January 2023

Back in my day: a rant in which Connie wraps her shawl tightly around her shoulders and expounds on the good ol’ days

/ wvfurandroot / 5 Comments

Hoo Boy!  I’m getting old.  I’m losing hope for humanity in a number of respects, but one that just drives me up the wall and I can’t quite articulate why is the current refusal to dress up for anything.  Does that make me shallow?  Maybe. 

But in my day, we brought jeans to the forefront, but we didn’t wear them everywhere.  It just wasn’t done.  And there was a period of time when one was expected to iron their jeans so they had sharp creases down the front and back. 

Clubs and discos often, usually, had a dress code:  no jeans.  We didn’t wear jeans to church.  We certainly didn’t wear them to work.  My first demonstration was for the right to wear jeans to school.  Yes.  To school 

And when we did start wearing them to clubs and restaurants, we did so with heels, full makeup and the advent of the very expensive, very trendy Designer Jeans. 

And now?  Now, I can’t believe what people leave their houses wearing – me included.   

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Like Fannie Flagg wrote, Towanda!

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Towanda has two meanings ‘peaceful resting place’, ‘many waters’ or ‘rushing waters’. The latter water meaning is an Osage Indian word.  I use it as Fannie Flagg wrote it in Fried Green Tomatoes – as the battle cry of Idgie’s alter-ego, an Amazon woman.

This coming week has seven full days as do all weeks.  But this will be my first full normal week in a while.  I work all five days, I have yoga class, I have a friend’s housewarming open house, and I have some medical appointments to take my mother to. And writing group six of those mornings.  Blissful normalcy.

I am always ready for this week after the holidays.  In the weeks leading up to the festivities of yule, there are office parties, time off, usually a sick day, and a frenzy of work.  It’s stress added to an already stressful life, overwhelming.  The return to normalcy provokes a psychological ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I say normal week.  My normal and yours are probably different.  Yes, I still have no water.  Yes, I am still inordinately stressed, and yes, my to-do list is 9 miles long and growing but these are practically norms now.  I wrote earlier this week that I need routine in my life.  And, boy, do I ever this year. 

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Liminal Space

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I discovered while being unemployed for the first time ever if you don’t count the year I had a newborn, that I need routine in my life.  It pained me to admit it.  I had thought of myself always as a free spirit chafing against the status quo.

And there I was unmoored.  Of course, the financial uncertainty and need to find a new job colored the experience, but overall, I learned a lot about myself.

Left to my own devices, I am a train wreck.  I need structure and ritual in my life.

Photo by Conscious Design on Unsplash

The COVID years of working at home just really drove this home.  That 18 months or so I was here working is time I will never have back. Wasted. I lost the rhythm of my life. I have been uncentered.

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I love…

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I love puppies.  I call all dogs, regardless of their age, puppies, but in this instance, I am talking about newborn puppies.  I love their glossy fur, round bellies, and milk smell.  I love the little noises they make when they suckle.  I positively chortle with delight when they try to walk or jockey for position to reach one of mama’s nipples.

The Creator was in a good mood the day puppies were made.

I love coffee first thing in the morning.  Fresh and piping hot.  I wrap my hands around the mug and hold it like it is the Holy Grail leading me to redemption.  I love the aroma and will breathe it in with the steam.  Once in a while, I will pour heavy cream into it until it is the color of dark caramel.  The richness of the cream coating my tongue.

Morning coffee is my daily ritual – my must for starting the day.

I love the beach in summertime.  I have a low chair that allows me to dig my feet into the sand as I stretch out, my mug of coffee with me in the morning, and a ridiculous umbrella drink in my right hand in the afternoon.  I sit there and I watch people and I watch the ocean and I meditate on the sand.  I do not read.  I do not write.  I do not think.  I just sit and let negative ions from the crashing surf pour over me until my skin begins to redden -the signal that I need to get out of the sun. 

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