Essay; Marketing to Women


Woman’s Day magazine, in retrospect, is going to go down in history to be as puerile, provincial, and trivial as the ads for toasters, cars, and bras for women in the 1950’s. They send me this rag free in the mail because I have a business. Occasionally I flip through it to get a laugh and I saw this.

The ad on the left is for a fake butter product. They’re making it analogous to a long-term relationship. The ingredients in “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” are purified water, soybean oil, palm kernel oil, palm oil, salt, soy lecithin, natural flavors, vinegar, Vitamin A Palmitate, and beta-Carotene (for color). Jul 25, 2017

Soybean oil is very bad for you and in most processed foods and fast foods. Since it is so high in easily oxidizable omega-6, it’s a poor cooking oil choice. This article takes a look at eight harmful effects of soybean oil backed by scientific research. I’m pretty sure palm oil is no better.

Soybean oil

Given all of that, I agree that it’s analogous to a long-term relationship which is a statistical misnomer. The only long-term relationships that lasted from the old days were anchored in the couples subconscious minds by their birth family. God only knows what kind of marriage that was; probably more like comfy brother and sister than hot, novel lovers from different tribes. Most marriages are lucky to last 10-11 years, long enough to raise the kids a little over halfway and not kill each other. All the romantic hype around marriage is romantic fantasy and like fake butter, it’s bad for you! I think most people would agree that it’s not good for human beings to live with the same person for too long. It’s celebrated because people are afraid of great sex actually changing them spiritually.

When a person finally understands and embraces their body and emotions there is nothing greater or more powerful on the planet. It can change the world. The governments and the religions all know that which is why they sell us the awful healthcare system we have, obsession with a fitness regimen instead of health in balance and moderate treats, and dogmatic religions that demonize the body and nature that espouse abstinence and deprivation and promote “I Can’t Believe They Call This Shit Butter” long-term relationships.

We’re getting into the gray area here between this black and white ad. The implied assumption being, long-term is white, like a wedding dress on the right and black, like a classy little black dress is on the left. Neither one is accurate and the butter side verges on slut-shaming.

Who doesn’t love butter?! Butter is real. A bit of butter in your diet is good for your skin. There is one ingredient in butter; milkfat and man is it good! I just used 2 sticks of butter to make a shortbread crust for an apple tart and it turned out smashing! The puns are coming fast and furious here; tart, shortbread, fast, furious. Sounds like great sex to me.

warm bread and butter

There are only 34 calories in a teaspoon of butter and when added to fresh bread, it is pure joy. There is no other substitute for it if you’re making sugar cookie cutouts for a holiday for people you actually love. The key is moderation. Don’t eat the entire apple tart with shortbread crust or ten cookies.

The same goes for your relationships. Don’t have sex with a new partner every night. That would be too many one night stands, but I don’t know anyone who does that. There is nothing unhealthy or wrong about having a lover or a boyfriend. I think it tastes the best and is the most realistic with regard to human nature. It’s also the truth!

Give me that butter any day. It is not a one-night stand. Looks like love to me; no possession but likely repeated as long as the recipe is right.

Essay; Possession in a Relationship is a Double Standard


art beach beautiful clouds

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

This issue has always befuddled me as I observe myself and others bonding with a partner for as long as I can remember. It’s the double standard regarding monogamy for women and men. No one is telling the truth.

Men portray a desire for novelty, a polyamorous lifestyle but they are the most territorial and jealous when they find a woman they really want to latch on to or as they call it, “fall in love”. They will marry and swear monogamy but they don’t usually mean it. Any woman with a brain in her head knows that. They may mean to try which is admirable but they aren’t wired for it. So, the possession thing works really well for them to attempt to control it. If they can possess and dominate their wives, that’s a turn on and maybe he won’t have to stray. He’s got what he needs at home. She’s his love slave or so he thinks. She lets him think that.

Women portray a desire for bonding, family, reproduction, monogamy, and love and they are much more territorial about their children, making sure they have a father than they are the man himself. I’m not sure guys know that, but it’s the mother love dominating the situation. He has a role to play in her home and it’s for her children. Men have a use and it’s to give us babies and be a present father. That’s not always the best thing for a man as a soul and I’ll be the first to say it! Men need love too but those babies usually win. Being possessed does not work so well for women nor do women really want the extra work of possessing a man. She possesses her children and now women are possessing themselves.

Now as I look at this, it seems like men are the ones not receiving the love they need. I used to think it was women. Actually, it’s both women and men because of reproduction. The children are getting all the love and there’s nothing left for the partners. This is a near-universal issue and after the children are grown, most parents divorce. Some even divorce while the children are young and that is not ideal at all.

So what is the motivation for possession post-reproduction in middle age? If either person has had a line of failed marriages or partners, maybe they need to prove something to themselves; that they can love and remain bonded to a partner. It’s sort of a rite of passage for all souls I think. Love and affinity is a universal desire whether it’s with a soulmate, a friend, or twin flames. I hope we all find it.

 

Heartset; There’s No One Left. I’m Alone.


It has finally happened after twenty years. I live alone in my house, no men, no noise, no demands for food or rides, this or that, “Mom can you help me!” “C’ mon, let’s go to the store”.

My son’s dad died two years ago…the last time I saw him was Christmas Day. Five days later, he was gone. I barely eeked out a smile as I said goodbye. He had been pretty emotionally abusive to me, frustrated his whole life, not knowing he was high-functioning autistic savant until three months beforehand. My efforts at solace could not change his brain, but he was a music legend on the pile of my torn apart heart. In addition, my son did not see his father respect me; the fruits of patriarchy.

Three months later my fiance died. I had fifteen minutes notice. We loved each other and did everything for each other. It was not to be. He had not taken care of his body and it caught up with him.

Now four days ago, my nineteen-year-old son went out the door with his backpack and no notice to start his hero’s adventure quest which is his birthright. Good for him but he could have warned me! It reminded me of the sudden death of my fiance.

On his way out, of course, he was mad at me and said I was so selfish. I suppose because I take care of myself and being a female, that is unacceptable and taboo. I wonder if he thought of the effect of his words on me, skipping them like stones across the water? Doubtful at his age.

But the men walk out quickly and don’t return I’ve learned, to the other side of this world…or town. It doesn’t matter. They’re not with me.

It is so peaceful in this house without a raucous male. Part of me has waited twenty years to take my body back from my partners and my son, and before that, a line of men, but not a long line.

Now I get an adventure quest; a fresh start, the second half of my life, a thriving business, a home, free to do whatever I want and a body with no risk of pregnancy. I haven’t given it all away.

It’s like this secret I have as a fifty-four-year-old who no one would suspect and assumes in our youth-worshipping culture, female-sacrificing altars around every corner, that I’m all washed up. “Hasn’t that woman been laid flat yet? Well, why not?” (My mother keeps literally asking that as though she’s waiting for me to fall) “She’s Selfish!” they cry. With a capital “S” not a small “s”. There is the low self and the Higher Self.

Truth is, I am my own best friend and for the first time in my life, I’m taking care of my body for me and no one else. More and more women are doing it. I’m not alone. We still have work to do and adventure quests to commence. Ridiculous isn’t it.

I feign an attitude and a bird ready to flip until my dying day…because I said so.

 

Prose; Gray Day


gray day.jpg

The sky is much grayer lack of light and still prayer.

Tree bark darker wet mud dragged upstairs.

No grayer will be in that Michigan sky, mournful woes sad goodbyes.

Sad goodbyes to the bright sun that shocks eyes in May,

It appears a huge orb high in the sky.

We say “What’s that big orange disc by day?”

Who hides behind clouds that we hate.

Oh please dear sun, we beg for your warmth,

We can’t take one more grate of this fate.

My son says, “I don’t know what is better, gray sky or the snow?”,

His smug face looks at me with a smirk.

He’s eighteen and he’s jibbing his mother so low

But he’s serious, he prefers this to hurt,

The hurt of the sun burning down on his face shining wonderful light in his eyes

He was born in a snowbank at the end of this month

Eighteen short years as I rank.

I’ll forgive him this time as there won’t be much more

Of his smart-alec ways to imbibe

He’s going away, out my front door

And that’s when my heart may just die.

Jan. 30, 2017

 

 

Prose; My Only Child Turns Eighteen Today


He went from twenty inches long to 70 inches long.  Something or someone pulled him into this big, strapping, broad-shouldered, sweet, brilliant man.

Well, legally he’s a man, but now he needs to launch out into this crazy mess of humans bumping around, unaware of how their thoughts and feelings create their life.  He is a calm, kind soul so he won’t be skinning anyone alive, but he does tend to be honest in a very charitable manner so most people won’t get off scot-free from his observations.

ALEX

The day of your birth, a crisp, cold, crystal day

In my memory, eighteen years ago holds sway

Who do I value most of all?

It’s you my son so big and tall

May your life have adventures that take your breath

May you jump in feet first, unafraid of death

I know that’s odd for a mother to say

But my son has seen death like it’s yesterday

His father is gone, a year ago now

He loved our son dearly at his final bow

I’ve held the ship level as best I can

Mostly alone with some helping hand

The men do die, often you know

The woman on her own in the ice and snow

Remember that sometimes people need help

A hand or two is all when they yelp

Just as we have done in these last two years

Keep your friends close as you move through the tears

But there’s fun to be had, plenty of that

As you move around life from the last place you sat

Run the race strong, keep your head up son

And be a good friend ’til your Earth life is done.