http://www.imeem.com/krokodyle/video/KslhJmt5/shei...

Love Bizarre - Sheila E. - Sheila E.

it gets kinda rough in the back of the limousine...

One of the best parts of Christmas is the  multiplicity of ways it is expressed through music. I just kicked a bunch of Christmas songs to the top of my playlist. Turn it up bitches! Wrap those presents! Get those cookies baked and that nasty ass house clean for Baby Jesus! Finish the unmanageable projects your boss awarded you with a deadline right when your life, both at work and at home, is as stressful as it can possibly be. Crank it up and get to work. Get your heart in the right place, and have a good cynical laugh too. Nothing can stop you!

Actually I guess I'm okay with my neck. But I just read Nora Ephron's 2006 I Feel Bad About My Neck and since it's about aging it's a great thing to read and think through as my extremely close to 40 birthday draws near.

I am feeling a lot of insecurity about this, and I am mad at myself about it.

I have beautiful friends who are in their 40's, 50's and 60's. Women still have babies and start lucrative and enjoyable second careers and find true love after forty. Kim Deal and Kim Gordon and Liz Phair and Suzanne Vega and Macy Gray and who knows who else still rock their asses off after forty. (I'm a little sick to find that Queen Latifah and Missy Elliott and Mary J Blige and Mari Kassinen of Varttina are younger than I am).

I always thought forty plus would be a time when I was still young and lovely, but also more secure, self assured, with lots of things already well sorted out.

A couple of years ago if you'd asked me I'd have said I've made a pretty good start- new home, graduated three years of healing school with well cleansed (not perfect, mind you, just well and regularly cleansed) set of recognized and manageable emotional and spiritual baggage an ordination and a license to heal, went vegan, started exercising faithfully again for the first time in years, found someone awesome to cut my hair, got jobs that really stretched me and that I enjoyed, with six months to stay home and get myself together in between.

Yep. Ready for the next phase.

But after 40 comes 50. And then comes I Feel Bad About My Neck.

There's some serious humor here. I love how she mixes pretty much trivial stuff-- 'Maintenance' such as eyebrows, dye job, skin tags, pedicure, waxing, my purse, and of course my neck-- with the big changes and deep truths of life.

So do not read the rest of my post until you've read the book. It's a series of essays, an easy read. I finished it on my four hour plane trip from Birmingham to Vegas last weekend.

And after you read it, here you go.

Everything is copy, her mother told her. Nobody told me that (unless she told me herself, in Crazy Salad, nearly 20 years ago). But in my writing I have lived by that philosophy ever since I started blogging in 2005.

"When you slip on a banana peel, people laugh at you; but when you tell people you slipped on a banana peel, it's your laugh. So you become the hero rather than the victim of the joke.

I think that's what she meant.

On the other hand, she may merely have meant 'Everything is copy.'

When she was in the hospital dying, she said to me, 'You're a reporter, Nora. Take notes.' It seems to me this is not quite the same as 'Everything is copy.' Although it did to my sister Amy, and she put it into a novel. Who can blame her?"

There's a lot of sadness here, too. I mean, face it. Our parents and our friends start to die. I am not borrowing loss, I promise. But I've made it a habit to think seriously about what I need to accomplish before I die, and what I need to be sure and ask or tell loved ones before they die. One of the things I love most about my mom is that we can talk straight about that stuff-- understand each other, right now, talk about it often and clearly, often with considerable humour, before the throes of illness or unexpected tragedy force our hand.

And since we don't know when we'll die, I've prioritized some of those items-- appreciate and really connect with my little girl is at the very top of the list. Writing a series of letters to her to be sure she gets the information I want her to have so she'll have it just in case I die is probably right under that. Cribbing what I want to keep from my diaries and then burning the rest is way up there too.

But there's also a lot of inspiration.

" Bob looks at me. 'Nora,' he says. 'we can't do everything.'

My brain clears in an amazing way.

Nora. We can't do everything.

I have been given the secret of life.

Although it's probably a little late. "

So what I want to focus on, for my birthday, is the two essays at the end of the book, "What I wish I'd Known" and "Considering the Alternative.

What I wish I'd known, stolen from Nora's notes:

"The last four years of psychoanalysis are a waste of money.

You never know.

The plane is not going to crash.

Anything you think of as wrong with your body at 35 you will be nostalgic for at 45

[for me, I guess, I'll be nostalgic for my post vegan but still mommy body, acquired around 37 or so, and still a source of shame, at least right now, when I'm 47].

At the age of 55 you will get a saggy roll just above your waist even if you are painfully thin. [Thank God! This means I needn't bother trying to be painfully thin! ]

Write everything down.

Keep a journal.

Take more pictures.

The empty nest is underrated.

You can order more than one dessert. [Thank you, Jesus!]

The reason you're waking up in the middle of the night is the second glass of wine. [Just a sec, I

need a refill. But I have xanax. ]

The minute you decide to get divorced, go see a lawyer and file the papers.

Overtip.

Never let them know.

There are no secrets."

Thank you, Nora.

And Considering the Alternative...

I am thrilled to find that Vegas is one of Nora's top five places.

And tickled to hear that denial has been a way of life for her for years.

And life's eternal questions--

"Do you splurge or do you hoard? Do you live every day as if it were your last, or do you save your money on the chance that you'll live twenty more years? Is life to short, or is it going to be too long? Do you work too hard, or do you slow down to smell the roses? And where do carbohydrates fit into all this? Are we really going to have to spend our last years avoiding bread, now that bread in America is so unbelievably delicious? And what about chocolate? There's a question for you, Gertrude Stein-- what about chocolate?"

I needn't even write one sentence about how I ponder these questions every single day, especially when my child is tiny, my job is stressful, I love my domestic and creative pursuits, which as a working mother I ignore, and I still have a chance to have one more baby if I can screw my courage to the sticking post.

Her thoughts on the death of dear friends, her failure to talk to her friend Judy about it before she died, her complete lack of understanding of how her friend Henry's magnificent handling of his own death could be relevant to herself, and most importantly her thoughts on Dr. Hauschka's Lemon Bath, which costs twenty dollars a bottle (I once really had a problem with long, deep, hour long, water wasting baths-- it was a daily thing)--" I use quite a lot of bath oil. More than you could ever imagine. After I take a bath, my bathtub is as dangerous as an oil slick. But thanks to the bath, I'm as smooth as silk. I am going out to buy more. Goodbye. "

-- This is all very, very good stuff.

Stay tuned for my thoughts on Crazy Salad, which really changed my life when my mother gave it to me years ago, tomorrow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QiLBMSPmayo

I like their older stuff better, but this one just hits it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrBodtbl5Zo

More Real Chick Rock-- Leather Whip!

Sunday 28 September, 2008:

I went to a black pentecostal church this morning, a little brick storefront down on the south side with bright flourescent lights and so on.

I was working with a lady on basic computer literacy skills Saturday and she invited me and there was just something about looking into her eyes and being with her-- it just sounded like a good idea.

I just had this urge to cross the line, you know me, and see what it's all about, plus that is the part of the community my library serves and I think it's important to just show up some times, plus I miss church, worship is worship, plus the pastor is a woman, so I took my little girl-- wanted her to see, too, wanted to give her the message that however people choose to worship is right for them and okay, and that it is important to cross the line and show up some times, and try new things too.

It was the first church I have visited in this town.

We moved here two years ago. I am such a terrible picky conoisseur of churches, but my biggest excuse is that I refuse to go to a segregated church. Even though I do sometimes get sick of the prejudice I encounter as a well meaning white (at least white appearing) liberal, too.

In our last town I actually sang faithfully in the church choir until I was so pregnant I couldn't make it through choir rehearsal or church without having to pee. I somehow don't think they'd have appreciated my water breaking during the homily, either. And that church had not one African American member. NOT ONE.

You might wonder, when I am white and 'the system' is working just fine for me (I'm not all white though, I promise, I'll find those photos and prove it some day, you'll see, you'll believe me then!). But racism and prejudice against women and the utter devaluation of traditionally womanly roles (parenting, nurturing rather than killing, connecting, truly connecting and relating) which are in fact crucial to the survival of our society--are by far my two biggest issues. Funny that the two are so beautifully united in this year's otherwise extremely polarized election, eh?

Anyway, I want a church that has it all-- the meditative but low key ecstasy of the liturgy, formality and roots of Catholicism, the Catholic tradition of working toward social justice and the idea that God is for everybody regardless, and all of the above plus a strong tradition of intellectual inquiry and renewal of Biblical wisdom to suit the reality of our era (Bishop Spong is one of my heroes!!) plus black people and gay people, especially gay people who are allowed to marry and build loving families in any way that they want to as long as they handle it responsibly and lovingly.

I won't find that kind of church here. What a surprise, eh? I doubt if I ever find it again.

I think you can safely say that as loving as those folks were, as awesome as the music and the lady pastor were, that will not be my new church home. I cannot possibly ask my child to sit through such a thing and work up to such an emotional pitch every Sunday-- Since I became an adult I got used to the lightning homily that characterizes the Episcopal church.

But it was a good experience. My little one enjoyed it a lot and they were very welcoming-- big hugs the minute we walked in, very comforting for my poor tired heart. I hope I made a good impression-- interested, caring, respectful, showing up because it is important to show up, actually a reasonably spiritual human being-- but you never can tell how people will take things. "What the hell's that white woman playin' at, in here?"

We had to duck out at 1.30. Because from noon until who knew how long the minister had been saying, we're going to get out like other folks, that is to say, early. We never did get our benediction. After 2.5 hours it just wasn't fair to my little girl to demand she sit still any more... she is my little benediction.

I'm in a weird spot about religion, lately. I was raised a certain way, so church comforts me and I'm at home with more, um, mystical and/or emotional displays of faith. I can quote random scripture for any occasion, remember. I told my marriage counselor about the pigs in the Bible-- you know, the ones that all ran off the cliff? -- that I think the demon posessing my husband is about to drive me to run off the cliff.

(Okay I can't take credit for that, my mom's the one that reminded me about that story, in the context of a conversation about how when people were so oppressed in ancient times, demon possession was a perfectly acceptable means of getting out from under-- she promises to send me the book she read that in, I'll hit on that more later, after she sends it.)

But I've done so much studying on it, from the feminist perspective, from the energy healing school perspective, from the quantum physics/What the Bleep do We Know perspective, from the Marxist perspective-- which, really, isn't that far from Jesus', is it-- if you love me, feed my sheep, the least of these, suffer the little children-- that I really, well-- I am really disappointed that I did not start Kabbalah class this year! Why didn't anyone call me!

Anway after about an hour of get up and shake it cause you can't help it music, full of joy and hope and sweetness and praise, the minister was talking about how certain things distract us and our kids from seeking God. I think that's true.

I agreed with all my heart that parents must be involved in and familiar with their children's choices and the effect on them of whatever music, reading material, television show they choose. But I let my child watch anything, I mean anything, as long as it is nonviolent (or only pretend violent) and has some redeeming attention to social issues/teaching opportunity including Reno 911, South Park, Chappelle and Jon Stewart.

If there's something icky on there, we talk about it, and I have a chance to help her grow to learn to think for herself and begin to grow values regarding some important aspect of real life. It's a teaching opportunity.

We can talk about the issues highlighted on Chappelle or South Park or Jon Stewart-- about how comedians often point to things that either need to be fixed in our society or are just downright ridiculous, and the kind of compassion it takes to get that far inside our heads so that we can laugh at ourselves.

I've always told my children-- you can think or write anything you want. Your imagination and your creative work is yours. But we just don't say some of those things or do some of those things at inappropriate times, that's all.

But I think that even seeking a nebulous 'God' outside of ourselves to fix it is a distraction, another thing we look for outside of ourselves to make ourselves feel better. Of course, tell me that when I'm on my knees praying about some issue, or reading Joyce Meyer!

It's a fine line between faith that heals and strengthens-- I truly believe in that-- and a destructive thought pattern that robs us of responsibility and choices.

It's weird when you've literally seen the hand of God move in your life, or at least reach out and touch you-- and then find yourself still wrestling. I'm a sinner I guess, that's it. The lady pastor said Jesus would meet us even in hell, though, so...

Religion, relationships, sex, substances both prescription-- I'm all about those-- and maybe not too good for you but at least legal substances, I'm all about those too! Anyway, anything, television, exercise, food-- all of those can be just the right thing, at just the right time.

But it's a fine line between just right and distraction. At the heart of it, I believe in just Being in the sacred place and moment where we are.

Course I still look, don't I. I still long for that simple comfort-- God's got it all covered, and I've got my salvation. Technically, I do, I succumbed to group hysteria in church and was Baptized at nine, so I'm in, right? I had shaky baby holy watered and prayed over in an Episcopalian church too, because I thought that was important. She's warshed now, whether she wants to be or not. And she can do what she wants as she gets older. All I want is a thinking child, not a conforming child.

And I don't take the time for Being either. And then when I have an experience like I did today, and sort through it all, and think this other stuff then I think-- what if? What if? But a cool Iris Dement song just popped into my head-- "Think I'll jest let the Mystery be."

I Choose to Let the Mystery Be

" target="_self">Let the Mystery Be

Video courtesy of pidzej78, who has lots more Värttinä posted, including some wonderful old performances.

English translation:

My beautiful sisters
young neighberhood maidens
Are we so easily fooled?
Before my mother would let me,
my father gave me permission to go out,
And we believed the men,
waited for escorts.
I had a mind to get a man,
to go looking for a proposal.

I was taken to his farm,
to another land.
I was subjugated as a wife,
made a slave, with nothing of my own.

I was clever at pleasing the men,
anticipating their whims,
Did my best all day,
but it was my lot to be an orphan at night.

Stupid girls,
don't do like I did,
Go to a strange place
to work for an old crone,
don't be stupid like me.

The song is a traditional bride's lament. Here's the lyric, and a very rough translation.

Seelinnikoi

Miun sisoini somaiset,
neijot nuoret naapurista.
Noinko meitä narraeltiin
kosittiin kovasti koista.
Ennenkuin emoini antoi,
isoin lähteä lupasi.
Myö uskoimma uroja,
ottajia uottelimma.
Ai lole, ottajia,
ottajia uottelimma
mieli teki miehelähän,
riiuureisuille ruveta.
Ai ole reissulle,
riiuureissulle ruveta.

Vietiin neiti veikkolahan,
tytär toisille turuille
Akaks miut alennettiin,
orjaksi, osattmaksi.

Miesten metkut miellyttelin,
ukkoin oikut arvoelin
Ai lole arvoelin,
ukkoin oikut arvoelin
Passasin päivät parasta,
yöt olin osassa orvon
Ai lole yöt olin,
yöt olin osassa orvon.

Älkää työ typerät tytöt,
niin kuin mie typerä tyttö.
Niin kuin mie mokoma menin
eukon oppiin outoloille
Niin kun mie mokoma menin,
niin kun mie typerä tyttö.

Niin kun mie typerä tyttö,
niin kun mie mokoma menin.
Ai lole niin kun mie,
niin kun mie mokoma menin.
Ai lole niin kun mie,
niin kun mie mokoma menin
Ai lole niin kun mie,
niin kun mie typerä tyttö
Ai lole niin kun mie,
niin kun mie typerä tyttö

Lyrics Courtesy of http://chawedrosin.wordpress.com/2007/10/30/varttina-seelennikoi/

I don't know I don't know I don't know F*CKIT!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j2YDq6FkVE

 

I think I've used that as a subject line before.

I'm pushing forty. I haven't quite got to the top of the hill, but it won't be long. I shouldn't admit that, right? I was out with my beautiful friend a few weeks ago-- oh, wait. That was probably  months, not weeks. Man, the time does pass faster when you're older!-- and I was just dying to ask all these adorable guys we were talking to-- actually, who were talking to us, how nice was that? Anyway I wanted to ask, how old do you think we are? Really, tell the truth. Are we pretty?

So, For Those About To Rock--

Cause you know I'm always 'about' to rock. I don't always get there. Since I had my baby I really don't get there.

But this time of year it's down to something a bit more immediate. And this time of life-- I'm pushin' forty, beeyatch!

I know it's just a number. I have friends of all ages who look all ages, you know what I mean, young friends who look exhausted and fortyish and up friends who look beautiful and vital. I'm healthier now than I have been since college. For true. And I'm surprised, because I've never thought of myself as particularly shallow or hung up on age or a number... to find myself struggling with it.

I'm struggling with the idea of never having another kid. I'm struggling with-- is this what I want to be when I grow up? If not, do I still have time to either turn it around or just build on?

I am struggling with the idea of not being sexy any more. I am mad at myself for even giving a shit about this. Beauty comes from within, has many ages, shapes and sizes, and worst of all-- who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks as long as I am happy within myself and healthy?

Lots of women have babies-- are even first time mothers-- in their early forties. Lots of women are still rocking after they have babies. And I have so many beautiful friends-- in so many shapes and sizes and colors. And each individual changes so much, week to week and year to year-- and they are always beautiful. I wrote once about what is truly sexy to me-- it is in the details of the person you love-- skin or smile or hands or heart or any of the above-- and the kindness and respect and interest you feel toward each other and the willingness to keep it up.

So I shall attempt to quit my struggling.

What do I want to do for my birthday?

Go to Nashville for some good old fashioned woo-woo energy healing in the day time and some delicious poisonous night life at night (perhaps poisonous night life at night and then woo woo energy healing the next morning might be better)? Or just the healing, and a nice meal, and a relatively tame, clean show maybe at the Ryman (like My Morning Jacket a year or two ago?).

Have a Halloween-esque grownup party with lots of loud music and angry thumping bass and black wearing and cigarette smoking and drinking?

Have a family friendly party, with kids too, which would of course tone down the loung angry music and smoking and drinking?

Have a spa day with a girlfriend, maybe a few girlfriends, have that spa party/blessing way where you don't have to be pregnant that we've been talking about, relaxing on the dock all afternoon, maybe have a friend come in to do hand and feet massages and maybe even facials?

And do I want my husband to get me something wonderful... or pay down the debt we racked up in Vegas? Okay, so I personally racked up it up, gambling-- it's not that much, but it's definitely a really nice birthday present... or get started on retro solar powering our huge, inefficient, pre-seventies-gas-crisis home?

To be continued...

I'm embarassed to be recommending a Ben Folds Five video, but dammit it's cute and Regina Spektor's in it. So.

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=42500715

"Why the fuck would you want me back?
Maybe it's because...
You don't know me at all...

So
What
What?
I'm trying to say is
What
What?
I'm trying tell you is
Not going to come out like I wanna sayit
cause I know you'll only change it--"