I was staying at a friend's apartment, a few years ago, six to be precise. I cannot function without coffee in the morning, so if I ever stay at anyone's home besides my own, the first thing I ask about, in the morning, is coffee.
(Whenever I have traveled with anyone, and we stayed at a motel, the first thing I thought about in the morning, was, 'can we get a cup of coffee here? Can you bring us some?')
"Do you have any coffee?," I asked.
"No."
"Can we order out for coffee?"
"Order out for coffee?"
"Yeah, they do it in New York. I've seen it on TV."
He mimics talking on the phone, his hand near his ear, "bring my goddamn coffee now!," in a mock New York accent.
She laughs, but since there is no coffee, she goes back to bed and sleeps til 2:00 in the afternoon, long after he has left, and she departs on foot, gets a free cup of coffee at the hospital, only twenty blocks away, and calls her people.
Whenever I stay with people, like traveling or something, I ask them if they have any coffee in the morning.
Sometimes, they have coffee made. Once they said, "I suppose we can dig it out."
Once, someone made me an extraordinary cup of coffee with a french press.
Today, ours broke, so I pulled out all my coffee making devices. Coffee is like an antidepressant for me, or something, a stimulant.
Now that I am a feminist, it is one of my freedoms. When I was a young wife and mother, my husband forbade me to drink coffee. In California, I had to sneak to Melrose Ave. with the baby in the stroller to get a cappucino. That is if I could get enough money together, and I had the day off of work, which was never.
Now, I do what I want. If I were married again, I'd want to do what I want. That doesn't mean I would want to cheat or anything. I just mean, I would not want guidelines or rules about what I could drink or eat. I'm an adult. If I want coffee, I drink coffee. If I want to drink alcohol, I drink alcohol. I guess I don't have any other vices, so I guess that's about it.
I already am a good cook, and keep an immaculately neat and clean home. I even wash the walls down. Partly, it is because my son has asthma, and I have to keep the dust down.
When he was a kid, I had him allergy tested. The doctor drew a diagram on his back, with a big black marker, and inserted allergens into the boxes, such as dust mites, roach particles, shell fish such as lobster and shrimp, oranges, bananas, peanuts, ragweed, and it became inflamed in most of the boxes, meaning allergies. He went for allergy shots for a while. The point is he had a lot of allergies. Allergies and asthma go hand in hand.
Did you ever think about how in the hippie days, when feminism was emerging, how hippie chicks sang meekly along with their guitar playing, singer boyfriends? What was that about? More gender placement, and women playing out demure little roles. Not me, nope, never, never, never.
Oh, yeah, I mean, I admit, I used to be a major wimp. If you read any of my woe is me blogs, about my stupid past, you know it. I used to be a major dish rag: definition - a person who just lets their self be annihilated by pleasing another, and loses their own essence in the process.
That is it. Essence. The best book, as far as feminism, is Women Who Run With the Wolves. That book is amazing. All these archetypal roles are evident in the folklore, legends and stories, and Pinkola is a genius, in her dissertation, which the book actually is, based on Jungian psychology. Jung was so right about so much, like the shadow, which I speak of all the time in my blogs, and how we all need to embrace it. That does not mean, become a sociopath, or a bad person, but stop trying to be perfect, accept the whole self, not just parts and pieces.
I put myself down too much. I mean, I managed to get my kids through school, went back to school, myself, sent one kid to college, even though he did not continue. I made sure they ate, had a roof over their heads. I voted. I kept the utilities on, the rent payed. I worked. I drove them safely, in a vehicle when I could see. I took them to the doctor, to the dentist, got them vaccinated.
I may have had problems, emotional, or whatever you want to call it, but I was a fully functioning woman, and I still am. I may not be able to see well, but I can do many things well, still. I am established and a pillar of my community, my community at large. I realize I am not as spiritual as other Baba followers. Is it really that, or is it just that I am not a pretender? My spirituality is a personal matter, not a show, and I am not looking for spiritual approval. I bow to no one, and no one should bow to anyone. Meher Baba dropped the body in 1969. I need not pay homage to human figures, or so called spiritual giants.
I once heard my father talking on the phone, to the director of the Meher Center in Myrtle Beach. It was on my behalf. He said, "these people who come to the center have no idea what Meher Baba is about." I know I am being judgmental, but I can't stand pretense.
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