DISPLAYING MY PRIVATE PLACES

Perhaps a regional custom, my mother always used to give newcomers a tour of our home as if we lived in Buckingham Palace. She seemed proud, I was embarrassed. I pointed out that others didn't automatically do it. -- Unless of course their house was new, or had recently undergone renovations.

"When you have nice things you want to show them off," she replied.

I told her that seemed rather braggy to me.

"They WANT to see what you have!" she insisted. "People are curious."

Personally, I'd rather they remain curious and use their imaginations. I've never liked others coming into my private space.

Back when my father worked at his high-paying job, my parents held a number of cocktail parties. I've always felt that people who love to entertain do it mostly to flaunt what they have. I know that was true in my former neighborhood.

My mother, and later my step-mother, BOTH maintained our home like a public museum. Everything always had to look perfect, living comfortably was next to impossible! My step-mom wouldn't even allow a garbage can to be visible! Guests often remarked that our house looked like a model home where no one lived.

I complained to my stepmother that I was tired of living in a showcase, I'd rather have comfort!

"You sound so silly it isn't even worth a reply," was her exact response!

Growing up, my drawers and closet had to be tidy and organized at all times. I was a typical kid, I loved to collect rocks and shells, etc.. Every time I tried to keep any in my drawers, my mother threw them out! "No one can see them in there!" I hollered.

She scolded, that one of our guests, even the wife of Dad's boss, might peek inside out of curiosity and wouldn't I be embarrassed!

Exasperated, I repeated this to our next door neighbor, a burly middle-aged man named George.

"You see ANY of those people doing THAT, kick them out of your house!" he exclaimed. "THAT IS YOUR PRIVATE SPACE! They have no right to violate that!"

I was stunned! This was revelation! I told my mother exactly what George said.

She gnashed her teeth. (I remember it clearly!) Shortly after, she complained to Dad that she felt uneasy around George. She didn't trust him. My father ordered George to stay away from us because he made Mom uncomfortable. I felt responsible! Up until then, George had been a close friend to our family.

Now that I'm old and alone, I'm free to enjoy my home exactly the way I want it! Nobody gets a tour. A few have actually hinted, I ignored them. My space is for my pleasure, not theirs!

When my close friend Margaret visited, she confessed to not being a great housekeeper, either. "I'd rather spend what little time I have left on the planet enjoying myself," she admitted. "I never allow anyone upstairs unless they're fixing something." 
 
I laughed and replied, "You too!" It's no wonder we were such great friends!

AND THEN CAME BARBIE

Contrary to what most people think, I never played with dolls as a small child. I was more into leeches and bugs. To my parents credit, they let me have toy guns and tanks. In fact when I was 6, my father bought me a realistic looking machine gun. That thing was really loud when I swung the crank. I also had a collection of little plastic soldiers who rode into battle on my plastic dinosaurs.

I did own an extensive doll collection which I never touched. However, when I returned home from school, their hair and outfits would all be different. I don't understand why my mother just didn't buy them for herself and say she was a collector! Lots of men do that with model trains and airplanes.

Shortly before I turned 9, an amazing new doll hit the scene, one different from any on the market. She actually had breasts, her name was Barbie! Plus she came with an assortment of beautiful clothes just like a movie star. Barbie struck like a blazing comet! My mother and I both were spellbound. Mommy wasn't getting this one!!! Soon I had multiple Barbies, so the problem was solved.

My father on the other hand, didn't condone Barbie. He felt since dolls are made for children, they should look like children, not 30 year old chorus girls! The original Barbie did have a rather hard, almost vampiric face. She appeared too sophisticated and mature for the teenage fashion model she was supposed to be.

Of course Barbie's origins were less than respectable. She was created in Germany as a sex toy for men. In other words, she was a little plastic prostitute!

Soon came the Barbie imitators! Most of these dolls had softer faces and longer, prettier hair. As a bonus, they could fit into all of Barbie's glamorous attire. I preferred them! Barbie was always Barbie, but these could be anyone I wanted. There was Adeline, Miranda, Juliana, & Letitia. The first 2 were angelic outer space maidens, Juliana was a movie star, and Letitia was a socialite. They joined the ranks among my Barbies.

Being a cheeky little kid, I took my mother's red nail polish and painted nipples on all their breasts. A neighbor noticed the red nipples under their sheer tops. When he thought no one was looking, I watched him peek under their skirts. -- I'm sure he was disappointed!

My mother learned of a shop that sold one-of-a-kind Barbie clothes in a municipality 2 hours away from us. Of course we had to go. I remember the enormous back room and all the women busy on sewing machines. However, we bought nothing. Mom got sticker shock!!! Those little clothes cost just as much as mine, and in many cases even more!

As I reached my teens, I lost interest in dolls again. By this time, Barbie was being labeled a poor role model by many. It seemed to me that she was being stigmatized because she was beautiful. After all, Barbie had evolved beyond teen fashion model. Now she was a doctor, lawyer, singer, even an astronaut! She could do anything and look great doing it! I saw her as a positive role model. Barbie actually cared about her appearance and it showed. We could use a lot more of that today!

I saw a poster on Facebook that read: "Most girls want a big closet, but I want a big library." Why must we choose??? WHY NOT BOTH!!!

A TRUE FEMME FATALE

My friend Margaret led the most interesting and eventful existence of anyone I have ever known. The LIFETIME channel could make at least 7 TV movies based on her alone. Two men killed themselves because they couldn't have her. I'm not speaking figuratively, I mean literally dirt-nap dead!

We had just finished watching a movie about a stalker when Margaret announced she had been shot by a former love. It happened decades ago.

"Please don't spring a new ex-husband on me!" I expostulated.

"No, we just dated. I broke up with him and he didn't handle it well." She sighed.

My curiosity had been aroused. "Don't stop there, give me details," I urged.

"I've never even told my daughter about this. Carly was just a baby," Margaret reluctantly continued. "This happened back when I was taking some night classes. Roger showed up in the parking lot just as I was getting ready to drive home. My car door opened and he jumped into the passenger side with a shotgun and a briefcase."

"That must have been terrifying!" I interjected.

"He ordered me to drive home and pick-up Carly. That's when I threw my car keys out the window! We sat in the car and argued for a long time. I tried to reason with Roger. Meanwhile, my mother phoned Jim, my current boyfriend, she was concerned because I was late. Jim later became my husband."

"You were smart to toss the car keys," I said.

"When I saw Jim, I jumped out of the car and stood next to him. Crazy Roger fired his shotgun at Jim, but hit me instead. When he saw me on the pavement vomiting blood, he killed himself with his shotgun. Police later found rope and duct tape in his briefcase."

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "I can picture it all so vividly.

Several years later, during another visit, Margaret mentioned a boyfriend whom she planned to drop after returning home. "He stated he loved me on our very 1st date and seriously proposed marriage."

I had a similar experience myself. I did not feel likewise, so I understood Margaret's feelings. "You know what they say about older men who are anxious to marry," I reminded, "they're looking for either a nurse or a purse."

"Ethan doesn't seem to have a lot. Plus he's so eager and needy," Margaret continued. "He claimed his last wife never slept with him. Can you imagine?"

"Maybe she didn't like the way he looked naked," I replied.

Later, the phone rang just as we said "Good Night". Margaret was already half-way down the stairs. "Do you always get calls this late?" she inquired.

"Only wrong numbers!" I replied as I answered the phone. "Guess who? Margaret, it's your boyfriend."

"I told Ethan only to call in an emergency." She shook her head in disgust as I handed her the receiver. They talked for what seemed like 40 minutes. "He was lonely for the sound of my voice! The guy's so clingy. I've got to end this soon," Margaret declared.

A month later, Margaret phoned me from Orlando. She was quite upset. "Ethan commit suicide!" she exclaimed. "It's all my fault! I wasn't kind when we broke up. I really let him have it! I should have been more compassionate."

"The man was unstable," I pointed out. "It was just a matter of time, it would have happened eventually no matter what. I tried to assure her it was not her fault!

"You weren't there!" her voice rose. "I will always carry this guilt."

2009 Margaret passed into my history. She was an individual unlike any other! I miss the light and color she added to my life. To me, Margaret was a rare a stormy-weather friend.