Category Archives: The Platters

Jul11

Only you.

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7/11, 6:36 am. Life gets very real after 70. You can fool yourself and others throughout your sixties that you are still “middle-aged,” especially if you are blessed with looking a bit younger. I see people doing this all the time these days on social media. But you can’t get away with thinking you are middle-aged in your seventies. And tbh, there isn’t a descriptive word for old that I like. The word elderly makes me cringe. I don’t think I’ll ever be – or identify – as elderly…we’ll see. Maybe in my 80’s. Maybe I’ll revisit that word then. But I don’t feel old. We need a new word for people who are over 70 and fabulous.

I don’t know about you, but I am living my best life. I’m just getting around to it. It’s been a long haul, but from here on out I intend to rock this as long as it lasts. Starting now. As I said, it’s been a long haul – which is to say, those tired old demons of self-doubt have not yet given up the ghost. They’re still chasing. One of the most beautiful advantages of age is perspective and insight: those doubts become more transparent than ever. Seeing FEAR for what it is: False Evidence Appearing Real, becomes habit. FU fear. Or as my Mother would have said, move along smartly. Ain’t nobody got time for you here.

I just quit my job. I guess you could say I re-retired. It wasn’t an actual job; it was some work I had taken on out of fear. Fear of being poor to be exact. But it wasn’t working on several levels. So I gave myself permission to leave without feeling guilty, like I had let someone down or somehow failed. Maybe I’d feel differently if I were making some big cash, but that was not the case. So it was keeping me from doing my real work – which is right here on the page, with you. Because this is where the healing happens, and I want healing more than ever.

The real work is being. As in myself. All this psychobabble about authenticity is getting on my nerves. Who has time for nerves after 70? Not me. I must say however, we have such expanded language for this phase of life. Expansion I only wish my mother and my grandmothers could have known. And so I will honor them by not squandering this time and this awareness.

My dreams have been screaming at me. Wake up! Stop lollygagging. Write. Draw. Paint. Tell stories. Give yourself permission. Give yourself permission. I’m going to be saying that repeatedly for awhile. And reminding myself and you: there are no coincidences. There is no lapse in time. There is only now. There is only me and only you.

Oct11

True Confessions

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Thank you for indulging me this week as I shared my fascination with murder mystery television series. I make jokes that I feel homicidal at times; I hope you know that I can’t really wrap my head around that. I know that most murders are crimes of passion, and almost always committed by family members (after all, who can infuriate us more?) but it is hard for me to imagine losing control to the point of becoming violent. Mean, yes. God knows I have said some very ornery things to the people I’ve loved and respected most. If you’ve ever won an argument with me, it’s because I let you. That is not something to be proud of.

Like generations of girls before and after me, I was raised not to express anger. Sugar and spice and all that…seen and not heard. I learned to stifle anger with the best of them. The very best of them being exemplified by my Mother. I don’t believe I ever saw or heard her angry. And I do believe that is what killed her. She was never angry until one day she was sick and full of cancer. A particularly aggressive, fast growing cancer – liposarcoma. Cancer of the fat cells. She didn’t have any fat. She weighed about 90 pounds. She had been struggling with anorexia. It was not nervosa, it was a medical type of anorexia where she simply had no appetite.

One morning when she suddenly couldn’t walk we rushed her to the ER and within 24 hours she had emergency surgery. They removed an eleven pound tumor from her tiny, weak body. She would live another eight months. Her oncologist, who had also been my sons’ cancer specialist and would later become my sisters’, told me “it’s the cancer of unexpressed anger.” I believe him. And I know exactly what it was about. If anyone ever had reason to commit murder, she did. She thought about it. She talked to me about it one day, devoid of any emotion in her voice. And I understood completely. But she didn’t do it. She really wasn’t capable.

I don’t hold back anger anymore. I let ‘er rip. I’d get out of the way if I were you. I might scream and even throw stuff – but not at you. I abhor violence. I’ve been the victim and the witness to it more than I care to report; it grieves me deeply. We were given a clear divine directive: on earth as it is in heaven. There is no excuse for physical violence – NONE – ever. That includes hunting sentient life, and any mistreatment of animals. And it includes war. It has no justifiable place on this planet. PERIOD.

If you have violent outbursts, do whatever you must do to learn how to manage your anger before someone gets harmed, including yourself. Get help somehow. One of the ways I channel my angry fantasies is to read or watch murder mysteries. I love good storytelling. I like problem solving, and hatred and bigotry are problems. Big problems. I must confess, however, that I vet these mysteries ahead of time as carefully as possible. If I do see the violence take place I will have nightmares and be unable to sleep afterward. That’s why I like the genre called “cosy mystery.” You never see the attack. There is little blood. I want the violence pre-managed for me, thank you. Keep it cosy. And believe me, the irony is not lost.

Believe me, also, when I tell you that if I do ever decide to commit murder, it will be slow and painful; absolutely premeditated. They won’t see me coming. I will never get caught. But don’t worry, it won’t be you.