This was the thought that inserted itself into my vapid mind when I opened my email this morning and read one from my good friend, Mary. It was a complimentary and poetic note of encouragement inspired by the fact that she had recently read my blog.
She wrote: "My Dear, beautiful Susan, I love your blog. You are not Half-Past. You are in the throes of womanhood, fully realized. No young, wrinkleless face could ever be as beautiful as your serene and wise visage. Your face, with your mermaid hair would make an incredible icon for all women."
Wow. And while it is an extreme exaggeration of the truth, for the few seconds it took me to read it through the first time (Oh yeah. I read it several times, and with each reading it was like counting another favorable ballot in the voting for Prom Queen Of The Universe!), I almost believed it, and I felt like a rare butterfly.
Naturally, all this took place within the space of two or three minutes and well before I actually looked in the mirror or began my morning chores,- which do include picking up the dog poop in the backyard - and was catapulted back into the moody stasis of menopausal reality.
But it was enough to ignite microscopic nodes of gratitude in my heart and make me feel recognized and valued, albeit in an earthy, sensual way; and enough of a boost to repair my lagging self-esteem and get me once more seated at this computer blogging away.
The reality is that we all need to feel and believe we are visible and valued for our presence, and while it is supremely true that we are more beautiful for what we hold on the inside, it is unfortunately also true that we are mammals and that as such, we tend to play off the instantaneous responses to sights and smells and base, magnetic appeal.
But if a man noticed me and addressed me the way my friend Mary did, I'd be more apt to give serious consideration to the idea of offering him permanent residency in my heart, which, by default, includes infinite forgiveness and a wide birth of understanding. Not to mention a host of other perks not suitable to write about in a G-rated, public blog.
How much more difficult would it be for my husband, for instance, to go from his version of romantic verbal foreplay: "You look hot. Great tits. Let's go upstairs and knock one off." to a softer, poetic and sensual phraseology more in keeping with the sort of thing that Mary wrote to me?
While the odds of this happening are significantly closer to none than even slight, I still think it might be a worthy goal. Praise is always appreciated, especially in the form of poetry.
Then again, too much praise implies that a certain amount of attention must be given, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to fall under that much scrutiny. Being overlooked does have it's benefits, and over the years I have readily adapted to my autonomy.
I am like the Invisible Man with two exceptions. In the movie the Invisible Man had to remove his clothes in order to disappear. Around my husband, I employ the opposite tactic. Oh, and I'm not a man.
In the course of my marriage (I think we are approaching our 128th anniversary this year, or maybe thats 200th.) I've learned to relish and appreciate the glorious freedom and autonomy found during those seemingly endless hours my husband may spend watching the game or playing tennis, or working or exercising or running errands or doing whatever it is that he does other than the thirty or so minutes a day he spends actually dealing with me in a receptive, listening capacity......clothed.
That delicious freedom I currently experience wouldn't be possible were I being doted on and micro-viewed and it would soon become suffocating and redundant.
Honestly, if I think my contentions through, I wouldn't want my husband or any man to behave any differently than they do. There is something very empowering about being a woman able to capitalize on the perpetual distraction of the opposite sex.
Besides, it makes those very few times when they might actually get it become extremely poignant and genuine.
We live for those times in relationships and because they happen so rarely, we spend a lot of our time waiting. Of course, being women, in that down-time/waiting period we raise families, start companies, psychoanalyze small children as well as heads of state, build corporations, write novels, drive race cars, lead nations and do the wash.
When you really think about it, men actually do women a favor by being themselves.
Sadly, what this means for me at the moment is that I just spent the better part of an hour being wrong. Fortunately, I'm so flexible I don't mind.
But it was enough to ignite microscopic nodes of gratitude in my heart and make me feel recognized and valued, albeit in an earthy, sensual way; and enough of a boost to repair my lagging self-esteem and get me once more seated at this computer blogging away.
The reality is that we all need to feel and believe we are visible and valued for our presence, and while it is supremely true that we are more beautiful for what we hold on the inside, it is unfortunately also true that we are mammals and that as such, we tend to play off the instantaneous responses to sights and smells and base, magnetic appeal.
But if a man noticed me and addressed me the way my friend Mary did, I'd be more apt to give serious consideration to the idea of offering him permanent residency in my heart, which, by default, includes infinite forgiveness and a wide birth of understanding. Not to mention a host of other perks not suitable to write about in a G-rated, public blog.
How much more difficult would it be for my husband, for instance, to go from his version of romantic verbal foreplay: "You look hot. Great tits. Let's go upstairs and knock one off." to a softer, poetic and sensual phraseology more in keeping with the sort of thing that Mary wrote to me?
While the odds of this happening are significantly closer to none than even slight, I still think it might be a worthy goal. Praise is always appreciated, especially in the form of poetry.
Then again, too much praise implies that a certain amount of attention must be given, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to fall under that much scrutiny. Being overlooked does have it's benefits, and over the years I have readily adapted to my autonomy.
I am like the Invisible Man with two exceptions. In the movie the Invisible Man had to remove his clothes in order to disappear. Around my husband, I employ the opposite tactic. Oh, and I'm not a man.
In the course of my marriage (I think we are approaching our 128th anniversary this year, or maybe thats 200th.) I've learned to relish and appreciate the glorious freedom and autonomy found during those seemingly endless hours my husband may spend watching the game or playing tennis, or working or exercising or running errands or doing whatever it is that he does other than the thirty or so minutes a day he spends actually dealing with me in a receptive, listening capacity......clothed.
That delicious freedom I currently experience wouldn't be possible were I being doted on and micro-viewed and it would soon become suffocating and redundant.
Honestly, if I think my contentions through, I wouldn't want my husband or any man to behave any differently than they do. There is something very empowering about being a woman able to capitalize on the perpetual distraction of the opposite sex.
Besides, it makes those very few times when they might actually get it become extremely poignant and genuine.
We live for those times in relationships and because they happen so rarely, we spend a lot of our time waiting. Of course, being women, in that down-time/waiting period we raise families, start companies, psychoanalyze small children as well as heads of state, build corporations, write novels, drive race cars, lead nations and do the wash.
When you really think about it, men actually do women a favor by being themselves.
Sadly, what this means for me at the moment is that I just spent the better part of an hour being wrong. Fortunately, I'm so flexible I don't mind.
