Category Archives: Pause Points

Ordinary legacy moments in time.

The Woman in the Moon

Posted on by

 

2013-12-18 Good Morning from Stowe Lane (2)

I am a lunatic. Not in the insane sense of the word but in the suffering from the belief that lunacy fluctuates with the phases of the moon, like this week for instance, sense of the word. It’s that everything gets blown out of proportion, am I doing anything right, every picture of me looks horrible, have I done enough for womankind, why do I always have to do everything on my own kind of lunacy.

It started with a request to pick a song to sum up our experience in Houston recently and all kinds of ideas flood your head. You come across the most amazing things when looking through old playlists; I mean really old playlists, like 1976 kind of old. A lot was happening then, for me, for women, for our country. I was in my twenties; working at a great job, thin, single (I wouldn’t meet himself until 1977) in my fabulous polyester shoulder padded pant suit the world was mine. I was part of the second wave of feminism and there was nothing holding me back. Barbra Streisand and Khris Khristopherson (who was incredibly hot at the time) were starring in the remake of A Star is Born which illustrated the feminism verses all in for love that was still a bit of a struggle for so many women. I was a huge fan of Streisand and her song Woman in the Moon became my mantra.

I was warned as a child of thirteen, not to act too strong

Try to look like you belong but don’t push, girl

Save your time and trouble, don’t misbehave

I was raised in a ‘No you don’t’ world, overrun with rules

Memorize your lines and move as directed

That’s an age old story, everybody knows that’s a worn out song

Ok so maybe I didn’t pay any attention to those things anyway but they were certainly prevalent.

I believe there’s a best of both worlds, mixing old and new

Recognizing change is seldom expected

As I long suspected, they believed that strange was a word for wrong

Well, not in my song ’cause you, you and I are changing that tune

We’re learning the rhythms from that woman in the moon

Here’s the thing, since I’m back from Houston I’m wondering where the hell am I going to find like-minded people.  I’ve become strange, again.   I’ve gotten myself so firmly ensconced in everyone’s life in a certain way that I wonder how I’m going to a)let them down easy when I really don’t feel like doing things the same old way and b) remove the armor I’ve built around me to find someone amazing to do things with. As my friend Sandra calls it, an Emory (I’ll save that for another post).  I’ve come to this A and B because of a picture, one that, let’s just say didn’t show off my best side.  What I initially did with this picture was dictated completely by the full moon, meaning I freaked out at just how big I’d gotten, how much I didn’t recognize myself, how much self-pity I could summon up for the lack of having anyone to “help” me.  In other words why didn’t anyone want to play with me…Oh God it was ugly and completely ridiculous but don’t lie, you’ve had that same conversation with yourself at some point (probably under a full moon too).  They say that it’s not what happens to you, it’s what you do with it.  I took the picture and made it into something completely different, something I could relate to, something creative and I gave it to the people I trust.  True to form they responded in kind, with a cheer and encouragement, not even knowing the circumstances of my momentary lunacy, well except for Sandra who has an uncanny way of just calling at the right moment.

9442_10201892903164477_5991284434037354943_n

The point is this, in 1976 I had everything in front of me, I was surrounded by like-minded people who were fighting for the very same thing, it was critical mass.  I don’t have that now, but the words of that song still ring true for me.  What a gift to be given a second chance at fulfilling that destiny with a mantra to boot.  So now, yes I’m a lunatic, but I just might also be the Woman in the Moon.

‘Cause they can hold back the tide

But they can never hold the woman

I said, “The woman in the moon”

 

The North Wind

Posted on by

NJ Botanical Gardens (3)

If perchance your hopes had been disappointed, you learned never to ask for more. So through good times and bad, famine and feast, the villagers held fast to their traditions. Until, one winter day, a sly wind blew in from the North…Chocolat’

The north wind blew in last night; you could hear it in the chimney and through the windows.  The wind was wicked this morning on our walk but we got our hour back and I was grateful for the light.  I’m sure our morning walk is going to require gloves and more layers going forward and today forced me into corduroy leggings (the most God awful, least flattering, still have them on as I write this piece of clothing in the world if you are round).

You can tell by today that winter is coming but I love that it’s coming.  I love burrowing down into my home; it’s quite possible I may light the first fire of the season tonight.  I love the weight of an extra blanket on the bed and that the girls snore a bit louder in winter. It’s really not a hardship for me; most of what I do is solitary (writing, photos, “real job” subject matter expert…it’s a tiny little subject) so when everyone hibernates and longs for spring I’m doing my thing in a house that smells like roasting, eating soups and stews.

My office is the sunniest room in the house and the afternoon sun warms it even on the coldest days.  It’s conducive to getting any kind of work done, be it administrative or creative.  The weather doesn’t matter to me; I do that kind of work that can be done anywhere.  I thought for a long time that I had a traditional job that chained me to a desk but not so.  With the advent of technology I can be anywhere and work by cell phone and laptop away from the chaos of an open floor plan office with not enough white noise and safely shielded from the harsh elements. For this I am grateful.

Any collaboration that is needed can be done by conference call or video blah blah.  I learned a wonderful lesson this week about creative collaboration.  It doesn’t have to be done head to head in the same room or even the same state.  One of my dear friends was moved by the same approach of winter and wrote about it.  She is not anxious for winter’s arrival the way I am.  I had the good fortune to be the one she trusted with her words.  I had even more good fortune to see her on my way home from a recent business trip.  I took some photos of her fall garden and together we created this (with her permission):

Winter is on It's Way

This was a week of gathering with friends in unexpected places but restorative to me none the less.  It was all the right people saying all the right things after I voiced my concern about where I’d find like-minded people who could understand that I didn’t go to Houston to learn to “color”.  There will be some people who hold fast to their traditions and they will be safely relegated to acquaintance.  While others on the tail of the sly north wind will be boosted even further into my heart.  All these people important as with both I have balance, but oh how I love those on the wind… I think we’ve got to measure goodness…by what we embrace…what we create…and who we include…Pere Henri…Chocolat’

 

And Whatever

Posted on by

Yes You Do

God knows I love a good rant. A good rant is spewed from righteous indignation, full of snappy repartee, hard to argue points, and substance. It’s fast, almost impossible to interrupt and it can have you standing on your feet if you agree, or slinking away if you’ve been proven wrong.   Think Aaron Sorkin, who can spin several different political points of view into one oh yeah we can all agree on that tiny thing. Think George Carlin, linguist extraordinaire going off about his post-modern manhood. Think Anne LaMotte who I call the world’s most amazing spiritual rantist. She has a way of looking at things that transcends the conventional but gets us all on the same page. Rantist is not yet a word, I’m working on that, there are days I truly aspire to be one… You see the common thread here? There is always one tiny thing that anyone listening can take away as their own.

Unless you rant for a living it’s usually a one time, get it off your chest; say what you have to say kind of thing. It’s hard to repeat if it comes from way down inside and really means something. What it is NOT is bitching. Bitching is excruciatingly slow, whiney, poor me, oh this and oh that and usually someone else’s fault and ends with “and whatever”!!!   I get people have something to bitch about but there’s a change that could be made somewhere in there and after hearing the same bitch over and over it’s enough. Just change one thing, just one, please. Then you’ll have something different to bitch about or shut up already. Can you tell I’ve heard more than a few of these this week?

I try not to bitch because I recognize the things I’m tempted to really bitch about have several very good solutions, none of which I’ve gotten off my ass to implement.   Yet, I mean I haven’t gotten off my ass to implement them yet. Right, don’t want to send that down on myself blah blah into the universe.  I can assure you I don’t live in a Que Sera Sera world and that shit travels…fast… Just sayin.

NJ Botanical Gardens (28)

That doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be an outlet for everyone who has that “thing” they’re stuck on. I’m not sure what that outlet should be because it’s personal. Mutual bitching partners? Pity parties? Racquetball? That used to work for me but my joints are long past bouncing off the walls. No it’s more like a photo walk for me now. I say I haven’t found my bitch and purge outlet yet but here I am bitching and purging.

If you can learn how to rant, do. It’s amazing and cathartic. You don’t have to do it out loud if that’s not your thing. I recently met a wonderful woman who posted her rant on Facebook. Just the other day I made an alternate response to an email that made me feel much better about the ridiculousness of the original request from someone who had no business speaking on behalf of….well anyone. There is a wonderful finality in the Whewwwww.

You’ll feel much better. I rant therefore I am…Dennis Miller

My Mother’s Italian Curse

Posted on by

DSC_6239

“Sooner or later in life, we will all take our own turn being in the position we once had someone else in.” ― Ashly Lorenzana

This has been the week of the girls upstairs.  My great reckoning that, truly, what goes around comes around.  One of the girls is little, 16 months old, the other around 5.  I don’t know their names yet but I know like I know that the older is some reincarnation of the reason why I don’t have children.  I was that girl; the one who could throw a tantrum at a moment’s notice with the veracity of a studied lunatic.  These were no ordinary tantrums they came complete with the true belief in the injustice that was being thrust upon me by…whatever, whoever.  They had screaming, crying, hair pulling, foot stomping and the throwing of oneself on the floor.  Kid you not. They are the reason my mother would turn, usually calmly, and issue the Italian curse; you should have children just like you.  Oh no you don’t, watch this I vowed.  And years later I became the favorite Aunt and all was well.  Until now.

The upstairs Momma is genius, she leaves for work early and Dad gets the girls ready for the day.  Older girl wants none of it.  Every morning, I mean every morning.  As I’m making my coffee she begins to escalate into a fervor that can only be described as a percolation into boil over.  They are right above my kitchen, stomping and carrying on as if she is being tortured, which in the scheme of this five year old who boasts a princess on board sticker on the car, the latest outfits, and her own music (can we shut Brittney Spears up for just a minute? Really?), seems unlikely.   Dad is amazing, quiet, calm, going about the duties of the morning.  I can just picture him stepping over her toward the door and waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her to stomp down.  And stomp she does, all through the house.  In the kitchen she stomps so hard that my kitchen light blinks.  In their bedroom, above my office, she stomps so loud that Lina dives under my desk where I’ve put two cushions for her to sleep on.

In her moments of distain for the little one she can lash out with the standard, I hate you.  She will scream at whoever will listen (and that’s everyone when the windows are open) she’s not the good one…I know, I know I still say that my sister is the good one.  Because, well, this really didn’t happen from her.  And then there are the moments when she turns on the little one, in any number of ways, and the little one begins to cry.  That completely devastated sobbing that is the thing that will haunt big sister many years from now.  I know like I know.

I don’t get angry at all this morning chaos, it only lasts a short time, but I do get nostalgic in that I wish I had behaved differently kind of way when I was a kid.  In that how in the world did my parents ever talk to me again once I passed that stage? In that I will never forget the look on my sister’s face when I hit her and it took about three minutes for the tears to actually come out of her eyes.  God she was being brave but shit was that a crappy thing for me to do. “You have to appreciate where you have come from to know who you are in the present and who you would like to be in the future.”  ― Truth Devour

What I actually do is pray every morning now, for those girls, for those parents.  I have come to realize the power of that particular Italian curse and that even though you think you got over somehow you didn’t even come close.  And I pray that I have amassed enough Karmic equity so they move along from this stage quickly.

Amen.

 

That Guy

Posted on by

Around Nantucket (18)

“…vicinity to the sea is desirable, because it is easier to do nothing by the sea than anywhere else…― E.F. Benson

My worse fear of not returning to the Cape in September proved unfounded.  Not only did I return to the Cape but I was accompanied by two of my favorite people.  They are smart and funny and foodies and quick witted and did I mention funny.  When you find yourself on the beach at the very END of September and the weather is amazing and there is the smell of sun screen and the water bottles and the breeze you inevitable begin to people watch.  It can’t be helped.  You’ve covered the entire how is everything, how is the family, the deep thoughts and the near missed crisis and now you are just quiet and watching.

And there he is…that guy.  We’re looking up at what we thought was a kite but noooo it was a kite surfer, on the beach??, doing…something.  Perhaps practicing, perhaps testing the equipment, who the hell knows.  But he was definitely that-guy.  How did we know?  Because as he got closer his authoritative, maven, I’ve got this voice became clearer.  Following closely behind him was the equivalent of Chester trying to connect with Spike.  He finally relented and put the kite down and let Chester assist, under the very closest scrutiny, while expounding the latest and greatest equipment he had and the second set of equipment (not nearly the caliber of HIS equipment) that he might be willing to lend.  Three synchronized eye rolls and a vacation theme was born.

What’s the definition of that guy?  He’s the person everyone loves to hate and never wants to become.  The internet is overflowing with examples of that guy. One of the more interesting that-guy behaviors that we observed was while waiting for the return ferry from Nantucket. Queuing up behind us was a group of young men,  we didn’t turn around to see what they looked like we just listened.  It was obvious that one of the men was a bit older exhibiting the that-guy behavior of calling adult males “kiddo” (or “son” when they’re being condescending).  Or uses expressions that are clearly not in his vernacular like “right on” (because in your perfectly crisp striped shirt you think you can come close to Marvin Gaye.  Stop it right now).

There was another member of this group that clearly didn’t belong, although I’m sure he didn’t realize that.  Seems there was a compromising picture of him taken the night before that somehow wound up on Facebook.  He thought it was going to be treated at “private” but the  little shit that posted it was all “sorry Dude (a word I’ve come to loath because a. people call women dude and b.  there is really only one Dude, Lebowski). This exchange was so heart wrenching as the kid kept saying it’s all good, it’s all good.  No it’s not, that was that-guy behavior at its very wickedest.

If the line didn’t start moving there is no telling what would have come out of my mouth, just sayin.  We did get a look at them finally and true to our impressions they were of obvious means, perfectly coifed and crisp, even after a weekend on Nantucket and the obvious imbibing that went with it.  The exception, naturally, was the poor guy that got the proverbial sucker punch.  Thankfully the wind on the water was the blessing that prevented us from hearing any more of this nonsense.

Of course there are other forms of that-guy behavior like wearing a plaid shirt with opposing plaid shorts.  Then there was our neighbor who my Summer Sister figured for a preacher, dressed in his Sunday clothes with papers under his arm which we believed was his sermon.  He seemed a righteous that-guy type.  There was the kid that was a bit slow in serving our food at the Chatham Bars Inn because he was attending to the needs of two older, and I do mean older, women fussing about their tea.  These are the that-guys that bring a smile to one’s face, the ones that just make their way in the world being…well…that guy.

These men are about as far from the many definitions of that-guy as they can be, they aren’t out to impress any one they simply are…  As for the rest of the typical that-guys we weren’t impressed. They simply made for good conversation, very funny repartee and a helluva whirlwind vacation theme…relaxing and eating aside.