Monthly Archives: June 2011
true beauty to me is not being afraid of who you are. and not being afraid of who you aren’t, either. it’s hard sometimes to not wallow in that new varicose vein, or lump of cellulite, or cleavage wrinkle, but the fact of the matter is, it’s part of life. and true beauty dictates that we won’t be judged as people by our inconsequential details. that said, finding these things sucks! i literally lost my breath upon the discovery of my outward-popping leg vein. as my friend laughed hysterically, i remember thinking that i’d finally reached the point where things were happening in my body i naively thought i’d never have to deal with, but felt sorry for others when they had to. well ladies, here we are! but you know what? at the end of the day, seriously, i’m still walking, i’m still breathing, and my neighborhood isn’t getting bombed. a bit cliche, perhaps, but true. and i know i’m still truly beautiful because i go on trying to be brave and good, and lots of people love me, and i love lots of people. that’s true beauty to me. and i dig it the most.
ahh, the joys of special glasses. i love to collect them. you know the ones: your friend is moving and she has that wierd glass she kind of likes but doesn’t want anymore, your mom no longer has a complete set so you get one or two, the cool cup you find at a thrift store or garage sale. these make my day that much more lovely. i have a belief that if a drink is drunk out of a special glass it becomes more tasty and more of an event. i think we need as many of these small pleasures in our day as possible. make it count, i say, even if it’s just a glass of chocolate soymilk.
a few drinks i love out of my special glasses:
coconut juice and chocolate soymilk ( i prefer mostly coconut juice) cool, creamy, and delish!
tomato juice with a little tony chacheres seasoning salt (although i’ve discovered this has a lot of sodium)
port wine or sherry
water with a bit o’ pomegranate juice
champagne, always champagne!
Ahh, the joys of cooking. There’s nothing for me quite like getting a craving, buying all the fresh ingredients, putting on some great music, and cooking up my very own flavor creation. As long as I’m at home, whatever my heart desires that day is what I end up eating. So healthy! So good! So fun! Honestly, my days off are taken up mostly by cooking and eating. And I can’t bring myself to feel bad about it. In fact, I feel really good about it. So here’s to cooking what you love to eat! Now onward to some Japanese-style green beans and Sade. I hope you’re doing something just as nice.
This week’s letter is from Frimunt.And that’s this person’s name, y’all. Not a town. And I’m not sure if this Frimunt is male or female, but no matter. My answer will be the same, regardles.
OK. Frimunt writes,
“Dear Gilda Sue, I have lost faith in my dreams, my family, my friends, and my religion. Everything and everyone around me seem to lack the depth and substance that make life worth living. I’d kill myself, but I’m afraid of dying. What should I do?”
Well, Frimunt, hon, thanks for giving me a little break from all the tough questions. This is simple, because you are on the right track. At least half-way.
Y’all, the world is totally full of meshugeners and putzes wading around in ankle deep waters volleying hollow and meaningless banter at one another and dressing it up as thoughtful discourse, whether it be on the broad public forum or in seemingly intimate, personal relationships. But, as for being afraid to die, oy! That’s just crazy.
Hon, first of all, death is a lie, and once you realize that, it stops being so scary.
Here’s the thing, bubee. I grew up in a small town and once I could buy my own bus ticket (or secretly borrow some money from my mama’s purse to buy my own bus ticket), I moved as far away as that bus would take me, and I never went back. Now, when I left, those people in my home town didn’t think I was dead. Well, actually, my bobeshi did think I was dead for a few days, and she’s never forgiven me for giving her such a scare. But my point is that I wasn’t dead. And though it is possible for me to return to my hometown, I’ve just never had a reason to do so, which is why I left in the first place. I moved forward. I changed residences. And that’s all “dying” really is.
Disclaimer, hon: Neither Rabbi Spiderman, Father Fitzpatrick, or Pastor Grizzle agree with me on this. And, I don’t claim to know what the forwarding address will be for you, but I feel fairly certain that whatever it is, you should definitely not be afraid of to “die.”
So, no worries. Thanks for your question, Frimunt, and happy trails!
I service my car at Bates Garage because I trust them and they deliver a great product. One of the reasons I trust them is because we live on the same street. Another reason I trust them is because they depend on word of mouth to stay in business. There it is, plain and simple. We rely on one another. We’re a community and there’s pressure to do each other right. There’s consequences otherwise. Not to mention the fact that the Bates’ are good people and highly skilled mechanics. Yeah, they charge a little more but it’s worth it for the peace of mind and future security of knowing they’ll still be there the next time I have car trouble.
When I go to buy something I want to spend the extra bucks on craftsmanship, on products and services made with pride, made to last and made in America. These days it seems like taking pride in America freaks people out (including a lot of Americans and people who want to be Americans). But that’s a whole-nother strongly opinionated discussion I’m steering clear of at the moment.
Right now I want to talk about why I use a hand me down vacuum cleaner that’s twenty years old. This thing makes my house smell like a combination of Glade plug-ins and Caesar, our Doberman Pincer who died when I was in the fifth grade. See More…
I’d like to answer a missive from German Joe Pulver in Berlin. (I KNOW!)
German Joe asks,
“Can I have a pony???????????????????????”
Well, hon, I realize you are a speaker of a foreign tongue, but oy! In American the saying is “have a cow,” not “have a pony.” And my advice to anyone struggling with how to deal with feelings uncomfortable enough to make him want to break down and have a cow is to just stop. Stop and take a deep breath, hon. And push it down. Take those feelings and push them deep, deep down. Smile. Indulge in a Drambuie Margarita, or a red wine spritzer, or any legal “drug” of your choosing. Then indulge in a second, even a third. Surf the computer Internet for videos of dogs befriending whales or of Nancy Grace falling off of her roller skates into a group of tot mom groupies, and follow that down the rabbit hole until you fall asleep. It works for me. It’ll work for you.
Thanks for your letter, German Joe.