Meditations for Queer Femmes – WHAT DAT NOISE?

When my son Seth was wee and my son Owen was even more wee, we went on a camping trip at Yellowstone. In the middle of the night, Owen’s wee but extremely loud voice woke us up.

WHAT DAT NOISE? he hollered, then hollered again. We listened.


The other day, I took a walk on the Battle Road Trail in Minuteman National Park. It was an utterly gorgeous afternoon, breezy, blue, leaves beginning to turn. I could hear woodpeckers, blue jays, squirrels, chipmunks. I mean, I could hear them in and around the road traffic noise from nearby highways, not to mention air traffic from Hanscom Airforce Base. It was that familiar New England feeling of being in a peaceful wooded haven yet surrounded by the human world’s racket.

This was the day after I’d had a routine breast cancer follow up with my oncologist and I was carrying a lot of noise of my own.

I’d taken a work break and forced myself to get out of the house, in part because Tex, my spouse, had asked for my promise to do something beautiful that day. She is well aware of how hard it is for me to shake myself free of the death grip of stress.

Even though I’m holding steady cancer-recovery-wise, I still have a lot of anger. Despair. Wishing I had something concrete to blame, in that human way we all are familiar with. Hard to not blame ourselves. My therapist recently retired, and her parting words to me were: Stop being so hard on yourself! There’s nothing wrong with you!

Still, there is so much noise in my head. Walking. Driving. Eating. Sitting. Some of the time it’s very low grade, but some of the time it drowns out everything else.

Golden, vibrant orange, lovely fall colors that you are my femme sisters, is there also noise around you, in you?

I know there is.

Wolf blessing and loud frightened questions.

Woodpeckers and fighter jets.

Good news and steaming, boiling anger.

As I greeted the ranger dressed like a Minuteman who gave me a cheery wave, as I hopped out of the way of a serious walker who came very close to clipping me with his walking pole as he hurried by, I got to thinking. A bit of meditation.

Well, I thought. Here I am. Is it any less beautiful because a big rig is passing by? I perhaps would enjoy it differently without the air brakes, but I’m enjoying it all the same. My limbs and my anxieties are loosening. I’m more and more in my body and less and less in the What Ifs.

My loves, I know that wherever you are, it isn’t perfect. There are abundant irritants disturbing your peace. But you are so vibrantly, irrepressibly alive in it, in the middle of it, sweet pumpkin pie lattes, alive and bringing all your femmetastic queer delights to the world.

Ah, dearests.



Let it all sound.

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

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 October 3, 2022 at 5:11 PM  Leave a Comment  
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