Women and wine.  What is it with us and the fruit of the vine?  Everywhere I go women seem to have a relationship, of one kind or another with wine.  Not just a relationship with alcohol, but rather, specifically, with wine.  I would like to understand more about that.  While I can’t speak for others, I can take a good, long look at myself. 

 It has taken me awhile to unravel my own long and complicated love affair with wine.  I think it began before I ever even took my first sip.

 When I was growing up, my parents would always enjoy a cocktail (or two) before dinner.  My dad would shake up a couple of martinis, and then sit in the kitchen as my mom prepared dinner.  I was usually in there with them.  I loved that time of the day, gathered in the kitchen together, surrounded by the comforting smells of dinner cooking.   Over those cocktails, they would catch up on the day, talk about the kids, discuss finances, and… Often… they would argue.  Sometimes it was just a small skirmish, the kind that blows over quickly with little collateral damage.  Other times, it grew into a major battle.  My mom usually lost.  Unable to speak up for herself, she would usually dissolve into tears, my dad would feel bad, and they would smooth everything over as best they could. Not actually deal with it mind you…just get past it. More often than not, I helped out with the smoothing.

 Somewhere along the way, my parents switched from cocktails before dinner to a glass of wine.  For whatever reason, the arguing all but stopped.  And my love affair with wine began. 

 Wine became a part of my evening… every evening for as long as I can remember.  I would pour a glass as I began cooking dinner.  The kitchen for me, as for my family growing up was the hub.  My daughters and I would gather in the kitchen as dinner came together, the girls doing homework or cooking alongside me.  It was a way of coping with a bad marriage, relaxing after a stressful day at work, and even in the midst of a miraculous second marriage, it seemed to help me….what?  I guess I thought it helped me to cope, cover up, avoid, pretend, and relax. I could feel the effect of the wine before the first swallow.  Opening the bottle, getting out the glass, the act of pouring the wine; the ritual itself cast the spell.  Un-cork the bottle, and let the magic begin. 

 But we all know that magic is based on illusion and not reality.

Over the years I have slowed down, consumed less, and even stopped.  Over those same years and attempts, my habit always came back to more or less the same level. That level?  One glass almost always turned into two.  Two often became three, and, on more than one occasion, the whole bottle was mine.  Looking back now, I can see what I have lost to that “habit”.  I am fond of saying that I love the “ritual”, the “celebration”.  Funny how easy it is to call something by a name that is easier to swallow, that goes down with a “rich, deep flavor with notes of chocolate” rather than a “sharp, acidic taste with lingering headache”.  I know that I lost quite a bit.  Memories that slipped into groggy slumber and were difficult to recall.  Times when I might have stayed awake for the whole movie with my daughters or one more chapter of a bedtime book.  Wine has sapped my creative energy when I might have gotten another chapter of the next book nailed down.  Rather than make love to my sweet husband, I slept the sleep of the slightly intoxicated.  And, I have lost the opportunity to model a different way to my girls when they were growing up. 

 But all is not lost.  I have also gained some great gifts.  I have come to understand that there is nothing to hide from, cope with, avoid or cover up.  I no longer care to pretend to … anything.  I want the real meal deal or nothing at all.  If I am sad, or lonely or afraid, those emotions are there for a reason and they are some of my best teachers.  They are only a problem if I tell myself that story.  I have gained compassion for others who seek to numb the very stark and often heartbreaking realities of life.  I have also been able to share my experience and thoughts with my young adult daughters. They now see me interact very differently with a wine bottle now.

 In the not too distant past, I was walking one evening out on our property.  For some reason, I just suddenly decided that I was done mindlessly drinking wine.  Like so many other things in my life, I wanted to be fully present…fully in the moment. I realized that, with the grace of God, I have some good time left on this planet.  I want to make the most of the days and years still ahead.

That doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy an oaky, buttery chardonney…or a smokey red…I will pay attention to the message in the bottle and pour or not pour accordingly. 

Now that is something that I can toast to!

written by Molly Davis

 We are puttering down I-5 south…my husband serving as co-pilot to my 87 year old father who is once again headed south for the winter. He has done this since 1987; making the trek from impending snow storms to sun, cactus and elderly gals who light up when they see him pull in. Nice trade. This year we proposed riding along; for company, moral support, relief drivers.

As the daughter of this mighty man, I saw this trip as an opportunity to spend time with him, listen to stories… both new ones…like the time he spilled an entire tray of drinks down the back of Nelson Rockefeller…and old ones, like how he was a flight navigator during WW II and threw up at the thought of getting in a plane. I am aware that time with him like this, time with him period, is a gift, a treasure, a chance to know him just a little better…which I have craved all of my life.

We agreed that starting in southern Oregon and treking to Southern Calif.  we would stop and show my husband the homes we had lived in as a family, the schools I went to, the places I used to make out with my high school boyfriend. Can we say narcissist? We slowed down and looked at the building that used to be my dad’s architectural office; the one that sat on the edge of the community park. From his window he could see me and my friends lighting up our blackberry cigars, practicing kissing and trying to be as bad as kids could be in a small town with every one watching.

He retired 20 years ago, and still there is a connection to the place, the building, the years spent there creating architectural pieces of history that made him proud of his career and contributions. The west coast  is peppered with his brilliant concepts, attention to detail and cutting edge ideas.

The house we lived in together, just blocks from his office no longer sits at the top of a dead end street. It is surrounded by the ticky tacky of this decade…same house, different color. The house he so carefully painted a contemporary “putty” is now white with bright blue trim and a second story that seems to hover out of place, like it landed as a result of that tornado from Kansas…everybody so worried about Dorothy, no one really noticed.  Definitely an affront to a seasoned architect….to say nothing of the faux Grecian statue in the middle of the front yard.

As we headed  into northern California, he started to reminisce about a major project he had designed…the one that landed him in Who’s Who in America. He was the first architect to enclose an entire downtown area, with heating and air conditioning and they called it a MALL. Countless trips up and down I-5; too much time spent away from family, successes and failures until 5 years later the mall opened to an  exhuberant crowd.  It received awards and recognition that few men see in a lifetime. It WAS a very big deal. We pulled into town to have a look. He knew it well and at the same time felt like a first time visitor what with all the changes; the restaurant he frequented during the project, gone; the fire station that he had designed, now a mere shadow of itself, serving as the town’s sparkling Metro Plex.

We  got out at the “mall” and walked around as he explained what it used to look like, what he designed and why, where people gathered and the sense of community that had been established. The Mall is gone as are most of the businesses that once occupied it. But the strangest thing…when the Mall was taken down, all the pillars once supporting the massive roof systems he designed  remained. So many of these giant pillars still have the original stained glass work in them that my father designed. It was  amazing to see the pillar that is my 87-year-old dad, standing next to the pillars he designed so that light, beauty and a sense of permanence filled the space.

The memories of dreams, love and families sustain us when the roof comes down.

Molly Davis is a regular guest contributor to the very sassy and completely inspiring StyleSubstanceSoul.com…a website designed to inspire women to be the very best they can be.

The following is just a teaser of Ms. Davis’s  latest contribution to SSS. Please click on the link below to read more.

http://stylesubstancesoul.com/2010/10/matters-that-matter-ghosts-of-halloweens-past/

“The world has changed drastically since those days of trick or treating in my friendly little neighborhood. We are working more and playing less. Texting instead of talking. Commuting instead of communing. As we move toward the future, with the help of all of the incredible technology at our fingertips, let’s be mindful to carry forward what has served us so well in the past. Maybe the trick is in treating ourselves to a little more in-person talking — and just a little less tweeting.”

art by lisakaser.com

There are common threads that connect us as human beings and as women…they are subtle, often unspoken…but we know they are there. If we find the courage to ask, ask and listen, ask, listen and expose our own soft spots, we find that we are made of similar stuff. Our fears, our hopes, our dreams…are kin that connect us like maiden names and dna. 

I believe with all my heart and soul that those common threads are the foundation for courage. When we know we are not alone, when we find a heart we can trust, a soul that recognizes our own, we are more likely to  stand up, to speak up and to show up.

thank you for the inspiration my darling Kate.

katevanraden.wordpress.com

I am feeling  a lot of pressure  these days.  I am  diligently stomping on my writers block while I watch the clock tick and the days drop off the calendar. Deadlines for me are not what they are for many. Many, love love love the pressure. Their best work comes from the moment of either jumping  off a cliff or writing  the final chapter….Me, well I just freeze…can’t jump…can’t finish the final chapter. Just stand on one foot then the other until I am so tired I just have to lie down.

Writers know how difficult it is to be stuck. “Worthless, ridiculous, career over, fake, fraud” are words that play on a continual loop thru our brains. You get up and drink water(or wine depending on how stuck or what time of the day it is). brush your teeth, wash your face, take a walk, do the dishes, search the want ads for jobs you might qualify for…anything that provides breathing room and the possibility of  STUCK being  nudged just a smidge. But even during the distracting  maneuvers…still the loop is looping.

 Okay, sit with me now and see the incredible things around me…a roaring fire in the fireplace, blue skies, birds at the feeder, the Sunset Maples in all their finery, my husband  humming in the other room. If I can grab hold of that damn loop for just a second, and  realize that the stuck I  am experiencing is in fact the very stuff that fuels my writing fire. I need air, and light, space and a bit  magic in order  to  create.

So as  I sit here in my softest flannel p.j.s I am trying my damnedest  to embrace this stuck period. If I took writing out of the equation, this moment is perfect. I have all I need and more than I want. Try that on for size.  So the stuck I am this morning is truly AS GOOD AS IT GETS….I don’t have to jump off a bridge, just sit here, be still and take a leap of faith.



“Visualize Whirled Peas”?

Today, I was out running a zillion errands that included handing canned food to a myriad of folks standing in harm’s way on highway on-ramps. Their signs could be a book…a story behind each picture. “Will work for food; homeless in need of gas money; wounded vet needs help; HUNGRY; my dog and I will eat whatever you give us!

I noticed that the ancient, rusty truck in front of me was wearing a myriad of bumper sticker like a bunch of Band-Aids…. Band-Aids earned in a moment of playing Truth or Dare…badges of honor, personal beliefs and moments of outrage. There was; Sarah Palin Is A Coffee Drinker; Obama Inherited This Shit; If you can read this tee-shirt the bitch fell off (should have been on a motorcycle I suppose); VISUALIZE WHIRLED PEAS.

I appreciate that there are people who can find humor in the incredible mess we are in. That in spite of heightened security around the world, the horrors laid out on the 6:00 o’clock news, there are those who can take the fear and challenge it with their hope and passion for all the world to see.

If we allow ourselves to be completely overwhelmed by the state of the world, then we surrender our effectiveness. If our hearts and souls are hopeless with grief we are less than capable of identifying the signs around us, the Band Aid’s earned in fights well fought, those truly in need of help, support and encouragement.

Carry cans of food and be generous with them….WAG MORE, BARK LESS

There have been many of us planning and dreaming and scheming  and talking and praying and chanting in the hopes of  providing a remarkable experience  for all who  could attend  WOMEN LIVING FULLY; INVESTING IN OURSELVES.  But then we stopped to listen and heard so many of you asking for a different arrangement so that you could actually get away from your responsibilities, and come!  Sunday thru Wednesday schedule just wasn’t doable for many. 

So PEEC (Pocono Environmental Education Center)  has worked with us to reschedule the Women Living Fully retreat for spring 2011. Wow, that seems like a long time…but we assure you that the quality of the experience will be worth waiting for.

Please note that the website will be updated as plans are made and confirmed. www.womenlivingfully.com

SEE YOU IN THE POCONOS!

 www.womenlivingfully.com

PEEC

 Pocono Environmental Education Center

peec.org

Presents

  Women Living Fully: Investing in Ourselves

     A WOMEN’S RE: TREAT

             RE: new                   RE: invent   

          RE: fresh               RE: write      

     RE: adjust             RE: align

                RE: design             RE: invigorate

       RE: ignite              RE: charge

       RE: invest              RE: create

          RE: store                RE: emerge

   RE: start                 RE: vive

  Come away and…Re:treat YOURSELF

                  October 24th – 27th we will inspire, encourage, connect, forgive, fall madly in love with, and give birth to ourselves.

We’re gonna kick, scream, share, drink, laugh, eat, dance & toast life.

Every bit of it.

On Tuesday evening – the 26th – PEEC & writer Kristine Van Raden present:

Common Threads: a play by one crazy woman for all crazy women in mid-life.

If you are interested in participating in the performance contact Kristine at kristinevr@mattersthatmatter.com

      It’s your life. Live it to the fullest.

http://www.womenlivingfully.com

lisakaser.com

 In collaboration with:

Amy, Hollye, Amy, Molly, Monica, Robyn, Gregory Ann, Elizabeth, Kristine and Heidi

Gold Star Mom Speaks Out:

 I was living what I thought was an ordinary life. I had raised my only child on my own and I was enjoying watching him make his way through this world successfully and happily. On May 30, 2004, Ken was killed in a war that I never supported brought to this country by an administration I never supported. While many people say that casualties in Iraq have been relatively low, any number more than zero was too many for this war. Very few people have actually met a Gold Star Mom. It is important that people know what it feels like to be in my situation. I know not all Gold Star Moms feel as I do, I speak for myself, no one else. You cannot or do not want to imagine the process that the military goes through when a soldier is killed in combat, or any other situation. This is not a journey that any family should have to make. Ever. Welcome to my world.

kensmomkm@gmail.com      http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/kmballard.htm

 Mature women singing spending time remembering yet still making new plans deciding what is healthy what is worthy of the dance at hand. She turns around seeing days have slipped by pauses reflects on mistakes reflects on the positives as well. She grows into understanding her own person her own song. She turns around listens for the orchestra yes it is still playing and she sings: I am not music without lyrics I am a woman of substance. I have thoughts that I pursue that speak volumes age has brought me knowledge. I have lists of things I’ve learned. I embrace my worth and no longer fear saying so. I am not a hot flash sweaty without warning that is just a symptom of change. ‘Tis true I was feeling so fresh pretty even then my body reminded me that I am human I am a woman and I say, yes! Aging? Yes. And yet… I stand steady looking toward possibility. Ohh yes! Ready to understand my inner being better? Oh yes indeed. I am not music without lyrics I am the song I always knew I could be. I am the dance I dream of. I am an artist one who creates be it cookies or a garden of flowers be it paintings that line the walls of beautiful older women galleries. I create be it a gratitude journal blogs on line I continue on and feel my own worth. Mature women? Keep singing continue on they create their own lyrics. They know the song they understand the tune because it has become them and it becomes them beautifully.

 http://www.kathyostman-magnusen.com

She passed with flying colors…must have been the granny panties…She was so sure they worked magic that we celebrated afterwards by buying her 6 more pairs.

She’s off to the Senior Center to sign up for a painting class and meet a man. She has decided the panties ought to be seen by someone other than herself.

Tomorrow is the big day!

The culmination of months of disagreements, harsh words, tears and enough fear to go around.

We have all made plans and cancelled them. We have threatened and not followed thru. We have made promises; some kept, some not.

Independence is at stake…a life to call her own…a trip to the store for ice cream any time she feels like it.  A drive, just a simple drive to see what’s beyond her walking capabilities.

Will the driving instructor take pity on her because she is OLD? Her question, not mine. What if she has to parallel park, drive the highway, or back up in a crowded parking lot?

What if she gets too nervous and has an accident, with the car or with her bowels. There is risk involved here and an outcome that will shape the remaining years of her life.

If she doesn’t pass the test, she will take it 3 more allotted times. If she fails on all fronts she will move into assisted care…in her mind a fate worse than death…but one that will be necessary if she doesn’t have her own wheels. She’s decided.

I’ve told her we can work things out, schedules, cabs, deliveries…but NO, she says that she will move if it comes to that.

This all breaks my heart, and I wish I could take the test for her…like my kids SAT’s, or final exams that made them want to throw up. I really don’t care that she should or shouldn’t be on the road…I just care that she feels like this is a life or death (so to speak) test of skills.

I used to always have something special for my kids after a grueling test…homemade cookies, a pair of bright-colored socks, and new head band…just something so they knew that I was thinking of them while they were facing a challenge and doing their best.

I bought her pretty underwear today and will show up with them tomorrow when I pick her up to take her for her driving test.  I thought the pretty underwear would give her a measure of confidence …pretty underwear can do that, lift your spirits. It’s just hard to find granny panties that fit the bill.

 I will wait patiently for her to return; victorious, or devastated. Regardless of the outcome, we will go to lunch afterwards and talk about it and then talk about it some more. One way or the other we are movin’ on down the road with her in the driver’s seat.

Wish us luck!