Meditations for Queer Femmes – How Convenient!

I don’t expect it’s any surprise to regular readers of this blog that I sometimes complain about things like updates, apps, having to constantly log in and out, the way there’s never a human at the end of the line anymore (Tex and I both burst out laughing the other day when we suddenly became aware at the same time that I was scowling and demanding, “Human! Human! Human!” whilst calling the odeous drug store). (I got stuck in a loop anyway.)

And I’ve been talking a lot with friends lately bout the way covid has changed our lives and how we’re constantly holding so much, so much. Fear for our own bodies, for the bodies of our loved ones, fear of the unknown (how long is long and what would it mean for me/us/them?), just the myriad and still unraveling effects of the isolation, the lack of being able to see each other’s expressions, especially each other’s smiles, all of it. There’s a lot of it.

But I’m not sure I’ve really sat with how incredibly my own life has changed because of technology. I mean, I can remember when chains and box stores started – it felt like the death of community, individuality, art. When we got answering machines. Walkmans and boom boxes. Watches that beeped. Cable TV. VCRs. When people started being replaced with recordings and press this or that number to get where you want to go and how disruptive and frustrating it was. I remember the first very bulky cell phone I ever saw. When email came along, all dial up and seductive. On and on and on through fitbits and laptops and cell phones and AI all the rest of the technological onslaught.

It’s fucking exhausting.

It really is.

We all make a good show of it, asking Siri and Alexa to do things for us, patiently guiding them when they misunderstand, poking around at our cell phone keyboards for hours and hours just to figure out when the hell we’re supposed to get our RealID or pretending that google has the answer that’s going to satisfy us.

I’m practically tumping over typing about it.

I’m so tired.

The other day I met friends at a restaurant for lunch. I parked. I used my app. I ok’d the convenience fee of fifty cents. Of course I did. What choice did I have? It was Cambridge, after all, and they are very fierce about tickets.

It wasn’t convenient. It was forced.

I know we can’t escape, since there’s no escaping the here and now. But how do we care for ourselves, our poor burnt out hearts and brains and souls? We have to recognize it, first, I think, and not excuse it or pass it off as the price we pay for what? being able to park? being able to order a to go meal? being able to drive mindlessly from one place to another and forgetting entirely how to read a map?

When our niece visited this summer, she was able to work on a farm, and now she’s wild to come back and explore other farm-related opportunities. She admits to being addicted to her phone, but knew as soon as she got out in the field that it would be healing for her.

As for me, it turns out I do a lot of things to try and get away from technology, even though I’m as pulled in and trapped as the next person. I read actual books, do jigsaw puzzles, sit in front of the fire, play games with friends, listen to music while I’m cooking and cleaning, sing, take walks. These tangible activities, quiet and human, where I’m connected to my body and not to a screen or my phone anchor me.

I just haven’t really sat down and thought about it, put it into words.

My honeys, my sweets, my deep down dumpling desireables, how do you remember that you don’t have to let the machine eat you up and spit you out? How do you disengage and re-body?

Today take a moment, take a moment. Give yourself a small, satisfying uncoupling from the tinny voices nipping and nibbling at you at every moment of the day.

Big sigh. Big smile.

Quiet the roar and know they can’t have all of you all of the time.

Ahhhhhhh!

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 has been to post three times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, and Femme Friday on Friday. Lately, I’ve just been concentrating on Mondays. And sometimes weeks go by… I’m here, though. I’m here. Do you have a post you’d like to share? That would be fucking awesome! Contact me at thetotalfemme@gmail.com

Published in: on January 8, 2024 at 4:05 PM  Comments (2)  
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Meditations for Queer Femmes – Who’s In Your Arms?

We came home from Women’s Week this year to a terminally ill dog. He’d been having spells of feeling yucky, but it turned out our sweet Cairn boy was sicker than we knew. We got home Sunday. Vet on Monday where we got the devastating news. A home euthanasia vet on Wednesday.

Thatcher came to us as a puppy 13 ½ years ago, from a breeder in Vermont situated right near Thatcher Brook, thus his name. I carried him home on my lap, wee little fellow that he was. We promised him we would take care of him for his entire life. We knew that responsibility would hold many surprises – both of us have children in our lives, after all, and elderly parents – but we knew we would stay true to our promise.

Wednesday evening, Thatcher snuggled in Tex’s arms. The truly wonderful, compassionate vet administered a sedative. His chewing slowed, he slept. He snored as Tex gently cradled his beloved body. The vet did what she needed to do. Thatcher snored. Then he stopped. I’m weeping as I write this, but we couldn’t have asked for a better, more peaceful death.

As we navigate our way through the grief of losing such a dear friend, I keep thinking back to how completely Thatcher was surrounded by love. Promise fulfilled, responsibilities carried out to the best of our abilities. Safe in his most favorite person’s arms.

These days, for so many reasons – you have your own, my darlings, I know – Tex and I have less vim and vigor than we once did. Our reach is not as long, our capacity for dealing with stress, negative or positive, much diminished. This is a hard thing to parse through, and we make mistakes all the time trying to do more than we actually are able to enjoy. The events leading up to and including Thatcher’s death have given me the inspiration to look inward. Look at who’s in my arms. Recommit to my responsibilities to them. To myself. To making the time and allowing for the energy, which can often mean not doing that next wonderful thing to make room for the wonderful thing already in motion.

Angels and angels, who do you carry with you? Who needs you in ways that no one else can provide? How are you managing? Some of those we hold can’t or won’t reciprocate, I know this. Others, perhaps, hold you just as tightly. Are you at peace with the bundle in your arms, in your heart? Are you holding it in a way that allows you to also tend to your own deepest and most sacred needs?

Today, precious pets, take stock. Readjust the weight a bit, perhaps. Anyone or anything you need to gently put down? Or pick up? Look in your generous, lively, beating hearts, my loves. It’s all there, the information you need.

And you, my queer femme community. Feather light and rock solid.

We are in each other’s arms.

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. Would you like to offer up a Meditation of your own? I would love that! Send it along to me at thetotatalfemme@gmail.com.

Since 2016, I here at The Total Femme have done my best to post thrice a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy Dingy on Wednesday, and Femme Friday on you know when. I’m pulling back the reins now, darlings, and going down to once a week, this Meditation. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from you. Send me your poetry, your musings, your art, your wonderful you, and I will love you and hold you and feature you right here. So let me hear from you! thetotalfemme@gmail.com. And stop by on Mondays for a bit of sacred femme space.

Published in: on October 24, 2022 at 2:48 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Meditations for Queer Femmes — Be Soft, Be Sweet To Yourself

Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE Dearest darlings, here we are, where we are in this tumbling, shimmying space and time and how are you feeling? How are you treating yourselves? Do you get very stern and strict with your every thought and move? I know I have that perfectionist tendency — like if I’m super hard one myself that will somehow make up for what I absolutely can do nothing about in the bigger-events-of-the-world realm. Anxiety ramps up. The horizons narrow. I just got off the phone with the hand surgeon, a lovely, confident, butchy dyke, and I am going to let her be the expert. Finally! For years, I’ve tried to control and contain my on-again off-again carpal tunnel, which is now, after tons and tons of typing, very, very much on on on. I’m going to let her help me, and until I get surgery, I am going to take pressure off of myself by limiting my typing to only the very essential — my schoolwork. Last week, I took a break from this blog because I was mourning my Dad. Starting this week, I’m going to take a break until my hands are healed, so that’s where I’ll be, healing and trying to be gentle with myself about all the ways my body has changed, the world has changed, opportunities have changed. Trying to wrap myself in love as I navigate those changes. Sugarplums, can you, too, be gentle with yourselves today? Where can you take a break — I mean in the that way you think about your responsibilities. Because it turns out that some of those responsibilities might just be tasks you pile on yourselves for padding or protection rather than necessities. And lightening the load might bring you space for unexpected joy. Something flung down by angels that you found because you stopped looking so hard elsewhere. Sisters, give yourselves space and light. Shift into a more healing space. Be soft, be sweet. I will see you there. 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.”) As I recover from treatment for breast cancer, however, I’m just going to post whenever I can manage.

Published in: on September 28, 2020 at 10:40 AM  Comments (2)  
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