I feel I’ve “accomplished” many things and have been lucky enough to have been many people, from the vice president of an advertising agency in Manhattan, to owning a lucrative hand-painted needlepoint business, and am somehow fortunate enough now to have a quasi-favorable following of people interested in my artwork. I remain lucky enough to be able to keep in touch with most of my lives’ different friends — from the presidents to fourth grade conspirators.
OK, so now I have a rather nasty advancing case of painful, debilitating Multiple Sclerosis. Sounds like it should put a damper on all the fabulousness of my exposure to experience, but it-don’t-matta-to-me!
I’m still quite a happy camper in spite of it, maybe because it just is what it is and I realize I’m not alone. We all have so much crap on our plates; same song, different lyrics, and upward we all somehow continue to climb. That I am not alone in my struggles is somehow comforting, as ya-just-gotta-do-the-best-you-can-do, and try to keep laughing in the long run.
I, the old hippy, met my husband, a Navy man, in 1983. Opposites do attract. He lived with me in NYC for a few years, hating the city like poison, finally talking me into moving to the country.
We moved out to The Hamptons in 1987 (the “country” to a NYC girl) and raised three wonderful, kind, caring, involved children that we are so proud of. Our children benefited from the monied environment, the good school systems and privileged exposure, blah, blah, blah — as I managed to lose sight of what was fundamentally really important, and became one of the shallow, selfish, monied, hoity-toity people that spells out Hamptons living in its London Jewelers local flyers.
Our children grew up well in spite of our sometimes poor decisions and all of a sudden became young adults, moving around on their own here and there. And I, in 2007, finally came to my hippy senses and realized how ugly I and our hometown connections had become.