Someone Save Me From the Eighties

I love music, all kinds except for country. One song I heard recently sings about a woman who has a roll around her middle, and "she's not ashamed." My musical devotion led me to a conversation with a colleague - a young one, who encouraged me to purchase my first iPod. It's a cute little thing, inexoensive too It even has my name engraved on its stainless steel clip in case I lose it, which is likely - give me time. I figured out how to set up my library and get into the store, and that's where my imagination comes to a halt. I have been listening to music since the 1960's, everything from The Supremes and The Beatles to U2 and a lot of stuff in between, but the only tunes I seem to buy remind me of my personal golden years-the '80s. I just can't get enough of The Thompson Twins and Bruce Cockburn. Oh, I know Bruce is still creating, but Lovers in a Dangerous Time - he could have sat back and never written another song - it's that great. Then there's Linda Ronstadt, The Motels, John Waite, and Bryan Ferry. When I am on my exercise bike or out walking on campus and I hear Sara by Fleetwood Mac, or Luka by Suzanne Vega, a lilt comes to my step, and it is all I can do not to belt it out along with the artist. I could download Alicia Keyes or Justin Bieber, but i fear it would throw a wrench in the iTunes store assessment of my profile not to mention that it would kill me to spend $1.29 simply to claim I possess an updated and varied playlist. I'll stay stuck in the 80's and live the consequences.

Ode to a Summer Evening

I just had a little nap. Me, who claims she never takes them. And damn, it felt good - until I got up. I felt like I'd just gotten over the world's worst hangover; I felt wobbly and disoriented. It wasn't pretty. And here it is high summer, almost the Solstice. I felt ashamed nodding off on the almost longest day of the year. And it's a beautiful evening out there.

I recall a childhood when I played outside during the summer until it got dark - 9 p.m. or thereabouts. We dined on hot dogs, and afterward had vanilla popsicles that my father bought at the corner store. Then we played badminton, rode our bikes, and for the grand finale, we ran around catching lightening bugs in a jar.

The grid of streets we lived amongst was a world unto itself. Little Kirkwood town. I recently saw photos from the 1950's when my family moved there. The streets and houses seemed almost shabby. I saw a video my brother took in the 1960's. It looked like a rural version of Oliver Twist. My sister saw the same video and asked me, "Did we grow up in Appalachia and just didn't know it?" It was far from a place of wealth, it was below middle class, blue collar all the way. But I hadn't a clue because I was happy - and I knew it. I grew up with parents who loved us and loved each other and better yet, they liked each other. But our town was poor. We were poor. I have never said that out loud before (or in writing.) I believe we were poor, but it never seemed so. My mother was beautiful in her kindness and gentleness. My father worked hard, but he never seemed stressed, not for a day. I am glad that he wasn't. I never felt that I didn't have enough - of anything. I would have rather had my life, my childhood, my mother and father as they were (and are) - simple, kind, unfettered by the trappings of stuff and status. It made for simple summer evenings when I drifted off to sleep by the light of a firefly in the jar by my bed.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do - The Real Housewives

My name is Eileen and I am addicted to the Real Housewives.

While walking on campus the other day with a friend, I went to offer a metaphor to our conversation, which was connected with Real Housewives (New Jersey to be specific, but I have a thing for the New York ladies, too.) I cupped my hand to my mouth and spoke in a bare whisper as if I were sharing a top military secret. I was embarrassed to admit that I am a viewer. But when we find someone else who watches, it is as if we discover a long lost sister - welcome to the coven.

I watch because I am a voyeur, that's it, nothing more. And I have given a part of my soul to these bitches with my own blessing. As I watched the NY reunion last night I paused to reflect and examine my sins. No intervention required - I see the light. The show's trashy fun brings me down. I thought to myself, "I could be reading. Or spending time with my husband. Or gardening. Or cleaning the cat litter box."

Watching these women who call themselves friends just isn't fun any more, and I vow that I shall no longer stand witness. I refuse to condone the glaring looks, the mean-spirited jabs, the disloyalty, the constant interjecting into each others' sentences. I'm done.

I WILL miss the great clothes and awesome shots of New York City, and I'll miss those Jersey girls' lack of taste, although I sort of like Sonja on New York - she seems like a nice girl. But that's it - it's over. I'll be back tomorrow to "share" again until I no longer have the urge to flip the channel to Bravo. One day at a time.

A Little Peace

I love my solitude - there, I said it. There are those who believe it is nearly criminal to want to be alone. But I don't want to be alone all the time, just sometimes. It runs in the family. We are a placid bunch I suppose. My brother said that he could sit out back in the yard and be very content, and would not require the company of another human for oh, "about two years." I would not go that far, but he and I are more like-minded than not. That's why today, when I went for my massage and then came home to an empty house I was in bliss. My workdays are quiet in academia this time of year, thus I spoke with few people. I have the computer before me; the emails never quit, but after my massage appointment (no talk during that either, yay) and now to be at home with only the stove beeper going off to let me know my dinner is ready, I have time to think, to just be. Like Anne Morrow Lindbergh stated in Gift From The Sea, we need to spiral inward and go to the stillpoint, in order to refresh and be able to go out to the world again as giving people.