“We owe to the Middle Ages the two worst inventions of humanity - romantic love and gunpowder.” Andre Maurois
One of the many useful lessons I garnered from Second Wave feminism was the understanding that romance does not equal love, especially love between equals. It relies on fantasy and/or objectification to sweep away those who indulge in it. Thus, I've mostly not celebrated Valentine's Day except to send cards to older members of my family and to children, who appreciate expressions of love in a more down-to-earth manner.
Several years ago, however, I hosted a valentine-making party at my house the week before the day, providing a supply of card stock, lace, paper doilies, paints, glitter, and all the other materials to give folks free creative rein. To my surprise, everyone I'd invited came -- there was hardly room at my dining table for all of us. And they had a wonderful time, swapping ideas, admiring each other's handiwork, telling stories about old girlfriends. One of the women who attended was someone who had known me since I was 19: Back then, I'd had a throbbing crush on her, concealed because I had a jealous lover at the time and also this object of my affection was several years older than me. When she moved back to Austin, we became friends again and there was again a flicker of attraction.
This woman, brilliant, kind, a gifted radio producer and poet, spent all evening on a single card, bestowing upon it all her bells and whistles. It emerged as an intricate work of art. I was so astonished when she gave it to me, before leaving shyly into the night, that I fumbled any graceful response. One of those moments I wish I could get a do-over for. If you're reading this, you short Aquarian you, let me just say: I have regrets about my failure to respond. Serious regrets.
Most of my poetry has been saturated with love but usually not of the romantic variety. I've not written a lot of poems to women I desired. But every now and then, I've composed a love ballad. After the fold are a few of the ones I'm not too embarrassed to share.
Love to you all this day, love of the most profound and lasting variety.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY
Friday, February 13, 2009
GINNY BATES: THE DANCE OF THE BLUE WALRUSES
Here's another installment of my Great American Lesbian Novel (in progress), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.
March 2019
Jane called on Monday to say they'd found a colleague in special ed who could test babies and was willing to interview Lucia that Thursday. Ginny said they'd take Leah and Charlie for the morning, so Jane and Gillam could go to the interview unencumbered. On Tuesday, Sima left a message with Chris saying she would eat lunch with her on Thursday as well. She said she was flying to Boston on Friday.
Chris was a ghost. Myra felt little more than one, herself. Ginny would get up early and make breakfast for herself and Chris, after which Chris went to sit by the pond. Allie took Chris out for lunch most days. During the time when the grandchildren weren't over, Chris kept working at repainting her rooms or planting starts for the garden, but her motions were slow and her attempts at conversation spotty.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
GINNY BATES: FILLING GAPS
Here's another installment of my Great American Lesbian Novel (in progress), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.
March 2019
Two days later, Ginny was finally able to persuade Sima to meet her for lunch. Sima insisted that she not be “ambushed”, as she put it, by having to deal with anyone but Ginny. When Ginny came home, Chris was sitting out by the pond – refusing to wait at the front of the house, Myra thought. Ginny took Myra's hand and walked with her to sit beside Chris, pushing up next to her and saying “I'm so sorry. She says she's going for a new kind of happiness. She says she means to call you before she leaves town.”
“Was that her wording, she 'means to'?” asked Chris, her shoulders caved in.
“Yes” said Ginny. “I noticed that, too.”
“What about the rest of us?” asked Myra.
“I told her about how much the grandchildren are asking after her, and that I think she owes a goodbye to our three. She said she would call Margie, that's as far as it went. She said --- she doesn't know how to do this any other way. I did get Susan's address from her.” Ginny pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and put it in Chris's palm, where Chris simply stared it. After a minute, Myra took it from her and said “I'll make sure this gets saved and shared.”
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
GINNY BATES: GUTTED
Here's another installment of my Great American Lesbian Novel (in progress), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.
March 2019
But Sima was not at her apartment, and not picking up her cell. Ginny wrote a note, and Margie borrowed a second sheet of paper to pen her own message. They left it inside the mail slot and drove home, dreading Chris's hopeful face.
Allie and Edwina stayed through dinner. Chris lay down on the living room couch with her eyes closed through much of the afternoon. Allie went in after a while, sat down at the end with Chris's feet in her lap, and closed her eyes as well. Myra thought she was probably praying.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUND-UP, 10 FEBRUARY 2009
Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.
(Bonus hungry kitteh video.)
Monday, February 9, 2009
MARY JO ATKINS BARNETT, 9 FEBRUARY 1927 -- MY FAMILY LEGACY
(Maggie and Mary Jo Atkins Barnett, December 1956, at the British Embassy Christmas Party in Kolkata, India)
Mama was born on this day in 1927, in a Sears catalogue house built on a parcel of land where I lived when I was in high school. Her mother Hettie was already dying of tuberculosis, a strain which had been handed down to her through the family from my great-great-great grandfather Richard Dickson Armstrong, who contracted it (and died from it) as a Confederate prisoner in the condemned Union Army Prison on an island in the river near Alton, Illinois. That prison had no floors, just mud, and no window glass, just open portals covered with blankets during the long winters. His son, my great-great-grandfather David Mastin Armstrong, was a 17-year-old Confederate soldier when he gave himself up to the Union soldiers so he could accompany his father to prison and look after him.
Released from prison after the South's surrender in 1865, 19-year-old David carried the tuberculosis with him on his long walk back to Arkansas and, not long afterward, his covered wagon migration to the unsettled counties of the Crosstimbers region of Texas. He married Margaret Semmerine Ritchie that year (the ancestor for whom I am named). They had stillborn twin sons and a daughter, Sarah Lee, before David died still a young man in the sod house they built a couple of miles from where my mother was born.
(Margaret, Sarah Lee, and David Mastin Armstrong, taken circa 1895 in Montague County, Texas; David was already dying of tuberculosis in this photo; my great-great grandparents and my great-grandmother)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
LOSER ICE CREAM E-MAIL
[Yet another entertaining e-mail making the rounds out there. Thanks to AB for making sure I get these!]
Ben & Jerry created the "Yes Pecan!" ice cream flavor for Obama. For George W., they asked for suggestions from the public. Here are some of the responses:
LESBIAN BLOG OF THE YEAR AWARD NOMINATIONS ARE OPEN
Hey, ya'll. It's time again for The Lezzys, the TLL Lesbian Blog of the Year Awards. I've been nominated for the Best Lesbian Feminism/Political Blog. The way it works that the top three nominees in each category go on to actual voting, so if you'd like to see me make it to a vote, you'll need go nominate me by going to The Lesbian Lifestyle, scroll down the page until you see this graphic
Click on it and fill in the form. You must have a valid e-mail (because they will contact you for confirmation) and you can go back every 24 hours to nominate again. Please do spread the love around other good lesbian blogs as well. Nominations end February 9 and voting will begin February 11. I'll update this notice then; until then, I'll keep it at the top of my page. Here's hopin'!
LEARNING FROM EXES
(President George W. Bush waits behind a camouflage curtain before being announced to speak to the troops at Al-Asad Air Base in Iraq’s western al-Anbar province 03 September 2007. Photo from The New York Times.)
A few days ago, I kept having the nagging feeling that it was a date I should be remembering for some reason. It wasn't until I woke up the next morning that I recalled: On February 4, 1991, my partner of six years left my house (where we'd slept together one last time) to board a plane for the West Coast. Leaving me for good.
It took me years to recover. I developed severe hives, such that it was difficult for me to go out in public for a while. I stopped listening to music because it was loaded with triggers. I lost a lot of weight, I made bad decisions, I blew new relationships. I had to reinvent myself.
In retrospect, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. She understood, long before I did, that I was never going to become the ultimate codependent she required of a partner, determined as I was to try. She knew I was headed down a road where I would eventually say no to her and demand she do her share. So, a few days late, I'm celebrating. To my ex I say, thanks for walking out on me, finally, after having sucked me dry for two years. I wish you peace. I've certainly found it without you.
I think of the Carole King song: "If it had been as I intended, I wouldn't have the peace I know."
"I think that clearly, the opinion-making elites and the political elites are generally insulated from the level of anxiety and economic threat that millions and millions of Americans are facing in the most extreme fashion since the Great Depression, as the cliché goes.
"At the same time, I think the problem is, is that the citizenry has really been trained to believe that they're impotent when it comes to demanding action from the political class.
......
"I think what needs to happen is there needs to be a sense, as you said, whether it's street demonstrations or other forms of true social disruption that can threaten the people who have an interest in preserving how things are, that until that happens, and whatever form that takes -- (it's hard to predict, it can be spontaneous, it can grow out of real dissatisfaction and anger- -- that more or less, lip service will be paid to the idea that these are significant problems that our political leaders care about, that change is coming."
I began considering the idea of imagining the future two years from now and embracing it, getting ready for it, by (say) tomorrow night. What if two years before my ex left me, I had had the sense to accept where things were headed and said "All right, I'm going to live as if you've already gone." I'd not have wasted years of my life. Sometimes, of course, we have to learn lessons the hard way, the slow bleed, or, my own preferred method, by the Quaker axiom of "Proceed as the way opens." But sometimes we have a chance at quantum leaps. If this is one of those windows, I'd like to jump through it.
I'm only beginning this thought exercise. I have no profound lessons to pass on as yet. Still, I thought I'd share it with you -- possibly some of you are way ahead of me. And we are certainly all in this together. Happy day of rest, ya'll. See you on Monday.
[Note: The photos in this post are from The New York Times photoessay/editorial by Errol Morris titled Mirror, Mirror On The Wall. My deep thanks to Digby for writing about this article and linking to it; I've been studying it ever since. Hat-tip also to Saturday Night Live's Seth Myers whose comment in Weekend Update made me laugh cola out my nose: He mentioned that President Barack Obama had apologized this week for "screwing up" in the nominations of two Cabinet members with tax problems, and responded with "Dude, the guy who had this job before you? He broke the world." Yeah.]
[Cross-posted at Group News Blog.]
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