The Total Femme

I remember a professor in college telling us that the first time he heard back-up beeps it was in Japan. This was back in the antediluvian days of the early 1980s when I was still writing my papers on the typewriter and walkmen were just barely a thing.

How far we’ve come since then! Now, everything beeps.

I also remember how disturbing those early back-up beeps were. How they startled me, pulled me out of whatever it was I was doing and thinking, demanded my attention. Struck up that slight feeling of panic, a worry of the unknown danger approaching, until I was able to put the sound into context.

Here’s a fast and dirty rundown of things that beep in my life currently: the washer, the drier, the rice cooker, the timer on the stove, the timer at the gym, the alarm clock, the microwave, countless cars and trucks backing up, my car dashboard when the tires are low or I’m low on gas, and I’m sure I’m missing some. That’s every day, just about, and doesn’t include other noises like all the notifications and people’s ring tones, and the weird freaky creepy back-up swell from those newfangled cars and on and on.

I just saw a thing somewhere about certain spiders who can weave soundproof webs to live in. Clever, beleaguered spiders!

We are so used to all the beeping and pinging and dinging and ringing and prodding and poking that we assume we’re not really paying attention, or that it doesn’t bother us, but I think it does. I think it fractures our calm, our ability to stay focused on one thing for even just a few moments. Even when it’s quiet, I think somewhere in our bodies, we’re just waiting for the next beep to call us away from ourselves.

Did any of you read that book where the author spent 24 hours watching tv and 24 hours sitting by a pond in the woods and then compared the two? We’re talking early 1990s now. You can imagine that a lot happened on tv, a lot of directing the watcher’s attention to this and that, pulling the watcher this way and that, always providing a new bit of visual beeping to keep the eyes on the screen.

In the woods, things were much, much quieter. You might even say that not much happened. Ducks drifted by. A pinecone fell from a tree. The wind blew across the surface of the water. Then it stopped, and maybe the leaves moved a bit as the wind passed by that way. Very slow, very deep, things were happening in terms of mulch, decay, growth, moss, grubs, bugs, air currents, algae, water currents.

It used to really trouble me when I thought about people way way back in the day who lived their lives without books, without even knowing how to read. How did they pass the time? That guy sitting in the woods for 24 hours gives you a clue. Nothing happened. Everything happened. That’s one of the many things people without books were doing.

Obviously, this femme bookworm does not want to go back to a world without books, but I do try to get my nose out here and again and see what’s going on out there and in there, like in my heart and mind. Because that’s the connection I think we lose with all the beeping going on. The real direction and purpose of our day, our week, our whole gorgeous lives.

Combustible, reliable, sizzling, swinging, redoubtable, outrageous, rage-filled, deeply desiring and desired and delirious my sage and questing femme sisters, does it beep in your world? How are you coping? Do you remember who you are and where you’re going?

Not something that can be answered in just one day, or perhaps even in just one lifetime. But for today, can you give yourself a moment somewhere that will give you the strength to remember that there’s so much going on below the surface?

Right now, I am listening to the rain. I am talking with you.

Situated, myself, connected to my femme heart. Just for a moment. Just for a breath.

Thank you.

https://billmckibben.com/age-of-missing-information.html

NYT, 3/22/2025: Everyone in the City Needs Soundproofing, Even Spiders, by Joshua Rapp Learn

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.

Do you have a meditation to share? I would love to welcome you here! Email me at: thetotalfemme@gmail.com

Words abound. When I was just learning to read, I regaled my parents with deciphered road signs every time we got in the car. “Merge” defeated me for a long time, but I managed the others quite handily. Even now, everywhere there is text, I read it. I can’t help it. It’s how I take in the world, through words, through the written word. Given that, you’d think I would like the encouraging phrases one finds everywhere these days, on stones in the neighborhood, on tea bags, yard signs. BE KIND they advise, GO TO YOUR SPECIAL PLACE, they intone, and HATE HAS NO HOME HERE. Sadly, though, these particular righteous words just annoy me and make me want to argue.

            “I AM kind,” I grump, and “YOU fucking go to your special place!” and “Oh, really? You truly don’t hate anyone, ever??” As I may have mentioned at some point in these oh so many posts dating waaaaay back to the early 2000s, a favorite story in my family about me as a toddler is me saying, a lot, “DON’T TELL ME!!!”

            But I do really like found poems and all the ways you can fiddle around with random bunches of words. I just don’t like to be bullied about what to do.

            This morning, going through a stack of accumulated pieces of paper (what? paper fucking accumulates, ok??), I found something that will be filed away with various other food-related bits and pieces:

Information regarding Sorghum and how to de-crystallize and use it indefinitely

I like that one. Sorghum reminds me of being in Kentucky as a child, in Mammoth Cave National Park, where my parents were members of the Cave Research Foundation. The six-hour drive from St. Louis, the humidity, the cavers, the cave itself. The sense of belonging, of being part of something important: the science of the cave, the exploration, the wonder of being underground in a living, breathing, mysterious environment.

            I don’t cave any more, but the underground is alive and present for me because of that time in Kentucky when I was a kid. The above reminds me not to let that knowledge become entombed, inaccessible. Community. Caring for the natural world. Respecting and allowing the cave to be exactly what it is, with all its systems, creatures, history, necessity.

            Stalactites, stalagmites, gypsum, carbide lamps and belly crawls my muddy, seeking, abiding in wonder, my exploring and allowing brave femme sisters, what is your own personal Sorghum? A food, a song, a certain make of car, a novel, the whiff of that one perfume?

            De-crystallize, my beauties.

            Use it indefinitely.

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.

Do you have a meditation to share? I would love to welcome you here! Email me at: thetotalfemme@gmail.com

My grandad was a dentist and I have been blessed with a pretty good set of chompers, so getting my teeth cleaned is kind of soothing for me. At my most recent appointment, after things had been going along for a while, the dear hygenist (she has pictures of her cute dog on display and just seems to love her job) said to me, “Almost done! Thank you for staying open.”

Muffins, scones, cinnamon buns, almond croissants, hasn’t there been a lot going on these days to make us want to slam the fuck shut? Bite down really hard? Not let anything at all in? From small daily indignities (like, just now I bruised the shit out of my finger taking my blood sugar – wtf??) to the big to the bigger to the god damn biggest, we are in it, in for it, intent on it, inunadated, incensed. It’s absolutely more than one brave femme can hold. Can stay open for.

Did you hear about the young woman who used her job as snow reporter at Sugarbush to deliver reality when Vance went there for a bit of R & R? (Her statement is below.) Out of all the ways she could have chosen to protest and speak out, she brought forth this powerful statement from the bottom of her heart because working at Sugarbush, skiing and building community there allowed her to stay open.

My darling tartes au framboises, where, what, who help you stay open? It doesn’t even have to be as big as a mountain, although mountains are certainly powerful. And it doesn’t even have to be one thing and one thing only. Sometimes you might be able to accrue open throughout the day, from sweet interactions out in the public (the other day in the grocery store, a tiny child grinned big and waved back at me from his seat in the cart – oh, it made me so happy!) to coming back again and again to your art, your heart’s work, your family/Family, your garden, your creatures, your daily routine. It accrues, the open. If we let it.

Let it, today, my stubborn, transgressive, mourning and grieving but getting up and going still, my darlings, my femme sisters.

Thank you for staying open.

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.

Do you have a meditation to share? I would love to welcome you here! Email me at: thetotalfemme@gmail.com

Saturday Mar 1st, 2025 – 6:31 AM

Daily Snow Report

Today of all days, I would like to reflect on what Sugarbush means to me. This mountain has brought me endless days of joy, adventure, challenges, new experiences, beauty, community, and peace. I’ve found that nothing cures a racing mind quite like skiing through the trees and stopping to take a deep breath of that fresh forest air. The world around us might be a scary place, but these little moments of tranquility, moments I’ve been fortunate enough to enjoy as a direct result of my employment here, give me, and I’d guess you, too, a sense of strength and stability.

This fresh forest air, is, more specifically fresh National Forest air. Sugarbush operates on 1,745 acres of the Green Mountain National Forest. Right now, National Forest lands and National Parks are under direct attack by the current Administration, who is swiftly terminating the positions of dedicated employees who devote their lives to protecting the land we love, and to protecting us while we are enjoying that land.

This Administration also neglects to address the danger, or even the existence of, climate change, the biggest threat to the future of our industry, and the skiing we all so much enjoy here. Burlington, VT, is one of the fastest-warming cities in the country, and Vermont is the ninth fastest-warming state. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association (NOAA), a resource I use every day for snow reporting, is crucial in monitoring extreme weather events and informing public safety measures, and is also experiencing widespread layoffs and defunding at the hands of the Administration.

Sugarbush would not be Sugarbush without our wonderful community. Employees and patrons alike, we are made up of some of the most kind-hearted, hardworking people I have ever met. Our community is rich with folks of all different orientations, ethnicities, and walks of life, who all contribute to make this place what it is. They all love Sugarbush because it is a place where they can come to move their bodies, to connect with the land, to challenge themselves, to build character, to nourish their souls with the gift of skiing. Many of these people are part of the LGBTQI+ community. Many (well, that’s a stretch, we all know this is an incredibly white-washed industry) are people of color. Half are women. Many are veterans or adaptive skiers who, through Vermont Adaptive, are able to access snow sports in part thanks to federal grants through the Department of Veterans Affairs, which is also facing devastating cuts. Many of our beloved employees moved across the world through an exchange program on the J1 visa to help this resort run, and they are not U.S. citizens. ALL of these groups are being targeted, undervalued, and disrespected by the current Administration.

The beauty of National Forest land, is that anyone and everyone is welcome to enjoy it. Anyone and everyone can buy a lift ticket. I also imagine it is incredibly difficult, and likely impossible, to say “No” to the Secret Service. I hope that, instead of faulting Sugarbush management or employees for “allowing this to happen,” you can direct your anger to the source – the Administration that, in my oh-so-humble opinion, is threatening our democracy, our livelihoods, our land. 

I want to reiterate how much I admire and respect my fellow employees and managers – they work so hard to make this place operate, to keep you coming back and enjoying it and making lifelong memories. Many of them may feel the same way that I do, but their hands are tied, and for good reason. They have families to support, they have benefits and health insurance to receive, they face far greater and more binding pressure from Corporate. I am in a privileged position here, in that I work only seasonally, I do not rely on this job for health insurance or benefits, and hey, waking up at 4:30 a.m. isn’t exactly sustainable. Therefore, I am using my relative “platform” as snow reporter, to be disruptive – I don’t have a whole lot to lose. We are living in a really scary and really serious time. What we do or don’t do, matters. This whole shpiel probably won’t change a whole lot, and I can only assume that I will be fired, but at least this will do even just a smidge more than just shutting up and being a sheep. 

I am really scared for our future. Acting like nothing is happening here feels way scarier than losing my job. I want to have kids one day, and I want to teach them to ski. The policies and ideals of the current Administration, however, are not conducive to either of these things, because, at least how things look now, I’d never be able to afford a good life for a child anyway, and snow will be a thing of Vermont history.

So please, for the sake of our future shredders: Be Better Here.

It has truly been a pleasure writing your morning snow reports – I hope this one sticks with you. With love, peace, and hope,

Lucy Welch