Diane Keaton, Dirty Martini's and Being Old and Young
I had a narrative about 40 something women, before I was about to become one. They dressed like Diane Keaton, drank Cosmos and were in bed by 9. Perhaps the last one is true, but that’s only because I have a puppy who insists that 4 am is the perfect wake-up time.
I have always felt old. Older, perhaps. Older than I was. Older than everyone else. When people ask my age I always have to think. My first inclination is to give the age I haven’t reached yet. I’ve lived much in 39 years that sometimes it feels like lifetimes rolled into one.
Sometimes, I catch my reflection in a car window or my daughter’s mirror and wonder who the hell that woman is. The one with the round middle and the dark circles and the widow’s peak, much more severe than a decade ago.
And then I remember.
She is someone who has fought to live. To love. For protection and safety. For joy. To hold on. And to let go.
I don’t dress like Diane Keaton; I’m not a huge fan of hats. I don’t like cosmos- dirty martinis are more my speed. I wish I could stay up passed 9, but until this dog chills out I don’t see that happening.
I had looked forward to my thirties for practically my entire life- believing I would finally, “feel” my age. They turned out to be a much wilder ride than I would have ever wished for. I wanted to, “arrive” at 40- not limp toward the finish line. But here I am. We don’t get choose where we came from, only where we’re going.
The very truth is, the last decade took more from me than I was ever willing to give. It also gave me my light of my littlest daughter, new friends, a new home, and a new career.
I am grateful to it, and also very glad to close it’s doors. I have made it this far, and that’s enough.
What did you think the 40’s were going to be like?
What’s Nourishing Me Right Now?
I have a long standing affinity for Turkey (the country). Having worked in a private school where the majority of the student body was Turkish, it was easy to fall in love with the culture, the food, the language and the obsession with the supernatural. (The news of the earthquake has been heartbreaking, as many of my former students families are still there and some of them returned themselves. I’ve been loving, “Shahmaran” on Netflix, but I’m also a big fan of myths in general and love to see them repurposed for the screen. I do wish it wasn’t dubbed, however. I miss hearing the language it was originally spoken in.
I bought Molly Yeh’s cookbook and proceeded to make fun of the only cocktail recipe in it- an amaretto sour made with grapefruit juice. It sounded awful. Girly. Too sweet. All the things I actually hate in a cocktail. I made it anyway. It was none of those things, and I’ve had one every night for the last two weeks. I can admit when I’m wrong. Since I am protective over authors and their work, I won’t give you her recipe. I WILL tell you that it’s in her latest, “Home is Where the Eggs Are” in case you’d like to check it out of the library, though. Or, buy it for yourself. I did. https://www.amazon.com/Home-Where-Eggs-Are-Molly/dp/0063052415/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1LA2QUZWCM0U5&keywords=home+is+where+the+eggs+are+molly+yeh&qid=1676573267&sprefix=home+is+where+%2Caps%2C90&sr=8-1
Sheet pan dinners are the way to go- and this one was as easy as it was flavorful. I doubled it to have extras for lunches. https://www.halfbakedharvest.com/garlic-butter-chicken-and-potatoes/
A friend sent me the link to the OnBeing interview with one of my favorite poets, and his thoughts on stress, time and beauty have stayed with me for weeks now. https://onbeing.org/programs/john-odonohue-the-inner-landscape-of-beauty/
Sometimes, I forget that music should be FUN. Sammy Rae and the Friends remind me.
I am anticipating an eating of my words about my approaching 40s. I am hopeful it’ll bring a few things to light- things I just may outline in the next installment. Until then, friends- live deliciously and write all about it.