Archive for August, 2011
Okay, I swear this post isn’t about begrudging all the youthful, pretty people around. After all I share a household with three energetic YOUNG people. No, this is about understanding what Bernard Shaw meant when he said, “Youth is wasted on the young.”
I know, believe me, all the bad things that happen as we get older. There’s the hair in unexpected places and missing from others. Where are my eyelashes? Oh, great, on my chin. Once my freckles were cute, the scattering of dots across my nose. Now they’ve formed an alliance and they’re calling themselves DARK SPOTS. There are the mood swings, just ask my husband. I’ve become much more aware of my body. Sometimes my knees pop and I pulled a calf muscle at soccer last weekend. I wear glasses to read small (and sometimes not so small) print.
But this post isn’t about all those horrible, terrible things that the media loves to focus on. No, my friends, this is about all the beautiful things I’ve discovered since I’ve been in the middle of my life.
- I don’t apologize for being me anymore.
- I have strong opinions from politics and how the world should be run to what I want for dinner at night. Frozen yogurt with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup! I’m not apologizing.
- I value time. How many of us wanted to turn 13 to be a teenager, 16 to drive, 18 to be an adult (oh, yeah, and vote) and 21 to drink. After that it was all down hill from there, right? Wrong. I try to live every moment I have with my kids, my tomato plants, and the tinkling of the wind chimes in my backyard.
- I know what precious means.
- I’ve let go. There is freedom that comes with not having to be the perfect mother, wife, employee, citizen. I’ve let go of unrealistic expectations. I’m done with comparing myself to younger, prettier, smarter people. Listen, I know there’s always someone better than me AND I know I’m better than others. I’ve let go of my anger.
- I know age is a number.
- I don’t sweat the small stuff, and I’ve stopped beating myself for wasting so much time on the things that really didn’t matter in the long run.
- I value real conversations with real people. I value truth. I value art. I value my health, my teeth, my bones, my two legs and two arms.
- I’ve stopped sprinting.
- I love my life, this life.
What have you discovered in the middle of your life?
I know mostly women read my blog. The exceptions are some male family members (Thanks Dad!) and a fellow writer I met in Taos. But listen up, Women, I’m doing all of us a favor by writing this. It would serve you well to have your husband, significant other, bootie call, boyfriend, etc. read this NOW.
There are college degrees for Spanish, German, Chinese. Why not Womenese? Although it’s more than just learning how to pronounce words and learn their definitions. There is the female nonverbal communication and the culture of women to understand.
This is a public service announcement meant to help men and ultimately the women they’re with to understand our unique language and culture.
1. Whatever: When a woman says “Whatever” to a man, it never means “Oh, it just doesn’t matter.” No! It really means the opposite. You, Sir, better spend the next hour(s) figuring out what I’m so pissed about. Part of the anger has to do with the fact we’ve tried to explain what the issue is and you, my dear, are not getting it. It behooves you to find out what the whatever is so that you can have what you’re always after: SEX.
2. Nothing: Like “Whatever,” nothing has a very different meaning than how it’s defined. When a woman says “nothing,” she means something and you better pray to God it’s not everything.
3. “That’s okay you don’t have to go.”: My husband reminded me of this one. I said there are really times he doesn’t have to go with me to that book signing, a food and environmental meeting, or a friend’s birthday party. His response was “Yeah, but that’s the tricky part. I never know if you’re serious or not.” Like the boy who cried wolf, Ladies you owe it to your man to be honest about when you want him to accompany you to a wedding anniversary of your parent’s friends or with you to your thirtieth high school reunion and when you’d rather have him stay home.
4. Are you gonna eat all that? Are you going to wear that? Are you going to really play golf, watch TV all day, [fill in the blank]?: Ladies, I know our individual worlds would run so much better if our significant others and family members would live by our rules. Right? If they watched what they ate, exercised more, stopped wearing the dirty baseball cap they’ve had since playing high school baseball, or if they spent more of their time getting off the golf course, the couch or whatever to be more productive. Are you feeling me? But really does it matter whether they don’t eat their vegetables, wear their favorite sports team apparel or watch the umpteenth football game on Sunday? You’re (I’m) not their (his) mother. If you don’t want a husband acting like a child, then stop treating him like one. But that doesn’t mean, Men, you can take advantage of our good natures. There is a limit. You can’t watch a rerun of a fishing show to get out of helping around the house.
5. Never mind: Oh, my friends, you need to mind. You need to be mindful. You need to pay close attention.
Men, if you pay attention to these cues, if you sit down and communicate with us, and read between the lines, you know what will happen? Yes, the ultimate. SEX.
You’re welcome.
What are the helpful hints you have for men?
I leave you with the quintessential song about what men versus women want.
You know you’re getting old when…
…You go to the Apple Store with your 19-year-old daughter to buy her first laptop with her own money from her first job (okay there’s three things there that tell me I’m old) and the young man (another one) who is helping is so cute and nice you want to set him up with your lovely older daughter.
…People stopped calling you “Miss.” Instead it’s “Ma’am” all the way. Ma’am, my ass.
…You’ve outgrown “Real World” and you don’t understand the attraction to watching the train wreck named, “Jersey Shore.” Viva, Italia!
…You use phrases like “When I was your age…” or “Back when I was in high school…”
…A good night’s sleep is paramount to a good time.
…You need your adult daughter to explain what the hell Tweeting, Twitter, Twitted are.
…You wear tie-dyed.
…You’re the only one at your table to NOT be carded.
…You’re going to your frickin’ 30th high school reunion this October.
…You use the word “frickin.”
…Your baby is going into third grade, your middle is starting her second year in college and your oldest graduates this year.
…You wear big girl (grandma?) underwear instead of thongs.
…You don’t get “Pink” by Victoria Secret. You think it’s overpriced. Doesn’t Target over the same thing for a lower price?
…Your shoes are referred to as “old lady” and “I wouldn’t be caught dead in those shoes.”
…Skirts are too short, heels are too high, and shirts are too low.
…You yell at your kids to slow down when they’re driving.
…Madonna could kick Lady Gaga’s ass.
…You think the world is spinning too fast.
How do you know you’re old?
Jack (3) and Chewy (5 months)
Jack starts third grade on Monday.
Yesterday I finally got to cleaning out his drawers. I had to make room for the size 12 pants and size 10 T-shirts he now wears. His top drawer is full of underwear and single socks that don’t have a partner. I gathered up the whole contents of the drawer and placed them on his bed with the cowboy bedspread. When I turned back to the drawer, I touched the box that keeps his birth certificate and his first lost tooth. He was seven, just last year when his bottom baby tooth fell out. Gone. Over the last year he’s lost five baby teeth. They have been replaced by huge teeth he’ll have for the rest of his life. I open the box. On top is an envelope. I open it up. I know what is inside but I haven’t seen it since I put the envelope there seven years ago. I touch the hair. His first haircut. The hair is soft, baby soft. Jack now has a full head of hair that is thick and wiry.
Next I clean out his T-shirt drawer. The drawer has been lined by wrapping paper from his baby gifts. Rows and rows of teddy bears with blue bow ties stare back at me. I turn back to the chore at hand. I toss his “Auditioning for a baby brother” shirt in the giveaway pile. The shirt was bought four years ago when David’s mom hoped, prayed for another grandchild. Wishful thinking indeed considering I’m old and already had three kids. And believe you me, Jack is all I can handle. He keeps me on my toes and my brain on alert. But he’s not a baby anymore. He’s growing up so fast. It’s the reason I want another dog, chickens, a garden, to write another book, get a PhD, start a company. The more grown up they get, the less they need me. The circle of life, the way it should be. This is what healthy children do: they grow up and move on, and healthy moms let them.
“Mom, I like this shirt,” Jack said as I was finishing up cleaning out the drawers. He lifted the long sleeve, striped T-shirt up to him. He’s grown two inches over the summer, I know it.
“Honey, it’s too small.”
“No, it’s not.” He took off his other shirt and squeezed and tugged on the other one. He looked down at the too small shirt on his growing body. Both of us had been hopeful.
“Oh, well,” he said throwing the shirt back on top of the huge giveaway pile.
Oh, hell.
Whoever said “Time marches on” must have been young. March is not the right verb, especially the older you get. Hurls, speeds, hustles, races, rushes, you know what I mean?
Time rushes Jack into third grade.
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!*
Oh! The Places I’ve been!
Yesterday I picked raspberries and popped them in my mouth, the sweet exploding on my tongue. Bellevue was so green it hurt my eyes and filled my heart. I was a kid from the arid desert of Southern California where the only green is the watered lawns and palm trees. I rode a horse and got lost in the green of the forest while the sun played hide and seek.
I’ve milked a goat and jumped from a twenty foot rock into a pool of water so cold it shocked me alive. My family and I went to a park in Ashland and listened to people dressed in clothes from another century talk in funny accents and say things like, “Where art thou…”
We drove in our station wagon along the coast back home, sleeping in tents on a beach in Oregon where not another person was. We picked up driftwood and threw it in the back of the station wagon where the wood stayed in our backyard for years, forgotten. The driftwood furniture just another good idea my dad had. I’ve had lots of those, too.
I’ve tasted fresh, hot French bread and warm clam chowder while the San Francisco fog encircled me and I breathed in the smell of the ocean. The family and I stayed in an apartment in Haight-Ashbury with my dad’s best friend, who was my godfather, and his three sons. Uncle Bill loved heroin, vodka, music and a woman named Sunshine.
Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.
You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
I’ve taken a boat to Mexico and to the Bahamas. In Bimini, I climbed the stairs to the room where Hemingway wrote. It was a lovely quaint place overlooking the turquoise ocean with more sea glass on the shore than sand it seemed. I’ve taken a train to LA and Santa Barbara, rode the T in Boston and the BART between Berkeley and San Francisco. I’ve driven across the desert to get to a place that feels like home, Taos, peace. I’ve taken planes to New Orleans, where I walked the Garden District in the middle of summer in mugginess so dense I cut it with my body. My head dizzy from the scent of magnolias. I’ve taken planes to Mexico, Florida, Hawaii, and other places. I’ve never flown to Europe. And I wonder if I’ll ever see Spain.
Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.
You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.
You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.
And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?
I’ve been to dark places, deep and impossibly dark, a black hole. I’ve crawled out of a cave or two or three in my life. I’ve clawed my way to the light, to home.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.
I’ve waited for things to get better.
No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!
I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.
I’ve been places. I’ve waited for tomorrow and the day after that. I’ve been alone.
But here is where I want to be.
*Oh! The Places You’ll Go! by Dr.Seuss
Tell me where your favorite place is.
