Tag Archives: confessional

The Beginning of the Middle

07 Friday Dec 2012

Posted by in Confessional

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Julie’s reflection in a pool at Kwetsani Camp, Botswana.
Photo by Julie Seyler

BY JULIE SEYLER

Middle age began for me in April 2012, when I was 56½ years old. Before that, I felt, and perceived myself as young – not 20-year-old young, but 45-year-old young.  It shocked me to actually feel old for the first time in my life. I talked about feeling old when I turned 30 and 40, but this experience was visceral – a connection from the chronological age to a deep-rooted awareness in my heart. I never thought that was going to happen to me. I exercise. I eat right. I have a balanced life, filled with moderation. I follow Dr Oz’s advice. Wasn’t this supposed to shield me from getting old and feeling old?

Ha.Ha.Ha.

I became depressed, confused, anxious, and scared. I drew, because color and free-form lines are great for expressing angst. Perhaps it all sounds silly, but it was tumultuous and inverting – always leading back to the same questions:

Who am I now? Where am I going? What’s next? So how are the good times defined in the future? Will there be fun? I mean, really, laughter is a basic for survival.

The Identity War- by Julie Seyler

The Identity War. By Julie Seyler

Perhaps that sounds petty, trivial, and a non-starter, especially in light of the devastation and havoc wrought by Hurricane Sandy.  How can I be worrying about “fun?”  And the fact is, since I wrote this passage about six months ago, when that first kick in the pants bumped me out of the complacent security and familiar routine of the left side of 50, it feels as if things will never be the same.

On November 6, a week after Sandy blasted the shorelines of New York and New Jersey wiping out beaches, cabanas, and businesses, someone near and dear to me, who just turned 60 was given a horribly sad diagnosis, and I was implanted with a prosthetic hip.

So will the good times return?  No doubt yes, but more importantly, will I remember to treasure the connections, friendships, passions, and simple joys that have accumulated in my life since way before I hit the right side of 50?

Is Cremation the Way to Go?

06 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by in Confessional, Opinion

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Cemetary

19th Century Cemetery on W. 21st Street in Manhattan.
Photo by Julie Seyler

BY LOIS DESOCIO

My brother, Gerry, died this week last year. And since his life for decades was in Florida, but his family lives in New Jersey, the decision was made to cremate him, so we could bring him home, and have him home with us, forever. In the year since his death, two old friends have died, as well as a few parents of friends, and some relatives. The bulk of them have been cremated. As a result of all this, I have become obsessed with thoughts of cremation. Thinking of my brother (and six years ago, my father), going from whole to embers is unsettling. But is lying six feet under and turning skeletal any more pleasant?

My mother, on the other hand, who is a healthy 79 years old, says she doesn’t want to be cremated. Or buried. She wants a mausoleum. For the whole family.

Which brings me to this – I can’t decide, and if I drop dead tomorrow, it’s out of my hands, because, while I have a will, I left that part blank. I’ve always had visions, since my age was in the single digits, about what it must be like to be dead. Currently, my mental pictures have me with makeup on, dressed in my skinny jeans, and dangly, sparkly earrings, lying in a box in the ground, looking exactly the same, except I’m dead. Dead, but intact. But now I have to take it all seriously – I’m on the right side of 50. And it’s not that I’m feeling doomed – just more responsible.

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Hanging On to (And Finally Letting Go Of) the Chooba Diamond

05 Wednesday Dec 2012

Posted by in Confessional, Men

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the chooba diamond- drawing by Julie Seyler

A Little Chooba Diamond on Her Hand.
Drawing by Julie Seyler

BY BOB SMITH

Have you ever heard of the Chooba diamond? I invented it when I was 11.
In 1965, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons had a pretty big hit on pop radio with a song called, “Let’s Hang On.” It’s a bouncy anthem about love gone wrong featuring Valli’s powerful falsetto, and one of the verses begins like this:

That little chip of diamond on your hand
Ain’t a fortune baby but you know it stands
For the love (A love to tie and bind ya)
Such a love (We just can’t leave behind us) …

The chorus exhorts the girlfriend to:

Hang on to what we’ve got
Don’t let go girl, we got a lot
Got a lotta love between us
Hang on, hang on, hang on
To what we’ve got.”

Somehow, I misunderstood the first line of that verse.  I thought Frankie said, “that little Chooba diamond on your hand,” instead of “chip of:”

I’d had zero experience with diamonds (or engagement rings, or girls, for that matter), so I  assumed Chooba was a designation of origin for a rare type of diamond unknown to me.  The “ain’t a fortune baby” line made sense because he did say “little,” after all.  So in my quaint understanding, Frankie had purchased an engagement ring for his girl set with a minuscule, but nonetheless highly-prized and mysterious, “Chooba diamond.”

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