Late-Life Crisis

Woke up this morning singing “The Lady Came from Baltimore” and then remembered how Joan Baez got oodles of dyke points for not changing genders so that she was a woman singing love lyrics to another woman. Then remembered how at the concert last year she had lost her range and could no longer hit the high notes and maybe should not have tried. I immediately felt this all too familiar wash of sadness I’ve lately become accustomed to.

I think I get it.

I’m having a Late-Life Crisis. A late-life crisis – something that once brought pleasure now opens the door to very much mixed emotions. What should be new becomes drenched in nostalgic hues.

Last Wednesday, I loaded the pickup and Rory and I set off for the GCLS Conference in New Orleans. My predictable pre-trip anxiety never gave way to excitement; instead it changed slowly to dread. It’s a long way from Chicago to New Orleans: Illinois, Missouri, Memphis into Mississippi, Louisiana. The only geology was a bit of road cut in southern Illinois. I like geology. I’d been dreading bad weather and it happened in Mississippi with a downpour that cut visibility to zero, but luckily it was short, just long enough to know how dangerous it was.

When it got dark I was too close to New Orleans not to keep going, but I got lost in the city. Everyone I asked help from was exceptionally nice. I got to my motel and I just wanted to be back in Chicago. Home. Realized that I was not the Gutsy Old Lady. Slept. Woke up. Felt worse. Cried. Haven’t had morning crying in a very long time. Called Sharon. Cried. She said that as long as I was there, I should just go to the conference and see what it was like, eat something, and then I could come home when I wanted.

TV said there was a brain-eating amoeba loose in St. Bernard Parish. I thought: figures. [I was in nearby Jefferson Parish. Parish in Louisiana is same as county.]

Took the bus from stop in front of the Travelodge in Metairie across the Mississippi to the bus stop across the parking lot from the Riverside Hilton – really easy. I was still feeling very sad but not hurting sad. Found GCLS, passed out Press Kits, met some people I have met or heard of on-line, was on time to go to 2-hour discussion/presentation of the History of Lesbian Literature.

Here follows a recap of what I thought was a valuable discussion:

The books were separated by decade, beginning of course with Well of Loneliness. Sitting there and thinking, I changed my usual assessment of Well. [This was me, not the speakers.] I usually consider it an annoying, apologetic, whiney book with an ending that sucks. But I remembered something an old friend once said re another topic: any advertising is good advertising. Well of L made the existence of two women together a reality and that was more important than any of its window dressing.

Other books were more familiar – Jane Rule is still my favorite [unless I remember someone else] – and I got great suggestions to read. For example, I just finished Hood by Emma Donoghue and if anyone else has read it please let me know because it is very amazing, brilliant, coruscating.

Went back to Travelodge, Rory had been perfect [as he was the whole trip], we watched back to back to back episodes of Law & Order: SVU. It was very soothing and I fell asleep. Woke up, turned off the tv and wrote a little mini-essay on a question from the panel discussion:

What is the future of lesbian literature? I side-stepped in order to say that since any story is allegorical/symbolic the meaning of lesbian as symbol has changed. Lesbian no longer automatically means reaching for an authentic identity; challenging convention or mediocrity; daring; seeing love as a well-spring for revolution, creativity, making meaning; for refusing to be tamed. A lesbian character may still be any or all or other of these things, of course. I thought that we probably don’t always know what we’re saying when we write. Romance tames the socially disruptive impulses of sexuality. Horror solidifies and makes manageable images of dread and fear. Fantasy reimagines the distant horns of Elfland in the traditional fairy tale structure. Every story either celebrates or challenges the major mythology of the culture. [By the way, does any lesbian author these days dare write about the lesbian couple who kidnapped Patty Hearst?]

I went back to the Hilton next morning, turned in my mini-essay – it was nicely accepted – cadged another sack lunch, went back to watch tv with Rory, slept, and left early Saturday morning. Here is a song from the last time we crossed the Mississippi at Cairo:

Me and Rory Boy

Are back in Illinois

Quoth the Raven: “Nevermore to roam

So far from Home.”

I will sing it anytime on request.

Did I make up Late Life Crisis or is it already out there? [Like a mid-Life Crisis it’s about not recognizing change and the need to change.]

I’m not sorry I went – not now that I’m home – but like Joan Baez I need to remember my range has changed.

Gemstone: Black Tourmaline in Quartz; Garnet