A FLOWER DRUM SONG

How did it become June 12th? Time is moving so fast that I figure I must be having fun. But I'm not doing the things that most people find fun and thats where I get a little mental. Now that Stephen and the boys have been away for 4 weeks and we are cruising into our last week of girls at home while the guys are out adventuring on the high seas, I am aware of a constant whiney bitch inside my head. She says...what have you done with your time? What do you have to show for it? How have you changed? Where's the evidence? Why haven't you been more adventurous and out there? Why aren't you taking advantage of the space and developing a social life?...and blah blah blah. When she gets really worked up she compares me to my mother who loves nothing better than to sit happily in her chair and read. Now that she is 85 she can even read books a second time and not even realize she's already read it but for a vague whisper of familiar about the story. She is easily content and doesn't give a hoot about what anyone else thinks she should be doing. But the whiney bitch can turn that lovely quality about Mum into a cowardly, unambitious old lady who's hiding from the world and playing it safe by not going out and interacting socially. Truth be told...part of me judges my mother and always has. I attributed all the fun and adventure and financial growth to my Dad as a child. It was easy to do that because he was gone 6 1/2 days a week and there was plenty of white canvas to draw what I imagined to be his world. Mom, on the other had, was always at home. I saw what she did and I judged her choices as being boring, repetitive, exhausting, unfulfilling and unimaginative. The blue and the pink took on their attributes at an early age. As I look back, it becomes clearer to me why it was that in high school, I painted my bedroom creme colored and navy blue. Besides the fun of horrifying my mother because the color was so dark, I was making the statement that I wanted to be like my Dad...boyish, blue, free as a bird. I was so judgmental of femaleness that I swore I'd never marry or have children. My fantasy life was to work in the Peace Corps over in Africa and have a lifetime of wild and exotic adventures that I could write home about. Albert Schweitzer and my Uncle John(a surgeon) were my heros and I fancied myself to be someone who could make a difference.

I spent a lot of energy being angry at my mother. I was blinded by my judgements of her and totally unable to see that when she chose to stay home, she was happy with her choice. She loved having her 5 daughters as long as they gave her plenty of space. She rode horses and took dance and played tennis...but I saw her as chained to the house and all the dreary housework. She was "just a housewife" but only in my perception.

No. I didn't write the Great American Novel during my 5 weeks. I didn't master a new art form or break into an exciting social circle. I didn't travel anywhere that would be far enough to make Sadie throw up...she gets carsick. Most of my travel was on foot. I did realize that I constantly compare myself to men particularly in the areas of fixing broken things and making money...both areas are my inner special needs child. Here I am living a rich and satisfying life growing my own food, writing, making art and enjoying the great outdoors and I can't let myself enjoy because I can't fix things like Stephen or make as much money...so that means I'm a failure, right? Only to the whiney bitch. This break in my life's routine has been eye-opening...and rich. I spend so much mental energy berating myself for not being an adventurous handyman that I fail to appreciate just what I have accomplished and how brave I am at what I do do. If your trying so hard to be blue how can you appreciate yourself being pink?

I did do a water color of a bluebird...and because there has been an Indigo Bunting hanging around for 4 days, I looked into its symbolism and discovered it is an omen of "safe return home"...all blue...as blue as I felt thinking I missed a lifetime opportunity to sail with my family in the Caribbean. Lucky for me, I understand the power of a deep exhale and the satisfaction of a fresh breath.

If I was born blue...it was only because I had the cord wrapped around my neck and needed desperately to take that deep fresh BREATH to become who I was born to be...a healthy pink little girl. So out the door I skipped to pick some flowers for my table...3 blue Lupine and one pink...a bold pretty pink it is indeed. I'm reminded of putting on shows with my sisters to a recording of Flower Drum Song. My favorite number I performed with what I thought was witty sarcasm...I Enjoy Being A Girl. Now that I've sucked the sarcasm out of it I can sincerely say at 58...dammit...I enjoy being a girl. Pink is a perfectly brilliant color...