I’m already dashing to a meeting, and if not for the urgency of the emails I wouldn’t have taken the time.

Stress!

I fill my travel mug with coffee and it begins to leak, so I opt for Plan B – a tall blue glass that will fit in the car’s cup holder. I top it with foil and a rubber band to prevent any spills en route – and it works!

The meeting runs over. A great deal over. I’m on a tighter than usual schedule today – one of my sons is due home tonight. I made one market run yesterday, but I need to stop at the local superstore to pick up paper products, snacks, O.J. and milk. I know the layout like the back of my hand, so it’s sure to be a breeze – except – they’re remodeling!

It takes twice as long to find my basics, and I feel my day spiraling down.

Sitting at a red light in unusually heavy traffic (I’m stressing, I’m stressing), I call my son to confirm our arrangements. He had given me an Estimated Time of Arrival, but instead of answering from the location where I expect him to be – he’s on his way to the airport already. It seems the flight information he gave me was off – (surprise, surprise) – and he’s due into town some three hours earlier.

Stress!

More Stress?

I rearrange my shuffling schedule in my head as I drive, and arriving home, I grab the now empty glass from the cup holder and set it on top of the car. Rats! It slides off and shatters – right next to my tire and yes, my foot. My nearly-bare-in-sandals foot.

Blue glass in shards – sparkling in the sun. But hey, no cuts, no blood – I got lucky.

Still – care to guess at the expletives which were uttered as I stood and stared? Care to imagine my anger (at myself), my new recalculation of time lost, and worry about how I could possibly maneuver my car out - so I can pick up my son?

We have a shop vac. It’s somewhere in the basement. I’m not strong enough to lift it – if I can even find it.

Stress, stress, stress!

I recognize my choices – continue to fly through my day, potentially causing accident after accident – or, stop, take a breath, imagine the worst case scenario, and reconsider everything relevant – in order to stop the spiral.

My Stress Runneth Over

A year ago, two years ago – I’m not sure I would have chosen wisely. Now? Something in me has changed. I’ve learned how to stop a spin, and redirect.

The leak in my coffee mug?

Out of my control.

The unusually heavy traffic this morning?

Out of my control.

The flurry of emails that required even a minimal response?

Likewise, though answering was a judgment call.

The meeting that ran over?

Out of my control.

Everything else?

Entirely up to me.

The worst possible scenario? Nothing dire. And the glass sliding off the car was the result of my rushing, and not paying attention. I knew that immediately – and it forced me to stop and assess.

Sanity Check?

I carefully back myself out of the broken glass, walk to the other side of the car, climb into the back seat and scoot the bags toward me. I carry the cold things inside, and put them in the fridge. Everything else?

It will keep.

Without a shop vac, the best I can do is pick up as much glass as possible while protecting my hands; I bring a heavy paper bag outside, and use gloves and paper towel to do just that.

Then I get back in the car and maneuver it here and there in the driveway, inch by inch, to distance it as much as possible from the area where glass remains. All I can do is hope that when I go out to pick up my son, I don’t inadvertently puncture a tire.

Inside, I sit. I eat. I drink water.

I put away the rest of my purchases, get laundry in the washer, and dinner defrosting.

Reality Check: Perspective and Priorities

I am not cut. The car is a fine. The world is not coming to an end. My son will be home early – and that’s great!

No stress.

Perhaps this is the secret to work-life balance. There is no balance per se; but there is reason, there are priorities, there are moments of centering and perspective.

I make a list of the absolute essentials for the next few hours – and hours are all that remains to my possible work day.

In the Real World, there are things we can control and things we can’t. There are choices we make and consequences we navigate. Accidents happen. The unexpected throws us off course. We can react, and reorient.

We can learn to stop the spiral.

• How do you handle those days when everything seems to spiral out of control?

• Have you learned to put the brakes on before things worsen?

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

]]> http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/16/stopping-the-downward-spiral-stress-stress-no-stress/feed/ 9 http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/15/movable-truth/ http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/15/movable-truth/#comments Tue, 15 May 2012 15:04:51 +0000 BigLittleWolf http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/?p=35421 Continue reading →]]> I say the words to myself: This is my truth, not the truth. This is my reality, not the only reality. When I affirm that truth is not static, my shoulders relax and my anger begins to dissipate.

In recognizing the truth of the movable truth, I am more adrift, yet more at ease.

Recently, I was re-reading a post by  William Quincy Belle, You Can’t Go Home Again. Musing on leaving marriage via the divorce route, he addresses the many ways in which we change, along with our notions of home.

He also addresses the concept of truth. He reminds us that the truth is not static; there is no one truth, only our perceptions at a point in time, our stories formed around experience.

It is years since my marriage ended in divorce, and in Mr. Belle’s words on evolving truths, I recognize that my views have broadened.

Relearning Truth in Light of Endings

My truth today is not my truth of a decade ago. The truth as lived by my children will not resemble my view of the same events. And each of my sons will have his own version of the truth.

My ex? His view of the truth is his alone; it is based on his perceptions, and altered by the life he has made since. It is no less valid – for him – even if our truths are dissimilar.

One of the realities I’ve come to accept is that he may rarely (if ever) think of our marriage. It would seem only logical; he remarried quickly, his career was uninterrupted, and his finances essentially unaffected. More importantly, the speed with which he refashioned a life – replacing me and our history, such as it was – lingers as part of my hurt, though it may have served as the soft landing that guaranteed he would never feel much sense of loss.

Men and Women, the Divorce Lens

As for those thoughts on my ex, they are exactly that.

Thoughts. Assumptions. I have no “basis” in fact.

Another assumption? That he has missed his children. I simply can’t imagine it otherwise.

The fact remains – we all exist through the personal lens – whether we recreate the past in memory as a means to abide it, or time and wisdom teach us that neither our impressions nor our declarations are objective.

There is also little doubt in my mind that men and women process emotions differently, communicate across purposes, and act (or act out) accordingly.

There is no doubt in my mind that those who view themselves as the injured party in any painful dispute bear wounds that will color their truth.

Teaching our Children and Ourselves

It’s an interesting challenge – teaching our children about truth and falsehoods, yet conveying that there isn’t a single truth, a “one right way” in most decisions or opinions.

Sure, there are avenues of behavior and accountability that adhere more closely to what we deem morality, or responsibility, or even proper manners. There are also behaviors that conform – or don’t – to legality, which is another discussion.

But I stand by my belief that there are few absolute truths – only words, actions, and omissions that may bubble up out of emotions we can’t control or comprehend. Then there is the express desire to inflict harm, or behavior fueled by Self above all else.

These are not the same.

Living With Truths – and Doubts

To live with ourselves – we tinker and justify, we expand and accept, we constantly reshape our malleable and movable truths.

We also manage our equally pliable doubts.

Admitting that we may not see all sides of a situation doesn’t mean we forfeit a clear eye, or the fundamental accuracy in our evaluation. But it remains just that – our personal evaluation.

We don’t always know the facts, the feelings, the unconscious motivations of another much less ourselves. We exercise bias in everything. Perhaps we should learn from that.

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

]]> http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/15/movable-truth/feed/ 12 http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/14/return-to-the-dark-side-mad-men-season-5-episode-9-dark-shadows/ http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/14/return-to-the-dark-side-mad-men-season-5-episode-9-dark-shadows/#comments Mon, 14 May 2012 17:08:21 +0000 BigLittleWolf http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/?p=35427 Continue reading →]]> Barnabas Collins? He doesn’t make an appearance, but “Dark Shadows” is an apt title for Episode 9 of Mad Men as our favorite characters do battle with their own demons – and lose.

I’ll give the Ray of Light Award to Megan, for her maturing mastery of managing between a rock and a hard place, as Don, Roger, Pete, and Betty give in to moodier, uglier, fear-inspired sides of themselves.

It’s a nifty episode, exposing their discomfort in dealing with the past and the passage of time, both of which are nipping at their heels in an increasingly dog eat dog world.

Sink your teeth into your partner’s neck to stay alive? You bet.

Use your soon-to-be ex-wife to land an account? No problem. Go behind your partners’ backs to one-up them? Naturally. Sleep with your commuting buddy’s wife? Yup. Plant an inappropriate story in your adolescent’s psyche to get even with a former spouse? Why not!

Pick Your Poison

I feel a sponsorship announcement coming on:

Brought to you by the New York casting of the hit low-budget series, Dark Shadows. We offer you diabolically dueling spouses, backstabbing exes, conniving co-workers, and generational gyrations! Hide your lovely necks at all cost, and carry that cross close – just in case…

Exactly who is at war and why?

So many skirmishes, so little time.

We’ve got Howard and Beth Dawes in the Bedroom Wars. We have Roger and Jane in the Apartment (and Bedroom) Wars. Don and Ginsberg face off in the I’m-the-best-Creative Wars or, possibly, the I’m-Not-Over-the-Hill-Yet campaign.

We have Don and Betty in the Post-Divorce Jealousy Wars. We have Pete playing pawn in Howard and Beth’s tit-for-tat, as well as his ongoing engagement in a hate-fest with Roger.

Dark shadows indeed! How appropriate that Don played dirty to get his campaign in front of the client, and his concept for the devil wins their confidence! Then again, it’s Madison Avenue. Isn’t that part of the feckless and ferocious fun?

Sally Draper Therapy Fund?

While we’re enumerating conflicts, shall we add the female fat wars to the mix? Shall we book Sally’s visits to the shrink now, starting about 1972? Sooner perhaps, given the number that Bad Bad Betty does on her daughter?

And just when we thought it was safe to go back in the kitchen!

Betty is attending Weight Watchers. Betty is pitifully eating tiny bites of prescribed food groups. Betty is counting her chews, shooting up with Reddi-Whip, trying her best not to feel her feelings.

Betty is miserable fat – and Betty is fat because she’s miserable.

But let’s not leave it there. Misery loves company, right? Why not inflict your unhappiness and jealousy on your daughter – and at the most impressionable age? Sally gets along well with Megan, so let’s trash that relationship if possible! And put a wedge between Sally and her dad while we’re at it!

So here’s the, uh… skinny…

Betty picks up the kids at Don’s apartment (for the first time). One can only imagine the difficult emotions she’s processing, but catching a glimpse of Megan changing her clothes means trouble. The comparisons are plentiful: Betty’s fat, Megan’s thin. Betty’s been told she’s middle-aged, Megan is young. (Don leaves Megan love notes… Betty, not so much.)

Bad Betty is anxious to ooze some venom, and that’s exactly what she does. Sally is gathering information for a Family Tree, and Betty drops the bomb to be sure to include her father’s first wife, Anna, the one who came before Betty.

Sally’s confused, surly, and doesn’t know who to trust. And who can blame her? Thank goodness for Megan the Mediator, Megan whose maturity reins, Megan who tells Sally just enough – and then encouraging Don to cool down, and offer her an appropriate truth.

Don’s Dark Side

Lest anyone think that Don isn’t capable of a few (dirty) tricks, happiness with his new wife hasn’t cleared his character of competitiveness.

With Megan less involved in the daily doings of the agency, Don is revving up the creative engines, but it’s clear he’s out of practice. We see him struggle with his concept for the upcoming drink campaign.

We also see him flip through Ginsberg’s notes on it – and stay late in the office to brainstorm. When he’s due to take his pitch and Ginsberg’s to the client, he intentionally leaves Ginsberg’s behind, offering his alone and securing the business.

In several elevator scenes (descending in and out of Hell?), we see the conspiring partners in various combinations, but I must say, Ginsberg next to the grimmer (and older) looking Don makes for an intriguing contrast.

Will it be harder for Don to dig into his wonder well than it once was? Will he have to fire up his Dick side in that Win At All Cost incarnation that helped him get this far?

Roger, You Selfish Bastard

There’s something irresistibly slippery about Roger. He’s old school glam and glib, but oh, he does it so well! We fall for it every time – and Jane certainly does. By pretending their marriage is intact, Roger can squire his (conveniently “Semitic”) wife to sit with the Rosenbergs at dinner, and sweet talk them into the Manischewitz account.

Jane negotiates herself a new apartment out of the deal, and Roger agrees to pay for it. She needs a new place so she can start over “without memories.” But following a successful dinner with the prospects (and Roger, jealous of the attentions paid to Jane), the sexy Sterling seduces his wife.

The morning after, Jane realizes their lovemaking ruined this apartment for her as well. Score one for Roger’s selfishness. Then again, maybe he was just practicing a little Make Love, Not War?

Pete, You’re No Don

Who wasn’t surprised when pretty little Beth Dawes walks into Pete’s office dressed only in a fur coat, black lace panties, and pearls?

“You can’t be here,” Pete says.

But she locks the door, slinks over to her target market, and… what red-blooded American boy, hand on naked breast, could possibly say no?

But unlike Don whose philandering is legendary, Pete lacks finesse and appropriate reserve when it comes to his conquests. He may have been smiling on his red couch in the afterglow, but at the end of what turns out to be a lousy week, he rips into Howard on the commuter train. The duller than dirt insurance salesman is bitching about Beth, and talking about his “girl.”

Pete’s nasty retort:

Why don’t you go spend Thanksgiving with your girl and I’ll go to your house and screw your wife.

Howard pauses, and then says:

Good luck with that. I guess the grass is always greener.

Uh-huh.

Kitchen Dramas, Poor Betty

Viewing Betty at Weight Watchers is both fascinating and sad. Seeing her struggle with her hunger – and give in to her anger – is a common theme among women. Who hasn’t tried to fill their emptiness with food at one point or another? How many of us sat in dark kitchens and watched our mothers in the 1960s and 1970s going through exactly this behavior – all their crushed dreams and passive aggressive acting out wrapped up in food?

Are we exploring the birth of the American Woman’s Fat Issues? I hope so.

But that isn’t all we see in the Francis kitchen. We’re treated to a moment of sweetness between Henry and Betty, as it nears midnight (when vampires are on the prowl?) and he cooks himself a steak, offers her a bite, and they talk about his disappointment over his political career. The tone of her voice is comforting and loving. I am reminded of early episodes with Don – a more innocent Betty at age 28 – there to support her husband, whatever he says or does.

Despite her cutting remarks and childish behaviors, I feel sympathy for Betty (or is it Sympathy for the Devil?) – she’s shut out, she’s divided; she shared the ending of her marriage, though to say that she caused it would be unfair. Yet she sees what could have been and wasn’t. She sees what she may have thrown away. The light, openness, energy, and color in Don’s new household are striking in comparison to the gloom in the Francis Manse.

Sweeping the Clouds Away

Betty has always been about keeping up with the Joneses to some degree, taking for granted her privilege (as well as her beauty). Now she’s been replaced by a woman who is younger, who is thin, who gets along with her children, and whom Don genuinely loves.

If you ask me, Megan has everything that Betty wants. Megan also seems to recognize changes in the weather – the clouds of smog outside their window, or Don’s moods and how to deal with them. But Betty’s world is a bleak and shadowy place. And dammit – she’s hungry!

As the episode closes (to Maurice Chevalier singing the 1930 hit “Up on top of a rainbow, sweeping the clouds away…”), we see Betty and children sitting at the dining table with Henry. They’re about to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner, and Bobby insists they state what they’re thankful for.

With what appears to be one Brussels sprout, one small slice of turkey, and one dollop of potatoes on her plate, Betty says:

I’m thankful that I have everything I want… and no one has anything better.

Season 5 photos: Click images above to access originals at AMCTV.com.


For more musings and reviews on Mad Men, pop by here.

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

Then I was thinking maybe I was just having an off day. Another matter entirely.

Perhaps if I took the occasional day off, I might have fewer off days.

Then again, in reality, I don’t have a great many off days – or days off. That has everything to do with the way my mind works, the way I make my living, and that “motherhood” thing, not to mention the way my schedule (and my cup) runneth over.

I can only say: I must like it that way.

Naturally, the occasional conflict erupts arises, when there just isn’t enough of me to go around. That’s when I wish for that  48-hour 30-hour day, imagining it could help, though I’d likely give too much of myself away fill it too quickly – and then what?

Ah, the 21st Century Woman’s Plight… Or is this a scenario that stretches back at least a few generations – say, to the tumultuous and transitional 1960s? (Colonel Mustard on the Fainting Couch with Betty Draper?)

It’s Mother’s Day, it’s Sunday, the rain is coming down in sheets and I ought to fill and refill Mr. Coffee and then avail myself of the virginal soaking tub (at last).

Instead, I’m pondering the inevitable clash of roles that occurs in gazillions thousands of households on a daily basis, as checklists, kids, spouse or partner, unfinished work, laundry, the trail of kitty cat hairballs – must I go on? – all seem to collide and are calling your name as the Sole Proprietor of Making Things Right.

So you run away from home take a breath and focus on priorities: even if someone goes without for a day, even if the disposal is clogged (along with the feline), even if the Hubs is scowling, the little ones are whining, and the big ones are fighting over the car keys – it’s not the end of the world. 

And when you wake up to a morning like that, when everything in your body is screaming whispering to Just Stay In Bed No Matter What, you tell yourself (and everyone else) – you’re taking the damn day off. 

Well, a few hours anyway.

So skip the dirty dishes.

Order a pizza at dinner time.

Don’t work, don’t think, don’t stress, ignore the noise, ignore the silence, ignore the kids the hubby the telephone whatever it takes to just breathe. Everything that tugs at you will still be there tonight or first thing in the morning. And sometimes an off day is the best messenger that a day off is in the, well… offing.

• Do you give yourself a Mental Health Day at home now and then?
• Do you live with a loved one who insists on it?
• Do you crave silence and alone time to regroup?
• Do you seek out socializing to renew your Super Powers?

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

]]> http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/13/day-off-or-off-day/feed/ 11 http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/12/happy-un-mothers-day/ http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/2012/05/12/happy-un-mothers-day/#comments Sat, 12 May 2012 15:51:45 +0000 BigLittleWolf http://dailyplateofcrazy.com/?p=35383 Continue reading →]]> I know, I know. It’s Mother’s Day Weekend, and many of us are gathering around family, specifically our mothers and grandmothers, or our children are gleefully coloring and crafting little gifts to present as tokens of their love.

But spending Mother’s Day with the woman who raised you isn’t always possible. For instance, my own mother is gone now. We spent many years – and possible celebrations – apart. I wish it could have been different.

Likewise, an afternoon or evening with children isn’t always possible. They may be with another parent. They may be far away, living their own lives. (They may be soon to arrive from college – though not here just yet!)

But I’m thinking of something else, of someone else, and many like her. I’m thinking about childless women – by choice or by circumstance. And everything in our culture raises an eyebrow in their direction, as if their value as women is somehow less – because they aren’t mothers.

To these women, those who have struggled with fertility issues, with years of strain on their relationships (and wallets), I would like to say that I cannot imagine the bravery and heartache you endure. Please be patient with the rest of us – with the women in particular, as it is my opinion that women judge women far more than men do.

To those women who make a conscious decision not to become mothers, to live their lives fully in their relationships, their work, their exploration of the world, and other contributions – I wish you well.

Motherhood in any variation is not for everyone. It’s often a thankless job, and again, women in particular should respect your position. Choice of lifestyle – a woman’s freedom of choice – shouldn’t be restricted to those choices we happen to agree with.

For those men and women who would love to become parents, and who never met the person with whom to make that commitment, I wish you an excellent weekend of saying yes – yes to getting out in the world, yes to whatever feels lighthearted, self-caring, and satisfying.

I wish you continued optimism if parenthood is something you still hope for – whenever and however a child may come into your life. After all, what makes you a mother isn’t necessarily biology. But you know that; we all know that. There are so many ways to influence children for the better, including as a step-parent. Even for those of us past full-time parenting our own kids, we have options for exercising our nurturing side.

To those who aren’t in relationships at the moment, or relationships that appear to be leading where you might like, I wish you less judgment from all of us – from a society that is too quick to criticize, to categorize, and to dismiss.

Sometimes, circumstances are beyond our control. If we can – we get creative, we get going, and we change course as needed.

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

And it did.

I wasn’t young and inexperienced when I took those vows. I knew what I was doing, or thought I did. I anticipated living my life with the man at my side, as a married woman, as part of a couple, as welcomed into a new family.

I expected ups and downs with a man I thought to be equally committed. Someone who would weather everything with me and with our sons, as I intended to weather everything with him.

But some storms are not weathered.

There are a hundred reasons a marriage will work, or maybe just a few important ones. There are a hundred reasons a marriage will break, or maybe just a few important ones.

When he took off the ring, long before the marriage was officially over, and refused to put it back on his finger even as we tried to work through our issues, I should have known. The writing was on the wall.

Same Sex Marriage: Thoughts

This has been an extraordinary week for some of my friends, as President Obama’s public affirmation that gay marriage should be legal is cause for celebration – and also, reflection.

As a woman who once lived with a man, committed but not married, and as a woman who was married and is now divorced – I consider my own feelings on gay marriage – and divorce – at the Huffington Post.

Incidentally, I am not against divorce any more than I am against marriage. If anything, I understand all too well the desire for both, and the need for both. Yet in the act of accepting that ring, of standing in front of a judge, a clergyman, our family and friends, in the deliberate undertaking of a legal and public commitment to wed – we move beyond a state of civil union.

I do becomes we do, and that marital status matters.

Marital Status, Subtle Stigma

Marital status matters tremendously in some instances, as we assign a hierarchy of approval of sorts whether we realize it or not. And that hierarchy imposes tacit prejudice, or at the very least, judgment and misconception.

For example, if someone is unmarried at 50 we view them as odd. We assume something must be wrong with them, rather than a more appropriate assumption that it is a choice or, they never met someone they thought they could marry.

Everything is not an explicit choice; and marrying and divorcing are examples of that. 

The stigma of divorce is less than it once was, but there is still stigma. The married woman is welcomed into certain circles in ways I couldn’t have imagined (before marrying) – and trust me, the divorced woman is not.

I have never been widowed so I can only comment on my observations of those widows I’ve known. They’ve been met with compassion, though I sense they deal with their own version of stigma.

Then there are those who marry and divorce, remarry and divorce, and continue returning to the marriage well. I can’t say I get it, and I can’t say I would ever do it. Are they eternal fools or eternal optimists – or possibly both?

Marital Practicalities

How else does that change to a “married” status impact us?

Legally, our financial obligations and resources change, as does our access to spousal benefits (health care for example, as it isn’t considered a human right in this country). So the practicalities are real – with advantages and disadvantages to tying the knot – or not. And these are only the most obvious.

Clearly, when children are involved, everything is complicated if we divorce, as we struggle with issues of custody, visitation, and support. Naturally, divorce through our children’s eyes is a subject unto itself.

Marriage: The Emotional Side

And then there is the realm of our emotions, our dreams, our sense of home – not as a place, but with another person, as part of a family, a history.

I’d like to ask about your situations.

• If there is a ring on your finger and you are legally wed, did going that extra step to marry make a difference in the depth of your commitment?

• Does the fact of joining two families “officially” create a stronger bond?

• Does it encourage you to work harder at your relationship, or have you grown lax instead – assuming it will always be there?

• If you are remarried, why did you choose to actually marry again?

• If you have chosen to stay single, why?

No Ring On My Finger

For myself, the significance of a ring is enormous. I was slow to remove my wedding ring. It felt… wrong.

I waited to marry. I considered my options. I often thought of my grandparents’ marriages, in particular of my maternal grandmother and the stormy, passionate, patient, and lifelong relationship she shared with my grandfather.

I planned to marry once and honor those vows for life.

Facing the impossibility of that, for me, remains painful.

Relationship Lessons

The years since my marriage ended in divorce have taught me much: about myself, the man I married, and what I genuinely need in a relationship. I’ve done my share of dating, had nearly given up at various points, and yet, I currently enjoy a lovely relationship which I never expected. It is a relationship that offers mutual pleasure, solace, laughter, and connection.

As for marriage?

I wish I felt differently, but I cannot imagine ever giving that much power to another person again, especially legally.

You might say that makes me a non-believer when it comes to marriage. Or, you might say it makes me a person who honors it. But I would never deny anyone the right to go for it – taking their time before marriage to know who they are and who they’re marrying.

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

Thank you.

Thank you for insisting that your brain and your chutzpah matter more than how you wear your hair or if you’re seen in glasses.

Thank you for not taking the bait when it comes to the perpetual picking at your style, rather than your substance.

Thank you for the debate that is being raised over appearances in general – an issue of performance and qualifications over artifice, if you ask me.

Thank you for showing up looking weary, as well you should, given the responsibilities of your position. Frankly, I’d be worried if you weren’t showing a bit of a change much less your age, and were instead out scouting the latest quickie beauty tips and tricks, or concierge-assisted nips and tucks.

Thank you for allowing the pundits (and yes, some of the rest of us) to feel foolish about giving a damn what you look like, though if you ask me – you look just fine and more importantly, you do us proud.

In the recent flurry of press over your “au naturel” look, also known as utterly appropriate Normalcy (in my book), I am reminded of Dorothy Sander’s Huffington Post column on Keeping Up Appearances. Dorothy points out how much time (and energy) we squander, worrying more about how we look rather than what we learn, what we say, what we do, and what we contribute in substantive ways.

So if you will allow, a thank you to Dorothy as well, for keeping women honest and aware, even as we struggle with cultural conventions, and the desire to nonetheless “look good.”

I don’t recall that we nitpicked over Madeleine Albright to this extent, during her historic tenure as Secretary of State. But perhaps I’ve conveniently forgotten if we did.

Still, we didn’t seem to mind Henry Kissinger in glasses and sans makeup, though I don’t care to imagine him in lipstick, thank you very much. All in all, I’m relieved to know that our Secretary of State is tending to India and China and Iran, rather than consulting a stylist.

Sincerely,

A Woman Taking a Lesson


Image 1 of Hillary Clinton, AP Photo / Bikas Das. Click to access original in full size. Image 2, AP.


© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

I am searching for a password to an alumnae account so I can update a profile. I am searching for the key, a combination of letters and numbers that resides somewhere on a thumb drive, itself a key. I have only to locate the right one – a small strip of brightly colored plastic.

But there are dozens of these tiny repositories now, and they house images of my boys and the dog, documents and resumes, stories begun and not yet finished.

For some of us, we are always searching.

Keys

For years it is the keys that are lost, the keys that drive me crazy, the keys that evaporate and I cannot fathom it; the house keys, the car keys, the house keys again. Even the piano keys seem to stick, and music goes missing at the worst possible moment.

For years it is about five and a quarter centimeters of metal, the grinding of the locksmith’s tool at Ace Hardware, the latest replacement in red then purple then blue. And I realize: It cannot be about the key itself.

Perhaps it is the lock, the locked door, the unlocked door.

Perhaps it is about the rescue, reassurance of the rescue, the parent who will be there.

I ought to be relieved to a degree; even at college he loses his key, not to mention his wallet. He is lucky with the key and the wallet. Both are found and returned.

He is lucky more often than not and again, I ought to be relieved.

Leashes

During the worst of the wars I hold him tight and we do not speak, though I recall that I may have hummed or cooed or spoken of nothing much, or I simply hang on, hang around, watch over. He seems so vulnerable, even as he sleeps.

During the worst of later years he chafes at the tighter leash that I maintain. To him it is a sort of choke-hold, though as a parent, I assure you it is nothing of the kind. He protests and acquiesces. He is cognizant of his inability to find the way home.

These are more than breadcrumbs. This is a tie, to protect us both.

The dog, especially as she ages, has no desire to wander and requires no leash.

The necessary order of things

His brother is the firstborn and in contrast, he articulates everything, rebels and advances, hunkers down for survival, returns for grounding. He feels it all equally – our schisms and our connections – yet he benefits not only from the looser leash, but extensive privileges.

First, we must master the basics.

Then, we will earn our latitude.

Eventually, we welcome freedom – freedom as a gradual process of loosening the apron strings, freedom to find our way home.

Changes

I am searching for the dog circling in the corner, for the child asking permission, for the honeyed ham and Swiss in the cold cut drawer so I may make his sandwiches as I have thousands of times.

I am searching for what has changed and the instant I can pinpoint: life conceived, life departed, life transformed.

Searching used to be a serious skill, even a profession. Today, its permutations undermine my confidence, as the explorer sheds his trench coat, his sixth sense, and his archaeological pleasure, opting instead for the expediency of engines.

Openings

Keys are hard: keys to the mind, to the music, to each mystery we choose to note and address.

Keys to the kingdom are elusive; the more there are locks, the more time we must invest to discover their secrets.

Keys may be small, but I know them to be weighty. Their toothy contours are deceiving, and their fit is rarely guaranteed. Yet we acknowledge their necessity and more so, their disappearance: tucked in the back of our minds and the bottom of our pockets, abandoned carelessly beneath utility bills and bank statements, tossed among lipsticks and shadows in a purse that hangs in the closet.

Openings are the sweet suitor, the temptation, the early flight of motivation. Openings carry me to the stepping stones of searching.

Locks

I am searching for the password and I find it. I open my page, update my profile, log out, and consider the two hours that are lost though I hesitate to use that word.

On thumb drive after thumb drive, there are images of my boys and the dog, my boys who fly away to college, the dog who no longer circles in the corner.

Sometimes, searching is not about finding and keys are not about gaining access. Rather, they honor the presence – or absence – of each newly encountered door.

Searching

I will not lie: I see my boys as children, and miss them.

I will not lie: I see my boys becoming men, and miss them more.

I will not lie: The breathless pace of playing Atlas carries a ruthless price tag.

I will not lie: I see my younger self and cannot see the exact moment of her departure.

Soon, it will be about arrivals. I will hear the turn of a key in the lock, or perhaps, I will leave the door ajar.



A thank you to Wolf Pascoe. His beautiful musing “A Thing Is What It Is: Truthiness” inspired this piece.


© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

Remember the reports that watching television could shorten your life?

Yep. That bad Glued-to-the-Tube habit is at the top of the list for harming heart health, along with a negative attitude, insufficient fiber, and foregoing the daily flossing.

Smoking?

It’s there, too. Even a little bit of smoking does damage, according to the article.

So how do you fare on these Healthy Heart Factors?

I admit to a great deal of sitting – and it is the sedentary nature of television watching that is cause for concern. I’m gritting my teeth and tensing up just thinking about it – spending long days (and nights) at my laptop, though I try to move around periodically – stretching, changing position, and even changing rooms.

More importantly?

I guilt myself into a brisk daily walk of 20 minutes – at least, if the weather is cooperating. And sometimes, it doesn’t require my own finger wagging; early evening promises the pleasures of nature (which makes exercise less onerous), and that leads me to the subject of attitude.

Positive Attitude, Better Health?

A dose of attitude adjustment?

I admit to needing it, all too frequently.

We know a positive attitude helps (everything), and a negative attitude hurts (everything). Citing the Yahoo article:

… researchers found that the association between an upbeat attitude and reduced cardiovascular risk held true even when they took the person’s age, weight, smoking status, and other risk factors into account.

Well now! We generally feel ourselves unwinding in happy relationships, with pets we love, or outdoor time enjoying nature. We also know the healthful impacts of laughter.

We’re aware of the other side of the coin: the deleterious effects of panic, fury, and depression. We know that stress robs us of sleep, and messes with our eating patterns. We’ve also come to understand that grieving can contribute to a broken heart, literally.

You Are What You Eat?

Fiber?

Pass the tree, and the bran muffins. I’ll hug the former, and eat the latter.

While the Yahoo article made a point of discussing the many benefits of fruits and vegetables, and a high fiber diet in general, and even included flossing among its top six Healthy Heart factors, I was surprised that obesity didn’t make the list.

Surely our poor eating habits as a nation, despite our preoccupation with weight and appearance, are worthy of a mention!

I admit – my eating routine veers off track when I’m wrapped up in writing, when I’m under stress, and also when I travel. I’ll cop to two out of three at present, with a hectic schedule, and too little attention paid to what I’m putting in my mouth, and the hour of the day I’m doing so.

Feeling Good About Self Care

Articles of this sort – what is present as well as what is missing – nonetheless serve a useful purpose. In my case, I’m nudged in the right direction, aware that I’m overdue at the Farmer’s Market (great bran muffins!), and in need of stepping away from the computer – for my health.

I have a bad habit of ignoring my own self care.

My tight jeans are an indicator that I’ve been too long at the keyboard and not long enough on the sidewalk. It’s so easy to lose our good routines when we’re under a time crunch, juggling responsibilities, and nurturing others.

Yet it’s critical to treat our bodies respectfully, despite our overfilled agendas. For our heart health and our overall well-being.

• Are you struggling with regaining discipline in any areas of your life?
• Are you looking to eat healthier or shed a few pounds as we head into summer?
• Do you practice good “heart habits” on a consistent basis?
• Am I crazy to think that a list of heart health risk factors ought to include obesity?

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy

If Don is the eternal Phoenix rising from the ashes, is Lazarus also a reference to his literal brush with death as the SCDP elevator doors open, and he catches himself before stepping into an empty shaft?

Did anyone else flash to iconic opening images of the ad man floating downward from the top of his Madison Avenue building?

Doesn’t our hero seem increasingly out of step with the times? Is he falling – whether he fully realizes it or not?

If Megan pursues her dream (which isn’t his), will he slip back or find himself stuck – unable to progress further, dependent on her youth and awareness as his guide?

While last week’s episode of Mad Men featured a roller coaster ride for our favorite characters, ending with a dismal and disappointing turn for each at the end – not so this week, though for Don, Megan, Pete and Peggy, life continues to present itself as a mixed bag.

Furtively, Megan

Megan may be good at advertising – very good, in fact – but she wants to pursue her dream of acting. She’s been sneaking around to go to auditions. Though she doesn’t get the latest part, she isn’t ready to give up – or to give in – to what might be perceived as the expectations of a transitional era.

(Shades of the Plath poem, Lady Lazarus, rising out of oppression and morphing in the process?)

Megan breaks the news to Peggy, who is indignant that Mrs. Draper doesn’t comprehend her own talents. But Megan understands it’s time to resign, breaks the news to her hubby, and Don reluctantly supports her decision.

Cue the violins; the next day is a teary one for Megan as she says goodbye, and Peggy has mixed feelings. Don? He’s happy with his wife at his side, and he also values her contribution – surprise, surprise. We see what a good team they make in the office – highlighted by Peggy’s attempts to stand in for Megan in a Cool Whip kitchen test, as she blows the pitch with Don, whereas Megan had nailed it.

Just taste it, indeed!

Megan exits, kisses her hubby goodbye, descends in the elevator – and Don pushes the button to follow her. He pauses briefly, and if he hadn’t, he would’ve plummeted to his death.

Metaphor for just how many endings? And what about Don’s future in dramatically changing times?

Furtively, Pete

Pete, Pete, Pete. What are we going to do about you? You haven’t Don’s cool nor his appeal, but your star is rising in the agency. Do we need anything else to remind us of both factors, as you clumsily drag your gift of Head skis out of Roger’s office?

And a few scenes later, Perpetually Peeved Pete is wrapped up in a steamy embrace with commuting buddy Howard’s unhappy wife. Sure, he knows all about Howard’s exploits in the city and Howard’s wife apparently knows as well. But Pete wants more than a one-time encounter with the lovely Beth Dawes. She spurns his subsequent advances, but we have to wonder if he’s willing to give up.

Don Towing the Line

Naturally, Don is frustrated with Megan. He wants her happy, he wants her at his side. But he seems to understand that letting her fly may be the only way to keep her. He says to Roger:

I don’t want her to end up like Betty, or her mother [Marie].

Don may be tender and understanding with his wife, but he takes his anger out on Peggy, as she can’t seem to remember “Just Taste It” for the Cool Whip pitch. Those were Megan’s lines, and the repartee that flies between husband and wife advertising team doesn’t fly when Peggy steps in.

Peggy – No Girl Friday!

And who can blame her? Who wants to be the Megan substitute, and still not appreciated for everything she contributes?

Peggy, Peggy, Peggy. You are your own woman! You give Megan what for, you tell Don to shut up, and you put in the hours getting the job done – with a little Mary J and Stan at your side.

And what’s not to love about the way Peggy responds to Joan, who sizes up Megan as a future failed actress with a rich husband? Very 1950s, Joanie! But you, Peg of My Heart, you respond:

I don’t know. I think she may be one of those girls who’s good at everything.

Bingo!

What Next? A Little Night Music

Music, music, music. The 1960s was certainly the decade of music evolving, music threading itself through popular culture like never before, music separating the generations – becoming noise to one, and a rapturous universe to another.

The episode is filled with conversation about music – the Beatles, Herman’s Hermits, the Zombies.

Don is bewildered by it. Here, too, Megan is his translator, and without her assist, he’s lost.

Megan on the other hand is anything but out of her element – almost anywhere. She genuinely appreciates the confidence she’s gained working at her husband’s side, and his support for her choice to pursue acting. With an almost girlish expression, barefoot and in the kitchen, she says:

I love you. You’re everything I hoped you’d be.

But did I imagine the radio in the background droning about Johnson and Vietnam?

Megan is blissful as she heads off to class. Don stands stoically in their brightly colored apartment with its spectacular views and air of contemporary savvy. Yet the man in the suit and crisp white shirt seems out of time and very alone. He puts a record on the stereo, given to him by Megan, and listens to the sounds of the future.

1960s Divide, Mad Men Mentions

Megan? She’s at home wherever she goes.

Peggy? Likewise, though her struggles appear more complex than Megan’s.

Joan seems as caught between worlds as Don. She’s in between two generations, two ways of seeing men and women, as well as the workplace, and herself.

Incidentally, did you note how brilliantly the colors and lighting were handled in this episode? There are those moody dusty tones, to highlight secrecy; the brightness of the Sterling Cooper Draper Price lobby as backdrop to Don, standing alone at the elevator bank. And the light behind him suggesting an angel on his shoulder as those doors opened and he didn’t step in without pausing – to chase after Megan?

And speaking of brilliance, how I thought of Audrey Hepburn in the scenes with Jessica Paré as she gleefully heads out to evening acting class!

She’s dressed in capri pants and flats, a muted flared jacket, her hair pulled back in a simple pony tail. She is the epitome of an early sixties Audrey – blithe, light, vulnerable, and utterly irresistible.

How could Don not want her happy? But what will it mean as she rises and he stays put?

Season 5 photos: Click images above to access originals at AMCTV.com.


For more musings and reviews on Mad Men, pop by here.

© D. A. Wolf

Big Little Wolf’s Daily Plate of Crazy