Sting like a jelly-fish

Today while walking into Ralph’s super market I saw the familiar old lady under yellow plastic. She was holding a white tissue to her red nose. She sat in her wheelchair at a prime target getting her ‘a little sympathy’. She got mine. I went into the store and purchased a $1.95 Starbucks house coffee medium. I am still amazed that a ‘cup of joe’ costs so much now. I remember when it was 25 cents.

“I like watching Noir films,” I said to the barista. “It is a wonder in those films that a ‘cup of joe’ only coast five pennies.  Twenty-five cents got you a cup of coffee, a ham sandwich and a piece of pie.”

The barista smiled at me as I took the coffee, put in some cream and sugar and then headed towards the old lady in a wheelchair.

“Here is a cup of coffee, you look cold.?!”

“I don’t drink coffee it is bad for you.”

“Really I thought it would warm you up. Coffee is not as bad for you as you may think.”

“I have never had any.” She looked down to her right at a dirty bag of oranges. “It is all right I had an orange…I am fine.”

I was a bit upset. I never thought that she would reject a cup of coffee on such a cold and rainy day.

“Lady sometimes beggars can’t be choosers?!”

I realized that I could not reason with the lady. She had her right to say no.  So, I walked on remembering what an old myth taught me. All about a woman’s psyche.

As Persephone went on her journey, she was advised not to give anything to those needy people who asked for something along the way. It was important for her to hold on to her strength and parts of herself that were precious.

I guess I failed the test today.Then that sorrow thread pulled in me. I call it the thread of sorrow.

I think that our current society does not embrace their share of sorrow. That is why we have so many drug addicts and alcoholics. A social epidemic.

We all need to hold on to or embrace our threads of sorrow. It can pull hard. It can be an echo that mocks. It can sting like a jelly-fish. When we run from our share of sorrow, ignore it, or get lost in our addictions hating it, it only manifests in our world as a monster shadow. Creating hate, chaos and terrible politicians. That is why I love Jazz because it speaks to the human heart and soul. It embraces it’s share of sorrow.

pink brassière and gargoyle

Pink brassière by Hudley 2014
Pink brassière and gargoyle stained glass window by Hudley 2014

When I was given my first brassiere, as mom called them, it wasn’t a day to remember. She secretly slipped them into my underwear drawer. This was under my closet.  I was 13 years old when I found the two brassieres; little wee bras that they were. My response was rebellion. When I saw the bad little flower-lace decorations on the front, I ripped them off and threw them to the floor. I jumped on the bras after throwing them to the ground also!!

I proceeded to run out of the house screaming, and then climbing the eucalyptus tree in front of my parent’s house. I crawled up to the rock-roof and climbed up the red brick chimney, a place for gargoyles, eagles, and squirrels. My hideout!

“Tomboy, little tomboy as I reflect on this memory now, I realize what Mom was doing some forty years ago!!”

Mom was indirectly trying to wake-me-up to the woman I was becoming. She knew my wild ways. This seems the only way she could have done it, but I would have nothing to do with it. It was not going to happen to me, but it did!!

Our patriarchal culture spends a great deal of time focusing on this part of a woman’s anatomy, I scored big.  Humor aside this is not the point of this essay.

Indirectly this post is about the perfect brassiere which I have found.  It has a flower- lace decoration on the front. It makes me feel feminine, beautiful, happy, and womanly. It is a Magic Glamorise-1003. A perfect fit!! My new pink brassiere with flower-lace.

This is not about the blue footed boobies… or is it a midnight summer dream ?


Do you like boobs a lot?

Boobs a lot boobs a lot.

Do you like boobs a lot?

Boobs a lot boobs a lot.

Of course, I did not affirm the quotes loudly. I wrote them in my journal instead. My big, beautiful boobs need the love of universal nurturing. They have passed the stage of Playboy Cover girl Photoshop.

Is it the Scotch-Irish in me or the French that has given me these glorious numbers? I remember a scene in the film American Beauty when our young heroine laughs when after all the dread and depression of her early teens of not having any boobs; then knowing that all she had to do is just wait a few years, because now she had a big pair. That was the humor of the scene.

My 8-year-old niece once told me she thought that,

“God is a giant boob in the sky dripping milk to everyone.”

We both laughed about her vision.

They are big and round.

They are all around

They are big and round.

They are all around

Going to Kaiser Permanente to have a mammogram is a real treat. Sister Sallie and I think it would be nice if the Breasts Center at Kaiser might have murals or pictures of breasts everywhere. All the various kinds. Not all breasts are big and round like mine…but most are round. I know it would be easier going through the mammogram ’wonderful glowing experience’ if I had a wide selection of ‘Boobs a lot’ to view on the walls at Kaiser. It would be humorous and human at the same time.

Anyhow, after writing the boob affirmation down in my journal I had a cosmic event happen of weird proportions. I went out to the local pub and a guy I have known, short, but a cool dude asked me,

“Having fun hanging with all the guys tonight?” As I was holding a nice fresh pint I said, “Just drinking My beer.”

Do you like boobs a lot?

Boobs a lot boobs a lot.

“Well sometimes that is all it takes, you are beautiful. I like your chest… I am a boobies’ man.” I gave him a look of inward knowing… that the affirmation worked…but he did not know this. I said with a toast,

“Cheers to the Scotch-Irish.”

Then he walked away. I felt all glowing and happy. A few years earlier I would have kicked his ass for saying what he did to me!! Funny how aging turns my anger into accepting humor? I was laughing at him. I do that a lot. Guys think they are so above the game. I have big boobs and an even bigger brain… wicked smart I am.

They are big and round.

They are all around

Do you like boobs a lot?

Boobs a lot boobs a lot.

It is a ‘new moon’ tonight and this is a loony short, embellished story about boobs a lot…

I realized that my bosoms had the power to make music!


Blanche:  I was never a night person neither, until I blossomed into young womanhood and realized I was even more devastating’ by moonlight.

Dorothy:  Of course.

Blanche: I will never forget the night I made that discovery.  It was during the Spring cotillion.  I was wearing a long white dress and my first push-up bra.  And Bobby Buck McAllister and I were enjoying a glass of punch on the veranda when a beam of moonlight hit my cleavage.  Suddenly, the band began to play.  It was at that moment that I realized that my bosoms had the power to make music!

Dorothy:  Didn’t Bette Midler win a special Grammy for that?

~ The Golden Girls, 1.25 – The Way We Met

When the sexy older girls came by, I was often left up the tree or sliding down the hill on my own.

It is comforting watching The Golden Girls, because as an older woman I am entering that place; the place where a woman’s body changes. All experience, nurturing and sex somehow is devalued in this youthful patriarchal culture when one becomes an older woman.

The Golden Girls is something to be reckoned with. When I watch it, it is as if visiting with old friends, or maybe my mother or grandmother…wait is that me in the mirror? Yes, if we survive, we all will reach this place.

I feel the prejudice against me. I felt this against me when I was 12 years old, and I was not mature enough. As a tom-boy I could outrun, climb, and play sports better than most boys. When the sexy older girls came by, I was often left up the tree or sliding down the hill on my own.

When I was 15 that all changed. My DNA and hormones gave me a body that got me a date every night of the week. I still felt a prejudice. I did not speak or when I did no one listened. My body was seeking love, but sex rules these youthful years. As when they divided up the drive-ins in my hometown. Once a big screen became 6 screens.

I went out with a different guy each night and saw all the films in the drive in. For a year or two. Until I wised up and left that scene. A film expert or something else?

As the years passed, I spent less time thinking about my body as I developed my mind. Most of the time I found myself out thinking most guys but the girls that used their sex appeal always seemed to get the upper edge. Now I see older guys going for younger women a lot these days. More sex appeal instead of experience or intelligence is what these guys get.

Like my Casanova brothers have found out, the young girls are very slim pickings when you hit sixty… unless you got the big bucks.

As you get older; sex appeal, intelligence, money, and experience: all boils down to companionship when it comes to an authentic relationship.

I remember when making love was so easy… now it is complicated… and depressing.