Dreaming of Smithtown

Posted on by carynjune

Yesterday, I participated in a small craft fair at a Jewish Center near my mom’s house. I was invited by someone who had seen my work at a big fair in November. My mom and I grumbled about it…disorganized, no advertising, no one is going to be there, and when they did come we judged them, overweight, frumpy, what’s with all the yarmulkes? Well, guess what? I had the best single day in sales I’ve had yet. Not one of the people who showed up looked like my work would appeal to them. But it did. Is there a lesson here? Of course. We look at ourselves and others so critically, not thin enough, not pretty enough, not rich enough, no taste, too old, too old. Too old. My mom loves her watercolor class at the Y and wants to take more classes. I suggested she check out the Art League. Her response? “But it’s in Smithtown!” Like I had suggested she sign up for the shuttle to Mars. My mom is talented and youthful and vibrant and more than capable of driving to Smithtown. But she probably won’t, because it’s just a little outside her comfort zone. But the next time you see someone older, maybe a little frail and out of date, and they don’t seem to do much, and you think their life is pretty much over, think again. They may look like they’re napping but in reality, they’re dreaming of Smithtown.

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My mom, the beautiful Sybil Ronis at the Manetto Hill Jewish Center.

Hello/Goodbye

Posted on by carynjune

Getting older is all about Goodbyes. To parents who pass on, to children who move on, to spouses that carry on. To jobs, and homes, and friends, and lovers. To hairstyles, and clothing and TV shows and waistlines. To youth. To dreams. To OLD dreams. See that’s the cool thing about dreams. There are so many things we can’t ever get back. But while dreams may evolve or change or disappear all together, there’s always another one to take it’s place. And somehow, that makes the ache of all those goodbyes not quite so sharp. Hello.

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Wishing on a Star carynjune

Glee

Posted on by carynjune

I have recently discovered this strange and consuming obsession with the tv show, “Glee”. Now for those if you who are not teenage girls, “Glee” is a show about a high school show choir who experience the angst and dreams and first loves that we all do. But they get to do it with a soundtrack. And an audience. And perfect teeth. It’s manipulative and completely unrealistic and I can’t stop watching it. What’s up with that? Maybe it’s just my love for a good show tune. Maybe it’s the regret that comes as we grow older and realize we dropped a lot of dreams on the side of the road. Maybe it’s immersing myself in a world where even the underdog is young and beautiful and finds love and gets a standing ovation just for opening their mouth.

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Looking Back carynjune

Sitting on the Fence

Posted on by carynjune

The consensus seems to be among those of a certain age, especially women, that there is a great liberation in getting older; that we are less likely to care what other people think and more likely to do what we want because it makes us happy and fulfilled. While I believe that can be true, my experience sometimes proves otherwise. Certainly, I’m finding new ventures that are making me happy and taking chances that I may not have when I was younger, but have I stopped worrying about what other people think? Hell, no! In fact, as I face menopause, I think I’m even more concerned with the opinions of others. When I was younger, there was always the gift of time. I would get thin, find the perfect haircut, become a great actress, or singer, be beautiful and desirable. Whatever I wanted was going to happen, someday, with apparently no help or effort from me. The years flew by and I got heavier, gave up acting, sing only for pleasure, still search for the perfect haircut, and while my husband finds me beautiful and desirable, I think he’s crazy. But, I started my own business, and started writing this blog. I’ve been zip-lining, and rode a bike in the ruins of Coba in the pouring rain. I take more risks and feel more joy. And yet…I can no longer pretend that the cute 30 something guy in the subway is looking me over, or watching me walk. And why does that matter? Why did it ever matter? As I sit on the fence, balancing between what was and what will be, desire for that elusive, skin-deep attractiveness is lodged stubbornly in my throat, leaving little room for what’s really beautiful. 

 

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On the Fence    carynjune

The Blue Line

Posted on by carynjune

I never really wanted kids. I always knew I didn’t want to have children with my first husband, which should have been a clue that something wasn’t right, and the timing was never right with my second. Or so I told myself. When I was living in California, I had a Labrador puppy for two days and returned him, realizing “I couldn’t take care of a dog.” In NY, I had a sweet little kitten that I gave back because “he was always looking at me.” The truth is, being responsible for another living thing terrifies me. I remember watching my nieces years ago and Addie was sick. I followed her around with a bucket praying that if she was gonna throw up, she’d be considerate enough to do so in the bucket. The thing is, you can’t return children. I’ve spent so much of my life avoiding things that scare me silly, I’ve missed out on a lot. No one’s ever called me “Mom”, and as I’ve never brought a person into the world, it’s entirely possible that there won’t be anyone to see me out. So this morning , as I contemplate the fact that my period is 8 days late, I think, well it’s either menopause or I’m pregnant at 56. And after I stop Iaughing, I wonder, which is more terrifying.

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Hindu Mama carynjune

Fall or Fly

Posted on by carynjune

A couple of weeks ago, I fell off several wagons. It’s not important which ones; there are so many to choose from. Pick one…or three. My go to place when this happens is shame. I spend hours, days even, reliving moments, conversations, what-ifs. I’m so stupid, why did I do that, why didn’t I do this. &$;:%#^y $:)^#^ing stupid, stupid me. Like I’m the only one who ever threw away a week’s worth of weight loss on a bag of m & m’s, or had no idea where our tax refund actually went. The thing about making mistakes, or embarrassing yourself or saying something without thinking is you have a choice. You can wallow in the head-banging “why, why, why am I so stupid?!” Or you can admit you did something that clearly wasn’t the best choice and learn something. Make it right and move on. Fall…or Fly.

Fall or Fly carynjune

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Things That Weren’t There Yesterday

Posted on by carynjune

I can always tell when I’ve slept well because I wake up with those sheet creases on my face. So, I’m sitting on the LIRR this morning and it’s still dark enough to see my reflection in the window and very faintly I notice on my right cheek…still there! Seriously? I’ve been up for over an hour! It appears that the amount of time it takes for those lines to disappear is in direct proportion to the amount of years you’ve been on earth. Until they meet in the middle and then it’s just a wrinkle. Now, anyone who reads this blog knows how much I love wrinkles and lines and worn edges in metal, but this morning? As the sky lightens and my reflection gets a little harder to see? That line is pissing me off.

Trees carynjune

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More Balls!

Posted on by carynjune

So, I woke up this morning with all these ambitious plans, grocery shopping, cleaning, creating a funky little serving piece for my sister-in-law’s catering company, and finally finishing a piece commissioned by a friend of mine so long ago, it’s undergoing it’s third incarnation, (more about that in a later blog). I’m humming along and I sit down at my workbench…and I’m out of balls. That’s not nearly as bad as it sounds. Almost all of the work I’m doing currently uses a process called granulation, fusing silver together using a low flame and no solder. The designs are done using flattened wire and little teeny-tiny silver balls. And I’m out of balls. Now like so many things in life, I can’t just call Balls R Us and have a batch of balls delivered. I have to make them. This involves wrapping silver wire about a thousand times around a tiny metal dowel and then meticulously snipping each ring at the same place so I have a thousand little tiny rings of the same size which I will then melt into a thousand little teeny-tiny balls. I hate it. It’s tedious, time-consuming, and completely uncreative. But I love those balls. I couldn’t do what I love without those balls. So, I’ll wrap and snip and melt and swear when the balls roll off the table never to be seen again, or fuse into one giant ball because they’re too close together. And I’ll pray that after all the work, the finished product is as beautiful as the vision in my head, which is always a little scary. And that someone other than my mom loves them as much as I do, which is a lot scary. But I’ll do it anyway, because I love it and because sometimes, it’s just about the balls.

Cupid's Arrow

Cupid’s Arrow


carynjune

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain…

Posted on by carynjune

It never ceases to amaze me how conditioned we become in our responses to different situations. For instance, you have a bad day at work. One person might strap on their tennies and go for a run, one might meditate, or call a friend to vent.  One might dive into a good novel or a bag of m&m’s. See what I did there? If you read fast enough, you’d never even see the m word. The point seems to be not the m&m’s themselves, but the smoke and mirrors around them. My husband knows all about my penchant for eating an entire box of skinny cow ice cream bars in one night. He once caught me pulling a box of chocolate-covered cherries from behind my pillow. Yet, I still tiptoe into the kitchen and verrrrrry quietly open the freezer, pulling out the ice cream like I’m playing Operation, trying all the while to avoid the crinkling wrappers which will surely give me away. Now, while my husband tries to explain to me that I should have only one piece of candy a day, for the most part nobody cares what I eat or how much. Why the abra-cadabra of it all? Do I really believe that if I hide the candy or chips or ice cream that I’m not actually eating them? The thirty extra pounds I’m lugging around like a giant purse would suggest the secret’s out. Someone once told me you gain 10 pounds a decade. I’m finding this to be almost true. For me, it was 10 pounds a year. I’m a big show-off. The things I did to take off 40 pounds in 6 months when I was 32 don’t work anymore, and that frustrates me. A friend at work lost some weight and is sporting new, smaller size clothes and that aggravates me. My body is completely different than it was 10 years ago and that pisses me off. So, the way I see it, I have two choices. Will I use the frustration, and aggravation, and anger to push me into finally taking control of my weight, eating right, exercising, working towards a goal…or will I go gently into that good bag of m&m’s?

Over Indulge carynjune>

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Bend, Don’t Break

Posted on by carynjune

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Scarred Willow carynjune

So, I’m at this deli near my office and I’ve just picked up a container of mango slices instead of the peanut m&m’s I really want because I’ve convinced myself I’m being “good”, ( a word which should be struck from the dictionary, by the way). And I come in on the tail end of a conversation about kids between the cashier and a man of 60 or so, who says to the cashier, “oh your kids aren’t old enough. “. Then he turns to me and says “yours are “. Now, I don’t even know what he’s referring to. Old enough to go to school? Drive? Vote? Have kids of their own? But I’m pissed. What I really want to say is “you @&^%*#ing piece of @&$#*^! Why would you say that to anyone, you insensitive @&%#^!” What I actually did was mumble , “nope, no kids…”, return the mango and buy a bag of peanut m&m’s. Thinking about it later, I wondered why, when confronted with reality, as insensitive as it might be on the other person’s part, we often fall apart and into bad habits. An elderly customer asked me a couple of years ago if I was expecting.  Seriously? I thanked her for assuming I was young enough to have kids and told her no, I was just fat. The truth was…is, I’m 30 pounds overweight. The truth is, I’m certainly old enough to have grown children. Why does that hurt so much? And while I can’t turn back the clock, I can turn to an apple instead of a bag of peanut m&m’s. Bend, Don’t break.