Beauty is for looking at
No matter what others say.
If the visage is not beautiful
They will not be looking your way.
Trust me on this.
The beauty of today is slim and straight
And hardly any curves
Unless you are selling underwear
With wings attached.
Trust me on this.
Skin is flawless
Lips are full-ish
Lashes are grotesquely long-ish
And hair is flowing, flowing
Past the shoulders in lustrous waves
Of rippling brown (no longer blonde-mostly)
Trust me on this.
And those of us who are
Or never have been willowy
Our hair is short, our stature shorter
Our underwear white and serviceable
Without wings or even possibly lace
Watch in haunted shadows
The passing of those long, cool drinks of water
Sometimes with a lump of envy
Sometimes with a note of irony
And mostly with a wonder, what if
Trust me on this.
We populate the daytime
With mini-vans
Small economy cars full of groceries
And love and angst
And fierce pride in our broods
We do not pout, nor whine, or expect roses
Or even dinner out (except maybe once a year).
We are real, those without the visual beauty
And we are beautiful to one another
We recognize each other
Even if not in some man’s fantasy.
Trust me on this.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
It's Stupid to Get Mad, But...
I consider myself okay with computers. I know how to do certain things and in turn certain things get done for me. It's a basic premise, one that I'm comfortable with from day to day. Ah, but there are those days. I decided to be lazy and instead of sitting at my desktop, I decided to use my laptop which I hadn't powered up for a little while. I briefly recall that hubby had it upstairs tinkering about a week ago, but I didn't think anything of it. Until I tried to get on it. It is not connected to the wireless in the house...hunh? How could it not be connected to the wireless? It doesn't have to be plugged in, right? It just has to have the proper little code to work...right? And then I remembered. He moved the wireless router. We live in a brick house. The poor little laptop is lost within the walls of the dead space between brick and mortar. I have to change my location. It took me 40 minutes, I'm sorry to admit, to remember he told me this. I sent him a text message before I remembered with a snarky, sarcastic tone. Forty minutes of swearing, mumbling, yelling at the screen and then finally powering off to remember this little tidbit of info.
I'm on the desktop now. Breathing deeply and trying to remain calm. But it was just one of those days.
I'm on the desktop now. Breathing deeply and trying to remain calm. But it was just one of those days.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Good Ol' Music
I know I've written about this before, but it bears a repeating, sort of. I love music that my father loved. My hubby found on Pandora, a succession of songs which I have to admit made me dance about the kitchen with a goofy smile on my face. I knew most of the lyrics, could guess most of the singers, and even knew their phrasing! It was great! Because it's just he and I, during dinner we are usually serenaded with classical. It's soothing, sometimes I recognize the music, sometimes I don't. But after our respective busy days, it's nice to listen to soothing melodies.
But since the radio station went off the air that I used to listen to with this kind of music, I don't get the variety anymore. My own personal playlists are heavy on the Sinatra, Bennett and not too much else. It was wonderful to hear Ella, Jimmy Durante, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr. and even Bobby Darin. I asked him to leave it on just a little longer as I cleaned up the kitchen. They even played, "In the Mood" by Glen Miller! Oh, it was marvelous. I finished cleaning up, and just sat in the chair in the kitchen with that small smile remembering all the times I must have heard The Lady is a Tramp, As Time Goes By, and oh, I don't know, hundreds of others all those years in the car singing along.
It was superb! I'm sure my husband, who by the way retreated to his lair upstairs, could do without my out of tune warbling. But it restored me for the evening. And reminded me that my memory is just fine for these songs. I swear I have so many memorized, it's a wonder I can remember everything else. Which I would like to believe is the reason I can't remember everything else.
Anyway, I'm singing along now and hope to continue for a little while yet. I'll catch up with you all later...after hours...maybe at a quarter to three. If you don't get that reference well then, nevermind.
But since the radio station went off the air that I used to listen to with this kind of music, I don't get the variety anymore. My own personal playlists are heavy on the Sinatra, Bennett and not too much else. It was wonderful to hear Ella, Jimmy Durante, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr. and even Bobby Darin. I asked him to leave it on just a little longer as I cleaned up the kitchen. They even played, "In the Mood" by Glen Miller! Oh, it was marvelous. I finished cleaning up, and just sat in the chair in the kitchen with that small smile remembering all the times I must have heard The Lady is a Tramp, As Time Goes By, and oh, I don't know, hundreds of others all those years in the car singing along.
It was superb! I'm sure my husband, who by the way retreated to his lair upstairs, could do without my out of tune warbling. But it restored me for the evening. And reminded me that my memory is just fine for these songs. I swear I have so many memorized, it's a wonder I can remember everything else. Which I would like to believe is the reason I can't remember everything else.
Anyway, I'm singing along now and hope to continue for a little while yet. I'll catch up with you all later...after hours...maybe at a quarter to three. If you don't get that reference well then, nevermind.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
The Passage of Time
I visited my nephew's grave today. His birthday was February 3 and I just thought to go over and see where it was, the new headstone, well, whatever. It was cold and blustery there. The cars were whizzing by on the highway and the side streets, people hurriedly going about their business on a Saturday. I looked down and thought of him.
I remembered my sister, upon hearing of his death, say, "Oh, that's just so unfair." And she was right. It was. And still is. I am not unknowing about the world, I am aware that life can be unfair. I know that people die all the time in accidents and even because bad people make choices that affect innocent people. I read the paper. I watch the news, only not so much anymore. I don't like the news. All that death on purpose makes me uneasy. And sad.
He should have been around to witness all the wonderful things going on with his family this year, the weddings, the new baby, even the usual birthdays. I do not want to hear someone say, "he is with you in spirit," right now. Maybe he is, but he isn't here in person is he? And that's what I miss, what I'm thinking of, not the ethereal "other"; the here and now. He is not in the here and now with us.
Life changes so quickly. And goes on. I said to my husband, "life still goes on," knowing that it wasn't a breaking news bulletin. Just a realization. Life progresses without us when we cease to be. In the play Our Town, the character Emily has died and is counseled by the people on the hill who have gone on before her. But the stage manager tries to answer the question she asks about realizing how life is going on all around us, "every, every minute." Do they realize, she asks? And he says honestly, no. Maybe some, poets he mentions, but most of us see the time we are living in at this moment as just the second leading up the next second to the next minute, hour, day, week, month, and year. The slip stream of time blurs by our eyes so fast, that we weren't even sure we saw it. And then when someone slips out of the stream, we notice the vacancy, but the current takes us past and the vacuum is gone, until the next time we take a minute to see it. And so I stood in the blustery gloom and stared at the stone with his name on it, trying to fill the void for just a few minutes.
Happy Birthday John, wherever you are.
I remembered my sister, upon hearing of his death, say, "Oh, that's just so unfair." And she was right. It was. And still is. I am not unknowing about the world, I am aware that life can be unfair. I know that people die all the time in accidents and even because bad people make choices that affect innocent people. I read the paper. I watch the news, only not so much anymore. I don't like the news. All that death on purpose makes me uneasy. And sad.
He should have been around to witness all the wonderful things going on with his family this year, the weddings, the new baby, even the usual birthdays. I do not want to hear someone say, "he is with you in spirit," right now. Maybe he is, but he isn't here in person is he? And that's what I miss, what I'm thinking of, not the ethereal "other"; the here and now. He is not in the here and now with us.
Life changes so quickly. And goes on. I said to my husband, "life still goes on," knowing that it wasn't a breaking news bulletin. Just a realization. Life progresses without us when we cease to be. In the play Our Town, the character Emily has died and is counseled by the people on the hill who have gone on before her. But the stage manager tries to answer the question she asks about realizing how life is going on all around us, "every, every minute." Do they realize, she asks? And he says honestly, no. Maybe some, poets he mentions, but most of us see the time we are living in at this moment as just the second leading up the next second to the next minute, hour, day, week, month, and year. The slip stream of time blurs by our eyes so fast, that we weren't even sure we saw it. And then when someone slips out of the stream, we notice the vacancy, but the current takes us past and the vacuum is gone, until the next time we take a minute to see it. And so I stood in the blustery gloom and stared at the stone with his name on it, trying to fill the void for just a few minutes.
Happy Birthday John, wherever you are.
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