tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1289843206491399282024-02-08T07:06:11.690-05:00mental musingsrthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-64168669006771110872012-05-14T07:54:00.002-04:002012-05-16T07:35:30.272-04:00going gray and the myth of youthI was born a redhead. Not the flaming, shield-your-eyes type, no. Kind of an auburn red, pleasant, actually pretty... along with that came my connection to Red. Redheads, in particular, do get singled out at an early age as unique. <br />
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I grew up in the 50's, a time when people would call you "carrot top", or ask you where you got your red hair (a question that would usually illicit the wise-ass "from the milkman" response). I identified with being a redhead, felt it was part of my personality...I had spunk, fire. Wasn't that attributable to the redness?<br />
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As with most tones of youth, the red faded... I began dying my hair in my forties, mostly just a rinse, to brighten the color that was going brownish. My mind perceived me as a redhead, but when it would come up somehow that I had brown hair, I was actually shocked, taken aback at this foreign notion. I did not have <em>brown</em> hair, I had the heart of a redhead...wasn't that certainly shining from me like an aura around my head? A sure sign of my Irish lineage? So, I colored. Sometimes a hit, sometimes a miss. Most of the time, it was successfully natural looking and I was content with the outcome. <br />
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I always thought I would dye my hair till I breathed my last breath, of course assuming this event would take place at some ripe, old number. Of late, at the age of 61, somehow, it doesn't fit anymore. Seems inauthentic somehow, not really me. I look around, see women of my age, and colored hair just says, "who are you fooling?" It's the "of course my hair is gray, but I'll play-act that I'm young and pretty, with this bottle of dye" syndrome. I think we understand in our minds, that somehow this color deception is carried through to the general public...and, for some, that may be the case. But, for most, it is obvious...here is a person of a certain age who colors their hair. That's it.<br />
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Now, I don't wear makeup, choose not to, think it's silly really, plus my skin does not agree with all the crap in most of it, sometimes resulting in swollen eyelids. I have a friend who would never think to leave her house without "her face on". What the hell is that? I see women with makeup and sometimes it just glares...like here is a face which has stuff applied to make it appear in some other manner, hopefully, more attractive. Now, I'm not taking a femme-Nazi approach. Just seems somewhat like acting, getting ready for a show. I will put makeup on, when the occasion arises that I'm getting dressed up a bit, and want to add alittle bling to my face, but in general, for every day, no. So, it seems to me that this should go hand-in-hand with this hair business. There has been a shift. An epiphany of sorts. Don't bother being red anymore. Just let it go, see what happens. I'm letting it go. Now, since I did just use rinses, I'm not getting that skunk stripe where the gray and ungray is coming in, so it's not so bad (so she says). I'm trying to keep an open mind as to the end product, thought of just cutting my hair very short, to shorten the process, but that is not a look that my head and "pixie" ever agreed upon. <br />
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The other day I saw an old friend from high school, we're very close, she has known me since I had the beautiful red. We live in different states, but get to see each other as often as we can. This is my oldest friend, who once had beautiful chestnut brown hair, which was traded in for blond, an image that I can never truly accept in my mind's eye. At one point, I bent over, and she noticed the top of my head, commenting on the grayness coming in. Says her husband calls women with gray hair "bird watchers". We laugh. But there's a difference in our laughs. Hers is in agreement. Mine, I think, is thinking that "bird watcher" may be a PC euphemism for "Birkenstock Lesbian". Now, I've been thinking about this since that day, only a couple of days ago. I don't want to judge him, but can't help but feel that this is narrow thinking under the guise of humor. Here is a successful, fit, attractive 62 year old man, with a full head of attractive gray hair, pigeon-holing women who choose to make the same choice he did...allow nature to take it's course.<br />
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Now, all this must have you thinking that I am judging everyone out there who makes the choice to color their hair... I'm not. Color is fine, most times it's an enhancement of the overall image. Sometimes it's a tragic mistake. It can be fun too...a pink or turquoise shock has quirky appeal. I am just feeling that this may be the time to stop coloring. As if there is some inner need to have all parts match. <br />
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So, the jury is still out. I'm waiting for growth and will judge the final result...probably by the end of the summer. I'm thinking convenience may out-weigh any negatives. I'll see...rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-28085985853348060702011-06-29T06:08:00.003-04:002011-06-29T06:59:12.866-04:00What Do We Own?<span style="font-family:arial;">Was just thinking about the word Own, and how little it's being used today, unless it's describing possession. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">When I was a kid, there was a local pond, which, during cold winters would freeze over and the crowds would go and enjoy their days skating on the ice. All sorts would be out there... families with small children, those kids that would claim a section for their hockey games, the elderly. It was a cross-section of the community enjoying a simple wonder of nature, frozen water. I remember skating on lit full moon nights with a group of friends, when the ice appeared lit up from the sky. It was magical.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Of course, I also remember seeing a sign for years that was faithfully posted at the entrance to this pond that read "Skate at Own Risk". So, there, on the ice, was a large number of people willing to share this risk. Risk of falling through the ice, getting cold, wet, possibly losing one's own life, knowing all the while that the responsibility was ours. Ours alone. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">When did places like this change their signs of<strong> own</strong>ership to take away the risk, not allowing us to even enter the game? "No Skating" signs replaced the old. So now, if you were brave enough to go out on the ice, not only were you fully assuming the responsibility of any consequences, you were also breaking the Law.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">This may seem small, but I believe it weakens our power of self. Our control. We become followers, waiting to be told what we can do and what we can't. And, some of us, if we do take risks or injure ourselves, don't own it. We go after someone else for restitution. Instead of learning from an experience in our lives, we somehow believe if we shift the blame elsewhere, we can gain from our "bad luck". </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Now, I'm resisting the temptation for a disclaimer here. One that says, "of course, I'm not talking about reckless behavior that puts myself or innocents at risk"... We all know the phrasing. I won't use it. I will try to operate under the "old" way of assuming you are reasonably bright and intuitively know that I am speaking within a reasonable range of possibilities. That way, you may own your opinion... I don't have to structure for you how you should receive my opinion. I own it, and now you own it.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-50897108223190484622010-05-15T08:36:00.004-04:002010-05-15T16:51:59.406-04:00amuse bouche'amuse bouche'...just discovered this word and was very curious about it.<br /><br />Now, I don't watch alot of Top Chef or those kind of programs to have already known what this was, and was leafing through a magazine and saw the term accompanied with pics of tiny mouth-size bites of delicacies. So, I did the french/english translation thing online, and was amused (no pun intended) to see the literal translation, haha, yes.<br /><br />amuse - adj. amused<br /><br />bouche - n. mouth, facial feature above the chin and below the nose<br /><br />haha...amused mouth...who comes up with this stuff? It's actually very appropriate for what this is, a tiny morsel of taste. I guess french is still the preferred language of food... :)rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-37027264312309852772010-05-14T09:10:00.003-04:002010-05-15T16:53:11.615-04:00gay?<span style="font-family:arial;">o m g...I am so disgusted with the media and who the f*ck cares about a person's sexual 'preference' (like it's really a choice?)</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">opened up AOL this morning and one of the flashing "headlines"...I see a pic of Alena <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kagan</span>, the Supreme Court nominee playing softball. Softball...<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">jeezus</span>. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">LIke</span>, of course, we all know that if a woman has short hair and plays a game like softball, she's got to be (excuse the pun), pitching for the 'other' team. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">The fact that this bit of information is being hashed over by the media at all is so annoying to me... Why do we need to know everything that can possibly be dug up on a person these days? we don't.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">If it be true, and I don't really care one way or another, unless this would affect her judgement in her capacity as a Supreme Court Judge, it has nothing to do with the story at all. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">If she happened to be gay and also was what might be called a "lipstick lesbian"...what could the press show us then? A <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">lithesome</span>, tall <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">blond</span>, looking sexy at the bat, somehow might not make much fodder for the media...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">When is this going to stop, if at all? Will we ever get back to just the basics, or will this go further, to the point of pics of nose-picking, booger-eaters? </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">enuf</span> is <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">enuf</span>. How can a reasonably intelligent person weed through all the crap that is constantly being hurled at us and make a clear determination of how we really feel about something? </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Not easy, takes a presence of mind and conscious effort. Most of which the average Joe does not possess or really cares to put the effort into...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-1405231480003452462010-03-28T09:21:00.007-04:002010-03-28T10:02:10.598-04:002010 CensusOkay. I am curious why I seem to be in a such a minority in feeling that the Census form seems so blatantly unbalanced in it's request for information.<br /><br />I was almost expecting a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Spanish</span> version first, then <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">English</span>, but gladly, was not presented with that choice...<br /><br />But, what is up with Question 8? Wanting to know if I am of Hispanic, Latino or Spanish origin, and if so, what country do I originate from. This is not a race, but a place of origin.<br /><br />Then, Question 9...concerning race. First one is White. Second, Black, African American, or Negro. I found this staggeringly obvious in it's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">omission</span>. If our dark-skinned citizens require three different racial <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">descriptions</span>, how is it that White is only one? Last I knew, White was a ridiculous term laced with a history of all kinds of negative connotation, with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Caucasian</span> actually being the correct racial term as Negroid was the original correct term... I personally don't like to be called White and always write in Caucasian, if it is necessary for me to state "what I am". White is the color of a sheet, or a clean piece of paper, not me. If language and proper names and terminology are so critical in these days of political sensitivity, then why and how does the term "White" still stand so singularly?<br /><br />It's like trying to find that old crayon color, "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">flesh tone</span>", a pasty <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">pinky</span> color with the implication that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">everyone's</span> flesh is that color... Crayola no longer makes that one.<br /><br />And, as for Question 8, why is it that only that "group" is being asked for their origin? Why is it not important where my "Whiteness" comes from? Germany, Ireland, Poland and Holland all had a part in what makes me "White".<br /><br />So, in the end, there does seem to be a certain agenda to this year's Census form and I am choosing not to participate. This form's original purpose was solely to determine how many representatives each State would be allocated in Congress. That purpose and that purpose only. I will give them that, my body count, and that's it.<br /><br />As for all the other questions on this form, one can only wonder, where is the outrage over these requests for information?<br /><br />Where is <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Reverend</span> Al when you <em>really</em> need him?rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-63691714136190510742009-10-15T08:17:00.002-04:002009-10-15T08:41:37.715-04:00life's questionIn all my fifty-eight years on the planet I don't think I've ever had a clear picture of where I should be going... What direction am I destined to take? <br />What 'purpose' was I created to fill? Never gave it enough thought to actually cause a change in direction, or have the confidence that I could make that choice.<br />I feel different now. Feel as if the person I was meant to be has come into power, risen above all the other small voices that silence that soul. <br />There can always be regrets of lost opportunities, different paths that could have been taken, but I won't allow myself to go there. That serves no purpose in enjoying the current time of my life.<br />I want to live my truth. And there are so many parts of myself that need further exploration and experience. <br />The part that is the work in all this, is the effort to not allow the mundane chores of life be an excuse to not venture further into personal growth. This is easy for a child of Depression era parents. Work, work, work, don't waste time, save that, fix that... This is so ingrained in me that I feel I'm 'wasting' time if I sit and read during the day, take time to meditate, anything that might be personally (that is, just something done for <em>my person</em>)enjoyable. <br />Conciousness is the key. A human being, not a human doing...rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-42767913651851864392009-06-02T07:24:00.004-04:002009-06-02T08:46:11.491-04:00diversity with labelsJust read an article in the local paper about a guy with three daughters raising them alone. His wife died from cancer a couple of years ago, and he was just talking about the adjustment to single parenting from a male perspective. One of the points he brushed upon was the bias concerning men "mothering" children, and how general opinion assumed he would be incapable of doing the job right. Beginning with the cleaning, cooking, all that household chore stuff generally relegated to the female of the house, then on to the emotional aspect of a man raising three daughters. <br /><br />I won't get into his story that much, because that's not what really hit me about the tale. <br /><br />I am fed up with the labeling that is put on everyone in our society. <br /><br />As a <em>free</em> nation, we struggle with, but purport that we celebrate the diversity of all our inhabitants. This is a fabrication of wishful thinking. Ooh, yes, America, a melting pot of immigrants from all over the globe...came to escape oppression, and feel the thrill, to live and work in the land of the free.<br /><br />I see more and more, the need to put a name on everything. And everyone. Seems to be, that the list of labels has expanded to include even the smallest deviation from the "norm", whatever that is. Why do we need to know some one's sexual preference, racial heritage, career choice, college or tech school, familial status, eating habits, religion, physical condition...the list goes on.<br /><br />In a country that should be growing to lower these walls of differences between us, we really seem to be setting up little boxes and sorting everyone out, like a pile of laundry. Maybe this has become our unique heritage, because we are a nation compiled from many. A new group surfaces, and we eye them up and down, put them in the right box...maybe they'll need to be moved around alittle till we get it right, but we are determined to find the right box. And, to top it off, we must be very sensitive to what the label may be and that we use it correctly, or be accused of not being "politically correct". A term that originated to indicate religion or race, but is now all inclusive.<br /><br />This has become so ingrained in our society, that we fumble for the right words to label even ourselves. Struggle with what might sound more impressive, or less one-sided, so as not to exclude inclusion into any one group. We want broad appeal. This is where the Celebrate our Diversity trick comes in. Slap it all together, put it on a poster in Third Grade, and that is sure to have us all holding hands in no time. Ha.<br /><br /><br /><br /><em></em><em></em>rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-86070274752729138012008-03-18T09:24:00.001-04:002008-03-18T09:25:30.508-04:00When Did Crazy Get So Many Names?When I was a kid back in the 50's everything was just simpler. Anyone in our town, which was on the in-the-country kind of small side, who was off the beaten path, as they say, was, just plain considered crazy. Now, I know there were some distinctions on the level of crazy, like really crazy, looney crazy, like really nuts crazy, or just plain, alittle crazy. Everyone, regardless of your background on any level you'd like to choose, was all lumped together. And if a person required taking a break from the "real world" and "going away" for awhile, of course, they went to the Nut House or the Looney Bin. How nuts ever became equated with crazy, I don't know, but it seemed fitting to me. "Man, he was really nuts, they had to put him away in the nut house...probably in a padded room somewhere..." maybe the relationship was how squirrels look when they're running around the yard so erratically with no seeming direction, and since we all know their main preferred food is nuts, well... Or crackers, that's another one. I think crackers was on a milder level than nuts. Maybe that neighbor we used to see on her hands and knees every day with her little pointed tool digging dandelions out of her lawn, she was considered alittle crackers. Not quite certifiable, but not quite right either...at least in our book.<br /><br />Today it's very complicated. Can't just say somebody's nuts, need to know the correct psychological diagnosis...bipolar (which used to be manic-depressive, I think I liked that one better), borderline depressive, multiple personalities, anorexic, psychotic...the list goes on, and on. Almost seems like there are more crazy people now than ever before, like putting everyone in all these slots has made room for more in the "nuts" category of humanity. Now, I know it might be considered insensitive, but I kind of prefer to use the word "whacked" these days. Seems to fit a large group and it kind of has a nice ring to it. Kind of like they're whacked in the head and not just quite right...<br /><br />Okay, you might be thinking what an idiot I am, how insensitive to the pain and suffering of thousands of people and their families struggling with their fine-tuned disorders. But no, it's just a simpler way. In this day of such extreme PC attitude, I refuse to join the crowd. I reject using the correct terminology, sure I respect the mental illness diversity out there, but it just seems alittle kinder to just lump everyone together under one umbrella. And, in case you're thinking, ah, she just doesn't know what it's like...well, yeah, I do. I've had immediate first hand experience with crazy people in my life. Grew up dealing with mental illness in my family of origin and know closely people affected today. And, as much pain as all this causes everyone, I like to add a little levity in terminology...kind of takes the edge off the reality of the day-to-day. <br /><br />Here's to all the crazy, nuts, crackers, looney, whacked people of the world. Hope you can find some peace in this lifetime...and maybe, just maybe, it will come sooner if you're not looking for the correct label...rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128984320649139928.post-79687998234369907982008-02-15T09:35:00.002-05:002008-02-22T08:21:38.417-05:00hard day's night<span style="font-family:verdana;">with this dvr thing on the tv, I watch all kinds of stuff that I probably would not have the opportunity to, cause of time or conflicts or whatever...<br />last night I started watching A Hard Day's Night, and if I need to tell you that it starred the Beatles, stop reading right now, cause none of this will have any meaning or relevance...<br />I remember when that movie came out, the day going to see it and the entire experience. I was 13 (yup, 1964, good time). And not a hot, cool 13, more a kinda awkward, nose too big, slightly overweight girl with hair that I couldn't control and occasional pimples.<br />I went to the movie with my two cousins, Sue and Karen. They were a year and a half older than me, and I thought pretty cool, so it was great that we had this experience together. Now, here it is 40 plus years later, and all I can really recall from that day is standing, yeah, standing in the theater and screaming every time they spoke, sang or just looked so damn cute we knew they would want to run away with us, if they only knew us...<br />Now, this was our local theater that we went to for any and every movie. And, given the time, it was the standard place, a couple of older ushers with their probing flashlights and the infamous balcony, where all the "tough" kids went or the kids who wanted to "make out". I don't recall the exact age, but there was an age restriction to get up there, and I never had the courage, but I do remember my brothers sneaking up and coming back with all the sordid details (true or not) of the activities in that other world. The reason I'm telling you this, is because the ushers had no idea or inkling of what kind of power this movie had to move us into a frenetic state of passion...something we couldn't quite put a label on, but knew it was something surging within us and just had to come out.<br />So, the main annoying usher, Bill, who was probably in his 40's, but seemed alot older, had more than his regular duties to tend to on that day. He would usually walk around, checking and flashing his light on the perpetrators of illegal movie viewing, like feet on seat backs, or even worse, couples making out. I have wondered what that little light did for his ego, such power over us with that beam. We were the obedient kids from that time, that would immediately respond to the light with what we knew it was commanding.<br />But this day was different. We stood up in our seats and screamed! Screamed loud and unabated, some with tears, some just screaming. It was wonderful. I do remember that Karen and I were telling Sue to stop screaming, cause for some reason, she really couldn't scream. The sound came out all distorted and unpleasant to the ear...like her vocal chords couldn't hit that range.<br />And then there was Bill, dashing everywhere, pulling reinforcements from the ticket takers on down, anyone with a flashlight was put into service trying to quell the riot. They were not successful. That day is just one of those days that I will always remember so fondly. Such a time in our lives and to experience what we did and with the magic of The Beatles directing us...it just warms me, and makes me sad in some way too. </span><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XkKra3_pfBY&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XkKra3_pfBY&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>rthgrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10754366015956067919noreply@blogger.com3