Bookish Butch

Winner LGBT category

 

In a little less than a month,

I will be forty-nine.

I am tempted to say,

forty-nine years,

young,

even though I find that way of phrasing it, hopelessly cheesy and I’m not fond of cheesy.

because I feel young,

or rather,

I feel like,

I am,

at a young phase,

of my life.

Ok,

this may sound weird,

but,

it struck me,

yesterday,

while I was,

in the shower,

a spot of frequent flashes of inspiration, and the occasional epiphany:-)

In many ways,

I am at a phase of my life,

somewhat like my twenties,

big changes,

going from a zone of comfort,

to new,

unknown,

territory,

I have a job,

which is,

well,

a bit,

loserish,

and,

I am in many ways,

being creative through,

the largess of others.

I should be scarred,

of failure,

of financial calamity,

of not having what it,

takes.

In my twenties,

I wasn’t particularly,

ambitious,

but,

I feared failure,

things not going as I thought,

they would or should.

I don’t have that now.

Don’t get me wrong,

being poor and dependent on the kindness of others,

not strangers, Blanche Dubois, I am not.

can be humbling,

and frustrating.

But one thing,

I have learned,

in my few hundred,

walks around the block,

failing,

is NOT,

the end of the world,

not trying,

is worse.

Plus,

living almost five decades,

has thought me a few things,

mostly about myself,

what I am,

capable of,

and,

not,

capable of,

my strengths,

my weaknesses,

at forty,

almost,

nine,

I  know me,

better,

and,

I think most do,

and,

if you’re lucky,

you like you better.

You may not be,

a Spring chicken,

but,

you’re sort of a,

late Summer Chicken:-)

If you learned,

from,

your school of hard knocks,

and,

have patience with who you are,

how you process,

how you grieve,

diving into,

the shallow end,

isn’t as,

scary,

you understand,

the buoyancy of your belly,

and,

you have muscle memory,

it may burn,

and,

pinch,

and be even,

quite painful,

but,

you know,

how to judge,

just how shallow,

the shallow,

is,

and,

you also know,

the truth,

of time heals all wounds,

and,

of,

what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,

if not now,

than,

then.

At forty-nine,

the chicken has crossed,

many roads.

All this to say,

I know,

that I will write this book.

I know,

that I will be a more than adequate photographer,

I know also,

that I trust my instinct,

and that,

for,

the really important things,

the major forks in the road,

I can trust,

it.

I don’t fear,

changing my mind,

looking foolish,

I don’t like,

looking foolish,

but,

I don’t fear it.

I have lots of healthy,

self criticism,

but,

I don’t beat myself up,

about motives,

my intentions are,

not selfish,

and,

I am more patient,

and,

have more belief,

in myself,

than,

ever before,

I feel good about,

myself,

my choices,

and those who share,

my life.

I feel good.

This late Summer chicken,

still has lots,

of walk and talk,

and,

power to learn and change.

and learning to trust,

my eye,

my ‘vision’,

I know I can do.

Late Summer chickenhood,

is good.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

Hello girls,

Spring is Springing:-)

My last post,

was,

weird, and confusing,

happens,

try to express,

too many thoughts,

without distilling,

and,

that’s what you get.

Not all thoughts,

are clear,

even our own,

especially our own?

So,

I thought,

I would share some,

random shots,

and,

some snippets of thought.

Been taking,

lots of pictures,

dragging,

the camera about,

working on a thread of a thought.

One thing comes back,

over and over,

something I want to capture,

a little,

of,

in the book.

Montreal.

Montreal is my home,

my habitat.

I love it,

I loath it,

we have a complex,

relationship,

it’s beautiful,

it’s ugly,

it’s my beautiful ugly.

If you’ve ever seen the movie Kissing Jessica Stein, my beautiful ugly is a nod to Helen’s definition of sexy ugly, think, Harvey Keitel.

 

 

I watch a show on TV, Perceptions, it’s weird and interesting and far from perfect, I suspect one of the reasons I watch this show (about a schizophrenic professor who consults with the FBI) is Dr.Pierce’s wardrobe, which I find perfect and butch:-P

 

I saw something on tumblr today,

I can’t explain and I won’t even try.

Have a wonderful weekend,

you all,

off to collect my thoughts,

and,

survey monkey.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

Good afternoon girls,

doing well?

Keeping on?

I hope so.

It’s been an interesting,

week,

they all are,

lately.

Learning curves,

and,

humbling experiences,

the ole butch,

still has much to learn,

and that,

honestly,

is as it should be.

Learning new things,

even,

about yourself,

even things,

that aren’t,

great,

about,

yourself,

well,

it keeps you,

young,

if you let it.

If you learn,

something,

unsuspected,

about yourself,

a flaw,

a foible,

a weakness,

or maybe,

just the,

fact that,

for all your rationality,

you aren’t always,

rational,

well,

that’s growth,

my friends,

and,

growth is,

youth,

in a bottle.

Sometimes,

the bottle contains,

an elixir,

sometimes,

the bottle contains,

a bitter burning pill,

as my ex would say,

‘it’s all good’,

and it is,

learn,

don’t do it again,

or,

turn,

the lemons into,

lemonade.

If you’ve done,

wrong,

fix it,

and/or,

apologize,

even,

if you didn’t mean to hurt anybody,

move on,

guilt won’t help you,

or anybody else,

humility,

yes,

not guilt or defensiveness.

Years ago,

I was watching,

PBS,

and,

I think,

Bill Moyer,

was interviewing,

Sister Wendy,

remember her?

A nun who did a whole series, of art history, and, art appreciation, specials, for the BBC, in the ’90′s, kooky and interesting woman

In that interview,

Sister Wendy,

taught me something,

very valuable,

she said she never felt guilt,

interesting coming from a Catholic!!!

and,

Moyer,

asked her,

have you never done wrong, hurt people?

and,

she said ,

of course,

she had,

but,

she apologized,

sincerely,

tried to right the wrong,

and,

never make that mistake again.

She forgave herself.

Of course,

Sister Wendy,

also had a God element,

in there,

that isn’t part of,

my thinking,

but,

I thought of it,

as some of the best advice,

I had ever heard.

It doesn’t mean go out,

and,

hurt people,

and,

then just apologize,

it means,

if you mess up,

say so,

learn,

do your best,

never to do it again,

and move on.

Don’t think,

you’re worst,

than,

others,

and,

don’t think,

you’re better,

keep working at you,

excavate,

rebuild,

or just sit on,

the sun porch,

reflect,

learn,

don’t beat yourself up,

but,

don’t hide from your,

mistake,

misstep-

own it,

don’t wallow,

or,

revel in it.

Valuable trait,

self-awareness,

and,

humblings are good,

for all of us.

Being a survey monkey,

has it’s share,

of humbling,

working for minimum wage,

taking shit from people,

but,

there is also,

lots of joy,

in talking to people,

in hanging out,

with,

young dynamic people,

focus on the good,

without denying the bad,

learn.

I’m learning lots,

lately,

about myself,

about the world,

and,

even though,

I’ve fallen,

a lot,

sometimes,

quite painfully,

I haven’t felt,

this young in years

here is to humbling experiences,

my friends.

Later girls,

BB

****btw you can find bookishbutch on facebook and bookish butch on tumblr***

 

Hello girls,

doing well?

Keeping warm??

starting to feel,

the sap,

rise in the ole bods???

Well, I am,

it snowed,

again,

yesterday,

but,

today is mild,

and,

raining,

there are much worse things,

than rain.

I can’t wait to put,

the assorted,

beanies, tuques and mad bomber hats,

away for another year,

enough already,

down with the down!!

Bring on the Spring,

leather,

ball caps,

rain coat,

I want Spring!!

Doesn’t have to be,

pretty flowers,

Spring,

just the Spring,

of not dressing,

like the Michelin man.

I love my ball caps,

light scarves and,

lighter jackets,

layers,

just,

thinner layers.

The current object of my ball cap lust

 

Ok,

let me state,

here,

and ,

now,

I don’t need a new ball cap,

I have many,

and,

I always wear,

the same two or three,

but,

this one,

is beautiful,

butch,

sort of silly,

perfect touch of colour,

lust….

…

It’s a sickness.

there is worse

I’m also really jonesing,

for some new boots,

my favourite,

Blundstones are getting,

long in the tooth,

and,

the soles slicker,

than they were,

new pair wouldn’t be,

a luxury.

Need grippy soles at,

this time of year,

anytime of year,

actually.

Not sure,

if I’ll get another pair of blunnies,

but,

I think so,

no laces,

easy care,

beaters,

I’ve have my pair of originals,

for five years,

I think,

and,

they are still going strong,

the chisel toes,

are younger but more worn

I’m really leaning towards,

these nubuck ones,

 

pretty sharp,

this shade looks,

awesome with blue jeans,

and,

since,

they are pretty much,

all I wear,

aside from funerals,

job interviews,

and,

my ill advised,

venture into,

the corporate world.

As a badly payed,

survey monkey,

and,

aspiring,

writer photographer,

you can wear,

what you want,

most of the time.

So jeans,

ocbd(s),

(oxford cloth button down)

boots.

ball caps and,

a jacket of many pockets,

to go with my,

awesome courier bag,

I’m good.

Yay,

Spring:-)

watch out for the puddles,

and,

dog poop,

and,

keep turning your face,

to the light and the sun.

Enough silliness.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

 

Today,

is the birthday,

of my friend,

the anarchist.

I have no doubt,

that,

whatever,

the weather,

may be,

it will be,

a happy day,

because it is,

Francoys’s birthday.

I have known him,

a long time,

since our tender twenties.

We lost touch,

for a long stretch,

but,

I can,

honestly,

say,

that even when,

we didn’t have contact,

I held him in high esteem and affection.

I changed jobs,

he moved,

life,

you know,

and,

then one day,

he walked into,

my bookstore,

and,

since,

we have not only,

renewed what was,

a most pleasant friendship,

but,

have become,

the closest of friends.

He is one of the pillars,

of my life,

I depend on his opinions,

his support,

his smarts,

his intellect,

his good and generous heart,

(which I secretly think is as big as a bus)

his good humour,

his unparalleled,

conversational skills.

In all of the years,

I have known him,

never a cross word,

has he directed at me.

He is a most,

original man,

eccentric,

even,

with,

a style,

uniquely his.

A man of gargantuan,

proportions,

in every way,

larger than life,

big,

loud,

tender,

sweet,

erudite,

cultured.

A booming laugh,

an easily given smile,

a man of absolute principle,

moral and intellectual,

freedom and courage.

He has many,

appetites,

for knowledge,

for freedom,

for truth,

even though, the truth can really piss him off,

for food,

for coffee,

for cigarettes-

for life.

I know,

no one,

smarter than Francoys,

and,

I know many smart people,

but,

he never,

lords it over anyone,

ever.

He will argue with you,

passionately,

but,

never with disrespect,

ever.

He plays no mind games,

he is of absolute,

intellectual honesty.

I suppose he isn’t perfect,

but,

I know of ,

no,

faults.

If the anarchist called me, to help him bury a body, get him out of jail, lend him my credit card, to escape to Costa Rica, I would- no questions, because there would undoubtedly, be a reason, which, I would not question, this is the extent of the respect, I have for his character.

Of course,

he wouldn’t ask for any,

of those things,

he rarely asks,

anything,

he is independent,

and,

self sufficient,

and,

yet,

always ready to help,

a friend.

He works more than,

most people,

never complains.

He works forty hours,

a week at a job,

and,

undoubtedly another,

forty at his,

passionate,

and,

very accomplished,

historical research ,

he is the very embodiment,

of rigor and vigor,

and,

yet,

no matter when,

I call,

I never disturb him.

I love him,

very much,

he is my friend,

a word I use to describe few people.

I wanted to give you all,

a glimpse of him,

but,

honestly,

no words can really describe him,

he is Francoys,

the anarchist

Bonne Fete, mon ami.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

 

Winner Canadian Blog award 2013, GLBT category

 

Good morning you all:-)

It’s still cold and damp,

but,

the Spring is rising,

yes,

she is.

I am reading this fantastic book.

I’m thinking many of you,

have already,

read it,

Why Be Happy When You Can Be Normal?

by the great,

Jeannette Winterson,

a writer of such,

depth,

imagination,

insight,

naked honesty,

she blows my mind,

truly.

I’ve only read,

two chapters,

and,

already,

I gotta say,

breathless, speechless,

that’s how,

it makes me feel.

I’m working hard,

on my book,

project,

trying very hard,

to think of myself,

as a writer,

and,

put,

aside,

the wannabe,

self deprecating,

thing,

need to work on that,

bringing,

together,

the two,

(at least)

warring parts,

of my,

personality,

character,

even,

the confident,

self-assured,

and,

the doubter,

making them,

gel,

striving for belief,

in my possibilities.

They are both,

me,

my dichotomous,

self,

one of the metis,

hybrid,

aspects of,

BB.

I’ve been doing,

the work,

reflecting,

taking notes,

learning to work with,

my new camera,

I love my camera, feels like an old friend:-)

trying to find,

how it will,

mesh,

even,

meld,

together,

so of course,

while,

I do that,

marinate, simmer,

excavate, landscape,

I spend a lot of time,

wasting time,

on face book,

etc,

and,

sometimes,

the silliest things,

bring up,

the deepest of thoughts,

and,

questions,

and,

with questions and thoughts,

come:

doubt,

but,

when I get freaky on myself,

about asking myself,

too many,

questions,

I reach into,

the quote drawer,

in my rambling mind,

and,

pull out,

this one:

The unexamined life is not worth living.
- Plato

half of the time,

I think it’s Thoreau or Emerson,

and,

then,

I look it up,

and,

rediscover,

every time,

that it is,

Plato,

shock,

’cause,

I know,

next to nothing about,

Plato,

hmm.

Digression aside,

I was poking around,

face book,

looking at cat memes,

and,

growing despondent,

about the state of the world,

and,

thrilling,

at the latest pictures,

of my nephew,

in a flat cap,

family motif, dontcha know:-)

When I happened upon,

the latest buzz feed quiz,

you know them, right? which Greek God, Buffy character, famous writer, etc- are you?

This quiz was,

which Little Mermaid character are you?

I took it,

I love the Little Mermaid,

the original story,

and,

the Disney musical version,

I’m a fan of the romantic,

notions,

and,

the calypso,

music,

nice.

So,

took the test,

Very scientific:-P

and,

who do I get?

Yep,

Prince Eric,

Prince Charming.

I gotta say,

I shared on face book,

I thought,

to myself,

for a few minutes,

BB,

you still got it going on!

and,

then I thought,

you fool,

you ain’t no prince charming.

I’m pretty sure,

my exs,

wouldn’t think of me,

that way,

which is a good thing,

I hope they think of me,

as flesh and blood,

emotional and intellectual,

and,

oh so flawed,

and,

that is as it should be,

real, human, imperfect.

But,

part of me,

well,

part of me,

wants to be Prince Charming,

dashing, and stuff,

but,

part of me,

knows,

I am more,

gauche,

and,

middle aged,

than that,

and that’s,

ok.

Work at it,

progress,

grow,

strive to be,

the best writer,

you can be,

the best person,

you can be,

the best butch,

you can be,

reach for Prince Charming,

Jeannette Winterson,

Walker Evans,

keep building,

and,

rebuilding,

be a better,

BB

thanks for reading the meandering thoughts of a meandering butch.

Later girls,

BB

 

 

 

Winner of Canadian blog award 2013 GLBT category

Today is the first day,

of Spring.

Now,

in my part,

of the world-

not quite,

but,

still,

soon.

As the calendar moves,

forward,

and,

the days,

lengthen,

the inevitability,

and,

yes,

hope,

of Spring,

comes with it.

Spring,

is an important season,

and,

metaphor,

for us,

Canadians,

Quebecois,

because we,

live,

and,

deal,

with,

the endless,

Winter.

Seventeen years ago,

I was at work,

after tearing up,

my knee,

and,

hobbling around,

with a cane.

I had some sort,

of special assignment,

a change,

from the intensely,

active and sometimes,

difficult,

world of customer service.

I worked in a basement,

listening to and evaluating,

other people’s service.

It wasn’t great,

but,

it was smoother,

and,

I got a call…..

from my mom,

“he’s gone”,

is what she said,

my dad,

had passed,

a third heart attack,

had killed him,

he was,

fifty-eight years old.

I’ll never forget that day.

It was one of the most,

mentally and emotionally,

trying and confusing,

I have ever known.

My mom is a strong,

little woman,

on that day,

she needed me,

to be strong too.

I was,

I am,

she was,

she is.

We got through it,

together.

The arrangements,

the funeral,

the grief,

the being strong,

the sympathies expressed,

sometimes,

so,

oddly,

people don’t know what to say, I so, understand, that.

It took me a long time,

to process,

the death of my father.

When I was a child,

we got along,

great,

and,

then when I was a teenager,

it was very difficult.

He made some,

questionable choices,

in his life,

don’t we all?

and,

he paid the price,

for them,

as we,

tend to.

He was a handsome,

charismatic,

and,

lovely guy,

my dad,

and,

he was angry,

and,

melancholic,

and,

hard to take.

I loved him,

he loved me,

in retrospect neither of us,

was very good,

at showing it.

He was,

a man of,

his generation,

very male,

virile,

but,

also vulnerable and sensitive.

He could be,

the most argumentative,

man,

on the planet,

twisting your arguments,

making you doubt,

for fun,

for sport,

it seemed,

he was hard,

he wasn’t always fair,

and,

yet,

when he walked down the street,

he talked to cats,

and,

dogs came right up to him.

Old women,

adored him,

most women adored him.

He loved music,

so much,

all music,

opera,

jazz,

rock,

he taught,

me that.

I credit mom,

with teaching me,

the love of books,

but,

dad read,

as well.

In our house,

we watched television,

as a family,

just the three of us.

We watched in both French and English,

we watched movies,

and,

political conventions,

and,

the wonderful world of Disney,

and,

Les Beaux Dimanches.

We fought, we screamed,

but,

we were a clan,

of three.

Dad knew things,

no-one else knew,

you could give him, any address in the city, and he knew where it was, he knew what to order in any restaurant, if you doubted the greasy spoon you ordered a western sandwich, always safe, he taught me, don’t suck up to bosses, be nice to secretaries and receptionists and the world is your oyster, he was right, about a lot of things

he was hard on me,

it was his idea of making me a better person.

No parenting method is perfect,

but,

he loved me,

in his infuriating way,

he was kind,

he was sensitive,

and,

he was self-absorbed and selfish,

even,

weak,

aren’t we all?

Some people,

saw more of,

one side,

than others,

he was a complex man.

He understood,

about me being gay,

maybe,

before I did,

it didn’t bother,

him.

Only once,

when I was an adult,

when losing an argument,

he said to me,

“I never questioned your life style”

and,

I replied,

“why should you?”

he looked at me,

and,

said,

“you’re right”

boy that didn’t happen often.

He was big and strong,

in my youth,

and,

then,

he was diminished,

by health foes,

and,

excess,

and,

life wearing,

him,

down.

He was hard to love,

sometimes,

but,

love him,

we did,

we do.

I have,

over the years,

heard many stories,

of peoples fathers,

and,

when I look back,

on mine,

I think,

that for all his faults,

and, mine,

I was lucky,

to have him as a father,

someone,

who questioned,

and,

prodded,

everything,

who made me think,

on my feet,

all the time,

who didn’t allow me to become,

complacent,

who drove me nuts.

He taught me to deal,

with people,

all kinds of people,

He was a master class in complexity.

He made me a better person,

not always intentionally.

I am so like him,

vain,

and,

good with people,

a talker,

and,

a brooder.

Indignant and iconoclastic.

‘Never join anything’

was his motto,

and,

yet,

he took home,

strays of all kinds,

people,

cats,

dogs.

he wasn’t cynical,

he was critical,

very,

critical

and,

now that I look back,

probably most,

of,

himself.

Maybe,

dad,

should have been a writer?

Later girls,

BB

 

 

Winner of the Canadian Blog award in the LGBT category

Mighty cold,

with a mighty wind,

but,

my thoughts turn,

to Spring.

Our Spring,

here,

in Montreal,

isn’t your,

run of the mill,

Spring,

oh, no,

we go from freezing,

our,

let’s say,

butts,

to be polite,

off,

two weeks of,

nice,

warming weather,

and,

lots of rain,

to,

can you believe how hot and humid it is??

I exaggerate

……

barely.

Last Spring,

it seemed,

I went from,

the down jacket,

to seersucker shirts,

from cold,

to sweat,

with practically,

no in between

-:)

One thing I am,

looking forward to,

is walking,

around,

again,

snapping photos,

getting some,

oxygen,

in my lungs,

in my thoughts.

I look forward to,

changing,

from,

 

To this,

 

 

and then,

this,

from Winter,

to Spring,

to Summer.

butch head gear,

illustrated

-:)

I have been giving,

lots of thought,

to how to arrange,

pictures,

lately,

seeing,

themes,

illustrations,

of life,

my life,

the days and nights of bookish butch.

-:P

I have a new project,

I am working on,

it’s early days,

and,

I need to get,

some upgraded,

equipment,

of the computer,

and,

photographic types,

and,

mostly I need to wrap,

my head,

around it all.

It is so exciting,

familiar,

yet,

brand new.

I had it brewing,

for a while,

but,

I guess,

I needed,

the input,

of someone,

with,

fresh eyes,

to give it the spark,

it needed,

to,

boil.

Shawn Marie,

who hosts,

that delightful radio show,

I had the chance to take part,

in,

(http://beabehn.com/behns-bookshelf this is the archived version, if you want to check it out)

 

gave me a new perspective.

It has set me on a course,

I find very exciting.

Turning of,

the bookish butch,

archives,

new stuff,

and,

pictures,

into,

what I hope,

will be an expression,

of me,

that will speak to,

you all.

A little of me,

to reflect,

a little of you.

A graphic memoir,

a chronicle,

a novel,

all in one,

new,

but,

familiar,

specific,

and,

yet,

….

not.

A little bit,

of all I have done,

here,

but,

more.

Very exciting for me.

So,

while,

the excavation,

continues,

in parts,

new ground,

is being broken,

too.

With nods,

and,

smiles,

love and respect,

for the,

past,

recent and distant.

I turn my,

cap clad,

head,

and,

imagination,

towards,

the sun,

of Spring,

and,

renewal,

growth,

I move from,

gestation,

to creation.

Later girls,

BB

***btw, I am taking part in Shawn Marie’s special birthday radio show, this Wednesday, I will post details, later***