Sometimes I Must Look Away…

and take respite in two offerings from PBS.

Dear Reader:

These are tough times right now, but not for men who may be wrongly accused of crimes against women as POTUS suggested this week. These are tough times for women and men of good character and conscience.

Yesterday our president mocked Dr. Christine Blasey Ford while at a rally in Mississippi and Esquire magazine provided the perfect headline for the story underneath his picture:

This Vicious Buffoon Is a Vessel for All the Worst Elements of the American Condition (I couldn’t have said it better, so I didn’t try!)

I watched the coverage of his speech with a mixture of disgust, anger, anxiety and sadness. I was born in 1960 and I’ve been a feminist* for as long as I understood what the word meant. My only child, Natalie is 21 years old and I knew that she would not be leaving college and entering a perfect world before the 2016 election. But, I sincerely believed that our country had made significant progress toward our journey to equal rights for the sexes. I think most people took that for granted. Perhaps we have, but, obviously there is more work to do in our homes, schools and workplaces. And, most significantly, in the courts, Congress and White House. We are being reminded of our responsibilities to one another as citizens of a country based on the principles of equality.

I’ve got a theory for what is happening right now. Here it is. Imagine turning over a rock in your garden, dear reader. What happens? Well, it’s creepy right? Everything ugly comes crawling out into the light. Exposed. That’s what’s happening right now in our country. The ugliness has come crawling out. The “Vicious Buffoon” in the White House has given it license to spew its poison upon us. We must wholeheartedly reject the president’s message and the Republicans’ spineless response to the nightmare that has become our daily reality since the election. And, we must remember that the yucky things that live under the rocks are only a small percentage of what inhabits our beautiful land. We are a majority and we have power.

Speak your mind. Change a heart. Write an opinion piece or a letter to the editor. Make a donation. Speak your mind, again. Stay engaged as much as you can. And, when you simply cannot take it anymore, pour yourself a glass of vino and tune into PBS for Poldark and The Durrells in Corfu. We all deserve a break!

Michele

* According to Merriam-Webster, feminism is “the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes” and “organized activity on behalf of women’s rights and interests.”

The Women of Zone Fitness; Meet Lynn

 

Lynn Lupetti
This is what 80 years old can look like!

 

Dear Reader:

Lynn doesn’t like it when I tell her that she inspires me. But, it simply must be said. I want to be like Lynn when I grow up! She’s opinionated, talented and strong. She supports other women who endeavor to be their best while offering a master class in how to age gracefully.

I like to think I’m following in her footsteps, as she began training with Jonathan at about the same age as I did. She’s now 80 years old and living life to its fullest.

“I pay Jon instead of doctors,” she says with a smile.

Three days a week she works out alongside men and women of all ages. All younger than her. Somewhat irrelevant in Lynn’s case. She cheers me on as I sweat and sing aloud on the arc. And, reads along as I chronicle my existence on the page, referring to me as Zone’s “wordsmith.”When I took a few days off from my cardio schedule, for a couple of weeks in a row, I had a note on my Facebook page from Lynn. Seems she misses me when I’m not there!

She’s the woman who tells other women, “You’re looking good!”

When she’s not in the gym, Lynn can be found in her home studio. She’s an accomplished artist whose work, depending on the subject matter, captures my heart or my imagination or both.

The works of Lynn Lupetti

I believe it’s a perfectly natural thing for people of all ages to look for role models. I did not have a close relationship with my mother and, consciously or unconsciously, I’ve always looked to fill my life with older women that I’d like to emulate. It’s nice to be reminded, through another’s example, that life is a gift and it should be treated as such.

Cheers to my friend, Lynn! Cheers to strong women of all ages.

Michele

 

I’m Strong, Too!

IMG_9465.jpg

Dear Reader:

Since beginning my Journey to Strong last November, I’ve had so many women tell me that I’m an “inspiration.” I have certainly appreciated the support, but I’ve found it difficult to fully embrace the idea that I’ve inspired others to become fitter or stronger.

But, my friend Kristin’s daughter, Julia, gave me an amazing gift that I will forever treasure. She tapped me on the shoulder, halfway through dinner last night, and whispered in my ear.

“I saw you lifting weights on Instagram. I’m strong, too!”

I was filled with emotion. Sometimes it takes a child to remind us that:

  • we don’t need to be anything more than who we are to inspire others
  • it’s important to share the small and large victories present in everyday life
  • social media can be a force for good
  • AND, our daughters are watching!

Dear readers, venture out and do what you do best…and then share it!

Michele

 

Stupid Stuff or Attempted Rape…What Were You Doing in High School?

Dear Reader:

You may have heard or read in the New York Times that:

“The chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, under mounting pressure from senators of his own party, will call President Trump’s Supreme Court nominee, Judge Brett M. Kavanaugh, and the woman who has accused him of sexual assault before the committee on Monday for extraordinary public hearings only weeks before the midterm elections.

The hearing with Judge Kavanaugh and Christine Blasey Ford, a research psychologist in Northern California, sets up a potentially explosive public showdown that carries unmistakable echoes of the 1991 testimony of Anita Hill, who accused the future Justice Clarence Thomas of sexual harassment in an episode that riveted the nation and ushered a slew of women into public office.”

I was 31 years old when Anita Hill was persecuted for telling her truth. I was riveted by her testimony and repulsed by the Congressional response. I’d liken the feelings I experienced then to the feelings I experienced when our current POTUS was elected. I can only hope that we’ve really progressed to a point that character matters and the definition of “character” encompasses how men treat women.

But, I’m dubious. I hear lots of comments like this one culled from reader’s comments on the Wall Street Journal : “Well, if he did this, he was so young. We all did stupid stuff in high school. Why does it matter?”

Let me just ask then: Would it matter if Kavenaugh held up a liquor store in high school? Would it matter if he held a bank teller at gunpoint and requested she hand over the cash? Would we care if he stole a car or lit the neighbor’s house on fire? I wonder???

It seems to me that crimes against women are simply not important to this nation. We don’t take women’s accusations seriously. Let’s see, goes the thinking, he tried to rape a 15-year-old girl when he was 17- years- old? Hmmmm….well, that was a long time ago.

Um, let me just say: I did stupid stuff in high school. Nothing I did was violent. I don’t think anything I did would preclude me from serving on the highest court in the land. How about you? Attempt to rape anyone in high school? Attempt to rape anyone after graduation? Ever attempt to rape anyone? Does it matter? I really hope so.

We need a hearing. We need to acknowledge that crimes against women are FIRST AND FOREMOST….CRIMES! If the accusation is credible and believable, this man does not deserve a place on the highest court in our land.

Michele

 

 

In Memorium

Dear Reader:

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I took a call from my husband as I was driving to my weekly counseling appointment.

“Something horrible has happened,” he said with uncharacteristic alarm.

You mean another horrible thing…I thought. It had been six weeks since my well-loved 36-year-old brother had died and only two weeks since we’d buried him. I was heartbroken; life was off-kilter, out of focus. Every time the phone rang, I anticipated more horrible news. I was living with the burden of a heightened sense of vulnerability.

That day the collective sorrow of the nation merged with my personal grief. I pondered what we term “senseless death” as I did when Matt passed. People taken too early, before hopes and dreams can be realized. Families left wondering why. Faith and equilibrium threatened.

The lives lost on 9/11 became part of our country’s history. Matt’s life was part of my history. The parallel drew me closer to all those who suffered that day. Loss and sadness are part of what it means to be human. It is there for all of us to experience together, but ultimately to resolve on our own.

Today, I remember my brother, Matt, who was taken too soon. I miss spending time with him; it was so easy. I remember the nearly 3,000 people who lost their lives on that awful day when as a nation we felt our collective vulnerability. I remember, most of all, that loss is part of life, and as such, kindness should be our imperative.

With heartfelt condolences to all who have loved and lost,

Michele

9-17 post

 

Ladies, It’s Never Too Late!

painter-grandma-moses-promo.jpg

“I like to paint something that leads me on and on in to the unknown something that I want to see away on beyond.”

Dear Reader:

I’ve raised my daughter and I’m pushing 60 years old and full of energy. It’s with that enthusiasm that I like to remember women who inspire other women. “Grandma Moses,” the acclaimed American painter who became a prototype for late bloomers, was born on this day in 1860.

Anna Mary Robertson Moses was simply an upstate New York farm wife until she was discovered by a New York art collector who spotted her paintings in a drugstore window. Her work became immensely popular and her story captivated the collective imagination of the art world.

The press loved her countrified ways and, in fact, it was a news reporter from New York’s Herald Tribune who gave her the nickname “Grandma Moses.” She handled the hoopla with aplomb. When her arrival in Manhattan in 1940 created a stir she demurred, “If they want to make a fuss over me, I guess I don’t mind.”

As a young wife and mother, Moses was creative in her home as so many women are. She embroidered beautiful landscapes and assembled magnificent quilts for family and friends until, at the age of 76, she developed arthritis which made needle arts a painful pursuit. Her sister suggested that painting would be easier for her and a career was born! She would often adapt her painting to accommodate her physical restrictions. If her right hand began to hurt, she switched to her left hand.

But Moses was more than just a talented artist, she was a feminist heroine with a strong belief in women’s autonomy. She wrote in her autobiography: “Always wanted to be independent. I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting down and Thomas,” her husband, “handing out the money.”

Grandma Moses worked until a few months before her death at the age of 101. By then she had completed some 2,000 paintings, written an autobiography and been awarded two honorary doctoral degrees. Her works have been shown and sold in the United States and abroad and have been marketed on greeting cards and other merchandise. Moses’ paintings are displayed in the collections of many museums. Sugaring Off was sold for US $1.2 million in 2006.

At the time of her passing, President John F. Kennedy said, “All Americans mourn her death.” Today, I celebrate her life and that of all women with the courage and energy to re-invent themselves in their golden years.

Michele

My Trainer in Action!

 

Deadlifts: 2 sets of 12 with 370!

Dear Reader:

You’ve read his name and seen a few stills of Jonathan on my site, but I thought you’d like to see him in action. Isn’t he amazing?! Yes! The answer is yes!

Let me take this opportunity to tell you a little about my trainer. As you can see, he has aced his own journey to strong. He’s been a trainer for nearly thirty years and I could dazzle you with his resume. But, to those of you who are lucky enough to live on the Monterey Peninsula, you know I wholeheartedly recommend him. Just do it…join the waiting list at Zone Fitness and be forever grateful that you did.

I could rant and rave, but to put it quite simply: Jonathan has changed my life!  At 58 years old, I know that there won’t be many people who I can say that about when the end rolls round.

I’ve approached my fitness journey as I approach everything in life: as a scholar. So, I’ve read a lot and brought a ridiculous number of questions with me to my sessions. Jonathan has taken the time to educate me and this has made it possible for me to fully embrace the process.

I am leaner and stronger as a result of my sessions with him. I recently ran into an old friend that I hadn’t seen for nearly a year. She took a step away from me after giving me a hug and just looked at me. What came out of her mouth next was quite direct …and really fun!

“What happened? I mean, it’s good…but, really,” she asked.

I know that my appearance has changed and that’s nice, but it’s truly so much more than looking a bit better. I’ve gained a new level of confidence that transcends what I do in the gym to encompass every area of my life.  And, I truly understand the concept of a mind/body connection. My body now asks me to move and I hear it. I respond to its need for motion, and, as a result, I feel better.

So, I just told my curious friend that “Jonathan happened!” That explains it all.

Michele

So Long Summertime!

August Roses
August Roses from my friend Tamara’s blog My Botanical Garden

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.”

― Sylvia Plath

Dear Reader:

Good bye August, I say, with a fair amount of enthusiasm! Fall has always been my favorite time of the year for these reasons:

  • School began in the fall and I loved being a student. So, this is a time for me to begin reading a series of books or enrolling in a class.
  • Is there anything better than a stroll among dry, crunchy leaves in a neighborhood made colorful by the changing season?
  • Orange leaves mean it’s time to begin buying Christmas presents.
  • Pumpkin bread, pumpkin lattes, pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream. Enough said!

Hope you’ve all had a lovely summer and best wishes for a beautiful new season!

Michele

Friends and Neighbors

 

Me and Marietta
“If you live in each other’s pockets long enough, you’re related.” —Jodi Picoult
Frank, Marietta and me
Farewell dinner last month
Pink camellias
Celebrating the 1 year anniversary of my blog
Happy Birthday!
On our way to birthday brunch for me last year
Cheers!
A favorite pic of mine, mimosas in the garden three years ago

Dear Reader:

I had to say goodbye to my favorite neighbors last month and, in between the tears, I got to thinking about what it means to be a good neighbor today vs. when I was growing up.

In 1970 I was an energetic ten-year old who loved roaming the street with my siblings and friends. The doors to nearly every home on my block were always open. Mothers worked in those homes and they (mostly) enjoyed the interruption that a pack of kids provided. I loved particularly the woman who baked cinnamon rolls as heavy as bricks and the one who loved to sew but immediately left her machine to chat with us upon our arrival as if we were her contemporaries.

The neighborhood of my youth is a rare thing nowadays. (Hey, I’m pushing 60 years old and I think I’ve earned the right to use the word nowadays!) Seems to me the definition of a good neighbor today goes something like this: a good neighbor is one who doesn’t bother you, respects boundaries and keeps quiet. Of course, this is dependent upon where you live. I think you’re more likely to find satisfying relationships if you have young children and can bond over play-dates and carpools. But, those days are over for me and my husband and I never expected to have the good luck of becoming attached to someone on our block when we moved to Carmel.

Marietta and Frank’s former home is perched on a hill across the street from our home and it boasts expansive windows at the front. So, they could look down on us and see the daily comings and goings. It was quite easy for them to monitor things when we were on vacation. They saw the mail being delivered and they’d know if someone broke in and tried to take off with our t.v.

Our friendship began immediately with the kindness they offered before even knowing us. We moved into our house slowly and I took several loads of things in my car before the big moving trucks arrived. I made the trips solo as Tom was still employed and Natalie was in school and the drive was an easy hour and one half.

It never failed that shortly after I’d unloaded all of the boxes into my garage, I’d get a call from across the street.

“You are working so hard; don’t work so hard!” Marietta would advise in her rich Chilean accent. “Come eat a sandwich with us!”

I’d frequently receive invitations to take short vino or coffee breaks or to dine on superbly home cooked meals. It was like having a more perfect version of my mom living across the street and it was divine.

For five years, we celebrated birthdays and everyday occurrences like the sighting of a family of quail marching across the driveway or the first blooms of azaleas in both of our gardens. And a couple of days after the election of POTUS, we dined together to bond in our shared horror and grief about the state of our country.

Most recently, Marietta saw me regularly racing to my car decked out in my spandex on my way to Zone Fitness. She never missed the opportunity to provide praise and encouragement. One day I’d see her waving from her window, another day we’d meet in the middle of the street before getting into our cars to head our separate ways. She’d often say the same thing about my fitness goals that she said when I began my blog: Do whatever makes you happy!

I’ve been missing the chance meetings at the mailbox and the shouts out of car windows as we come and go. And, though, it’s not even fall yet, I’m already missing the annual delivery of freshly baked holiday fruit cake. Really, I’m missing the rare, warm and comforting feeling of knowing that there’s someone living so close by who cares so much.

Hope this brings a smile to your face, Marietta!

Love,

Michele

 

Who Is That?

back squat
I like being strong!

Dear Reader:

Last week I learned to do a back squat. This was a new move for me and on the first try I lost my balance in the set-up and nearly knocked over my trainer! But three sets in, I had it down perfectly. I was impressed. Ninety-five pounds up….ninety five pounds down…I’m looking good in that mirror.

Did I say I was impressed with myself?! Nine months in and I’m amazed at what a 58-year-old woman can do when she sets her mind to it.

I’ve always considered myself to be an emotionally strong woman; now I’m physically strong, too. Let me just say that’s an amazing combination.

Just do it, ladies!

Michele