Well, we all know the answer to that. Lately it’s been harder and, to be honest, I really don’t understand. Sure, we get old and people change for one reason or another, but overall I just don’t get it. Maybe I never will. And honestly, I’m not okay with that.
And in truth, I really don’t want to be okay with it. I want to be wildly engaged in life. I want to do things, see thing, love life and relish every minute. Is that so hard? I really, really, don’t think that’s too hard for any of us.
It comes along with all those things we’ve always wanted to do with our lives — DO THEM.
It comes along with good days and bad — make it work for now and then make it better.
It comes with love. Real love — the smile you see on the face of everyone you pass.
I can do that.
I want to chat with my girlfriends weekly and make fabulous plans that may or may not come true, and that’s still okay.
I want to try everything, and I’m okay even if I don’t like it after all.
I want to be able to say what I mean — and have someone understand. And care.
It doesn’t matter if you’re 13 or 98, It doesn’t matter if you’ve visited every single spot on the globe. It doesn’t matter how wealthy you are. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been bad or good. It doesn’t even matter if you really, REALLY want to live forever. The clock keeps ticking and you can’t stop it.
What we CAN do, is live and love.
And when I say that, I mean LOVE with all your heart. Love the good days and the bad days, but mostly, every single &%@$& day. Love for both the young and the old. Love for what you’ve lost and for what you’ve gained. Love for what you believe, and yes, love even for those you don’t believe.
So love MORE, dance MORE, hug MORE, talk MORE, share MORE, protest MORE, think MORE, imagine MORE, create MORE, help MORE, and jump delightfully into every possible moment you have.
And if you need to, change — and change NOW. You’ll be glad. So glad. I promise.
Wait … Let me readjust that note … I FLY TO IRELAND ON MONDAY!!!
It’s not my first trip there, and in fact I’m on my TENTH visit now … because I just can’t get enough. And guess what? I’m 100% as excited as I was on the first trip.
As you can tell, Ireland will always have my heart.
And — oh yeah — we’re staying in a castle. A real-life, bells and whistles Castle. Seriously. And meals are included.
And it’s not just a Castle — aside from the monumental reality there — but a castle and quite a few other perks, and yes, I’m all atwitter and with good reason. Add in 200 acres of woodlands, and ohhh how that makes me swoon. Oh, and they feed us — and not just “food”, but a range of locally sourced delicacies like Spanish tapas, traditional Irish meals, Italian fire-cooked pizza, and vegetarian options. I won’t go hungry.
So back to those perks — We’ll have a class on Falconry (which would NEVER have occurred to me on my own), a Micro Mosaic Workshop with the fabulous and renowned Irish artist Olive Stack, a Group Collaboration on a Land-Art piece, traditional Irish music and story-telling, PLUS off-site excursions focusing on day-trips with Irish historian Ger Greaney to explore ancient Celtic sites, a stone circle, holy well, faery ring, and historic ruins; a full day in Listowel for exploring, shopping and exploring; and a day in beautiful Dingle to see artisan studios, galleries, ancient buildings, the Blasket Center, which preserves and honors the memories of the unique community that lived on the very remote Blasket Islands until their evacuation in 1953, and (of course) a bit of shopping.
FYI, we have TWO Spaces Available for Ireland (women only). We have a room with two twin beds that can be made into a King with a bathroom en suite, and two queen rooms with a hall bathroom. Our flights leave Monday, May 9 and return Sunday, May 16. Flights are not included. Let us know if you’d like details, and SEE YOU SOON!!!
I have a friend who tosses fabulousness here and there every time she has an urge, and let me tell you, those little urges materialize often and keep her sane. Me? I tend to scribble my deepest thoughts on random pieces of paper that will never see the light again. I save them, sure, but they’re a tad elusive nevertheless.
Isn’t that the description of life?
I love writing. It takes me to a place outside of everyday life, and the truth is that a lot of me lives in there. It’s not an escapist thing — it’s more like plumbing the depths. Finding peace. Finding light. Finding home and sharing it.
Life around us is changing, and I’ve decided to move backwards a bit so that I can move forward in a more purposeful way. Frankly, it isn’t easy when you’re dealing with hyperbolic changes in our country. I know I’ve said it before, but ….
I think this is the shortest post I’ve written in many moons. And the long and short of it is that life has changed rather suddenly and in many, many ways. And though I haven’t yet found the secret to holding on, I’m doing what I can.
This morning I knew exactly what I wanted to say. What I needed to say. It was clear and concise — a mix of horror and loss.
This afternoon, I can’t tell my front from my back. I can’t complete a sentence. I can’t remember where I was headed when I left the house. Maybe I just don’t want to remember — to lose these feelings of safety, sharing, and creativity — these days of love and laughter that held much of my life before this morning. It was a good life — filled with happiness, joy, women working together, and love.
And then this morning my husband misread the clock and accidentally trotted downstairs an hour early. I did the same an hour later and by then hell had already broken loose — at least in my house and my heart and the hearts and souls of so many. I’m accustomed to waiting and waiting and waiting for the election results, usually taking a day and a half or so. When have the polls ever been ready in less that a day??? This didn’t seem like a good omen, and it certainly wasn’t. I dropped into my chair and stared at the TV for only a few minutes, and then spent most of the day staring into nowhere, which seems appropriate.
I’ve read part of the manifesto put out by trump and friends, and yes, it scares me sh***tless. And yet somehow I put much less concern into it than I should have. Tonight, if I’m thinking clearly, I’ll delve further to acquaint myself more fully with Project 2025 and the demons that lurk when we’re not looking. I won’t make that mistake again, but is it too late?
The summer is losing its steam, and you begin to warm and grow large in me again.
Just today I passed too silently behind you, and your body grew in greeting leaps both left and right until I doubted I could make my way beyond without a full submission to your hands — so present, and so full of opportunities to touch,
What is it about stalkers? What makes them feel so entitled?
It could be loneliness, but they tend not to reach out. They’re not looking for love — they’ve already been down that path and turned to something darker. It’s not a good thing.
Sometimes he pretends to be all fun and games; other times he slumps into his seat almost hidden, perhaps thinking he can watch from a place I can’t see. Meanwhile I keep my eyes down, my focus on work, and make friends with those who work near me. So much of me wants to leave. I can leave. But I’m determined not to give up my writing sessions.
He doesn’t write. I don’t know why he’s here except to engage others with stories and jubilant laughter that makes him seem easy-going and raucously jovial. We all want to know people like that, don’t we? We all want to be a person like that, don’t we? But not everyone understands the difference between friendliness and danger. I worry about those who are young or naive, and especially for those who are lonely.
And then the best thing that can happen right now actually happens: children are coming in with their moms and brothers and friends and smiles and safety — one of my favorite words.
Such a big part of me wants to kneel at their level and tell them not to smile, not to talk, not to trust . . . but that’s not the route. The route is learning to put yourself and your intuition first, to learn the difference between kindness and inhumanity, and to teach it to others.
Sadly, women have to be vigilant for a lifetime. And yes, I could say that it’s an incredibly sad way to look at life, but in truth, it IS life.
Don’t ask me why, but something popped into my head rather suddenly over the past month. And because our time on earth gets shorter by the day, I jumped on it. I’d love for you to jump in too.
I chose the name above because I want it to encompass the world. It won’t, of course, but that can still be my goal.
P.S. You do not need to be a woman to support women.
Details: My plan is to bring women of all ages, sizes, ethnicities and dreamers together. It seems to me that our lives as women are changing daily, and certainly our options are changing already. I won’t fixate on politics because I’ve never been that girl — though I’m beginning to realize that maybe I should be. We definitely have power, but can we control what’s going on now? — or what’s ahead?
What I do know is that we can always stand for peace and right.
Toward that end I hope to share these messages across the globe. And guess what — after one email blast and a couple of days, we already have women signed up from sea to sea in the the US, as well as multiple countries beyond. We need to use our strength. We need to be the women we are without keeping quiet. But most of all, we need to support and learn from each other. Nobody’s going to do this for us — especially now.
So far I’m mostly self-funding this women’s project because that’s my option, and that’s how much I want to bring us together. But as women, we’re inevitably strong, and our fierceness will get us farther into the future than we know.
So here’s what we need: Contact with each other; Appreciation for each other; Sharing with each other; Understanding and supporting each other as much as we can. And then movement: Saying yes, laughing together, brainstorming together, supporting each other. And yes, changing the world, even when it seems like what we do is the tiniest offering. We’re so much stronger than we know.
A Plan: We ALL need a plan, and so far we’re amazingly in sync. I’m good with a plan — I can do that — BUT I can also learn even more if I’m talking and brainstorming with others. Through this project, that’s exactly what we’re doing, no matter how closely or far apart we live, no matter our ethnicities, our shyness, or our uncertainties, we’re already doing it. It’s a pretty good start, and the most exciting part is that 99% of these women volunteered on the own.
Help We Can Use: Cutting templates from fiberglass mesh (perfect for you if you love cutting perfect 6-inch circles); mailing fiberglass mesh templates, talking up the project.
Mailing Templets: The cost to mail three 6″ circular fiberglass templates is variable but quite small across the US. Beyond the US, we’re currently working with women from Australia, Ireland, France, Italy, and Puerto Rico. I’d like to be able to help with the cost of mailing overseas.
Taking Part: If you’re interested, text me. We’ll be delighted to have you involved!
As we hobbled out of the Blumenthal in ill-advised but oh-so-lovely shoes, my 20-year-old daughter said, “I’ll never again in my life see such incredible bodies.”
I’m pretty sure she was right.
Leaving another fabulous Alvin Ailey performance, I couldn’t help feeling oddly surprised that we weren’t flying. After all, we’d just seen irrefutable evidence that humans do, indeed, take to the air in dizzying, boundless, lighter-than-air flight.
The highlight of the evening was Twyla Tharp’s frenetic choreography set to David Byrne’s score in The Golden Section. If you thought Talking Heads was a wet finger in the socket, wait til you see thirteen dancers moving together with exquisite precision, AND performing thirteen separate simultaneous dances. Premiered in 1983, the thrill and adrenaline rush of this piece is as addictive as Ben and Jerry’s Dublin Mudslide.
I was 28 when I finished my last dance class and switched to yoga, knowing that I was never going to be another Twyla Tharpe. Linda Celeste Sims, pictured above, danced ravenously for two hours, her own balls able to eject from the wood floor with muscles as powerful as a spring-loaded board. Me? I struggled to walk two blocks in heels. My wimp quotient is boggling.
Not only was I never going to be a dancer, but I was actually struggling to walk in shoes. And there we were — inching down from the sixth level of the parking garage with improper footwear, the balls of my feet straining in agony on the clutch.
But it was okay — it was temporary, and I had just spent an evening in paradise that I’ll never forget.
Oh yeah, and about those incredible bodies . . . .
I was six when I first slid my pinkies into the much-more-comfortable soft leather ballet flats and learned to lie on my tummy, arch my back, and touch my head to my toes.
I was a young teenager when Edward Villella made it clear that dancers were the most highly trained athletes, their own leaps and relevés far above the ball-tossing hordes.
I was seventeen when I saw Judith Jamison dance Cry, an exhausting and emotional fifteen minute solo that burned her mind-boggling image into the eyes of dancers worldwide.
I was twenty-something when Robert Blake (while he was still cute and crime-free), leaned over toward Johnny Carson and said, “Marry a dancer. Sex doesn’t get better than that.”
Apparently not.
Linda Celeste Sims had danced ravenously for two solid hours, her own balls apparently able to eject herself from the wood floor with muscles as powerful as a spring-loaded board. The best I did was walk two blocks in heels, and I whined.
My wimp quotient is boggling. But I will ALWAYS love to dance.
Pam Goode Writes 