Wrapping Myself in the Past

"This is possibly the ugliest blanket in the whole world." I said it this morning while the kids were having breakfast. Zeca said, "I like that blanket." Miguel agreed and added, "It's not that ugly." But, it really is. It is the color of a dirty band-aid and it has pills and I know it is made of suspicious materials. I would never have chosen such a blanket. I prefer quality - a beautiful design and more natural fibers. Yet, the blanket has been on the couch these past few days as the temperatures outside have hovered significantly below zero. I spent yesterday on the couch, the blanket draped over my legs, while I worked.

I hate that blanket.

We inherited it when my mother and stepfather packed up my mother's china and brought it up to us from Kansas City. They used that blanket to cushion the boxes in the trunk of their car. The blanket is soft and squishy and I'm sure it made good padding. After the china had arrived safely, I folded the blanket and handed it to my mother to take home but she said she didn't want it, "You can just keep it. I don't need it." My mother never kept anything she didn't need and I suspect she wanted to pawn it off on me.

So, I keep it. I wrap myself in it on the couch and even use it as the warm blanket when we make a bed for guests. Each time I want to say, "This isn't mine but it's warm." I don't, though. I've now had the blanket for years so it is mine now, ours.

This morning, as the kids sipped glasses of milk, I sat on the couch and ran my hands over the cheap material and said, "It belonged to Nana." I explained how it ended up in our house. Miguel said, "I still remember when we got the news that Nana died. We were in Portugal and I cried and I remember looking out the window and seeing the orange-colored house on the street." I waited for there to be more to that story but there wasn't. It was a glimpse into his mind at seven. Zeca doesn't remember anything. We spent a few minutes exchanging memories of my mother before the kids left the table to get ready for school.

I've always thought of it as "the ugly blanket" but, today, my kids began to think of it as "Nana's blanket."

So, now, I will dwell in contradiction, hating and loving an old blanket. I will wrap myself in the tangible past and maybe next time someone looks at it with a questioning look, I'll say, "It's mine. Let me tell you a story…"

This post was written for JustWrite. Check out Heather's post to read more. 

A Different Life

I was driving downtown tonight, heading to the Loft to hear some friends read from their unfinished manuscripts just as I had this time last year. I was singing along to JayZ and admiring the skyline and then noticed a rundown brownstone on the corner. I remembered being in that building right before I left my job. I could see the elderly man with dementia and remember his stained khaki pants and his brown cardigan. I wanted to set up home health care for him but he didn't want it. He assured me he was fine. I tried to focus on his face while the roaches climbed up the wall behind him. I knew he wasn't fine.

I walked out of there knowing that I was barely holding on even though I had only one more week of work left.

Then, tonight, I was driving to a reading, driving right by the past to a different life - one that didn't seem possible for so very long. I couldn't dwell on the brownstone and the lives still there. I had to look forward and when I arrived at the Loft, I was overwhelmed with gratitude - thankful that I could walk away all those months ago, thankful I'm still walking.

This is 45

Over the past several months, I have spent a lot of time thinking about aging and beauty and sexuality. We live in a society that values youth, that hypersexualizes the young and strips women of their sexuality as they age. We live with a constant stream of images about how we should look and we are assigned value accordingly. Almost every woman I know has struggled with body image issues and many of us still do.

I spend too much time thinking about my body, about how it is changing over time, about how the world sees me. This morning, I took a picture of myself and I really looked at it. I was ready to pick it apart as I always do but the only thought that popped into my head was, "I like this picture." Liking a picture of yourself shouldn't be revolutionary yet, sometimes, it feels like it is. That picture and moment of self-acceptance inspired these words.

So, this is for Luisa,  for Deborah, for Tracy, for Galit, for Arnebya, for Alexandra, and for Laurie. All of you have made me think about beauty in recent months.

But, really, this is for all of us.

A declaration of independence. A manifesto. A mantra. A reminder.

I don't know what it is, except truth.

 Let me tell you who I am. Make no assumptions.

I am a feminist and I want you to love me for my mind but I also want you to notice when my ass looks good in a pair of jeans. I want you to notice and honor all of me, emphasis on the honor.

I am a mother. My soft stomach, the bags under my eyes, the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes are all marks of the life I'm living. Though I may choose to cover my body or use make-up to hide the lines, I will not feel ashamed. Covered or exposed - I am real. 

My hair is not too short (or long), too natural (or unnatural), too grey or too young for my age. I like it this way and I have the courage to define beauty for myself. 

I am a sexual being. I was at 19. I am at 45. I will be as long as I live. Do not strip me of that because I am not attractive by your standards, because I'm aging, because I am queer and it's safer to think of me as asexual. I want to be dangerously seductive, like a sunset on the ocean that draws you right to the edge of the cliff. 

Let's tell each other we're beautiful - even hot. Let's all practice accepting the compliment. Let's sit with the discomfort of those positive words and say nothing more than, "Thank you."

And yes, it's possible I'm flirting with you. Because I'm feeling good about myself. Because I want you to know that I see you. Because I'm feeling beautiful and want you to feel beautiful too.