We are our mothers…

’tis true. we can dispute it, I know you do! but especially as women, we ARE our mothers. In ways that are unrecognized by ourselves and yet are prominent in our thoughts, mannerisms and behaviours. (and everyone else sees it!) We fight it. We deny it. We rebel against it. Why? We love our mothers and yet we strive to be the antithesis. A strange way to honor the most influential and important person in our lives.

Does it need explaining?

In my mother’s day, you didn’t wear your “@%&” on your sleeves.

You just kept a stiff upper lip. I really believe there’s something to that.

It kind of goes hand in hand with our more recent explorations of “creating our own reality”.  If you live in your own misery, it soon becomes your existence.

that’s all…

IT’S BLOGGING TIME!!!!!

So much to say…

First, I had a great revelation at the dishwasher. All of the years that we as parents dread emptying the dishwasher suddenly became an enormous void for me.

As I gazed upon the FULL dishwasher, thinking that I will not be emptying so many drinking glasses or dishes in the present or future, I was struck by the reality that I would soon be an “empty nester” ….I really, really despise that term. I DO have a  dog and 2 cats after all…geez…

LIVE. live in the present. ENJOY. enjoy each and every moment. LOVE. love it all – even those moments that appear for all unimaginable reasons to be unloveable. EMBRACE. embrace the now…the people…the moments…it all….

and, that’s all…but again, it’s everything…as I MAY have mentioned before…take heed.

It might be MY bacon year…

6 degrees of Carol’s bacon-separation…

I swear, it seems over the years, that there isn’t anyone that doesn’t know someone that knows someone who knows someone who I know and who knows me and who either loves, likes or hates me and who I either love, like or hate. Take a breath…seriously.

Ironically, or not, I despise bacon as such. Not THE Kevin Bacon, you understand.  The smell, the taste, the name…just everything about bacon, but my life resembles the BACON PRINCIPLE.

It’s a tad terrifying. Is that a sign? I think not. Bacon is not the metaphor for my comparison. But the Bacon Principle alone. And, I am pretty sure I almost stand alone in my dislike and almost hatred of the fried and cured pig.

When you live in a place for a great number of years, and you have a business that connects people through its association, you will, inevitably, know someone who knows someone…well, you know…

In closing, my statement is:

We are not alone. We are not singular. We are not anonymous. We are here. We are real. We are seen, loved, known, forgotten, ignored, dismissed, admired, judged, envied, belied, abused, revered, praised, exhausted…and so on…

WE. ARE.

That’s all. and that’s everything.

 

Write that book, they say…

It’s time. It’s been time for awhile. I  started 14 years ago with my book…and it IS TIME

IT IS TIME!  But, you know, I have way more material now, and frankly, it is good.      I will certainly be exposed. I will probably offend people. I will also engage people. People who have shared my experiences. It will be glorious. But, at last I will be free and true to it all. And, those of you who love it will know exactly what I mean. I am actually excited about something passionately for the first time in over 10 years.

This is excellent.

It has seemed to me that everyone else is allowed to be exactly who they are without criticism, without judgement, without contrition. Perhaps, it’s my own self doubt and judgement that has restricted my ability to be exactly as I am to all people.  I am ready. It’s like a baptism, like a communion, like a ceremony, like no other freedom that I have known. EVER. And, I. AM. READY. And as frightening as this seems, it is also exhilarating.  I might end up friendless, and I might not. If I am, I will know that all my relationships are conditional, and THAT is a thought I don’t wish to own. Knowing and learning about all kinds of people is what I have done for over 3o years in my professional life. Without acceptance of the various individuals that have crossed my path and that I have shared numerous hours with, I would not have survived. It doesn’t make me exceptional, just accepting. And with the political climate as it is, it has been difficult at best (to say the least).

My only hope is that others can truly accept me exactly as I am, in the way that I am expected to accept them.  Hope springs eternal?  I hope so….

That moment…

you know, THAT moment.

that moment when you realize that one thing.

the thing that you never quite imagined being, or doing, or dealing with for real.

you know…THAT thing…

I don’t need to explain it to you. you KNOW what it is.

So, I will leave it there…

but, you know what I’m talking about…

The dating game…at 55…

So, you are suddenly single. You’re not 23 anymore or even 4o for that matter, which, from this view, looks quite enticing. You are feeling free. No more tidy whiteys to wash, no more ‘dates’ with a man snoring in a recliner with the TV blaring the History channel.   You get the picture. You finally have control of the remote. The bathroom is all yours! And, you can sleep ALL OVER the bed.  IT IS GLORIOUS…until…you think about…gulp…dating. Frankly, the only way I can describe it is sucky. Your best friend, who is single and has been single longer than you have, says “Join …..this site…it will be fun”.  Uh, okay, sure. You upload your photo from facebook and create a profile outlining your interests and what you are looking for in a relationship. You ‘like’ him, and ‘wink’ at him and wait for a message. You chat and soon you are having your first date. Let me tell you, THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

For instance, in 1984, you didn’t live with anyone before you were married, or at least you didn’t tell your mother. That is for sure. You were 22 for god’s sake!  . You weren’t expected to have ‘sexual relations’ by the third date. You actually met people through friends or at parties, not on a dating site where a photo and a vapid description lands you a date with some guy who has no clue what you do for a living but feigns interest because he just paid for your coffee.

Then,  what’s next? probably nothing. maybe everything.

Let’s say, you DO meet someone randomly, through a colleague or friend, and, there are sparks, it works out, and you actually ‘have a relationship’. At worst, it will end, at best it will endure. Regardless, it’s not like being married; not married to who you were married to for the last million years. Even if the putz you dismissed was not your dream man, you knew how he liked his coffee, and what movies you could both enjoy. And, excitedly, you began to really like this ‘random’ new guy and thought, hmmmm….he might be it. He might be the next Mr. Whoever.  But because you haven’t dated in eons, you don’t see what your best friend sees. This guy is your ex-husband except that you have feelings for this new guy. You don’t wash his tidy whiteys, and he doesn’t snore in the recliner because he is still trying to impress you.  Sigh.  Danger, Will Robinson, Danger! But, you don’t see it. You don’t move on. You DON’T even know the signs of a commitment-phobe because YOU got married when you and your ex were mere children fresh out of the crib – not jaded or cynical or reluctant to take that exhilarating risk to join forces with an equally naive person. AND, you miss that blind faith. You stay there, with that new person, because it is familiar and you seriously have no clue that you are totally comfortable being ‘married but not married’ all over again.

Here comes the kicker. You are ready. Ready to do a repeat performance of the previous life. Permanently. Voila!  You had no idea that the plan was only your plan. You thought that you were on the same page. You are stunned. Thrown for a loop. Wait. Why is this not working out how I thought it would? Your new significant other indicated, in veiled falseness, that his intentions were simpatico with yours.  Flabberghasted comes to mind when you realize that you’ve been duped, or is it dumped. You are suddenly very alone. Alone in your feelings and just plain alone…because he is gone. Poof! Disappeared. Well, shit!  and a slew of other unsavory words. Welcome to ghosting. A modern cowards version of ‘hitting the high road’. I believe sucky was the word I used above. And it is. Sucky.      But, narrowly escaping duplicate entrapment is a blessing, of course, after you have wept weeks of tears, and spilled miles of sorrow to those who will listen.

Moral to this story.

Actually, I don’t know. I am on a journey. A journey that is continuous. Hopefully one that will lead me to my truth. And, if it includes my special someone, it will be glorious once and for all.

PS Looking for SPONSORS for my awesome site!

 

 

 

duplicity

I know. I am a quintessential vocabularian. It’s my curse.

But I am currently hung up on this concept. Of a sene of deception. The sense of betrayal is prevalent and I smell its lack of loyalty in my midst. I am not comfortable with its presence. Although the unearthing of its truth is painful, I also relish in its exposure.

Bring it on!

 

Popcorn and Red Wine

So…every woman has experienced this moment…well, probably before they were 55…

whatever…lots of dot, dot, dots…fill most of my texts and posts.

This is a “needs no explanation” post. Right???