In my mind's mirror, I am 37 years old, with long blonde hair, tight muscles, a flat stomach, and all the energy in the world.
When I'm dancing my ass off, reality gives me a clearer picture.
The pain in my shoulder girdle: Is it the return of bursitis? The beginning of arthritis? Damaged muscles? Incipient cancer? This belly, which used to be concave and taut, now protrudes softly, and I haven't the muscles to hold it in. My torso feel heavy, my breasts saggy, and they never won't be again.
This is the natural progression. However much I may mourn the loss of my youthful beauty, I will not be ashamed of my aging beauty. I will not have surgery, not breasts, not double chin, not for any of it. This is what aging is, a natural process. Gravity and time cannot be stopped. To fight the process is madness and I won't spend the rest of my life fighting.
I'm sorry about the collapse of my breasts because Sweet Hubby likes him some boobies, and so do I. But my saggy breasts are still sensitive to SH's touch and soft in his hands. He and I are growing old together. I am so fortunate, so grateful to be married to someone who loves me for who I am rather than for how I look. I don't know how I would get through this without him and my siblings, who are likewise dealing with their aging, and who know me and love me no matter what.
Time is finite and the river only goes in one direction, so I believe there is nothing as important as enjoying the time, unless it is to help others enjoy theirs.
Friday, April 24, 2020
Monday, April 20, 2020
Love Letter to Jackson and Sarah
Last night I was dancing my ass off to Jackson Browne's "Running on Empty". I think that song is about how hard it is to be famous and never be allowed to be less than your best, always your public self. Sweet Hubby and I saw Browne in concert - was it just last summer? And he was awesome, played all night, and managed to make it look as though he were glad to be there, doin' it as though for the first time, after how many thousands of times singing all those songs over and over and over.
I also, for some reason I haven't discovered yet, was thinking about Sarah Jessica Parker. Oh yes, it was because I started reading A.R. Gurney's play Sylvia. In the Broadway premiere, SJP played the lead role of Sylvia, who happens to be a dog. Gurney actually dedicates the script to her. I absolutely adore Parker. She has a sweetness that really can't be faked. But how fierce, how dedicated, how fucking talented do you have to be to maintain that sweetness, always have it at the ready, even as you go through marriage and children and aging, all in public?
This is why I don't care for those moments when Parker's roles require her to simper. She can pull it off because she's got that voice, that smile, that hair, and that lovely sweetness. But she's acting, because the actress, the woman, must be very, very strong, not a simperer at all. It takes strength to stay that thin. It takes strength to stay true to your self and your family even as you remain a public figure. It takes strength not to become cynical or world-weary.
These two people, who (whom?) I will never meet, have brought so much fucking joy into my life. I owe them both a great debt. They really do make it look easy. That's how good they are.
I also, for some reason I haven't discovered yet, was thinking about Sarah Jessica Parker. Oh yes, it was because I started reading A.R. Gurney's play Sylvia. In the Broadway premiere, SJP played the lead role of Sylvia, who happens to be a dog. Gurney actually dedicates the script to her. I absolutely adore Parker. She has a sweetness that really can't be faked. But how fierce, how dedicated, how fucking talented do you have to be to maintain that sweetness, always have it at the ready, even as you go through marriage and children and aging, all in public?
This is why I don't care for those moments when Parker's roles require her to simper. She can pull it off because she's got that voice, that smile, that hair, and that lovely sweetness. But she's acting, because the actress, the woman, must be very, very strong, not a simperer at all. It takes strength to stay that thin. It takes strength to stay true to your self and your family even as you remain a public figure. It takes strength not to become cynical or world-weary.
These two people, who (whom?) I will never meet, have brought so much fucking joy into my life. I owe them both a great debt. They really do make it look easy. That's how good they are.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Slow to evolve
I really am sick of all the hatred in this country and in the world, this looking for who to blame for what has gone wrong in our lives, who to be afraid of, who to be better than. We pink monkeys have been evolving for a long time. We've solved massive, complex problems, and still we can't seem to rise above our fear and opinions. Shouldn't we be getting better at this? Why are so many countries at war, wars that cost trillions of dollar, while millions of children live in ignorance and want? Why do we spend so much of our precious energy and time hating each other?
We must listen carefully for who in our lives gives us messages of hatred and fear. We must let these people out of our lives. Feeling as though you must always have a gun nearly is no way to live. We must learn to humanize one another. It's harder to hate "them" or "him" than it is to hate a person whose name you know or face your recognize or shoes you have stood in.
This is going to be just as hard for me as it will be for those people I have already decided are not willing to open their minds and hearts. I have a lot of work to do to live up to my own ideals.
Fantasy (I enjoy sharing my fantasies. They're mostly family-friendly.) (I do have a pretty big ego.)
So, fantasy: Sweet Hubby records me while I'm dancing my ass off, posts the video on YouTube, and Granny Owl becomes in Internet sensation. And of course there are people, youngsters mostly, who post about how gross it is to see a fat old lady with saggy boobs dancing around like a spazz. I would reply publicly, with just exactly the right amount of dignity and strength, "If you are fortunate enough to live as long as I have, I hope you have people in your life who cheer you on instead of tearing you down." And for just a moment, that becomes an Internet sensation, too, a reminder that we will all get old and that everyone needs cheering on at any age. The notoriety won't last long, of course. But some people's eyes might have been opened and so, for a moment, my life will have meant something.
We must listen carefully for who in our lives gives us messages of hatred and fear. We must let these people out of our lives. Feeling as though you must always have a gun nearly is no way to live. We must learn to humanize one another. It's harder to hate "them" or "him" than it is to hate a person whose name you know or face your recognize or shoes you have stood in.
This is going to be just as hard for me as it will be for those people I have already decided are not willing to open their minds and hearts. I have a lot of work to do to live up to my own ideals.
Fantasy (I enjoy sharing my fantasies. They're mostly family-friendly.) (I do have a pretty big ego.)
So, fantasy: Sweet Hubby records me while I'm dancing my ass off, posts the video on YouTube, and Granny Owl becomes in Internet sensation. And of course there are people, youngsters mostly, who post about how gross it is to see a fat old lady with saggy boobs dancing around like a spazz. I would reply publicly, with just exactly the right amount of dignity and strength, "If you are fortunate enough to live as long as I have, I hope you have people in your life who cheer you on instead of tearing you down." And for just a moment, that becomes an Internet sensation, too, a reminder that we will all get old and that everyone needs cheering on at any age. The notoriety won't last long, of course. But some people's eyes might have been opened and so, for a moment, my life will have meant something.
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Scolding Garth Brooks
Last night I was dancing to Garth Brooks. For some reason, the lyrics to his song "American Honky-Tonk Bar Association" really struck me, and not in a good way. I often don't pay much attention to lyrics, but last night I heard them clearly, and realized this is an anti-welfare song. There is one line, "We don't reach for handouts", followed immediately by "We reach for those who are down."
What the hell does he think welfare is but the government, on behalf of all of us who are doing better, reaching out a very large hand to those in need? Who are you, Garth, to decide who needs help and who doesn't? You in your mansion have no idea how much some people are suffering. What an ego you must have, to say you're better than other people because they haven't your extraordinary talent, your good luck, your professional management, your drive, your money.
Thank goodness the government is mandated to help those in need. If it were left up to us citizens, sure, there would be people who helped those in need, but probably more of us who would join you in despising those who are 'below' us, because it seems to be a human trait to want somebody to be better than. So maybe the shame on Garth is a shame on all of us.
FANTASY SEQUENCE
I've become an Internet sensation as outspoken Granny Owl. I'm standing on the sidelines of a big celebrity party when Garth Brooks approaches me. "So, you're the old lady who thinks I'm prejudiced," he says. I reply, with exactly the right amount of dignity and strength, "I think that song is, and you sing it, so yes, I guess I do." "You know," he says, "I'm a performer. My music is meant to appeal to my audience." "Then shame on you for appealing to people's prejudice. Your audience listens to you. You're a big part of their culture. Why sing a song which inflames their prejudices?" "In my defense, I didn't write that song," he says. "I know, but you chose it. Come on, you know what it is to sing a song for good. The one about the old Texas Ranger breaks my heart every time I listen to it. A lot of your songs are gorgeous and appeal to our hearts. You have a gift. Don't do hateful things with it."
Mike Greenblatt of Modern Screen's Country Music referred to the song as a "modern day redneck classic sung with a snarl and a smile - except that ill-advised line about welfare recipients."
I don't know why this song struck me hard enough to get me riled. It's from 1993, for heaven's sake, not exactly a hot topic. I guess I'm just sick of all the divisiveness in this country, all the choosing of sides and people being ugly to one another, the putting down of whole sections of the population based on ideas about them and us, and how 'they' are causing 'our' problems.
What the hell does he think welfare is but the government, on behalf of all of us who are doing better, reaching out a very large hand to those in need? Who are you, Garth, to decide who needs help and who doesn't? You in your mansion have no idea how much some people are suffering. What an ego you must have, to say you're better than other people because they haven't your extraordinary talent, your good luck, your professional management, your drive, your money.
Thank goodness the government is mandated to help those in need. If it were left up to us citizens, sure, there would be people who helped those in need, but probably more of us who would join you in despising those who are 'below' us, because it seems to be a human trait to want somebody to be better than. So maybe the shame on Garth is a shame on all of us.
FANTASY SEQUENCE
I've become an Internet sensation as outspoken Granny Owl. I'm standing on the sidelines of a big celebrity party when Garth Brooks approaches me. "So, you're the old lady who thinks I'm prejudiced," he says. I reply, with exactly the right amount of dignity and strength, "I think that song is, and you sing it, so yes, I guess I do." "You know," he says, "I'm a performer. My music is meant to appeal to my audience." "Then shame on you for appealing to people's prejudice. Your audience listens to you. You're a big part of their culture. Why sing a song which inflames their prejudices?" "In my defense, I didn't write that song," he says. "I know, but you chose it. Come on, you know what it is to sing a song for good. The one about the old Texas Ranger breaks my heart every time I listen to it. A lot of your songs are gorgeous and appeal to our hearts. You have a gift. Don't do hateful things with it."
Mike Greenblatt of Modern Screen's Country Music referred to the song as a "modern day redneck classic sung with a snarl and a smile - except that ill-advised line about welfare recipients."
I don't know why this song struck me hard enough to get me riled. It's from 1993, for heaven's sake, not exactly a hot topic. I guess I'm just sick of all the divisiveness in this country, all the choosing of sides and people being ugly to one another, the putting down of whole sections of the population based on ideas about them and us, and how 'they' are causing 'our' problems.
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
The Left is right
The reason the Right hates the Left is because we on the Left don't have the guts or the strength or the meanness of spirit to stop them from being their worst selves. They hate us the way a bully hates the nerd whose ass he is kicking. That anger become toxic, and sometime maniacal.
And that's how the Left wins. Not by brute force or unabashed competitiveness. We win by being the audience to the Right as they turn angrier and uglier, at the same time shouting about making this country great again. What they are doing and being has no greatness in it. Finally, most of them will become sickened by all that anger. Then, finally, the two ideological sides can begin to talk for real, and find answers, sane answers, to a lot of very difficult questions.
So go ahead, Right wingers. Be the bullies. Eventually even you will not be able to stand what you have become. You are naked to us, and we pity you the time you waste by deciding who to hate, who to be better than, who to be afraid of. It's all such a waste of life.
And that's how the Left wins. Not by brute force or unabashed competitiveness. We win by being the audience to the Right as they turn angrier and uglier, at the same time shouting about making this country great again. What they are doing and being has no greatness in it. Finally, most of them will become sickened by all that anger. Then, finally, the two ideological sides can begin to talk for real, and find answers, sane answers, to a lot of very difficult questions.
So go ahead, Right wingers. Be the bullies. Eventually even you will not be able to stand what you have become. You are naked to us, and we pity you the time you waste by deciding who to hate, who to be better than, who to be afraid of. It's all such a waste of life.
Monday, April 6, 2020
Dancing and Demons
Most evenings, I love to have a puff, put on music, and dance my ass off for a while. I hold one pound hand weights so that the activity feels sort of like a workout, but really, it's just the greatest fun. (Lately I've been dancing to the Beatles, and discovering anew how talented those men were, even when they were still moving from bubble gum through pop to rock 'n' roll and beyond.)
When I'm dancing, I often get strong ideas for plays I'm writing, or sometimes I'll have a spontaneous insight about something, political or domestic or social, whatever. Sometimes I lose myself in the music and movement and seem not to be thinking at all, but just being, a rare time of being in the moment. When I'm dancing is when I'm happiest.
It's also usually when I'm saddest and most depressed, because these are often the times when I'm visited by the demons of insecurity, awareness, and loss. I become aware of how much I'm aging, because I can feel every place in my body that hurts, feel how much weaker and less flexible I am than I used to be. There is a photo collage of Mom in the living room that I see when I'm dancing, and missing Mom often hits me sharply and painfully. I also miss my little girl cat Stachie, who used to be my audience when I first took up the dancing habit. She would glare at me for a while, waiting for me to sit so she could be in my lap, and then finally she would resign herself to my antics and curl up to nap until I came to my senses.
I will sometimes condemn myself as a worthless shit, and then feel even worse than that because I know that seeing how worthless I am will not inspire me to better myself, but is simply part of the cycle of the perpetuation of all that worthlessness. I become starkly aware of the glowing promise and possibility of the plays I'm writing, and how far the actual quality of my writing falls from that promise. I see all the places in my life where I let myself down, don't keep my word, make looking good more important than truth.
Through it all, I just keep dancing. I know those demons will never disappear, so may as well dance.
When I'm dancing, I often get strong ideas for plays I'm writing, or sometimes I'll have a spontaneous insight about something, political or domestic or social, whatever. Sometimes I lose myself in the music and movement and seem not to be thinking at all, but just being, a rare time of being in the moment. When I'm dancing is when I'm happiest.
It's also usually when I'm saddest and most depressed, because these are often the times when I'm visited by the demons of insecurity, awareness, and loss. I become aware of how much I'm aging, because I can feel every place in my body that hurts, feel how much weaker and less flexible I am than I used to be. There is a photo collage of Mom in the living room that I see when I'm dancing, and missing Mom often hits me sharply and painfully. I also miss my little girl cat Stachie, who used to be my audience when I first took up the dancing habit. She would glare at me for a while, waiting for me to sit so she could be in my lap, and then finally she would resign herself to my antics and curl up to nap until I came to my senses.
I will sometimes condemn myself as a worthless shit, and then feel even worse than that because I know that seeing how worthless I am will not inspire me to better myself, but is simply part of the cycle of the perpetuation of all that worthlessness. I become starkly aware of the glowing promise and possibility of the plays I'm writing, and how far the actual quality of my writing falls from that promise. I see all the places in my life where I let myself down, don't keep my word, make looking good more important than truth.
Through it all, I just keep dancing. I know those demons will never disappear, so may as well dance.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
If only...
I have seen the possible blessing of this time of virus isolation. My means of being a better person out in the world are fairly limited now. But I could - no, I can - no, I will use this time to become a better wife to Sweet Hubby. There is lots of room for improvement, and this is a perfect retreat time for that. I'm isolated with a man I absolutely adore and enjoy and trust, and who also sometimes irks me and brings out the Dad in me. I will use this time to authentically soften my spiky places, strengthen my patience and understanding and appreciation, and learn to let love be bigger and kinder.
I could/can/will reinvent or reassert myself as a playwright. This could be the biggest blessing of all, all this quiet time with no running off to visit with friends or go out to eat or see plays and movies. I'm going to have to dig deep to do this, really focus myself. And if I don't, there will be no shame in it. I will simply recognize that my playwriting days are behind me, that I haven't the juice for it any more. I won't have to struggle with it; it will happen quite naturally.
Ah, if only...
I could/can/will reinvent or reassert myself as a playwright. This could be the biggest blessing of all, all this quiet time with no running off to visit with friends or go out to eat or see plays and movies. I'm going to have to dig deep to do this, really focus myself. And if I don't, there will be no shame in it. I will simply recognize that my playwriting days are behind me, that I haven't the juice for it any more. I won't have to struggle with it; it will happen quite naturally.
Ah, if only...
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