Downton Abbey was written for me

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/downtonabbey/

With all humility, I must admit that Downton Abbey fans are indebted to me for this wonderful series.  I say that because books and movies about the World War I era just keep showing up in my life.  It started with Jacquelyn Winspear's wonderful Maisy Dobbs books and DA is just the jewel in the crown of other books and movies on the subject.  The interesting thing for me is that I didn't consciously decide one fine morning that I was going to read up on WWI and its aftermath.  Instead, these books and movies entered my life randomly.

Or did they?  A co-worker recommended Maisie Dobbs but did the following materials only catch my eye because of those books (much like noticing all the VWs on the road after you buy your own).  Did the Maisie books create a Lays-like hunger (nobody can 'eat' just one) or did some searching part of my psyche set itself a quest?

I'm a big believer in life-long learning.  It's also been my experience that lessons appear when I'm at a place to benefit from them.  Perhaps they were always there but not recognizable until the necessary experiences and cognitive abilities clicked together.

So the next question is "what's up with all the WWI?".  The theme clearly has personal saliency.  If forced to come up with a response Right Now (!) I would say it's about huge change and systemic struggle.  Fortunately there are no demands for that immediate answer so I'll continue to turn this over in my mind while I enjoy Downton Abbey.  You're welcome for the show, by the way.  It was the least I could do.

Choosing not to parent

I am a woman in my fifties who does not have children.

Pardon me while I pause for a second to parse the complicated set of emotions elicited by that simple sentence.

I meant to have children, I really did.  It just never worked out and I'm mostly fine with that.  I even suspect it's ultimately for the best.  There is no heartbreaking tale of struggling for conception or making conscious decisions about my ability to parent.  The timing just never worked.

When I was in my twenties it was never part of relationship dialogues.  During one period between relationships I kicked around the idea of single-parenting but was already struggling with finances so didn't pursue the idea further than shocking my grandmother with the announcement of my intention. Then, in my thirties, I married a man who had made a conscious decision not to parent.

Before this starts sounding like a tale of woe, I should say that not only does the lack of children give me the luxury of time and autonomy that parents lack,  I am keenly aware of this being a luxury. I revel in the ability, for instance, to decide that I want to do A, B and C and then proceed to do A, B and C according to plan.  I sometimes question how our species has survived when I see the heroic surrender of autonomy - and sleep - made by friends and family members.  As much as I love babies (especially infants) I wonder how I would feel about them after 3 mostly sleepless and personal hygiene free days.  This is the point where I think that Husband's choice has its merits -  but gains in sovereignty are matched by complex losses.

Being married and childless confuses people sometimes.  During introductory exchanges I am often asked "and do you have children?" but the other person is clearly expecting to hear about the children I do have.  I've never come up with an answer that doesn't, more often than not, result in awkwardness.  Mostly I just lob the conversational ball back at them and then deploy my numerous nieces and nephews for additional responses ( "oh yes, my niece was adorable at that age").  Those useful nieces and nephews also allow me to participate in my friends' parenting conversations.

In addition to the occasional moments of social "otherness" there are private times when it feels as though there should be some kids around.  These thoughts come up most often when I am alone in the house on Saturday mornings.  These are perhaps inspired by my own childhood memories of shared meals and chores, the comfortable noises of other people in the house.

Which brings me full circle to the deep satisfaction of sitting in my favorite chair with a mug of tea and a book, listening to the classical station while my little dog snoozes on my lap. For As Long As I Want.  The choices have been made.  I love my life and holding my grand-niece or chatting with her mother fills in the occasional empty spaces in my soul.

Inaugral Post

My Eldest Niece, whom I treasure, keeps several blogs. Discussing her efforts reminded me of how much I loved to write when I was a kid. I took to reading immediately as a child and was writing short stories when I was still in the single digits. 

As I wrote the preceding paragraph, I had to fight down the urge to add "terrible, of course" to the mention of my childhood writing. The whole point of this blog is that the outcome of the writing doesn't matter. The act of writing itself was a joy and I can't remember when or why I surrendered that joy. So. Thanks to Eldest Niece, I'm reclaiming this joy.