Personal Musings

Twitter: A Place for Your Rage

~ MaryG ~ Leave a comment

It’s been four years since I posted anything in this blog, which was a sort of mid-life experiment in connected creativity.  Everyone was doing it.  It seemed fun!  Looking back on those posts from 2015-2016, I feel as though they are from a completely different time in history.  They are from pre-Trump America.  Cold winters! youth sports! reading glasses! Were those topics really top-of-mind just four years ago? Here’s a photo of me, in my pantsuit, going to vote for America’s first female President on Tuesday, November 8, 2016 – the very last day of that era.  That was such a good day!  I skipped choir rehearsal that night to stay home and watch history being made.

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Well, we all know how that turned out.  Tears, disbelief, consoling my college-aged daughter, and booking a trip to Washington DC to be part of the first massive Women’s March, were among my first moves in this new era.

I am well aware that the daily challenges I face living in Trump’s America, as a white college-educated woman born in this country, are mostly emotional.  Immigrants, journalists, scientists, poor young women in need of healthcare and many others face actual threats to their lives and livelihoods.  Still, my emotional challenges are real to me.  And with ANGER being the biggest one, I’m glad I discovered Twitter.  It seems like venting is its raison d’être.  Things that are just “too political” for Facebook can be said, and very succinctly, on Twitter.  And guess what?  It turns out that many other people are thinking the exact same thing.  Maybe it’s true that it’s just an “echo chamber” further cementing our differences, but it’s also a relief.  You are most definitely not alone in thinking whatever your thinking.  Rage away people.  That’s what we do now.

 

Revenge Weather 

~ MaryG ~ 2 Comments

[Inspired by this daily prompt]

New England winters get old, REAL old, after 50 years.  Sure, they start out great: sledding, skating, lots of snow days and hot chocolate when you’re a kid.  Later, when you’re young and single and living in the city, they might mess up your commute, delay a flight or two, or worst of all, force you to contemplate slashing your upstairs neighbor’s tires when he parks in the spot you spent an hour shoveling and had clearly “saved” with an antique trash can.  But, it’s not until you have kids, a house, and a driveway all your own, that you really start to HATE them.  (Don’t even get me started on snowblowers, ice dams, frozen pipes, black ice, and roof rakes.)

This is why so many New Englanders, the minute we have even the smallest amount of disposable income, cannot resist hopping on planes and flying three short hours to Florida in January, February, and March.  Now the winters aren’t always hot and sunny in Florida, but they are reliably better (much better) than from where we came.

Sometimes, the most satisfying thing about being in Florida is hearing about the New England weather you’re missing while you’re down there.  Whether you’re in Disneyworld, or at the beach, or simply strolling around outside between grocery shopping trips to Publix, it’s very satisfying to read something like this in The Boston Globe:

Monday and Tuesday will have highs in the mid- to low 20s, but the windchill effect could be down to single digits for Monday and as low as zero to -10 degrees for Tuesday. Up to 4 inches of snow is expected. 

Ha! And I’m not there.

the terribly guilty look of a woman who spontaneously abandons her family in New England for a weekend visit with friends in Delray Beach

Why Blog?

~ MaryG ~ 10 Comments

I’ve periodically kept diaries and journals over the years.  (I have a whole crate of them in the attic.)  At one point, in my 30s, I read through them all in an attempt to figure out my own personal “theology.”  (I did this for a class led by a minister at my Unitarian Universalist church.)

One embarrassing thing that I had forgotten about myself became clear as I read through those old journals: I was a cheater.  I had been caught numerous times in school passing notes or looking at other people’s papers.  Ouch!

Another thing I learned/remembered was that there was one song that had made a particularly big impression on me.  Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young,” which was released in 1978, basically became my life’s permission slip to blow-off some of the more restrictive tenants of the Catholic Church.  (Google the lyrics and imagine yourself a heretofore “nice” Catholic teenager.)

So why blog?  I mean…it’s public.  Why not just keep journaling – in private?

I guess the answer for me is permanence and connection.

All my old journals could easily get tossed out in the next move, or ruined by the next interior water mishap…or God forbid, burned in a fire.  (Our attic, home of my old box of journals, narrowly escaped a lightning strike last year!  See photo.)  If you put your thoughts on-line, they’re basically permanent.  I realize I may come to regret that, but at the moment I like the idea of having some sort of permanent record that I existed and had thoughts.

The idea that someone else might read my blog, and perhaps relate to it in some way, is also appealing.  As someone who was born and came of age in the pre-internet world, it sometimes seems sad that people are now so glued to their various screens.  Still, I’ve come to understand that meaningful human interaction and connection can and does happen on-line.  Some people seem to find great joy sharing their lives on Facebook and other social media.  I thought blogging might be like that, but with just a bit more room to expand.

Lightening strike
My son in front of a tree that was struck by lightning in our front yard in August 2015.

 

Wassail

~ MaryG ~ 5 Comments

I’ll always remember a scene in one of the last episodes of Seinfeld where Jerry tells George to quit complaining.  (Grumpy George is tired of waiting for his 15 minutes of fame.)  Jerry says, “At least you have your health.”  George responds, “Health’s not good enough. I want more than health. Health’s not doing it for me anymore. I’m sick of health.” 

Back when it aired in the late 1990s, I was in my thirties. I remember laughing and thinking George had a point.  I mean, it’s nice to be healthy and all, but is this all there is?  Will I ever be rich?  Or famous?  Even for 15 minutes, like Andy Warhol had promised?

It’s funny how a couple of decades can change your attitude.  Now, I’m never “sick of health.”  I understand how fortunate I am to have it.  With so many friends and acquaintances my own age hit with truly serious diagnoses, from that nasty bitch Cancer to crippling clinical depression, I (almost) never take my own health for granted.

Yeah, my knee hurts sometimes, but I can still take a long walk outside or ride my bike to the next town.  I know I’m lucky.

Here’s to continued (or a return to) good health for all this Christmas.

Wassail (noun): an early English toast to someone’s health

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thoughts from a Field

~ MaryG ~ 1 Comment

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Technically speaking, over the past 20 years, I’ve been a soccer basketball swimming tennis softball track chorus band theater dance and lacrosse mom.  (Not all at the same time, thank goodness!)  Like many parents, I’ve been to hundreds of games, meets, matches, recitals, concerts, and plays. Many, if not most, have been enjoyable to watch.  The best ones are the ones where it looks your child is having a really great time doing whatever it is they’re doing.

There have been a few activities that were not optional for my kids.  For example, learning to swim well was required, as was learning to read music (at least the treble clef).  More than one teary battle was fought over swim team or band practice.  Heck, I knew I wasn’t raising a Phelps or a Mozart, but if they ever fell off a boat, or wanted to sing along in church, at least they’d have a fighting chance!  I also made sure they could ice skate.  Living in New England, it seemed like a must.

So what’s the point of signing kids up…and paying…and driving them all over hell…for the optional activities?

In my opinion, number one is FUN. (If they’re not smiling or happy or excited for at least part of the time, something is wrong.)

Number two is physical FITNESS.  Let’s face it, obesity is a lifelong battle for some people.  We want our kids be active—to know what it feels like to be in good shape and to want to keep it up.

Number three is TEAMWORK.   Being part of a team (or a band, or a choir) requires working together with others for a common goal, an indispensable skill.

Number four is MASTERY.  It’s good to get good at something. Eventually, one or two activities emerge as the favorites.  Continued participation, combined with some self-discipline and hard work, will hopefully result in a feeling of accomplishment.

Parents sacrifice a lot to have their kids participate in activities—money, time, sleep (my daughter was in a choral group that practiced at 7am 5 days a week).  Carpools alone can require dozens of organizational e-mails and texts.  So, before you sign your kid up for (fill in the blank), think about your reasons.  They might be different than mine, but it’s good to know what they are.

Also, don’t forget to ask your kid if they want to be signed-up for a particular activity.  They might say no, which is fine…unless of course it’s swimming lessons.

 

 

 

 

Flu Fail

~ MaryG ~ Leave a comment

For several years now, I have been getting a flu “shot” in the fall and it seems to be working. I haven’t had the flu, or even a bad winter cold, for years. I’m a believer. I love vaccines! But here’s the thing: I haven’t actually been getting a flu SHOT. I’ve been getting a flu MIST. It’s this nice, gentle, needle-free spray in each nostril. They give you a tissue afterwards. You go home. You don’t get the flu.

Last year, when I was 49, I knew it was going to be my last easy mist. You see, they only give the mist to people who are UNDER 50. I don’t know why. It seems like a silly rule. And I’ve been thinking about how to get around it for a whole year.

When flu clinic day arrived at my local library, I had a brilliant idea. I’d lie. So simple! I’d just write the wrong birth year on the form. If they asked for ID (highly unlikely), I’d say I left my license in a different purse. I can stay 49 as long as I want! My husband approved of my plan. (He said he had an aunt who had stayed 29 for years.)

Unfortunately, I never got to try my plan at the clinic because they were not giving the mist to anyone over 18 that day. They said it was in short supply. (Saving the good stuff for the kids I guess.) But I didn’t give up. I went to the pharmacy at Target and asked if they had the mist. “Plenty of mist,” they said. Yay! I filled out a form (listing my birth year as 1966, instead of 1965) and gave it to the pharmacist with my insurance card. He told me to go shop and then come back and they’d have my mist ready for me.

I felt uneasy about the lie while I was shopping. Unlike the health clinic at the library, Target has computers. Would they figure out I was over 49? I had never been to that pharmacy before. Maybe it wouldn’t come up…

When I got back to the pharmacy, the pharmacist asked me to confirm my date of birth. I lied again…verbally this time, which felt worse than accidentally-on-purpose lying on paper. Then the pharmacy technician piped in, “well, your insurance keeps coming up 1965.” I caved immediately. “Alright” I said, “I was born in 1965. I’m 50. I lied because I want the mist, not the shot.” The pharmacist was very sympathetic and even tried to think of a way around the rule for me, but there was no way around it. It was a shot or nothing.

I opted for nothing. Lame, I know. But I wanted the MIST goddammit. And I’m only 50.

It starts with the glasses.

~ MaryG ~ 3 Comments

8/26/23: Somehow my very first blog post (from November 2015) got “unpublished” and turned back into a draft, so I’m re-publishing it now, 8 years later. UPDATE: my eyes are worse and those millennials are 40.

I remember exactly when it happened. It was four years ago. I had just turned 46 and I was trying to figure out how to use the new digital camera I got for my birthday. I was staring at the tiny little buttons and settings for quite a while. Then I looked up, took the picture, and when I looked back down at my camera, the little settings were blurry. WTF! Just a second ago, they were perfectly clear and now I couldn’t see them at all. I ran inside and sat down. I immediately thought “brain tumor,” but I decided to have some cold water, just in case it was dehydration. Miraculously, when I picked up the camera again, the small settings were clear.

After that, I occasionally had trouble reading tiny print. Having been blessed with perfect 20/20 vision my entire life, this became the first undeniable sign of middle-agedness. Sure enough, the eye doctor confirmed that this type of thing is part of the normal aging process and comfortingly reassured me that “it only gets worse.”

In the beginning, I embraced the fashionable aspect of reading glasses. They come in so many cool colors and designer styles! I bought way more glasses than I actually needed and wore them jauntily atop my head whenever I wasn’t using them. Now, at 50, I just keep a pair in as many rooms and pocketbooks as possible, because it’s a real pain in the neck to run around looking for glasses every time you want to read something smaller than a STOP sign.

But here’s the thing…if you find yourself without a pair, say in a dimly-lit restaurant, or at church choir practice, someone almost always offers you theirs! “Here you go, borrow mine” someone will say, and takes the glasses right off their own face and hands them to you. You see, you’re never alone in the 50+ club. We might not be as skinny and sexy as those 30-year olds at the next table, but we know something that they don’t fully understand yet: Nobody escapes…time marches on for everyone. So when you take those sparkly Target-brand readers from your friend’s ever-so-slightly wrinkled hand, give her the wink that says “thanks and yeah, I know, it’s happening to us too.” I’ve got you old friend.