Am I developing clairvoyant powers? Or was it just coincidence?
Here’s what happened: Yesterday I went out to my back deck in the forest, surrounded by waterfalls and flowers, and laid out my yoga mat. I lit candles and …
So tonight, I lift a glass to my ol’ hip… (or if not a glass, a Tramadol). It’s been a good hip, grown two amazing souls, been the source of endless dancing pleasure and supported me now for half a century. It’s time for my to go to hip heaven… Hip Hip Hooray! (Just kidding- surgery sucks, but I’m told the pain-free existence afterwards is well worth it. I’ll let you know.)
Last week I attended my first wedding as a divorcee, and I wasn’t expecting the cascading waves of mixed emotions. I was happy for my niece of course, and I do adore romance and beauty, but there were moments at the wedding that were zings of pain, like little divorce bees were flying around, stinging me here and there…
My Mom could never understand why I felt compelled to jump into adventures in faraway lands, and she would say, “Oh Marci, how do you do that? How do you dare to go to these places by yourself? Aren’t you scared?” This perplexed me, because when I travel, I feel the opposite of scared. When I embark on an adventure into the unknown, I feel more at home than I do at home
And now, after all the tremendous loss I’ve experienced the past few years, when I felt so crushed with heartbreak and loss, and so far away from that girl I used to be, the girl spinning with her golden wings, that girl with the jewels on her hips; now I feel like Isis was standing vigil next to me all this time, her wings spread, silently fanning me back to life. It has taken me a long long time to stand back up, but I’m still here, and my wings are spread, and every time I dance, and share my story with others, I am fanning them with my own shimmering gold.
I sat quietly in the giant hand, the stone warmed by the sun, and listened to my heartbeat among the children shouting and laughing in different languages around me. I thought about the 20-year-old me who had been full of childlike wonder and adventure and enchanted by everything about Paris and living out my dream of visiting such a magnificent city. I thought about 28-year-old me climbing the hand with my soulmate and best friend, wrapping our arms around each other, feeling like we would be intertwined forever… one glorious treasured moment caught on camera. I didn’t know then that it wouldn’t last forever. And here I was, 50-year-old me, letting the hand gently hold me.
“Getting married is like trading in the adoration of many for the sarcasm of one.”
It’s easy to get married, but hard to stay that way.”
“Marriage is like a book. The whole story takes place between the covers.”
“It’s not the men in my life that count, it’s the life in my men.”
“He’s the kind of man a woman would have to marry to get rid of.”
Walking through the front door was like entering another world. Red velvet drapes trimmed with golden tassels, brick walls covered with images of Josephine Baker at the height of her dancing, the kind of warm lighting that makes even the most weary of us look beautiful… Josephine peers out from every wall, bananas on her hips, feathers arching above her, body joyfully moving, her pet cheetah with a diamond collar walking beside her, a smile promising mischief… Chez Josephine is everything I love about the 1920’s, divine decadence, giddy and glamorous, an invitation to leave your cares outside and surrender to this one gorgeous moment.
So every time you feel alone and heartbroken, imagine the Grand Poobah laughing and swimming in her jewels. Call up your own inner Elizabeth Taylor, a saucy hilarious gorgeous and dashing divorcee who always kept and open heart and never gave up on love. Put on your jewels and go for a swim. And don’t forget to raise your glass to this week’s Dashing Divorcee. Cheers!!