I’ve been remiss this week. I wanted to write a post about the meaning of Memorial day, beyond the Sea to Ski parties Smart Guy and I enjoy with our friends. Beyond the annual lobster fest we enjoy. Throughout the weekend, with my house filled with friends and laughter, I kept thinking of what Memorial Day really stands for to so many others. I have no personal reference points, but as the current war rages on, or as we toured Pearl Harbor in April, I am sobered over and over by the human loss—on all sides. The families who must go on without someone they love, the men and women who come home scarred and haunted. I regret that I didn’t find this post by Beaten Into Submission, sooner. This post is eloquent, hauntingly beautiful… and about what matters. A few days late, but something we should all spend more time thinking about regardless of the date.
Out with friends recently, to listen to music and have some food and beer. Good people, good times. Three couples, and our mutual friends… iPhone and Google. They’re hanger ons. They just show up everywhere lately, and jump into nearly any conversation. They’ve become insidious interlopers, in so many social circles; we are not special, they’ll hang out with anyone. Google’s brilliant, but in social circles he’s lost some of his charm. While he’s one of my Besties (been there for me countless times, and the one I turn to pretty much daily) at home, he’s getting a little old. Showing up wherever I am, whether he’s invited or not.
Here’s my issue. Put your fucking phone down. Really. And sorry for the language. But really, why oh why must Google and his sidekick iPhone (insert whatever smarter friend you have), always be included in every get together? Every conversation? I mean, I’m an inclusive kind of gal. I hate to hurt feelings, (even inanimate feelings) and I don’t want anyone to feel excluded, but seriously. This guy sticks his nose in everywhere. Every. Where. Seems that the idea of delayed gratification has gone the way of the dinosaur. Have a question? Well you’re entitled, as a matter of fact required, to look up the details right away. Forget that we’re talking about important stuff… It’s inconceivable to just wait it out, or Gawd forbid, not know for sure. We need to know now! Need to know if a singer is coming to town in the next year, or what the weather in Peoria is right now, or who is right or wrong about even the minutest detail— pull out your smart phone, call Google over, and show everyone how smart you are.
(Yeah, sure, I posted this to Facebook, from the table. Guilty. But it’s a Mac Daddy: grilled cheese with baked mac and cheese and bacon center. Hello!)
I get it; in fact I’m guilty sometimes. It’s oh so tempting to know everything at the drop of a hat. To share every experiences. Why wonder, why wait, why have even the tiniest doubt, if you can look it up? I get that. However, I guess I just feel a little sad that our lives are moving so fast and so electronically that we can’t step away from all that info even for a meal. We can’t be unsure about something long enough to hear our friends out and just chance a guess. Our noses start to itch, our eyes twitch, our fingers ache to type it out, and find an answer. Weather in Peoria? Well actually, at the moment of this typing, it’s 63f, there’s a 10% chance of precipitation— but looking at the weather map, you’d swear it was raining there. How many of you will check that detail, before finishing this post? Any information you want, it’s all there, with the click click of a couple fingers.
It’s so compelling that lots of people can’t drive from point A to B without checking something out. What’s the best route? Is there a better one? How many stars does that answer have? Meals can’t be had without the various diners drawing their guns to see who can Google something first. You look around a table and register the furtive glances of those who know it’s not really polite, but have their friend in their lap (run with that)… and the bold gestures of those who just figure all’s fair in the information age. Phone always in view, Google leaning across the table. Arrogant bastard. (Google, that is)
In an age where my kids don’t really know what a “Kodak Moment” is, they can instead snap an image and send it to anyone, anywhere in the world, with the same phone that will tell them what a Kodak Moment is and why their parents get sentimental about it. They do this in seconds. Away with my writing group this past weekend, we were commenting on the fact that we could identify the age of traditional photos by their shape and style: 1940s-50s- black and white photos with shiny finish and scalloped edges; 19060s colored photos with shiny finish and thin white border; 1970s- colored photos with no edge and rounded corners, as well as the miracle of polaroids, wherein one snapped a photo and watched it magically appear on the strange new paper. The 1980s-90s heralded the sharp, rectangular photos that dominated for years. There were panoramic, and regular shots, all with bold colors. Today, most photos are taken digitally and held prisoner on a computer— where we can all gather round, search the screen for memories, and then Google the details.
In my lifetime, I have gone from a phone that was anchored to the wall— preventing me from wandering or seeking privacy. If my Mom was out for the evening, I might talk with my boyfriend for 6 hours (yep, for real), stretching that long chord around the corner… some of that time accounted for in the fact that we often fell asleep together, ’cause we were so in love. No call waiting, so I was grounded when Mom came home and yelled: “I was trying to reach you for 4 hours!!” Caller ID: Damned, no more prank calls. Even at my age, there are times I miss that. Answering machines made us accountable to the people who called while we were out, where previously we had no way of knowing what we’d missed. But today, we take our phones everywhere, and we are never, ever unavailable. Unless we choose to ignore the identified caller. Which brings me back to dinner… and Google.
image: socaltech.com
It’s not enough anymore to just get together and chat— engage in polite discussion about the weather in Peoria, and accept the mystery of it all. No. Not anymore. Inevitably, there is at least one person who just has to check the details on their phone. Often there is more than one person, and then they tend to debate their sources. “But Google says…” “Ok, but Wiki says…” “Neither of those are reliable; you should check…” And if they’re not checking info, they’re texting other people who aren’t there (guilty); talking to other people who aren’t there, who can’t just leave a message anymore; or, checking their phones to see if they missed anything that their 100 “Apps” allows.
Is all of this for the better of humanity? Are we better off having so much technology at our fingertips, and right there beside us 24/7? Or have we lost something in the progress? Do our kids really need to be plugged in all the time, phones in class: to the detriment of cheating standards, disruptions in class, and a sense of constant alertness to every single ping, beep and personal ring tone, while ignoring the teacher’s voice? Is Google really better than holding a weighty Encyclopedia and experiencing the thrill of finding an answer… versus, having it spit at you, in seconds? Is it really acceptable to be out to eat with friends and be on your phone too?
Feh! I am starting to feel like the old people I once saw as dated and out of touch, when my new things ruffled their feathers. Now I’m the peacock, strutting and showing my attitude and disgust. I miss letters in the mail. While I appreciate all of the wonderful Facebook greetings and salutations, there’s nothing quite like a real birthday card, a phone call to say hi, want to have lunch, or congratulations. I’m OK with finding out later, that you called me. Most of the time, it’s something that didn’t need immediate attention. Do we really believe that texting and emailing is as intimate and meaningful as a real conversation? My head spins at the thoughts. And clearly I digress and wander and spew and lose my course… And lest any one of you who knows me personally, think I’m pointing a finger in any particular direction, I’m not. Plain and simple. I’m not. I have done each of these things more times than I’m willing to admit.
Yet, somehow, this week, these topics all came up with a variety of friends and dinner guests, and mounting passion. Each time, we found ourselves questioning the value of the changes that we’ve all accepted (and often welcomed) over time. No doubt, it’s so much easier to get to the store and be able to call home on your cell phone, to ask what you were suppose to buy. Sometimes when dining, there’s a real perk to being able to pull up movie times and see if you could maybe make a show. What a joy when my girl can text me from Israel to share some happy news, knowing we won’t be able to talk for a while. But she knows that it’s her voice I miss most. Or, to see her face or my boy’s, from China, on Skype, rather than waiting months and months to see those faces I love. These are the perks that progress built. I can’t imagine how my own mother felt, waiting for the postcards and limited letters I sent home when I was overseas for three months, in college. How did my family survive my absence and my lack of contact!
But it’s a mind fuck. It is. Silver linings all around, while acid rains falls. So many two sided issues. If you ask me: good begets bad begets good begets bad, infinitum. Forevermore. I can’t help but wonder about, and constantly question, the disconnect in interpersonal interactions, in a time where technological advancement means less and less face to face and more and more access. Less and less undivided attention to the person and task at hand. All the clichés that countless others have pointed out, spin in my head. Progress or decline? Connection or alienation? People, draw your phones and check your Google: status quo or rude?
And here’s an idea to consider:
image: erinhasthoughts.com
Share your thoughts. Share your Wiki find and your Google searches. And have a fabulous long weekend… filled with sun (Peoria, AZ, not for Peoria, IL) and good times.
Hi, my name is Tales From the Motherland, and I’m addicted to reality. Please don’t call me out for using the classic “meeting” hello; trust me, there will be plenty of opportunities to judge here. Those of you who are clever enough, or who have the same problemaddiction challenge, may already know where this is headed. Into the gutter. And down.
image: Bravo.com
I’ve been spending way too much time watching reality shows on the Bravo channel. Ok, take a second and groan; I get it. A few months ago, I would have been judging and groaning at me too. But that was before I took a header off the edge and wound up in some dark spaces. Interesting what a little Depression will bring your way. In my case, it came loaded with Real Housewives living in all kinds of places, Hairdressers running amok, Real Estate agents (also in a few places) selling crazy ass big houses, and on a few occasions… Ok, I told you there would be plenty to judge; here it is: a few Kardashians. I blush, even as I type this. But the road to recovery is paved with confessions, and countless, small prayers.
For a few months nearly a year a while, my sofa has been a lot more comfortable than say… going outside. Seeing people. Shopping. Doing almost anything other than being on my sofa, with my TV or computer. The walls came in around me. The rain became one more reason to just stay seated. The sun became one more reason to stay on the couch. Fall, inter, spring… almost anything was an excuse to hide. If it weren’t for a very good friend and some great sushi, I might not have gone out that one day a week either. It’s good to have someone in your corner who: sees the problem; doesn’t judge; supports without enabling, and who cares enough to stay the course. I’m lucky. It’s a big bonus if your sponsor friends are willing to overlook your addiction when you don’t feel like sharing, laugh with you when you’re dying to talk about the latest reality scandal, or occasionally pretend you’re not actually talking about vapid people, as if you really know them. It’s not easy for friends and family to stick by you when you’re struggling; it’s hard to watch, and hard to help. People tend to feel helpless, uncomfortable, impatient, or just tired of the downward trend, and that makes avoiding someone like me pretty damned tempting. That also makes the support from others that much more priceless to me, in the midst of the struggle.
Yeah, this is seriously what my friends and I look like. image: Bravo.com
And so I fell into a rabbit hole of vacuous TV as a means of escape. For a very long time, I was super critical of the very shows I’m now hooked on. And I am hooked. I know it’s all crap. It is. Major caca crap. Some of it’s entertaining, or interesting, in ways that I can at least defend… a little. Frankly, I’ve enjoyed watching really big houses (or apartments in NYC) marketed and sold, enjoyed watching how it’s done. It’s fun to see how style is determined and marketed, even if I live in Gap jeans and comfy shirts most of the time. Some of those “Real” housewives crack me up, even if Little Man mocks them endlessly. “Seriously Mom? They aren’t even housewives… except that they’re married and live in houses.” Or, “Ewww, is that really her face?” Bahaha! They crack me up, even if I have to hide the fact that I watch them, from almost everyone else. I didn’t get stupid, just depressed. I know these people are crass, obnoxious, materialistic, plastic… all the things I detest in real people. But the thing is, these Real people were a wonderful distraction from my own real stuff. Their stuff seemed so much more… entertaining.
image: bits.blogs.nytimes.com
A few months ago I would not have known who Tabitha was (or why she Takes Over). I had heard of Zoe, but didn’t know she was all that and like, well like, oh my gawd, she was like so cray cray about style, or that so many famous people were like so cray cray for her. I had no idea who Brad Brad was, or what his World looked like. Ok, I still don’t, but I do know it’s there. You’d have to be living under a rock to not know what a Kardashian was, but I can honestly say that in all these years, I’d never watched one— let alone one in New York and one in Miami. I sure hadn’t seen Honey Boo Boo (not on Bravo), and only watched it once… in my own defense. Once was disturbing enough. There’s some “Shrinks” on Bravo, who actually have some good advice, but I only saw a few of those. My real one was much more helpful. There’s a lot of fashion and a lot of real estate, and a lot of Real Housewives, that aren’t real on Bravo. There’s quite a bit of cooking as well. I didn’t feel like cooking much during this time, but some days it was nice to see what else I could be eating, if I wanted to cook. Watching cooking, kind of counted for cooking, in my altered universe. I wanted to eat, that never held me back. However, Hot Tamales, Nutty Bits, and Ritz crackers get old, when you eat a lot of them. A lot a lot. In my altered Reality world people like Bethany live forEver After, and lots of people can cook with any six ingredients in their frige.
Real TV—Reality, has kept me from totally losing it. That may be a sad state of affairs for lots of you, and it would have been for me a year ago, but when you’re already sad, when things look really bleak, you find distraction wherever you find it. For me, it’s been Bravo… for countless, mindless hours. These Real people have been my sweet spot, even if it was the lesser of two not really sweet spots. Facing depression each day, or watching other people who I could kind of feel above. When you’re down, you just want to feel up… even if up is only above some pretty questionable downs. I was fully aware, that it wasn’t a good thing, but honestly it was better than some of what was going on in my head.
image: securehealth12.blogspot.com
Let me be very clear here: I’m not making light of depression. In fact, lightness has been distinctly missing, for me, over the past year+. I’ve always been able to get up and move forward, but there I was stuck on a sofa, watching what I’d always called crap, for nine months or so. Stuck in a dark corner of my own design. Issues were really big, but they just got bigger, and the best solution at the time, seemed to be avoidance and isolation. If I ignore it, it will go away, I reasoned. If I sit here alone, I don’t have to look at any of this. If I watch TV I won’t feel the pain. What I discovered however, was that isolation begets more depression. Avoidance doesn’t make it go away. Piles get higher; issues stack up; and as you spiral down, it’s just that much harder to get up and rally. Making appointments involves committing to going somewhere. Errands seem more challenging when you’re down, because they involve going out and running into people. People want to chat. Chatting sucks when you just want to be back on your sofa. It’s that much more challenging, if people have always seen you as a consummate chatter, a very social person, a jokster and performer. People expected that of me, but I just wasn’t up for my usual song and dance.
image: shortcircuitkids.com
I’m using the past tense, because I think— I hope, the worst has passed. I’ve turned a corner… in a positive sense… versus, say, going round the bend. It’s hard work, frankly. I hate to pull the age card, but it probably applies here. Age certainly doesn’t help, except in the sense that I get it; I’ve been able to sit with my feet in the fire and breath, knowing that sometimes you just have to do that. You just have to get through it. You can bounce back. But, I don’t bounce as high, and it hurts my knees when I do bounce. The issues seem bigger, as we get older: Kids grow up and leave; parents get sick and die; marriage can be challenging in the face of big life changes; and, personal health stuff is harder to swallow, when I’ve always Energizer Bunnied my way through things. But going and going and going, just isn’t what I do—as well, anymore.
So, I’ve let Bravo, and Hot Tamales, and some good friends keep me going.
I’ve allowed myself the time to just wallow and whine and cry and crawl… slowly back up. I’ve appreciated the countless kindnesses from expected (or hoped for) and highly unexpected sources. To friends near and far, who have been there: I am eternally grateful. To Smart Guy, Little Man, Middle Man and my Principessa, I have appreciated your patience, love and support— even when you weren’t sure what you were looking at. It was a loving gift each time Little Man threw a jab at the plastic people I was watching, instead of throwing a jab at me. Each smile from Middle Man lights my way. My girl has sent me countless hugs and sweetnesses, often without even knowing how much they meant. Smart Guy stayed the course. Hard work for both of us, but an investment worth protecting. My dogs have overlooked my surly moods and my glum faces, and have cuddles and wagged and leaped with joy, whenever I walk in the room. They’ve let me cry into their furry hearts more than once. It’s hard to not appreciate that kind of love and loyalty.
And then there are the unexpected sources of light… the amazing blogging community, who unwittingly supported me, unaware that I was truly hanging on for life some days. You’ve emailed me, you’ve followed and liked and shared me. I don’t say that facetiously. I say it with humility and love. I have only met 2 of you in person, and yet so many of you have made me laugh, have applauded my efforts, thanked me for touching on something you connect with, and have pointed out things I needed to see. Your honesty, humor and kindness has been a beacon some days. None of that was something I foresaw when I started this whole blogging gig, but talk about perks!
image: masterpiece-beth.com
So, now it’s a continued climb up. It’s some very good days, for a blessssed change, with some days when I just retire to my sofa and take some extra breaths. It really is baby steps, when you hit bottom. And in case I’ve sugar coated at all: I hit fucking bottom. Bottom. I never want to be there again bottom. So, I’m in recovery. I’m putting it out there and making this one bold confession as part of my commitment to me. I’m thanking all of the people who supported, and I’m moving on. Moving slowly, but moving on. And as for my posse of Real friends, well, recovery takes time. I’m spending less time with them and more time with real people. Who love me. Bravo for that!
Today I watched you stand by the bay, holding your baby boy, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I’m not a stalker; I’m an aging mother, and seeing you there, touched me. The sun was shining, the breeze making the waves kick up the water. Your little boy, a year and a half? Maybe two? Your boy slept with his chubby arms wrapped around your neck, his head nestled against your chest, his face in your neck. Oh my God, how my heart skipped a beat. His face looked like my little boys’, twenty-three years ago, eighteen years ago. I think it really did look like my boy–– but that happens more and more these days. It’s been a long time since a little boy held my neck and slept so contentedly.
You stood there for a long time, and I wondered what you were thinking. I wondered if you knew how delicious the moment was? I hope so. People told me it was delicious, when my boys were little like that, but it was hard to appreciate, when I was tired from lack of sleep, or wanting a break, and when baby talk and soft food were one more things to get done each day. There were some sweet, sweet moments when I would pause and notice how incredible my little ones’ voices were. There were days when they slept against me and their sweat was the most sacred smell I knew. Each one of my babes had their own smell, and I swear I’d know it still, if I could have bottled it then.
Your little boy’s legs were limp as you wrapped your arms under his little diapered bottom. Those yummy little legs, that I often teased I would eat. The idea seemed plausible then; I was sure they tasted like everything good in life. I watched you lean against the railing by the water and remembered how my children’s sleeping weight strained my back and pushed my body in so many directions. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put me back together again. Changed forever: my breasts now sag for having fed those babies, my stretchies and my grooves are from years of loving, carrying and birthing. Reminders I won’t have tucked or lifted or erased.
Mother, who I watched today, linger in that sleeping neck a little longer. Feel those solid, little boy legs against you. Breath in the salty air and remember how the sun feels, holding your baby. Oh the silly clichés: that time flies; that you will wish you enjoyed the moments which tire you now; you can’t go back, but will wish you can; that it passes in a blink; that your body is so much more beautiful now, than you can appreciate–– all of those things other, older mothers (like me) say to you, when you are in the middle of it… you will have to learn for yourself.
With love.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of the strong, tired, wonderful mothers I know, or don’t know. To the women who have birthed children, and those who have loved them. I am a better person in all ways for having been a mother, and for having loved the three people I gave birth to. They are my world, even as their worlds get bigger and bigger. What a beautiful world it is.
I am one lucky girl; let me start with that. One very lucky girl! This past weekend I got to spend a long weekend at a spectacular resort/spa in Tucson, Arizona. First, let me say that I’m not one of those women who goes away for spa weekends, and I’ve only been for a “girl’s weekend” twice ever. And I’m 50. Ok, I’ll say it again: I’m one very lucky girl.
Saguaro
First, I am lucky that I can do this kind of thing. I know that this is not true for plenty of other woman, and I’m grateful for it. I’m lucky that I have really wonderful friends that I love spending time with. We laughed constantly; we chilled. Hard not to chill when you’re surrounded by the gorgeous Tucson desert, all in bloom. I’ve always wanted to see the desert in bloom, and I really lucked out this past weekend. The saguaro (the famous, giant cacti of every cowboy movie you’ve ever seen… and it’s just fun to say cacti) were amazing, and had ginormous bouquets of flowers for crowns. The spectacular Palo Verde trees were a stunning contrast to the red-brown desert and mountains. And then, everything else seemed to be blooming. Flowers everywhere.
To say that the Indigo Poultice massage (with sage, lemon verbena, orange blossom) and the Spring Renewal Facial were sublime would be rubbing it in. (See what I did there?) A 200′ water slide is just fun on top of fabulous. To then add that the steam room; the sauna; the spa pool with the incredibly peaceful cabanas and drinks delivered upon sweating; the lounge chairs in the infinity pool— looking out at the desert, or the fantastic sunshine… were all beyond heaven, would be borderline gloating. End all of that with some of the best Mexican food I’ve ever had, and… well, I’m just one lucky girl.
But let me tell you, as great as all of that was, and it was… the humor and laughter, the time with one of my dearest friends, would have been enough. It really would have. All that other stuff… was damned good icing, on top of a fantastic cake. What a cake! And that part, is not luck. Like a marriage, good friendships take a lot of work. There’s give and take, compassion, listening, and being there. Being there. When you have it, it’s worth holding on to, and working to keep strong. For that, I’m not lucky… I’m very grateful.
As for the humor, here is the top 10 list of things said. No details, just some soundbites. What happens in Tucson, stays in Tucson.
10. “This is a pleasure trip, not a health trip.”
9. “Grind baby, grind!”
8. “I’m hunting, looking for a come-up; this is fucking awesome!”
7. “Are you wet? Or just hot?”
6. “Is he good?”
5. “Wow, that’s a lot of tongue!”
4. “I’m totally in love! I mean I love that glow.”
3. “All you had to do was cover me with oil.”
2. “Harder, deeper… please.” “
1. “Do I take everything off?”
That’s what she said.
Been to the desert? Love to get away with your friends? Or, just desperately need it? Share your thoughts. Comment, Share, Like, Follow. Not necessarily in that order.
A friend and I were talking the other night about relationships— marriage, and how we advise/ nurture/support our daughters and young women we love, as they navigate waters that we entered a long, long time ago. While most of this applies to our sons as well, as women we were talking about how to advise our daughters, given how we felt at their ages, and how we feel now. As women who have lived and loved for a lot of years now; we appreciate that each of us has our own journeys, but there are some lessons that should be shared. Daughters (and Sons):
#1: Don’t ever think that you know better than someone else, what they need. You don’t. And even if you do, they need to figure it out before they can be in a relationship with you. Don’t sacrifice your needs and desires to win the love of anyone. You will resent it, and so will they. Speak your truth; don’t speak to win approval or appease. Nurture goals that you both can support and will grow in, however that looks. Don’t rush into anything; give yourself time. Work as a team. Let a lot more go, than you imagine you will need to. There will be so many things to negotiate, and it’s a lot easier if you’re willing to let some of it go. Marriage is hard work; it really is. You’ll figure it out, as you go. But the work, the challenges, the losses as well as the rewards will make you a stronger person. Breath first, answer second.
Am I good at all of those things? No. That is one of the reasons I can pass them along. Live and learn, baby.
This year Smart Guy and I had our 26th wedding anniversary. I’ve now been married for more than half of my life; I was one year older than my daughter is now, when I got married. That is stunning, on so many levels. Has it all been easy? No. Has it all been fun? No. Is it work, as I was told marriage would be? You bet your sweet booty! Would I do it again… hard to say, but probably yes. Don’t judge; that question is loaded. There is so much I wouldn’t trade, and so much I wish I’d really known and understood back when I took that “plunge.” I appreciate the really long marriages, so much more than I once did, knowing what I know now. I understand the ones that end, late in life… when kids leave and couples realize they don’t know each other. There is so much that goes into making it all work, and each year that goes by, I am increasingly humbled by that. The grass is often greener, but greener grass has to be mowed more often. As my friend and I talked, I said: getting married young, is like buying your first house- you fall in love with it, but there’s a lot that goes into living in a house for the long run—just like there’s a lot that goes into making a marriage last for a long time.
Often, your first house doesn’t necessarily meet all your needs. When you’re young, your marriage meets all of your needs, when you start. Having started as a kid, and I do believe 24 is still a kid (not to mention that we got together when I was 21), you have no idea how you will change over time. You may be headed in one direction but veer off in dozens of other directions. Who you are at 21, 24, in your twenties, is rarely who you are in your 30s, 40s, and 50s. If we are growing (and few of us don’t), we are most likely changing as well. Add to that equation, that two of you are changing, and it all gets that much muddier. The years pass and we are challenged and tested by so many things: health; education; careers; the people we’re surrounded by; our own personal journeys; spiritual growth; children (if you have them) are an enormous game changer; travel; geography; family; there are so many things that impact who we become over time. Within a marriage, you may be experiencing many or all of the same challenges as your partner, but how you integrate those things, the spin you put on it all, is a huge factor in who you each become on that path.
Same with that house. When you buy a house, you often don’t get every thing you want, unless you are fortunate enough to build your “dream house.” The family room is perfect; the kitchen needs updating. You like the bedroom, but it needs fresh paint. Over time, you need more storage space… In any house, there are things you love, and things you might like to change. Short of that perfect house, you start out in your home and over time: you have children (more people in the house); you realize that like to cook; you enjoy entertaining; you have lots of guests; you like to garden; your tastes change; (insert many other possible outcomes) and your house may or may not fit those needs. You can renovate: you can paint rooms, you can try to add on; you move furniture and make adjustments to make that house work; but, basically you try to grow with your house. You try to make it work, but it isn’t always perfect.
Obviously, a marriage is a much bigger investment— emotionally, than a house. Both are a big leap of faith, and an enormous dose of sweat and commitment. You have to learn when to let something go. The dining room would look better with a new color or a new dining room set, but finances don’t allow it. You’d like to feel as special and new in your relationship, as you did at the start, but that’s rare. You hope you’ll both change over the years, in ways that compliment and support each other, but that’s hard too. You look for the places that your needs intersect, and work on accepting some places they don’t.
I am so not the person that married Smart Guy 26 years ago, and he is not the person that married me. We work hard at this. Some days that is exhausting and feels frustrating. Some days I realize that the work I invest builds one of the deepest relationships of my life, and some days I loose sight of that. But, it’s work. When you hear that, at the start, it’s impossible to really foresee what that work will look like. In my youth, I had no idea what kids would mean; how I’d feel watching myself age in the mirror; how I might feel figuring out whether I’d be working or staying home; what makes me feel fulfilled then and now— there was so much I didn’t understand. I know that for each of the things I’ve struggled with, Smart Guy has had his own struggles as well. We’ve shared plenty of them, but we each have our own things to work out. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health… it’s the journey of all journeys.
It’s May first, May Day. As a kid, living in a small New England town, May day was always a fun day. Back in school, we still did the Maypole. Yes, I actually grew up dancing around a white pole with colorful ribbons. We danced in and out, winding the satiny ribbons around the Maypole, until it was woven up in color. No doubt, the boys did not enjoy this as much as I did. But, I like to think that we all appreciated the festive harkening of spring.
Image: deafpagancrossroads.com
To drive the small town, good old days vision further… I also grew up collecting flowers with my friends, and leaving them on people’s door steps for May Day. We would pick bouquets— sometimes from their gardens, unaware at the time of the work that had gone into those gardens, sometimes weeds which we thought were pretty— and we set them at the front door, rang a doorbell and ran. Then we’d sit and watch our neighbors find these gifts and we’d yell, “Happy May Day!” We thought we were so slick, and we loved doing something so nice for our neighbors. We chose the houses carefully, often selecting elderly neighbors, who we thought would really love the gesture.
In New England, May generally heralds true spring, nearly summer. By April, things are generally blooming; the snow has melted; green has sprouted all around and the temperatures are much warmer. One of the things I always loved about New England was that there were four distinct seasons, clearly separate from each other. In the midwest, the seasons were a bit blurred.
Local color
Here in the Pacific Northwest, there are really two seasons: wet/fall-winter and dryer/spring-summer. Note, not dry: dryer. Spring is slower to arrive here. By mid-April to May 1st, flowers begin to pop up and bloom—Skagit county, 25 minutes from here is renowned for it’s tulips each year. Our gardens burst into life; the trees flower and turn green; and, if we’re lucky, there’s less gray, less rain. Unlike my childhood, my kids have not grown up with Maypoles, or guaranteed sunshine— but oh when the sun comes out on May Day, and temperatures rise above 50, hope abounds! I want to sing and dance, and wrap colorful ribbons around a May Pole. I want to take my camera everywhere. I want to stretch out on new grass, and replenish my depleted vitamin D levels.
This is where you’ll find me today… iced decaf, water and sun.
Voilà! Today we have a picture perfect May Day. The sun is out; the water is like glass; temperatures are headed toward 60, and spring is definitely in the air! It inspires me to get some flowers and leave them for my neighbors. They are older, and are struggling with some difficult times. Flowers would brighten their day. It makes me want to get out and walk; it inspires me to go to my favorite coffee shop on the water and write. Spring, when it happens lightens moods and brightens horizons. It gives me hope that summer will in fact come. Happy May Day!
What’s spring like where you live and what’s your favorite part about it? Did you ever celebrate May Day? Leave a comment.
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Note: there are several links in this post, to other bloggers who I follow and enjoy. there are many others, but check out the posts I’ve included.
Over the nearly two years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve had the good fortune and pleasure of meeting some very interesting people in the blog world (on line). As bloggers, we share one main thing right up front: we put it out there, in our writing. Some bloggers write about their personal lives, some write about interest topics (food, travel, news, etc) and some combine themes. Many of us travel in the same circles, and so we eventually notice each other. From there, the we check out each other posts. It’s a wonderful circle, where one good thing begets another good thing. Consequently, some of us get to know a lot about each other as we read each other’s work, and/or comments, and eventually we sometimes connect through follow up emails—where things are a little more personal. As fellow bloggers we often challenge each other; we roast each other; we comfort; we educate, we support each other in our journeys, and sometimes, we actually meet… face to face.
Word traveler, Mike L.
Mike, at the blog Applecore, is one of the people who I’ve gotten to know over time. He started following my blog many months ago, and I then checked out what he was writing about. At the time, Mike was living in Panama with his wife. The first few posts that I read were interesting, as I love to travel and it was fun to read about their experiences. Then I learned that they were not just traveling, they have created an amazing lifestyle that I find fascinating: The Six Monthers. Mike and his wife sold everything, boxed up the few things they could not part with (only a handful of boxes that fit in the corner of her parent’s garage), and they now live in locations around the world for six months, and then they move on to a new country. They are seeing the world, six months at a time— Wow! That really caught my attention, and I’ve been a fan ever since.
Over time I left comments on Mike’s blog site and he left them on mine. Mike read a post about where I live and let me know that he too hales from the state of Washington. Then we figured out that I live a few towns away from his daughter, and somewhere along the line we agreed that if he was ever in the area we’d try and meet up for coffee. And we went on reading each other’s work. He sent me some edits when he found little mistakes on my post, and I did the same for him. Our blog friendship grew, and I figured one day maybe we’d meet.
When he recently emailed me that he was in the area, and that he’d that he’d be a few miles from my home, to run some errands, we agreed that some facet to face time, and coffee was in order. Today it finally happened: I had the pleasure of meeting up with Mike to talk blogs, family, travel, writing, and life. What a pleasure to meet this lovely man, who’s living such an interesting and dynamic lifestyle. When I pulled up to the location where we were meeting, I knew his face instantly from some of the pictures he has shared on his blog. We met with a big hug, which just seemed natural. After months and months of sharing details and touching base with each other in a comment box, it really did feel like meeting an old friend, finally.
We fell into easy conversation and compared notes on so many things in the blog world. We both love writing our blogs, and we love reading other blogs. We both want to improve our “readership,” but we also want to remain true to what we write. We agreed that it’s frustrating (Hurtful? Disappointing?) when you follow and comment on posts for other bloggers, but they don’t visit yours. It’s a slippery slope sometimes… remembering that we’re all strangers on one level, but we also have gotten to know each other on another. The ties are vague, but we’re all putting ourselves out there and that can lead to some expectations. I struggle with this more than Mike. We both worry about word count, finding interesting topics and not losing an edge.
Me and Mike, real time.
It was fun to talk in real time— to use our kids’ real names and ask questions we’ve each had about the other’s posts, and each other’s lives. It was so relaxed and fun. Two hours were gone in a blip and I think we both could have chatted on. I’m grateful for a lot of things that blogging has brought my way, but new friends tops the list. For a long time I’ve enjoyed Applecore, and the stories that Mike has to share with his readers. After today, I know that I like Mike, too.
In the past month I’ve had the honor and pleasure of having reconnected with three young men, who I’ve known since they were boys. All three are friends of my son Middle Man’s, and I got to catch up with each of them over a meal. Each occasion was uniquely special, but what struck me most was the transformation that has occurred in the three short years, since they each graduated from high school.
image: Anne Taintor
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that all of them still seem like boys to me. Maybe it’s a reflection of my age; maybe it’s indicative of the now prevailing belief that the teens have extended into the twenties, developmentally; or maybe I’ll just always see them as boys— because I’ll always see them first, as youthful. The why doesn’t matter in the long run; while each of them has grown up so much, I still see the impish grins, the mischievous sparkle in their eyes, the boy that’s still in there.
To sit and have lunch or dinner with someone I’ve always known through my son, is an interesting transition. Without Middle Man there, we talk about different things. The mood was different, for me. The fact that we met, independently, and had a meal ahead of us, lead to an entirely different pacing and connection. The hectic comings and goings that are involved when Middle Man is home, and he and his friends are in then out then in again— always on their way to another party or outing, hasn’t allowed for a lot of in depth chatting. Having my son present, also limits what I feel I can comfortably say or ask. Our kids are our kids, first; we probably will always seem awkward and embarrassing to them. I can’t really ask what so and so really wants to do after school, when my boy is listening in and shooting me looks. “Mom, so and so doesn’t want to hang out and talk about the future with you…” I can hear my son now.
Interestingly, they do want to hang out with me and talk about the future. In two of the cases I met alone with two of these friends, and another brought is wonderful girlfriend. Sure, there was a brief moment of awkwardness with each of them. What do we talk about without your parents (one of the boys and his family are long time friends) or my son there? But at the core, there is my interest place: these guys have each been a significant part of my own son’s life. I have seen them, or known them, since they too were little. My love of Middle Man extends out to the people who are important to him, and I care about these three guys. I want to know that they are pursuing their passions, that they are happy. I enjoy hearing about what they are doing. I care.
With one of them, we joked about how I spent years making sure there were snacks that he liked in my house, knowing that he’d come breezing in and check the snack drawer (a magical thing in my kitchen, which every kid loves), and then say hi. We joked about the fact that I had his cell phone number on hand at all times, so I could track down my own kid—when he didn’t answer his own phone. We laughed about the escapades they got into and how his parents and we had to constantly be on our toes. “Remember when you dragged us down to apologize for making donuts on that lawn?” Uh, yeah. I remember. It seems a little more amusing now, than it did then. It was great to hear that he loves school now, loves where he’s living, and he’s excited about his future. We laughed a lot and we hugged goodbye.
With another, we talked about how close our families have been for nearly 25 years now. We are family to each other. I knew his parents before he or his sister were born; back when I babysat his older brother. His mother is one of my dearest friends. We laughed about trips we’ve taken together, where each of the kids has gone and how the parents (us) are aging. We talked about how much he’s enjoying college, and how excited he is about the graduate programs he’s already looking into. He was visiting Vancouver for spring break, and I drove up for lunch. I was impressed by the planning he and his friends had done to go see someplace new, and touched that those plans included seeing me. I was impressed by how solid he is, as a person, and how much I enjoyed talking to him. I was impressed by how easy and sweet it was to talk with him. Getting to know a boy I’ve always loved, on his terms. We laughed a lot, and we hugged goodbye.
With the final guy, we met for lunch with his girlfriend. I haven’t known him as long, because for a long time I didn’t really want my kid hanging out with him. I told him this, as we ate. I was clear about that: it wasn’t that I thought he would drag my good kid into trouble, it was that my kid was already in his own trouble at the time, and I wanted Middle Man to be with kids headed in the distinctly opposite direction. He nodded his head and smiled, with understanding. A lot’s changed since then. He took time off after high school; he traveled; he worked. Now, he’s off in the navy studying nuclear sub technology and I love this “kid.” He figured out his own path and he’s one of the nicest, most respectful, thoughtful and grounded people I know. He’s a gentleman, and treats his girlfriend in a way that you rarely see anymore in young men. I’m thrilled to see him at my house, when Middle Man is home, and I’m grateful they’re friends. We talked about all of that, as well as what he’s doing, how he and his girlfriend are navigating a long distance relationship, and his views on lots of interesting things. We laughed a lot, and we hugged goodbye.
All three of these meetings were really special. They all involved change: change in them and change in me, and consequently a new relationship that was not possible a few years ago. Each of them knows that I’m not getting together to snag my son in something. I’m not trying to catch anyone, and there’s nothing to hide anymore. They’re each 21 year old young men now. They are looking at the world from very different glasses, and so am I. There was an ease and delight in just chatting, that I think they felt just as much as I did. When we laughed we laughed at the same things, not different interpretations of things— with inside jokes, implied or hidden agendas… when they were younger, I was the “enemy.” A basically nice enemy, who never gave any of them much shit, but someone none the less who they had to work around. They knew I had my eye on them, that little would get by. We both know that some things did in fact slide by, but that’s how it’s meant to be. It doesn’t matter how cool you are, or how much your kids’ friends like you, for a few years, you are the enemy.
Now, the playing field is leveler. It’s not level, but getting closer. My interest in visiting with any one of them has everything to do with how they are doing, and what they are doing with their lives, and nothing to do with how that affects me or my kid. I don’t really care what they do at parties, or who they hang out with. I don’t care if they drink, or smoke. We share a history that is tied to my son, but we also have a history of our own now. They each know that I stood witness to their youths. I was a part of that, just as they were each a part of my life, when my boy was young. That’s a special thing in life. Each year, it becomes a little more special, as we all grow and change in our lives, and that allows me to have a lunch with each one of them and just enjoy the boys I care about. It allows me to laugh a little freer, to hug a lot more sincerely. Hell, when I was the enemy, a hug was not in the equation… But we’ve all grown, and the hugs and the laughs are all part of it now. It’s all good, though they’ll always be boys… to me.
Middle Man as a little man, in his favorite red boots, his dad’s old rain jacket and a mud puddle.
Recently a fellow writing friend said something that really threw me off guard, and challenged me to look at myself, my aspirations and my own self doubts. We were discussing publishing, and I was (once again) struggling with decisions about my novel: how to publish, what direction to go in, whether my novel is ready—whether I am ready, for success or failure. Both are scary. She said to me: “You’re already a published writer. You write and publish a blog every week, and people read it.” Well, it’s just a blog, I countered. “Just a blog?” she smiled. “You write things each week about your life, things you see in the world, news—all kinds of things, and people choose to read what you write, week after week. It’s really no different than being published in a news paper or magazine, right?” I stumbled on her logic, and found myself denying the validity of this point. My own self doubt causes me to belittle my accomplishments. I deny the successes; I don’t own the gold stars, I earned.
Then, this morning I was reading a post by the blogger Le Clown (at A Clown on Fire), and I found myself saying the same thing to him with no doubt what so ever. Whoa! I felt my own hypocrisy, even as I hit reply. A week earlier, I was challenging those very same words of encouragement, when they were directed at me. Then, I was saying it with total sincerity to someone else, who I think is very talented, and for whom I believe it is true. It suddenly made complete sense from the perspective of someone else’s (Le Clown’s/ Eric’s) writing, someone else’s success. It’s always interesting to me, how easy I give that away. Monsieur Le Clown made that very point in his response.
However, even as I sent my thoughts to him, it hit me that if I believe that for him, I should believe it for myself as well. Right? For a moment, I got it. I saw myself post that response, and sat with the fact that I’m Teflon when it comes to believing the same accolades for myself. My own dreams, the things I want so badly, slide away when I don’t own my strengths, and that has to change.
Today, I saw myself hand something to someone else, that I have trouble holding in my own hands. It’s challenged me to see what’s in front of me and examine that truth. I am a writer. I love crafting written words and sending them out into the world. I worry about them; I struggle with them. I try to never rush the words, or force them. I bring them together to make something new; and, these stories, essays, vignettes, these revelations are my own, to share or keep to myself. The fact that others read these posts, that others share my words, is something that means a lot to me. When I read comments from people who say that my writing touched them, that my words made them feel or see something new, it’s a beautiful thing, and I feel proud of that. That some of those people keep reading is something that I’m proud of too, because I work hard at this blog. All of us who do this, work to make something that others will find interesting, that will resonate. We publish it (that is what the button I hit says, “Publish”) and we hope others will read it and appreciate the effort. We are writers, and to know our words is to know something about us as well.
image: chakracenter.org
I am a writer. I’ve written a novel. I don’t know what will come of it, but I’m proud of the effort. I write a blog and I work hard to make it my best effort each time. Today, I’m claiming the gold star and wearing it on my forehead.
Please share your thoughts in the comment section; I’d love to hear what you have to say.
My writing is also included in the anthology Tangerine Tango, Women Writers Share Slices of Life, edited by Lisa Winkler at Cyclingrandma.
Mother, Writer, treasure hunter, aging red head, and sushi lover. This is my view on life, "Straight up, with a twist––" because life is too short to be subtle! Featured blogger for Huffington Post, and followed on Twitter by LeBron James– for reasons beyond my comprehension.
TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND 