We are Different, not Less

Hot news, RIGHT OFF THE PRESS, woman are hotwired differently from men. Can you believe it?!? Ths point has been to me at least 10,000 times during my life, mostly by men. I have no recollection of every arguing the point. To the speaker, the message is that these differences are proof of superiority. They are bigger and more powerful so they win. Not so fast.

 Power is, I will grant, mostly in the hands of men but the questions remains if they earned it or use is wisely or have they just had it so long, that is seems like the norm. Too much of the male style is portrayed as the “norm”. Leadership must be macho or it is suspect. And leaders never admit weakness; never apologize and never withdraw. These are male traits but are they more valid than a style more  feminine; collaborative and conciliatory?

You may get frustrated with woman for being sentimental and too soft but surely there is some good in kindness and surely this world,  awash in aggressiveness could use more.

We Need to Care

I am a not a Boomer, not technically. I was born just before the era so I must be different? Well, since I cannot figure out what a Boomer really is, I can’t quite tell. But I can say that my life was driven, at an early age by caring about what was happening around me. happening to women; to the disenfranchised and to the world. Cared enough to fight for change and put myself out where I could be seen and be heard.

I would never say that it didn’t count for anything but it sure hasn’t made the changes I expected. Particularly among women. I fully expected the women of my generation to have taken many positions of power and to have shared in the decisions that effect our lives. But, alas, it has not happened. We have few seats at the table. And most of them did not come by invitation.

The country and the culture has suffered at the lack of our talent and our insights. Many women of my generation realize – we are the group that carved out the 60’s pre boomer and post boom. I look around and see the same qualities of strenghth in women that I admired throughout the time and now a sense of sadness that never have so many done so much for so little.

The battle is not lost even though I, for one, do not have the energy and fire I started with. But I retain the passion and I have gotten some REAL wisdom. I play different these days.

What is Wrong with Being a Bitch?

Men do not seem to be offended by being the “son of a bitch”, this is even said as a term of endearment, but, the original bitch in question is surely the player of controversy. I can be a bitch: worked a lifetime to develop the skill even though I think the term used to describe it is offensive. And I know it is meant to intimidate me.

Yesterday, I had a woman try to faint in my presence because she was stressing out. It had been okay for her to use a game to distract an entire business but I am not permitted to call her game. The only problem in the scene was that she could not make it to the floor or even give a very good performance. But, the fact is that she got more sympathy than I. For the moment at least.

I am working with some who often goes so far off the reservation that I can’t get her to focus on the issues at hand even though our shared work is critical to both of us. When I crack the whip to get her attention, she begins a full scale lecture about the discomfort she is feeling and that we need to clear it. I hear it and I DO care but neither of us has the time to work this through yet again. Perhaps I am the only one who sees that. So I carry on.

Guess only a real bitch would act like I do…..try to do the things that will actually benefit those around even if I have to kick them into the winners circle. What’s wrong with this?

The Girlfriends

The five of them sat around the bar table having serious drinks like vodka on the rocks and whiskey and soda. Not one of them was under 60 and I suspect that is an understatement. They looked liked they could have a lot of fun.

The first woman arrived almost a hour early, she was at the table when I first walked in and the others had only just arrived. before we left. She sat patiently and I wondered who or what she was waiting for that would be worth the time. When the other four gathered, it was clear from her smile that this was something of value. And clear on the faces of the others as well. They were old friends.

How could I tell….first, that they jumped into the deep end of conversation without the prelims. One sat down and immediately discussed a major medical pocedure just completed on her husband assuring everyone that he would be okay. They agreed, as if to assure her and went on to other important topic….their next drinks and dinner. And they began to laugh at shared silliness and low key teasing. The fun was beginning.

Two of the women were dressed to the nines; hair in perfect place and faces perhaps enhanced by botox. Two were attractive but far less put together and the last was almost frumpy. But it was the five of them, notwithstanding their differences. They were friends. OLD friends. Such a precious commodity….i enjoyed watching it in action and feel sorry that I have no group to play with. But I am going to find me one. Girlfriends don’t come along every day.

Women’s common fear

We share some common disease, they are ours and men don’t get them And they are very dangerous; breast, ovarian and uterine cancer. The cures are coming but the prevention is slow.

My best friend spent a decade plus trying to prevent breast cancer, fighting off a family history. SHe was part of a Tamoxifan study and regular checkups and mamograms. Yet, not long after the active part of the study ended, she found s lump. I remember the call, they are such few words and they say so much. I did not want to believe it and then I wanted to minimize what it meant.

But she is a soldier who trudged off to the doctor; a new mamomgram; a biopsy; a sonogram and a diagnosis. ANd then, finally, the surgery. I have followed behind trying to give comfort yet knowing this is a personal nightmare even when every one believes you will wake up.

Yesterday we watched our beloved Steelers play a football game and it was a thrilling game (at our age, we like them more onesided-our side) . Yet we spent our time flipping through the American Cancer Book looking at wigs and hats. The one thing we have not done in 30 plus years is look at catalogues together. This was more symbolic…..she will loose her hair to the chemo and I want to find the words to be supportive. Her husband walked in and out of the room but commented very little. And she wasn’t asking for my opinion, I am not even sure what she was asking for. But she will get what she needs.

I have to get over the fear that it could be me…..it could be any of us. This is OUR fight.

Silence frightens me

I am a communicator. I talk openly and I write. I am willing to share thoughts, opinions and feelings and I want to know what others think. In fact, the truth is that I NEED to know what others are thinking. I don’t like to play “fill in the blanks”. Even though I am not a pessimist, I always wonder if the worst is happening and I have done the wrong thing. I know that everyone is not like me although I think there are more women than men. We tend to share.

My sister is silent and I have always been intimidated by that. When we were kids, I made the most noise and got blamed for everthing. She was a master at baiting me. And I always took the bait. The older I get, the less I fire up my jets.

It is important to me to really know that the people I love are okay and the only way I feel secure about that is for them to tell me. If there is something difficult in their lives, I look for them to provide words that make me believe that the best outcome is coming soon. I want to know about the worst so I can help to make it better. Even if my help is asked for.

We are celebrating Veterans Day and yesterday I heard three Korean Veterans on a radio show talking about a masacre that took place during that long ago war. They were amoung 8 survivors out of 400 who were captured, tortured and mostly killed. Until recently, these survivors did not maintain regular contact. Then, a book was written and a reunion planned. Their reconnection is deep and continues.

All three said that they had not even told their wives and families about what had happened to them. They believed no one could understand the horror and the fear. And here they were, recounting it on a radio show for listeners to hear. It was because they had unburdened themselves with each other first.

My reaction was strong. I wondered what it must have been to live with and love someone who had such a profound memory they kept buried. And I wondered if someone who tries to understand a very personal experience can ever do? Do we ask too much? Is life more manageable when kept internalized?

I cannot change my own nature but I can learn more about respecting the sensibilities of others. I have worked on this with my sister and I am trying with others. Perhaps the trade of my discomfort for their comfort is fair. I still think it helps to talk but we all have the right to choose when, where and with who.

One in Every Crowd

Funny how you think about your blog when you aren’t online, I suppose this is temporary. Wonder what to say today. I am working on an essay of what it means to be a “woman of age”….whatever that means. But I am not ready to start that stream of consciousness. Although, I live it every moment.

I had my first comment today too but it wasn’t from a stranger. A friend who was trying to bait me but I will not pick up the gauntlet. Ony a man does not know what a woman is. And that worries them because they often are confused about our expectations and they want our approval. I have tried a lifetime to find common language to bridge the gender gap but my success has been limited.

I can discuss sports and business and politics but I cannot find a way to explain to man, the way most woman feel about the well being of others. Nurture is inbred and there isn’t a way to describe it. We listen, we hug, we cook, we shed a tear and we worry. It comes naturally. We put people above things and keep score in ways that don’t show on the bottom line. We get tired and we get hurt but we always recover because we need. to.

So, for the politicians and scoundrels who might read this…..the questions is not “what is a woman?”. The answer is found in the etcetera!

The First Day

This is my first post and I am not sure who I am writing for but it really doesn’t matter. I often write not knowing who, if anyone, will read my work. That is is the DNA of being a writer.

I am looking forward to the challenge; to being heard by someone I have yet to meet and hope to influence. I have strong opinions and I care a great deal. I wear it on my sleeve but then you can’t see my sleeve. I mostly care about the lives of other women, how we can share our support and expertise with each other so that our lives stay or become richer. Not necessarily in the monetary sense but that wouldn’t be bad either.

Mine has been an interesting life, I will leave much of it to have something to write about in the weeks and months. My mother had 95 years of an interesting life…..she was a true woman of courage. I hope I can measure up.

I will close my first try at the world of blogging and see what it takes to do this all of the time. Hope I find a reader.

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