It’s versing to surrender, I must say.
To the eccentric, wacky willful stage.
Bag Lady, cats and hats – but not the gray!
Alas, this flailing, flaunting facing age!
With ready thoughts and tricks to just say yes,
To voicing my opinions, no holds barred.
So what if my persona is a mess!
Must stifling what I think and want be hard?
I’ll rummage in my closet for some beads.
You know the sort, from Hippie Dippy times –
And casting off expectant looks and deeds,
Instead – I’m woman, hear me roaring rhymes!
I love the thought; it’s freedom I would get.
But no, I may not find myself there yet.
* * *
My recent days and nights, a blur of words –
And pleasant moments, too, that lighten limbs;
But workaholic habits? For the birds!
(Big Bird, you say? Fall prey to budget whims? )
Nay I prefer to think of wings that spread –
Our own, for good (and fun), if we may dare.
Perhaps I’ll frizz and paint my locks bright red?
(Hot shoes are non-negotiable; not hair.)
When I resort to couplets in the breeze
You know the brain is mush, the eyes a blur –
As rhyme pours forth (some writer’s rag disease),
Would that I were cured by java stir.
I long for a community of gals –
A mix of writers, thinkers, real world pals.
* * *
‘Tis so, I conjure images of friends,
My Carrie, Charlotte, Sam, Miranda, too –
That is the sort imagined, as life bends
us to our tears, our years – evolving brew,
With women there to hold each other tight
Through triumphs, worries, clawing back again,
Our reach for strength in joy or fear, our fight –
Realizing we will feel it all, it’s when
We never know, and that’s the trick to this –
The juggling, loving, striving, asking “how?”
Of course we want adventure, meaning, bliss –
Could crazy hair and plumes bring freedom now?
Those nights for counting sheep? I still say no.
Instead I cling to dreams I can’t let go.
* * *
Oh hours, too short! The work yet to be done!
It fills my days with voices, they give back –
Yet I had hoped by now my battles won,
And sweet desires at last would be on track.
We do not always choose the journey’s route,
But wacky women earn their place – not so?
Perhaps I’ll give all planning my best boot?
And venture forth wherever I might go!
Instead I hold my tongue – and don’t – I write,
Accepting life and change; there is no “free” –
Our times for better, times for worse in sight –
Deranged? Not quite. Regrouping – more “to be.”
I mourn and also celebrate this “me,”
Emergent into “us” – can you not see?
I grinned through this whole thing, because I can relate. I used to pretend that Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha were my friends, too. xo
🙂
Thanks, Kitch.
Eccentric, wacky, willful stage! My grandmother hit that stage at about 50-55. It is never too early 🙂
This touched me on almost every point, but for me hot shoes are negotiable. Comfy shoes are not.
A community of women friends – in the real world. What makes it so difficult to find community? (I had to look up the Sex in the City reference.)
Another fun Friday…Write! Write! Write! Yes, please 🙂
I think some of us were born with those seeds well in place…
That we never enjoyed them is quite a disgrace!
Your grandma sounds fun, but did she wear hats?
And comfy shoes welcome – just like the cats!
🙂
A community of gals?
Such a boon.
But real world pals?
I, too, would like that soon.
Yes!
Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha were great 🙂 Great post.
Thanks, Ayala. Fun to write.
I always wanted the Sex & The City group, but it never happened for me. I think it’s rare to have 4 people who are mutual best friends to that degree. It seems that people generally pair off (even with friends) and only casually socialize in larger groups. Have you found your S&TC cohort?
Many years ago, Ms. HalfEmpty, I had a few women as individuals who were close friends of that sort. Never an intimate group though. Except perhaps in college. Always wanted it though – long before SATC was conceived! (Yes, pairing off is more common.)
Let your freak flag fly, I say! But then I AM a frizzy redhead and there is just a certain genetic freakiness in that…
In Arles, there is a lady of unknown age that has decided to make a personal fiesta of her appearance. It shifts slightly with the seasons but her current look seems to be pirate topped with a black lace mantilla. Her dogs (she used to have three but two have passed away of sausagedom) sport dirty Hermes scarves around their necks. It is said that she was previously an editor at a major French magazine and she is treated as a community figure, not derided.
She has coffee with her girlfriends on the Place du Forum. How I wish I had girlfriends to have coffee with but I don’t. So yes, I miss that too. While too individualistic to ever have had une bande des copines, I would be so delighted to have a tête à tête on a regular basis…
Bon Dimanche,
H