MountainMornings

Today I wore my airplane travel outfit and stayed home – comfy Eileen Fisher sweats and my new lilac shearling Berks.

Today is the day we were supposed to meet up with our friends in Viareggio, Italy and cook together and laugh together and visit wineries and flower markets and you get the picture.

Instead, Bob ordered a wheelchair and a walker and we sat around without wifi because Google Fiber was down.

Another old school thing I did was reread Mary Laura Philpot’s book “Bomb Shelter.” It has served me well over the past year. She was writing about people who have nothing better to do than criticize perfect strangers. Some woman at a book conference told her no one would take her seriously if she dressed “that way.”

How was she dressed? She had on a colorful fuzzy patterned skirt.

It reminded me of meeting someone outside in a tent on the Navesink River. It was a fancy fundraiser for something and I was introduced as the local columnist . This older woman with a ponytail and a big bow at the nape of her neck said, “So THAT’S you claim to fame!” Then she turned away and took another sip of Chardonnay.

I wish I had a list of snappy rebuttals. I should have said, “Honestly Bunny, where do you buy your ribbons?” Or “Well aren’t you a rude bitch?” and walked away. Instead I swallowed my pride because like Philpot, I desperately wanted to be taken seriously.

Women get a bad rap. We need to smile. We need to be caretakers and selfless, humble human beings. We are expected to wear makeup and dress a certain way. That is what my generation was taught. But what we really need to be is cheerleaders for each other. We should be passing on the light, encouraging our sisters to reach farther, to climb our very own ladders of success.

We told our daughters that anything was possible, and then after 49 years of settled precedent, Roe was defeated.

And I fell off a tiny ladder and it turns out it was worse than I could have imagined and I kept walking and stretching and pushing until I couldn’t walk anymore. It serves me right, thinking pure willpower would fix a broken bone. So now I have two! The doctor told me to “shut it down,” no more walking. Rest.

I’m taking myself seriously now. I’m listening to my orthopedic doctor and I’ll sit in a wheelchair for awhile. But today the Queen died.

I thought about her life and her Corgis and how people always took her seriously. It just came with the job. I’d watched every single episode of the Crown; her legacy of selfless devotion to her people seems archaic today. But I adored her. I’m sure she was thrilled that Harry and Meghan named their daughter after her. She was the same age as Great Grandma Ada when she died.

My MIL Adala who wrote a thesis about using humor in therapy. Who studied to become a clown. I’d rather be a cheerleader than a critic in this one life we get to live.

Wouldn’t you?

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