Trying not to expect too much

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art, birthday, chocolate, cocktails, fun, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, love, movies, skating

You cannot will yourself to have a happy birthday, especially if there’s a pandemic limiting your life. Typically my husband and I would hop a train to NYC and see a Broadway show, then walk around town and get some great dinner before heading back home.

This year was different, and somehow, even better than all that. My husband prepared a gorgeous breakfast of eggs Benedict, then entertained me by using a silly gif that substituted my face for Dolly Parton’s or Jack Sparrow’s. For lunch we a fish fry delivered to our car from the local fish market, then took a dear walk around our county seat where we ate Eclat chocolates and then Dia Doce cupcakes. We had to hurry home, though, for the best part of the day.

It was the Frick Museum’s Friday at 5:00pm Cocktails with a Curator via live stream. My husband made the complimentary cocktail for the piece of art the curator had selected to discuss, and then we set ourselves outside in the January air on our front porch to enjoy it all. There we sat on fluffy blankets and sipped our drinks while we learned about Boucher’s “Four Seasons.” This has become our mandatory start to the weekend. But besides relaxing with a cocktail, the study of art signals a departure from the week’s work to a focus on the spirit and matters of culture.

To make this outdoor experience even more lovely, a young lady stopped by, a neighbor home from virtual college, and talked to us on the porch for twenty minutes or more, an in-person surprise that further bolstered my happy day. And, as if that were not enough, my daughter and husband agreed to take the hour-long drive to the dairybar of my choice at 6:30pm, to finish off my day with a hot fudge sundae.

The rest of the weekend was just as thrilling. We went ice skating in center city Philadelphia, played hilarious games with my sons and daughter-in-law via zoom, then met up with a friend, live, for a two-hour walk around a cute little town where we shared bonbons and stories. I even indulged in a midday movie via zoom with cannolis which my son arranged to have delivered, to wrap things up. Friends dropped by with gifts, and texts and phone calls came in.

A trip to NYC is wonderful, but this year I was reminded how these simple acts of love, the smaller, sweeter experiences, and my relationships with others renew my spirit and allow me to stop for a moment to appreciate all that I have in the world right now.

Almost like normal

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Christmas, friends, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, joy, mental health

This almost felt normal! The lively annual wreathing party was scaled down to just three of us and outside, despite the cold!

Usually there is a luncheon, lots of women, scones and pie and tea to go around. And we make a mess inside the house on the farmtable in the kitchen.

This time it was all outside, on the porch, but no less wonderful for carrying on the tradition, making a beautiful holiday decoration, and spending time with friends. In person.

The pandemic continues to show us that it is not what you have but who you have, that matters.

Japanese fans

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Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, joy, mental health, parents

In anticipation of a cold winter, we cleaned out the attic to make room for a long overdue upgrade to our insulation. Over the years I’d thrown a lot of stuff up there including kid’s toys and clothes, interesting looking housewares and furniture from my various deceased relatives troves, and sentimental junk I couldn’t figure out what to do with. Now, I am discovering such interesting objects as these Japanese fans including one that came wrapped in a sheath complete with a ribbon strap. These were probably either purchases or gifts to my grandmother during her many trips to Japan. There’s a lovely Japanese tea set, a silk kimono, and ornamental Geisha fans I’m hanging on to also.

There was a lot up there in the attic we didn’t want, but hidden among the cobwebs I found these delights.

Cotton dresses

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being yourself, change, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, joy, mother, parents

Outfitting your daughters in cotton dresses that must be ironed after washing, to go fishing, is by today’s standards a bit crazy. Fabrics now are magically suited for outdoor living. But my mother had five kids, baskets of dirty laundry and a farm lifestyle that included such tasks.

This picture reminds me of all that my mother did to support our family. I’d claim that she did this tirelessly, but really, she was exhausted. She cooked three meals a day for seven people and managed the household in our big Victorian place for decades, with only minimal help from the rest of us. Yes, I set the table regularly, and swept the three sets of steps in the house every Saturday, but otherwise I was off the hook.  For a farmgirl, I did not have many chores.

It’s easy to forget what our mothers did to get us to where we are today, but this photo reminds always me.

American Idol Magic

 

Last night, my favorite TV show, American Idol, came through. All the behind-the-scenes issues were exposed in fascinating detail. Yes, I love singers, and I loved seeing brave crooners stepping up, but for me, last night’s episode was all about the logistical challenges. Belting it out on your front porch in suburbia trying to imagine you are actually an exceptional singer destined to leave small-town America is far more difficult than standing under the glitzy lights of Hollywood.

The coolest part was the costumes. Of course they had measurements, a selected color palette, style ideas and a potential wardrobe assembled for each contestant before the quarantine. Maybe each person consulted remotely with a stylist who then sent them custom made clothing options. That’s how they managed to have great looking, well-fitting outfits as Julia’ shoulderless peach dress, perfectly suited for playing to America from her living room.

Maybe they had hair and makeup consults too. I kept looking at the eye make-up and hair on the women and feeling grateful my daughter wasn’t one of the contestants. I can’t do hair!

I heard the panel say that everone had the same ring light, the same microphone, the same set of equipment supplied by the producers, and the same access to the professionals for consultation, and that it was up to each contestant to create their own scene. As difficult as this must have been, I love this necessity for creativity. One girl used red lighting and what looked like a dozen floor lamps to set a mood in her suburban garage. It was gorgeous. Did they have to unload all the grass clippings and garbage cans to set that up?

If it were me, after failing the hair and make-up challenge, the lack of an audience would be the biggest stumbling block. Pretending that a glowing ring light positioned in front of the stairs heading to the bedrooms that I have been staring at for six weeks, is actually millions of potential fans, requires heroic acting skills or an unshakable belief in self. The most successful contestants had a song to sing that our present reality could not hold back.

To me, this experiment of producing a talent contest of would-be singer stars from their homes, is a fascinating look behind the scenes of glamour and stardom. It was all a bit more human. I loved it.

And it was destracting and entertaining, and I needed that.

Billie on the Street

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being yourself, control, express feelings, fear, friends, fun, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, words

About the most fun I’ve had in a while was eating dinner with friends and talking about the goofy Netflix show starring Billie Eichner called “Billie on the Street.”

He absurdly approaches a random woman on the streets of NYC, camera crew in tow, waving a dollar bill, screaming at her to “Name two people!” Somehow it is hilarious to see victims become paralyzed when talked to in this abusive manner, even when it is simply to “name two people.” He really means any two people, such as “Mom” or “Joe.” You see their panic as they realize it is as simple as it sounds yet they cannot make themselves calm down enough to come up with the names of two people. I mean, even saying, “the milkman” would probably suffice, but even that is impossible for these ambushed deer-in-the-headlights people.

I’m not saying I wouldn’t also be terrified. Being abused verbally is not actually funny. It is truly terrifying. But in the spirit of the old comedian Don Rickels, Billie Eichner insults and abuses for a laugh. He’s angry and rude and screaming, impatient with the world and particularly, you.

Because of the humor, I can see his actions as a social experiment. He exposes the truth that we freeze up when treated badly, lose our heads and have no sense of the moment. Become ineffective and weak. Powerless. He shows us that no matter the content of the abuse, we are vicitms simply by virtue of it.

Fighting back is an option, but few people on this show have the presence of mind to do so. That’s why, I guess, we had a hilarious dinner, topping each other with one silly “Billie on the Street” story after another.

LOST – Another win at the West Chester Story Slam!

“So even though it doesn’t sound likely, you can be lost and alone and not even know it”. That’s how I started my story Tuesday night when I stepped back up to the microphone at the West Chester Story Slam. The topic, LOST, was perfect for me, because I recounted growing up on an isolated estate just outside of NYC where it seemed no one was ever home, and I ended up arriving at adulthood unaware of just how lost I was.

As I told the crowd gathered at the Side Bar Restaurant, I love telling stories about my life because it helps me connect with people. Despite my unique circumstances, listeners relate to the depiction of isolation and insular thinking that was the hallmark of my childhood. I know because some stepped up to me afterwards to say they appreciated hearing my story. As they did I thought to myself wait, didn’t you hear me….I grew up surrounded by thousands of acres of trees. How can you relate to this?? But that’s what I’m talking about, sharing my stories has the power to connect me with people even though on the surface you might not think we had much in common.

Thanks to everyone there Tuesday night, but especially to Diane Yannick with whom I tied for first place. Because of this win we are both now slated to tell stories at the Grand Slam on November 1!

This blog is moving…

To my many faithful followers I’d like to say thanks for reading this blog.

My news is that today my son helped me move this website to a self-hosted one that looks exactly the same as this. Now I can own my own content into perpetuity!

You can easily continue to follow this blog by following the link below and then subscribing to it by filling out the form on the left hand side. Enter your email address and a message will appear in your inbox whenever there is a new posting.

So, in order to follow the learned advice of the friends I made at the Philadelphia Writer’s Conference I have moved this website to:

blog.janebutler.org

Yes, you can read my new blog, which is the same blog, at this new address:

blog.janebutler.org

I won’t be visiting this website or posting to it any longer, so thanks for being out there, and keep up with what I am doing now at my new place. See you there.

Jane

It is the awareness that we grow and change slowly over time that allows us to offer that same patience to our children

I have an inordinate amount of patience, and I’d like to help you get some too. There was a time I was impatient about everything, cranky, yet today that is gone. Waiting for learning to take hold and change to take place is not that hard to do for others once you hand that gift to yourself, first.
I used to ask my therapist all the time, when was I going to be done, when was I not going to feel miserable anymore. After all I’d done therapy for years and I just wanted to be over the hump of having things feels so bad. I worked hard, did everything the therapist suggested, and applied the lessons I learned, working like a dog to get myself out of bad places. So, when would I feel better? For instance, when was I going to stop believing that everything I said or did was stupid? I yelled at myself in my head all the time. Now, I forgive myself for being human. Now I make mistakes and do not call myself names and hate myself anymore. I see that I cannot possibly be good at everything and that indeed there are things that I don’t do well, but stupid? No. I am not stupid. Inexperienced? Yes. Naïve? Maybe. It keeps changing, but stupid I am not, I am sure.

The point is, that it took a long time to get my thinking rearranged so I could understand that the things I did ‘wrong’ represent opportunities for learning and growing, and not that I was an idiot like I thought I was. I am still the same person but I talk to myself much more nicely now. I was mistreating myself, abusing myself, being mean and unkind and impatient with myself. I barely noticed as I worked week after week with my therapist that that was slowly going away. It all happened invisibly and in such a way I knew not precisely when change and growth and understanding took place. It was all because my therapist suggested I have patience with myself and with the process of discovering these things with her. Once I learned to have patience with myself, with my humanity, I could show it to others, but not before.

The awareness that changes in me took time and that they are invisible and wonderful in the end allows me to know that same process is taking place in others. Because of this, I love to teach. I love being the person offering patience, the one who is able to see that learning takes place slowly and invisibly and possibly in this very moment. I assure you it will manifest later.

Being patient is not something magical that some of us are born with and some of us are not. It is something we can learn. It is born out of our own experience offering acceptance to ourselves for the things we must overcome. If we can learn to be patient with ourselves we know for sure how to give that to others. Learning anything new takes time, and I know from long hard personal experience, that whatever we are doing we are getting there one moment at a time.

We all must be plucked from the raging waters sometimes

Tags

fear, Jane Butler, Jane Paffenbarger Butler, play, security, swimming, trust

Yesterday I kicked off my sandals and jumped into my swimming pool with all my clothes on. That’s right. Everything in my world suddenly disappeared except for the little girl slowly going under, and I do not remember thinking about anything except getting her out. Phew!
My four-year old visitor, my friend’s granddaughter, seemed unfazed by my rescue, but me and the two other adults there, and I’m counting in that my recently certified lifeguarding sixteen-year old daughter, all had to catch our collective breath and debrief a moment. Blondie coughed and sputtered, choked and was a little shaken, but generally fine after her dead weight imitation. Her seven-year old brother had given her a little shove and in she went with no apparent swim reflexes. When I looked over she was sinking, quickly filling with water, first her mouth, then her nose, her eyes, her little blond head all going under. In defense of the adults, I want to say we did have a life jacket on her but she took it off because she is four and she can do everything herself already.
Afterward, although a little timid about it, this girl got back in the pool without so much as a wimper. Big brother had to sit out the rest of the swim time, but she was praised for her bravery and encouraged to continue playing near the pool. After all, we’d just shown her that we were there, watching. She could not have been under the water more than three seconds, and her grandmother was kicking off her sandals when I splashed in, and my daughter was on her way as well. This little girl was informed that she is safe and in good hands even in a dangerous situation.

Life is full of danger, but we all must carry on despite that. Having trusted strength nearby, for all of us, is the way to navigate the waters of fear. Someone has to hold your hand, scoop you out, explain it all, or whatever you need, in order to keep going even when life gets tricky.

It was news to me when I figured this out, but now I see it clearly. We must always surround ourselves with those who care and who lift us up when we don’t even know we need it.