Shift in Perspective

     I hate October.  I hate it.  For as long as I can remember, I have associated October with trauma.  All of my deepest wounds and losses have come in October.  Usually they've hit me with such intensity that if I were to write the story of my Octobers as a screenplay, HBO would pick it up as a dark comedy.
     No.  Seriously.  As an example:  There was a single day in an October where I was sitting in the ER with Thing 2 when my stepmother called to tell me my father was rushed by ambulance to another hospital.  A few hours later, my father-in-law called to tell us that My Personal Chef's mother was being rushed to yet a different hospital.  All life-threatening.  All on the same day.  All in October.

   

     Then October, 2013 rolled around.  It's been good.  Very good, in fact. For starters, it's beautiful.  Living in New England, I've been blessed with some of the most incredible fall foliage on the planet.  This is the river that runs through my neighborhood:

     Add to this lovely environment, are all these people I love that have filled my days with joy.  With the Official Fall of Fabulosity To Do List,  I've intentionally been making sure that we do things that are memory making. There's been trips to two different country fairs.  High-spirited dinners out with friends have fed both body and soul.   The impromptu birthday party with my sisterfriends was nifty. Trips to the library and bookstores and the post office all made me smile.  (Yes, the post office--I  simply LOVE to send mail to folks and there is a brand new baby in the FabFam that needed a personalized gift shipped to her in sunny Florida.)  

     The Evil Genius and I went to a local museum, and a Harlem Wizards show basketball game last weekend.  A pack of us ran the Color Run 5K, too.  Something about tie dying a tee shirt while wearing it just tickled me.  Seeing my sisterfriend, husband and youngest son complete their first 5K ever was pretty satisfying, too. 

     I had the extreme pleasure of spending a lunch hour at the Sachuest National Wildlife Refuge one afternoon this week.  It's a point of land at the very edge of Aquidneck Island past the last of the Newport Beaches in Rhode Island.  Miles of trails wind along the rocky Atlantic shore, bordered by thicket and meadow.  The weather was spectacular.  It was unseasonably warm, but a late afternoon storm threatened to come in off the sea, so the skies were brilliantly purple and grey. The views, at every turn, alternated from life-affirming to breathtaking. A chance encounter on the trail with a middle-aged couple in full formal wear (beautiful teal ballgown and a well cut tuxedo with a calla lily boutiniere) just delighted me.  I can't think of a   more perfect day or a lovlier place to have eloped.

   There's still more.  There was dinner with my cousins and my mama and Thing 1.  The Red Sox are in the World Series. My Personal Chef and I trekked to a restored theater with friends to see the 1923 silent movie "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."  Lon Chaney, a mighty Wurlitzer, friends, popcorn... What's not to love?  

    So. Much. Joy.

     And still, it wasn't until sometime yesterday that I actually exhaled and let go of all that dread. It's like I have been expecting the gates of hell to unleash their full fury upon me at any moment.  I did exhale though.  I'm working on letting go of that fear.  And I'm mindful of all that is wonderful around me.  October, you will not get the best of me this year.

Girl Talk: Boys Dish to Me About Girls

     I have had several conversations recently with boys and men about their engagements with females.  It's been a fascinating experience.  Ultimately, it's helped maintain my faith in humanity.

     For starters, there are the twenty-somethings that drape themselves on my furniture and eat all my food.  They're all complete bananaheads.  (I mentioned they are in their early twenties, right?)  They have no real clue about where they are going in life, but hey, they are making great time...  Ah, the divine oblivion of youth.
    They are forever talking about girls.  They are quick to judge, quick to change judgements, quick to say something stupid, quick to call each other on the stupid things they say.  Usually, I remember that they are just learning how to be young men, so I let them blather on.  Once in a while, though, they are way off base, and I have to redirect them by raising my hand up in the air and proclaiming, "Mother, sitting right here!"  Usually,that prompts an apology and a change in subject.
     I've come to the conclusion that for the most part, the young men in my life have been taught that young women should be treated with great respect, and by and large, they have caught the jist of the lesson.  It's heartening to see. I've witnessed the guys policing one of their fellow friends when he's crossed the line and said something abhorrent.  I've witnessed them standing up for a young woman being harshly treated. I've even been asked for advice by several of them on how to be supportive of a female friend they were concerned about, when her risk-taking behavior escalated.  They aren't "bad boys."  They're just hormonal balls of stupid.  I'm reasonably confident that they will grow into men who will treat women respectfully, equally, appropriately.

     Then there are the men in my peer group.  Primarily, these are men I'm related to, are friends with, or work with.   So, I get that there is a predisposition for them to get along well with me.  It's harder to discount the value of someone you actually know. I'm not one of "THEM."  They are still products of their generation, though.  And they grew up in changing times. Some of them, like me, were raised to believe women could be anything they wanted to be.  Some of them, though,  were raised to conform to specific gender roles and the corresponding ideas about those roles.  And they all interact together everyday--with each other and with women. It can get messy and complicated.
     We've talked together about this in a number of settings.   As an example, for this year's Fantasy Football Draft, I was consulted before it was decided to meet at Hooters.  The stated motivation for going to Hooters for the draft was a special they were having that absorbed a lot of the costs that we usually take on.  I believe that to be sincere.  Had I stated that I was uncomfortable with the venue, the entire group would have gone someplace else.  That I was asked made me feel valued and respected.
     The night of the draft, I walked into a conversation several of the guys were already having about the venue.  All of the men were in their 40s or older.  All of them found that THEY were uncomfortable with the sexualization of the young waitresses. It pleased me, a lot, that they came to that conclusion on their own. I might have ribbed them about the choir of angels coming down to recognize this moment...
      And  no, it wasn't staged for my benefit.  The guys were still talking about it back at the office a few days later, and when one of the men (who was not at the draft) made a callous remark about his attraction to young waitresses, the other guys pounced on him.  There's hope for us all, I think.
     That being said, men are still hardwired to be sexual beings.  At that same draft, where the fellas had their beautiful moment of enlightenment, a coworker inadvertently admitted to finding me attractive.  It was clear from the context of our interaction that he was not objectifying me, he wasn't being disloyal to his wife, he wasn't teaching his daughter that she was inferior to her brother, he wasn't being a douche.  He was just being a man, in all his human glory.  And we both laughed (and laughed and laughed) about it, because damn if it wasn't hilarious.

     This humanity of men was explained to me pretty eloquently by an elderly friend of mine this past weekend.  At 87-years-old, Fred has covered the full-spectrum of life's experiences.  He's kindhearted, smart, and generous.  He's also crochety and opinionated and he's a shameless flirt.  I'm very fond of him.  Over the weekend, he and my Personal Chef jokingly came to an arrangement where my husband would "lend me" to Fred if he thought he could catch me.  Nothing like a little inappropriate humor to liven up a Rotary event, eh? Now, nobody for a minute thinks that I'm going to have an affair.  Still, it brightened Fred's day considerably. He noted to me that all men want to be considered desireable for all of their lives.  It is his  belief, in fact, that it is that which is the primary motivator for men's behavior.  Men participate in sports, strive to succeed in business, engage in community service all in order to attract the attention of a potential mate.  To listen to his pack of Old Guys discuss this at length was very eye-opening.

    What does all this mean?  I'm pretty sure it means that boys will be boys, but that they don't have to be tools while they're at it.

     

Apologies for Going MIA

     A snotbomb struck our house two weeks ago or so and it's been a thermoMuclear disaster here since.  We're finally coming out of the bunkers to rejoin the survivors.

Girl Talk: Discovering that Being a Girl is a Problem

    I am very fortunate to have grown up in a family that treated me as if they truly believed that I could be anything. I was never pushed to "girl things" or steered away from "boy things."  I was encouraged to try everything that interested me in any area--arts, sports, academics.  I was supported in the things that I self-selected as being "my thing"  (theater, music, outdoorsy things like hiking and camping).   My academic successes were celebrated.  I always had a sizeable fan club in attendance at my school plays, piano recitals, softball games, and soccer games.  When I missed the mark, I wasn't shamed or otherwised punished.  I was razzed good-naturedly for my failings.  There is no getting around being teased in my family.  It's actually a sign of affection. None of this was about my gender, though.

     In fact, I do not remember ever being aware of being expected to fulfill any gender roles.  My one attempt at learning to sew was a disaster that is still joked about today.  My mother, in exasperation at my mess and incometence in culinary efforts as a teenager told me to get out of her kitchen.  Her recommendation, "Marry a chef." (Best advice she ever gave me.)

     I wasn't born with the competitive gene,  and I was clumsy and slow.  In a family of scholar-athletes, it was a source of shame for me that I sucked at sports.  Never for a minute, though, did I think it was because I was female.

     I was fairly aware that being female was something my mother and aunts and their mothers before them made them "less than" in the man's world they were born into.  My mother had to fight to get off of the teller line and into the management training program at the bank.  I realized that it was a major victory when she beat out a male Harvard MBA for a bank manager's position several years later.  What I was completely unaware of was that other girls in my peer group still had to fight the idea that they were less than simply because of their gender.  I was an adult before I realized this.  And it blew my mind.

     

Girl Talk: An Introduction

I have started and stopped repeatedly this week to write a post that is only partially formed in my mind.  What started as a goofy bit about being a woman who loves watching sports has somehow become this whole different thing.  See, I have found myself involved in a series of conversations about feminism with different groups of folks with varying perspectives and insights.

There's been the guys I'm in the fantasy baseball and football leagues with.  There's been the twenty-somethings my son hangs out with in my living room, who are complete bananaheads that are trying to figure out how to interact with young women.  There's my smart, strong daughter and her fierce grandmother.   My Other Favorite Nieces and my Cool Cousins have been in the mix, too.  Then there are my brilliant sisterfriends.  Each of them have (mostly unknowingly) forwarded the discussion.  And my mind is a swirl.

I don't know why this has taken up so much of my mental space at this point in time.  I'm grateful for it, though.  I love being intellectually and emotionally challenged.  And I'm confident that this is all leading me somewhere that I'm supposed  to be heading towards.

So far, it seems like I'm going to be putting together a series of posts about my ideas about womanhood.

The only expertise I can claim here is that I was born with the requisite reproductive organs to be deemed female.  Otherwise, I'm just making shit up.  This will be no scholarly work, in case that's what you were expecting.  Mostly, it will be me thinking out loud in print.

You've been forewarned.

Lots to Think About. Not a Lot to Say.

     I'm still in a contemplative mood.  I've got a lot on my mind--processing grief, coping with family struggles, empathy for friends-who-are-family who are coping with their own struggles, work responsibilities, and, and, and...    That's really nothing new, I suppose.  My head is always full to overflowing.  What is new is that I've been rather mum about it all.

     I'm not exactly known for ever being at a loss for words. Yet, here I am.  Apparently, it is noticeable. A dear friend noticed and teased me about it. The Evil Genius noticed and tried to fix it by giving me a very Evil Genius-like list of potential blogpost topics.  (How much do I love this kid?!)  Another of my dearest friends noticed, and has been VERY worried that something must be terribly wrong.

     I'm okay.  Truly I am.  I'm actually in a better place than I have been in for a while.  I'm still just fumbling to find the words to articulate it.  Okay?

To reassure you, here are a few of the small joys I have caught in the past day or so:

• The cocker spaniel challenged me to a game of tag yesterday morning.  He's adorably frustrating and his evasive maneuvers make me grin like a fool every time.
• I had a terrific lunch break with one of my sisterfriends this week.  It brightened my spirits and broke up my work day delightfully.
• I caught up on my filing, so my Cubicle-of-Doom no longer poses an avalanche threat.
• I finally fit into the shirt that my seamstress friend in Rwanda made for me.
• The weather was clear enough to be wowed by last night's Harvest Moon.
• There will be a brand new "Other Favorite Great Niece" in the family imminently.  The niece and nephew in Florida are delivering their first baby today!

There is Nothing Truer Than This: You Cannot Be Replaced

     Today, my thoughts are with those who suffer or love someone who suffers from serious depression.  I'm slogging through a challenging time in my life, but I know that it will get better.  I absolutely do. Too many people do not believe this about their own struggles, though.  When the dark descends upon them, they cannot believe that there will ever be any light again.  This is because depression lies.  It lies loud and it is overpowering.  It paralyzes a person in fear and hopelessness.  It makes someone believe that the world would be better without her or without him.  That is the worst of all the lies that are ever told.

     This week is National Suicide Prevention Week and across the country, some truly wonderful organizations are working hard to remind everyone that they are out there all the time, willing and able to help shine a light on someone's darkest days--true life savers like the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline or The Samaritans.

   Last year, my daughter (the smart, brave, strong, and beautiful Thing 1) encouraged me to join her in the To Write Love On Her Arms campaign to promote awareness of life-threatening depression.  This year, the organization is conducting an amazingly powerful campaign  "You Cannot Be Replaced."  Because, where depression lies, the truth is that there is nobody else like you in the world.  You are irreplaceable. You offer the world something unique that nobody else can. As the scripture states, "You are fearfully and wonderfully made."

You are. You Cannot Be Replaced.

I cannot be replaced, because:

•  I am the only one who can who can get Seamus off of the furniture. 
•  I am the only one can answer the 80's pop culture questions when the Awesome Aunts & Cool Cousins go  to play bar trivia. 
•  I am the only one who remembers that the Christmas Album doesn't make itself. 
•  I am the only one who can take in the foster adults and make them part of the family.  
•  I am the only one in my family who has been to Africa.  Twice.
•  I am the only one who turn anything into an occasion for a theme party.
•  I am the only one who can be my mother's daughter. 
•  I am am the only one who can be Thing 1's, Thing 2's, and the Evil Genius' mother.  

     Consider what it is that makes you irreplaceable.  Then consider sharing your story.  Who knows who it will reach or the impact it will have.