Joyce M. Stacks's Blog: A Day In The Life of an Aspiring Author ....., page 9
February 26, 2014
Southern Comfort .......
Due to a recent decision that was of a difficult nature, my heart is in something of an ‘induced coma’ where it may rest and heal without the use of barbiturates while my mind takes on the role of running my day-to-day existence. It seems with all the suggested treatments available to protect one’s heart from disease and destruction, which include a myriad of things from lifestyle changes to radical and invasive surgeries, there is still no preventative measure that can guarantee your heart will never be broken, and once it is it becomes something reminiscent of a crumpled piece of paper in that you can try and smooth out the edges, but it will never quite be the same as before.
So as I make a concerted effort to divorce myself from the emotions that often rule my decisions, I endeavor to take comfort in my surroundings, grateful that I am a southerner with a will and a disposition to survive at all costs, knowing that by embracing adversity I am able to learn lessons that shall benefit me in the future. Today while so much of our nation braces itself against the cruel aggression of the arctic vortex, in my small community I am warmed by sunshine reigning down from a cloudless sky, and although it is still ‘cool’ outside, I can hear birds singing in the trees as if pointing to the branches whose limbs sport tiny little buds that will soon sprout the same leaves that will shade us during this summer.
People are generally friendly here. They take the time necessary to get to know you and when you happen upon a former classmate or friend you perhaps haven’t seen in years, they will still ask about your family and how you’ve been doing with honesty in their tone that cannot be manufactured. Most people I know still attend church of some kind and believe in adhering to the lessons taught within. Women here cook because they enjoy it, and not because it’s suddenly become fashionable, but because they learned by their mother’s and grandmother’s sides in the same kitchens they grew up in as a child. Most kids still ride bicycles in their neighborhoods and dare to drink straight from the water hose when it’s hot outside, refusing to take time out from their outdoor activities to go inside in search of a commercially bottled product.
As children my siblings and friends searched through endless clusters of green clover hoping to find that rare four leaf prize on which we might make a secret wish, and then we laid down with our backs against the same tall grass in order to stare up at a black night sky lit up by millions of stars while searching for the big and little dippers. As bull frogs croaked and grasshoppers hummed, we’d listen to whippoorwills call out for one another from opposing trees in a courtship presided over by nature. While armed with a single flashlight we made up ghost stories – one after another – with the hope of proving we could still be brave in spite of the chills surfacing on our arms. All summer long we built forts and tree houses as we ran around bare-footed plotting our next great adventure. When we could gather together enough of us, we’d play chase, hide ‘n seek and red rover until our pounding hearts begged for rest.
Growing up around here was more or less a carefree existence. As children we pretty much knew what was expected of us in school, and we knew how to act out in public. We respected our elders and strived to make our parents proud. We didn’t grow up obsessing about designer labels and nobody we knew lived beyond their means. Everyone was pretty much middle class – some upper and some lower – but nobody gave much thought to that as we were all part of the same community and more or less wanted the same things. If you knew someone in need, you helped out simply because it was the Christian thing to do, and it gave you a good feeling. During holidays and other family celebrations, you counted how many generations were represented and reminisced about those no longer present. For the most part life was good, and to this day I am grateful for my upbringing.
Since the days of the Civil War, the South has been forced to take a bad rap being blamed for the atrocities of slavery and naturally assumed to be backward, uneducated hillbillies whose ineptness is only exceeded by a gross inability to behave properly in a cultural setting, but these are people who haven’t been fortunate to have grown up here, and “Bless their hearts, they just don’t know any better.” It’s true, stereotypes are in place for a reason, but to think we haven’t long since moved past them is ignorance of a different nature. As Southerners, we are nothing if not resilient, and rather than break we bend to the dictates of a changing world. However, some characteristics we have still managed to hold fast are the fact that we as a people are kind, well-mannered and keepers of tradition and at some point to us it fails to matter how many cars or computers or flat screens you own, some things are still best done the ‘old-fashioned’ way.
So while my heart takes a much needed rest, my mind focuses on the things that are most important …. faith, family and a value system that cannot be shaken, and when the time is right I’ll be ready.
So as I make a concerted effort to divorce myself from the emotions that often rule my decisions, I endeavor to take comfort in my surroundings, grateful that I am a southerner with a will and a disposition to survive at all costs, knowing that by embracing adversity I am able to learn lessons that shall benefit me in the future. Today while so much of our nation braces itself against the cruel aggression of the arctic vortex, in my small community I am warmed by sunshine reigning down from a cloudless sky, and although it is still ‘cool’ outside, I can hear birds singing in the trees as if pointing to the branches whose limbs sport tiny little buds that will soon sprout the same leaves that will shade us during this summer.
People are generally friendly here. They take the time necessary to get to know you and when you happen upon a former classmate or friend you perhaps haven’t seen in years, they will still ask about your family and how you’ve been doing with honesty in their tone that cannot be manufactured. Most people I know still attend church of some kind and believe in adhering to the lessons taught within. Women here cook because they enjoy it, and not because it’s suddenly become fashionable, but because they learned by their mother’s and grandmother’s sides in the same kitchens they grew up in as a child. Most kids still ride bicycles in their neighborhoods and dare to drink straight from the water hose when it’s hot outside, refusing to take time out from their outdoor activities to go inside in search of a commercially bottled product.
As children my siblings and friends searched through endless clusters of green clover hoping to find that rare four leaf prize on which we might make a secret wish, and then we laid down with our backs against the same tall grass in order to stare up at a black night sky lit up by millions of stars while searching for the big and little dippers. As bull frogs croaked and grasshoppers hummed, we’d listen to whippoorwills call out for one another from opposing trees in a courtship presided over by nature. While armed with a single flashlight we made up ghost stories – one after another – with the hope of proving we could still be brave in spite of the chills surfacing on our arms. All summer long we built forts and tree houses as we ran around bare-footed plotting our next great adventure. When we could gather together enough of us, we’d play chase, hide ‘n seek and red rover until our pounding hearts begged for rest.
Growing up around here was more or less a carefree existence. As children we pretty much knew what was expected of us in school, and we knew how to act out in public. We respected our elders and strived to make our parents proud. We didn’t grow up obsessing about designer labels and nobody we knew lived beyond their means. Everyone was pretty much middle class – some upper and some lower – but nobody gave much thought to that as we were all part of the same community and more or less wanted the same things. If you knew someone in need, you helped out simply because it was the Christian thing to do, and it gave you a good feeling. During holidays and other family celebrations, you counted how many generations were represented and reminisced about those no longer present. For the most part life was good, and to this day I am grateful for my upbringing.
Since the days of the Civil War, the South has been forced to take a bad rap being blamed for the atrocities of slavery and naturally assumed to be backward, uneducated hillbillies whose ineptness is only exceeded by a gross inability to behave properly in a cultural setting, but these are people who haven’t been fortunate to have grown up here, and “Bless their hearts, they just don’t know any better.” It’s true, stereotypes are in place for a reason, but to think we haven’t long since moved past them is ignorance of a different nature. As Southerners, we are nothing if not resilient, and rather than break we bend to the dictates of a changing world. However, some characteristics we have still managed to hold fast are the fact that we as a people are kind, well-mannered and keepers of tradition and at some point to us it fails to matter how many cars or computers or flat screens you own, some things are still best done the ‘old-fashioned’ way.
So while my heart takes a much needed rest, my mind focuses on the things that are most important …. faith, family and a value system that cannot be shaken, and when the time is right I’ll be ready.
February 23, 2014
Cleaning House ......
With improved weather heralding the advent of spring, I find it’s time once again to begin considering some much-needed spring cleaning. Therefore this weekend as I began going through my closet in an effort to do the first pass toward purging what I no longer wanted or needed, I also began thinking about habits, attitudes and even people that no longer serve a useful purpose in my life. Much like New Year’s Day, spring offers us each a time to revisit those recently made resolutions in order to do some ‘tweaking’ should the need exist.
I’ve managed to go through everything from jeans to couture, bags and scarves, shoes, gloves and hats. Gone is anything that resembles a different era such as mom jeans, blazers with too big shoulder pads and anything with a ruffle, as well as anything that doesn’t currently fit my body appropriately. It no longer matters if I once loved it, adored it and felt I had to have it. If it no longer fits into my new streamlined existence, then it’s time to let it go so that someone else might begin to love it as well. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s probably holding onto something or somebody that I’ve developed great affection for past the time it no longer serves a purpose in my life, as these are the people and things that I’ve invested in and having done so, it’s difficult to let them go. However, in terms of moving forward in the healthiest possible manner at some point it becomes absolutely necessary. As such, what better time is there than spring?
This process isn’t as difficult as it once was because over time I’ve learned to place things in their proper perspective. Following my divorce over fourteen years ago when I had little more than my wits to sustain me through my days, I lived what can best be described as a “stripped down” existence in a small upstairs apartment in an older, historical neighborhood in Nashville, Tennessee. Below me, lived the owner of the home. He was an elderly black man whose constant companion was a small scruffy dog he called “Fleabag” or just plain “Bag” for short. Jack was a recovering alcoholic who had been sober for well over twenty years, and while I cooked sumptuous meals I hardly had the appetite to consume myself, he ate heartily and shared his life’s experiences and the wisdom that came from them with me. Taking care of Jack during this time was invaluable, as it gave me purpose during a time when life hardly made sense.
Once my wounds managed to heal and I went back to work full time, my life moved on in a far different direction, and as typically happens, I lost touch but I never lost my deep sense of appreciation for the kindness he extended. Ours was a simpatico relationship, but in truth I needed him far more than he needed me. My friendship with Jack taught me a great deal about people in general. Past generational barriers and the kind of obvious differences evidenced in skin tone and ethnicity, people in general are far more alike than different. We all care about our families – both those with whom we share blood and those we manage to somehow ‘fold into’ the same category of people we care most about – we all seek opportunity, a sense of well-being and a place to call home. We value trust, honesty and simple human kindness, and above all we hope to find the kind of love that will one day make us feel whole. I suppose Jack is the reason why I have zero tolerance for the kind of narrow-minded insolence that leads to bigotry. It’s completely lacking of the kind of patience, understanding and compassion that this world needs to survive.
Thus cleaning out the closet becomes a rather small task in comparison to cleaning out the kind of baggage that manages to weigh us down during the course of our lives. Shoes that look too worn, sweaters that now appear threadbare and dresses that no longer fit well are small casualties when lined up against people who fail to support our dreams or likewise manage to make promises they’ve no intention of keeping. Though I struggle with categorizing people the same way I do things, in order to love myself as much as I do others, its none-the-less necessary.
Therefore looking at the equation as if it were simple economics, it all boils down to a potential ‘Return on Investment’. It’s not a matter of always judging people in terms of what they can do for you, as that would be shallow and self-serving, but it is as uncomplicated as deciding which people in your life draw upon your time, energy and resources without every giving a second thought to anyone’s needs but their own. We’ve all experienced them on some level – some of us more than others – and their ability to manipulate any given situation to their own advantage is nothing short of artistry. They drain you of your peace-of-mind and on some days rob you of your ability to feel sane, and no matter how much you’re willing to give, they always seem to require more. Once you finally manage to break it down into its various components, you wonder why you ever became involved with this person to begin with.
So in the interest of cleaning house, can anyone really feel accomplished in that effort until they’ve managed to also clean out the people who continually clutter up their existence to the point continuing a relationship with this person is considered counterproductive? I don’t think so. Although it is indeed difficult to let go, the space you leave open for those who deserve to be a part of your life is nothing less than a sizeable investment in yourself.
I’ve managed to go through everything from jeans to couture, bags and scarves, shoes, gloves and hats. Gone is anything that resembles a different era such as mom jeans, blazers with too big shoulder pads and anything with a ruffle, as well as anything that doesn’t currently fit my body appropriately. It no longer matters if I once loved it, adored it and felt I had to have it. If it no longer fits into my new streamlined existence, then it’s time to let it go so that someone else might begin to love it as well. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s probably holding onto something or somebody that I’ve developed great affection for past the time it no longer serves a purpose in my life, as these are the people and things that I’ve invested in and having done so, it’s difficult to let them go. However, in terms of moving forward in the healthiest possible manner at some point it becomes absolutely necessary. As such, what better time is there than spring?
This process isn’t as difficult as it once was because over time I’ve learned to place things in their proper perspective. Following my divorce over fourteen years ago when I had little more than my wits to sustain me through my days, I lived what can best be described as a “stripped down” existence in a small upstairs apartment in an older, historical neighborhood in Nashville, Tennessee. Below me, lived the owner of the home. He was an elderly black man whose constant companion was a small scruffy dog he called “Fleabag” or just plain “Bag” for short. Jack was a recovering alcoholic who had been sober for well over twenty years, and while I cooked sumptuous meals I hardly had the appetite to consume myself, he ate heartily and shared his life’s experiences and the wisdom that came from them with me. Taking care of Jack during this time was invaluable, as it gave me purpose during a time when life hardly made sense.
Once my wounds managed to heal and I went back to work full time, my life moved on in a far different direction, and as typically happens, I lost touch but I never lost my deep sense of appreciation for the kindness he extended. Ours was a simpatico relationship, but in truth I needed him far more than he needed me. My friendship with Jack taught me a great deal about people in general. Past generational barriers and the kind of obvious differences evidenced in skin tone and ethnicity, people in general are far more alike than different. We all care about our families – both those with whom we share blood and those we manage to somehow ‘fold into’ the same category of people we care most about – we all seek opportunity, a sense of well-being and a place to call home. We value trust, honesty and simple human kindness, and above all we hope to find the kind of love that will one day make us feel whole. I suppose Jack is the reason why I have zero tolerance for the kind of narrow-minded insolence that leads to bigotry. It’s completely lacking of the kind of patience, understanding and compassion that this world needs to survive.
Thus cleaning out the closet becomes a rather small task in comparison to cleaning out the kind of baggage that manages to weigh us down during the course of our lives. Shoes that look too worn, sweaters that now appear threadbare and dresses that no longer fit well are small casualties when lined up against people who fail to support our dreams or likewise manage to make promises they’ve no intention of keeping. Though I struggle with categorizing people the same way I do things, in order to love myself as much as I do others, its none-the-less necessary.
Therefore looking at the equation as if it were simple economics, it all boils down to a potential ‘Return on Investment’. It’s not a matter of always judging people in terms of what they can do for you, as that would be shallow and self-serving, but it is as uncomplicated as deciding which people in your life draw upon your time, energy and resources without every giving a second thought to anyone’s needs but their own. We’ve all experienced them on some level – some of us more than others – and their ability to manipulate any given situation to their own advantage is nothing short of artistry. They drain you of your peace-of-mind and on some days rob you of your ability to feel sane, and no matter how much you’re willing to give, they always seem to require more. Once you finally manage to break it down into its various components, you wonder why you ever became involved with this person to begin with.
So in the interest of cleaning house, can anyone really feel accomplished in that effort until they’ve managed to also clean out the people who continually clutter up their existence to the point continuing a relationship with this person is considered counterproductive? I don’t think so. Although it is indeed difficult to let go, the space you leave open for those who deserve to be a part of your life is nothing less than a sizeable investment in yourself.
February 20, 2014
Epic .....
Recently on a broadcast of "Sunday Morning" an Arkansas school principle was profiled by journalist, Steve Hartman. In short, he had begun his career at the same school many years earlier as a janitor; however, the principle at that particular time had pulled him aside to tell him he should consider continuing education, as he saw great potential in him, even going so far as to convey to this man, “You should be grading papers as opposed to picking them up.”
Therefore, with grit and determination, the once janitor completed night school, earned a degree in education, then began teaching and eventually completed a Master’s program, which saw him to his present position. Feeling enormously blessed, he now seeks to give his students the same kind of inspiration that had once been given to him when previously ‘no one else’ in his life had taken an interest. I suppose the lesson there is we all at least have the potential to affect people’s lives in a positive manner, and when we do they can go on to effectively change other people’s lives as well. I like that, and try to bear it in mind as I interact with those I come into contact with on a daily basis. One can never know when even the smallest thing they say or do can constructively change the life of another human being.
Once my program was over, I sprang into action doing my requisite Sunday chores including laundry and ironing, as well as my usual housework in an effort to organize my thoughts and environment for the coming week. At that time, we had another winter weather warning concerning another snow which was supposed to follow the cool front moving through later that same day. With no end in sight, winter seemed to maintain its grasp upon the entire nation.
While I was doing my cleaning, I happened to tune into one of my very favorite movies of all time, in fact one I just mentioned to my mom on the same Friday evening I watched a little of the opening ceremonies in Sochi. Although I’ve seen it a number of times, I’m powerless ‘not’ to watch "Dr. Zhivago" each time it plays. I have always been drawn to epic motion pictures. I suppose because the stories portrayed are those that become larger than life as they unfold before you on the large screen. My other favorites include "Gone With The Wind" – for its obvious connection with my beloved South – "Out of Africa", because the dark continent has always beckoned me in the same way Russia has done over the years and finally "Legends of the Fall" for whenever I feel the need to cry with careless abandon. As I pondered this list one day, it occurred to me all of these stories are so sad, which troubled me a bit when I considered that only sadness had the capability of moving me so deeply. Could it be that I was addicted to sadness, and as such was destined not to be drawn to the people, places and things that would eventually produce happiness in my own life?
However, ultimately I came to a very different conclusion. It is in short, because I appreciate depth in both characters and storylines. I’ve known a number of people over the years that have sailed through life seemingly unscathed. Supported by their good decisions and perfect pedigrees, they graciously walk around with a kind of knowing smile that assures the rest of us they know their place in this world is secure as they endeavor to appreciate the fact that people more like me tend to live out our lives a little more precariously, thus they feel a certain sympathy for us as is evidenced by their small attempts at kindness …. an extra dollar in my tip jar or “And how are you today?” uttered without waiting for an actual answer before making their own needs or requests known.
Wouldn’t it be funny if in heaven the so-called ‘little people’ were the ones who ruled while the privileged were made to follow? Maybe that's what Jesus meant when he said ... and I paraphrase, "The last will be the first among you and the first will be the last." I don’t mean to sound ‘negative’ as I actually do appreciate people who are polite as a way of life. What they fail to understand about people like me is my dreams are indeed big and that I have enough drive and determination to actually see them through.
In the end I suppose I kind of feel sorry for them, because without adversity, we have no reason to grow as a means to get in touch with what’s really important in life. Therefore there would be no reason to grab hold of whatever happiness comes our way knowing that life in general is fleeting, and like the weather the only guarantee is ‘change’. People who suffer – like the poet Yuri Zhivago – don’t have to die in order to get in touch with their soul. They are moved even by the simplest of things like the changes of season or the desperate bays of a scared, lonely wolf pack wasting away from lack of food. They are moved by temporal things like lust and passion and the need to seize the moment, because none of us can know what the future may bring. They live life as if walking on the precarious edge of a high cliff knowing one wrong step can hasten their end, and last of all they create so that they may leave something behind worth noting.
I like to think this is the part of the human race that I belong to, and I wouldn’t change that for a ticket on a berth with a much more comfortable ride. I appreciate depth, thoughtfulness, wisdom and creativity in others and I constantly strive to cultivate those same qualities within myself, hoping and praying I might just leave this world a little better by having been a part of it.
Therefore, with grit and determination, the once janitor completed night school, earned a degree in education, then began teaching and eventually completed a Master’s program, which saw him to his present position. Feeling enormously blessed, he now seeks to give his students the same kind of inspiration that had once been given to him when previously ‘no one else’ in his life had taken an interest. I suppose the lesson there is we all at least have the potential to affect people’s lives in a positive manner, and when we do they can go on to effectively change other people’s lives as well. I like that, and try to bear it in mind as I interact with those I come into contact with on a daily basis. One can never know when even the smallest thing they say or do can constructively change the life of another human being.
Once my program was over, I sprang into action doing my requisite Sunday chores including laundry and ironing, as well as my usual housework in an effort to organize my thoughts and environment for the coming week. At that time, we had another winter weather warning concerning another snow which was supposed to follow the cool front moving through later that same day. With no end in sight, winter seemed to maintain its grasp upon the entire nation.
While I was doing my cleaning, I happened to tune into one of my very favorite movies of all time, in fact one I just mentioned to my mom on the same Friday evening I watched a little of the opening ceremonies in Sochi. Although I’ve seen it a number of times, I’m powerless ‘not’ to watch "Dr. Zhivago" each time it plays. I have always been drawn to epic motion pictures. I suppose because the stories portrayed are those that become larger than life as they unfold before you on the large screen. My other favorites include "Gone With The Wind" – for its obvious connection with my beloved South – "Out of Africa", because the dark continent has always beckoned me in the same way Russia has done over the years and finally "Legends of the Fall" for whenever I feel the need to cry with careless abandon. As I pondered this list one day, it occurred to me all of these stories are so sad, which troubled me a bit when I considered that only sadness had the capability of moving me so deeply. Could it be that I was addicted to sadness, and as such was destined not to be drawn to the people, places and things that would eventually produce happiness in my own life?
However, ultimately I came to a very different conclusion. It is in short, because I appreciate depth in both characters and storylines. I’ve known a number of people over the years that have sailed through life seemingly unscathed. Supported by their good decisions and perfect pedigrees, they graciously walk around with a kind of knowing smile that assures the rest of us they know their place in this world is secure as they endeavor to appreciate the fact that people more like me tend to live out our lives a little more precariously, thus they feel a certain sympathy for us as is evidenced by their small attempts at kindness …. an extra dollar in my tip jar or “And how are you today?” uttered without waiting for an actual answer before making their own needs or requests known.
Wouldn’t it be funny if in heaven the so-called ‘little people’ were the ones who ruled while the privileged were made to follow? Maybe that's what Jesus meant when he said ... and I paraphrase, "The last will be the first among you and the first will be the last." I don’t mean to sound ‘negative’ as I actually do appreciate people who are polite as a way of life. What they fail to understand about people like me is my dreams are indeed big and that I have enough drive and determination to actually see them through.
In the end I suppose I kind of feel sorry for them, because without adversity, we have no reason to grow as a means to get in touch with what’s really important in life. Therefore there would be no reason to grab hold of whatever happiness comes our way knowing that life in general is fleeting, and like the weather the only guarantee is ‘change’. People who suffer – like the poet Yuri Zhivago – don’t have to die in order to get in touch with their soul. They are moved even by the simplest of things like the changes of season or the desperate bays of a scared, lonely wolf pack wasting away from lack of food. They are moved by temporal things like lust and passion and the need to seize the moment, because none of us can know what the future may bring. They live life as if walking on the precarious edge of a high cliff knowing one wrong step can hasten their end, and last of all they create so that they may leave something behind worth noting.
I like to think this is the part of the human race that I belong to, and I wouldn’t change that for a ticket on a berth with a much more comfortable ride. I appreciate depth, thoughtfulness, wisdom and creativity in others and I constantly strive to cultivate those same qualities within myself, hoping and praying I might just leave this world a little better by having been a part of it.
February 19, 2014
The 'Lifestyle Lift' ......
I haven’t written much lately …. between nursing an old ‘war wound’ and finding myself stuck in the muck and the mud of winter doldrums, I’ve been suffering from a near total lack of inspiration. Today I scanned several Facebook pages, took a look at Yahoo news online and just now listened to the CBS Evening News, but nothing spoke to me. I typically consider myself something of an emotional writer, and as such I need to be pulled in either a positive or negative direction in order to feel moved, but lately it’s as if I’m walking in place.
It was only a moment ago while I was watching the news when I saw the same commercial I’ve been captivated by for at least a year or more now ….. the ‘Lifestyle Lift’. It’s like the train wreck I can’t take my eyes off of as I glare at the before and after pictures set against a testimonial backdrop. It even features Debbie Boone! Knowing the Boone family’s legendary status within Christendom, who wouldn’t trust their famed daughter? In addition, being a woman over fifty now, I am acutely aware of the smorgasbord of procedures available to those who struggle to lock in their youth as they stare down aging in a grudge match destined end in victory.
Then suddenly it hit me ….. I need the metaphorical equivalent of a Lifestyle Lift for my creativity …. a little nip, a little tuck, a little boost to put the spring back in my step as I wait for the advent of spring to renew my spirit and bring about an awakening of sorts. Maybe a little Botox around the eyes will smooth out the edges giving me that perpetual look of ‘surprise’ needed to change my perspective even on the most mundane days, while a syringe or two of collagen filler will effectively turn that frown upside down as I wait for something more authentic to occur. Perhaps a chin implant might serve to tilt my head ever so slightly backward so that I might gaze up and as a result be reminded that with faith ‘this too shall pass’.
I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way this time of year …. gone are the holidays and all the accompanying hustle and bustle, busy social calendars and added responsibilities. Even Valentine’s Day has passed for many of us without so much as a wink, and with no further cause for celebration in immediate sight, we stare out our windows waiting for this unending winter to permanently pass away so that we may finally have a reason to step back out into the light. It’s times like this I’m thankful for Netflix, but I’ve finished all of ‘Mad Men’ – even the episodes I had to purchase extra from Amazon – and I’m positively depressed now that I’ve said my last goodbyes to Walt and Jesse this past Friday afternoon when I finally laid ‘Breaking Bad’ to rest. Then I think about reading a good book, but actually I’m supposed to be writing one right now, so I quickly put that idea to bed.
Thus I guess I’ll end up doing what most everyone does this time of year as we wait for the ground hog’s damned prophecy to be fulfilled ….. immerse myself in the day-to-day business of living knowing that the one guarantee in life is that it will eventually ‘change’. Or I could go online and do a little more research on the seemingly miraculous benefits of the 'Lifestyle Lift'.
It was only a moment ago while I was watching the news when I saw the same commercial I’ve been captivated by for at least a year or more now ….. the ‘Lifestyle Lift’. It’s like the train wreck I can’t take my eyes off of as I glare at the before and after pictures set against a testimonial backdrop. It even features Debbie Boone! Knowing the Boone family’s legendary status within Christendom, who wouldn’t trust their famed daughter? In addition, being a woman over fifty now, I am acutely aware of the smorgasbord of procedures available to those who struggle to lock in their youth as they stare down aging in a grudge match destined end in victory.
Then suddenly it hit me ….. I need the metaphorical equivalent of a Lifestyle Lift for my creativity …. a little nip, a little tuck, a little boost to put the spring back in my step as I wait for the advent of spring to renew my spirit and bring about an awakening of sorts. Maybe a little Botox around the eyes will smooth out the edges giving me that perpetual look of ‘surprise’ needed to change my perspective even on the most mundane days, while a syringe or two of collagen filler will effectively turn that frown upside down as I wait for something more authentic to occur. Perhaps a chin implant might serve to tilt my head ever so slightly backward so that I might gaze up and as a result be reminded that with faith ‘this too shall pass’.
I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this way this time of year …. gone are the holidays and all the accompanying hustle and bustle, busy social calendars and added responsibilities. Even Valentine’s Day has passed for many of us without so much as a wink, and with no further cause for celebration in immediate sight, we stare out our windows waiting for this unending winter to permanently pass away so that we may finally have a reason to step back out into the light. It’s times like this I’m thankful for Netflix, but I’ve finished all of ‘Mad Men’ – even the episodes I had to purchase extra from Amazon – and I’m positively depressed now that I’ve said my last goodbyes to Walt and Jesse this past Friday afternoon when I finally laid ‘Breaking Bad’ to rest. Then I think about reading a good book, but actually I’m supposed to be writing one right now, so I quickly put that idea to bed.
Thus I guess I’ll end up doing what most everyone does this time of year as we wait for the ground hog’s damned prophecy to be fulfilled ….. immerse myself in the day-to-day business of living knowing that the one guarantee in life is that it will eventually ‘change’. Or I could go online and do a little more research on the seemingly miraculous benefits of the 'Lifestyle Lift'.
February 16, 2014
Have a Coke and a Smile .......
Yesterday afternoon as I was trying to catch up on returning some long overdue email and review of social media following having taken off the better part of a week in order to nurse a bad back I happened to come across the rash of rants on Twitter and Facebook regarding the recent Coca-Cola ad that had run on Super Bowl Sunday, and honestly I don’t get that. I thought it was a beautiful statement reflecting the strength in America as the country who had actually lived the words, “Give me your tired, your poor …. Your homeless huddled masses yearning to be free.” Yes we are the world’s greatest melting pot, as colorful and diverse as a box of Crayola crayons, rich in diverse culture, manufacturing, the arts and ideologies, and as a result all of us has benefited on some level.
Diversity not only expands our knowledge of the world at large, but it also opens up the possibility of living a life filled with numerous choices. Take for instance dining out. Whether one resides in a large metropolitan area or a small town like the one I live in, it is no longer just a meat and potatoes world. I can choose Italian, Chinese, Thai, Indian or Mexican depending upon the current dictates of my taste buds. I can have Japanese Kobe beef at one of our finer steakhouses or fresh sushi prepared before my eyes by the skilled hands of a Japanese sushi chef, or perhaps coffee and a chocolate soufflé should my heart desire. The choices are as wide and varied as my imagination on any given day, but then food is only just the beginning.
As a professional interior designer, I cannot imagine an interior that has not in some way been influenced by some of the world’s most influential creative genius from silk rugs out of China, to Mexican terracotta and silver, Portuguese tiles, Italian marble and frescoes, Belgian linens, and Scottish leathers just to name a few. From California’s mission styles to elegant French Country to Swedish inspired minimalism to lovely Tudor homes to sprawling ranch homes with a Mediterranean air, they were all inspired by another culture.
We wear fashions whose first inspiration came out of European capitals like Paris, Milan and London and we drink wines from France, Italy, Spain and Portugal, German beers and Irish whiskey, not to mention single-malt scotch first distilled in Scotland. Whether we wear clothes bought at the Gap or drink American wine and beers, they still represent knock-offs of their European counterparts. When it comes to automobiles, who among us doesn’t aspire to emulate German engineering, Japanese efficiency or sexy Italian style? And when it comes to technology where would any of us be without names like Sony, Samsung or Toshiba who helped forge the way for the iUniverse?
In America we are free to attend church, or mass or temple without fear of reprisal, and this is in large part because many different cultures stood side-by-side under the banner of one flag – as Americans – on the world’s battlefields to preserve a way of life we all hold dear. Our differences are not only what defines us as unique in comparison to other nations, but it is also what makes us strong. Those of us who have been fortunate to travel outside this country for either work or pleasure soon realize just how great America still is, because we are a nation of choice when it comes to education, lifestyle and the right to pursue a dream unencumbered by a government who insist upon making those choices for you, or a caste system that locks you in at birth.
It is often said that one cannot miss something until they no longer have it, and this is probably true. Therefore wouldn’t it stand to reason that those who have immigrated here with the hope of finding a better life would understand even more so than your typical American just how great those freedoms are and the absolute need to protect them at all costs. Therefore, for those people who got upset over Coca-Cola’s recent ad featuring “America the Beautiful” sung in a montage of many different languages I suggest you take a look at your own heritage in order to try and define what it means to be an American. I for one only have to go back three generations to trace a portion of my own family tree back to Tullah in Ireland, from where my great grandparents immigrated to New York City and my grandmother, Elizabeth Birmingham, was the first of her family to be born on American soil 1896. I am proud of my Irish heritage and of the countrymen who literally fought hard to help build this nation, bringing with them elements of their beloved homeland.
It is out dated, narrow minded and downright ignorant to continue to think of America in such limited terms according to her assets. To be an American doesn’t mean you’re white, you speak only English and you drive a car born out of Detroit. To continue to maintain such restricted vision is careless in that it echoes the madness of Adolph Hitler and feeds upon the dangers inherent in white supremacy. It would also mean that its citizens got stuck in some ridiculous time warp and refused to evolve along with the rest of the world, and I know we are better than that. It is only by accepting each other’s differences and celebrating our rights to be who we are that we guarantee that freedom in this nation will not only be cherished, but continue to be protected for many generations to come.
Diversity not only expands our knowledge of the world at large, but it also opens up the possibility of living a life filled with numerous choices. Take for instance dining out. Whether one resides in a large metropolitan area or a small town like the one I live in, it is no longer just a meat and potatoes world. I can choose Italian, Chinese, Thai, Indian or Mexican depending upon the current dictates of my taste buds. I can have Japanese Kobe beef at one of our finer steakhouses or fresh sushi prepared before my eyes by the skilled hands of a Japanese sushi chef, or perhaps coffee and a chocolate soufflé should my heart desire. The choices are as wide and varied as my imagination on any given day, but then food is only just the beginning.
As a professional interior designer, I cannot imagine an interior that has not in some way been influenced by some of the world’s most influential creative genius from silk rugs out of China, to Mexican terracotta and silver, Portuguese tiles, Italian marble and frescoes, Belgian linens, and Scottish leathers just to name a few. From California’s mission styles to elegant French Country to Swedish inspired minimalism to lovely Tudor homes to sprawling ranch homes with a Mediterranean air, they were all inspired by another culture.
We wear fashions whose first inspiration came out of European capitals like Paris, Milan and London and we drink wines from France, Italy, Spain and Portugal, German beers and Irish whiskey, not to mention single-malt scotch first distilled in Scotland. Whether we wear clothes bought at the Gap or drink American wine and beers, they still represent knock-offs of their European counterparts. When it comes to automobiles, who among us doesn’t aspire to emulate German engineering, Japanese efficiency or sexy Italian style? And when it comes to technology where would any of us be without names like Sony, Samsung or Toshiba who helped forge the way for the iUniverse?
In America we are free to attend church, or mass or temple without fear of reprisal, and this is in large part because many different cultures stood side-by-side under the banner of one flag – as Americans – on the world’s battlefields to preserve a way of life we all hold dear. Our differences are not only what defines us as unique in comparison to other nations, but it is also what makes us strong. Those of us who have been fortunate to travel outside this country for either work or pleasure soon realize just how great America still is, because we are a nation of choice when it comes to education, lifestyle and the right to pursue a dream unencumbered by a government who insist upon making those choices for you, or a caste system that locks you in at birth.
It is often said that one cannot miss something until they no longer have it, and this is probably true. Therefore wouldn’t it stand to reason that those who have immigrated here with the hope of finding a better life would understand even more so than your typical American just how great those freedoms are and the absolute need to protect them at all costs. Therefore, for those people who got upset over Coca-Cola’s recent ad featuring “America the Beautiful” sung in a montage of many different languages I suggest you take a look at your own heritage in order to try and define what it means to be an American. I for one only have to go back three generations to trace a portion of my own family tree back to Tullah in Ireland, from where my great grandparents immigrated to New York City and my grandmother, Elizabeth Birmingham, was the first of her family to be born on American soil 1896. I am proud of my Irish heritage and of the countrymen who literally fought hard to help build this nation, bringing with them elements of their beloved homeland.
It is out dated, narrow minded and downright ignorant to continue to think of America in such limited terms according to her assets. To be an American doesn’t mean you’re white, you speak only English and you drive a car born out of Detroit. To continue to maintain such restricted vision is careless in that it echoes the madness of Adolph Hitler and feeds upon the dangers inherent in white supremacy. It would also mean that its citizens got stuck in some ridiculous time warp and refused to evolve along with the rest of the world, and I know we are better than that. It is only by accepting each other’s differences and celebrating our rights to be who we are that we guarantee that freedom in this nation will not only be cherished, but continue to be protected for many generations to come.
February 13, 2014
Cupid's Bow .......
In classic mythology Cupid is known as the God of Desire. In actuality his name is derived from the Latin word “Cupido” which of course means desire. He is the son of the Love Goddess, Venus, and his source of power is represented by his bow and arrows. Therefore any prey who fall victim to Cupid’s bow is supposed to be filled with uncontrollable ‘desire’ …. unless the arrow is tipped in lead and then it has the unfortunate opposite effect. However, in more modern times Cupid is shown drawing his bow to inspire romantic love, and thus we have the usage of his iconic image to celebrate each Valentine’s Day.
In classical tradition, Cupid’s father was none other than Mars, also known as the God of War, and so the original love affair between Venus and Mars represented an allegory for both love and war, which might have also led to the old adage “There’s a fine line between love and hate.” While Cupid’s wings represent the flightiness of lovers who’s sometimes foolish and irrational thoughts often strike the balance between love and hate due to the undeniable fact that love can both wound and inflame one’s heart, on the wings of love all things seem possible.
Inasmuch as it is sentimental and endearing to think of love solely in romantic terms, I think of true and everlasting love as being far less idealistic and impractical, because anyone who has been there knows in time romance fades as it is inevitably replaced with something more comfortable and familiar, however much more profound in its description. After all ‘romantic love’ is just a prettier way to describe the kind of animalistic attraction that leads two people to want to get to know one another better. Wiser men such as William Shakespeare proclaimed in no uncertain terms, “Love looks not with eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind,” as found in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”.
But I don’t think ‘romantic love’ is blind, but rather just a starting point from which true love has the potential to grow, because to genuinely love someone you must first get to know them …. to understand what makes one tick, to come to know that person’s likes and dislikes, their admirable traits as well as the ones you would just as soon do without. You must come to appreciate all the fibers that make up their individual being to the point that the thought of living without this person in your life suddenly becomes intolerable. Real love encompasses attraction, desire and need to the point it changes who you are. It drags you kicking and screaming outside your comfort zone when you’re forced to confront the fragility of your own delicate psyche when you decide to first utter those ‘three little words’ without the fore knowledge of knowing if that sentiment will be returned. It often forces you to place another’s needs before those of your own, and if you haven’t already, you will find religion each and every time you pray to a God you cannot see for the continued safety and protection of the person you hold most dear.
In the end, the kind of love that is designed to go the distance can best be summed up with one word. It is the personification of ‘work’ and as is the case with any other career choice, one will get out of it what he or she is willing to put into it. Ultimately it is the balance between love and hate, give and take, winning and losing ….. knowing even when you’ve come out on the losing end of a struggle, you have nonetheless won the war by compromising in order to keep love alive. In this disposable society where most of us continually spoil ourselves with everything our hearts desire, why do we oftentimes give up on love when it becomes the least bit difficult or tense? Wouldn’t it be more prudent and wise to actually ‘hang in there’ showing just how much you care by being willing to actually fight for love’s survival, because you know how rare and precious it was to have found it in the first place? Another question worth asking out loud is why do so many couples insist upon playing so fast and loose when it comes to maintaining their most intimate relationship? By telling lies, keeping secrets or exhibiting ‘thrill-seeking’ behavior in the form of continual conquests you cannot help but chip away at love’s foundation to the point it erodes into ruin.
As for me personally I’m not much of a gambler anymore. I’ve lived long enough to figure out what and who is most important in my life, and I don’t play Russian roulette with its existence. Besides, that which is fleeting can never become as valuable as something that is built to last. Whether speaking in terms of things like precious jewels, timeless architecture or the kind of indescribable beauty often found in nature, once you’re fortunate enough to make an honest connection with another human being whose feelings for you run just as deep, it is worth protecting at all costs. Because if you don’t, you run the risk of losing it, and I can guarantee you will miss it when it’s gone. So on this Valentine’s Day, I suggest everyone honor the love in their lives with a pure expression that comes from the heart, as these are the gifts that are truly priceless.
In classical tradition, Cupid’s father was none other than Mars, also known as the God of War, and so the original love affair between Venus and Mars represented an allegory for both love and war, which might have also led to the old adage “There’s a fine line between love and hate.” While Cupid’s wings represent the flightiness of lovers who’s sometimes foolish and irrational thoughts often strike the balance between love and hate due to the undeniable fact that love can both wound and inflame one’s heart, on the wings of love all things seem possible.
Inasmuch as it is sentimental and endearing to think of love solely in romantic terms, I think of true and everlasting love as being far less idealistic and impractical, because anyone who has been there knows in time romance fades as it is inevitably replaced with something more comfortable and familiar, however much more profound in its description. After all ‘romantic love’ is just a prettier way to describe the kind of animalistic attraction that leads two people to want to get to know one another better. Wiser men such as William Shakespeare proclaimed in no uncertain terms, “Love looks not with eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind,” as found in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”.
But I don’t think ‘romantic love’ is blind, but rather just a starting point from which true love has the potential to grow, because to genuinely love someone you must first get to know them …. to understand what makes one tick, to come to know that person’s likes and dislikes, their admirable traits as well as the ones you would just as soon do without. You must come to appreciate all the fibers that make up their individual being to the point that the thought of living without this person in your life suddenly becomes intolerable. Real love encompasses attraction, desire and need to the point it changes who you are. It drags you kicking and screaming outside your comfort zone when you’re forced to confront the fragility of your own delicate psyche when you decide to first utter those ‘three little words’ without the fore knowledge of knowing if that sentiment will be returned. It often forces you to place another’s needs before those of your own, and if you haven’t already, you will find religion each and every time you pray to a God you cannot see for the continued safety and protection of the person you hold most dear.
In the end, the kind of love that is designed to go the distance can best be summed up with one word. It is the personification of ‘work’ and as is the case with any other career choice, one will get out of it what he or she is willing to put into it. Ultimately it is the balance between love and hate, give and take, winning and losing ….. knowing even when you’ve come out on the losing end of a struggle, you have nonetheless won the war by compromising in order to keep love alive. In this disposable society where most of us continually spoil ourselves with everything our hearts desire, why do we oftentimes give up on love when it becomes the least bit difficult or tense? Wouldn’t it be more prudent and wise to actually ‘hang in there’ showing just how much you care by being willing to actually fight for love’s survival, because you know how rare and precious it was to have found it in the first place? Another question worth asking out loud is why do so many couples insist upon playing so fast and loose when it comes to maintaining their most intimate relationship? By telling lies, keeping secrets or exhibiting ‘thrill-seeking’ behavior in the form of continual conquests you cannot help but chip away at love’s foundation to the point it erodes into ruin.
As for me personally I’m not much of a gambler anymore. I’ve lived long enough to figure out what and who is most important in my life, and I don’t play Russian roulette with its existence. Besides, that which is fleeting can never become as valuable as something that is built to last. Whether speaking in terms of things like precious jewels, timeless architecture or the kind of indescribable beauty often found in nature, once you’re fortunate enough to make an honest connection with another human being whose feelings for you run just as deep, it is worth protecting at all costs. Because if you don’t, you run the risk of losing it, and I can guarantee you will miss it when it’s gone. So on this Valentine’s Day, I suggest everyone honor the love in their lives with a pure expression that comes from the heart, as these are the gifts that are truly priceless.
February 6, 2014
True Colors ......
These days I find personas are like telephone numbers and email addresses ….. we all need more than one to try and maintain our busy lives. For those of us who work, we strive to project an identity considered ‘professional’ wherein behavior is more calculated and determined. Absent of emotion, our thoughts and actions are targeted toward a specific goal or goals, and in the interest of being perceived as a team-player, we form peripheral friendships whose hallmarks are water-cooler discussions and the occasional group lunch, where invariably office politics winds up making its way into the flow of conversation. You try your best to refrain from gossip lest it comes back to bite you squarely in the ass, and more seasoned players steer way clear of office-born romance, because truly nothing good can ever come from such a thing …. unless it leads to love and one of you is prepared to eventually leave the establishment, because everyone else will form assumptions based upon your personal relationship.
At home – as parents – we are often forced to suppress our most ‘authentic’ identities in the name of being good role models and hopefully teaching by example. You don’t exactly want your teenage daughter or son to know if you like to ‘get your freak on’ in the bedroom every night if you’re trying to promote abstinence as the only ‘responsible choice’. You might also smoke an occasional cigarette behind your child’s back on a particularly stressful day or even surf adult-oriented content late at night when everyone else is asleep. We expend so much energy in an effort to come off as a paragon of virtue or model of exemplary behavior, leaving no room for doubt it’s cause enough not to rush home most evenings, reluctant to slide into that coat-of-armor once you pass through the threshold of your door when you’d just as soon be yourself someplace else. Consequently our children grow up with the perception that we are often times ‘out-of-touch’ or in my case when my own daughter screamed at me years ago, “You’re so damned perfect I can’t possibly live up to your standards.” Such was not true except within her own perspective.
Then we have our close group of friends, often times the same people we walk through life with hand-in-hand – our one constant – despite how many incarnations are forced upon us due to job changes, divorce, or a series of bad relationships, or perhaps even death. With these people we become more animated and a little less ‘on guard’. They already know most of our successes, as well as our failures, as they were there with us to join in the celebration as well as lending an extra hand to help prop us up when we needed it most. We can be serious or silly and if we’re lucky we can trust them with some of our deepest, dark secrets knowing they will always remain in the vault.
But if we are truly fortunate and blessed, at some point in life we manage to connect with one other individual with whom we can be our authentic self, the truest version of who we are, and thus the person we were born to be. They help us to define ourselves by supporting our dreams and accepting our short-comings absent of reservation. With no such need to develop a separate identity, we are at last free to shine our ‘true colors’ and thus become ‘beautiful like a rainbow’. Whether you define that person as your ‘life partner’ or ‘soul mate’ he or she is the one who will make you feel complete by answering that age old question of “Why am I here?” Together you will define the meaning of love as you embrace all of life’s possibilities while still remaining as one. This love is defined by descriptive words like loyal, constant and protective. At its core it is eternal, unquestionable and undying, because it has been touched by divinity.
As human being we are destined to falter at times, but true love will always endeavor to ‘forgive’.
At home – as parents – we are often forced to suppress our most ‘authentic’ identities in the name of being good role models and hopefully teaching by example. You don’t exactly want your teenage daughter or son to know if you like to ‘get your freak on’ in the bedroom every night if you’re trying to promote abstinence as the only ‘responsible choice’. You might also smoke an occasional cigarette behind your child’s back on a particularly stressful day or even surf adult-oriented content late at night when everyone else is asleep. We expend so much energy in an effort to come off as a paragon of virtue or model of exemplary behavior, leaving no room for doubt it’s cause enough not to rush home most evenings, reluctant to slide into that coat-of-armor once you pass through the threshold of your door when you’d just as soon be yourself someplace else. Consequently our children grow up with the perception that we are often times ‘out-of-touch’ or in my case when my own daughter screamed at me years ago, “You’re so damned perfect I can’t possibly live up to your standards.” Such was not true except within her own perspective.
Then we have our close group of friends, often times the same people we walk through life with hand-in-hand – our one constant – despite how many incarnations are forced upon us due to job changes, divorce, or a series of bad relationships, or perhaps even death. With these people we become more animated and a little less ‘on guard’. They already know most of our successes, as well as our failures, as they were there with us to join in the celebration as well as lending an extra hand to help prop us up when we needed it most. We can be serious or silly and if we’re lucky we can trust them with some of our deepest, dark secrets knowing they will always remain in the vault.
But if we are truly fortunate and blessed, at some point in life we manage to connect with one other individual with whom we can be our authentic self, the truest version of who we are, and thus the person we were born to be. They help us to define ourselves by supporting our dreams and accepting our short-comings absent of reservation. With no such need to develop a separate identity, we are at last free to shine our ‘true colors’ and thus become ‘beautiful like a rainbow’. Whether you define that person as your ‘life partner’ or ‘soul mate’ he or she is the one who will make you feel complete by answering that age old question of “Why am I here?” Together you will define the meaning of love as you embrace all of life’s possibilities while still remaining as one. This love is defined by descriptive words like loyal, constant and protective. At its core it is eternal, unquestionable and undying, because it has been touched by divinity.
As human being we are destined to falter at times, but true love will always endeavor to ‘forgive’.
February 5, 2014
Marilyn or Jackie?
Recently I watched the 'Mad Men' series with my mom via Netflix, when about a third of the way through, and I must say it’s become sort of a guilty pleasure in that it returns me to a time where I can view portions of my life once more through my inner child’s eye, and although the sixties were far from perfect, they were simpler and perhaps more idealistic and fresh, certainly less jaded than today.
During last night’s episode, an ad man was pitching a campaign for women’s Playtex bras based upon the fact every American woman could be categorized as either a Marilyn or Jackie …. with Marilyn being the sexy push-up bra while Jackie represented the more conservative model. He illustrated his point by opening the conference room door to the expansive secretarial pool and pointing out the women who obviously fit into one mold or the other. Thinking about that scene this morning during my drive to work, I asked myself which persona best fit me.
But as I looked at myself in the mirror before heading off to work this morning …. no doubt over-dressed for the job …. I see the reflection of my blonde hair, big boobs and form-fitting dress, not to mention my full red lips, ample caboose and sway in my walk, and I am undeniably a Marilyn. I may know how to act accordingly in any given circumstance, and I am educated and smart, but where Jackie always seemed to keep a cool head and an aloof demeanor, I like Marilyn am ruled by my emotions, which I tend more often than not to wear on my sleeve. In addition, like her I am vulnerable, therefore in need of protection and I tend to always define my worth through the man I’m committed to.
I can be moody and self-destructive, but I can also be playful and animated, sexy and creative, perhaps even alluring. I understand the value in sex, because I know at our core human beings are as sexually driven as any other mammal …. maybe even more. Therefore, for one to deny his or her own essence is to surrender power over to others who know better.
Although I am certainly not Marilyn Monroe, I do exhibit some of her same qualities; however I'm not one to be victimized by the kind of wanton lust or passion that can never be requited, and I am completely focused on working toward a much happier ending.
During last night’s episode, an ad man was pitching a campaign for women’s Playtex bras based upon the fact every American woman could be categorized as either a Marilyn or Jackie …. with Marilyn being the sexy push-up bra while Jackie represented the more conservative model. He illustrated his point by opening the conference room door to the expansive secretarial pool and pointing out the women who obviously fit into one mold or the other. Thinking about that scene this morning during my drive to work, I asked myself which persona best fit me.
But as I looked at myself in the mirror before heading off to work this morning …. no doubt over-dressed for the job …. I see the reflection of my blonde hair, big boobs and form-fitting dress, not to mention my full red lips, ample caboose and sway in my walk, and I am undeniably a Marilyn. I may know how to act accordingly in any given circumstance, and I am educated and smart, but where Jackie always seemed to keep a cool head and an aloof demeanor, I like Marilyn am ruled by my emotions, which I tend more often than not to wear on my sleeve. In addition, like her I am vulnerable, therefore in need of protection and I tend to always define my worth through the man I’m committed to.
I can be moody and self-destructive, but I can also be playful and animated, sexy and creative, perhaps even alluring. I understand the value in sex, because I know at our core human beings are as sexually driven as any other mammal …. maybe even more. Therefore, for one to deny his or her own essence is to surrender power over to others who know better.
Although I am certainly not Marilyn Monroe, I do exhibit some of her same qualities; however I'm not one to be victimized by the kind of wanton lust or passion that can never be requited, and I am completely focused on working toward a much happier ending.
February 4, 2014
Love's Heroin ........
So addictive, so soft and pure, like running your fingers through a bowl of flour, she calls to me, first in whispered tones hardly discernable with human ears. I try to ignore her knowing that our coming together can’t possibly lead to anything good, but then she beckons and bellows in my mind like a succubus in dire need of satisfaction. I can no longer disregard her, as her power over me is far too great to resist, and then moments after our first embrace, she rushes through the same bloodstream that carries oxygen to my brain until I’m blinded by the sight of nirvana. I reach out to touch its pure, white light and she disappears, a vision of a beautiful oasis collapses into reality as my fingers close around damp, dark air, leaving in her place a dull, aching need.
She is love’s heroin, a cruel mistress at best though together we have soared to heights indescribable to someone who hasn’t already sought sanctuary in her arms. It is in these moments I feel as if I could touch the face of God, but just as quickly she casts me back down in a spiral that leads to the devils lair where his grip feels so tight it’s as if I can no longer breathe, choking from the burnt out fumes of self-destruction.
I seek her return by promising to be good if I can only have a little more of her love and attention. I swear I won’t come unhinged this time or crouch in the darkness just outside her door that I might get a glimpse of her one last time. I surrender whatever pride I’d reserved for such an occasion by pleading, “Give me a little taste, just enough to get me by …. then tomorrow I promise I’ll leave and you’ll never know I came.”
Defeated, I turn to retreat then call out one last time, “a text, an email, something to show you at least still care …. just a little something to get me by. I promise I’ll be good this time. I’ll do anything you ask.” And then it came – the fix I needed so desperately – “Why do you always run, Love?”
I struggle for a clever answer, at least some intelligible response that will instantly make sense as I do battle to plead my own case, but my mind has abandoned me, and my heart can’t form an answer on its own. Helpless and defeated, I manage to mutter, “I’m an addict. What did you expect? Is it my shortcomings or your own that led your thinking astray?” But secretly I know it's because I'm scared her power will be the death of me.
Desperate, I grab my fix and melt it down, hypnotized by the process and the knowing that relief is finally within my grasp. I hastily push it into my veins and wait for it, wait for it ….. that calming sensation like melted butter has instantly replaced my blood as it courses through every square inch of my frame. As my eyes roll back into my head I am reassured by the fleeting thought that all is at once right with my world, and I shall never want again. But who’s kidding who? Sometime later I am awakened by a cool breeze blowing through an open window with its sole purpose to remind me ‘I am alone’.
With what little resolve that long ago replaced my dignity I vow “I’ll kick this addiction once and for all.” maybe tomorrow? Or possibly the next day? Yes, by next week I’ll feel stronger. Then as I roll over and manage to pull the covers up tight around my neck I say out loud, “Who am I kidding?”
I’m an addict. I’ll never be able to control love’s heroin. She holds my life in a vice, and there’s only one escape. As I close my eyes to the approaching dawn I feel a tear splash on the pillow against my cheek.
She is love’s heroin, a cruel mistress at best though together we have soared to heights indescribable to someone who hasn’t already sought sanctuary in her arms. It is in these moments I feel as if I could touch the face of God, but just as quickly she casts me back down in a spiral that leads to the devils lair where his grip feels so tight it’s as if I can no longer breathe, choking from the burnt out fumes of self-destruction.
I seek her return by promising to be good if I can only have a little more of her love and attention. I swear I won’t come unhinged this time or crouch in the darkness just outside her door that I might get a glimpse of her one last time. I surrender whatever pride I’d reserved for such an occasion by pleading, “Give me a little taste, just enough to get me by …. then tomorrow I promise I’ll leave and you’ll never know I came.”
Defeated, I turn to retreat then call out one last time, “a text, an email, something to show you at least still care …. just a little something to get me by. I promise I’ll be good this time. I’ll do anything you ask.” And then it came – the fix I needed so desperately – “Why do you always run, Love?”
I struggle for a clever answer, at least some intelligible response that will instantly make sense as I do battle to plead my own case, but my mind has abandoned me, and my heart can’t form an answer on its own. Helpless and defeated, I manage to mutter, “I’m an addict. What did you expect? Is it my shortcomings or your own that led your thinking astray?” But secretly I know it's because I'm scared her power will be the death of me.
Desperate, I grab my fix and melt it down, hypnotized by the process and the knowing that relief is finally within my grasp. I hastily push it into my veins and wait for it, wait for it ….. that calming sensation like melted butter has instantly replaced my blood as it courses through every square inch of my frame. As my eyes roll back into my head I am reassured by the fleeting thought that all is at once right with my world, and I shall never want again. But who’s kidding who? Sometime later I am awakened by a cool breeze blowing through an open window with its sole purpose to remind me ‘I am alone’.
With what little resolve that long ago replaced my dignity I vow “I’ll kick this addiction once and for all.” maybe tomorrow? Or possibly the next day? Yes, by next week I’ll feel stronger. Then as I roll over and manage to pull the covers up tight around my neck I say out loud, “Who am I kidding?”
I’m an addict. I’ll never be able to control love’s heroin. She holds my life in a vice, and there’s only one escape. As I close my eyes to the approaching dawn I feel a tear splash on the pillow against my cheek.
February 3, 2014
We Are Family .......
I wanted to briefly visit the subject of family today, mainly because I realize over the course of the years, I’ve been rather hard on some of mine, which might have given some the wrong impression. I believe so strongly in the strength of the family unit, and I love mine just as much as I know most of them love me. We are imperfect human beings living in a difficult world. As such we are often subject not only to our emotions, but often times a string of seemingly unrelated events that can’t help but affect our perspective as we make our way through life.
Often times I didn’t have the happiest of childhoods. My mother, like myself, was a very young mother, and because dad was working all the time and they had moved far away from home, they were without the support of their own family units. Consequently, she was left to raise 2 small children without any help and must have felt overwhelmed at the thought of having a third. I know only too well she must have felt trapped within a reality that was less than idyllic and not necessarily one of her choosing. Then when I did come along, caught within the early stages of labor, she was forced to get herself and her two small children to Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque by taxi cab without help until dad got home from work to discover where she’d gone. There were no cell phones, and I suppose they didn’t even have a telephone at the time. To say times were difficult would be such a gross understatement.
As a child, I was spirited, opinionated and often times rebellious ….. quite different from herself or my older sister, and because our relationship was contentious, I probably set out to retaliate every time I felt she let me down. In my own defense I knew I was treated differently …. I just never understood why until well into my adulthood. However, whereas my mother doted over her eldest daughter and only son, my father made up for it in spades by making me a 'daddy’s girl'. For as long as my memory serves me, I can remember sitting out on our driveway at the end of each day waiting for him to come home and lighting up when I saw his truck coming down our dirt road. He taught me how to two-step when I was probably my grand daughter, Isabella’s age, standing on his shoes to old classics sung by Andy Williams and Nat King Cole. To this day, I still love those old standards and melt every time I hear one. In his eyes, I could do no wrong, which must have infuriated mom even more.
On the positive side, my mom was the most creative person I knew growing up …… she could draw anything, as well as knit, crochet and sew beautifully, and she could sing. She always decorated and kept a beautiful home whether there was money or not, and she inspired my interests in both cooking and gardening. When it came to domestic qualities, I grew up believing there was nothing my mom couldn’t do. With respect to learning and behavior outside the home, she had a high standard for all of us, and we grew up respecting that. Consequently the thought of letting our parents down just didn’t enter our minds.
But holidays were the best ….. as a family we all dressed up warm and with our family dog “Happy” hiked out into the woods surrounding our home to find the perfect Christmas Tree, and mom would undoubtedly pass upon the first few sighted to ensure our selection was no less than perfect. If money was tight, we weren’t made privy to that knowledge, because we all felt so blessed. It was a time to bring together extended family with grandparents, aunts & uncles and cousins all in attendance, and good food was always in abundance. Lastly, the gifts we exchanged always made the day feel special. These were the traditions I held dear and carried forward into my own adulthood.
As a family we were not perfect. We had our share of issues like most families do, but I wouldn’t trade the group of people I grew up with for anything. It's worth mentioning, I repaired my relationship with my mother in my mid-thirties, and now days we couldn’t be any closer. As a family, we did everything together growing up. For instance, when dad played in a golf tournament, us kids were there along with mom to cheer him on from the gallery. Every holiday was celebrated in a traditional manner and there was always some kind of summer vacation. Even when dad built our first nice home, we all got to have input.
But unfortunately, because we were so close knit, these same people invariably had input into some of my more painful memories as well. However, I choose not to blame anyone, because ultimately I don’t. Life is what it is and will continue to be just that, and the best any of us can hope for is to expand our minds by growing as individuals and hopefully learn our lessons as we go. And if we are very lucky, hopefully we manage to squeeze out a little share of happiness along the way.
Often times I didn’t have the happiest of childhoods. My mother, like myself, was a very young mother, and because dad was working all the time and they had moved far away from home, they were without the support of their own family units. Consequently, she was left to raise 2 small children without any help and must have felt overwhelmed at the thought of having a third. I know only too well she must have felt trapped within a reality that was less than idyllic and not necessarily one of her choosing. Then when I did come along, caught within the early stages of labor, she was forced to get herself and her two small children to Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque by taxi cab without help until dad got home from work to discover where she’d gone. There were no cell phones, and I suppose they didn’t even have a telephone at the time. To say times were difficult would be such a gross understatement.
As a child, I was spirited, opinionated and often times rebellious ….. quite different from herself or my older sister, and because our relationship was contentious, I probably set out to retaliate every time I felt she let me down. In my own defense I knew I was treated differently …. I just never understood why until well into my adulthood. However, whereas my mother doted over her eldest daughter and only son, my father made up for it in spades by making me a 'daddy’s girl'. For as long as my memory serves me, I can remember sitting out on our driveway at the end of each day waiting for him to come home and lighting up when I saw his truck coming down our dirt road. He taught me how to two-step when I was probably my grand daughter, Isabella’s age, standing on his shoes to old classics sung by Andy Williams and Nat King Cole. To this day, I still love those old standards and melt every time I hear one. In his eyes, I could do no wrong, which must have infuriated mom even more.
On the positive side, my mom was the most creative person I knew growing up …… she could draw anything, as well as knit, crochet and sew beautifully, and she could sing. She always decorated and kept a beautiful home whether there was money or not, and she inspired my interests in both cooking and gardening. When it came to domestic qualities, I grew up believing there was nothing my mom couldn’t do. With respect to learning and behavior outside the home, she had a high standard for all of us, and we grew up respecting that. Consequently the thought of letting our parents down just didn’t enter our minds.
But holidays were the best ….. as a family we all dressed up warm and with our family dog “Happy” hiked out into the woods surrounding our home to find the perfect Christmas Tree, and mom would undoubtedly pass upon the first few sighted to ensure our selection was no less than perfect. If money was tight, we weren’t made privy to that knowledge, because we all felt so blessed. It was a time to bring together extended family with grandparents, aunts & uncles and cousins all in attendance, and good food was always in abundance. Lastly, the gifts we exchanged always made the day feel special. These were the traditions I held dear and carried forward into my own adulthood.
As a family we were not perfect. We had our share of issues like most families do, but I wouldn’t trade the group of people I grew up with for anything. It's worth mentioning, I repaired my relationship with my mother in my mid-thirties, and now days we couldn’t be any closer. As a family, we did everything together growing up. For instance, when dad played in a golf tournament, us kids were there along with mom to cheer him on from the gallery. Every holiday was celebrated in a traditional manner and there was always some kind of summer vacation. Even when dad built our first nice home, we all got to have input.
But unfortunately, because we were so close knit, these same people invariably had input into some of my more painful memories as well. However, I choose not to blame anyone, because ultimately I don’t. Life is what it is and will continue to be just that, and the best any of us can hope for is to expand our minds by growing as individuals and hopefully learn our lessons as we go. And if we are very lucky, hopefully we manage to squeeze out a little share of happiness along the way.
A Day In The Life of an Aspiring Author .....
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