Every year during Oscar Award shows mom would sigh over the memorials. "Oh, not so and so!" As a kid I would shake my head. I didn't recognize the faces as the somber music played. It wasn't until I was older that I understood why she was upset. It is hard coming to terms with a role model becoming older.
Fans and parents have been up in arms over Miley Cyrus sticking out her tongue and singing about drugs. When she was younger she portrayed a glittered and blonde superstar named Hannah Montana. Her 'normal' self was a chocolate haired and casually dressed girl. Hannah's hijinks were tame compared to real life shenanigans of younger people in the public eye. Eventually the Disney tween grew up. Yet her fan base seemed reluctant to let go of the old persona.
As most teens do, Cyrus rebelled but her battle was against the typecast. Her hair now shortened and bleached blonde. Lips are painted a sultry color. Her style of music, clothes and dance moves are revealing and raw.
Parents are typical in the resistance of letting their children become adults. In older eyes little ones still have missing teeth, bruised arms and scratched off fake tattoos. Even though Cyrus is not their daughter, she is held up as "America's daughter." Forever fourteen going on fifteen. The pint sized group who grew up watching Cyrus have trouble seeing her as an adult.
Last week I read on Twitter that radio host Casey Kasem was having significant health problems. To my bewilderment, realized Kasem was in his 80's.
As a kid I loved listening to the radio countdown on Sundays to see if my favorite song hit number one. Kasem would read the long distance dedications. He was my radio hero, with his way of invoking empathy through the radio lines. Tears would stain my cheek listening to the person's situation. The beat of each word he spoke had emotion in each syllable. He was my radio hero.
Kasem had a soothing voice . His show was relaxing and hip and cool. I couldn't get over the fact that he was in his 80's. I knew I was getting older by the aches and grey hairs. Foolishly I never contemplated my heroes aging. Just like my mom, I would become saddened when I would hear of of a sudden passing of a personal favorite like Bea Arthur or Don Knotts.
The situation with Cyrus is not different. We remember others in a certain light and it is a hard concept to shake. When people think of child star Macaulay Culkin often the picture of a fuzzy red sweater and hands slapped on the face is envisioned. Culkin is a tad younger than I am now. It is hard to think of him as an adult and struggling actor even though I too am a struggling artist. Cyrus is a talented singer wanting to stay relevant in a main stream society.
Foo Fighters had a song called "My Hero" in the 1990's. The song is about someone the singer looks up to however, it is astonishing to realize the hero with all the bells and whistles of super powers is actually a normal human being.
Cyrus and Kasem are typical people who change and become older in time. It doesn't diminish their influence and accomplishments. Reality diminishes the facade that all heroes remain young and frozen in time. All role models lose their way or change their tunes. If we remember that notion, than we can mature along with our beloved heroes and allow their legacies to live on. More importantly, allow the ones we idolize to develop new talents and accolades. Otherwise we are no different than parents who can't cut the umbilical cord and let their kids go.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Friday, October 11, 2013
Turn That Frown Around By: Karen Pilarski
Julie Andrews was very wise in the "Sound of Music." She sang about
her favorite things to pull her out of her funk. This afternoon was icky
which worked out perfectly since I felt sick. My husband found out he
has the flu. I've been engaged in a to the death battle with germs all
week. As if that wasn't bad enough someone sent a snarky email about me
without realizing my email addy was still attached to the message chain.
My muscles hurt immensely from working out with kettle balls. I can't
sit or stand without wincing. Ouch.
I spent my evening putting a cold compress on my husband's forehead and going on Twitter and Facebook. An award winning writer named Molly Campbell (@mollydcampbell) tweeted the following "There is a $20 bill on my bureau. I leave it there so I can always feel a tiny bit rich. " It was funny and made me think about the small or silly things that make me smile or feel better. Julie Andrews was onto something inspirational in that movie. I pondered a few minutes and wrote down things that make me happy.
1. Hot Green tea with honey- It is comforting and soothes my parched throat. I feel cozy when holding the hot cup.
2. Ratty pink robe- While it isn't being worn, it is laying on my bed like Linus and the blue blanket.I figure if I feel ratty, I might as well look like it. My pink robe is my security blanket.
3. Comedy Central Roasts- There is something victorious when the one being roasted turns the tables on the insulting comedians.Sure it is scripted, but it shows how these brave roastees take a punch. Yet, they punch back harder.
4. Braiding wet hair- I don't own a curling iron so I substitute it with putting damp hair in tiny braids. I let it stay in braids over night. In the morning I have crimped/wavy hair.
5. Random cash discoveries- While not like winning the jackpot, it is small wins that cheer me up. Excited and astounded to dig in a pocket and pull out a few crinkled dollar bills. I call this coffee money.
6. Chilled Peppermint Patties- I adore the scent and taste of mint. The cooling sensation on my tongue when biting into a minty wonderland. My sweet husband buys them and hides them in the fridge for me. A double surprise.
7. Antique stores- I'm a struggling writer who is low on funds. My financial situation doesn't block me from window shopping. My creative mind creates a story of older items. What is the history of these vintage things. Who owned it before?
8. The View-Whoopi Goldberg is wonderful. She has wit, tact, and wisdom. Most of all she is amusingly honest. While I'm educated with a MA degree, I'm not a political person. Her explanations are helpful for people like me who lack that type of knowledge.Her shoes are awesome and splashy. She just simply rocks.
9. Zumba- Sure it is mortifying to shake my butt while others are watching. I do feel a sense of sensuality when I swerve my hips or roll my arms in a sexy way. The base of the music thumps so loudly I forget I'm in a gym and not in a nightclub. A major plus when working out is my husband raises his eyebrows and a flirty grin appears. Oh I still got it.
10. Coffee talk- I love my stepchildren equally. I love that my stepdaughter and I have time for girl bonding time. We walk up to the local coffeehouse and talk about anything. My heart is happy we have that tradition to look forward too.We laugh about how dorky boys can be and she fills me in on the drama of middle school.
I left a few things out of my list but that is fine. While thinking about my icky day I realized there is so much that puts me in a better mood. A glass of red wine or doing crosswords. Blogging is my therapy. So many wonderful things that suffocate the ill tidings from my day. In the midst of documenting what makes me smile, I forgot about the small things that made me feel icky in the first place. As Andrews sang "When the dogs bite and the bees sting, and when I'm feeling sad. I just think of my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad."
I spent my evening putting a cold compress on my husband's forehead and going on Twitter and Facebook. An award winning writer named Molly Campbell (@mollydcampbell) tweeted the following "There is a $20 bill on my bureau. I leave it there so I can always feel a tiny bit rich. " It was funny and made me think about the small or silly things that make me smile or feel better. Julie Andrews was onto something inspirational in that movie. I pondered a few minutes and wrote down things that make me happy.
1. Hot Green tea with honey- It is comforting and soothes my parched throat. I feel cozy when holding the hot cup.
2. Ratty pink robe- While it isn't being worn, it is laying on my bed like Linus and the blue blanket.I figure if I feel ratty, I might as well look like it. My pink robe is my security blanket.
3. Comedy Central Roasts- There is something victorious when the one being roasted turns the tables on the insulting comedians.Sure it is scripted, but it shows how these brave roastees take a punch. Yet, they punch back harder.
4. Braiding wet hair- I don't own a curling iron so I substitute it with putting damp hair in tiny braids. I let it stay in braids over night. In the morning I have crimped/wavy hair.
5. Random cash discoveries- While not like winning the jackpot, it is small wins that cheer me up. Excited and astounded to dig in a pocket and pull out a few crinkled dollar bills. I call this coffee money.
6. Chilled Peppermint Patties- I adore the scent and taste of mint. The cooling sensation on my tongue when biting into a minty wonderland. My sweet husband buys them and hides them in the fridge for me. A double surprise.
7. Antique stores- I'm a struggling writer who is low on funds. My financial situation doesn't block me from window shopping. My creative mind creates a story of older items. What is the history of these vintage things. Who owned it before?
8. The View-Whoopi Goldberg is wonderful. She has wit, tact, and wisdom. Most of all she is amusingly honest. While I'm educated with a MA degree, I'm not a political person. Her explanations are helpful for people like me who lack that type of knowledge.Her shoes are awesome and splashy. She just simply rocks.
9. Zumba- Sure it is mortifying to shake my butt while others are watching. I do feel a sense of sensuality when I swerve my hips or roll my arms in a sexy way. The base of the music thumps so loudly I forget I'm in a gym and not in a nightclub. A major plus when working out is my husband raises his eyebrows and a flirty grin appears. Oh I still got it.
10. Coffee talk- I love my stepchildren equally. I love that my stepdaughter and I have time for girl bonding time. We walk up to the local coffeehouse and talk about anything. My heart is happy we have that tradition to look forward too.We laugh about how dorky boys can be and she fills me in on the drama of middle school.
I left a few things out of my list but that is fine. While thinking about my icky day I realized there is so much that puts me in a better mood. A glass of red wine or doing crosswords. Blogging is my therapy. So many wonderful things that suffocate the ill tidings from my day. In the midst of documenting what makes me smile, I forgot about the small things that made me feel icky in the first place. As Andrews sang "When the dogs bite and the bees sting, and when I'm feeling sad. I just think of my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad."
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
The Anchor By: Karen Pilarski
The water of life is hardly still. Choppy icy waves hitting and snarling at the ship. Water slapping and splashing the already tear soaked faces. Bumpy movements and thrashing winds interrupted the once tranquil trip. A heavy anchor is lowered to keep the vessel weighed down.
The cold metal mass can symbolize a source of negativity and badness within us. The mass is malignant if we allow it to be. The negative emotions could spread and cause puncture marks as it shifts.
The anchor weighs a ton and hooks onto the bottom of our souls. It cuts deeply and could potentially break us if we let it. The body of craft creaks as the chain and rope strain to push the anchor down. Pasting on a brave front as the heaviness is hidden. The turmoil is secured below the surface, but oh the pain is felt. Every fallen tear or gloomy eyes reflects what is obscured.
Life and weather seem to consistently change with passages of seasons and time. It seems after one horrific tsunami of a battle ceases another one is beginning to build up. While the anchor can keep things and feelings secured in one spot, the ship wants to keep moving. Being stuck in the middle of the ocean and no freedom to sail causes resentment.
Throughout out all the raging storms and harsh words the ship and passengers managed not to capsize. At the certain tense moments many may drift apart. Miraculously after confronting and pushing through the dramatic climax, calm was eventually restored.
The anchor fulfills a double purpose either keeping the ship still or making the ship stuck in one place. The meaning is in the hands of the one manning it.
The cold metal mass can symbolize a source of negativity and badness within us. The mass is malignant if we allow it to be. The negative emotions could spread and cause puncture marks as it shifts.
The anchor weighs a ton and hooks onto the bottom of our souls. It cuts deeply and could potentially break us if we let it. The body of craft creaks as the chain and rope strain to push the anchor down. Pasting on a brave front as the heaviness is hidden. The turmoil is secured below the surface, but oh the pain is felt. Every fallen tear or gloomy eyes reflects what is obscured.
Life and weather seem to consistently change with passages of seasons and time. It seems after one horrific tsunami of a battle ceases another one is beginning to build up. While the anchor can keep things and feelings secured in one spot, the ship wants to keep moving. Being stuck in the middle of the ocean and no freedom to sail causes resentment.
Throughout out all the raging storms and harsh words the ship and passengers managed not to capsize. At the certain tense moments many may drift apart. Miraculously after confronting and pushing through the dramatic climax, calm was eventually restored.
The anchor fulfills a double purpose either keeping the ship still or making the ship stuck in one place. The meaning is in the hands of the one manning it.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Suffering for Art By Karen Pilarski
My thirteen year old step daughter Mia and I were having a lovely conversation over the weekend. We went to the coffee house on a college campus. Lounging in comfy chairs and sipping hot drinks with fall type aromas. Acoustic versions of Maroon 5 songs played softy.
We were discussing brains since this is a new passion for her. She wants to be a doctor when she older and help cure cancer. She was inspired by the tragic loss of loved ones and beating cancer for others. In college I studied professional communication and instructional design (adult education) in graduate school. She excitedly chatted away about fascinating elements of the brain and its superb power.
As I mentioned I never studied biology except in 10th grade. I said "I wonder why do babies fall asleep in their food and not seem to mind?" She paused and pressed her finger to her lips, contemplating. "A baby's nervous system isn't developed enough. There sensitivity is not at an adult level." I said "Wow, that makes sense." A mischievous smile spread across the young face. "Oh, I totally just made that up!" She laughed loudly as my cheeks flushed. You got to give it to her, she knows how to exaggerate and speak eloquently.
I have said it before, one day "Mega Mia" will rule the world. I made up the nickname because she is so sweet yet underhanded and slick.We also discussed how people don't use all portions of their minds. We said it is funny how creative types are very intuitive and sensitive. I made the point that creative people tend to fully feel the effects of suffering.
Our conversation stuck in my head over the past few days. I was flipping channels and "Alf" was on. The 80's show about a troll looking alien that crashed into a house of a suburban family. He spends the duration of the show acclimating himself to his new life.
The episode was Alf trying to create a masterpiece to impress an art professor. The daughter in the show was taking a class and trying to get a good grade. Alf makes it his mission to 'suffer' for his art. He sings sad music and various other self depreciating methods to make art. His painting was hideous yet the art professor loved it. Funny how 80's television nostalgia can inspire a blog post but it did. What does it mean to truly suffer and suffer for 'art'?
In life to achieve a dream, sacrifices are made. It could be a lack of sleep, food and costs of relationships. When people feel melancholy they may cry, eat ice cream, drink a beer or sulk. For creative minds the somber and joyful moods are used to produce art. It may not even be from their own lives but hearing someone's befallen or happy tale. As a writer, I use music to assist me with defining feelings. Suddenly my fingers tap along the keyboard and before I know it I have written something that came from deep in my heart. Writers create because they have loved, suffered and endured.
We were discussing brains since this is a new passion for her. She wants to be a doctor when she older and help cure cancer. She was inspired by the tragic loss of loved ones and beating cancer for others. In college I studied professional communication and instructional design (adult education) in graduate school. She excitedly chatted away about fascinating elements of the brain and its superb power.
 |
| Mega Mia |
I have said it before, one day "Mega Mia" will rule the world. I made up the nickname because she is so sweet yet underhanded and slick.We also discussed how people don't use all portions of their minds. We said it is funny how creative types are very intuitive and sensitive. I made the point that creative people tend to fully feel the effects of suffering.
Our conversation stuck in my head over the past few days. I was flipping channels and "Alf" was on. The 80's show about a troll looking alien that crashed into a house of a suburban family. He spends the duration of the show acclimating himself to his new life.
The episode was Alf trying to create a masterpiece to impress an art professor. The daughter in the show was taking a class and trying to get a good grade. Alf makes it his mission to 'suffer' for his art. He sings sad music and various other self depreciating methods to make art. His painting was hideous yet the art professor loved it. Funny how 80's television nostalgia can inspire a blog post but it did. What does it mean to truly suffer and suffer for 'art'?
In life to achieve a dream, sacrifices are made. It could be a lack of sleep, food and costs of relationships. When people feel melancholy they may cry, eat ice cream, drink a beer or sulk. For creative minds the somber and joyful moods are used to produce art. It may not even be from their own lives but hearing someone's befallen or happy tale. As a writer, I use music to assist me with defining feelings. Suddenly my fingers tap along the keyboard and before I know it I have written something that came from deep in my heart. Writers create because they have loved, suffered and endured.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
All Fall Down By: Karen Pilarski
"When your day is long
And the night, the night is yours alone
When you're sure you've had enough." -REM
It was a nice warm day in late September. I was attending a bridal shower in a friend's newly purchased house. The house was huge with hardwood floors and yellow colored walls. I wore a black dress and black heels to the bash. My wardrobe choices were more appropriate to attending a funeral. People cheerfully drank and ate. Ribbons and flowered pattern wrapping paper were ripped to shreds.
I felt lonely since the house was huge and familiar faces seemed to have disappeared. I went searching for someone to talk to. I spotted a group of girlfriends hanging outside. Clumsily I missed a step and fell down. Hard. My leg was scratched up and the vein in my leg swelled. I jumped up as if I was just clowning around. My friend laughed as I whispered I really wasn't fine. I spent most of the early evening with my date the ice pack. The lousy thing was that I was very sober. No excuse or reason for the nasty fall. It made me think about choices, accidents and pain (physical and emotional).
The next day I attended a birthday dinner and heard about other people's incidents. A friend got into a car accident another friend became intoxicated and caused property damage. Another person's little daughter had lice and the night was spent shampooing her hair and picking out nits. Someone that is like a mother to me has been ill and was having more reoccurring health issues. Another person was struggling with the aftermath of divorce and the effects it has on her oldest child.
"Don't let yourself go
'Cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes."
Depending on the degree of the wound, it is patched up with a band aid. Maybe the cut is too deep to stop the blood from oozing out. Self medication in the form of sex, drinking, smoking or eating is used to numb it. For a small duration the wound is forgotten. In the mornings after the indulgences is pity and shame. All the bitterness and sadness returns. We need to look at what is the source of the pain and confront it. Rip the band aid off and let wounds mend. If we fail in doing so it is no different than picking scabs off unhealed skin. The wounds end up becoming fresh again.
Then there are the thoughtless accidents. Mind is clear and thinking is rational, yet still mistakes occur. If if usually careful there is element of risk. We may take a stumble or trip up and it isn't our fault. All that we can do is dust ourselves off and keep moving.
"When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on." -REM
And the night, the night is yours alone
When you're sure you've had enough." -REM
It was a nice warm day in late September. I was attending a bridal shower in a friend's newly purchased house. The house was huge with hardwood floors and yellow colored walls. I wore a black dress and black heels to the bash. My wardrobe choices were more appropriate to attending a funeral. People cheerfully drank and ate. Ribbons and flowered pattern wrapping paper were ripped to shreds.
I felt lonely since the house was huge and familiar faces seemed to have disappeared. I went searching for someone to talk to. I spotted a group of girlfriends hanging outside. Clumsily I missed a step and fell down. Hard. My leg was scratched up and the vein in my leg swelled. I jumped up as if I was just clowning around. My friend laughed as I whispered I really wasn't fine. I spent most of the early evening with my date the ice pack. The lousy thing was that I was very sober. No excuse or reason for the nasty fall. It made me think about choices, accidents and pain (physical and emotional).
The next day I attended a birthday dinner and heard about other people's incidents. A friend got into a car accident another friend became intoxicated and caused property damage. Another person's little daughter had lice and the night was spent shampooing her hair and picking out nits. Someone that is like a mother to me has been ill and was having more reoccurring health issues. Another person was struggling with the aftermath of divorce and the effects it has on her oldest child.
"Don't let yourself go
'Cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes."
Depending on the degree of the wound, it is patched up with a band aid. Maybe the cut is too deep to stop the blood from oozing out. Self medication in the form of sex, drinking, smoking or eating is used to numb it. For a small duration the wound is forgotten. In the mornings after the indulgences is pity and shame. All the bitterness and sadness returns. We need to look at what is the source of the pain and confront it. Rip the band aid off and let wounds mend. If we fail in doing so it is no different than picking scabs off unhealed skin. The wounds end up becoming fresh again.
Then there are the thoughtless accidents. Mind is clear and thinking is rational, yet still mistakes occur. If if usually careful there is element of risk. We may take a stumble or trip up and it isn't our fault. All that we can do is dust ourselves off and keep moving.
"When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on." -REM
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
La La Land: Population 1 By: Karen Pilarski
Good evening folks. Please keep those seat beats securely buckled. Why not sit back and relax? It is a quick flight there and
back. Today's flight plan is to La La land. Ah
La La Land, not as in glitzy Los Angeles or neon Las Vegas. This destination is never that far away. The location is a few inches above
the clouds. The scenery resembles icy snow drifts or endless scoops of vanilla ice cream. Dreaming is not the subject at hand. I’m talking about daydreaming.
One
of my brothers was being a goofball. On social media he posted that he
was in Ireland and even tagged himself in locations there. I was stumped
since
he didn’t have a passport or funds to buy plane tickets. In a matter of
minutes his profile indicated he was on his way to London and then
Tokyo. A mutual friend tried to refute his alleged vacay bonanza. His response was
“I wanted to take a vacation.” To which my snide remark
was “in your head!?” At first I brushed it off as my younger brother acting
immature. However, I kept thinking about it. It is nice to shut tired
eyes and take a mental vacation somewhere pleasant.
I found myself
preparing dinner last night and zoning off into space.
I was feeling under the weather and perplexed. I don’t know
where my head went but noticed the water boiling and snapped back into the
present. I normally day dream when working out on the treadmill. Some thoughts are romantic, some mean spirited and some well, I'll just keep to myself.
In all fairness, actual
trips are not cheap these days. Vacations are frustrating with the planning, packing and family squabbles over what to do. I would love to flitter off to New York
or France but sadly my bank account refuses to allow it.
A split second vision of telling off someone that upset you is healthy. The
therapeutic aspect of daydreaming is to live out those few seconds in
the mind and distress. Think of it as venting inside the mind.
A speedy mental vacation can break up a dull
workday. It can also spark creativity and improve morale. My writer spirit is touched by things observed and by becoming lost in thought. A song or a conversation jolts my poetic soul and I envision vignettes. Jotting down my thoughts allows the ideas to set in and turn into a writing piece.
This mental vacation theory reminds
me of a story I read in grade school, “The Secret Life of Walter
Mitty.” I hear this was made into a movie starring
Ben Stiller. A man who grew bored of his waking life daydreams of living
out his desires. However
there are a selected number of people who decide to take a permanent mental vacation (see
my blog post “Bursting the Bubble”) from life. There are intense moments
when
fantasy does seem more appealing than the real world. However, the fantasy is not real. I’d
rather physically and emotionally experience events. While the daydream is certainly refreshing, it is
more fulfilling to live out dreams in real life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)