Meditations for Queer Femmes – Taking Care of My Little Space

It was Tex who got us into RV-ing. She bought our little TAB camper at the height of the pandemic and got us hooked up with RV-ing Women, a group mostly made up of lesbians on the older and/or retired side, with their dogs and various kinds of rigs; with their personalities and opinions and histories. We started going to rallies together, and then, when I was in Japan last month, Tex went on her own and had a great time. So great that she blithely signed up to co-host the Maine rally, the one everybody raves about, I think mostly because of the lobster feed, but also because it’s lovely up there.

            On Friday of the rally, Tex was off wheeling and dealing, making plans A, B, and C, dependent on the very changeable weather. I stayed in to do an after-lunch clean up (my asking price: one kiss, freely and sweetly given). As I tidied the very wee space that is our very wee camper, I caught myself smiling a happy, quiet smile.

            It’s a lovely feeling to be able to make everything ship-shape in just a small amount of time, to show respect and love to our little rolly home, making it cozy for the two of us so we can enjoy the campground, the flora and fauna, the surrounds, our sister RV-ers, each other.

            Outside, birdsong, raucous dyke laughter chipmunk scurry, the breeze in the trees.

            Inside, a brief but deeply satisfying order.

            Ahhhh.

            This sweet feeling is a very rare occurence back in our rambly, jumbly big ol’ house.

            Oh my blueberry smoothie salt water taffy totally scrumptious femme biscuits, do you, like me, sometimes utterly despair of being able to make headway in your rambly, jumbly dwellings? Did you ever fantasize about having to live somewhere like a lighthouse or a teensy cottage in the forest where whatever is there is what you get and then you can actually finish something before other things pile up and demand attention?

            Like me, do you get distracted by history, failed good intentions, unpleasant surprises coming over the email or phone, other people’s needs and asks, work and health and family and and and to where you just need to sit down with your book and a cup of tea and dust bunnies and piles of things be damned?

            If so, and even if you don’t have a husbutch who brought a camper into your life, perhaps there is another little space where you can have your way with clutter and experience a nip of satisfaction. And other ways you can give yourself some boundaries: set the timer for 5 minutes, maybe 15, and focus on a drawer or a patch of yard or a cupboard. Don’t think too hard.

            We can’t fix all of everything, and if you’re like me – an ever-optimistic, magical thinker of a femme pack rat – dismay about our helplessness can be a great burden.

            A small corner where it’s shiny, at least for a bit, radiates out, calms and sweetens.

            Let’s keep each other company today, my darlings.

            Grounded.

            Grateful.

            Glad to be here.

Many a Monday, I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women. Would you like to offer up a Meditation of your own? I would love that! Send it along to me at thetotatalfemme@gmail.com

Published in: on June 26, 2023 at 10:02 AM  Comments (2)  
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Meditations for Queer Femmes – Sorry, Guy!

The other day, I made a serious driving misjudgment and pulled out in front of a biker, cutting it way too close. I didn’t even notice this until he started screaming at me.

“Are you fucking crazy? ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? Really??”

It was awful. I felt terrible, for the mistake I’d made, the accident narrowly averted, which would have been my fault, the stress on the guy, the shock of his yelling right as he passed a toddler out for a walk with a caregiver, and just everything. Perversely, I was mad at him, too, and wondered if he had to be such an asshole about it. Dude wasn’t even wearing a helmet!

I so didn’t want it to be my fault, but it really was. Not his reaction, of course, but what I did to cause him to react.

In Al-Anon – any twelve-step program — there’s a lot of talk about making amends. I read something recently about the difference between an apology and an amends. Sometimes you can’t apologize, for example, like I can’t apologize to that biker, even though the past couple of days I say, “Sorry, guy!” every time I walk the dog past that block. Today I thought, hmm, should I give some money to a biking organization? It’s an idea. Mostly, I’ve been sitting with the fact that I seriously fucked up, could have caused a serious accident, and thinking about how deeply grateful I am that I didn’t. I’m also thinking about how I can be more careful in the future. Not be quite so comfortable and spaced out as I drive; be more aware of where I am and where the car is and where everybody else outside of the car is.

I want to be able to make it right, but it’s just not straightforward, and there’s no one perfect answer.

Walking the dog today (“Sorry, guy!”), I got to thinking about a certain genre of books I’ve come across lately. Written by men, they feature female main characters and sometimes there are almost no men at all in the story. I’ve been puzzled by this but I’m starting to form a theory: these men are trying to make amends. Perhaps they routinely apologize for bad behavior in their daily lives to women around them, but I’m wondering if they are also called to go deeper and more with their art. So they focus on women. They tell women’s stories.

In the sixties and seventies, white authors would sometimes write novels featuring black main characters – their response to racism. Is that what’s going on with all these male authors? If so, it’s not landing well for me. It feels like another way of taking up space, of talking over the women in the room, of telling us what our lives are like and maybe waiting for us to praise them for their subtle and nuanced observations and renderings.

It feels like I’m sitting in on their therapy sessions, asked to watch them toil away at getting better and spend time reading that story. Perhaps not what they had in mind.

Complicated.

Honey biscuits, cherry pie bites, beautiful summer salads my queer femme sisters, what do you do when you fuck up? How do you forgive yourselves? Is there a way to make it right? What does that even mean, “make it right”? Who are you “making it right” for? What are the lasting effects?

Today, remember how hard you work, how much you want to be a good creature, and how, in the end, that good creature comes back to the fore, again and again, even if you fuck up trying to make your earlier fuck up right. You work so hard. You do so much. Life is so damn complicated.

We humans are always blowing it somehow or another. And then we carry on, don’t we?

We carry on.

Many a Monday, I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women. Would you like to offer up a Meditation of your own? I would love that! Send it along to me at thetotatalfemme@gmail.com

Meditations for Queer Femmes – Before the Lilac Faded

Last month, I spent about two weeks in Sapporo, visiting Owen, our younger son. He’s been there just about a year, studying Japanese and working part time, most recently at a ramen shop. He’s having a blast.

I was determined to go see him, but it felt practically impossible what with one thing and another like health challenges and anxiety, family responsibilities, logistics, ongoing pandemic stuff, and more. What I’m saying is that it wasn’t easy to put the whole thing together and then to put myself on a plane. Not easy in the least. High level stress, I am telling you.

With the love and blessing and helping hand of my husbutch I arose one morning in May and was off to the airport. Boston to San Francisco. Stayed overnight there and saw friends from my writing program. Heavy lift! San Francisco to Sapporo, going through customs in Tokyo. Heavy, heavy lift. Plus, I would not have liked for the zombie apocalypse to have broken out while I was waiting in that crowded customs area. And then, there was Owen, waiting for me at the New Chitose Airport and, people, there was I, right smack back in Japan after all these many, many years.

Because I used to live there when I was about Owen’s age, mid-20s, batting around Tokyo teaching English and going to see lots and lots of bands. We joke that I contaminated Owen when he was a child with my love of Japan and the prevalence of miso soup in our household.

Spring in Sapporo is so lovely. Not so much the city itself – cement-filled and noisy – but all around the edges and in the parks and in people’s small bits of yard. Peonies, poppies, iris, tulips, tiny daisy-like flowers in the grass, dandelions (right in there with the “real” flowers – so cheerful!), and every different flavor of lilac. I had been a bit sad to miss the cherry blossoms, but the lilac made up for it and more. I had but to step outside my rental to pass the lavender, the magenta, the white lilacs, and it became a sweet vacation ritual to stop and smell each one. In the nearby Maruyama Park, I found respite from the urban overwhelm and took comfort in all the blooming.

It had been a very heavy lift for me to get all the way across the world. Once I was there, I experienced another lift. A blessing of a lifting away of anxieties and responsibilities, a free floating moment where I just was. In the park. Eating a regal birthday meal with Owen. Moving through the steam at a hot spring. Exploring the neighborhood near my rental and finding a really cool grocery store where I bought the yummiest senbei. Laughing at the talking soft drink vending machine: “Thanks for stopping by! And hey! Don’t forget your change, ‘kay??”

Owen and I chilled and hung out and talked about learning Japanese and living in Japan. I met and really got along with his girlfriend. I spent long chunks of time alone and just being in Japan, remembering, relearning, experiencing. I had the most beautiful time, right up until it was time to go.

Had I been going to stay longer, I would have had to make some changes, stop drifting and figure out a few things, like how to eat more healthily, how to make some friends – preferably queer and my own age — and how to occupy my time a bit more productively. The cool thing is that I knew for sure that, if I had needed to stay, I would have been able to figure those things out. The other cool thing is that I didn’t have to do those things, because I was going home, refreshed and delighted to have spent time with Owen in the spring in Sapporo.

And the lilacs had not yet begun to fade.

I didn’t know how badly I needed a long, sweet break where I could just be myself. A brief suspension, bathed in the sweet scent of lavendermagentawhite, just for a little bit, just for a wee dear moment. How grateful I am that the goal of wanting to see Owen helped me to be able to move all that long distance, break free from the heavy grief and difficulties of the past few years, remember myself and find a lightness I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

For me, it was a long, long journey, a return to a place I used to live, a reunion with a dear beloved child. I am hopeful that I will retain that gift, find that lightness in and among my daily back in the groove. It was a catalyst, a blessing, a surprise.

Can I inspire you, my blossoms, to find a lightness in your day today, as well? Where are the cracks in the humdrum where you remember a connection, a commitment, a calling? Where a sunbeam illuminates bee-brim blossoms and you can rest, just for that profound small tick-tock and your heart beats and your lungs fill with air and you are alive so alive so alive.

Many a Monday, I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was fabulous, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women. Would you like to offer up a Meditation of your own? I would love that! Send it along to me at thetotatalfemme@gmail.com

Published in: on June 5, 2023 at 3:37 PM  Leave a Comment  
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