Behind a Harlequin's Painted Smile

 

harlequin - noun - comically dressed performer who entertains with playful tricks and ridiculous behavior (Merriam-Webster)

For the past few weeks, the smile has been on my mind. I don't have a problem smiling. In fact, I prefer it over frowning as both take the same amount of effort. The decision is analogous to choosing to be an optimist as opposed to a pessimist. My new song that just premiered on Friday is about being able to smile through life's difficulties, which is challenging in itself. Just imagine those brave souls who decide to smile and laugh for a living, harlequins, a.k.a. clowns. They do so at the tremendous risk of being made fun of rather than being received with open arms. Quite a few people view harlequins as "creepy," thanks to a popular horror movie IT that premiered in the 1980s. The diabolical clown antagonist, no doubt, has stayed with people over the years, particularly my contemporaries, who are probably responsible for altering the happy-go-lucky image of clowns that was widely spread in the decades prior to the 1980s. Personally, I have never had anything against clowns, even class clowns :). 

Believe it or not, I have a friend Julius, a lifeguard who used to be a professional clown when circuses were labeled innocuous and were in their prime. He worked hard at it, landing at the top of his profession  touring with American troupes. Yet what had influenced him to go into the field was and is no laughing matter. A Neo-Nazi in Sacramento, California had murdered his twenty-year-old son, who as a student had been attempting to eradicate the malevolent movement. After learning of the dire news, my friend could have drowned in immutable waves of grief; his supine corpse could have been left drifting sans a direction in the vast ocean that is life. But he didn't drown. Instead he allowed himself to stay buoyant and alive by inhaling the ebullient, indefatigable spirit of his son and resolving to make people smile, laugh, chortle, guffaw, etc., rather than cry, weep, tear up, etc. Somehow he found the courage to study a harlequin's craft. Undaunted, he smeared white pancake makeup on his face, exaggerated his lips and nose with red lipstick, painted on black lashes extending upwards from his eyes, and donned a clown suit night after night to escape the ugliness of his reality. Extreme? Maybe. Audacious? Definitely. Rather than take people's sympathy, he gave them smiles. Pretty selfless, huh? 

Surely, life is filled with pitfalls and potholes in the form of tragedies and loses. We could take that black lacquered, chez lounge chair, recline back into the darkness, and let it all wash over us; or we could, like Julius, dare to commandeer a lemonade stand and make lemonade out of seriously rotten lemons. It, as always, is about personal choice. 

Choose happiness over misery. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #good advice, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #CreativeSuggestion 

Holding onto Ebullience

 

ebullience - noun - state of being joyful, cheerful, and full of energy.

These days it is hard to hold onto anything with ebullience attached to it, but it is possible to strive for joy and buoyancy despite challenging times. I suppose mindset is involved in maintaining ebullience. In other words, you have to put forth some effort to inhabit it. Even so, to walk on air is impossible to do 24/7 unless the Universe gives you a boost now and again. It blew some air into my balloon just yesterday.

As usual, I was driving sans paying much attention to anything (rather dangerous to do), when I came to a stoplight where a crew of ebullient Christians representing an obscure church were approaching the tentatively parked cars, collecting cash for the homeless. As I have a particular affinity for these people, itinerant Christians and the disadvantaged, I was glad to roll down my window and donate to a worthy cause. Opening my wallet, I found nothing but five twenties, so I threw one into the man's plastic paint bucket. Consequently, the verbal receipt that he provided was well worth the loss of one of the Jackson 5. "Don't let anyone steal your joy," he said with an expression of pure glee. I think I returned the favor, but it didn't seem as convincing and heartfelt as his. I drove away quite sure that God was winking at me via the sentence from an anonymous fallen angel. 

If we disregard these messages that the Universe sends to us directly, most likely we will miss out on invaluable advice or just wisdom. If we open our ears, eyes, and hearts to the motivational messengers, our lives may just get easier. 

Optimism can be real. Enough said. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #good advice, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #CreativeSuggestion 

The Tinge of Roses

 

tinge - noun - trace of a color (Google)

Yesterday was one of my favorite dates on the calendar. Some may call it a "Hallmark Holiday," but I don't. To the unromantic at heart, the day is all about capitalism. Okay, people do spend an average of just under two hundred dollars on their Valentines, but perhaps a bit more than groceries spent on just the right persons makes sense, especially if these individuals are beloved. 

Call me trite, but I prefer to receive roses on Valentine's Day or any other day, but roses not tinged with red, which to me, is on the banal side because you can only stand so much of long-stemmed passion. A man who does the research in terms of the symbolism behind the colors of roses is a man who will dwell in the annals of my little black book forever. (I am, after all, a retired English teacher.)

In case you, too, are someone who seeks the symbolic significance of roses, I am here to enlighten you. Red, as you already know, is reserved for the mate whom you love with intensity. This person to you is the last of the red hot lovers and deserves no other hue than vermilion. Conversely, if the heat has waned and you need to take the back exit a.s.a.p., don't forget to leave at least one if not multiple yellow roses as they represent the end of a physical relationship and the start of platonic friendship, if that. White roses, on the other hand, point to new beginnings, which is why you tend to see brides cradling them as they trot up aisles to their smiling grooms. The love communicated is pure, innocent, if not a tad hypocritical, but I digress.

My LA man, who often does not diverge beyond a superficial path, took a walk on the wild side and sent me lavender roses for Valentine's Day. Whether or not he knew their symbolic value is dubious, but I do know and that's all that matters. Ladies, if your gentlemen send you lavender roses, you are lucky as the the tinge is all about love at first sight (the "ahhhhh"), true devotion and appreciation. All three rank highly in my book, probably because I have never had anything against love at first sight (Romeo and Juliet aside) or loyalty or genuine respect. They are all winners. 

So, in the future, ask for lavender, not red. If he or she asks why, tell him or her to look up the symbolism. If nothing else, you'll have something new and different to chat about. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #good advice, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #CreativeSuggestion 

You and A Celebrity Soulmate

oeuvre - noun - the complete works of an artist 

Have you ever looked on the internet just to see just how many celebrated persons share your birthday? I am guessing there are quite a few. Oddly enough, in addition to being a writer, I am a professional singer/songwriter who shares a birthday (12/12) with a small number of celebrity crooners, such as Connie Francis (You probably don't remember her), Dionne Warwick (Whitney's cousin who just made a documentary), Dickey Betts (of the Allman Brothers), Sheila E. (Prince's bandmate), and the inimitable Frank Sinatra. As a child growing up in the 1960s, I couldn't escape him as my mother, an astrologer who was up on birthdays, would always introduce me in the most embarrassing way: "This is my daughter Gwyn who was born on Frankie Sinatra's birthday." Could I have become anything else but a singer? Probably, and I did, but singing and obtaining work as one have always come easily for me, not that Frank bequeathed me his talent. It was a gift from God. Entertaining troops of special people in outlying places like nursing homes and shelters is probably my favorite pastime. It was one of Frank's as well since he volunteered with the USO during World War II. (Clearly, he was a much nicer guy than most might think.)

Anyway, have you ever done research on a celebrity birthday buddy just to see if you are his/her/their doppelganger? Chances are you might share just enough in the way of commonalities so that you could be somewhat soulmates.  Actually, I have a frighteningly substantial amount of Frank's traits, including his oeuvre of music. I have performed many of his hits throughout the years. But just in case you are curious, here are the remaining ways (in present tense) in which we are alike:

1. New Jersey is our home turf.

2. “Come Rain or Shine” is our favorite song to sing as professional singers who croon standards.

3. We have Italians as close relatives and had, at one time, loose mob affiliations. (Most in Jersey do.)

4. We despise racists and support African Americans and their charities. 

5. We have friends in high places or just a large collection in mediocre places.

6. We are philanthropic and genuinely like people albeit they can seriously get on our nerves.

7. We like to joke around, especially with audiences.

8. Even though we are extroverted, we like to slink off and go it alone sometimes.

9. We tend to fall in love too easily with good-looking faces who can be on the difficult side.

10. We gamble on horses (Frank put down more than two bucks per race, though. I don't.)

So there you go. I hope I have motivated you sufficiently to do some exploring on-line. I wish you could share your findings with me. I love to uncover more evidence that we are all truly connected in some way, even if it is just by a birthday. :)

#CelebrityBirthdays, #CelebrityFindings, #word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #good advice, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #CreativeSuggestion 

Cell Phone Saboteur: How One Misused Device Can Ruin Your Love Life

 

saboteur - noun - something or someone that destroys, damages, or obstructs (Google)

For whatever reason, lately, I've become a sounding board for male friends who would like to be in romantic relationships but who don't quite understand that in order to receive, you have to give. And when it comes to women, you have to give a lot–in particular–of your time. However, being that most of us women understand that time is becoming more and more invaluable, maybe more than anything, what we just need, desire, crave is your undivided attention, which need not take up much time. As so many men (and women) are addicted to their cell phones, what used to be so easy to impart (general, polite consideration in the moment) is no longer. In fact, a cell phone can be a downright saboteur of your love life, if you allow it to be.

Case in point #1: Jack: Several years ago, I made the mistake of making a lover out of a perfectly decent platonic friend, an attractive real estate broker, who is thoroughly, utterly, completely devoted to his two manipulative adult daughters. For my birthday, he borrowed a client's capacious home and went to extremes to prove his passionate love for me by reimagining the living room. Romantically minded, he made the effort to include two chairs, a bistro table complete with a white linen tablecloth, polished silver, champagne glasses (as well as champagne), candles, a lit fireplace...you get the picture. Just after we sat down to enjoy a gourmet dinner that he had prepared himself, his smart phone rang. On the other end was one of his daughters. Rather than say, "I'll call her back later," put the phone on airplane mode, and pocket it, he took the call. His daughter was filling out an insurance form and needed his undivided attention immediately. Unfortunately, so did I. Guess who got it? To make a long story short, the following week, I broke up with him. Are you surprised? He was. Clueless, just clueless.

Case in point #2: Jim: Jim is a platonic male friend, whom I most surely will keep as one. The reason is this: He is yet another clueless one when it comes to women and their needs. Sympathetic toward the plight of persons of my gender, I'm sticking around to advise him so that perhaps someday he'll obtain what he wants: a female, romantic counterpart. Jim's main problem is that he allows his ex-wife (and his two teenagers) to dominate his life via the airspace in his free time. Ergo, any girlfriend would have to be comfortable with being in fourth place. And guess what? No self-respecting woman would. His cell phone (with his permission, of course) already sabotaged two romantic relationships. How? Apparently, his ex-wife, who still wears the riding pants and holds the crop and reins, always calls him demanding an audience at the wrong moments, and he takes the calls or reads and responds to her texts. On two separate occasions after putting his dates on hold and speaking to his ex on his smart phone, both prospective paramours flipped him off and are no longer talking to him. Yet can you blame them?

What good advice have I to give to these men and to you?  If you want to keep a woman (or a man, because it goes both ways), put down, shut off, leave home your cell phone. It and all of the people trying to get in touch with you are not going to get you a roll in the feathers. The women (or men) with whom you are in love or want to be in love need to know that you intend to put them first because they should be first–not second, not third, not fourth, etc. If you can't accomplish this feat, then you'll just have to be content spending time with your kids and your ex-spouse or any other iteration of "ex." 

While you're thinking about this, I'll leave you with the Stones: "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might just get what you need." 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #good advice, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing

In Vogue: All That Is Preternatural

 

preternatural - adjective - beyond what is normal; unusual (Google)

Is it just me, or does it look like everyone is trying to jump onto the preternatural bandwagon in a big way? Are creators so uninspired with what most would consider normal that they feel they have to push the envelope and take huge risks in order to get people to notice? I don't know, but yesterday I was led down a fork in the road, which veered away from Status Quo Drive, and I wound up taking a walk on the wild, weird side. 

Case in point #1: The pregnant daughter of my best friend decided to videotape the preternatural way she chose to announce the gender of her forthcoming infant to close relatives. My friend, no doubt proud of her daughter's idiosyncratic imagination, texted the footage to a small group of us women friends. The daughter–I'll call her Cindy–is obsessed with her two riotous black Labs and felt that she just had to include them somehow, somewhere in the unveiling, so she bought and later put a blue collar on one (to represent a boy baby) and a pink collar on the other (to represent a girl). Then on one side of the family room, Cindy had her husband contain the dogs in separate cages in order to control them and heighten the suspense. On the opposite side of the room, Cindy was crouching down, holding a treat. When she called out to the right dog, her hubby opened just the right cage and it galloped to her, revealing to everyone its blue collar. It was all very Pavlovian to me, and I suppose unique, to be euphemistic. I'm sure all of you dog lovers out there can't wait to impart this preternatural, pre-natal gender reveal to your own expecting daughters or sons; but personally, I am left thinking that the whole thing divulged more than just the baby's sex. My guess is that Cindy may just wind up spending more quality time with the dogs than with her son. Thank Goodness the husband seems to prefer human children over canine kids. 

Case in point #2: Have you seen any of the critically acclaimed films released in 2022? After the aforementioned texted home video, I saw two on TV that are being streamed right now: "Banshees of Inisherin" and "Everything Everywhere All at Once," both considered foreign, I believe. (And yes, they are, very.) The first, set on a beautiful, bucolic, remote island off the coast of Ireland somewhere in the distant, indiscernible past, has a simple, yet somewhat ridiculous plot involving two grown men: the older friend decides to alienate his younger best friend because he is dull, and warns him if he persists in wanting to reclaim the friendship, in retaliation, he will cut off his fingers on his left hand, the hand he uses to play the violin. That's it. That's the plot. Does he do it? Of course. And his selfish, sado-masochistic act leads to repercussions that only worsen the situation, but at least the bored protagonist is no longer bored. He's miserable. The second film, sci-fi in many respects, is pretty much a series of nonstop acid trips depicting parallel universes that eventually boil down to a reconciliation between an estranged teen daughter and her mother, the owner of a laundromat (both are Chinese in descent) somewhere in L.A. Both movies transcend the preternatural. I'm sorry, but both are just weird–too weird for my taste.

I am sure there are plenty of critics and readers out there who definitely disagree with me and would take a walk on the wild, weird side any day of the week just to take the detour off Status Quo Drive. Which is perfectly fine. To each, his or her (or their) own. Yet every once in a while, natural, as opposed to preternatural, is on the soft, comforting, cozy side :). 

#film review, #word-to-words, #slice-of-life, #literature, #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing #opinion #satire 

Vestigial Architecture: The Suburban Farmhouse

 

vestigial - adjective - forming a remnant of something that was once larger. 

Vestigial is an uncommon descriptive word that I came across while paging through Ian McEwan's novel Amsterdam, the content of which is unrelated to the recent film with the same name. As I had not seen the adjective used in a while, I looked it up. The meaning is a bit confounding because if you were to take the participle "forming" and change it to the infinitive "to form," the definition would work better for a verb although the word doesn't look like one. The way I see it is that something vestigial is merely a portion of what was once significantly bigger, like the current architectural trend of the American farmhouse. 

It used to be that farmhouses were built on farms, vast tracks of flat lands where undulating fields of corn or other crops that undulate–or not–could be planted. Iowa, a beautiful, verdant state with much in the way of undulation due to ubiquitous, circulating breezes, has plenty of stereotypical farmhouses on stereotypical farms. This past July, while visiting Dyersville, Iowa, my daughter and I had the pleasure of sitting on the porch of the classic white farmhouse used in the iconic film Field of Dreams. There was, fortunately, nothing vestigial about it albeit since a developer from Chicago bought the farm recently and is planning on converting it and the surrounding acreage into the Disney Land of baseball, the original farmhouse will become a remnant of the past by 2025. But I digress.

What I am trying to communicate in a circuitous fashion is that farmhouses are no longer being built on farms. They are being put up in the suburbs on plots of land just capacious enough for them. Forget about fields. On less than an acre, there are no exterior "dreams" to be had since Shoeless Joe Jackson and the White Sox probably won't be meandering over the asphalt anytime soon. Even if they were to do so, their pilgrimage would be far from romantic. Let's face it. Cornfields are a lot more believable as Heaven than pavement.

But for some ineffable reason, the newly reimagined, reconstituted farmhouse is quickly becoming the dream house of choice. It is yet another trend that doesn't quite make sense to me as the farmhouse without the farm is just a white clapboard (now vinyl) house with numerous windows laced in black trim (like the stationery Germans use to announce a death in the family), matching black roof and garage door, and several asymmetrical gables, blocking out all sunlight from reaching the neighboring homes like mine. I don't know about you, but I never considered farmhouses to be aesthetically pleasing edifices. They are just simple, just average, just nothing-to-write-home-about homes: comfortable, practical, ordinary. 

Which could very well be why the vestigial suburban farmhouse (oxymoron!) is in vogue. At the base of  Everyman's dreams could just be the concept of basic: the basic house, the basic Lazy Boy recliner, the basic Sony sixty-inch plasma TV, the basic black and white farmhouse.  Don't worry. It is okay to want basic. After all, modesty is supposed to be an American value. Yet would you pay a million dollars for the status quo? I wouldn't.

I guess some of us just have dreams that don't come in black and white and aren't vestigial . 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life, #literature, #blog, #blogging, #religion, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #history, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #good advice, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing #opinion #satire