Okay, now I can see what I am writing again and I have editing tools showing above my post that weren’t there again. How did this happen? How can I make sure it happens next time?
Will Elizabeth be able to capture the joy of an operational editing mode for her blog?
Tune in next week…
Below is a link to my mother’s blog, which is fabulous by the way, about my Aunt Gloria:
http://martasmemoriesetc.blogspot.com/2012/06/no-easy-way-to-say-this.html
(You need to cut and paste the address into your browser to view. Sorry, I still don’t know how to use Word Press.)
Yesterday, my mother’s sister, Gloria died unexpectedly from a heart attack. Gloria and her three daughters are remarkable women and I wanted to share a bit about them as an expression of my love and admiration. One of the things that I tell families is that death is one of the really hard parts of normal life. But some deaths are so much harder than others because they occur outside of the typical life cycle of dying in old age. Gloria and her daughters, Catherine, Portia, and Beth have lost more than their fair share of loved ones over the years and a number of them passed at young ages from horrible diseases. As a group, they have lost two husbands, two fathers, two mothers, a son, and a brother.
Gloria grew up during the end of the Great Depression and throughout World War II. She was the first of six children born to my grandparents. There was only a five year gap between Gloria’s birth and the birth of my mother, Martha who was the 4th born. Gloria relished being the first born and strove to be a leader among her siblings. Like her sisters would after her, she showed a great deal of performing arts talent, especially singing. As a young girl and for a number of years afterward, she performed on local KJR radio as part of Uncle Frank’s Kiddie Hour. I have a copy of a publicity picture of Frank and all of the kid performers. Gloria looks about 5 or 6, is saluting the camera,decked out in the finest Shirley Temple regalia including tap shoes. We have a recording of one of her performances. She was about 12 years old at the time and sang, Brazil. Gloria had quite the voice, clear, poised, and mature. It really is remarkable and a treasured record of the many talents in my family.
Gloria, her husband Norm, and their four children lived in Nevada for most of my childhood. They had lived in Seattle, but I don’t remember that time. So I didn’t see her often. But she had the charismatic force of personality that marked her prominently in my mind so it seemed like we saw her more than we did. Gloria was really funny and could be great fun. She was a great storyteller and was always ready to sing an impromptu song or do some of her Shirley Temple tap moves. She sang her whole life, at home, at church, on Uncle Frank’s, in college, with the Gilbert and Sullivan Society, and most recently, with the St. James Cathedral Choir after she moved back to the Seattle area. Gloria was also very educated. She had a Bachelor’s Degree in teaching. Her grandfathers had both been coal miners and her mother had ended school after grade 8 . A deeply emotional person with an oft wounded heart, Gloria could also be feisty and stubborn. I remember hearing about the time she was asked to leave the audience at one of the big Seattle theaters (the 5th Avenue I think) because she wouldn’t stop taking pictures of the performers. Any assumptions that security may have had about “little old ladies” would have been promptly dispelled. Aunt Gloria called me recently to offer her support regarding my cancer. She told a story of her own cancer (skin) doctor and how wonderful he was, which I have l learned from my mom is code for “young and handsome.” Gloria told me that after hearing that he was married she told him that she was disappointed because she had a number of young single women friends that she wanted him to meet. (I also have learned from my mom that this is a sly way of flirting with men who are too young for you and you are married anyway. Believe me on this. When I was a young unmarried woman, my mom used to tell young men, “You are so good-looking and nice. You should date my daughter.” Did she ever get one phone number? No. I rest my case.)
Catherine is the oldest of Gloria’s children. When we were growing up, she was the studious, serious, and responsible kid. She still is though her serious demeanor belies a fabulous sense of humor. Catherine has also surprised me with her love of performance and music. She has sung with a band and plays the guitar, which she took up as a full fledged grown up. Catherine has a successful public relations business. She is a highly involved and devoted mother to her teen son, Christian. When there’s work to be done, Catherine tends to take on the lion’s share of responsibility. Several years ago, Catherine, Christian, and her then husband, Rich joined one of our extended family camping trips. We were hiking and my mom noticed that Catherine was carrying a full backpack and Rich was lightly bounding down the trail, burden free. My mom said, “Catherine, do you always have to carry the back pack?” My mom’s question was based on years of observation. Catherine is a smart cookie so I’m sure she got the layers of meaning in my mom’s question. But Catherine has a great deal of restraint, which is somewhat rare in our extended family’s love of overt complaining and gossiping. So she said, “It’s okay, I like to carry the back pack.” Catherine also did a large amount of care taking of her brother, when he was dying of AIDS. Greg was in his early 30’s when he died. Greg was married at the time and I didn’t know his wife. Perhaps it was all too much for her or she couldn’t leave her job, I don’t know the context. But what I do know is that Catherine dropped everything to care for her brother in his last days.
Portia is the “middle daughter.” Unlike her sisters, she did not return to living in the Northwest. I rarely see her. What I do see is her art. Catherine has Portia’s artwork displayed in her home. It is gorgeous. My favorite painting for both artistic and sentimental reasons is “Aunt Blanche’s Garden”. Our Great Aunt Blanche may have only had an 8th grade education but she knew the botanical names of scores of plants and her garden was out of this world. Portia used abstract technique and a wonderful color sense to show the dynamic interplay of lush flowers and foliage, perfectly capturing Aunt Blanche’s garden as well as her personality. Another way I’ve kept in touch with Portia is through her lovely daughter, Alyssa. Alyssa is a young woman now and she has a degree of poise, independence, and maturity that inspires optimism about our young generation. The fact that as a young mother, Portia cared for her terminally ill husband while raising a daughter and went on to raise this lovely, intelligent, and talented young lady, is beyond impressive. Finally, Portia went back to school and is now working as a nurse. Her shift toward the healing arts is just beautiful.
Beth is the “baby” of the family. She and I are also peers since we are only 7 months apart in age. When we were kids, Beth had a heart full of gold and a head full of mischief. She was incredibly generous. I remember that she got into a small bit of trouble in he first job in an ice cream parlor because she made the scoops too big. She was always surprised that I was such a goodie goodie. She regaled me with tales of egging houses on Halloween and playing practical jokes on the sisters who taught her at the Little Flower School. I also learned from her that nuns sometimes keep Coors beer in their refrigerator. Scandal! Despite my nerdiness, we always had a good time together and she even visited me in the dorms when I was in college at U.W. Besides being really smart and funny like her sisters, Beth is someone to have around when there is a crisis. Like my husband, she possesses detailed knowledge of what to do in emergency situations. Beth is also very brave. Yesterday, while driving her family for a fun day to celebrating her three year old’s birthday, she saw that her mother was gravely ill, drove to a parking lot, pulled her mother out of her car to give her CPR, asked for help from strangers, while her kids were screaming in the car. That’s strength and heroism. That’s Beth.
I know I’ve left important facts out of this post. I know that all my cousins took care of their brother. I know that they were all wonderful daughters. They are all wonderful mothers. My cousins will be reuniting this weekend to plan Gloria’s funeral. I know that this is a hard time for them. The grief for their mom may bring back grief for their other loses, their dad, their brother, marriages, Portia’s husband. I’m so glad they have each other. They are intelligent, strong, and deeply loving women. I am also glad that they are so strong but I wish they didn’t have to be.
So my other project is Weight Watchers. As some of you know, I have had trouble maintaining a healthy weight since I was a teen. Sometimes I dread going in for my annual physical because if I’m overweight, I know my internist will ask me about my weight loss plans. Even though it is totally her job to talk to me about this and she does it in the kindest way possible, I still feel dread. Just last Friday, I was weighed at the beginning of my consultation with the surgeon. I was slightly surprised as I had asked the day before whether I would be given a medical exam and the woman whom I had spoke with told me that it was just a consultation. So, the nurse escorted me from the waiting room with the first stop being the scale. I quipped, “Ugh, getting weighed is worse than having cancer.” Crickets. I am known for my gallows humor under extreme stress. After all, I was the the person that upon opening a letter at work informing me that I was one of the people being let go in a round of lay offs who stood in the hallway, waved the letter, and exclaimed, “I thought this was a bonus check!” People laughed then but not this time. And perhaps I was imagining things but I thought I even saw a bit of a pained look on the face of one of the RN’s that passed me so I lamely said for all to hear, “I really don’t think it is worse to be weighed than having cancer.”
There are periods in my life when I’ve been overweight and periods when I have been at a healthy weight. I also have a long history of a poor body image. I didn’t really believe that I could possibly be good looking until I was an older teen and even that was a tenuous realization. There were also periods when I viewed myself as downright ugly. I used to get bullied about the way I looked, too. NOT HELPFUL. I remember when I was a 5th grader, there was this 6th grader who purposely sat on the bus with me for what seemed like days on end to tell me how ugly I was. He once said, “You’re so ugly, you don’t deserve to live.” Now this was not one of the popular kids, he was, objectively speaking, a pretty homely kid with a lot of problems and not many friends. Nonetheless, I can still remember the way my face burned and my stomach turned, just listening to him. In the 7th grade, some of the 8th grade boys used to tease me by pretending they liked me by derisively flirting with me. They also gave off the impression that they thought I didn’t know they were insincere.
When I was in the 8th grade, I lost about 25 pounds and grew a number of inches. I also started wearing make-up and stylish clothes. When I wasn’t wearing my velour top, white painter’s pants, and high heel Candie’s slides, I was wearing my Brittania’s with my blue Nike swoosh running shoes. I got my hair professionally cut into a Farrah-esque mane, except with more curl and brunette hair. Anyway, you get the picture. The world changed for me. Some of my old friends were no longer friends and then some kids who wouldn’t have previously given me the time of day, acted like they wanted to make friends. I pretty much stuck with the friends in the third group, the ones who stayed my friends throughout my physical transformation.
When I got to high school, some of those former 8th grade boys did not recognize me because I had changed while they were high school freshman. One of them actually tried to ask me out a few years later and our band teacher was even trying to be his wing man. I did not explain myself. As it turned out, I actually didn’t end up dating a lot in high school. I was loud and a good student. I was considered a “brain” and in adolescent black-and-white thinking, if you fit in one category, it was hard to be in another category like “pretty” or “fun.” I remember, too thinking that I would have a better dating life if I weren’t doing as well at school. As much as I wanted a boyfriend and doubted whether I was attractive or not, I knew that if I worked hard at school I would have a lot more choices later in my life. I also remember having a strong sense of financial responsibility for supporting myself someday. (This was more than a little unusual as I was 1) thinking far ahead into the future and 2) there were still a lot of stay at home moms back then, including my own.
By the time I got to college, I got a lot of attention for my looks. I had never really experienced a lot of positive attention like this. Men I didn’t know would see me walking up the steps to U.W. buildings and open the door for me! I have to admit, it was pretty cool. I remember during one week of my sophomore year, I had two young men asking for dates. I thought, “Why shouldn’t I be able to date two men?” So I went out to lunch with one and out to dinner with the other all in the same week. SCANDALOUS! This will sound ridiculous but the idea of dating two guys felt like juggling 100 items at once and like I was doing something wrong. I liked both of them. After a week I chose one of them for a stupid reason, too (he lived closer to me.) Ironically, this boyfriend was also one that when mad at me, complained that I was too fat and not pretty enough. This is a lesson to you, young ladies out there. It is perfectly okay to casually date more than one guy especially if you are simply eating meals with them. And don’t pick boyfriends based solely on convenience.
My husband and I met when I was 20. He’s a dear and has always sincerely complimented my looks no matter my age or weight, which has fluctuated quite a bit over the past 25 years. It was with ample embarrassment and some shame that I recently admitted to him that even now during the overweight periods of my middle aged life, I think negative thoughts about my weight and appearance several times a day. I am extremely careful to avoid saying these things aloud, especially in front of my daughter. But despite the fact that I have a wonderful husband, career, and family as well as the fact that I am a pretty happy person, I have yet to eliminate the negative self-comments from my head.
It is easy to say that this is ALL the doing of the media or our culture for it’s ridiculous emphasis on beauty, sex appeal, and youth in women in defining their value to society. And although I was hardly immune to this influence, I was able to counter so many other cultural influences. I didn’t take drugs, smoke, or drink. I did well in school. I was very ambitious in my schooling and career. Further, I have experienced myself as being valued for so many substantive characteristics, for being intelligent, for being kind, for being smart and fun. I know there are other ways to be valued as a woman than for beauty. I am a happy and outgoing person. When I walk down the street, people often smile or say, “hello.” My experience with the world, even of people I don’t know is so overwhelmingly positive. Why do I still have these thoughts of being less than? Is it really so important to me that I be valued specifically for beauty? Or is this voice in my head just an old tape that plays when I am feeling the negative physical and emotional effects of not eating right or exercising? Maybe it is really closer to the latter and I am not so superficial deep down after all. I’ve never thought about it that way before. Thanks again, Mom this blog was a great idea!
Some of you may read this and be tempted to provide me with reassurance, to tell me, “Don’t be ridiculous, you are beautiful.” I’m not looking for reassurance. Whether I am beautiful or not is beside the point. Whether I am physically beautiful to others is irrelevant. All of us know women who are breathtakingly beautiful and even make money at least in part for being breathtakingly beautiful and are still horribly unhappy about their looks. (I’m looking at you Uma Thurman.) No amount of outside reassurance is going to fix those insecurities and doubts.
Finally, I may never fully rid myself of that negative body image tape. But maybe I need to stop feeling so embarrassed by and ashamed of it. I will never be perfect so I don’t need to beat myself up for beating myself up. The tape is one of the things about my life I would like to be different. I’ve already proven that I can live with it and be a happy, well-adjusted person. And yes, I know that my project is bigger than Weight Watchers. But the Weight Watchers project is helping me be physically healthier and there’s no shame in that.
Join us this summer for our reunion in Renton, WA!
George Lakoff has retired as Distinguished Professor of Cognitive Science and Linguistics at the University of California at Berkeley. His newest book "The Neural Mind" is now available.
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