When all is said and done

 
Warning: verbal incontinence ahead.

Year-end review time! So how did you do, compared to how you expected to January 1, 2014? I started out all eleison, all merciful, not too hard on myself. And ended up, well...as the Mythbusters will tell you, failure is always an option. It wasn't a catastrophic failure, this year merely confirmed an observation: I'm an on-off person. When there's work to do, I'm all over it. When it's time to kick back, shoes and gadgets go flying into the depths and won't resurface until it's time to go back to work.

So. Maybe I should apologize for the radio silence here at the den but I won't. True to form, I've been working hard so I can enjoy some rest and relaxation over the holidays. Be with family, visit friends and take care of the new addition to the family, Chloe the cat. I know horses and hounds but I've never owned a cat. [I know. No one ever owns a cat, not really...] I've envied friends with cats and I've wanted one for the longest time, and now we have one, and not just because I wanted one but because the whole family did. She's a European shorthair and the sweetest, fiercest thing.

All in all, my life hasn't been very tale worthy. Work. Exercise. Family & friends time. Chores. Not always in that order but always some combination of the above. There's been some backstage drama worth a post or ten but that's personal and a business matter and nothing I can go into right here right now. It has certainly given me pause and another glimpse at the unsavory underbelly of a trade I've worked in for a long time in many capacities. So hardly a surprise, just another observation confirmed. People are the best, kind, loving and compassionate. People are the worst, cruel, selfish and unjust.

What else? I've been thinking about memory and identity and our lives, the only shot we have at doing everything we'll ever do, and I've been thinking about time, how it's become a luxury item [although I do believe that's an illusion, a creation after our own selves; there's still time, we're the wasteful ones and always in a hurry]. There are no winemakers in the family, only people who enjoy wine. Should you decide to become a vintner, from scratch, buy land and vines, it would take you a minimum of twelve years to see a grape worth squashing. The prerequisite of a quality wine is a quality vine, and those can take up to forty years to yield their best produce. Forty years. Still wonder why some wines cost a fortune? Someone somewhere waited half a lifetime for a vine to reach its full potential. Sometimes they wait by the vine in vain. Sometimes it comes to nothing. You can make bad wine from good grapes but not vice versa.

Take your time. Wait it out. See what happens. No time like the present. Carpe diem. Strike while the iron is hot. One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is that we make decisions based on cool careful calculation, on knowledge, the intellect, dollars, pounds and euros, the bottom line. Maybe lie is too strong a word, the wrong word. Maybe it's not a lie but a blindness to how much private emotions and past experiences factor. We like to think of ourselves as sensible beings who can keep our sensibilities in check when the limbic brain, the reptile brain gives the first and fastest response in any situation and most of us never learn to override it. Most of us aren't even conscious of it's workings but everyone knows the physical reactions, the swell of emotion that so easily takes hold of you when something unexpected happens, good or bad. If you have time, you reason. If not, you react.

Some are all emotion and reaction all of the time. No one is reasonable and sensible in everything they do. Feelings factor and that's a fact, one dictators have shamelessly milked since the first undecided human decided s/he needed a determined leader. How else would despots garner attention and gain followers? Why on earth would anyone raise a hand or their voice against another unless they're driven by a logic, a rhetoric, that stands and falls on the feelings they generate, the reactions that follow, the emotional satisfaction they can bring?

"I'm going to slaughter 6 million people. Who's with me?" "I will give you a strong, proud nation, the greatest this world has ever seen, a glorious kingdom that will last a thousand years. Who's with me?" The power of words. The power of emotion. Words can be used to generate empathy and respect. Words can be used to create conflict, to divide and oppress. The very same words in some cases. Take the Bible, the Torah, the Koran, their words too often misused for personal gain, selfish purposes, evil. Just listen. Look around you. Here I babble but the world, oh dearest denizens, sometimes the world just renders me speechless.

Like dearest Europe, for example. Where are you going, old girl? Anti-immigration, anti-Islamic sentiments, anti this and anti that. Hatred disguised as nationalism. Nationalism disguised as patriotism. Egotism disguised as reason. This is your answer, your solution? What's the question again? You make them up as you go to justify your actions or should I say reactions because the only brain I can see at work and in charge is the reptile one. You feel threatened, you attack. Is there a reason to feel threatened? That's what I'd like to know but man is it hard to have a conversation with someone deeply immersed in a monologue. Take Erdogan whose new palace is bigger than the Louvre. The Louvre! And don't get me started on Orbán. One of my oldest friends is half Hungarian, and she's just... Well, not living in Hungary for one and probably never will be if this is their trajectory. And Putin... Putin explains Russia and Russia explains Putin. Don't be fooled, though. Russia and the Russian people are two very different things.

And I'm at it again, aren't I, soapbox out and foaming at the mouth... Great, just great. Let's talk about something else, shall we. The holidays? Yea! Whether you celebrate at Christmastime or not many around you do. I know it's a hard time of year to be alone. If you are, I still hope you enjoy the peace and quiet the holidays bring, even for a few days. I hope you do all the things that make you happy, things you enjoy, and if that's too much self-absorption to your liking, I hope you take up people on their invitations for you to come over for dinner, drinks, coffee... Maybe they're not asking because it's the Christian, Christmasy thing to do but because they really want you there. Life will resume normal programing in a few, you'll be swept away and full of excuses why you can't thanks for asking maybe some other time. Go.

We most certainly celebrate Christmas at Casa Dita. There's not much religious faith at the heart of our celebration because of the different individuals and denominations coming together, but there's love and compassion, there's empathy and respect, the moral compasses of die hard worshipers, agnostics and atheists alike. A religion, a life!, not rooted in love, compassion, empathy and respect...what purpose does it serve?

From soapbox to pulpit. Religion and politics? I just broke some social media rules, I believe, like all two of them. It's just that... Gah. 'Tis the season? Up next: New year, new gear! Are you thinking of a theme for 2015? Share if you dare. I've been on Facebook and Twitter, can you believe it, on-off as per this year's/this life's theme, but still. So find me if you want to keep in touch on a more daily/weekly basis.

I haven't had time or energy for writing fiction lately and that's a shame because I write in my head all the time. I intend to be a good girl over the holidays and get some words down on paper. Yes, paper. Still enjoy that, immensely, both writing on some and reading print. The computer and keyboard need a rest and I need some rest from them.

The dark days have been a drag but we got some snow yesterday and there's more coming in today. No more dreaming of a white Christmas, it's here and so is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. Which means longer days from now on, slowly but surely! Another cause for celebration, what our "pagan" ancestors celebrated before baby Jesus and St. Nick started facing off. Can't shout too loudly, though, this is the land of Santa after all. Since we live in the vicinity, he visits Scandinavian kids on Christmas eve.

You bet the wee ones are excited and so am I. I need a break and some downtime with family and friends. I hope you get some rest too or if it's an adventure you crave, I hope you find one. I hope you find what you're looking for. I hope you keep the faith, whatever lies at the heart of your belief/s, and I hope whatever it is, it's rooted in love, compassion and respect. It would be sooo easy to give in to despair and cynicism, the world bombasts us with reasons every day. But we're not quitters, are we, sweetie darlings? It's our world too and love is our resistance.

Merry Christmas, sweetie darlings, and a most excellent new year.

Can you make this thing go faster?

Yesterday was International Day of the Girl Child. And you were expecting a lecture, weren't you, dearest denizens? You didn't get one because you know what I think. You know what to do. You know what I think you should do. I have only one thing to add to every post I've written on gender and feminism and equality: 

Gentlemen, we need you. Women can debate these issues among themselves all year/century/millennium long but that is only half the discussion, half the solution. With still too few of us in positions of power i.e. with voices that carry you need to lend us yours. Not just your benevolent thoughts and a candle lit at eight on a Tuesday but your actual words, spoken out loud, when you feel, no, when know you should say something. Call bullshit when you hear it, call out idiots when you catch them, don't expect the situation to improve only because you're not actively trying to hinder progress. 

You don't need superpowers to be a hero. You don't even need to be a hero to gain our trust, garner our respect or win our love. All you need to do is promise you'll be there when we need you. The time is now.

When I'm 84

Mercifully free of the pressures of youth, I'm gonna grow up, settle down and leave childish pursuits behind. On second thought, no.

I'm gonna start smoking cigars. Not like every day but every once in a while, those big fat juicy ones that last all afternoon. I'm gonna sit outside in a comfy chair, a book in one hand, that cigar in the other, puffing the day away.

I'm gonna eat candy. Like every day. Not many I really like but the ones I like I really really like so that's what I'm having.

I'm gonna have some port every night before bed. Or every morning before I get out of bed. I'm gonna have a glass of whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want it.

I'm gonna try out a hallucinogen. Gotta know before I go what all the fuss is about.

I'm gonna have a this-is-what-it's-all-about heart-to-heart with my grandkids, if I have any. I assume that by the age of 84, I'll have some wisdom to dispense. And the wisdom to discern if I don't.

I'm gonna make sure I live where I've been happiest. I think I already know where that is. You're welcome to visit 'cause I ain't budging, I'mma soaking in bliss till the end.

I'm giving away but the bare essentials so there's no fuss and no fighting over what's to be done about them. Can't take 'em with me, can't put a price on what's priceless, and the most precious things sure as heck don't fit in a box.

I'm gonna take a daily walk around the neighborhood, or block, or garden, holding Hubby's hand. Or maybe we'll just sit outside, side by side, talking or just watching the bugs, birds and bees, the wind in the trees, and maybe we won't see them or hear them as well as we used to but at least we'll be together.

I'm gonna die on my birthday, but I'd rather not do it when I'm 84. Let's make that 104. Nice, round, coming full circle ring to it, don't you think, dying on the day you were born, in the middle of a great book/good meal/interesting conversation, nothing left unsaid, nothing left undone. Well, except that book/meal/convo. Being dead, I doubt I'll mind all that much.

Flicker

I feel a sense of rebirth every time I travel. It starts the moment I leave home because I know the person that steps through that door...I never see them again. I come home transformed, sometimes in some minor way, sometimes in major ways, and that metamorphosis is not dependant on either the destination or the length of the journey. Neither do you know in advance what will touch you, move you, shock you, disturb you, and what will leave you cold.

That's the beauty, the horror and excitement of travel. If you do it with all your senses engaged and open, and all your electronic devices closed (OK, take a picture if you must, but remember: by the time the camera is out, the moment is usually gone, wasted), something always happens to derail the way in which you view the world, think about it. And yourself.

I rarely travel alone these days, but even with friends and/or family in tow, I always try to find a moment all to myself, go where I've never gone before, see something I've never set eyes on. It's a moment of zero reason and logic and total concentration and connection. All emotion, all sensation. Animal existence. Often fleeting, flashing, but I find there's something terribly healthy and healing in those moments. It's a chance to reboot. (I hate these computer terms, but in lack of a better term to explain the inexplicable...)

What you're seeing is of course totally indifferent to you. It demands nothing, asks for nothing, expects nothing. In that moment, you see exactly how tiny a place you occupy on this planet and how big an influence and importance you grant things that are of no consequence. Human pursuits seem mad, our aspirations moving, our fears ludicrous, and much of what is going on absurd. And your life...

You know the person who walks through your door upon return will feel strange. Strange because of what they brought home. Strange because of things they left behind. Some without thought. Some on purpose. This person who now occupies your house starts a string of interrogations. They question everything. Your thoughts. Your actions. Goals. Aspirations. Is this who you are? Is this what you commit yourself to? Is this what you want? Are these your thoughts and choices? Still?

Some things in this life bulldoze you with their implications and consequences. And then there are moments like the sting of a bee. More may be revealed to you in such a moment than you might find in a decade of determined search. What you do with that vision...now that's an altogether different journey.

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.

Utter nutter

That pretty much sums up my year, dearest denizens. It's been a real roller coaster one, and I'm not talking about the junior variety. It's been more like a monster of a complete-circuit ride where the ups had me going "Made it, Ma! Top of the world!" and the downs, well, the downs simply had me screaming for her.

And I have cried, sweetie darlings, more in one year than the last ten years combined. Of immense joy and happiness, of utter sorrow and misery. I would be lying if I told you I wasn't in dire need of a breather, a chance of maybe not thinking of anything much, of not feeling twelve ways at once. No such luck in the immediate future, but there is hope on the horizon.

I have some two hundred and thirty-four things I have to wrap up before X-mas, seventy-six and a half more to see to before the 16th of January, but that 16th... That's my doughnut, dearest denizens, and everything else... The hole? And what do we focus on, hmmm? Anybody? Ze doughnut, not ze hole, yes?

I have learned some interesting things about myself during the past thirty something years. For instance, in moments of measly meltdowns, colossal catastrophes and every degree of calamity in between, I act. I don't freeze, I don't panic, I get busy, and let me tell you, that has come handy many, many times. Need to get me to do something? Bring out the cattle prod, aggravate me some and see Dita run.

So keeping my sights on that doughnut, horrendously pissed off at the driver who ran into me on Monday, smashed my door in and gave me the gift of one more thing to take care of, seriously contemplating having the car painted neon pink and purchasing a mile-long feather boa, the driving gloves and some head accessory the Mad Hatter would be proud of to accompany said glowing, glaring automobile so that no idiot ever again can claim that "I didn't see you...", and, let's face it, what woman wants to be inconspicuous to the point of invisibility, it doesn't feel like 234 and 76 plus one things to do, sweetie darlings, it's a... Junior roller coaster ride?

Aren't I the Queen of Stupid Analogies... The three of you are giving up on me now, aren't you? Before you go, do swing by my Facebook profile for some final insults to your intelligence in the form of 25 things you probably didn't need or want to know about yours truly madly deeply but Adele Dubois asked and who am I to decline such a lovely lady. 

What happens on January 16th, you ask? If you're still there. If I didn't lose you when the feather boa came out. Or the whole business with the cattle prod. I usher my family out the door, leave winter apparel and worries alike behind, and board a flying machine to Salvador, Brazil, where my biggest headache will be the pool or the beach? A caipirinha or a diet Coke? Oh dear. Decisions, decisions.

Crash boom bang

There is nothing wrong with your RSS feed. Do not try to adjust your reader. Due to circumstances beyond our control, we are experiencing transmission difficulties. 

For the next few days, wait patiently as we attempt to sort out this glitch. Visit with friends and family. Have some turkey. If you can stomach it. Whichever.

We repeat: there is nothing wrong with your feed. We are partaking in matters of life and death, experiencing the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to... The Outer Limits.

The Illusionist

How are you, sweetie daaarlings? Enjoying your life sentence on planet Earth?

I went off the deep end, dove down and deeper still, in search of that missing heart of mine. I haven't located it yet, but I have a hunch how to retrieve it when I do. I don't expect to get it back in mint condition, but I do expect to swim my way back to you. I wanted out of those waters as soon as I had him them, but there are no healthy ways to speed up these things, only hurtful ones, hurtful in the long run. 

But: I am in the business of make believe, of making you believe, so let's suspend disbelief for a moment, shall we, and pretend together. Imagine a day when that ache in the belly, that sensation of being strangled is gone. When that heart is back in its place, a little worse for wear but not so obviously I couldn't fool us into believing there was never anything wrong with it. I might not feel so now, but I can imagine.

I can imagine because the first thing I registered this morning wasn't heaviness but a woodpecker knocking at the top of a lamp post, a sure sign of spring. Stupid bird, waking me up. Smart bird, using an amplifier. I can imagine because when my youngest whispers "Mommy, don't be sad, I love you," it's my child's voice I hear, not hers, six words to break and mend that heart.

I can imagine because I step outside and find the snow gone from the streets. I can feel the ground beneath my feet and it feels good at long last. I can imagine because I have breakfasts to make and hairs to brush, I have books to write and languages to sort out, and, I quote, "I have my health." [bangs head against door] "I have my health." [and again] A lover friend to come home to, so many things to be thankful for. Those are not illusions but proof of life. That is all I focus on while I try to swim, not tread water.

Play along, will you. Let me come and prattle on or ponder, talk books and movies and men and sex and women and life, the universe and everything. I swim so much faster that way, every day a little closer. Let's pretend it's already that day somewhere in the future and I'm already that much closer to you. I know I said I wouldn't rush it...but I'm swimming as fast as I can.