"Epitome of Refinement"

     My neighborhood is normally very quiet, a polar opposite of the neighborhood where I lived previously.  In my former town, car alarms were ringing constantly (one night I counted-the same car alarm went off ten times in the first hour after I arrived home from work.  A disgruntled neighbor poking us with a stick, perhaps?)   Additionally, horns were used in lieu of doorbells, music blasted at all hours of the night, and it was not uncommon for folks to start barbequing at 10:30 P.M., usually with a charcoal grill, right under my bedroom window.  One night a few years back, actually the night before Easter, my neighbor, a clean cut, albeit rude, young man, started grilling at 10:30 P.M., and by 12:30 A.M.  I couldn't stand the noise or the toxic fumes any longer.   I called the police to complain about both,  a complete exercise in futility.  Not only did the cops take their time getting there, but they indicated to the neighbors that the noise was "not so loud", helped themselves to a hamburger, and promptly identified the neighbor who called to complain-yours truly.  

     Since plan A didn't work, I progressed to plan B-I tried reasoning with the offensive neighbor.  Well, he promptly informed me, in no uncertain terms, that it was his yard (he rented) and that he would make as much noise as he wanted, whenever he wanted.  I promised to return the favor when I got up at 5:00 A.M., which was daily, weekends notwithstanding.  By the way-did I mention that he was deported two weeks later?  He was illegal...  Talk about nerve!  

     Fortunately, my current neighborhood has far fewer inconsiderate residents, and the police are not nearly as unscrupulous.  Recently, a young woman was leaning on her horn at 12:30 A.M. on a Monday, right outside of all the bedroom windows in my unit.  After the third time, I hurled open my window, and, epitome of refinement that I am, I screamed at her to quit blowing her horn.  Epitome of refinement that she was, she ignored me as if I weren't there, and continued, unabashedly.  I subsequently called the police, and while I was on the phone, Horatia Hornblower continued with her offensive tirade.  The officer inquired if the noise was my doorbell (Heaven forbid that I would have a doorbell that loud).  It wasn't, I replied.  She assured me she would send a squad car promptly.  Next thing I know, the boyfriend comes ambling out, and Amy Vanderbilt (me) screamed again to knock off the noise.  He in turn started hurling obscenities at the young woman at the top of his lungs, ordering her to "shut the fudge up because", and-you're going to love this- "I told you old people live here".  Talk about adding insult to injury!!!  He promptly left when I told him the cops were on their way.   Miss Refinement , apparently as bright as she was considerate,  hung around and became even more insistent with the horn blowing.  Luckily, the police (two squad cars) arrived to hear her, and they took care of the situation.  They promptly escorted her out of there (hopefully in cuffs) without divulging my identity.  

     In the past year since I've been in this apartment, that was only the second incident where tenants (or their guests) awakened me in the middle of the night. Not half bad, in my estimation.   I love my little town, and I appreciate my town's "finest".

"The Beat of My Own Drum"

     The Winter 2014 semester has come to a close.  I am proud to report that I have earned another "A", and believe me when I tell you, it was a challenge.  It is not easy for a 50-Something to learn a new language.  Thank God I studied French in High School, or I might not have done so well.  Despite the fact that I graduated over forty years ago, I remember a good deal, mainly pronunciation, and a measure of vocabulary.  My teacher in High School was from France, so we got the real deal with her-she provided a strong foundation.  That is not to impugn my current professor's command of the language.  She is an excellent teacher, and her pronunciation is impeccable.  I simply could not have done so well  without the influence of my first teacher.  It also helps that I love the language. 

      I was discussing speaking French with a friend recently, and she indicated to me that when in France, she had to learn to "think" in French, as opposed to thinking in English and then translating.  Her statement was like a revelation, and I realized she was spot on.  I have found myself that, when reading articles in French ( I subscribed to a French magazine), I do just that.  It's an interesting and challenging concept.  There are words and phrases that I don't have to ponder or reach for in my fuzzy brain.  Then again, there are some I do.  For example, my friend asked how to say "have a good day" in French.  My mouth, moving faster than my mind (not uncommon for me),  quickly replied that I didn't know.   She in turn asked did I really get an "A"...  Oh, yes I do, I blurted out: bonne journee!  This was a perfect example of my not thinking in French.  I also need to put the brakes on my mouth until  my aging brain catches up.  

     There are many words in French which closely resemble their English counterpart.  While studying for my final exam, I was wracking my brain trying to remember the French word for continent.  In utter exasperation, I reverted back to my textbook: le continent.  Duh!!!  

     Toward the end of the semester, we learned continents, countries, states, and cities, and it was beneficial to know a measure of geography.  Well, one of my classmates didn't know which coast New York is on, and another didn't know that Michigan is a state! When she inquired "wasn't Michigan a city?",  I had to restrain myself from turning around and shouting that if you would simply fermez la bouche (shut your mouth) that you might actually learn something.  

     At this stage in my life, I am a dedicated student, eager to learn and excel, despite my advancing age.  I wonder to myself how my professors feel about me as a student.  I am the kind of student a teacher loves to have in her class, as I am punctual, my attendance is good, I pay attention and participate in class, I complete assignments by the due date.  In other words, I really apply myself.  But does my age get in the way of her perception?  I question in my mind do the professors consider the old student a kind of exercise in futility...  In the beginning of the semester, I don't believe my professor took me seriously.  As the course progressed, however, I could see a change, and I knew that as a student, she appreciated and respected my efforts.  The degree I am pursuing is mostly for self enrichment.  It's not as if I am going to embark on establishing a new career for myself.  In the end, how others perceive my quest for a college education is immaterial to me.  Still, I can't help but wonder...

     In physical appearance, amongst my classmates, I stick out like a sore thumb.  I often feel as out of place as a snowball in a desert, and sometimes wish I could likewise melt away and not be seen.  But alas, I carry on, and march to the beat of my own drum.  Hopefully, before too long, I will be marching to a stage to collect my diploma...

"A Waist of Time"

     My attempt at internet dating continues, and I have made zero progress in the last six months.  Today I scanned fifty pages at five guys per page, and it was an exercise in futility.   Two hundred and fifty guys, and not one appealed to me.

     In all seriousness, I don't think I will ever meet anyone this way.  I'm far too picky and anal.  One fellow indicated that if a woman doesn't display a picture, contacting him would be a waist of time. (Ugh!  I wanted to comment "waste, you fool").   Another fellow has a screen name of Public Enemy, reminding me of an old James Cagney movie.  Nix both of these guys off the list of possibilities.  Another one had in his list of criteria that recognizing certain movie quotes would score "the applicant" extra points.  Given my love for movies, he sounds like a possible match, right?  Except that the quotes were all from gangster movies!  A little too dark for me...I wouldn't trust him either.

     Am I reaching for the stars?  You be the judge. Here's my criteria: the fellow can't be tall, and he can't be  short.  He can't be skinny, and a beard and or mustache is out of the question.  If, in any of his pictures, he's got a beer bottle, a glass of wine, or a cigar in his hand, forget it.  If he's seeking a travel partner, well, that ain't gonna happen.  He can't be too young because I wouldn't trust him, and he can't be too old because I'm not into older men.  A small measure of hair is imperative, and I don't mean white (although mine probably is underneath the hundreds of coats of Miss Clairol slapped on it).  Additionally, he must have a good voice, young sounding and masculine, with no trace of hoarseness. Oh, and let's not forget, first and foremost, he must be able to spell and write in sentences, complete with correct context and punctuation.  However, if he's got a masters degree or a doctorate, I'm not in his league, and if he's got a high school diploma he's not in mine.  See what I mean?  Hopeless!  I feel I'm completely and utterly waisting my time! 

"False Courage"

     My mother used to say that drinking alcohol gave a person "false courage".  I agree with that assessment.  Additionally, I believe that writing Emails, texting, and posting comments or messaging on FB also provide false courage.

     I am appalled at some of the inappropriate statements I see on FB, and I have to wonder what people are thinking.  Now, I don't profess to be a saint, but I do try to behave in a dignified manner when I put things in writing, be it on FB, in an Email, in a text, or on my blog.  I consider who will be reading my comments, and the impression that it will make on a person.  First and foremost, are my children going to read what I write?  If they are, I certainly don't want to write anything they will be ashamed of.  And, not to be redundant, I still feel compelled to at least try to set a good example for them.  

     If I were considering disparaging someone (which I would not do on FB, although I know some who have), I would think about whether or not that person's children would read my comments.  Even if I have a beef with someone (and I do), I would not want to hurt that person's children.  Besides, my opinions are merely that-opinions.  Opinions are not facts.  Every individual has multiple facets and interacts in myriad ways with others, depending on the relationship.

     I do not agree with advertising a family's private squabbles or events long past on FB.  Not everything has to be out there for anyone and everyone to read.  Everyone has skeletons in their closet, and they are in the closet for a reason-they belong there.  There comes a time when we need to just let stuff go.  Rehashing events that happened two decades ago is pointless.  Get over it, come to terms with it, or choose to walk away.  Nothing can be changed at this point.  All we can do is attempt to do better, and not emulate the past.

     I am also appalled by the general lack of respect that is all too common.  Not to sound old, but when I was growing up, I was taught to respect my elders, and also to treat others in the manner that I wished to be treated myself.  I still have respect for elders, but am I not always treated with respect.

     I am quite tempted to get off of FB altogether.  Sometimes it causes more aggravation and hurt feelings than anything else.  But heck, I've always been a glutton for punishment.  I think I'll hang in there a little longer.

"Breaking Bad Marathon"

        I am absolutely addicted to the television show Breaking Bad.  I started watching about six weeks ago, and was hooked from the very first episode.  For me, doing marathons of television show viewing is a new concept, and I absolutely love it. Too much, I think. (It's kind of like watching a really long movie!)   

       For many years, I never watched any TV shows, I mainly viewed movies, both old and new.  Something changed for me, however, once I moved into my apartment and found myself devoid of the company of other humans.  Friends turned me on to some good shows, and I began streaming shows on Netflix.  I watched fourteen episodes of House of Cards (not consecutively), but for some reason I never became emotionally invested in the show, except for my disdain for the female lead, Claire.  I love the show Downton Abbey, and blew through four years of that series poste haste.  I am also a fan of Orange is the New Black, although it is a little graphic for my taste.  Then I discovered Breaking Bad, and it has usurped almost all of my other favorites.  Everything except The Good Wife.  

      I began doing marathons of BB, watching sometimes four or five episodes in a row.  However, once I became engrossed in season three, it became an obsession.  So much so, in fact, that viewing it began interfering with my life, and that includes my class work.  Luckily for me, I was 2/3 through the semester before this BB fascination grabbed hold of me.  

     At the start of this past weekend, I had seventeen episodes left, and I watched four on Friday evening.  Saturday I only watched two because I had my family over to celebrate Easter.  Sunday, however, I was on my own for the day.  I knew when I arose that morning, that I was going to spend the day on the couch, viewing the rest of the series.  Since it was affecting  other priorities, like homework,  I decided that I would give up one day and plow through, freeing me up for the duration of the semester.  I am ashamed to admit that I began at 11:00 A.M. on Sunday morning, and I didn't stop (except to eat and walk the dog) until 10:00 P.M.  I even skipped The Good Wife so that I could watch the very last episode of BB.  Now I can get back to living my life-starting tomorrow.  I am compelled to play hooky from class tonight because....I didn't do my homework!  Imagine-if I had spent those eleven hours studying, I'd know the whole damn French language by now! (My friends and faithful readers know me well, and are keenly aware that this is completely out of character for me.)  So I am going to Email Madame Professeure, obtain my assignment for tonight, and embark on a homework marathon.  (Of course, I had to compose this blog post before I started.)  Thankfully, my grades are good, my attendance near perfect, and I have applied myself throughout the semester.  There have been a number of evenings when I would have liked to skip class, especially during the dreadful winter we had, but I persevered, knowing that an evening might come when I would really need the break.  Tonight is the night!  Regarding the show-it is ranked up there as one of my all time favorites.  I loved the story (and especially that cute little Jesse Pinkman), and found the evolution of the various characters utterly fascinating.  

     I already have another series lined up, but I am holding off starting it until after my final exam.  I'm not going to tempt fate!  I am in the market for an "A", and nothing is going to stop me, not even an evening with Jesse Pinkman.

"Happy Birthday"

     This week, April 23 to be exact, my blog will be two years old.  This is also my 200th post. Happy Birthday 50-Something!

     In the two years since,  I have lost a job, returned to work, continued with my education, moved into my own apartment, and now am coping with the not too far off milestone birthday, which I am already dreading.  I have come to terms with my writing, and realize that I do not have the stamina to really pursue publication.  But I'm okay with that.  I write now more for the pleasure of it, as well as to release and manage my emotions.  I embrace my new life, and adjust to the course that my life has taken, ever grateful for my good fortune, for I feel that I am truly blessed.  I live a simple life, and I am content with it.  I loathe self indulgence, and live within my means.  I don't need designer clothes, a brand new car, the latest that technology has to offer, or lavish vacations.  Let me spend time with my children, see a movie with my BFF, cuddle with my dog, read a good book, cook my favorite meal, witness a beautiful sunrise, and I am happy and filled with gratitude.  I love my apartment and the town I live in.  I value my independence and self reliance.  And above all else, I cherish my sons.  I love them enough to let them go, despite the excruciating pain of it.  As their mother, I encourage them to live their own lives, to pursue their dreams, to do what makes them happy, and not to worry about me.  I still cry when they leave me, but I know that this is how it is supposed to be.  It is my responsibility to allow them their own independence, but to be here for them whenever they may need my support.   

     As I look back on the last 34 years, I cannot believe the speed with with the years have flown by.  If I could only go back in time,  I would love to have spent every waking moment with my children, as  I didn't know that they would be grown up faster than I could blink.  It's unfortunate that life does not really allow us that luxury, however.  Unless a person is independently wealthy,   there are 40 hour work weeks, houses to clean, bills to be paid, laundry to be done, and a spouse who clamors for our attention.  I guess that's why God gives us grandchildren.  The responsibilities of our youth have diminished, and we are able to spend our free time playing with the children.  I, for one, am ready for the next chapter.  Maybe it's time to abandon my resolve and start exerting a little pressure...

    

"Mourning Will Gardner"

     "Make them beg for more, and then don't give it to them!"  

     Do you recognize that movie dialogue?  It is Mama Rose to her daughter Gypsy Rose Lee, in the movie Gypsy.    I believe that, in actuality, this is the mantra of the writers of  The Good Wife.  They have been teasing the viewers for years with the on again off again romance between the show's protagonists, Alicia Florrick and Will Gardner.  Last year, viewers were encouraged to vote team Will or team Peter, and we could even buy our chosen team's T-shirts!  

     I, and many others like me, have been waiting in eager anticipation for Alicia and Will to reunite this season.  My hopes were cruelly dashed last Sunday, when Will, the Zoe Barnes  of  The Good wife, was killed off, shocking viewers.  I am bitterly disappointed.  I know Alicia is married to a S.O.B., and I wanted to see her happy, with a good guy.  Okay, with Will. On the other hand, Alicia is a survivor, and she is sure to grow due to yet another life altering experience.

      I know, I am too emotionally invested in the TV shows I watch.  I'm not the only one...my BFF called me after the show so that we could "mourn" Will.  Many of my friends and I were buzzing all week about the shocking episode, lamenting Will's death, and pondering the rippling effect his absence will have on the other characters.  Many of us also expressed anger at this turn of events.  I even posted a comment to the show's FB page to that effect, indicating that I may never watch the show again.  (That was a knee jerk reaction. I intend to, of course.)

     The Good Wife has been my favorite show since it inception five years ago.  The characters have become friends who are invited into my home every Sunday evening without fail. I manage my Sunday evening schedule based on whether or not the show is on, and also at what time it airs.  I curse the football games that delay its prompt start, and would not go out on a Sunday night if I had a date with a millionaire.  (Okay, that is a bit of a stretch.)  I share in the characters' happiness, I relate to their challenges, and I mourn for them when they are gone. 

     It is with mixed emotions that I will watch tonight's episode.  I have to wonder if Alicia's last voice mail message from Will is going to be reminiscent of a scene from My Foolish Heart,  where Eloise Winters is reading a letter from her lover, soldier Walt Dreiser, who was in the midst of writing it when he was killed.  In the letter, he asked her to marry him...She breaks down sobbing, finally realizing that his love for her was true, but also grieving for the life they would never share. I'm sure that Alicia's scene will be equally emotional.

     I will have a box of tissues at my side tonight, knowing that saying goodbye to Will saddens me.  But life (and TV shows) go on, and like it or not, we will adapt.  The writers gave us no choice. Unless  Alicia had a Pamela Barnes-Ewing moment, and it was all a dream.  We can only hope...