The Total Femme

I mean, of course they are, but for one thing only: chewing your food.

Not for biting off that bit of thread.

Not for nibbling at your cuticle.

Not for pulling off a recalcitrant pen top.

Not for tearing open a potato chip bag.

Heed me, sweet darlings, I am, and always will be, the diligent granddaughter of a dentist and I know of wherefor I speak!

You want to keep your teeth your whole life, so be wise in their use, and don’t put them in danger.

Seth has come back into our lives. Our beloved boy, now 28, has been sober for over 5 months and it is kicking his ass. He’s going to meetings, doing service, has a new job, is trying to get out of debt. And he calls us once a week, because that’s what you do. You call your parents and say, “I love you.”

On a recent call, he complained that back when he was drinking full time, he had completely gotten rid of all his debt, but now that he’s pursuing sobriety, he’s having a harder time with that.

“What does your sponsor say?” I asked.

“He says, ‘Suck it up.’”

I burst out laughing and reminded him of how his grandfather, my dad, was always told as a child to “Rub dirt in it!” when he complained. A fine midwestern tool, unless, of course, you use it in the wrong way, which would be to continue to wound yourself with it instead of find humor, encouragement, and forgiveness through the ability to realize that being human can really be a pain in the ass sometimes, but it’s worth it to continue to strive for health and well-being and community and love.

Lately, in the midst of chaos personal and global, on the heels of my mother’s death in August, trying to process, as Beth Pickens says, The Thing That Happened To Us, reeling with the stress of continued health challenges, Tex and I have been trying hard not to lose our shit.

What’s easy, is to complain. What’s easy is to put our anger into feeling pissed off about everything and blaming people near and far. Tex, for example, is ripshit about gas-powered leaf blowers in our neighborhood. I’m ripshit about the desulatory and fucked up medical “system” that’s fucked me around for almost a year. Our neighbors don’t do things right. The whole world is full of assholes. It’s so easy to use the tool of anger to start a whole pattern of blame and despair, isn’t it?

Negatory!

That’s what we’ve started to say when the extremely strong desire to talk trash takes hold. Saying, “Negatory!” interrupts our tendency to fall into despair. It helps remind us that there’s a whole other way of using anger and upset – not denying them, but moving through and with into more sustainable, creative, love-producing actions and moods.

Oh, mes tres cheries, mes adorables, mes seours et mes amies! How the wind is blowing, how the birds are migrating, how the planet turns and turns! We are fragile, fleeting, desperate, bleeding, shaky on our pins and warm in our hearts. How are you using your tools, my queer femme family? Sharpen the blades, shape the clay, dust off your keyboard, your paintbrush, your contact list, your dance moves, your wild and wacky sense of humor, your 12-step, your only-you-only-yours gorgeousness and strength and here we go.

Here we go together.

Every 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.

At the Total Femme, my intention is to post three times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, and Femme Friday on Friday. Rather than play catch-up in a stressful fashion on those weeks when life prevents posting, I have decided to just move gaily forward: if I miss a Monday, the next post will be on Wednesday, and so on. Thank you, little bottle of antibiotics for inspiring me in this! (“…if it’s almost time for the next dose, skip the missed dose and continue your regular dosing schedule. Don’t take a double dose to make up for a missed one.”) And…as I go through life life life, I will post as I am able, Mabel.