charity enough?

i have struggled with posting this photo. the quality is lousy, but it speaks to me in a way that the series that followed do not, even though they are crisp and vivid.

this woman sat there in an island of cement. people kept an extra foot from her. though the people at the corner were boisterously garnering change, she sat quietly with her mcdonald's cup and hand written sign that she'd obviously spent a lot of time to make clear and readable. she barely raised her head when i approached her.

seeing this shot, even now so many weeks later, causes me a rush of emotion. being near her... i felt so broken. just broken, not sad or depressed. just a whiff of hopelessness. but mostly broken.

she was so young and beautiful. she was stunning.

having the "cougar" convo...

a friend of mine and i were bantering about older women being so attractive to younger guys. i told him that i wasn't interested in being a "cougar".

i've been so ticked off about this for so very long that i decided to purge this anger for once and for all by simply posting my reply to one of his emails.

_________________

yeahhhhh, no. not for me. i had a 33 year old ask me out and even that made me nervous.


i'll tell you exactly what set me off. there was an article a couple years ago in the RFT... they used the same art for a cougar column that they ran. well. the women that they interviewed were so NOT like me and were REPRESENTING me... i've never read the rft again.


this sort of thing really is rare with me. usually, i could care less about all that stuff. i came about as close to calling a writer as i ever did after reading that article. they did not represent a true cross section of women over forty who date younger guys. the image that was created couldn't be further from me than my genetic code to an actual cougar.


to be utterly blunt, it pissed me off, and now my (online dating site) email is full of guys who think i'm some tart.

_______

further and in full disclosure for debate...

i've always been a rabid supporter of the RFT. i am not blaming them or the writer. they merely contributed to this lovely new cultural mindset.

at the time that article came out, i had just ended a serious relationship with a guy who was seven years younger than me.

i did go out with the 33 year old. he is very interesting, happy in his own skin and insanely attractive. i would love to go out with him again.

my issue is with the new crop of guys who have developed the mindset that because i'm over forty, look younger than i am and am "adventurous" that i'm a two martini piece of tail. this is a big part of why i shy away from the bar scene.

the amusing thing is that i'm not all hung up on the white picket fence, find a mate forever mentality. i do like a guy unafraid to take risks with curiosity and adventure in his soul. being appreciated for my experience... well, that is truly an aphrodisiac in it's own right. it's not always easy to find this in my age group and that makes this all the more difficult. living in the gray area isn't all that easy.

though merely hearing the word "cougar" makes the hair on the back of my neck go up like a shot. it isn't that i'm opposed to what it represenst. not at all. i could date a seriously younger guy for a spell. i could... if that damn RFT cover doesn't haunt my dreams like Freddy Krueger.

november eight stream...

i had a list today and i actually knocked off everything on it. i'm celebrating that in my own little way. i used to be a Tasmanian devil with a list. today made me feel a little better about my apparent confusing behaviour as of late. i did another skate too. between the rabid skate yesterday and then a challenging one today, i have serious gluteus unhappymus. that's okay, i needed this in a big way. i forgot that i'm still not supposed to be working too hard, but i still have a lot pain pills. a bit of anger arrived today along with some over due disillusionment to fuel that skate. i finished the second wedding shoot last night and fell asleep with my laptop, yet again. i'll tell you, it's not a good cuddler. with wedding two finished, i started wedding three and i'm actually feeling pretty good about what i saw. i had a friend that i wanted to call and tell about this, but i didn't. it was a really productive weekend, and as has been typical, full of extreme ups and downs. this year has been exhausting.

finding order...

this is Jackson Pollock's One.

i've friends who really like his work. i do not. i have tried, i assure you.

have you ever heard that people do not like in others what they do not like about themselves?

i think Pollock's work is chaotic and it hurts to stare at it. i've stood in front of his paintings to behold their wise wonder and gotten a headache.

i can sort of handle number 14. it's less frenetic and instead of searing pain it's more like a low mournful groan.

the odd thing is that the farther away that i am from his paintings, the more my shoulders tense up. i have to be mere feet away before i can comfortably attempt to find something about it i like and even begin to attempt to appreciate it. (that really miffs the museum people.)

why is that? i would think that distance from the chaos would be better.

i don't care for chaos.

i don't know anything about art, so i will not argue the merits of any artists work here. i simply find it odd that i have such a visceral reaction to Pollock's work.

one solitary word comes to mind when i view his work.

why?

don't tell me there is no, why... i get that. it doesn't stop me from asking the question. and, the answers that i've gotten make less sense than the work... furthering the chaos and the vicious circle.

this reminds me of infinity. i'll never know the exact ending point of infinity. by it's very nature that is a ridiculous question, yet i think about it. there must be a beginning and an end. ridiculous.

i can accept the chaos of Pollock's work and the fact that infinity doesn't end. but, there are things about myself that i cannot explain. accepting them is not nearly so easy.

i've always been about order. even in my brash and crazy moments, order, focus and routine are the baseline. i've always been the logical, rational one. but, i feel like i've moved into a Pollock painting.

words sometimes come out onto the page or out of my mouth and i get the same searing pain that i get when i look at One. i turn to the mirror and ask, why?

but, there is no answer and i go looking for an aspirin.

the text...

again... racing down the street to the chicago art institute, i stopped to shoot when he wasn't looking. then, i proceeded to catch up with missy.

i wonder who he was texting or calling. maybe his wife? his boyfriend? his lover? his poker buddies? his daughter who wants to know if he'll be at her soccer game or swim meet? maybe he's making his picks for the weekend? do you think that's his car?

i loved walking the streets of chicago... i could have done it all day.

friday afternoon lunch rush

missy and i were rushing down jefferson towards the chicago art institute. it was a lovely friday afternoon in september. it was also the lunch hour and people were pushing past with somewhere to get to in a hurry. we were caught in the stream of clicking heels and ringing cell phones. i stopped dead in my tracks and looked to my left. this delightful man was utterly engrossed in his paper and oblivious to the chaos mere feet from his stand. i shot this one photo and leaped across the street dodging a car or two to catch up with missy.

i'd completely forgotten this man. i'm so glad i took his picture. :)

the most recent chunk of plaster...

i was just driving home giving myself my nightly mental thrashing when a chunk of understanding fell into place.

i lovingly refer to a previous break-up as having my heart drop kicked. i write that with love because i can laugh about it now. but point is, if that's what it felt like, why for the love of pete would i be fool enough to even want to return to the scene? why not move in a straight line in the opposite direction?

i've a multitude of answers to this. it's so complicated, it's impossible lace. (if you've ever knit lace, you know exactly what i mean.) periodically, giant chunks of understanding fall onto my head and i see more clearly why this little episode was so important to me. it's like the ceiling falling on you, but in a good way because more blue sky is revealed.

tonight's lump of plaster love was about balance. all of my relationships have been all or nothing. either i gave it all and got nothing or vice versa. that's a big deal, and i think many of us find ourselves living on one side of the fence or the other. AND i think we spend a lot of time daydreaming about what it might be like to have that elusive balance.

it is AWESOME. it's like adrenaline in a good way 24/7. it is simple joy. unbelievable satisfaction. for once in my life, i got as much as i gave.

now, i ask you, who in their right mind would want to let that go? not me. but, then i have to remember that there were two people dancing this tango. ahhhhh, the snag. i thought we were both happy. therein lies the fatal flaw.

it may be shattered and never be what it was, and that is okay. it could be a whole new kaleidoscope of colors. i'd be cool with that. but, that fundamental balance... that being appreciated and being able to honestly appreciate... that was invaluable and rare.

that is hard to forget.

hold on to 16 as long as you can...

my best friend's name was lisa. we were in school together and were inseparable. we fought a lot and were very good at getting into trouble.

lisa was tall, blue-eyed and blonde. i was flirty, curvy and willing to go along. we were hell on... "not old enough to drive" wheels. that meant we snuck out, borrowed cars, and went head long into trouble without a helmet.

lisa's mom was in a committed relationship with a married man. not exactly the best role model on any account, but she did her best. i liked her, but she really left us alone too much. we often had weekends to ourselves at her house at the ripe old age of 14-17. from a parental perspective, that is not the age to leave your daughter the house and a car in the driveway. from a teenager's eyes, oh, that rocked.

to live a cliche those were the years i discovered drugs, sex and rock and roll. it's amazing i survived. though i had a blast, i do have a few scares and one horrible story that i rarely share.

but, we were young and the world was full of possibilities. i was invincible and i had big plans to get out of this town. i was going to move to la. i was going into radio and eventually buy a station in la.

i had huge crushes, but no plans. i was learning by swimming with sharks, but my resiliency was as unbelievable as my luck.

one day, lisa's mom was having one of her famous backyard bbqs. lisa and i were plotting a way to get out. i was standing at the bottom of the yard looking out to the alley thinking that maybe we could walk to the store. jack and diane came on the radio.

i loved john cougar mellencamp and we sang this song all the time. i remember at that moment hearing him sing "hold on to 16 as long as you can. changes come around real soon make us women and men."

i looked out to the alley and the hills beyond. i thought, you're sixteen and you can do anything in the world that you want. go out and see where life takes you and when you're thirty, if you hear this song again, remember this day and what it was like to be sixteen.

thirty came, i remembered my promise to myself. i didn't like where life had taken me. when i heard this song; it hurt.

tonight, on the way home from belly dancing, i heard it again and remembered the day of the bbq. i'm not out of this town... yet. i don't have the radio station or any of the things i wanted at the age of 16, but i want different things and i'm finally on track to get what i want at 42.

i see myself looking out that backyard to the hills, to the possibilities, and they are still there waiting for me. i remember what it was like to be sixteen and that's what the promise was about, not just what i've done with my life.

"life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone... they walk on..."

ps: this counts for november three. get over it.

standard adjustments...

i try not to ask for much.

i always believed that if a man cared about me and was honest, that was good enough. i could take care of myself. i didn't need extravagant things or all of his time. i do require cuddling, but i learned to be utterly delighted with almost nothing.

nothing is easy to give.

i am thrilled to get a note or an email. hold my hand and i'm over the moon. a little attention goes a very, very long way with me.

but, it also gets me taken for granted.

the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result. time for me to make some changes.

welcome to NaBloPoMo

day one: i'm here! slipping in just under the wire. as usual.

i just learned about this nablopomo thing. that means that, of course, i signed up. i'm your willy nilly girl. say yes and figure it out later.

so, let's see if i can actually blog every day.

i didn't succeed (i won't say i failed) at nanowrimo or project 365. let's see if i can feed my ego for a month.

this should be easy, shouldn't it?

that's what i say about everything. in theory, this should be easy, and then, i wander off twirling my hair around my finger.

i've been recovering from the surgery i had on friday, and i'm about bored out of my mind. i've pictures to edit, so there should be no lack of busy, but i'm utterly uninspired.

my friends tell me that i should be recovering and not doing anything anyway. given the sporadic pain pill usage, i probably shouldn't be doing a lot of photo editing anyway. some of the stuff i have done, i had to go back and redo. pain pills and photoshop do not mix.

that leaves lots of football watching and social media zombieism and cinnamon graham crackers.

i'm much smarter than i seem in this blog. yeah. i think we're done with the pain pills.