Dangling Participles and Empty Promises

Her e-mail came out of the blue, and cut straight to the point.  “You did become a writer” it said…and that was it. After fifty years it was one line and then she signed her name and said she wanted to be ‘friends’ on Facebook. Rather curious, I thought. My interest was piqued. Yet it never turned out the way I thought it would.

To this day, I still don’t know why.

But that brief exchange several years ago did get me to thinking about other folks who have somehow given me one impression then failed to follow-through or delivered something entirely different.

Case in point:

A skipper I met once had a habit of recruiting crewmembers for his sailboat on Lake Superior.  When we first met and he asked if I would be interested in ‘crewing’ for him, I was thrilled at the thought of sailing Gitche Gumee.  He promised to call but he never did. When I met him a second time he asked the same question and again I responded in kind.

It was only after I commented on our meeting to a mutual friend that I was laughed at and told that ‘the skipper’ had a habit of recruiting anytime he met someone new.  He had never once followed through with his promise of taking new recruits on the high seas. Turns out it was just a social crutch he used to spice up his conversation instead of contributing something of substance.

Then there was the fellow I worked with on a local cable program.  This city employee was bright, gregarious and could spin a tale and talk-the-talk on a moment’s notice. He was a delight to work with and always came through when taping a cable program featuring various city departments.

The problem was his total inability to ever follow through on anything and everything he promised to do.  His word meant less than nothing. He couldn’t be depended on tie his own shoes even if he promised to do so.

I came to appreciate his talent as a cable program host and understood that it came right along with his lack of follow-through.  Those were his two intrinsic characteristics that I had to deal with whenever we worked together.

Another case in point was an occasional visitor of ours to Palm Springs.  She loved the area and was always talking about purchasing a condo there. We would often check out ‘open houses’ on the way back to the airport. She talked and talked but never once seriously made an offer to buy here.

I came to realize it was just part of her routine dialogue and she never meant a word of it.  The sad thing is that I don’t think she even realized what she was saying. It was like a farmer at the coffee shop complaining about commodity prices…something they do without even thinking.

Several folks in Palm Springs have a routine greeting for us upon our return to the desert.  “We must get together for lunch sometime soon” they all exclaim. But it never happens. I’ve come to accept that it’s just an evasive comment that has become a habit on their part. In much the same manner of meeting someone new at a party and declaring an interest in getting together soon… even though you both know it will never happen.

I am fascinated by some people’s inability or unwillingness to keep their word or simply follow-through on promises made.  We sometimes see false bravado in young men or small children. It’s part of their growing into adulthood. How is it that some adults haven’t been able to shake off that habit of somehow believing what they say to be true when we (and I suspect they) know it isn’t so? It turns out that speaking one’s mind and meaning it are not always intrinsically connected with the truth.

And as for that first cryptic message from an old friend, I was never able to decipher her true intent.

Her message had come at a most opportune time since I was in the midst of writing my first novel “Love in the A Shau.”  (First edition).  Turns out that she, along with several other women, were my avatars for the female protagonist in that novel. I thought her initial message might be an opportunity to get her perspective on that period in our lives and hopefully more research material for my book. It didn’t turn out quite that way.

I sent her a long letter outlining the background of my story, the characters I was developing, and my enthusiasm for the project and requested her input on the project.  Then I awaited her feedback.

Her response a few weeks later was simply a two-line e-mail, which read something to the effect: ‘I am back in town now.  I got your letter and photos. Thanks.’

While I wasn’t expecting a long dissertation on my project, I had hoped for more than her cursory response.  A friend of mine explained it best. He said: “What you sent her was ‘an invitation to respond’ and what you got…was her response.”

My interpersonal radar has gotten much better over time.  I’m more adept at detecting false bravado and bull…oney from my fellow man. The other sex is something entirely different. I would be remiss if I said I understood why some folks say what they do and then act entirely different. If there is a message hidden among their semantics, I am missing it entirely.

So I guess I’ll just continue to plod along making friends where I can and hope that what they tell me in the course of normal conversation has some basis in truth and we can go on from there.

I like to think of it as being open and honest…or at least my version of that reality.

The Generation that Love Forgot

Perhaps I should have titled this blog: Why can’t they say ‘I love you.’ It’s been a recurring theme in conversations I’ve had with so many adults my own age. That is, the inability of our parents to show or express love and affection to us growing up. I thought I was the only kid on the block that didn’t have affectionate parents. Turns out I wasn’t alone; not by a long shot.

Mind you this awareness didn’t come to me through research or probing questions. Instead it just evolved through casual conversations over coffee or a beer that somehow drifted back to our childhood. It was initiated by our observations of how our role as parents turned out to be so different than that of our parents. Paramount among those differences was our willingness to show love and affection to our kids and grandkids.

It’s easy to excuse our parent’s behavior (not all but certainly a large number) as simply traditional German or Scandinavian traits handed down through the centuries and continued on with our own parents. It would seem that a part of that ancestral tapestry has always included images of the stoic German and reserved Scandinavian whose warmth and compassion reflected the cold harsh land of their forefathers.

Much as we like to attribute certain traits to specific nationalities; Italian cooking, French romance, English nobility and Asian industriousness this lack of warmth crosses all nationalities. It might still dwindle into a simple cliché if not for those personal examples from my friends that give credence to those inferences of parental shortcomings.

When our conversations morphed into parental roles and responsibilities I realized just how differently I see my role as a parent relative to that of older generations. I haven’t done any Ph.D. research or quantified my findings. But my gut tells it all. Enough of my friends have lamented the lack of affection from their parents to make me believe it isn’t just my over-active imagination or jaded memories that have clouded that part of my past. To me it is real and curious.

So what happened back then to make that generation so cool to their kids? Maybe a key lies in this whole adulation thing about the ‘greatest generation.’

It’s certainly true that that generation suffered during the depression and fought to keep the world free in World War Two. But something was lost along the way for some of them. Perhaps it was the harsh conditions growing up in the depression or pressure from their own parents to find food for the table and shelter over their head. Perhaps losing a loved one in the war or trying to build a family foundation after the war brought undue stress to their lives. 

The causes and conditions could be many but the results seemed always to be the same. That is, the inability of so many of them to become loving parents who knew how to express love for their children.

The outward manifestations (and thus perhaps causes) are many and some very complex. Single parent households (my own situation), elderly parents, a marriage fractured by the war, a labor-intense life fueled by liquor or alcoholic parents.  And those are just some a few examples coming from those adult children willing to reveal their growing up experiences with me.

Some will defend their parent’s actions are’ normal for the times.’ They’ll point to our own inability as children to grasp the subtle signs of affection that may have lingered just beneath the surface as compared to our own full frontal affection as we displayed it today. Perhaps they’re right and our parents did love us…but just couldn’t show it.

Intentions are noble but actions speak louder than neatly arranged words meant to convey affection. Talk is cheap. Visible displays of concern, encouragement and affection take time and effort.

The excuse I’ve heard over and over again is that ‘they’ weren’t raised that way. It wasn’t a part of their culture or heritage. It was the way it was and wasn’t ever going to change.

Taking that argument at face value means that none of us would have ever become caring, concerned and affectionate parents. ..because we never saw it in our own parents. Luckily that hasn’t been the case with my friends who experienced a rather lukewarm upbringing. None of us has let that become the soundtrack of our own lives.

Luckily for our kids and grandkids, that circle has been broken.

Weak Women and Inquiring Minds

Why is it that when women could be so strong they’re sometimes so weak? The same could be said about men but I’m not as interested in that gender as I am in the stronger sex.

Generally speaking, it’s the strong, smart, independent types that populate my novels and screenplays since they are of primary interest to me. I’ve always been attracted to that kind of woman starting way back in high school.

These are women who aren’t afraid to speak their mind. They scare the heck out of some men but that is hardly of concern to them. They’re focused, determined and seem to know exactly what they want out of life. While not all of them were affected by the enormous societal and sexual shifts that affected women in the sixties, a lot of them were the product of those seismic changes.

I’ll probably keep writing about those types of women because they’ve infiltrated my imagination. But if I intend to keep a balance in my writing and reflect the real world then I’ve also got to include another other type of woman.

These are the quiet ones who struggle with their place in a male-dominated world and who unfortunately still cling to the ancient notions of a woman’s place in our society. As a writer and student of such things esoteric, my inquiring mind wants to explore that aspect of the human psychological geography.

It’s that other type of woman who garners a greater part of my curiosity. Not because I find them attractive. It’s more a case of pity than analytical examination. If I do include a dutiful wife as one of my characters, it won’t be a flattering portrait. It’s the kind of woman Don Draper would want to date.

Unfortunately, many of these women haven’t yet realized that the modern world has evolved and changed and their role as ‘the little woman’ shouldn’t exist anymore.  I’m talking about those dutiful wives whose lives seem to evolve around their husband’s daily activities and existence. At social gatherings or in the company of other men, they simply become wallpaper. They’re an accessory or a detachable add-on. Their absence isn’t noticed and their presence is taken for granted by their spouse and others in the room. Their deference to their husband’s wishes is almost palatable.

Yet it doesn’t seem to be that way because they’ve got a real catch on their hands. But rather because their husband/partners own shadow seem to block out any light reflecting back on them. And they’re either OK with that or can’t or won’t do anything about it. Perhaps they once had something in that relationship but not anymore. Now it’s more a fear of the unknown and never asking themselves if there isn’t something better out there.

Some past generations have told women that once they made their bed, they had to sleep in it. Perhaps it’s Catholic guilt, (pick your own religion here, if you want), fear of the unknown, complacency or not believing there could be something better out there for them. If they do try to be assertive, they’re often called feisty or fierce or worse yet, bossy.

I’m certainly not advocating they leave or divorce their spouse because times have changed and so has their relationship with the old man. Instead, I’m pondering if there isn’t something else in their lives that could take the place of the duties they feel encumbered upon to perform as the dutiful one.

Life is too fleeting for these women to short-change themselves because of some antiquated notion that their man is entitled to be waited upon. That’s about as meaningless as dumb blond jokes and man caves. No woman should be ‘grateful’ to have a man in her life.

So while I’m stuck with my infatuation with strong women, I’ll continue to examine the drab life of the dutiful significant other. Perhaps with some quick key strokes and my imagination running rampant, I’ll invite more of them into my fictional worlds and see if I can’t make it better for them.

The Girl with No Pulse

I met a woman recently at a gallery opening in the Uptown Design District of Palm Springs. She was beautiful, smart and charming. Yet I know absolutely nothing about her … just the way she wanted it.

You’ve probably seen women like her in social gatherings and not been able to distinguish her from any of the other guests around. She’s probably beautiful, stylish and very engaging. Women like that are often moneyed, elite and privileged. They can also be eye-candy, attention-getting and spontaneous. But unless you’re really observant, you’d never know what they are really like because you could never get an honest emotion out of them even if their life depended on it.

They’ll make you a master of the monologue and pretend to care because that way they don’t have to talk about themselves. It’s the perfect protective diversion away from anything that even remotely resembles an honest probe into their lives, their feelings, their emotions and their opinions.

These women have mastered the art of the façade and mixed signals. Whether it’s in films, the arts, politics or business, these women have an image to uphold and a façade to hide behind. They’re in your church, your school and at work. They may have even ‘friended’ you on Facebook. But they collect friends like trophies and don’t know the true meaning of the word. 

Women fascinate me. Always have…probably always will. As a writer, it’s great fun to create a new female character especially if she is a protagonist in one of my novels. They can cover a gantlet of emotions and, Myers-Briggs aside; provide a rich tapestry on which to paint my story.

But one kind of woman, more than any other, has always mystified and confused me. It’s the woman with no pulse. I can never tell what brings on this fear of self-disclosure. Is it low self-esteem or are they just ‘emotionally unavailable?’

It’s quite a feat for these women to do that for most of their lives. Yet I know several folks, especially women who have, for the most part, succeeded quite admirably in doing just that. For them, sharing emotions and true feelings is far too dangerous a thing to do.  Their conversations always remain superficial and always directed toward the other person.

With that in mind, I broached the subject of communication in my novel “Love in the A Shau” when the dorm mother is talking to my protagonist, Colleen, about her relationship with Daniel. Colleen is fearful of opening herself up to Daniel for fear of rejection or judgment on his part. The dorm mother reminds Colleen:

“Remember that the only way to achieve true intimacy with another person is to be open and vulnerable.” Then she goes on to explain that without intimacy, their relationship is all very surface and safe and really just a façade to hide behind.

Of course, to research this mysterious phenomena between the sexes I simply googled it. Not surprisingly there was a plethora of articles covering many different aspects of communication between men and women. One of the more poignant was from John M. Grohol, Psy.D. who wrote an article entitled: “Ten Reasons Why You Can’t Say How you Feel.”

In a way, I feel sorry for those folks with ice in their veins and an empty stove for a heart.

If I thought it would matter, I’d like to tell them: “Oh, come on, have a heart.”

Life is so much nicer that way.