The Time Traveler's Life

It seems impossible to realize something so simple as the way a martini might taste could bring an array of life experience long buried in the ruins. Growing up, my aunts and mother drank martinis. It meant they were grown women; they had achieved a status in their age which allowed them to drink a true martini. I was allowed to "taste" these martinis and often was even allowed the olive which was soaked with the combination of liquors. I remember setting a goal for myself; a strange one it seemed, but it meant I would have become an adult woman....when I was 30 years old, I would order a martini. Somehow I put this off past the age of thirty and by the time I came around to it I was asked "with vodka or gin?" I knew vodka and chose it as the combination for my martini. It was always vodka and having been so many years since tasting one of my aunts drinks, it seemed fine. The other night all this changed. I was out on a special evening and the martini had a very fancy name, but it was made with gin. I ordered this martini and I was immediately transported back to my childhood. This was the martini the women I knew had drank and enjoyed. It was the martini once referred to in the "3 martini lunch" for serious business men. This is a martini to be reckoned with. I felt as though all this time, I had put the obstacle of the second rate vodka martini in my way. I had settled for less than a true martini could offer me. It was not about intoxication; rather it was about ownership of maturity. Having felt the power of the aunts and my mother over the years, their emancipation came from sharing this cocktail socially long before women were allowed to make more personal choices for themselves. Before the woman's liberation movement; this seemed to put them on equal footing with their male counterparts. Women were just beginning to enter the career arena as doctors, lawyers, school principals........university professors........they did not need to look for obstacles to block their miracles; the world was doing a good job at suppressing these women and their power. Though it was not so very long ago, it is hard to appreciate the struggle most women had before the 1960's.
During this time, many, many groups fought their way out of discrimination and prejudice. The new rights and laws to give equal rights to everyone are rarely appreciated by the present generations of these groups. But I could see those women, my aunts, again in those rooms, sipping on a gin and vermouth martini. Letting go of the inner turmoil of life which was holding them down. Their time was not my time; their martini was not my martini. My spirit felt a lightness drinking this martini because my aunts and my mother were suddenly in the same room with me and this was just the drink I needed.

What do you see?

If you have noticed I have not entered a revealing profile. I often think of a time when I might meet someone new and would I truly open up and tell them of my life. I feel as if I have more baggage from my past than anyone would be willing to help me carry. We all have a story; but not each of us is mired.....I cannot even describe what I am mired in.....I only know I have yet to pull my foot out of the mire and start walking without dragging it along with me. As they say, she is scared of her own shadow, I am terrified of my own profile. Yet, there is an under lying presence when allowed to reveal itself reminds me of two incredible facts. Well, one fact two bloodlines.
I have the blood of ancient Romans and ancient Native Americans pulsing through my veins. How powerful is all this? When I thought of this, I could take a step towards believing I may overcome the obstacles of my "baggage". These two ancient peoples were warriors; they came ready to overcome for the sake of survival. It is hard to fight a way out of mire and muck - especially when you did not create the nastiness. If I claim my birth rites, I may believe I can perform against any challenge thrown into my path. Without intending to "post" a "profile" - I have done the very thing I started out saying was hard for me to do. A little will need to go a long way. One small step in the strong direction.

Starve, Rant, Survive

Here it comes.....her story, on the big screen.
The book "Eat, Pray, Love" is about to sweep the nation of women who need to find their true life's calling. This book is for the 25 - 40 year old women, who were torn between finding themselves questioning a stable commitment and deciding it had been the wrong choice for them, for whatever reason. But if you are in this age group or older and married longer than 10 years and happen to have a child with the "wrong commitment" this story of self discovery is not for you.
And pleassssse - I would love to discuss this with Oprah who has made a mega millionaire out of the author - I cannot understand what Oprah saw in this and believed could relate to any woman who found themselves needing to leave a commitment which was terminal emotionally and was not about to be paid (advance paid may I add) to write their story and get paid even more. The author was a paid journalist before she sat on the bathroom floor weeping to gain insight to why she was so very miserable. I made it through the beginning explanation on why she had to end the marriage, why the divorce was not a pleasant as she hoped he would allow it to be on her terms, and then how she was going off to eat (as well she could) in ITALY!!!!! Not at Popeye's or Checker's or Boardwalk Fries!!! IN ITALY!!!! Please pay me to go to Italy to write about how I was starved emotionally because I had to start my life over at the age of 50 and with three children (one which would have happily gone to Italy with me, the other two, not so much).
This woman was advanced paid by her publishers to write this story - she didn't do it on her own dime - she did not do this without financial backing and the promise of publication.
Am I ranting? Yes, I am. I rant because unlike just finding the commitment I was in was inconvenient to my self discovery of who I am, like the author, I rant because I deserve to have my spiritual self discovered by the likes of Oprah in the novel I have written (but not published).
I rant because of the injustice to myself; knowing at 30 something (before children) I had an inkling just maybe he was not committed to me and I might have suggested the same route as the author. I have a list of 30 something excuses on why I didn't.......I rant through the excuses.
How lovely for the author she was still at an age where love would play a symphony for her and bring her full circle. The meaning being it was all waiting for her and thank her lucky stars she had the good sense to kick the first commitment to the curb and jump in the taxi to the airport to find a way to eat through the fog of depression, shed the extra flab while her metabolism would allow her to pray it off, and meet, as I have heard in the movie adds, find her "champion". Amen.
Not so much for the majority of us, and this is where Oprah fails to amuse me with her childlike commitment to this author's story. I will confess, I once was all things Oprah for years - then this began the crack in the bubble. This author never dealt with abuse, addiction, loss of a child, loss of a job, loss of anything which has you on your knees praying for survival instead of only the next step to take in your life. There is no grit in her story. Not the kind of grit an oyster needs to turn the insides of a muddy life into a pearl. I realize Oprah is a lover of the survival story and wants us all to learn from another person's life mishaps and tragedy - but where is any of this in
"Eat, Love, Pray"? Where? I dare anyone to show me an example of tragedy in this story. Show me.... I say boycott this sniveling, believe me when I say life is hard, but not really because I am going to Italy, India and Indonesia and my publisher is paying me. Be brave ladies; you will not survive your life as you live it now if you fall for this fairytale. All the years of struggle by women to no longer look for the prince charming coming on the white horse, what was it all for if we are being told this can be our reality too? Save the money of the theater ticket towards your trip to Italy. Let me hear you say more than Amen!

Excuse me please

At this time in life, trying to understand why things are not accomplished, becomes a reasonable question. Why are promises not kept? What possible explanation can there be for not following through?
My excuses are my reality. No one's reality but mine. I have found, every instance where an apology may be required to explain why I have not come through, was best left as only a simple apology with no explanation. I have very valid reasons. "I am sorry, but......." and I stopped including the "but......." and only said "I am sincerely sorry I did not.........." without explanation.
Who wants to hear why a person did not follow through? Contrition is a composition of understanding and commitment. Somewhere in youth, saying "I'm sorry" was a step towards trying hard not to make the same mistake towards injuring someone again. As age becomes tangled in life's surprises; creating a sometimes uncontrolled reality to cope with, we have the choice of sharing our reality as the excuse or excusing our reality as our life.