Do you ever not feel at home in your own home...or for that matter...in your own mind? There are so many times I just want to speak my mind...speak how I am really feeling. I have things I want to say, feelings I want to express that are just bursting to get out...but because of sociological etiquette (or political correctness...I guess I should say), I'm actually afraid to express myself. I have no biases, no prejudices, no social snobbery...yet I'm afraid if I say the wrong thing...it will be interpreted as such. We never know what others will "hear" when we speak, and how they will interpret what we are saying. We have to be so careful as to not hurt anyone's feelings or inadequacies, or social stratification, that even if we have absolutely no biases whatsoever...we can come off as appearing that way.
I feel that I have to censor myself in every day life. How ridiculous is that? The many roles I play are varied. I am a mother, I am a career woman, a friend, a lover (well...not in the last few years...in case anyone was curious...and available!) an ex-wife, a confidante, and other assorted roles. How can I assume those roles if I can't be the totally honest person that I am?
Of course we play the game in our careers...that's just how it's been forever, to survive. But I will tell you this...I will NOT play the kiss ass role. I do draw the line at that. If they don't like me for my assets...then they can kiss my assets good-bye.
The friend and confidante role...that's not really playing...that's a role that I love...but every so often, you still have to watch what you say...because you just never know if you cross a line. If true friendship is there...no worries whatsoever...but there is always that 1% deviation and the unknown...and well...it weighs on your conscience.
The mom role! What could be any greater than the mom role. It's not a role...it's what comes naturally. There is nothing more real than being a mom...the love that emanates from me is so natural and pure, that there is no defining the feeling. but what I have come out of my mouth...that's a whole other thing! I have to absolutely edit the words and feelings. Not the feelings of love and respect and admiration for my kids, because those come pouring out without thinking. But the everyday goings on and the past that I've had....that's a whole different ball game. They don't need to know what my past is. But they do need glimpses in there...so how do you edit what's right or wrong to divulge? What I do is mentally put myself back at that age to see and feel what I was thinking so I can relate. But I still have to censor myself! I need to dig so deep within to make sure I only tell what will positively affect them. But I still have to worry about saying the right things on a day to day basis…because that affects their whole life. A parent’s role is so monumental…that there is no going back once the impression is made.
How is that being totally honest? Can we ever be totally honest? It's so frustrating. And that's only with our kids. How about with our parents and siblings? What about our other halves? Our partners/husbands/wives? Do we have to censor things with them, too? Of course we do, because in this day and age, people don’t seem willing to work on relationships as hard as they should and seem to walk out more easily then they used to. I believe people are more out in the open with their feelings, but then there are always consequences. So which is better…back in our parents day when you just didn’t talk about relationships…and just stayed together no matter what, or open up and take the chance of changing the dynamics. I’ll still go for the latter, but will we ever get to a point where we can be our total, honest, uncensored, 100% selves?
Will we ever be totally at home in our own home. Will we ever be totally at home in our own mind? Will we? Will I ever not have to ask the question…can I just tell you how I really feel?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Free Falling
College years...who wasn't a little crazy? We were indestructible, weren't we? So skydiving wasn't that outrageous a thought. We were in the middle of Appalachia, one of the poorest parts of the country, with very little to do for entertainment. I always said skydiving was something I was going to do before I died and if I died doing it...at least I was happy on the way out.
I rounded up 8 friends and convinced them to skydive with me...although it didn't take too much convincing. Nine bored college kids doing something adventurous and dangerous. We were immortal, weren’t we?
Kentucky had the only skydiving school in the tri-state area…Kentucky? You mean there’s more to that state then just the derby? Skydiving and the Kentucky derby…that’s probably about it. Seriously…have you ever heard of Kentucky besides geography class in grade school?
We arrived bright and early, eager to put our lives into the hands of jump masters that we didn't know at all. We had to literally sign our lives away…I mean literally…”if I die…the school is not held responsible for my death”...an hour of paperwork...then ready for training for the next 6 hours.
Ok…we were there, ready to go, “give us your training facilities…we’re ready!” Nine doe-eyed novices waiting to be trained by 20 somethings who also had no clue what they were doing, but yet we put our lives in their hands with no second thoughts. Why??? Seriously…WHY?
We looked around for a sophisticated training center only to see what looked like someone’s backyard. So there we were, jumping off picnic tables to learn how to fall. Really? Two feet high picnic tables were going to prepare me for the 10,000 foot drop when I had to land with my parachute? I was going to learn how to roll on my ankles so as not to break my legs, or anything else for that matter…from a picnic table…getting me ready to have this G-force experience…and not die!?
Ok then…let’s do it!
After learning about packing our chutes and pulling the chord at the right time after 3 counts, and various other information that we would never use…we got into our very stylish jumpsuits and helmets. We followed the jump master to a plane that we assumed was for simulation purposes since the control panel was a magazine cut out. They explained where to position ourselves when getting ready to jump, one foot out on the strut and hands holding onto a bar on the wing. It was so exciting! He asked if we were ready and all nine of us couldn’t contain ourselves. We got into groups of three and decided who would be the first group to go. I volunteered because I couldn’t wait any longer and I also didn’t want to have any opportunity to chicken out.
“Where’s the plane?” “You’re on it!” WHAT?? This is it? You have got to be kidding me! “There’s no instrument panel.” “We have a key to turn it on…and a steering wheel…that’s all we need” OK…that makes sense…let’s go!
I went in a group with Ian and Mori. Ian was first, I was going second, Mori third. My heart was pounding out of my chest as we took off. I was astonished this thing actually could leave the ground. It looked like something from WWII. But there we were, flying high. Ian was getting ready to put his foot out on the strut…holding on to the wing…and then he froze. The jump master was yelling at him to let go and fall and he was not moving. Finally, the jump master and I both pushed him out and there he went…free falling. It was my turn next. I was out and gone within seconds because it was scarier to me to stand on the strut and look down than to let go and free fall for the whole 3 seconds before the chute opened. I had completely forgotten to even pull the ripcord…but luckily we were on a static line and everything was done for us. Had it not…I’d be a bug splat on the ground.
The wind in my ears…flying high above the corn fields…sitting in the harness…flying…there was nothing like it. It seemed like forever but it was only about 3 minutes…but those three minutes could never be compared to any other feeling in my life. Free falling…what an experience. Not a care in the world. Heaven.
Until I landed in a bull pen with a bright, red parachute and noticed a bull coming toward me. I did roll on my ankles correctly, thankfully, because it gave me my legs to run and get the hell out of there. I looked behind me…there was the bull coming at me and I hopped over some barbed wire, tearing the chute, while trying to get out of the harness and running for my life. Again, my heart was pounding out of my chest, but that time, was not because I was excited.
Luckily the people from the school saw where I landed and picked me up in a truck. I had landed about a mile off target…obviously not where I was supposed to land.
That was the last and only time I skydived. But I did achieve one of my goals in this lifetime, and an experience that can never be matched.
I rounded up 8 friends and convinced them to skydive with me...although it didn't take too much convincing. Nine bored college kids doing something adventurous and dangerous. We were immortal, weren’t we?
Kentucky had the only skydiving school in the tri-state area…Kentucky? You mean there’s more to that state then just the derby? Skydiving and the Kentucky derby…that’s probably about it. Seriously…have you ever heard of Kentucky besides geography class in grade school?
We arrived bright and early, eager to put our lives into the hands of jump masters that we didn't know at all. We had to literally sign our lives away…I mean literally…”if I die…the school is not held responsible for my death”...an hour of paperwork...then ready for training for the next 6 hours.
Ok…we were there, ready to go, “give us your training facilities…we’re ready!” Nine doe-eyed novices waiting to be trained by 20 somethings who also had no clue what they were doing, but yet we put our lives in their hands with no second thoughts. Why??? Seriously…WHY?
We looked around for a sophisticated training center only to see what looked like someone’s backyard. So there we were, jumping off picnic tables to learn how to fall. Really? Two feet high picnic tables were going to prepare me for the 10,000 foot drop when I had to land with my parachute? I was going to learn how to roll on my ankles so as not to break my legs, or anything else for that matter…from a picnic table…getting me ready to have this G-force experience…and not die!?
Ok then…let’s do it!
After learning about packing our chutes and pulling the chord at the right time after 3 counts, and various other information that we would never use…we got into our very stylish jumpsuits and helmets. We followed the jump master to a plane that we assumed was for simulation purposes since the control panel was a magazine cut out. They explained where to position ourselves when getting ready to jump, one foot out on the strut and hands holding onto a bar on the wing. It was so exciting! He asked if we were ready and all nine of us couldn’t contain ourselves. We got into groups of three and decided who would be the first group to go. I volunteered because I couldn’t wait any longer and I also didn’t want to have any opportunity to chicken out.
“Where’s the plane?” “You’re on it!” WHAT?? This is it? You have got to be kidding me! “There’s no instrument panel.” “We have a key to turn it on…and a steering wheel…that’s all we need” OK…that makes sense…let’s go!
I went in a group with Ian and Mori. Ian was first, I was going second, Mori third. My heart was pounding out of my chest as we took off. I was astonished this thing actually could leave the ground. It looked like something from WWII. But there we were, flying high. Ian was getting ready to put his foot out on the strut…holding on to the wing…and then he froze. The jump master was yelling at him to let go and fall and he was not moving. Finally, the jump master and I both pushed him out and there he went…free falling. It was my turn next. I was out and gone within seconds because it was scarier to me to stand on the strut and look down than to let go and free fall for the whole 3 seconds before the chute opened. I had completely forgotten to even pull the ripcord…but luckily we were on a static line and everything was done for us. Had it not…I’d be a bug splat on the ground.
The wind in my ears…flying high above the corn fields…sitting in the harness…flying…there was nothing like it. It seemed like forever but it was only about 3 minutes…but those three minutes could never be compared to any other feeling in my life. Free falling…what an experience. Not a care in the world. Heaven.
Until I landed in a bull pen with a bright, red parachute and noticed a bull coming toward me. I did roll on my ankles correctly, thankfully, because it gave me my legs to run and get the hell out of there. I looked behind me…there was the bull coming at me and I hopped over some barbed wire, tearing the chute, while trying to get out of the harness and running for my life. Again, my heart was pounding out of my chest, but that time, was not because I was excited.
Luckily the people from the school saw where I landed and picked me up in a truck. I had landed about a mile off target…obviously not where I was supposed to land.
That was the last and only time I skydived. But I did achieve one of my goals in this lifetime, and an experience that can never be matched.
Friday, September 17, 2010
what's in a name
am i crazy or have names changed drastically in the last couple of decades? or maybe just the last decade. i remember as a kid, there was not one other person named jaime. when peer pressure is rampant, i was so embarrassed to tell people my name. i wasn't a susan, or jane, or linda...i was a jaime. on top of that, i would get mailers asking MR. Jaime Perlov "do YOU want to join the army now?" and when i went to summer camp, they always put me in the boys cabins. (thinking back...that wasn't such a bad thing!) but then...i was so humiliated!
granted...it was the 60's....but although it was the 60's, i was only a 10 year old girl who was already embarrassed enough by my name. now i was being mistaken as a boy? how can i ever live!!
then i think back to my grandfather. his name was irving. irving...really??? so his parents looked at him when he was born...gushing all over their baby boy...thinking he is the most adorable creature on earth...and said..."YOU LOOK LIKE AN IRVING"??? you have got to be kidding! i don't care what era we are in...IRVING?
and now the names of the present. most(?) names are pretty normal and nice and everyone likes them. but then you have the outrageous. and these kids have to live with these names for the rest of their lives. who am i to say that in 10 years or so...their names won't be the susan, jane and linda's of their era. but i have to think...in 2020...susan, jane and linda....will come full circle...and it will be back to Dick and Jane and Spot. and won't times be ever so simple and happy again.
granted...it was the 60's....but although it was the 60's, i was only a 10 year old girl who was already embarrassed enough by my name. now i was being mistaken as a boy? how can i ever live!!
then i think back to my grandfather. his name was irving. irving...really??? so his parents looked at him when he was born...gushing all over their baby boy...thinking he is the most adorable creature on earth...and said..."YOU LOOK LIKE AN IRVING"??? you have got to be kidding! i don't care what era we are in...IRVING?
and now the names of the present. most(?) names are pretty normal and nice and everyone likes them. but then you have the outrageous. and these kids have to live with these names for the rest of their lives. who am i to say that in 10 years or so...their names won't be the susan, jane and linda's of their era. but i have to think...in 2020...susan, jane and linda....will come full circle...and it will be back to Dick and Jane and Spot. and won't times be ever so simple and happy again.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
on the road again
with both my girls in college, i have spent many a day on the road visiting them. before they decided which school they would attend, we took many road trips to explore which california university they would connect with. the trips up the california coast were a real hardship...seeing all the beautiful scenery california has to offer...what a killer! the only problem is that i have no sense of direction...and my oldest daughter is no better. how we made it up to san francisco and back is a question that will never be answered. we attempted to go from our hotel in SF to CSUSF, which should have been a 20 minute drive, but ended up taking us an hour, going full circle back to the hotel. we did get to see the entire city of san francisco, though, traveling the perimeter, but had not had any intention of seeing it on THAT day. surprise!!!! how lucky were we??
aside from that...i have made some observations while ON THE ROAD AGAIN...
please explain to me the purpose of a bra on a car hood? if you are covering up the one part you want to protect so that it looks good, but no one ever sees it because it's always covered up...what's the point?
i'm all for letting whomever wants to live in this country move here...become a citizen...but when you get on the freeways...the speed limit is 65. do NOT go 40. when you're in the fast lane...do NOT go under 80...it's just rude to those of us who actually speed.
anyone who has a gorgeous sports car and goes the speed limit...SHAME on you...that's not the point!
and finally...you know you are taking too many road trips when: (only 5...i couldn't come up with 10)
5. you know the logos of every motel in the USA and notice when they change them (for any of you who are interested...holiday inn has recently changed theirs)
4. you know which gas stations have the cleanest restrooms
3. you know the exact hiding places of the cops
2. you know which stretch of freeway has the worst smelling cattle
and the number ONE reason you know you are taking too many road trips....
1. you start wondering what colors and design your cab on your SEMI would have if you drove one
aside from that...i have made some observations while ON THE ROAD AGAIN...
please explain to me the purpose of a bra on a car hood? if you are covering up the one part you want to protect so that it looks good, but no one ever sees it because it's always covered up...what's the point?
i'm all for letting whomever wants to live in this country move here...become a citizen...but when you get on the freeways...the speed limit is 65. do NOT go 40. when you're in the fast lane...do NOT go under 80...it's just rude to those of us who actually speed.
anyone who has a gorgeous sports car and goes the speed limit...SHAME on you...that's not the point!
and finally...you know you are taking too many road trips when: (only 5...i couldn't come up with 10)
5. you know the logos of every motel in the USA and notice when they change them (for any of you who are interested...holiday inn has recently changed theirs)
4. you know which gas stations have the cleanest restrooms
3. you know the exact hiding places of the cops
2. you know which stretch of freeway has the worst smelling cattle
and the number ONE reason you know you are taking too many road trips....
1. you start wondering what colors and design your cab on your SEMI would have if you drove one
Friday, September 3, 2010
to dream the impossible dream
as i was driving home from lunch out with a friend today, blocking my driveway was one of those delivery trucks that drop off cars at their destination. at first...i was a little perturbed. on one side of the street was this trailer filled with a BMW, a Porsche, a Mercedes, an Audi and some monstrosity that would've passed the cash for clunkers program. on the other side of the street was one of the biggest moving vans i have ever seen in my entire life...had to have been a half block long. so there i was...stuck between these trucks with nowhere to go. then it dawned on me...MY BIRTHDAY IS IN 6 DAYS!! OMG...someone is surprising me with a new car!! i've only had my car for 8 years with 110,000 miles on it, a mommy car that i outgrew 6 years ago, with juice box stains and crumbs embedded between the seats...why wouldn't i need a new car? so i parked my horse and buggy down the street and got out to look for the driver of the truck, who was nowhere to be seen. so i thought to myself...i'll just walk up the ramp to the cars and check them out...let's see if i can figure out which one is mine. anyone who knows me knows i have always wanted a convertible audi tt...and there it was...absolutely beautiful. white with black interior, 5 speed, black convertible top...PERFECTION in a nutshell. the door was unlocked. i looked around and no one was within viewing range. i got in the drivers side and sat down. ahhhhhh....this fits me perfectly. i'm checking out the dashboard, beautiful sound system, gps...and again...anyone who knows me knows i can get lost in my own bathroom, so a gps is an absolute necessity...and then all of a sudden, i felt a little jerk. i looked out the driver window and in slow motion the houses were moving...and the slow motion is now turning into a quicker pace...the driver is leaving the premises. panic set in...i had no idea what to do. i started honking but the engine noise was so loud, the driver couldn't hear me. i pulled out my cell, called my friend and told her i'm on a trip to hell...she needs to come stop this driver from leaving the neighborhood. good thing is she lives just down the street...so she flagged him down...he stopped the truck...i snuck out of the car and ran as fast as i could. they had a quickie in the back of the BMW and i'm still driving my mini bus.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
where do you draw the line
sometimes when you are trying to help people, you hurt them in the process. all we ever want to do is come to the aid of those who are in emotional turmoil...but there are times it backfires. sometimes being honest ends up causing others pain. it's never to intentionally hurt anyone, but there are times it invariably does. when you are not given the opportunity to explain, the frustration becomes unbearable. so where do you draw the line? don't you wish we had the power to take back those few moments where we may have blurted out those few words that may have changed our lives forever?
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