First Impressions

Of an Over-active Mind

www.elle.com

Every now and then, when I look at a complete stranger for the first time, I develop an instantly strong impression about the unknowns life. Last week, I was struck by the woman seated next to me at my Italian hair salon.

She entered and immediately presented her two-kisses-to-each-cheek-greeting to Ciro, the salon's owner. Slender like a tall green bean, with long hair, long arms, and long legs to match, her presence was noticed by everyone. Her hair was pitch black, like a moonless night in the country, and she was there, interestingly, to have it darkened. Dark was the mood, the aura surrounding her, but it didn’t seem to be her fault. She looked the victim.

Her makeup was heavy with eyes darkly lined on both upper and lower lids from corner to corner, like Cleopatra. Arched carved, shadowy eyebrows to match topped her eyes. Her long face, with an enviable jaw-line that stretched to a narrow chin that was symmetrically curved, was classic in proportion. The arch of her nose mirrored her flawless jaw line with a steep decline that slightly curved up to reach a perfectly balanced tip on her nose, a nose that was plastic-surgery worthy, like a sample someone would pick out of a pre-surgery book declaring, “Yes, that one!”

Struck by her mannerisms, I watched her closely, but covertly. She had wide-set heavy dark eyes that flirted nervously, it seemed more from sadness than uneasiness. As she sat waiting for the coloring to set, she looked like a tender bud that had been bruised by a tough guy, a “connected” (i.e. Mafia.) husband or controlling boyfriend.

In fact, she looked like a victim in the book I’m currently reading, Gamorrah, about one of the world’s most violent and powerful mob systems that is located right here in Campania (the Naples area). Maybe she was innocent of a mafia role, and maybe she had simply fallen trap to my imaginative mind. Either way, she reeked an image of pushed-over wife with chauvinistic husband that zoomed around at 100 mph in his black Mercedes on the crazy Tangenziale, on his way to set something straight.

For her, a day at the salon was an hour of safety, escape, relief. Self-preservation, these sporadic days at the hair dresser being just a woman, not a mob wife, not a casualty. She almost looked uncomfortable with her selfish hour.

Or maybe she was just plain tired. Ready for a break, like any other woman, wife, mother, friend who turns to a haircut and fresh coloring to uplift our spirits. I hope it was that simple.

The Not-so-perfect World of Women

Six degrees of separation, right? You know the saying and you've probably experienced how crazy true it can be. Here in Naples, the circle is smaller and tighter. It's more like two degrees of separation, as a friend here recently exclaimed.

You're cruising the shopping aisles and you run into your child's classmate's mom. A new person in your book club ends up being your husband's flight-doctor. The radiologist who performs an ultra sound on your breast is the guy from your Italian class. (No joke. For real.) Talk about small.

For that matter - and because your mom told you to - you should mind your manners. Now, I usually know how to watch my P's and Q's. Generally, I'm a nice person especially in the company of strangers. No thank you. Yes, please. Hello. How is your day? Goodbye. Have a good one! You know the social drills. Most people do. Or at least I thought.

A recent series of events has left me a bit baffled by social behaviors, or lack thereof. A cattiness that is surprising, disappointing, and really, deep down, hurtful - whether they know it or not.

Women in particular can be particularly catty in small circles, when ungrounded competitions seem to arise over meaningless matters like "most busy social calendar" or person with the greatest number of friends or latest have-to-have bag.  It's the stuff of high-school, but it can sometimes creep into social circles, especially when there's only 2 degrees of separation. (Which also means there is very little room to wiggle away from these kinds of people, which is how I typically diffuse these situations.)

Now, I'm not perfect. Never claimed to be. Won't ever be!

And I confess, I gossip. It's not a pretty habit, and I do limit it to only my husband and a few good, trust-worthy friends. (Yes, I know, gossiping isn't acceptable no matter with whom! I'm working on it! Ooookay?!)

Anyway, if I don't care for someone, I still know how to be polite, say hello and goodbye, and just follow common courtesy practices. Not everyone likes me, and I certainly run into people I'd rather not share my table with at Thanksgiving, if given a choice. We're all different and there are so many ways to live life. It's OK to not like everyone, or be liked by everyone.

However, I think one of the growing-up skills I sought to accomplish is the ability to be respectful of people, their lives and our differences. I ran across an article on rising above cattiness that is aimed at the corporate audience, but I think this woman has some thoughtful words to share. Alicia Smith says, when dealing with cattiness, that you should... 

Come from a place of integrity. One of the best ways to rise above catty behavior is to make integrity your central “come from” place when you deal with others. Integrity is about core honesty. When you come from a place of being fully integrated in your thoughts and actions, you are operating from a place of integrity.

Let go of the need for power. Catty behavior typically manifests when someone needs to come from a place of power. In order to feel complete, a catty person must make others feel incomplete. Rather than coming from a place of competition with others, try coming from a place of cooperation. Appreciate the gifts and talents that others have to offer. Recognize that there is plenty for all and that there is no winner or loser. Instead, everyone can be a winner.

Own your own stuff. Catty people do not take responsibility for their life outcomes. Much of their unfortunate behavior towards others is the manifestation of anger, internal resentment and low self-esteem. The ill will they feel inside is often unleashed upon unknowing others in the form of negative comments, cynicism, and rudeness. People who rise above catty behavior own their own stuff. They take personal responsibility for their actions and understand that everyone (including themselves) is impacted by what they think, say, and do.

 Lastly,

Have empathy for others. Individuals who have empathy don't have a place in their hearts to be mean-spirited towards others. They understand that life holds challenges enough for all and that they have no right to add to another person's burden. To have empathy for others, we must have it for ourselves. For those who have not learned that important life lesson, they can only give away what they have inside of themselves. For those who have empathy, there is no place for catty behavior to enter the picture. They interact with others only from a place of love and understanding.

I think these are good reminders of the basics of human interaction in the face of shallowness or petty behavior. And certainly offer some insight into why some resort to such behavior, and how to rise about it.

I will say this: in the two degrees of separation that has surrounded me in Naples, I have come across the best group of women to be found in one place. (Even before I got here, thanks Heather!) Collectively, most are smart, fun, adventuresome, outgoing, inclusive, free-spirited and roll-with-the-punches women; strong and capable, and honest, warm and genuine in building friendships. What a group, and I'm so thankful I've had a chance to be a part of this military-abroad experience. 

Sisterhood of Sharing

Hand-written recipes by my grandmother.

An old college friend I happily reconnected with recently facebooked me yesterday writing that she was enjoying the Italian Wedding soup recipe that I posted a few weeks ago. It was a recipe that a book club friend gave me that her sister had given her. My college friend Janice mentioned that she had been sharing it with friends too, whose friends had been sharing it with even more friends. She cleverly called it the sisterhood of traveling soup. And this concept just struck me: a simple recipe swirling from woman to woman, and warming the bellies of people all around the world.

For all of existence, sharing food and recipes has been a standing tradition among women. Passing along techniques and customs once meant survival, but in a modern world weaves connections across busy lives often distanced by geography and lack of time. Where we used to only learn about new foods by those placed on our table, the labored results of grandmothers and mothers, we are now barraged by food networks, glossy foodie magazines, and email chain recipe exchanges. The sources are unlimited.

But none the less, the need and want to share recipes and food experiences is such a basic drive.  Bonding with women - whether your mother or your best friend; whether in person or virtually through email - over a stove-top skillet and some chopped onions to produce a family-pleasing meal is genuinely satisfying. It keeps us grounded, real and in touch with the essence of life: friendship, family and love.

Food creates new memories and stirs old. It comforts. It pleases and excites.

I love food. I love sharing food and meals with new friends, old friends and of course, my own little family of four on a rushed weeknight. Expressions of friendship through food keep me going, make me happy. Pleasing my husband with a good meal makes me proud. Introducing my children to the kitchen, honestly sometimes a frustrating experience with toddlers, is something I still value and repeat.

There is worth in the sisterhood of sharing food experiences and I hope you join the chain, if you have not already.

This a copy of my great-grandmother's recipe book. The first page says "For extra special dessert - e.i. (sic) the soul satisfying kind" and the second card is a child's prayer.

Update on Wednesday, November 26, 2008 at 06:28PM by Panda

My mother added this, after reading the above.

The one quote "......for the soul satisfying kind..." etc - that was a note my dad wrote - about the desert that had nothing to do with food, rather with my mom. (He says "see GB", ie, Giles Buford and then also added "or Fanny" and my mom wrote: " as in Fanny Farmer", her classic cookbook). They were newly weds. And I think that's a true treasure. A glimpse into his quiet sensitivity, and sweetness. The prayer is hand written by your great grandmother, Annie Brett Williams, "Dear Mama" to me, my dad's mom. I used to love her handwriting. :)

Wrinkles in Time

 www.stttelkom.ac.id

Aging. Yes, that's the topic that has recently been on my face mind. Have you stopped reading and run for the door? It's an uncomfortable topic for those over a certain age - which I won't set. I think you set your own "cross-over" point. Mine was 36.

When I turned 35, I was the least bit worried about aging. Other than the post-baby weight I was still trying to shed (hey - two babies in two years means I have two years to shed it, right?), I felt young, alive and there didn't seem to be too many wrinkles signs of time. Most of the changes I was grappling with were blamed on the after effects of birthing two children, and not necessarily the clicking clock.

Since turning 36 last May (only 4 years to 40!), I've thought about my age more than ever (well, maybe not as much as waiting to turn 21!). So what does a measly increase in digits have on me? What am I afraid of? I'm afraid that I won't turn heads anymore. That I'll not accept the new changes in the mirror. That my husband won't find me as attractive or sexy. That un-beknownst to me,  I'm stuck in dated styles, looks and ways - and that no one will tell me. That I won't be hip. That I'll suddenly seek cosmetic surgery when I always claimed I'd never do that. 

I have enough perspective to appreciate the knowledge and experiences that come with aging. And I'm thankful for them. I used to say if given a choice of two *magic* pills, one to increase intelligence, one to increase beauty, I'd always pick intelligence. But now I'm thinking beauty....

To get to the sagging bottom of it, I would have to say my struggle is about physical aging, not emotional, intellectual, or spiritual. The latter facets typically benefit from the passing of time. It is about the mirror.

I look at the reflecting glass with more intensity, more criticism. Noticing new age spots, bemoaning my ruddy complexion brought on by mild rosacea (which hits in the 30s) and recognizing new wrinkles like unwanted guest at a party. Lines aren't movie dialogue to memorize, but indentions at the corners of my lips. Bleeding is what your lipstick does.

It does not help when your husband is 6 years younger and just crossed the 30-threshold. My price to pay for robbing the cradle!   

Honestly, I'd love to end this subject on some positive note -- "Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles were." Mark Twain -- or some inspiring self-acceptance moment. Not! The dust has not settled on this struggle for me. Only time with tell.  

Inspirational Words Touch Me

Yesterday I attended the first annual Spouses Conference here at the Support Site (above).  My understanding is that it was the brain-child of an Admiral's wife and it took wings with the support of a get-things-done group of women. Its intent was captured in its title: Thriving in Naples, and covered topics such as travel, etiquette, "reclaiming yourself," communicating with your spouse, and understanding the ever-fluctuating COLA (the "cost of living allowance"  that we receive here to off-set expenses). By all accounts, it was successful and very well planned; they dotted all the "i's". 

Mrs. Fitzgerald, a four-star Admiral's wife, presented an inspirational speech that kicked-off the morning. Though she claimed she was not a good public speaker, she offered some substantial nuggets of truth and inspiration for military wives. One in particular addressed the importance of seizing opportunities in every new community we find ourselves (she had moved 14 times in a 35-year career). I do believe this is a challenge for us to "recreate" ourself and our life with each new move. She talked about the need to have many facets of your life, and to work on them when you can. Not all locations will allow you to continue what you were working on at the last stop (i.e. schooling, job, and hobby), so if you are multi-faceted, you can shift to focus on another aspect.

Along these lines, she talked about the richness of life that results from moving around. She said "I'll take the roller coaster of life over the merry-go-round." Yes, our lives are often a roller coaster with some unimaginative highs and stomach-turning lows. She asked us to contrast ourselves with people who never move, or never step beyond their comfort zone. "Life is a book. If you only stay in once place, you've only read one chapter." This was an excellent way of describing the value of variety in life, place and experience.

Lastly, and I think this particularly hits home with military spouses living abroad, she asked us to not be so hard on ourselves (and each other). That though we may not have been in one job more than two years (always relocating), or not yet finished the education we started, that we must look at all we've accomplished: packed up a family, successfully moved abroad, supported our husband's career, left all our friends and family back in the states, had the strength to start over with EVERYTHING, make new friends, find a new home, set-up a home, etc. etc. It is something to be proud of, I feel. I deeply appreciated Mrs. Fitzgerald's heart-felt words of support.