Whew! What a difference a day (and a good night’s sleep) makes. I’m feeling better now, and wasn’t “Grey’s Anatomy” good? I’m back to caring, and I’m very excited. I leave tomorrow for a week in Washington, DC with my daughter and her classmates. I’ve never been to our nation’s capital before, and I can’t wait to see the monuments and memorials. I think every American should visit DC at least once. I’m just sorry it took me so many years to get there. I’m worried about the bus ride, though. Buses make me terribly nauseous. I’m hoping Dramamine and sleep will get me there with a calm stomach. Just in case, I’m taking my own sick bags. Actually, my husband bought extra gallon sized baggies today just for that purpose. Nothing says love like buying your spouse barf bags. DC here we come!
Okay, this is going to sound mean, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’m just too tired to care about anyone else’s problems today. Do you hear that? I just don’t care about your ailments, your troubled children or your fractured family. I’m pooped, worn out, in need of rest and have a bad attitude. I’m sure I’ll feel differently tomorrow after I’ve had a good night’s sleep, but today I JUST DON’T CARE! I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I just don’t have the energy to burp. I’m a pretty positive person and the problem with that is that people don’t know how to deal with me when I’m not sunny. Here comes the whine with this cheese…..
Everybody else in my family can have a bad day and get away with stomping around and venting his problems, but heaven forbid I have a bad day. “What’s wrong with you?” “Don’t take it out on me,” they say. Yet, I’m expected to listen to their rants and ravings or take their abuse when the world doesn’t turn their way. Why isn’t mom allowed to sulk? Why doesn’t she get a pity party every now and then? Well, I want one and I’m going to take it. Don’t bring me any of your worries. I have my own. Don’t tell me about your overbearing daughter-in-law or your tax bill. I don’t want to hear it. Don’t ask me to solve a problem for you. I’m all out of ideas. Don’t ask me for any sympathy. I can’t muster up any. Don’t ask me for my opinion because I’ll give it to you, and you probably won’t like it.
I’m making sandwiches for dinner, curling up in my recliner and getting lost in the beautiful, wonderful, gratuitous smut called “Grey’s Anatomy”. I’ll be over it by tomorrow, but in the meantime, it’s my party and I’ll pout if I want to.
The Britney Spears head shaving incident is disturbing for many reasons. It’s troubling that just about every American knows about Spears’ haircut but many don’t know what happened in Iraq over the weekend. What does say about us as a nation?
It’s also sad that this woman is obviously self destructing in front of our eyes, and no one seems to be able to stop it. This has been coming for some time. Her attempts at marriage, motherhood and independence are all signs of her dissatisfaction with her life and her cravings for love. Where is her family in all of this mess? I can guarantee you that no matter how rich, famous or old I was, my mother would not hesitate to come to my house and jerk a knot in my tail for being photographed in public without my underwear or for partying all night while my babies were at home. She would also do whatever it took to get my head on straight and get me the help that I needed. She’s not afraid of a little “tough love”. She certainly wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to hear just to stay on my gravy train.
Perhaps the most repulsive part of this drama is the public’s glee at having a front row seat to Spears’ self destruction. Why on earth do we enjoy building celebrities up, pushing them to the edge with adulation and then watching them slide into addiction or death because they can’t handle our intense scrutiny? We’ve done it for years. Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Michael Jackson…the list goes on and on of the people who smothered in the gilded cage we forced them into. It makes me sad that we’ve become so mean spirited. I wish the world would just leave Britney alone. She needs to get better, and she’s a huge influence on young girls. They will notice how she handles herself in the months to come.
Yea for the Dixie Chicks and their sweep of the Grammy awards! It’s not that I’m a big fan of their music. It’s a First Amendment thing for me. Here’s hoping the Toby Keiths and Rush Limbaughs of the world eventually learn that the First Amendment applies to ALL U.S. citizens, even those who don’t think the same way they do.
By the way, can you name the five tenants of the First Amendment? Shame on you if you can’t. Go to www.firstamendmentcenter.org to learn them. Fly!
After a weekend skiing trip with a group of teenagers from church, I’m feeling very old today. I’ve chaperoned dozens of teenage outings and trips, but this is the first time I’ve come home with the feeling that I’m getting too old for this stuff. I have bruises on my backside, my left palm and my right arm. I also have a blister on each foot. My tailbone hurts something fierce, especially when I get out of a chair, and I feel a little stiff all over.
If I weren’t such a failure at skiing, I’m might not hurt so badly. However, the two tumbles I took while ice skating were the source of my sore fanny. I need to start thinking less about keeping up with the young folks and more about risk management.
What’s bothering me more than my aches and pains is the realization that I am not as young as I used to be and that I WILL get old, just like everyone else. I’ve been in denial about that for soooo long. For some reason, I thought I would be immune to the effects of aging or could at least delay them longer than most. When did this foolish notion start, and how did I become so delusional to think that I would be any different than the rest of the world? I don’t know. People often tell me I don’t look my age, and that just feeds my delusion. It’s a wonderful compliment, but it’s leading me down a dangerous path.
I want to be someone who accepts age with grace and gratitude for the wisdom age brings. I want to be a woman who is comfortable in her skin, regardless of how wrinkled that skin becomes, but I’m afraid I won’t. I’m afraid that I won’t always remember that age has more to do with attitude than it does appearance…that it’s not the type of activities you do that keep you young, it’s the decision to keep moving and learning. My burning backside will be a week long reminder of this lesson I so badly need to learn.