Suddenly…

Hey, do you know that feeling of hitching up a long skirt so you don’t fall on your face when walking upstairs, and then you immediately become a wretched yet resolute Jane Austen character? It’s a universal thing, right?

I wish I could take credit for this. Because it is a universal thing, for women. I can’t speak for men, but women know those moments.

Staring out the window during a rainstorm, sipping tea, listening to a sad song and feeling like a rom com character who had to break up with the “guy,” but wishing he had been…better.

Staring into a fireplace with snow falling, thinking of your ancestors who didn’t have a Zippo to light their own fires they needed to survive.

Diving into the ocean, feeling like a literary heroine in a Kate Chopin novel, wondering, “If I just keep swimming and disappear, I can start a new life.”

I have been involved in an Instagram thread that has brought me so much laughter and happiness, I thought it is the perfect way to start blogging again. To know that as women, we all have this in common. That of removing ourselves mentally and emotionally from a moment or situation, and imagining we are someone else of days gone by.

Here are some “moments” in the thread:

Washing dishes and rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand, because you suddenly realize you must churn butter for supper.

Eating stew with bread and suddenly you’re in a medieval inn eating your first hot meal after a fortnight on the road.

Running down the stairs with a long skirt, suddenly a princess escaping the castle under siege.

Your shoes making a clacking noise on a marble floor and suddenly you’re a fashion maven followed by your three assistants.

Wearing an oversize sweater with long sleeves, gripping your warm coffee mug and suddenly you’re a middle-aged successful author who writes self-help books and has slender fingers.

When it begins to rain unexpectedly and you don’t have an umbrella, so you pull your scarf over your head and suddenly now you’re an eastern European peasant woman trying to survive the Nazis.

You bring in wood for the fire, and suddenly you’re a wretched poor woman who lives alone in a small wooden shack on the moors because you wouldn’t conform and marry the middle-aged captain.

Walking along with a child on your hip and suddenly feeling like an impoverished  washerwoman with a brood of children walking to meet her husband from the mines.

Wearing a scarf over your head on a cold winter day, you turn your head to look and suddenly you’re the French Lieutenant’s woman.

Eating bread, cheese and stew and suddenly now you’re Heidi, living with Grandfather.

That’s only a small sample. Makes me proud to be a woman. The one comment from a man was:

“These comments confuse and intrigue me.”

Indeed.

KEVIN!

I like the scene in the movie “Home Alone” when Kevin is walking home with his groceries, and the bottom rips out of the grocery bag, spilling the groceries on the sidewalk. So much so that I personally recreated the same scene at work yesterday.

On long days on campus, I bring an assortment of food stuffs. Bringing a healthy assortment of snacks keeps me from drifting towards the crap machines. A crafty ploy.

Between my first and second classes, as I was waiting for the elevator, the bottom ripped out of my bag, and I’m sure my face registered the same expression Kevin’s did in the film. That look of:

WTF.

I knew why it happened. At the last minute, I had grabbed a frozen bottle of water out my freezer, ostensibly to replenish my flask at lunch. I don’t know why that frozen bottle of water was in there, probably from one of the boys drifting in and out of the house, treating our home like a Marriott, as they do.

It being humid out, the frozen bottle drenched the paper bottom of the bag. I mean, you get the idea. It was class change, so a few dozen people were passing through the hallways. A couple of good Samaritans stopped to gather my wares off the floor, and I wonder what they thought of the sundry assortment.

Listen, when I pack my lunch bag in the morning, I’m not thinking. My main goal is to simply use what I have “in the house.” This is my new adult thing: to use what is “in the house.” It is truly something I enjoy doing now that the boys are all out of the house, using whatever I have in the house since I don’t have to shop for them anymore.

I had brought:

Half veggie sandwich

5 carrot coins

8 overripe blackberries

Small plain yogurt

Half dozen Wheat Thins

Small bag of vanilla granola

2 chocolate raspberry truffles from the Ritz-Carlton in Philadelphia

2 small pieces Willy Wallaby black licorice

“Here ya go, here ya go, here ya go….”

The sandwich and licorice survived. The carrots fell out of their wrap, the blackberries disintegrated, the yogurt opened on the floor, and the rest, I’m sorry to say, suffered various life-ending morbidities. It was a real mess.

KEVIN!

Hoowah

The most hate mail I ever received as an op-ed writer for The Philadelphia Inquirer was when I said I liked the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

Yowza, did I get in trouble.

Getting to be a woman is such an honor, was my point. And I recently ran across the movie scene in “Scent of a Woman” that reminded me:

Al Pacino, playing that part, articulates it perfectly. So take it away, Al, I’m too hot to think and write.

(Oh, and a warning: this video has the “T” word, and the “P” word when referring to women. Don’t watch if easily offended. If you watch, and you get offended, you’re completely missing the point of the speech. You’ve been warned. Oh, and grow up. Sheesh).

Too Pretty to be Sad

This adorable video keeps popping up on Instagram of this baby girl who every time she looks at her mother, she makes this sad “boo-boo” lip, and when she looks back at her dad, she smiles. Her facial expressions go back and forth between mom and dad, and it’s super cute.

(I demand a granddaughter, pronto dente).

Anyway, when she does the pouty lip thing, you can hear her mother laugh and say, “Oh, baby, don’t be sad.” You can also hear her father say, off-video, “Oh, baby, you’re too pretty to be sad.”

If you’ve already figured it out, you’re quicker than I am. I wasn’t prepared, but now, of course, I realize I should have been. Silly, silly me. Here are some of the comments:

Too pretty to be sad? Ugh.

Bad parents.

In this day and age, seriously?

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

The implication being, of course, that the parents are sending this six-month old the wrong message, which will, ultimately, send her to her crib with low self-esteem and potential cutting issues. The message being?

That being pretty is everything. And that if a young girl is lucky enough to be born “pretty,” she has, and never will have, anything to complain about.

Yikes. Does anyone actually believe that, or teach their daughters that? I tend to doubt it.

Entire books have been written on the subject of women’s body image, societal expectations of the female body image, the effects of growing up as what society perceives as “attractive” vs. “unattractive,” etc. I teach entire classes on it, sometimes I spend weeks on it, sometimes I assign papers to be written on it. It’s fascinating.

And I’m not trying to solve it here.

I guess the bottom line is that you should see this baby. She is definitely too pretty to be sad. We all are.

Can I get some answers?

(*Let me just say that of course I support whatever tactics any woman utilizes that makes her feel beautiful. I judge no one. After all, I don’t want anyone judging me for getting highlights, or a spray tan. That being said, please read on)…

Who is telling women who get Botox and extreme face lifts that they look good?

One night when I was at work, a tall emaciated blonde on the arm of a dark-haired older man walked past me, and I couldn’t help but feel enormously sorry for her. This is amusing considering the fact that not only was she wealthy, but obviously the whole point of her frozen monkey-like countenance was to show everyone in the room that she (or I guess he) could afford the plastic surgery. She couldn’t possibly have thought she looked good. And she was so young.

Who is telling these women with frozen misshapen faces and blowfish lips that they look good? Social media? Rich men? The plastic surgeons? They all have to stop lying to these poor women.

Other questions I have:

Why do all sweaters cost $300? They’re not even cashmere. Even high-quality sweaters used to cost, like, $79.99. Every single sweater I like costs $300. That’s a car payment. Have I missed something?

Why does the media so badly want me to eat an avocado a day, and also get the Shingles vaccine? What’s in it for them? If my health was a priority to conglomerates, supermarkets wouldn’t still sell sliced salami.

How can Supercuts advertise and brag about the fact that they have “no waits”? I have dozens of stories of my twins’ meltdowns while waiting for their turns at Supercuts. The only thing that kept them in control was the promise of going next door for pizza and Gamestop.

I guess that’s it for now.

Confusion-fest

My love for fall and all that it implies is well-documented. But the clothing transition always takes me by surprise. After six months of sundresses and sandals, what does one do?

Like, what do I cover my arms with? My legs? What do I put on my feet? When I dress for 45 degrees in the morning, what do I do when the temperature surges to 70 degrees by afternoon? Do I wear layers? And if so, what constitutes layers? Tank top on bottom, collared shirt in middle, sweater on top?

Or do I keep clothes in my car? Maybe go home and do a complete change? Or just not go out at all until the weather is consistent with my wardrobe?

Shoes confound me. When is the first official day that is appropriate to wear my boots? And how do I wear them? With tights? And where are my tights? Just where in the hell are they?

My current conundrum is whether it’s appropriate to light my fall candles if I still have a summer scent I need to burn down. Can I start brewing pumpkin spice in my Keurig? Should I change to my musky fall scented perfume? Should I get lowlights? Get my toenails painted cabernet? Is it time to start throwing soups in the slow cooker? Should I shop for mums and corn stalks? Is it too early to rent “The Exorcist”?

I need all these questions answered.

Upkeep

Have people lost interest in personal grooming since the pandemic? It seems to me that when I look around in church, in the supermarket and in the restaurants, some people just look…haggard. Certain folk seem to not care about presentation anymore.

Ratty stretched out sweatpants in mass? Really?

Garish grown-out highlights?

Old chipped pedicures?

Granted, not everyone is as vain as I. Think how vain I must be, then multiply it by a zillion. I’ve said it before: if I had a hundred-dollar bill left to my name, and I had a choice between the supermarket or the mall, off to Nordstrom I would go. If I’m going out, I’m going out looking hot.

So say people are sacrificing personal grooming because of the economy. Mm-k. Let’s have fun and play hypothetically: if I couldn’t afford upkeep for myself, what would I sacrifice?

Twice a month pedicures plus tip= $120.00

Give up: Air conditioning/heat on the second level of the house=$120.00

Highlights every 8 weeks= $250.00 a month

Give up: Specialty grocery store trips for four Sundays= 250.00 a month

Cosmetics= $200.00 a month

Give up: Planting extra flowers on the side of the garage: = $200.00

Twice a month light spray tan= $120.00

Give up: Fancy drive-through Platinum car wash 2x a month= $120.00

Eyebrow/lip waxing= $80.00

Give up: 10 fall Yankee candles= $80.00

Gym membership= $50.00 a month

Give up: Pizza delivery= $50.00

Native deodorants= $30.00 a month

Give up: Premium gas= $30.00 amassed over a month

Wardrobe refreshes monthly= $200.00

Give up: Grocery shopping.

I’m serious about the last one. When you skip grocery shopping, it’s amazing what you realize you already have. I’ve made some pretty spectacular meals this summer with ingredients already sitting in my pantry.

When it comes down to it, the rumor is true: there IS food at home.

Cuteness

(Note: my domain will be undergoing an update in five days, but since I don’t understand the parameters, I need to talk to someone in person. So if my website goes offline at any time, I’m aware of it, and will take care of it as soon as I can).

When the hell did I become “cute?”

There’s little girl “cute.” You know, hair bows and braids and pigtails and pink light-up sandals. There’s kitten and baby bunny “cute,” complete with soft fluff and wide-eyed innocence. And there are other kinds.

“Oh, that outfit is so cute!”

“That is such a cute idea!”

“What a cute picture!”

I honestly can’t think of anymore ways the word “cute” is appropriate. So how the hell did I reach “cute” status?

I’ve been getting it a lot lately, not in the good way (is there a good way?) and I’m wracking my brain to try and figure out what I’m doing that is so “cute.” It’s not exactly what I’m going for.

I’m not a “cute” professor. I’m rather terrifying, actually, or so I’ve been told.

I’m not a “cute” mom. See above.

I don’t dress “cute.” My style is modern, classic, sophisticated. I never ever wear pink, or bows, or ruffles, or anything that pre or post-dates me.

I don’t speak “cute.” I’m articulate. I don’t use youthful slang, or that annoying soft baby voice that young girls get away with.

I don’t write “cute.” I don’t like Chicken Soup for the Soul books, or romance novels. I’m edgy, and racy. I’d be more likely to write porn than a love poem.

I don’t act “cute.” How does one even act cute? Girls in their early twenties can still get away with that, so I’ll leave it to them.

I don’t work “cute.” Let’s leave it at that. Cute has no place in the workplace.

It is not men calling me “cute.” Men know I’m more than “cute.” It’s mostly twenty-something girls. I guess I remind them of their moms, so I don’t fault them, but they have to stop.

I’m not cute. Maybe one day. But not yet.

But just as I sometimes refer to men and women in their eighties as “cute,” they see me the same. To them I am a cute older lady managing to navigate the world that now belongs to them.

I get it. But it ain’t so cute.

On Influence

I did not make it to the beach on Friday, but I did enjoy a long boat ride down the river with my son. True to my word to make it to the beach this weekend, I cancelled my consultation appointment on Sunday, packed my water, a chair and a book, and high-tailed it to a remote beach for a beach morning.

I’m talking morning. 8:30 a.m. It was a beautiful placid morning near the water, just me and some little white crabs that kept peering at me with their buggy eyes and raised claws. I took a few dips in the (still cold? Or newly cold?) water, and felt at peace as the ocean and I rediscovered each other.

It was tranquil. Until it wasn’t.

I heard their cackling before I saw them, and of course they sat near me, despite the empty, completely desolate beach. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:

I could be sunbathing, or parking, or eating, or walking, on a Siberian archipelago, and some fucking nimrod on a phone would plunk herself right down next to me and talk at full volume. It never fails.

WHERE DO I HAVE TO GO TO GET SOME PEACE AND QUIET? AND WHAT TIME SHOULD I BE THERE? OBVIOUSLY 8:30 A.M. ON A SUNDAY IS NOT EARLY ENOUGH!

But I digress.

So these two, er, well-endowed young women set up their blanket about twenty yards from me and proceeded to set up what looked like an Instagram photo shoot. As they gyrated and cavorted for almost two hours in the water and in the sand, I peered at them like they were one of those old 3D posters that if you squinted long enough, you’d finally be able to spot the spaceship in the middle.

In this case I was not looking for a spaceship, but reason. Sense. Rationale. Logic. And I came up empty-handed.

This is not a castigation of female social media influencers. What do I care? If they enjoy it, more power to them. I am simply making the observation that I’m old.

Not geriatric old. More like “I refuse to learn any more new technology” old.

What I don’t get about young girls:

Their need to cackle and scream at full volume.

The improbability of high waisted pants making a comeback despite the fact that they weren’t even flattering in the ‘70’s.

Their application of horrid-smelling fruity lotions.

Their insistence on wearing pajamas to attend college classes.

Their refusal to date anyone under 6’0.

Their confidence that brandishing their gorgeous bums on social media will result in…what? A husband? Fame? Likes?

One day social media will come crashing down and where will all of these young people be?

Oi.

Whimsy

When I feel like I’m not enjoying a season enough, I turn to Bella Grace for advice. Just one quick browse of their seasonal suggestions, and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing: feeling gratitude for life. So here on this hot and humid summer Friday is a Bella Grace list of 25 ways to enjoy the whimsical nature of summer. Enjoy!

If it is sunny today, then take 10 minutes to bask in the glow of gratitude. Bring nothing but a thankful heart with you outside.  If you can free up your schedule, then invite a friend over for lemonade and scones. Make it fancy with striped straws and lace napkins.

If you haven’t called home lately, then do so and tell the person who answers a favorite summer memory they were a part of.

If you are hungry, then go to an ethnic restaurant you’ve never tried before. Invite a friend to dine with you and pretend you are food critics. Tip well out of sheer kindness.

If you want to dip into your boho style, then go to a local string of vintage/antique shops and put together an outfit worthy of your unconventional elegance.

If you are feeling ordinary, then recognize what an extraordinary privilege it is to be so! Go to the magazine racks and imagine if your face were on every cover. Buy big sunglasses to avoid the imaginary paparazzi, and go dwell in your extraordinary ordinary day.

If you feel like you’re missing your youth, then go to the library and rent all of the favorite books you read as a child. Curl up with your old teddy and read the stories aloud in the characters’ voices.

If you are near a cemetery, then take some time to honor the lives that have passed before you. Walk slowly, and read the names of those who walked this journey and have now moved on to the next. Imagine what their lives were like.

If you are feeling adventurous, then get in your car with no phone, no map, and no agenda of when to be back. Get lost on purpose; turn by turn, just drive.

If you need some love, then take the afternoon to go to a local humane society. Take your time meeting new furry babies. Snuggle and surround yourself with purring perfection and puppy kisses. If you have some spare change, then donate!

If you have a new notebook and favorite pen, then make it a dedicated space for lists. Make one page a list of favorite people. Make another page a list of the places where you want to travel. Try to compose a list of the sounds that make your heart beat faster. Fill the rest of the pages as inspired list ideas come to you.

If you have a significant other, then spend a day together where everything is their choice. Be as selflessly, arduously in love as you can be. Get lost in the bliss of not needing to make a decision and delighting in the company of only the two of you. Schedule another day in the future that is all about you. If you are single, then be bold in loving yourself! Make confidence your mate, and take yourself on a well-earned date for one. t If you are feeling nostalgic, then go on a photo treasure hunt. Seek out pictures of past loves, long-ago friends, and lost family. Allow yourself to slip back into the memory captured in front of you, and reminisce at the beauty of that moment.

If you’re in a bad mood, then create a loud-song-only playlist. Sing along until your throat hurts. Turn up the volume until your ears ring. Soothe your soul with listless lyrics that feed your feisty spirit.

If you’re missing cooler weather, then celebrate winter for the day. Watch holiday movies. Make frozen hot chocolate. Crank up the air conditioning and make a fire in the fireplace. Wrap up in cozy blankets and get your comfort on.

If you have vacation days to spare, then call a few friends and plan an impromptu trip. Pack a bag and go! Meet somewhere between your destinations and make it the place to be. Rent a room at a bed-and-breakfast, book massages and mani/pedis. Grab the newest bestseller and recharge together!

If you feel like learning, then explore the museums in your city. Take a weekend to tour two or three of the leading art, science, and history hot spots around you. Take notes. Take pictures. Immerse yourself in the culture of which you are a part.

If you have a sweet tooth, then find a new local bakery to visit. Order the most delectable thing on the menu. Didn’t you know summer-sweet calories don’t count?

If you are blessed with a thunderstorm, then embrace every moment of it! Turn off all the lights in your house and burn candles. Cuddle under a blanket made of only the softest material, and sink into a new novel that you read cover-to-cover.

If you’re feeling restless, then have a get-up-and-go day. Pack a backpack with water, snacks, a book, and sunscreen. Leave the moment you wake up and don’t come home until well after the stars have come out. Track your day hour to hour and see just how much you can accomplish when you’re on the go.

If you feel the sea calling you, then answer your inner mermaid and find the water. Whether a river, pond, lake, ocean, or puddle, put on a cute suit and own your inner magic.

If you are sad summer is ending, then be in denial. Watch a marathon of summer movie titles. Go to the beach one more time. Build a sandcastle. Grill summer squash and carve a watermelon into thick, ripe slices. Refuse to say goodbye to the sunshine and watch it boldly as it slips down the horizon line.