A collage of cats with different expressions.

What I’m thankful for

By Nancy Ford

Hello, friends, and happy holiday kickoff! May we all have the most bountiful and thankful Thanksgiving ever, followed by a rollicking, blessed holiday season, and Happy New Year. What a world it’s been for 18 months since the big Miss Covid locked us down and isolated us. It’s finally becoming safer to be out for shows, dinner with friends, and family gatherings. Masked when necessary. Unmasked with vax document-required small outdoor parties. HAZ-MAT suits at the clubs. It’s good to see everyone out.

Recently, more than just a couple of you have expressed concern that “we never see you anymore.†That concern often manifests itself in social media — may be a quick “Where have you been?†in response to a social media post, or a chance encounter at the grocery store.

Aw! I sure do appreciate your kind words and, even more. I miss you, too. A pox upon this crazy, Covidy, murder-hornety time we’re living in. I’m by no means a hermit, but neither am I inclined to throw caution to the wind and run out and breathe strange air that’s been in some strange stranger’s lungs only seconds before, nor put my hands on things where strange hands have been strange. This ain’t the ’90s.

But I want to assure you that, indeed, I’m still here. Hope you are, too.

It’s not just Covid that changed our social habits. A while back I caught a different bug — a love bug. A serious one. Since then I have become the living, breathing lesbian stereotype that I have largely eschewed most of my life.

It’s only fair to warn you, friends: the remainder of this column is pure schmaltz, as Buddy Sorell would say. It’s about love and how it changes one’s life, head to toe, inside out, in all the good ways. It’s so sticky and sweet you might want to check your glucose levels before proceeding.

My Love and I met 30ish years ago. We have loved each other for at least half that, and have been officially committed, completely, head over lesbian heels in love for more than half of that. Look at you, doing all that math!

Really, the number of years doesn’t matter, except that there could never be enough.

Are we married, My Love and I? Nope. That doesn’t matter, either. We couldn’t be more committed. Hey, we’re on the same cell phone plan. That’s all the paperwork I need.

We’ll be spending Thanksgiving week with my family in Ohio. Certainly, I’m thankful for that. She is the main course in the great Thanksgiving banquet of my life, but without all the bloating.

This is the first time I have gone back to my birthplace with a partner or girlfriend to meet my family. Longtime WAW readers may remember that most of my family members lean so far to the right that, when out walking on a windy day, they walk in circles.

It’s a perfect metaphor for past conversations with them about politics, Biblical literalism versus interpretation (like, whether or not Jonah was actually in the belly of a fish for three days and nights or if Saul of Tarsus who later shortened his name to a quick, single, pop culture friendly “Paulâ€, like Cher and Madonna, was a big old misogynist and pederast, and what constitutes “a woman’s place.â€

My family is Fox News watching, Trump-voting, casserole-making, gun-and-Jesus loving folks who don’t have a racist bone in their bodies but for whom the 1950s really were when America was greatest.

But they are my family and I love them and I can’t wait to be there with My Love, who is also my family. Pray for us all.

There’s more evidence of my transformation into stereotype-land: We have a cat.

I have spent a lifetime avoiding the lesbian = cat lady myth, mostly due to allergies so severe that I could not spend time in a house where a cat lives because I like to breathe.

A couple of years ago when My Love told me a beautiful Lynx Point Siamese had joined our family, I thought, “Well, it’s over.â€

Nope. Thanks to a maximum daily dosage of allergy meds and constant vacuuming (which is My Love’s hobby, anyway, so that works out. God help us if Dysonnever designs a sex toy), and the magic of love, I am now a Cat Lady. I regularly say things like, “Oh, look at our beautiful, smart, little kitty. Look at her little paws! Oh, she’s so cute! She’s the cutest little baby kittie that ever was! Aw, look — she’s pretending to be asleep but I know she’s awake because every time we say her name she flips her tail. We love our Little Baby Fluff Fluff. Yes, we do! Oh, yes we do!â€

Now you know. This is where I have been. I have been busy building a family — the family I’ve wanted and waited for my entire life. I recommend it highly.

So, no worries. I’m right here, and I’m just fine. And I am so, so thankful.

Please pass the cranberries.

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