community-- first at A Woman's Place and since 1983 at Mama Bears Bookstore, on Telegraph Avenue in Oakland. For 30 years, they have created "a space for women to breathe, to conspire." They have also been active in the anti-war movement and other feminist causes.

The Pat Bond Memorial Old Dyke Awards were conceptualized in 1992 to honor the great works of old lesbians who have not yet received adequate recognition. The enthusiasm with which these awards have been received reflects the importance of publicly declaring the worth and beauty of lesbian lives.

Pat Bond was a beloved Bay Area lesbian, comedienne, monologist, and playwright who died in December, 1990. She toured the country with her shows about Gertrude Stein, Lorena Hickock and Eleanor Roosevelt, and her own experiences, especially in the military. Her spirit as a trailblazer was significant in opening the doors to gay and lesbian theatre experiences. Her spirit and illustrious life inspired the idea of honoring older lesbians who have not yet received adequate recognition for their outstanding community service, significant contribution and unique achievements.

In order to be selected, the nominees had to be an "out" lesbian, at least 60 years old, residing in the Bay Area. In addition, she must have not been significantly recognized for her contributions to the community.

The ceremony will begin at 3 p.m. and will include music by Gwen Avery, with additional harp and piano music. The MC for the event will be comedienne Karen Ripley. Refreshments will be served. The Pat Bond Awards is sponsored by New Leaf Outreach to Elders (formerly GLOE), a nonprofit community organization located in San Francisco. For further information or to purchase tickets to the event, contact New Leaf Outreach to Elders (415) 626-7000, ext. 828.

Are You a Woman or a Chic?

Do you Categorize?
By R Ivey

It has always been my contention that a woman is in her individual own, a woman, no matter what her sexual orientation or physical appearance. As a categorized whole, a group, we are all women, but individually dissected whole we are each a unique woman. Categories lend little to who we really are and will broadly depict us as if we together are the entire puzzle or section thereof. Not the individual piece that completes the scenery.

This said, let me tell you about a night out at one of our local gay pubs with my partner and a couple of close friends. Perhaps I should detail this a bit further for you… A night out with my partner, her ex-girlfriend and her ex-girlfriend's ex-girlfriend. Confusing categorizations? Could be if you don't stay on your toes.

Upon arriving that night we found a table, not always an easy task at David's Bar. The table, nestled mid-way in the bar was surrounded by small groups of men, gay men, and we being the only females in the bar that night perched ourselves among them. After a few drinks and some very casual conversation our two friends began speaking of their previous relationship together and the trials and tribulations of dating again. One friend, my partner's ex-girlfriend's ex-girlfriend (the designated driver), said that it was difficult to start dating again because she is not a drinker and the only social setting in our community was one of the three gay bars. Our other friend, my partner's ex-girlfriend, explained that she had no problem dating within the bar scene, but it was necessary when dating to determine whether the pursued interest was a woman or a chic.

Never realizing that there was a difference and feeling rather naïve about dating at the moment, I asked her to explain the difference. She briefly considered my question, and expanded the comment by explaining. She said that a chic is someone that you go home with, spend a comfortable evening with… and leave before she wakes in the morning. A woman on the other hand, is someone that you take home, spend an evening with, perhaps a lifetime and pray that she will never leave.

I spent some time contemplating this categorization and considering myself very fortunate that I have a very deep and loving relationship with my partner… no dating for me thank you very much! With this concept in mind however, consider that you, the woman, bring the woman home. The both of you spend the evening cozily sharing some great conversation, an exquisite candlelit dinner and a close complete feeling. You ask yourself, where has she been all of my life! You sleepily tuck yourself safely in her arms and… wake in the morning to nothing but a cold pillow. Are you now the chic? She has left you cold, alone and facing the morning with this very question, but perhaps you are just a woman hoping to find the right woman.

Woman or Chic? What determines which category you fall within? Do you really need to know? Does it matter? Whether dating or in a long term relationship, isn't it possible that we are much more than the puzzle or a categorized section of the puzzle? We are each individuals with unique qualities like and unlike any other women and within ourselves the only piece that can complete the scenery.

© Regina Ivey, All Rights Reserved

A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN,
BY MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT

Throughout the coming year we will bring to you the complete book, chapter by chapter, A Vindication Of The Rights of Woman, written by Mary Wollstonecraft over 200 years ago! Her work was highly esteemed both during her time and after. Her last book was titled MARIA or The Wrongs of Woman, and was well received. Brought to you courtesy of the Gutenberg Project. This work is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at Illinois Benedictine College (the "Project"). You can find a complete copy of her works and thousands of others at the Project Gutenberg website. We hope you will find the author's work to be both enlightening and cryptic, as we did.

A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.

M. Wollstonecraft was born in 1759. Her father was so great a wanderer, that the place of her birth is uncertain; she supposed, however, it was London, or Epping Forest: at the latter place she spent the first five years of her life. In early youth she exhibited traces of exquisite sensibility, soundness of understanding, and decision of character; but her father being a despot in his family, and her mother one of his subjects, Mary, derived little benefit from their parental training. She received no literary instructions but such as were to be had in ordinary day schools. Before her sixteenth year she became acquainted with Mr. Clare a clergyman, and Miss Frances Blood; the latter, two years older than herself; who possessing good taste and some knowledge of the fine arts, seems to have given the first impulse to the formation of her character. At the age of nineteen, she left her parents, and resided with a Mrs. Dawson for two years; when she returned to the parental roof to give attention to her mother, whose ill health made her presence necessary. On the death of her mother, Mary bade a final adieu to her father's house, and became the inmate of F. Blood; thus situated, their intimacy increased, and a strong attachment was reciprocated. In 1783 she commenced a day school at Newington green, in conjunction with her friend, F. Blood. At this place she became acquainted with Dr. Price, to whom she became strongly attached; the regard was mutual.

It is said that she became a teacher from motives of benevolence, or rather philanthropy, and during the time she continued in the profession, she gave proof of superior qualification for the performance of its arduous and important duties. Her friend and coadjutor married and removed to Lisbon, in Portugal, where she died of a pulmonary disease; the symptoms of which were visible before her marriage. So true was Mary's attachment to her, that she entrusted her school to the care of others, for the purpose of attending Frances in her closing scene. She aided, as did Dr. Young, in "Stealing Narcissa a grave." Her mind was expanded by this residence in a foreign country, and though clear of religious bigotry before, she took some instructive lessons on the evils of superstition, and intolerance.

On her return she found the school had suffered by her absence, and having previously decided to apply herself to literature, she now resolved to commence. In 1787 she made, or received, proposals from Johnson, a publisher in London, who was already acquainted with her talents as an author. During the three subsequent years, she was actively engaged, more in translating, condensing, and compiling, than in the production of original works. At this time she laboured under much depression of spirits, for the loss of her friend; this rather increased, perhaps, by the publication of "Mary, a novel," which was mostly composed of incidents and reflections connected with their intimacy.

The pecuniary concerns of her father becoming embarrassed, Mary practised a rigid economy in her expenditures, and with her savings was enabled to procure her sisters and brothers situations, to which without her aid, they could not have had access; her father was sustained at length from her funds; she even found means to take under her protection an orphan child.

She had acquired a facility in the arrangement and expression of thoughts, in her avocation of translator, and compiler, which was no doubt of great use to her afterward. It was not long until she had occasion for them. The eminent Burke produced his celebrated "Reflections on the Revolution in France." Mary full of sentiments of liberty, and indignant at what she thought subversive of it, seized her pen and produced the first attack upon that famous work. It succeeded well, for though intemperate and contemptuous, it was vehemently and impetuously eloquent; and though Burke was beloved by the enlightened friends of freedom, they were dissatisfied and disgusted with what they deemed an outrage upon it.

It is said that Mary, had not wanted confidence in her own powers before, but the reception this work met from the public, gave her an opportunity of judging what those powers were, in the estimation of others. It was shortly after this, that she commenced the work to which these remarks are prefixed. What are its merits will be decided in the judgment of each reader; suffice it to say she appears to have stept forth boldly, and singly, in defence of that half of the human race, which by the usages of all society, whether savage or civilized, have been kept from attaining their proper dignity--their equal rank as rational beings. It would appear that the disguise used in placing on woman the silken fetters which bribed her into endurance, and even love of slavery, but increased the opposition of our authoress: she would have had more patience with rude, brute coercion, than with that imposing gallantry, which, while it affects to consider woman as the pride, and ornament of creation, degrades her to a toy--an appendage--a cypher. The work was much reprehended, and as might well be expected, found its greatest enemies in the pretty soft creatures--the spoiled children of her own sex. She accomplished it in six weeks.

In 1792 she removed to Paris, where she became acquainted with Gilbert Imlay, of the United States. And from this acquaintance grew an attachment, which brought the parties together, without legal formalities, to which she objected on account of some family embarrassments, in which he would thereby become involved. The engagement was however considered by her of the most sacred nature, and they formed the plan of emigrating to America, where they should be enabled to accomplish it. These were the days of Robespierrean cruelty, and Imlay left Paris for Havre, whither after a time Mary followed him. They continued to reside there, until he left Havre for London, under pretence of business, and with a promise of rejoining her soon at Paris, which however he did not, but in 1795 sent for her to London. In the mean time she had become the mother of a female child, whom she called Frances in commemoration of her early friendship.

Before she went to England, she had some gloomy forebodings that the affections of Imlay, had waned, if they were not estranged from her; on her arrival, those forebodings were sorrowfully confirmed. His attentions were too formal and constrained to pass unobserved by her penetration, and though he ascribed his manner, and his absence, to business duties, she saw his affection for her was only something to be remembered. To use her own expression, "Love, dear delusion! Rigorous reason has forced me to resign; and now my rational prospects are blasted, just as I have learned to be contented with rational enjoyments." To pretend to depict her misery at this time would be futile; the best idea can be formed of it from the fact that she had planned her own destruction, from which Imlay prevented her. She conceived the idea of suicide a second time, and threw herself into the Thames; she remained in the water, until consciousness forsook her, but she was taken up and resuscitated. After divers attempts to revive the affections of Imlay, with sundry explanations and professions on his part, through the lapse of two years, she resolved finally to forgo all hope of reclaiming him, and endeavour to think of him no more in connexion with her future prospects. In this she succeeded so well, that she afterwards had a private interview with him, which did not produce any painful emotions.

In 1796 she revived or improved an acquaintance which commenced years before with Wm. Godwin, author of "Political Justice," and other works of great notoriety. Though they had not been favourably impressed with each other on their former acquaintance, they now met under circumstances which permitted a mutual and just appreciation of character. Their intimacy increased by regular and almost imperceptible degrees. The partiality they conceived for each other was, according to her biographer, "In the most refined style of love. It grew with equal advances in the mind of each. It would have been impossible for the most minute observer to have said who was before, or who after. One sex did not take the priority which long established custom has awarded it, nor the other overstep that delicacy which is so severely imposed. Neither party could assume to have been the agent or the patient, the toil-spreader or the prey in the affair. When in the course of things the disclosure came, there was nothing in a manner for either to disclose to the other."

Mary lived but a few months after her marriage, and died in child-bed; having given birth to a daughter who is now known to the literary world as Mrs. Shelly, the widow of Percy Bysche Shelly.

We can scarcely avoid regret that one of such splendid talents, and high toned feelings, should, after the former seemed to have been fully developed, and the latter had found an object in whom they might repose, after their eccentric and painful efforts to find a resting place--that such an one should at such a time, be cut off from life is something which we cannot contemplate without feeling regret; we can scarcely repress the murmur that she had not been removed ere clouds darkened her horizon, or that she had remained to witness the brightness and serenity which might have succeeded. But thus it is; we may trace the cause to anti-social arrangements; it is not individuals but society which must change it, and that not by enactments, but by a change in public opinion.

The authoress of the "Rights of Woman," was born April 1759, died September 1797.

That there may be no doubt regarding the facts in this sketch, they are taken from a memoir written by her afflicted husband. In addition to many kind things he has said of her, (he was not blinded to imperfections in her character) is, that she was "Lovely in her person, and in the best and most engaging sense feminine in her manners."

A LETTER TO M. TALLEYRAND PERIGORD, LATE BISHOP OF AUTUN.

Sir:--

Having read with great pleasure a pamphlet, which you have lately published, on National Education, I dedicate this volume to you, the first dedication that I have ever written, to induce you to read it with attention; and, because I think that you will understand me, which I do not suppose many pert witlings will, who may ridicule the arguments they are unable to answer. But, sir, I carry my respect for your understanding still farther: so far, that I am confident you will not throw my work aside, and hastily conclude that I am in the wrong because you did not view the subject in the same light yourself. And pardon my frankness, but I must observe, that you treated it in too cursory a manner, contented to consider it as it had been considered formerly, when the rights of man, not to advert to woman, were trampled on as chimerical. I call upon you, therefore, now to weigh what I have advanced respecting the rights of woman, and national education; and I call with the firm tone of humanity. For my arguments, sir, are dictated by a disinterested spirit: I plead for my sex, not for myself. Independence I have long considered as the grand blessing of life, the basis of every virtue; and independence I will ever secure by contracting my wants, though I were to live on a barren heath.

It is, then, an affection for the whole human race that makes my pen dart rapidly along to support what I believe to be the cause of virtue: and the same motive leads me earnestly to wish to see woman placed in a station in which she would advance, instead of retarding, the progress of those glorious principles that give a substance to morality. My opinion, indeed, respecting the rights and duties of woman, seems to flow so naturally from these simple principles, that I think it scarcely possible, but that some of the enlarged minds who formed your admirable constitution, will coincide with me.

In France, there is undoubtedly a more general diffusion of knowledge than in any part of the European world, and I attribute it, in a great measure, to the social intercourse which has long subsisted between the sexes. It is true, I utter my sentiments with freedom, that in France the very essence of sensuality has been extracted to regale the voluptuary, and a kind of sentimental lust has prevailed, which, together with the system of duplicity that the whole tenor of their political and civil government taught, have given a sinister sort of sagacity to the French character, properly termed finesse; and a polish of manners that injures the substance, by hunting sincerity out of society. And, modesty, the fairest garb of virtue has been more grossly insulted in France than even in England, till their women have treated as PRUDISH that attention to decency which brutes instinctively observe.

Manners and morals are so nearly allied, that they have often been confounded; but, though the former should only be the natural reflection of the latter, yet, when various causes have produced factitious and corrupt manners, which are very early caught, morality becomes an empty name. The personal reserve, and sacred respect for cleanliness and delicacy in domestic life, which French women almost despise, are the graceful pillars of modesty; but, far from despising them, if the pure flame of patriotism have reached their bosoms, they should labour to improve the morals of their fellow-citizens, by teaching men, not only to respect modesty in women, but to acquire it themselves, as the only way to merit their esteem.

Contending for the rights of women, my main argument is built on this simple principle, that if she be not prepared by education to become the companion of man, she will stop the progress of knowledge, for truth must be common to all, or it will be inefficacious with respect to its influence on general practice. And how can woman be expected to co-operate, unless she know why she ought to be virtuous? Unless freedom strengthen her reason till she comprehend her duty, and see in what manner it is connected with her real good? If children are to be educated to understand the true principle of patriotism, their mother must be a patriot; and the love of mankind, from which an orderly train of virtues spring, can only be produced by considering the moral and civil interest of mankind; but the education and situation of woman, at present, shuts her out from such investigations.

In this work I have produced many arguments, which to me were conclusive, to prove, that the prevailing notion respecting a sexual character was subversive of morality, and I have contended, that to render the human body and mind more perfect, chastity must more universally prevail, and that chastity will never be respected in the male world till the person of a woman is not, as it were, idolized when little virtue or sense embellish it with the grand traces of mental beauty, or the interesting simplicity of affection.

Consider, Sir, dispassionately, these observations, for a glimpse of this truth seemed to open before you when you observed, "that to see one half of the human race excluded by the other from all participation of government, was a political phenomenon that, according to abstract principles, it was impossible to explain." If so, on what does your constitution rest? If the abstract rights of man will bear discussion and explanation, those of woman, by a parity of reasoning, will not shrink from the same test: though a different opinion prevails in this country, built on the very arguments which you use to justify the oppression of woman, prescription.

Consider, I address you as a legislator, whether, when men contend for their freedom, and to be allowed to judge for themselves, respecting their own happiness, it be not inconsistent and unjust to subjugate women, even though you firmly believe that you are acting in the manner best calculated to promote their happiness? Who made man the exclusive judge, if woman partake with him the gift of reason?

In this style, argue tyrants of every denomination from the weak king to the weak father of a family; they are all eager to crush reason; yet always assert that they usurp its throne only to be useful. Do you not act a similar part, when you FORCE all women, by denying them civil and political rights, to remain immured in their families groping in the dark? For surely, sir, you will not assert, that a duty can be binding which is not founded on reason? If, indeed, this be their destination, arguments may be drawn from reason; and thus augustly supported, the more understanding women acquire, the more they will be attached to their duty, comprehending it, for unless they comprehend it, unless their morals be fixed on the same immutable principles as those of man, no authority can make them discharge it in a virtuous manner. They may be convenient slaves, but slavery will have its constant effect, degrading the master and the abject dependent.

But, if women are to be excluded, without having a voice, from a participation of the natural rights of mankind, prove first, to ward off the charge of injustice and inconsistency, that they want reason, else this flaw in your NEW CONSTITUTION, the first constitution founded on reason, will ever show that man must, in some shape, act like a tyrant, and tyranny, in whatever part of society it rears its brazen front, will ever undermine morality.

I have repeatedly asserted, and produced what appeared to me irrefragable arguments drawn from matters of fact, to prove my assertion, that women cannot, by force, be confined to domestic concerns; for they will however ignorant, intermeddle with more weighty affairs, neglecting private duties only to disturb, by cunning tricks, the orderly plans of reason which rise above their comprehension.

Besides, whilst they are only made to acquire personal accomplishments, men will seek for pleasure in variety, and faithless husbands will make faithless wives; such ignorant beings, indeed, will be very excusable when, not taught to respect public good, nor allowed any civil right, they attempt to do themselves justice by retaliation.

The box of mischief thus opened in society, what is to preserve private virtue, the only security of public freedom and universal happiness?

Let there be then no coercion ESTABLISHED in society, and the common law of gravity prevailing, the sexes will fall into their proper places. And, now that more equitable laws are forming your citizens, marriage may become more sacred; your young men may choose wives from motives of affection, and your maidens allow love to root out vanity.

The father of a family will not then weaken his constitution and debase his sentiments, by visiting the harlot, nor forget, in obeying the call of appetite, the purpose for which it was implanted; and the mother will not neglect her children to practise the arts of coquetry, when sense and modesty secure her the friendship of her husband.

But, till men become attentive to the duty of a father, it is vain to expect women to spend that time in their nursery which they, "wise in their generation," choose to spend at their glass; for this exertion of cunning is only an instinct of nature to enable them to obtain indirectly a little of that power of which they are unjustly denied a share; for, if women are not permitted to enjoy legitimate rights, they will render both men and themselves vicious, to obtain illicit privileges.

I wish, sir, to set some investigations of this kind afloat in France; and should they lead to a confirmation of my principles, when your constitution is revised, the rights of woman may be respected, if it be fully proved that reason calls for this respect, and loudly demands JUSTICE for one half of the human race.

I am, sir,

Yours respectfully,

M. W.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER 1. THE RIGHTS AND INVOLVED DUTIES OF MANKIND CONSIDERED.
CHAPTER 2. THE PREVAILING OPINION OF A SEXUAL CHARACTER DISCUSSED.
CHAPTER 3. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.
CHAPTER 4. OBSERVATIONS ON THE STATE OF DEGRADATION TO WHICH WOMAN IS REDUCED BY VARIOUS CAUSES.
CHAPTER 5. ANIMADVERSIONS ON SOME OF THE WRITERS WHO HAVE RENDERED WOMEN OBJECTS OF PITY, BORDERING ON CONTEMPT.
CHAPTER 6. THE EFFECT WHICH AN EARLY ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS HAS UPON THE CHARACTER.
CHAPTER 7. MODESTY. COMPREHENSIVELY CONSIDERED, AND NOT AS A SEXUAL VIRTUE.
CHAPTER 8. MORALITY UNDERMINED BY SEXUAL NOTIONS OF THE IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD REPUTATION
CHAPTER 9. OF THE PERNICIOUS EFFECTS WHICH ARISE FROM THE UNNATURAL DISTINCTIONS ESTABLISHED IN SOCIETY.
CHAPTER 10. PARENTAL AFFECTION.
CHAPTER 11. DUTY TO PARENTS
CHAPTER 12. ON NATIONAL EDUCATION
CHAPTER 13. SOME INSTANCES OF THE FOLLY WHICH THE IGNORANCE OF WOMEN GENERATES; WITH CONCLUDING REFLECTIONS ON THE MORAL IMPROVEMENT THAT A REVOLUTION IN FEMALE MANNERS MAY NATURALLY BE EXPECTED TO PRODUCE.

INTRODUCTION

After considering the historic page, and viewing the living world with anxious solicitude, the most melancholy emotions of sorrowful indignation have depressed my spirits, and I have sighed when obliged to confess, that either nature has made a great difference between man and man, or that the civilization, which has hitherto taken place in the world, has been very partial. I have turned over various books written on the subject of education, and patiently observed the conduct of parents and the management of schools; but what has been the result? a profound conviction, that the neglected education of my fellow creatures is the grand source of the misery I deplore; and that women in particular, are rendered weak and wretched by a variety of concurring causes, originating from one hasty conclusion. The conduct and manners of women, in fact, evidently prove, that their minds are not in a healthy state; for, like the flowers that are planted in too rich a soil, strength and usefulness are sacrificed to beauty; and the flaunting leaves, after having pleased a fastidious eye, fade, disregarded on the stalk, long before the season when they ought to have arrived at maturity. One cause of this barren blooming I attribute to a false system of education, gathered from the books written on this subject by men, who, considering females rather as women than human creatures, have been more anxious to make them alluring mistresses than rational wives; and the understanding of the sex has been so bubbled by this specious homage, that the civilized women of the present century, with a few exceptions, are only anxious to inspire love, when they ought to cherish a nobler ambition, and by their abilities and virtues exact respect.

In a treatise, therefore, on female rights and manners, the works which have been particularly written for their improvement must not be overlooked; especially when it is asserted, in direct terms, that the minds of women are enfeebled by false refinement; that the books of instruction, written by men of genius, have had the same tendency as more frivolous productions; and that, in the true style of Mahometanism, they are only considered as females, and not as a part of the human species, when improvable reason is allowed to be the dignified distinction, which raises men above the brute creation, and puts a natural sceptre in a feeble hand.

Yet, because I am a woman, I would not lead my readers to suppose, that I mean violently to agitate the contested question respecting the equality and inferiority of the sex; but as the subject lies in my way, and I cannot pass it over without subjecting the main tendency of my reasoning to misconstruction, I shall stop a moment to deliver, in a few words, my opinion. In the government of the physical world, it is observable that the female, in general, is inferior to the male. The male pursues, the female yields--this is the law of nature; and it does not appear to be suspended or abrogated in favour of woman. This physical superiority cannot be denied--and it is a noble prerogative! But not content with this natural pre-eminence, men endeavour to sink us still lower, merely to render us alluring objects for a moment; and women, intoxicated by the adoration which men, under the influence of their senses, pay them, do not seek to obtain a durable interest in their hearts, or to become the friends of the fellow creatures who find amusement in their society.

I am aware of an obvious inference: from every quarter have I heard exclamations against masculine women; but where are they to be found? If, by this appellation, men mean to inveigh against their ardour in hunting, shooting, and gaming, I shall most cordially join in the cry; but if it be, against the imitation of manly virtues, or, more properly speaking, the attainment of those talents and virtues, the exercise of which ennobles the human character, and which raise females in the scale of animal being, when they are comprehensively termed mankind--all those who view them with a philosophical eye must, I should think, wish with me, that they may every day grow more and more masculine.

This discussion naturally divides the subject. I shall first consider women in the grand light of human creatures, who, in common with men, are placed on this earth to unfold their faculties; and afterwards I shall more particularly point out their peculiar designation.

I wish also to steer clear of an error, which many respectable writers have fallen into; for the instruction which has hitherto been addressed to women, has rather been applicable to LADIES, if the little indirect advice, that is scattered through Sandford and Merton, be excepted; but, addressing my sex in a firmer tone, I pay particular attention to those in the middle class, because they appear to be in the most natural state. Perhaps the seeds of false refinement, immorality, and vanity have ever been shed by the great. Weak, artificial beings raised above the common wants and affections of their race, in a premature unnatural manner, undermine the very foundation of virtue, and spread corruption through the whole mass of society! As a class of mankind they have the strongest claim to pity! the education of the rich tends to render them vain and helpless, and the unfolding mind is not strengthened by the practice of those duties which dignify the human character. They only live to amuse themselves, and by the same law which in nature invariably produces certain effects, they soon only afford barren amusement.

But as I purpose taking a separate view of the different ranks of society, and of the moral character of women, in each, this hint is, for the present, sufficient; and I have only alluded to the subject, because it appears to me to be the very essence of an introduction to give a cursory account of the contents of the work it introduces.

My own sex, I hope, will excuse me, if I treat them like rational creatures, instead of flattering their FASCINATING graces, and viewing them as if they were in a state of perpetual childhood, unable to stand alone. I earnestly wish to point out in what true dignity and human happiness consists--I wish to persuade women to endeavour to acquire strength, both of mind and body, and to convince them, that the soft phrases, susceptibility of heart, delicacy of sentiment, and refinement of taste, are almost synonymous with epithets of weakness, and that those beings who are only the objects of pity and that kind of love, which has been termed its sister, will soon become objects of contempt.

Dismissing then those pretty feminine phrases, which the men condescendingly use to soften our slavish dependence, and despising that weak elegancy of mind, exquisite sensibility, and sweet docility of manners, supposed to be the sexual characteristics of the weaker vessel, I wish to show that elegance is inferior to virtue, that the first object of laudable ambition is to obtain a character as a human being, regardless of the distinction of sex; and that secondary views should be brought to this simple touchstone.

This is a rough sketch of my plan; and should I express my conviction with the energetic emotions that I feel whenever I think of the subject, the dictates of experience and reflection will be felt by some of my readers. Animated by this important object, I shall disdain to cull my phrases or polish my style--I aim at being useful, and sincerity will render me unaffected; for wishing rather to persuade by the force of my arguments, than dazzle by the elegance of my language, I shall not waste my time in rounding periods, nor in fabricating the turgid bombast of artificial feelings, which, coming from the head, never reach the heart. I shall be employed about things, not words! and, anxious to render my sex more respectable members of society, I shall try to avoid that flowery diction which has slided from essays into novels, and from novels into familiar letters and conversation.

These pretty nothings, these caricatures of the real beauty of sensibility, dropping glibly from the tongue, vitiate the taste, and create a kind of sickly delicacy that turns away from simple unadorned truth; and a deluge of false sentiments and over-stretched feelings, stifling the natural emotions of the heart, render the domestic pleasures insipid, that ought to sweeten the exercise of those severe duties, which educate a rational and immortal being for a nobler field of action.

The education of women has, of late, been more attended to than formerly; yet they are still reckoned a frivolous sex, and ridiculed or pitied by the writers who endeavour by satire or instruction to improve them. It is acknowledged that they spend many of the first years of their lives in acquiring a smattering of accomplishments: meanwhile, strength of body and mind are sacrificed to libertine notions of beauty, to the desire of establishing themselves, the only way women can rise in the world--by marriage. And this desire making mere animals of them, when they marry, they act as such children may be expected to act: they dress; they paint, and nickname God's creatures. Surely these weak beings are only fit for the seraglio! Can they govern a family, or take care of the poor babes whom they bring into the world?

If then it can be fairly deduced from the present conduct of the sex, from the prevalent fondness for pleasure, which takes place of ambition and those nobler passions that open and enlarge the soul; that the instruction which women have received has only tended, with the constitution of civil society, to render them insignificant objects of desire; mere propagators of fools! if it can be proved, that in aiming to accomplish them, without cultivating their understandings, they are taken out of their sphere of duties, and made ridiculous and useless when the short lived bloom of beauty is over*, I presume that RATIONAL men will excuse me for endeavouring to persuade them to become more masculine and respectable.

(*Footnote. A lively writer, I cannot recollect his name, asks what business women turned of forty have to do in the world.)

Indeed the word masculine is only a bugbear: there is little reason to fear that women will acquire too much courage or fortitude; for their apparent inferiority with respect to bodily strength, must render them, in some degree, dependent on men in the various relations of life; but why should it be increased by prejudices that give a sex to virtue, and confound simple truths with sensual reveries?

Women are, in fact, so much degraded by mistaken notions of female excellence, that I do not mean to add a paradox when I assert, that this artificial weakness produces a propensity to tyrannize, and gives birth to cunning, the natural opponent of strength, which leads them to play off those contemptible infantile airs that undermine esteem even whilst they excite desire. Do not foster these prejudices, and they will naturally fall into their subordinate, yet respectable station in life.

It seems scarcely necessary to say, that I now speak of the sex in general. Many individuals have more sense than their male relatives; and, as nothing preponderates where there is a constant struggle for an equilibrium, without it has naturally more gravity, some women govern their husbands without degrading themselves, because intellect will always govern.

Join us next month as we continue this publication with Chapter One...

No Title Whatsoever

Yep, that's right. No title. I was wasting valuable time surfing the net when I came across a column entitled "Just Ask Jacki". Well! Guess what??? It wasn't mine! I am NOT blonde! Yeah, I was a bit miffed, but more than that....I was horrified! Visions of copyright jail danced through my head. It was not pleasant.

So, you know what? I spent a little more time, which could have been spent much more profitably, (what I do for you people) just looking around, testing other titles that popped into my head. You know, just to see. Well! Guess what? I don't seem to be very original in my thinking. Now, THAT hurt. On top of everything else, it seems that anything I think, so does someone else. It was more than just a little unnerving.

Anyway, after much anguish, I got torqued (that means pissed off, but I can't say pissed off in writing. It's rude), and decided if this is the way it seems to be going, I'm not having any title at all. So there.

Well, at least until I manage to have one single, little, creative thought in my head that hasn't been thought before. Could be a while, I guess.

Know what's even worse? I am about to write a column that someone else already wrote. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse.

BUT, I want it said, right from the beginning...I DID NOT THINK THIS UP. SOMEONE ELSE DID. Now, if this person had bothered to sign his work, I would gladly give him credit for it. But it seems that he didn't. Maybe he wasn't very proud of his efforts. Or maybe, he stole it from someone else, too. You think? Maybe I should reconsider using this in my column if the original writer didn't think enough of himself (couldn't have been a woman, could it????) to even sign it.

However, I do NOT want to end up behind bars for stealing someone else's creativity, so I hereby acknowledge to the entire world that I DID NOT CREATE THIS. (do you think that's enough to protect me?) If not.....PS......My name IS NOT Jacki.

So, here we go. Probably isn't really worth all this stress, anyway. Probably, either everyone has already read this somewhere else, because everybody in Internetland seems hell-bent (heck-bent just sounds stupid, so forgive me my use of one little explletive, ok?) on forwarding anything they see, hear, read to as many people in the world as they can cram into their address books or no one will think this is funny anyway. thus demoralizing me just a tad bit more.

I'm of a mind not to bother with this. Seems like a lot of trouble, the more I think about it.

Oh, gees, I've spent THIS much time on this, why not just go ahead and finish it out?

Remember, I didn't write this. And I would gladly credit the writer if he had enough sense to sign his work, which he didn't, so I don't guess it matters anyway. I hope.

,Q & A about healthy eating

Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?

A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it...don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?

A: You must grab logistic effeciencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are they? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism for delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass. (green, leafy vegetables). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable slop.

Q: Is beer or wine bad for me?

A: Look, it goes back to the earlier point about fruits and vegetables. As we all know, scientists divide everything in the world into three catagories: animal, mineral and vegetable. We all know beer and wine are not animal, and they are not on the periodic table of elements, so that only leaves one thing, right? My advice: Have a burger and a beer and enjoy your liquid vegetables.

Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?A: Well, if you have a body, and you have body fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.

Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?

A: Can't think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain - Good.

Q: If I stop smoking, will I live longer?

Nope. Smoking is a sign of individual statement and peace of mind. If you stop, you'll probably stress yourself to death in record time.

Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?

,A: You're not listening. Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could more vegetables be bad for you?

Q: What's the secret to healthy eating?

Thicker gravy.

Q: Will sit-ups help prevent one from getting a little soft around the middle?

A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.

Q: Is chocolate bad for me?

A: Are you crazy? Cocoa beans....another vegetable. It's the best feel good food around!

I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets. Have a cookie...flour is a veggie!

"When life hands you lemons, ask for a bottle tequila and salt."

O.K., we're back to me now. I've had so many questions this past month about eating, dieting, weight control, health, I just HAD to find something that would answer it all. This should have done it. So, leave me alone. And, if I end up in jail because I stole this article from someone, I expect cake. Forget the file. Just send the cake.

Next month, darlin'....maybe....if I'm in Sing Sing.

Bon Apetit.

Treat

By Angie Vicars Published by Harrington Park Press, Alice Street Editions Copyright 2001 by Angie Vicars ISBN 1-56023-214-5 (hardcover) 1-56023-215-3 (paperback)

Reviewed by Cassandra Snow

A charming account of lesbian love, Angie Vicars's Treat speaks with tender honesty of the joys and obstacles encountered by two women from different worlds as they embark upon their new, ecstatic romance. Yet, beyond the weak knees and initial breathless moments, little do they realize all that lies ahead.

Upon witnessing actress and musician Maxine Ivers upon the stage, Gerd Mackenzie finds herself writhing in her seat as she anxiously contemplates the sensation within her which so intensely resembles desire. But, no, she isn't a lesbian, Gerd tells herself, she merely appreciates women. Nevertheless, with her fiancé Richard seated beside her, this blue blood Virginian of Laura Ashley chic finds herself increasingly confused, not to mention aroused, by her reaction to the dark-haired beauty before her.

Enjoying the fortune of meeting Max in the green room post-performance, Gerd's desire is reciprocated by Max herself, who, despite her composure and grace, finds keeping her eyes off the blonde-haired business major an impossible task.

And the rest, as they say, is herstory.

But, how does a well-bred young southern woman come to terms with the sexual identity she has suppressed for years? How is she to respond to the hostile comments and sneers she receives from those who she had once considered friends? And what about her parents' disgust, disappointment and anger? Indeed, Gerd realizes, it is up to her to figure out the answers to those questions for herself.

Lest one neglect to consider the adjustments and frustrations awaiting Max, who quickly discovers the challenges involved in maintaining a significant relationship. Free-spirited though set in her ways, Max knows well that it will take time for her to accept the compromises required in sharing her life with another. But, she wonders, is she truly capable of offering Gerd the support she needs during such a monumental time in her evolution?

With authenticity and understanding, Vicars illuminates the journey traveled by these two young women as they discover precisely how much they are willing to give and just how enduring the love between them will ultimately prove to be.


World's Largest Candy Brand 'M&M's'(R) Chocolate Candies to Conduct Global Color Vote(TM) to Determine The World's Choice For New Color 'M&M's'(R) - Purple, Pink, Aqua ... How will you decide?

Masterfoods USA, a Mars Incorporated company, announced today a worldwide vote to determine the newest color "M&M's" (R) Chocolate Candies to be included in the "M&M's"(R) bag. Beginning March 6, 2002, candy lovers around the globe will take part in the Global Color Vote(TM) and choose from three colors -- purple, pink or aqua -- to determine which will join the select mix of colors in packs of the world's favorite candy.

The Global Color Vote(TM) is the largest promotion in the 61-year history of the "M&M's"(R) Brand. Voters will originate from a colorful mix of countries -- ranging from Australia to the Ukraine -- including nations in which no citizen has previously had the opportunity to cast a governmental vote.

"The "M&M's"(R) Brand is the largest candy brand in the world and it speaks to the global power of the brand to be able to execute a program across 78 countries," said Paul Michaels, president of Masterfoods USA. "Although the foundation of the "M&M's"(R) Brand is in the United States, the brand is a global icon and represents colorful, chocolate fun to consumers throughout the world."

Residents from every region of the globe will be eligible to vote by logging on to www.mms.com, which will be accessible in more than 15 different languages beginning March 6, 2002. Voters in participating countries will also be able to vote through mail, telephone or at kiosks placed in select locations. The winning color will be announced in June 2002 at a gala event in New York City.

Voters participating in the Global Color Vote(TM) will have the opportunity to sample each color before casting their vote. Specially marked packages, available at retailers worldwide, will contain purple, pink or aqua "M&M's"(R) Chocolate Candies. The "M&M's"(R) Global Color Vote(TM) is also the first global promotion in "M&M's"(R) Brand history. Participating countries will take part in a unified marketing campaign including advertising, public relations, direct marketing, retail promotions, sponsorship and Internet marketing.

"Needless to say, they asked me to star in most of the ads and I can say that they turned out great," said "M&M's"(R) spokescandy Red. "It's about time that management realized that I am a worldwide star and developed a promotion for me to shine on the global stage."

"M&M's"(R) Chocolate Candies were first introduced in 1941 and the original color mix included red, yellow, green, brown, orange and violet. In 1949, tan replaced violet. A nationwide vote was cast in 1995 where 10 million Americans chose blue as the color to replace tan. Today, more than 400 million "M&M's"(R) chocolate candies are produced each day totaling more than 146 billion each year -- making "M&M's"(R) the world's favorite candy.

For more information, log on to "M&M's"(R) Global Color Vote online news bureau at: www.masterfoodsnews.com.

MASTERFOODS USA, the new name of the United States food, snack and petcare operations of Mars, Incorporated, is one of the world's leading food manufacturers. The combined food, petcare and snack segments are a symbol of excellence for quality brands. Headquartered in Hackettstown, NJ, MASTERFOODS USA owns some of the world's favorite brands including "M&M's"(R) Brand, SNICKERS(R) Brand, UNCLE BEN'S(R) Brand, KAL KAN(R) Brand, PEDIGREE(R) Brand Food For Dogs, WHISKAS(R) Brand Food For Cats, SEEDS OF CHANGE(R), and FLAVIA(R) Beverage Systems.

Chronic Worry and Anxiety Part 3

In the last article additional tips and brain management were introduced as helpful means to manage worry and anxiety without medication. Building on those suggestions lets take a look at Connectedness and its importance to emotional health. It reduces worry and improves one's sense of well-being in many ways.

Connectedness is one of the deepest forms of reassurance. It can be transformative bond. The connected person can obtain sustaining reassurance from the connection itself, like an electrical current running through a plugged-in wire. It is belongingness, and a basic human need.

In states of toxic worry an individual loses her sense of connectedness. Often times starting with a disconnection to ones own body. Forgetting to breath. She disengages from her supports. In deep worry she feels alone, which just makes things feel worse. Toxic worry is like an acid that burns away the links that connect the person, psychologically to her sources of strength.

The chronic worrier, if she does nothing else to help herself, can strive to develop connectedness in her life.

There are at least six domains of connectedness. If you focus on developing connectedness in each of these domains, you will not only feel better about life in general but you will worry less.

Familial connectedness.

Family is where we start and often where we will end. Attend to your family. Spend time together. Listen to each other. Play together. Share meals together. Discuss issues. Not all people find familial connectedness with members of their family of origin. Rejection of our lesbian lifestyle by family creates disconnection. Creating a family of choice of inner circle friends, partner, and your children can work as well. For many people family includes family of choice and family of origin.

Historical connectedness.

This is a feeling of being a part of time and history, of belonging to a tradition. The tradition can be a family one, a community tradition, regional tradition, or country's tradition. It is recognizing that we are a part of a larger swing of history, that we belong to a process greater than just our own single life. Our place in history is unfolding as we live our lives as lesbians in whatever way we do, now, in this time and place.

Social connectedness.

These are the bonds we make with friends, neighbors, colleagues and others we meet along the way. This kind of connectedness can be stabilizing in times of stress, and stimulating in times of leisure. Without it, children and adults feel lonely and isolated. Take the time to be with friends. Cultivate those relationships and make them a priority.

Connection to information and ideas.

Many people feel disconnected from the world of information and ideas. Some feel intimidated by it or alienated from it. You can combat this by reading books, newspapers, and learning how to use a computer. Public library's and even senior centers have the means to help those young and old alike access the information highway.

Connectedness to institutions and organizations.

For children this means school. For adults, this is where we work. It also includes clubs and other organizations people join. Unfortunately places of work these days do not inspire much of a feeling of connectedness. In fact, they often inspire just the opposite. Downsizing and cost cutting can leave us as employees feeling nervous a lot. This can make us less productive, lower morale. We know from research that when employees feel connected where they work, they do better in job performance and report greater work satisfaction.

Spiritual connectedness.

Connectedness to whatever is beyond knowledge, call it transcendent, spiritual, or religious can sustain us through the worst life can offer. This includes feelings of being connected to nature, as well as connected to whatever created nature. Even if you don't have religious faith, the feeling of being connected to the world of nature, of space and of endless time can hold you still where you are and give you strength along the way.

In combating worry this is probably the most effective long term remedy; increasing connectedness to your life. And the good news it is free. All you have to do is make it a priority.

NOTE: This columns focus is psychological and emotional health/well being. Individual, couple, family and community concerns will be addressed here. I am a licensed lesbian feminist therapist. I am writing this column under an assumed nickname for your comfort and mine. The information and suggestions provided here should not be taken as a substitute for in person therapy with a trained clinician in your area. I offer here my perspective, knowledge, and experience to be taken, accepted or rejected as is.

I would like readers to submit topics of interest and questions you would like me to answer in the column. All questions will be answered with the author's identity withheld unless you specify otherwise. Confidentiality will be respected. Please send your comments, suggestions, and questions to me at shrinkonbarbie@yahoo.com

From Our Resident Licensed Nurse

It has been quite a few months since I have written an article related to some sort of health issue for the magazine. There are many subjects to choose from and yet I find myself at a loss.

This time of the year brings to us upper respiratory infections, colds, flu, and pneumonia. There is no way around these winter ailments for many of us and especially those of us who work in the public. And the problem with colds and such is that there is nothing that you can do medically that will blow them out of your system! Frustrating.

However, there are some ways that we can do things that somewhat ward the germs that cause these colds and flu bugs off. The number one preventative measure is washing your hands often, especailly before eating or drinking anything. Good hand washing technique is not only something that nurses medical staff can practice. It is important to use warm water and a good soap, lathering every part of each hand well, making sure to get between the fingers too.

Making sure to get adequate rest and sleep is also important as well as a well-balanced diet. Eating only junk food tends to lower our resistance to germs and then we get sick with a cold or the flu.

If you get a cold or flu anyway, rest and fluids are important. There is not much that a doctor can do to help you get over these kinds of "bugs" unless you are running a fever and have a deep cough that needs medical treatment. Even then some over the counter meds can help just as much as what you might be prescribed by a doctor, and there are plenty of remedies that do not include medicine that do the trick just fine. Using a vaporizer can loosen that cough and hot tea and lemon and honey can do wonders for a cough and congestion too.

After all is said and done, the best we can do is try and prevent these little germs from causing us great irritation. Prevention is the key to a healthy winter and a healthy life.

Wet Bottom Shoo-Fly Pie

1 Cup of Flour 2/3 Cup Brown Sugar, firmly packed 1 Tbsp Vegetable Shortening 1 Egg 1 Cup of Molasses ¾ Cup Boiling Water 1 tsp of Baking Soda 1 9" Un-baked Pie Shell

Mix flour, brown sugar and shortening. Set aside ½ cup of this mixture for the topping. Add to the remaining mixture the egg, molasses, boiling water and baking soda. Spread this mixture into the un-baked pie shell. Spread the ½ cup of crumb topping over the pie. Bake at 375 for 10 minutes. Reduce temperature to 350 and bake for 30 minutes or until firm.

Chicken Corn Soup

1LB Chicken Breast 1 Quart of Water 4 Chicken Bouillon Cubes ½ Cup Diced Celery ½ Cup Diced Onions ½ tsp. White Pepper 1 tsp. Salt 1 16 oz. Can Whole Kernel Corn 2 16 oz Cans Creamed Corn 1 10-¾ oz Can Cream of Celery Soup

Dough Balls

1 Cup of Flour 1 Egg ½ tsp. Salt ¼ tsp. Baking Powder

Bring to a boil water, bouillon cubes, and chicken in a large pot. Let simmer for 1 hour. Remove chicken from pot. Let chicken cool, then pick from the bone and discard bones and skin. Dice the meat and return it to pot.

Add remaining ingredients and simmer for about 15 minutes, till the celery and onions are tender.

While soup simmers mix dough ball by combining the flour, egg, salt, and baking powder in a bowl. Mix thoroughly. Mixture will be dry. Sift the mixture through your hands into the soup and continue to stir. Simmer for an additional 15 minutes.

Makes approximately 3 quarts or 12 cups.

Susun Weed, green witch and wise woman, is an extraordinary teacher with a joyous spirit, a powerful presence, and an encyclopedic knowledge of herbs and health. She is the voice of the Wise Woman Way, where common weeds, simple ceremony, and compassionate listening support and nourish health/wholeness/holiness. She has opened hearts to the magic and medicine of the green nations for three decades. Ms. Weed's four herbal medicine books focus on women's health topics including: menopause, childbearing, and breast health. Visit her site www.susunweed.com for information on her workshops, apprenticeships, correspondence courses and more! Browse the publishing site www.ashtreepublishing.com to learn more about her alternative health books. Venture into the NEW Menopause site www.menopause-metamorphosis.com to learn all about the Menopausal Years the Wise Woman Way.

Water retention, mood swings, sore breasts, and indigestion are problems experienced by many women in the week preceding menstruation. Here are a few tips from Susun Weed's best-selling book, Menopausal Years the Wise Woman Way (Alternatives for Women 30-90) to help ease these discomforts.

To relieve water retention

1) 10-20 drops of dandelion root tincture in a cup of water with meals and before bed.

2) A strong infusion (one ounce of dried herb in a quart of boiling water, brewed overnight) of the common weed, stinging nettle, not only relieves, but also helps prevent further episodes of water retention. Weed says she drinks a cup or more of this infusion daily whenever she wants to nourish her kidneys and adrenals.

To moderate mood swings

3) Tincture of the flowering tops of fresh motherwort is a favorite calmative of herbalist Weed. She uses 5-10 drops in a small amount of water as a dose, which she repeats as needed, sometimes as frequently as 3-4 times an hour, until the desired effect is achieved. "I never feel drugged or groggy or out-of-it when I use motherwort to help me calm down," she says.

4) For women who consistently feel premenstrual rage, use 20-30 drops of motherwort tincture twice a day for a month to help stabilize mood swings. Make it a priority to take a moon day -- one day right before or at the start of the menstrual flow which is set aside for you and you alone.

5) One or more cups of an infusion of the herb oatstraw (the grass of the plant that gives us oatmeal) helps the nerves calm down and provides a rich source of minerals known to soothe frazzeled emotions.

To relieve congestion and tenderness in the breasts

6) 20-30 drops of the tincture of cleavers, another common weed, works wonders. This plant, also called "goose grass" was used as a black tea substitute by the colonists. The dose may be repeated every hour or up to 6 times a day.

7) Women who get a lot of calcium and magnesium from their diet (leafy greens, yogurt, and many herbs are rich in these minerals) have less breast tenderness. Increase the minerals in your diet with a cup or more of red clover/mint infusion daily.

8)Large cabbage leaves, steamed whole until soft, and applied as warm as tolerable, can be used as a soothing compress on breasts which are sore and swollen.

To relieve digestive distress

9) A daily doses of 1 teaspoonful/5ml yellow dock root vinegar.

10) A cup of yogurt in the morning (buy it plain and add fruit at home) replaces gut flora and insures easy digestion all day long.

Susun Weed - PO Box 64, Woodstock, NY 12498 (fax) 1-845-246-8081
Visit Susun Weed at: www.susunweed.com and www.ashtreepublishing.com

Susun Weed's books include:

Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing Year
Healing Wise
NEW Menopausal Years the Wise Woman Way
         For more great info on menopause, visit: www.menopause-metamorphosis.com
Breast Cancer? Breast Health!

Susun Weed's Video's Include:

Menopause Metamorphosis
Weeds to the Wise

© Susun Weed -Wise Woman Center

NOTE
The views expressed in this article, as in all articles disseminated through the Amaranth Womyn Lesbian Community, are solely those of the author.

Margaret Bourke-White
1906 - 1971

Born and raised in the Bronx section of New York City, Margaret Bourke-White was raised to be an exceptional woman. She began her love of photography at an early age, encouraged by her father, who himself enjoyed taking pictures. However, her photography career did not begin until after her graduation from Cornell University. She attended several universities while pursuing a degree in Herpetology (reptiles). They included Columbia University in New York, the University of Michigan, Purdue University, Western Reserve University in Cleveland, and received her degree from Cornell in 1927. While at Cornell she combined her own last name with her mother's maiden name (Bourke) to create the hyphenated form by which she was professionally known thereafter. The photographs of Margaret Bourke-White brought the world to America - the dustbowl era, the London Blitz, Stalin, World War II, the concentration camps, Ghandi, South African apartheid, and the Korean War. She is a woman of firsts. A pioneer in the field of photojournalism. The first photographer for Fortune magazine. In 1929, her photograph of Fort Peck Dam appeared on the cover of their first issue. In 1930, she was the first Western photographer allowed into the Soviet Union. She was hired as the first female photojournalist for Life magazine in 1935, where she continued to work through the 1950s. She was the first female war correspondent and the first allowed to work in combat zones during World War II, and one of the first photographers to enter and photograph the Nazi death camps. She was the first female industrial photographer, getting her start in Cleveland, Ohio, at the Otis Steel Company in 1927. In 1935 she met the Southern novelist Erskine Caldwell, who she married in 1939 and divorced 1942. With him she collaborated on three illustrated works: You Have Seen Their Faces (1937), about Southern sharecroppers; North of the Danube (1939), on life in Czechoslovakia before the Nazi takeover; and Say, Is This the U.S.A. (1941), an American panorama. In 1937, Life published what was to become one of her most famous photographs depicting black victims of a flood in Louisville, Kentucky, standing in a breadline beneath a billboard of a happy white family in a new car. The billboard read: "World's Highest Standard of Living - There's no way like the American Way." She was the first woman photographer assigned to the U.S. armed forces. Margaret covered the war in a specially-designed uniform which became the standard wear for decades of female correspondents. Crossing the Atlantic to North Africa, her transport ship was torpedoed and sunk, she survived to cover the bitter daily struggle of the Italian Allied soldiers. She then covered the siege of Moscow. Toward the end of the war, she crossed the Rhine River into Germany with General George S. Patton's Third Army. Her photographs of the starving prisoners of concentration camps and of the corpses in gas chambers stunned the world. In early 1941, she returned to Russia for Life Magazine to make a comparison between the current Russia and the one that she had recorded ten years earlier. She and Caldwell entered Russia though China. On July 22nd, Germany broke the pact and invaded Russia. Bourke-White was the only foreign photographer present. She photographed the bombs falling on the Kremlin from her hotel balcony which appeared in Life Magazine. She went on a bombing mission over the Tunis airfield, taking pictures as the bombs hit their German targets. In Italy, she was with the troops in Cassino, where she photographed artillery barrages. Often the only correspondent in a given arena, she took some of the most memorable combat pictures ever printed in Life. After the war, in 1946, she was sent by Life to document the emerging countries of Pakistan and India. She met and photographed Gandhi and traveled with him, taking one of her most famous photographs, Gandhi at His Spinning Wheel. She photographed Mahatma Gandhi many times, and was the last person to interview him in 1947 before his assassination. From 1949 to 1953, Margaret returned to Life and photographed many subjects, including life in South Africa under apartheid and the Korean War. In 1956, she was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. In 1958, she underwent an experimental procedure for the disease. When the operation proved successful, Margaret returned to work at Life, but limited her activities to writing only. Her friend and colleague Alfred Eisenstaedt worked with her as photographer, and they did a documentary pn the surgery she had undergone for her Parkinsons. Life was eventually persuaded to run the feature, and it proved to be highly popular. In 1961, Margaret's disease again reached her right side, and another operation was performed. It was successful, but created difficulties with her speech. She began writing, finishing her autobiography, Portrait of Myself. In 1971, Margaret fell victim to one of the dangers of Parkinson's - a serious fall and was confined to a hospital bed. Complications set in, and Margaret Bourke-White died, at the age of sixty-seven, in Stamford Connecticut on August 27, 1971. Today, her photographs can be found in several museums, including the Brooklyn Museum, the Cleveland Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art in New York. She is also represented in the collection of the Library of Congress. Among her accomplishments were doctorates received from both the University of Michigan and Rutgers University in 1950, which she received along with President Dwight Eisenhower. http://www.efn.org/~sroehr/mbwindex.html collection of photographs produced by Margaret Bourke-White Anorectic Nights Once the still night falls, Their emaciated figures slowly emerge Against the soft light of the moon, Lurking in the shadows of my room And within the hollows of my soul. They hover over me as I lie Faint and weak upon my bed, Then they take me by the hand, And we dance. Glowing with scarlet hunger, Their eyes know my own And we hunger together, Denying ourselves pleasure, Yet delighting in our discipline. We revel in my diminishing form, For soon I shall be one of them, Performing my wanton dance Within the deep shadows Of another woman's tenebrous room. I find comfort in their presence, My ravenous demons, For without their company, I would be forced to face The quiet night alone. © 2001 Cassandra Snow Never Been Kissed Neverbeenkissed was sitting on your back porch The first night she last played the guitar for you. She was singing a song for the person Who was never to know, The last night before she first had to go. So far she had been living "amongst" her parents, "With" them she only fought, Too old to be a girl, too young to be anything else, A little bird flown from the nest To make room for memories of better days. In free flight now, The first night since she last left home. You had picked up the phone And called her in, Without giving your reason, Not unless you could look into her eyes. You came to join her on the porch And together you watched the night fall, She told you you were beautiful, Asked you why, And you said you didn't want copper wires To stand in between her and what you had to say, She meant to fly away And this was the last night before she would first wake up in Paris. Might she change her mind, or at least leave you with a kiss? You needed to see her expression When you would ask her this, Needed emerald eyes to sparkle, Her breath to fill the silence between Your question and her answer. She said "I love you" And you said you loved her, too. From that moment on, you were in love, Knowing you were meant for each other, Hoping to be lovers. She picked up her guitar and played the song again For the last time to herself, for the first to you. Your mother stepped out onto the porch and shook her head, Said Tom had called and you should call him back. You replied with a smile, Said yesterday was the first night you had last called him, And cuddled in her lap To make never been kissed feel at ease. Your sister was more comfortable And picked a star for the two of you Somewhere in the Milky Way, called it Calliste. Neverbeenkissed Recalled now perfectly The last minute of the first day she had seen you, In kindergarten, where she felt lost And you shared an egg sandwich with poppy seeds. She also remembered the many walks you had taken through the park How you watched the swan dances at the lake in Spring And the pictures you took of butterflies, which, she said, Were almost as beautiful as you, Nosegay in her hand. She recalled all of this and so much more The last night before The first morning she would walk out the door, And smiled, you were in love And for the first time since the last day of summer Her heart felt gay. The little bird was floating, drifting, soaring Beyond her parents' garden fence And you mother's disdain. It made you feel chilly So you called her in, to your room, which looked different now, though the same as all those days and years before. Lovers' eyes see differently from those of friends. For the first time now, they were looking out of the window To the last time she would hold your hand, The first before she would fly away. Dreams turned into reality In the vacuum of the Universe. From the tears in her eyes, Neverbeenkissed couldn't see, But she didn't need to, your every feature was forever engraved in her heart, She loved you blindly. Still floating, the little bird tried to spread her wings When you asked her to sit down on your bed A silken nest For her to rest Until the last minute before her first flight. Outside your mother was protesting, You would have to fly away together, Never been kissed, the little bird, and you. Your fingers trembled, nosegay floating in your room, Emotions drifting, dreams rising, Hearts aglow, limbs trembling. They knew, of course, and her parents were alarmed, So you locked the door To protect love's first caress And revel in the moment's bliss. You turned off the light, Two hearts in soaring flight, Rising into ecstasy Nosegay pefume's gust in revery, Silken cheeks aflame and throats throbbing with eulogies Of tender memories. Lateron that night The little bird extended her wings, Such is the most precious gift love ever brings. The next morning at dawn, To the song of sparrows, Never been kissed is gone But seeing the scarlet stains, kissing the wounds of Cupid's arrows, Sweet and tender remedy Along with the promise of eternity, Someone holds you in her arms, tells you that she loves you And o, you say you love me, too. Copyright Jessica Feiereisen 2002