Skip to main content

Long Time Coming

I know I've been MIA for quite a while. It's was a frustrating and busy summer. Aside from the eye infection that wouldn't heal, there were visits with friends and family, parties and celebrations, and a chance to be on stage again.

There were movies. I loved, DARK KNIGHT, VICKI CHRISTINA BARCELONA, IN BRUGES. I hated ATONEMENT. I enjoyed SEX AND THE CITY, FLASH OF GENIUS and MAMA MIA.

The weather this summer was a long time warming up - then it was suddenly very hot, for a few days. Then cold again. I got the ghastly summer cold. Now it's truly autumn. Snow fall in the mountains, cold nights where a cat and a blanket are just not enough to keep me warm. Some trees are turning and losing leaves. Squirrels are flashing through the trees gathering nuts.

And I've had a birthday. I'm 49. I never thought I'd be this old.

I try to ignore the news right now - economy is bad, presidential race is tight and in the middle of it all I keep hearing about "people just like us..."

What makes us feel a part of a group, or what makes us feel separate from the group? I come from a large family and there were rituals, traditions that defined us as a family. We had our place at the table. My dad made the coffee and always got the first cup. When it was time to decorate the Christmas tree, dad did the lights first, then we each had our own special ornament that we placed where ever we wanted. Christmas morning, we could open our stockings, but nothing under the tree could be touched until Dad had his coffee, coffee cake and a cigarette.

Then there were other traditions. My mother would bake cherry pies for my brother's birthdays - it was their favorite. She even did it for her son-in-laws. But the apple pie I wanted for my birthday was too much work. I'm all grown up now, and I do realize that apple pie is a lot of work. But it still hurts that my mother didn't want to make apple pie for me. I was too much work. I didn't get to share that tradition and that made me less of a member of the family. I was less like my siblings. And I was certainly less loved. (I say all of this from the child within me who still feels those pangs of not belonging.)

I have some traditions with my daughter. Music has been a part of many of those traditions. We both love music. We both have our own tastes, but share many artists we both love. But we both treasure singing along with our cat, singing lullabys and good nights with Steggie. And one very special song that will always mean 'we'.

My daughter is a brown-eyed girl. I'm a brown-eyed girl. I used to sing Brown-Eyed Girl to her when she was very small. That evolved into singing with it every time it came on the radio in the car. That became a ritual whereby every time we went on a road trip, the cassette went into the tape deck and Jimmy Buffet came along singing Brown-Eyed girl.

Last summer, when we were traveling from Portland to Boston, Bridgete had loaded her Zen player with all kinds of songs. We hooked it up to the radio and headed out. It wasn't long before we heard the familiar opening cords. We glanced at each other and immediately burst into song.

"Do you remember when?
We used to sing?
Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-dedah!"

There was a sense of completeness, of destiny to that moment. And a satisfaction in knowing that tradition was with us.

That's what we look for in traditions - in rituals - be they sacred or silly. We look for those moments that remind us of our connection to one another. Things that remind us we are not alone out here.

Where we go astray is in letting the tradition or the ritual take precedence over the connection. Or when we fail to recognize how important a small gesture might be to someone else. Maybe I'm unusual in that I make connections with other people easily and I feel them deeply. Missing my annual trip to Nancy and George can make my whole year feel wrong. Friends forget to take me to lunch after having done so for several years...and I am likely to conclude that they no longer consider me a friend - rather than the obvious - we're all just so busy - answer.

I live alone. I work alone. And it's very easy for me to say that I'll just stop making connections - because it hurts too badly when they break.

Or maybe I just need some apple pie. Really good apple pie.

Comments

Bridgete said…
I have a big secret plan for the first birthday you have after you move here. Now I'll just have to add pie to it. And every year after that. I can always buy that fancy thing from Pampered Chef that peels, cores, and slices the apples for you. That's where all the work comes from, right? =)

Anyway, I'm glad you're writing again. I've missed your updates.

Popular posts from this blog

If you find yourself in the dark, all you can do is sit until your eyes adjust to the blackness.  I don't know who said that, but I sure do feel that way these days. Here's a little bit about me.  I was the seventh child born to my mother and father - and the last.  I was 7 years younger than the youngest and 19 years younger than the eldest.  My mother, who grew up in a family of actors, had started a little theatre group in our home town and after being away from it for so many years, she wasn't about to give it up again.  So I grew up in the theatre.  Played in make-up rooms and costume shops.  Learned how to read by helping actors study lines.  Learned how to build and paint by helping my dad build sets.  And I loved all of it. I loved the stories and the people and the way everyone came together to express ideas.  I still love it.  It's why I studied theatre in college and why I pursued an MFA.  Nothing gives me as much pleasure as taking words from a page and

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING HUMAN

I couldn't sleep last night.  Not an unusual thing these days.  There's a lot on my mind.  But last night I was thinking about social media and how it has changed our world. How it changed my world. About 25 years ago, I was working on my thesis in grad school.  We had a Mac in our home which was not uncommon, but certainly not as common as it is today.  I was introduced to the academic world via Bulletin Boards, User Groups, and the ever popular ListServ.  For those of you too young to know, these were email lists you subscribed to and every day you would get individual emails from people on the list discussing whatever it was you wanted to discuss.  There were listservs for science and research, literature, children, whatever you loved so much you wanted to talk about it with complete strangers.  My choice was movies. I love movies.  I've loved them my whole life.  I would sneak out of my bed and watch the late show on weekends.  I went to the matinee every Saturday. 

It just sucks...

You want to know what the worst part about moderate to severe depression? (using the clinical diagnosis here) It's knowing when those waves hit you that there is something or someone out there that you let get to you. In my case, it's usually a combination of things. I've got multiple projects coming to deadline at work - stress. I'm not sleeping very well because of allergies. I'm not eating like I should be. I'm getting my exercise - walking, yoga - which is a positive because that's usually the first thing to go. And so I'm vulnerable to those triggers and I know it. I avoid mr. ring on his finger 'cause that will just send me over the edge. But I can't keep him from coming onto my floor and sitting down at the cubicle next to me and talking to someone else. So I put on the headphones and hit play on Itunes and what do I get....love songs. Crap. And even he wouldn't get to me if the really big trigger hadn't been flipped jus