"What Do You Really Want?"

I have always been of the philosophy that we have what we want.  If you want fame and fortune, you put yourself on the path towards that objective.  If you want a life of quiet solitude, you will choose a lifestyle that accommodates your desire for peace.  The opportunities that we select are based on what we want. A noisy baby will be quieted by being held, or food, or rocking, depending on what he wants. A young child will choose a red crayon to color a house because it best describes her vision of her world. The short 12 years old chooses soccer over football because he hasn’t got much of a chance in the NFL. The young woman chooses a college that offers an excellent program in Nursing because she sees the huge potential for career longevity with a decent salary.  We all have something in mind for what we truly want.  But we often sabotage our efforts along the way because we are afraid of success and the expectations that accompany it.  We take short cuts that take us around Robin Hoods Barn! We find that the path we chose is harder than we thought! And sometimes we find that what we thought we wanted… wasn’t that great.

That’s why we’re all figuring out how we’re going to spend $550 million dollars after we hit the mega million.  Because maybe it will BUY us what we really want.  Unfortunately,history does not indicate that it will go that way. If you’re not happy with your life now, you’re not likely to happy after you win (though you may have some fun before you declare bankruptcy when it’s all gone). But the bottom line is.. what do you really want?  I’ll be honest with you.  Shoes.  I want shoes. I do not know how anyone ever works in a shoes store because how can they possibly resists all the pretty shoes?????  I once walked into my house with what was obviously a shoe box.  My then teenage son looked at me and said “How in the world can you justify what is in that box????”  I said “I don’t have to.”  End of story!  But in my mind, I have justified it.  I have a disease.  It’s called “The Cinderella Complex” (ok, I made it up but it’s still real!) You see, no matter how you feel, ugly, old, fat, skinny, …you slip on a beautiful pair of shoes, look down and say “ Ooooh wee, I sure do look fine and these babies are coming home with me!” You know, glass slipper thing. My brother once asked me how many pairs of shoes I owned.  I asked him if flip flops counted.  He said “YEAH.” (like I was stupid or something). I said “I don’t know.” He said “how is that possible that you don’t know?”  I simply said that I don’t want to know. (because then I would have to acknowledge my “disease” and do something about it.)  

My life is good.  I have all I really need to survive. And if I hit the big jackpot, I’m giving most of it away because I don’t need it.  But we all know how this is going to play out though.  If I win, there is going to be one hell of shopping day and you are all invited to join me.  Please keep in mind, we are not looking at jewels, clothes, handbags, home furnishings, electronics, or cars.  We’re buying shoes. And we’re not going to the clearance rack or count how many shoes we bought. Then whatever’s left, I’ll give away and try to do some good in the world. Maybe I’ll make sure that every little girl that wants a pretty pair of shoes will have them.  Then set up a network of support groups for “The Cinderella Complex”.

"Whistlin Dixie"

“Can you believe it??? Some guy was whistling in the post office!!!!!”  “Really?”  I said very excitedly.  “That was definitely invading my space!’ he said. “It was like someone talking on their cell phone!”

I don’t know.  There are lots of sounds that annoy me like jazz and my bathroom exhaust fan. I’m not too crazy about a screaming kid but I’m pretty good at tuning that out since I know it’s not my kid these days!  Crows barking down at me when I’m on my walk irritate me. And someone talking on their cell phone when I am in a restaurant really bothers me.  But whistling? Nope, that doesn’t bother me ever.  I like whistling. I like it a lot!  I think it is amazing that people CAN whistle.  I can’t. I don’t know why.  I just can’t. I ask people how do you whistle and they say, as they purse their lips together,.. “you just do this”  and then they whistle. I purse my lips and try and push some air through but nothing, nada, no musical sounds.  So WHENEVER I hear whistling, I like it. Hell, you can whistle in the library for all I care.  I won’t be shushing you.  I just won’t be joining in. I might hum along with you if you don’t mind. I just can’t whistle.

But I can Hula Hoop.  I know what you’re thinking.  “What does Hula Hooping have to do with whistling?”  Well, not everyone can Hula Hoop and I don’t know why.   I was even a little Hula Hoop champion when I was 4 years old. I can still Hula Hoop for hours and often do it while I’m watching TV. Some people, though, can’t.  I don’t know how that is possible!  You just start swinging the thing around your waist and then move to keep it going!  How can you not be able to Hula Hoop?   Oh.. probably like me not being able to whistle.. huh?

There is great power in knowing our strengths and our weaknesses. We are all not blessed with the same abilities.  Can you imagine if all the Super Heros had the same super powers?  No one would be reading comic books because it wouldn’t be any fun!   But we’re all really good at something and there is always that something that we can’t do. (Superman can’t become invisible.)  Sometimes, it’s ok to admit defeat.  I stopped trying to whistle years ago.  That may be why it never ever bothers me to hear someone make beautiful music by just doing in this… (whatever it is that you whistlers do!)

Try to come up with 5 things you are really good at.  It’s not as easy as you might think.  Then come up with 5 things you’re not so good at.  Way easier. That being said, let’s all try and focus on our strengths. You can whistle while I Hula Hoop.

"The Jig is Up"

We were sitting in a  little bakery café in Chatham and I had really been wanting a great tasting baked treat, like a pie, or a scone, or a cookie.  I ordered an oatmeal raisin cookie with my coffee.  Joe wasn’t hungry, he just got coffee.   We sat outside on the patio. It was an absolutely glorious day. The temperature was in the high seventies, it was sunny and we were in Chatham (which will be our new home soon.)  I could not have been happier or so I thought.  I took one bite of my cookie and knew perfection.  It was amazing.  Really.  I had another bite as we chatted about the day.  I took another bite as I slowly maneuvered the cookie closer to me. I nonchalantly took  my napkin and hid most of the cookie that was left.  I wanted it to look like there was hardly any cookie worth sharing. He asked how my cookie was.   I nodded with a head shake as if to say.. “It’s ok.” But inside my head I was screaming “IT IS THE MOST DELICIOUS COOKIE I HAVE EVER EATEN AND I DON’T WANT YOU TO HAVE ANY OF IT!!!!!”   There I said it.  To you.   But not to him.  I knew that we could just go buy another cookie but I could see it going this way.  He gets a bite. He says “that’s a great cookie!”.  I say “want to get one for yourself?”  He says.  “No, I’m not really hungry; I’ll just take one more little piece of yours.”  And there you have it. I’m out 2 bites of the best cookie I’ve ever had.  So I just acted like it was “ok”.  And he didn’t ask for a bite. (and because I made it look like there was hardly any left!)  Whew! I had the whole cookie myself.  And I’m happy about that.  Not feeling the least bit guilty about it. Except tonight when we were talking about these crappy cookies that I bought at WalMart, well then I told him about my transgression. I came clean. I said sorry.  (I didn’t mean it, though) He was good about it.  He understood. (but he must now realize that I can be a bit selfish and wonder about some other things!)

It reminded me of my life years ago.  I had an allowance to work with for feeding my 3 growing boys and their clothes and household stuff.  It wasn’t much of an allowance but I did the best I could with it. I was very careful with extravagant food purchases and usually bought the least expensive, store brand treats. But sometimes, I was just dying for a GOOD cookie! (Like Pepperidge Farms Milanos.) And so sometimes, I would buy a pack for me.  Not for them.  Because they could never appreciate the good cookies the way I do.  My house was always filled with boys, not just mine.  And when I came home from the market, I would beep my horn in the driveway and boys would come down to unload the groceries. One day, a lot of boys came down to unload.  After they brought the bags inside, they began to put them away.  One kid looked up at me and said “Mrs. G?  Your cookies go up here behind the flour, right?”  The “jig was up.”  They all knew that I selfishly bought myself the GOOD cookies.

 I thought I was over that.  I thought I had done much better at sharing.  I thought I was a generous, giving, person now.   Apparently not. The “jig is up.”  I’m not.  Not when it comes to really good cookies.  I could say that the next time we’re in Chatham, I will offer him  a piece of my cookie, but probably not. Maybe someday…

"Entertain me, Damn it!"

We shout at the TV.  “Entertain me Damn it!”  Amuse my mind or divert me from my thoughts and worries as I sit in judgment of your performance. Hold my attention so that I do not become bored with my own ideas.  Make me laugh or cry or feel something other than what I’m already feeling. You, who have chosen to be entertainers, (and those who were forced into the profession), I will decide if you are good enough.  Hell, a long time ago, I would have been deciding whether or not you lived!!!

We have demanded to be entertained from the beginning.  Take me away from my drudgery. Sing for me, dance for me, fight for me so that I may be delighted in your efforts. But I will judge you.  If I do not like your performance, I will send you to the gallows or to the lions or to the unemployment line.  Oh, I know, you put your heart and soul into every act.  But still, you put it out there for me and I just might not like it or you. Ok, you LOVE to dance.  Great, but you had better be good if you’re doing it other than in your living room, otherwise.. well, I decide.  Of course, not me alone.  The King will have a say, the Emperor, the Sultan, the Council, the Masses, thumbs up or thumbs down, Baby. So you’d best entertain me, your life may depend on it.

That was pretty dramatic, I know, but it really did used to be like that.  Today, mostly, we just vote you off the show.  And you’re not really professional entertainers, you’re “real”.  We watch you sing on the Voice, American Idol, Americas’ got talent, (we had The Gong Show before the rest of this reality TV). We watch you dance, lose weight, hurl yourselves at giant rubber balls, and we make judgments on your performance.  Sometimes we think we could do waaaaaay better at whatever you’re doing but we’re saying that from our living couches as you “entertain” us.  Some of us actually seem to have some sort of degree in talent rating as though we have all produced so many entertainers.  “No”, we say, “you’re pitchy” (like I know what that means!) and “that outfit is horrible!” and “you’re too old to be dancing like that”.  We watch these shows because we are entertained and because we take part in the outcome. We sit in judgment of your performance just like if we were sitting in a theater, applauding with gusto or heckling to show our disappointment.  Now we sit in our little houses deciding your fate as you take the very brave step of entertaining us.

Our lives are filled with daily stresses.  No lion is chasing us but our way of living is hectic and exhausting.  We are not physically tired from plowing the fields but we need to “shut off” our thoughts to relax.  If you want to know just how busy our minds have become, try meditating.  Just try and quiet your thoughts and body.  You will see  how difficult it is to be still.  That is why we need to be entertained.  That is why we pay a lot of money to the cable company and why reality TV leads the market in viewers.  We have loved watching competitions on TV but we were watching the “professional” judges rate your “professional” performance.

Now anyone can put on their sequins and attempt to please me.  Thank you, but sorry, you’re timing was off a bit. You’re going back home to being a dishwasher.

"I Know the Difference between Men and Women"

 my six year old son said to his big brother.  Ben, ever so patient and kind, said to his little brother… “what is the difference, Joey?”  “Well, women wear earrings and men don’t” he proclaimed.  Ben told him that that was not the case in that men today often wear an earring and pirates wear them all the time.”  “Ok” Joey said, “Women have long hair and men have short hair.”  Ben explained to him that men can wear their hair very long, showing him examples of current rock stars, and that women sometimes wear their hair very short.  About to give up on the process, Joey shouts  “I know.. women don’t fart and men are proud of theirs’!!!!!”  Ben smiled at his little brother, shook his head and said “That’s right, Joey.  That is the difference between men and women.”

To all the women who have dated my sons over the years, I’m sorry.  I know, I should have told them that we fart too but I just couldn’t.  If you ever farted in front of them, I’m sure they looked at you like you were some alien goddess thing from some comic book planet. (Especially if you had really big  boobs) I didn’t let them know.  I even let them take the blame for one that might have slipped out silently. Women aren’t proud of our farts.  We do not call attention to them .  We do not even call them “farts”. We say “passing wind”  or “a little gas”.  When my Father had a little gas,  he would explain to anyone within earshot,  “I shot a bunny.”  He shot a lot of bunnies.  As a matter of fact, I not sure he ever missed an opportunity to “shoot a bunny”.  He seemed pretty proud of his marksmanship.  With the male species, there is always a “squeaky chair” a “duck call”  “cutting cheese”  “stepping on a toad” etc. But no matter what they call it, they like to bring attention to it with pride.  It might be that there is some sort of rating system for farts but if so, I’m a woman and I wouldn’t even begin to understand the criteria for judging.  You see, I’m embarrassed to “pass wind”,  “let out a little gas”.  Oh I know it’s just a body function and that we all do it.  But I just might be a lot more comfortable farting if you did not call attention to my farts as well as your own. Because we have tried hard to be more ladylike and not fart in front of you, when we do, you seem to think it is a call to celebrate.  I’m not giving you a high five for my fart, just not going to do that. I didn’t mean to fart.  I didn’t just “lift a cheek and let er’ rip.” It just somehow sneaked out. “Let er’ rip” is what the nurse told my boyfriend after he had his colonoscopy.  He said “that’s what I do any way!”.  He doesn’t.  He’s pretty considerate about farting.  He just wanted the nurse to know that he was “proud” of his farts.

To my grown sons, I’m sorry.  I should have told you.  I hope that this misunderstanding has not been a factor in your relationships and that this is not the reason why NONE of you are married yet.  So when you meet a woman and it all seems just right, and she lets out a little squeak, look at her tenderly, and say, “beans do that to me too”.  Instead of “Whoooooa.. Did you just lay down a big fat juicy one??????” I hope this instruction is not too late.

Dear Joey, there is a huge difference between men and women, a chasm so deep that I cannot even begin to tell you.  I’m sure you already know that.   Farting in one of the differences.  We all do it but women do not appreciate this bodily function with the same gusto as you.  Some day, when you are raising your little family,  tell the girls it’s ok to pass wind and let the boys know that we do but don’t want to talk about it.    Parenting advice from your Mom who occasionally farts.

"Infinite Possibilities"

I hold him in my arms today.  He’s just two days old! I look at his sweet, beautiful little face and feel a great peacefulness. In this minute.. this very second, there is nothing but the inexplicable joy of his being.  His opened yet unseeing eyes seemed to convey great wisdom as though in the very beginning, we hold the answers of the Universe. 

To hold little Zach, brings me back to the first days of my own children who are grown men now.  Those first, precious moments that have no expectations, only immeasurable wonder, are revisited as I kiss the top of his funny shaped little head.  I let memories float into my thoughts, singing songs, reading books, playing ball, hugging, laughing, and kissing.  And for a minute, I think only of the sweet glory of a new life coming into the world. I hand baby Zach off to the next loving arms, say my goodbyes and head home, lost in thoughts of days gone by and the reality of life today. I think of my sons then and now. I think of that little baby boy and wonder about the choices he will make in this big old world.

I often look at my life and wonder how did I get to this place, this situation?  Because it’s not where I was headed!  I have had an amazing journey filled with twists and turns, shortcuts and traffic jams, nailed it spot on and never quite got the hang of it. I’ve loved a ton, had my heart broken in two, married the right man 3 times and relished in my time solo.  I have reached for the stars and scrapped the bottom of the barrel. And the one thing that has always kept me going forward was the voice in my head that belonged to my Mom and my Dad, saying.. “You can do anything that you set your mind too”. I tried to set that voice inside the minds of my sons. Sometimes they hear it, sometimes their fears and insecurities drown out my words.  And sometimes, I am disappointed in the failure of my own belief in their choices.  Today, I held a new baby whose world is a blank slate, and today my grown son made a very bad choice that will make it very difficult for him to look to the future with promise.

  So Dear Baby Zach, what will you do with this opportunity before you? The possibilities are infinite.  You truly can be anything that you want for you are blessed with a loving family. But little Zach, they will not choose for you.  They will care for you and teach you and do their best to prepare you.  But you will follow your own path. Ahead of you lies great adventures but they are not without peril.  You looked at me with eyes that told me of the Universe.  You already know that love is what gets you what you need.  Enjoy the ride, watch out for the bumps in the road, think before you do anything, try to do the right thing, and listen for the voice that tells you that you are the best there ever was and that you can do anything you set your mind to.

Believe first in yourself, then convince the little ones.  Then keep trying to convince them when they forget.

"Hard Core Pornography"

Cathiesradiocafe has never been a political editorial.  I simply make observations about life and ask for your input.  Sometimes, though, something in the news just hits me and I know I have to write about it.  GOP candidate Rick Santorum says that if elected to the Presidency, he would hire an Attorney General to enforce obscenity laws and ban “hard core” pornography.  Wow! That is a very bold statement .   I’m not sure who he is trying to win over with that statement but he must truly believe in his call to govern our moral decisions. I don’t know about you but I’m pretty sure I don’t want  this guy or really any person making my personal lifestyle decisions for me.

     The porn industry is HUGE.  In 2006, revenue for pornography, in this country alone, was over $13 billion. That was more that Microsoft, Apple, Yahoo, Amazon, Google, E-bay, and Netflix combined. That’s a lot of people choosing to look at dirty pictures!  Every second, 28258 people check in with their favorite lusty sites.  Who?  You ask?  Is watching all this porn?   We are. People everywhere, including our very own bible belt.  The number one city in the US for porn use in 2006 was not The Big Apple, or decadent Las Vegas, but Elmhurst, Illinois.  It would appear as though we have become obsessed with sex.  Have we always been this absorbed by our sexuality?  Is this a new phenomenon?  Or is it because it is now available to all of us via the internet?  

     The advertising industry has known for a long time, sex sell products.  We like sex. We respond to sexy images. “Sexy” is a very favorable adjective in our world and it is used to convey our idyllic man, woman, lipstick, shoes, scents.. everything that we deem worthy of spending our hard earned money on.  Does it surprise anyone that we also buy sex?  There is crazy money being spent on watching sex, in all its various ways.  If you can imagine it.. it’s out there. You can find it.  You can buy it.  This industry is making way too much money for it to ever go away.  The government cannot  undo what is already done. Someday, you may have to pay a ridiculous tax to be able to do so, but if you want it, you will have it. And the only way that an enforcement of prohibition of pornography can be applied is if the policing of your daily life becomes available to the government.   Perhaps it already is. 
It won’t work, though, Mr. Santorum.  Not you or anyone else will  be able to control our morality. We’re in charge of that.  And if we self- destruct because of our choices..that is our business, not yours.