Fizzing woke woman

Donna Ashworth said something along these lines: "Don't go chasing an ideal of a woman you will never be ... start embracing she who is fizzing fiercely to be seen, right in front of your eyes." And I thought back on my life and the times I chased after what I thought was an ideal woman. The perfect mother or wife or daughter or sister. The perfect look or shape or belief system. The cleanest house or tidiest garden with trimmed edges and weeded beds. And it didn't make me happy. Making other people happy is a good thing, but at the expense of your own well being is not even close to being true to yourself. At school I dreamed of being a prefect. Of wearing a badge on my chest that said that I was considered worthy of note. That my elders valued me for who I am. Well, that never happened. So, my next goal was to be a bridesmaid for a friend. Someone who wanted me to stand next to them and support them on their special day and perhaps wear an ugly dress that we could laugh over in years to come. I am not dead yet, so I can still dream of being a bridesmaid sometime, can't I? Some elderly friend might decide on a whole white wedding with geriatric bridesmaids walking behind her. No? Not quite the dream I had in my mind all those years ago. Next year my friends and I will all be 70 and seriously, bridesmaids? What the heck, walking sticks and support stockings at the ready! Well bridesmaids have a specific vision of smooth skinned girls skipping down the aisle holding posies of flowers. I recently said to my children that if I ever considered dating again, I would have two criteria: the date should drive a vehicle that is eco-friendly, and a political view on the side of socialism. Those men are few and far between. I remember my father telling us that he would never buy a Land Rover because it had large front lights. I asked him what he meant, and he said that the vehicle was so hungry for gas that the lights were like eyes searching for gas pumps. And no, we never had a Land Rover. He did own a Willys Jeep that was teetering on the edge of being scrapped. One memorable moment when we were hurtling across a field when the local dogs started fighting, my dad took off the steering wheel and threw it at the dogs. Okay, I know I am recycling old stories here, but it was really funny at the time. And anyhow, my dad's dislike of diesel guzzling vehicles has rubbed off on me to the extent that I avoid them like the plague.

I grew up in the hippy era with free love, crazy music and other weird stuff too much to mention. There were friends who were doing it all, the drugs, the multiple partners and I didn't fit there either. The clothes were amazing, the lack of frills and the gorgeous embroidery on Indian cotton skirts, the flowing, floaty blouses, I was in fashion heaven. But my fizzing self was betwixt and between. One foot in the world of hippies and the other in my own head space. My grandmother's favourite silent actress was Theda Bara and I would look at her image and think she was exactly what I wanted to be. No, not silent. But exotic. A daughter of an Egyptian sheik and a French actress. Someone who knew where she fitted and was happy in her skin. Of course, I now know it was all fake and she was born Theodosia Burr Goodman and her father was definitely not an Egyptian sheik. The story was crafted by the movie industry to make her appear interesting. Theda's father was a Jewish tailor from Poland who moved to Cincinnati and had three children with his Swiss wife. Theda's mask was fake, her public life lived behind lies and falsehoods. But she inspired me to be my own person. My childhood daydreams flitted through my mind of parents who lived in huge tents in the desert and ate dates and rode camels. Maybe that is why I love hippy era clothes, they remind me of the flowing robes of the Bedouin people. Why is it that we always want to be something we are not? I tested myself online for autism this week. Just for fun. And no, I am not autistic. Apparently I am normal. No neurodivergence at all. How boring. Am I trying to understand my quirks? Yes. I self analyse on a regular basis trying to figure out why I do things the way that I do. It was always more fun in my mind than of temptation of taking drugs to induce a different world. Yes, I have never indulged in hallucinating stuff at all. No, not even the mild stuff. I would go to a corner of the party and curl up with my thoughts while others indulged. So maybe I was a fake hippy? Or was I being a true hippy and living the life I chose?

Recently someone said I was 'woke'. Yes, I did have to look up the real meaning and no, I don't feel offended by being called by that name. I quite like it. Woke is to stand up for a better world without racism and waste. To have concern for the environment and try to make the world a better place to live. Woke is to be thoughtful and considerate and careful of your choices. Of course, fake woke is to press the # of the latest trend and do absolutely nothing to change your own behaviour. Like a person who donates money to save penguins and endangered birds but then drives a vehicle that pumps out pollutants into the air .. fake woke. I often see posts on social media about supporting some cause or another and the belief is that if we press 'like' we have done something important. The people flock to see Greta Thunberg and then wear an outfit only once or twice and throw it in the trash to fill up the landfill .. fake woke. Live what you believe, not what is the fashion of the moment. France is bringing in a new law where short haul flights are banned if you can rather catch a train to your destination. The distance they have calculated is a two and a half hour train ride is better for the environment than a half hour flight. To me that is a no brainer, train all the way, or bus. Queueing at airports must rank in the least favourite of things to do when you travel.

Now to something totally different. I love reading books about weird and wacky stuff. Yes, I have read Immanuel Velikovsky's book "Worlds in collusion" He was a catastrophist and believed that Earth had been shaped by sudden violent events and not by slow incremental changes like erosion by wind and rain. The world considers him 'gloriously wrong' in his theories. But wow, what a mind. He thinks not just outside the box, but in a whole different configuration of a box that beggars belief. He opened my psyche to new pathways of understanding. And then there was Thor Heyerdahl and his adventures on reed boats and drifting on currents. Amazing belief in his own abilities. Kon Tiki up up and away. And then there was Eric Von Daniken who believed that aliens had visited South America. A bit racist of him to think that the local tribes were not up to the task of crafting the Nasca lines etc. And so it goes on. But let's not forget that I have a mind like a frog on a hot tin roof and I can jump from Velikovsky to some Mills and Boon book about cowboys wearing plaid shirts without a breath in between. I blame Mrs. Holmes, the librarian of my childhood. Walking into that annex of the town hall next to the movie theater, Mrs. Holmes was always ready with a new book to titillate my brain cells. From Agatha Christie to Georgette Heyer. I am not sure that Heyer was a good fit for a teenage girl, but hey, I loved it. Mrs. Holmes introduced me to James Bond, who I thoroughly dislike, but enjoyed the opportunity to make up my own mind on my tastes in heroes. She pointed me to brightly coloured children's books and didn't judge me for enjoying a comic or two. My formative years crafted my enjoyment of reading and imagery. After the Theda Bara discussions with my grandmother, I would look at books on Bedouins and living in the desert. After Velikovsky I read books on planets and disasters. And of course, after cowboy romances, I even read Louis La'mour until there were no more books to read. The journey has not ended and my nightstand has 4 books ready to peruse as soon as I can.

Henry Ford is supposed to have said that if he asked people what they wanted when he developed the Model T Ford car, they would have said a faster horse. But of course, it was a lie. His media team came up with that story. Although his idea that you could buy a Model T in any colour you desired as long as it was black, is true. I say, pick your battles to make life easier. Be kind, be courteous, be gentle and be forgiving. Henry Ford decided what he wanted was a car that anyone could afford. I say, choose a lifestyle that is going to make you fizz and sparkle. That when others see you they discern your special qualities. So, to being woke and a fake hippy, to dreaming of living in tents (Yuk) and being a bridesmaid, my mind is a wonderful thing and thank you for enjoying the journey with me.