Hot day,
I seem to write,
that,
a lot lately,
maybe,
because,
it’s so,
darn hot:-)
I started re-reading,
A Moveable Feast,
by Hemingway,
I’ve read this book,
many times,
and yet,
every time,
I read it,
it is as if,
I have never read it.
There are,
few books,
I re-read,
The World According to Garp,
I’ve read,
three times,
I think,
and yes,
I discover,
things each time,
it is,
a multi-layered plot,
and some things,
I forget,
from one reading,
to the next,
but,
some things,
I anticipate,
I look forward to,
Garp’s conception,
the meeting with Ellen James,
and more,
it takes away,
none,
of my enjoyment,
but,
I expect.
84 Charing Cross Road,
is like a good conversation,
with a friend,
I don’t see often,
and,
everytime,
I think why,
don’t,
we see each other,
more often?
To keep it special,
I guess:-)
But,
with,
Moveable Feast,
it’s different.
I know,
Hemingway,
will write about,
his time,
in Paris,
his writing,
his friendship,
with,
Sylvia Beach,
his honest,
observations,
of,
Gertrude Stein,
and,
F Scott Fitzgerald.
Yet,
each time,
I discover,
a sentence,
a nugget,
that brings,
me to reflection.
Lights up,
something,
that I couldn’t quite see,
a candle flicker,
that illuminates a shadow.
For a few,
maybe even,
more than,
a few,
days,
I have been,
pondering,
a question,
asked by a friend,
of mine.
It is a sincere,
and,
honest question,
why would anyone,
choose,
to wear,
a label?
she was refering,
to Ivan Coyote’s,
brilliant,
writing on the nature,
of the butch beast:-)
and,
of,
my recent identification,
with,
and crushing on,
said writings
Why,
did I wear,
indeed,
embrace a butch label?
I know where,
she’s coming from,
I hope she will corect me and clarify if I am mistaken,
Her position,
is,
many people fight,
their whole lives,
to free themselves,
of labels,
to rise above them,
to say,
I am so much more,
than you think,
than you see,
I won’t gently,
enter into,
the little narrow box,
you’ve constructed,
and reserved for me.
I get that,
I don’t accept,
labels,
that are pinned,
on me,
the labels I wear,
I want,
I like,
I have,
grown enough,
to embrace,
it’s personal.
I’ve never,
wanted to be one,
thing,
I am many things,
as Ani De Franco,
has sung,
I am 32 Flavors and then some
a woman,
a lesbian,
Canadian,
Québécoise,
French,
English,
neither,
both,
fairly well read,
and,
a University dropout,
I am all these things,
and I am butch,
I like the butch,
I have grown into,
I am no caricature,
although sometimes,
I ham it up.
Yeah,
I wear,
boots,
and,
ball caps,
boxer shorts,
and men’s shirts,
I like hockey,
and wouldn’t be,
caught dead wearing,
pink!
I also can’t drive,
neither own,
nor know,
how to use,
power tools,
I like to cook,
and enjoy,
romantic comedies,
Nascar?
I don’t think so!!
I like to lead,
while slow dancing,
and,
open doors for my lady,
but,
she has to drive,
and does,
well.
I like tweed caps,
leather patches,
and to fish,
but,
mostly I walk,
city streets,
I am a bookish butch,
a mass of contradictions,
and for some reason,
I like to call myself,
butch,
I’m also a Taurus,
which is neither here,
nor there.
Hemingway didn’t like,
his generation,
being labeled,
the lost generation,
and yet,
he wrote about it,
and made,
the phrase famous.
made me reflect,
I have no answers,
but,
I like to call myself butch,
and the beauty of it,
is I live in a time,
and place,
where I not only have,
the right to,
but,
also the pride in.
The women’s movement,
Stonewall.
Made it possible.
I am butch.
Later girls,
BB