paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- pearls Last night, Quinn and I went to Mother and Major�s house and had the misfortune of encountering some dated tapes playing in their minds. Mother seemed to have forgotten that she invited us and was put-out the entire evening to have to be having us over for dinner. We stood and watched her cook and demonstrate how put-out she was � she had had a big day at work and had to decline the opportunity to go shopping with her friend because �she had to cook diner for us� because �she has to do everything for everyone� and because �everyone wants her money.� We then sat through the most boring evening of Mother and the Major�s demonstration of their intense fervor for her work. The entire evening forced me to recognize how important a balanced life really is to happiness and a sense of fulfillment. To be sure, Mother is always filled with work-related drama, but she seems to resist arriving at a sense of fulfillment from her work. She is always busy perfecting her house but doesn�t display a sense of fulfillment from her work. I inherited this from being her daughter: look perfect � have an interesting job that you can make a lot of, have a perfect house in just the right neighborhood, always look your best � it�s appearances that count because those are the only criteria over which you will be evaluated. Our hearts are so busy pumping the blood through our bodies that sustain us through the trouble it takes to look perfect, they can�t be seen or really known. My mother had a bad childhood and she knows that the best revenge is a good life and (for her) a good life is a perfect life. I�ve always tried to make certain my choices can fit within the parameters of her definition of looking perfect. Tried, but not succeeded. I�ve been my mother�s pearl of great price. She had me too young and became faced with having to sacrifice her goals in order to be my mother (a job that unfortunately she told me repeatedly was unfulfilling and draining) and I have done little to enable her to look perfect. Good grief. I insisted on dressing like a boy, I liked legos much more than dolls and was obsessed with architecture, writing, music and collage from a very early age, I enjoyed physical work, I had bushy hair and wildly blue eyes with a nearly porcelain white untanable face (don�t forget that 70�s were about tanning) and a generally left-leaning outlook on life. Once again, my mother comes out as having to take the disgrace of having me for a daughter and somehow over-compensate for that disgrace by looking perfect. So, we pretend that we are friends and have been getting along on that level quite well for the last few years. But last night. Last night we were back to how put-out she feels having to be the mother of someone like me, having to stop her dramatic work life and participate in family, having to cook a meal. I think Quinn and I baking a gorgeous apple pie from scratch was more of a contribution than her mushroom and pasta dish and we have a great deal to do beyond blow an evening and a good hair day sitting around watching improve theatre of some untrained actors. My mother and I move forward steps and take steps back. This is my chance to let go of how she was, how she can be, and just be. I�m learning to stop my expectations that I will ever have a family that cares about me and just meet people where they can meet me (something between stranger and mysterious, casual friend). I�m learning to stop waiting for someone to approve before I go out and be the person I�m meant to be. And I�m learning that it is alright if that person does not look perfect by mother�s standards. I�m so grateful for my life and for who I am (as imperfect as I am). Grateful that I don�t have to uphold these narrow, impossible standards and can be more flexible and creative. 10:29 a.m. - 2003-10-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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