Sunday, August 30, 2009

Should Love Have an Age?

This has been a topic much discussed of late, at least in my various circles, and I find it quite interesting. I'll admit part of my interest comes from the fact that I'll be leading a small group for my church next month on the topic of relationships. And yes, there is an age range for the group, 26-99.

Society has always supported the notion that a man is supposed to be older than the woman in a relationship. And, has accepted, although with whispers, when a man dates a much younger woman. Neither of these are new to us.

In more conservative areas of the world, and of the US, this remains the typical viewpoint. I'm surprised to find so many here in New York City, New...York...City, still hold to that traditional view. Looking across cultures, here's what I've found, to-date: the British tend to hold to having the man be older (although most Brits I've seen tend to stick very close to their own age); Western Europeans are more concerned with who you are and whether there's chemistry (age and profession may never arise in conversation); and, in South America age doesn't seem to be as relevant (although my exposure across those countries is limited).

Personally, I applaud the Europeans. I admit that I'm guilty of it myself, but I think the notion of our profession and our age defining us is ludicrous. Think about it, here in the US the first question asked whenever you meet someone new is "What do you do?" Seriously? Truly? Is this how we want to be defined? Is this how we want to see others? I would much rather learn what someone is passionate about and their views on life.

Back to love and age ...
The other night, I was chatting with a woman who is 29 and was on a date with someone when she learned of his age, 23. Immediately she put him in the 'no' category. I believe her age range is 27-40. Another woman with us that same evening is 23 and saw no issue with the former woman dating the 23 year old.

Back home, in Cincinnati, I have a very intelligent and politically-savvy friend who refused to even consider accepting a date with a man who was younger, even by only 2 years. We all thought she was crazy because, as (almost) everyone knows, 2 years falls into the 'same age' category. She's now happily married to a man 10 years her junior. She was 40 when she married.

Another friend of mine is 66 and he has been married for 15 years to someone 20 years younger. They love each other very much and have a great life together.

And, an acquaintance of mine is a lovely 37 year old woman who is smart, successful, full of life, and about to marry a man who is 27 years old and without a job. Could you do this? Could I?

Cougars and what used to be referred to as 'Dirty Old Men'...
I hate this new term, Cougar. We don't have a cultural term for older men who date much younger women. Why is it any different for an older woman to date a younger man?

My despise of the term has nothing to do with my gender nor my age. Rather, it has everything to do with putting a negative label on something that should not even be a topic of discussion for acceptance or unacceptance. I despise the term because it perpetuates an unhealthy stereotype.

We each decide what is best for us and with what we are the most comfortable. We are all formed by our familial environment, life experiences, and greatly by our cultural environment. But why are we still judgmental and unaccepting of something different from society's norm?

Keeping it real by getting personal ...
I have always been attracted to older men...even as a young girl. In fact, I'm probably the one woman who never thought George Clooney was attractive in the slightest. He was too cutsey. But now that he has begun to age, omg, he is very handsome! (And yes, Jerry, the man I was married to, is an older man.)

All of that said, I don't believe age matters. I'm a firm believer that life-stage is what's important.

I've dated men as much as 16 years older than me. And I've dated men as young as 13 years younger. If you want to look at age, that range is rather large. Jim, who is 16 years older, is very young-at-heart without sacrificing emotional maturity. Cesar, who is 13 years younger, is very mature. In fact, initially I thought he was only 7 years younger. And yes, I did fall in love with Cesar. Surprisingly, my Midwestern, conversative parents liked him and told me they were supportive if I decided to marry him. What I decided was that I didn't want to hold him back from having the 'normal' life experiences of his age group, so I walked away. Friends accused me of making his decision for him. I didn't see it that way...then. A year later, he invited me to his wedding. He married an older woman.

Changing the conversation...
In order to initiate and cause change, we must first change the conversation. Peter Block has an excellent book about change: The Answer to How Is Yes: Acting on What Matters. Granted, it is directed at changing corporate and cultural landscapes, but his principles apply here. After all, love and age are part of our cultural landscape.

Here are a few questions we may want to ask ourselves, and each other, to start changing the conversation:
  • Is there a 'right and wrong' when it comes to love and age?
  • Should I assign or use terms, and do they perpetuate stereotypes?
  • If I wanted to, could I actually go against our societal norms?

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Wandering Stone Street ...

Stone Street, in the Financial District of Manhattan. I have always wanted to go and get lost in the ambiance that so many photos have captured. But, in my living of the every day, it somehow always seemed to be forgotten.

My friend Typhani recently began tending bar at the Stone Street Tavern. Tanvir, Amanda, and I decided to head down there last night to support her. Having been a while since I last heard about that area of the city, I didn't make the connection until I googled the tavern for its address. Stone Street!!

As I had a massage earlier, it took a while for me to convince myself to get in the shower and wash off the relaxing scent of bergamot. Which is my justification for why I ended up taking a cab downtown. And like all good NYC cabbies, mine couldn't figure out where to go once in the Financial District. I shared that it's the street that is full of tables with umbrellas, I was climbing out of the cab in minutes.

As I rounded the corner, I was immediately transported back to Italy. Ah, my Italia!On this short block of narrow street, each doorway led to a new pub. Take your pick. They are lined up one after the other. The tables filling the streetway are packed with Wall Streeters, young girls admiringly chatting with male financiers, and friends meeting up. Everyone appears to have let go of the business day and are fully in the moment, enjoying life. Looking at their faces you can see sincere smiles and intense listening. Everyone has a brew in hand. Burgers and pasta and salads are the waiters' trays. Despite what might be happening in their daily lives, right now, life is good.

Isn't it amazing? A memory can be triggered so quickly and instantaneously you
are where the memory was born. Movements slowed. Every one of my senses came to full bloom. I could hear only the accents of the Italians sitting at random tables along Stone Street. I could smell
Sorrento's southern, coastal air with the flavours of fresh Italian cooking from the restaurants as I walked along Via Santa Maria delle Grazie. Colours, people, smiles, waiters carrying drinks ... all continued to carry me. The freedom and joy I felt was the most pure joy I've ever experienced.

This.
This moment.
This is when I experienced my understanding of what life is truly about.

The moment when I began to live my life.

My foot lifted and as it slowly came down to rest on the threshold of the bar, life moved quickly again as I returned to Stone Street.

RECOMMENDATION: Stone Street Tavern www.stonestreettavernnyc.com

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Snares

Oh viper's snare catches me
tossing me to and fro.
Oh how clearly I can see,
but my heart doth blind me.
Oh viper's snare, how lovely.

Oh viper's snare doth catch me twice
blinding me by mine eyes.
Oh how clearly I can see,
but my heart doth blind me ...
maketh life a web of lies.

Oh viper's snare no more may hold.
My mind and will both so bold.
Oh how clearly I can see
the hold which grippeth no more of me.
My heart and mind and will my own,
casts aware snares like tiny stones.

-March 9, 2004; Cincinnati OH

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Contemplating Camelot ...

A friend recently described a period of time as 'Camelot.' What a perfect description. I agree with him completely ... that period of our lives was truly Camelot. Truly.

I find myself, now, looking back in my life for other periods of time which might be described as ... for whatever reason ... 'Camelot.'

Wandering ...
Contemplating ...

Saturday, May 30, 2009

EuroK's Photo Blog has moved!

I just realized that when MSN migrated my 'photo blog' last January, I forgot to update the link on this blog. The link is now correct. If you were a member of my previous site, you will need to rejoin this site as approved memberships did not transfer when the site was migrated My apologies!

So if you want to check out my adventures dating back to 2001, click the link on the right for "my photo blog."

Enjoy!

Saturday, May 23, 2009

My Mind is Wandering to Several Friends ...

It's a lovely start to the Memorial Day weekend. I'm in my new apartment, unpacking, and am enjoying a few of the things in life that bring me the most joy: the sound of birds chirping, the way the breeze is blowing through my windows and rustling the leaves of my plants ... its coolness on my skin, the way the sunlight is luminating my apartment.

Putting away the contents of the last of the boxes, I came across my travel accessories. Sleep masks, cosmetic bags, adapters, ... , and the bag I take on international trips. This bag previously served as a briefcase/purse so it was always with me. It's the perfect bag for long flights and all day excursions as it works well with any outfit and is designed in a way that works for just about anything. The last time I used this bag was 6 years ago. As I went through the contents, memories came flooding back and my mind began to wander...

... the travel size deodorant, toothbrush, and cleansing cloths took me back to a beautiful summer day on the Amalfi Coast. Driving the coast line. Lunching in Priano. Sunbathing in Amalfi. Driving up the hillside to Ravello ... stopping, of course, at the pottery shop to say 'hello' to its owner who assisted me two years before when I had an accident on my rented Vespa. Cleaning up and changing into a little travel dress which had been neatly rolled and tucked in my bag next to my beach towel. The lights of the entire town going out in the middle of dinner. Jazz concert in the villa's ruins under the stars.

... a 24" x 18" piece of paper which, when not folded, displays a letter from my stepdaughter, Meagan Vogele. Each sentence in a different crayon color. She sent this to me when I moved with P&G and she was worried that I would be lonely. That was 1997. I miss her.

... a burgundy velour pouch containing two 'stones.' One, clear glass with different colored strokes leading from the outer edge to the center. The other, with half white and half black strokes. A gift for my sabbatical from Laurent Horvath. He promised I would learn their meaning as I traveled my journey. And learn, I did.

... a letter from Raven, a little girl from the inner city whom I tutored in math in 2004. She describes her Christmas, and tells me how "People be messing with me at school." The only way I was able to help Raven remember the multiplication table was for us to put our arms around each other and step only on every other tile of the church atrium floor while reciting equations. "One times one is ...", "one times two is ...", "one times three is ..." I wonder where Raven is now.

... a lovely poem cut from a greeting card and given to me by ... whom? I can't remember. "When you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: there will be something solid to stand on or you will be taught how to fly." by Barbara J. Winter

... I smile. Another poem. This one is an email dated October 7, 1997 at 10:24 am. My birthday. A friend who worked down the hall from me in the Food & Beverage division of Procter & Gamble wrote a poem for me reminding me of many wonderful moments we all shared there in the office. WC ~ he knows who he is.

... an invitation to a Flying Pig Marathon party at Brad Frank's apartment to watch him run past. Breakfast, Bloody Marys, pajamas and lawn chairs provided. May 9th of what year? Be Frank With Me.

... May 3, 1994. A heart-shaped note paper with a message written in purple. I don't even have to read it to know that it's from Jillian Chamberlain. Always a friend. Always a sister. Always there. The most pure-hearted woman I have ever met (aside from my mother). Her note encourages me through the difficult time of deciding to leave my marriage.

... 2001, a card from Lori talking about the wonders of good girlfriends. That was a very special time in my life. I was blessed with a very close circle of friends who will forever be at the core of my heart: Natalie, Nelson, Lori, Deborah.

... a card from my parents just before I left for my European sabbatical in 2001. So special to me that I prefer to hold the reasons so close to my heart that I cannot share.

... lastly, a card with a lovely photo of a lone house off in the distance in the French countryside, and a long road leading up to it. The words inside are sweet, and its signed 'Sancho.' I cannot, for the life of me, remember who 'Sancho' is. I turned the card over and noticed I had written a date. June 14, 2003. Ah. Now I remember. And I also remember the last trip I used this bag was in July 2003. What I remember about the card and the trip are not the words, the moments, nor even Sancho. I remember a moment just before the trip ... I was walking away from the Hyde Park Blast street party with a friend, Steve S., who said, "You're dating the wrong Steve." And even though it was fear that kept me from verbally agreeing with him, we both knew he was right.

These treasures are being placed in my current bag. I hesitate when placing Sancho's card with my treasures, but decide to as a reminder not to allow fear to guide my choices.

Delta Air Lines Loses Its Last Loyal Customer!

For years I've defended Delta Air Lines and my extreme loyalty to them. They have now pushed me over the edge and I'm searching for a new airline to love and adore! The winner will receive my undying love and devotion, and I'll transfer my Platinum Delta American Express account to them.

I'm a classic loyalist. When I find something I enjoy and that works for me, I will never change until I'm forced...and you will never get me back again. I want products and services that make my life simple so that I can spend my attention and energy on living life.

Delta began to make my life more difficult several years ago. Sadly, my patience and loyalty to them far exceeded their loyalty to me...

My relationship with Delta began about 24 years ago. Living and working in Cincinnati, where Delta was a hub, they were the preferred airline of the company I worked for. Whenever flights didn't match my schedule, I'd defer to American, United or US Air. But I loved the service I received from Delta and the others always failed me.

Over the years, I heard more and more complaints about Delta being "the worst airline." I would quickly defend them and share stories of the exceptional service I always received. Stories of Delta going above and beyond for me. My friends had never heard of such service from Delta and were amazed. Post 9/11, the level of service I received started to slip. But I dismissed any issues as the industry was struggling. I was willing to accept lesser service for the great good of keeping Delta and the industry alive. (Seriously, I would actually say that. I was even waiting for the first post 9/11 Delta international flight to be announced ... I would be on that plane refusing to let the bad guys win.)

Three years ago I moved to New York City, and Delta's service slipped even more. I realized I wasn't in Cincinnati anymore. With each encounter, my patience and opinion of Delta Air Lines has lessened. A few months ago, I took a trip home to Cincinnati. It was a nightmare. Issues with online booking led to customer service telling me they were having issues with their software system and I would have to go to the airport to book my ticket. When I asked if it made sense for me to spend 2-3 hours of my time plus $75 in cab fares to do that, they simply said that was the only way they could help me. Instead, I called back the next day and the customer service representative was able to book the ticket...with a fee double what the online reservation had quoted, plus a baggage fee. When I questioned the baggage fee as I had medallion status, I was told to work it out at the airport. When I arrived at the airport on the day of my flight, I was surprised to learn I had lost my medallion status which was the reason I had been charged for baggage. I asked why I hadn't been notified. In the past, if I came even remotely close to losing my medallion status, I would receive an email advising me well in advance allowing me time to book flights (and yes, I'll take additional trips just to stay medallion). Then, to top it off, they couldn't see in their system that I had already paid the baggage fee so they charged me again instructing me to work it out when it showed up on my Platinum Delta American Express statement.

It gets better. My Sunday night return flight was delayed...and delayed...and delayed. I'm quite surprised to say that my text alerts came through so I didn't have to wait around at the airport but was able to have 2 more hours with my parents. When I checked my bags at the airport, for yet another $40, I knew something was up when the woman at the counter got on her walkie-talkie to advise someone that there were "2 more bags." I wasn't late for the flight, so I knew I was in for some additional Delta-Drama. When I arrived at the gate, there was my entire flight...seats were full, people were pacing, others were sitting or sleeping all over the floor. This did not look good. I spent the next 2 hours sitting on the floor. I was 99% certain this was it for my relationship with Delta. When I arrived in NY, at 1:30am, I realized there must have been a 'software issue' with that walkie-talkie. Yep. My bags did not arrive. 99.5% certain now.

The letter I received from Delta began each paragraph with "We apologize for any inconvenience...", "I am sorry for your disappointment...", "Please accept my apology..." But hey, they gave me a $75 ecredit voucher! Wow.

The Final Straw:
Earlier this week, I booked a Delta frequent flyer ticket for my niece to visit me this summer. As she is under 15 years old and will be traveling unaccompanied, there is a $100 fee per flight leg. (This is standard on all airlines.) This is an airport fee so I was told to pay the person at the Delta counter at each airport. I wanted to pay it now so that her parents wouldn't have to pay it. No problem, Ms. Burke, there will be an additional $100 fee in order for you to do that.

You have got to be kidding me.

100%!!

DELTA IS THE WORST AIRLINE!


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