I am glad that 2011 is drawing to a close. The year has been filled with emotional peaks and valleys, ranging from the virtually perfect wedding of my daughter to the very sudden death of my mother, still fresh enough that I can't write those words without tears coming to my eyes. One of my children's aunts, my younger sister-in-law (does one say "ex-sister-in-law?), also died. Both these women attended my daughter's wedding, and I'm glad they were able to be there.
In 2011, I fought for and received a promotion, which moved me from the weekly to the monthly payroll. Since then I have been fighting to have enough cash to see me through a month. The last three months, especially, have been a struggle, with my cash pretty much gone after my car payment on the 19th. That's another thing that changed in 2011: In February, I unloaded my 1999 Saturn for a new Civic, which I'm leasing because the monthly payments are much lower. Having a new car has been wonderful. Having a new car payment, less so.
Once again, an entire year has passed by without me having a date or even meeting a man near my age who is single and available. This is not the way I expected my life would be. I become more withdrawn every day. I wouldn't even know how to talk to a man who might be interested in me. In fact, I find it a little harder every day to believe that there is a man out in the vast universe who might find me interesting or attractive. I'm afraid I've forgotten how to be either of those things.
The best part of 2011, after my daughter's wedding, was my week on the Cape in July-August. I'm always better at the Cape - healthier, less apt to overeat, more apt to go outside, more complete in myself. I still want to retire to the Cape. My older son and I visited the Cape the weekend after my mother died, earlier this month. We needed the outing to a place Mom loved, too. The Cape is a very different place in December, with most of the summer attractions closed. But it's still the Cape, and I think I'd be all right there even in the off season. (If anybody reads this, "the Cape" is always Cape Cod. I live closer to Cape Ann, and I realize that there are a lot of Capes all over the world. But only one is THE Cape. I've asked people from other parts of the country what they think of when they hear "the Cape", and the answer has always been Cape Cod.)
Earlier this week I made MP3s out of my Cat Stevens albums from the early 1970's. I want to quote part of a song from "Tea for the Tillerman" - "there's so much left to know and I'm on the road to find out." (The song is called "On the road to find out".) That's what I've lost in the past few years - hope for the future. Those lines remind me of what I've lost. I may be older now, but there's still a lot left to know, and it's only my own fears that are keeping me off the Road to Find Out. That's what I want for 2012 - to be back on that road.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Thoughts on my Birthday
On my eighth birthday, I received a softball bat and ball. I was delighted. That evening after supper, we went outside to play on the neighbor's field (which he kept mowed for the neighborhood kids to play ball on). I remember staying outside until long after the sun set. My bedtime back then was 8:00, and I know I was still outside playing softball in the twilight then. The glow of the sky, the warmth of the air, the crack of the bat - these are some of my favorite childhood birthday memories.
I have many other happy birthday memories, but this one always reminds me of how long the days are getting by mid-May. It's still light at 8 p.m., even on the endless gray days we've been having recently.
I always thought May was the best month to be born in. The days are usually warm without being too hot. My mother's back yard was full of lilacs and other spring flowers. I was given a Mayflower viburnum bush for my birthday one year, and it was always covered with fragrant blossoms by my birthday. The yard was full of lilies of the valley and violets (both purple and white), and somebody would usually pick me a nosegay for my birthday. Down by the woods, the bluets and wild violets were in bloom. My sister and I used to make May baskets out of paper cups for our grandmother and the elderly woman who lived next door to her. We'd fill them with wildflowers and leave them on their doorknobs on May Day morning before we went to school. (It helped that our school was practically next door to those houses.)
Today, a house sits on the old ball field. It's been there for a good 30 years, probably closer to 40. My mother's house will be on the market soon. I'm allergic to lilacs, but I'm still considering planting a shoot from one of hers in my yard. Nobody has picked me a nosegay in years. Yeah, I miss them. I just threw out the forsythia that was in my little vase, and I'd love to have something new in it.
May took on a different aspect as I got older. School is winding down for the year. Most colleges have exams and graduation in May. Every committee I used to be on had its final meeting and banquet in May. Choirs I have sung in (or rung in) tend to have concerts in May. Our handbell choir gave one on May 1st. When I was in college, my birthday tended to fall during reading week, and there was almost always a party (for me and all of the other May birthdays - there are a ton of us, and most of us are on Facebook). We needed the study break. What better excuse?
Sometimes I feel as if my days are drawing to a close, that I've hit my own late May twilight. When I sat down to write this, that's the direction I thought I'd be heading. But right now, I don't really feel that way. Maybe there will be more birthdays filled with flowers (that don't make me sneeze!) and sunshine. Not this year (at least for the sunshine). But there's a flicker of hope somewhere inside of me, one that it's been harder to keep alive recently. May it continue to flicker.
I have many other happy birthday memories, but this one always reminds me of how long the days are getting by mid-May. It's still light at 8 p.m., even on the endless gray days we've been having recently.
I always thought May was the best month to be born in. The days are usually warm without being too hot. My mother's back yard was full of lilacs and other spring flowers. I was given a Mayflower viburnum bush for my birthday one year, and it was always covered with fragrant blossoms by my birthday. The yard was full of lilies of the valley and violets (both purple and white), and somebody would usually pick me a nosegay for my birthday. Down by the woods, the bluets and wild violets were in bloom. My sister and I used to make May baskets out of paper cups for our grandmother and the elderly woman who lived next door to her. We'd fill them with wildflowers and leave them on their doorknobs on May Day morning before we went to school. (It helped that our school was practically next door to those houses.)
Today, a house sits on the old ball field. It's been there for a good 30 years, probably closer to 40. My mother's house will be on the market soon. I'm allergic to lilacs, but I'm still considering planting a shoot from one of hers in my yard. Nobody has picked me a nosegay in years. Yeah, I miss them. I just threw out the forsythia that was in my little vase, and I'd love to have something new in it.
May took on a different aspect as I got older. School is winding down for the year. Most colleges have exams and graduation in May. Every committee I used to be on had its final meeting and banquet in May. Choirs I have sung in (or rung in) tend to have concerts in May. Our handbell choir gave one on May 1st. When I was in college, my birthday tended to fall during reading week, and there was almost always a party (for me and all of the other May birthdays - there are a ton of us, and most of us are on Facebook). We needed the study break. What better excuse?
Sometimes I feel as if my days are drawing to a close, that I've hit my own late May twilight. When I sat down to write this, that's the direction I thought I'd be heading. But right now, I don't really feel that way. Maybe there will be more birthdays filled with flowers (that don't make me sneeze!) and sunshine. Not this year (at least for the sunshine). But there's a flicker of hope somewhere inside of me, one that it's been harder to keep alive recently. May it continue to flicker.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
That rite of passage, the Prom
I did not go to my high school prom.
Last night's Glee episode, entitled "Prom Queen", has me thinking about the prom in general. If there are any Gleeks out there among my handful of readers who haven't watched the episode, please consider this a SPOILER ALERT!
Let's start with the struggle to find a date for the prom. I never dated in high school. It wasn't my choice, but there weren't any brave young men at my high school who would take the risk of being seen with a fat chick. Or at least not with me, smart, moody, sarcastic, with absolutely no sense of style. So, not surprisingly, nobody asked me to the prom. I've consoled myself with the fact that, on prom night, I was home with a fever of 101° (turned out I had rubella), so I wouldn't have been able to go even if I'd spent the money on a dress and a corsage and a ticket. But I still wish I'd had a chance to go.
One of my favorite characters on Glee this season is Lauren Zizes, played by the talented Ashley Fink. Lauren is a fat chick, and she does exactly what she wants. She's dating one of the most popular guys in the school, Puck, and they're running for Prom King and Queen. She didn't have to worry about finding a date - just finding a dress. "I've been to Ann Taylor Loft, Filene's Basement, and, like, six Forever 21s and I cannot find a dress that fits," she wailed. (She should have tried Lord & Taylor - that's where I got my mother-of-the-bride dress, which is the dress I would have worn to the prom all those years ago.) There was a great scene in a dress shop, where the girls had brought Kurt along to be their fashion adviser. Lauren came out in a horrible ruffled yellow number. "I think I look like a lemon meringue pie," she moaned. I'm not sure how they found the dress she ultimately wore, which was royal blue and looked great.
Through this scene, I was thinking about what it might have been like for me to find a dress that fit in 1968, and I'm glad I didn't have to go through that struggle. I know I would have ended up sewing one myself. That was how I survived high school; I knew how to enlarge a size 16 pattern to fit myself, so I could stitch up copies of whatever was in style. The trouble with sewing something for yourself, though, is that you can never be sure what it's going to look like on you until it's done. So I could have easily bought yards of expensive fabric and ended up looking like a poorly-upholstered sofa.
Then there's Mercedes, who is a little plump and doesn't have a boyfriend. She and Rachel asked Sam to the prom. Sam is currently broke and living with his family in a motel room, so they kept it low-budget (sure, they did...those girls found some great dresses at Goodwill, if that was true). I fall in size somewhere between Mercedes and Lauren, and I know that when I was in high school I would have been delighted to find a store that carried my size.
Kurt asked his boyfriend Blaine, and then dressed up in a kilt for the occasion. I hadn't heard the leak of who would be voted Prom Queen, so when it turned out to be Kurt I was duly horrified. That's the kind of cruel trick that I always worry somebody will pull on me - the fat, ugly, unpopular chick getting called out as the winner in a contest I would never even enter. Anyway, Kurt pulled it off, and even danced with Blaine after he was crowned. I don't believe this would ever be allowed to happen in a real high school; even if cruel kids wrote in a gay guy for prom queen, the principal would never allow the vote to count. In typical Glee irony, the prom king was the closeted gay guy, Karofsky, who was supposed to be paired with Santana, who discovered this season that she's a lesbian.
The music the Glee kids performed turned out to be a collection of really bad songs - was this intentional? It might have been. That YouTube sensation, "Friday", which I had managed to avoid hearing until then; "Jar of Hearts", which always sounds to me as if the young woman wrote it in a notebook during some boring class in high school - "You're going to catch a cold/from the ice inside your soul..." Really? Ewww. They ended with ABBA's "Dancing Queen", which is a classic but still, when you think about it, a pretty weak song. (Sorry, I was never an ABBA fan.)
So I'm left wondering if anybody really had a good time at the Glee prom. Finn and Jesse St. James had a fight (over Rachel!) and were evicted from the prom before the King and Queen were announced, which ruined Quinn's evening. She expected she and Finn would win. Artie could never convince Brittany to go with him; she chose to go alone. He consoled himself by spiking the punch, but Sue Sylvester caught him. (He was spiking it with lemonade.) Santana was furious because her date won Prom King and she didn't win Prom Queen. Karofsky was miserable, just because of his struggle with being gay and not ready to come out.
Chances are that even if I'd gone to my own prom, I wouldn't have had fun. But I still find myself regretting that I didn't go, and wishing that, at my advanced age, I could have another chance to deck myself out in a pretty dress and a corsage and go to a formal dance with a nice guy.
Last night's Glee episode, entitled "Prom Queen", has me thinking about the prom in general. If there are any Gleeks out there among my handful of readers who haven't watched the episode, please consider this a SPOILER ALERT!
Let's start with the struggle to find a date for the prom. I never dated in high school. It wasn't my choice, but there weren't any brave young men at my high school who would take the risk of being seen with a fat chick. Or at least not with me, smart, moody, sarcastic, with absolutely no sense of style. So, not surprisingly, nobody asked me to the prom. I've consoled myself with the fact that, on prom night, I was home with a fever of 101° (turned out I had rubella), so I wouldn't have been able to go even if I'd spent the money on a dress and a corsage and a ticket. But I still wish I'd had a chance to go.
One of my favorite characters on Glee this season is Lauren Zizes, played by the talented Ashley Fink. Lauren is a fat chick, and she does exactly what she wants. She's dating one of the most popular guys in the school, Puck, and they're running for Prom King and Queen. She didn't have to worry about finding a date - just finding a dress. "I've been to Ann Taylor Loft, Filene's Basement, and, like, six Forever 21s and I cannot find a dress that fits," she wailed. (She should have tried Lord & Taylor - that's where I got my mother-of-the-bride dress, which is the dress I would have worn to the prom all those years ago.) There was a great scene in a dress shop, where the girls had brought Kurt along to be their fashion adviser. Lauren came out in a horrible ruffled yellow number. "I think I look like a lemon meringue pie," she moaned. I'm not sure how they found the dress she ultimately wore, which was royal blue and looked great.
Through this scene, I was thinking about what it might have been like for me to find a dress that fit in 1968, and I'm glad I didn't have to go through that struggle. I know I would have ended up sewing one myself. That was how I survived high school; I knew how to enlarge a size 16 pattern to fit myself, so I could stitch up copies of whatever was in style. The trouble with sewing something for yourself, though, is that you can never be sure what it's going to look like on you until it's done. So I could have easily bought yards of expensive fabric and ended up looking like a poorly-upholstered sofa.
Then there's Mercedes, who is a little plump and doesn't have a boyfriend. She and Rachel asked Sam to the prom. Sam is currently broke and living with his family in a motel room, so they kept it low-budget (sure, they did...those girls found some great dresses at Goodwill, if that was true). I fall in size somewhere between Mercedes and Lauren, and I know that when I was in high school I would have been delighted to find a store that carried my size.
Kurt asked his boyfriend Blaine, and then dressed up in a kilt for the occasion. I hadn't heard the leak of who would be voted Prom Queen, so when it turned out to be Kurt I was duly horrified. That's the kind of cruel trick that I always worry somebody will pull on me - the fat, ugly, unpopular chick getting called out as the winner in a contest I would never even enter. Anyway, Kurt pulled it off, and even danced with Blaine after he was crowned. I don't believe this would ever be allowed to happen in a real high school; even if cruel kids wrote in a gay guy for prom queen, the principal would never allow the vote to count. In typical Glee irony, the prom king was the closeted gay guy, Karofsky, who was supposed to be paired with Santana, who discovered this season that she's a lesbian.
The music the Glee kids performed turned out to be a collection of really bad songs - was this intentional? It might have been. That YouTube sensation, "Friday", which I had managed to avoid hearing until then; "Jar of Hearts", which always sounds to me as if the young woman wrote it in a notebook during some boring class in high school - "You're going to catch a cold/from the ice inside your soul..." Really? Ewww. They ended with ABBA's "Dancing Queen", which is a classic but still, when you think about it, a pretty weak song. (Sorry, I was never an ABBA fan.)
So I'm left wondering if anybody really had a good time at the Glee prom. Finn and Jesse St. James had a fight (over Rachel!) and were evicted from the prom before the King and Queen were announced, which ruined Quinn's evening. She expected she and Finn would win. Artie could never convince Brittany to go with him; she chose to go alone. He consoled himself by spiking the punch, but Sue Sylvester caught him. (He was spiking it with lemonade.) Santana was furious because her date won Prom King and she didn't win Prom Queen. Karofsky was miserable, just because of his struggle with being gay and not ready to come out.
Chances are that even if I'd gone to my own prom, I wouldn't have had fun. But I still find myself regretting that I didn't go, and wishing that, at my advanced age, I could have another chance to deck myself out in a pretty dress and a corsage and go to a formal dance with a nice guy.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Screaming for help in my dreams
This morning I woke up at 8 a.m. from one of those heavy dreams, not quite a nightmare, and it was hard to shake it off. I was just as exhausted as if I hadn't slept at all. The dream's somber atmosphere still clung to me as I got out of bed, and I found it a strain to relate to the real world. I considered skipping church, but it was Palm Sunday and I have always loved the beginning of Holy Week.
In the dream I had just spent what felt like a week (but was probably just a few minutes) screaming for help, crying, begging somebody to listen to me. The theme was repeated in several different settings, over and over. In all of them, I was deeply depressed and desperately in need of somebody to lend me a hand.
It started at what seemed to be a retreat. I was at a college campus somewhere in the mountains. People of all ages were there, taking courses and discussing them with each other. But for some reason, nobody would listen to me. I went up to a group of people I thought were friends, and tried to join in the conversation. When I tried to say how I felt, though, they didn't want to hear it. I felt invisible, as I sometimes feel in real life.
So I sat down in the grass by the junction of a couple of paths, and I cried. People passed by, but nobody stopped. One even went so far as to ask me why I was crying, but she didn't stick around long enough for me to answer. I kept on crying, feeling more alone than ever, hoping somebody would stop and talk to me, but nobody ever did.
Then the dream shifted. For some reason, my sister had built a huge new house for our mother right next door to the house we grew up in. (There isn't room, but this was a dream, after all, and the landscape is expandable in dreams.) This house was so big it had a college dormitory in one end and a museum in the other. I kept trying to find the bedroom that was supposed to be mine. I wanted to collect a shawl I thought I'd left there, so I could wrap it around myself and maybe feel a little more secure. There were elevators all over this house, and they led to all sorts of strange locations. I remember there was a room where Mom's chocolate was kept. (My mom is a chocoholic.) And I kept trying to find somebody to listen to me. It was clear my mom wasn't going to; she didn't want me to be sad, so she ignored me when I was. (In the dream, not in real life.) I found a therapist or minister or somebody who should have wanted to listen to me, but she didn't have time for me. And I never did find my bedroom.
For some reason my sister had bought Mom a little flying car, like in the Jetsons. I thought we were riding over to wherever we were going in a helicopter, but it was actually a little golden car and Mom was driving. My mom gave up driving maybe a year ago, and it was significant to me in the dream that she could manage to drive this car.
And then I woke up. I still hadn't found anybody to talk to, and the weight of this need hung over me. It was difficult to shake it off. I found myself contemplating this dream during the sermon at church this morning (sorry, Lisa! but hey, Tim was making a paper airplane out of the program, and I think a couple of other choir members might have been dozing...). I decided to try to write about the experience in my blog to see if I could untangle what it really meant.
When I left church I could still feel the grim atmosphere of the dream clinging to me, and I was afraid that I'd have a difficult afternoon today. But I stopped at Trader Joe's and bought a few things we needed, and after I got home I took the cats out in the yard and raked up a couple more bags of leaves. (By then I was out of bags.) By now I feel all right. The sun is out and a few daffodils are in bloom in my yard.
So what was going on with that dream? I think I'm worried about my mother. My sister did move Mom into a large home where she has her own apartment - an assisted-living facility - but while Mom has a wheelchair, she doesn't have a flying car. The symbolism of Mom driving a golden car into the sky doesn't escape me, though. I just hope she doesn't drive off too soon.
And I frequently struggle with feeling unheard and feeling invisible. It's easy for me to see, when I'm awake, that sitting by the side of the road and crying, waiting for somebody to come and help me, isn't the way to solve my problems. Writing this blog entry, which will link to Facebook, is a way to help me feel a little more connected, whether anybody really responds or not.
In the dream I had just spent what felt like a week (but was probably just a few minutes) screaming for help, crying, begging somebody to listen to me. The theme was repeated in several different settings, over and over. In all of them, I was deeply depressed and desperately in need of somebody to lend me a hand.
It started at what seemed to be a retreat. I was at a college campus somewhere in the mountains. People of all ages were there, taking courses and discussing them with each other. But for some reason, nobody would listen to me. I went up to a group of people I thought were friends, and tried to join in the conversation. When I tried to say how I felt, though, they didn't want to hear it. I felt invisible, as I sometimes feel in real life.
So I sat down in the grass by the junction of a couple of paths, and I cried. People passed by, but nobody stopped. One even went so far as to ask me why I was crying, but she didn't stick around long enough for me to answer. I kept on crying, feeling more alone than ever, hoping somebody would stop and talk to me, but nobody ever did.
Then the dream shifted. For some reason, my sister had built a huge new house for our mother right next door to the house we grew up in. (There isn't room, but this was a dream, after all, and the landscape is expandable in dreams.) This house was so big it had a college dormitory in one end and a museum in the other. I kept trying to find the bedroom that was supposed to be mine. I wanted to collect a shawl I thought I'd left there, so I could wrap it around myself and maybe feel a little more secure. There were elevators all over this house, and they led to all sorts of strange locations. I remember there was a room where Mom's chocolate was kept. (My mom is a chocoholic.) And I kept trying to find somebody to listen to me. It was clear my mom wasn't going to; she didn't want me to be sad, so she ignored me when I was. (In the dream, not in real life.) I found a therapist or minister or somebody who should have wanted to listen to me, but she didn't have time for me. And I never did find my bedroom.
For some reason my sister had bought Mom a little flying car, like in the Jetsons. I thought we were riding over to wherever we were going in a helicopter, but it was actually a little golden car and Mom was driving. My mom gave up driving maybe a year ago, and it was significant to me in the dream that she could manage to drive this car.
And then I woke up. I still hadn't found anybody to talk to, and the weight of this need hung over me. It was difficult to shake it off. I found myself contemplating this dream during the sermon at church this morning (sorry, Lisa! but hey, Tim was making a paper airplane out of the program, and I think a couple of other choir members might have been dozing...). I decided to try to write about the experience in my blog to see if I could untangle what it really meant.
When I left church I could still feel the grim atmosphere of the dream clinging to me, and I was afraid that I'd have a difficult afternoon today. But I stopped at Trader Joe's and bought a few things we needed, and after I got home I took the cats out in the yard and raked up a couple more bags of leaves. (By then I was out of bags.) By now I feel all right. The sun is out and a few daffodils are in bloom in my yard.
So what was going on with that dream? I think I'm worried about my mother. My sister did move Mom into a large home where she has her own apartment - an assisted-living facility - but while Mom has a wheelchair, she doesn't have a flying car. The symbolism of Mom driving a golden car into the sky doesn't escape me, though. I just hope she doesn't drive off too soon.
And I frequently struggle with feeling unheard and feeling invisible. It's easy for me to see, when I'm awake, that sitting by the side of the road and crying, waiting for somebody to come and help me, isn't the way to solve my problems. Writing this blog entry, which will link to Facebook, is a way to help me feel a little more connected, whether anybody really responds or not.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Coexist?
Yesterday as I was driving home from work I passed a parked car with that "Coexist" bumper sticker I've been seeing around for years - the one where all the letters are represented by religious or other symbols. "Hmpf, a Unitarian," I thought with a smile. I was brought up Unitarian-Universalist, and I still have a soft spot in my heart for them. I agree with the message of people of different religions getting along with each other. Hmm, I thought, I could put one on my car (which, being brand new and leased, is currently unadorned with anything representing me or my thoughts, or where I or my kids went to college, or which sports team I cheer for). I was surprised to find out that the idea left me cold.
I wouldn't put a "Coexist" bumper sticker on my car, or, for that matter, wear a "Coexist" t-shirt, because the concept of coexistence is too isolating for me. Let me explain.
I looked up "coexist" in the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, and it told me that it means:
I think of myself as coexisting with my type 2 diabetes. It's there, but it doesn't define me. My artificial left knee, too. Most of the time I go about my life without allowing it to hold me back.
Every Friday there is a Muslim religious service in the classroom next door to my office. I've gotten to know the imam a little; we say hello and exchange a few pleasantries when we see each other. Yesterday I asked him if it was still snowing outside. (It wasn't.) That's closer to harmony than mere coexistence. If I were simply coexisting with my Muslim neighbors, I might just shut my office door and pretend they weren't there. (They do have a tendency to stand in the hall and chat after the service.)
The religious symbols on the most common of the "Coexist" bumper stickers are:
Anyway, I think I'd rather have one that says "Harmony." I found one online that says "Live in Peace & Harmony" where the H was a cross and a matching stick that I don't recognize, the A was the Star of David, the R was based on the Unitarian chalice (of course!), the M was humped over a nine-pointed star (Baha'i?) and a pentagram, the O was a peace sign, and the Y was a dove. I'm not sure what the N was supposed to represent, and I can't find an explanation online. The ampersand was the Om character for Hinduism.
I think I am the most comfortable and truly myself when I am singing with other people in harmony. That's why the concept of living in harmony with my neighbors, rather than simply coexisting, means so much more to me.
I wouldn't put a "Coexist" bumper sticker on my car, or, for that matter, wear a "Coexist" t-shirt, because the concept of coexistence is too isolating for me. Let me explain.
I looked up "coexist" in the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, and it told me that it means:
Nothing wrong with that, right? Well, it's not all that different from the way I am right now, where I live beside my neighbors but rarely exchange a word with them. I ride the subway every day, crowded in beside people who remain strangers even as we stand pressed intimately together. I attend church on Sundays without revealing very much of myself. I'm not a member, and nobody has asked me to join. What does that mean? I'm not sure, but it sounds a lot like coexistence to me.
1. to exist together at the same time
2. to live in peace with each other especially as a matter of policy
I think of myself as coexisting with my type 2 diabetes. It's there, but it doesn't define me. My artificial left knee, too. Most of the time I go about my life without allowing it to hold me back.
Every Friday there is a Muslim religious service in the classroom next door to my office. I've gotten to know the imam a little; we say hello and exchange a few pleasantries when we see each other. Yesterday I asked him if it was still snowing outside. (It wasn't.) That's closer to harmony than mere coexistence. If I were simply coexisting with my Muslim neighbors, I might just shut my office door and pretend they weren't there. (They do have a tendency to stand in the hall and chat after the service.)
The religious symbols on the most common of the "Coexist" bumper stickers are:
- C: a crescent moon and star, to represent Islam
- O: a peace sign
- E: representing a male/female symbol, but not very well since it has to remain open
- X: a star of David to represent Jewish people
- I: it's dotted with a pentagram in a circle, to represent Wiccans and pagans
- S: it's woven into a yin-yang sign, for Taoism
- T: It's a cross, to represent Christianity
Anyway, I think I'd rather have one that says "Harmony." I found one online that says "Live in Peace & Harmony" where the H was a cross and a matching stick that I don't recognize, the A was the Star of David, the R was based on the Unitarian chalice (of course!), the M was humped over a nine-pointed star (Baha'i?) and a pentagram, the O was a peace sign, and the Y was a dove. I'm not sure what the N was supposed to represent, and I can't find an explanation online. The ampersand was the Om character for Hinduism.
I think I am the most comfortable and truly myself when I am singing with other people in harmony. That's why the concept of living in harmony with my neighbors, rather than simply coexisting, means so much more to me.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Perfect
I find myself deeply moved by the new song by Pink, "Perfect." (As it turns out, there's a frequently-used obscenity in the title that I wasn't aware of until I watched the video on YouTube today. I'm working with the radio-edited lyrics for this blog entry.) I feel as if the lyrics were written for me. I've spent most of my life obsessed with the need to be perfect; because of my weight issues, I've felt as if I have no room for error anywhere else. In order to make up for being fat, I have to be perfect in everything else I do - perfect singing, perfect grades in school, never angry, always the perfect friend, perfect mother, perfect employee. Obviously, I can't ever succeed in this. Who can? I set myself up for defeat before I even try.
I feel as if somebody should have spoken these words to me when I was a child. Maybe it's my emotionally-distorted hearing, but for as long as I can remember I've heard any criticism as condemnation. Any time I displease somebody, I'm afraid that person won't like me any more. I never feel anywhere near perfect. A lot of the time I feel barely human.
The voices inside my head never say anything kind to me. I look in the mirror in the morning, and I see an aging woman whom no man will ever love. I see scarred, worn-down, reddened, wrinkled skin, puffy eyes, a mouth that's forgotten how to smile. I wish I could change the voices in my head and make them like me instead. Really. This is something I've been struggling with especially hard for the past ten years. Chasing down the demons. Right now, I'm losing the battle. I'm losing heart. I'm giving up.
If I had a baby to rock right now, I'd be singing these lyrics to him or her, softly, as a lullaby. Pink is pregnant; I imagine that she wrote this song for the child she's carrying. (She admits this on her website: "Making this video was a very emotional experience for me, as was writing this song. I have a life inside of me, and I want her or him to know that I will accept him or her with open and loving and welcoming arms.") Or maybe for herself, or for a friend or close relative. Some people have suggested it was an answer to the recent gay suicides. Whatever reason, it speaks to me.
Pretty, pretty please
Don’t you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than
less than perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you’re nothing
You are perfect to me
I feel as if somebody should have spoken these words to me when I was a child. Maybe it's my emotionally-distorted hearing, but for as long as I can remember I've heard any criticism as condemnation. Any time I displease somebody, I'm afraid that person won't like me any more. I never feel anywhere near perfect. A lot of the time I feel barely human.
You’re so mean when you talk
About yourself - you are wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look happy you’ll make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game
It’s enough, I’ve done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons
I've seen you do the same
The voices inside my head never say anything kind to me. I look in the mirror in the morning, and I see an aging woman whom no man will ever love. I see scarred, worn-down, reddened, wrinkled skin, puffy eyes, a mouth that's forgotten how to smile. I wish I could change the voices in my head and make them like me instead. Really. This is something I've been struggling with especially hard for the past ten years. Chasing down the demons. Right now, I'm losing the battle. I'm losing heart. I'm giving up.
If I had a baby to rock right now, I'd be singing these lyrics to him or her, softly, as a lullaby. Pink is pregnant; I imagine that she wrote this song for the child she's carrying. (She admits this on her website: "Making this video was a very emotional experience for me, as was writing this song. I have a life inside of me, and I want her or him to know that I will accept him or her with open and loving and welcoming arms.") Or maybe for herself, or for a friend or close relative. Some people have suggested it was an answer to the recent gay suicides. Whatever reason, it speaks to me.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Good Times at Choir Practice
Last year, after 6 years of playing handbells at a nearby UCC church, I finally joined the chancel choir. Why had I hesitated for so long? I had a number of vague reasons. Joining the "singing" choir would mean that I would have to attend church almost every Sunday, and I was enjoying having my Sunday mornings to sleep in. This was especially important to me, since five days a week I have to get up at 5:30 a.m. for work. The handbell choir plays about once a month, giving me lots of free Sundays. Also, I wasn't sure I could still sing. This vague feeling resulted from the fact that - after a lifetime of being complimented on my lovely singing voice - nobody at this church had ever told me that I sang well. I had come to expect the compliments. Without them, I was losing my self-confidence.
Yeah, that was pretty stupid of me. Or pretty conceited, I don't know which. Probably a little of both.
Anyway, several of the regular sopranos moved away, and the choir director asked me to join. I hesitated for a while (I was going to miss sleeping in on Sunday mornings), but finally gave in. And I was immediately glad I did. A few months later, I encouraged my younger son to join. He's got a lovely tenor voice. Now we're regulars.
I have sung in choirs since age 9. I love singing in choirs - it's one of my favorite things in the world. My natural range is soprano, but because I can sight-read well and carry my own part, I sang alto for years, through high school and college. I sang soprano in junior high school, which meant that when the choir director handed out "Do you hear what I hear?" this past Christmas, I already knew my part - I'd sung it back when the piece was new, in 1962. {cringe} How did I get so old so fast?
The choral piece I have sung with the most directors throughout the years is Randall Thompson's "Alleluia". I sang it in high school and college as an alto, but I've sung it enough since then that the soprano part is more familiar to me. A few weeks ago, the choir director handed it out to perform later this season (Easter? I'm not sure). I'm thrilled, not just because I love to sing it, but because now my son can sing it, too. It showed up on one of our Christmas records for some reason, and he could already sing along. If the tenor part had merely been the soprano part an octave lower, he'd have been all set.
Last night, however, the choir director handed out a piece I haven't done since college. I know this because I'd never sung the soprano part. It's a Brahms "Geistliches Lied" - "Lass dich nur nichts nicht dauren" (translated as "Let Nothing Ever Grieve Thee", if I remember correctly, in the version we're singing). We're singing it in English. We used to call it "Last Ditch" in college. It's good to be singing it again.
There's another good piece we're doing this spring, an arrangement of "Ubi caritas" by Paul Basler. I had never heard of him before this piece. We're singing it in Latin. Kids these days don't study Latin in high school any more the way I did. (I can just hear my sons saying "Yeah, but it was still a living language back then.") This is another experience I'm glad my son is getting. Anyway, the choir director was helping us with pronunciation. The first line is "Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est." ("Where charity and love are, God is there.") He said that we were singing it so that the end of the line sounded like "Deus CBS." Now I can't stop thinking of singing it that way.
Probably the best song we sang this year so far was "Down to the river to pray", as it was sung in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" It's so mystical, or maybe that's just because of the way it was in the movie, with all those people dressed in white heading for the river to be baptized.
The funny thing is, I don't even have to give up sleeping in on Sunday mornings. Choir generally doesn't meet until 9 or 9:15, and believe me, sleeping until 8 beats getting up at 5:30.
Yeah, that was pretty stupid of me. Or pretty conceited, I don't know which. Probably a little of both.
Anyway, several of the regular sopranos moved away, and the choir director asked me to join. I hesitated for a while (I was going to miss sleeping in on Sunday mornings), but finally gave in. And I was immediately glad I did. A few months later, I encouraged my younger son to join. He's got a lovely tenor voice. Now we're regulars.
I have sung in choirs since age 9. I love singing in choirs - it's one of my favorite things in the world. My natural range is soprano, but because I can sight-read well and carry my own part, I sang alto for years, through high school and college. I sang soprano in junior high school, which meant that when the choir director handed out "Do you hear what I hear?" this past Christmas, I already knew my part - I'd sung it back when the piece was new, in 1962. {cringe} How did I get so old so fast?
The choral piece I have sung with the most directors throughout the years is Randall Thompson's "Alleluia". I sang it in high school and college as an alto, but I've sung it enough since then that the soprano part is more familiar to me. A few weeks ago, the choir director handed it out to perform later this season (Easter? I'm not sure). I'm thrilled, not just because I love to sing it, but because now my son can sing it, too. It showed up on one of our Christmas records for some reason, and he could already sing along. If the tenor part had merely been the soprano part an octave lower, he'd have been all set.
Last night, however, the choir director handed out a piece I haven't done since college. I know this because I'd never sung the soprano part. It's a Brahms "Geistliches Lied" - "Lass dich nur nichts nicht dauren" (translated as "Let Nothing Ever Grieve Thee", if I remember correctly, in the version we're singing). We're singing it in English. We used to call it "Last Ditch" in college. It's good to be singing it again.
There's another good piece we're doing this spring, an arrangement of "Ubi caritas" by Paul Basler. I had never heard of him before this piece. We're singing it in Latin. Kids these days don't study Latin in high school any more the way I did. (I can just hear my sons saying "Yeah, but it was still a living language back then.") This is another experience I'm glad my son is getting. Anyway, the choir director was helping us with pronunciation. The first line is "Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est." ("Where charity and love are, God is there.") He said that we were singing it so that the end of the line sounded like "Deus CBS." Now I can't stop thinking of singing it that way.
Probably the best song we sang this year so far was "Down to the river to pray", as it was sung in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" It's so mystical, or maybe that's just because of the way it was in the movie, with all those people dressed in white heading for the river to be baptized.
The funny thing is, I don't even have to give up sleeping in on Sunday mornings. Choir generally doesn't meet until 9 or 9:15, and believe me, sleeping until 8 beats getting up at 5:30.
Friday, January 28, 2011
RuPaul's Drag Race? Why Not?
Why should a middle-aged (if you stretch the definition of "middle age" well into what used to be considered, um, old) straight woman enjoy watching "RuPaul's Drag Race", where gay men compete in full drag to be named America's Top Drag Queen? Well, as I said my title, why not?
The new season started on Monday. This is the second year I've watched the show (I missed the first season). Last year I was rooting for our Boston contestant, Jujubee. She came in third, which isn't too bad, but I still think she should have won.
I'm looking for a new show to blog. For the past three years at this time, I've blogged enthusiastically about "American Idol", a show I've watched since its first season. Last spring, after the wrong person won for the second year in a row, I decided not to blog the show when it started up again this season. The problem is that you're allowed to vote multiple times for each person. The singers who won were more acceptable to the conservative audience, who were patient enough (or crazy enough) to vote over and over long after my patience faded. Anyway, I'm a little sick of competitions where "America" controls the voting. Want to know how good "America" is at picking the best people for the job? Just look at the clowns we elect to represent us.
So I thought, why not blog about RuPaul's Drag Race? I love the show, and there isn't as much online chatter about it as there is about American Idol. And there's plenty to say.
This year there are 13 contestants. Drag queen names can be really funny, although most of these are pretty mundane. I'm listing them alphabetically by first name:
The theme of the first show is Christmas (Xmas? Does it make a difference?) The first - what? challenge? event? - is a photo session in which they are asked to jump on a trampoline while snowflakes are sprayed at them; their photos are snapped while they are up in the air. They were all dressed in drag at this point, so some of them were jumping with long gowns or boots (I think anyone wearing stilettos removed them first!).
Then, they visited a thrift shop to buy clothing (or whatever they could find) to create the perfect Christmas outfit. Shangela bought a large white bulbous lampshade, with the intent of creating a kind of a snowman look. Mimi whined that thrift shops didn't carry her size. (Delta and Stacy Layne just went about finding what they needed, without a single whine. I admired them more for that.) Carmen bought a gold mesh belt, which she said she was going to use as a skirt. I didn't believe her. I should have.
Back at the workshop, the area had been bedecked with Christmas decorations. The queens dismantled them in seconds, scavenging treasures to make their outfits all the more fabulous. Shangela took the snowman, which was almost as big as she was. Raja grabbed a small Christmas tree skirt (you know, the kind that goes under the Christmas tree, where you put the presents...). Both Venus and Phoenix smashed up ornaments and glued them to the lapels of red garments (a vest for Venus, a jacket for Phoenix). Venus was pissed off that Phoenix was copying her idea, even though that wasn't even true. Mimi decided to dress up as the Virgin Mary, and later had a major meltdown about how terrible her costume was. Just another night at the Drag Race.
The next night, the costumes were judged. Bruce Vilanch was a guest judge, and he dressed up like Santa Claus. Vanessa Williams was the other guest judge. Carmen was the first one to strut down the runway. She was wearing that gold mesh belt and very little else. The rear view consisted of a sprig of mistletoe right over her butt crack. The front view looked like a thong. You could not even see a telltale bulge of her, um, manly parts. Manila was dressed in a red minidress trimmed in white fur, and she carried a fur muff. Yara Sofia came in wearing a Rudolph nose; her wig was styled so that it came up in a large antler-like roll on top. She was wearing a gold dress, which she took off to reveal red undergarments. Phoenix came out in her silver ornament trimmed jacket, which included huge clusters of ornaments on each shoulder, and a disc covered in peppermint stripes worn as a hat. She also wore a very short skirt. RuPaul said "O Holy Night, that skirt is short. I can see her figgy pudding!"
Stacy Layne was wearing a bright shiny red dress, knee-length, cut low in the bodice. She strutted her stuff proudly. I wish I could believe in myself the way she does. They played a voice-over of her saying "I think it's time for a plus-size queen." I agree with her. Venus was beautiful from the neck up; she wore a brightly decorated ponytail that the judges later said was the best part of her outfit. Her crushed-ornament-bedecked vest looked overdone, and she wore a gold skirt with gold garland sewn (or glued?) around the hem. I thought she still looked good, but the judges didn't agree.
India was wearing a red-and-gold dress cut down to her navel. Not sure where the impressive cleavage came from. One of the women judges said "Look at those two treats." Delta came out dressed for Kwanzaa, the judges said, with a gold headdress on and a black dress with huge flowing green sleeves. She looked very elegant. Alexis wore a ruffly red dress with large silver snowflakes attached.
Mimi came out in her blue-and-white sparkly dress, clutching a bundle that looked like a baby. She had a red heart pinned in her cleavage. She was followed by Mariah, who was dressed in a silvery gray pantsuit, kind of, although the pants came to the knees. There's probably some correct term for that kind of outfit. I'm fashionably challenged...
Raja was right at home on the runway. She was wearing that tree skirt, which looked perfect on her, and the layers of Christmas-wrapping-like shirts and vests, black boots trimmed with white fur, and a large bow around her neck. Her wig was white and frothy. As she left the runway, she lay down and did a snow angel. (Not that there was any snow, but everybody got the point.)
Shangela brought the snowman (which she named "Frostula") in with her. They were dressed alike, in red garland-trimmed green bodices and rounded white below - the (fake) snowball on the snowman, and the lampshade on Shangela. The lampshade was kind of falling apart at the back by then, though.
RuPaul selected Mariah, Delta, Yara, India, Phoenix, Stacy Layne, and Alexis. "The seven of you all stood out...for not standing out from the crowd." They were all safe, though, and were sent to the lounge.
The other six represented the best and the worst, and I wasn't 100% sure which was which. They liked Carmen's very sexy (as in practically naked) look, and they liked Manila's outfit, but they didn't like Shangela's get-up; they suggested she was upstaged by the plastic snowman. Santino said Venus looked like "a sad Christmas elf."
RuPaul said to Mimi, "You've got such a big heart," meaning the one glued to her front. "I've got a big everything, girl," Mimi laughed. She seemed to be in the top 3, if I can figure out what the judges meant.
Raja won the photo challenge earlier, and the judges had only praise for her costume.
After the contestants were sent to the lounge, the judges conferred. Vanessa said about Carmen: "I'm still mesmerized how she tucked all that stuff. I don't know where the heck it went, but it was an amazing tuck."
"Condragulations, you're safe." RuPaul said these words to Mimi and Manila. Raja got, "Condragulations, you are the winner of this challenge." making her a two-time winner. She got a gift certificate from sequinqueen.com. Venus ended up in the bottom 2 with Shangela. Carmen was safe, but I have no idea if she was in the top or bottom three.
Venus and Shangela had to lip-sync for their lives; the song choice was "The Right Stuff" by Vanessa Williams. Shangela did a great job, and Venus basically went on the attack, shoving Shangela around on the stage. When Shangela's lampshade skirt fell off, Venus grabbed it and pulled it back over Shangela's head. It was clear to me who should be eliminated - the very pretty, but not very nice or original, Venus D'Lite. And she was told to "sashay away."
Next week, I think they're doing some kind of sci-fi drag. I can't wait!
The new season started on Monday. This is the second year I've watched the show (I missed the first season). Last year I was rooting for our Boston contestant, Jujubee. She came in third, which isn't too bad, but I still think she should have won.
I'm looking for a new show to blog. For the past three years at this time, I've blogged enthusiastically about "American Idol", a show I've watched since its first season. Last spring, after the wrong person won for the second year in a row, I decided not to blog the show when it started up again this season. The problem is that you're allowed to vote multiple times for each person. The singers who won were more acceptable to the conservative audience, who were patient enough (or crazy enough) to vote over and over long after my patience faded. Anyway, I'm a little sick of competitions where "America" controls the voting. Want to know how good "America" is at picking the best people for the job? Just look at the clowns we elect to represent us.
So I thought, why not blog about RuPaul's Drag Race? I love the show, and there isn't as much online chatter about it as there is about American Idol. And there's plenty to say.
This year there are 13 contestants. Drag queen names can be really funny, although most of these are pretty mundane. I'm listing them alphabetically by first name:
- Alexis Mateo
- Carmen Carrera
- Delta Work (she's one of my favorites)
- India Ferrah
- Manila Luzon (where do you think her ancestors are from? Her boyfriend is last year's contestant Sahara Davenport.)
- Mariah
- Mimi Imfurst (pronounced "Me! Me! I'm First!")
- Phoenix (who is from Atlanta, GA, not Phoenix...)
- Raja
- Shangela Laquifa Wadley (she was eliminated first in Season 2, and has been given a second chance)
- Stacy Layne Matthews (she's from Back Swamp, NC)
- Venus D'Lite (which sounds kind of like a diet dessert to me)
- Yara Sofia
The theme of the first show is Christmas (Xmas? Does it make a difference?) The first - what? challenge? event? - is a photo session in which they are asked to jump on a trampoline while snowflakes are sprayed at them; their photos are snapped while they are up in the air. They were all dressed in drag at this point, so some of them were jumping with long gowns or boots (I think anyone wearing stilettos removed them first!).
Then, they visited a thrift shop to buy clothing (or whatever they could find) to create the perfect Christmas outfit. Shangela bought a large white bulbous lampshade, with the intent of creating a kind of a snowman look. Mimi whined that thrift shops didn't carry her size. (Delta and Stacy Layne just went about finding what they needed, without a single whine. I admired them more for that.) Carmen bought a gold mesh belt, which she said she was going to use as a skirt. I didn't believe her. I should have.
Back at the workshop, the area had been bedecked with Christmas decorations. The queens dismantled them in seconds, scavenging treasures to make their outfits all the more fabulous. Shangela took the snowman, which was almost as big as she was. Raja grabbed a small Christmas tree skirt (you know, the kind that goes under the Christmas tree, where you put the presents...). Both Venus and Phoenix smashed up ornaments and glued them to the lapels of red garments (a vest for Venus, a jacket for Phoenix). Venus was pissed off that Phoenix was copying her idea, even though that wasn't even true. Mimi decided to dress up as the Virgin Mary, and later had a major meltdown about how terrible her costume was. Just another night at the Drag Race.
The next night, the costumes were judged. Bruce Vilanch was a guest judge, and he dressed up like Santa Claus. Vanessa Williams was the other guest judge. Carmen was the first one to strut down the runway. She was wearing that gold mesh belt and very little else. The rear view consisted of a sprig of mistletoe right over her butt crack. The front view looked like a thong. You could not even see a telltale bulge of her, um, manly parts. Manila was dressed in a red minidress trimmed in white fur, and she carried a fur muff. Yara Sofia came in wearing a Rudolph nose; her wig was styled so that it came up in a large antler-like roll on top. She was wearing a gold dress, which she took off to reveal red undergarments. Phoenix came out in her silver ornament trimmed jacket, which included huge clusters of ornaments on each shoulder, and a disc covered in peppermint stripes worn as a hat. She also wore a very short skirt. RuPaul said "O Holy Night, that skirt is short. I can see her figgy pudding!"
Stacy Layne was wearing a bright shiny red dress, knee-length, cut low in the bodice. She strutted her stuff proudly. I wish I could believe in myself the way she does. They played a voice-over of her saying "I think it's time for a plus-size queen." I agree with her. Venus was beautiful from the neck up; she wore a brightly decorated ponytail that the judges later said was the best part of her outfit. Her crushed-ornament-bedecked vest looked overdone, and she wore a gold skirt with gold garland sewn (or glued?) around the hem. I thought she still looked good, but the judges didn't agree.
India was wearing a red-and-gold dress cut down to her navel. Not sure where the impressive cleavage came from. One of the women judges said "Look at those two treats." Delta came out dressed for Kwanzaa, the judges said, with a gold headdress on and a black dress with huge flowing green sleeves. She looked very elegant. Alexis wore a ruffly red dress with large silver snowflakes attached.
Mimi came out in her blue-and-white sparkly dress, clutching a bundle that looked like a baby. She had a red heart pinned in her cleavage. She was followed by Mariah, who was dressed in a silvery gray pantsuit, kind of, although the pants came to the knees. There's probably some correct term for that kind of outfit. I'm fashionably challenged...
Raja was right at home on the runway. She was wearing that tree skirt, which looked perfect on her, and the layers of Christmas-wrapping-like shirts and vests, black boots trimmed with white fur, and a large bow around her neck. Her wig was white and frothy. As she left the runway, she lay down and did a snow angel. (Not that there was any snow, but everybody got the point.)
Shangela brought the snowman (which she named "Frostula") in with her. They were dressed alike, in red garland-trimmed green bodices and rounded white below - the (fake) snowball on the snowman, and the lampshade on Shangela. The lampshade was kind of falling apart at the back by then, though.
RuPaul selected Mariah, Delta, Yara, India, Phoenix, Stacy Layne, and Alexis. "The seven of you all stood out...for not standing out from the crowd." They were all safe, though, and were sent to the lounge.
The other six represented the best and the worst, and I wasn't 100% sure which was which. They liked Carmen's very sexy (as in practically naked) look, and they liked Manila's outfit, but they didn't like Shangela's get-up; they suggested she was upstaged by the plastic snowman. Santino said Venus looked like "a sad Christmas elf."
RuPaul said to Mimi, "You've got such a big heart," meaning the one glued to her front. "I've got a big everything, girl," Mimi laughed. She seemed to be in the top 3, if I can figure out what the judges meant.
Raja won the photo challenge earlier, and the judges had only praise for her costume.
After the contestants were sent to the lounge, the judges conferred. Vanessa said about Carmen: "I'm still mesmerized how she tucked all that stuff. I don't know where the heck it went, but it was an amazing tuck."
"Condragulations, you're safe." RuPaul said these words to Mimi and Manila. Raja got, "Condragulations, you are the winner of this challenge." making her a two-time winner. She got a gift certificate from sequinqueen.com. Venus ended up in the bottom 2 with Shangela. Carmen was safe, but I have no idea if she was in the top or bottom three.
Venus and Shangela had to lip-sync for their lives; the song choice was "The Right Stuff" by Vanessa Williams. Shangela did a great job, and Venus basically went on the attack, shoving Shangela around on the stage. When Shangela's lampshade skirt fell off, Venus grabbed it and pulled it back over Shangela's head. It was clear to me who should be eliminated - the very pretty, but not very nice or original, Venus D'Lite. And she was told to "sashay away."
Next week, I think they're doing some kind of sci-fi drag. I can't wait!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
I still care. I just don't seem to show it very well.
Today I found out that one of my friends from first grade through high school had died. Last Tuesday, while I was home from work with a bad cough and a fever feeling sorry for myself, my old friend died. I wish I'd known in time to say goodbye.
We had kept in touch since high school until only a few years ago, after I moved to Lynn in 2003. At some point I stopped sending out Christmas cards, and she stopped sending hers to me. I guess I deserved that.
And the question I'm asking myself is: Why did I stop sending out Christmas cards? It wasn't because I stopped caring about the people on my list. I still cared - still care, present tense - every bit as much. It wasn't because sending them was too expensive. I may not have much extra money, but I'd gladly spring for cards and postage. No, the reason is that I stopped believing I had anything interesting to say. It's a function of the depression I struggle with every day of my life.
I feel guilty because I didn't live up to my potential. I didn't finish my master's degree. I work as an administrative assistant. I couldn't keep my marriage together. I moved out and left my kids with their dad, which seemed like the right idea at the time. They're grown now, and at the moment the boys are in the other room playing a board game, and my daughter called yesterday from Chicago, so I don't think my relationship with them suffered. But I still feel like a failure.
I feel boring because I don't do anything spectacular in my life. What would I say in a Christmas card? "I didn't take any wonderful trips to foreign countries. I didn't finish a novel and get it published. I didn't go out on a single date for the sixth year in a row." How many ways can I say "I play handbells" - one of the most interesting things about me?
And so I've lost touch with a lot of wonderful people, people I wish I still could talk to or write to or exchange Christmas or other cards with. And on some vague level I think it can all be fixed. But then someone dies, and the chance is gone forever.
We had kept in touch since high school until only a few years ago, after I moved to Lynn in 2003. At some point I stopped sending out Christmas cards, and she stopped sending hers to me. I guess I deserved that.
And the question I'm asking myself is: Why did I stop sending out Christmas cards? It wasn't because I stopped caring about the people on my list. I still cared - still care, present tense - every bit as much. It wasn't because sending them was too expensive. I may not have much extra money, but I'd gladly spring for cards and postage. No, the reason is that I stopped believing I had anything interesting to say. It's a function of the depression I struggle with every day of my life.
I feel guilty because I didn't live up to my potential. I didn't finish my master's degree. I work as an administrative assistant. I couldn't keep my marriage together. I moved out and left my kids with their dad, which seemed like the right idea at the time. They're grown now, and at the moment the boys are in the other room playing a board game, and my daughter called yesterday from Chicago, so I don't think my relationship with them suffered. But I still feel like a failure.
I feel boring because I don't do anything spectacular in my life. What would I say in a Christmas card? "I didn't take any wonderful trips to foreign countries. I didn't finish a novel and get it published. I didn't go out on a single date for the sixth year in a row." How many ways can I say "I play handbells" - one of the most interesting things about me?
And so I've lost touch with a lot of wonderful people, people I wish I still could talk to or write to or exchange Christmas or other cards with. And on some vague level I think it can all be fixed. But then someone dies, and the chance is gone forever.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Another new year? Slow down!
When an old year ends and a new one begins, I have often written a summary of the previous year and/or a list of hopes or goals for the new year. In 2010 I reached a milestone, one of those birthdays with a zero on the end (I'm a very youthful 60), and now it seems as if all those years are zooming by so fast that I barely have time to write about one before the next one is colliding with it. 2011? Really? I'm not done with 2009 yet!
2010 started out with my daughter becoming engaged to her long-time boyfriend. (He proposed on December 31, 2009. It was very romantic, based on the pictures he put up on Facebook.) A lot of 2010 was filled with planning the wedding, to be held this March. For the most part, this has been a positive experience. But the fact that I am not exactly amicably divorced from her father has caused a little stress for both her and me. I wish I knew how to fix this.
During 2010, I didn't have a single date. I didn't flirt with any guys. I didn't even have a pleasant conversation with an eligible man (for me, that means single, in my age bracket, and employed). All the men I know are married or gay (or possibly both, this being Massachusetts). I just wish I had a male friend to go out with from time to time. I have no desire to get married again. I took down my personal ads after meeting too many unemployed guys who were only looking for somebody to sponge off of or lure into bed.
During 2010, though, I did go on vacation twice. In June my sons included me in their week at their father's family summer cottage on the shore of a lake in New Hampshire. I'd been there many times over the 24 years I was with their father, and I was glad to get a chance to go back without him. We brought my two cats. The older one, Peaches, had been there a few times before, back in the late 90's. I couldn't tell if he remembered it. The younger cat, Zoe, fell in love with the screened-in porch, where she could chatter at chipmunks and birds to her heart's content.
In August, I spent a week in South Harwich, Cape Cod. I blogged about it while I was there, so I don't have to talk about it now. I still want to retire to the Cape someday. No, that's not quite true: What I really want is to be rich enough to own property there and in the Boston area, and split my time between the houses. That's what daydreams are for.
It's hard to come up with any more positives. I didn't finish NaNoWriMo this year (after 4 wins) because I chose a very dark subject matter (The Apocalypse in Boston!) and writing about it was draining. Besides, my daughter and her fiancé were here for a week, and we were busy with wedding-related things.
I played Antidepressant Roulette for too long, starting in August of 2009 and still continuing today. After I decided I'd had enough of the Crazy Pill Lady in December 2009, it took me several months to learn that there was nobody else in that practice who would see me. (Long story. I hear the Crazy Pill Lady lost her job, so apparently I wasn't the only one she misdiagnosed.) I went to my Primary Care doctor, and she referred me to another agency. They assigned me to a psychiatrist who retired six months later. Then they placed me with somebody else. He's got me on Celexa, which I started right before Thanksgiving. I have no idea how well it's working. I'm very high-functioning anyway, so getting through the holidays could have been just a coincidence. I figure I'll know how successful I've been when I finally get asked out on a date again. By an employed single guy in my age bracket. Sigh.
My mom is getting older, just like me. She's 86, and has a hip that badly needs replacing, and needs to be in assisted living. Most of the burden of her care falls on my sister, who lives nearby. I just feel guilty. The hip replacement is scheduled for the end of this month. Assisted living is sure to follow. My sister has found a place for her. They'll even let her keep her cat.
So, 2011 has major changes in store for my family: My daughter's wedding, my mother's surgery and her move to assisted living. As for me? I just hope to be able to get through it all.
2010 started out with my daughter becoming engaged to her long-time boyfriend. (He proposed on December 31, 2009. It was very romantic, based on the pictures he put up on Facebook.) A lot of 2010 was filled with planning the wedding, to be held this March. For the most part, this has been a positive experience. But the fact that I am not exactly amicably divorced from her father has caused a little stress for both her and me. I wish I knew how to fix this.
During 2010, I didn't have a single date. I didn't flirt with any guys. I didn't even have a pleasant conversation with an eligible man (for me, that means single, in my age bracket, and employed). All the men I know are married or gay (or possibly both, this being Massachusetts). I just wish I had a male friend to go out with from time to time. I have no desire to get married again. I took down my personal ads after meeting too many unemployed guys who were only looking for somebody to sponge off of or lure into bed.
During 2010, though, I did go on vacation twice. In June my sons included me in their week at their father's family summer cottage on the shore of a lake in New Hampshire. I'd been there many times over the 24 years I was with their father, and I was glad to get a chance to go back without him. We brought my two cats. The older one, Peaches, had been there a few times before, back in the late 90's. I couldn't tell if he remembered it. The younger cat, Zoe, fell in love with the screened-in porch, where she could chatter at chipmunks and birds to her heart's content.
In August, I spent a week in South Harwich, Cape Cod. I blogged about it while I was there, so I don't have to talk about it now. I still want to retire to the Cape someday. No, that's not quite true: What I really want is to be rich enough to own property there and in the Boston area, and split my time between the houses. That's what daydreams are for.
It's hard to come up with any more positives. I didn't finish NaNoWriMo this year (after 4 wins) because I chose a very dark subject matter (The Apocalypse in Boston!) and writing about it was draining. Besides, my daughter and her fiancé were here for a week, and we were busy with wedding-related things.
I played Antidepressant Roulette for too long, starting in August of 2009 and still continuing today. After I decided I'd had enough of the Crazy Pill Lady in December 2009, it took me several months to learn that there was nobody else in that practice who would see me. (Long story. I hear the Crazy Pill Lady lost her job, so apparently I wasn't the only one she misdiagnosed.) I went to my Primary Care doctor, and she referred me to another agency. They assigned me to a psychiatrist who retired six months later. Then they placed me with somebody else. He's got me on Celexa, which I started right before Thanksgiving. I have no idea how well it's working. I'm very high-functioning anyway, so getting through the holidays could have been just a coincidence. I figure I'll know how successful I've been when I finally get asked out on a date again. By an employed single guy in my age bracket. Sigh.
My mom is getting older, just like me. She's 86, and has a hip that badly needs replacing, and needs to be in assisted living. Most of the burden of her care falls on my sister, who lives nearby. I just feel guilty. The hip replacement is scheduled for the end of this month. Assisted living is sure to follow. My sister has found a place for her. They'll even let her keep her cat.
So, 2011 has major changes in store for my family: My daughter's wedding, my mother's surgery and her move to assisted living. As for me? I just hope to be able to get through it all.
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