What is this world coming to?

Elvis burst on the scene with jumpy music and a wiggle and managed to offend a ton of parents of teens. My mom thought he was awesome so I had no problem listening to his music. From there the papers and to a lesser extent the TV went on and on about rock and roll contributing to the delinquency of minors. Soon there was wild dancing. Close dancing. Smoking things. The Beatles and their long hair. A few more overwhelming drugs. Free sex and love. Everything was disparaged as soon as it appeared. But there was always more to come. Abuse of humans and animals. Guns in every pickup truck. Prejudice against every little thing. The media has had a field day introducing every new pestilence for the last 60+ years.

During all those years, things were going on behind closed doors that the greater population didn't know about. Fathers hit wives in front of the kids. Kids were assaulted by family members. And by neighbors, teachers, etc. And soon by each other. We sort of knew it happened but of course not to someone we knew. And God forbid we should talk about it. I have no statistics on if and when it became a public matter. Meanwhile our morality has been on the line. By morality, I'm not speaking of consensual sex. The media became our new measurement about those things. Dramas about abuse are everywhere in the media. On TV and in the movies we can see sex and violence of all sorts and even see it glorified. It should make us angry, very angry. It should.

Dreary

Today has been a dreary day so far. I got my oil changed in the middle of a cloud. Mist, cloud, wet, damp, cold air. And allergies. I have them all year. But sometimes the winter ones really get to me. This week on the weather forecast, out of 8 days, 2 are forecast to be sunny. And I don't know how those who live in Washington state can stand it. I think I would go nuts without the sun. I lived in Florida and hated that the sun was out every day. Now I hate that it is hidden all the time. I guess I just can't be satisfied. Anyway, an attack on allergies is in order. I keep seeing so called cures for the allergic reactions- or symptoms. I'm just working my way through the offerings at the drugstore. I haven't tried the liquor store yet. There are things that help with congestion. Sometimes they help. But I wonder, if the congestion isn't coming out my nose or going down my throat, where is it? Will I wake up one morning with a brain drowning in slime? And would I know the difference?

That is just one of the fun aspects of winter weather. I can truthfully say the Tennessee is better than Illinois, New Jersey, Michigan, New York, etc. I haven't had to dig myself out of drifted snow in a long time. I love looking at the world when the snow is coming down and hasn't been run over by vehicles, footsteps, and snowplows. It's so beautiful. And so quiet. And so deadly for some. But it is not dreary.
I picture the beautiful scenes of horse drawn sleighs going over the river and through the woods. But reality is more like SUVs sliding down the hill into other SUVs and mailboxes. It includes horsepower not being enough to get somewhere. Maybe in some instances dreary is better.

One other thing that I must address about dreary is the lack of color. I think my largest complaint about dreary weather and lack of sun is that there is so much gray. The color of the roads should be anything but gray. Green would be nice. And I'm also trying to make my home into an antidote for the drears. I think that the lack of light is helpful to me. So I turn on extra lights. And the honey comes home from work and turns them off to save money. So I turn them back on and dare him to touch them. I think the drear is something that makes people want to decorate a lot more for Christmas. How did we live with just a Christmas tree with lights on it. Lets put red everywhere in the house. In every room, on every surface. There, that takes care of the drear. But then there is January. It is time. Time to come up with an excuse to decorate with color and lights for the winter months. Let's get our thinking caps on.

There are times when

 I need a pick-me-up. My mood during the holiday season was not good. I miss so much. The days I cooked for family Christmas dinner. The days that I was with my children. The watching the kids open gifts and grinning all morning. The decorating. The anticipation. I loved it. Tiring sometimes. But always joyful. The I got older and it all changed. Children gone. Mom died. Marriage ended. My Dad had died many years before. But I had my ex's family. And I still loved it when I look back.

I lost my Dad in Oct. and my Mom in Nov, right after Thanksgiving. I lost my kids due to some poor decisions and the divorce. I blame myself for some of the losses. But there is something else that haunts me. I didn't know to do this and I want everyone to consider doing it. I didn't ask questions of my parents. I didn't know them as people but as parents. There have been so many questions that have come up and might be helpful to me now in dealing with my gray holiday mood. So for those of you who still have your families. Ask questions. Find out about the holiday traditions your parents had growing up. Learn what they liked before they became parents. And most of all, no matter how badly they screwed up as parents, love them. And let them know.

Labels

I am a mother, daughter, girlfriend, grandmother, woman, college graduate, dog mom. I am female, older, wiser, heavier, more creative, nicer, kinder, more loving, smarter, and more interesting than I was at 20.

Those are labels. They are used to describe. But labels are also used to limit. Labels tell you what size a garment is, what's in food, what kind of book or movie you are seeing, what your style is, what street you have a home on, what kind of car you drive, etc. You can be a fashionista, bohemian, old fashioned, avant garde, a Barbie wannabe, chic, wealthy, poor, skinny, heavy, white or other. And you've been labelled. Some labels do limit. And there are limits to some labels. It would be difficult for a black person to be anything other than a black person, and so for Asian, American Indian, Arab, etc. There are very few people who would fit into a box with just one label. There are beautiful people in all areas of colors. There are old fashioned Asians, etc. So the trick is to acknowledge the labels you fit with and to either work with them or work to change them. For instance, I am an older, heavy, white, educated, fashion-loving, creative, kind, giving American. I'll take those labels and be satisfied. That is, until one of them starts to make me feel limited. And then, all bets are off.

Never let it be said

I absolutely love the pants in this photo. Maybe I'm learning to pick and choose better. I like the white shirt. The red clutch is definitely not something I'd do and the shoes are OK. But the uniform becomes even more of a uniform because of the pose. I'm not so fond of the pigeon toed poses I've seen.

Granted, when I was young, standing that way meant you really were pigeon toed or you needed orthopedic shoes. So it has a bad connotation for me. Just as this isn't my favorite pose, I'd love it if someone would tell me what is. I look at the women on the pinterest photos and at the women in the magazines and I see all sorts of poses. I'm particularly fond of those that seem unposed. As in street photos. Walking with firm large steps and long skinny legs, going somewhere interesting. But you can put me in front of a camera and my body suddenly becomes a bunch of sticks held together by a weak, droopy rubber band. My tendency is to lean against something and hope that this something is interesting in the photo. Then there is the problem of what to do with my hands. 

Some of the women solve the problem by posing with a clutch. But I don't even own a clutch. To me, they are a pain in the neck because they don't hold a lot and have no shoulder strap. I'm not the type to pose with a bag just to have one. Nothing in it. And I have seen that done.

This brings me to the reason for taking photos and for posing. And I just don't understand some things about it. For instance, 17 pics of the same outfit, the same direction, seems like overkill to me. I'd actually only take photos enough to see what the outfit looks like and then I'd let it go. And yes, I have seen 17 pics of the same outfit on the same blog in one day. Added to comments about why this is a super outfit, I begin to wonder who the blog is written for. I can truthfully say that my blogs(I have 3) are for me to check out myself, to share my opinions, sometimes to share funny things, and to bitch. So you see I am doing well in that area.

Never let it be said that I don't give equal time to folks my age. While the young seem to want to follow patterns, fit in, dress to entice, etc, those in my age group are following some different stars. There is a major blog about 

women of a more mature age that says it all. Fashion is not style. If I am trying to get with the uniform program, I may be in fashion and sometimes I may be in style. But usually, I'm not me. To me style is fashion spoken my language.