Femme Friday – Literary Femmes: Graciela from the short story “Glamour” by Anna-Marie McLemore

            In California, 1923, Graciela Morena wants to be a movie star so badly that she uses color glamour to make herself appear white and she changes her name to Grace Moran. When she runs into a boy from her past, Sawyer, she begins to re-examine and recast her dreams.

            “In the midst of oppression,” writes Anna-Marie McLemore in their Author’s Notes, “seeing the magical even through the tragic, the unjust, the heartbreaking, is a way of survival, for people, for communities, for cultures. Our spirits depend on not overlooking that which might be dismissed or ignored.”

Deep gratitude to Anna-Marie for dreaming Graciela into the Great Femme Universe. Thank you for giving me permission to honor her here as a femme, although she might not have had that language for herself. Her love and understanding of Sawyer, a transboy (also not the language he would have had) is tender and filled with such gorgeous possibility. The love Graciela begins to center on herself is a gift and inspiration to all femmes everywhere. Thank you for giving us this glimpse of a magical femme past, inspiring our present and our future.

            “So there’s nothing you want?” she asked

            He came toward her, so slowly he did not limp. “I didn’t say that.”

            He slid his hand onto the back of her neck and kissed her. He tasted like the honey and first-harvest apricots they’d eaten after dinner. Amber sugar. Fireweed. It made her bite his lower lip just hard enough that the sound he made could have been either pain or him asking her to do it again.

            For a second, that taste faded away, leaving behind the bitter tang of brick wine. For a second they were back on that brocade fainting couch, and she was flinching under the feeling that one more kiss would break down the girl she’d given everything to be.

            But this was not some borrowed green room. This was the night air threading through her family’s almond trees. She was not laced into some costume corset, a petticoat rough against her legs. She wore a dress made by her mother, the skirt smooth as poured cream.

            This was not some set where she had to stuff herself into a girl called Grace Moran.

            There was as much room for Sawyer and Graciela as the whole shimmering sky.

                                                –Anna-Marie McLemore, “Glamour”

The Radical Element: 12 Stories of Daredevils, Debutantes and Other Dauntless Girls, edited by Jessica Spotswood, Candlewick Press, 2018

P.S. We are so lucky, because Anna-Marie has written so many gorgeous books! Go forth and read her novels: The Weight of Feathers, Blanca & Roja, Dark and Deepest Red, Lake Lore, The Mirror Season, Wild Beauty, Miss Meteor, Self-Made Boys, and When the Moon Was Ours. Order them from Womencrafts!

Every Friday, I showcase a queer femme goddess. I want to feature you! Write to me at thetotalfemme@gmail.com and let me shine a spotlight on your beautiful, unique, femmelife! If you’ve written a femme story or poem or song, oh, please let me post it!

At the Total Femme, my intention is to post three or four times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, Femme Friday on Friday, and (new for spring 22!) the occasional Sometimes On A. 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.

Published in: on June 24, 2022 at 3:05 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Meditations for Queer Femmes – That Ol’ Usta Be

“I miss the way things used to be,” a friend told me last time we spoke.

Sweet my fragrant femme blossoms, don’t we know just exactly what she means? So much has changed. So much is cattywampus and fractured and sinister and downright shitty just about now. Old coping skills have gone up in smoke and new coping skills are uncomfortable and unwieldy. I miss so many things from pre-pandemic times, so many things that are over, Rover. You know, you know, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

Last night, my 23-year old hied him off and out of town. After several years of trying, he is finally launched on his travel adventure: Thailand for ten days, and then to Japan to spend a year learning Japanese.

Before he left, we went to see my 90-year old mom together. She kept dozing off, but when she was awake, she was pretty front and center. “That’s quite strenuous!” she said, as he told her about his plans. “That’s amazing!”

Then he and I had lunch and went over details together (really, he was all set, but he generously shared with me because he knew how much I’ve been enjoying seeing him get ready for his adventure). I bought him some snacks for the airplane and hugged him tight, tight, tight, saying, “Aishiteru! Aishiteru!” which is I love you in Japanese. He was flying Qatar airlines, so was modestly dressed in slightly-too-small slacks and button-down shirt. I will miss being in the presence of those knobbly wrists and ankles!

But it wouldn’t be good if he stayed here. He has to go do his thing. Even if the world is so incredibly changed since I hied me off on my travel adventures when I was his age. I just got a text from him that he landed in Doha. My parents were lucky if they heard from me a week after I’d left – I think I was supposed to call when I landed, but sometimes I forgot. I don’t think the difference is one way or another, good or bad. It just is. Ok, I’m lying. I do miss the old days. But there’s missing and there’s pining away into misery.

Darlings, I know you miss so many things. From the before, from the coulda-been, from the wish-it-was. Circumstances press down on us. We feel unmoored, to say the least. But change, you know. It’s like breath. It’s life. Sweetness and loss. Love and grief. Oh, all of it!

All that you touch, you change.

All that you change, changes you.

The only lasting truth is change.

God is change.

Octavia Butler’s words hang above my desk on a postcard from Southerners On New Ground. Whatever God is for you, sister queer femmes, there is comfort in Octavia’s wisdom. Around and around, on and on, we move through this beautiful day, with the wind and the sun and the blue jays yelling at the squirrels.

Rest in change. It sounds impossible! But I think we do it every day. Next, my darlings.

Next.

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.

At the Total Femme, my intention is to post three or four times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, Femme Friday on Friday, and (new for spring 22!) the occasional Sometimes On A. 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.

Published in: on June 20, 2022 at 12:55 PM  Comments (2)  
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Pingy-Dingy Wednesday – Nonprofit AF

Vu over at Nonprofit AF always has relevant and thoughtful things to say, and this post in particular has my admiration and respect. I really appreciate how Vu uses his own past behavior to talk about what not to do, modeling growth and action. I never realized how much alcohol is a part of just about everything until, like Vu, I became aware of the addiction and alcoholism of a family member. When an event is centered around drinking, it is at the very least, disconcerting for me, and often extremely painful.

Dearest Vu, you get one pingy-dingy! Thank you for bringing up this extremely important topic, and for getting the ball rolling for continued conversation and community support.

Let’s de-normalize alcohol consumption in nonprofit, and let’s be more considerate of colleagues who don’t drink

I’m a typewriter whompin’, card catalogue lovin’ white girl from back in the day, and I yearn for a time before the covers of trade paperbacks were all squidgy, so you can imagine that I don’t actually understand what a pingback is. I do know that it can in some way be part of spreading the love, and since that’s what I’m all about at The Total Femme… every Wednesday, I pay homage to the laughter and inspiration to be had elsewhere online. If you have a favorite, let me know and I’ll post it! Write to me at thetotalfemme@gmail.com.

At the Total Femme, my intention is to post three or four times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, Femme Friday on Friday, and (new for spring 22!) the occasional Sometimes On A. 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.

Published in: on June 15, 2022 at 12:00 AM  Leave a Comment  
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Meditations for Queer Femmes – Keep That Queer Femme Energy Comin’!

Friday night, Tex and I went to the Dyke March. Saturday afternoon we had a little neighborhood Pride gathering in our driveway. Yesterday, we went to our town’s Pride event on the grounds of Town Hall.

At the Dyke March, we marched with the Urvies, holding signs with photos of Urvashi Vaid (1958-2022) and chanting things like:

Never straight! Always curvy! We are marching for our Urvi!

and

We’re dykes! Don’t touch us! We’ll kill you!

and

2, 4, 6, 8! Right wing assholes, stop the hate!

My sign said: Crush White Supremacy on one side, and Fuck SCOTUS on the other.

Being with the Urvies, talking with younger folx to let them know who Urvashi was, shouting out our anger, grief, and community connection with other dykes was deeply, deeply satisfying.

In our driveway on Saturday neighborhood queers of all ages and situations mingled and chatted. I organized an extremely ad hoc mini-Pride parade for the kids – one mom decorated her daughter’s bike handles with festive rainbow socks. A bit chaotic, as these events always are, we were still able to chit chat and get to know each other just that much better. It was chill, and sweet, and slightly chaotic (there were tears and scraped knees from some of the younger set). I loved it.

Yesterday, groups of rainbowed out middle schoolers sat together on the grass, many wearing various flags as capes. A young lesbian, member of the high school Gender/Sexuality Alliance walked around hanging out rainbow beads to anyone who needed some. Town officials, including the chief of police, select board members, and commissioners from the Rainbow Commission read the 2016 proclamation announcing the creation of the LGBTQIA+ Rainbow Commission. I hugged friends and colleagues I hadn’t seen in a couple of years and chatted with a few of the kids. I really miss chatting with queer kids, so my soul was fed.

There was no Pride in Boston this year, which, according to Joan Ilacqua in an opinion piece earlier this month might be a good thing, as it gives us time as a community to reassess what our needs are and to address them. As Ilacqua says, “[o]ur community’s resilience and joy are some of its defining features and part of its greatest strength”.  

I gathered strength from the three Pride events this weekend. Motivated by my love of queers, I’ve done my most fulfilling work, from organizing in my town (I was so proud to be the Rainbow Commission’s first chair, for example) to the writing I’m doing now. It’s the spark that keeps me going, it’s the most essential part of who I am.

You, beauties. Your spark, your queer femme joy, your strength in the face of it all. Not just for Pride month. Not just for these joyous gatherings, but always, always. What can you do every fucking day to plug in to that source of queer abundance? What do you do? Large and small, you gather it in and then you give it back out. We need each other. We need you.

Your queer femme joy is without compare.

I love you.

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.

At the Total Femme, my intention is to post three or four times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, Femme Friday on Friday, and (new for spring 22!) the occasional Sometimes On A. 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.

Published in: on June 13, 2022 at 10:13 AM  Comments (2)  
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Meditations for Queer Femmes – Not Gunna

Aren’t there days when you just feel like you’re not gunna? I mean, where you’re up against this responsibility and that responsibility and this email and that text and something you forgot, something you’ve been meaning to do, someone who wants something, a promise you made but that keeps getting put on the back burner, the vacuuming undone, the greens you bought a week ago waving limply at you every time you open the fridge, you know, things like that, and you keep saying stubbornly, “I’m not gunna.”

It’s not that you aren’t a responsible person. It’s not that you don’t get the job done when the job needs to be done. It’s just that sometimes you need a little moment of fiery fuck you. Of giving it all the finger for just a few fine moments. Or to be a little less potty-mouthed, to turn some of that responsibility-taking-care-of energy in on yourself, to give yourself a sweet surrounding of respite. There’s so much damn stuff out there (and in here) that we actually can’t manage, that is unmanageable, at least by one sole femme, no matter how determined, no matter how principled, no matter how hard working. For me, that stuff can pile onto the stuff I do have control over and topple me but good. If I don’t give myself the medicine of a few not gunnas on a regular basis, that is.

I might not gunna cook today.

Not gunna call my mom.

Not gunna do the laundry.

Those aren’t all that hard, since we’ve got leftovers; I saw my mom yesterday and she’s doing great and is benefiting from time for herself getting used to the new facility she’s in; and I still have clean clothes.

Harder are things like I’m not gunna fret about all that I can’t change, from near and from far; I’m not gunna lose myself in a book when I’ve got a writing deadline coming up; I’m not gunna give myself a hard time about all those other not gunnas…

My magical and marvelous femme sisters, let us try today to not gunna the cold pricklies that can sometimes swarm us.

Today, let our not gunnas be generative, warmfuzzy and comforting, rejuvinating and restful.

Let us allow ourselves some not gunnas that contribute, in the end, to all the wonderful gunnas that we have ever and always inside.

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.

At the Total Femme, my intention is to post three or four times a week: Meditations for Queer Femmes on Monday, Pingy-Dingy Wednesday on Wednesday, Femme Friday on Friday, and (new for spring 22!) the occasional Sometimes On A. 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.

Published in: on June 6, 2022 at 10:43 AM  Leave a Comment  
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