marriage

Those who know me know that I feel quite conflicted about marriage. I am a participant. I have been married now for over a quarter of a century. Faithful that entire time. Raised four children.

All carry my husband's name.

This marriage has been a source of stability for my husband and for all four of my children. And, let's face it, for me.

And yet...

I don't fit well in institutions. Marriage is an institution. Like organized religion. Like school systems.

Like prison.

Definition: from About.com
in·sti·tu·tion (ĭn'stĭ-tū'shən, -tyū'-)
n.

1. The act of instituting.
2. 1. A custom, practice, relationship, or behavioral pattern of importance in the life of a community or society: the institutions of marriage and the family.
   2. Informal. One long associated with a specified place, position, or function.
3. 1. An established organization or foundation, especially one dedicated to education, public service, or culture.
   2. The building or buildings housing such an organization.
   3. A place for the care of persons who are destitute, disabled, or mentally ill.

--- Look at definition 3.c.

Gives one pause.

This discomfort I have with the institution of marriage surfaces from time to time. Sometimes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, I can determine the trigger.

I've had several recently.

The play my daughter is performing in is "Dinner with Friends" and marriage, the good and the bad and the simply mundane is the play's subject. In this play, the break up of one marriage has a major impact on the marriage of their close friends.

Recently, I was visiting with my own recently divorced friend.

Other triggers for me have been my birthday-- time passing; and struggles with my youngest child-- obligation and ties, without gratitude or reward.

My friend, in her first year post-divorce, was wild and free. Now, as she has settled somewhat into her new single status, she is somewhat more contemplative. She reckons some of the costs. She has had to deal with some of the fallout.

Still, she pushes and praises and proselytizes her freedom. For her, I think, much of it is true. Her marriage was a bad one. For a variety of reasons, divorce was probably best for her. However, I think the costs are higher than she is willing to admit. I think the positives are somewhat overstated.

Maybe it's just sour grapes on my part. I have to admit that part of me envies her kicking off the traces, her freedom, her opportunities to be wild.

In my heart of hearts, I still believe myself to be the wild, free and passionate young woman I once was. But I am threatened in my belief about who I am, in part by my friend. Am I truly still the wild one when I live in this cage of middle-class marriage and abide by its rules?

Part of what bothers me about marriage is its very origin: it is the sale of the woman by her father to her husband.

My age bothers me. In the culture in which I live, there is no real status or benefit for growing older, especially if you are a woman. From here, at 51, to at least 80, there is no reward at all for aging. No additional respect. No great opportunities (unless one considers AARP membership an opportunity). At 80, or older, one begins to get some notice for mere survival. Make it to 90 with faculties intact and you get more notice. If you make it to 100, with faculties intact, you get some real notice and attention.

Although, I don't know that one really gains respect. Rather, one is a novelty, almost a freak. Age, in today's culture, gets one condescension, sometimes care, but really no respect or appreciation for a life lived, for wisdom gained.

The struggles with my youngest underscore this lack of respect or appreciation. I realize that this child-- now 18-- is in fact egocentric in the extreme. It's not about me, it's about this child-- at least in the teen's perspective. Still, I suffer a fair amount of abuse from this child. It has lessened somewhat in the past couple of months. A few months ago, when the situation was really difficult, my oldest child told me: "Mom, if this were your spouse treating you this way, you would have divorced two years ago."

And this is true. But children, born into a marriage, cannot be divorced. I am stuck: I will never NOT be this child's mother. Some obligations that come with this relationship, especially legal ones, are now ending, as the child has reached 18. Some obligations are cultural, emotional and virtually inescapable.

This is part of what I dislike about marriage: that one takes on obligations that are virtually inescapable. Divorce is a possibility; but even here, as my friend is learning, one is still bound up with the other, through children, mutual friends, mutual history.

Can one ever truly escape the past?

Which brings me back to "Dinner with Friends." In the production I saw last night, the director seemed to lean towards the couple that has divorced, Tom and Beth: underscoring sympathetically the happiness each claims to have found in freedom from the other. The playwright is more open-ended, I think. The play, to me, is Gabe and Karen's play, most of all Gabe's play. This couple has chosen to stay married.

There are differences between the couples. Tom and Beth have little in common. Gabe and Karen, on the other hand, work together, share a love for food and for travel. Tom and Beth grate upon one another. Gabe and Karen complement one another, which at one point Gabe acknowledges.

Had I directed, I would have underscored not the "happiness" of those who have divorced, but the contradictions and edge of desperation in Tom's new relationship with a much younger woman, in his need to boast of his sexual exploits and new positions; in Beth's plans to marry again, a lawyer like Tom, who worked with Tom, who cheated like Tom-- with her, ten years before Tom and Beth divorced.

Beth says: "He's not Tom."

Yeah, right.

It is a deep emotional truth that the divorce of close friends wounds and terrifies their married friends.

I would have highlighted the relationship of Gabe and Karen: in their terror, they turn to each other.

I doubt I will ever resolve my conflicting feelings about marriage. I'm still a participant. It is partly due to my husband's wisdom in giving me his trust and much freedom, without complaint. It is also partly due to my husband's stubbornness.

And maybe, somehow, I am choosing this myself. Still.

Put your oxygen mask on before assisting others.

I flew to the South to visit my daughter and watch her theatrical performance-- a pleasure I haven't been able to enjoy for a few years, due to our distance geographically and her busy academic schedule.

So, of course, I heard the flight attendants' usual spiel about the safety features of the plane and the use of the oxygen mask. As ever, the attendant included the caution:

Put your oxygen mask on before assisting others.

Now I am far from the first to note how appropriate this advice is to life in general. You have to be able to breathe, if you want to help others to breathe. If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be there to take care of anyone else.

So, taking care of number one IS important. Who will argue that?

Well, actions speak louder than words and I feel we are so out of balance.

Some of us grab our oxygen masks, put them on, and grab our neighbors' too, just in case ours don't work.

Some of us suffocate ourselves and those who need our help by not heeding that essential instruction: put your oxygen mask on before assisting others. We are refusing to value our own selves enough to take care of basic needs, and claiming to value others so highly that we rush off to save them before we ourselves are safe.

And soon, they, as well as we, are lost.

More meditations on this topic: Breathe: I so often forget to breathe. If only an oxygen mask would pop out each time I had a change in the cabin pressure of my life.

Saturday, July 21 2007

Errands can eat up an entire day. This morning I fed and watered the dogs and took them out into the fenced back yard to do their "business". I had coffee, checked e-mail, and prepared my list. Once I'd showered, I was off to mail a book I had sold via half.com on ebay; to get gas for the car (got it at Speedway station-- the price was $2.94/ gallon and with my "Speedy Rewards card" the price came down to $2.89/ gallon).

Stopped at the Pet Supplies Plus store, as that is the only local shop carrying Pro Plan dog food by Purina. Pro Plan is the preferred food for Jasper, as he is a stud dog for Leader Dogs for the Blind.

Jackson, on the other hand, would eat anything-- in fact, diligently tries to eat my rugs, my floor, my shoes...

While at Pet Supplies Plus I picked up another leash (since one of ours is standing in for a defective latch on the tie-out for Jackson in the backyard), dental-chews, Nylabones, and doggie treats.

Rewards seem to work well with these two.

On to Target (NEVER the dreaded Wal-Mart of Evil), where I picked up a 40DD bra (*sigh*) as well as organic coffee, Reeses Peanut Butter cups (for my cast of Much Ado About Nothing-- I don't touch the stuff), and CLR cleaning supplies and Drano for the tub.

Home to take the dogs out again, water the tomato plants and stake them upright, loaded some more books for sale onto my account on half.com, got the mail, put away dishes, made myself lunch: potatoes, spinach, eggs and cheese stir fried together, and drank some orange juice.

Answered some more e-mail. Wound up the clock... started it once again when it stopped...

All this, accomplishing small tasks, while avoiding the really large ones still ahead: Dissertation work, sewing a cape for Much Ado About Nothing, starting publicity for Much Ado, deciding on a script for Boxfest, and perhaps finding some order in my life.

cars

At times, I feel old.

I was born near Detroit, Michigan around the middle of the 20th century. I remember cars that were huge and lumbering and no one cared that they got about 9 miles to the gallon.



Above, an example: a 1971 Pontiac Catalina. Cars were big and sprawling. In those days, my dad bought a brand new car every two years or so. People changed cars like seasonal clothes or high fashion: the latest style, the latest color.

Growing up in Michigan, home to the Big Three automakers, everyone was encouraged to buy cars. Buy them often.

In those days, you could claim your car loan interest payments on your itemized deductions on your taxes.

Even today, there is some sentiment that buying a car supports America. At least, here in Michigan, where I have landed once again.

Only, the Big Three aren't so big anymore.

Once, I even fancied a sports car myself. I rather liked the Jaguar. It sounded exotic; and I even spent some time in one in the late 70s.
Of course, in those days, a gallon of gas was about $0.30. Yes, that's right, about thirty CENTS.

Not like today. Gas prices, and the lines outside of the "cheap" stations, are enough to inspire road rage in a Quaker.

Nowadays, my dream transportation has changed.

I want something reliable. I want something that doesn't cost me an arm and a leg to acquire or to drive (see above).

My dad bought a brand new car every couple of years. I, on the other hand, have bought just ONE brand new car in 35 years of driving. I buy my cars used-- excuse me, "previously owned" and drive them until they won't drive no more.

My real dream car these days is a solar powered super silent super fast hovercraft.

That's affordable.

Is that too much to ask?

Independence Day

As is true for many in the United States, I watched fireworks light up the sky on the Fourth of July in celebration of Independence Day. It is our family's tradition to travel to Northern Michigan and spend the day with the extended family and watch the fireworks over Lake Michigan. This year's fireworks, and in particular, the finale, were outstanding.

I cannot help but muse on the use of fireworks to celebrate Independence Day. According to info at
http://www.bigfoto.com/themes/fireworks/index.htm

"It is generally recognized that fireworks originated in China during the Sung dynasty (960-1279). A cook in ancient China discovered that a mixture of sulphur, saltpetre, and charcoal was highly flammable and would explode if confined in a small space. This discovery was first used for entertainment. The technique was soon adapted to weaponry and used to shoot rocket-powered arrows."

This is interesting to me in that here in the United States it seems that the progression has been from weaponry to entertainment, rather than the original progression from entertainment to weaponry, as with the Chinese.

And the rockets red glare
The bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
That our flag was still there.

Near this country's beginning, rocketry was used not only as bombs, but also as lighting for night fighting.

Now, of course, we have night vision goggles and infra-red vision glasses. We can seek and destroy in the dark just fine. (BTW, in searching for a night vision image, I found where I could purchase the "first affordable thermal weapons sight designed specifically for homeland security.")

So now, the fireworks-- the bombs bursting in air-- are seen as celebratory only, a joyous spectacle.


Other observations of Independence Day: although beer and bombs do not seem a good combination to me, they certainly are associated on this holiday. Fire and fire water and fireworks are combined in backyard barbecues across the land. It is nothing short of miraculous that as few accidents happen as are reported.

Although in Michigan, as in many states, fireworks are illegal for John Q. Public, and the official fireworks displays are run by firefighters or trained professionals, this does not stop John or Joan Q. P. from setting off fireworks of their own.

I am not speaking metaphorically; I do mean fireworks.

Why have a law if it is not going to be enforced?

Perhaps the police are too busy dealing with drunks to chase down the fireworks offenders.

Question: how much independence do you feel YOU have on this Independence Day?

A beginning

Having been inspired by the keen observations and ready wit of my dear friends and dearer relations, I begin anew to write. This journal will seek to take a look at this new millennium as it begins to take shape.

In my lifetime thus far, I have seen remarkable changes in communication. Once, most homes had a single telephone (INSTRUMENT-- let alone phone line), with the line often a party line, and the instrument itself with a rotary dial.

Today, a party line might refer to a political agenda or a Conga line dance, but rarely to telecommunications.I remember when the Princess phone









and then Touch Tone phone



were innovations.

Now, there are cells, razors, Blackberries, iPhones.

Amazing.

When I was a kid:

cell










or










When I was young: blackberry



When I was young: razor








As for an "Apple iPhone", in my younger days I could only have imagined that such a phrase would be some kind of rebus; yet just now the introduction of this newest communications tool is hailed as nothing less than revolutionary.

"It's a product of mythical proportions, " says Entner, senior vice president of IAG Research. "They're not saying the iPhone will cure cancer and bring world peace, but that it will do everything else."

It's been said change is the only constant. Let's see how much we can notice while we are in the midst of it.