Mary Kay, meet Rose's 'stache. Rose's 'stache, meet Mary Kay.
It is a Saturday night, and for reasons I cannot get into, I was introduced to the memory of Mary Kay today. I have never known much about Mary Kay (the makeup icon). The friends I have who use Mary Kay make up, look great. Their skin is smooth, rosy, lovely. Their hands are smooth. Crow's feet? Forget about it. Eyes and lips and cheeks are very lucky body parts when one uses Mary Kay stuff.
And then there is me. Many moons ago, make up was important to me. I would never leave the house without having make up on. You would never catch me at Wal Mart, for example, buying toilet paper without lip color and maybe a smudge of blush. And then, the kids came....
It would not be unusual for me to shop at Wal Mart in my pajamas. It is all about time management: get the toilet paper and cat food, buy the glitter for the school project due tomorrow morning and get back home. That is/was the drill. If someone sees me without makeup, in my pajamas buying cat food and glitter at 12:30 a.m.? Well, that is their problem.
And here we are, two kids later. No more glitter to buy for school projects. I am working on my own school projects, and, hopefully no graduate course will expect a project that requires glitter or paint or play dough.
But, uh, what the heck? Make up? I don't even know if I would know for sure how to find the make up aisle at Walmart were I in need of buying new blush or whatever the heck! I wear make up when I have have lunch with friends, volunteer, meet with clients. I never wear make up when I am cleaning someone's dirty old house, and I clean a lot.
I know. It's kinda gross to be honest. It doesn't help that I am no longer married, and have no real, concrete interest in finding Mr. 'Right', right now. Maybe later. But, here I sit, a book on my coffee table, the face of Mary Kay staring at me from the book cover. She is sending me messages: "Rose, darlin, the brows, the 'stache, darlin, it's time, time to get things spruced up, baby..."
I have this fancy mirror I bought a while ago that lights up. Considering I am nearly blind (not really) and cannot see my face very well without glasses, I got this fancy shmancy mirror which magnifies a bunch and lights up to reveal every imperfection on one's face. Naturally, I never use it. But, I dusted it off and light it up. Oh. My. God.
I have a 'stache. I have bushy brows, Walter Cronkite-like. I am saggin and puffy and droopy here and there and everywhere. Oh, no amount of magic potion can fix this mess!
But I am not gonna fold. I raid my daughter's cache of makeup. I find 4 pairs of tweezers, of varying points. I find a kind of razor thing to trim runaway hairs. After about an hour of work, my bushy Cronkite brows have been replaced with a fairly uniform brow line, all just in time to reveal the puffy eye lids. But, that is another blog post.
And so, here I sit. Mary Kay staring at me, Oprah on the TV in the background, Cinnamon, the dog crashed next to me on the couch.
Maybe it IS time to care a little about how that mug looks? I dunno. I can't fix it all tonight, that is for damn sure. I wish I had one of those vacuum things you can buy to shrink a bag of sweaters so that they are as thin as a piece of beef jerky and stack neatly on a shelf.... I would like one of THOSE things, to suck out the fat and cynicism that have settled here and there...
But, Mary Kay says I don't need that. I just need some of her magic potion.
I can't afford it. Pricey. Suzie Orman orders me from the TV screen to "Live Below Your Means, People!" Ok! I heard you! My God,you have an annoying voice! I fell asleep the other night with the TV on and her commercials (The OWN network has like 3 commercials they play 24/7) was on, yelling at me, and making its way into bizarro dreams...
And so, compromise. Mary Kay, Suzie Orman, Dr. Oz, Laura Berman (the sex therapist) and Dr. Phil all weigh in on how to fix my sorry ass life....
And, guess what? I gotta half dozen potties for them to clean tomorrow, 'kay? Kay. Night nite.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Pick Myself Up and Move Forward
Such a sad week, this has been. The horrible events in Arizona, then the biting cold, then bidding my son farewell as he returns to school and then the news that one of his first buddies died by suicide has all left me a bit of a mess.
The last thing, the young man who died, has been the one that tipped me over. I have been a mess the last few days. But, seem to have picked myself up and am moving forward.
But, I'm the lucky one. I can pick myself up and move forward.
When Sam was set to leave the other day, I grabbed him and hugged him a little tighter this time. I didn't want to let go of him. I want him to find his own happiness and to experience his own stuff and fix his own problems and revel in fixing his own problems. It's the problems that have all the good 'stuff' that help us learn and grow and all that stuff.
And then I had to let him go to go and live his own life.
He spent the last four weeks merging back into life in our household. Within a few days of his arrival, he was a member of the clan, barking orders and being barked at like we all do. I loved having him home.
But, he confided that he didn't feel like he belonged as much anymore. I noticed that, here and there, him putting dishes away in the wrong places in the kitchen, sleeping on a lumpy couch upstairs in the loft area as his bedroom is long gone with our old house...
I noticed it, too, with his friends. He would call them up and they'd go out and play pool or drink a few beers here and there. But, I could tell that he was not feeling as comfortable here in Lawrence.
I remember that feeling, coming home to visit when I was in college. Things felt awkward. I was always glad to be home but always glad to.... get home.
And, then there is the sweet face, smiling out next to the black and white words of his obituary that I saw this week. My heart actually hurt for a minute. I knew that face. I remember that smile. I remember him driving, I remember him waving. I remember him! And, now he is gone. And, I don't know why.
I am reminded of how much we don't know, as I listen to the reports on tv weighing in as to why the tragedy in Arizona happened. Politics. Gun laws. Mental illness. Troubled families. Heck, even God was in there, too (thanks, Fred P!, asshole). Everyone wants to weigh in and answer the question, "why?"
Here is a news flash: there is no final answer. The answer is still yet to be revealed. It will come, in time, a layer at a time. We want an answer now, for sure, but, it doesn't work that way. It just doesn't.
I wanted to know why this young man died. But, I recognize that he must have had a tipping point of sorts, that there was one reason and there were also a million reasons. And then he was gone.
All I know, is that a mom in Lawrence aches for a son who is no longer there. And, I pray for her and pray for all of the families affected in Arizona. And, I pray for me, too. This thing called 'life', is so, so hard sometimes.
The last thing, the young man who died, has been the one that tipped me over. I have been a mess the last few days. But, seem to have picked myself up and am moving forward.
But, I'm the lucky one. I can pick myself up and move forward.
When Sam was set to leave the other day, I grabbed him and hugged him a little tighter this time. I didn't want to let go of him. I want him to find his own happiness and to experience his own stuff and fix his own problems and revel in fixing his own problems. It's the problems that have all the good 'stuff' that help us learn and grow and all that stuff.
And then I had to let him go to go and live his own life.
He spent the last four weeks merging back into life in our household. Within a few days of his arrival, he was a member of the clan, barking orders and being barked at like we all do. I loved having him home.
But, he confided that he didn't feel like he belonged as much anymore. I noticed that, here and there, him putting dishes away in the wrong places in the kitchen, sleeping on a lumpy couch upstairs in the loft area as his bedroom is long gone with our old house...
I noticed it, too, with his friends. He would call them up and they'd go out and play pool or drink a few beers here and there. But, I could tell that he was not feeling as comfortable here in Lawrence.
I remember that feeling, coming home to visit when I was in college. Things felt awkward. I was always glad to be home but always glad to.... get home.
And, then there is the sweet face, smiling out next to the black and white words of his obituary that I saw this week. My heart actually hurt for a minute. I knew that face. I remember that smile. I remember him driving, I remember him waving. I remember him! And, now he is gone. And, I don't know why.
I am reminded of how much we don't know, as I listen to the reports on tv weighing in as to why the tragedy in Arizona happened. Politics. Gun laws. Mental illness. Troubled families. Heck, even God was in there, too (thanks, Fred P!, asshole). Everyone wants to weigh in and answer the question, "why?"
Here is a news flash: there is no final answer. The answer is still yet to be revealed. It will come, in time, a layer at a time. We want an answer now, for sure, but, it doesn't work that way. It just doesn't.
I wanted to know why this young man died. But, I recognize that he must have had a tipping point of sorts, that there was one reason and there were also a million reasons. And then he was gone.
All I know, is that a mom in Lawrence aches for a son who is no longer there. And, I pray for her and pray for all of the families affected in Arizona. And, I pray for me, too. This thing called 'life', is so, so hard sometimes.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
What I did/do Right
Ah, a new year. I sit among piles and piles, and more piles of laundry. It is very apparent that both kids are home! I am embarrassed to disclose the number of loads I have washed in the last 24 hours (read 12) and more to do. My daughter has been told, encouraged, threatened and asked to stop using a towel a day... I usually resort to:
"When I was your age, we used one towel a week, and, that was just fine for us!" and then I assume a posture of superiority, shoulders back, chin up, and walk off in a huff.
In one ear and out the other.
Georgia is not a rotten kid. She's a good kid, but, she's a kid. I can hear Dr. Phil about now, responding that that is no excuse, she needs to respect me, yada yada yada...
Yeah, I know. Respect. Do I pound it into them? That doesn't work. I need to find their 'currency' (another Dr. Phil word) and use that as a, er, bargaining tool. The cell phone.... ha ha ha.
We'll see how it goes.
So, 2011. What is in store for me? I guess I am in charge of determining that. Last year, at this time, I was at the mercy of outrageous mortgage payments and a smaller cleaning client base. I felt trapped. Today, I am not feeling trapped. I live in a place I can afford. I have an opportunity now that my job is over with to pick up some volunteer hours, and grow my little business a bit more. See? Different attitude.
My last post about my grading disaster on my final project has an update. My paper that I claimed I worked so hard over, etc etc? Well, I am re-reading it, with a clear head and, it totally sucked eggs. It was awful. So, starting from scratch, I am writing the paper I wanted to write, but, for a variety of reasons, (read stress and worry), I could not.
So there.
Sam is feeling like a vagabond these days. He lives out of a duffel bag. And, it is getting to him. He needs to get back to Milwaukee. He goes back a week from today. I think a dinner and movie might help. We'll see....
I keep thinking about this question that is written and posted on the door to the room where our support group meets:
What did you do right?
To some people that may seem somewhat basic. But, for someone like a person who lost a spouse, lover, child, parent, brother, sister or friend to suicide, it is a completely new concept.
If the question was, 'what did you do wrong?' well, pull up a chair, pitch a tent, unwrap a sleeping bag 'cuz you are gonna be here a long while as this question is answered. We all know what we did wrong. It is hard to know if the person who died by suicide wanted us to be immersed in that kind of self criticism. I don't think so, but, I can't be certain. Regardless, we know what we did wrong.
But the question hangs in the air, "what did you do right?" Huh? Right? Did I do anything right? It will take time to think about that. It is a different angle. I am unfamiliar with this perspective. And, I intend to become acquainted with it.
New Years Eve is a rough night for me. Gordon proposed to me on New Years Eve, 1987. So, regardless of the stuff I pack into the day (this year, two homemade soups, pumpkin bread, massive cleaning), I am running away from a terribly deep sadness. I run as long as I can, and then I get tired and I am hit with this basic feeling: I miss Gordon. I miss feeling that kind of love that I felt in 1987.
Ok, it hurts, I am sad and he is never coming back. A good cry and I should be feelin better.
And, I do.
I made it over that hump. I anticipate that next year, it might be the same. And, I can get through it.
So, I find myself on January 2, 2011 feeling relieved that it is no longer December 31, 2010. I am relieved that we have clean towels. I am relieved that I recognized a crappy paper and can rewrite it with a clear head.
And, for what I did right? I said, 'yes'.
"When I was your age, we used one towel a week, and, that was just fine for us!" and then I assume a posture of superiority, shoulders back, chin up, and walk off in a huff.
In one ear and out the other.
Georgia is not a rotten kid. She's a good kid, but, she's a kid. I can hear Dr. Phil about now, responding that that is no excuse, she needs to respect me, yada yada yada...
Yeah, I know. Respect. Do I pound it into them? That doesn't work. I need to find their 'currency' (another Dr. Phil word) and use that as a, er, bargaining tool. The cell phone.... ha ha ha.
We'll see how it goes.
So, 2011. What is in store for me? I guess I am in charge of determining that. Last year, at this time, I was at the mercy of outrageous mortgage payments and a smaller cleaning client base. I felt trapped. Today, I am not feeling trapped. I live in a place I can afford. I have an opportunity now that my job is over with to pick up some volunteer hours, and grow my little business a bit more. See? Different attitude.
My last post about my grading disaster on my final project has an update. My paper that I claimed I worked so hard over, etc etc? Well, I am re-reading it, with a clear head and, it totally sucked eggs. It was awful. So, starting from scratch, I am writing the paper I wanted to write, but, for a variety of reasons, (read stress and worry), I could not.
So there.
Sam is feeling like a vagabond these days. He lives out of a duffel bag. And, it is getting to him. He needs to get back to Milwaukee. He goes back a week from today. I think a dinner and movie might help. We'll see....
I keep thinking about this question that is written and posted on the door to the room where our support group meets:
What did you do right?
To some people that may seem somewhat basic. But, for someone like a person who lost a spouse, lover, child, parent, brother, sister or friend to suicide, it is a completely new concept.
If the question was, 'what did you do wrong?' well, pull up a chair, pitch a tent, unwrap a sleeping bag 'cuz you are gonna be here a long while as this question is answered. We all know what we did wrong. It is hard to know if the person who died by suicide wanted us to be immersed in that kind of self criticism. I don't think so, but, I can't be certain. Regardless, we know what we did wrong.
But the question hangs in the air, "what did you do right?" Huh? Right? Did I do anything right? It will take time to think about that. It is a different angle. I am unfamiliar with this perspective. And, I intend to become acquainted with it.
New Years Eve is a rough night for me. Gordon proposed to me on New Years Eve, 1987. So, regardless of the stuff I pack into the day (this year, two homemade soups, pumpkin bread, massive cleaning), I am running away from a terribly deep sadness. I run as long as I can, and then I get tired and I am hit with this basic feeling: I miss Gordon. I miss feeling that kind of love that I felt in 1987.
Ok, it hurts, I am sad and he is never coming back. A good cry and I should be feelin better.
And, I do.
I made it over that hump. I anticipate that next year, it might be the same. And, I can get through it.
So, I find myself on January 2, 2011 feeling relieved that it is no longer December 31, 2010. I am relieved that we have clean towels. I am relieved that I recognized a crappy paper and can rewrite it with a clear head.
And, for what I did right? I said, 'yes'.
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