The Race of Time

In the early 90's, I was in a workshop production of a show called "Closer Than Ever" and it was a compilation of a lot of songs by Maltby/Shire that dealt with people at different stages of life. There was this song called "The March of Time", which at the time, in my very early 30's, I thought was hilarious. And I sang it without any idea how it really felt to be anything other than relatively young.

I've been quiet (something of an anomaly) for the past few weeks. I think it is largely due to the fact that a few weeks ago another birthday rolled over me. And so you don't misinterpret the metaphor, it did not roll over me like a floating balloon. No, not a floating balloon but rather a monster truck rally.

Its an interesting phenomenon this aging thing. I remember so well being 9 and not being able to wait until I was "double-digit". And then came the endless wait for thirteen. Sixteen. Eighteen. Twenty-one. And I had no problem at all with the passing of each year of my twenties - until of course, 29. That wasn't so good. But turning thirty didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. In fact, I hardly felt it at all. And my thirties were great. I looked fabulous in my thirties. There was a lot going on. Many pivotal events happened in my thirties. I got divorced. I got married. I became a mom. Instantly. I got hired by Disney. We bought our current home. And every year took its sweet time passing. I was in my thirties for a very long time. Like 20 years or something. Until 39. And about two months before turning 40, I started having anxiety attacks. Until I turned 40 and then they stopped and I was just fine. And I had a baby. I went to Hawaii. Again. I went to Africa. I went to the Caribbean. I went to Cancun. I went to Canada. And all was well. Until about 47 when time started to pick up speed. And try as I might, I couldn't find the control switch.

And then - then there was 50 - which was very weird. But I was a big girl about it. I still had all the kids at home and I was still gainfully employed and I was pretty good about chasing it from my mind. Except for that time switch - which moved itself to full tilt acceleration. And the older girls started college. And I lost my job. And then I lost another job. And then menopause. And then my youngest decided not to be a kid anymore. I remember in my teens being insanely jealous of my sister Linda, one year older, who got to do everything a year earlier than I. My only revenge was to to be able to say "but when I'm 49, you'll be 50". And here we are. Both past that. Way.

I look at my profile photo on Facebook and Linked in and realize: "I need to update my photo". I look at older photos of myself that I like - even back only a couple of years and think "I need a shot like that". And then I remember that I will never look like "that" again. Even with effort. Because I am on the other side of "that". Okay so maybe I can't look like "that". I guess I can look "different". And sometimes "different" is better. Well, occasionally sometimes.

Now before you think I'm whining too much, I'm not. I'm extremely grateful for everything I have in my life. The good, and in fact, the bad - because the bad keeps me dependent on God. And really, the bad hasn't been that bad. But I am sorely looking for the room that houses that time accelerator switch. I'd be grateful if it would all just s-l-o-w-d-o-w-n.

On Becoming a Man

There has been a lot of coverage lately of Chastity Bono's (daughter of Sonny & Cher) recent testosterone therapy and surgery to become Chas Bono, a man. A lot of money could have been saved had he just waited for menopause.

As I sit here, preparing for yet another birthday, I am considering the many things about my aging self that I, frankly, did not sign on for. With diminished levels of estrogen flowing through my body I have noted some unwelcome intrusions to my being that have just planted themselves and taken root like invasive ivy.

1. Tough, dry hands. Like men's hands since they rarely lotion. And like, overnight.

2. Thinning hair. I have always had a lot of hair - very thick. In fact, I still do. But I have noticed a small, little spot at the very crown of my head that requires a little more attention - teasing, product, and fussing with - to cover. And I am not amused.

3. Beer belly. Without the beer. I carry around a lot of extra weight but my waist has always been well defined. Except I am noticing the encroachment of what we women have always kindly referred to on our husbands as "love handles" - and this is very distressing. Because in truth men, there is no love for them.

4. Whiskers. Yes, I said it. You will not find many of us willing to admit it (because the thought of it brings on chest pains) but MOST women, after menopause, have this offensive thing happen to them. The soft unnoticeable peach fuzz on our chins can "switch sides" and randomly become coarse and dark, long - and sinister. And I have to learn to look for it daily. And I carry a tweezer in my purse now because the bathroom light is not reliable.

5. Sensitivity. Okay - this is not typically a masculine thing. I bring this up because it is the single feminine thing that most of us would gladly be rid of. But it has taken over my psyche like crabgrass and I cry over everything. And I mean everything. Like commercials that have pretty music. Or tough, dry hands. Or thinning hair. Or "love handles". Or whiskers.

Yes especially whiskers.

I'm Out of Elementary School

My youngest graduated from the 6th grade last week. At her little school, elementary school goes through 6th grade, as it did when I was growing up.

Her school always puts on a wonderful ceremony for the graduating class, which is never more than 25, in this case there were only 16. All 16 were dressed up and fidgety. It is a big deal.

My older three girls graduated from this school as well and each ceremony was truly memorable. I was proud of each of my three older daughters as they stood and gave a 3 minute speech they wrote and memorized, walked forward to receive a diploma - and I was equally proud of Grace as she did the same. But there was something different in this one. This was my last. My baby, wearing a new dress that didn't have a hint of "little girl" in its design, high heeled shoes and shaved legs, french tip manicure, dangling earrings in her newly pierced ears, a hair style for older girls, and her first make-up in public, walked up to the podium and out of grammar school and after nearly 20 straight years of having a child in elementary school, I walk out with her. So while this day was all about her, it was a marker for me as well.

Grace is particularly emotional. She cries on the last day of school every year (including preschool!) weeping at the passing of age so I knew she would be a mess this go around. I carefully instructed her on the way to dab dripping eyes that are made up with mascara (under the lashes to absorb moisture and not smear black under the eyes - lest we look like Bette Davis in "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane"...) and watched as she sat on the stage with her classmates becoming an expert on tear catching.

After all the graduates had made their speeches and received their diplomas we moved to the reception room where we all witnessed all seven girls in the class sporting red, swollen eyes as they hugged and gathered and sobbed and let me tell you, the moms were right behind them. My throat was tight and and my nostrils flared as I tried to squelch what could have become big gobby sobs had I not been well versed in stifling such things. I was proud of my daughter. She looked beautiful. It was a big day for her. But it was a big day for me too. Both Amanda and Jennifer were in attendance and when Amanda reminded me that she had graduated from this school 10 years ago, I was instantly in that day, remembering what she wore, how she stood with her friends and received an award. The following year, both Christine and Jennifer did the same - with their hair piled high on their heads - all grown up and by this time, Grace had started preschool there. And while I was equally proud of all of them, in the back of my mind was that I had another 8 years at this school and I felt I would never be done.

But this day, I looked around the walls, looked at the staff, the building in the same way Amanda, Christine and Jennifer did years ago. The way Grace was looking at it now. There is sadness in the joy. My youngest is leaving that environment but so am I. And we shall never pass this way again.

So I am catching tears with kleenex carefully placed under the lashes.

American Tragedy - Part II

In the interest of bipartisan balance, after criticizing Sarah Palin in my last post, Senators Anthony Weiner and John Edwards (a man I once supported!) are equally deserving of distain for being liars and idiots. With Edwards' recent indictment for a scandal that seems to have no end and Weiner's embarrassing tweet escapades, one can only shake their head and wonder how two such seemingly intelligent and respectable individuals could possibly think they could get away with such disgraceful and immoral behavior. Yes, they are only human but isn't that the point? Humans are not supposed to behave like pigs.

American Tragedy

With all due respect to my friends who think otherwise, after yet another embarrassing "gotcha question" thrown at her "randomly" by the news media (specifically, "What has most impressed you on your tour and what are you going to take away with you?"), I must go on record to say that Sarah Palin is an complete imbecile. I am utterly embarrassed by her. But possibly more horrifying is the fact that Wikipedia (unfortunate research source for school-aged kids) has been updated to reflect some of Ms. Palin's ridiculous rendering of Paul Revere's ride (although likely as a joke). Further, she insists she knew what she was talking about and went on to say that Paul Revere was also "ringing his bells" through the streets so that the "British could hear the warning that we were not going to tolerate them taking away our arms".

Frankly, she terrifies me.

Gut Cleaning the House

Well, I've been putting it off and putting it off. Cleaning my house, that is. I honestly don't know how but somehow I had let it get completely out of control and just the thought of tackling it left me exhausted. I didn't even know where to begin.

But there was no getting around it today. Amanda is coming home on Wednesday. And she's bringing "the boyfriend". Now normally I try to keep the house reasonably picked up and tidy for my own sake - but company - and more specifically company I have never met - calls for a much higher effort. So today it was all hands on deck for a real "gut clean".

This was not just the floors and laundry, the dusting and folding and straightening, the bathroom sinks and tubs - this was the vacuuming of pillows and furniture and cobwebs and base boards. This was the purging and organizing and taking everything out of its place and cleaning the shelves and putting it back better. This was the nooks and crannies of the refrigerator. This was the dusting of all photo and picture frames. This was the narrow attachment of the vacuum cleaner around the periphery of the carpet in every room and hallway. This was the toothbrush to the grout. This was the walls. And when it was all done, it still didn't sparkle like new because, because my house is old and needs a lot of work. And now I see clean but I see painting that needs to be done and stuff I no longer like that needs to be tossed - and lord in heaven - carpets. I need new carpets. Because they look like I have donkeys instead of dogs running around the house.

Also, somewhere in the effort I did something to my foot and now my ankle is screaming every time I step on my foot without thinking purposely about it. And I took this as a sign. A sign to quit while I'm ahead.

So I texted Amanda and I said: "How nicely does Dan's mom keep her home - and don't you DARE tell him I asked." Amanda replied almost immediately: "Pretty near spotless." And so my heart sank. Looking around at all that needed to get done to look spotless represented another full day of toothbrushes and polishing and then, at that precise moment, Bob walked through the back door after having been working on the garden - still a work in progress. But he stepped directly in with no pause so I barked loudly: "For god's sake, Bob! I just vacuumed! Did you even wipe your feet?" Having had it with my orders for the day, he replied with a chirp: "No!" And then he turned his back to me. And then he mooned me.

I took this as a sign that my first sign was confirmed.

So Dan will have to take us just as we are, given the full moon and all.

Murder in My Heart

Today I was in a bit of a rush to get home from the grocery. That parking lot is always busy and I proceed with great caution getting out of it. Not only cars but so many people everywhere. So I am driving slowly down the main artery of this parking lot - toward the exit when a woman with very short blonde hair begins, several feet ahead of me to walk - diagonally - across it. And she turned to look at me. And she continued to walk, diagonally, blocking my way for far longer than it would have taken had she just walked in a straight line. And she was S-L-O-W.

I know that pedestrians have the right of way at all times -whether in a crosswalk or the middle of a busy street. I understand this and respect it. Of course you stop for people.

But...

When you stop your car to let someone get safely across the street - an adult - and they have with them no child holding their hand, no heavy bags to carry, no seeing eye dog, no wheelchair or walking cane, no impairment - and they see you - acknowledge you even - and then make not even a pretense of picking up their pace so that you can get on with your day - and then if you should lose your mind at the arrogance of it and hit the accelerator, I believe it becomes a case for justifiable homicide.

Now that didn't happen today, but I'm just saying.