This one’s for you, No. 7….and you, and you, and you!

The boredom of my 46 mile drive into work allows for some pretty deep thinking.  As I navigated down the mighty Taconic Parkway this morning, that little light went off in my head and I made a bunch of mental notes to get these thoughts out as soon as I got into my office.

One of my “blogging buddies” is on a journey; she shares her experiences; up, down and in-between and I commend her for the eloquence in her writings, her intelligence and…her bravery.   We message back and forth about how we inspire each other; like myself, she grew up with a challenged sense of self-worth, reinforced by family inadequacies that leave one wondering, who am I, how did I get here and why do I stay?

Those questions haunted me for years, chipping away, both at my existence and ability to function as a reasonable, balanced individual.  Then, one day, I was introduced to a book that helped me to make sense of why I lived as an outsider in my own life, and everyone else’s,
Women Who Run With the Wolves, written by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes.

Briefly, the Synopsis….

Within every woman there is a wild creature–an inner force filled with passion and creativity. Unleashing this natural power and reclaiming the feminine soul is the subject of Women Who Run With the Wolves. Drawing from her work as a Jungian psychoanalyst and poet, Estés uses her own stories and folk tales to inspire a new level of self-knowledge among women everywhere.

It is a long read and a deep one; well worth your time, it certainly was of great help to me.

As it relates to my friend, “No.7”, and anyone else out there, one passage from this book pertains to how we too often feel like we don’t belong, even in our own skin.  Based on folklore, Dr. Estes writes about how various Indian tribes believe that we come to this earth as stars, falling from the sky into the home of a family.  All too often, stars land in the wrong place thus explaining that lack of fitting-in with our parents and extended families; always on the edge of their lives and never quite able to exist in their world.

So, all you wild women out there, grab a copy or the audio version of this book…and then go polish off your star!




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The melody lingers on….

Does your day ever start with a song on the radio that ends up dancing through your head, repeatedly, all day long?

Mine just did and it has me smiling on a rainy, gloomy, Monday morning to boot; the familiar tune drifting across my kitchen brought back a pleasant memory.
 

Allow me to set the scene……
  
                  

 
A hot summer day, in 1974, finds me en route to Jones Beach State Park in New York, driving my huge Pontiac Catalina station wagon; 400 cu in V8 <manly-type grunt>, heavy as an ocean liner, fully equipped, including the latest 8-track Quadraphonic tape player, <sigh>  how I loved that car!

 
In the back seat, my firstborn daughter, age 2 ½, decked-out in the cutest bright pink bikini, direct from Bamberger’s (known now as Macy’s).  Jennifer sported her “Pebbles Flintstone” hairdo and bobbed back and forth, clapping her hands, to the Hues Corporation as the group sang “Rock the Boat” on the car stereo.

                                                  
No Astronaut-engineered, claustrophobic, car seats back then, heck, parents tethered their offspring into their vehicles with just the seat belt. Most children, like my daughter, managed to slip out of the restraint and stood up to look out of the car window.

Looking back, I was impressed at how well she held on around sharp turns.

I know, I know, cars were so much bigger thirty years ago and people were not so hell-bent on driving as if they were in the Indy 500. Road trips were enjoyable, even with children in the car because the necessity of being “connected” to a choking assortment of electronic devices in our automobiles back then did not exist!

No Cell Phones, Navigation, iPods, Mobile Video and game systems, Bluetooth this n’ that or Radar Detectors combined to create hazardous distractions while we were on the highways and bi-ways.  We talked with our kids while driving, reached into the back seat, without losing control, either to feed snacks or administer a slap, when necessary.  Let’s face it, we were not in as much of a mad rush to go everywhere as we are in present times yet managed to all arrive in one piece!

Nope….life, for me, was just a happy song, shared by a mother and her child, on a beautiful summer morning, on their way to a day at the beach.

                                                        

      


 

      

 

                                                             
 

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That twisted circle of life….here we go again!

How addictive is this?  Blogging, I mean.

First, that little voice lurking inside your head keeps telling you that “you’ll have nothing of interest to write about, so why bother?” then, thanks to a friend who has taken the blog-plunge before you, it grabs hold of you with a power all its own and….voila`!

So much of what is shared on blogs revolves around topics similar to events taking place in each of our lives; no matter what age-stage we’re presently stumbling through, the same principles apply.  One of my favorite web logs is written by the sister of a good friend; a young mother with a small tribe of children who shares her quest for sanity with intense humor and wisdom.  Here I sit, more than 30 years after experiencing the same “toddler turmoil” and this could be me writing her same words.

30 years ago, there was no internet, no “mommy groups” or “play dates”, just good old Dr. Spock which I carried around like a bible with the page on “Toddler Troubleshooting” permanently bookmarked. 

Okay, there wasn’t any such page, I made it up.  Sue me. 
Just a test to see if you were paying attention.

My point is that everything stays the same, it just wears different disguises as we find our way down that bumpy road of child-rearing.  I only wish that the ability to share, to vent, laugh and cry, as I raised my three children, had been looking back at me through a computer screen all those years ago. 

                                                               

I only wish that I could do it all again. 


Yes….really, I do!

Thank you…….Narragansett Number 7!

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