My New York Adventure - Part 1

I went to New York to take care of business: family, personal, and other.  I planned to take advantage of all the city has to offer but there's a catch: I'm on a strict budget.  So each day I went to a different museum that was free or pay-what-you-wish.  

On Friday, at Grand Central way back in the Stationmaster's Passage, I saw a charming exhibit of large quilt squares celebrating the centennial of Grand Central Station.

I wish you could see them all...

Next I traveled crosstown to Lincoln Center and the American Folk Art Museum

with its incredible exhibit of treasures...forgive that these shots are not the best but I believe the brilliance of the art will shine through...

DAPPER DAN

Artist Unidentified

On Saturday, the Guggenheim for a look at the Italian Futurists and their vision of the world ahead...

Ardengo Soffici

Gino Severini

Mario Chiattone

But then I was politely told NO photos, please!  Still, photos were allowed in another exhibit Under the Same Sun: Art from Latin America Today and there were some fascinating and provocative things...

 

including a pair of electric fans saying "Yes/No" Artist: Wilfredo Prieto

or this Calder-esque mobile of cymbals, complete with Timpani sticks for passersby to strike them...  "We'll See How Everything Reverberates"  Artist: Carlos Amorales

Well, this is just a smattering of what I saw — next time I'll share more...

Wallowing in Self-Awareness

I know a lot about myself.  I'm pretty self-aware.  Why I'm behaving the way I am.  Why I'm struggling.  I get that my reality is different now, that the roles I have always filled are no longer available to me. I realize that it's up to me to make the changes necessary to create a new path for myself.

So what's stopping me?

What gets in the way of doing what I always said I'd do if I had the time?

I have the time.

I'm not doing shit.

Yes, I'm cooking, taking care of family stuff, doing some volunteering, some working, some networking. But the big stuff?  Not happening.  

Fear of failure?  Fear of success?  Fear of fill-in-the-blank — I just seem stuck.

For two years I've been writing and posting twice a week like clockwork.  I haven't written anything for almost two months.  

To remedy that particular hurdle (one of many in my life at present) I've joined a writing group.  And they have been incredibly supportive and helpful to me.  Their feedback?  Rework my writing into a book.

Yikes.

Seems a tall order.  Especially since I'm stuck.

But I'm gonna try.  

Which means less blog-writing.  More focus on telling a fuller story that flows.

So less wallowing in self-awareness — and more — more being self-aware.

http://nywriterscoalition.org

Lost Identity

Lately I'm thinking, "This must've been what it was like being a housewife."

It's weird because I've never lived with a housewife.  My mom was never solely a housewife.  My whole life she worked outside the home and in addition kept the household (with our help).  Like her I cook — but unlike her, I've never been a housekeeper and I'll never be a good housekeeper because I hate cleaning house.  
I LOVE a clean house, but I don't want to be the one doing it.  
Just like salad — love eating it, hate making it.

Housewife.  Seems that's the only identity I have these days.

Not working in a regular job. No identity there.

Not a 24/7 mom anymore.  Of course my kids love me, still need me at times, but they're almost 25 and functioning pretty damn well on their own.  As my friend Lynnie says, I'm a mother, but I'm not mothering. 

Since my mom died almost nine years ago, no longer a daughter and not a sister or a sister-in-law.  With my sister and sister-in-law both gone (estranged from my only other sibling and his wife), even my sister identity no longer exists.

So I spend my days food shopping and cooking. I cook because in my family background, food is love.  Pea & lentil soup speckled with bits of smoked ham hocks and ground coriander.  A meaty Bolognese sauce loaded with minced onions, carrots, basil, oregano, and heavy cream.  A North African-inspired chicken with chickpeas and spinach — what Rachel Ray would call a "stoup" — a cross between a stew and a soup — fragrant with ginger, garlic, saffron, cumin, and allspice. 

None of it tastes like anything to me.

The Dreaded Mammogram

Mammograms.  UGH.  Yes they are valuable, important, life-saving. But boy do they hurt. The upper part of my chest, close to my underarms still hurts from the pinch of that machine.

In preparation, I email and call to find which facility (of the four in my town available to me through my insurance) has the most recent equipment.  No definitive answer but I'm advised to go to the Cancer Center as it's the newest facility.  

I enter the hushed wing.  The place was lovely.  An elegant waiting area, understated and beautiful changing rooms. Everything nice, welcoming, and meant to make you feel comfortable.  But there's no way your mammogram is gonna be comfortable.

The sweet technician, Connie, introduces me to the routine ahead, asks her questions, fills in her computer forms.  

"Any history of breast cancer in your family?" she queries.

"Yes.  My sister.  Died of breast cancer nine-and-a-half years ago," I answer as the tears well up and I bite down on my lip.

Trying to change the subject I ask, "Do you know what year this machine is?"

Connie is startled.  Not a question she's used to getting.  But like any good technician/customer service-provider she immediately starts to look at the machine.

"Well, gee, I don't know," she says examining any information she can find plated on that monstrosity, "I don't see the year but I can keep looking..." she assures me as she twists and turns around the gleaming monster.

"That's alright," I relent.  "I know they're new since this is a fairly new place."

"W-e-ll," she says slowly, starting to think about what I've asked.  "Actually some of the machines were moved over from Hospital South and I know this is one of them."

I must look crestfallen because she quickly adds, "But those machines aren't that old...I mean 2010 or maybe, MAYbe 2009."

Shit.  One more thing I should've checked on.

And so with gentle kindness, Connie positions first one breast and then the other. Stretching and bending and cranking and squishing as I grimace and hold my breath and just can't wait until it's over.

Let me ask you — IF men had to go once a year to check the health of their penis by laying it flat, on a tray, while an opposing surface pressed down hard, squashing it flat, and then a technician slowly turned a knob to compress the surface downward even FURTHER, and you felt the crunch of your appendage under that machine — don't you think if males were subjected to that kind of a test ONCE — let alone annually — a less painful option would've been invented LONG ago? 

It's not over 'til you get the results.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UPDATE:  Results are all clear...thank goodness!

TLC — and I Don't Mean Tender, Loving Care

As I wrote in this blog almost two years ago in Write Your Life —  I had to answer this essay question on a national exam:  “If you had to choose only one object for people to find 100 hundred years from now that would give insight on our society, what would it be?” I said, the TV Guide was a window on our world and it wasn't a very flattering picture. Future generations could read it and know how we frittered our time away on game shows, soap operas, detective stories and more.

This is what I was troubled by and ashamed of in the late 80s. Little did I know what was coming 25 years later — far beyond soap opera — as they say in today's vernacular, "OMG." 

What is it about our culture that devours such awful stuff? The Learning Channel (now TLC) used to be a channel that sought to educate and improve the lives of its viewers.  But it was sold and bought and changed.  Look how far it's strayed. All the way to the other side — 180-degrees — with barely a quarter of its shows offering viewers any saving grace. Still, there must be an audience that watches the junk — over 3 million are glued to Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. THREE MILLION.

If you want an overview of how this channel went from positive educational content to prurient pablum, read this article from Business Insider that chronicles the downfall. A far, far fall.

Today TLC boasts on its very own YouTube channel:

TLC is television network dedicated to covering "real life" reality 

and finding fun and beauty in the unexpected!

Along with...

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo

I choose another of TLC's finest...

America's Worst Tattoos

So that's what they call it..."finding fun and beauty in the unexpected"...hmmm...

I admit that I like and watch 19 Kids and Counting, Say Yes to the Dress, and have watched (some frequently, some occasionally) What Not To Wear, little people, BIG WORLD, little COUPLE, and Long Island Medium — they each have redeeming value (well, maybe not Say Yes) but represent just a small portion of what TLC offers the viewing public.

For your edification, in my own order, here are those shows that clearly indicate TLC is certainly following the life spectrum in its line-up of "real life" reality ...

[Well, this last one is a saving grace...it's not in the same category as those before.]


After watching all these other "peeping tom" shows that voyeuristically look at what is not best about us, is it any wonder  __________________________________________ ? 

(You fill in the blank.)