Monthly Vibes (Aug. 2023)
On age and appearance. Documentary photography. Books you might enjoy when you're not at the beach. Lavender lemonade and slow-cooked crowder peas recipes.
Hi friends, and happy third Sunday of the month. If you’re new here, welcome to pARTake and the Monthly Vibes issue for August. I hope your summer is going well! Lots going on in this issue: a note on birthdays and aging, documentary photography storytelling, and a few summertime recipe ideas.
A few days ago, I read another article about how women are still subjected to discrimination based on age and appearance as we age. Madonna and the Aging Supermodels Prove Aging Women Can’t Win from NextTribe. So maybe it’s fitting, even though it made me slightly uncomfortable to write about it, that I should be opening this month’s issue with the same topic.
As always, please drop your thoughts in the comments below or hit reply to send me a private message.
Maureen xx
A few weeks ago, my annual birthday made me take stock as birthdays do. It’s not uncommon to look back to reflect. Existential life questions like Who am I? What’ve I done? What’s next? feel like easy questions. What trips me up more than I care to admit is this: how do I measure up in the looks department? Outward appearances, body image, and body dysmorphia are themes in my work-in-progress memoir, so this is a topic I think about quite a bit. Note: I compare myself to myself, not others. But you should know I used to compare myself to others, starting with my sister Peggy when we were young teenagers, who was my sidekick and one year and four months older. Peggy had slim hips to my blocky butt, perky pear-shaped breasts to my round balloons, and dark wavy hair to my auburn tangled curls. Then I often wondered if we had the same parents!
But I’ve lived long enough and learned that comparing to others is a colossal waste of time and energy, but this didn’t come about without a hard learning curve. I was raised during the Generation Jones (1954-1965) demographic. We “jonesed” for the privilege of the baby boomers before us, where competition was ingrained in our socialization. I’m from a family of fourteen. Growing up, competition was a sport.
Several weeks ago, like many, I watched the Barbie movie, and just like that, my sensitivities over my appearance were triggered. And while the Barbie movie had numerous themes: patriarchy, feminism, death, and idolization, to name just a few, in the end, Barbie still looked like Barbie. Perfect, passionate pink, and capable of doing whatever she wants. Life, of course, is nothing like Barbie Land. Still…
People often tell me I look ten years younger than my sixty-two years. I’ll take that. I work to maintain my health and looks, though I have plenty of wrinkles and crepe-like skin; my skin bruises easily, and sometimes my limbs look like a warzone. My skin is dry, dry, dry. My hair is thinner than normal, partially from the aftereffects of chemo but also from genetics and hormones. However, I’m grateful I have hair. That doesn’t mean I don’t spend time trying to hide the patchy bald spots. I’m still vain. In I Feel Bad About My Neck, Nora Ephron nailed it. “…the amount of maintenance involving hair is genuinely overwhelming. Sometimes I think that not having to worry about your hair anymore is the secret upside of death.”
At sixty-two, I’m post-menopausal, which brings a whole new suite of hormonal-related changes and challenges, including tears at the oddest moments. Post-menopause is like the roller coaster of youth, but you can’t get off and are no longer having fun. Ten years ago, I didn’t know these things and did a slip-n-slid through peri-menopause, hot flashes, mood swings, memory loss, and anger, not knowing how to handle these rapid and inconsistent changes. That I’m still married is a testament to my husband’s good nature and easygoing manner, plus our marital vows, “In sickness and in health,” which I respect “till death do us part.”
This obsession with my appearance is real, and I work to be better about not assigning so much importance to my appearance. But it’s hard. None of us can get away from the natural aging progression of the body. Well, unless you have a full-time trainer and Kardashian money. For the rest of us, gravity has its duty. I’m not interested in cosmetic surgery though I have had Botox and fillers in my face in my early 50s. Now I want to get rid of the precancer spots.
I’m also triggered by how others perceive me, which makes me tune in to how I look. Here are a few recent real-life scenarios illuminating how people made opinions based on my appearance and personality.
After an initial meeting with my therapist for Pelvic floor dysfunction (PFD), she said, “You seem like you’re a big city girl, not a country girl. How did you manage that transition?” But since she’s my physical therapist, not my mental health therapist, I laughed it off (a common avoidance mechanism) and said, “After twelve years, I’m still looking for the best taco!”
During an appointment to switch out our home security system, one of the techs said, “I’m feeling west coast vibes coming from you.” I was born and raised in Pittsburgh, then Florida, now Kentucky. I’m down with a chill west coast vibe, but I never thought of myself as such.
A woman approached me at a live watercolor workshop and said, “I know you’re a little bit younger than me, but how do you keep your abs so flat? Do you work at it every day? I’ve never seen someone with abs so flat.” I quipped, “Two abdominal surgeries.” She rolled her eyes and walked away. But I realized she misunderstood my comment. Yes, I had surgery, but not cosmetic, but I didn’t want to get into that. “I also walk and practice yoga,” I said to her backside. I might’ve shared more about how I can only eat so much, that my thinness is because of two abdominal cancer surgeries. I would do anything for a little extra padding on my butt and face, and as it turns out, I’d like my butt to be blocky after all.
Appearances matter whether I like it or not. Barbie showed us in technicolor on the big screen that this is still a thing. Magazines still make an issue of how we should look as we age. I may never stop focusing on my appearance. I’m learning to be okay with that. I’m living my best authentic life. People will see what they want to see. Ultimately, aging is the goal regardless of appearance because the alternative is not attractive.
Keep reading for art, books, and food inspiration.
ART
I spend a lot of time on Substack. While reading Notes, I discovered Andy Adams of FlakPhoto, who uses his social to highlight photography and photographers. What I like about the images Andy features is that many are documentaries. Slice-of-life images that tell a story of a place, a time, and a vibe. I’m very interested in this because, with photography, we capture a moment that we’ll never get back. This goes for all photography, but especially so for documentary images.
In 2000, I moved from the Florida Keys to Central Florida. My then-boyfriend and I would drive to the middle of the state to look for property he wanted to buy. I had no desire or money to buy land filled with kudzu, scrub grass, and saw palmettos. But I loved capturing image after image of dilapidated, abandoned, wooden shotgun houses covered in vines twisting around the front porch and broken windows. Houses that told stories of a life I couldn’t imagine. Then I lived in a tropical paradise for ten years and traveled worldwide; before that, I was a city girl. Living off the land in the middle of nowhere with palmetto bugs, incessant heat, and humidity struck me as a hardscrabble but determined lifestyle. You had to love your land so badly that you were willing to live there until you died. Or sell it to some rich white dude with coke money who tromped across the hard, flat, dry landscape talking to another money dude on the phone. I can’t find those photos, but you get the picture.
Below is an example of a documentary snapshot of three Russian peasant women and their plastic bags. I was on vacation twenty-eight years ago in Moscow, and of all the things I remember from that trip, aside from the fact that I thought I was going to die (another story), was the image of these three women. I might write a short story about these women, or maybe I’ll write the story of how I thought I wouldn’t return to the States. Feel free to use my image to craft a story if you're inclined. And speaking of stories, below are a few books I’ve read you might enjoy as summer slips into autumn.
BOOKS
Summertime means reading all the books for many people, and I’m no exception. These books aren’t “beach-reads” per see, but I’ve never been one to read at the beach anyway. For me, books are read on airplane trips and at airport boarding gates, in bed at night, on my recliner at midday, and in the backyard hammock before I cook dinner. I try to download books from my library because I don’t have unlimited funds, and I read a lot, but occasionally I buy books from authors with whom I have a personal connection. I’ll share where and how I acquired the books I mentioned at the end of each book note.
On Twitter, now called X, writer, coach, and editor Allison K Williams tweeted about Shopgirl: A Novella by Steve Martin in response to a tweet asking for novellas. I’d read Shopgirl many years ago, but it was fun to read it again. It’s about Mirabelle, a shy, moody young woman who sells gloves in retail and dreams of anything else. There’s an older, wealthy man (yes, it feels like a trope, but better), and the story revolves around their falling in love. It’s a lovely, tender, quick read. I downloaded a copy on Libby.
A Fatal Affari A. R. Torre. New York Times best-selling romance author Alexandre Torre switched gears to write suspense. Twin hunky Hollywood actors, A Leading Lady, A Detective, A Mom, The Accomplice, The Husband, and The Kid make up the characters. If you love twisty, multi-POV stories, this novel is for you. I downloaded it from Kindle Unlimited.
Okay, so this next one is a dark, hardcore suspense read. The Devil Takes You Home: A Novel by Gabino Iglesias is not for the faint of heart but is a serious page-turner if desperation and macabre stories are your jam. This award-winning book about race, class, and the lengths one man will go to preserve his family will blow your mind. I bought it at a discounted sale on Kindle.
Triple Cross by James Patterson. I’ve been a Patterson fan from way back. I love his fast-paced stories and short chapters. I love Alex Cross and his family. When you read Patterson’s Cross series or any of his other series, you can’t wait for his next book. This book doesn’t disappoint. I downloaded it from Libby after many months of waitlist. Read a free chapter.
FOOD
I first saw crowder peas about twelve years ago at the local farmers market shortly after moving from Florida to Kentucky. Ernest sold shelled peas for five dollars for a sandwich-sized ziplock baggie. I couldn’t resist because I love to experiment with new foods. Besides, who doesn’t want fresh-shelled peas? If you’ve never shelled peas, I’m here to say you want to buy fresh peas already shelled if you can.
Ernest is no longer at the market where I live. Still, another farmer had a tomato box filled with crowder peas in the pods, so I bought a few pounds, headed home, poured a lemonade (I love half lemonade, half soda water with a splash of lavender syrup, and a spring of lemon balm) and headed to the back porch to shell.
Crowder peas are called such because they’re crowded in the pod (image above). Also, they’re not a pea but a bean. There’s no telling why they’re not called Crowder beans! Anyway, I eat crowder peas as a side with fish and chicken, spooned over grits and/or scrambled eggs.
As you split the pod and shuck the peas, think good thoughts, play a chillax summer soundtrack, or listen to the chatter of the bird or cicadas. You’ll want to cook the crowder peas as soon as you shuck them, so give yourself some time.
Crowders offer a hearty, earthy flavor and make an excellent dark gravy. It's a divine rich stew-like meal when cooked low and slow with onions, carrots, garlic, and vegetable stock. Or you can dry, freeze, or can crowder peas. My recipe is meant as a guide, not a rule. You can substitute crowder peas with fresh black-eyed, cream, or field peas or cook in a six-quart stockpot on the stove.
Slow-Cooked Crowder Peas Recipe
Ingredients
1/2 medium white onion, chopped
One large garlic clove, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon olive oil + 1 teaspoon butter
3 cups of shelled crowder peas
1 (15-ounce) canned diced tomatoes with juice
2 medium carrots, cut on the bias
1 celery stock, cut on the bias
3 cups vegetable broth
One tablespoon of chopped parsley
salt and pepper
Directions
In the crockpot, saute onions and garlic in oil and butter at 350 degrees for five minutes or until soft and translucent. Add all additional ingredients. Set crockpot on low for six hours. Consider serving with grits and crispy bacon crumble topping. Practice gratitude for the small farmers who grew your food. Namaste.
ICYMI, I shared an exciting art announcement in the July Monthly Vibes issue!
That’s a wrap for August Monthly Vibes. I’ll pop back in your inbox shortly with an update on my memoir in progress. Take good care of yourself and your loves.
Stay curious. Stay safe. Make an Impact.
Love this, Maureen. Thanks so much for your honesty. As you know, I'm dealing with the menopause thoughts and issues, and aging has been on my mind. Thanks for sharing!
Great newsletter, Maureen. And your thoughts on aging and appearance are relatable.