Birthdays have become harder and harder for me; since turning 35.
I am currently sitting at my desk working on a Safety Protocol for a clinic with whom my father does business. It's kind of like Chinese, but I enjoy the challenge.
I am listening to my John Prine Pandora station. James Taylor's "Sweet Baby Jane" just came on. I smiled because I remember being 16. 20 years ago my mom and dad purchased a stereo for me. I was thrilled because it had the LATEST and GREATEST technology....a CD player.
The first two CDs I purchased were Phantom of the Opera and James Taylor.
Every night I would switch between the two as I sprawled out on the floor to do my homework.
Anyone who is remotely acquainted with me knows my deep, deep, deep love of Gilmore Girls, Amy Sherman Palladino's first creation. As you can imagine I was ecstatic to learn the news she would be creating a new television program. When I learned it would center around a ballet studio, dance, a thirty something-ish woman and four young teenage dancers...I nearly did a pirouette into a full on back flip! Two of my favorite things....BALLET AND AMY SHERMAN PALLADINO!!!! (Or ASP as she is known to those "in the know.")
Anyone who also knows me and has dared enter into a Gilmore Girls discussion with me also knows that I beg you to reserve judgment until at LEAST Season 1, Episode 5. It takes a while for a show to get it's groove and for one to "get" ASP's fast paced, pop-culture rich humor and vision. So...I've given the show it's due diligence. Today I watched the 6th episode and in the final scene...I was official "on board." (More of that later.)
I have to admit, mixed into the ecstasy was a good amount of skepticism. How could ASP possibly top my favorite program of all time? The thing is...she can't. Nor should she try. Bunheads is a fresh program, unique to itself and it is unfair to compare apples to oranges. Right?
As it turns out it is more like comparing Granny Smith apples to Red Delicious apples...no, Golden Delicious apples. Same fruit, same color, slightly different taste.
Don't get me wrong...I REALLY like the show. There is just SO MUCH CROSS OVER I feel like I have hardly stepped out of Star's Hollow and into Paradise. Most of the time I half expect to find Lorelai and Rory daring each other to show up for Strip Tease Dance Class, a recent addition to the slate of classes offered by Fanny Flowers (Kelly Bishop, aka Emily Gilmore) at her dance studio.
Granted, I would imagine .00000000001% of the population has seen every season, every episode of Gimore Girls as many times as I have, but I find that ASP is recycling some of her material. It's still funny, still relevant, but still the same. Michelle's (Sutton Foster) character might as well be called Lorelai 2.0. They both go a mile a minute, have sassy mouths and even sassier attitudes and both stand in stark, toddler tantrum-like contrast to Kelly Bishop (who re-appears in Bunheads...but as the mother "in law" this time.)
Both shows take place in small, idyllic towns sprinkled with quirky characters functioning in wacky ways. MANY of them were regulars on Gilmore Girls. Some of them even have the same names as other characters on Gilmore Girls. (The name "Truly" seems a favorite with ASP.) Furthermore, she has brought back THE GENIUS Sam Phillips to provide the rich musical backdrop that is so subtle and haunting you almost wish that when you walk the streets she isn't somewhere, following behind you, offering the soundtrack of your own life.
Here is where Bunheads is fresh. The choreography is amazing....absolutely stunning and innovative. The young ladies who play the dancers are beautifully, classically trained and they move with ease and grace I am rarely treated to save for The Nutcracker at Christmas time. The depiction of young women 100% committed to dancing is relevant and, more importantly, REAL. The ballet company archetypes are all represented: the girl who really wants it but her body wasn't made for it, the girls whose body is made for it but can't get excited over ballet anymore and the few that just enjoy it all the way through high school and may never seriously revisit it again (that would be me). It's all there.
I was 95% sold when one of the performances (Episode 2) was set to "Picture in a Frame" by Tom Waits. I was 100% sold today (Episode 6) when the final scene was a literal interpretive performance relevant to her character set to "Istanbul" by They Might Be Giants. In both performances, absolutely no words were required. I adore that ASP was innovative enough, no, BRAVE ENOUGH to pull that off, ON TELEVISION, no less! Bring on an artistic vestige of the past and the upper crust and make it real and relevant to the demographic frequenting ABC Family...one of the best channels on television today.
Overall...I am pleased with Bunheads...and like I said, it feels like a new, fresh extension of my old, tried and true, favorite show! Mad finger crossing that this one sticks!
This one is rated "R"...little ears should not be in the room.
Source: Unknown
What belongs on a Post-It? The answers are endless, really. But NOT unlimited. Post-It notes are like the bottom feeders of the paper world. Their very size suggests they are meant for small lists, gentle reminders, a sweet note, a "note-to-self," etc, etc. They are easily stored. You can grab one with the wave of your one un-employed hand. You can scribble, be done, scrunch and toss without feeling much sense of loss. Now...I KNOW there are stories about entire corporations being birthed on a Post-It note and I won't deny that they come in very handy when a brilliant idea strikes. But, for the most part...a Post-It...is merely a Post-It and about as personal as my relationship to my mini-sewing kit and as long lasting as a fruit fly.
I can tell you what DOES NOT belong on a Post-It note: A BREAKUP!
Nor does a break up belong on a computer screen or a voicemail, in an email, via text, Facebook or Twitter. It does not belong over the phone (extreme circumstances notwithstanding). Hell, unless this is 17th century England, and your mate is thousands, okay, hundreds of miles away, a break up does not belong on paper...at all!
A breakup belongs in the space between two people. Period. The words need to be said, be heard and hang in the tense air. And the words need to be the truth.
I am no relationship expert. In fact, one might consider me more of a "Failed Relationship Expert." (What is it Thomas Edison said...."I haven't even failed once....I've just done things wrong 10,000 times.") And I am just as guilty as the next person. But I think our society has made one of the most difficult and painful conversations as arbitrary and perfunctory as taking your rubbish out to the curb. In fact, getting broken up with in said manner feels somewhat akin to being considered rubbish.
What I am is a human being and I try to abide by the golden rule. Do unto others as you would have done unto you. Again...I can think of two, VERY recent instances, where I found it so easy and safe to invoke the end of one casual and one much less casual relationship via email. I am as much to blame as the next person. The dust having settled, I am not proud of my behavior at all. As they said, it was "poor form." The thing is...in neither of those situations...did I receive push back. Both were opened, accepted, responded to and likely tossed in the proverbial "trash" by tapping the "delete" button.
Breakups are hard and painful. But in the end, you have been IN A RELATIONSHIP with another person...you have loved them, laughed with them, cried with them, grown with them, created memories with them, become family to them...the VERY LEAST both people deserve is a face-to-face conversation...which may in the end even create a solution to the impasse.
Source: Unknown
I realize people don't want to hurt others. Unless you are a sociopath, it is easier to throw out the break up and slink away playing both defense and offense at the same time. I also realize looking in someone's face, in someone's eyes makes creating the words nearly impossible. But having been on the receiving end so many times...I can say that I would rather be "hurt with the truth, than comforted with a lie." And silence leads to assumptions, erroneous ones at that, and in the end it all feels like a lie, anyhow. And then living in the "why's" is just a living hell. (Someone else's words...not mine.)
I love technology...obviously. I adore blogs and posts that promote hope, love, laughter, joy, etc. In that way I think technology has a positive global reach we could have never achieved otherwise! But it can also rip people apart...and rip you apart at the same time. The speed, the convenience, the anonymity...it's frightening. I fear we are losing our human interaction, sensitivity and compassion one key stroke at a time. I think we all need to take a giant leap back and consider how technology has changed our sensitivity at the cellular level. (And no, I don't mean cellular phone level!)
Jesus' final dictate, "To love one another as I have loved you" is often very difficult when jealousy, insecurity, pride, hurt and anger can be transmitted within seconds disappearing from our eyes, and by extension, from our hearts and minds. Do we even stop to consider the person on the other side of the screen, anymore?
This book is resting by my bedside chair (I have a chair rather than a bedside table). It is called The Four Agreements.
And while, admittedly, I have only read the first chapter...I think this is a terrific road map for difficult, painful conversations...like breakups. If executed as suggested by Ruiz, the truth is hanging in between two people. It has been given genuine thought and leaves little room for assumption. Sure...it will feel terribly personal...for a while...but that, too, shall pass.
Like my mom always says, "We are all just trying to get through life." Indeed, we are. So let's challenge ourselves by giving a bit more thought before we press the "send" button....because it can really be an "end" button to something quite beautiful. Once it is out there...it can never be taken back.
The truth trumps silence, common courtesy should dictate difficult conversations and paper covers rock.
And while I am 100% sure neither of those gentlemen dare read my blog....I do offer my sincerest (technological) apologies...but you both already know that.
This blog has NEVER been heavy on the "how-to." Don't get me wrong, I know "how-to" do a lot of things. Weak on the raw artistic ability, I have turned to paper crafting to satisfy my creative yearning. In fact, I was once a consultant for Stampin' Up and I had to "how-to" a lot of people through creating cards that had a definite "craft" rather than "art" slant. I found creating the cards and explaining the "how-to" perfunctory and, quite frankly, a little too crafty for my taste.
I digress. Since joining the San Antonio Bloggers FB group I feel pretty isolated in that I don't have a "how-to" section on ANYTHING in this blog.
Here's the fix!
You will need one mirror and one Sharpie Marker (a la graffiti artist)!
Simply write notes to yourself on a mirror with your Sharpie Marker. TAG AWAY! It is EASILY removed with nail polish remover.
I am using my bathroom mirror as a vision board, of sorts. I am keeping notes on an inner journey I am traveling, as well as a possibility I am creating. The beauty of it is that I can SEE MYSELF in MY thoughts, dreams, plans and schemes. (Dig on the rhyme, cat! Snaps!)
What follows is a terrible photo...but an example, nonetheless!
And that, Fete-ish-istas is our "how-to" lesson of the week!
This movie is about cancer. Colon cancer to be exact.
I randomly found it On-Demand and now it is gone.
The story takes place in New Orleans. Kate Hudson plays a gal-about-town, hot, ad executive. She begins to look ashen and lose weight. After prompting from her friends she visits a physician played by Gael Garcia Bernal. She learns she has cancer, a rather advanced stage and aggressive form of cancer.
I won't give away the rest, although from the start you have a very clear idea of where the story is headed.
What I will say is that the last scene is one of the loveliest celebrations I can imagine.
This movie had rotten tomatoes thrown at it from every angel. I don't care. Watch it anyhow. I saw it over a week ago and it has stayed with me the entire time. And probably will for some time to come.
Sometimes the last moments you spend with someone are the most meaningful. This song IS the last meaningful moment I spent with someone. We marveled at the writing.
For me it was the line about "Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself?"
For the other person it was, "I am lonely, but you can free me, all in the way that you smile."
Sadly, in that moment, I knew my smile was not the smile that person was thinking could free them. It hurt, but I held my head high in dignity, regardless.
We sat in silence at the poetry and the beauty of the lyrics. The person I shared this with admitted this song had saved them through a very lonely period in life.
I felt honored to know that. I still feel honored to know this.
I've been giving a lot of thought to exits, lately.
In France, the word "sortie" means "exit." I figured that out on my own at the tender age of 21. While visiting Paris (and Europe) for the first time in my life, I realized after following the word "sortie" time after time and reaching "an exit"...that it, in fact, meant "exit." Isn't it a lovely word? Say it a few times. It sounds happy and lilting and French-y frothy cafe au lait, doesn't it. I remember thinking, very silently (as I could not let the others know how un-cultured I was) that it might make a lovely little girls name. Something about it made me think of bouncing, bubbling little girls in pig tails gigging into the wind.
Exits are necessary. Were it not for exits...nothing would ever change, end, diverge, converge, etc. For that matter, new beginnings would never come to conception if not for some exit immediately preceding it.
I've personally experienced some amazing exits (not the least of which were those "sorties" from the Parisian subway up to Parisian ground level). My exit from Kindergarten was a PRETTY big deal as my mother and Mrs. Westerkom did NOT agree one bit on my promotion into first grade. (Don't worry...I proved mean ol' Mrs. Westerkom all kinds of wrong in the first grade!) My graduation from high school was thrilling as I was exiting childhood and entering academia. Exiting my first apartment was bittersweet as now there would be a mortgage but it was nice to shut the door to #7208 and create a new beginning in my current home.
Most exits are necessary; although rather benign. Last night I exited Broadway to get to my destination. I exited Vance Jackson to arrive home. I exited the garage to enter the house. I exited the restroom to retire to bed. We make entrances and exits all day, every day, giving it as much thought as we give to breathing in and breathing out. Exits are a function of living.
In my case some exits are absent minded mistakes and usually make me 10 minutes later than the 10 minutes I am ALREADY late. Or sometimes, I might make an exit without a crucial item like my laptop or car keys or umbrella (that can make a very ugly hair situation).
And then there are the exits that break your heart. They come in different forms but usually involve another person. People exiting peoples lives is simply un-natural, in my opinion. Okay, well, let me back up. People exit through death all the time. And while death is often expected and an absolute certainty in life, it is the most traumatic exit one can experience. Michael, my cousin, made his very unexpected exit from this world on March 23. The best I can describe his exit is as a roller coaster of overwhelming sadness, mixed in with uproarious laughter, dotted with wonderful memories and various sorts of visitations he has blessed upon those who love him. In his death; he still feels so alive. What a beautiful testimony to a life well lived. Nevertheless, his untimely exit has weighed so heavy on our hearts. This exit feels selfish. In our human-ness we want him here, we want him back. Humans are selfish....but only because we have the capacity to love so deeply. It's like the new (for me) Neil Young song I am currently obsessed with..."Yes, only love can break your heart." Or there is the other, similar song, of my mother and aunt's generation that croons, "Only love can break a heart; only love can mend it again."
Sometimes a person chooses to exit your life. When that happens you feel like you can't breathe. I have had a number of people drop out of my life, willingly. It really hurts. It hurts in the middle of your chest like your heart wants to punch through your body, from the inside out. I know that when said exits have occurred I have created a number of assumptions as to "why" said exits have occurred. The thing is....they are MY stories. They are complete assumptions and likely very erroneous. The exits probably had less to do with me than I assumed they did. But I have let those "stories" and "assumptions" get in the way of many viable relationships...further fueling exits. It's like a viscous "exit cycle." It's more like a round-about. Ugh!
Some exits leave you empty and wondering if you can ever allow another entrance again, for fear of impending exits that might follow.
With each exit I have learned. With each exit I have grown. And with each exit time has proven the exit was completely the right move that needed to be made at the time.
Those exits have forced me to think about exits I have made from people's lives. I certainly am not perfect. I suppose my point is that when you need to make an exit, make it with as much grace and dignity as can be mustered in what can only be assumed to be a rough situation. The truth is always the best way to go. Sure, it will hurt. But a truthful exit trumps a silent exit every time.
This is my mandala. It was created at a worksop primarily focused on intuition. Running on emotional "empty" I joined my mom and her friend at Viva Books, anticipating a lecture on nurturing intuition (which at the time I was CLEARLY in desperate need of nurturing). Instead I participated in cataphatic meditation. Expecting nothing more than a nice 30 minute nap I was immediately invited into an inner journey like nothing I have experienced before. At one point...I saw myself....rather...the back side of my naked self. And I will leave the rest of that particular scenario out of this blog. Oh! Don't you wish you knew!
After meditation we were encouraged to shut our eyes and let our hands move with the media we had before us. Here is what I created. And...it must be said...I DO NOT draw.
I recently had my mandala framed. This strong woman sits next to my bed. She is currently reminding me that one second I might know exactly what I want and refuse to apologize for it, while the next moment I might drop my head, toss up my arms and say, "I just don't know." And she represents for me...the notion that those two particular polarities are OKAY!
It was magical.
The word "mandala" is from the classical Indian language of Sanskrit. Loosely translated to mean "circle," a mandala is far more than a simple shape. It represents wholeness, and can be seen as a model for the organizational structure of life itself--a cosmic diagram that reminds us of our relation to the infinite, the world that extends both beyond and within our bodies and minds.
Describing both material and non-material realities, the mandala appears in all aspects of life: the celestial circles we call earth, sun, and moon, as well as conceptual circles of friends, family, and community.
Representing the universe itself, a mandala is both the microcosm and the macrocosm, and we are all part of its intricate design. The mandala is more than an image seen with our eyes; it is an actual moment in time. It can be can be used as a vehicle to explore art, science, religion and life itself. The mandala contains an encyclopedia of the finite and a road map to infinity.
Carl Jung said that a mandala symbolizes "a safe refuge of inner reconciliation and wholeness." It is "a synthesis of distinctive elements in a unified scheme representing the basic nature of existence." Jung used the mandala for his own personal growth and wrote about his experiences.
It is said by Tibetan Buddhists that a mandala consists of five "excellencies":
The teacher • The message • The audience • The site • The time
An audience or "viewer" is necessary to create a mandala. Where there is no you, there is no mandala. (from: You Are the Eyes of the World, by Longchenpa, translated by Lipman and Peterson).
I mis-spoke last week. I have had two previous "guest bloggers." One was my dad and the other was my mom...and they were essentially writing to each other via the blog.
Tonight is, in fact, the FIRST guest blogger who is a) not related to me and b) allowed to chose a topic of her own.
I am honored to present:
Lost and Found
by Angela Turner Rabke
I hate, hate, hate
to lose things. As a result, I keep a written tally of lost items in the
“notes” section of my iPhone. If I lose my iPhone, no worries! The list is seared permanently into my
cerebral cortex, and I’ll just add them to a new list in my new iPhone with, of
course, the missing phone added to “the list.”
The list begins
with a little gold ring I lost in second grade. Backyard, jungle
gym. It was real gold! With a little purple amethyst
butterfly. I KNOW it is still lurking
about, and THAT is why it’s still on the list. Whenever we are at my
mom’s house, I stare at the dirt in her yard, willing it into existence.
Most recently, I lost a pair of black Spanx. No doubt, this is the most
troubling item on my list. I keep waiting for my kids’ teachers to send
them home in a lunchbox with a funny note, but no. My control undergarments have disappeared.
I suppose my ability
to keep track of things, to maintain order—somehow translates to control. If I don’t lose material things, surely
I won’t lose my mind, right? But
what does
it mean when we lose an idea, or a dream, or a direction?
Right now, I have
two jobs in two different buildings, with two different dress codes, and two
job descriptions that don’t exactly resemble what I visualized back when I was
making these big ‘ole epic decisions about Life (which meant the same thing as
Career at the time). So as I wade
through this non-traditional work situation, I occasionally bemoan the lost
twenty-something me. That girl had
a promising enough career in a “cool” industry, well-defined professional
goals, lots of time for happy hours, and a fairly presentable business casual
wardrobe. I mean, I had HUGE plans
to be a major badass.
Sometimes it’s easy
for me to focus on the lost badass, which is why it’s important to be cognizant
of what I found on my road not taken:
a mess of good opportunity that could be patched together into my today
career, my part-time career, the career that matches right now. Because the truth is—I don’t really
want to be the girl that I meant to be way back then. This is okay. I
want to be a cool wife, a sweet mommy, and I do want to do well professionally. As it turns out, I do wish for more happy hours, but when I
give myself the space to have gratitude for this schedule, I realize that I’m
going to have lots of time again in a few short years. And I will probably hate it.
If I had more time, I
would talk about other big losses-the loss of old friends, the loss of tightly
held beliefs, or the loss of firmness in my backside. But what it really all
boils down to is perspective. It’s
something I’ve misplaced many times, but I pray that I never lose it.
Angela, Cypress and Meriwether
Angela IS, in fact, a very cool wife, a very sweet mommy, a wonderfully professional "professional" and many, many, many other things...not the least of which is a total BADASS! I am honored she took time out of her hectic daily schedule to contribute to Fete. The best part is I get to pay her back in bottles of wine we will no doubt enjoy together! Many thanks, dear friend!
Today marked the end of an era...of a deep, intimate relationship. Halfway through drying my hair the room went dark, Gilmore Girls came to an abrupt hault, the ceiling fan went silent. All that could be heard was a small "boom"; all that could be felt was a small pop on my arm. In desperation I ran downstairs to the breaker box thingee and flipped the un-flipped flipper switch a doodle. I heard the television switch back on and saw the light illuminate. Despite my apparent success, I knew what was facing me upstairs. I gently cradled my hair dryer....moved the switch up, down, up down, up down....and nothing happened. She didn't make it. She was a casualty of me running one too many things this hot June day.
We first met in Italy. I tend to keep my love life off the blog; but in this case I am willing to make an exception. I was dating an officer in the Navy who was stationed in Naples. (Side note...The Atlantic Ocean is waaaaaaay too long for a "long distance" relationship. You might as well date a Martian. Hang up your hopes honey...it will never work. But, no, I am not bitter...I am a "realist!" I love that don't you...when people call themselves "realists?" Another topic for another day.)
Anyhow...I met this gentleman in December, 2003. My first visit to Naples (more accurately Pozzouli) was in March, 2004. I asked him to purchase a hair dryer for me...thinking he would purchase one that would fit into the Italian outlets. Apparently at the commissary they only sold American hair dryers and so...he purchased this lovely American Vidal Sasoon Ionizer. We still had to plug it into the crazy converters he had laying all around his Italian home. He really hadn't solved my problem at all...but it was a sweet gesture (from an otherwise very un-sweet human being) so I didn't complain. Thank goodness I packed my travel converters with me so that as we travelled to Pisa, Florence, Rome, etc. I was able to dry my hair and look somewhat acceptable in photos. You know the one...where I am single-handedly pushing the leaning Tower of Pisa back to it's once noble, straight stature.
8 years this hair dryer and I have been together. EIGHT YEARS PEOPLE! Hear me! EIGHT YEARS! Prior to that I would burn out hair dryers in less than a year, if even that long.
I often anticipated the demise of this particular hair dryer. Oddly...she never gave out on me. Sometimes I would tell her she was sinister for hanging in my life so long...as an ugly reminder of the WORST TWO WEEKS OF MY LIFE. (Yes...unfortunately they were spent in Italy. I know, I know...I need a do over...right?) Other times I would gently remember she never left me...not even through the worst times.
She's been with me to Europe, Denver, Los Angeles, Scottsdale, Santa Fe, Palm Springs, Destin, Savannah, Charleston, Kiawah Island, Cozumel, Jamaica, Tahoe, Grand Cayman Islands and just about every inch of Texas I can imagine.
She made me pretty for some of the BEST dates I have ever had. She loved me even when I ignored her for weeks on end in my silent little protests of "straight hair,"....God don't make no junk and this hair is NATURALLY WAV-O-RAMA!
Replacing her will not be easy. The last 8 years have ushered in a number of new follicle technologicals. There are so many questions to ask....so many questions to be answered. I mean...do those expensive contraptions made by Chi actually dry your hair faster? And then there is the question of investment? Will I be so lucky as to have anther hair dryer that lasts eight years...I mean will I get the return that I got on my mean ex-boyfriend's money?
And so...yes...to you, dear hair dryer, I drank that small shot of Makers Mark in your honor and nearly breathed out fire...but it was worth it. Thank you for your steadfast, consistent service. You were the last vestige of that horrible time in my life. Perhaps putting you to rest can also lay those ugly memories to rest...once and for all.
Buonanotte stella, asciugacapelli.
And you can tell everybody this is your song,
It may be quite simple...but now that it's done,
I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words,
I am so loving the direction Fete is moving towards!
Now I have a sign off signature that reminds me just a wee bit of the sparkl-y-ness of Bewitched. Now if I could only twinkle my nose and have dinner on the table for Der-wood!
Do y'all love it too?
Coming soon: Inaugural "Guest Blogger" Section! Here's a hint: The Guest Blogger is an incredibly civic minded, community loving, hybrid owning, sustainability promoting, woman of faith with a beautiful gift of words; both spoken and written.
Ciara, Ella, Jace', Mary Gertrude and I "day-tripped" to Blanco State Park today! It is a perfect "middle point" between San Antonio and Dripping Springs. It costs four dollars per person and you can enjoy the park until 10pm. Pets are allowed...obviously...but are required to stay on a leash and NOT enter the river...an edict that "Bella's" parents clearly violated which had me fuming. If MY child has to abide by the rules...SO DO YOURS! But...I digress.
We find a comfy spot right along the banks of the river under three old pines. The entrance point into the river was just steps from our spot and so we took turns getting in and out of the water.
Note: Take water shoes if you plan to get in the river. The shallow part is rocky and the rocky surfaces are VERY slippery.
This day-trip definitely delivered and I think I spent less than 15 dollars! And that makes me smile even bigger.
I had every intention of grabbing Jace' and forcing her to The Bijou to watch this movie with me. Truth be told...Jace' and I have VERY different taste in movies. But, she's a great friend and was willing to "take one for this team" and watch a movie where Jane Fonda plays a war-hating hippie. Hmmmm....truth in art?
Anyhow...imagine my delight to learn Peace, Love and Misunderstanding is On-Demand. I was able to watch it "in the comfort of my own home." Many benefits: Jace' does not have to watch a chick flick, it is WAAAAAY less expensive and I can cry with no shame...OUT LOUD!
The story line isn't anything revolutionary. Hippie mother raises up-tight, Republican, attorney daughter and they are estranged for 20 years because the daughter disapproves of her mother's various "behaviors." (Mother sells weed at daughter's wedding; daughter has mother arrested...you know how it goes.) Anyhow...up-tight daughter now faces divorce from up-tight husband and doesn't know where to go for healing. She heads up to Woodstock, NY(teenage children in tow)...yes, THE Woodstock...where her mother Grace, played by Fonda is something of a legend. "Dylan" apparently loved her...although we are unsure if it is the "Bob" or the "Thomas!"
I enjoyed the film...mostly because I am a current love affair with the notion of transformation and EVERYONE in this movie is facing a conflict. I don't think the reviews were stellar, by any means, but it is a feel good movie with a soundtrack that cut me to the bone.
To wavy hair, barking at the full moon, feeding your chickens, growing your own (a-hem) veggies, skinny dipping and Grateful Dead....
Take a load off Fanny*
Take a load for free
Take a load of Fanny*
And you put the load right on me.
-The Band
Lyrics by: Robbie Roberston
*After many searches there is definite debate of if they are singing, "Anny," "Annie," or "Fanny." Would LOVE the real answer to this.....
I was wide awake at 5.30 am. Summer vacation hours were apparently not enforced this morning. I literally stayed in bed and let my mind roam to some pretty dark places for about two hours. I got up, walked around and wondered out loud, "What can I do?" I gave up and climbed back into my snuggly bed with my snuggly dog for another torturous hour.
In fairness...I received some rather unsavory news yesterday. My air conditioning unit needs to be euthanized. It's just time. Apparently the coil needs to go down with it. Good news is the furnace is still alive and kicking. I think I was restless with anticipation of their arrival and the imminent financing that would come with this purchase...though I am blessed to be able to set that worry off for a while...it is still a worry. In addition to that, I am pretty sure my Gracie cat, my first official child, is facing her last days. And on top of that, my little Mary Gertrude woke up throwing up blood. Oh...and then there is the gnat infestation that red wine vinegar and honey only moderately mitigate.
In terms of mindful, celebratory, positive living....I FAILED EPICALLY THIS MORNING. Three hours wasted on why Burger broke up with Carrie on a Post It Note...(that is another post for another day)...three hours wasted on ONE WORD..."WHY?" And I applied that word to about one thousand, million, katrillion kajillion different scenarios in my life. "Why, why, why, why, but...ugh, WHY?" Oh...and then it got better. I added a word. I added, "Not." "WHY NOT?" "Why the hell not?" No wonder my little eyes wouldn't shut.
(Side note....right now Cat Steven's is telling me, "Oh baby, baby it's a wild world and it's hard to get by just upon a smile....and I'll always remember you like a child, girl." The synchronicity is not lost on me.)
Are you ready...I then transitioned into "How can I?" Then came, "How am I ever going to blah, blah, blah?" Then I circled back to Post It Notes.
And then this arrived in my Face book Inbox from a friend I have not seen, nor heard from, in years. To Fred Solis...you will never know that you got me out of my own head this morning and forced me down memory lane.
This video was made by Jason Russell my junior year...apparently towards the end of the year. While I only have a "cameo" appearance...walking down the halls of McAllen Memorial High School, standing at my locker, seeing Lisa at the Apple in the journalism room (our safe place) with posters of Morissey and Jane's Addition (Geeves...YOU RULED), Ramsey and her bandanna, the after school smoking ritual (notice I am missing), and Denellie give a kiss to the camera. And there I am...immortalized (okay...dramatic embellishment) SINGING of all things (I do not sing in public EVER) on the Internet.
I looked at that little girl with the wavy hair, excessive jewelry, painted fingernails and Yaga tee shirt. How sweet is she? She's a bit of a camera hog and likes to be the center of attention...but her heart is good. Most importantly...her heart is whole. The world is ahead of her...NOT behind her. She knows what is next and what is next and what is next and what follows after that. She does not live in "Why" or "How" or "Why Not?" She lived in "Yes" and "Let's do it and have fun" and "Let's get scootin' to college." She never spent three hours in bed beating herself up over what needs to be done, what hasn't been done, why this has been done or when is it going to get done.
Sweet girl, I sit here...twenty years your senior. Can I have you back?
Lovely woman, all you have to do is ask. She's still in there, stop being afraid to let her re-surface. Those were the happiest years of your life. But they don't have to be the only ones. When the questions get too big, watch this video and remember the joy of just living!
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11
I am a shameless lover of television. I can be found cuddling comfortably in my bed watching re-runs of Gilmore Girls, Cooking Channel and HGTV, book in hand, kitties and doggy sprawled all around me. I am a Pilates instructor and believe firmly in this unique method of movement. Without question, I feel most beautiful when I am teaching Pilates. I am an intermediate pole dancer and blooming, inquisitive arielist. A school psychologist by education and training, I am a frustrated artist, writer, and chef. I love old furniture, the shabbier the better and I love finding unique items to add to my varied and quirky collections sprinkled throughout my home. I very much enjoy MOST types of music and am ALWAYS open to recommendations. Jazz and classic country are, by far, my favorite! I have cried at every play, opera, ballet and musical I have ever seen performed live, I talk to myself all the time and I am constantly dancing around my house. I hope one day to own an aqua vintage car, a refurbished Airstream, a home by the water and a bungalow in the city. I am a beautifully imperfect work in progress and I am learning to say, "I am not sorry for what I want!"
