Tag Archives: Middle-aged women

What She Thought vs. What Was vs. What Will Be

from a friend…

Boyfriend Whore

She thought she was a Serial Monogamist
and that as a middle-aged woman
she was dating wisely.

Turns out she’s been a Boyfriend Whore.
She doesn’t know if her children call her Boyfriend Whore,
but she has learned that many young people do
regarding their dating mothers.  She is
Amused – and
Boyfriend Whore Embarrassed.
It is true.
So far she has been a Boyfriend Whore.
She hopes if she says Boyfriend Whore
often enough
she’ll get used to it.

A thought about . . . my day yesterday

Yesterday I played guitar and sang songs with young children celebrating Sukkot, a jewish holiday. Then I had amazing french toast made by a wonderful friend. We had ice cream for lunch. Napped. Had dinner with neighbors who are cherished friends. Watched a movie that was beautiful to view, with a mysterious and unsatisfying ending (Meer’s Cut Off).

For most of my fairly long life, I would’ve felt irritated with myself about that day. Didn’t get any creative work done. Didn’t try to “make it” as a songwriter, as a poet, as an artist… Believe it; I can be Extreme in that way.

As a friend recently put it, yesterday I was a “human being” not a “human doing.” And it was a wonderful day!

A day’s small activities, though each one may seem insignificant, can add up to a really great day. Just sayin’

Year of Mindfulness #4: While Taking Self Portraits for Match

 

– Unedited photo by mary macgowan, who loves it when a mistake makes magic

Mistakes. Being alive is a messy business. Oh heavens, all day long – plans go awry, change, switch. How to be okay with that?

This photo, where the sun entered the camera lens in an unexpected way, shows me how wonderful mistakes can be. Look at the clarity of good dog Bailey – so beautiful. And Bailey seems to be saying to me: Stop looking at Match! I love you! Me! Here I am! And she is right. Everything I need is here.  

Bailey is right near me all day and sometimes I scarcely stop to notice her. So, yes, I can appreciate a “mistake” that shows me what is true.  I can be such an idiot.

Cry For You House


Cry For You is one of my songs…Click on Play – above

She sighs.This might be the saddest
house in the world.
He sees her: a cloudy wind drifter on high.
He says, I don’t know how you got to such a leave-you place.
She leans back on the bed. Saddest song, too.

yes, beauty in the decay
yes, photo and song and poem by mary macgowan

the reason is: you are drunk and this is the edge of the roof

My desire-body, don’t come strolling over this way. Sit where you are, that’s a good place. When you want dessert you choose something rich. In wine you look for what is clear and firm. The rest is self-hatred and mocking other people and bombing.  So just be quiet and sit down. The reason is: you are drunk, and this is the edge of the roof.  – Rumi

Temperature-Takers

I come from a long line of heat panickers. Temperature-takers. Sweater on, no, sweater off, no, sweater back on.

Heat is worse than cold.  Heat creates deep panic.  I love my air conditioner. We are going to get married. My A.C. & I SHALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

note: photo from National Geographic, late ’60s.

Old Maid (Note peculiar resemblance to Jan.19 self-portrait)

As copied from the cover to a vintage deck: MCM 50′S BUILT-RITE OLD MAID SHAPED CARD GAME

Note the shape of the cards, “to fit small hands.”

When I was young, we actually played Old Maid. The object of the game was to pass the Old Maid card quickly to the next player so as not to get stuck holding her. Whoever had the Old Maid card in her hand at the end of the game WAS the Old Maid – the loser.  Nobody wanted to be an Old Maid.

An Old Maid was also sometimes called a “spinster.”  According to  Florence Falk, “lurking in the spinster’s background was the suggestion of some grand, unconsummated passion — the love which might have been, whose plaintive ‘if only’ helps explain why she became associated with two singular attributes: shame and sacrifice.”

Note: An Old Maid is an unmarried woman of middle age or older.

Note: In the “olden days” I would’ve been called an Old Maid (despite, I assume, two previous marriages)(there might be technicalities here, which might be explored in the future).

To give it a new-age positive spin, I’m an awesomely cool middle-aged single chick.

A Hafiz poem: Cast All Your Votes For Dancing

(PLEASE ALSO VISIT THE WONDROUS BLOG, My Son, The Dancer – Part II )

Cast All Your Votes For Dancing

I know the voice of depression
Still calls to you.

I know those habits that can ruin your life
Still send their invitations.

But you are with the Friend now
And look so much stronger.

You can stay that way
And even bloom!

Keep squeezing drops of the Sun
From your prayers and work and music
And from your companions’ beautiful laughter.

Keep squeezing drops of the Sun
From the sacred hands and glance of your Beloved
And, my dear,
From the most insignificant movements
Of your own holy body.

Learn to recognize the counterfeit coins
That may buy you just a moment of pleasure,
But then drag you for days
Like a broken man
Behind a farting camel.

You are with the Friend now.
Learn what actions of yours delight Him,
What actions of yours bring freedom
And Love.

Whenever you say God’s name, dear pilgrim,
My ears wish my head was missing
So they could finally kiss each other
And applaud all your nourishing wisdom!

O keep squeezing drops of the Sun
From your prayers and work and music
And from your companions’ beautiful laughter

And from the most insignificant movements
Of your own holy body.

Now, sweet one,
Be wise.
Cast all your votes for Dancing!

~ Hafiz ~



My Little Chef Oven

My Little Chef Oven, from the olden days when a little girl could really hurt herself.  With electric burners, no lightbulb heaters.  And butter and bandaids to soothe.  Yes, we were given toys that were dangerous, and we were given a cure that made the burns worse.  But we survived, and the burns did heal, and we eventually outgrew the toys.

Got it, boys?