Spinsters spinning

I am working on this month's Spinster in the Kitchen recipe.  In fact right now my oven is preheating and very shortly the final step of the recipe will be complete and I will be putting my taste buds to work making sure that the recipe is ready to share.  However, in the meantime, I wanted to share an experience I recently had regarding the word spinster.

A few days ago I when I was out and about town I ran into some friends and we fell into a conversation about writing.  Mostly we chatted about maintaining a regular writing practice.  I mentioned that writing this blog had done wonders for my writing discipline as I had made a commitment to myself to post at least twice a week.   Shortly after this a woman approached us and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt but did you say Spinster Jane?  Are you Spinster Jane? I read your blog.”

Now I do get approached by friends and acquaintances who share their opinions of Spinster Jane and I also of course have a fairly steady online readership that will on occasion share their thoughts as well, but this was the first time that a complete stranger had approached me about the blog in person.  This was a very exciting occurrence on its own, but it was the conversation that followed that was the real treat.

This woman shared her story with me of being single after a relationship of three decades and how it took her sometime to adjust to being alone but that she eventually realized that she was quite happy living her life this way.   We then began discussing the word spinster and its history.  I of course talked about how spinning came to be a way for women to keep themselves independent at a time when they had few options for income, and that I was seeking to reclaim the word in the in spirit of those women but then she put a new twist on things.

She said to me that one of the things she loved about the word spinster was the image it evoked of weaving and spinning one’s own life.   I know, this should be obvious right?  Spinsters spin, the metaphor really isn’t that much of a stretch.  Well for whatever reason I’d never thought of it this way and though our conversation ended shortly thereafter, the image of spinning has not left my mind and in fact it has grown and expanded.

I imagine our life experiences as the raw wool, full of brambles, sticks, leaves, mud and whatever other bits of flotsam might be collected in the sheep’s wandering through life.  At first it is dirty and unrefined but we bring it home to be washed and carded until it is fluffy and clean, ready to be spun.   Our hands take up the wool and begin the process of spinning.  The wheel turns over and over and our fingers keep up a steady feed of wool until in the end we are left something completely new; something that will eventually be further transformed yet again into a garment or fabric.

Life presents each of us with numerous gifts and challenges; many of these events are beyond our control, but how we respond to these experiences, the lessons we take away from them and how we are shaped by them, is up to each of us. It is a wonderful image to think of myself spinning the yarn of my life out of the raw wool of my own experience.   I  have been through the process of cleaning and carding many times and each time, when I sit ready to spin, I am the one who will decide how thick or light to make the yarn, what color to dye the wool and what I would like to weave out of it after it is complete. 

I really would like to thank this woman, this fellow spinster, for sharing this idea with me.  In the excitement of the conversation I forgot to ask her name.  I do hope to run into her again but incase I don’t…

Thank you for wandering by and saying hello and for sharing your spinning image with me.  I do hope your life yields a fine, strong and colorful yarn!  

Oh to be brave...

I’m eating ramen noodles for breakfast.  Yes, the kind that cost about ten cents a package and deliver 33% of my RDA of sodium.  I could, and probably should, take the time to thaw out and toast an English muffin, poach an egg, slice up a bit of cheese and top it all with some fresh from the bag spinach, but I’m free to do as I please and this morning it pleases me to be lazy so beef flavored ramen it is.  

Why am I telling you about, and defending, my Monday morning breakfast choice?  The truth is that I am having more than a bit of trouble writing today’s blog post.  It isn’t that I don’t know what I want to write about, it’s that every time I start out writing it I begin to sound a little preachy and that simply is not the voice that I want to use.

My last blog post was about five things to not say to your spinster friends (i.e. those who have made the choice to remain happily single).  While all of these things, and more, have been said to me there is another phrase that I hear quite often.  It is a statement that I hear in one form or another with nearly the same amount of frequency and I am never quite sure how to respond to it in the moment when it is said.

“I love reading your blog and I wish I could be as brave as you.”

My immediate response is usually to express some sort of gratitude.  I write because I love to write, but I also love to have people actually read what I write.  It feels good to know that Spinster Jane is not only read but enjoyed.  Generally I can leave it at that, but lately I’ve wanted to follow up with asking just what it is that I am doing that they find so brave and why they can’t find that same thing within themselves.

Considering the topic of Spinster Jane, I can safely make the assumption that what most people find so brave is my decision to remain single and live alone.  While some of the people who are saying how brave they think I am are those who are wistfully remembering their carefree and single days before they happily paired themselves off (and I have had more than a few of the unhappily coupled mention it but that is a different blog post), what is confusing about the statement is that the majority of the women who are telling me how much they wish they could do what I do are predominantly single. 

When my coupled readers have expressed the sentiment about being brave enough, it is a bit easier to make sense of it.  One of my favorite singles bloggers, Bella de Paulo, Ph. D., recently wrote in her Single at Heart blog on Psych Central about how despite the negative stereotypes that many folks have about the single at heart, there is one thing that the non-singles find very appealing about the single life, and that is the freedom to live your life as you choose and I’m certainly not going to argue with this perception.  The fact is I do have the freedom to do what I want when I want (case in point…ramen for breakfast).  As with de Paulo I too can stay up late and allow myself to get lost in a creative project.    I like that I am free to choose when or if I want to spend time with those that I love.  I am certainly more free to assist a friend or family member in need should something arise and I am capable of helping.  There is a lot of freedom that I have because I have chosen to claim the title of spinster. 

However when it comes to the single ladies, what I think the issue becomes is that I am choosing to remain single, to live alone and to be HAPPY about it.  And yes, I can understand this too.  Everything in our culture pushes us to find one person, pair off and live happily ever after.  And yes, even with all of the progress we’ve made in women’s issues, if a woman is not paired off by a certain time then there must be something wrong with her.  She is unattractive or has too much baggage or she is too needy or she is frigid or she’s too picky, etc.   And finally, if a woman is not partnered off by an acceptable time then she should at the very least be unhappy about her state and be doing whatever it is she can to remedy it because to be single and seeking is more acceptable than to be single, not looking and be quite okay or even happy about it.

To those women who call me brave I have this to say.  If I have learned anything in my somewhat more than three decades of life, it is that there is one, and only one, thing that I have any control over in this world and that is me.   I can’t change in any way how the rest of the world perceives me.   There will likely always be people who think that my ‘problem’ is not having met the right person, or that I don’t laid enough, or I’m too driven in pursuing my goals and thus will miss out on the bliss that is marriage.  I can try my best to explain why these things are not true, and maybe I will change a mind or two which is a good thing,  but  in the end what really and truly matters is what I think of myself.  I simply will not allow my perception of myself and my life to be dictated by what others think I should be doing.  I’ve already passed what will be the half way point for most of us and life is too short to be spent trying to be something I’m not.

So, if being happy with my life the way it is and being unapologetic about it makes me brave then call me brave, and if sometime soon, maybe after reading this blog post, you find that upon taking a closer look that you too are living the life you want to lead and that you are happy about it, then you are certainly no less brave than I.   

What Not to Say to Your Spinster Friends...

Today Charlotte at MyPixieBlog, who I follow with almost groupie like adoration which I enjoy reading regularly, shared a post about What Not to Say to Your Single Friends Ever.   While I know that most folks come from a place of good intentions, it never ceases to amaze me how many people don’t think about the words that come out of their mouths.  Words that at best might one day be looked back upon and laughed about and at worst, be unintentionally very hurtful.

I’ve had my own run-ins with well intentioned friends and acquaintances that have a lack of understanding about what “this whole spinster things means” and who often impart unsolicited advice or share their observations regarding what my motivation must be.   So in the spirit of Charlotte’s post, here is Spinster Jane’s list of What Not to Say to Your Spinster Friends.

1.  You must have been really hurt to give up on love.

While I have had my share of unhappy love affairs, my decision to remain single has nothing to do with a broken heart and I’ve certainly not given up on love.   What I have done is made a conscious choice to not seek permanent romantic attachment.  Really what this breaks down to is that I don’t want to be married and I don’t want to live with anyone.    Aside from the fact that I'm not really all that sure that human beings are designed for living in a state of perpetual monogamy, I’m a happier person living my life with myself and on my own terms.

2.  Oh…you just haven’t met the right person yet.  When you do, you’ll change your mind…you’ll see.

Somewhere in this world is this perfect person, wrapped up all pretty with a big bow on their head and a tag addressed to me.  One day I’m going to meet this Mr. or Ms. Wonderful and we are going to fall madly, deeply in love and forsake all others until the end of time.   Right.

Just in case the response to statement number one was not clear, some of us just don’t want to be married or committed in the traditional sense.  This doesn’t mean we might not have long term love interests.  In fact, some of us might even have more than one love interest at a time (and before you all hop on that particular gossip wagon, this spinster is far too busy to keep track of much more than herself at the moment).  

Basically my point here is that relationships come in all sorts of forms.   Though most of the world operates on the idea that there are two states of being relationship wise, attached and blissfully happy or single and seeking, it simply isn’t true.  There is a broad romantic spectrum that includes those who are single with no interest at all in romantic relationships, the single and dating, those in unmarried but monogamous relationships,  couples who underwent legal marriage, those who are in polyamorous committed relationships and everything in between.   You may not understand them, you may not even like them, but the fact is that all of those options are out there and each is a valid choice. 

3.  So I get it…you have something against marriage.

While I could go into the history of marriage and how its origins are based much more in property and inheritance rights than in love, I won’t because really I don’t have a darn thing against marriage.  In fact, yep I’m going to say it, some of my best friends are married.  I have even performed wedding ceremonies for friends who have requested it and I have done so happily.  Marriage does work for some people, and for those friends of mine who have made the decision to tie the knot I will toast their shared happiness because I love them and I respect the choices they make for themselves.

4. Um…so hey, if you are so unattached, you wanna (wink, wink…nudge, nudge), ya know, hook up sometime?

Why sure!  I’m just sitting around at home counting the minutes to the next hook up because if I’m not looking to get hitched, then I must be looking to sleep around.  In fact I keep a special drawer in my dresser packed full of a wide variety of condoms, sex toys and lingerie just to make sure I’m always prepared for the next time the hump fairy decides to send something my way.

(Yes friends, that was sarcasm)  

As I said in The Great Big Sex Post, with far less sarcasm, choosing to redefine or reclaim the word spinster has a lot to do with having choices.  And while I do choose to have sex, it does not mean I’m going to choose to have sex with you. 

5. But you’ll grow old alone!!!!!

I’m going to take a moment to point out that statistically most woman in the United States do end up outliving their male partners.  Retirement and assisted living homes are full of predominantly female residents.  So I guess this makes the guys the lucky ones as they actually do get to grow old and die with the one they love, while the females grow old with each other which means (big revelation here) technically, in the long run, my choice won’t really leave me in any different state than any other female in our culture.  Actually, growing old with my female friends both old and new doesn’t sound like a half bad proposition.

However, I am making plans for my future as anyone, married, single or otherwise, should.  I am saving for retirement and while I expect that as I age I will slow a bit I do plan to remain active.  I will continue to make friends and have a life filled with all of the people, activities and things that I love.   

You see not being perpetually paired up does not mean being alone or lonely now or 30 years in the future.  It isn’t in response to some offense against my heart and it does not mean that my life is devoid of love.  It is simply a choice, just as any other and it is one that more and more women are making.  

After all, some of your best friends might be spinsters…

Wanted: Neat Freak Psycho-bait

Yesterday was my first real day off since the end of August.  I was not scheduled to work either of my two jobs, I didn’t have a class and I was not working on an upcoming show.  I had no appointments I had to keep and so the day was my own to do with as I wished. 

I spent the majority of it restoring some sense of order to the Spinster Nest.  It had fallen into quite the state over the past couple of weeks while I prepared for exams and last week’s run of shows.  The Nest is not a large space.  In fact it is so small that one dirty plate left out and a tissue on the floor is enough to make me start using words like untidy and cluttered. 

When my life becomes as busy as it has been over the past few months, my home can cease to be the haven away from the chaos that it should be and instead becomes little more than a hotel room for my transient self to rest her head for a few hours before dashing off to the next appointment.  Of course, it does not have the one big advantage that a hotel has, maid service, and so as of Saturday night messy would have been the kindest adjective one could use to describe the condition of my home.

There were piles of costuming and props to be put away, stacks of mail to be sorted, two week’s worth of laundry to be done and dishes in need of washing.  The bathroom desperately needed a good cleaning and the litter box was a day past due changing.  While I didn’t expect I could possibly get all of this done in one day, I knew I could at least take care of most of the clutter and give the place a livable feel again.  I did manage to accomplish that at least. 

While bemoaning the state of my apartment one afternoon last week a friend asked me if times like this ever made me wish for someone to share a space with; someone who could pick up the slack when I was too busy with the assumption that I would do the same for them should they find themselves in a similar place.  I very quickly replied that no, I am still quite content to live on my own even if it is in the midst of temporary extreme untidiness.  Whatever state my apartment is in, the mess is my own and while there might be a bit of a delay at times, it does eventually get cleaned up and home becomes home again.   

Truthfully the only times I ever wish that I lived with another person is when I find myself rising from my bed in the middle of the night to investigate some creepy sound and I think that it would be awfully nice to have another body to shove in front of me to distract the serial killer who is likely hiding behind the shower curtain so that I can have a few moments to make my getaway out the back door while keeping my fingers crossed that the killer doesn’t leave behind too much of a mess.

The Year of Susan

When I was in junior high there was this girl, I’m going to call her Susan.  She had perfect hair that never seemed out of place.  Her clothes looked as though she went shopping with a list from Seventeen magazine in hand and a magic fairy with a magic wallet big enough to buy whatever she wanted.  She had a seemingly unending supply of friends who followed her down the hall chatting and giggling about what happened over the weekend.   She was on nearly every sports team at school, basket ball, field hockey, track…and she was, of course, great at all of them.

The teachers loved Susan too since she was also smart and always had the right answer.  When we had a class that required an oral report she would stand before us full of confidence.  She came equipped with just the right props for her subject and people always clapped after she was done.  When asked to do a report on someone she admired she chose Madonna and on the day the report was given she came to class dressed as the pop singer.  She stood before us, a perfect head to toe, twelve year old replica of the material girl. 

I on the other hand, was the shy, quiet, broody girl who had moved to town in the middle of seventh grade.  An extrovert who carried the curse of shyness, I sat in the back of the class scribbling down poems and story ideas in a notebook.  I didn’t giggle with friends about my weekend.  Though I had a few somewhat-more-than-acquaintances I spent time with, my weekends were mostly spent alone in libraries browsing among the stacks, or in the woods with a bagged lunch and my sketch book.  The only sport I took part in was cross country running because I didn’t actually have to interact with the other team members.   I did well in school, but any sort of presentation that I did was pretty much directed at the floor instead of my fellow students. 

In short, we couldn’t have been more opposite.  If Susan was a bonfire, I was just a spark that fell onto the pavement, igniting nothing.   She moved through the halls of our junior high with a natural ease that I was not even close to possessing.  In looking back I know that my twelve year insecure self was putting Susan up on an unreachable pedestal, but at that time I was simply in awe of her.  

To try to become her friend never crossed my mind.  Aside from the fact that it was quite likely she was unaware of my existence, it really it wasn’t her friendship I wanted.  No, what I wanted was to be like her.  Not a replica of her, but instead to find out what it was that made her seem so alive.  I thought if I could figure that out, then maybe I could do it too.  Then perhaps I’d be a little less shy; a little more brave. 

Through all of eighth grade I watched her.   It was not a difficult thing to do.  Our school was small and the entire eighth grade class was only about 60 students.  I tried reading the books and magazines I saw her carrying in her bag thinking maybe they held the secret.   I remember that after saving a bit of allowance money I bought a baggy, pale yellow, v-neck sweater that was similar to one she wore and for a brief moment after putting it on I did indeed feel more confident, at least until on the way to school a young man said hello to me in passing and I quickly realized that it would take more than a sweater to conquer my shyness.  So I kept watching and hoping, convinced that my powers of observation would help me to discover the secret of Susan.

I wish I could say that at some point during that year I learned her secret and that I breezed through high school and the rest of my adult life with a confidence that sprouted from the seed of Susan’s secret, but that didn’t happen.  Instead eighth grade came and went, and I was not any closer to making my discovery.  When my freshman year began she was not there and I heard she’d been enrolled in some elite boarding school for the smart and wealthy.  I stumbled through another move, the rest of high school and into adulthood as full of insecurity as I ever was.   I managed to overcome my shyness in my early twenties, but it would be several years before I learned that seemingly obvious lesson that my inner fire had to be self ignited.   

Susan was just one of many people I met in life who I thought carried some secret to happiness.  It is in our nature to want easy answers to such things and there is indeed wisdom to be gained from those who shine so brightly.  Yet, however we might admire them and whatever lessons we may learn from them, we should not become so blinded by their lights that we lose sight of the flame that burns inside of ourselves.   This is a light that can burn as bright as any other, but it is up to each of us kindle it and to seek out the fuel that will keep its glow steady and strong.   

The Tiny Quit

I’m beginning to think that giving myself the challenge of blogging everyday for thirty days during the month of October might have been a bad a bad idea or at the least it was a poorly thought out decision.   I am going through what is perhaps the busiest time in my adult life and I’m finding that I simply do not have enough hours in the day to complete every task that needs doing.   

Flash back to a time about 7 years ago.  I was a full time student attending school at night to obtain my associates degree.  I worked a full time job.  I’d just made a return to dance after a 15 year absence.  I served on the board of a very active local non-profit and was due to take on the role of board president.    I was a community organizer, feeding volunteer for a feral cat rescue organization, and also volunteered several times a month at a local soup kitchen.  I tutored ESL students in research and writing at the college I was attending.  I was writing a regular column and blog on the subject of urban wildlife and had a fairly decent following.   Oh…and I was in a relationship and somehow managed to keep up some semblance of a social life.

I kept up this pace for nearly two years and then one day, after I returned from a trip to visit my brother on the west coast, I crashed.  Perhaps a more accurate word would be that I deflated.  I remember looking at the ‘things to do after vacation’ list that I’d written out before I left and I realizing that in my absence it had grown.   My world hadn’t stopped while I was gone.  I had a voicemail box of messages and couple hundred emails, all of which required some sort of action on my part.   I could say that I felt overwhelmed but it was more that I was on the edge of panic.  For a moment I couldn’t even breathe. It was as though the weight of all that I had to do was piled upon my chest pressing upon me.

At that time I did what I now refer to as The Big Quit.  I stayed in school and stayed working of course, but I quit nearly everything else.  I resigned from the board, passed my organizing duties on to others, became a back up volunteer feeder and left the soup kitchen.  I cancelled nearly every social engagement I had in the coming month and took the summer off from dance classes.  I put my writing on hold.   I found a therapist and swore I’d never do this to myself again.

Now here I am.  I’ve returned to full-time school.  I work two part-time jobs.  I am performing on a regular basis, nearly once a week (really…a third part-time job).   I am producing a show that will run for three nights at a local theater in less than two weeks.   I am working to make a success of the variety show troupe that I manage (one could call this part-time job number four).  I’m writing nearly daily to keep up this blog and to just keep my skills fresh.  My days are filled with rehearsals, homework, classes, work, promoting and sometimes I even sleep.  I’ve had two unexpected cat emergencies in the past three weeks.  My social life is basically nonexistent.  I am behind on EVERYTHING.

I don’t want another Big Quit in my life.  I know that in doing what I had to do to take care of myself then left a lot of other folks holding the bag of my undone tasks.  This time I don’t really have someone to pass my tasks on to and to just let them slide would have an impact on other people.  There is another big difference between then and now and that is that much of what is on my plate right now has an end time.  In two weeks the show will be done and I’m scaling back my performing over the winter.  In December the semester will end and I will have better planned my schedule for the spring.   In many ways it is just a matter of managing well until I get through these times.  However, right now I do need to let something go and it is going to be this month’s NaBloPoMo.   It might seem a small thing to an outside observer but I began writing this post at about 10:15 and the time is now 11:30. 

I will make an attempt at NaBloPoMo again, likely sooner than later.  I will still post regularly to the blog but on my own schedule.   Now I have three hours to shower, eat lunch, prep costuming for a show tonight and maybe do a bit of math homework. 

On with the day.

An Unusual Interaction

I work part time in a local retail establishment.  As far as retail work goes, it is not a bad gig.  Most of the folks who visit the store are pleasant people.  They are there to browse, or to buy gift for a loved one, or something special for themselves and I am there to assist them with their purchase in whatever way I can.  My interactions are generally enjoyable ones and more often than not the customers leave happy, and I’m feeling pretty good about helping someone.  Every once in a while something comes along that is just plain, well, strange.

This evening I was alone in the store and a man came in.   If I had to place his age I would put him in his late 40s or early 50s.  He wandered about the displays in a way that seemed both hurried and unfocused.  I approached him and asked if he needed any help with finding something.  His reply was that he was looking for a gift for his wife for their anniversary.

I asked him if there was anything in particular she liked for jewelry or maybe he knew her favorite color.  His reply was:

“Well, it really doesn’t matter what I give her.  She won’t like it and that’s okay because I don’t particularly like her anyway.”

I was more than a bit taken aback by his response.  I understand that sometimes it is easier to talk to a stranger about certain things, but this man did not seem like he was wanting to talk about his feelings.  He was very matter of fact about what he said.  It wasn’t angry or flippant.  He really seemed to be oddly okay with whatever his situation was.   He seemed so sure of it I couldn’t help but wonder why he was even bothering to go through the motions of buying a gift.

“It’s okay, “ he added, “She doesn’t like me very much either.”

As I stood there thinking that maybe the best gift they could give each other was divorce papers, he decided on a very bland, generic gift.  The kind of thing you would buy for your distant cousin who you don’t know all that well, but who you wanted to thank for house sitting for you while you were on vacation.   

I rang up his purchase and wrapped it up in a box for him, nestling it in a bed of tissue paper to prevent it from being damaged.   I wanted to ask him why they were still together if they really didn’t like each other.   I suppose the reason could be anything:  too financially intertwined, ‘for the kids’, or maybe they felt they’d been together too long and they were too comfortable with discomfort to change.   Of course I didn’t ask.  I simply put his purchase in a bag and wished him a good night. 

Hours later I am unable get this interaction out of my mind. I think perhaps what I can’t seem to understand is how resigned to his situation he seemed, as though next year at this time next year he will likely be walking into another store, in some other town, looking for some other equally nondescript and uninteresting gift.   Going through the motions for yet another year for reasons I or you are never likely to know.