Poetry . The General . Travel . Writers
Journal of a Solitude
On July 31, 2016 by Speranza
I have no real sense of direction.
Those who love me and know me well accept this and are not surprised by it anymore; but when we set out for Old Orchard on our car trip this year, I hesitantly pored over the map and asked gingerly (in case I was ludicrously off the mark) to inquire if we might go via Nelson, New Hampshire so that I could visit the grave of poet, author and journal-writer May Sarton. The General assessed the map quickly, drawing a finger along the route, turning it a few times, finally pronouncing the idea “not even a problem” and went on to suggest that we pop along to Robert Frost’s graveside as well since it was on the way.
(Can I tell you that I absolutely love not having to justify what most people would consider a totally insane waste of time and my heart just swelled).
He added: “Graveyards on the way down! We really are a fun couple aren’t we?”
Grey Divorce . The General . Travel
Maine Deconstructed
On July 28, 2016 by Speranza
The General and I are just back from Old Orchard Beach in Maine which is the sleepy, predictable kind of holiday that I often really enjoy. The lush, yet austere landscape of Maine and the cottage itself are hugely significant to The General since he has enjoyed many golden-hued summers there as a child and because it’s still a property that is “family owned” you can sense the tradition and memory as the key turns in the lock.
The very first time I was here and the door creaked opened to the warm – but not unpleasant – smell of humidity and age, I was nearly overcome with a sense of Those-Who-have-Gone-Before-Us.
It was just like being invited to a crazy, crowded party where everyone has convened in the kitchen, chatting loudly and you have to enter sideways with your bottle of wine, introducing yourself.
Except that the kitchen was empty.
I am often very sensitive to this type of thing so I wasn’t unduly freaked out and besides, the vibe was friendly enough but it did serve to re-ignite a really unsettling feeling that I often experience now which is being super conscious that I am still, and possibly always will be, The New Girl.
And what can I do? There’s simply not enough time for me to be fully accepted and it makes me acutely aware that I no longer have the extended family that I was comfortable with when I myself was married. Strangely, for example, I knew my ex-husbands’ parents more than twice as long as my own.
I am not a fan of this feeling but don’t know what to do about it.
I often feel as though as I am driving a motor boat and pulling behind me three decades of memories that just won’t drop the line.
Anxiety . Darkness . Writers
Stop the World I Missed my Stop
On July 12, 2016 by Speranza
I’ve been stalling posting anything this week because I simply cannot write about anything vacuous without commenting on what a terrible few weeks this has been news wise; I’ve watched extensive news coverage on all the tragedy (and then follow-up tragedy) in Dallas, being vigilant to not watch any of the streaming or videos because I am someone’s mother and just cannot if I intend to function for the rest of the day.
This is not even considering the assorted terrorist atrocities.
I feel troubled, sick and totally helpless in equal parts.
Eating Out . Food
Lettuce Take Care
On July 4, 2016 by Speranza
We were talking at work the other day about the universal frustration of receiving a restaurant or deli salad only to discover that the leaves have scarcely been torn in half and worse still, the stump end of the lettuce (affectionately known as the “romaine bum” by my brother) has somehow been incorporated as well, unwanted and unattractive, a pale brown corona gleaming beneath the creamy dressing.
It’s as though this is perfectly acceptable. It’s all lettuce, yes?
Who’s doing this?!
Darkness . Public Library . Tales from the Public Library . The General
Curmudgeons Moving Amongst Us
On July 1, 2016 by Speranza
Working with the public over the years has allowed me a broad spectrum view of the descent into crabbiness that affects many people over the age of say, 47. I am not speaking of having an off day here, health crises, true depression or enduring a blue funk.
This is something different.
I believe it’s a habit as much as a condition that some people (usually men, there, I said it) fall into after a certain age and ironically, there is nothing more aging than becoming a Grumpy Old Man in your forties.
Nothing.
For some reason, the bleakness often seems to be accompanied by a sense of certainty about how dreadful life is: the Middle East conflict is beyond hope and can only escalate, check; obsessiveness about the worst weather on record which may be happening tomorrow (and, if it doesn’t, it’s easy to slide that rage right over to the deficient meteorologists for getting it wrong) check; life has passed them by, now that their movie-star good looks have faded and every time they exit a chair or sofa they insist on making a loud “Ack!” or whooshing sound just to be sure that everyone within a few feet knows it, check; taking every opportunity to tell bored, often appalled young people that they should enjoy life now because once they get a) married b) become saddled with kids c) buy a home d) become older than about 22, it’s basically downhill and will be over all too soon. (This kind of torschlusspanik doom should not even be referenced to the young since they are in no place to truly comprehend it), but you know, check.