After the longest intro in the blogging world is the post that I had written last weekend to keep in all week while I read books, watched TV and did other totally superficial and horrifying home things. But life never turns out as planned so I did none of that, and took this off the first page as soon as possible because I didn’t want to see it. However, I do like it. And in writing it, I worked out what was bothering me, and got to thank a few people with shout outs and some more with just names because I’m too tired. But duh, to summarize, what was wrong, a week ago Friday was the fourth anniversary of my mom’s death which was just a month after that day–and I got it through and wrote the story that follows late Saturday night and y’all know the rest.
If there is anything wrong with being vain and wanting to retain youth, as in being able to travel, exercise, go out to restaurants, museums, beaches, and walk many miles a day until I am really old, do leave a comment.
Just realized why this upset me so much. I had gone through the fourth anniversary of 9/11 which also serves to remind me each year of the day that is coming 10/14. Felt really good about myself. Had the oral surgery and came home to crash…
Who the hell thinks they have a right to come onto my blog and to ask me what my purpose in life right now is? Then he smugly retorts his purpose is to take care of his son and support his wife, and he doesn’t have to look any further.
So because I’m not married nor have kids am I supposed to devote my life to higher nobler purposes? Maybe I have. Or am I still supposed to be searching for a purpose? I explore life in my posts and maybe look for some things bigger than myself in some of my posts. In others I don’t. That’s my right. It’s also my right not to brag about things I do that directly help other people because that’s personal. If I sound vague, it’s on purpose.
Not every Mitzvah has to be talked about; but if you look in my categories….I left a lucrative career in private industry to become an SSI Claims Rep. Didn’t think I was doing enough so I went to grad school–paid for it all by myself too–and became a geriatric social worker. Or is that devoid of purpose and meaning?
Should we just throw old people away? And what was that about me not be able to face the passing of my youth? Hey when you work in ancient non-renovated nursing home give me a holler. Because I faced aging and death every damn day. Didn’t include this before because it’s all over my blog. Please tell me again how superficial, self serving and devoid of meaning my life is. Maybe my blog is my release; maybe I like to be multi-faceted. Maybe it’s you noble right wingers who really live the shallow lives. I sure don’t. Picked the exact wrong person at the exact wrong time to insult, and you did insult me. Threatening me with “I have friends,” was funny. Because so do I; but I don’t go around saying that; they just show up
I feel that this person was insulting all people who don’t have a spouse and children. That angers me because it doesn’t mean that we’re devoid of purpose or of beliefs.
I am a “popular” blogger. I didn’t set out to be one. I began my blog for writing practice. My blog just grew on its own. Unlike the very popular radical right blogs–and I’m not saying that I’m in their “popularity league,” nor would I want to be, a wide variety of people read me. Maybe this is a higher purpose. Yeah I would want to be as popular as my friend, Mrs. M., but I’m not willing to do all the work she does, and our blogs are very different. That doesn’t mean we don’t like or respect each other; quite the opposite actually. She would have kicked “G” where it hurt, and just gone on.
No, I’m not warm and fuzzy, and have a cute blog with cute sayings. Though most people find me empathatic when they know me I don’t try to be on my blog. One of the things that I like about Mrs. M is that she invented a new blogging genre, warm, fuzzy and edgy
I did let this affect me more than it should have because I was in pain until Saturday, and let G’s comment affect me too much as I totally forgot that I had been through much the prior week.
Writing the following story made me happy and was part of my getting over my sadness at my mom’s death which as too many of you know was very sudden and very sad. This year the anniversary was the day after Yom Kippur, the most solemn day in the Jewish year, but also a time for new beginnings. I wasn’t in the mood to reflect this past week. I wanted to celebrate despite of the surgery, or perhaps because I braved it.
It’s difficult for me to understand how people can think I’m shallow when so much of my blog is devoted to causes–and I’m not talking politics. But aging ,well it’s just not cool; neither is wanting to see people in America unite. Because my causes aren’t your causes they’re just not important to you. Myopia is very sad.
It’s weird because I never actually thought of vanity as an issue particular to Democrats; I do remember Pat Nixon, and Nancy Reagan doesn’t look bad. Betsy Bloomingdale, I can go on with a list of influential Republican women who think you can never be too rich or too thin, but that might upset “G’s world view. And they’re had children, and are usually the right religion, so they mean something.
No I don’t have issues about not having children. I made that decision a long time ago not because I’m selfish but because I’m not. I won’t try to explain that–the reasons are all over my blog. Excuse me, if analyzing decisions and coming to them after much thought seem to be self centered. And anybody can get married, and most people can have children. Said most people not all.
Seems to me that takes little thought; Ally is one of my real heros because I know how much she wants a child, and how much she is willing to sacrifice for one. Her child will be very very lucky.
You see when you read blogs that aren’t just political or aren’t political at all, you get to know a person, and his or her aspirations. Dan, too tired to shout you out now, will soon. You, Jane, JC have over come problems that are almost beyond my comprehension. Almost. Have to stop all the shout outs now. Okay will continue tomorrow or Wednesday as Marinade Dave, Bone, Fat Lady–can’t call you that; it’s like calling TB the Bastard, you have all helped so much–and many more people. Have to comprise a list and check it twice. And Cranky who I could never call anything but Cranky or the Crank for short, going to get you to debate Doug and a few other people I mentioned–because they’re not all “liberal.”
Actually I always thought we liberals were supposed to be frumpy, wear old odd clothes and always carry a PBS bag. Maybe it’s only middle aged Democrats who aren’t supposed to be vain nor have a past that they don’t hide.
I also thought and will continue to think that vanity helps a person age better. This ensures taking care of yourself. Aging is an issue we don’t talk about enough nor do we have enough middle aged heros on TV, in movies or even in most best selling books. When people give their age and call me narcissitic for not getting with the program and embracing being older, I have to ask them what they’ve done to help age being embraced? I am writing my truth; not getting older is so much fun, as it presents problems and challenges that were once unimaginable to me.
I don’t write about menopause; I’m not a red-hat society type lady. Also I prefer writing about my past with only glimpses into the present as I don’t like writing about people who are currently in my life with a few notable exceptions.
As I’m not married nor have children, I must be looking for immortality through my writing. Truth, every writer looks for immortality through writing. It rarely happens. I understand and accept that. Most people look for immortality through something. I have written as to why to expect it from your children is silly.
We usually live in memories as long as there are people around to talk about us. Might not be your kid who can’t stand you, but the kid around the corner who spends 50 years talking about how mean you were one Halloween, and the story goes from his child to her child to somebody who knows your great grandson and tells him a funny anecdote about the mean neighbor his great grandparent couldn’t stand. Life’s funny that way
I do feel blog shy right now, and no, am not looking for comments backing me, nor am I feeling blog shy because people picked up on my “issues.” I am feeling blog shy because I have written in my blog every day for the past year, and am tired of the whole blogging thing. Need some perspective. Will really get around to comments, really!!!!!!!!!!!
Understand this: I will never be ashamed of who I am or who I was. I have banned one person from commenting for being an overt racist. I have been trying to get away from politics in Courting, sometimes I just can’t help myself. Let me also say that I don’t care about cursing. I’t’s so over used that it lost all meaning to me. I do believe in not being judgemental or nasty in comments in a personal blog. It serves no purpose but to gratify the commenter’s ego. I am very tired; have eaten one yogurt today, and still have much to do so I don’t know if I’m making sense.
That all said: This is one of my personal favorite stories, and I hope you like it. If you have read it please pick something from the Courting archives, though knowing me I’ll be back on Tuesday . Wow, if I weren’t so in need of food with some bite to it I would be feeling great. The funny thing is that I only get angry on the Internet.
In real life I’m the smiling person who tries to make people’s lives easier. I have been staying away from politics on purpose. Fall used to be my favorite time of year after summer, favorite in a different way; now it’s tinged with memories that I had finally come to terms with. While my blog might be public; comments shouldn’t be malicious.
I just can’t deal with it right now. I really wasn’t expecting a personalized attack on my character. I wrote a damn story; didn’t think I had to put a disclaimer on it.
All you people who still believe that I’m superficial, not working for a higher purpose, live only for myself and my own happiness–do leave a comment. Because I’m not in pain any more, and don’t know why I expected myself to be productive when I wasn’t supposed to be. Bad work ethic. Much as I miss my mom, that horrible pain began dissapating last year, and she now occupies the space in my heart next to my dad.
No matter how much this rambles, I like it, I really like it. Thank you all. And I promise that I won’t change a thing about me.
One day it hits you; you are truly middle aged, and rapidly getting older. But you can’t be you think, you’re a baby boomer. You’re vital, you’re healthy, you’re funny, you have disposal income or income you dispose of anyway.
You don’t have to put a kid through college; only save enough for you. Problem is you like to spend money. You do believe that living well is the best revenge, but you are saved from being put into the museum of conspicous spending by helping people when they’re having a tough time without being asked.
You realize all the absurdities and rationales in your thinking. Face it you’re a middle aged single childless woman who in a Barbara Pym novel would be wearing cardigans, wool skirts, wool stockings or something that they darned themselves. You’re a goddamned spinister; though you are divorced so probably technically not.
Darning socks or sewing anything is something that you have never attempted as you failed sewing in Seventh Grade even with your mother’s help.
Your mother had hated to sew because her mother made all her clothes. You thought that she should have hated to cook but she loved it, and assigned you and your sister to permanent salad detail. You have to admit that you make the best salads anywhere.
It’s just that ten years ago they made fun of baby boomers in a VW Bug commercial. Okay they always make fun of baby boomers; everything is blamed on baby boomers.
When you were 30 everybody was getting married or remarried; you were living with Zachary and wouldn’t keep knives in the house for fear that you would use it on him.
You think about this as your friend Nick comes over. He’s dressed in a fitted exaggerated pin strip suit and looks very good, with his short hair slicked back. A man’s hair has always been very important to you. You freely admit to being shallow when it comes to men which is why you really don’t trust yourself with one.
He manages a good restaurant in the neighborhood and is young enough to be your son. Actually he manages the restaurant for his Uncle Albert who was your friend years before you met Nick.
Albert’s gene pool is half Irish half Italian; he would have been good breeding material for the baby you never had. It would probably be better if he were half Greek half Italian as you’re half Irish by birth and think it’s great to mix the gene pool up. You just heard today from your half Turkish, Half East Indian friend, Jasmin. She is no longer working in Katmandu; but in New Dehli, as Director of another UN agency. She and Per had the most handsome, intelligent sons.
You and Jasmin often talked about how mutts made the most intelligent people as you partied the night away. She was the biggest pary animal you ever knew and that’s saying something. The Cambridge years were pure fun. When you think of them now, there were so many more hours in the day. You could work full time, go to school full time, actually study and go out at least five nights a week.
Once at Zeldas, a disco in Boston, some glitter from a hot sock became embedded in a blister that you got from your sandal becoming too tight as you danced the night away. Hot socks were great, but unlike boots you couldn’t keep your money, cigarettes and keys in them. Though some hotsocks were very thick and seemingly made to be a pocket book.
You ended up in the emergency room at Mass General several days later as you only had a gyn. For some reason the other women in the room all seemed to be prostitutes so when you explained that glitter from your hot sock had ended up in your toe and it was infected, you didn’t sound crazy. You had the same last name as a prominent surgeon at Mass General and for some reason all the nurses assumed that you were his daughter. You let them assume this as the prostitutes were talking your head off. Most of them knew you by sight as they and the transvestites seemed to be the only women who could afford the gowns in the store you worked on.
The store was on Boylston near Saks and on the other side The Public Gardens. It was a very easy commute from Harvard Square. You and Jasmin would laugh at the world known distinguished Harvard Professors, who were friends of her father, and would meet at the entrance to the Red Line to wait until ten AM when the subway fare went down to a dime. Was it only for senior citizens? You think not but can’t remember.
Yes during your glitter rock days you had a glitter hot sock emergency. You’re damn proud of it. And you won’t be eligible for senior citizen discounts for a long while, and damned if you’re going to look like you’re ready. After you finish your very extensive dental work, you’ll have your lip plumped. You don’t really need botox; even doctors tell you that. You’re perfect home micro dembrasion material, and you’ve been doing that forever. It just seemed right.
You haven’t seen your natural hair color in three decades; it’s something that you can’t believe you used to do for fun. Every shade of red known in the universe, and many that had never seen nature until they met your hair which had always been a force of nature. Now it’s brown with almost beige hilights. Suits you.
In your first college, almost everybody but you went to the same psychologist. The first time he saw you, he dubbed you “space chick with the electric hair.” Even at nineteen you knew there was something sleazy and not ethical about a psycholgist who discussed you with his patients, telling one what another had said. It all came back to you through the student body president and coffee house founder, who had a bad thing for you, and originated the conversation.
When you told your off again on again boyfriend or he who played a bazillion roles in your life about this several years ago he strongly disagreed with the “space chick” part. Funny, you had always found it funny because you know you can appear spacy. You both agreed “electric hair” was too perfect.
No you’re not going to go into older middle age gracefully. You’re going to be damn vain; it’s going to all be about you. You’ll make your mother’s ghost proud.
You’re a baby boomer which means that you both played by the rules and rewrote them. You can take care of yourself; you only need men for fun. And with that you look at Nick, smile, and ask what he wants to drink.
Put this in because I felt like writing it and then of course need an audience. Please don’t hate me if I don’t read blogs for a few days; please! Was a bit tipsy when I wrote it