the woman who belongs to no man, belongs to every man

I probably shouldn't be using a precious half an hour to compose a blog post when I still have a million billion pages to write for my eleventy-seven thousand final papers, but I have slammed against a mental block and am pretty sure it's because I need to address what happened this afternoon and try to make some sense of it.  Hopefully, after I've put words to the experience, I can get back to the grind.

So, I've been operating at near exhaustion for a long time...but especially this past week. About 3 today, I set my alarm for 20 minutes and layed down to take a quick nap. When the alarm sounded, it felt like it was rousing me from a coma. The only way I can describe how I felt next is to say it was like being dropped  back into conciousness by layers--kind of like those stacking rings toddlers play with being slipped onto their plastic post one by one. First, I thought I was back in my childhood bedroom. Then, I thought I had to wake up because I needed to nurse a baby. Finally, I thought I needed to get up because my husband was up and out of bed and needed help. My eyes flew open and I realized it was afternoon...in my current home...in 2011...that I was not a child, I had no babies to feed, and...I was no longer married.

That was a bitter realization I used to have to let settle into me every morning for the first year after the divorce. That I'm alone. The one status that I so defined myself as: a wife, was no longer mine to claim.

"The woman who belongs to no man, belongs to every man."

That's the theme I'm writing my paper about 18th century women on. Women who were to be passed directly from their fathers to their husbands. And should they somehow find themselves alone--abandoned, widowed, without family-- they were at the mercy of being claimed by every man as lovers and prostitutes.

Kind of hard to be a prostitue when you're celibate, and the word "lover" has always made me laugh anyway, but I do still feel the strange weight of belonging to no one man, thus somehow belonging to every man.

In the last 2 1/2 years, I have dated the gamut from California software millionaire to temporarily homeless musician and all the variety inbetween. All men with at least one redeemingly good trait. Not that I date a lot, I've just managed to clear a lot of ground, so to speak. I'm a pretty good judge of character and can tell after two dates whether something is worth continuing or not (though the 'continuing' part isn't solely my decision to make and I've done my fair share of sitting around wishing certain people would ask me out again but don't...)

In the interest of trying out things that a guy I like enjoys, I have sumo wrestled, been shot at with paintballs, taken to listening to Tom Waits and old school rap, attempted breakdancing, eaten swordfish (when I hate fish), learned to spin a mean, peel-the-rubber-off-your-tires cookie in a car, and 'bombed' a parking garage on my skateboard. And I loved every minute of all of it! I'm grateful for the new adventures I've had with the varied males who have crossed my path. Each one I open up to emotionally, or give enough of my time and attention to, somehow changes me. My hair is even long and red right now because Ninja liked long, red hair. 

Wasn't there an episode of Star Trek the Next Generation where a certain woman existed to be whatever a man wanted her to be? Because that's sometimes how I feel. Also, Captain Picard was hotter than Captain Kirk but Data was the one who really had it going on. Tangent.
Anyway...

I assert again that my blog is just a blip of my life, not its constancy. Despite what it may seem, I don't worry continuously, or even frequently, about my love life.  I am content. I am capable. I am confident in who I am. But I know I'm not alone in my struggles and my longing and my struggles with my longing, so I share.  It's kind of  like a case of gout or bursitis or other *glamorous* ailment that flares up from time to time and has to be addressed.

In my innocence, I believed God would drop Mr. Perfect in my life after a year of being divorced. I thought it would be like Him saying, "Because you were so good and faithful and loving in your marriage...here you go. No more worries about being single.Ta dum!" But, three years later, here I am clutching my list of Mr. Almosts. Sometimes I've ended it. Sometimes they have. The ending is the same either way. And it hurts every time. It's not God's fault but part of His highly individualized plan for my growth. I believe that with all my heart. Even if I dont' always like it. And that's all I've got to say about that.

buy me something!

In the next few months, I will be graduating from college AND having my 36th birthday. Doesn't that scream "gift worthy" to you? :)

I'm actually the type who appreciates time, kind words, and thoughtful acts of service more than gifts...but just in case any of you want to take the quicker, slightly more expensive route to telling me how much you love me, here are some ideas of things I'd really like....

1. A PIPE!   Not a crack pipe or a bubble pipe, but a good old-fashioned Grandpa pipe. I don't smoke, nor do I plan on taking up smoking --I just want this to hold clenched between my teeth and take it out to shake at someone when I'm making an important point. Plus, I think it would really set me apart as a writer. "Jennifer who?...oh, the one with the pipe? Yeah, we know her. Pay her a million dollars!" :)

 2. THIS HELLO KITTY MUFFLER THINGY!... Because I bet it would make my mini-van look cooler. Or at least like a 12 year old Japanese girl was driving it.

3. A RESOELECTRIC GUITAR! Do I play? No. But I don't smoke either and I still want a pipe. Actually, I know a few chords and the solo part of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven." I'd probably even take lessons if I owned this. Green Eyes first turned me onto Resoelectrics and I've loved them ever since.

4.

4. THE NEW DESIGN FROM REF YOU SUCK(!) T-SHIRTS! (It's a hockey thing) I know the {very cool} owners of this company so I just might be able to talk them out of one for free...but paying them money is a good thing, too.

5. GWEN STEFANI "G" PERFUME! This is my favorite scent ever. Smells like coconut and fresh grass. And I'm almost out :)

6. A VINTAGE DRESS! They don't make them like this anymore. Our thrift stores are always picked over and every time I find a cute one online, it's generally already sold. So, maybe one of you has a pretty little number from the 20's-50's lying about that you want to gift me? :)

7. A UNION JACK SOMETHING OR OTHER! I  Love England. This would proclaim that loud and clear.

8. a MONT BLANC FOUNTAIN PEN! If any of you have a spare $500 lying around...this would be a wise investment (ha!). But seriously, aren't these gorgeous?! 

 9. BELLY DANCING CLOTHES! A friend of mine has been taking lessons for years and is ready to strike out teaching on her own. She offered to get me into her first class this July for 1/2 price. Which means I'd need something to wear. It's either that or RollerDerby tryouts this summer (don't laugh! I'm seriously considering it!) I love anything that involves a costume!

10. and finally, A MONOCLE! I had my eyes lasered 3 years ago the right eye is starting to slip. I don't need glasses, but a monocle...that's just TOO cool. I wouldn't wear it at the same time as the belly dancing clothes or while using the pipe though, because a belly-dancing, pipe smoking, girl with a monocle... that would just be overkill :)

I also gladly accept travelers checks, mutual funds, canned food donations, and first born children.

What have you got on your "want" list?

the final stretch

Three weeks of school left. Just three. Four more major papers to write. A few more novels to read. One project. One Shakespeare performance. Two more online class sessions. Fifty hours of internship. And a film treatment. Then I. am. done.

And I am a bit lot terrified.

It seems like just yesterday I was making the announcement that I'd decided to go back to school. I thought I only had a year to finish up, but changing majors turned out to be more work than I thought, as did having to juggle mothering, working, and taking classes when I could squeeze them in--preferrably without having to find child care. So...three years later, here I am.

I am amazed at how quickly and thoroughly school became my world. Everywhere I go on campus, I know or am known by someone. I love eating oatmeal with vanilla milk in the campus Starbucks between classes, reading poetry and chatting with friends and professors as they come and go. I love that I am aware of the comfy black chair on the 4th floor of the library that I can grab a quick nap in (assuming the homeless guy isn't already sleeping in it). I love being stretched to my absolute limits physically, mentally, and creatively---and rising to the challenge to produce something better than I thought I could. I love being surrounded by intelligent, funny, like-minded individuals who appreciate my quirks--including the time I danced to Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" for a class project. I love that I can ride my longboard to class if I'm running late. I love that a classmate once called me a hipster. Because usually, at 35, this is not the social classification one is put into :).

I feel safe at school. I feel like I have found my niche there. I have my own parking spot.

---I don't want to leave.---

But I kind of need to be paid some money now instead of paying it.

So, May 14 I put on my robes. And that gold braided honor's cord I earned through my blood, sweat, tears, and 25-credits-in-one-semester-calloused-fingertips. And I walk the line. And I say good bye to my comfort zone.

When I put a picture to this point in my life, it is of me standing on the edge of a cliff, my back to the gray green water far below. My arms are outstretched and my eyes are closed, swayed breath and the thump of heart fierce in my ears. Now I'm leaning backwards, further, further, tipping over the edge, sun on my face, impressed by the way my body carves through the air, impressed at my bravery. I don't know what it's going to feel like to hit...but the fall is amazing.

Here's to the final stretch and to the next adventure ahead. Somehow, someway, I am going to find out how to provide for myself and my sweet boy squad. Failure might be a forced stop along the way, but it will never be the final destination.

Thank you all  so much for the generous support you've given me, my decision making, my gumption, and my writing during these past years. I'll think of you as my hand grasps that diploma.

these winds they are a-changing

I have always considered myself a positive person. But optimistic? Yeah...not so much. Not that I don't believe in good things and good people and (mostly) happy endings, it's just that the scope of my life's experiences from a very young age have taught me that while it feels good to hope for the best, I should mostly get prepared for the worst. I hope that doesn't sound too negative, because--like I said--I'm a positive person. I guess you could call me a realist? But a realist in the worst sense of the way because deep, deep down inside I believe whole-heartedly in dreams coming true and Wheeeeee!!!! Isn't this circular logic FUN?! :)

ANYWAY, this is just a post to acknowledge the good things that are starting to take shape in my life and God's direct hand in them. Like a really good pencil sketch still waiting for some color, but you can begin to see how it's going to turn out, and it's beautiful. I feel like I'm almost back to the point I was in January before this happened. I've sort of  been waiting for my new year to start ever since then, with each month bringing with it some new weighty trial or disappointment. But thus far, April has been nice. Really nice.

I didn't get into the MFA program, but I did finish up the 56 page poetry manuscript I'd been coddling for the last 3 years (and really, the last 13 years). It's almost perfect. I'd say another 6 months and I will be ready to start sending out query letters. For now, it's in an actual PDF with a title and an order and a table of contents and everything.

I just put my resume together with the help of an incredibly talented Communications guru niece of mine. Since I don't have much work experience beyond owning my interior design firm, she helped me to highlight the "scope" of my experience: skill sets learned in the various volunteering, interning, and freelance projects I've done (and am doing). Even the ol' blog got a section devoted to it!  It shows I can stick to something for a long period of time, regardless of pay, and that at least a few of you care to read it. I'm in a great spot to score a possible summer internship with an amazing Marketing/PR firm in town. Next to writing, that's the job that I would want the most.

At the beginning of the semester, I had 27 BIG books I had to read. Now...I have 4 left. I've been prepared for every class, every day of every week, every time. Thus far, even taking 25 credits, I'm pulling a 4.0. My graduation robes are purchased. I'm done in May. :)

I've made some really great new friends, at the same time I'm watching old friends settle happily into their new married lives. 

I checked another item off my "To Do Before I Die" list when I got to play tambourine for one song along with the incredibly talented Al Deans of Quasi-Stellar Radio (yes, I can play other instruments too, but the tambourine just holds some mysterious power over me! :) )

Although Spring is still dragging its heels, we've enjoyed a few warm days. My landscape beds are waiting for their flowers to fill in. My garden waits for a good tilling. The strawberries are starting. I've gotten in a few hikes and trips around the block on my longboard. The birds wake me up in the morning with their song. It smells like rain outside all the time. It makes my heart smile.

The book I publicist for, Volt by Alan Heathcock, got a glowing review from the New York Times, and was a NYT Editor's Pick. We're currently in our third printing. **That is an incredible experience to be a part of!**

Of course, my dear boys are still my delights. And they're healthy. And happy. And never fight....really, hardly, almost, practically never :).

I'm just happy to be me right now. Not that I've ever not been. But it feels particularly true right now.

(I am knocking every available wooden surface at this point. Including my teeth. Ha. That was an obscure George Washington joke. 2 points and a thumbs up if you 'got' it.).

I think this post would be best wrapped up by the little ditty I wrote to console myself upon not getting into the MFA:


I have drank with a prince and danced with a homeless man. Saved an old woman from a burning house. I have stumbled out into a Paris street at sunrise after spending all night in a disco not understanding a single word spoken to me. I have been forced off a bus by an armed South American militant. Survived the illness that killed Mozart. Once, in an antiques store, I licked an old necklace made of bones on a nickle bet. I have known terrible cruelty but choose to be kind. Known lies and deceit and flippant evil but choose to believe in the inherent goodness of others. I never need sleep because most of my internal organs have been replaced with robotics. And all but the second half of that last sentence is true. That...that is the reservoir of a writer you passed up.

Yup.


Hope the winds in your life are blowing favorably, too :)

how did i get to be one of 'those' people always messing with their phone?

I was probably one of the first people in our area to have a cell phone--circa 1995. This is when I was driving three hours round trip from my home in the country to the university in the city, every day, including slip-slidy-road winter days. My brothers-in-law (our employers at the time) gave the phone to me "just in case". It was clunky and had horrible range, and I think I only ever used it four or five times because it was exorbitantly expensive, but boy oh boy(!) the looks of awe and jealousy I would get when I would carry it in somewhere!

Three months later, someone broke into my car and stole it.

And that was the end of my use of a cell phone until 2001 when Brad bought me one of those Motorola dealies that you could use like a walkie-talkie. It was helpful, but more of a novelty than anything terribly useful.

By 2008, I could still walk out the door and forget my phone and not panic. *My battery charge usually lasted several days. *It was mostly used as a tool to separate my business calls from my personal calls. *I was one of the last people still paying per text, in fact, on the day I finally signed up for unlimited texting, I received eighty texts from friends--one word at a time. It was their way of 'christening' me into the world of text messaging.

Fast forward to: the dinner table at my house last night. I had made sausage polenta lasagna. I love polenta. My children do  not. There was much whining and complaining about polenta going on. I simply smiled, ignored the noise, and....checked my phone. Ah...sweet, sweet distraction.

It seems somehow I am always. checking. my. stupid. wonderful. phone.

I thought everyone did it. See all these people doing it....

See how they're "together" but also "not together". Like when you see two friends walking down the road and both are looking at or talking on their phones? I was apparently wrong because I've been called out on my intense love affair with my phone.

I know a lot of my initial neediness in phone checking came when my boys started spending weekends with their dad after our separation. I'd never been away from them for so long, and I was worried one of them might want to talk to me right away. Or that I would get a call telling me one of them had been hurt. My cell phone was my life line to them.

Then, of course, it all got jumbled up when I bought a smart phone. All the things I loved about my computer: email access, Facebook updates, puzzle games, and You Tube videos--able to be taken on the go and accessed just about wherever.

And here is where I admit what a rush I find it is to be constantly connected into a network of thousands of friends. There's always something new to learn or see or to be told. A funny topic for discussion. I never have to feel completely lonely. There never need be another dull moment again. Please tell me I'm not alone in that little thrill one gets when they say something online or post a cute picture of their kids and immediately start getting (hopefully positive) feedback? It's the same type of thrill I got as a kid when I opened up the mailbox and found that there was a letter for me....except that it's like finding letters all day long.

I tried to go a day without texting or using my phone this winter (noted: I was being 'forced' to as part of an experiment for a Media workshop I was taking). And guess what? I made it 9 hours. Then my J swallowed a nickle and I had to take him to emergency care before his brothers got home from school--and there was much texting and calling that had to be done. You can't say I didn't try, right?

I suppose my point is:   I have learned that making myself unavailable has become a rare luxury. Nowadays, it seems like if you don't answer a text within an hour or two, the sender is going to believe you have suffered a  terrible, horrible accident. **But, I have faith in us as humans!** Faith that we'll (me included) figure it out. That we'll find the balance between what we need and what is useful and what is too, too much. Just like somewhere between cavemen and Knights of the Round Table, we figured out that, although sugar and fat are super yummy, we can't eat them in unlimited quantities. I've already started resisting the mindless urge to slide open my phone just to look at it. When I'm with people, I make a sincere effort to be in the moment with them and not wondering what my 1,064 computer friends are doing. I'm remembering how nice unoccupied silence is. Baby steps and all...be patient with me...especially if you're with me on a weekend my boys aren't. They're still worth checking on like an obsessed person.

Now, leave me a comment so it will go straight to my email inbox...which I will then wait an hour to read :)