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Archive for the ‘Older women’ Category

Gnomes, men and Daisy Duke … the last in the series

Posted in Children, Expat Living, Friends, Fun, Island life, NaBloPoMo, Older women, On getting older, Seychelles, WTF?, Younger men, tagged , , , on November 11, 2008| 3 Comments »

This is, I promise, the last post on what should have been the mundane job of leveling the road that leads to my house in the bush, but ended up providing blog fodder for days.

That’s the thing about island life; you just never know the entertainment value of a day until you’ve lived it since so much can go wrong or HiLarryUS or climb to the pinnacle of WTF without one whit of warning.

You’ve already read about the Magnar in my life and how handy he is when a girl needs a Norwegian nag … or road work … and seen the photos of the work. You’ve also read of my preference in lawn ornamentation.

So what can possibly be left to this tale? My utter and complete humiliation, of course.

You see, although I didn’t have to fork out any cash for the amazing amount of work done resulting in my drive now being flat and negotiable, rather than a rutted goat track that caused any car not an SUV to bottom out numerous times on the way up and on the way down to my house, there was a price to pay: I had to dress up in stilettos and hot pants … a la Daisy Duke … and drive the bloody excavator.

To be fair, I really did want to swing that big sucka around a bit, fondle the knobs and feel the power of a huge hunk of MAN STUFF at my fingertips, but in yellow polka dot 4-inch heels and with my skinny legs dangling?

Not what I had in mind.

Unfortunately for me, that was EXACTLY the picture that came immediately to Magnar’s mind … I should’ve predicted such an image dawning, knowing him as well as I do .

So, for all you readers who are needing a good chuckle today, here are some photos. (There’s a video on my facebook page if you really want a laugh … ) Please, be kind in your comments. (Remember, I do moderate … )

(By the way, the kids are with Mark this week, so not subject to the trauma of seeing their mother being so incredibly silly. They won’t read this blog for a while, so I’m hoping they’ll be prepared by the time they do.)

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It’s an island … and a ‘guy” … thang

Posted in Children, Expat Living, Family, Friends, Fun, Island life, NaBloPoMo, Older women, Seychelles, Uncategorized, Younger men, tagged , , on November 8, 2008| 6 Comments »

Kids are with their dad now, so smelling kid-free time like night-blooming jasmine wafting through the usual mac & cheese and Ovaltine-tainted miasma, I prettied up and let Magnar drag me to a party last night. A real party, with fascinating grownups drinking and dancing and generally carrying on to the tune of interesting conversation backed by the beat of shared and diverse experiences.

Home around 4am, we didn’t get up until 2:30 this afternoon, when, in typical island fashion shit started happening …

A JCB showed up to level my road, a job that’s been waiting for months now. Apparently, Magnar’s plan to show up with an excavator tomorrow (a photo op with hysterical undertones I’ll share when it’s happened) prompted a pissing contest between men with big machines, and our very own Irish builder (Not O’Reilly, but a Rogan) deciding that he’d better get here first … said something about me chewing up his balls … and getting the job under way. Goodie!

Some fiasco broke out at the top of my road between men, a water pipe was broken, the earth moved (or at least a good amount of dirt), and Magnar was called in to smooth things over … road, feelings, whatever needed smoothing … while I stayed well out of it and let it be a guy thing.

During the course of all, I found out why I can’t get a gardener. Seems there’s a ghost living on my road, so no one will come down here. Hmmmmm.

Island life! Gotta luv it

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Okay … here’s the deal … or some of it

Posted in Adoption, Children, Family, International Adoption, Island life, Older women, Seychelles on October 8, 2008| 5 Comments »

So, there’s a new computer on the way, and in the meantime I’m using Sam’s. It does the job, thankfully. It’s Gay’s old one … another Mac, of course … so I’m able to do most of what I could do before, but am reticent to pack it full of my stuff when its real duty is to let my son draw and paint and play “Green Eggs & Ham” endlessly.

That’s for starters …

Moving right along, if you’re a facebook friend of mine you already know that I’m madly in love and within days of living happily ever after. Yep. That light at the end of the tunnel I thought was nothing more than the headlights of an approaching train turns out to be the brightest point of a very bright future. Wow. I’m stunned and can’t wipe the silly grin off my face. Details to follow.

And … learned today that Mark’s girlfriend is 7 months pregnant, which means she managed to purchase her insurance policy minutes after he moved out of the house. I’ve wished him well and offered to babysit.

Sam and Cj are doing well, and although it’s not been easy getting the ground under their feet to steady, it’s been so worth it. Cj is loving school. Sam is brilliant, as always. Both are movin’ with the groovin’.

The wrap? Life doesn’t suck, after all, and it often makes a lot of sense when you look at it backwards.

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Big Shoes

Posted in Family, Fun, Island life, Older women, On getting older, Seychelles, Younger men, tagged , on August 10, 2008| 5 Comments »

No, I’m not writing about empty places in my life that need filling, but rather a pair of strappy sandals with a three-and-a-half inch heel that was delivered on Friday.

One thing possibly not noticeable in the many photos posted of my husband and me together is the fact that I am 5’9″ and he is a touch over 5’7″. Not that that ever made any difference that I was aware of … although I suspect his new girlfriend, much shorter than he is, does add to how he now considers his stature … as I’d been married to a tall guy who made my life miserable, so a short, kind and loving man was fine by me.

Now that the “kind and loving” bits are hard to find, Mark’s smallness has become a feature I am more aware of, and the fact that I’ve spent the last 15 years in flats tweaks a tiny resentment.

Of course, living where I do, flip-flops are de rigeur. Thanks primarily to my mother I have quite the collection of fancy ones that fit most occasions, and I will continue to sport over-spangled, fancy beach shoes for years to come.

I have, however, missed the dressier, snazzier, sexier footwear that comes with extra inches. No more. This weekend, I strapped ’em on and went out.

I had forgotten how different the world looks from six-feet-plus up, and also the impression I make walking into a room at full height in full glory … dressed to the nines, makeup accentuating my positives and a head above the crowd.

Yep. Apparently, I still have something of myself left that catches eyes and compliments, and how much do I need that at this point in my life? One hell of a lot.

Little did I know how far those extra 6 inches (three per foot) would take my self-image, my confidence and self respect. It was quite a pump, and one I fully intend to take advantage of as often as possible.

Hooray for sexy shoes and the benefits of. They’ve taken me more than a few steps forward in the process of healing, and felt very good while doing so.

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A Banner Day

Posted in Family, Older women, Seychelles, Uncategorized, Writing for a living on July 13, 2008| 8 Comments »

The banner went up last week to prompt sales of my book. It just happens to hang at an intersection Mark has to drive by at least 4 times a day.

Photos from the book launch party Friday evening will be posted soon. It was a wonderful event, and I’m hanging on to the boost it gave me for as long as possible. Of course, the kids were the true stars, but I did get some lovely comments … and sold books!

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Healing from a heel, or just adjusting

Posted in Adoption, Adoption Advocacy, Children, Family, International Adoption, Older Parent Adoption, Older women, orphans, tagged , , on June 1, 2008| 18 Comments »

I must be beginning to heal … or, at least for today I’ve managed to work up a good head of indignation at the betrayal that has brought the end of my marriage.

One reason for breaking our family, out of the very few that my husband has managed to share with me, is that I was working too hard and not paying enough attention to him. 

Now, even though I could have some empathy for that as a reason to begin to distance oneself from a spouse, I can’t fathom that process happening without some discussion, but there was nary a word from Mark other than the occasional complaint that my dinner was getting cold as I was trying to post or that I wasn’t paid nearly enough for the number of hours I dedicated to my work.

If this work I poured so much of my soul into was without soul, if, perhaps, I was consumed by fluctuating money markets or with attending constantly to a process designed to grow more and more money for myself in an endless game of greed, I might also have some compassion for a mate who felt ignored by aggressive avarice.

The fact is, however, that through the adoption of our children I became a passionate advocate for international adoption. The millions of children without  families in the world are for the most part a voiceless lot, and given that there are no few people in the world very vocal about seeing to keeping these kids sentenced to a short life of misery under a banner misleading reading “Cultural Genocide” or something equally shortsighted or self indulgent, lending my efforts to remind that there are other sides to that coin with miraculous results seemed an effort worth pursuing and pursuing vigorously.

I personally know of a dozen kids who have wonderful families now whose shift from hopeless forever to chances and opportunities and love can be directly traced to my work.

I’m not trying to pull any “Saint” shirt on over my head with this, but it sure does piss me off that my husband, father to our two Cambodian-born children, has taken my work, my passion for the world’s orphans, my dedication, and turned it into an excuse for leaving our family for the Blow Job Queen of Trashland … fat face, big tits and all.

I think this just might mean I’m getting better.

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Consuming Grief

Posted in Family, Older women, On getting older, tagged , on May 25, 2008| 19 Comments »

 

 

It isn’t simply that I am eating misery, and little else, for breakfast, lunch and dinner these days, but also that it is eating me.

 

From the moment I gain consciousness in the morning, the awareness that the fact that the life I had been living so happily is over, gone for good, forces itself down my neck and I snack on that revolting bile in a day-long venture in hell. I keep waiting for it to slack off, but that hasn’t started happening yet, and although somedays are less densely packed with anguish and anxiety, many come with the full force of the first minutes.

 

I am more able to see the weak links in my husband that led to his total and complete betrayal, but remain baffled by the turnaround, its speed and its cruelty, and my lack of understanding may be part of what is blocking my healing.

 

The “How could he do this to me and our family?” question haunts on a minute-to-minute basis, and although on some level I realize that his horrid choices and worse behavior have nothing to do with me, it’s seems only womanly to attempt to find some blame to carry on my shoulders.

 

What it is about us, the females of our species, that needs to claim faults not ours, to apologize for foibles merely human, to gather guilt over the fact that humans age and occasionally lose focus and are sometimes not in the chipperest of mind sets? Where does it come into our consciousness that it is our responsibility to keep the ship afloat, to be ever-vigilant, to anticipate every reaction to any action; then to look inwards for our failure when our men decide that all their thinking will be done with their little heads, not their big heads, and that nothing else matters in any case?

 

Because Mark was so good at giving the impression that he was the happiest married man on earth, wedded to his best friend, continually conversing on every topic … except, of course, the one that was mattering the most to him at the time; how to keep his girlfriend happy … I am still reeling from the shock of my supposedly solid ground suddenly falling away.

 

Should I have seen this coming, even though he freely admits that he gave no hints, no clues, no reason for suspicion? Or is this just another way I beat myself up?

 

I know that it’s grief I’m dealing with and that there is no short road away from it. Getting on with my life, moving along, adjusting, are all goals, but it is consuming, from the hole in my heart, to the steady diet of regrets, to the loss of so much hope and so many dreams, I can’t yet see what will be left of me.

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Earning the right to sex, and how others do it

Posted in Children, Family, Older women, Uncategorized, tagged , on May 7, 2008| 4 Comments »

I’ve been trying to figure out a way forward for Paradise Preoccupied … and for much else in my life at the moment … and have been finding it hard to even compose a follow-up to my last post.

I do not want to turn this into a litany of Mark’s almost daily screw-ups and petty cruelties, no matter how much of my energy is sucked away in the process of him being the “new” him, nor do I want to compete for the title of “Queen Whine of the blog world”.

I’ve considered composing long diatribes on my misanthropic tendencies … life-long and only getting stronger as man proves time after time his weaknesses and base nature … and have even thought of writing on just why it is that humans are my least favorite primate species.

That could be quite an interesting topic, actually, and I may put some time into it. The facts being that non-human primates, in all their various versions of societal behaviors, have worked out how to demand the most of the males in their species before they’re allowed to have sex. 

Unlike in humans, subadult males … the teens and twenties types … inhabit the bottom rung of other primate societies. They get no respect from anyone and are ignored as often as they are chastised for obnoxious behavior. 

The thought of a gang of young chimps or baboons starting wars, raping and pillaging is totally negated by the fact that everyone else in their groups, from adult males to their own mothers and aunties, would nip any such tendencies in the bud, and slap the shit out of them in the process, gives their cultures an advantage ours has lost.

Males in other primate groups have to prove themselves, and much of that proof involves developing into the type of grownups that have the power, grace and fortitude to make damned sure their children reach adulthood under the safest circumstances possible. Females base their choices on granting sexual favors on these factors and wouldn’t touch a flakey good-for-nothing, no matter how pretty or smooth, with a ten-foot length of bamboo.

Gibbons are monogamous. Marmoset fathers are primary caregivers, handing what is usually twins over to mom only at feeding time. Gorillas live in harem groups with the Silverback, having earned every one of his rights of reproduction the hard way, having his way with all the females in his group and taking care of everyone everyday in every way, including providing a vast and hairy playground for his youngsters.

Orang utans are solitary dwelling creatures and tend to mate with whoever they happen to run across in their foraging … they are also the only other primate species that rapes … and little but the genetic contribution is expected from fathers, but at least those rules are clear from the outset.

Chimps are the closest relatives we have in the non-human primate group and the most likely to experience violence and confusion in the social grouping. Multi-male is the standard, and although Top Dog usually gets some sexual action, females aren’t as picky as other primates are, and this causes friction, but usually only among the males competing for some action.

We humans are the only ones whose females will fall for any old line and with males who invest nothing but a few minutes of what is often copious amounts of spare time spent doing nothing else to experience the act of reproduction. We are also the only ones who are rejected out of hand once a relationship has developed, especially when there are children involved.

Loyalties are vital in primate communities, and although the width and depth of those loyalties vary from species to species, they are ignored at the peril of all.

Can we imagine a human world where young men are kept in line, children and women are valued for their very being, and where only men who have earned the right can not only breed, but have any sex at all?

Perhaps monogamy isn’t meant for humans at all, but it would be easier on all of us if we could figure out a system that doesn’t so often end up causing so much damage to so many.

 

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Who lies about their age?

Posted in NaBloPoMo, Older women, On getting older on November 17, 2007| 2 Comments »

I don’t know if it’s a Boomer thing, an island thing, or just a thing with people I choose to have conversations with, but I don’t know anyone who lies about their age.

Okay, I don’t know any ADULTS who lie about their age. That is more accurate because I do occasionally run into the four-year-old claiming to be five and the eight-year-old who so longs for puberty that “I’m nine” pops out almost without thinking, prompting the issuance of an involuntary groan from somewhere near the please-don’t-rush-it area of my brain.

But grownups declaring a false age? Nope. I’ve not even heard a dodge in a long time, nor a “How old do you THINK I am?” recipe for disaster. When the subject comes up, as it does, real numbers pop out.

Being 56 … see what I mean? … I’m old enough to remember TV episodes in which Lucy or Donna or June clearly made the point that asking a lady’s age was a sin punishable by glares and accusations of totally inappropriate rudeness and that lying about how may rings were on one’s tree was not only a right, but a responsibility to womanhood in general.

People were expected to chronologically constipate at 29, or at the very outer limit of 39, and stay that way until sometime around 80 when they could relax enough to unclench and own their age.

Trying to pass as younger has never made much sense to me. It seems preferable to be seen as a semi-ravishing 50-year-old who appeals to some tastes than a tired 39 who looks to have been rode hard and put away wet way too often.

I mean, really! Who do people think they’re fooling?

Anyone with eyes notices hair color that comes from a bottle and spots neck wrinkles and liver spots even post-botox, so the charade seems to be a game of one. Does anyone really think that the generation of your mother’s hands at the end of your arms is an invisible phenomenon?

In my crowd, thinning skin and too-frequent urges to pee are nothing to be denied …. What would possibly be the use of that? … but commiserated and comfortingly compared.

For the most part, people in my world are okay with the aging thing. We can name it, we can claim it, and we won’t be shamed into lying … the capital of the State of Denial … because there is no shame in the neighborhood. We may creak and crack and come in handy as visual aids in lectures on gravity, but we hold our heads up high on these scrawny necks of ours, happy enough to be whatever age we are.

After all, we are well aware of the alternative, and that is NOT dewy youth no matter how hard one tries to make it so.

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Blah, blah, blahg

Posted in Adoption, Adoption Advocacy, Angelina Jolie, International Adoption, Island life, NaBloPoMo, Older women, On getting older, Younger men on November 15, 2007| 2 Comments »

There are topics arrayed before me like so many tubs of ice cream at a Ben & Jerry’s, some even looking as potentially tasty as Chunky Monkey, but I haven’t the energy to dip.

You see, I’ve already written almost 2000 bloggity blog words … 1,811 to be precise… on three blogs, and although I do this most days AND manage to plop something here since it’s NaBloPoMo, today it’s simply not in me to wax on again about the fact that today is Mark’s birthday or the very interesting “All Things Considered” piece on race in America or the new blather on Angelina Jolie’s adoption issues.

If you’re interested in what I’ve written, you can check out the News Blog, the Older Parent Blog, or the International Adoption Blog.

I’m going to go for a nice, long shower and get myself smelling sweet, brushed and tidy so I can welcome my Birthday Man home in an hour. Once clean and dressed, I’m going to sit down and read to my kids until Daddy’s truck pulls up and we all run to greet him with smiles on our faces and joy in our hearts.

Oh, one thing …

This morning, Mark asked Sam if he had any presents for him. Sam answered, “Of course I do, but you don’t get anything until tonight!”

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