Thursday, February 09, 2017

That Next Stage. Did Someone say Stage?

To all our faithful readers I owe you an apology. Remember I said that Trump wouldn’t be that bad, after all he was a Democrat 2 years ago.  Turns out he is more horrible than any of us could have imagined.  But enough about Drump, he is not worth the paper this is printed on…Hold up it’s not printed on paper so I guess he’s worth nothing.  Over the last few weeks My Facebook has taken a real hit.  It was necessary to defriend a number of people who, although I like them, have taken to calling me horrible names.  Those kind of comments are neither welcome nor appropriate.  Moving on to a much more important informations.

A good friend, Linus asked his sister (also a dear friend), Lucy, to tell him a story.  Here is the story;  “a man was born and  he lived and died, the End”.  If only it was that simple.  Turns out, living is quite complicated.  Not only that, but the complications only increase, until in fact, you die.  Which unfortunately we all will.  

When I was born my grandmother Sadie sad it was too bad I wasn’t a boy. So the doctor put a mustache on me, because my dad had a mustache and I looked just like him. The consequences were that I always had a mustache (ask any girl with dark hair) but I didn’t have a penis. I didn’t understand what that meant until I got older than a few hours, because my dad (the true man in my life), always thought I was fabulous.  He was sure I could do anything and luckily I believed him.  The struggle began when I was in high school and they made me take home Ec, (cooking and sewing), instead of learning something worthwhile, like auto mechanics or wood shop.  That was my introduction to gender injustice.  As you can imagine, fighting injustice is a life-long occupation.  Luckily, I am a baby boomer, there was no shortage of injustice in the 60’s and 70’s. By the 80’s I was exhausted, but we made change. Real change in civil rights, human rights, women’s rights, academics and the war.  Who could ever have imagined we would have to do it again. In case you haven’t noticed, the Cabinet and most of the White House staff are white men, mostly old white men  It looks like th 50’s and their thinking has not progressed into the 21 century.

Back to life and transitions, personal and professional.  We talked, as Lucy said, about being born. Now we’re into the meat — or the lived. areas of Communication called to me.  Mostly teaching and politics.  Emerson College, in those years  accepted those of us who did not do too well on SAT’s, but it prepared me for any career path of my choice, and remember, my dad said I could do anything, so off we go.  Once you get  hooked on politics it is hard to go in any other direction. Once you become part of that conversation, it is hard to learn another language.

Anyway, Waltham high School, Boston University and a Jewish bakery in Brookline and St Mary’s in central Ma. made it possible for me to continue my whole life education. The living continued with a disastrous marriage and a wonderful child.  The passion for politics continued and miraculously  a Presidential campaign appeared.  After painful losses we became President.  But I had no job and was living in my car  In this case you used all your resources to survive. At that point in this endless recounting of “alternative facts”, the greater unknown determined I would work in Presidential Politics every four years, while in between remained a mystery.  Teaching at University level, The world of non-profits, Television Executive, and theater were always on the horizon, but never more than  four years because then there was an election.

Once again, marriage and an amazing child.  Selfishly, I was not to be deterred from any dreams — what a lie, but moving on….  There was government and television.  The conversation was the same.  Was I lucky, I traveled all over this country and the world, working with terrific, smart, savvy people.  Henry Kissinger was my dinner partner at the White House Correspondents dinner.  Movie stars, musicians, Pulitzer Prize winners, Cabinet Secretarys, Stan Lee, Stewart Mott, Congress people, Senators, the rich and famous, the Easter egg roll, and yes I danced with Fred Astaire, lived in India with Dickie Attenborough when we were producing Gandhi, and always had the Presidential Box at the Kennedy Center.  There was no place I couldn’t go, and nothing I couldn’t do. 

They say all good things have a time limit.  Which is probably true, but so what.  I am and was beyond fortunate both personally and professionally.  I find myself at a crossroads.  Should I retire or spend the last quarter (I am a “fourth quarter Queen”), doing exactly what I have dreamed.  Which would be OK but I have already done everything I dreamed — except producing my musical. 

Anyway, when things are confusing or untenable, or fantastic, we often look for the “comfort and joy” part of our lives. Sometimes we think we have found the answers and sometimes we are still asking questions.  Yes, the continued questioning takes us forward but we will never find the answer to, “why me?”   How do I go on?  What does my future look like?  My guess is it looks like the past with me always yelling about injustice, trying to encourage young women to get a grip, and hoping beyond hope that my kids have learned about what’s a good life, from me, our family, and all works that went before they were grown up.

We’re just sayin’… Iris

No comments: