I had a lot of free time this weekend, which is a beautiful thing. I actually got to sit out in the sun, and casually flip through my magazines, which have been piling up, like paper bricks, forming the “Wall of the Unread.” It turns out that In Style magazine is 25 years old this year. It was born, the same year that I got married. One of the features of this month’s issue, was interviews with frequent cover girls of In Style. They interviewed celebrity women like Jennifer Anniston, Demi Moore, Jessica Alba, Michelle Pfeiffer, Halle Berry, Salma Hayek, Kate Hudson and Meg Ryan, among others. They asked each woman to describe in a few words what she was like when she did her first cover for In Style, versus what she was like now, 25 years down the road. Here are some of the words that the women used to describe how they were in their first cover sessions, in their younger years (1994 – early 2000s):
sweet, naive, curious, hopeful, insecure, prickly, fiery, ambitious, overwhelmed, sassy, hardworking, loving, no idea where it was all headed, surprised, excited, immature, optimistic, flat-stomached, fearful
Here are some of the words these famous women use to describe themselves now:
strong, knowing, excited, dedicated, introspective, quirky, eccentric, happy, smart, independent, thoughtful, generous, more forgiving of myself, less controlling, blessed, centered, focused, content, very strong, always curious, still a nerd, more wise and less sure, very optimistic, humble, grateful, fearless
When I compared the lists, I realized that I have a lot more in common with these celebrity women than I would have ever guessed. All of these years of watching them on the big screen, I guess I always just equated them to the characters that they played, which were often bigger than life superheroes. (literally) It was interesting to see them from a very relate-able, humane view.
As I was reading my magazines, I had put on a cover-up that I haven’t worn in quite some time. The brand of this article of clothing is Gretchen Scott and this is what the company put on all of their tags:
Laugh More, Gripe Less, Ignore Critics, Say Yes, Order Dessert, Love Life
I think what is sweet about being 25 years older (and I believe that the above mentioned celebrity women would probably agree with me, based on their personality trait lists) is that I understand and I apply the wisdom of the Gretchen Scott clothing tag, more than I ever did. Love Life. It’s that simple.
Yesterday we went to one of my “happy places.” This happy place is an absolutely fabulous gourmet Italian market, filled with scrumptious cuisine, lots of kitsch, and a dessert selection worth waiting the half hour, until it is your turn to order. Not everyone is happy here. I overheard one woman talking on her cell phone, “I can’t believe that they brought us to this place. It’s a cluster. It’s insane.”
This market is so fantastic, that it is always filled with people. And the people are such a good microcosm of the entire world. You hear all sorts of languages being spoken. You see every age, every color, every style of fashion that you would see in an international airport or touristy shopping mall. I honestly would come to this precious market for the people watching alone. It takes an army of employees to run the show, including flag waving parking attendants. You definitely have to be in the right mindset before you visit it. At Christmas time, there are so many people in the market, that you kind of have to allow yourself to be pushed around in a mass blob, yelling your orders out to the serious, “no time for nonsense” employees, as you pass the meat section or the pasta section or the gourmet coffee stand, holding your old-fashioned bakery ticker number, high into the air.
Don’t get me started on the sandwiches. Each sandwich runs you around $7 and you will never taste a better combination of fresh bread, insanely fresh vegetables, any kind of protein you can imagine, and sauces that bring it together like no other can, and make the whole mash of it all just sing in harmony. Even though they are huge, I ordered two sandwiches, the hot Italian and the wasabi tuna, because I can never make up my mind which of the two sandwiches is better. I ate half of each for lunch and for dinner. And I went to bed with a smile on my face.
While I was sitting in the center of all of the collective, excited chaos, with our over-filled baskets (yes baskets), waiting for my husband and my daughter to bring us even more goodies and treasures to place into the baskets, I just breathed it all in. There was noisy chatter-y voices, and excited anticipatory expressions on everyone’s faces. Everyone there, no matter their ages, had transformed into their “inner kid in a candy store.” There were spilled drinks, and carts bumping ankles and little kids looking up, wide-eyed, overwhelmingly lost in a sea of legs. There was every scent you could imagine wafting in the air, overwhelmed by the best aromas of rich coffee, mixed with a whiff of fresh baking bread, and warm chocolate chip cookies, rounding it all out. I knew what to expect as we waited in line to just enter the market. I had set my mindset to the right dial of patience and presence, and so there, right in the center of it all, I just basked it all in.
I suppose, in the end, one woman’s insane cluster, is another woman’s cacophonous bundle of joy.
Today I noticed. Not every day that I drive my daughter to school, do I notice. Sometimes my mind is far away, focused on the to-do list for the day or trying to solve “a problem” that I have allowed to grow in my psyche and peppered it with fear and worry. But not today. Today I just noticed. I noticed people of all ages walking beautiful dogs of all varieties, so many that they could make up one of those gorgeous dog coffee table books that I can never seem to resist at Barnes and Noble. I noticed a strange dew covering an overgrown conglomerate of bushes that was actually so eye-catching, that if painted by just the right artist, or photographed by just the right photographer with just the right lens, this botanical mess would be shown to be a breathtaking masterpiece. I noticed that the brightly colored book mailbox, created by earnest Eagle Scouts, at the local church, where we stopped to drop a couple of books, was brimming with donations and I smiled to myself, knowing how many others share my love for reading. Today I noticed the kind eyes of the school police officer as he offered a reassuring smile to every child leaving their cars and I felt thankful, as I prayed for his safety, as he protects our children from dark forces that seem to swarm to the surface more these days. Today I noticed beautiful wild flowers blooming out of the wide mouth of an overworked sewer drain and I remembered that beauty can come out of the foulest of circumstances. Not every day that I drive my daughter to school, do I notice. But today . . . I noticed.
I started reading a book about menopause. (I realize that I have just lost all of my male readers. I am surprised that I have any male readers, but my macho, cigar smoking, ex-soldier cousin tells me that he is a fan and has quotes from my blog to prove it.) This book that I started reading, is a new-agey kind of book, popular in yoga circles, but apparently it has a lot of good advice on herbal remedies during this stage in a woman’s life. And, I am all about natural remedies.
However, when I first started reading the book, I was more than a little off-put, when the beginning of the book starts telling me to embrace the start of my changing into a “crone.”
What?! Is this some kind of cruel joke?! How evil, at this vulnerable time of my life, at this emotionally volatile stage of my existence, to suggest that I am turning into a crone!!
Here are some definitions of “crone”, I found on-line:
crone/krōn/
an old woman who is thin and ugly.
Crone definition is – a cruel or ugly old woman.
Wikipedia starts out mean, but gets a little nicer, at the end:
“The crone is a character in folklore and fairy tales, an old woman. In some stories, she is disagreeable, malicious, or sinister in manner, often with magical or supernatural associations that can make her either helpful or obstructing. The Crone is also an archetypal figure, a Wise Woman.” Wikipedia
Having matured (obviously, I’m at beginning crone-stage), I didn’t burn the book or even throw it at anyone, or even away. (the herbs must be working) I read further. And then, it all started making more sense and then I did more research, and by the end of it all, I started to almost embrace the term, “crone”. (almost)
In ancient times, the cycles of life, were highly revered and honored. Women’s life cycles were divided into three parts: Maiden, Mother and Crone, creating the “Triple Goddess.” The Crone was often thought to be the wisest, most powerful stage in a woman’s life, and that was very threatening to the “powers that be.” Here is some background from goddess-guide.com:
“In today’s society where we worship youth and beauty, this aspect of the Goddess is the most frightening and misunderstood of the three, as she represents our destruction, decay and death. Traditional societies however, view death as part of a cycle. . . . . In her positive aspect she is often depicted as a Grandmother, a wise woman, or a midwife. The word Crone is derived from the old word for crown, suggesting the wisdom that emanates from the head like a halo. Her own child baring days are past; she is the wisdom keeper, seer and healer and midwife, whose knowledge is sought out to guide others during life’s hardships and transitions. . . . . Unfortunately in the Middle Ages the church feared these wise women and the esteem with which their communities held them. Many of them were killed during the Inquisition and the wise woman of old was relegated to the Wicked Witch and Hag Archetype of our fairy tales. This is a corruption of the original meanings of the word witch and hag which respectively derived from the word wit, denoting wisdom and hagio meaning holy. Today as more woman live longer and take more prominent roles within society the tide is starting to turn as they start to reclaim their power.”
Another source had this to say: “In the days of the matriarchy, and in some matrifocal cultures yet, a woman who has completed her menopausal metamorphosis initiates young men into the ways of love play most pleasing to women. She is honored as the teller of truth and the keeper of peace. She is the tradition keeper and the people’s link to the spirit world.” – Susun Weed
Like anything, how we see any subject, all falls to our own perspectives and viewpoints. I, admittedly, am always a seeker of the positive point of view. If I am headed into “crone-hood”, these definitions are what I think describes a crone the best:
“The Crone is the wise-woman who has crossed the developmental threshold that marks her “a woman unto herself.” The Crone dusts the red dirt of the world from her feet and begins her real soul-centric work. The Crone has grown wise and potent enough to chart an inward course that takes her to the center of the world where she finds her authentic self in total communion with Life. She is then able to bring those gifts back and offer them to those around her.” -TreeSisters
And I’ll end with this:
“The Crone is a symbol of inherent wisdom that comes from experience. She has lived through love, sorrow, hope, and fear, coming out of it all a wise and confident spirit. Through these experiences she has learned the secrets of life and death and of the mysteries beyond this world. She has tasted death itself and watched those she loved make the journey before her. It is through her mourning that she faces death, grows to understand it, and becomes the gatekeeper between worlds.
The wisdom of the Crone comes only after learning the lessons of non-judgment and compassion. Through these lessons the Crone becomes the balancing scales between light and dark and between life and death. She is selfless, yet she loves herself. She is kind, yet she knows when to be harsh. She is free, she is compassionate, and she is wise. Only the Crone can complete the journey to the Otherworld and birth the Child of Completion.
The Crone is full of power. Her body is no longer fertile, but her mind is sharp and able. She no longer bleeds, keeping her power within her and owning it without shame or fear.” – boundariesarebeautiful.com
For all of the grumbling that I sometimes do, about technology and “Big Brother”, yesterday I found myself so grateful for what we have available to us, at the click of a button. I received pictures from family and friends sharing their weekend adventures with me. I tracked my son’s flight safely back from South America, to home. And when he got home, he shared so many pictures and videos with his father and I, that it almost felt like I had been there with him. (a little piece of my heart is always with him, but that goes without saying) I had a quick little text exchange with my youngest son, just enough to let him know how much I miss and love him, but also how excited I was for him and his new adventures at college. When he said that he missed the dogs, I was able to send some video of them, being their crazy, lovable selves, to him, in an instant. The peace of mind that modern technology affords, is a mother’s dream come true. Even if the rest of our family doesn’t always agree . . . .
Change is so acute, right when it first happens. Our house is eerily quiet with just the three of us, at home. Our dogs are especially clingy. They are so attuned to our emotional nuances. My friend pointed out something to me, before I even realized it. For the first time in our married life, my husband will be living in a female dominant household. I think that he’ll do alright. He comes from a family of five kids and he is the only boy. I always thought that he “got” females a little bit better than the average guy, because of that fact. I like that my daughter gets her father all to herself, for the next few years. This will be a very special time for them both.
We will be dropping my youngest son off at college tomorrow. I’ve written before that he is ready to move on and I am prepared. Having been through this twice before, makes it both easier and harder, all because I know what to expect. We’ll adjust.
We are going to have lunch today, just the two of us. That is a rare thing in a family of six. Children, even almost adult children, relish that undivided attention that one-on-one time with a parent gives to them. My son will be cracking jokes or saying things to get my goat. He’s the child who often heard me say, “Please stop being so inflammatory.” His teachers were always impressed that he knew a big word like “inflammatory.”
The funny thing is, my son will think that I will be listening to him, and I will be, to an extent. But I will be less intent on what he is saying and more intent in just savoring the whole essence of him – his familiar mannerisms, his quirky slang, his intense blue eyes. I read once that when you look at your child, you see every version of him or her, all at once. So when I am gazing intently at my youngest son today, I’ll see that round headed, easy-going baby who would pop his head up, just when I was convinced that I had gotten him to sleep. I’ll see that rough and tumble toddler with such a raspy voice that people told me he should be a radio announcer, when he was about three. I’ll see that little guy, who I peered at in the rear view mirror, as I took him to preschool, who talked and talked, making it easy for me to just rest and nod. I’ll see the young boy who was so tough on the football field and the basketball courts, yet so full of intense, righteous feeling, that he could never convincingly lie to anyone. I’ll see the skinny adolescent, always trying to keep up with his older brothers, yet eager to carve his own unique, impressive path. And all of those images will be encased in the handsome, earnest young man across from me at lunch, the young man with a broad shouldered 6’2″ frame, who will be making edgy remarks to get me off balance, all in playful good fun. I will savor him. I will be grateful for him. And I will swallow my tears before they show, because deep down, I know that we both are going to be just fine. We will have lunch together again, just the two of us, and the next time that we have lunch together, there will be a whole new interesting persona for me to get to know, added to all of the wonderful rest of them, that make up who my son is, to me.
I learned a new word this morning. I get a daily email from word genius and like an annoying, smug, little know-it-all kid in your honors English class, often I look at the “word of the day”, that comes on this email and I say to myself, “Oh, phhhh, I already know that word.” Well, lah-ti-f-ing-dah! (that one is not actually a real word. It’s not likely to be featured on word genius any time in the near future.)
Today’s word is a lovely word. I absolutely plan to add it to my vernacular. Today’s word is Senescence, pronounced Sa-ness-scents. It means “the aging process.” Now if you are thinking, “Oh, phhhh, I already know that word,” to you I say, “Well, Lah-ti-f-ing-dah!” I personally don’t recall ever hearing the word, senescence, and I think it sounds a hell of a lot better than the totally annoying, abrasive, constantly overused word “aging”, that seems to be coming at me at all angles, these days. Doesn’t Senescence Home sound like somewhere you’d actually want to got to, versus “Old Age Home”? Even “Anti-Senescence Cream” makes me want to put the cream back on the shelf, saying to myself, “Maybe I actually want some senescence. It sounds mysterious, sensual and sophisticated.”
Us second half adulters have earned our senescence, which to me, seems to really mean “the essence of sense.” We have so much sense now that we have matured, that we have lengthened the word “sense”, to “senescence”. I’m proud of my hard-earned senescence.
word genius likes to give you fun little facts about the “word of the day”. Today we read that tortoises have what is called negligible senescence, meaning that with proper care and exercise, tortoises can live indefinitely. I think that I might come out with a whole new skin care line. (because we don’t have enough of these products, right Ulta? Ha!) I will call it “Tortoiseshell Luxury Shield Cream – for elegant people who only want to experience negligible senescence.” Anyone offering seed money for this promising enterprise?!?
I am sure that I have written about this before, but it is so striking to me that the first half of adulting seems to be so much about building things up, attaining, creating and while there is still some of that momentum going on in the second half of adulting, a new, greater emphasis seems to be on the “letting go.”
One of my meditations this morning talked about the difference between perseverance (hanging in there) and just holding on. When we are just desperately “holding on”, sometimes we are not letting go of a situation or a person or a lifestyle or a job title, etc., that has long passed its expiration date. That’s not perseverance. This type of holding on can turn to desperation, and an inability to move on with our lives.
Anne Wilson Schaef writes this:
“Perseverance is continuing to work at something for as long as there is value in working at it. Perseverance is being appropriately related to ourselves, the situation, and others involved. It is the commitment to seeing something through to completion and the ability to recognize when the completion has been reached.”
I think a lot of us are really good at the stubborn, “dog-on-a-bone”, toughly hanging on, aspect of perseverance, but the understanding when the time has come to let go, is actually the much harder part for many of us. We have been taught not to be quitters, and to always have hope. But I think sometimes we are confused between the real conclusion to something, versus the happy ending that we are deeply attached to, in our minds. Or, sometimes, coming to an ending of something is difficult for us because it is just our individual time of conclusion, in a particular happening – kind of like the passing of a baton, in a long race. It is hard to comprehend that when we are a part of something, that we won’t necessarily always be the ones to see it through to the end, if there really even is a true ending. We have a hard time seeing ourselves as just one part of a long story or journey or adventure. We fear missing out.
It’s interesting to me that when we are blessed enough to reach the second half of our adulting, a time when we have hopefully gained a lot of experience, and the wisdom that comes from all that experience, life shows us that sometimes the hardest lessons often aren’t about the determination to attain something. The dedication to achieve a worthy experience of living, and the moxie, and the stamina, and the steadfastness it takes to even make it to our second halves, while all very important, has all been building to what is sometimes the biggest challenge of all. The hardest lesson, that which we have prepared for, with all of this spunk and all of this persistence, is really the ability to know when a particular lesson, experience, and/or adventure in life, has been exhausted of all that it was meant to teach us. It has been wrung out and we have to take the exit sign, on to our next, new journey. The upside of this, is that we can transfer our hard-earned perseverance to our new focuses in life. When we allow ourselves to surrender to the conclusion of an old adventure, we realize that the immense relief that we feel, frees up new, vital energy that we can put towards new, exciting adventures, making us feel more alive than ever. And, at this second half stage of the game, we now have the wisdom and confidence of knowing that we have the perseverance to see the new experience through to its end, and we also have the knowing that we have the strength to let “it” go, once that ending has arrived for us.
I’m so sorry that I haven’t been posting early, the last couple of days. I would like to pretend that it is because I am so enthralled with the seminars my son’s university has put together for us parents during the freshman orientation, but that would be a lie. Since my son is attending the same university that his older brothers have attended, I could honestly run some of the parent seminars myself. I have the slogans and fight songs memorized and I don’t need another campus tour. So, instead of attending the refresher courses this morning, my husband and I escaped to a quaint little historical nearby town, about 20 minutes away from campus. This town is known for its history and its antiquities, not for its WiFi connections. I cannot pretend that I found that fact to be entirely disappointing. This was one of those towns that really did feel like a movie set, a movie set dedicated to a different era – a time period when everything was slower paced, so slow-paced that it was like the town had decided to stand still and stay a while, swinging on the porch, as everything and everyone surrounding it, sped into the future at high-tech, warp speeds.
I wandered into one intriguing shop and got to talking with the owner, a lovely, dignified woman, who told me that she had owned and run the shop for 39 years. Her shop was “a feast for the eyes” and even though it was crammed full of things, she had so thoughtfully and so tastefully displayed everything, that it felt like you were walking through a perfectly restored story book. You started out in a lovely, aromatic garden section, walked through a festive Christmas village, wound around into an old-timey Americana rustic display of antiques and relics that still retained their original charm and now commanded prices ten times more than their original costs, and finally ended up in a corner of delightful Halloween decorations. This holiday corner almost managed to put the Christmas town to shame. The Halloween section was unbelievable, not at all kitschy, even with its bright, glittering orange trinkets covering the walls and the ceiling, from every imaginable angle.
“You really have an eye,” I told the owner. “I wish that I could make Halloween look like this, in my home . . . if it did, I would probably keep the decorations up, all year long, it’s that pretty!”
“Oh, it’s easy. You just need a lot of cute stuff,” she said modestly.
“No, usually a lot of stuff looks like a garbled, cluttered mess, but you make it look like a sensible, beautiful pattern,” I insisted.
She sighed. “You are right. I couldn’t teach any young ladies to do this anymore. They aren’t interested. These types of stores are soon to be relics of the past.”
I wanted to assure her that she was wrong, even as I sheepishly thought about how much of my own shopping habits have changed over the years. I probably shop for at least 80 percent of my purchases online and have them conveniently delivered right to my front door. The shop owner and I talked some more and I opened up to her about playing hooky from parent orientation. I admitted to this perfectly lovely stranger that I was growing out of the occupation (motherhood) that had been my major purpose in life, for over 23 years, and that I was struggling to find my next thing.
“That’s a hard stage. It’s hard when things come to a close,” the shop owner sighed again. We looked at each other knowingly, kindly, comfortingly. And then I purchased a beautiful Christmas ornament, fashioned from antique porcelain which was dressed up with a bow that the owner admitted that she had added to it, because her discerning eye knew that it was the bow that was the needed, magical touch. She wrapped my ornament carefully in beautiful colored tissue paper, and placed it gently in a brightly colored bag. And then, as I reluctantly left the unique and charming store, a store that reflected the love and creativity of the owner who nourished it, she smiled at me as she followed behind me. Then, she hesitantly turned the sign, the attractive sign hanging on the front door of the store, the sign adorned with a delicate, carefully considered ribbon of rope, to . . . Closed.
