Sweet Hubby and I sometimes wish we had met long ago so that we could have shared more of our lives. But we also have to admit that we might not have taken to one another if we had met when we were younger. I know that I, for one, had an awful lot of lessons to learn in order to mature as a person and be a fit partner, and so, in my youthful flailings and longings, found an awful lot of teachers.
My first boyfriend, Tom, taught me what romantic love feels like, and the astounding sensations of sex - although I also learned about my own conflicted feelings about my burgeoning adulthood. He also gave me the opportunity to learn that if I'm going to break someone's heart, better to do it sooner than later.
My first husband, Paul, taught me that a good friend + sexual attraction doesn't automatically make for a good marriage. The most important lesson I learned from this ultimately dreadful experience is that, if I feel strongly that something is amiss, no matter how often I'm told I'm wrong and crazy, something is actually amiss. I might never have recovered trust in my own senses and instincts if not for his post-divorce confessions to compulsive infidelities.
The artist Tom brought a lot of wonderful adventures, experiences, and teachings into my life. With him, I found a new level of enchantment with nature as we camped and hiked. I had my eyes opened to the New Age, with meditation at home and in retreats, with sweat lodges and magic mushrooms, books about Buddhism. We became vegetarians, even though I had never thought I could give up hamburgers and bacon. His dedication to his art strengthened mine to mine. However, the most important lessons I staggered away with were 1) No matter how enraptured I am with someone, if my friends and family can't stand him, he is not the right person for me, and 2) If I'm quite sure I want to be married, I should not be with someone who adamantly does not.
Bob the sex addict taught me that I should end a relationship the moment I'm crying more than smiling.
There were other teachers - many, many, many other teachers. (I am a very slow learner.) But once I met Sweet Hubby, all the old bitterness, regrets, caustic stories, self-doubts, and resentments I'd been carrying around simply fell away and my poor old bruised heart was healed. I very quickly realized that I am in debt to all of the men I have loved, or liked, or just, you know, diddled around with, because they were the signposts along the path that brought me to SH.
SH has taught me that the secret to healthy love and a healthy marriage is ridiculously easy. Be with the right person for you. That's it. And it's ridiculously easy to know the right person, because he's the one you feel fully yourself with, fully accepted by, fully seen and known. He's the one whose company you never grow tired of, even through six months (and counting) of COVID lockdown. He's the one whose face you love to look at day after day.
It's not that we don't fight. We certainly do, about matters both important and dumb. But we never fight dirty or meanly. We keep at it until we see what it is that we are really fighting about, and then we deal with it, and then it's over.
So my thanks to those men from the past, and to SH for the present and the future. A crooked, hard road can sometimes lead to the most wonderful places.
Friday, August 28, 2020
Thursday, August 20, 2020
Not responsible, perhaps, but accountable most definitely
We must hold the current Republican members of Congress accountable, with our censure if we cannot stomach to mete out worse. They must be held accountable for the mess they have made of this country's standing in the world, and for the anger they have purposefully stirred up in their followers. For the damage to the environment and to the soul of America. They must be held accountable for the horrible things they have encouraged people to do, for their naked hypocrisy, for their cowardice.
I am chilled still by the memory of arenas full of people chanting "Lock her up!", encouraged and cheered on by the President. This man advocates putting his political opponents in jail. How did that not chill every one of us, including and especially those who were chanting? Did that not give them pause? Is that the country they want? One in which a thug leader can throw his opponents in jail? Is that truly how they believe America will be made great again?
I'm so tired of all of this, tired of my own outrage. I feel my sense of safety, my sense of trust, my sense of goodness eroding every day. Humans are capable of such miracles of invention and discovery, but there is that primal, savage part of us which, apparently, it does not take much to activate. It's terribly sad.
I can't help but be curious about what these people, villains at worst, co-conspirators at best, are going to think of themselves once they have been resoundingly removed from office. Will there be dozens of tell-all books in which they defend and excuse themselves? Will their senses clear enough for them to be shocked by their own complicity in Trump's mistakes, missteps, fraud, and downright malfeasance? Or will they go to their graves insisting they were serving the country?
When a demagogue's failings are so apparent to so many of us, how is it possible for more than half the Senate and almost half the House to act as they though they don't see those failings? How is any of this possible?
No more news for me for a while. Just rainbows and unicorns and puppies and kittens and peaches and lullabies and friendship and sweetness and the dawning of new days.
I am chilled still by the memory of arenas full of people chanting "Lock her up!", encouraged and cheered on by the President. This man advocates putting his political opponents in jail. How did that not chill every one of us, including and especially those who were chanting? Did that not give them pause? Is that the country they want? One in which a thug leader can throw his opponents in jail? Is that truly how they believe America will be made great again?
I'm so tired of all of this, tired of my own outrage. I feel my sense of safety, my sense of trust, my sense of goodness eroding every day. Humans are capable of such miracles of invention and discovery, but there is that primal, savage part of us which, apparently, it does not take much to activate. It's terribly sad.
I can't help but be curious about what these people, villains at worst, co-conspirators at best, are going to think of themselves once they have been resoundingly removed from office. Will there be dozens of tell-all books in which they defend and excuse themselves? Will their senses clear enough for them to be shocked by their own complicity in Trump's mistakes, missteps, fraud, and downright malfeasance? Or will they go to their graves insisting they were serving the country?
When a demagogue's failings are so apparent to so many of us, how is it possible for more than half the Senate and almost half the House to act as they though they don't see those failings? How is any of this possible?
No more news for me for a while. Just rainbows and unicorns and puppies and kittens and peaches and lullabies and friendship and sweetness and the dawning of new days.
Wednesday, August 12, 2020
#MeToo-ing Melissa
I can attest that the current sociopolitical, grammatical changes being wrought by the younger generations are having the desired effect. Even as an out-of-touch fuddy-duddy senior, I find I have become sensitive to words, ideas, images in a way I have never been before.
For example, I was recently dancing my ass off to Melissa Etheridge, that rockin' sockin' beat beauty. And the lyrics of one song, an older one titled "You Must Be Crazy For Me" really pulled me up short. Here are the lyrics:
'Cause when I kissed you last night
In my own backyard
You ran so fast
And you fought so hard
You must be crazy for me.
So, let's take a moment to look at those words.
"When I kissed you last night in my own backyard." So Melissa kissed the Love Object (hereafter referred to as LO). LO did not kiss Melissa, but was kissed, and it was in Melissa's backyard, so Melissa had what we might call the home court advantage.
"You ran so fast and you fought so hard."
So LO ran and fought. It's troubling that the running comes first, and then the fighting. I know, I know, poetic license, a need for the lyrics to scan and all that. But still, it's rather a disturbing image if taken at face value. LO ran and then fought, so we have to assume Melissa ran after LO and LO tried to fight her off. And all this time, Melissa is assuming that LO is actually being a tease, being coy, asking for it, saying "yes" by saying "no". It crossed my mind that Melissa might have been mocking or exposing the thinking of all those men and, so it seems, women who through the centuries have been using this twisted logic: If she (or he) fights, she (or he) really wants it.
It was not very long ago that lyrics like that would have seemed no more than something to sing to the rockin' sockin' tune and beat. But now my ears have become so sensitized, I can't help but see through the convention to the ickiness beneath.
I'm actually seeing and hearing all sorts of songs, movies, pictures differently these days. I watched Disney's animated "Peter Pan" not too long ago. It was the favorite movie of my childhood, one I watched over and over again, dreaming of flying, of escaping, of not growing old. This time, however, when it go to the number "What Makes the Red Man Red?" I was shocked, embarrassed, and ashamed, ashamed for my country's history and ashamed of myself for having taken so long to recognize the egregious and insulting stereotyping of Native Americans, those peoples killed off by the millions by the conquering Europeans.
I also recently re-watched "Gone With the Wind", another favorite movie. It sickened me to see Leslie Howard as Ashley Wilkes moping about because he has to work instead of going to bbq's and picnics, mourning for the good old days when the work was done by unpaid slave labor. The word slave isn't uttered in that movie even once. It's disgusting.
I wonder if there will ever be any real healing in this country until someone with a very big spotlight and microphone, such as the President or someone of that stature, finally says publicly that this country was founded on genocide and slavery, and that both are utterly wrong, indefensible. I don't know if racism can ever truly be eradicated in this country until it is pulled up by the roots, which means acknowledging both its history and its ghastliness. That's not reparations enough, but it seems like a good place, maybe the only place, to start.
And I will admit, as cantankerous as I can sometimes be about "they" having been co-opted and turned into a singular pronoun, I do very much appreciate that the young 'uns are doing their best to wake up the old 'uns like me so that we finally recognize for ourselves how unfair and out of balance this county is and has been from the first.
For example, I was recently dancing my ass off to Melissa Etheridge, that rockin' sockin' beat beauty. And the lyrics of one song, an older one titled "You Must Be Crazy For Me" really pulled me up short. Here are the lyrics:
'Cause when I kissed you last night
In my own backyard
You ran so fast
And you fought so hard
You must be crazy for me.
So, let's take a moment to look at those words.
"When I kissed you last night in my own backyard." So Melissa kissed the Love Object (hereafter referred to as LO). LO did not kiss Melissa, but was kissed, and it was in Melissa's backyard, so Melissa had what we might call the home court advantage.
"You ran so fast and you fought so hard."
So LO ran and fought. It's troubling that the running comes first, and then the fighting. I know, I know, poetic license, a need for the lyrics to scan and all that. But still, it's rather a disturbing image if taken at face value. LO ran and then fought, so we have to assume Melissa ran after LO and LO tried to fight her off. And all this time, Melissa is assuming that LO is actually being a tease, being coy, asking for it, saying "yes" by saying "no". It crossed my mind that Melissa might have been mocking or exposing the thinking of all those men and, so it seems, women who through the centuries have been using this twisted logic: If she (or he) fights, she (or he) really wants it.
It was not very long ago that lyrics like that would have seemed no more than something to sing to the rockin' sockin' tune and beat. But now my ears have become so sensitized, I can't help but see through the convention to the ickiness beneath.
I'm actually seeing and hearing all sorts of songs, movies, pictures differently these days. I watched Disney's animated "Peter Pan" not too long ago. It was the favorite movie of my childhood, one I watched over and over again, dreaming of flying, of escaping, of not growing old. This time, however, when it go to the number "What Makes the Red Man Red?" I was shocked, embarrassed, and ashamed, ashamed for my country's history and ashamed of myself for having taken so long to recognize the egregious and insulting stereotyping of Native Americans, those peoples killed off by the millions by the conquering Europeans.
I also recently re-watched "Gone With the Wind", another favorite movie. It sickened me to see Leslie Howard as Ashley Wilkes moping about because he has to work instead of going to bbq's and picnics, mourning for the good old days when the work was done by unpaid slave labor. The word slave isn't uttered in that movie even once. It's disgusting.
I wonder if there will ever be any real healing in this country until someone with a very big spotlight and microphone, such as the President or someone of that stature, finally says publicly that this country was founded on genocide and slavery, and that both are utterly wrong, indefensible. I don't know if racism can ever truly be eradicated in this country until it is pulled up by the roots, which means acknowledging both its history and its ghastliness. That's not reparations enough, but it seems like a good place, maybe the only place, to start.
And I will admit, as cantankerous as I can sometimes be about "they" having been co-opted and turned into a singular pronoun, I do very much appreciate that the young 'uns are doing their best to wake up the old 'uns like me so that we finally recognize for ourselves how unfair and out of balance this county is and has been from the first.
Monday, August 3, 2020
Lipton's 10
I am not a member of the Actors Studio of NY, I am not famous, and James Lipton is dead. These facts rather dash my hopes of ever being interviewed by Lipton on his long-running show "Inside the Actors Studio", which is terribly disappointing. I've always loved the fantasy of being the subject of that particular interview and interviewer, partly because, well, ego, but mostly because I have always wanted to answer his final 10 questions.
And then I realized that I can, right here, right now. Not with the same visibility, of course, but still, the fun will be in discovering what my answers are. So here we go:
1) What is your favorite word? I have always taken a very special delight in the word Mombasa, and serendipity is awfully fun, as is perspicacity. But I'd have to say that my all time favorite word is Sweet Hubby's name, followed closely by Mommy.
2) What is your least favorite word? Nigger. Cunt. Gook. Libtard. All the words people use to demean and diminish one another.
3) What turns you on? What makes me tingle sexually is private (and also probably pretty common; no equipment needed, thank you very much). What turns me on in other ways: The sound of wind in tall trees and scent of pine in sunshine. Acts of heroism, most of which I see in movies and plays. Writing a line of dialogue that comes out exactly right. Laughing laughing laughing. That most of all.
4) What turns you off? Ignorance that is stubborn and proud. And the usual things like other people's mucus and vomit.
5) What sound or noise to you love? That wind in the trees soughing sound, of course. The second movement of Beethoven's Seventh and the rousing chorus of his Ninth. Sweet Hubby telling me he loves me; I get to hear that several times a day, lucky me.
6) What sound or noise do you hate? The phone ringing used to turn me on because I used to assume it was good news or someone I wanted to talk to. But now I associate the phone with my sister calling to say our mother had died unexpectedly, plus there are all those robocalls and scam calls, so irritating. But my least favorite sound is a woman or child screaming. I always feel as though I have to do something, because if it were me screaming and I were really in trouble, I would want someone to do something. But I usually don't know where the sound came from nor what I should do. Very disturbing.
7) What is your favorite curse words? Good old "asshole" works for me when I want to describe somebody, although if I'm also partly amused I will call them "dirty dog dick licker". But when I'm really pissed, I'll just say "God fucking damn it". That's what comes out involuntarily, so I guess it must be my favorite.
8) What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Therapist, hands down.
9) What profession would you not like to do? Grade school teacher. I like teaching writing to older kids and adults, but the idea of sitting in a too large classroom trying to stimulate the interest of children who don't want to be there and have tremendous reserves of stifled energy, and of having to deliver the same material year after year just makes me sick, so hats off to all those who do it and do it well. I don't know that there is any more important profession in the world than educator.
10) If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? "You're my favorite."
And then I realized that I can, right here, right now. Not with the same visibility, of course, but still, the fun will be in discovering what my answers are. So here we go:
1) What is your favorite word? I have always taken a very special delight in the word Mombasa, and serendipity is awfully fun, as is perspicacity. But I'd have to say that my all time favorite word is Sweet Hubby's name, followed closely by Mommy.
2) What is your least favorite word? Nigger. Cunt. Gook. Libtard. All the words people use to demean and diminish one another.
3) What turns you on? What makes me tingle sexually is private (and also probably pretty common; no equipment needed, thank you very much). What turns me on in other ways: The sound of wind in tall trees and scent of pine in sunshine. Acts of heroism, most of which I see in movies and plays. Writing a line of dialogue that comes out exactly right. Laughing laughing laughing. That most of all.
4) What turns you off? Ignorance that is stubborn and proud. And the usual things like other people's mucus and vomit.
5) What sound or noise to you love? That wind in the trees soughing sound, of course. The second movement of Beethoven's Seventh and the rousing chorus of his Ninth. Sweet Hubby telling me he loves me; I get to hear that several times a day, lucky me.
6) What sound or noise do you hate? The phone ringing used to turn me on because I used to assume it was good news or someone I wanted to talk to. But now I associate the phone with my sister calling to say our mother had died unexpectedly, plus there are all those robocalls and scam calls, so irritating. But my least favorite sound is a woman or child screaming. I always feel as though I have to do something, because if it were me screaming and I were really in trouble, I would want someone to do something. But I usually don't know where the sound came from nor what I should do. Very disturbing.
7) What is your favorite curse words? Good old "asshole" works for me when I want to describe somebody, although if I'm also partly amused I will call them "dirty dog dick licker". But when I'm really pissed, I'll just say "God fucking damn it". That's what comes out involuntarily, so I guess it must be my favorite.
8) What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Therapist, hands down.
9) What profession would you not like to do? Grade school teacher. I like teaching writing to older kids and adults, but the idea of sitting in a too large classroom trying to stimulate the interest of children who don't want to be there and have tremendous reserves of stifled energy, and of having to deliver the same material year after year just makes me sick, so hats off to all those who do it and do it well. I don't know that there is any more important profession in the world than educator.
10) If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? "You're my favorite."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)