By Lee Lynch

I can’t save our democracy, but I can do a little good in the world. We are adopting a dog who needs a home.

It’s been five years, seven months since our dog Bea died and we’re finally ready and able. I inherited her at age six. I lost her to my sweetheart soon thereafter, as those two bonded immediately. When they were together, Bea would growl to keep me away.

We would not have brought another animal into the house in any case. Our cat Bolo had health problems. We, and the Vet, feared the stress might kill her. Bolo took her only pet status as her due. I lasted three weeks after she died and started looking.

Guest Column
The Amazon Trail: Nah, We Ain’t No Sissies
By Lee Lynch

I have been resting. A strange activity for me, but I had no choice. I was so worn out, I remember promising myself that I would never hurry again as long as I lived. The first two of six weeks I mostly slept, or lay unmoving beside my sweetheart. Awake, I read thrillers, and when those books didn’t ease my mental and emotional exhaustion, in desperation I read Ann Rule, the master of true crime.

So many people are afflicted or have died from what my sweetheart coined trump flu; so many people have died or lost their homes to the fires around us; so many people are suffering under the current administration; so many people are fighting the loss of democracy in the United States; so many people are victims of blatant and insidious racism—I feel like a sissy to have needed rest.

The Amazon Trail: Tabloid Edition
By Lee Lynch

Bath Door Balks at Booting Hostage
Hostage Trapped for NINETY-MINUTES
Suspect Subdued with Electrical Weapon 

A woman in a remote town in Oregon suffered a harrowing ninety minutes before her rescue by three brave public servants.

The woman, who wishes to remain unnamed for “professional” reasons, reports pounding on the hollow core washroom door and adjacent walls for at least three minutes to alert her Lesbian “wife” about the ongoing crime.

The Amazon Trail: What Is Lesbian Literature?
By Lee Lynch

“… when teachers, editors, agents and awards administrators, among others, hold mainstream writing as the standard, and all but ignore books with an exclusively lesbian focus, they lead us away from serious, in depth examination of our lesbian selves.”

It’s nice that some non-gay writers include us in their stories. I’m thinking of Lawrence Block’s Matt Scudder detective novels in which he has an amusing lesbian friend who is a dog groomer. Very respectful and matter-of-fact that she’s a dyke. But that doesn’t make the novels lesbian any more than the presence of Robert B. Parker’s gay male bartender and strongman in his Spenser series makes the books gay male.

By Lee Lynch
The Amazon Trail

“Not a Creature Was Stirring, Not Even a Mouse.”

That was true when we brought home our Christmas tree back in 2009 and a poor dead mouse fell onto our living room floor. We’ve made do with a little artificial tree ever since. But this year we’re going all Santa Claus and supporting the local 4H Club which is selling trees at the fairgrounds.

Christmas is such a multi-featured concept. As an atheist, I celebrate for the sake of lighting the darkness. As a feminist, I’m aware of the pre-Christian pagan winter rituals that make sense to me: Yule logs. The tree itself. Gifting one another. Celebrations to liven up the doldrums of winter.

Here in our community, the clubhouse is already decorated, thanks to volunteers who might be teens—not seniors—with their mirthful high energy. Some years a local choral group in red bow ties comes to serenade our holiday potluck. Not everyone is up to decorating, but if they have an extra fifteen dollars they’ll hire a handyperson to string outdoor lights. Every year there’s a light show as we walk our mile of roads, calling out good wishes, and swaddled, like our neighbors, in layers that protect us from the ocean winds.

The Amazon Trail: Going to the Doctor’s
By Lee Lynch

“Visiting the doctor doesn’t have to be all gloom and doom,” said my sweetheart. “We can make it fun.”

Remember the all-powerful, usually white male doctors of childhood? From the waiting room you could hear kids scream. Vaccines were terrifying. You had to undress. Sometimes my mother would take me for a milkshake afterward, yet, to this day, my blood pressure is higher (and I always weigh more) in the examining room.

I was seeing a hand surgeon for a left thumb brace to balance the one I wear on the right. I have Eaton stage III thumb CMC arthritis bilaterally, etc., blah, blah, blah, blah. Which means arthritis with a capital “A.”

As with most things in our rural area, the surgeon is located a bit over an hour from our home, but, oh, the hills and valleys we pass! Someday, we agreed, we would explore them. It’s hard to pry us from our cozy nest on weekends, but until my sweetheart is hired for a so-far elusive new job, she’s free. A lightbulb went on for her: why not explore those hills and valleys on the way to the doctor’s?