Pinteresting...

 Pinterest is the new craze and the latest form of (then again) another non-communicative community of the Gen-Xers. Nobody talks; they text. Pinterest is just another graphic form of this. It all started going downhill after the death of the "card-catalog" at the library, but...  don't get me started. Let's watch the downward spiral of our culture until we dry-heave a Kardashian, shall we?

Every other "pin" on Pinterest is devoted to six-pack abs and Plyometric workout routines. The next pinning favs are thousands of fattening appetizers, entrees and desserts to make, thus deeming it physically impossible to attain those six-pack abs. 

And I thought I was a contradiction.

Don't get me wrong... I'm feeding into this crap.  I have kick-ass senior citizen delts to prove it.  I'm one of those serial gym-rats where the car drives itself to the weight machines  I've even made lame excuses to those who think I indulge too much. "I'm off the the library again. I'm headed to the dry cleaners." Liar, liar, pants on fire.

 It's just my thing.

I do get that "good for you" look (because of the cancer) but they don't realize that I am just feeding an addiction that I got into in the early 80s when Jane Fonda and her videos emerged. My oncologist was flabbergasted when I asked if I could lift weights the day they inserted the picc-line in my arm last year. He looked at me as though I was mentally challenged. I digress...

Unlike the crazed Pinterest lovers of today, in the 80s we were definitely more active, and not into food. We ate because we had to do it to survive. Today, our culture is obsessed with fitness yet prone to gluttony. Now, we schedule our workouts, and sit in chairs doing Pinterest,  TIVO cooking shows, and watch the Food Network.

All I know is that as a sixty-something, I should really be letting this go. I have to laugh when I think of my grandmother at sixty-two in her house-dress, rolled-down stockings and marm shoes.  I should be reading the paper and eating a cheese danish.

But nooooo...  I have illusions that I'm forty.

I think I'll pin this.

expectations...

I know. That "lower your expectations" for marital advice sounded just awful because most people can't handle the truth. They want more (uh) delicacy.

Right.

When people get married, they have no clue who they are marrying and pretty much figure if it doesn't work out... well,  if it doesn't work out just...   leave. The BEST thing you can do for any relationship is to lower unrealistic expectations. Then, if something goes right, you will be pleasantly delighted.

The saga of my personal growth towards marital bliss is quite telling. It began very innocently around 1969.  I knew early on that my husband wrapped nothing. He didn't propose in any particular way either other than.. "are we doing this?"  The romance almost knocked me over. There was no ring. No velvet box. No ceremony. Just a question of practical means. After that, there were no anniversary presents... remember? He wraps nothing. I used to get pissed.  (expectations) Then, I realized that this was what I signed up for the day I said yes to the non-proposal. He's NEVER wrapped a gift. Frankly, he never did before we got married so what was I trying to do to myself as the years progressed. If I thought about it too much I might have had a little snit... so I kept much of this to myself.

After several decades of this bullshit, I finally realized that he wasn't being mean; he was just being himself: a person who wraps nothing. It was then that I had an epiphany.  I began to lower my expectations in all my relationships and they all got better. Another good example: my brother doesn't visit me. He never has. He never will. It used to piss me off (more expectations)  until I understood that this is my brother. It isn't a personal thing. He just doesn't do visiting. When I realized that he was just being himself, I began to relax.

So in case you didn't like the last entry; feeling that it was a bit too blunt or insensitive... I was just being my quintessential honest self... he doesn't wrap? I don't ever lie.  It annoys and confuses people, but I'm just being who I am. Some people don't wrap or visit. I don't tell you the anniversary sap that you are dying to hear. So there.

You want to stay married? Understand who you are marrying the day you do it and you might have a prayer of having it last for more than five years.

We now have a great relationship. I just buy myself things and wrap up whatever I like.

He pays for it.

40 years.

July 21, 1973

So... how the hell do you do this? Well.... (of course) I will tell you.

1) Marry someone you actually like

2) Lower your expectations

3) Have a bigger perspective and grander scheme like building a family 

4) Have your own life, your own interests, and your own friends 

5) Have similar family values

6) Grit your teeth and stay together when you don't want to do it... it will come around

7) Be satisfied with your financial state (it isn't important)

8) Have a similar humor and similar intellect

9) Be a partner, even when your partner checks out...  they will.

10) Learn new skills like playing an instrument, learning a language, or going back to school.

Sitting and watching TVevery night together and staring mindlessly at each other as you watch The Bachelor doesn't cut it. This leads to bitterness and boredom. Been there; bought the t-shirt.

11) Most importantly: reread #2 ten times a day, and then read it again.

(If I had to do it over again, I would have waited ten years. You shouldn't be allowed to get married until you are at least thirty.)

"We" work because I don't have just one love-of-my-life to hug... I have more than I can count.

This was taken this morning.

doubt...

"love and doubt are never on speaking terms..."

Read this quote last week and it helped me to understand those discomforting relationships where you just.aren't.sure... you know what I mean.  Those snarky little comments that you analyze later with a...

"huh?"

Wack... they nailed you.

People like this blindside you with their own insecurities and before you know it, you've been dissed, offended and judged. Bam: the tailor-made bitch-slap.

There was a book I read once called the "Gift of Fear" by Gavin De Becker, which was written to (supposedly) save your life by encouraging you to listen to your instincts and not your learned civility. Dogs protect themselves instinctively and growl all the time, but instead of showing our teeth to the enemy... we (as evolved humans) allow the bastard dogs to hang around a while, make them coffee as they drag us down with their clever little comments and sinister tactics. Because they are professional bloodsuckers, they easily make us feel like shit. We cower. We begin to process the possibility of doubt. After all, we are polite and wouldn't want to offend such a good friend..

Make no mistake about it: love and doubt don't mix... If you doubt a person AT ALL, there is a reason...  My advice?

RUN.

Clearly...

I've had nothing to talk about.

I am studying Italian, and because one of my dear friends is from Florence, speaking the language regularly seems to be the best way of learning it. My accent is pretty good (I'm told) and having a musical ear has its advantages, so lucky me. I'm going all over Italy for two weeks in September, so I have a reason to kick it up quickly. Molto bene!

My health is good but the chemo has messed up my joints. My memory is back as is my obsession with trying new things, so it's been a plus. I'm not so into the piano anymore, but that will come. I get bored with the old and excited for the new. I'm mad that I refuse to paint. I don't know what that is about. I would rather throw the ball to the dog, clean my garage or make some nice soup. Painting is the one thing I'm really good at, but without a studio set up, I tend to procrastinate. One day, I will have a huge messy studio with paint everywhere. If it is set up, I'll do it. If I have to take forty minutes to set it up, I would rather make gazpacho.

Well, geez.. that was just a completely inspired blog post.

Ciao.