Dirty Old Men

They are dead now, these "MEN."

I know I am not alone. I know many women have stories much worse than mine. I also understand that a man does not have to be old to be guilty of abominable behavior. Taking advantage of unsuspecting or innocent young women or girls or anyone is never acceptable.

I had an uncle, he drank a lot. That man could not keep his tongue in his own mouth. Then there was the older shop owner who offered me a ride to school.... I knew that man for years, he had been a friend to my mother and I, we shopped there often before that early morning ride to school.

Bosses and supervisors made crude remarks, jokes and close the door demands. Behind closed doors were underlining suggestions of benefits vs humiliation. I learned as I truly believe many of my peers did to go along with it.

The best way for me to deal with the unwanted comments was the art of the one liner shut down. It showed I had a quick wit, could fend for myself, and that I was not interested. It did however, keep me in the game. My adult experiences, differed from my younger ones because once innocence was lost, knowledge was gained.

After all, I knew I would never get ahead unless I went full throttle. I wasn’t an ambitious person to begin with, I had simple goals that were met at an early age. So I played the game intent on busting as many stones as possible.

I can’t say I never lost a job over my unwillingness to be obedient and get dirty. I also can’t say that bouncing back was easy. I am happy that young women today have a louder voice. I still think it’s going to take awhile to see a true difference, if things can really ever change.

Beware all daughters out there. Dead men have sons.

Not So Steady Girl

Recently, I was diagnosed with an Essential Tremor, which happily they have a pill for. My doc says the pill won’t take it away completely, and it may get worse over time. As long as I can remember while using my hands for specific tasks, drawing, baking, making jewelry, writing - they would shake a little, hardly noticeable. I figured it was nerves or anxiety and paid it no mind, but occasionally when I wasn’t alone, someone would ask why my hands were shaking. Obviously, it was noticeable.

I used to enjoy singing, while the music played. Musicals from the 50’s and 60’s, blues, folk, torch songs, even opera. To my own ears it never seemed that I was ruining the song and I loved it, it freed me. Someone once told me they thought I sounded like Julie Andrews. Really? A coworker overheard me singing along to Madam Butterfly. (I was in my office with the door closed) A few days later he asked me to join his elite choir, I said I wouldn’t make it through the audition. He told me he heard me and there was no need to worry. My point is, I always took singing for granted. A few years ago my voice started wobbling, I couldn’t hold a tune or a note. The essential tremor is to blame for that. That makes me sad, I really miss singing along. It took me out of myself.

I gave up making jewelry a little while back. Between the shaking and my aging eyesight the pleasure was gone. I still bake, I use one hand to steady the other, but it’s becoming more frustrating and a much slower process. Luckily in this digital world hand writing and printing are no longer a necessity.

I stopped sketching shortly after I graduated art school. I got good enough to know that I wasn’t willing to put in the time to get really good. I didn’t work long enough at it to develop my own style. To be clear, not gimmick, style. I enjoyed sketching and I enjoyed working with pastels. Last year I bought a sketch book. I was thinking about trying again, but I’m afraid to. Now that I’ve been diagnosed with this essential tremor thing I’m thinking maybe this is the perfect time to start. Maybe a little shaking could free me, the way singing would. Losing my inhibitions, being impulsive through no fault of my own...this could work in my favor.

If I get up the nerve to try to draw again, I will. But the problem now is, what I have just written  makes me aware that not being able to sing anymore is the kicker. Not until now, did I understand how much I miss it. How disappointed I feel when driving alone and I hear myself try to sing. I laugh, but I’m sad. It’s a private let down, a lonely let down, something I shared with only me. I know it’s part of aging. I only wish I would have known how much it defined me before it was gone.

Running With Scissors

I am a relatively healthy senior citizen (at the moment). I am the correct weight for my height, and I am not on any medications. Because of my age, my shoulders are lighter in regards to being a “bad girl” in the health department.
For instance if I started smoking an occasional cigarette I don’t think I run the risk of getting lung cancer. Nor do I believe alcohol will effect my liver. Candy will no longer rot my teeth and running with scissors is not on my list of no no’s because I don’t run anymore.
So you see, aging has many advantages. I like the silver streaks in my hair and the lines in my face show character.

For me, there is one disadvantage to being a senior in this day and age. I always looked young for my age, which often led to not being heard, or taken seriously. It felt disrespectful and I imagined that as I aged I would be shown more respect, simply because my age would become more obvious. Much to my dismay as I changed, so has the world. Respect seems to have fallen by the wayside. The youth of today doesn’t care about wisdom or experience. Too many people know everything and so few want to listen.

The occasions I feel most respected are when I am among my peers. We are united in our previous struggles. We fought some hard battles, and we won many of them. Now we stand our ground banded together clinging to what unified us. I appreciate those even brief encounters more everyday.

So here are my words of wisdom to the youth of America. Smoke like a chimney, drink like a fish, eat candy in the economy size and run. Run, as fast as you can.
Because karma is a bitch.

A Dime for Your Thoughts

It was about two years ago that I started noticing dimes on the ground, on seats and other miscellaneous places. People say that when they come across various objects it represents contact from someone who is no longer with us. Pennies, butterflies etc. I had a sense that the dimes were a sign from my father, who has now been gone for over 50 years. Why I am just noticing this now is a mystery to me.

When I was a young teen I thought I had some psychic abilities. I saw auras, I heard things no one else seemed to, but mostly I just knew things. In my early twenties I had a vision that involved a close friend. The incident happened very close to how I had invisioned it and it scared me to death. I shoved whatever abilities I had into a deep hole and they haven’t come close to resurfing until this thing with the dimes.

What do the dimes mean? What, if anything is my father trying to communicate? I have no memory of a significant dime reference or encounter, but I was just a young girl.

So Daddy, a dime for your thoughts.

Watch It!

I have always been a people watcher, when I was a child I sat, almost mute, at the holiday table. In fear of being trampled upon by words. It was a raucous table, everyone spoke at the same time. My Father's Mother had many siblings who had spouses along with adult children.
I did not speak. I listened and observed. Besides it was the fifties, I spoke when spoken to.

By listening I learned timing, and wit. By watching I learned expression and the art of reading people. I hate crowds when I am walking among them, but if I am able to sit and scrutinize, I am in heaven. When I do speak in a group, I try to make my words matter.

It is important for me to be heard. If I feel that I am not seen, not understood I will stop talking.
That is the beginning of the end.

Watch it.

Not Smart Enough

I grew up wanting to be an elementary school teacher. I would set up my stuffed animals and dolls in a line and call on them to answer questions I posed to the group. In High School, while researching schools my mother told me: "You're not smart enough to go to college". I was taught not to question my mother, so I decided to go to art school. My dad had always wanted to go to art school but his parents told him: "Men don't go to art school" and so it went.

In my third year as a Graphic Design major, I wondered if this was really what I wanted. It dawned on me that I was trying to fulfill the dream of my dead father.. Again, my mother stepped in: "But you can't do anything else!"

Now that I'm all grown up, it's very clear that I would have done just as well as my peers did, if not better, in college. Life is funny that way. When you have enough years under your belt to be able to just sit and look back sometimes you realize it all worked out.

Turns out I did get to teach, though not in the conventional way I had imagined. I taught various art classes at a technical school, I taught children at recreation centers, I schooled staff on a computer system and I even got to stand on stage and present that same system to an auditorium of avid participants.

People listened, and learned.

Hear that Mom?

Oh, By the Way...

Today is my half birthday. A natural question one might ask could be: why would a 63 and a half year old women announce or care about a so-called half birthday?

It all began as a child. I was born on December 24th. Which is why my Mother named me Carol. When I became old enough to understand that my special day was nothing like my friends birthdays, I had the brilliant idea to ask my mother if we could celebrate on June 24th, my half birthday. She declined.

At first it was just that my little friends could not attend my birthday parties. I can remember very clearly having the streamers and balloons hung, while standing in my party dress staring out the window as the phone calls filtered in. The falling snow was never a welcome sight, just one more reason to cancel. It wasn't like my mother was foolish enough to plan the party on the 24th, but still anytime around the holidays were just too jam packed with activities. The up side was there was always plenty of birthday cake leftover for days after.

During my teen years I avoided the whole party thing, in fact I began avoiding the entire birthday issue. When it was celebrated by a friend it usually was expressed through a note jotted on a Christmas card that read "Oh, by the way... Happy Birthday" or a gift wrapped with Christmas paper. Did I mention I'm Jewish?

In my twenties, if I had a boyfriend December 24th became more ironic. It often felt like an obligation to celebrate Christmas Eve with my boyfriends family. I was to learn that many families open their Christmas presents on Christmas Eve. So, there I sat while everyone around me joyfully opened gifts on MY Birthday. Occasionally, someone would spill the beans about my secret which only made it worse.

I realize this isn't tragic but take a look at it from my eyes. Imagine you are dating someone for awhile, it's your Birthday so you go out to dinner and maybe he buys you some nice thoughtful gift, or not. When I was growing up, everything was closed on Christmas Eve. Restaurants and movie theaters were not an option, besides Christmas Eve usually trumped birthdays.
So in general that time of year just got to be a bummer.

Once I reached my thirties I decided to do my own celebrating. Not only did I order a small cake from my local bakery, I bought myself a generous gift each year.

Generally speaking, I am not fond of holidays. It feels I am required by society to have fun, spend it with people,and be festive. Maybe my lack of experience in the festivity department has led me to this place of bah humbug.

It wasn't all bad. I remember one time a co-worker prepared a lunchtime surprise party at work, it brought tears to my eyes. Friends over the years have also taken me out for simple dinners or lunches (not around the holidays) in celebration, and I thank them for that. Also I am not totally against celebrations of Birthdays. I surprised my Mother with a big bash when she turned 50.

But today, as I pay tribute to my non-birthday, I sit quietly beside my husband who was born on December 27th.

Everythings Coming up Roses

I had a rose bush against the adjoining fence, the rose bush naturally grew in and out of the fence taller and taller, blooming year after year. The beautiful sweet scent caught you as you walked past. Weeds grew to the size of trees behind the fence and I could no longer keep up with the dense growth. 

Two weeks ago my neighbor had everything removed professionally, my rose bush became a stump.

Today I already saw at least ten, two inch healthy sprouts shooting out from the flat, seeming lifeless stumps that remained. 

I thought, I am that bush.

I am a rose!

Bull

I am so tired of bull shit. So much time is wasted on lies. I'm not talking about saying things like "What a cute picture" or "You're new hair cut looks great". I'm talking about the lies that waste precious moments of life that you can't get back. The lies that lead to sleepless nights and hours of playback in someone's mind.

Nearly a decade of my life has gone by filled with lies created by people in my small circle. Like a stone thrown in a lake they ripple, the circle of water growing until almost the entire body of water has been effected. My head aches as I ponder the point of it all.

Somewhere in our minds we know we are being lied to, we see the signs, hear the guarded words and yet the painful truth is unbearable to accept. Choosing to see and hear what we want is easier than searching for the reality.

But wouldn't it be easier if the search wasn't necessary?
Wouldn't life be simpler for all of us if we just told the truth?
Honestly?

Strings

 

In High School some of the kids wouldn't let you into their own private little groups. Apparently I didn't have whatever it took. Even then I knew I shouldn't have to "jump through hoops" to feel that I belonged.
Even then I knew something wasn't right with this hierarchy.

My young daughter has learned not to base her opinions on what others say. I have taught her that you need to get to know the person regardless of what you may hear. You need to judge for yourself who is a good fit for you and who is not. Sometimes you need to try harder and sometimes it comes naturally. Often if you put effort into it you will find we all have a commonality. If the other person doesn't want to try you also have to accept that and move on. Maybe down the road you will meet again and things will be different, maybe not.

I dated someone for a few years who was attached at the hip to his friends. They had been a unit for easily 30 years. I did not "fit in" with these friends. They talked about the old days, the neighborhood, or friends they had in common. Nothing ever went beyond chit chat, and it became obvious they had no need or desire to know me. 

I remember a story this man told me about a high school "friend" he had. A lonely boy who sought only to be accepted to into his group. What he said of the outsider was: "he tried so hard, but we would never let him in". His mannerism when he told the story as an adult still rang with cruelty.

It was then that I realized, they would never let me in.
I also realized that was perfectly okay.
Who would ever want to be "attached" to a group that don't "let" people in?

Laid Off, Fired, Let Go

You can be laid off or you can get laid.
You can be fired or fired up.
You can let go, or be let go.
I think I have experienced all of the above
in the past 30 days.

I'm tired.

He's Just in it for Sex

I recently wrote this as my status on FaceBook:

All of the males I know say of other men "Oh, he's just in it for sex". Uh, um, so....

I'm still left unresolved. If every male I know says he's just in it for sex in a negative manner about other men, are they also saying it about themselves?
Which brings me once again to the question of love vs sex. Here are my thoughts:

I have bandied about the phrases "love" and "in love" too many times to count, and I will continue to do so most likely until the day I die. I love so many men, I'm in love with many of them too. Not the kind of in love that doesn't last the kind of in love that brings joy to my heart. I have said "if you can make me laugh, I'll fall in love with you" it's so true. Do I fantasize about sex with these men? That's my business, do I flirt, hell yeah! Love is weird, it comes from the heart when you least expect it. It's fleeting, it's deep, it's forever, sometimes it dies. "In love" is more confusing to me. I've never gotten beyond first grade "in love". I kissed Steven Rosenberg on the cheek in the back of the class. That was the beginning for me, I don't even think we ever spoke. Hit and run, that's me. I prefer the word smitten, it's so non-committal and better describes feelings.

As for sex, I have loved sexual partners, I have been in love with sexual partners, I have had no feeling for sexual partners, and I have been date raped. No means No guys. I have had bad sex with men I love and I have had great sex with men I don't love. I have fallin in love during sex for a moment, and then afterwards wondered why I'm there. I've had angry "I'll show him" sex. I've had one last time sex (that never seemed to be one last time even if it took years to happen again) and I've had can we just get this over with sex.

My one friend's response was "and women are in it for....??"
To which my reply is: What the heck do I know. I just hate it when it ends.

"Hubbell, it's Katie."

Have you ever cried during sex? I have, not a lot but it has happened.

When I'm "caught" of course I lie. I've always tried my best to hide it but sometimes depending on how you wind up, the tears role in a bad position and then you can't get to them because your hands are God knows where, so you hear him say "are you crying?" Busted! Honestly this doesn't happen often, how could it, after all? So, what do I say? "YEAH??? WTF is that about?" or "It's nothing, happens sometimes just an emotional release....women?"

Why do I really cry? Sometimes, just for a second, my head interrupts the fun that my body is having. (at least when it is having fun) Once my brain goes there, my heart shifts into immediate reaction and triggers the tear.

Where does my brain go for that two seconds? To the reality of the situation, to the heart of the matter. To the fact that this has nothing to do with love. To the knowledge that it's possible I could have a brown paper bag over my head and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. To the reality that I am not special.

But more than that...neither is he.

I Could Spend my Whole Day Through Just Watching you.

I simply adore people watching. Strangers that is, not a stalker! I could do it all day and I have.

When I graduated Art School me and my friend did almost all of the Art Shows at the shore. It was fun, we made a couple of bucks, met other artists, swapped art, got a tan, and had an excuse to rent a motel room.

You're typical win win.

Normally I would find myself sitting on the railing if there was one, working on my tan and watching the people.It made the day fly, sales made the day fly too, but people watching was easier. Well, I learned how to act at an art/craft show at least, the do's and don'ts as it were. But lets get back to people watching.

Another great place to people watch is at Trade Shows and Weddings, I have taken up smoking at weddings so I can go out and mingle and feel at one with the other smokers. Turns out it's a special private club, and a great reason to excuse yourself when you find you are bored to tears. Wish I had started it years ago.

You need to be discreet, if they know you are watching they show off, sometimes I start up a ridiculously personal conversation, especially with young people. I feel I am at the age that I can finally get away with it without fear that someone thinks I'm trying to pick them up.

So next time you go out I'll be the one not paying attention, but watching every movement.
Don't be fooled there are many of us.

Funny Love, Wham Bam Bam

Why do I still search for it?

I know love is different for everyone, I know it ebbs and flows, I know it changes.
After all this time, I still don't think I know what I want.

I must have been in my early thirties when a female photographer and I had gotten pretty close. We had to do a 28 page catalog together so we had been spending lots of time together. She told me a story that made my mouth drop. She found out her husband of over 10 years was leading a double life. He was married to another women in another state and had children with her. I don't remember the details, I just remember that she was shattered. I had a hard time wrapping my head around what she told me.

My mother always said "You never know what goes on behind closed doors"

My Aunt knew her husband was having an affair for many years, she still loved him and took care of him. Each Thursday night for I don't know how many years he worked late. She was just content with the fact that he came home. She died first. Which worked out really well for him.

Is this what I want?

I know too many couples to count who have not been intimate for years. Observers think they are happy.
They are comfortable and neither wants to pull up roots and give up a lifestyle they have become accustom to. They have no passion, some are mean spirited toward each other.

I don't want that.

I'm guessing I won't know what I want until it bites me in the...

Life in the Slow Lane

I really don't like to go food shopping. It's one of those things that was much simpler years ago. Now there are so many choices: low calorie, low salt, no salt, low fat, high protein, lite, 1%, 2%, mini, maxi, fresh, organic, natural, high fiber.....you get my drift. It takes so long to find the one simple thing that I've been buying for years or to sift through all of the new choices. What used to be a quick stop now seems to take an eternity.

Back in the day, I actually clipped coupons. Then I decided with the time it took to clip and organize...and then to find the item in the store ~ I finally freed myself of it all. Now I see these extreme coupon ladies and it really is amazing. I have much respect for them!

But back to shopping. I remember the days when not only was someone always there to pack up your bundles, there was actually some kid outside who would help put the bags in your car for a small tip. Now that I'm not a young whippersnapper, I wish that was still the way of the grocery world.

There was a time when I enjoyed buying food, when my daughter was a toddler. Still small enough to sit in the cart seat but old enough not to grab at pizza cutters dangling from lame plastic hooks along the frozen pizza aisle. Those were fine times, getting a free cookie at the bakery, a slice of cheese at the Deli, learning new words, opening boxes of cereals before paying for them and munching on fresh grapes. I remember one of the first times I ran to the store with out her. That was the one and only time I actually grabbed the wrong cart in the process of shopping. I guess I was so used to her as a marker for the cart and I also guess I never left the cart alone when she was in it. I'll actually never know if someone grabbed my cart or if I grabbed theirs.

Needless to say I rarely have food in my house.

MOMMY! He's...

I have not had a close relationship with my brother since my mom kicked him out of the house in 1970. I tried, many times, but the obstacles were high. He was leading his own "wild life" that I was too young to be a part off. There's a big gap between 14 and 18, that lessens greatly between 57 and 61.

Our lives were different. He married and had his first son at 19, made a six figure salary with no more than a high school diploma. He worked hard and played hard. Drove beautiful cars, and toured the country on Harley's. His suits were custom made, he owned a magnificent collection of guns and he's "inked" to the nines.. We spoke maybe once a year, and saw each other every few.
I went to art school, married at 30, had my ears pierced three times, drive a 15 year old Subaru, before that I had two Chevette's and a Hyundai,  and had my daughter at 47. He laughed when I told him I was pregnant. I live my life in moderation. I don't do anything hard.

Seven years ago after our mother was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, she moved in with me for her last few months. My brother came often to see her. He favored my mom, I favored my dad, who died when I was eleven. My relationship with my brother grew from that point for awhile, then it fell back to where it had been. Last May my brothers wife passed away and I did what I do. He's on a fixed income now from a motorcycle accident, and can no longer stay where he is. I asked him to move in with me and he accepted.
My brother is moving in with me next week.

Take a deep breath.

Girls Rule Boys Drool

It seems to have come up in conversations recently, so after all of these years I've decided to give some thought to the question. What are the differences (for me) between female friends and male friends? Aside from the obvious.

I am fortunate to say that I have had many close relationships with both sexes over the years, my first boy "friend" was Steven. I'm very bad with dates and years so I'm guessing we were about six or seven. Steven lived three doors down from me and he was a year younger. We played lots of made up games and explored nature. Once we found a dead bird and dissected it. That was the day I got my first wasp sting. Then there was Sandy, we played house. At this point in my life there were no little girls on my block and so I had not yet experienced a real girlfriend, I also had only boy cousins, so I guess you could say I developed an ease around boys.

My first real girlfriend that I remember was when I started elementary school. Her name was Melody and sometimes I ate lunch at her house or visited after school. 
My friendships were never like "The Bill Chill" I never was in a group of friends that hung out and did stuff together. It was always one on one and still is. Every once in a while there would be two girls, it was fun while it lasted but it never seemed to, last that is.

So now lets get to the meat of the question. What are the differences? Well, with girlfriends, we talk about boys (boyfriends, love interests) and with boys we talked about love interests, usually of the opposite sex. Occasionally, I would go shopping with a friend, but usually alone. Some guys are very helpful at this. Drinks, dinner, lunch, movies, it's all the same with boys and girls. Talking is the key. Real friends no matter which sex are best to talk to. Talking on the sofa, on the phone, at tea, while standing by your car, skyping, texting, iming.

Ya know how people always say the sign of a true friend is: "it doesn't matter how long we've been apart we just pick up were we left off" I say the sign of a true friend is when one or both of you needs to leave and neither of you can stop talking.

The sex of the person makes not one bit a difference.

Clean up on Aisle...

I hate food shopping.

Pickin Cotton

I work in a fabric store.

Up until a few months ago I enjoyed my job. I adore my coworkers and my work was challenging, creative and fun. I built up our Facebook page from 200 to over 6000, wrote some blogs, sent out email sales and newsletters.     I designed a look, and generally was the Social Media go to girl. Until the young forman arrived. Suddenly the majority of my job resonsibilites were taken from me without a word. Well, there were a few words that came in the form of commands. I was to help the young bucks with ideas, direction and design ideas as well.

Nah, I don't think so.

Turns out I know the pulse of our readers and what they want. The Foreman tells me not to change anything I do on Facebook, because it works so well. I do anyway....when I think I can improve it. The sad part is I still like that part of my job. I hate not being acknowledged or appreciated for a job well done. Of course this kid makes twice what I do as a part-time consultant and he farms out the design (if you can call it that) to Pakistan.

Am I surprised? No, I've rarely been appreciated for my talents. In reality it may be partially my fault, I don't demand much. But between the glass ceiling and now the gray ceiling. It's hard to know the real reason.

I'm sure there's another plantation that can use some cheap help.