If you know me, you know I'm old. I am an elder queer person, and I have long been invisible to most people. Every old person knows what I mean.
It starts in middle age. As a woman, I appreciated it when men stopped following me, whistling at me, even ignoring me. At work I experienced less sexual harassment. (Believe me, I had more than my share in my life. Ugh.)
But eventually, especially once I allowed my hair to go gray, shop people stopped seeing me. Even in line at the bank, the teller would sometimes beckon the person behind me when it was my turn. Forget getting help while shopping.
And then I got used to it. I began to think of being invisible as a superpower. No one could see me, I was free to observe people at will. Very useful for a writer.
There is, however, an underlying sadness. I used to be able to make friends who were much younger than I. But younger people no longer even consider being friends with me. (Not even that much younger. Even people in their 60's.) They don't know what they're missing, of course. I know what I'm missing though. I love the energy of younger people, hearing what they're doing, what they're thinking about, what's new in music, language, style, trends. I'm forced to glean what I can from the internet. (Except what I can learn from my grown grandchildren, and they are lovely. I am fortunate to get to spend as much time with them as I do.)
So, on to singing.

I started singing solos in public when I was six years old. I had been to a church service with my parents, and a woman sang a solo. I had only ever sung in groups before. I asked my mom how that woman got to do that. Mom said I should ask her. So after the service, I found the woman and asked her. She asked if it was something I wanted to do. I did. And soon after that I began singing solos in church.
In my early teens I took voice lessons (I was singing at weddings by then). I was in the high school choir, and soon became the official soloist for my high school, which meant I performed at events like baccalaureate.
I continued to perform occasionally until I was forty years old. Then I stopped (except at home) because my partner was the singer, and I was the writer.
In my 70's I decided to join a choir. I'm no longer a high soprano, but I can carry a tune. I first sang with a community chorus. When Covid happened, and my choir dissolved, I asked the San Diego Women's Choir if I could join. I sang and videotaped myself alone. Our concerts were online only. I did eventually meet a few of the choir members at a masked event, but never everyone. I decided to also join the Portland Lesbian Choir even though I was living in the San Diego area at the time. Again, I sang and videotaped alone.
We moved back to Portland, but by the time I was able to try out in person for the Portland Lesbian Choir, they no longer needed me. I was disappointed.
Then, last fall I heard there was a new choir forming in Portland. It was for queer elders. Count me in -- if I could pass the audition. I started practicing my voice again. In February we had auditions, I was admitted to the choir. We began rehearsals, and had our first concert June 26th, 2025.
I'm gradually getting to know other people in our choir. We started with 69 members, now have 66. One person left due to serious illness, the others I don't know. Maybe they thought our music was too hard, maybe they were too busy. Several of our members are also in other choirs.
We had a picnic not long ago. I got to know some of the men. I hadn't had a chance before then. I'm looking forward to getting to know all the members eventually.
After the concert, which was sold out and a rousing success, so many people talked to me about the importance of elders being visible in our queer community. Yes, for sure. We need ALL the elders in every community to become more visible. We've been around a long time. We know things. And most of us are always willing to share what we know.
Hopefully most of us are also willing to learn from those younger than we are.
I'm excited to see what we will sing for our holiday concert on December 3rd. We're already planning ahead for next year's concerts as well. I will keep on singing for as long as I am able.
What are you doing or hoping to be doing in your 80s? If you’re younger, do you have elder friends? If you’re older, do you have much younger friends? I’d love to hear all about it.
Okay Sandra, where are you in the photograph? I know a few under-40s but that comes second to how I came to know them and we don’t socialise in the sense that we go out together. That you can sing and still do is wonderful in itself. That you can get your voice to be part of a choir even more wonderful. 🐰
Sandra, you hit on several themes that have been running through my brain recently: 1) the invisibility of older women as a potential superpower, 2) the ways friendships happen, grow, die, or otherwise change at different ages, 3) the loss that comes when generations aren't able to rub elbows so easily. All of these are such rich subjects. I'm coming back to you at some point with an essay or my own thoughts about all this in the future (have to finish this damn novel first which actually touches on each of these themes to some degree).
I am about to turn 69. If I have learned anything from my friends and family members who are in their eighties or nineties, it is that we have to practice being the humans we want to be before old age hits so that when it does -- along with its various restrictions and memory issues -- that we give ourselves the best chance for serenity, contentment, and connection by not feeding the bitterness, anger, or fears that want to assert themselves when we feel weakened.