Several nights ago my husband and I settled into our usual late night dullness to watch a movie. Neither of us could remember who ordered it but we were pretty sure that we'd seen it as a preview before watching another movie. That's actually where we get most of our rental ideas from. Even though we do have a subscription to Entertainment Weekly (it's his subscription, honest) we aren't always on top of what films are trending until they've come and gone. ( Unless they're Woody Allen movies because I've been hooked on his films for 30+ years....except for "September" cause that was so bad it was unintentionally funny)
This one was called , "The Company You Keep" or something like that. I can't remember titles...or names of people..or even plots...but this is new enough for me to remember enough, So anyway it's basically about 1970's American Weather Underground activists who have been wanted for murder and mayhem for for 50 years. They've all been hiding under assumed names in non-descript towns leading ordinary, dull lives. Then one gets caught. (Well, she actually was about to turn herself in... guilt sucks).
It's not the story that bothered me. It was the actors. The film stars Robert Redford and Julie Christie and some other folks like Susan Sarandon, Sam Elliott and Stanley Tucci.. The problem with this cast was what made the movie such a horror for me because everyone I just named looks really OLD. And not in a good way.
I suppose the main problem for me was Robert Redford. Listen the guy is 77 years old - and he looks every damn year of it and more. I'm sorry for being so superficial (but I am) but Robert Redford will always be Hubble in The Way We Were, or that rough and tumble guy in Horse Whisperer, or Bob Woodward in Watergate. But this guy looked like one of those dried apple people you buy at craft fairs. And they tried so hard to make him look younger and it soooo did not work. They even gave him an 8 year old daughter ....(I hate that about men..they can keep reproducing until they keel over).His face was lumpy and they must have tried using fillers but whoever administered the injections was sight impaired with a touch of Parkinson's. Not good. I could not stop staring at his face. sigh
Julie Christie? What? That is the most beautiful woman ever. For me she is Lara in Dr. Zhivago (except for that bizarre lighting that always darkened her face and lit her eyes...that was so odd) or, more recently, she is that stunning older woman with Alzheimer's Away from Her. This Julie sadly visited the same Botox/Restalyne depot as poor old Redford. She looked ....wrong..kinda bloated and, well...wrong. Not as bad as he did...but not as good as she could.
Now Susan Sarandon looks good. Age appropriate. No visible work on the face. Her large breasts sag a bit but hey - who's looking. She did not depress me. She gave me hope. Stanley Tucci is rumored to have some connection to the Picture of Dorian Gray...he never ages, wrinkles, lines or looks any different. Those pacts with the devil work better than Botox. Nick Nolte has actually improved since the mug shot that circulated after his arrest. Sam Elliott ages great. He's still hot. If he could only give some of his aging genes to Redford or Christie maybe they would stop Botoxing and be content with tweaking (not to be confused with twerking) and tucking on occasion.
What this is, for me, is the gentle (like a smack in the head from a 2 by 4) reminder that I am older. That we are older. That the people I grew up admiring are older. There are reasons I avoid the mirror (though is is challenging to tweeze without a mirror...) Almost every glance is a shock...because the me inside who looks out from these eyes (that are beginning to sag) is still 40 years old. It is a constant surprise to look at myself in pictures or in the mirror and realize I'm not that person on the outside (just inside...yummy and fresh inside). I hope that if I ever try so hard to turn back the clock someone will pull me aside and gently say "What the f--k are you doing? You look awful" Because good friends do that.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Put another brick in the wall....
Do you have days when you'd just like to sit down on the floor and rock. No head banging, just rocking. Soothe away the tension with a comforting back and forth motion...and a loose straightjacket. Do you know what I mean? I'm having one of those days.
Two years ago I was probably the most unstimulated, bored person I knew. Nothing (not sex or chocolate) appealed to me. I had no inclination to save the world. I accepted that I would probably never accomplish anything socially meaningful or significant for society. I wasn't going to write the great American novel. I wasn't going to be famous - or infamous- and, worst of all, I was never going to sleep with Antonio Banderas, George Clooney, Dr. McDreamy or Javier Bardim.. I would never live my fantasy of having a makeover that allowed me - for one day - to be gorgeous and sexy. I let all that go....and after I did I realized I'd better get crackin on some new dreams. Hopefully one or two that would be achievable and more realistic.
FAst forward to now. I have always sustained my brain and fought my ADD demons by working for a friend. She always seemed to come up with something challenging when I was at my lowest. To that I added volunteering - although, to be honest, I did that to more to get my husband's fat ass out of the Lazy Boy and his hand out the bag of chips and the box of chocolate. Other writing jobs randomly fell into my lap from unexpected people. And then, this year, an old acquaintance called and asked if I'd like to go back and "start again" to get my permanent Professional Counselor license. (This requires 3000 supervised hours in an accredited clinic setting...at one time I had accumulated 1500 of these hours...and quit)) Why not? I blew the dust off my training license (and paid a hefty fee) and several weeks ago I started working at his clinic.
I only work there one day a week.. That's all I may ever work. I'm already drowning in treatment plans (still unwritten), case notes and a new computer program I have to learn) But my head is having issues jumping from thing to thing. Brain flexibility - something I've never had an issue with - is suddenly a problem. Getting older still sucks.
Today I find myself trying to write the most challenging, miserable report ever for my friend. Every so often I hit the wall with one of these assignments.And I am freaked out about letting her down. This time it is not only a wall - it is a mountain -the straight up kind with nothing to hold onto. Organizing the random bits of information I collected from listening to hours of videotape into a cohesive report has simply escaped me. I just don't see how to put it together. I keep thinking that I will wake up in the morning (or from my nap if I took naps) and the solution will be there. That has happened before. It is not happening now. Damn.
Earlier this afternoon I thought that maybe...just maybe I had a solution. And just as I was inching my way through writing the first three pages - I was told to stop and asked to do something else for the same client. No surprise. This client ALWAYS wants more...and he's a good client...but I was just getting rolling and now I have to stop. I have stopped. STOP IT!!
My favorite part of this new assignment is the written communication that flew by my desk "you can just cut and paste from the old report and from the new one (um that's the one I'm having trouble writing...). Should only take two hours. That's a "reasonable" time frame." No it isn't. It sucks.If it's so damn easy then YOU write it. And it's taking more than two hours because what the client wants requires data and quotes that, in some cases, do not exist. He imagined them. I copped an attitude. My friend is not happy with me (I know this because she always plays her pity card when she's pissed at me) And I am contemplating rocking.
She does not read this blog or I would not write this. For the record.
Two years ago I was probably the most unstimulated, bored person I knew. Nothing (not sex or chocolate) appealed to me. I had no inclination to save the world. I accepted that I would probably never accomplish anything socially meaningful or significant for society. I wasn't going to write the great American novel. I wasn't going to be famous - or infamous- and, worst of all, I was never going to sleep with Antonio Banderas, George Clooney, Dr. McDreamy or Javier Bardim.. I would never live my fantasy of having a makeover that allowed me - for one day - to be gorgeous and sexy. I let all that go....and after I did I realized I'd better get crackin on some new dreams. Hopefully one or two that would be achievable and more realistic.
FAst forward to now. I have always sustained my brain and fought my ADD demons by working for a friend. She always seemed to come up with something challenging when I was at my lowest. To that I added volunteering - although, to be honest, I did that to more to get my husband's fat ass out of the Lazy Boy and his hand out the bag of chips and the box of chocolate. Other writing jobs randomly fell into my lap from unexpected people. And then, this year, an old acquaintance called and asked if I'd like to go back and "start again" to get my permanent Professional Counselor license. (This requires 3000 supervised hours in an accredited clinic setting...at one time I had accumulated 1500 of these hours...and quit)) Why not? I blew the dust off my training license (and paid a hefty fee) and several weeks ago I started working at his clinic.
I only work there one day a week.. That's all I may ever work. I'm already drowning in treatment plans (still unwritten), case notes and a new computer program I have to learn) But my head is having issues jumping from thing to thing. Brain flexibility - something I've never had an issue with - is suddenly a problem. Getting older still sucks.
Today I find myself trying to write the most challenging, miserable report ever for my friend. Every so often I hit the wall with one of these assignments.And I am freaked out about letting her down. This time it is not only a wall - it is a mountain -the straight up kind with nothing to hold onto. Organizing the random bits of information I collected from listening to hours of videotape into a cohesive report has simply escaped me. I just don't see how to put it together. I keep thinking that I will wake up in the morning (or from my nap if I took naps) and the solution will be there. That has happened before. It is not happening now. Damn.
Earlier this afternoon I thought that maybe...just maybe I had a solution. And just as I was inching my way through writing the first three pages - I was told to stop and asked to do something else for the same client. No surprise. This client ALWAYS wants more...and he's a good client...but I was just getting rolling and now I have to stop. I have stopped. STOP IT!!
My favorite part of this new assignment is the written communication that flew by my desk "you can just cut and paste from the old report and from the new one (um that's the one I'm having trouble writing...). Should only take two hours. That's a "reasonable" time frame." No it isn't. It sucks.If it's so damn easy then YOU write it. And it's taking more than two hours because what the client wants requires data and quotes that, in some cases, do not exist. He imagined them. I copped an attitude. My friend is not happy with me (I know this because she always plays her pity card when she's pissed at me) And I am contemplating rocking.
She does not read this blog or I would not write this. For the record.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Peanut butter and Jellyfish
Diana Nyad, age 64, after multiple attempts over 35 years, yesterday successfully completed a 52 hour swim from Cuba to Florida. No shark cage. One jellyfish sting. Lots of planning. Many many dedicated friends, helpers and followers. She even had a friend who fed her by hand while she swam. (Yes, sometimes it was peanut butter) I ask myself - where does that kind of passion come from?
As for me - well, I don't swim - so swimming from Cuba to Florida has never been a blip on my personal Blip screen. The problem, as I see it, is my personal Blip screen is pretty flat...sort of like my chest...but not as flat as I wish my stomach were. A burning passion to accomplish something major..or minor..or even in the key of C...just isn't there. I often say that I never really identified a passion or my "bliss" (chocolate doesn't count). Some people dispute that. I am constantly reminded of how hard I worked and how much resistance I encountered in order to become a mother. Well, we all know how that turned out. Maybe that's why the old Blip screen is so flat. There's always a price for getting what you really really want - at least in my life story.
At 65 I find myself quietly longing for small things...but not too hard and not too loud cause I don't want the gremlins who take away the good stuff to hear me or notice if I get something good. Shhh. I grew up in a house where my Dad(s) was Jewish and my Mom was an Italian Protestant. Yet, it was the Jewish superstitions that stuck with me. For example, it is advised that a family not reveal the name of a baby boy until his Bris (the ceremony for chopping off of the foreskin), If the name is revealed before that the Angel of Death will sweep in and kill the baby. There are many more superstitions like this...and I must believe them somewhere down deep in my soul. You will rarely observe me getting super enthusiastic about anything. I might be partying inside - but the outside is pure Amish. Liking something, or being really exhuberant about something is my equivalent to Diana's jellyfish. It will sting - and I don't like pain.
So my hat's is off to Diana who never gave up. Who showed the world that age is meaningless. Who made us all older women proud yesterday. If I were Diana I would spend today sleeping, nursing my sore muscles and rehydrating with a straw connected to a barrel of Margaritas. (I know - alcohol dehydrates but she can suck on ice cubes) Then I would go to Duval Street and party my saggy butt off. I can even point her in the direction of the nude bar....They don't serve anything there with peanut butter but I do remember a drink called a Jelly Stinger. Here's to you Diana!
As for me - well, I don't swim - so swimming from Cuba to Florida has never been a blip on my personal Blip screen. The problem, as I see it, is my personal Blip screen is pretty flat...sort of like my chest...but not as flat as I wish my stomach were. A burning passion to accomplish something major..or minor..or even in the key of C...just isn't there. I often say that I never really identified a passion or my "bliss" (chocolate doesn't count). Some people dispute that. I am constantly reminded of how hard I worked and how much resistance I encountered in order to become a mother. Well, we all know how that turned out. Maybe that's why the old Blip screen is so flat. There's always a price for getting what you really really want - at least in my life story.
At 65 I find myself quietly longing for small things...but not too hard and not too loud cause I don't want the gremlins who take away the good stuff to hear me or notice if I get something good. Shhh. I grew up in a house where my Dad(s) was Jewish and my Mom was an Italian Protestant. Yet, it was the Jewish superstitions that stuck with me. For example, it is advised that a family not reveal the name of a baby boy until his Bris (the ceremony for chopping off of the foreskin), If the name is revealed before that the Angel of Death will sweep in and kill the baby. There are many more superstitions like this...and I must believe them somewhere down deep in my soul. You will rarely observe me getting super enthusiastic about anything. I might be partying inside - but the outside is pure Amish. Liking something, or being really exhuberant about something is my equivalent to Diana's jellyfish. It will sting - and I don't like pain.
So my hat's is off to Diana who never gave up. Who showed the world that age is meaningless. Who made us all older women proud yesterday. If I were Diana I would spend today sleeping, nursing my sore muscles and rehydrating with a straw connected to a barrel of Margaritas. (I know - alcohol dehydrates but she can suck on ice cubes) Then I would go to Duval Street and party my saggy butt off. I can even point her in the direction of the nude bar....They don't serve anything there with peanut butter but I do remember a drink called a Jelly Stinger. Here's to you Diana!
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