Ok, now I am 60. Remember when I said I thought maybe I'd just "crystallize" at 60 and remain static, appearance wise? Well, I will be 61 in 11 days. Not sure I'm crystallized.
I tried the going gray thing. Seems its almost a fashionable trend now. Let the grays grow with abandon, embrace them! So feminist, so liberating! After loads of research, I decided the best way would be to color my hair lighter and lighter and then just blend in the gray until VOILA!, a silver mane! I tried it for six months, maybe longer, sure seemed longer. I felt deja vu, going to back to the years in adulthood (and there were many) when I colored my hair blonde in some form or another. My makeup never looked right. It seemed either massively dramatic or so pale as to make me look like a lab rat. My light skin coloring one would think perfect for blonde (and gray) hair. Not so. It made me look "old" not daring or liberated at all. Just old. I observed a friend going "natural". She looked much older. I gave up, went to Target and came holding cradling my box of "Medium Ash Brown". So I am at odds with myself. I want to embrace old age yet don't want to look old. I guess I could go to botox and dermal fillers, have liposuction, "cool sculpting", all those last chance measures we put ourselves through before admitting defeat. Time marches on. I don't enjoy the thought of needles in my face. I've seen too many Botched episodes where the plastic surgeons heatedly debate amongst themselves how to correct the horribly disfigured client who's previous cosmetic surgeries went terribly wrong. Nor do I want to be one of the senior citizens who's hair precedes her into the room by several minutes. A face full of wrinkles and stark black hair. The dazzling iridescent platinum blonde of the Lake Minnetonka matron desperately clinging to youth.
I like myself with dark hair. I think it highlights my light eyes and light complexion. My significant other likes it, too. I spend my time working more on my inner self and less on the outer the older I get. I doubt if anyone thinks my hair color is natural (and even less care) and I guess it shows that I'm not as confident and accepting as I ideally, would like to be. Things of real value aren't found in boxes at Target or even in the gym, flaunting a leotard covering scars and sagging flesh. They are only found inside one's heart. Work on the inner self as its the only thing of value. And if my hair is unnaturally brunette while sitting on my meditation mat, well, thats okay.
Tuesday, February 5, 2019
Friday, March 3, 2017
IT IS WHAT IT IS
The old woman walks slowly up the cracking stairs of her apartment building. Its a frosty day in Minneapolis, she's not sure if it ever got to the 22 degrees predicted by the weather man. She reaches a finger up beneath the taped bridge of her glasses to wipe away a tear, lets out a sigh as she pulls the door open. She slowly climbs the twenty six stairs to her apartment, avoiding the crumpled Kit Kat wrapper in the hall. A steady thump, thump, thump of bass comes from the apartment next to hers. There are a couple of young people living there, they seem to keep odd hours and play the loud, thumping music late into the night and start it up every day around lunch time. Even when she takes her hearing aids out at night, sometimes its difficult for her to sleep with the music always pounding through the walls. Its as if her pillow conducts the sound and it invades her dreams.
This has not been a good day. The doctor at the clinic told her the cancer was back and this time, it has spread. He had a fancy word for it but she doesn't remember the term. She knew what he meant. Almost automatically, she walks to the refrigerator and takes out the half can of chicken noodle soup. She pours it into a pan on the little gas burner and dumps in a cup of water. As the soup begins to warm, she carefully opens a tin and removes the package of saltines she has closed with a plastic tie from the grocery store. Another tear comes as a wave of self pity washes through her. Can't even keep the crackers out, she thinks, damn mice will get to them.
The anemic daylight fades as she settles onto a chair and crushes the crackers into the soup. Another tear falls as she remembers tomorrow is her birthday. 86 years old. It will her last birthday. A sob catches in her throat. There will be no cake, no card in the mail that sings a gay little tune as you open it, no phone call to congratulate her. No one will even know, except herself. She stirs the soup in the bowl. Her dear little son, at least she will see him again. He died how many years ago? What is it? 54 years ago? He was only six years old when he died. What a sweet little fellow he was. Always playing jokes, how he loved to laugh! She will never forget his face, the chocolate brown eyes and thick lashes, how his hair had an unruly cowlick that was never tamed. Those cowboy boots he loved so much. Life seemed so good, so happy and then the car accident. It was no one's fault, just another icy Minnesota morning. Ice on the road.... Even though it years ago now, the pain feels like yesterday, but the boy, a misty memory.
Her daughter, where even was she? Was she even alive? She looks at the refrigerator where she sees a faded Christmas card. She had taken a marker and wrote "2004" on it, next to the glittered Santa Claus. It was the last card she'd gotten. She remembers her daughter had enclosed a twenty dollar bill and wrote "See you soon! Don't spend it all in one place!" But she didn't see her soon. She never saw her again. There'd been some phone calls, something about moving to San Francisco and how she'd be in touch once she was settled. But there had been no more phone calls. No more cards. A few years ago at the Senior Center, she'd asked a volunteer if she would try looking up the daughter online. Try San Francisco, she'd told her. But they'd not been able to find her. It is what it is, she thought and took a sip of the soup, now growing cold on the table, the crackers congealing into a gluey mass.
Outside, snowflakes were making their lazy way to ground. A bit of a draft came through the window along the cracked caulking and the woman moved away from the table to the living room and turned on her radio. She thought, as she always did, that it would be nice to be able to watch tv. She liked to see peoples' faces when they were talking. But there had been no way she could get a tv up the stairs into her apartment, let it alone get it set up. She didn't understand all the cable stuff she was always hearing about. She had been ashamed to leave almost all her belongings in her home when she'd moved. She had been unable to pay the taxes and upkeep on the old house, things were breaking down all around her, and she'd moved one day. Just packed up some photo albums, clothes, one box of dishes. That was all she could fit in the cab. The Somali driver had been kind enough to carry the boxes up the stairs to the apartment. She'd walked down to the Sears and had a bed ordered and delivered but there hadn't been enough in her savings to get a tv. She'd made do with the radio. It was alright, comforting. Sometimes she would remember when she was a girl, her parents sitting in their armchairs in the living room, listening to the radio. Sometimes it was music and talk shows, sometimes they'd listened for tornado alerts. WCCO, your "good neighbor to the North". Those were the days.
She put on her slippers and pulled the tattered old afghan around her shoulders. There was an advertisement on the radio about introductory deals at some chiropractic office. She wondered if a chiropractor could do anything for cancer. The doctor at the clinic had given her a sheaf of papers with upcoming appointments downtown at the hospital, outlined in yellow marker. Something about being there at 7 in the morning, some building somewhere in north Minneapolis on a street she'd heard of but never been on. She hadn't paid much attention. It was all useless. She didn't have the money to pay a cab to go back and forth. How many times would she have to go? The doctor had told her she'd be sick and need someone to drive her home and stay with her for awhile after the appointments. Who? There was no one to either drive nor stay with her. I suppose, she thought, I could go back to the Senior Center and see if I can get someone to drive me. But even if she could, she knew they didn't offer services such as having people stay with you for days on end. Outside in the hall, a woman spoke harshly to a child in a strange tongue, the child whimpered and she heard a door unlock and the sound of a dog barking.
She looked the copy of People magazine on the floor. She had found it the other day at the bus stop. Brad Pitt smiled at her rakishly from the cover. She heaved herself out of the chair and went into her bedroom and picked up the Bible from its place on an overturned box next to the bed. She carried it back into the living and once again, settled into the chair. She wiped away another tear and opened the book. It is what is, she thought.
This has not been a good day. The doctor at the clinic told her the cancer was back and this time, it has spread. He had a fancy word for it but she doesn't remember the term. She knew what he meant. Almost automatically, she walks to the refrigerator and takes out the half can of chicken noodle soup. She pours it into a pan on the little gas burner and dumps in a cup of water. As the soup begins to warm, she carefully opens a tin and removes the package of saltines she has closed with a plastic tie from the grocery store. Another tear comes as a wave of self pity washes through her. Can't even keep the crackers out, she thinks, damn mice will get to them.
The anemic daylight fades as she settles onto a chair and crushes the crackers into the soup. Another tear falls as she remembers tomorrow is her birthday. 86 years old. It will her last birthday. A sob catches in her throat. There will be no cake, no card in the mail that sings a gay little tune as you open it, no phone call to congratulate her. No one will even know, except herself. She stirs the soup in the bowl. Her dear little son, at least she will see him again. He died how many years ago? What is it? 54 years ago? He was only six years old when he died. What a sweet little fellow he was. Always playing jokes, how he loved to laugh! She will never forget his face, the chocolate brown eyes and thick lashes, how his hair had an unruly cowlick that was never tamed. Those cowboy boots he loved so much. Life seemed so good, so happy and then the car accident. It was no one's fault, just another icy Minnesota morning. Ice on the road.... Even though it years ago now, the pain feels like yesterday, but the boy, a misty memory.
Her daughter, where even was she? Was she even alive? She looks at the refrigerator where she sees a faded Christmas card. She had taken a marker and wrote "2004" on it, next to the glittered Santa Claus. It was the last card she'd gotten. She remembers her daughter had enclosed a twenty dollar bill and wrote "See you soon! Don't spend it all in one place!" But she didn't see her soon. She never saw her again. There'd been some phone calls, something about moving to San Francisco and how she'd be in touch once she was settled. But there had been no more phone calls. No more cards. A few years ago at the Senior Center, she'd asked a volunteer if she would try looking up the daughter online. Try San Francisco, she'd told her. But they'd not been able to find her. It is what it is, she thought and took a sip of the soup, now growing cold on the table, the crackers congealing into a gluey mass.
Outside, snowflakes were making their lazy way to ground. A bit of a draft came through the window along the cracked caulking and the woman moved away from the table to the living room and turned on her radio. She thought, as she always did, that it would be nice to be able to watch tv. She liked to see peoples' faces when they were talking. But there had been no way she could get a tv up the stairs into her apartment, let it alone get it set up. She didn't understand all the cable stuff she was always hearing about. She had been ashamed to leave almost all her belongings in her home when she'd moved. She had been unable to pay the taxes and upkeep on the old house, things were breaking down all around her, and she'd moved one day. Just packed up some photo albums, clothes, one box of dishes. That was all she could fit in the cab. The Somali driver had been kind enough to carry the boxes up the stairs to the apartment. She'd walked down to the Sears and had a bed ordered and delivered but there hadn't been enough in her savings to get a tv. She'd made do with the radio. It was alright, comforting. Sometimes she would remember when she was a girl, her parents sitting in their armchairs in the living room, listening to the radio. Sometimes it was music and talk shows, sometimes they'd listened for tornado alerts. WCCO, your "good neighbor to the North". Those were the days.
She put on her slippers and pulled the tattered old afghan around her shoulders. There was an advertisement on the radio about introductory deals at some chiropractic office. She wondered if a chiropractor could do anything for cancer. The doctor at the clinic had given her a sheaf of papers with upcoming appointments downtown at the hospital, outlined in yellow marker. Something about being there at 7 in the morning, some building somewhere in north Minneapolis on a street she'd heard of but never been on. She hadn't paid much attention. It was all useless. She didn't have the money to pay a cab to go back and forth. How many times would she have to go? The doctor had told her she'd be sick and need someone to drive her home and stay with her for awhile after the appointments. Who? There was no one to either drive nor stay with her. I suppose, she thought, I could go back to the Senior Center and see if I can get someone to drive me. But even if she could, she knew they didn't offer services such as having people stay with you for days on end. Outside in the hall, a woman spoke harshly to a child in a strange tongue, the child whimpered and she heard a door unlock and the sound of a dog barking.
She looked the copy of People magazine on the floor. She had found it the other day at the bus stop. Brad Pitt smiled at her rakishly from the cover. She heaved herself out of the chair and went into her bedroom and picked up the Bible from its place on an overturned box next to the bed. She carried it back into the living and once again, settled into the chair. She wiped away another tear and opened the book. It is what is, she thought.
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Dealing with the depressed and radical acceptance.
I worked in mental health for 12 years. Made the acquaintance of many people with depression and indeed, all types of mental disorders. Its cliche, but we all have some sort of mental disorder, I'm speaking of those with whom its an issue. Today we are going to talk about "helping" someone with situational depression. I'll try to keep this short. If you know someone with depression (and its going to happen to all of us, WE all will be depressed at some point), reach out and offer to listen or ask them if there is anything specific they would like us to do. Usually they will say no. Tell them the offer to listen always stands. The truth is the really horrible shit that happens, life threatening or fatal illness, loss of loved one or relationship, loss of a job, abilities..thats the stuff you have to walk through alone. No one can really help you in the way you want help because what you want is for a different, impossible scenario to occur (the loved one to come back to life, to be perfectly healthy without the diagnosed level 4 cancer, etc.) Really depressed people don't want to talk, they don't want to deal with anyone or anything. Your efforts to reach out will be rebuked. Depressed people no longer care. They don't give a shit about you, they are too stuck in their own shit. This dark night of the soul is when relationships of long standing are sometimes destroyed because the depressed person cannot be satisfied. Anything you may offer is not wanted. You will be accused of "not getting it", usually in a sarcastic, furious and frustrated manner. And you know? You DON'T get it. Unless you have been through exactly the same scenario as the depressed person, you have no idea what it feels like it. Scrutinizing honesty becomes all important to the depressed person and you will fall short, your words ring hollow at every turn. You may hear things regarding yourself you know are not true due to the depressed person no longer having any filters and seeing everything "through a glass, darkly". I have heard so many people cry and wring their hands because they "can't help" the depressed person. A depressed person is like a drug addict or alcoholic (almost all of whom are depressed, by the way). They don't want help. Or maybe they do, but refuse to believe its possible. Patience, patience, is what "counselors" advise those involved with the depressed person. But sooner than later, the patience turns into abusiveness by the depressed person, if they are, indeed, even having anything to do with you at this point. Continued offers of help will be met with "just fucking leave me alone". Its up to you at this point. I guess some of us are in positions to physically haul these depressed people off to mental hospitals (if you can even find one that has an open bed), but most of the time the best we can do is what they want. Just fucking leave them alone. We can never really know what someone else is going through, how bad things may have become for them. I radically believe we have no right to tell them to keep plugging along if they really are hopeless. Hospital stays, medication, are of little use to those who truly are hopeless. Most really depressed people have tried it all. Tincture of time, we tell them. Just hang on. This too, shall pass. But will it? Everyone's mental constitution is different. Some do not have the ability to suffer endlessly and should they be forced to? If someone has tried to seek help for their situational depression, or chosen not to, who are we to add to their misery by chirping platitudes at them? Maybe they've had enough and the Great Unknown is more alluring at this point to the daily misery they face each morning with sunrise. Its not up to us to play God. When your best efforts are met with refusal, silence or anger, do something radical. Leave them the fuck alone.
Friday, April 29, 2016
Too Much Stuff-or what you find out when you move
Moving...sheer hell. If you do it right, you will have a couple months to pack,so its not some overwhelming job where you have to be outta there by noon on Thursday. You will be able to afford to hire movers, and you will wish you were able to afford packers, also. You will throw out a ton of shit and donate to Goodwill many times before moving day. After moving, you start unpacking. This is where you start realizing what a total asshole you are. Ugly American! Let me give you a few examples of myself and see what you think...
Who the hell do I think I am? I have 8 espresso cups. Eight fucking espresso cups, including two peppermint candy cane striped ones I thought too cute to pass up. Two from an ex boyfriend who turned out to be a miserable piece of shit, yet I keep them out of nostalgia. My partner and I drink espresso shots from time to time, but 8 fucking espresso cups? I mean really...not one god damn time have we had an espresso drinking party at our house, not once.
Barware, jesus, you'd think we were alcoholics too lazy to do dishes! 3 dozen wine glasses, maybe more, I got tired of unpacking them and sorting them. And those Riedel glasses, what pieces of worthless shit! Talk about bad feng shui! I have never once held a Riedel glass with anything but dread, fearing the delicate wafer thin glass would break in my fingers. We have a ton of 'em, and rarely use them. Bill once heard they were top notch, the "in" kind of glass for connoisseurs. He bought it, along with tons of the glasses. Pinot Noir glasses, what ostentatious shit! The very fucking notion that you should drink different wines out of anything other than a paper cup is pretentious, but these big honking stupid looking Pinot Noir glasses take the cake. Someone somewhere, whoever invented them, is laughing their asses off that some dumb sucker dropped a mint on those "specially designed" glasses! I don't even like Pinot Noir.
Moving on the actual booze in our house, I find it charmingly absurd that Bill loves Bushmill Whiskey so much he packed a bottle containing a single shot left it.
I guess its not so charming I actually packed two dozen leather belts. I haven't worn a belt in years and at my age and lifestyle, not a single one of them would make it halfway. What the hell am I thinking? I am going to lose 40 lbs. and be able to enjoy the skinny leather whips that went out of style in the 70s? I tell myself it was an accident, I really wanted the hanger I looped them on.
I go back to the kitchen to unpack the 20th box marked "Kitchen" and find metal bowls I haven't used in 10 years. Quite an assortment of sizes, the littlest one I have no idea what it was used for , or could be used for...was it ever used? To whip up some cocktail sauce maybe? It might fit a squeeze of ketchup and a spoon of horseradish. Did I buy the set because of it?, because I took a fancy to the tiny metal bowl? I guess if I ever get a hamster, I could use it as a watering dish.
Stocking the pantry, I find a plethora of instant sauce mixes, hollandaise, bordelaise , I don't even know what some of this shit is...it all expired before my daughter graduated high school, but I guess I figure if its hermetically sealed in a little pouch it will last til the return of Christ, and He may want eggs benedict, I won't let Him down.
I am deeply ashamed of the stuff I've accumulated. At my age, the ultimate freedom would be to have a cozy little cottage, to live free of possessions, with 2 coffee cups (maybe 3 in case we break one), just enough food that we could eat in a week, and just enough clothes to fill one closet. Instead, I find myself perversely moving into a bigger house with more room to store my shit, most of which I won't ever use or probably even look it, may even forget I have. I am vowing now to pack a full bag of crap once a week and throw it out. The 4 compartment plastic dish I picked up 20 years ago and used once or twice. The 12 pack of disposable aluminum trays I bought thinking I would send leftovers home in. Leftovers for who? I have people over probably half a dozen times a year and usually blow so much money cooking for them that I'll be damned if I let any leftovers leave the house. Maybe I will end up with a big ol' house with nothing in it. Just a little ol' man and woman with 2 plates, 2 forks, 2 spoons, 4 towels and washcloths, half a dozen seasonal outfits. And 8 espresso cups.
Who the hell do I think I am? I have 8 espresso cups. Eight fucking espresso cups, including two peppermint candy cane striped ones I thought too cute to pass up. Two from an ex boyfriend who turned out to be a miserable piece of shit, yet I keep them out of nostalgia. My partner and I drink espresso shots from time to time, but 8 fucking espresso cups? I mean really...not one god damn time have we had an espresso drinking party at our house, not once.
Barware, jesus, you'd think we were alcoholics too lazy to do dishes! 3 dozen wine glasses, maybe more, I got tired of unpacking them and sorting them. And those Riedel glasses, what pieces of worthless shit! Talk about bad feng shui! I have never once held a Riedel glass with anything but dread, fearing the delicate wafer thin glass would break in my fingers. We have a ton of 'em, and rarely use them. Bill once heard they were top notch, the "in" kind of glass for connoisseurs. He bought it, along with tons of the glasses. Pinot Noir glasses, what ostentatious shit! The very fucking notion that you should drink different wines out of anything other than a paper cup is pretentious, but these big honking stupid looking Pinot Noir glasses take the cake. Someone somewhere, whoever invented them, is laughing their asses off that some dumb sucker dropped a mint on those "specially designed" glasses! I don't even like Pinot Noir.
Moving on the actual booze in our house, I find it charmingly absurd that Bill loves Bushmill Whiskey so much he packed a bottle containing a single shot left it.
I guess its not so charming I actually packed two dozen leather belts. I haven't worn a belt in years and at my age and lifestyle, not a single one of them would make it halfway. What the hell am I thinking? I am going to lose 40 lbs. and be able to enjoy the skinny leather whips that went out of style in the 70s? I tell myself it was an accident, I really wanted the hanger I looped them on.
I go back to the kitchen to unpack the 20th box marked "Kitchen" and find metal bowls I haven't used in 10 years. Quite an assortment of sizes, the littlest one I have no idea what it was used for , or could be used for...was it ever used? To whip up some cocktail sauce maybe? It might fit a squeeze of ketchup and a spoon of horseradish. Did I buy the set because of it?, because I took a fancy to the tiny metal bowl? I guess if I ever get a hamster, I could use it as a watering dish.
Stocking the pantry, I find a plethora of instant sauce mixes, hollandaise, bordelaise , I don't even know what some of this shit is...it all expired before my daughter graduated high school, but I guess I figure if its hermetically sealed in a little pouch it will last til the return of Christ, and He may want eggs benedict, I won't let Him down.
I am deeply ashamed of the stuff I've accumulated. At my age, the ultimate freedom would be to have a cozy little cottage, to live free of possessions, with 2 coffee cups (maybe 3 in case we break one), just enough food that we could eat in a week, and just enough clothes to fill one closet. Instead, I find myself perversely moving into a bigger house with more room to store my shit, most of which I won't ever use or probably even look it, may even forget I have. I am vowing now to pack a full bag of crap once a week and throw it out. The 4 compartment plastic dish I picked up 20 years ago and used once or twice. The 12 pack of disposable aluminum trays I bought thinking I would send leftovers home in. Leftovers for who? I have people over probably half a dozen times a year and usually blow so much money cooking for them that I'll be damned if I let any leftovers leave the house. Maybe I will end up with a big ol' house with nothing in it. Just a little ol' man and woman with 2 plates, 2 forks, 2 spoons, 4 towels and washcloths, half a dozen seasonal outfits. And 8 espresso cups.
Monday, October 12, 2015
A first timer's thoughts on Europe
The context is that I went to Europe on a guided tour, "European Highlights". The itinerary was a rigorous 4 countries in 8 days. We landed in London, stayed just one night, got there late enough in the evening for no time but a walk out to the street to find some Indian food and smoke sheesha. Smoking sheesha is a popular pastime in the MidEastern neighborhood we found ourselves in. We hadn't set out to smoke hookahs, but they seemed very popular and in order to enjoy the day and sit outside while dining, smoking sheesha was a requirement. The waitress suggested we try the melon and watermelon flavors ("best for beginners"). There is no euphoria related to inhaling the pleasant vapors, doesn't seem to cause coughing or lung irritation and all in all is just a mild, social enjoyment. I guess since India was under Britain's rule so long, it is no big surprise London has such a thriving Indian population. The little bit of London we discovered was like any big American city, maybe a bit worn out looking, industrial in our area, nothing too different. Sort of like Boston
The next morning we were off to Paris. The driving in Paris is terrifying. The drivers are aggressive and seem absolutely fearless. We were warned constantly by our tour guide to stay out of the roundabouts unless we wanted to die and to cross busy roads with locals, preferably elderly locals who presumably have learned to navigate safely. The view from the Eiffel Tower shows a vast, gigantic city, spread out in all directions. When the Tower is lit at night, its spectacularly beautiful. We chose to walk back down the steps of the Tower rather than take the elevator. Big mistake. My legs felt like jelly by the time I reached the bottom, I read somewhere on the internet thats it is 674 steps, about 500 more than I should have done. This unfortunate choice crippled me for the next three days, making stairs painful, awkward. I was upset to discover on the same day, we were due to tour the Louvre, of course the first thing I see upon entering the Louvre are stairs, lots of them. Only the very elderly or disabled take the elevators and there is a very long waiting line for them. On the day we went, a Sunday in October, it was packed. Paris is, of course, probably the number one tourist destination in the world and there were crowds, blocks long lines at every attraction. One of the benefits of going with a group is that our tickets for the Tower, the Louvre, etc. were prepaid, bought months in advance and we were able to access everything pretty much right away.
Paris in my opinion is overrated. It has many beautiful tree lined streets, with lovely old architecture similar to wealthy areas in Washington D.C. Other than that and its enormous troves of art, there was nothing of great note. Every place has its history and monuments and if you are a buff of such things, this is a wonderful place.
I was disappointed to find out french croissants are not as good as the ones available in Minnesota. Ours are flakier, a bit crispier. Their macarons are luscious, the same as ours here. Because I was on a tour, we were "treated" to a "authentic French meal" with some meat with sauce, french bread (also the same as you can get almost anywhere in the States), all in all a very mediocre meal.
The French shower, at least in my hotel, was a thing of fearsome awe. The sides were about 30 inches tall and it had but a half pane of glass, leading to very careful maneuvering or you quickly have water all over the floor. The toilets of Europe are much deeper than the standard bowls of the States, yawning maws with which a simple push of a hand, churn out huge gurgling amounts of water which do a better job of tidying up the toilet than the American jobs do.
Lucerne was lovely, so clean one could have a picnic literally on the streets. The architecture lovely, so old and beautiful, it was what I had imagined in my head Europe would look like. The people are orderly, there are not the crowds there (except for the Japanese and Chinese tourists, who swarm all over Europe spending huge quantities of money) due to the expense of Switzerland and it was safe. We wandered around on darkened streets later in the evening and I've never felt safer. The Swiss and French countryside are lush and green, much of it looks like Wisconsin. I've lived around mountains before so perhaps it wasn't quite as awe inspiring to me as it would be for some from the flatlands.
Italy a wonderful place, beautiful in the old world way I had yearned for. Once again, we were treated to an authentic Italian meal which was bread (actually good bread), lasagna, mushroom risotto, salad (all of Europe uses mix it yourself oil and vinegar with salt and pepper for dressing) and some sort of lemon whipped cream and dry cake type dessert. Venice was one of my favorite spots. I enjoyed the water taxis, opted out of the gondola ride, enjoyed looking at the world class blown glass and the sculptures. Once again, of great interest to art lovers and historians. The shopping is excellent although expensive. Venice is alive with spirits in the same way Santa Fe is. I would have liked to have spent a night being able to roam St. Mark's square after dark....
Now what people do not tell you- 4 star hotels in Europe are anywhere from okay to crap. The last one we stayed in, in Rome, had peeling wallpaper and mold in the bathroom. A very spotted carpet. People in hotels generally do not have queen sized beds as we do here. The beds are singles, sometimes pushed together. In some countries, the lighting in the hotel rooms is only activated by placing your room card in a slot on the wall. In Lucerne, they were on timers, fortunately reactivated by motion. Europe is very green in the sense its rare to find plastic glasses in bathrooms, they are almost all glass, which strikes me as more sanitary, but also more dangerous for the groggy tourist fumbling around in the dark trying to find the damn toilet. I had read in a travel book to bring a supply of cheap disposable wash cloths, which I did. Excellent idea as few of the hotels had them and the ones that did had clothes the texture of cardboard. There is no hair conditioner to be had. While all hotels supply a shower gel and shampoo, conditioner is conspicuously absent, perhaps the Europeans do not use it. Every hotel we were in had a mini bar in the room with various booze, soft drinks and snacks. Pringles are extremely popular in Europe. Europeans do not drink much pop, a can of Coke or Coke Zero (or even, charmingly "Coke Light") will cost $5.50 or $3.00 in a grocery store. Europeans like their food heavily salted and are extraordinarily fond of cheese. Cheese is served at every meal, in some form, even breakfast. Bread at hotels, even restaurants is often stale.Why are French women so slim? and the men too? Easy. They walk everywhere, most don't own cars. The Europeans in general are slim, a healthy sort of slim, not the anorexia we are accustomed to seeing in the States. To see an obese person is rare in any of the cities I visited. The obese people I saw were obviously tourists. We in the U.S. are truly a fat nation. Europeans eat lots of fat free "french bread". They eat croissants on a daily basis (not all, of course, but many). Oddly enough, butter is only used on croissants and breakfast breads, when bread is eaten at other times of the day, its without anything on it, used only to mop up sauces. I didn't see people walking around drinking pop or even water. They sit down for most meals, coffee is drank daily, probably many cups of espresso which is smooth and delicious, not at all like the acrid Starbucks sort of stuff that a generation has grown up on here. The big, flavored lattes are not drank in Europe unless you go to one of the shops that offers a few versions of mocha latte or the occasional Starbucks which must have its own cult following in Europe. They laugh at those who foolishly order a cappuccino and are expecting some 16 oz cup of flavored hot milk.
Do not try (unless you are on a tour of course) to go to a restaurant before 8 pm, they do not want to see you except between 8 and 10 p.m. There are cafes and bistros open during the day but most evenings, the real restaurants don't even open til 7 and I think thats mostly for show as some were listed in tour guides as being open then but were still dark and shuttered when we walked past. We made the mistake of wandering down to our hotel's bar area around 5 one afternoon in Rome to be told brusquely by the surly bar manager that "in Italy we eat between 12 and 2:30 and 7 and 10:30!" We apologized profusely and he softened up a bit, perhaps he'd forgotten the hotel offered an all day room service menu. I think he was most offended at having to give us silverware, a basket of packaged mayonnaise and ketchups and put the sandwiches down in front of us. He was the only one in the bar and not in the mood to play waiter. Had there not been all day room service, I could have easily accepted his terms, but the bar was empty, the kitchen was open.....It probably helped we also ordered a $28 dollar of champagne to go along with our meal. In my extremely limited experience, the Romans were the least hospitable and gracious. I could not help but think of my brother, a successful hotel manager who's motto was the "customer is King".
The guided tour did indeed get us to all the European highlights as promised. We had no hassles making reservations, buying tickets, driving. The downside, we spent hours on the bus, more hours traveling the countries than actually visiting the attractions. Upside, I saw more of the European countryside than many ever will. Enough to know that northern Italy is ugly, looks like South Dakota, some parts of Switzerland truly do recall scenes in the movie "Heidi", though I saw no goats. French countryside is green, even in mid October and fertile looking. The lakes in Switzerland are deep and vast, reminding me of Crater Lake in Oregon. In fact, much of the mountainous Europe countryside is reminiscent of the mountains in Oregon, though mostly at lower elevation. Rome is built in a vast and thick forest. What do those do who vacation frequently in Europe? I have tried to get some information out of them and I interpret their vague answers as mostly camping in a different country. They get a room somewhere, sometimes a whole house through Airbnb or some such, and then mostly just hang out in it, sometimes wandering into town for a little shopping or a meal. I saw nothing so different in the places I was in that that sort of "relaxing vacation' would tempt me. We have too much like it here in the states. To be immersed in the culture, such as spending two weeks in the heart of Paris, with close contact with the natives might be interesting, but people are people. Perspectives are always curious to me and I think I would enjoy getting the feel of the population. My least favorite areas on my brief journey - Paris and London, too much like the U.S. Lucerne is just so clean and old world charming that it would be a place I might consider returning to. Venice with its canals and ancient buildings, its aura of mystery, is a certain lure. Rome with its sad, savage yet proud history and handsome people is a land not easily forgotten. There are tourists all over Europe and must be one of it's main sources of income. When you go anywhere in Europe, expect swarming hordes of them,primarily Asian.The Japanese and Chinese tourists are impeccably dressed in haute couture and seem to have an endless supply of wealth. At one border stop, a tourist bus behind us full of Japanese people stopped, only to disgorge dozens of tourists in Armani suits dutifully carrying armfuls of Prada bags into the station to be documented and given tax forms. I bought hardly anything in Europe. We have become so global I saw nothing I cannot buy online or that is already not available in the U.S.
I am grateful I got to see the historic and artistic highlights of Europe.I saw more European countryside than many tourists who simply fly into their destinations ever will. It was an exhausting although rewarding venture. Will I hurry back? I doubt it. The U.S. has a broad variety of climates and scenery. We have it all in one country. Ocean shores, mountains, swamps, deserts and farmland. We have more of everything, more space, more convenience. More hot water. Things are cheaper. There's nothing wrong with admitting it and preferring it, who wouldn't? Why do you think we have an immigration problem? Maybe the most important thing for the American traveler is to see how really good we have it right here at home. Its true, there's no place like home.
The next morning we were off to Paris. The driving in Paris is terrifying. The drivers are aggressive and seem absolutely fearless. We were warned constantly by our tour guide to stay out of the roundabouts unless we wanted to die and to cross busy roads with locals, preferably elderly locals who presumably have learned to navigate safely. The view from the Eiffel Tower shows a vast, gigantic city, spread out in all directions. When the Tower is lit at night, its spectacularly beautiful. We chose to walk back down the steps of the Tower rather than take the elevator. Big mistake. My legs felt like jelly by the time I reached the bottom, I read somewhere on the internet thats it is 674 steps, about 500 more than I should have done. This unfortunate choice crippled me for the next three days, making stairs painful, awkward. I was upset to discover on the same day, we were due to tour the Louvre, of course the first thing I see upon entering the Louvre are stairs, lots of them. Only the very elderly or disabled take the elevators and there is a very long waiting line for them. On the day we went, a Sunday in October, it was packed. Paris is, of course, probably the number one tourist destination in the world and there were crowds, blocks long lines at every attraction. One of the benefits of going with a group is that our tickets for the Tower, the Louvre, etc. were prepaid, bought months in advance and we were able to access everything pretty much right away.
Paris in my opinion is overrated. It has many beautiful tree lined streets, with lovely old architecture similar to wealthy areas in Washington D.C. Other than that and its enormous troves of art, there was nothing of great note. Every place has its history and monuments and if you are a buff of such things, this is a wonderful place.
I was disappointed to find out french croissants are not as good as the ones available in Minnesota. Ours are flakier, a bit crispier. Their macarons are luscious, the same as ours here. Because I was on a tour, we were "treated" to a "authentic French meal" with some meat with sauce, french bread (also the same as you can get almost anywhere in the States), all in all a very mediocre meal.
The French shower, at least in my hotel, was a thing of fearsome awe. The sides were about 30 inches tall and it had but a half pane of glass, leading to very careful maneuvering or you quickly have water all over the floor. The toilets of Europe are much deeper than the standard bowls of the States, yawning maws with which a simple push of a hand, churn out huge gurgling amounts of water which do a better job of tidying up the toilet than the American jobs do.
Lucerne was lovely, so clean one could have a picnic literally on the streets. The architecture lovely, so old and beautiful, it was what I had imagined in my head Europe would look like. The people are orderly, there are not the crowds there (except for the Japanese and Chinese tourists, who swarm all over Europe spending huge quantities of money) due to the expense of Switzerland and it was safe. We wandered around on darkened streets later in the evening and I've never felt safer. The Swiss and French countryside are lush and green, much of it looks like Wisconsin. I've lived around mountains before so perhaps it wasn't quite as awe inspiring to me as it would be for some from the flatlands.
Italy a wonderful place, beautiful in the old world way I had yearned for. Once again, we were treated to an authentic Italian meal which was bread (actually good bread), lasagna, mushroom risotto, salad (all of Europe uses mix it yourself oil and vinegar with salt and pepper for dressing) and some sort of lemon whipped cream and dry cake type dessert. Venice was one of my favorite spots. I enjoyed the water taxis, opted out of the gondola ride, enjoyed looking at the world class blown glass and the sculptures. Once again, of great interest to art lovers and historians. The shopping is excellent although expensive. Venice is alive with spirits in the same way Santa Fe is. I would have liked to have spent a night being able to roam St. Mark's square after dark....
Now what people do not tell you- 4 star hotels in Europe are anywhere from okay to crap. The last one we stayed in, in Rome, had peeling wallpaper and mold in the bathroom. A very spotted carpet. People in hotels generally do not have queen sized beds as we do here. The beds are singles, sometimes pushed together. In some countries, the lighting in the hotel rooms is only activated by placing your room card in a slot on the wall. In Lucerne, they were on timers, fortunately reactivated by motion. Europe is very green in the sense its rare to find plastic glasses in bathrooms, they are almost all glass, which strikes me as more sanitary, but also more dangerous for the groggy tourist fumbling around in the dark trying to find the damn toilet. I had read in a travel book to bring a supply of cheap disposable wash cloths, which I did. Excellent idea as few of the hotels had them and the ones that did had clothes the texture of cardboard. There is no hair conditioner to be had. While all hotels supply a shower gel and shampoo, conditioner is conspicuously absent, perhaps the Europeans do not use it. Every hotel we were in had a mini bar in the room with various booze, soft drinks and snacks. Pringles are extremely popular in Europe. Europeans do not drink much pop, a can of Coke or Coke Zero (or even, charmingly "Coke Light") will cost $5.50 or $3.00 in a grocery store. Europeans like their food heavily salted and are extraordinarily fond of cheese. Cheese is served at every meal, in some form, even breakfast. Bread at hotels, even restaurants is often stale.Why are French women so slim? and the men too? Easy. They walk everywhere, most don't own cars. The Europeans in general are slim, a healthy sort of slim, not the anorexia we are accustomed to seeing in the States. To see an obese person is rare in any of the cities I visited. The obese people I saw were obviously tourists. We in the U.S. are truly a fat nation. Europeans eat lots of fat free "french bread". They eat croissants on a daily basis (not all, of course, but many). Oddly enough, butter is only used on croissants and breakfast breads, when bread is eaten at other times of the day, its without anything on it, used only to mop up sauces. I didn't see people walking around drinking pop or even water. They sit down for most meals, coffee is drank daily, probably many cups of espresso which is smooth and delicious, not at all like the acrid Starbucks sort of stuff that a generation has grown up on here. The big, flavored lattes are not drank in Europe unless you go to one of the shops that offers a few versions of mocha latte or the occasional Starbucks which must have its own cult following in Europe. They laugh at those who foolishly order a cappuccino and are expecting some 16 oz cup of flavored hot milk.
Do not try (unless you are on a tour of course) to go to a restaurant before 8 pm, they do not want to see you except between 8 and 10 p.m. There are cafes and bistros open during the day but most evenings, the real restaurants don't even open til 7 and I think thats mostly for show as some were listed in tour guides as being open then but were still dark and shuttered when we walked past. We made the mistake of wandering down to our hotel's bar area around 5 one afternoon in Rome to be told brusquely by the surly bar manager that "in Italy we eat between 12 and 2:30 and 7 and 10:30!" We apologized profusely and he softened up a bit, perhaps he'd forgotten the hotel offered an all day room service menu. I think he was most offended at having to give us silverware, a basket of packaged mayonnaise and ketchups and put the sandwiches down in front of us. He was the only one in the bar and not in the mood to play waiter. Had there not been all day room service, I could have easily accepted his terms, but the bar was empty, the kitchen was open.....It probably helped we also ordered a $28 dollar of champagne to go along with our meal. In my extremely limited experience, the Romans were the least hospitable and gracious. I could not help but think of my brother, a successful hotel manager who's motto was the "customer is King".
The guided tour did indeed get us to all the European highlights as promised. We had no hassles making reservations, buying tickets, driving. The downside, we spent hours on the bus, more hours traveling the countries than actually visiting the attractions. Upside, I saw more of the European countryside than many ever will. Enough to know that northern Italy is ugly, looks like South Dakota, some parts of Switzerland truly do recall scenes in the movie "Heidi", though I saw no goats. French countryside is green, even in mid October and fertile looking. The lakes in Switzerland are deep and vast, reminding me of Crater Lake in Oregon. In fact, much of the mountainous Europe countryside is reminiscent of the mountains in Oregon, though mostly at lower elevation. Rome is built in a vast and thick forest. What do those do who vacation frequently in Europe? I have tried to get some information out of them and I interpret their vague answers as mostly camping in a different country. They get a room somewhere, sometimes a whole house through Airbnb or some such, and then mostly just hang out in it, sometimes wandering into town for a little shopping or a meal. I saw nothing so different in the places I was in that that sort of "relaxing vacation' would tempt me. We have too much like it here in the states. To be immersed in the culture, such as spending two weeks in the heart of Paris, with close contact with the natives might be interesting, but people are people. Perspectives are always curious to me and I think I would enjoy getting the feel of the population. My least favorite areas on my brief journey - Paris and London, too much like the U.S. Lucerne is just so clean and old world charming that it would be a place I might consider returning to. Venice with its canals and ancient buildings, its aura of mystery, is a certain lure. Rome with its sad, savage yet proud history and handsome people is a land not easily forgotten. There are tourists all over Europe and must be one of it's main sources of income. When you go anywhere in Europe, expect swarming hordes of them,primarily Asian.The Japanese and Chinese tourists are impeccably dressed in haute couture and seem to have an endless supply of wealth. At one border stop, a tourist bus behind us full of Japanese people stopped, only to disgorge dozens of tourists in Armani suits dutifully carrying armfuls of Prada bags into the station to be documented and given tax forms. I bought hardly anything in Europe. We have become so global I saw nothing I cannot buy online or that is already not available in the U.S.
I am grateful I got to see the historic and artistic highlights of Europe.I saw more European countryside than many tourists who simply fly into their destinations ever will. It was an exhausting although rewarding venture. Will I hurry back? I doubt it. The U.S. has a broad variety of climates and scenery. We have it all in one country. Ocean shores, mountains, swamps, deserts and farmland. We have more of everything, more space, more convenience. More hot water. Things are cheaper. There's nothing wrong with admitting it and preferring it, who wouldn't? Why do you think we have an immigration problem? Maybe the most important thing for the American traveler is to see how really good we have it right here at home. Its true, there's no place like home.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
The Downward Spiral
This getting old stuff sucks. I made it to 53 looking pretty damn good and wrinkle free. For some reason, 53 seemed the magical number that turned it all to hell. I would like to say I have learned to be okay with aging, but I am not. I am still stuck in the "shock and awe" whenever I look in the mirror. Where the fuck are my eyebrows? I look at my Facebook profile photo from 5 years ago and I see dark, full eyebrows. I look in the mirror today and I see scraggly light brown lines, shot through with the occasional dark hair. So pale I now pencil them in. I used to laugh at women who did that. Karma is a bitch.
When doing my eye make up, it never really looks right anymore. What has changed? Well, for starters, my eyelashes. They are now so light colored, they've all but disappeared. This poses a major problem, what shade of eyeshadow goes with silver eyelashes? When you figure it out, send me an email. Also, when you find a mascara that doesn't flake or smudge, give me a jingle. Now my choices are, a) invisible eyelashes or b) flakes of black looking like dirt on my cheeks by mid afternoon. You pick. I constantly find myself wiping the corners of my eyes thinking my makeup has smudged only to find out my eyes have shadows. Shadows that don't come from Maybelline. I have come to the conclusion that its the eyes that really age a woman.
Old eyes. You know what I mean, at least you do if you are over 55. Your eyes themselves just look tired. Where's the sparkle? Doesn't help that the thin skin surrounding them now has "laugh lines", no one is fucking smiling when they discover that, believe me. Retinol might slow the march of time, but nothing short of a big needle full of botox will make them straighten up. Speaking of that, I was watching a tv show the other night and found myself paying more attention to the forehead of the actress rather than the words she was speaking. Her forehead never moved, no up, no down, no wrinkles. Just this expanse of immoveable skin. In fact nothing on her face moved from her nose up. Robotic, too weird. Once you start noticing shit like this,all media involving women over 50 is ruined for you. All you notice is who's had what done, does it look believable or was it an incredibly bad job?
Looking up, where's my hair? I've always had fine hair, but I've always had hair. I've never given up on having thick hair and the shit I'm shellacking and puttying my hair with is seeming to take about half of it with it down the drain when I shampoo. Now I have a choice to make, crummy, thin hair or bald spots?
Looking down, the girls have gone south. Never thought it would happen to me. As recently as last spring, the mammogram technician congratulated me on my still perky breasts. However when I look in the mirror, they seem sadly at half mast, they're still there, just lower. I guess this isn't something to be complained about. My bustier friends admit when on their backs, their boobs are usually in their armpits.
My hands, my beautiful hands. Now they are these weird, spidery wrinkled things. Buttery lotion just turns them into slippery, weird, spidery wrinkled things.
From the waist down, its just sad. I guess I could give up all the things I like to eat, devote myself to the anorexic diets and manic exercise of some of the crazy old ladies I know, but I know in my heart, its not for me. Give me liberty and put some onion rings on the side!
I guess I'm in the transition phase. Maybe I will crystallize at the age of 60 and just stay static. At that point will come acceptance. I know I won't become one of those injected, filled, nipped and tucked bionic women who simply look like weird old women who wanted desperately to stay youthful. Who knows? Maybe I will even quit coloring my hair. Who knows what color it is now? I haven't known since I was 16. I'm pretty sure it will be some shade of gray.Who knows? Maybe I will make a spectacular "gray-hair". I don't want to find out just yet.
When doing my eye make up, it never really looks right anymore. What has changed? Well, for starters, my eyelashes. They are now so light colored, they've all but disappeared. This poses a major problem, what shade of eyeshadow goes with silver eyelashes? When you figure it out, send me an email. Also, when you find a mascara that doesn't flake or smudge, give me a jingle. Now my choices are, a) invisible eyelashes or b) flakes of black looking like dirt on my cheeks by mid afternoon. You pick. I constantly find myself wiping the corners of my eyes thinking my makeup has smudged only to find out my eyes have shadows. Shadows that don't come from Maybelline. I have come to the conclusion that its the eyes that really age a woman.
Old eyes. You know what I mean, at least you do if you are over 55. Your eyes themselves just look tired. Where's the sparkle? Doesn't help that the thin skin surrounding them now has "laugh lines", no one is fucking smiling when they discover that, believe me. Retinol might slow the march of time, but nothing short of a big needle full of botox will make them straighten up. Speaking of that, I was watching a tv show the other night and found myself paying more attention to the forehead of the actress rather than the words she was speaking. Her forehead never moved, no up, no down, no wrinkles. Just this expanse of immoveable skin. In fact nothing on her face moved from her nose up. Robotic, too weird. Once you start noticing shit like this,all media involving women over 50 is ruined for you. All you notice is who's had what done, does it look believable or was it an incredibly bad job?
Looking up, where's my hair? I've always had fine hair, but I've always had hair. I've never given up on having thick hair and the shit I'm shellacking and puttying my hair with is seeming to take about half of it with it down the drain when I shampoo. Now I have a choice to make, crummy, thin hair or bald spots?
Looking down, the girls have gone south. Never thought it would happen to me. As recently as last spring, the mammogram technician congratulated me on my still perky breasts. However when I look in the mirror, they seem sadly at half mast, they're still there, just lower. I guess this isn't something to be complained about. My bustier friends admit when on their backs, their boobs are usually in their armpits.
My hands, my beautiful hands. Now they are these weird, spidery wrinkled things. Buttery lotion just turns them into slippery, weird, spidery wrinkled things.
From the waist down, its just sad. I guess I could give up all the things I like to eat, devote myself to the anorexic diets and manic exercise of some of the crazy old ladies I know, but I know in my heart, its not for me. Give me liberty and put some onion rings on the side!
I guess I'm in the transition phase. Maybe I will crystallize at the age of 60 and just stay static. At that point will come acceptance. I know I won't become one of those injected, filled, nipped and tucked bionic women who simply look like weird old women who wanted desperately to stay youthful. Who knows? Maybe I will even quit coloring my hair. Who knows what color it is now? I haven't known since I was 16. I'm pretty sure it will be some shade of gray.Who knows? Maybe I will make a spectacular "gray-hair". I don't want to find out just yet.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Minnesota Crisp
October, the month all Minnesotans long for, dream of. The sweltering humidity of the summer is gone, along with the mosquitoes. The sky is that clear blue that termed the phrase. The golds and yellows of dying prairie grasses, the oranges and reds on the sumac and trees all contrasting in royal beauty. Ducks and geese gather on the ponds, resting during migration. Everyone values fall for its rarity, its brevity. Those who profess to love the verdant and lush greens of spring and summer all lust for fall in their hearts. In a climate known for its extremes, the frigid biting cold of winter and the torrid, dripping sweat of summer, the time frame between final harvest and Yule is short indeed. A time where woodsmoke sends its tendrils to hearts and souls, and the leaves fall like butterflies on migration. This is the month Minnesotans flock to the parks and trails like geese on the wing. Autumn is my favorite season. The season of fulfillment, completion, heading to rest. Relax. Let go and hunker down. The work is done. My soul sighs.
Fall reminds me of the high desert. The muted browns and grays. The quieting landscape. The sense of solitude, wind down. Life is there, but one must look for it amongst the death and decay and evolution to winter. A few flowers still have the courage to bloom, providing spots of color amidst the fallow fields.Winter is on the wind and the time to be at one with nature is now. I seized the moment and headed for the Carver Park Reserve to try to squeeze out the last days before the sun dips too low in the sky and gloom pervades the land.
Stream of consciousness- I am sitting at a picnic table, relishing the quiet of the park. I have selected this spot as it seems so peaceful, distanced from the bicyclists and horseback riders. My solitude is interrupted by a dozen small boys running towards me with bows and arrows. No, this is not some intruding past life memory, but some children out for an afternoon of archery! Of course, the spot I've selected is next to the archery range! At first I am annoyed but then decide the entertainment value might make it worth staying. The boys are from about 8 to 10 years old. They seem under the charge of a fellow who looks about 16. But wait, here comes a guy in his fifties, classic all American 40 pounds overweight, huffing and puffing in a tshirt and old jeans. Uncle Marty?, shouts a lad. Yo!, bellows Uncle Marty. Should I use a green one? Uncle Marty agrees and commences to giving tips on which are the correct "good " arrows to use. Only the green ones and yellows one, they're okay, try to avoid the blue ones, not so good. The kids grab more arrows and all run for a cement slab to stand on to take aim at the targets of various animals pinned to hay bales. Two of the boys hesitate as they realize their spots are right next to where I'm sitting. The desire to shoot arrows take precedence and they commence to stations. The dark haired boy shoots confidently, placing his arrow with a foot of the target. The tow headed boy, himself a picture, with his yellow platinum hair against the sky, looks at me unsurely, awkwardly and then turns to place his arrow. He cannot quite line it up to draw his bow. The dark haired boy says its ok, I was like that too, its probably your first time shooting a bow. My heart warms at his tender words, a tiny flame flickers as I think maybe there IS hope for the future. Kindness and compassion are still alive in the world. I tell the blonde boy, I'm only going to watch you shoot one, then I will leave and not make you nervous. I smile at him and he returns the smile shyly. He shoots. The arrow hits the target, somewhat to my surprise, and his. See? I say. You're a natural, good job! I nod my head. He grins and turns to try again.
I hike on, the trees either stark and majestic against the sky or still tossing their russet and yellow leaves as if demanding of me, see? aren't I beautiful? there are beautiful trees in Minnesota!
Later, I am driving home when movement catches my eye alongside the highway. In a field, a small child of about six is doing that prancing, excited dance of the very young. She is holding a pumpkin about the size of her head, running with her prize, her denim jacket flapping in the wind. Several other kids are rummaging the patch near her. Brothers, sisters? I remember that exciting event, pumpkin picking. A savored treat, being able to select one's own jack-o-lantern. Pick the size you want, the shape. I always was a traditionalist and went for the most round specimen I could find.
The rest of the seasons in Minnesota are superfluous. Only the die hard martyrs have convinced themselves they love winter here. Spring is usually disappointing, a couple weeks of chill rain usually preluding the plunge into towering dew points, where the only comfort at night is searching for that one cool spot on your sheets.
Autumn in Minnesota is a reward. An endurance reward.
Fall reminds me of the high desert. The muted browns and grays. The quieting landscape. The sense of solitude, wind down. Life is there, but one must look for it amongst the death and decay and evolution to winter. A few flowers still have the courage to bloom, providing spots of color amidst the fallow fields.Winter is on the wind and the time to be at one with nature is now. I seized the moment and headed for the Carver Park Reserve to try to squeeze out the last days before the sun dips too low in the sky and gloom pervades the land.
Stream of consciousness- I am sitting at a picnic table, relishing the quiet of the park. I have selected this spot as it seems so peaceful, distanced from the bicyclists and horseback riders. My solitude is interrupted by a dozen small boys running towards me with bows and arrows. No, this is not some intruding past life memory, but some children out for an afternoon of archery! Of course, the spot I've selected is next to the archery range! At first I am annoyed but then decide the entertainment value might make it worth staying. The boys are from about 8 to 10 years old. They seem under the charge of a fellow who looks about 16. But wait, here comes a guy in his fifties, classic all American 40 pounds overweight, huffing and puffing in a tshirt and old jeans. Uncle Marty?, shouts a lad. Yo!, bellows Uncle Marty. Should I use a green one? Uncle Marty agrees and commences to giving tips on which are the correct "good " arrows to use. Only the green ones and yellows one, they're okay, try to avoid the blue ones, not so good. The kids grab more arrows and all run for a cement slab to stand on to take aim at the targets of various animals pinned to hay bales. Two of the boys hesitate as they realize their spots are right next to where I'm sitting. The desire to shoot arrows take precedence and they commence to stations. The dark haired boy shoots confidently, placing his arrow with a foot of the target. The tow headed boy, himself a picture, with his yellow platinum hair against the sky, looks at me unsurely, awkwardly and then turns to place his arrow. He cannot quite line it up to draw his bow. The dark haired boy says its ok, I was like that too, its probably your first time shooting a bow. My heart warms at his tender words, a tiny flame flickers as I think maybe there IS hope for the future. Kindness and compassion are still alive in the world. I tell the blonde boy, I'm only going to watch you shoot one, then I will leave and not make you nervous. I smile at him and he returns the smile shyly. He shoots. The arrow hits the target, somewhat to my surprise, and his. See? I say. You're a natural, good job! I nod my head. He grins and turns to try again.
I hike on, the trees either stark and majestic against the sky or still tossing their russet and yellow leaves as if demanding of me, see? aren't I beautiful? there are beautiful trees in Minnesota!
Later, I am driving home when movement catches my eye alongside the highway. In a field, a small child of about six is doing that prancing, excited dance of the very young. She is holding a pumpkin about the size of her head, running with her prize, her denim jacket flapping in the wind. Several other kids are rummaging the patch near her. Brothers, sisters? I remember that exciting event, pumpkin picking. A savored treat, being able to select one's own jack-o-lantern. Pick the size you want, the shape. I always was a traditionalist and went for the most round specimen I could find.
The rest of the seasons in Minnesota are superfluous. Only the die hard martyrs have convinced themselves they love winter here. Spring is usually disappointing, a couple weeks of chill rain usually preluding the plunge into towering dew points, where the only comfort at night is searching for that one cool spot on your sheets.
Autumn in Minnesota is a reward. An endurance reward.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Tips on How to "Live Juicy"
"Living juicy" are current buzzwords meaning engaging fully in life and living each day to the fullest. What living juicy is to you, is, of course, strictly subjective. I find myself going through a mid life review (don't want to say crisis because fortunately, I have come this far without anything that in the big picture, can really be called crises, though this too, is an objective/subjective term). What I have found works for me to keep me vital, happy, content are the following, but by no means all , of course. Perhaps some may resonate with you.
Have the white chocolate peppermint latte instead of just a black coffee
Instead of the French manicure, get purple polish
Grow or buy flowers in the dead of a Minnesota winter
Tell someone working hard at their minimum wage that they do a great job and that they made your day
order dessert
even and especially if its inconvenient to you, reach out and help someone else
color your hair red, even if its just once
wear color instead of your usual black, white, beige wardrobe
if you always read fiction, pick up an autobiography or interesting reference book
go to a psychic
seems cliche, but go barefoot outside
break the bank and buy that miracle cream you've always heard about
wear green eyeshadow, not your usual brown
have a second drink or glass of wine with dinner
go on a vacation and spend at least one night at a wildly expensive hotel
try a massage
surprise a few trick or treaters at Halloween with really BIG candy bars
send an older woman an anonymous shot at a bar
tell someone NO when they ask you to do something you really don't want to do but they've come to expect, don't feel you have to explain why
if you can, adopt one more pet from a shelter or rescue
give $20 to someone randomly, insist you saw it drop out of their coat
instead of the fruit and yogurt, have the biscuits and gravy
lay down in the middle of a really big field
stop and help a turtle cross the road
have a glass of champagne and watch the sunset from somewhere cozy, or if you don't have a view, just watch the world outside soften and go dark
eat the donuts at the staff meeting, don't have them be the white elephants in the room everything is just thinking of and staring at
I have actually done all of these or a variation of these, some repeatedly.After reading a few of my juicy tips, I am sure you can think of your own. Obviously we can't do them ALL every day, we don't want to turn into alcoholic, overweight people who are broke and wearing green eyeshadow, but remember to try something today that brings you joy and makes you feel alive.
Have the white chocolate peppermint latte instead of just a black coffee
Instead of the French manicure, get purple polish
Grow or buy flowers in the dead of a Minnesota winter
Tell someone working hard at their minimum wage that they do a great job and that they made your day
order dessert
even and especially if its inconvenient to you, reach out and help someone else
color your hair red, even if its just once
wear color instead of your usual black, white, beige wardrobe
if you always read fiction, pick up an autobiography or interesting reference book
go to a psychic
seems cliche, but go barefoot outside
break the bank and buy that miracle cream you've always heard about
wear green eyeshadow, not your usual brown
have a second drink or glass of wine with dinner
go on a vacation and spend at least one night at a wildly expensive hotel
try a massage
surprise a few trick or treaters at Halloween with really BIG candy bars
send an older woman an anonymous shot at a bar
tell someone NO when they ask you to do something you really don't want to do but they've come to expect, don't feel you have to explain why
if you can, adopt one more pet from a shelter or rescue
give $20 to someone randomly, insist you saw it drop out of their coat
instead of the fruit and yogurt, have the biscuits and gravy
lay down in the middle of a really big field
stop and help a turtle cross the road
have a glass of champagne and watch the sunset from somewhere cozy, or if you don't have a view, just watch the world outside soften and go dark
eat the donuts at the staff meeting, don't have them be the white elephants in the room everything is just thinking of and staring at
I have actually done all of these or a variation of these, some repeatedly.After reading a few of my juicy tips, I am sure you can think of your own. Obviously we can't do them ALL every day, we don't want to turn into alcoholic, overweight people who are broke and wearing green eyeshadow, but remember to try something today that brings you joy and makes you feel alive.
Friday, December 27, 2013
The Milk of Human Kindness? soured.....
Last night I got together with a few friends at a local hotspot for happy hour. Another friend had 'put a bug in my ear' that we should get together for a happy hour and I had immediately set about organizing it, including a lighthearted casual posting on my Facebook page about "all women welcome". I had 3 of my friends show up.Very diverse ladies. One is a lead administrator at a Montessori school, one a cafeteria worker and the other an odd jobs /freelance marketing type. Myself,a human services worker.
I consider myself to have highly developed social and facilitation skills so despite the fact the other 3 ladies had never met each other before, I thought the integration was going well. The fact that we were drinking cocktails no doubt eased the introductions and conversation.
Things appeared to be going well when something very bizarre happened.
About an hour into the merrymaking, a woman appeared at the table asking if any of were Eden Prairie alumni. I said yes, she asked what years and we told her. She introduced herself. She was a woman I'd barely been acquainted with in high school. I recall her as being borderline intelligent, one of the people at the high school who were considered 'undesirable' by the typical mean girl social standing. She said she'd run into another alumni earlier in the day who'd been planning on joining us but couldn't due to a work commitment. The other woman had told her we were meeting and encouraged her to join us.
There was an awkward silence as two of my friends weren't from Eden Prairie and the other is not known for her like of female companions in general, the fact that that friend had shown up at all was in itself surprising.
After a few seconds of shocked silence, I warmly offered this new woman a chair and began chatting with her to make her feel welcome and at ease. Perhaps due to my background in mental health work and innate ability to sense energy and patterns, I deduced immediately she was severely mentally ill.
Her thoughts were disorganized, she raced from topic to topic barely stopping to catch a breath. This was more than nervousness. She rapidly dumped out her life story to me, she lived in an apartment in a neighboring town, her children did not speak to her ( I imagine this to be especially painful at Christmas-time), she was unemployed and considering trying to get a certified nursing assistants' license,etc. Being as she had just joined the group and was seated next to me, I took on the burden of talking with her to 'get her up to speed' and integrate her into the group at the table. To my disappointment, the other Eden Prairie gal was obviously rolling her eyes and making barely audible snarky remarks about this newcomer to the women seated at her side. The administrator, who herself has a special needs child, to my amazement,seemed to be following along with it all. I felt that sickening crunch in my gut as I realized these two were acting like classic 'mean girls', like they'd been transported to high school days where girls lurked in packs by the lockers, making fun of anyone who was at all different from themselves.
I considered my options and felt I had none other than to continue chatting with the newcomer until she felt at ease. I thought what courage, maybe foolhardiness, it took for her to come into an upscale restaurant/bar to meet with people she barely knew and some she didn't. From our conversation, it was clear she didn't remember who I was. She kept saying "where were you, you moved in 8th grade" (nope), "some people weren't very nice to you in high school" (probably true, but that happens to everyone in high school and isn't my primary recollection of my time spent there). I told her perhaps she had me confused with someone else as my hair was blonde back then. I didn't color my hair dark til I was 45. She insisted she knew me and I quit trying to dissuade her.
My cafeteria worker friend is a more compassionate type due to , perhaps, struggles in her own life and was gracious enough but the other two continued their quiet mockery. All of a sudden they appeared as people I didn't really know, it was as though I was seeing them for the first time and not liking what was there. Finally, the marketing woman got up and excused herself to leave. The administrator took her leave shortly after. Our little get together had died rather abruptly after the newcomer arrived on the scene. After perhaps another 15 minutes, my friend and I decided to call it quits. I thanked the newcomer for joining us, paid for her drink, and took her phone number which she offered, and gave her mine.
As I walked to the car, I pondered her situation. She had taken a chance, reached out to others in hope and trust. Two of us rose to the occasion, 2 fell. Maybe thats why I am drawn to human service work. Its not in my DNA to not stand up for the underdog. Maybe it springs from a deep seated well in my own subconscious from being raised in a home where conformity was King, emotionalism was punished and kindness towards lesser beings scorned. My mother has a kind heart and a deeply rooted sense of right and wrong which she parlayed into a variety of magnanimous pursuits within the community. Unfortunately my father reigned and he dictated a cruel rule. I often felt abused and emotionally tortured while growing up and perhaps its been one of those back handed hard won gifts, a super developed empathy towards others.
Why is it so very difficult for others to extend a hand in kindness for those who don't fit the average social norms? Its not fair to mark the two women at the table as unnaturally cruel, they do, indeed, represent the standard societal norm. The situation just struck me so very poignantly as it was the day after Christmas. The spirit of Christmas was already dead and gone for these two. The proverbial milk of human kindness soured. I'm not saying I'm better than everyone else. I'm just better than those two.
I consider myself to have highly developed social and facilitation skills so despite the fact the other 3 ladies had never met each other before, I thought the integration was going well. The fact that we were drinking cocktails no doubt eased the introductions and conversation.
Things appeared to be going well when something very bizarre happened.
About an hour into the merrymaking, a woman appeared at the table asking if any of were Eden Prairie alumni. I said yes, she asked what years and we told her. She introduced herself. She was a woman I'd barely been acquainted with in high school. I recall her as being borderline intelligent, one of the people at the high school who were considered 'undesirable' by the typical mean girl social standing. She said she'd run into another alumni earlier in the day who'd been planning on joining us but couldn't due to a work commitment. The other woman had told her we were meeting and encouraged her to join us.
There was an awkward silence as two of my friends weren't from Eden Prairie and the other is not known for her like of female companions in general, the fact that that friend had shown up at all was in itself surprising.
After a few seconds of shocked silence, I warmly offered this new woman a chair and began chatting with her to make her feel welcome and at ease. Perhaps due to my background in mental health work and innate ability to sense energy and patterns, I deduced immediately she was severely mentally ill.
Her thoughts were disorganized, she raced from topic to topic barely stopping to catch a breath. This was more than nervousness. She rapidly dumped out her life story to me, she lived in an apartment in a neighboring town, her children did not speak to her ( I imagine this to be especially painful at Christmas-time), she was unemployed and considering trying to get a certified nursing assistants' license,etc. Being as she had just joined the group and was seated next to me, I took on the burden of talking with her to 'get her up to speed' and integrate her into the group at the table. To my disappointment, the other Eden Prairie gal was obviously rolling her eyes and making barely audible snarky remarks about this newcomer to the women seated at her side. The administrator, who herself has a special needs child, to my amazement,seemed to be following along with it all. I felt that sickening crunch in my gut as I realized these two were acting like classic 'mean girls', like they'd been transported to high school days where girls lurked in packs by the lockers, making fun of anyone who was at all different from themselves.
I considered my options and felt I had none other than to continue chatting with the newcomer until she felt at ease. I thought what courage, maybe foolhardiness, it took for her to come into an upscale restaurant/bar to meet with people she barely knew and some she didn't. From our conversation, it was clear she didn't remember who I was. She kept saying "where were you, you moved in 8th grade" (nope), "some people weren't very nice to you in high school" (probably true, but that happens to everyone in high school and isn't my primary recollection of my time spent there). I told her perhaps she had me confused with someone else as my hair was blonde back then. I didn't color my hair dark til I was 45. She insisted she knew me and I quit trying to dissuade her.
My cafeteria worker friend is a more compassionate type due to , perhaps, struggles in her own life and was gracious enough but the other two continued their quiet mockery. All of a sudden they appeared as people I didn't really know, it was as though I was seeing them for the first time and not liking what was there. Finally, the marketing woman got up and excused herself to leave. The administrator took her leave shortly after. Our little get together had died rather abruptly after the newcomer arrived on the scene. After perhaps another 15 minutes, my friend and I decided to call it quits. I thanked the newcomer for joining us, paid for her drink, and took her phone number which she offered, and gave her mine.
As I walked to the car, I pondered her situation. She had taken a chance, reached out to others in hope and trust. Two of us rose to the occasion, 2 fell. Maybe thats why I am drawn to human service work. Its not in my DNA to not stand up for the underdog. Maybe it springs from a deep seated well in my own subconscious from being raised in a home where conformity was King, emotionalism was punished and kindness towards lesser beings scorned. My mother has a kind heart and a deeply rooted sense of right and wrong which she parlayed into a variety of magnanimous pursuits within the community. Unfortunately my father reigned and he dictated a cruel rule. I often felt abused and emotionally tortured while growing up and perhaps its been one of those back handed hard won gifts, a super developed empathy towards others.
Why is it so very difficult for others to extend a hand in kindness for those who don't fit the average social norms? Its not fair to mark the two women at the table as unnaturally cruel, they do, indeed, represent the standard societal norm. The situation just struck me so very poignantly as it was the day after Christmas. The spirit of Christmas was already dead and gone for these two. The proverbial milk of human kindness soured. I'm not saying I'm better than everyone else. I'm just better than those two.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
To Look Old or...?
Interesting question-better to 'look old' or look younger, yet artificial?
Bruce Jenner comes to mind, the poor guy has been so face lifted he resembles a recovered burn victim.. The gorgeous Kyra Sedgewick recently appeared on the cover of a magazine looking , at the very least, seriously botoxed. The accompanying article claims she is a big believer in 'heavy moisturizing'. Uh huh. Its so darn easy to see who has been injected and lifted. So..better to age naturally or delay the process and look artificial?
Bruce Jenner comes to mind, the poor guy has been so face lifted he resembles a recovered burn victim.. The gorgeous Kyra Sedgewick recently appeared on the cover of a magazine looking , at the very least, seriously botoxed. The accompanying article claims she is a big believer in 'heavy moisturizing'. Uh huh. Its so darn easy to see who has been injected and lifted. So..better to age naturally or delay the process and look artificial?
Saturday, June 30, 2012
How to be the Perfect Guest
How to be the Perfect Guest
After almost two months of hosting visitors, family and friends, I have a few words to the wise on how to be the perfect guest (from the host's standpoint).
A perfect guest arrives and departs when they say they will. No open ended "I'll be there sometime Tuesday", "I'll stay for a few days". Hosts don't need to sit around waiting for your arrival, or worse yet, silently wondering when their guests will leave, if ever...
Its so true, visitors, like fish,stink after 3 days. It all depends on the guest, some fit in your life so seamlessly that they truly would be welcome indefinitely. Others are trying after a few hours..If you've ever heard complaints from others regarding hosting particular people, believe them. They will behave no differently in your home.
A good guest either arrives or leaves with something for their host. It needn't be expensive, just thoughtful. A tablecloth, bottle of wine, box of truffles..something that is an appreciative token.
The good guest is polite about circumstances. If they share a room or bathroom, and the good host will have informed them of their accomodations well in advance, the good guest does not pout about sharing anything. They are appreciative of having free board and lodge, often in nicer surroundings than they have in their own homes. A good guest never makes a rude comment about their bed or room, although asking if additional blankets or pillows are available is acceptable. If something is amiss, its certainly appropriate to bring it to the attention of the host, the host does not want you to be uncomfortable.
The good host will ask guests well in advance if they have dietary requirements or any special/unusual requirements so that effort will be made to accomodate them. Don't for example, say you only eat organic when the truth is you do NOT, or that you are vegan if you enjoy grilled cheese sandwiches on a cold day, that you are allergic to cotton when the truth is most of your sweaters are made of it. Most guests have no clue the expense and time good hosts go through making sure their guest is comfortable.
If staying more than two days, its polite to either take the hosts out for a meal, once again, this needn't be expensive, even a happy hour with budget cocktails and a burger is acceptable. In lieu of that, offer to make a meal with ingredients YOU purchase. Inform your hosts preferably the evening before, or even earlier of your plans so that they don't purchase meal ingredients or make reservations for the meal you are taking charge of .
Sometimes hosts are being hospitable with charity in mind, they may know you have very limited resources, or its a special occasion,you are staying with them in honor of your own birthday or anniversary (and of course, THEY extended the invitation), something like that, and then the above rules don't apply. For example, my daughter and her new husband arrived to honeymoon in Oregon, of course I would not be expecting them to take us out for a meal.
A good guest is friendly and appropriate with any visitors you have in the home while they are there. If your host has a party or visitors to the home, you do not monopolize the conversation, bring up controversial matters or take in any way an impolite stance with the other guests. The host probably has carefully planned the party or dinner and your well meaning intentions through things off balance and destroy thought out plans. Melting into the background, being polite, friendly and letting the host know in advance you are available to help if requested, is a good thing. The old saying 'too many cooks in the kitchen' is cliche for a reason.
If you have special practices, you enjoy running in the morning, meditating, going to a gym, etc., its polite to invite the hosts. If they refuse, do not press the issue. They are under enough stress with you just being there, let alone feeling pressured to do a 3 mile hike with you each day at six a.m.
Be unobtrusive. A perfect guest is invisible at times. Quiet in the morning and late evening. A perfect guest staying more than 2 days, knows to give the hosts a bit of alone time. Take a nap, go for a walk, read a book, let the hosts have a breather of an hour or so. The more guests in the home the more overwhelming. In this same vein, a good host will tell their guests to enjoy coffee, tea, toast, possibly set out some type of continental breakfast for their guests if its suspected the guests will be getting up earlier than the hosts.
A perfect guest doesn't take advantage. When out for a meal at the host's expense, they order moderately off the menu, unless the hosts have made it perfectly clear that anything goes.
A guest's pets are never acceptable in the host's home, unless, of course, the hosts have given their pre-approval. This is especially true if the host has pets of their own. Regarding pets, the good guest listens to the host's instructions with the family pets, i.e. "don't let the cat out", "don't try to be friendly with the old dog, just leave her alone". Remember, to most of us, pets are family, and we take great offense when they aren't treated as we prefer.
When the perfect guest leaves, they make sure to wipe up the bathroom they've used, offer to deposit the linens in the laundry room or leave them (in a pile is acceptable) on floor or the bed. Don't make the bed on your last day, the host will just have to unmake it!, be sensible. Make sure you have be generous in your thanks to the hosts. A note later on, text or email is acceptable in this day and age, repeating your thanks is appropriate. Follow the above rules, and there is little doubt you will be reinvited, and frequently.
After almost two months of hosting visitors, family and friends, I have a few words to the wise on how to be the perfect guest (from the host's standpoint).
A perfect guest arrives and departs when they say they will. No open ended "I'll be there sometime Tuesday", "I'll stay for a few days". Hosts don't need to sit around waiting for your arrival, or worse yet, silently wondering when their guests will leave, if ever...
Its so true, visitors, like fish,stink after 3 days. It all depends on the guest, some fit in your life so seamlessly that they truly would be welcome indefinitely. Others are trying after a few hours..If you've ever heard complaints from others regarding hosting particular people, believe them. They will behave no differently in your home.
A good guest either arrives or leaves with something for their host. It needn't be expensive, just thoughtful. A tablecloth, bottle of wine, box of truffles..something that is an appreciative token.
The good guest is polite about circumstances. If they share a room or bathroom, and the good host will have informed them of their accomodations well in advance, the good guest does not pout about sharing anything. They are appreciative of having free board and lodge, often in nicer surroundings than they have in their own homes. A good guest never makes a rude comment about their bed or room, although asking if additional blankets or pillows are available is acceptable. If something is amiss, its certainly appropriate to bring it to the attention of the host, the host does not want you to be uncomfortable.
The good host will ask guests well in advance if they have dietary requirements or any special/unusual requirements so that effort will be made to accomodate them. Don't for example, say you only eat organic when the truth is you do NOT, or that you are vegan if you enjoy grilled cheese sandwiches on a cold day, that you are allergic to cotton when the truth is most of your sweaters are made of it. Most guests have no clue the expense and time good hosts go through making sure their guest is comfortable.
If staying more than two days, its polite to either take the hosts out for a meal, once again, this needn't be expensive, even a happy hour with budget cocktails and a burger is acceptable. In lieu of that, offer to make a meal with ingredients YOU purchase. Inform your hosts preferably the evening before, or even earlier of your plans so that they don't purchase meal ingredients or make reservations for the meal you are taking charge of .
Sometimes hosts are being hospitable with charity in mind, they may know you have very limited resources, or its a special occasion,you are staying with them in honor of your own birthday or anniversary (and of course, THEY extended the invitation), something like that, and then the above rules don't apply. For example, my daughter and her new husband arrived to honeymoon in Oregon, of course I would not be expecting them to take us out for a meal.
A good guest is friendly and appropriate with any visitors you have in the home while they are there. If your host has a party or visitors to the home, you do not monopolize the conversation, bring up controversial matters or take in any way an impolite stance with the other guests. The host probably has carefully planned the party or dinner and your well meaning intentions through things off balance and destroy thought out plans. Melting into the background, being polite, friendly and letting the host know in advance you are available to help if requested, is a good thing. The old saying 'too many cooks in the kitchen' is cliche for a reason.
If you have special practices, you enjoy running in the morning, meditating, going to a gym, etc., its polite to invite the hosts. If they refuse, do not press the issue. They are under enough stress with you just being there, let alone feeling pressured to do a 3 mile hike with you each day at six a.m.
Be unobtrusive. A perfect guest is invisible at times. Quiet in the morning and late evening. A perfect guest staying more than 2 days, knows to give the hosts a bit of alone time. Take a nap, go for a walk, read a book, let the hosts have a breather of an hour or so. The more guests in the home the more overwhelming. In this same vein, a good host will tell their guests to enjoy coffee, tea, toast, possibly set out some type of continental breakfast for their guests if its suspected the guests will be getting up earlier than the hosts.
A perfect guest doesn't take advantage. When out for a meal at the host's expense, they order moderately off the menu, unless the hosts have made it perfectly clear that anything goes.
A guest's pets are never acceptable in the host's home, unless, of course, the hosts have given their pre-approval. This is especially true if the host has pets of their own. Regarding pets, the good guest listens to the host's instructions with the family pets, i.e. "don't let the cat out", "don't try to be friendly with the old dog, just leave her alone". Remember, to most of us, pets are family, and we take great offense when they aren't treated as we prefer.
When the perfect guest leaves, they make sure to wipe up the bathroom they've used, offer to deposit the linens in the laundry room or leave them (in a pile is acceptable) on floor or the bed. Don't make the bed on your last day, the host will just have to unmake it!, be sensible. Make sure you have be generous in your thanks to the hosts. A note later on, text or email is acceptable in this day and age, repeating your thanks is appropriate. Follow the above rules, and there is little doubt you will be reinvited, and frequently.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Evil Lay's Potato Chips
Has anyone caught the new Lay's Potato Chips commercial? They feature a beautiful 40ish brunette holding a bag of chips. She seems to be considering...she has a "I think I'm gonna be bad and cheat!" look on her face before she throws caution to the winds and eats a chip. Her face then blossoms with that "Screw it! I'll do what I want!" look as she eats another. This infuriates me. Just another ploy to fuel America's anorexics. Let's making eat potato chips something scandalous, something only bad girls do...I'm not trying to suggest chips are in any way a healthy snack, but my god!, they shouldn't be a forbidden food! I hate how advertising makes anything with fat, anything with sugar a 'living on the edge' sort of food, its precisely this kind of thought that makes women stick their fingers down their throats and worship their bathroom scales. Women of the world unite, and buy a bag of Old Dutch! And enjoy!
Friday, March 9, 2012
Chico's and the Tampon Girl
Remember back in the 70s, where there were all those ads for Modess and Kotex on tv? The models in the ads were always these very wholesome looking, blonde teenagers, usually bouncing on a trampoline or doing some type of gymnastics to demonstrate how their periods weren't going to curtail them from bouncy fun. The activities coupled with the 'girl next door-only better, more popular' models always had this weird element of cheesiness to them. Sort of made you cringe in a grossed out way. My friends and I always scornfully referred to them as "tampon girls'. Well, thats the way the Chico's ads strike me. Chico's, for those two of you left on the planet who don't know, is an upscale spendy clothing line for the trendy late 40s-60 yr old woman. A woman who still wants to look cool but not like a total idiot.I have no beef with the clothing. If I made a hundred thousand a year, I'd probably shop there myself. My issue is with their model. She's a dark haired beauty, looks to be about 50, always with this big botoxed smile on her face. She is forever prancing around in the ads, shaking her booty...she does absolutely nothing for their image. She's like some weird Stepford wife on steroids. I just watched their latest ad where at the end, they just show her doing some ridiculous little dance, in short, looking like a complete ass. Why don't they show her doing something badass, like drinking a martini, riding a motorcycle, walking down the street with some young arm candy? She is nothing but a menopausal Tampon girl.
Monday, December 12, 2011
PETA-whats it all about?
This is for all the -ssholes who ever put down PETA...just got back from their website where about three times a year I grow enough balls to actually watch some of their videos from their undercover operations. Before another one of you yahoos starts spouting off about PETA, I dare you to do the same, watch some of the videos. They are not 'faked', they are cold, hard and REAL. Just watched one on the goings on at an animal research lab, where animals are used to 'test' toxic substances. I won't even write here what I saw, however I will congratulate myself on being brave enough, having enough balls to watch these videos. Ok, I confess, I was so angry and sad that I turned it off halfway through. The really sickening part is that this shit goes on every frickin' day all over the world in laboratories,slaughterhouses, all those places that use animals that you can't walk into...Why do you think slaughterhouses don't give tours? Why do you think labs are locked up tighter than most prisons?
I don't want to hear your pansy ass comments on how we need to test on animals. How medical research has moved along at an amazing pace that would be impossible without animals. The reason animals shouldn't be used is simple. Because decent treatment of them cannot be assured. Ok, get that? Read it again. What the -uck right do we have to torture them (and get it straight, bucko, research is torture) and treat them like they have no feelings or can't feel pain? Oh sure, there are pathetic laboratory standards and procedures and protocols in place to 'make sure' they don't 'suffer more than is necessary'. But unfortunately the people who take care of these animals, and test on them, don't give a rip as these videos show. Animal work brings out the best people-and the worst. The people shown in these videos are sadistic mofoes who deserve to be treated exactly as they've treated the animals left in their 'care'. Why not let prisoners on death row opt to take place in medical research to stave off their execution? If they survive one research study, they can opt for another...why waste time testing cancer drugs on rats and not cut to the chase and use 'em on a human? Let somebody attempt to repay society in some meaningful way instead of spending tax dollars rotting in prison and maybe getting fried at the end of it all.
And all of us meat eaters better -uckin' think twice. Do you really want to go to your grave knowing the hideous abuses suffered by the other beings that share our planet just so you can get some cheap chicken mcnuggets? Lets at least KNOW where our food comes from and if we have to eat meat, pay extra and get the free range, no anti biotics, butchered on the farm kind instead of the stuff that eats poison on the feedlots, is crammed into teeny weenie cages, never gets to feel sunlight or grass... I will never forget the sight of a truck loaded with turkeys zipping along the highway in southern Mn one freezing winter day. The wind chill was easily minus 30 and the turkeys were exposed, all crammed together. I wonder how many froze to death on their way to slaughter? how many were alive but frozen to the truck and had limbs ripped off their still living bodies when the truck stopped...I'm gettin' closer to veganism every day. I am not sure how a thinking human can't consider this way of eating and why they wouldn't...for me , its pure selfishness, meat can taste good and its cheap and easy to get, I grew up eating it. But maybe its time to grow up and quit thinking of my own hedonistic wants. How many of you have a dog? a cat that you love? what makes you think a turkey or a pig is different? That because they are 'farm' animals they magically don't feel pain , fright, that they don't suffer? We all have hypnotized ourselves into blocking this out. I have NEVER found a meat eater that had a good argument for eating meat , they all get defensive and it ends up their argument is because they CAN. Pathetic.
If you dare, ya big wuss, go to PETA.org and watch a few of their videos. I dare ya.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Dangers of Working on Oneself Between Relationships
Often times, when a relationship ends badly, you will get well meaning advice from others to not go into another relationship soon, to 'take some time to work on yourself'. The first obvious issue, is how much time must one take off from being in a relationship? While obviously, none of us wants to be a 'rebounder', and I would really wonder about a guy who broke up with his girlfriend last week and now wants to see me steadily, really, just how much time should one be out of a relationship? Its the number one human need, to be connected, to have relationships. Yes, yes, we all have relationships with other family members and friends. You know what I'm talking about, an intimate, one to one significant other relationship. I asked a therapist once about his thoughts on staying out of a relationship after one has ended badly. Did he subscribe to the common theory that one must go into some type of self imposed exile while examining one's wrongdoings, relationship wise? He said " You say the most important thing to you in this world is having a good relationship. You seem to have insight on where things went wrong. The challenge is to change your thoughts on whats acceptable behavior from a man. If you can do that, it serves no useful purpose NOT to go about finding a new relationship". I was somewhat surprised to hear this as all my friends had been spewing the usual crapola about taking time off to work on myself. In retrospect, the women who'd been telling me this were unhappy themselves with the state of their relationships, if they even had one going on at the time. Misery loves company.
One of the women who was the strongest on this was (is) chronically unhappy...lives with a level of untreated depression. Has fantasized acquaintances into being soulmates and been bitterly disappointed when reality came into sharp focus. She has unrealistic expectations and has idealized romance. When she gets slapped to the ground (figuratively) by these men who can't possibly meet her expectations (after all, they're only human), she becomes angry and bitter and shuts down. Tells us all she is taking time to 'work on herself', isn't actively seeking a relationship. The sad thing is that all who know her know that she longs for a good relationship more than anything else in the world. By constantly working on herself, she is wasting precious years and effort. By effort, I mean that with all this 'time off', she never really seems to change much. Still fantasizes, still gets in inappropriate relationships.
Another woman claims she is happy alone and with her friends. However, once again, all her friends know she craves a steady, reliable love relationship. She acquired a common STD some years back, the kind that you live easily with but never goes away, and convinced herself that she is inherently unworthy, an outcast. She reinforced this idea by dating some men and told them all within the first couple dates about her condition. Very predictably, they dumped her. Instead of trying again, and this time waiting a couple months til the relationship was steady before divulging this information, she stays 'friends' with the ex who gave her the condition. She sees him on occasion, they are intimate. She's convinced herself thats good enough relationship for her.She is an attractive, intelligent, funny woman and its very sad to see her giving up her life's dream to be 'working on herself'. Her only male relationship with a guy who berates and belittles her, in general, treats her like shit, because he also has this STD and now she won't have to go through the discomfort of having to tell someone else she has it and risk rejection.
Another friend used to tell me periodically that she was taking time off from relationships when she grew tired of the antics of the guys she'd date. Later on, we'd find out that she'd been secretly still dating new men. She just knew she'd made such a big issue of it, telling us galpals repeatedly how she was tired of men, that she'd been too embarrassed to tell us she was, indeed, still dating. The shame issue. Didn't want us to know until she felt the relationship was on solid footing.
Bottom line. To take time out to work on one's own issues between relationships is fine, if you really need it. Then, I suggest you find a good therapist to work with. Do the work, don't just say you are. Everyone who knows you and cares about you will know what you're doing anyhow. Are you having revelations, getting insight? Or just wasting precious time-life is short- because someone , somewhere, maybe some book, said its wrong to go from relationship to relationship. But don't we all do that? Once again, its just the weird 'time' period. Does one wait a month after ending one relationship to date again? Six months? A year?
I don't want comments from those of you who want to argue the value of having relationships. If you don't want to be in a relationship, who cares? I don't. If you are truly happy alone, if you have tired of the search, thats your choice and I support it. But if you are taking time off to work on yourself-ARE you working on yourself? How long do you plan to be working on yourself? Will you be happy at the end of your life (and we never know how much time we have) if you haven't experienced a good relationship? Just take a minute to reflect, is it really working on yourself? or an excuse?
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
The Ex needs to be X-ed
When does the "ex" become problematic? From a recent Facebook survey of friends, and my own personal thoughts, everyone wants to maintain a healthy, cordial relationship with the ex if there kids involved. Enough said. But when does the relationship with the ex become unhealthy or even detrimental? Its usually when one partner moves on and has a new partner.
Yes, I think we all can summon up one or two cases where we know families with kids who all do the holidays and birthday parties as one big , happy group, with the new partners involved. Very mature, right? Right. That said, its a rare man or woman who doesn't feel some sting of jealousy and resentment when faced, physically, with the ex. Ok, step up to the plate , suck it up and go forth. The matter can be further complicated if the ex now has children with the new partner. Divided loyalties. Lets face it , folks, its human nature to play the side you're on. Its trying to treat everyone fairly, especially if you are in the unfortunate situation of the new baby lives with you and the 'old babies' live with the ex. Feelings inevitably get hurt, there's only so much time (and money). Take a moment to ponder the divorce dynamics, was someone cheating, abusive,drug addicted? Thats going to create hard feelings that are going to have the ex and new partner 'teaming up' against the ex who was left. Not a pleasant scene around the extended family Thanksgiving table.
Why do people feel the need to include their exes in 'current family' situations? Is it not confusing for the kids to have mom and dad and mom's new husband all at the same table? If they are old enough where its not confusing then it HAS to be , at least, a bit uncomfortable for the kids. I'm not saying this won't ever work, that people can't adjust, but be REAL. Mom and Dad are d o n e. If the ex is friendly enough with the ex to want to share family holidays together, then maybe the divorce or parting should be reconsidered.
Now, moving on to the single folks. Apparently the relationship had enough 'fatal flaws' in it that it ended. So why keep up with the ex? Because you 'like them as a friend better than a partner'. Come on. This is so much bullshit and I will explain why. Remember the When Harry Met Sally movie? What does Harry say to Sally about male/female friendships? Men and women can't be friends because one of them always wants to have sex with the other. Right on, Harry. Now, my opinion on this is usually met with loud denouncements on how this just isn't true. Be reasonable. I'm not talking the kind of male/female friendship where its your best friend's husband who you chat with when you are calling his wife on the phone, the guys from work that you joke with around the water cooler, the "hey! how are ya?" stuff when you run into them at the store. I'm talking the get together , alone, for a meal or a drink, the phone calls to them and them alone, texting or emailing them on a 'friendly' basis. Anytime you do something with someone of the opposite, alone, for 'fun', there's an issue. Even the most firm defender of opposite sex friendships admitted to me that her male 'friends', if given the opportunity, would love to get in the sack with her. And some of them are married,, or 'otherwise engaged'. Would they actually do it if the opportunity came up? Probably. But if not, they would WANT to. Now, both parties don't have to feel the same. Many women have male friends that they truly would never sleep with. They want someone's shoulder to cry on, to make them feel desirable and intelligent. Here's the clinker, men do NOT have women friends they'd 'do anything for' unless they are physically attracted to them. Women may befriend unattractive men, but men will never go to such lengths as meeting for coffee or a drink with a woman they have absolutely no interest in bedding. Men,just as much as women, will say this is all b.s. but when you get them alone and make them tell the TRUTH, they will cop to it, too. Men,sadly, are not the same as women. They don't want to get together to discuss and analyze relationships and gossip. Unless they are your mate, its just not that interesting to them. Now, before you utter another "thats not true, Jeff and I are best friends and thats not how it is!", shut up and think about it for a minute. In your heart of hearts, deep down, would Jeff like to go to bed with you if the chance came up, where no one could possibly find out? See? thats what I meant.
If you are not in a current relationship, then its , again, human nature, to return in a friendly fashion to a past one if the parting was at all amicable. After all, its someone you have history with, they are familiar, you know them well. No harm done. But if its a man and he's willing to meet you in person, odds are he would be more than happy to meet you in the bedroom, too. Now, I'm sure I am going to hear from people who say I'm being too suspicious. Say what you want. Let me give you a couple real life cases in point.
I met a guy, he was great, we were really hitting it off. He casually mentioned he still spoke to his ex ON A DAILY BASIS, that when he was on the road (he was a trucker), his ex would go put his garbage out for him, and that she enjoyed dropping off the little tupperware containers of food he particularily enjoyed. Huh? Their only child was in his late teens and not living at home. He denied my allegations that 'something was going on'. It wasn't til some months later, long after we'd broke up, that he admitted he hadn't been 'over' his wife and was still yearning for her return.
Another guy always had to meet the ex at her house, or the local bar, to 'discuss the kids'. I asked why a phone call wouldn't do, or maybe even meeting at the coffee house. The kids, again,were teenagers. He would always get extremely defensive and tell me how paranoid I was. Do I even need to tell you the ending on that one? Lets just say, I wasn't being paranoid.
Character number three,the first night I met him, he said he'd always 'have a place in my heart' for his ex. A couple months later , that wasn't the only place he had for his ex.
Let me tell you, as the new partner, I was jealous to the point of being incensed at times when I would encounter these troubling situations. I was the NEW partner! Shouldn't MY needs and wants get SOME consideration? didn't he want to make ME happy and secure?
I've been around the block, several times. I have numerous girlfriends with very similar stories.
We all hope things end civilly and that everyone can 'still be friends'. But the odds are, they really can't. Not unless both parties truly don't care anymore and then if they don't care, they don't want to hang out together, anyway. I know there are variations to every theme, that sometimes , just sometimes, it IS possible for exes and new partners to get together socially and enjoy each other without the drama from the past, insecurities and jealousies surfacing,but really, whats the point? Our exes are our exes for a reason. Best to leave them in the past.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Fine and Flaxen
This is for all us women with fine hair. And lets be decent, and keep to the term 'fine', rather than 'thin'.
My hair has always been the bane of my existence. I might get compliments on my other features, but seldom, if ever, on my hair. I think the nicest thing anyone ever said was years and years ago when a friend's mom said "It looks so silky". Well, I don't want silky hair. I want thick, lustrous waves, not the poor, tired, limp strands my DNA spun out.
With fine hair, women always have to worry about the weather. Humid? Get out the industrial strength hairspray and spray til crunchy. Windy, follow the same only expect an even worse outcome. Nothing like helmet hair thats been wind whipped into some grotesque shape. Lovely to walk into the coffee shop wearing a toppled pyramid on your head. Very attractive.
Of course, you can always resort to a hat. You MIGHT be able to pull that one off in winter, in summer, fuggetaboutit. Also, with a hat, you have 'mystery hair', meaning its always a mystery how it will look once the hat is removed. Usually flattened as a pancake, hanging in limp, lifeless ,anemic strands.
We all know all the tips. Blow dry your hair upside down, use root lifter, spray at the roots, use thickening shampoo. Yes, they all work, for a few minutes. The best products to thicken up fine hair use some type of plasticky glue. Sometimes the bottles even proclaim themselves "hair glue". Listen up, ladies, they ain't lyin'! That stuff will hold your hair up but glue it so firm that it can take multiple shampoos, yep, you read that right, multiple shampoos to get out and expect to lose about a third of your hair in the process. You truly become 'un-glued' when you see whats going down the drain in the shower.
No haircut is ever going to really look right. Most hair dressers will push for the one length bob. Tried it a couple times, looked hideous, had to have layers cut in. Do not believe that old school thought, one length does NOT look better, you need various layers to try to attempt a little volume. Forget luscious shags or long hair. Fine hair doesn't have enough bulk to hold itself together and once much past the shoulders will only separate into strands or fizzle out into frizz.
Color will give you some oomph for awhile. And don't forget the mousse, without mousse, all is lost.
Seems like I look around and all I see are women with thick, glossy hair. My own daughter inherited her father's hair, its very hefty and thick, the kind of hair that makes hairdressers take a breath and clap when she walks into the salon. The kind of hair you can do anything with. I thank Goddess she didn't inherit my hair gene.
If I could change one thing about my appearance, it would be my hair. I think I will save up for extensions but then again, they will just give me more anxiety wondering and waiting for them to fall out, no doubt somewhere crowded, in full public view. Reading back over this, its just making me more depressed. I think I will just put my hair back in a scrunchie today and have a martini.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
First, the Universe throws a Pebble
Why do some women constantly engage in bad, even downright shitty, relationships? Is it a self esteem issue? What makes an intelligent, attractive, relatively successful woman give a yr and a half of her life to an alcoholic?and then the next yr and a half to a commitment phobe? a savvy, rational woman committing to a relationship with a sex addict? and then join in his 'lifestyle'?, or a reasonable, otherwise insightful woman to move across the country to live with an alcoholic, drug troubled man she only knew from the Internet (and knew all his issues before she moved?)
I can answer only the first situation as I am that woman. What drew me to the alcoholic was first, his absolutely stunning good looks. Then his happy, innocent nature and the great sex. What I learned from that situation is that alcohol addiction is one of life's great tragedies, it sucks the life's blood from the user. I now believe in the "Demon Alcohol". I learned more about alcoholism than I ever wanted to..I have seen the bottle claim many good men (and women), and I have first hand experienced the soul crushing effects of being sucked into an alcoholic's spiraling vortex. My friends knew this guy, the Man of my Drams, was a loser. I defended him with the co-dependent's standard lines, i.e. "you don't know him, he's really a good hearted person" and even worse "but I love him and I don't give up on people I love". In retrospect, I see what a terrible fool I was. Its one thing to love the person, but with an alcoholic, the alcohol becomes the person . Its like some weird, alchemy takes place, the person before the alcohol disappears and there's this new , terrible morph in front of you. The Universe was throwing me pebbles all along, warnings, in the guise of questions and disapproval from my friends. And from myself. I knew deep down, this man was Trouble, with the capital T, yet I ignored these whisperings, these pebbles. What happened? The ante was upped, things got continually worse. The Universe needed to finally slap me upside the head. Finally, things reached such a disgusting and pathetic crescendo that I bailed on him. I gave up.
And moved on to the next.
The next guy was sort of my 'rebound'. I found him online, he lived a couple hours away from me. We talked on the phone and online, I found him caring, sweet, and flattering. We met in person and he was all of these. We started dating and soon enough, the pebbles started bouncing off me. I found myself driving the hours to see him every other wknd and he would drive down to see me, on occasion. Many of 'his' wknds, he couldn't make it, he said he was too tired, didn't feel well, didn't have the gas money, unexpectedly had his son for the wknd. I noticed he didn't call me half as much I called him, my texts to him went unreturned about half the time. I suspected him of picking phone fights with me some Saturday mornings to avoid having to make the trip.Fairly early on in the relationship, I checked his emails to find he was emailing with several women, calling them 'babe' ,signing his e's with xxxox. He'd wrote to one that "nothing in my life has changed in years and years". Why did I check his e's? Because the Universe (in this case represented by my gut feelings) was telling me, 'hey wait, something is wrong here'. When confronted, he was furious I'd hacked into his e's and said I'd misinterpreted everything I'd read. And I let it go. Later on, I looked at the history on his computer for the same reason. What did I find? Porn. Lots and lots of porn. I know all guys look at porn but that was ALL he had used his computer for in that wk. Acres and acres of porn.After a yr, I suggested I move in with as I was planning a move back to the Cities. He ,though professing to love me, told me he didn't think we were ready to take that step. That he needed his 'personal space'. Once again, my friends were shaking their heads. Telling me I deserved much better. than this. In despair, I went to a psychologist who advised me that he most likely wasn't going to change, I needed to decide if I could live with the way things were. In the end, I couldn't. I moved on my own back to the Cities, he refused to help me pack or move, was too busy. He made little to no effort to see me once I was moved, yet always responded affirmatively when I'd call HIM. Why in God's name did I stay with this guy? Why did the Universe have me go through all this? Because I didn't pay attention to the pebbles and then stones being thrown. Seems I have to be hit with a brick before I "get it".
I've deduced that I am , by nature, a caregiver. My life's work has been caring for others, in the mental health field, in the developmental disabilities field, volunteering for animal rescue groups...and I carried this over into my personal relationships. I champion the underdog, see the diamond in the rough. It took me many years to learn sometimes there's just the 'rough', there IS no diamond. People I would give of myself to just kept taking.. without giving in return. When I left the alcoholic , I even had NO MORE CHANCES tattooed on my arm, to forever remind me that people are not necessarily deserving of a gazillion chances. Chances to hurt me and take from me over and over and over again. Even the tattoo didn't stop me from my pattern of loving and rescuing lonely, dysfunctional men. It took me being hurt to the core by a combination of these sad men to understand why I was joining with them. When I looked back on my lifelong history of relationships with lovers, they all have been similar. Men who for one reason or another, had something very flawed with them. And my part was always to rescue. But they didn't want to be rescued!
I think many women have the 'need to please', to make things all better, even at our own detriment. We ignore the pebbles thrown away, won't listen to the sage wisdom of others,worse yet, we don't listen to OURSELVES. I knew these guys were 'bad medicine'. God knows, they themselves gave enough clues. Why did I ignore my gut feelings? Why are the other women, the ones I mentioned above, ignoring their gut feelings? Much as I hate to own up to it myself, its low self esteem. We think of ourselves, in our core, as not deserving. I think I am a reasonably attractive woman , I consider myself intelligent and insightful. A few yrs ago, I would have bristled if anyone told me I had low self esteem. But I did. I couldn't bring myself to believe that all my special loving care couldn't save someone who, deep down,didn't want to be saved. I couldn't give up the magical idea that I was the one who was going to make them stop drinking, or make them commit. If the relationship failed, I felt I failed. They were an addiction, a habit terribly difficult to break. There were so many warnings, from all over,that I denied, chose to ignore. It would have saved me much anguish had I heeded the pebbles. I've had to be hammered with bricks most of my life when it comes to love.
I feel like I am in a great relationship now. I found someone who loves me and puts back into the relationship instead of just constantly drawing out. I am still getting used to being in an equal partnership. Will it last? Only time will tell..sometimes the end of a relationship does not mean it was not a success. The relationship will have served a purpose and helped the participants to grow. Even good relationships have an expiration date. The important thing is to realize all relationships have an expiration date and to know when they've 'gone bad' and then to get rid of it. We all hope our relationships aren't over til 'death do us part' but that is usually more the dream than the reality. Don't ignore the pebbles.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Its a Beautiful Day
I am a life long student of the Universe. Its my nature to study and analyze all sorts of things, from human relationships to metaphysics to why most men list blue as their favorite color. I hope you will join me in my eccentric musings and possibly add some of your own. Stay with me and we will wander paths still untrodden, push back the veils of the yet unseen and go where few have gone before (or at least told about).
Let the journey begin...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)