Anne here … having a ‘moment’, as they say.
The cast of characters in my morning meltdown include: Michelle Obama, Barack Obama, Thomas Jefferson, Marilyn Monroe, Monticello, vanilla, a Seder, Mr. S (for whom I was prepared to become a Jew) and Mother Nature.
I’m still reeling from this high-speed, psycho ride, but I want to get my thoughts down on in bytes at once, even though I’m still sorting things out.
This is what online journals are for, right? Sharing.
Here are the critical ingredients of my mental/emotional stew:
Obama Foodorama’s assertion that Michelle may have planted seeds from Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.
This is a national reconciliation moment here, Michelle. Lie, if you didn’t plant seeds from Monticello, and get some in the ground immediately.
- This photo of an African American president of the United States sitting hosting a Seder at the White House. America has come a long way.
- My recent writing in my Sinfully Delicious: Vanilla’s Not So Boring After All. I posted Thomas Jefferson’s recipe for vanilla ice cream.
- My watermelon-inspired journal post: Is Loving Watermelon Racist? An Offence Very Easily Committed.
Jefferson and the Watermelon Patch
And I just Googled “Thomas Jefferson+watermelon”, and I see that I have reading to digest here also.
What would be totally a breakthrough moment here is if Michelle planted watermelon seeds from Monticello. Talk about national reconciliation!
I still stand for the right to eat and talk and write about watermelon, but I am gaining many insights into why this mixed-bag fruit upsets many people.
- Writing Monticello: A Smart Sensuality, Uniquely American Home this morning. A major renovation of Monticello, and four new exhibits, opens next week.
Finally: A Man in the House
This movie made me understand that Thomas Jefferson has always been my muse.
Sorry, ladies, but a man is the muse behind Anne of Carversville.
This is when the tears began flowing. I saw Michelle and Thomas Jefferson walking along the same road together.
Oh, sorry, besides the watermelon and there’s last night’s cherry blossoms in D.C.
Tomorrow, my private life will take me to Central Park and The Boathouse, my favorite place to pretend that I’m not in Manhattan.
Central Park takes me back to my broken engagement, 20 years ago after my divorce. My colleague smokes cigars.
Yes, it can be a foul habit, but a cigar-smoker with a kind heart can be a dreamboat.
Life with Mr. S
If the truth be told, I miss the cigar smoker, bastard that he could be to people.
He was crazy about me, but so rude and imperious with others.
I walked behind him, making apologizes and dispensing considerable sums of money, trying to make amends for our bad behavior.
His tendency to lead in public places worked well for us. He never knew that the receiving line on our exit wasn’t actually for him. It was for me, my cash, and my quiet nods of apology.
I say “us”, because husbands and wives reflect on each other.
No Excuses, No Cigar
I could not marry him, no matter how much money we enjoyed. But he was crazy about me … decisive, unafraid, confident that he deserved me. He could not do enough for me, could not praise me enough.
Women like men who are crazy about us, as long as other hormones like jealousy and possessiveness stay balanced. Mr. S was stable … just used to getting what he wanted.
I have always remembered the flowers that May … the gorgeosity of Central park, always behind Washington D.C. in the same way that London blooms ahead of New York. I will never forget the beauty of Central Park that spring.
He gave me a necklace at our second lunch. It was a scene straight out of the movies. It was a mighty big diamond. My soul and peace of mind were more valuable. I’ve had enough drama to last 10 lifetimes.
His (non)Jewish American Princess
So many people think that I am Jewish that converting to Judaism was a welcome thought. I have very high regard for Judaism, except for the Palestinian disaster.
When I stood in the old ‘East Berlin’, at the site of the Nazi book-burning, I shuddered not only for the Jews who died … the millions of Jews that died … but over what it means to burns books, ideas, thought.
The book burning began in the first 100 days of Hitler’s rule.
I relate so well to Jewish people. Always.
One night a few years ago, I was on Ancestry.com, tracking my roots. I’m a mutt, too, although not nearly as exciting as POTUS.
Anne: Swedish, Danish, English, and German. For better or worse, I’m identified with Germany, because of my last name. So I tracked what I knew about our ancestry from my aunt. Aha! Google was helping me that night, too.
Over 50 percent of the people in Germany with my last name were Jewish! This explains everything. Or was it wishful thinking? One day I will take up this line of inquiry again … formally, as an Oprah explorer who wants to know my roots.
Like so many of us Americans, I’m pretty topsy turvy myself, trying to make sense of all that’s happening these days. I’m searching for relevance and meaning in my life as a woman, a writer, a lover, an American and a citizen of Planet Earth.
A huge wave has catapulted me high in the air, tossing me with such ferocity onto the sandy shores of Anne of Carversville, that I feel spit out of — god, what is that whale’s name — Jonus? Or is Jonus the person, who was swallowed up?
Now I must Google the Jonus story. But this is the wonder of the Internet, isn’t it?
I don’t need a meaning-maker this morning (aka therapist). I can understand what’s going on here … Google and me … the two of us together in this O-Effect moment.
A Whale of a Big Idea
Is this my own Moby Dick experience? Where did he come from. Yes, yes … the ‘beached whale’ reference. I still remember struggling with that essay in high school.
Powerful Ocean Waves
What the heck did I write? Backspace … backspace … backspace … the scar is coming back to me.
Message to Google: “Moby Dick+scar”. No, no . .. erase … “Ahab+scar”.
Google can wait. For now, I am spent and totally exhausted, a beached whale.
Perhaps my own mini-meltdown moment is symbolism for the catharsis we all must go through to reach our destination.
Until Tomorrow and Beyond
The chips will fall in a new way, whatever happens, because I have again become a different woman just now.
FLOTUS and Thomas Jefferson triggered a cathartic moment in this Minnesota-born, Carversville-realized, New York woman
We are now looking at the third version of me. Stay calm. Not to worry, my dears. No more name changes. That I can promise. Well, I mean …
Much love, Anne