Bookish Butch – Page 86

Fever makes me nostalgic

What do you read when you have a cold?

when you feel rotten?

when you are hurting?

Do you turn to the comfortable arms,

of an old friend,

or do you try to escape,

with the new and the light.

Do you seek,

the literary equivalent of,

mac and cheese,

comfortable uncomplicated,

or the restorative power of,

chicken soup,

familiar and old-fashioned,

or,

is spicy and decongestive,

your thing.

I’m interested, tell me.

Since the beginning of the year,

I have read nothing published before 1971,

it wasn’t intentional,

it worked out that way,

and,

it is a good thing.

I find comfort in stories,

both set in,

and written in,

the past.

I particularly enjoy,

the 19 Th and,

early 20 Th century,

why?

I’m not sure,

but,

perhaps it has to do,

with,

the notion of,

promise,

of idealism.

So, many changes,

taking place,

new ideas being expounded,

the betterment of mankind,

the forging of individual freedom,

feminism,

anarchism,

fraternity,

liberty,

equality.

We, today,

reap the benefits of,

and sometimes,

abuse the privileges,

of freedom of expression,

of the right to be who and what we are.

These rights were,

attained,

through cracks on the head,

imprisonment,

and even,

loss of life.

The pioneers of,

Haymarket,

of Asbestos,

of Selma.

There are more recent examples of course,

Stonewall,

Berlin,

Tien an men square,

Prague.

Brave people keep fighting for their rights.

I’m attached to the 19 th and early twentieth century,

probably for the same reason,

I long for card catalogues and courting,

I’m a silly romantic.

But, when I feel rotten or I have a cold,

I want to read about Anne,

or Jo, Meg, Amy and Beth.

Of girlhood in a simpler time,

but,

of girlhood seeking to overcome,

girlhood,

and becoming emancipated,

freethinking women.

I want to read about Emma Goldman,

and the suffragettes.

They all in varying degrees restore,

my faith in the power and resilience,

of the human spirit.

When I’m sick, I get nostalgic,

especially for times,

I haven’t lived through.

Perhaps it is a middle aged thing,

combined with fever.

Don’t hold it against me.

Later girls,

My butch abilities, lost

I feel like I have lost my instincts,

and that my compass is broken.

I don’t know which side is up.

Not about everything,

I can still do my job,

I can still polish my boots,

I can still cook dinner,

I can still beat any body at Jeopardy,

and I can still read.

But, I have lost,

my abilities,

to understand and please women,

well,

femmes,

since they are the ones,

I am interested in dating.

–

My butch is broken.

You would think,

that since I am absolutely crazy,

about women,

and that I happen to be one,

it would give me insight.

Right?

Being sensitive,

earnest,

honest about your feelings,

showing them,

telling them,

how much you desire them,

and how wonderful,

you think they are,

these are good things,

right?

Be sweet,

be true,

be strong,

be brave,

lay it on the line,

be vulnerable,

be,

Butch.

Femmes like a butch to court them,

right?

attention,

flirtatious notes,

patience and understanding,

you know,

old fashioned courting.

Nothing to do with stalking.

Well, I always thought so,

it is part of my belief system.

I respect,

worship,

adore,

women.

In the past year,

a few women went from really liking me,

and even desiring me,

to wanting to be friends and,

dumping me.

Obviously, my compass is broken.

My butch mojo,

failing.

I may have to change the name of my blog,

to bookish monk.

I think I may have a future,

as a monk.

Because, my butchness is gone.

No more about my pathetic love life.

You girls deserve better.

Books are better.

Later girls,

Vicarious living through television

Mild day,

kind of grey.

I’m feeling a little bit rotten,

coming down with a cold,

don’t worry,

I’ll live,

Butches are tough:-)

Although as far as butches go,

I don’t know how tough,

I can be considered,

after all,

my moniker is,

bookish butch.

Bookish is not the type of word,

that inspires visions of toughness.

Perhaps,

I am more sensitive,

than tough:-)

I went for a long walk today,

to clear my head to try and focus.

I’m not sure it worked,

but,

the exercise is good.

My heart hurts,

I’m sad,

and it’s February.

I think many of us feel that way.

I think I’ll read.

Oh,

and I’ll watch Jennifer Beals,

in her new show.

Beautiful woman,

in a uniform,

works for me.

Things are looking up!!

When you feel the way I feel,

you live vicariously through books,

and television.

Later girls,

Library visit and my continuing search for…

Another glorious day here,

in La Belle Province,

well my part of it,

anyway.

I decided to go to the library,

I had some books to bring back,

and I wanted to,

pick up a couple more.

A few weeks ago,

a new acquaintance,

told me,

what her favourite books were,

and I decided to check them out,

both figuratively and literally.

You can tell a lot about a person,

from her favourite books ,

but,

if you haven’t read them,

you better get crackin’:-)

So, my library loot:

I still have,

Making Things Better and

Look At Me,

both by Anita Brookner.

I heard many good things about Brookner,

on various book blogs,

she writes about the loner,

and the loner,

fascinates me.

So, no brainer,

check out Brookner.

The two books I took out today,

Jude The Obscure by Thomas Hardy

and a children’s classic,

Where The Red Fern Grows,

by Wilson Rawls.

It’s funny,

I’ve started reading children’s classics,

in the last four, five years,

Harriet The Spy,

Charlotte’s Web,

Etc.,

and they are charming and heartwarming,

better late than never.

This lady assures me,

Where The Red Fern Grows,

is super and makes your heart sing,

since,

in my opinion,

you can never have,

too much singing heart,

I will be reading it this week.

Jude The Obscure,

for it’s part,

is described as the story of,

a non-conformist.

I consider myself a non-conformist,

I tried to read Tess Of The D’ubervilles,

many years ago,

I think I wasn’t ready for Hardy,

then,

perhaps that has changed.

Well,

Later girls,

The Price Of Salt-An Appreciation

Today was a magnificent day,

in Montreal,

sunny and clear, clear skies,

The Habs won,

sales were good,

and my hormones are in their good stage.

Fist Pump:-)

Even Though,

I was busy,

which is,

let me be perfectly clear,

a good thing,

I managed to finish,

The Price Of Salt by Patricia Highsmith.

A good book,

a damn good book.

I don’t really do reviews,

as you know,

more appreciations,

both Amy and Cass,

of Amy Reads and Bonjour, Cass respectively,

will be reviewing,

they are on my blog roll and I’ll let you know when they post,

I read this book as part of the GLBTQ Challenge,

I’ve been wanting to read this book for years.

It was published in 1952 by The Naiad Press,

a legendary lesbian publishing company.

Highsmith published this book under a,

nom de plume, Claire Morgan.

A beautifully written novel,

and since Highsmith,

went on to be a queen of the noir genre,

you feel the tension,

you know,

the does she, doesn’t she tension.

real erotic tension,

that’s what I felt.

A sexy and serious novel,

about love.

If you are looking for,

some explicit love scenes,

keep looking,

this is a novel about being in love,

for the first time.

How wonderful it is,

how scary it is.

Therese Belivet,

is a young aspiring set designer,

she meets Carol Aird,

a thirty something married woman.

For Therese it is immediate,

love at first sight.

The recognition of Carol,

as,

exactly who she needs.

Therese is a wonderfully innocent character,

so young,

not naive, not blind,

a little scared but,

courageous.

Carol is a cool customer,

or so we think,

at first,

a sophisticated older woman.

Therese is under her spell from the beginning,

The dusky and faint smell of her perfume came to Therese again, a smell suggestive of dark green silk, that was her alone, like the smell of a special flower. Therese leaned closer towards it, looking down at her glass. She wanted to thrust the table aside and spring into her arms, to bury her nose in the green and gold scarf that was tied close to her neck.

This is their first date,

second meeting,

the kid

has got it,

bad.

Takes a good writer to get,

your blood pumping with so little,

the use of language is amazing.

Carol is confident but,

far from aggressive,

she let’s Therese decide.

These women want and love each other.

It was brave to write this in 1952,

the love that dare not speak it’s name era.

A very satisfying read,

there is tension,

sexual,

societal,

familial,

but, ultimately,

there is hope of,

love,

being worth the sacrifices,

being worth transcending,

what others think.

It’s about finding and fighting for what you need.

Very good.

Well worth any one’s time.

I still haven’t absorbed it all.

I hope I gave you a taste for it.

Later girls,

Boxers or Briefs?

I’m feeling low and hormonal,

hapless and unloved,

woe is me

and whenever I feel this way,

the one thing,

that always brings me out of my funk?

An installment of,

The Elements of Butch Style,

can I have a drum roll, please.

Now, let’s see I’ve done,

Boots,

Suede,

Flannel,

Plaid,

Basic black,

So,

today?

baseball caps?

hoodies?

Nah,

today we discuss,

that age old question,

Boxers or briefs?

Personally,

I’m a boxer butch.

I like the comfort,

I like the line,

well,

I mean,

the no line:-)

When I was a young and studly butch,

all those years ago,

sigh:-)

I used to wear briefs,

Calvin klein’s,

remember those?

They made me feel,

like I could conquer anything,

and woo,

any and all women.

My Calvins and my 501’s,

oh yeah,

I was dangerous.

Then I settled down,

and although my butt,

didn’t really grow,

my gut,

did.

So I started,

sniffing around,

the boxer section,

at The Gap and all.

I never even considered women’s boxers,

those are for femmes,

who are getting in touch with,

their inner butch.

My butch is both inner and outer,

so,

I explored boxers,

I didn’t really like the regular,

cotton or oxford types,

they bunch under,

my jeans.

But, the cotton jersey,

t-shirt like material,

that I liked.

In the last few years,

I suspect a lot more women,

of every type,

have been purchasing,

boxers,

and I suspect they aren’t all,

buying them for their boyfriends.

So, now we have much more,

of the smooth front types.

I hate those sides openings.

You get a rainbow of colours,

and cute affordable styles.

Perhaps, we can attribute this,

to post modernist gender interpretation?

Huhm, food for thought.

I like boxers,

most butches I know,

like boxers.

What do you think?

Which is butchier?

Or sexier?

Ok, Gina Gershon in Bound,

made tighty whitties,

very appealing,

but,

that’s a movie,

in real life?

what do you think?

I’m feeling a little self-conscious with all,

this underwear talk,

So,

Later girls,

What can you and, can’t you, blog about?

Well, the sky opened up,

and we got a lot of snow,

it’s,

very pretty.

The Habs won again,

two in a row.

I’m doing the wave!!

The subject of the day,

What can you and, can’t you, blog about?

I’m sure that most of us,

who have a blog,

that can be considered,

of a personal nature,

occasionally,

or even,

frequently,

debate with ourselves,

what is or isn’t,

appropriate.

I ask myself this question,

a lot,

I have even posted,

and then removed,

posts,

that I regretted.

I didn’t regret them,

for the feelings,

they expressed,

or even for the style,

everyone writes a boring post, once in a while

but,

for the possibility of someone,

being,

offended or hurt.

It goes without saying,

that my intention is,

Never,

to offend or hurt,

but,

I believe I have,

a few times,

and for this I say,

Mea Culpa.

Some people have therapists,

some people have confidantes,

some people have partners,

I have bookish butch.

Through bookish butch,

the blog,

soon to be a feature motion picture, coming to a theatre near you:-)

I have expressed first and foremost,

my love of books,

and their importance in my life.

I have also,

this is particularly true,

lately,

expressed the hopes and fears and pratfalls,

of, my tortured soul:-)

and maybe,

have gone to a place,

that is too personal.

Some people,

friends,

mostly,

have expressed,

concerns about this,

others,

respond very positively and tell me,

I should censure as little as possible,

that it is personal and visceral,

and that’s what they like.

Who is right?

I don’t know?

both?

Maybe.

All writing is subjective,

your truth,

your interpretation,

personal, not objective.

I am not a writer,

I am a woman,

a butch,

a blogger,

with a slightly fictitious persona,

I don’t write novels,

I read them,

I blog about them,

I don’t write and re-write,

and edit and re-edit,

I feel or think something,

I post about it,

it is my way,

this isn’t art,

it’s life,

and blogging.

I think that sometimes,

life is,

silly,

obsessive,

impudent,

reflective,

hurtful,

beautiful,

hopeful,

and over enthusiastic.

Yesterday, I asked you,

Do You Believe in Love at First Sight?

and today,

I ask,

What can you and, can’t you, blog about?

So,

come out of the shadows and tell me,

what you think,

Please.

Later girls,

**don’t forget to check out Venus Magazine**

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Love- in a world where carpenters get resurected,—-Anything is possible–Eleanor of Aquitaine.

I posted this quote before,

it can stand repeating.

I am reading The Price Of Salt,

it is fabulous,

so far,

I am about one hundred pages in.

The first twenty pages or so,

are work,

but,

on page twenty eight,

you get this:

Their eyes met at the same instant. Therese glancing up from a box she was opening, and the woman just turning her head so she looked directly at Therese. She was tall and fair, her long figure graceful in the fur coat that she held open with a hand on her waist. Her eyes were grey, colourless, yet dominant as light or fire, and caught by them, Therese could not look away.

In the words of,

the immortal Jackie Gleason,

…and a way we go!!

Highsmith had me,

I needed to know,

what would happen.

I’m not finished,

probably tomorrow,

if I decide,

I want to sleep tonight:-)

The reason I mention it is,

I want to ask you all,

a question,

Do you believe in love at first sight?

In the true spirit of sisterhood,

I’ll tell you what I think.

I believe,

I sure do,

absolutely,

not a doubt in my mind.

This perhaps strikes you as,

being in contradiction with,

that stuff I wrote,

months ago,

about kindness,

being more important than looks.

I’ll tell you girls,

I stand behind both,

statements.

Kindness is more important than looks,

ultimately,

and in the long run.

But, Love at first sight,

isn’t about looks,

it’s about,

chemistry.

Of course,

you should be weary of me,

discussing chemistry,

I never took high school chemistry,

and,

my love life is hapless,

but,

my credentials as a hopeless romantic?

Impecable!!

I believe in a stranger across a crowded room,

some enchanted evening:-)

who in fact isn’t a stranger,

but,

the ONE.

It’s never happened to me,

it may never happen to me,

but,

I believe it can.

Later girls,

Snowstorms are time to read

It’s really coming down out there.

Days like these,

you wish you could,

skip work.

The Habs won last night,

in overtime against The Capitals,

Ovechkin’s bunch.

I expect it to be slow at the bookstore,

slow is good,

I need time to read,

The Price Of Salt for the GLBTQ Challenge.

Basically, I have a pile of books,

waiting for me,

and that’s what snowstorms are for,

right?

Mind you 15 to 20 cm,

is barely a snowstorm.

the American midwest,

they are getting a snowstorm.

I have been talking and writting,

a lot lately,

now I need to read.

Hard to read when you can’t,

concentrate.

Hard, to write when you have,

not much to say.

Thanks for your support.

Later girls,

Tradition for an honourable woman

I went to my friend’s funeral,

this morning.

It was cold and grey,

not as cold as expected,

But,

just as grey.

Her family was represented,

as were her friends,

it was a solemn occasion.

She was buried,

according to the rites and customs,

of her people,

her ancestors,

and that is how,

it should be.

Thirteen men said Kaddish,

which is beautiful.

I am not a religious woman,

but,

I believe in tradition,

I believe in the importance of acknowledging,

the passing of life,

I believe in respect,

I believe in the sanctity of friendship,

I believe in the soul.

It’s a hard thing to watch,

your friend being lowered,

into the ground.

Betsy, is the first friend,

I lose to death.

I have lost loved ones,

quite a few,

grand-papa,

dad,

grandmaman,

but,

never friends,

I guess that is rare for a person of,

middle years.

To know you will,

never hear her voice,

again,

that’s tough.

She was one of those people,

you could call,

to bail you out of jail,

she would have worn,

a disapproving frown,

but,

she would have come.

You don’t get,

many of those.

I know she rests in peace,

she was an honourable,

woman.

Later girls,