December 2019 - Page 3 of 4 - Adulting: Second- Half

I’m Positive

“Staying positive doesn’t mean you have to be happy all of the time, it means that even on hard days you know that better ones are coming.” – FofF (Twitter)

I think one of the added tricky elements of the holiday season, is that you often feel the onus to feel cheerful, happy and blessed, from morning until night. And on the days that you aren’t in slap-happy mode, you feel the need to berate yourself, more than ever, for not being/feeling grateful, productive, and glistening-ly excited. You put yourself on your own naughty list for not being overjoyed, every second of the day.

I consider myself to be a mostly upbeat person. I have a sunny, friendly disposition most of the time. Because of this, I think that I feel an expectation from others, (and truthfully, mostly from myself), to be in a jubilant way, all of the time. However, as we all know, the demand, “Be Happy”, doesn’t work like a switch. You can’t just magically turn “Happy” on. “Happy” can be as inconsistent as our strands of Christmas lights, working beautifully one second, and then the next second, turned off, for no particular rhyme or reason.

These last few days, three of my kids have seemed particularly stressed, preparing for, and taking their final exams. My husband and I have been prodding them along with, “It’s almost over. Christmas break is right around the corner.” For some people, the holidays, themselves, stir up so much turmoil and fuss, that their mantra is, “It’s almost over. The new year is right around the corner.” That’s being positive. That’s being hopeful that there will be a happy release, just around the corner, from anything that is tying you up in knots right now. So, “happy” is just a fleeting emotion, and like all emotions, “happy” comes and “happy” goes. Being a positive person, however, is a state of being. It is the looking for the silver lining, the understanding that the clouds will always pass, and the faith in yourself and in your Highest guide, that whatever you experience in life, you will manage it, learn from it and grow, and you will survive it. And that whole process just described is called thriving. Thriving is what positive people do. “Happy” is the cheaply made, not so reliable strand of twinkling lights. “Positive” is the Star of Wonder, faithfully shining in the skies of our hearts, every single day. Even when we can’t see it, we know that the star is there, guiding us along our journeys in Life. And it will see us through to our destination. I’m positive of that fact. Absolutely positive.

B-E-B

Today is my youngest son’s birthday. He is still away at college. He doesn’t have any final exams today, but he does have two tomorrow, so he’ll spend his day studying. We laughed together this morning, when we talked about that fact. Adult birthdays aren’t quite as magical as when you are little kid. Real life still has to happen, with a cake break, if you are lucky.

It is strange not having him home for his birthday. I have been through this now, with both of his older brothers, but it still feels strange. Is there anything more intimate between a mother and her child, than her child’s birthday? On the day of a child’s birth, the child gets the blessing of life on Earth breathed into them, and also, at that very moment, the mother has already begun the gradual, painful, yet affirming process of releasing her child and letting go.

I asked my son, “How do you feel about it being the last year of your teens?”

He answered, “How do you feel about it?”

My real unsaid response was this – Oh, honey, you don’t want me to unleash the storm of feelings that I feel on every single one of your and your sibling’s birthdays. The torrent of pride and love and bewilderment and fear and memories and giggles and gratefulness and giddiness and pain and hope and guilt and amusement and joy and awe would probably be too much for both of us to handle . . . . but maybe not. Maybe that torrent of emotion is what we both felt, on the crescendo of that beautiful winter day, nineteen years ago. And I think that we have both turned out pretty good, so far. We weather well. I know that I love our relationship. I know that I love you from the deepest wells of my heart. The relationships that I have with you and your siblings and your father, is what my makes my life sing its very song. Thank you for the gift of my sacred song.

Instead I answered, “I feel great! I’m proud of you. I love you. Have a wonderful day!” And then we hung up, and I let go, just a little more.

Life With Gusto

“You’re in my heart, you’re in my soul
You’ll be my breath should I grow old
You are my lover, you’re my best friend
You’re in my soul

My love for you is immeasurable
My respect for you immense
You’re ageless, timeless, lace and fineness
You’re beauty and elegance

You’re a rhapsody, a comedy
You’re a symphony and a play
You’re every love song ever written
But honey what do you see in me”

You were probably singing along to the above lyrics from the song “You’re In My Heart” by Rod Stewart, as you were reading them. (Admit it. I know you did. You are fun like that!) I have always thought that those lyrics were the best that I have ever heard in a love song, and what I really enjoy about the song, too, is that it is encased in such a fun, upbeat, easy-to-sing melody. It’s the kind of song that 25 people will belt out together, at a bar or a party, all looped together, in shoulder slung arms. I did some research and I found out that Rod had written that song, mostly for the Swedish model/actress, Britt Ekland. Having always been quite the “player” in romantic relationships (he has had three marriages, and eight children by five different mothers), Rod doomed their relationship to last only about two years, but the song will go on in popularity, for quite some time. The lyrics and the tune are timeless.

I think that Rod Stewart probably has a big heart . . . . a big heart in the sense that it is filled with a lust for life, rarely witnessed in other human beings. I just read that in the 26 years that Rod Stewart (now aged 74) made 13 musical albums, and went on tour 19 times, he was also creating a masterpiece. Rod Stewart just put the finishing touches on an epic model train railway city. This is how it is described: “a 124ft spread depicting an entire US city and inspired by the view from his childhood home.” (Twitter) So, while writing songs and rocking it out on stage, womanizing, being a dad and a husband, and a grandfather, and a knight, an avid car collector, and at one time, having given it a go at becoming a professional “footballer” (in America, we call them soccer players), Rod Stewart was working on his model train set. Apparently, though most of this awe-striking creation is kept in his Los Angeles’ home’s attic, he would bring parts of it on tour, keeping the part that he was working on, in its own separate hotel room, so that he could work on it, in between shows.

There must be a connection with musicians and train sets. One of my best friend’s boyfriend is an avid musician, who also faithfully attends his model train club meetings, at least once a week. Apparently, Roger Daltrey, Phil Collins, Neil Young, and Ronnie Wood, also share in the hobby.

Miniature train sets, are fascinating. When I was a kid, we made several trips to The Miniature Railroad and Village, owned by the Carnegie museums and now housed in the Carnegie Science Center in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The Ringling Museum in Sarasota, Florida also houses a magical train display, depicting the circus in the 1920s. My favorite part of both of these attractions, is how they simulate night and day, so when it gets dark, all of the the warm and twinkling lights on the buildings and street lamps start to glow.

I kind of got wander-y and meandering in this post, much like a charming little model train, making its way through towns and countrysides, and bridges and tunnels. I’ll park my post back in the station, of the point that I was trying to make all along. Life is grand. Life is full of possibilities. Life is so interesting because we are so interesting in the ways that we are INTERESTED. We all find ourselves attracted to different fascinations. What if we all started this upcoming new year (and new decade, for that matter) with an agreement to go after our interests, our hobbies, our passions, and our curiosities, with gusto? With wild abandonment? With unbridled enthusiasm? Can you imagine how great that would feel? Can you imagine the wonders that would come from that excited frenzy? Take the shoulds/what other people would think/judgments on level of “cool” or “sophisticated”/our somewhat limited beliefs on time constraints/worries that we aren’t talented enough/comparisons to others, etc. etc. right out of the equation and in the forever truism made popular by Nike – JUST DO IT.

Friends, in embarking on a whole new span of time – a new year, a new decade, in our decidedly short lifetimes, let’s throw the excuses out of the window, and get back on the tracks and see where they take us. It’s bound to be amazing. And much like a miniature train, it doesn’t have to end. It can loop around and around, reminding us, again and again, of just how damn delightful it is to be ALIVE.

Welcome to Soul Sunday

Our own little poetry workshop. Our safe space to toy with the words. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine. Today, mine came out to be a little more “prose style” . . . .

Chris

I just woke up and Chris is right here.

It’s just that there’s always Chris . . .

Chris is . . . . well, Chris is A LOT . . . .

When Chris comes, everything just seems to revolve around Chris.

“How does this relate to Chris? How does this honor Chris?”

Living your normal life when Chris is around, is almost impossible.

Chris always brings so much drama to everywhere and everyone. Chris is just one who brings out the best and yet also the worst, in everybody.

Chris seems to always bring that BIG load of baggage, every year. Every single year. And it seems, that every year, Chris just stays longer and longer and longer, always extending the stay. Chris is an expensive, messy, emotional, time consuming, exhausting house guest. Chris really should be named Great Expectations. Chris is the “Original GE.” OGE. That’s Chris, for ya.

Yet, everyone loves Chris! Everyone gets so excited for Chris to come every year! Everyone counts down, for the reliable arrival of Chris. And the truth is, I’m right there with them.

Chris is fun! Chris is colorful! Chris is generous! Always full of gifts and surprises! Chris has a way of making life feel just so much more rich and decadent and bright and hopeful! How can you not love Chris? Chris is just so amazing at connecting everyone and reminding everyone of their deepest bonds and fondest memories and greatest hopes and kindest selves. That’s just Chris’ way. And it is special to Chris. Truly, uniquely, special. Chris brings depth to life, in the ways that no one else can.

Maybe we are unfair to Chris. Maybe Chris just wants to be Chris. Chris doesn’t want to let anybody down. Chris just wants to be loved, just like the rest of us. Everybody loves Chris. Everybody hates Chris. But have we really taken time to figure out our own special relationship with Chris? Do we know what Chris means to us? Maybe Chris is different than our projections, or the many movies and books made about Chris, or even different than whatever anybody has told us about Chris or what they think that we should think about Chris. Maybe this year, I’ll spend some private time, some quiet time, just being with Chris, just observing Chris, just letting Chris show me the hidden depths and meaning of our own personal relationship with each other.

Chris is here to stay for a while, like it or not.

I love Chris. I truly do. Sometimes, I hate Chris. In the end, though, I know that there are reasons why Chris is in my life.

I think that I’ll really explore those reasons, this year.

Why not? Oh, wow, here’s Chris now.

I just woke up and Chris is right here.

“Hi Chris, what have you got planned for us today?”

Pounding Heads and Flying Reindeer

I have a migraine headache today. Migraines suck. For years, I had myself convinced that it was my sinuses, so on top of the unrelenting pounding on typically one side of my head (today it is the left side), I would force myself to inhale copious amounts of saltwater with the use of various ancient torture contraptions called neti-pots. I effectively water-boarded myself, on a regular basis, to add to the torment that my body was already going through and I never understood why it didn’t work. What can I say, other than admitting that I can be a very obtuse, stubborn, know-it-all? I own that fact. (all of my friends and my family are nodding their heads vigorously, and clucking their tongues right now) Anyway, I worked with a woman who told me that she gets migraines and she described them and it is only then, in my mid-forties, that I realized that I am prone to migraine headaches. If you think you have sinus issues and these issues are not getting resolved, look up migraines. It could be an a-ha moment for you, like it was for me. I have medication now, that is usually very effective in thwarting my migraines, but I waited too long to take it, and I have a hair appointment in an hour or so, that I can’t cancel, because my stylist is headed out of town. My hair is already looking “ombre-ish” (not on purpose) with unsightly greys melding into faded out blondish-brown, that could use a major dose of color and shine. I don’t do wigs, and we have the usual list of holiday get-togethers/command performances, so today’s experience will be reminiscent of my previous self-torture days of a pounding headache, with my head in the sink, for what will feel like a never-ending eternity. Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo.

Enough of the complaining . . . . yesterday, my friend texted our group chat that yesterday was the anniversary of the “Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer” Christmas special. The first one debuted in 1964. We got all excited thinking that we were the first kids to grow up, believing in Rudolph. We were the first kids to buy into the legend of a flying reindeer, with a glowing red nose. It turns out that the Rudolph song was written in the 1930s, so it was really our grandparents who were the first kids to have the red-nosed reindeer added to their Santa lore, but I don’t begrudge them for that, too much. They were the Greatest Generation and they deserve that distinction, and all the fun that Rudolph adds to the magic of Christmas. (I’m in Generation X. We don’t deserve anything – ha!) The Rudolph reminiscing got me to thinking about my children’s Santa experiences and that inevitable questioning that comes out, when their reasoning skills (and exposure to the outside world) start to become honed. My middle son is a scientist, at his core. He is the only person whom I have ever met who has used “Organic Chemistry” and “fun” in the same sentence. He likes things to be factual and black and white. He doesn’t like subtleties and nuances and philosophy and subjectivity. At all. So, when he started questioning the whole Santa scenario, he came to me, in a very serious tone. I think that he had been doubting the validity of the Santa chronicles for quite some time, but like every little kid that I know, he felt the need to hedge his bets. If, in fact, Santa was the real deal, and my son was a doubter, he couldn’t stomach the idea, of his siblings and friends, lavishing in their piles of shiny, new, exciting toys, while all he got was dirty, in his little pile of coal.

“Mom,” he said, looking me directly in the eye. “Look, to be clear, I still believe in Santa, okay, but, Mom, flying reindeer?!? I mean, come on?! I don’t believe in flying reindeer.”

Now I’m chuckling. Now my head is pounding even more. I hope that today, you get some chuckles from some of your fondest Christmas memories, minus any headaches. Now go do some decorating and jot down some poems to share, for tomorrow’s soul Sunday. Ciao.

Brilliant! Friday!

Happy Friday, my brilliant readers and friends!! New readers, today is Favorite Things Friday. On Fridays, I list at least three of my favorite anythings and I strongly encourage you to share your favorites in the Comments section. Also, check out previous Friday posts for other good recommendations to make your life just a little more warm and snuggly . . . which segues me into describing one of my all-time favorites. I love my Poof! black, slinky, cozy, comfortable, comforting, cowl-neck sweater so much, that I bought three of them, so that I can wear one of them practically each and every morning, to take my daughter to school. (not sure how she feels about that, but hey, it’s not my pjs) This sweater just spoons against my body in just the perfect way. I could probably stretch the neck part of the sweater to fit my entire body, just by itself, if I wanted to, but that would make it look a body bag, which would take away from this sweater’s charm. I love it so much, that if I weren’t already married, I’d marry it (them). I’d marry my Poof! sweaters. Sorry, honey.

Okay today’s favorites:

Acupuncture – I made my first ever acupuncture appointment about a month ago, as a last ditch effort to get rid of a months long chronic eye twitch, before succumbing to a neurologist appointment, as suggested by my primary care doctor. A visit to two doctors plus an eye doctor, a bottle of tonic water, two different prescriptions for muscle relaxers, eye drops, eye spray, warm compresses, etc. The list goes on and on, and none of it worked. After just one session of acupuncture, I didn’t have an eye twitch for five hours straight and by three sessions, it was completely gone. I am so impressed and I have decided to make acupuncture part of my regular health regime. My health insurance even covers it, which is wise on their part, because I have cancelled the neurology appointment, which undoubtedly, would have involved expensive and stressful testing.

Prayer Box – I have a tiny little commercially made prayer box, which is very nice, but I just bought a bigger one, recently, at a local arts and crafts fair and I put my other little prayer box inside of that one. (As I have mentioned before, I worry and pray about just about everything.) I like prayer boxes because it forces me to write out what my concerns are, and then it makes me do the physical experience of leaving my troubles with God/Universe and getting on with my day. Plus, every once in a while I clean out my prayer box, and it never fails to amaze me, when I read about all of those things that were bothering me, that they have resolved themselves, sometimes not how I requested them to resolve, but usually in even better and more miraculous ways that my small mind could have imagined. So then, the next time a disturbance comes to my mind, I remind myself that it will resolve itself, like all of the other “problems and perplexities” piled in the prayer box.

Nars VIP Room Essentials Kit – Nars is expensive make-up, no doubt and I always like to try drug store brands first and then work my way up, if necessary. Still, Nars has a few items that I now consider essentials. Nars’ Laguna Bronzer and its Orgasm The Multiple Cheek Stick. (yes, Orgasm especially, is crucial . . . but you already knew that) I bought two of these kits on a crazy good Black Friday online special, but if you want to try the bronzer and the cheek stick, there are minis of these included in the kit, which also has lip crayons and Nars’ wonderful mascara. I think that this kit is even worth its regular price.

Duel Bag, Baby

Years ago, JCPenney came out with this classic commercial entitled “The Doghouse”. It is one of those videos that you can watch again and again, and still laugh out loud. There is a lot of controversy about the latest Peloton commercial, where a beautiful, thin, seemingly already too “hard on herself” young woman is surprised by the “gift” of a Peloton exercise bicycle from her husband for Christmas. While the actress was paid to look thrilled, the backlash from consumers, seems to suggest most other women would be less than excited and might want that $2500 that a Peloton costs, in other forms, such as a diamond or a check. Perhaps the ad makers could have done themselves quite a favor and saved the stock price of the Peloton company, by looking at the archives of wise, old commercials from Christmas’ past. This Ghost of Christmas Past has a lot to teach husbands/boyfriends/partners, in the present and in my opinion, for the LONG unseen future. Words to the wise, gentlemen, watch the commercial VERY closely. If your special lady doesn’t specifically ask for something, by name, that is exercise related, or home cleaning related, for a Christmas present this year, steer very clear. Look around your house for catalogs with circled items on them and listen closely when she talks. She’ll tell you what she really wants and my bets are not on any type of exercise equipment from you.

Marriage Story and more

On Friday, Noah Baumbach’s well-praised film, Marriage Story, is to be released on Netflix (it has been released to select theaters, a month ago or so and is getting quite a few Oscar nods from various film festival critics). I have always enjoyed Noah Baumbach’s quirky, yet heart-felt films. Much to my husband’s chagrin, I pulled out my TV show choice trump card (“We’ve been watching A LOT of football lately, don’t you think?”) and so last night, he and I watched The Squid and The Whale, a movie which I had seen several years ago, but wanted to see again, before eagerly lapping up Marriage Story on Friday. Both movies are semi-autobiographical. The Squid and the Whale is loosely based on Noah Baumbach’s parents’ divorce and is shown from a teenager’s viewpoint. Marriage Story takes a lot of its own material from Baumbach’s own divorce from the actress, Jennifer Jason Leigh.

I have been reading a lot of reviews about Marriage Story and I came across this particular quote from Noah Baumbach, that struck me, enough to put it in one of my flowing “quotes and interesting thoughts and inspirations and things to write about” notebooks. He says this about Marriage Story, his upcoming film:

“In a way, I feel talking about the movie, and hearing what other people think about it, helps me to understand it better myself.”

I LOVE that quote because that is how I feel about my writing. When readers or friends or most often, my husband, comment about something that I have written, I can’t tell you how much my own thoughts and interpretations and emotions, come together even more so, in that very moment. I think that is why it is so precious as a writer, to feel heard and validated and understood. Sometimes someone will say something about what I have written, and I will think to myself, “Yes!! That is exactly what I was trying to convey and I didn’t even know that, myself, until NOW!” As a writer (and probably for any kind of creator or artist), that is one of the BEST feelings in the world.

It is nice to be praised. On the surface, it is feels good to collect “likes.” It is certainly lovely to feel noticed and appreciated. But it is glorious to have your own intuitive learnings and yearnings, to be interpreted back to you, by someone taking in and then describing and clarifying, your own creation back to you. By telling you the meaning, and the nuances, and the understanding, that they found in your creation, you fully understand the depth of your creation, even more so. I believe that when this electrifying dynamic happens, this is what creative connection is, in its truest, most profound form. And that, at its deepest core is truly why, authors want to be read, and artists want to be seen, and dancers want to be felt and musicians want to be heard . . . . . Creation wants us to remember that we are all connected.

It’s Just So Weird

One of our sons’ friends stopped by, over the Thanksgiving break. He is the youngest child in his family and a junior in college. His parents recently sold their big, suburban, family house and have settled into a smaller duplex in a charming, up and coming town, a few miles down the road. His parents originally planned to build a big house on the water, but scrapped those plans, as they found that they liked the freedom and ease and coziness, that the new condo provided for them. Our sons’ friend, having spent his first holiday in his parents’ new dwelling quarters, was decidedly unhappy.

“It was just so weird . . . just so, so weird . . . WEIRD!” he kept repeating to us, almost as if stuck in a mind-boggling loop of thought and agitation and confusion. Witnessing his friend’s obvious distress and disorientation, our middle son spoke out.

“Don’t ever do that,” my middle son ordered at us, in a very serious, firm tone. “Don’t move. Ever.”

I found my son’s edict amusing. It’s not like we are The Waltons who have lived in the same house for the entire existence of our family life. Our middle son has lived in three different states and five different homes, since he was born. Still, myself, remembering the first time that my parents moved into a home that I had never lived in (for me, that was even after I was married), I remember feeling that same zombie-like uncomfortableness that my son’s friend was feeling. For the first time in my life, my parents’ home was truly and completely THEIR home, and not really MY home anymore. And that signified more than just their physical dwellings.

It’s rites of passage like these, that clearly delineate the fact that our parents are their own people with their own lives to lead, and not just the designated heads of household, leading the family ship around the vast waters of our lives, while we “rebel”, but still hang on to the safety ropes, pretending to ourselves and to others, that our parents have handcuffed us to those ropes. It is a dawning moment when you see your parents move on with their own lives and experiences, because it is moments like these, that more clearly point out the hard and true fact that your own individual, independent life, is really just your own. While still being loved, and cheered on, and hugged from time to time, your rope has been freed. Sink or swim, your life is truly, your own. Your life is your own.

I think what got me into the same woo-woo, weird mental state as my sons’ friend, was the sudden dawning that the torch has really, really been passed. It is now our children that are no longer seeing us on our pristine pedestals of knowledge, authority, and leadership, but more fully understanding that we are just two people who co-created them, along with the Universe. My husband and I did our best, to give our four children a healthy, loving, secure start. Still, for all of our family members’ sake, my husband and I now have to put more of the focus back onto our own lives. We do this with the faith and with the trust that our deep, abiding love for our children and their own inner navigation, with guidance from Above, will carry them on with purpose and meaning and hope, in order to create the adult lives that they are now only just embarking on, with dreams and visions of mighty futures.

Another hard truth is, with as much feeling and meaning that we attach to a lot of our physical things, a house is just a house. It is just a safe place, a dwelling, a nest to come home to and to rest. Nevertheless, as we constantly grow and change in our needs and in our ways, the permanent fixture of a sturdy, firmly planted house, sometimes no longer fits our new selves nor our new ways of life. And as safe as a house makes us feel, a house is destructible. A house is in a constant state of decay and disrepair, and in decades to come, even the oldest and most well-preserved of houses, will no longer be here nor be remembered. What IS steadfast and what will never be destructed, is the love that created the family and the memories and the experiences and the growth and the support that was contained, all inside of the house. That love is carried on to every home that every family member will ever dwell in. After the initial shock of realizing that parents move and change and age and even pass on, I hope that all children, of every age, will realize that their true home and the true home of everyone who they care about and even people whom they just meet, dwells inside each person. Love is their real home, and it is kept safely and securely and deeply, in the beat of each of our own beautiful hearts. And it is indestructible.

The Magic

There is a man who lives up the road from us, who puts on a synchronized to music, Holiday light show, the likes that I have never seen. It beats the shows that I have witnessed at high-end outdoor shopping malls. There is no doubt in my mind that this man must have worked as a light and sound engineer for Disney, or was a major concert engineer for big time bands, in his younger years. He even has a snow machine (which in the South, equates to bubbles that seriously look like real snow, until you taste a “flake”.) The extravaganza goes on forever. He even incorporates Hanukkah and Kwanzaa music. Last night, there was a line of cars, walkers and bikers staring at the wondrous sight. Little kids were dancing in the streets. The mastermind, himself, passed around candy canes. It was overwhelmingly, breathtakingly fabulous. And I am sure that his immediate neighbors are ready to kill him.

I had such a staggering concoction of emotions stirring up in me, as I watched the lights dance vividly to all the familiar Christmas tunes which I have heard for almost 49 years now. I had a childlike giddiness and anticipation, mixed with some nostalgia, plus some numbness from sensory overload, with a pinch of annoyance and sympathy for his neighbors across the street, all topped with a contagious joy that came from admiration and pride for this man’s talent and spirit and excitement. I wanted it to end and yet to never end, all at the same time.

It struck me as to why we have come to so outwardly express our jubilance for the holiday season, as a society. There is probably no other time in the year, where the blend of feelings and emotions inside of each of us, reaches such a crescendo, such a summit, such a summation of what it feels to be alive, that it has to burst out of us, somehow, in brightly colored lights, in loudly-sung, familiar, merry songs, in rich, decadent food, and in sparkly apparel. And then, after all of that “bursting”, we are left searching for some solace and calm, which we find in a quiet, peaceful manger scene or a beautiful lighted candle, or in the peaceful face of a sleeping loved one, or in an untouched snowy night under a starry sky. Perhaps, the holidays are just a microcosm of our entire living experience. I guess that is maybe the real meaning of the oft quoted, “magic of the holidays.”