Monthly Archives: March 2010

unsolicited advice

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Not everyone loves this.  When it comes from the right people and in my hour of need,  I welcome it, adore it even.  I feel taken care of , watched out for,  led around safely by the hand like a toddler crossing a busy intersection. Here are my favourite directives thrown at me in the early days of separation, from my best people;

-re do your bedroom. Immediately.  It is the place you start and the place you finish each day.

-put something nice on we are going out.

-cut your hair,  you  look like an orphan.

-renegotiate your mortgage

-throw out those black pants, they make you look homeless.

-I am coming over every Wednesday night to discuss your future.

-I am setting aside two hours a week to work on graphics for your company.

-you are going to Jamaica for Sam’s 40th birthday. Not everything you do should make sense all the time.  It is a gift from me to you and you must take it. And your kids will be staying with us for the week.

– have more fun. Are you having fun? Make sure you are having fun.

-have we talked about fun? We need to make sure you are having fun.

-get your work done. Then have fun.

– What are you doing for fun?

-Hang on, you look like you are having too much fun.

-Have a glass of wine every night.

-I am worried you are having too much wine at night.

I am a recovering WASP trying to emulate a Latina with  Buddhist leanings (odd combo), and we are taught to ask permission. I think what we need to do actually is not say ” what can I do to help?” but just do it for the person (this is for inner circle friends and family only-see stadium seating and pity from the playground posse in case you are confused). It is too much of a burden to ask the wounded to figure out what to ask for (although I have gotten plenty good at this) or to feel okay about asking at all.  Barge in a little.  You will know if you have over stepped and you will be forgiven. You may not forgive yourself for not being useful.

Read – I am wearing the shorts now- new post on urbanmoms flying solo -my other blog.

sitting just in front

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On a recent flight I sat behind a woman who the more I watched the more she emerged as a parody of herself. My attention was drawn to her first by a yelping sound that came from under her seat- a small appetizer of a dog was in a fluffy sequined box. She calls her “Candace”. Say no more.

This large buxom woman with a southern drawl and purple hair piled high was eating a take out salad (“I am on a diet”) washed down with a litre of Pepsi (“please, it’s my only vice”) and a family size bag of Cheesies (“a girl can’t live on salad alone”). She has fake eyelashes, drawn on eyebrows, Lee press on nails and a watch worn  so tight her skin is bulging on either side of it -tight and shiny- like a ham wrapped in string.

At this point my daughter says,” Mom, you are staring”. I can’t help it. This woman is better than the in flight movie.

Her arms are the size of my thighs and the underarm dingle dangle is swaying back and forth as she gestures flamboyantly. I am dying to touch them but I don’t -instead I let them lull me to sleep- with their pendulous swing back and forth almost hypnotizing. If the seating gods had been with me, I would have been right beside her able to ask her everything about her life. Instead all I could find out was through her constant narrative with Candy. “We have had a full day, haven’t we?” “We are still hungry, aren’t we” “We are excited to get home, aren’t we” “We are up in the clouds, aren’t we?”  Yes you are, and who am I to judge.

take a peek at these are the good old days – new post on urbanmoms

it is the smallest things and the biggest things

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She is at the airport sending her daughter of to a far away place when a smell so familiar and painful at once rushes over her.

She spots 45 year old women with their 70 year old mothers getting in line for a trip together. There are three pairs of mother daughter teams. She herself  is a half team, a  motherless daughter, a girl who enters every day with no one unconditionally  on her side. This 70 year old woman is dressed beautifully and smells exactly like her mom. The fragrance is killing her.

She walks up to the group of strangers and asks where they are going. They tell her about the trip. She says, “I lost my mom almost three years ago and “, she turns to the older woman, ” you smell just like her”. “Please treat this trip like a gift. I won’t get a chance to do this.”

She walks away, leaving everyone in tears.

check out I couldn’t leave the porch light on -my new post on urbanmoms