A Take on the Ideal Marriage

When transferring old files to my new computer, I found the following discussion and thought it would work for a blog posting with my real world comments in ( ). Remember when blogs didn’t exist? Whatever did we do?

I don’t believe an ideal marriage exists. If people are flawed, and people make marriages, then marriages are inherently flawed (This logic could be applied to just about anything, such as blogs—if people are flawed, and people make blogs, then blogs are inherently flawed). With that stated, I now will go into a world of make-believe.

My ideal man is intelligent, conscientious, hard working, loyal, centered, an exquisite kisser, healthy and clean (cleanliness cannot be overemphasized. I don’t know about you, but smelly feet are well, smelly). He cannot be addicted to any substance, but he must enjoy sharing a perfectly aged bottle of Red Zinfandel (or white or even something from Trader Joe’s. Getting older can make one very flexible). His conversation should be exciting, profound and informative (I like to be entertained as television can’t quite keep me tuned in). He should revel in a long recap of his day, complete with feelings felt and exquisite detail with just the right mix of gossipy news (I know, I know).

When he is home (which would be ideal if he liked to come home), he would be an equal partner. However, if he hates to cook, at least he should do the dishes and entertain the kids leaving me to play.(Idyllically though, he must cook and the kids would be living happily ever after somewhere).

His willingness and assumption of sharing childcare duties would never be in question in the middle of the night, because he would take one night and I would take the other (However, this whole thing can be avoided with aged ovaries—okay, okay, kind of gross so just think of the concept as a good wine).

He should be industrious and self-motivating. If he sees dirty laundry then he should wash clothes, fold them and put them away without any questions on where they belong (he should have hanger preferences, plastic or wire, don’t you think?).

Sharing and compromising would flow throughout the house; for example, although he loves to watch boxing on TV (Isn’t boxing the stupidest sport ever?), he would gladly give it up to attend an opera with me (I’ve never been to an opera and I’m not sure it would be as appealing to me either. But if we sit in the back and sneak out after the first act and find some really great gelato…).

Moreover, as we decide on which movies to see, he and I would choose the ones with lots of talking, beautiful photography and not one car chase or gratuitous, but ever-so-loving prostitute. After the movie, he would revel in a discussion of all the nuances and meanings of what we watched, cozied-up in our bed under the fresh smelling sheets he had changed second thing that morning (Yep that’s exactly what I mean).

Yet, he would never give up his masculinity for anything pink and fluffy (unless he really, really liked pink and couldn’t live without it).

Seriously, (Can I be?) I suppose the ideal marriage is one that allows us to be ourselves. Although our first priority would always be each other and the family we create, we should be free to pursue our individual dreams (And agree to hire a housekeeper).

Musings on Whitman's Ideals

In 1881 Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself” was firmly titled. The epic poem addresses the issue of democracy. The Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary defines democracy as “the acceptance and practice of the principle of equality of rights, opportunity, and treatment; lack of snobbery; as, there is real ‘democracy’ in this school.” Whitman, in Song of Myself, writes of this democracy.

Whitman points out that equality is essential in Americans. He states, “And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man”(line 427). He seems to say that gender should not dictate superiority, “And that all men ever born are also my brothers… and the/women my sisters and lovers”(line 85-6). He means that everyone has a commonality of experience on the earth. The sights, sounds and workings of nature are there for everyone despite social status, intelligence or economic status.

Although there are laws, Whitman feels it is essential to allow humane treatment to override obeying certain policies. For example, The Fugitive Slave Act required that northerners recapture runaway slaves; however, Whitman overlooks this law in favor of what is humane. He assists a fugitive slave, gives him food, shelter and medical care before sending him on his way. “He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and passed north”(line 189). He refuses to compromise his principles of American freedom.

As it follows, Whitman speaks of taking his place in this world. He disagrees with having contempt for people of lower status. He states how satisfying it is that an illiterate person could think less of a learned person who lacks standards. He believes in stepping aside and sharing the earth with his fellow Americans, “And am not stuck up, and am in my place”(line 349). In so doing, everyone and everything becomes something better.

Whitman wants unity, democracy, a true American spirit.

Poking Results

I have had two acupuncture treatments so far and I’m taking a high-potency proteaseS Serrapeptase supplement—a mouthful title which means plant fiber.

The first couple of days after the first treatment were a little rough, the acupuncturist said it’s rare but some people re-experience the trauma of when an injury first occurred. Yeah, I buy that since the roller coaster ride for me was up there on the traumatizing scale. Why are those things fun?

Anyway, I digress, PTSD is a subject for another blog. Five minutes after the second treatment I had this feeling of relief. And then yesterday, I had the best day since the stupid roller coaster ride decision. I was in complete happiness shock--that is the kind of shock I would gladly welcome retriggering. However, I over did it some with my day-long Snoopy dancing, but I had no idea if it was a fluke so I couldn’t contain myself in taking full advantage of a pain-free day. It has been soooo long. Today wasn’t quite as good, but I’m beginning to seriously entertain the belief this injury may heal. And by being a human pin cushion no less.

I must admit, I was skeptical that needles in my ankles would produce any results, after all, I am a Westerner, but my experience with American medicine has forced me to enter the realm of alternative, as in sane avenues, of treatments. My thinking is forever expanded.

Poking Fun

Two different things happened this week.

One: My son the notoriously fussy eater ate fish. He said when camping he will eat the fish he catches and then some if offered. At home, he will not touch the stuff so don’t even try. I almost had to pull the car over when he told me because this kid doesn’t put anything in his mouth other than pizza, macaroni and cheese and candy.

Two: He gave me a new name, “Porcupine.”

I had acupuncture for the first time and he had the same reaction as I did about him eating fish, “You did what???”

It all started last August when I rode a roller coaster trying to prove that I was some kind of cool mom or something which was a ridiculous consideration in the first place. I’m kind of a dork. And isn’t it a little more to our advantage as parents of teens to have them exasperated with us rather than think we’re cool? And since all my life I have hated roller coasters why did I ever get this idea to ride one? My collarbone area has not been the same. I have given up on how to describe the discomfort, let’s just say it can get very distracting. Then the type of work I do compounded the problem as well as the car accident I had, and apparently as I age, I don’t heal as fast anymore even if I eat blueberries by the bushels, drink green tea, and take Advil.

Doctors have had no clue what to do. They gave me an EKG. They said my heart’s fine. Really? They said take Advil and don’t get stressed out even after charging me over $3000.00 for their medical expertise in this diagnosis.

So acupuncture was my next adventure in healing. I had needles in my ears, calves, ankles, and a magnet on my finger which in my opinion made me feel much cooler than any roller coaster riding mama. Will it work? If my son ate fish, then there is nothing but optimism in my mind.

I’ll let you know.

Fun with my Teenager?

Last week, I had the opportunity to be the good mom and provide some fun for my son and his friend. So? I realized how long it had been since we spent a day steeped in enjoyment. We had absolutely no conflict. How can this be for a mom and her teenager? Let me say, it’s the closest to heaven one can get. Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but then maybe not.

The peace really began in the car on the 80 mile drive down to this fun. We shared a hearty laugh over an incredibly slow driver we were stuck behind on the two lane highway. When I could, I tried to take a side street to get ahead of him, but signals and traffic wouldn’t allow this maneuver to succeed. We were together in this failed goal, laughing when we ended up right back where we started, behind him turtling along.

Later when I took a wrong turn, my son had a blast telling his friend some amazing statistics on how I have such a tendency. Could there be a metaphor here? In any case, we found our way and when my son bounced with joy when seeing the slides at the waterpark, I couldn’t help but remember his pre-pubescent days of harmonious agreement. Yes, I admit it—a blatantly exaggerated statement.

My point is that the whole experience was a reminder of how much we need to incorporate more such days into our lives so when we look back, we can say the teenage years were not always about the struggle for autonomy.

We can officially say we were in agreement about at least one thing—our definition of a great day.