Dancing with the Stars

Kansas City was among my favorite venues when I traveled for a living.  My team (SOS) worked really hard all day and then shopped and dined in KC’s Country Club Plaza in the evenings – except of course, when Dancing with the Stars was on TV.   I could not believe that these two sophisticated, articulate, well-traveled women were hooked on anything so – so – well, I just don’t know…

                     And then…I tuned in.

Talk about going to the dark side!  One week, I stayed up until 11pm to see if Bristol Palin would be eliminated.  Did you hear that?  If you know me at all, you will recognize immediately that the time is well into double digits – and I seldom see those numbers on a clock.  And – Bristol Palin?  Who cares!  What has become of me?  Hubby and I critique costumes, fuss about music and compare this week’s Tango with last week’s Waltz.  We are so glad that Kurt learned to flex his knees properly and hope that Jennifer will hold up until the end.  Both of us miss Audrina – I mean, really, what was THAT about?

You see what I mean.  It makes me want to throw up.

So what has become of me?  The artistry astounds me.  Gorgeously costumed women stalk and spin on stiletto heels and then fall gracefully into the waiting arms of equally dazzling partners. For a minute and a half, my eyes can’t leave the screen.  I can live without all the silliness; the backstage arguments, the “suspense” of the reveals, the positively adolescent audience polls.  I roll my eyes when the host chats up contestants with “The judges said you were clumsy and looked like a duck.  How does that make you feel?”  All of that is hooey.  And I truthfully can’t tell a Rumba from the Hokey Pokey.  But when the music starts…I’m rapt!!

The risqué costumes, sultry music and sexy moves mask fabulous athleticism.  Did you see Florence Henderson?  That woman is as old as my mother, and she was tangled up like a pretzel with that nice young man.  I should be so nimble!! 

So I watch for the glitz; and I watch for the moves; but mostly, I watch because the show is about excellence.  Those folks are working hard to be amazing.  In a world where anything you are bold enough to display can be accepted as art, regardless of its merit, I am grateful for performances that are practiced, polished and (damn-near) perfect.  So, I watch, and I marvel.  And sometimes, I even stay up late!!

AGING

I have an announcement:  I, am old.  Okay – not quite yet, but I ASPIRE to be old.  That definitely puts me in the minority.  I LIKE oldness.  I value age.  I am not just being contrary, or living in denial.  I have given it a lot of thought and conventional wisdom about aging doesn’t make much sense.

I work with young people, and, as many of you may know, I used to be a young person, so I have some experience.  Being young is just not what it is cracked up to be.  Being young is really hard, and confusing, and full of pitfalls.  Consider the difficulties of “coming of age” or “biological clocks” and then, of course, there is angst.  Old people don’t have angst.  We have stress and we have dementia, but angst is reserved for the young.

Every day, I talk to someone who is terrified to see youth slipping away.  Good Riddance!  Really, turning 29 is not the most wretched thing that will ever happen to you; neither is turning 59.  Bring on the birthdays!!  As long as you can still see candles, you’ve got reasons to celebrate.

A whole bunch of codgers my age have been overheard whining that they envy youth – but why?  What can 23 do that 63 cannot? (outside touching toes, which, frankly, is not that satisfying!)  At 23, I was pregnant, short of money, and still not sure what I wanted to be when I “grew up”.  At 57, I am not pregnant and never will be again – that alone should make this part of my life desirable.  I know who I am and where I want to go.  I have actually BEEN some of those places!  I have even achieved some of my goals.  I still have work to do, but I’ll get to it eventually, or maybe, with the wisdom of the old, I will decide I don’t want it anyway.  Either way, I win!

The reasons we hate being old don’t really have much to do with how old we are.  We hate age because we are not as healthy as we used to be.  Well that makes no sense.  Is diabetes more enjoyable when you are 7?  Maybe it is the illness that is problematic, and not the age.  It makes sense that we have collected more aches and pains –we have also collected more joys.  Show me a 30 year old who can brag about her granddaughter’s graduation!!  We overlook those joys so we can sulk about the laugh lines they produce. 

Some of us hate age because we no longer feel sexy.  And why is that?  Is “sexy” something that happens outside you?  It is true that Playboy has not called me lately, but if I give it a little thought, I may remember that they never did have me on speed dial.  Truly – your lost youth wasn’t as cool as you remember.  I know – I was there.

Old-ness is freedom.  The kids are grown.  The car is paid off.  And AARP gets me great discounts.  I love being old, because I have a lot to DO.

JOY

I choose joy! 

Each day, I have a choice.  Lord knows there is enough trouble to go around, so if I choose misery, I’ll have plenty of material to consider.  It requires little imagination to cover myself with gloom.  I mean, if all else fails, I can always read politics!

 

By the same token, there is so much wonder!

          The glossy portrait of my grandchildren,

          The easing of hot, sticky summer into gorgeous winter weather,

          My upcoming re-patriozation,

          Thanksgiving with family,

          Christmas in New England.

My list is ENDLESS!  Health, Freedom, Family

In the last stages of her fight with cancer, my friend allowed herself a single sad lament – and then snapped it away.  “Ridiculous! Who am I to feel sorry for myself!” and she pushed the conversation to happier thoughts.  She is my hero.  Even when she was losing the battle, she chose joy.

And please don’t misunderstand – it is a tough choice.  When recent events made me snarky and vile, my colleagues taunted me with “So how’s that joy working for you today?”  Obviously, it wasn’t.  And I didn’t want to be joyous, I wanted to castrate something. 

Each day, I have a choice,

          Will the headache win?

          Will I give my precious day to someone who wishes me ill?

          Will fear and sadness cloud my thoughts and shade my eyes?

Not me, babycakes!  Not on MY day.

C H O O S E   J O Y !

p.s. The photos on this page are architectural details here in Antigua!!



F R A C T A L

Fractals fascinate me; sometimes smoky wisps of translucence winding aimlessly through space, sometimes metallic and futuristic, hard-edged, powerful.  Often vibrant and whimsical, they can look random – but the core is always mathematics. 

So, I think I’m fractal.

No, really –

Maybe what looks like an arbitrary and haphazard wander through life is really based on a complicated geometry: not merely chaos, but chaos theory! 

Wouldn’t that be cool?

I even like the word.  “Fractal” sounds like an idea shattering boundries.  The science behind fractals reveals that once the barriers (real numbers) are escaped, new patterns emerge –  intricate and infinite – but not random.  And I like that.

Because I’m a square peg.  Or at least that’s what I thought when I didn’t fit into the round holes.  The truth is I just don’t like holes.  What do you do once you get in? 

So here I am, a middle aged, out-of-the-box kinda girl, blogging about…well, life.    

Life fascinates me; sometimes a gossamer fabric of delightful events meandering aimlessly through time, sometimes cruel and unrelenting, incongruous, absurd.  What are the underlying mathematics – what fractal truth sculpts life’s events into the designs we see?