Happy Divorcee

Lunar Eclipse

2008-02-16T14:08:00.000-08:00

I suspect this is a lazy way to go--to post the pieces I chose to read for writing class. But, since there have been NO comments...this might just be whistling in the wind. I don't choose to write about my work--I work for an incarnation of the Soviet Union and we all remember what that government did to it's dissidents. No, I'm not going to rag on LAUSD or my specific place of employment--or the students (they are middle-schoolers and live up to the turmoil of that life stage. A colleague who shares some of the same students confessed that they still are cute and lovable in spite of their spite and restlessness.) I'm not going to write about relationships because they are always an amazing experience--I'm down at the bottom of the learning curve when it comes to love. My own children wouldn't speak to me if I wrote about them--so, not today. I've no real thoughts on marriage except I do feel sorry for Paul McCartney. A bad divorce is a bad divorce--with a Jacoby and Meyers attorney or using the top legal experts money can buy.

I saw Robert Graham today as I was walking home from the beach. He was standing outside his house talking to a workman. I love that black statue standing in the circle by the post office so I thanked him. He was very kind--accepted the compliment--some in the neighborhood complained about her missing head and arms--but the rest of her is so juicy! I thanked him for making her. I drive past her at least twice a day. I should have told him to read my blog! (Read about her in the last post.)

Here's this week's piece, in honor of the lunar eclipse soon to grace us:

I drove through the hills again tonight. I drove beneath the San Gabriels and through the Verdugos, past Tujunga and Sunland and Sylmar. I drove through the valley again, listening to Frank and Billie singing Night and Day and Old Devil Moon. I drove through Sepulveda Pass, but didn't crack a window to check for Night Blooming Jasmin. The fog's come in--my hair rebels.

It's been almost nine years since I left my husband in La Canada with his satellites and ion engines. I left him with my sons. I left behind my dogs. It wasn't the plan. There's never a plan. But it's what happened. I drove all the time then: through those hills, through the city. I loved the swerves of the old 110 into the city. On weekday nights I'd exit at Broadway and cruise by Chinatown, the County Building, the State Building. Disney Hall wasn't completed yet--I watched it grow, like a plant, like my children, like me. I'd move south on some one-way street and let the car go on it's own as I took in the windows of the high rises. I'd take Olympic through Korea Town and west, west, west---past where my grandfather played tennis on La Cienaga, past where my mom went to school--Beverly High, past the hang-out of my teen years--Century City, past Westwood, past Sepulveda and on to Federal and north, back home.

Getting out of downtown to West L.A. was a Chinese menu pick: I loved going down Beverly with the radio blaring and me wiggling to Santana. I drove through Rampart to Hancock Park, to Miracle Mile. I'd scout out the Black Davids near Crenshaw. I'd get lit up near Melrose or I'd take Pico all the way instead of Beverly just so I could sit at Pico and Sepulveda where I'd laugh because of the stupid song I adored at 13.

"See!," I'd tell my boys, as we'd drive through downtown on Friday nights, "here's a real city for you!" I'd remember swaying outside of MOCA at a summer Thursday night jazz concert, the horns bouncing off the skyscrapers and the clouds reflected on their sides sashaying by. I wanted them to read my mind as we rode by the Colburn music school and outdoor ampitheater and the Biltmore Hotel.

Tonight, with Billie singing "never ever change, keep that breathless charm, cause I love you..." I remembered a night of driving in which the clouds were puffed up white and proud. It'd been raining near Pasadena, but then it'd be clear in Mission Hills. There was a lunar eclipse that evening and I wanted to catch it. I could not move the cars fast enough on the 405. Stars peek-a-booed in and out behind the clouds. Fat drops fell and then stopped. I was in the pass with Coltran and the windows down for the deer's ears.

As I got close to Santa Monica I pondered getting into one of those high buildings--closer to the moon. I sped on the 10 towards the ocean and purposely picked fourth street's hill to get me to Venice. Over my shoulder, out the left window, over the apartments and houses I sought the moon dancing with the clouds. What stress and yet the music continued...

Down to Rose (where my grandparents lived in the summer of '29) to Main, to Windward and then east a few blocks. Home. I drove around my tiny triangular block to park. I drove around twice--no place to go and the sky wide open. I stopped at the sign at Windward and Andalusia. A young mother held her son in her arms and pointed at the moon. He was perhaps a year or two old. I looked up and watched too, walked to my front yard, and called my sons. The clouds were in La Canada that night. They missed that eclipse.

Canal Ghosts

2008-02-07T21:44:00.000-08:00

Here's what I read to my writing class today.

Here goes:

I hold this white laptop as I recline on my dirty yellow sofa in my slice of a small white cottage that sits on a palm-tree lined street that had once been filled with water. Sometimes the spirits of those canal days, those amusement park days, those days of prohibition and hidden rooms under local hotels, break the water mains to recreate those canals. but not this year. Last year, when the temperature dipped below 32, the spirits converged in the tiny intersection of Altair and Andalusia to set up a geyser that squirted a fountain--like a New York City summer fire hydrant. It lasted for days. On a dark night under the palms and the branches of a giant Chinese elm that droops over the corner and blocks out the light from the street lamp, a workman argued with me. Pipes don't burst from freezing temperatures in Los Angeles, I told him. It was some ghost. I didn't mention that. If I were a ghost and could hose out the concrete and asphalt to reveal the canal in which roaring twenties bathing beauties dived, I'd grab my canoe and paddle over to the lagoon to see if the naked black torso (sometimes decorated with marde gras paper mache head or peace sign stickers on her buttocks and breasts) was still there. In my time she stands facing the ocean, armless and headless, voluptuous, black and gleaming. The spirits pull her into the lagoon--an obstacle hidden under water, to paddle around--or crash into deliberately so as to join her for a wade and a splash. Under the arch-way hotels the drunken spirits sway and laugh, trudge up hidden stairs, sway through hidden pathways to see her gleaming shoulders caressed by waves from the boats. Everyone in! they yell. The roller coaster rails tumble over the crash of the waves. The park workers sleep in their small white cottages fronted with palms with fronds that explode fourth of July all the time. The ghosts of the depression sit on porches to see the fireworks and the stars--to see Altair and Orion.

I live in Venice, California--a mere five minute walk from my door to where the ocean touches the sand. Although I grew up in a different part of West Los Angeles, my grandparents lived here for a summer--in 1929, when my grandmother was pregnant with my uncle (who's a few years older than my dad). She told me about going for walks in the neighborhood around 6th and Rose with her dad. They were all from Youngstown Ohio and thought LA was hicksville.

There are some good websites to learn about the history of Venice. That statue I mention is by Robert Graham--there is a very funny article in the Venice Free Press (a hippie poet's paper if there ever was one) about him removing peace sign stickers from the statue. Google Venice History or Venice Free Press (I think it's the August issues).

I'm a student. Forever a student.

Dating--Waste of Time?

2008-02-03T13:00:00.000-08:00

It's not raining--it's windy and gray. I've not written this week because I've been fighting my cold and trying to wrap up loose ends from the fall semester. I almost forgot to go to my Thursday night writing class. But I went--it's inspiring and intimidating. Such fantastic authors! They grab my mind and make me laugh.

I've not been in a chuckling mood. On top of my little money funk, the man I'd been seeing decided that would be a good time to decide to see if he'd miss me if he didn't see me for a while. I wish he'd had the honesty of the guy who said he didn't do relationships. Mr. I Don't Do Relationships stated that when I first met him. I knew with him at least it wouldn't be about love. This one, I thought there was possibility (because I do think people can love if they want to--if they let themselves).

The thing is, I can't figure out if that's just the type of man I attract. Dating isn't fun enough for me to just play around. I'm not interested. I don't need validation that I'm attractive or can hold a conversation or even that I'm kind or affectionate--I know I'm okay. I don't need an f-buddy...that's faux intimacy to me, you might as well buy a plastic doll or use an electrical device. Being intimate with another person--not just physically, but emotionally isn't some little la-de-da picnic. But I figure if I can give love than I should be able to take it too. I've not a clue about what the men I've known think they want or why they bother hanging out with women at all. I realize they are wired to want to have sex, but at some point it's got to be boring without love.

I may be having experiences--but I wonder if it's just a big waste of time. I had other things I would have been doing that I put aside to give a guy a chance--and it bothers me that for him it must seem that there's nothing there unless there are no problems. My days are difficult--they are not the highlight of my life. I'd like my love life to be juicy and interesting--without trepidation. And yeah--if there are highs, then there will be lows. Who wants to live without the real in life--that includes sorrow, pain, and joy? I actually want something out of a partnership too. Too bad. I don't know how to attract that right now. And I'm a little pissed about it.

Clear Skies/Clear Heads Prevail

2008-01-28T19:01:00.000-08:00

The rain has stopped and the air is clean. It's cold (well for LA--50s and 60s is COLD!) and crisp and pretty. Traffic is better without the drops pounding down, but I can tell that there are more potholes. I am hesitant to say that the prior week's stress has left with the rain--it looks like things are righting themselves, financially at least. My eyes are no longer goopy, my throat no longer sore, and my nose no longer runny. Only a few sneezes today. Half of my students were out Friday. I assume we all had the same bug. There's been lots of nose-blowing and sneezing in class, but even with that the kids seemed healthier today than they did last week.

I spent most of the weekend resting so I've little to comment or report on. In the years since I was married I've spent many hours in quiet contemplation, meditation or rest. It is never too quiet for me.

I find that, for a cold, sleep and liquids, a little extra vitamin C and zinc and some babying is a great cure. I even had some chicken soup. But I did nearly nothing except read a bit.

Salon.com, Slate.com, Huffingtonpost.com, Truthout.org and Truthdig.org all carry the latest political news--I'm following the races and have even received three mailers notifying me of my polling place (these are from the county registrar--not political parties). I guess someone really does want me to vote early and often (well at least three times!) It's fun to see the hullabaloo over who might win the Republican and Democratic nominations but I just want a Democrat to win and I hope God blesses the winner--because he or she has an enormous mess to clean up and I wouldn't wish that job upon anyone.

Monkey Wrenches In the Stars? Go with the Flow.

2008-01-26T08:57:00.000-08:00

It's be a trying week. After Christmas, skinny-wallet syndrome hit hard. I've been waiting for a check to alleviate the tummy rumblings in my poor old wallet. I've been trying to make the check come to me faster. Absurd. It's out of my hands.

This situation, however, rubbed some tender value and worth scars open. This type of pain takes me back to early childhood and so, like a child I had a temper tantrum. I don't throw things or lie on the floor pounding my fists and kicking my feet anymore--not like when I was five. But I can throw an impressive pity-party: I gather up the nastiest dark rain clouds for decoration and shake up everything--the soundtrack: the smashing clouds of my angry-hurt thunder.

I think the Universe spanked me for my foolishness--first no check, then a $40 parking ticket, then a dead hard drive ($275!), raised interest rate on a credit card (26%--this should be illegal!), a ripped contact lens--the last one--and I had to drive to work (in the rain) and then work without being able to see very well, Thursday my ATM card was picked up and used by someone (someone who didn't know how to use it, fortunately). Oh yeah--and I've got a bug: sore throat, sinus congestion, and hacking cough. That's not everything--but it's enough to get the idea. It's funny now. And I still don't have that damn check!

My temper tantrum-ming is a regression that takes me deep into my mother's and my grandmother's psychic lives. All went to college. All were brilliant and creative. And no one did a thing with it--none of them could. All married men who weren't giving--men who caused them problems. And, in fact, both grandmothers married men who gambled all their money away. Nothing. They had nothing. When I get into that state of pity it's on behalf of all of us girls--but it's a useless and ugly performance.

I saw Into the Wild this week and finished reading Eat, Prey, Love. I like that Ms. Gilbert and Felipe found one another. During the last nine years on my own, after my own ugly divorce, I've teeter-tottered in my thoughts and feelings about the possibility of having a real loving relationship with a man. I've dated quiet a bit. I've seen some men for long stretches of time, but it's just not happened for me--a loving, mature relationship. I don't know if I hold myself back because I cannot suspend disbelief. I think that takes some of the fun out of the whole thing for the guys. One romance was so romantic and lovely--it was worth all the pain when it ended. I knew when I was in it, though, that it wasn't the makings of a long term relationship--but it was fantastic to feel loved and adored (I was reminded of this reading of Gilbert and Felipe). I seem to find men who have "commitment issues." My therapist says they can't let go of their mothers--or, they feel that their mothers wouldn't want them to let go so they can't move on.

I was told recently it'd be best if I just got over my own childhood. (A quick note: I don't know anyone who didn't have some version of a rough childhood. I suspect we'd all like to have been the only child and to have been doted on all the time by our parents as if we were the only thing going on in their lives. Then they'd let us go without a pang of possessiveness when it's time to leave the nest--still loving us unconditionally and playing the role of our biggest cheerleaders.)

I told my therapist "you can't get over your childhood." All these years talking--and finally a breakthrough. He agreed (but of course you can't get over it!) "you can't get over it, but you can understand it."

A friend says "you have to accept you have a hole that won't get filled."

But today I say, it's not that there are holes that need to be filled. For me it's understanding that current situations don't need a five-year-old's reactive response. Or it's understanding that my gut reactions aren't usually about what's happening now. So understanding my childhood is informative. I'm not standing, hands on my waist, stamping my foot impatiently, for the universe to serve up all my desires RIGHT NOW!

But I still really would like to have that check!

That's Entertainment

2008-01-18T07:59:00.000-08:00

There are so many good movies out now. No Country for Old Men is fantastic. It is perfection--well-acted, well-written and lovely to look at. It's super-violent though, so you're warned. The ingenuity of the main characters is fascinating and I've not been in such suspense since watching Wait Until Dark. It's very macho.

I saw There Will Be Blood. I'd have removed the last scene and played with the story a bit more although the acting was fantastic and cinematography was wonderful. The soundtrack is exciting! That was more innovative than the script. I've a bias in enjoying the scenery--I'm Californian and have worked with environmental groups to preserve lakes and animals throughout the state. I wished I could smell the sagebrush in Little Boston and walk through the stands of oak on the coast.

I've seen Sweeny Todd--another gorgeous looking movie, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Michael Clayton, Before the Devil Knows Your Dead and several others.

Aside from the movie about Queen Elizabeth and Juno where are the movies about women? Where's my life up on the screen? I suppose the answer is to write..I'm not on strike.

Oh...I forgot Sex and the City will be in theaters at the same time I'll be celebrating my forty-ninth birthday. I've always enjoyed watching that show--but it makes me want to drink and even when I was younger and cuter the opportunities to meet men weren't like in that show. Also, I'm divorced and have kids and it's lightness somehow avoided, I think, the real confusion of what it means to be a woman today. In the recent past women had no choice, for the most part, but to have a family. Now it's a choice--but that doesn't make the biological imperative disappear. And the socialization factor that says we all must marry hasn't disappeared. Sex and the City, to me, always seemed to be so much about expensive shoes and dining out. That's not my story. At least not yet!

2008 Relationship Quiz--Ask If You Dare

2008-01-14T18:38:00.000-08:00

I've often fantasized about creating a quiz that I'd pull out and hand to a blind date. In the fantasy I give it on that first coffee date. In reality, there are questions I just avoid, then I go see my therapist and he pumps me for information about the man I'm seeing and I then blurt out: "You don't understand! If I ask all that, I'd scare any man away!"

But my therapist is right. There is "stuff" you do need to know regardless of how mesmerizing a potential partner might be. From a woman's point of view, you want to know if a man loves and values women, because if he doesn't there's no good place the two of you can go together. From the vantage of my almost forty-nine years I believe we are all wounded in some way. So, it's good to know which scars have healed, and which bumps and bruises might get irritated when two people collide. I can't figure out the question that would give me the information as to whether or not a man can handle getting bumped a bit--or whether he can handle my own reactions when I smack a bruise that hasn't healed. But maybe you can learn if he loves women and if he's up to a bit of self-examination.

Today my friend Lily commented that it seems like most people's questions are limited to taste. After two people decide there is an attraction, they limit their knowledge to finding out what kind of food, movies, music and books the other likes. Here are some more probing questions:

"How long were you married?" or "How long was your longest relationship?"
"Why did you divorce?" or "Why did you break up?" or "Why didn't you marry?" or "What did your wife die from?"
"Have you had any therapy?" (I asked a guy who was divorcing a psychiatrist this once--it was funny.)
"How long were your parents married?"
"Were they happy?"
"Did you have a good relationship with your mother?" (There's a movie, Shopgirl, in which a cold character played by Steve Martin asks this question of a potential lover. It made me wince--he clearly only had the capacity to have a sexual affair with the girl, but he asks her this as if he has insight into human behavior, even though he has none about his own. See the movie--it has a happy ending, but within it are some sad truths. Martin wrote Shopgirl as a novela.)

My therapist gets even more intense:

"Were you breast or bottle fed?" (I just can't ask that of a stranger or even someone I know a little!)
"How happy are the women in your family--grandmothers, aunts, sisters--how have they been treated?"

I'm only on nine!

"Why did you/didn't you have children?"

I don't know if I can get to twenty.

"What kind of relationship do you envision for yourself?"
"Why do you want a relationship?" (I once saw a man who said he didn't "do" relationships. I didn't know exactly what he did "do"--well I do know, but if you don't go deeper than what some people are content with doing--again, a play on the theme of my friend Lily's comment--you miss an opportunity to learn and grow. Who else but those nearest and dearest can stir us up enough to learn about ourselves so we can grow? It's not always pretty--but still I'd like to be "stirred." I just don't want to be "shaken" so on with the questions:
"Do you have sisters or did you grow up around other women?"
"Did you date much in high school or college?"
"Do you take any medication?"
"Do you sleep well?""

Some of these are touchy:

"Under what circumstances would you see more than one woman at a time?"
"When do you think it's appropriate to be exclusive with one partner?"
"Are you interested in living with a partner, getting married or just dating?"
"When were you last tested for STDs and what were the results?"
"What do you do for birth control?"
"What charities/activities do you participate in?"
"If a bum asked you for money, what would you give him/her?"

That's 21. I was going to start by asking: "What's your favorite color and how much do you weigh" because one of my favorite cartoons has a man just reaching the summit of a mountain where a Guru sits. And that's the caption. It made me laugh until I cried. I think there are many more questions to ask. These, I think are the scariest ones.

It's Off to Work We Go

2008-01-13T08:43:00.000-08:00

Last week was the first week back at work. I teach middle school students in Los Angeles. I feel like I never left--and yet I had three weeks off!

My job keeps me occupied. The days go by fast. It's fun to see kids learn. The school district is a mess though. I don't think my union is so hot either. The children have the best energy in the place, with the exception of a few funny teachers.

Last week was a busy one after work as well--I got brakes for my car, had my teeth cleaned, went out with my kids, did some yoga and some therapy.

Thursday I picked up a copy of Eat, Pray, Love Elizabeth's Gilbert's bestseller. She had a horrific divorce too. It's a terrific book so far. I'm just in Italy with her--eating along, learning a bit of Italian too.

There really isn't much to write here. I won't expand on LAUSD or my union, UTLA. The governor's announced severe cutbacks in the budget--It'll affect my job. But one thing I've learned is that there is no value in thinking about such things except to consider preparation or options. The union is asking for 9% raise, which is absurd under the circumstances. I don't think I'll get a pay cut. So there are no worries here. None at all.

Change, Change, Change

2008-01-09T21:43:00.001-08:00

Wow, what a night last night. Things can change on a dime. That's worthwhile to note in life as much or more than in politics. One day you are down and then the next--everyone loves you. All that's needed is a change of venue or a show of vulnerability or a new pair of eyes.

A friend of mine is contemplating leaving her husband. It's an abusive, controlling, jealous relationship. She's planning things out to be prepared ahead of time (getting more work, saving money, learning about the divorce process.) She's lining up those duckies. But there was a lingering fear: would anyone else be interested in her once she left him?

And just like that the fear was assauged.

A man she works with showed an interest in her. He flirted with her. He called her and said he thought about her. My friend isn't some hot mamma from Desperate Housewives. She's a mother of four, holds two jobs and sleeps very few hours most nights. She gets a kick out of this tentative attention. It's a nice surprise that gives her hope that a new life will be a good life.

One minute you're on your spouse's dump-on list and the next a friend or even stranger lets you know that you are wonderful, you are beautiful, you are worth something--quite a lot actually. What a difference a new opinion makes.

Things can change on a dime.

Flu and Vote Season

2008-01-08T17:58:00.000-08:00

It's flu and cold season, yet nearly all my students have returned from winter break looking healthy and energetic and I'm the one with the bug. My oldest son said he had a cold one day last week. I was able to get him to suck on a few cough drops laced with vitamin C and zinc and we made sure to get Won Ton soup at the local Chinese restaurant (Mao's Kitchen in Venice--it's groovy). My younger son had a stomach flu yesterday and today and stayed home from school. I got the bug from my oldest son Sunday so I've been taking it easy and have been popping a vitamin supplement called Wellness Formula since then. But today I had a headache all day--and still I taught. Cold and flu season in my family comes right before you have to go back to school--I guess we all would have preferred to just stay home.

Today, my beginning ESL students read a short story about a family that lived in Wisconsin. We looked at a map to compare where we live--Los Angeles, California--to where Wisconsin is. The kids have come to school bundled up because it's cold. It's in the 60s! Except for the Iranian kids, most of my students are from even warmer climes than Los Angeles. No wonder they are cold. I explained that if we are cold now, we would be frozen in Wisconsin.

I thought of this because I'm watching PBS's report on the New Hampshire primary. Angelenos (especially the native ones) don't own coats like those the news reporters standing out in the snow wear. But we can buy scarves and mittens when the air dips down into the 60s. You won't catch me wearing scarves or mittens--but I've got the space heater cranked up high and I'm looking forward to the return of 70 degree weather this coming weekend.

Happy voting people.

Middle Aged Fairy Tales (Continued)

2008-01-07T21:10:00.000-08:00

I'm wrong about the fairy tales! There are many folk tales about old people! Most of them are funny stories. Yeah, we get funnier as we age. Unfortunately, these stories (with the old people) don't deal with our modern preoccupations: money, health or romance (actually I think there are quite a few about finding money and treasures so remove money from the list.) According to theorists, middle aged fairy tales deal with issues of maturity: the ability to accept ambiguity, learn self-control and gain wisdom. Most such stories also include an upsetting truth: As we age, we tend to think more simply (which isn't really such a bad thing--but tell that to my ego. I googled "Middle Age Fairy Tales" and when I found a psychological research project that focuses on the GOOD things about aging as explored through fairy tales across cultures and started reading through the stories that are analyzed, I realized that I've read many such stories--oh DUH! It's just that those stories seemed to be about OLD people before--now they are about ME!).

Acquiring wisdom might be antithetical to striving for money, romance and health. (Oh why do I live in LA where you need so much money for the physical augmentations that might lead to good health and romance?)

Oh...such thoughts! I should have called this the Nerdy, Neurotic, Insecure Divorcee.

Where are my tiara, ball gown and glass slippers?! I need to get up and get my glasses first to go find them (that is, if I can remember the location of my glasses--and it beats me where I left that youthful, fairy-tale costume--seems like only yesterday...well, you know how time flies...)

Middle-Aged Fairy Tales

2008-01-06T12:16:00.000-08:00

I was wondering today what's happened to my Fairy Godmother. This thought came to me because I had dinner last night with a friend who believes in spirit guides. I don't know about that stuff--if there are angels or spirits here on earth with us, but I do suspect that spiritual belief and a bit of magical thinking unconsciously guide our life choices: fairy tale as life template (This is nothing new, there's all kinds of theorizing on this, of course).

I'd like to invent the quintessential fairy tale for middle-aged divorced folk. I've not heard it or read it yet . Where is it? I've worked with kids for almost twenty years. I don't ask the girls if they buy the meet-prince-charming-and-live-happily-ever-after story. I don't know if I want to know what stories they believe in--what they tell me might scare me. Besides, I'm old enough to be these kids' grandmother: I want to find the great story of how to be my age (a queen's tale, not a princess's. I want to know the story of the kind queen--not the story of the red queen chopping off heads or the one about sending men to cut out a step-daughter's heart).

My parents divorced when I was seven, so I grew up not seeing that fairy-tale fantasy lived out. (In this area that is the situation for most kids.) I guess that, since I didn't see the reality of family life, I must have really bought into the fantasy of fairy tale. I also grew up during the 60s and 70s--the time of women's liberation. That coupled with my family's worship of Brain had me thinking that I was supposed to be valued for my great intelligence.

This was not an advantage for me: I suspect biology is a greater motivator than intellect. I'd put emotion as the second motivator and rate thoughtfulness, mindfulness last. (The first two require no work!) So the princess and prince fairy tales make sense as a template for unconscious decisions made in youth. Fairy tales, along with religious teachings fulfill the biological imperative to continue a species: the stories help get people together to propagate within a prescribed social structure. And in fairy tale times most people didn't live to middle age--no crisis! No need to re-evaluate one's life--just live and breed and die young (and leave beautiful corpse--this conveniently cuts way down on plastic surgery expenses).

It's not fairy tale times. So where is the ideal template for middle age?

Actually, there is group of stories compiled by a woman psychiatrist--it's called Wild Women Who Run With Wolves (or something close to that). It's about woman having power. It's about women coloring outside the lines of trying to emulate sweet Cinderella. But I don't necessarily want to be wild! In fact, as the years zip by, what I long for more and more is tranquility, beauty and ease.

I woke up this morning feeling gloomy, like the sky and I realized that I've a touch of a cold coming on. This is what happens when I need to slow down--I've no advice for anyone today. I'm resting my body and filling it with vitamins. Meanwhile, my mind goes wild.

Yoga: Soothing Balm for What Ails You

2008-01-05T14:45:00.000-08:00

I found out on New Year's Day that I passed a yoga test.

This is sort of amusing to me. There are yoga contests now--it's been proposed to even add yoga events to the Olympics. Yoga is not about tests.

This summer I took a yoga teacher training course through YogaWorks. It kept me occupied through the summer--four hours each Saturday and Sunday and a few hours twice a week. I learned a bit of anatomy, pranayama (breathing), philosophy, and asana (poses and alignment). It improved my yoga practice, but most importantly it gave me an opportunity to met seventeen individuals who were all interested in yoga.

Last year, at this time, I'd taken a yoga retreat for a weekend. It was the first real trip I'd taken since I separated from my ex back in 1999. Both trips were to Ojai. I'd always wanted to be able to do yoga, supervised, for a longer duration than the usual ninety-minute classes. It was a fun trip--but the teacher training was even more fantastic. I spent such an enormous time working on my practice that my teachers noticed improvement--and I met new friends, (which I find difficult sometimes).

So why do I bring up yoga on this blog? Well, yoga makes you feel good. I wish I'd started practicing when I was younger. I think, because the practice makes your body feel so good, powerful, and healthy that it's a wonderful thing to become involved with, especially if there is stress in your life. Doing yoga, I find it impossible to think of anything else except what I'm doing. It's a vacation from any worries (and really worrying doesn't solve anything, it just makes one feel bad.) It helps one clear one's mind--the entire purpose of the "exercise" or movements tied to breath is to be able to sit and meditate.

I did many foolish things when I divorced, but the thing I have no regrets about--the thing I've done that has been wise--was to make a commitment to be good to myself and to work on being "mindful" or more thoughtful about my actions so that I hopefully won't get into a relationship that ends badly (as my marriage did). I think doing yoga is a wonderful treat that has helped me through the rough spots.

Yoga is taught at YMCA's, many gyms, schools and lots of yoga stuidos. My favorite is YogaWorks (they have studios in Los Angeles, Orange County, Ventura County and even New York! They also do teacher trainings all over the world!) and Black Dog Yoga in Sherman Oaks. I highly recommend yoga for your body, mind and soul. Click on the link for Accidental Yogist for a map of Los Angeles yoga studios.

5 Financial (And Other) Mistakes to Avoid if You Are Divorcing in 2008

2008-01-01T19:10:00.000-08:00

...Or, Stop! You might want to rethink some things:

If you are entitled to alimony--don't give it away. I'm a firm believer in not being dependent on others. I thought I didn't need alimony because I can take care of myself just fine, thank you. I neglected to realize that using an attorney to handle my divorce would result in bills to pay--big ones. Keep these things in mind:

You're lifestyle will change after the divorce--probably you'll be downsizing.
The money will help you adjust to living on one income.
The money can be saved for your child's/children's college fund(s).
You can save the money and give it to your ex in a lump sum at a future date if you don't feel you need it--but you'll probably find that you do need it.

I know this seems absurd--watching movies and television, and in life you hear these stories-- there is a sort of myth about divorcees. You'd think that divorces clean men out financially and that women sit around, not working, eating bon-bons from the proceeds. Both parties are worse off financially after a divorce, but women fare worse because they generally have lower paying jobs, but still wish to maintain the same lifestyle they had before the divorce. I had a list of reasons I didn't take alimony and I'd say that misjudging how much money I needed for the transition was an enormous mistake that wipes out all those reasons--I was unrealistic!

Don't touch retirement money to pay off debt. Borrow against your retirement if you must, but don't take it out. You will be have a tax bill to deal with that might a hardship and you won't have your retirement money.

Stay in the family home if you have kids--sell after that issue is settled. Don't budge until the custody is settled. In my custody hearing the evaluator said that my ex and I were the same as parents so she had the kids stay in the house during the school year. Well, I left the house. I didn't know that men had uteruses or that houses leaked breast milk when a child cries, but I guess the evaluator knew stuff I didn't. I had not known the house was so important. I misjudged because my job makes me significantly more available to my kids than my ex's job does so I thought where I lived was irrelevant. It's not irrelevant.

Make sure, if you have 50/50 custody or anything near that that you get to alternate years taking the dependent credit on your taxes. You'd think lawyers would always bring this up--my lawyer didn't address this.

Don't get remarried right away. This is from observation, not from personal experience. I once had a boyfriend who was divorcing a women he'd married within six months of his first divorce. (The second marriage didn't last six months.) It was just sad all the way around.

Wait until you feel like yourself again--when you can be objective about choices-- before you make big decisions. Getting married will complicate your already changing financial picture. Wait and get things settled in your life before you jump into the next adventure of co-mingling of funds or assets.

You might be feeling really good--or you might be feeling really bad. Don't make big decisions when your emotions are in overdrive--and they will be for a while.

If you feel weak on this one, think of Elizabeth Taylor or any number of many-times married celebrities--can you imagine how much all those divorces cost? (Not to mention what that's like on children in such families.)

Well, there you go...I made some of these mistakes. You too will make mistakes so be very kind to yourself. If you've got your health, a roof over your head, a touch of sanity and some nice friends or family to pull you through you'll be okay even if you mess up a bit.

Sometimes the Past is a Present: 2007 Revisited

2007-12-31T18:54:00.001-08:00

Here it is, New Year's Eve.

What a great year 2007 has been for me.

I'm grateful for the changes...the little steps I've made to get out of a rut that I'd fallen into.

When I first separated in 1999 I made commitment to myself to treat myself well, to learn and grow and to get out of my comfort zone. I did many fun things that I'd have never done while I was married. (I took writing and art classes, learned to rollerblade, moved to the beach.) But I didn't feel like myself. It was a strange feeling--like I wasn't all there. What do you do when you feel like you're in a chrysalis? (This is a future blog topic if there ever was one!) I was able to do lots of stuff--but I felt strange, like my clothes didn't fit and I couldn't yet decide what would I wanted to wear.

Lately I've had a similar urge to change my life--but I'm already a butterfly (I suppose) because I feel very much "myself." Maybe I just flew around more this year--checked out more gardens, drank from more flowers.

I'm grateful for the days of 2007 in which I met many new wonderful people. I went on my first yoga retreat in Ojai. (www.carpediemretreats.com). I took a yoga teacher training coarse. (And found out just today that I passed!) Yahoo! (www.yogaworks.com) I was encouraged by a volunteer at KCRW's biannual fundraiser (kcrw.org) to take a writing class with a wonderful teacher, Jack Grapes (www.jackgrapes.com/grapes_approach.php). (Thanks Charles and Lara!) and I did some volunteer work for Planned Parenthood (www.plannedparenthood.org/los-angeles) .

I've also met a man whose company I greatly enjoy. My children are healthy and relatively happy (they are adolescents after all--some angst is in order, though I've not seen it yet.) I'm fortunate that an dear friend encouraged me to write about what it's like being divorced--thank you Jackie. And thanks to the Mad As Hell Club for pointing me in the direction of some bloggers and letting me find this venue where I can express myself.

I'm grateful for rediscovering, in these last days of 2007 that the net has turned into such a great place to learn--it's like sitting in a pile of books strewn from the shelves of all the libraries, lined with walls filled with video feeds, while professors and teachers stand nearby willing to help me explore it all. I used bulletin boards in the 80s with a dial-up modem (the graphics were created from the keyboard--typing x's and other letters) Back then I wrote an environmental newsletter that I printed on a dot matrix printer. Now there is...this!

For 2008 I look forward to exploring this medium. It was where I left off in 1999 and I'm so glad to be able to return.

Happy New Year!

Any Day You Are Alive is a Good Day

2007-12-30T20:13:00.000-08:00

I have a date of sorts for tomorrow night. My "boyfriend" and I will hang out at his place and entertain ourselves. We'll watch people celebrate on television and maybe drink champagne.

I've become a person who has lost the ability to appreciate designated special days. Some of my best days have not been calendared. For example, about six years ago I was driving on the 405 over the Sepulveda Pass and the sky was filled with Painted Ladies. (They are a native butterfly, in some southland locations considered endangered--but I also believe they are raised by kindergardeners at many of Los Angeles's elementary schools. This doesn't make sense, I know, but this being LALA land, anything is possible.)

There were so many butterflies in the air I had the sense that other drivers were slowing down as if they could avoid hitting them. I swear my windshield stayed clean as I made my way into the San Fernando Valley.

I could pluck any number of special days spent with my sons. Another car miracle: We were talking about Elvis. He's rarely a topic of conversation. I don't know what we might have been saying. We were driving on a short stretch of Pico, facing the Pacific--just a few blocks away from where the street hits the bike path. I stopped at the light at Main. It was one of those sunny, bright days, the temperature was in the 70s, the ocean twinkling at us. There we were sitting in my red Corolla in our jeans and t's. The kids had sodas in their hands. A tune, not Elvis floated out of the car speakers. A big red bus with a giant sign advertising an Elvis tele-biography rolled into the intersection in front of us. We laughed in amazement. There is no designated day for strange and wonderful sightings.

My ex-husband asked for a divorce a month and a half before my fortieth birthday. For his fortieth birthday I gave him a surprise party at an Italian Restaurant and his first son. He'd been a deprived child and only had one birthday party as a kid. For my fortieth I got my freedom without the balloons and cake.

That birthday (my fortieth) I celebrated by having dinner with a friend and my youngest son, who was two and a half at the time. We had dinner at Newsroom--across the street from Ivy (we were avoiding the paparazzi.) And we went to Century City to walk about. In a toy store at the mall we bought my son puzzles. I bought one with little knobs that toddlers can use to pull the pieces up while my friend bought a jigsaw with about twenty pieces--no knobs. We bought ice cream at Ben and Jerry's and sat outside. David took the puzzle out and dumped the pieces on the table and worked as we chatted. At one point he raised his hands straight up in the in the air and yelled "Yay!" prompting smiles and laughs from people sitting nearby. He'd done the puzzle. It had two robots--like the two in Star Wars. It had no knobs.

The kids are with me for Thanksgiving. I don't really celebrate Christmas. Some years I've gone rollerblading at the beach (it is nearly always a beautiful clear day on Christmas. This year it's in the 60s but most of the past seven years I could swear it's been in the 70s and clear enough to see Catalina from Santa Monica.) A few Christmases I've done the movie thing. Sometimes I'll dine with friends. When I complained to my therapist about the divorce-present, he asked if there are really special days just because they are on a calendar.

Usually the kids are with me New Year's Eve. We hang out--watch T.V., then run outside when the fireworks at the Marina start. We try to see them over the rooftops of the houses on Grand Canal. But the boys are at their dad's this year. And my boyfriend and I will keep each other warm indoors at his place in the valley.

Any day you are alive can be a holiday!

Here's to another year!

Moms Who Lose Their Children: Disneyland Dad Morphs Into Weekend Mom

2007-12-29T12:06:00.000-08:00

Christmas Day I went to the market to buy a plant for the woman who planned to feed me that evening. When I was in line to check out I chatted with the woman in front of me who was a retired middle school principal. We commented about the state of Los Angeles' schools. The checkout girl joined in. She said her daughter didn't go to L.A. schools because she spent the school year with her dad in Colorado and that at the end of her work shift she'd be going to pick her little girl up.

This woman is in the same boat as me I thought.

"I have the same situation," I told her. "And I used to feel uncomfortable about what other people might think--like there was something wrong with me as a mother. I imagined they thought I was a drug addict or prostitute."

Not getting to chose how I wanted custody still bothers me, because I didn't get pregnant and give birth and spend the time I did taking off work, losing retirement contributions to not be with my kids. As a matter of fact, before I divorced I wanted to be working at home so that I'd be around whenever they needed me. On top of missing my kids--and them missing me (my youngest son was only 2 1/2 when my ex- and I split) I also felt stigmatized.

The evaluator who spoke to my kids at the custody hearing said that my ex husband and I were the same as parents and that the kids should stay in the same house. She didn't realize that I left the house to be away from him--and that he refused to leave. At the hearing my attorney did nothing--he didn't object or tell me what to do to change the decision. (And I was too blown away by that decision and the whole divorce process to think clearly at the time.)

It's been seven years and it is what it is. My kids and I made an attempt a few years ago to try to convince their dad to switch the custody (I have vacations and weekends and he has them during the week generally) without going to court, talking to a psychologist, but he refused. I've almost initiated a court review of the custody a few times because my youngest son doesn't get along with his dad and step-mother as well as he does with me, but we've managed to work things out. Fortunately, my sons enjoy being with me on weekends and vacations. I've accepted that life doesn't go the way you planned most of the time. We have a terrific time when we are together and that' what matters.

But I do have custody advice for women: I think all women should consider a prenup agreement before marrying. The custody of the children should be the woman's unless she's truly unfit--a drug addict or clinically mentally ill. If divorce settlements can be decided ahead of time, so can custody. When children are of the age to make the decision as to where they'd like to live, that also should be considered.

I know men are more involved as fathers now. But it seems to me that woman must be the main voice in deciding who raises the kids. A man is not a mother. And even in this age, it's women who makes the biggest sacrifices to be married. Women deserve to have their children--to not be considered the same as a man in this regard.

Since I've divorced I've met many women who've been in my situation. It's a devastating thing to have to work through. None of them are or were bad mothers.

Identity--The Ball Starts Rolling

2007-12-28T10:20:00.000-08:00

A friend suggested that writing about our experiences as divorcees might somehow be of benefit to other women. My immediate reaction was that I didn't want to think of myself as a "divorced person." This particular friend and I would often complain about our ex-spouses. So, in the context of that friendship I suppose I am a "divorced person." I have other friends who are also divorced but I might be to them a "yoga person" or a "mom" or a variety of other identities. So there is hope, because although I think getting divorced is one of the best things I've done in my life, I don't think of myself as a divorced person. Being on my own, however, has allowed me to become a person--an individual--a gift I couldn't imagine as I went through the process years ago.

What made me finally feel that writing about divorce would be worthwhile was listening to a young man's description of the day his mother told him his parents were divorcing. We were in a writing class together and I'd written about the same thing. My parents divorced when I was seven and I divorced my children's father when my oldest son was seven. I remember how my sister had come into my bedroom one morning--I would have been lying in sheets decorated with cartoon characters. I was wearing a little pink nightgown. There'd have been stuffed animals tossed about me on the bedspread. I had that room all to myself. It had been my father's den and had a window that looked out onto what seemed like a giant avocado tree. That morning was quiet and cool. It was probably just getting light. Patty, who was a year younger than me, stood in the doorway, flipped on the lights, and announced "Mommy and Daddy are going to live in two houses!"

I'd investigated divorcing my ex-husband the day after he called me "evil." It was September 1998. We had such a boring existence--in anyone's eyes we must have been quite the pair of good-two-shoes. We didn't cheat on each other, there wasn't an addiction problem or a money problem. He called me "evil" and that was enough for me. There wasn't any love there and I'm not evil (or any more evil than every other human being) so I called a lawyer. The lawyer never called back and I didn't pursue it further. At Christmas-time--that was when our wedding anniversary was--I bought him a wedding band and had written a note about how couples go through bad times but that it probably wouldn't last. When I gave him the band though, he said something that angered me and I didn't give him the note. A few months later I was driving home from work in the middle of the day and strangely thinking of my husband being in a plane crash (he was safely on the ground at his work). When I got home he called and said he'd like to get a divorce. I was sitting at a crappy office desk that bowed in the middle from the weight of a computer and bookcase we'd put atop it. I don't remember being surprised. I probably thought it went with the airplane-crash thought. When he came home we moved into the kitchen to talk. It was dark. It was a little room that we'd remodeled before our first son was born. He leaned against the white tiles next to the refrigerator. I asked if he'd get therapy and he said "I don't want to know what's wrong with me."

These are moments your remember. They are the moments that get the wheels rolling, or shake the ground--take your pick.

And then everything changes.