Heather Barton

I suppose I’m in “Mid-Life” and I suppose my personal dissatisfaction with my life can be labeled a “crisis”.  But I find myself trying to somehow find the incredibly delicate balance between the following two philosophies:

Live each day like there is no tomorrow.

Plan for your future Today.

And frankly these contradict each other.   If I was really going to live like there was no tomorrow I’d be out having sex with any guy I could get into a bed.  I’d eat ice cream and chips and soooo many delicious and very fattening foods.  Oh and I’d PARTY!!!    I’d call my grandmother and tell her what I REALLY think of her.  Then I’d do the same for a whole hell of a lot of people!  I’d hug and cuddle my kids and let them do whatever they damn well pleased.  Who cares, there’s no tomorrow.

But we all know that the world isn’t going to end tomorrow (it isn’t, is it? I didn’t get any memo, did you?).  We work to make sure we have money to survive our immediate future and wish we had more to sock away for the unknown future ahead of us.  We plan what to do in emergencies and we organize ourselves so much every moment seems scheduled and planned, even vacations and sex.

So where is the balance between?  I think the reason it never feels like I find it, is because its a fluctuating wave.  There are some days that are more about planning the future (work, school and that damned homework!).  And there are some days when its living for no tomorrow (vacations and weekends… wait I work on those too, damn!).   It just never seems I’m balancing well between them, just choosing which I’ll do for that day or moment.

Amazingly everyone agrees both of these philosophies are incredibly important and then expect YOU to come up with a way to achieve it within your own life.  But realistically you can’t “live like there is no tomorrow” EVERY day because of the consequences.  You’re just supposed to APPRECIATE every day like its your last.

But, hell… if I was going to appreciate a day like it was my last… see above paragraph about what I’d do!  Because at the end of that day, I’d surely be appreciating it! 

And probably walking a little funny.

Sad but true, sometimes shit just happens.  I try not to take it personally (and fail most of the time)  but lately when shit happens I feel as if fate is trying to tell me something. 

Right now it seems to be telling me to have less contact with everyone or have less someones.   Because, EO, I lost the address to contact you.   And the wonderfully fun women I met in Orlando…?…  they must be super busy because they don’t email back or indicate they’re reading the blog by commenting.

One thing about me… I know deep inside I’m a rather needy person.  I always have been.  So early on I learned NOT to force myself on another person just because I wanted their human contact.  Not everyone finds me as fascinating as I find me.  (Oh, stop laughing.  If you’re reading the blog, then you find me interesting and so the previous sentence obviously doesn’t apply to YOU.  Those who don’t find me interesting aren’t reading the blog so I can’t really hurt their feelings, now can I?)

Anyway… back to whining the point.  Because of my habit NOT to Over-Inflict myself on others I don’t usually initiate contact more than twice in a row with no response.  I find that no matter how much they enjoy your company in any event, day or evening… it’s not always enough to keep them wanting to continue in your company enough to make the effort. 

People are busy.  Everyone has their own lives.  I understand that.  But I’ve got my insecurities telling me I’m nagging a stranger or new friend to be my friend and my pride telling me to stop begging other’s when its obvious they don’t want the contact.  

Same thing happens with my writing and the blog.  Many people asked to read Cat.  So I emailed her off to them.  Over 10 people got her and only 4 people ever said anything to me about whether they like it or not.  Only 3 have ever finished her.  Again, I know people are busy but frankly don’t ask for my book and then not read it.

So with summer gone we all gather less.  We buckle down into our lives and contact when we can.  And I’m down a friend unless I can miraculously find that contact address.  As if it wasn’t bad enough I no longer get to see Gina once a week, or Eithne every day.

Like I said, sometimes… shit happens.  And it sucks.  It’s why we call it shit.

UPDATE – Today I found out that Mike at the Post Office is being transferred due to budget costs.   Another fun and weekly contact “poof”ing away.

I think about a lot of different things while I’m at the gym.  On the elliptical machine I don’t think at all, I read.  I’m currently reading Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy.  Sufficiently dry NOT to demand I continue reading once I’m off the machine, but interesting enough to keep my mind off the time passing.

I think when I get to the weight room.  I notice things.  I notice that the skinniest, oldest trainer has really fat clients.  I hear them whine about why they can’t lose weight or about their job or about other things in their life.  This trainer is upbeat, as they all must be, but it never bothered me until she asked if the book I was reading was the Bible.  GOD, no!  Best book ever, she claims.  I mumble something blasphemous to her retreating back.  She’s forever pegged in my mind now as a person who probably has few interests extending beyond church, pets and health.  Not bad interests but SO not mine.  Of course she’s so skinny and skin saggy that she looks 70 and may be that too!

I notice the guy obsessively trying to get more guys into the Basketball court so he/they can play a game.  He’ll work a machine idly and then walk about looking for the arrival of the other regulars that sometimes play.  He only does this when not enough people show up.   He reminds me of a wiry haired eager dog, ’cause his hair’s a bit scraggy and he’s old looking.

There are a lot of elder guys and young arrogant Armenian guys… young and old.  There’s even 1 couple who comes.  She works with the trainer although HE’S the one who needs it!  (Men with big guts should have to wear a band around their middle with a rod sticking straight up to their noses so they can SEE it!) 

Anyway, different regulars come and go on different days and some come every day.

Last week I beat a guy to the drinking fountain with a fun smile and a few quick steps.  He said something I barely caught but smiled at my implied joke.  He wore a blue hat and I spent some time on a machine wondering why you would work out at the gym and wear a blue baseball hat.  Are the fluorescent lights that bright?  (What, you’re a vampire?)  Need it to keep the hair out of your eyes?  (It looks short to me.)  Are you balding and embarrassed?  (Have you seen the people here?)  I toyed with the idea of asking and played out the fun of the conversation in my imagination just to pass the time.

Today I was working an arm machine and as I sat down I noticed Blue Hat was working the machine directly facing me.  And it was a machine where he was facing me, not facing the mirror like all the others in that row.  No problem, he was concentrating and his eyes were hidden by his hat.   I was concentrating on my own workout. 

Then he finished his set and moved to the space between his machine and the next one.  He dropped to the floor and did push-ups.  And everything in my body lit up.  My buried Cat was mentally bouncing in her seat purring at the sight.

You see, arms and chests are my big switch.  Blue Hat was very nicely muscled and his baggy workout pants and shirt don’t show much.  Not like the tight white t-shirts of the young Armenian boys.  Or the 1970’s gym outfit of the “I wish Disco would come back” old guy who thinks he’s a player.   But to have a nicely built, not bad looking, man drop to the floor practically at my feet and do push-ups for me left me speechless.

I was deer-in-the-headlights riveted on him.  For the first time at the gym I had to seriously look away and close my eyes for a work out.  I wasn’t embarrassed, there was no room in my mind for THAT emotion.  And I don’t really care if other people saw me staring at a guy while I work out because I do that ALL the time.  But I didn’t want him to see the naked lust in my eyes if he looked up.

I finished my set and when I opened my eyes he had his back to me stretching his arms.  He stretches A LOT.  I’ve seen him work the quadriceps machine then step off, plant his feet flat on the ground and bend over to lay his palms on the floor in front of him.  “Wow, is he limber,” I remember thinking when I first saw him do that.

Oooooo… he doesn’t wear a wedding band.

I’ve referred to my chaotic lifestyle a like that guy who spins plates on long poles… running from plate to plate to keep each one spinning.  That’s me… a million projects and goals to do and I’m running from one to another. 

Before you roll your eyes and compare me to your own life, let me admit that I KNOW everyone modern woman is doing this today.  Some do it with their kids activities, some do it through work and most do it with a combination of both.  We are all rushing to accomplish all these things… these spinning plates.  And I’m reminded of the relaxation of the no-task electronic-free day I had last month.

So one day I tried a bit of slowing down.  When the kids finally let me get some work done, (i.e. I gave up parenting them and parked them in front of the television) I sorted ALL my work into a few categories.  Its my favorite way of organizing myself.  I whipped through a few of the easier tasks, conquered the bank statements for 2 of the 3 accounts and then tackled the Licensing Job that’s been hounding me for months.  And I can proudly say I finally got some completion.  2 of the 4 Licenses are finalized and I was able to email them to the many clients waiting for them.    The last two need some adjusting and pricing and then this arduous chore hanging around my neck for a year will be finished!

And the relief off my shoulders is palatable!  I know the reason I multi-task so many things at once is that I get A LOT of good, minor Completion (which is my personal compulsion) every day making sure these plates spin smoothly in the air.  And when it’s expertly organized it only takes a few taps a day to keep things even.  Check 7 email addresses daily, fill orders weekly, update mailing lists monthly, file bi-weekly, answer the phone when it rings… all little taps that run the job smoothly. 

It’s the new job that always puts a screw into the works.  And every business will always have a new job.  You have to or your business stagnates and stops.  Filming a new video, getting our existing videos up as previews online, filming our own online course, putting the videos into a pay per view system on our website.  Big plates I have to take baby steps to begin the spinning process.  And like every new plate, they wobble a lot at first!  But also like every plate I currently spin, if I keep at it eventually I’ll get it to the point where it only takes a few taps to spin it. 

And sometimes a plate gets dropped.  There have been times I’ve realized I’ve got too many and take one down.   Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned by my 40’s is that I don’t HAVE to do everything.  It’s okay to pass it on to someone else or just walk away, even if I know I’d do a much better job.   (Reason number one I’m NOT on the PTA or Room Mom or active in the Cub Scouts… I’d take it over and overwhelm myself.)

Sometimes you just have to walk away, say “No, thank you” or quietly pretend you are completely inept for the sake of your own sanity.   Because the crashing sound of all those plates dropping is the last sound you’ll hear before your mental breakdown and the quiet Lithium induced silence of the mental ward.

Sometimes it sounds appealing.

Okay so we had cats.  And we had chickens.  And at one time, during Disney’s run of Charlotte’s Web I had a rat, who I named Templeton.  He was a big black and white rat who we kept outside and he was very tame.  But he did die, inexplicably, after owning him a couple of months. 

And we had rabbits.  At first my brother and I each had a pet rabbit.  We cuddled and played with them but after a while they got too big and they were just petted in the cage, fed and watered.  Then my mother tried to breed them.  She got a breeder box, read up that you had to put the female into the males cage (or the other way… I forget) or the female would fight him, etc.  I think she may have had success with my female rabbit Sunflower, so she decided to get a pair of huge meat rabbits.   And each rabbit has its unique story.

One day, Sunflower died.  While I was crying over the death of my pet (even though I wasn’t particularly attached to her) my mother who was in RN school had gathered my brother, sister and several of the neighbor kids and was using the opportunity to do a little dissection class for them.  So I was in the house “waaaaaa, Sunflower”  while my mother was in the backyard, “Now this is the small intestine.”  She drags it up and out the body.  “And this is the large intestine… no Erin don’t poke that, it’s the colon.”  Gasps and squeals of “ewww” as my sister does just that and the stench of rabbit poop spreads.

And another day one of our rabbit’s eyes began to bulge in its socket.  Penny-Pinching Paul (my father) is SO not going to pay for a vet visit so we speculate as this eye bulge grows that the poor rabit must have a brain tumor.  By now my mother is employed as a PNP in a Pediatrician’s office and she brings home some morphine from the office and shoots up the rabbit with enough to take out a dog and gently leaves him in our small patch of grass to die free.

My brother comes home from school and calls my mom.  “Mom, what’d you do to the rabbit?”   She explains and he laughs. 

“Mom, rabbit ain’t dead.  Rabbit is STONED, totally stoned..  Flying high!”

Not only did the rabbit live, whatever was bulging his eye disappeared.  Although after that he did have a crazy habit of running around his cage so fast he would run up the sides for a full circle.  Mother could only assume someone at the office had tampered with the morphine.  Us kids just assumed she had accidentally discovered a cure for cancer.

The last rabbit story is the tale of the Baby Bunnies.

My mother finally successfully bread the big white meat rabbits.  So while I was in high school we had 6 of the cutest little baby rabbits and we would visit the and cuddle them every day.  Ezzy and her yearly kittens had died and we missed the cuddly baby stuff.

Then one day we came home from school and the baby bunnies were gone.  We queried my mother who informed us she took them to the butcher because she wasn’t raising ‘cute’ rabbits she was raising MEAT rabbits. 

Oh we soooo harassed her about that. 

Two weeks later we have fried chicken.  My brother says, “Mom, this is funny tasting chicken.”

She replies, “That’s because its rabbit.”

And we all know what she means, its the baby bunnies.  My sister runs screaming from the room.  My brother announces to my mother, “your sick” and leaves the table. 

And me.  Well, I continue eating after I tell her,  “Tastes a lot like chicken.”

The other day I instituted the first of a monthly routine of Free Electronics Day.   We had a pool party to attend so it wasn’t that bad on the kids.  And we (Mom and Dad) had to also give up computer and television,which was interesting.

I helped sort Lego’s for my middle son while the other kids just wandered about the house lost in their own thoughts.  (Truly they enjoy doing that.)  I offered to play a board game or something with them but they declined.  Few chores were done and we were amazingly lazy.

And I had an epiphany.  The day not only seemed to stretch forever but it felt a lot like the summer’s I’d had growing up.  Those languid days of nothing that seemed to go on for years.  I thought it was just a perception of time difference as I aged.  But now I’m wondering if it’s a symptom of too many choices or/and/of things to do. 

It’s the classic example of how boredom can make just standing in a line for 2 minutes seem like 10 intolerable hours.   Yet, if you completely remove the NEED to do anything specific and the NEED to accomplish anything with your day.  The day seems to stretch out in time without any of the usual stress involved. 

By 11 am I looked at my watch and was amazed.  It felt as if it should be 1pm and not 11am.  I had the whole day ahead of me to accomplish so few goals.  I actually finished the family filing!

Now it could be that instead of retreating to a book during a no-electronic day I chose to do other small things and try to play with the kids.  I’m willing to concede that may have played a part in slowing down time.  Because I’ve spent an entire weekend doing nothing but reading and by the end of it I wasn’t anywhere near as relaxed and introspective as I was by the end of Sunday. 

Of course I’m not going to go so far as to suggest meditation.  I’m not that kind of person.  I can sit quiet with my thoughts but they will enevitably entertain itself with some scenario or another.  Every time I try to clear my mind or think on just one thing, well… I fall asleep.  So no meditation for me unless I’m planning a nap!

But simplifying my life on a daily basis.  THAT is something that sounds rather intriguing these days.  Giving myself just 1 to 2 tasks to achieve instead of frantically trying to put as many daily dents in all the giant stacks of “stuff” I’ve given myself to do.   Perhaps that will be the true path to my own personal nirvana.

Or a nervous breakdown as my “to do” list explodes in overload.  But I imagine the Sanitarium may be blissfully relaxing!

Monogamy is a weird institution.  Almost as strange as Marriage to me.   Why and how did it develop? 

My friend Kim claims this, “Marriage is the male trying to OWN a womb.”  Of course she’s in the middle of mediating a divorce with her Pisces husband of 22 years and 5 kids.

Culturally its been mostly about women needing someone to bring in some meat while she’s stuck with the little ones…. because she’s breastfeeding them and its hard to kill a mammoth when your carrying an infant you have to stop and feed every two hours.

So we needed their help during the baby years and they got sex out of it and a variety in their diet.   Then farming came along.  And two men can do the same amount of farm work as probably 4 women.  So we weren’t really “helping” them as effectively as another man could.  Ah… but in comes the dowry, which was usually land or money.  And bam… we’re worth the investment.  And he’s doing the majority of the hard labor while we’re doing “hard labor” of birthing and raising the kids, plus baking, canning and other stuff.

And when the kids are grown… why don’t they leave?   Even when the women start to resist having sex… why don’t they leave?   Or when one or both parties are unhappy… why don’t they both just call it quits or at least go out and get happy with someone else?

Twice when I’ve brought up the interesting concept of Open Marriage the male response was, “It’s not that I’d be jealous, but I don’t want to miss the sex I’m not having.”

Baffling!   Neither are assuming they’d also be getting other sex.  They were just concerned they’d be missing the current sex.  They’d be willing to pass on other sex in case they MIGHT (although might not)  get the sex at home.

So I’ve been studying this new strange phenomenon in confusion.  Yes, I know there are plenty of males who don’t think this way… but I’m realizing this is the monogamous sub-species.   This is probably the species that stayed with the female and bred consistently… passing on this trait.  And this sub-species was probably favored by the females.

And I bet this worked out great.  Because for a male to be successful enough to get a “wife” he was usually 10 to 15 years older than her.  Assuming she survives all the children, he’s usually dead of a heart attack by the time she hits her sexual peak.

And that’s when the non-monogamous species comes in.   That free male who’s determined never to “marry” who doesn’t settle down with one female.  HE’s something she can now play with.  Or she can play with the young males of the other sub-species knowing what while they’re waiting until they’re successful enough they still have physical needs she can toy with.

Yes, Cougar’s have been around FOREVER people.    They just purr not roar.

So I’m reading an enjoyable book and the shoe-obsessed modern heroine is nagging her tall, dark, sexy 18th century vampire consort about wedding plans.  He’s reading the Finance section of the newspaper.

Betsy:  You grew up on a farm, surely you have SOME flower preferences.

Sinclair (without looking up):  Darling, I have a penis.  Ergo, I have no preferences.

Doesn’t that sound like the CLASSIC guy!   I find that MOST men (and you know there are always exceptions… so don’t get all huffy on me) most men don’t really have preferences on the things we want their opinion on.  And I think this is because their only REAL preference is to let us decide.

Now, I’m not saying men don’t have preferences.  Some men have clear preferences in certain areas… sports, alcohol, female body parts.  What I’m saying is what we want their opinion on they feel the safest course is a “no comment” so they can let us decide.  They foolishly believe this will keep/make us happy. 

WRONG.   Even if we really don’t care what their preference is we are asking for a reason.  We are asking because we want to interact with you.  We are asking because we want to feel like we’re in a partnership.  We are asking because we would like the comfort of feeling we’re making the right decision and we need your feedback in the form of a discussion. 

Because let’s face it.  If we really didn’t want your opinion we sure as hell wouldn’t bother asking you for it.   Which of course is usually when you give it. 

When I was growing up we had one of the coolest cats in the neighborhood.  He was a white and tan long hair’d un-fixed male and he was “the” stud on our block.   My mother caught him hanging around our house mostly starved one day.  His fur was so knotted he could barely walk.  She caught this wild cat and clipped him and bathed him. 

As an adult when I remember this story I’d look at her aghast.  You caught, clipped and washed a WILD cat?!  Were you on valium!  “I had sturdy gloves,” she replies.

The point being she also fed him and he completely adopted us.  We called him Cinnamon and he fit right into the family.  Although he never boinked Ezzy more than twice because only twice did she ever throw a calico and combine her coloring with his and you got calico.  

Cinnamon was mostly an outside cat who just loved being petted.  Especially his belly rubbed.  Like a dog he loved it sooo much, he’d lie there and let you rub his belly.  And if he was sleeping he’d pretty much let you do whatever to him.  To get him to “play” I used to tickle his toes and smack at his paws until he’d crack and eye and try to take a swipe at me.  After all, I was just another annoying kitten.  But it was fun to test my reflexes on him and he never used his claws.

Cinnamon would disappear for weeks sometimes and then appear, clipped and fat with a little blue bow in his fur and we would harass him for hours while he tried to get the bow off.  We often wondered who he “sponged” food from on his rounds.    And he fought his territory well.  I know I heard it ALL the time!

Twice he came home with big gaping dog bits out of his fur.  I mean BIG.  So big that my mother who was getting her RN degree contemplated trying to sew him up.  You could see the thin layer of skin holding his insides in… the bite was that deep.  But she delayed and delayed and he licked and rested and before we knew it he was healing it fine on his own.  He did that twice.

He was never fixed, never got shots, never had his claws clipped and never got a bath after that first one.  And we would all have looked at you like you were crazy if you suggested we “brush” the cat.  Like he’d let you!  He also never saw the vet, you know… ’cause of the money thing.

Lord only knows how old he was when we got him back when I was around 6 but when I came home from college one summer I noticed while he lay sleeping in the sun, the flies were swarming around him.  Sure enough a trip to the vet showed his kidneys had failed and he was gently put down. 

But boy he had a great run as a cat.