Mz Smarty Pants

The Children of Facebook

2012-01-29T11:32:00.000-08:00

If you have read any of my blogs or articles, you know that I am not a "prude." I enjoy reading some of the communities of Facebook such as "Intelligent, classy, well-educated women who say F*ck a lot" and "Funny F*cking Bitches"

Both communities appear to be monitored against those who are lacking complete growth, differentiation, and development. In particular the overconfident, but poorly informed, who think when they see the word "fuck" in a community title their immaturity tells them they should have carte blanche to continue their own sophomoric versions of profanity and even very lame attempts of pornography. In a nutshell?

They interrupt threads of discussion and even list topics that are way off base of the original community.

Fuck is a word that can come in handy such as when you stub a toe or talking with your lover on the phone. It's expressive to the highest and can be a short and sweet sexual verbalized visual when there are no photos. However, when it is overused by a youngster or an ignorant adult, it has a way of losing the meaning, besides losing the real power behind the word. Basically it is this: you should only have to use the word once to make a huge impact and impression.

I came across "What the F*ck Should I Make For Dinner" Facebook community and figured it would be monitored and kept on topic, especially since the community was named after a book by the same. Once I started reading through the topics, I immediately noticed there were no monitors to keep the community on topic of cooking.

A youngster by the name of "John Cornell's Penis"(Nobody has turned him into Facebook yet? Real names of Mike Hunt and Mike Cox have been busted for less) made several posts regarding his "member" that really had nothing to do with the topic, let alone cooking. Ahem - like dad use to say, "If you have to brag about your penis, then you probably ain't gettin' any (sex)." So what do we call John's folks, "Mr and Mrs Penis?" Wow, don't he make his mama proud.

A female (probably an adult) on the community page questioned Mr. Penis as to why he couldn't stay on the food/cooking topic and why he insisted on talking about his penis. Mr. Penis obviously had no debating skills and thought profanity and name calling was the key to getting his points across. No doubt he also tried to do it for shock value. I don't shock easy. I just get bored.

I valued the point this woman was calmly trying to make, so I chimed in for back-up for her. Eventually the originator of the question split and I stayed behind to observe. Also, popping into the conversation was another, looking by her photo, middle-aged woman by the name of Sue. However, Sue was not on the side of the adults, instead she was encouraging Mr. Penis to continue on his path of nastiness with her own comments that were similar to junior high boys in a locker room. Sue really should have known better, but then again she is probably the same one who will buy the beer for the junior high parties just so she can be the popular mom on the block. Perhaps Sue even day dreams over a bag of cheap chocolates and a box of white zin wanting to be the neighborhood MLF.

Now, Mr Penis's Facebook info would suggest he is in college. If so, I have never known any college man staying in talking the "cheap and nasty" on Facebook, especially when they are living the college life. The college penis is usually finding some campus action, instead of talking about it.

Also chiming in was a person by the name of "Tit Grope" and the most interesting youngster of all was "Jasmine." (Names have been changed to protect the guilty and of course last names have not been used just in case, and no doubt, they are minors - especially "Jasmine") Who knew where Jasmine came from and what role she played to Mr Penis. Probably, no role to Mr. Penis other than a youngster who was seeking attention. However, it was apparent by her comments she should have been doing her English assignments instead.

As I strolled through some of her other posts to various people, Jasmine cannot seem to get her point across to people, unless she is threatening them with some kind of violent acts. She threatened me with a "glass of wine with bleach in it and you (I) should drink it and die." Let's see - there was the darling comment from her telling someone to "pick up a gun" and "blow their head off and the ever so charming conversation of where she suggested someone should eat a cookie with glass shards in it so they could choke to death."

Anger management issues? Mean girl? Actually a sad girl. This young woman continued to harang me (long after I had left the page - I received her comments to my email via Facebook) with wanting me to believe that she was really not in high school (she was according to her Facebook info). Her photo was definitely of a young girl, either in junior high or a high school sophomore wanting to grow up too fast. She was posed with her cell phone, a cigarette in her hand and over-glossed and overly posed and pouty "duck lips."

This youngster Jasmine continued to post trying her best to convince me she was an adult and even informed me she had a bachelors degree in psychology. Like Mr. Penis, the more they tried to convince me of who they really were, they miserably failed. A mature adult doesn't have to prove anything, especially if they sport a "big and affluent dick" or an important bachelors degree.

My sibling and step-daughter has their degrees in psychology and even my sister-in law has her PhD in psych and I have never read, heard, seen or witnessed of any such kind of behavior that Jasmine portrayed.

Who was Tit Grope? The photo was of a very homely girl making a very homely face. No doubt, a junior-high student using another junior-high arch nemesis photo. Oh the games children play.

In all of my years of Facebook (a member since 2005) I had never witnessed, let alone, been dragged into such absurdity. If I wanted that kind of experience I would have visited the anonymous chat rooms of Yahoo or AOL of 1997.

When it was all said and done, it certainly was an interesting study of adolescent behavior. My oh my, don't these youngsters make their parents proud? The truth? I am worried for them and for us. After all, these are the children and young adults of our future.

I am not saying I wasn't a little "free spirited" when I was that age. However, the very most was using the telephone at slumber parties and making prank phone calls.

"Hello, this is the city sewage department and we've had about enough shit out of you!"

"Click."

Drama. Who Needs It?

2012-01-03T22:22:00.001-08:00

I don't. In fact, I have eliminated some loved ones from my life due to their ongoing dramatic sagas.

Drama is like an addiction and there seems to be some people in the world who live and thrive on it, like fish needing water. Their drama comes from poor choices, selfishness, and mostly from their own desperate creation. For attention? Mostly.

I don't get it. One can sure get more stuff done in life and reach some goals without the ongoing attention for drama.

I have also removed from my life so-called friends who were not honest with me - - and when I eventually found out they deceived me, their flimsy excuse is that they were afraid I would be mad. Ohhh - - really Mr and Mz Brainiac? Congratulations, you just added to my frustrations! Then of course, they slink away as if they and only they were the poor victim - - and usually left me to pick up the pieces. Selfish? Sure. Of course. Did they even care about how I would be hurt?

Maybe some of it is my fault, because at the beginning I give that dramatic mama or papa the benefit of the doubt. Yes, I have heard their drama, but I think it's a one time deal and then I am overwhelmed in utter shock when they finally come around dump their drama on me. I think I am giving up on people.

So, there is a reason why I live by myself - - and in fact, with every year I find myself staying closer to home. My dog doesn't do drama, either.

Yup, save the drama for yo' mamma, but if yo' mamma is smart, she don't want to hear it from your sorry ass, either!

Pink Pastry Boxes

2012-01-02T13:56:00.000-08:00

Pink has been one of my favorite colors as long as I can remember. Of course, any pink package that holds the contents of chocolate or pastries makes me very happy.

I've been told that pink pastry boxes are more of an west coast thing, while the majority of bakeries on the east coast tend to use the boring, and rather sterile looking, white boxes. No doubt, there isn't a pink pastry box to be found in France. Something tells me that the French perfers the honorable white box so as not to clash with the tasty and exquisite focus inside the box.

So where why the use of pink pastry boxes instead of white?

The urban legend is that when the Cambodians were fleeing the Khmer Rouge in the late 1970s, they were arriving in large numbers to Southern California. They were eventually recruited for employment by Winchell’s Donuts. At the time the coated, greaseproof boxes that held the doughnuts were costly and came in white, the color of mourning in Cambodia. So the immigrants found a company in Cerritos, CA that made the boxes cheaper and uncoated in pink.

Another reason I read regarding the pink pastry box, is that the buttery grease marks are less pronounced on a pink box then a white box.

The bottom line is that while I love the color pink, I would never deny a pastry or chocolates that were given to me in a white box.

Elevators

2011-12-27T12:31:00.000-08:00

The other day I noticed that three of my favorite chick-flickish-romance movies all have significant scenes in an elevator. It got me to thinking about this, perhaps maybe even over think it.

Serendipty: It's the Christmas shopping season in New York City, Jonathan Trager (John Cusack) meets Sara Thomas (Kate Beckinsale) as they both try to buy the same pair of black cashmere gloves at Bloomingdale's. They feel a mutual attraction, despite the fact that each is involved in other relationships.

Wanting fate to work things out, Sara asks Jonathan to write his name and phone number on a $5 bill, while she writes her name and number on the inside cover of a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera. If they are meant to be together, he will find the book and she will find the $5 bill, and they will find their way back to each other. Jonathan is not satisfied with this so they go into a hotel with 28 floors and enter into different elevators to see if they both choose the same floor. They each take a single glove from the pair they purchased. They both press floor 23, but a child gets on the elevator with Jonathan and presses all the buttons, so it is too late by the time he reaches floor 23. The two believe they've lost each other forever ... but they lived happily ever after.

Sleepless in Seattle: Sam Baldwin (Tom Hanks), a Chicago architect, loses his wife to cancer. He and his young son Jonah start new lives in Seattle. On Christmas Eve, 18 months later, Jonah wants his father to find a new wife, so he calls into a talk radio show. Jonah persuades Sam to go on the air to talk about how much he misses his wife. Hundreds of women from around the country hear the program, and being touched by the story, write to Sam.

One of the listeners is Annie Reed (Meg Ryan), a Baltimore Sun reporter. She is engaged, but feels there is something missing from the relationship. After watching the film An Affair to Remember, Annie impulsively writes a letter suggesting that Sam meet her on top of the Empire State Building on Valentine's Day. She has no intention of mailing it, but her friend does it instead.

In the mean time, young Jonah reads the letter and flies to New York, without his father's permission, to find Annie. Sam follows Jonah and finds him on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Annie sees the skyscraper from the Rainbow Room, where she is dining with her fiance' and confesses her doubts to him. They amicably end their engagement. Jonah and Sam get on the down elevator just before Annie reaches the observation deck. She finds Jonah's backpack. Jonah and Sam return to go back up the elevator for the backpack. Once out of the elevator, they see Annie and meet. Sam and Annie walks back into the elevator hand in hand ... and they lived happily ever after.

You've Got Mail: Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) and Joe Fox (Tom Hanks) are two emailing pen pal sweethearts who are completely unaware that their email sweetheart is in fact the person with whom they share a certain degree of animosity. Kathleen, using the screen name "Shopgirl" and "NY152" is the screen name of Joe. They have boundaries of their online relationship; no specifics, including no names, career or class information, or family connections. However, they are both seeing other people in "real" life.

Joe belongs to the Fox family which runs Fox Books — a chain of "mega" bookstores similar to Barnes & Noble. Kathleen, on the other hand, runs the independent bookstore The Shop Around The Corner, that her mother ran before her. The two often pass each other on their respective ways to work, where it is revealed that they frequent the same neighborhoods in upper west Manhattan - - and in fact, Joe is overseeing the opening of a new Fox Books just down the block from Kathleen's The Shop Around the Corner.

Kathleen begins a media war and boycott of Fox Books, all the while, "NY152" and "Shopgirl" continue their courtship, to the point where "NY152" asks "Shopgirl" to meet. Joe discovers the true identity of "Shopgirl" and when he discovers that it is actually Kathleen behind the name, he confronts her as Joe (concealing his "NY152" alter ego – and feelings). The two exchange some bitter words but leaves with her still on his mind.

Later, Joe ends up being stuck in an elevator with his current, and rather uptight girlfriend. After listening to the others on the elevator about the first, and rather poignant, things they will do upon their release, Joe has a revelation and breaks up with this girlfriend to pursue and mend the relationship with Kathleen ... of course, they too end up happily ever after.

I suppose I am not riding enough elevators. Going up?

I'm Fat

2011-12-12T20:50:00.001-08:00

Did he leave me because I was fat?

When I was a little girl I was underweight. My folks would do everything they could think of to put weight on me. I had a healthy appetite, but not only was I a thin kid, but also anemic and pale. The doc was always prescribing some home remedy to add on some weight and iron to my puny system.

When I struck puberty I eventually got a few soft curves, but still maintained my weight according to the insurance policy suggestion charts. When I reached 5'2", I stopped growing in height. The weight remained pretty status-quo for ten or so years until I got married.

I lived on boiled or baked chicken chests and raw cauliflower during my marriage. He often picked at me about my weight if a pair of pants were looking snug. Twenty-years later he divorced me for his secretary who claimed she only lived on apples to control her weight. I've seen her recent photos and it looks like she is now wrapping bacon and mashed potatoes around those apples. How come he isn't picking at her about her weight? He would also pick at me if it looked like I was getting a blemish, although I rarely had pimples, even as a teen. How come he doesn't say anything to her about the ugly warts on her nose and her chin?

Mr. Marathon-Hiker entered my life. He was tall, thin body and muscular legs. Hiking was his life. I tried to hike with him, but it was tough keeping up. I had seen photos of his hiking ex-wife at his house. She was tall and ethereal looking. I often felt short and bland. But Mr. Marathon-Hiker stuck with me for eight years. I had a series of surgeries and one being a hysterectomy. The loss of my hormones and having to be bedridden for two weeks from one surgery where they discovered possible cancerous growth, resting up for another four weeks for the second surgery, and finally six weeks of bed rest post surgery did nothing for my body. It's been a slow decline ever since.

When I found out he had another woman tucked away, I immediately thought she was probably a marathon-hiker-ethereal-mother-earth-granola-crunching-earth-muffin. Later, some of our same friends said they had visited him and his new woman and frankly they just didn't get it. Friends said the newly exposed couple didn't communicate with each other, they did not have any of the same interests and nobody could understand it. They didn't see the spark that they saw between marathon-hiker man and myself.

I knew it! She wasn't fat. I was right. She was the marathon-hiker-ethereal-mother-earth-granola-crunching-earth-muffin that I thought she would be. No matter they had nothing in common, she was svelte and would look good beside his monster ego.

Then one day I saw her photo. I was mad! I was disappointed. She was not slender, svelte and oh so ethereal. She was FAT! Taller and fatter than I was! I was mixed with feelings. When she wasn't suppose to answer the phone (which is how I found out about his dirty little secret), her voice was rather shrill, yet deep and rather sing-songy like an opera singer.

So he didn't cheat on me and leave me because I was fat. His new fraulein was also fat - - fatter! I later found out she was no more educated than I was, as he was always so critical of people who didn't have a Masters or a PhD.

Maybe he left me because she was nicer than I was. I mean, after all she looked like a nice woman in the photo. Naaahhhh - -

He left me because she had more money than I did. I'm just sure of it.

Bette Davis Eyes at Bridal Veil

2011-12-12T17:41:00.000-08:00

She'll tease you
She'll unease you
Just to please you
She's got Bette Davis eyes - Kim Carnes

Anybody that knows me - - that really knows me, knows that I adore Bette Davis. I suppose it's due to as a youngster growing up and watching her old televised black and white movies on Sunday afternoons. And through the years, I saw her in many stages of her life. Movies that projected a sweet, doe-eyed and innocent Bette, the sultry, wise and beautiful Bette, and the elderly, fragilely trollish and rather outspoken Bette Davis.

One of my very favorite movies is "All About Eve." It's an American drama and Bette plays the lead as "Margo Channing," a highly regarded but aging Broadway star. Her nemesis eventually becomes Eve Harrington. Eve is a doting and overly helpful young fan who insinuates herself into Channing's life. Eve ultimately threatens Channing's career and her personal relationships. Eventually karma has a way of bringing to Eve a dose of her own medicine.

If you are a lover of old black and white classics, no doubt you heard the old Bette Davis quote of, "Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night." In fact, that famous quote came from the movie, "All About Eve." But, my favorite quote from Margot Channing is a quote that speaks to me:

"Funny business, a woman's career - the things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them again when you get back to being a woman. That's one career all females have in common, whether we like it or not: being a woman. Sooner or later, we've got to work at it, no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted. And in the last analysis, nothing's any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed, and there he is. Without that, you're not a woman. You're something with a French provincial office or a book full of clippings, but you're not a woman. Slow curtain, the end."

In the late 1930’s Bette became rather fond of an area, Bridal Veil Falls, near Franconia, New Hampshire. Bridal Veil is an 80 foot waterfall; whose upper flow, a 30-foot plunge, resembles a bridal veil and eventually leads to a stream below.

On one of Bette's hikes near the falls, she found herself lost. The assistant manager at a local inn, Arthur Farnsworth, came looking for her and obviously found her. They married in 1940. It was Bette's second husband. Three years later, Farnsworth fell down a flight of stairs hitting his head. A few days after the accident, he would collaspe and die. In memory of her late husband, Bette had a plaque affixed to a large rock in the same area where she was found. It's rather a secret plaque and can be rather overlooked unless one is truly searching for it. It reads; “In memoriam to Arthur Farnsworth. The Keeper of Stray Ladies. Pecketts 1939. Presented by a Grateful One.”

I cannot explain it, but for some reason I feel close to this plaque and yet I have never seen it in person. I suppose I have my own story about the plaque, Bette and about those who loved the hike and sought it out. The man, who would eventually leave me to move to New Hampshire, use to watch old Bette Davis classics with me. It was an afternoon pleasure for us. We would discuss and analyze the films with such detail. After we broke up, he made a very public announcement, along with photos, of his hike to Bridal Veil to search out Bette. I had to wonder at the time, in my silly romantic way, if those photos were meant for me.

My Childhood Was Gone

2011-12-08T00:25:00.000-08:00

When I was a little girl I would do chores around the house to earn an allowance with the deal I would earn about 25 cents. My dad never actually gave me the money, instead he would take me to the neighborhood market and let me pick out Beatle magazines, Beatle trading cards and even a candy bar. He would pay for them supposedly with the allowance that I had earned. Something tells me the cost of those magazines, cards and candy came to more than 25 cents.

Then dad would tease me on the way home about those "dirty-looking long haired boys" and he didn't understand why I liked them so much.

I was a married woman when John Lennon was killed. We were watching a football game when the report came in. That evening the last of my childhood was ripped away from me.

John Lennon
1940–1980

River

2011-11-28T22:00:00.000-08:00

It's coming on Christmas

They're cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on ...

Today I started thinking about an old friend, professor and colleague. Nat died four years ago, November 29. That morning started out with such joy as I had much to look forward to that day, beginning with picking up my partner, best friend and lover from the airport. Peter lived in a different state, but he was able to spend as much time possible in my home, especially due to his work.

It was the kick-off to a big weekend in town. We had many holiday gatherings to attend. It was always so special for Peter to be in town and for us to attend these gatherings together, as many of my peers were his, as well.

The phone call came. Actually, two phone calls came that late afternoon. One was left on my private number from Nat's office assistant. I would later discover why, as the college chose it was best not to leave such a message. The second call came to me at my office. It was my sister in tears. The words stung and I felt as if the air had been kicked out of me.

I later came home from work and knew I needed to dry the tears. Peter was arriving and we had so many things planned. He couldn't see me this way. I would later find the time to tell him the devastating news. A busy airport was not the time. The drive to the airport seemed longer than usual and the highway thick with fog.

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

I wish I had a river I could skate away on ...

We stood at the luggage claim. In Peter's hand was a book. He had read it on the long flight and wanted to leave it with me to read. He thought perhaps after I read it, I would pass it onto Nat, as he was anxious to hear Nat's opinions about it.

I could no longer be stoic. I could no longer hold back the tears after I heard Nat's name.

The ride back home from the airport seemed longer than normal and so unlike our other rides in the car, it was quiet. We usually chatted, laughed and together, we often sang songs from the radio.

Two days later we were up early ready for our long day of gatherings and meeting up with friends. The December morning was chilly and the frost had laid a soft, but twinkling layer all over the valley. The world seemed quiet as if we were the only two people in it.

In the car, we chatted about our day. A song on the radio started to play and suddenly it was met with silence.

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on ...

He did, you know. Peter loved me so naughty and made me weak in the knees. I knew I did the same for him. We were going on our seventh year of being together. We had so much in common and we loved passionately. We were both single when we met and had both divorced about the same time, had children about the same age and had many of the same war stories and interests. It was a long distance relationship due to our jobs and budding careers.

The car was silent as the song continued to play. I turned away to look out the car window and my eyes welled up. I always loved that song and the simplicity of it. Peter was quiet and finally said with a sigh, "That's a beautiful song." I took a quick glance at him and his eyes were red.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

I wish I had a river I could skate away on ...

The rest of the year, Peter and I would go on several vacations together, work-related events together, family reunions and spent probably more time together than we ever had. We both seemed to be at the height of our writing careers, but we were still a long distance relationship. What kept us apart were obligations, our past, guilt, careers ...

That day in the car while we listened to the River, what was the silence and tears about?Perhaps a haunting mixture of losing our friend and spending the weekend with a collection of his and our friends. We celebrated being together, Nat's life and the bitter sweet of it all. Perhaps it was a silence of hope and deep in our hearts knowing what the outcome of our relationship would eventually be.

We broke up the following year on Christmas morning, 2008.

Oh, I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

I wish I had a river

I could skate away on

I made my baby say goodbye ...

*River by Joni Mitchell

Sheeeee's back! Mz Smarty Pants is back!

2011-11-28T14:00:00.000-08:00

It's been a few years but it's time to dust off the ol' blog and start strokin' the keys.

Who is Mz Smarty Pants, you ask? She can be girly, but can be militant. She loves to be all Martha Stewarty, but FlyLady makes her queasy. She cries over romantic movies and animals in distress, but has no patience for stupid people. She has old hippie values, but a wild streak of capitalism runs through her veins. She is a gourmet cook and wine aficionado, but loves a greasy tavern cheeseburger and a diet Coke. She's been a daughter, granddaughter, sister, mother, wife, and unfortunately, a long-distance grandmother. She's been a lover. The picture of the pretty young woman she use to be still lives in her mind, but she is realistic on who she really is when she looks in the mirror. And if she had a choice, being the pretty young woman who always didn't make the right choices, or who she is now - - it's an easy choice. I am content being who I am - - now.

Special Instructions: The Care and Feeding of Me

2009-09-26T18:18:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or when giving advise on how to handle or catch a mate of the opposite sex, whether it be in print or online magazines, the advise seems a little lop-sided? Meaning that there is more importance in these issues about the care and feeding of the sensitive male creature and less on the care and feeding of women.

What? Are men really that different from women, other than a penis? I mean, who isn’t sensitive? Who isn’t picky when it comes to their personal and very special care and feeding? Excerpts from books like The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands by Dr. Laura Schlessinger kind of makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. Such revelations like, Men Are Not Mind-Readers? Oh really Dr. Laura? They’re not? And you think women are? If I could have read the mind of every man I got involved with, I would have never been married, divorced, dated a parade of lying and cheating jerks and back to getting involved in a eight year relationship and back to being single again. And one of my favorites is, Men are an Embodied Soul. What’s this you say? And does this statement suggest women have no souls? Oh right, I get it. It’s a little play on words telling women to how important it is to a man that his woman keep up her appearance and to continue to unrealistically look the same way on their first date. So tell me, is that why old balding rich men with fat bellies and gold chains around their neck leave their women of several years and chase after young nubile twenty-some year old blondes? Men get a free Get Out of Jail card, but women do not? Is this really a case of what is good for the goose, is not good enough for the gander?

I could be wrong, but this kind of thinking makes me wonder if Dr. Laura is saying that men are a bit inferior and need the tolerance from women because they are more powerful. To which, I don’t agree with either assessment. There are some unscrupulous women and dumb shit women out in the world and some wonderful men and insightful men out in the world, as well. And when it is all said and done I think it is a draw. After all, we are all just people trying to figure out what makes each other tick and most important trying to figure out ourselves.

Dr. Laura, why do you hate women so much?

Red Hats

2009-07-09T15:54:00.000-07:00

From the poem, "Warning" by Jenny Joseph:

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens...

Sounds endearing doesn't it? It sounds like the older woman I wish all women would embrace. A little frivolous and yet still has a bit of youthfulness and mischief in her heart. If only...

I turned 50 awhile back. And of course, the first thing I wanted to do was wear a red hat. I joined a chapter and even went to a convention. I love societies and sororities! I love initiations! I love gatherings of the same heart and mind! But what I discovered is unfortunately, the magical red hat doesn't automatically bring youth and mischief to the heart, especially if you are nothing but a bitter old bag of bones. Then all the hat does is makes you a bitter old bag of bones wearing a red hat.

The convention was out of town and off we traveled, myself and three of my friends. We made a splendid road trip of stopping for mocha's at little back road espresso joints and searching for Happy Bunny stickers from the coin gum-type machines often found at gas stations and rest stops. Where ever there was a site of a mountain, waterfall or a breathtaking river view, we stopped to soak in the sights, smells and senses of nature. We were happy eating tacos and tater tots for lunch.

It was three days of mostly laughter between my friends and I. Beautiful red hats and purple outfits and shiny bling were all over! The sea of Red Hats in one room during meals and functions were breathtaking. But unfortunately what we discovered were too many cranky old bats. Far too often when trying to find an empty table to be seated or even an empty chair, when we would approach a table, too many old cranks wearing "hostess" badges would snap at us and yell, "These seats are taken!" The evil twin sister inside of me wanted to respond, "Okay! Did you forget to drink your Metamucil today, because your personality appears to be real shitty?" Instead I either just smiled or apologized with a "Sorry." I apologized and I was the guest! It amazed me why these women were even wearing "hostess" badges as they were all but hospitable.

And I can't tell you how many times during an activity I would have some old bag of dust yell at me to remove my hat because she couldn't see the speaker! Ummm...what is the name of this convention again? Red Hat with the emphasis on "hat." And you want me to remove my what...? My evil twin sister inside of me wanted to respond, "Well you old bag of vacuum dirt, next time why don't you get here a little earlier and sit up front?"

The most astonishing was during an intermission of a performance. The intermission was an hour long and while we waited, we were served a dessert banquet. My companions and I got the giggles during our dessert and three old ladies in front of us, turned around at us and told us to "Shut Up! Quit laughing!"

What! Quit laughing? Why would anybody want to quit laughing at what should be a light hearted event? We were gob smacked! This was an intermission! No show was on stage! We were having coffee and eating dessert! The ballroom was buzzing with other women laughing out loud and enjoying themselves! And wouldn't you know - - as soon as the show started the rude women in front of us talked all through the show. Sure. We wanted to ask them to shut up, but why stoop to their level?

On the drive home from the three-day convention, we discussed future conventions and cruises. One of my traveling companions commented, that after this weekend, no way would she go on a cruise with a group of women with red hats. She could not imagine being on a boat with a bunch of crabby women with only one exit. She said she would jump overboard!

Since then - well, I hung up my red hat. Once in awhile I will wear it on a special outing with friends. And what I decided was I didn't need a society to keep me youthful, mischievous and full of life. And as sure as hell, a red hat doesn't make a difference about who you are. It's all about how you feel about yourself inside.

What's On My Mind: Death, Reality TV and Men

2009-06-24T11:56:00.000-07:00

Death, Reality TV and Men have been on my mind. And I don't get any of the three.

Death: The other day I visited with friends and we discussed how everywhere we turn there are horrible bits of news about people committing horrendous crimes against, not only humanity, but animals as well. Is it really about more and more crazy people taking lives or is it just really about our vast sources of instant and immediate news and our quest to have more and get it quicker? I am thinking per capita, there is about the same amount of whack-jobs committing heinous crimes as there always have been. Same goes for child predators. We aren't necessarily breeding more, we just have more access to find out about these crimes and creeps. At the good news is, at least there are opportunities to have a listening ear - professionals who can help break the cycle that has been ongoing through many generations - - you know, the "family secret."

The younger side of me use to have more patience regarding people who commit these crimes and I was against capital punishment. However, I have lost all patience now. For every kitten who has been shot with a dart in the eye for the sport of it, or a puppy stuck in a microwave, then so should the person who committed the crime against the helpless, and most of all, trusting animal. For every baby, toddler, child or elder who has ever been chained up, starved and beaten by another human, the guilty party's punishment should fit the crime. And if you don't like my rant on this kind of behavior and what the consequences should be - - I don't care.

Same goes for the nut-bag Bible thumper who shoots doctors who practice abortions and they shoot the doctors or health care workers in the name of the Lord. Umm...seriously? You think the Lord is going to approve of your actions? If so, then we must be praying to different G-ds, because my guy up there wouldn't approve. And besides, where in the hell does anybody get off by saying, "If you don't do this...if you aren't a good girl...if you don't sit in church with your new bonnet...you are going to H-E-L-L!" Oh really Mr. Preacher? G-d gave you the microphone to speak for him? Funny - I never got the memo, let alone read your name in his Bible that you would be his new spokesman.

Reality TV: To the housewives of any state or county who want the American TV audience to see their fancy houses, cars and closets, whatever the consequences are for you exposing yourself and your family - - whatEV..! You made your choice, full well knowing that if you are going to 'ho' yerse'f on TV, you will need to take the good (dollars and exposure) with the bad (criticism and exposure of the worst kind). Oh yeah, and further more, if you don't like what your viewers are saying about you, perhaps you should behave yourself and watch your mouth in front of the camera. My answer to you is BOO-HOO!

Men: I just don't_get_them. Not at all. Just when I feel safe and secure and totally trusting of one of those odd species with the angle of the dangle of the lingham between their legs, they do a 360 on me, at least twice around, and knock me for a loop. I sure love 'em though. Those cute lil' men with their lil' whiskers and muscle-y legs and deep voices. But I am at the crossroads of my life with men. Most of them have disappointed me other than my father, brother and grandfather. Should I take the old adage and twist it around a bit to suit my needs? "Can't live with them and will have to live without them."

Waaahh! Po' Widdle Gen-Xers!

2008-05-29T17:57:00.000-07:00

It appears that Generation X isn't getting the monumental attention they feel they deserve.

The LA Times has a very ambitious Gen-X reporter who says it is time for Baby Boomers to stifle themselves. In her article, titled The millstone of boomer milestones," it seems as if Ms. Meghan Daum is tired of nostalgia and the references to the music of Dylan, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones. Gosh, we're sorry that the Backstreet Boys and Rick Astley haven't had the same impact on our world. She's tired of our anniversaries of Kent State, Woodstock, Earth Day and the day the Beatles broke up. Dum- Daum is even finding it tedious and not relevant to history when a mention is made of the assassiations of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy! Like - like-like-oh-my-gawd - this happened so long ago back in 1968! But something tells me that she holidays on the 4th of July - - talk about so long ago. Geez Mz Daum, that event happened in 1778, why isn't that event a problem for you?

Here's a precious little sample of what she writes:

So boomers set the tone for everyone. Their tastes, needs and values are considered America's default setting. They turn 60, and it warrants magazine covers. They get a cold, and the world sneezes with them...

Boo-hoo! Is it really the Boomer's fault that the highlight of the Generation X's attainment has been Playstation3?

Rachael Ray A Do-nut Terrorist?

2008-05-29T09:57:00.000-07:00

This morning I read online that Rachael Ray's recent ad for Dunkin' Donuts is being removed. It appears it's all about her scarf. Conservative commentator, Michelle Malkin complained the scarf Ray wore in the ad offers symbolic support for terrorism.

Oh for crying out loud Michelle! Since when did those fuckin' Palestinian jihad terrorist start wearing paisley?

Sweet Offerings

2008-02-27T07:33:00.000-08:00

The ancient Aztecs often referred to chocolate as "Food of the Gods." They were the first to discover chocolate and believed it provided strength and wisdom. Now you can have your deities and eat it too! Check out Chocolate Deities. The two combined are good things. Why?

Chocolate can bring joy while a dieties can help your spiritual journey.
Chocolate and dieties can help heal a broken heart.
Chocolate and dieties can bring forth peace and compassion, lower stress, which helps you on your inner journey.
Chocolate and dieties induces and celebrates love, which brings you into relationship with all living things.
Chocolate and dieties combined carries anti-oxidants and an aphrodiasiac, which helps you on your healing journey.

Barbie Gave Her Life For Jewelry

2008-02-23T15:46:00.000-08:00

It's about time Barbie did something noble instead of making life "all about her." Check out Margaux Lange's Plastic Body Series Jewelry.

Beeee-yotch!

2008-02-17T08:00:00.000-08:00

When I was in high school, my mother told me that every woman had a bit of the "bitch" deep inside of them. However, she said - -

Some women like to use their bitchiness more than others.

Ken Wants Barbie Back

2008-02-10T07:49:00.000-08:00

According to Mattel, the world's number one toy maker, they have given Barbie's boyfriend Ken a makeover, calling him "a changed man...exudes a new sense of his own personal style...Ken has gone through this transformation to show Barbie that he is a changed man...more than arm candy...he's spent time exploring the world and himself, so his look reflects that time spent on his own."

Oh puke! Ken is the same piece of molded plastic he's always been - hairless and missing a penis. He isn't a changed man. During the fourth quarter, Mattel's worldwide gross sales for the Barbie brand declined 11 percent.

Pick Up Lines For Feminists

2008-02-08T12:13:00.000-08:00

Picture this - - it use to be a smoke filled bar, but now that smoking is banned picture nicotine stained walls. You are there for a "Liberally Drinking" Democrat gathering. You spot him at the bar and his eyes meet yours...

Need a pick up line? Try this one on for size:

"Where have you been all my life? Hopefully fighting against oppressive patriarchal systems."

I wish I could take the credit, but there is more where that one came from. Check out

http://www.lodestarquarterly.com/work/343/ Lodestar Quarterly by Lesley Kartali

What is he?

2008-02-08T07:17:00.000-08:00

What is he, this man that has become an important part of my life. Hey! I am a middle aged divorced woman and what the hell do you call the man in your life that you have been with now for four years?

Do I call him my boyfriend? I don't want to sound like a high school girl, besides he's a man, not a boy. Do I call him my partner? I don't like that term either. We are not in business together. Do I call him my sweetie? Sometimes, but again that sounds a bit syrupy-icky-sicky-sweet. There isn't a ring on my finger so he isn't my fiance or husband. He isn't my roommate. We have separate homes. He isn't my friend. Hey, I have lots of friends but he means much more to me. Is he my special friend?

I suppose I could be worldly like Angelina Jolie and tell people, "I have taken a lover." What! Are you serious? My mother is still alive and while I think I am open minded, I never want her to breath those words to me. Too visual! Gack! Also, I have two baby granddaughters. Do they call him, "Grandma's Lover?"

How about if I call him my "Lovah" like Virginia (Rachel Dratch), the aging hippie housewife and the hairy Professor Klarvin (Will Ferrell) refer to each other in the SNL skit. The Lovahs give uncomfortable details to strangers about their amour and sexcapades, "My lovah and I like to take baths together... I see my lovah's body, dripping with sweet nectar..."

My Lovah!

Don't Blame It On The Bacon

2008-02-07T07:04:00.000-08:00

"Male Chauvinist Pig." I hate that title. Really. I hate the title. For one thing, don't let an innocent animal take the blame for a man who just _does_not_get_it. Pigs are cute, pink, very intelligent and they are great about bringing home the bacon. My Dad use to say it bothered him that pigs were always associated with dirt. He said that pigs were some of the cleanest animals on earth and it was man who threw trash and mud into the pig's pen. Besides, it really does bother me to bash males. Really. I don't like that generalization, that all men are created evil. They are not. There are some evil women out there as well, and the best we can hope for that the two will meet, live together miserably forever, and hope that they will never spawn. The sad thing is that people like that don't_get_misery, either because they are in it so thick they don't understand what it's like to not have misery.

The finest men I have ever known have been in my family. My grandpa raised five daughters and encouraged them to be independent and taught his own granddaughters how to do things like swing a hammer, stir brick mortar, and how to change a flat tire. My own father was the first male feminist in the 50's who felt there was no designated gender jobs. My brother would take a year off from his job to raise his second daughter so his wife could go back to school and get her PhD. I married a man (that had his moments of chivalry) who was a good house helpmate, we were a catering team when it came to entertaining and he encouraged me to go into business and do my arts. He also helped me raise two children that would go on to be successful people, not only in their careers, but in their relationships.

I enjoy watching my son take the responsibility of changing his baby daughter's diapers, when as a youth he couldn't clean up the dog poop in our yard without gagging. My daughter is pursuing her career and my fabulous son-inlaw has put his degree on hold so he can stay home and care for their baby and now also caring for his new niece, my son's new baby daughter. It is rewarding for me to catch a glimpse of the two men over the diaper changing station talking about diapers, rashes, and lotions. My sweetheart encouraged me to go back to college in my mid-life and believes in my abilities to do whatever I wish. He is my own personal cheerleader. So to sum it up, I feel fortunate not to have a flock (or is it gaggle, pod, herd, shoal, swarm or mob?) of male chauvinists around me. Instead I prefer to say that I have caring and thoughtful people around me.

Now I need to rant. Forgive me as I climb on my ladder (I have short legs) to reach my soap box. I might be here for awhile, but recently I was blown away by a big bag of chauvinistic wind. I think chauvinist may be too kind of a word. How about a mean and immature bully? I am still shaking my head in disbelief of being around such a person. Instead of chauvinist I prefer to say Male Ass-Bag (yes, there are Female Ass-Bags, too). So - - here goes the story:

Mr. Ass-Bag and I were working on a project together. I would later learn what he thought about his wife. His comments were, "She is slow and didn't go to college like I did (as he beats his chest). Her job abilities are conducive to working an assembly line. " I wondered when he would be dismissive of my talents and capabilities. I would soon find out.

I knew Mr. Ass Bag socially. He would complain that his father was a bully and when his parents divorced he would become the "man of the house" as a young teen. He would baby-sit his younger siblings so his mother could go out in the evenings with her married lover. He procured me to assist him in a business project. There were four of us and three phases of the project. Phase I - four of us would work on the creativity and the business plan. Phase II would be the legalities, financing and computer technical skills. I sat on hold for awhile. Phase III would be my phase and mostly my phase. But I couldn't get to my phase until II was accomplished. I wanted to speed up the project by going to our attorney to get our legal position done, but no. Mr. Ass-bag said that he could do the same work that an attorney could do. What he never finished in four months, an attorney could have done in seven days. In the mean time, Mr Ass-Bag decided he was going to go back to college. He quit in the first quarter before the mid-term. Of course, blaming it on me claiming that I never had the initiative to do the work, so he had to quit college to do the work. I would catch him in his own crap, because it was him that designed and distributed who was to do what phase. He kept butting into my Phase III. It was obvious that I could not get to Phase III until he finished Phase II and he became furious with me when I told him so or ask him why he insisted on "pulling the cart before the horse" on Phase III. He would treat me like a child when I "misbehaved" by changing my password and disconnecting me to our email and web account. Ooohhh - - such power! Big man! I finally discovered that he oversold himself and did not have the skills to get us to through Phase II and that is why he kept butting into my Phase III. He misrepresented himself on a project. Never completed it - - never completed it.

Out of the group of four working on the project, I was the only one with the specialized education, the work experience, and the networking to do this particular project. He needed me and his ego hated it. Me. A woman. He would lie to me and when I caught him, he would become furious and try to put me down by telling me that my skills were not important and that a 14 year old grocery store bagger could do my job. It made him mad that I didn't cower to his words. I was his scapegoat for him not being accountable.

The project stopped before it ever finished Phase II. I still believe in the concept of the project, but I am leaving with a sigh of relief. A bit of my trust is shaken in that frail creature called the human being, but I am in such a good place now. I am the first one to admit that I am far from perfect. There is an evil side to me too, ya know. I have to take responsibility for that. Ghandi said that an "An eye for an eye would make the whole world blind." I don't have to wish revenge and misery for Mr. Ass-Bag. I will let karma take care of it and Mr. Ass-Bag will take care of it for me, as well. I can be guaranteed that is one Phase he will complete.

"No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow." - - Alice Walker

Little Words With Big Hair

2008-02-01T19:51:00.000-08:00

We need another Eleanor Roosevelt, whose words of wisdom flowed from her lips and her pen. Words like:

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

"Do what you feel in your heart to be right - for you'll be criticized anyway. You'll be damned if you do, and damned if you don't."

Instead our young girls have these words:

"Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff." --Mariah Carey

Then a contestant in the Miss USA pageant was asked the following question:

QUESTION: If you could live forever, would you and why?

ANSWER: "I would not live forever, because we should not live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever, then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever," -- Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss USA contest.

Brillant, huh? Yesterday on the radio I heard bits and pieces of an interview by Paris Hilton. Note that I am rolling my eyes here. She was asked about the libel case where she is being accused of giving false information to a newspaper about a girlfriend of her former fiance'. When asked if the story had appeared in the UK, she replied "No. There is stuff in London." It appears that London does not exist in the United Kingdom if you ask Paris. Then when asked if the story had appeared in Europe, she said she didn't know because, "all there is, like, French." So she thinks the only language in Europe is French? Also, she didn't know the names of many of her so-called friends. Paris said she thinks she is the hardest working person in America. She doesn't have a clue.

When Paris's mother, Kathy Hilton, starred in her reality TV show called "Who wants to be a Hilton?", it was Kathy's job to remodel a rough nobody and turn them into a diamond by exposing them to society and culture. Really Kathy, haven't you heard that charity starts at home?

I hope in the future my granddaughters will be exposed to a public role model that is bright, intelligent, articulate and her own strong person. Not someone like Paris Hilton.

Fruit Trees

2008-01-30T06:59:00.000-08:00

You've heard the old saying, "If you don't like my peaches, baby why do you shake my tree?" Aint that the truth? I didn't know that dating in your late 40-50's would be so hard. I tried my hand at dating for a couple of years after my divorce until I met my sweetie. Sweetie and I broke up for about six months and I tried dating again. Dating didn't get any better. I think that if my sweetie and I ever break up again, I will become a Buddha priest or something so I don't get caught up on dating. I will die a cat lady with 10,000 tin foil balls and stacks of newspapers all over my house. I will spend my evenings crafting with Elmer's glue, egg cartons and plastic wine corks.

The experience I had with dating I seemed to find men who either cried real crocodile tears about the woman, the love of their life that left them or the woman that tried to kill them. That always makes a woman, who is out on a coffee date, feel special. Note sarcasm. We were at a coffee house and this guy by the name of Dave* started crying real tears about the woman that left him. Then he informed me that he needed a ride home because he got drunk the night before over the woman who left him and he was ticketed with a DUI. He then asked me for another date. WHA...? And yes, there was actually a guy named John* that I went for coffee with and all he could talk about was how his ex-wife hated him. She and her rich and powerful father was plotting to kill him. His kids also hated his guts and often told him they wished he was dead. By the end of the evening, I understood why his ex wanted to kill him. He asked for another date the next day. Of course, I didn't take him up on it. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life doing time for murder.

Then there was Boozer*. Boozer was his last name. I think his first name was Dick or it should have been Dick. A so-called real estate tycoon (a legend in his own mind) that I met for coffee at the Seattle Airport. This was a Match.com (Scary service. Run for your life). He lived in the area and I was flying in from a trip with a lay-over there. The guy leered at all of the woman and when he would ask me a question, he would turn his head away from me and gawk at all of the young women that would walk in the door. Seriously, his eyes looked like he was undressing them. At one point, I came close to asking him if he wanted to switch chairs so he could have a better look at the glossied up youngsters that were making their entrance. He asked for another date. Ummm -- nope.

Now, about shaking my fruit. Ever have a guy that pursued and pursued and when they got you, they suddenly became uninterested? I can think of a few. There was Ralph*, an engineer who was moving to the area to work on a huge local development. He pursued and pursued and I bit. Phone calls, emails, phone calls, and emails. We even knew some of the same people. Had a lot in common. The evening of our date all he could do was talk about was the wife that died, several ex wives and girlfriends later and most of all he blathered about Janet*. Janet was a woman like myself. Trying to work off a few mid-life pounds. She seemed independent. Wanted to get tied down but then there was a side to her that didn't. Janet belonged to a singles group and was having fun, but liked old Ralphy to be home when she wanted him home (that last part is not like myself). Ralph moaned and groaned about it, but assured me he was over Janet and looking forward to moving to town so he and I could see each other more often. A few days later, I got a call. You know the call. The uninterested girlfriend is suddenly interested when she finds out there is another woman. He was on his way home to Janet's house for dinner, but assured me that it was over with Janet. Good bye Ralph. Don't like to be involved in a triangle drama. Maybe someday we will run into each other at an event and Janet will be on your arm. Will I say to Janet "Ralph was right. You do have a few pounds to lose." Naaahhhhh.

David*, an attorney, shook my tree a lot. He shook it for several years. Always changing his mind until he found out that another man was shaking my tree. That man's name was Nick*, another engineer. Hell, Nick's name might as well been Ralph. Same story, same town, wife died, and several ex's later and still an ex that lingered like a cancerous growth. Her name was Terri*. I will not compete with other women for a man, let alone compete with a memory. David eventually quit shaking my tree and made a commitment. We gave it a try. Tried to live with each other. Just as well, it never worked between us. He moved in his mother. Isn't that what a good Jewish boy is suppose to do?

Ya know, who needs this grief? I sure didn't. Interesting enough, I said one day, "That's it. No more. I am not going out on another date." And I didn't. It actually felt good. For about a year I didn't date again. They say that when you least expect it and quit trying someone significant will enter your life. He did.

Now about those fruit trees. One day my ex husband asked me how I wanted to be buried. When you are married to a family of funeral directors, that question eventually pops up sooner or later. I told him I wanted to be buried under a pear tree. He thought that was odd and asked why. I said that when it came spring the flowers would blossom and the autumn would leave behind their fruits. I wanted people to come by and visit me during harvest and help themselves to my delicious succulent globes. My hope was that they would take a big bite of the juicy sweet flesh and say,

"My oh my - she is tasting mighty fine this year."

*Names were not changed to protect the innocent, because they were not innocent.

Who am I? The Romantic Feminist!

2008-01-27T07:48:00.000-08:00

That's right. When I was a little girl, although my father loved to see his daughters in curls and dresses, it was important to Dad that his little girls knew how to swing a hammer and bait a fishing hook with worms. I use to say that Daddy was the first male feminist in the 1950's.

Dad was a bachelor for a few years before he married Mom. He would iron and starch clothes, cook one hell of a good meal and could wax the kitchen floor until it shined like glass unlike my uncles and Dad's cronies whose wives waited on them hand and foot. Sometimes Dad would come home from work early and get caught up on the ironing.

One day I asked him why he was ironing my pink gingham dress with all the frills around the skirt, neckline, sleeves and buttons. I told him I thought that was Mom's job (Hey, I was six years old. What did I know?). Dad curtly informed me that it was not just Mom's job, but also his job. Our household did not have stereotype male and female jobs. When I left home to get my first apartment, my grandfather gave me a gift. It was a hammer.

When I was married I was a bit independent for the hubby. One day he asked me if I would calm down a bit and allow him to do a few things for me. He needed to practice male chivalry, I guess. We eventually found a happy medium. On dressy occasions I would sit in the car and wait for him to open my car door. He liked that. Now he must be content. His new wifey sits like a constipated Queen Elizabeth with her eyes forward while she waits for her Prince to open her fucking door.

So here I am out in the world trying to make my way as a divorced woman. I swing my hammer, I mow the lawn and dig in the yard with my manicured nails. I wash, gas and check the fluid of my car. I have a boyfriend. He is also a independent bachelor. It's nice when he waits on me with coffee in bed. Sometimes my gurly side comes out. I still like pink. And I get teary eyed at romantic smooshy-gooshy movies. I should talk about the smooshy-gooshy movies I enjoy, but that's another blog day. Some romantic movies make me gag and some make me cry and dream of Prince Charmings that can iron and starch little pink gingham dresses with lots of frills.

The Willendorf Goddess

2008-01-25T07:23:00.000-08:00

The Woman of Willendorf - 30,000 to 25,000 BC

The 'Venus of Willendorf' is the name that was given to a female figurine that was found in 1908 by an archeologist named Joseph Szombathy in a deposit near the town of Willendorf in Austria. It is now in the Naturhistorisches Museum in Vienna. The statue was carved from oolitic limestone and was colored with red orche. It measures 110 mm in height and is dated 30,000 and 25,000 BC The statue is an important icon of prehistory. Archeologists have suggested many different ways of understanding its significance for the nomadic society which made it.

The first suggestion is that it was a "Venus figure" or "Goddess," used as a symbol of fertility. Apart from being female, the statue has an enlarged stomach and breasts, it's pubic area is greatly emphasized, probably serving as a representative of procreativity, and the red ochre pigment covering it has been thought to symbolize or serve as menstrual blood seen as a life giving agent. The second suggestion is that the figurine may have served as a good luck charm. It's diminutive size led archaeologists to assume that it may have been carried by the men during their hunting missions in which it served not only as a reminder of their mate back at home but also as a charm to bring them success in their hunting. This is further strengthened by the facelessness of the figurine giving it an air of mystery and anonymity which suggests that it may have been of more importance as an object rather than as a person. Also, the figurine's hair is braided in seven concentric circles, seven in later times being regarded as a magic number used to bring about good luck. A third possible significance put forth is that of the figurine serving as a mother goddess (earth mother or female deity). This comes from a suggestion that the statue was a woman whose specialness was indicated in her obesity since women in a hunter gatherer society would probably not have had the opportunity to get as obese.

With all the suggestions that have been put forward about the significance of the sculpture, tentative conclusions can be made about the social, political and religious beliefs of the foraging society in which it was found. The use of the figurine as a deity suggests the practice of religious ceremonies to ensure the success of the tribe. As an earth goddess, it may have played the role of ensuring a continuous supply of food in the society. Along with this comes a possible belief in magic if the figurine was intended to ensure hunting success. Politically, it can be speculated that women due to their nurturing capabilities might have had an esteem role in the society. The society may have thus been more matriarchal rather than patriarchal as suggested by Jacob Bachojen (1815-1887), "Matriachate or gynaecocracy found among tribal peoples, where authority in both the family and the tribe was in the hands of the women, was to be associated with the worship of a supreme female earth deity" (Witcombe). *

One day, after my hysterectomy, I looked in the mirror and behold! There was the Goddess of Willendorf staring back at me! Of course, with a much prettier face, fabulous young Liz Taylor looks, and great hair and nails.

*Bibliography: Hahn, Joachim. The Dictionary of Art, V.33. Mcmillan Publishers: (New York, 1996). Matthews, Roy T. & F. Dewitt Platt. The Western Humanities. Mayfield publishing company: (Mountain View,California, London, Toronto, 1995). Tattersall, Ian. Encyclopedia of Human Evolution and Prehistory. Gerland Publishing: (New York & London, 1988). Witcombe, Christopher L.C.E. Stone Age Women: "The Venus of Willendorf".

Pedestals are never out of style

2008-01-21T23:58:00.000-08:00

"The practice of putting women on pedestals began to die out when it was discovered that they could give orders better from there.”

Betty Grable

Unhappily Ever After

2008-01-21T07:40:00.000-08:00

Landslide

2008-01-21T06:07:00.000-08:00

I remember sitting alone and listening to a new Fleetwood Mac CD. It was the last one that they did live. The song Landslide played and while I have heard this song at least a hundred times, I immediately realized that this song could have been about me.

I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
and I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
'Till the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life~~~

Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too

I learned from this song that time makes you bolder. That I certainly am.

Tits

2008-01-19T21:31:00.000-08:00

When I was married I would flinch when I heard the word come from my husband. Now, that I am older, the word doesn't bother me anymore and especially now when my amant-lover-sweetheart says it.

Tits is tits even if you spell it backwards.

Wifey

2008-01-01T07:03:00.000-08:00

Have you ever read the book, "Wifey", by Judy Blume? It was her first adult book after writing several books for young readers. At the time I loved the book, but now looking back I see how I fit in the "wifey" role. I just didn't know it at the time. Unlike Sandy Pressman, the heroine-wifey of the story, who trades in her conventional wifely duties for her wildest secret fantasies. I am just now trying to discover and cash in my wildest secret fantasies. Figures - - just like in junior high and high school, I was usually behind. Behind in getting my first bra, my period and of course, one of the few who graduated the class of 1972 as a virgin.

The summary of "Wifey" is about a woman by the name of Sandy who is the wifey of Norman, a successful but dull businessman, has two children and after 12 years of marriage, is utterly bored with her 1970's New Jersey suburban housewife role. She idolizes Jackie Kennedy, has fantasies about the guy who drives by on a motorcycle and wonders what ever happened to her exciting high school boyfriend, Shep.

No. I never really did wonder whatever happened to my boyfriends from high school. Hell, most of them I run into at least once a month. Wait a minute. There is one. His name was Fred. He played Prince Paul in the play, "Anastasia." I suppose I have wondered about him.