Being A Girl . The General
February Blahs
On February 10, 2018 by Speranza
There’s a meme depicting a vintage woman with her head in her hands and the caption reads something like, “being a woman is like having a browser with 3,000 tabs open all.the.time.”
This is so, so true. At any one time, I can be thinking about a new recipe I want to try, whether or not I have time to go to the market, that spot under the door where an ambitious wind is literally sucking the heat out of the house, a subsequent trip to the hardware store for draft edging (maybe on the way to the market?) why I haven’t called my brother(s) lately, which kind of seeds I should start for the spring, if it’s worth pursuing a skin regimen that would include coconut oil, debating whether tomorrow is the time to begin afresh with a stretching routine and some actual meditation and then throw The General off completely by asking him randomly if he also thinks (as I do) that Coco Chanel’s famous boyfriend Boy Capel as seen here, looks exactly like Harry Connick Jr. right in the middle of a post-breakfast discussion about the British Raj in subcontinent India …
I think it can be quite alarming for him.
Being A Girl . British Stuff . Collecting
Sea Glass I Have Known
On August 18, 2017 by Speranza
When my parents decided that we would move to the UK when I was but a blossoming ‘tween, one of the (many) propaganda stories they hinted at (along with the acquisition of a pony, our own stables and a chuckling brook round the back) was that many young Brits-by-the-sea enjoyed “beachcombing” as a very suitable pastime. (I expect that these badass individuals spent the rest of their time modelling cabled sweaters on knitting patterns … just saying). The allure of a metal detector may or may not have been mentioned at this time but even at the advanced age of 13 I realized that this was severely uncool and was just not going to happen on my watch.
Being A Girl . My Mother . Nostalgia . Poetry
Piano – D.H.Lawrence
On April 10, 2016 by Speranza
As the snows swirls sideways across my window, I re-read this poem and fall in love with D.H.Lawrence all over again. I feel as though his poetry is not celebrated as much as his so-called “dirty books” but to me, the poems are heady scraps of wisdom and depth, showing what a sensitive, insightful and thoughtful person he really was.
This poem is especially poignant to me because as a very young child, I remember crouching at the top of the stairs, hours after I had been sent to bed and straining my ears to catch what my parents and their friends (probably slightly tipsy) were singing as my mother played our stylin’, state-of-the-art Sixties organ and everyone sang along.
Being A Girl
Best Feet Forward
On February 29, 2016 by Speranza
To me, having a pedicure is a bit of an extravagance and although I deeply enjoy the experience I am not always comfortable having someone crouched over me, whittling and scraping away while I sit in a giant, puffy chair like I’m Lazy-Boy Royalty. I’m also quite shy about the entire process so when I pulled up at my usual place (meaning the place I have been exactly three times before) and saw the “Closed” sign, I was so disappointed I very nearly just went home. However, this is winter, my feet are not at their finest and I wanted to raise my spirits with a splash of vermillion, so I drove to another salon since where I live and let’s face it, there’s a nail salon literally every few yards.
Once installed, I like to stare into space and not think about anything for a while as my feet soak in some hot, floral scented froth knowing before the end of my visit I will be called “Bee-u-tiful lady” at least twice. Someone will also sincerely tell me that the colour I chose is an excellent choice.
Regardless of the truth involved in either of these statements – I do like hearing it.
Being A Girl . Cooking
MadMen Allusions No Illusions
On June 1, 2015 by Speranza
No one has captured an era more effectively, more poignantly and frankly, more truthfully than the creators of ‘MadMen.’
I won’t make this into a thesis paper – even though I am tempted and could go on and on with psychological examples – but the way that children were treated back in that time slot especially resonated with me.
Consider the following conversation circa 1965 between myself and my perfectly lovely mother.
ME: “When Daddy leaves the car running, I get really scared. I know you can’t drive and I worry that the car will drive away on its own. What would happen?”
MUM: (Lighting a cigarette and snapping open the newspaper) “Don’t talk daft. Now, are you peeling the carrots?”
You will notice the distinct absence of any heartfelt “When you say, I feel …” conversations, no one-on-one explanations and certainly no therapists were consulted.
And you know what? All I wanted was a practical answer like, “Hell, we’d pull the car key out” or how about “I know where the hand brake is!” I continued to fret for YEARS about this and have since relegated it to simple childhood anxiety although truly, I was just trying to find out if ANYONE would know what to do.
It’s not that unreasonable!