Dita Parker

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Mid life stasis

My youngest was lost in thought. Then, 
"I'm so glad I wasn't born in the '80's."
? "How so?"
"I wouldn't have had any toys."
?? "I was born in the 70's."
??? "Were your pacifiers made out of wood?"

My children make me laugh on a daily basis and they make me think, and lately I've been thinking a lot about age and time and aging. We're summer sons and daughters and tomorrow, it's my turn to turn a year older. As I keep nearing my forties, more and more people have asked do I feel some manner of crisis coming my way as well.

I can honestly say that no, I don't. That ship has already sailed. I traveled on it in my twenties, cruising from port to port, casting anchor time and time again because I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life, when or where I wanted to disembark, or if I even wanted to. When you're restless and rootless, settling down sounds an awful lot like sinking. I would imagine myself rattling the cages of whatever choice pinned me down, pinned me down to the ground where I would have to be a what and not a who, defined by what I did, where I lived, the company I kept, not by who I was, and shudder at the thought.

I was also, at that peculiar poignant point in my life, very sure I would die young. That certainty didn't come from any kind of death wish. I wasn't self-destructive, quite the contrary. But so much had been squashed into my twenty-something years that the only explanation I had for such fast-forward-living was that I had to live a lifetime in a very short time.

With the melodramatic inclination and foresight of a twenty-something, I would imagine my tombstone. "She could have been many things," it read. It didn't sound right. It didn't sit right. I had to anchor. I had to alight, rein in the restlessness, choose to become somewhat of a what, not just a who, or do the seven seas drift never arriving.
Drifting was once a choice. I choice I chose not to make. I used to play a game where I imagined where I would be had I chosen another schooling, professions, certain jobs over others. People. Continents. I found myself in very different places among very different faces. Would I have been happier had I gone down some other path? I seriously doubt it. Some parts might have been easier, some patches much harder. Just as interesting and complicated and bewildering. But happier? I think not.

Contentment is supposed to be detrimental to creativity, tantamount to death. What a bunch of bollocks. Why are people so afraid of being happy? What do they really fear? That they don't deserve it, as if you had to earn it any more than you deserve the bad and the low? Some truly amazing things have happened to a lot of awful people. An awful lot of amazing people never seem to get a break. It's infuriating and frustrating and makes you dream of revenge or even poetic justice but sitting and waiting for life to course-correct is a poor man's deal.

The restlessness hasn't gone anywhere. It's part of my make up; existential, not circumstantial. And so I find myself at a happy stage, a happy age, even if I have no idea how old I am. I sometimes feel I was born an old dame. I sometimes feel I'm just a kid. For me, age is a state of mind. It's not the years, it's the mileage, Dr. Henry Jones Jr. once said. But as the years gather, the less the tripometer seems to mean to me, or matter.

I'm already burying loved ones. My siblings and friends are still having babies. Life goes on. One day I will mingle with the wind and the water and if they need a tombstone they can write it in sand and what it will say I'll never know. I hope they understand I tried to use my time and blessings wisely and that I tried to be kind and if my actions or words were sometimes naive my intentions were always noble and if I caused you pain I'm truly sorry but all I ever wanted was a life based on truth and justice and beauty and freedom. Love.

No keeling over.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Tuesday 17th

Ran into some bad luck on a Friday 13th? Try surviving a Tuesday 17th! The range hood broke down, my birthday bash plans went south and since it won't stop raining, the roof is leaking! 

Life felt like a bad blues song today. Edits going nicely though so there's that. Gaah, I hate self-pity with a fire. Better shut up before the blues turns into an opera in five acts.

Drinks with Lucie from Perpetual Pleasure on the 23rd? I sure could use one or three. Stop it. Thanks for listening. I'll just show myself out now. Night, all.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

It's a kind of magic

I'm not really here. I'm in southern Sweden. And the 69 Shades blog. At the same time. Aren't I clever? 

You're not really here, either. You are rushing over there to get the skinny on my entourage and for that stretching break I promised.

Enjoy your exercise, sweetie darlings. I will see you soon.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Fourth of July, or, just another day at the office

How are you, dearest denizens? Happy campers, mehopes! I felt a bit like death warmed over after Midsummer. Way too little sleep plus a cold will do that to you, but I burn brighter every day.

I'm still waiting on edits for Perpetual Pleasure, so no news to relate regarding The Book. I've been working at the oddest hours but such is summer, and I've been doing a lot of thinking, one of my favorite pastimes. I've been waiting for someone to accuse erotic romance authors of cannibalizing and cashing in on That Book, which, all things considered, would be funny as hell. (It has come to pass, sweetie darlings. Take it away, Jaid Black!)

I've been wondering about the male authors who openly label women as a mystery they could never write about. That's like saying they don't know what it's like to be human. Maybe they don't know, they have, after all, openly declared they have a very narrow understanding of what constitutes humanity. And I've been thinking how cool it was that the Mayor of Helsinki flew the rainbow flag in front of City Hall on Saturday as a sign of support and to protest against the protesters and haters, and what a narrow view of what constitutes a human those haters have.

And I've been trying to decide, Astrid Lindgren or Tove Jansson, so I've read both women, women who have a deep understanding of what it's like to be human. Or animal. Or any living thing, really. And I've been enjoying the white nights and riding my bike, bushwhacking in the forest (our everyman's right) and what a great sense of humor my kids have. And it's too bad it's not warmer and if this turns out to be one of those summers that never was that's even worse but waiting and whining won't change the forecast, now will it?

What else? Yes. On Saturday, family Dita leaves for southern Sweden for a visit with my sis-in-law. On Sunday, I'm set to post at the 69 Shades blog, and I do have a little something prepared to kick off your work week and keep the juices flowing. So. Don't make me look bad now. Go check out that post every time you need a stretching break, m'kay? M'kay. Enjoy your July, wherever you are.

P.S. Let it be known that as of a while ago, apart from personal photos, I've bought and paid for all the images I post, and I credit the stock photos I've downloaded for free because a) I can't talk against digital piracy one day and infringe on the rights of others the next, and b) the best way to support your favorite authors and other artists is to buy their work. So become a patron. It will cost you a fraction of what you paid for those shoes. Seriously.