The mime & me

At the Paris themed party I attended this weekend in Palm Springs, there was a mime. A mime!

While in line, I see him and think about David Bowie who was a mime for a bit. The mime has on a black and white striped shirt and a bowler hat and he has a grey beard and a black and white painted face (of course). And he might have suspenders on. 

While I am standing there, we lock eyes, which isn't hard because I'm staring at the mime. I'm wearing a black dress with a red petticoat. He walks up, and points at my dress and nods. Then he grabs my arm and escorts me into the party. I'm so happy, I could burst. 

We walk in together, the mime's arms flailing widely by his sides. We step in concert, marching to the beat of music I hear the strains of from inside the party. The mime brings me to the entrance, my family trailing behind, my husband Adrian quizzically looking at me as if I planned this.

Then voila, we are at a picture stand. The mime puts his hands in a heart. I do too. I blow the heart up. He smiles and puts his finger in his dimple and bows. The mime and me take pictures together preening, making faces, and gesturing and diagramming to communicate. 

The mime fake hugs me, arms wide. After a minute, the mime knocks the door on the picture booth, and out comes a hand with a glass of champagne like magic. The mime disappears, but it's not over. 

I find the mime again. I know we need to do the "imaginary box" mime trick. I see him and run up to him, pretending I'm stuck inside an imaginary box. My hands feeling the imaginary glass. I've seen it in movies. The mime immediately understands my hand gestures & helps me out by trying to smash the box then somehow, gently opening an imaginary door that I step through with a woosh of my petticoat. 

Then later, the mime takes a picture with my twin sister Jackie at a purple windmill. We say our goodbyes with an enthusiastic wave as I wipe an imaginary tear from my eye. 

My mom remarks that the clown is funny and cute. I say, "Mom that's offensive, he's a mime, mimes are not clowns. They're performance artists."

A few days later, my husband will say, "Please stop with all the mime talk. No one likes a mime." I retort with a raised brow, "Except me and the entirety of France." Touché. 

Happy birthday to me

I am 54 today and up at 4:20 am writing. Who does that on their birthday? Me!

I am working on some things. Big things. Wellness things. And of course I'm writing about it. I started a substack but I am keeping it quiet for now. You can read it here dear reader: https://substack.com/@lifeofjem/note/p-175514673?r=7cq4g&utm_source=notes-share-action&utm_medium=web. Please be kind.

I have not realized much in these 54 rotations around the sun, yet I do know this. I'm a writer in my soul. In my heart. In my head. I have at least three more books in me. I have the beginnings (and a little more) of all three. They're in my head percolating and I just gotta get them down on paper. 

I'm petting my three dogs and they're all over me like life. Messy, unpredictable and loving. A nip here and there by their teeth. 

Life is crazy. It changes in an instant. One minute you think you could party on and stay "as is" forever. Then you realize, nope you can't. You need to change, evolve and adapt. 

It's time. It's time JEM. So just go for it. It will be okay. You will be okay. Promise.

Hear JEM read a story aloud on her podcast!!

JEM reads her most recently published story aloud, a story appearing in the upcoming Flowersong Press anthology "The White Picket Fence: Stories of Individuality as Rebelliousness" (curated & edited by Gina Duran). JEM's story is an intimate true tale titled "Wonder Twins Reactivated: a search for connection" & about her relationship with her twin sister.  Listen in. Just click here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/life-of-jem/id1700562573?i=1000729814662

A new Life of JEM writers on writing podcast is up!

If you're a fan of her writing and blog, you will love the podcast where JEM has conversations with some of her favorite writers! Always conversationally engaging and intimate, JEM tries to really get to know these writers and their books! Check it out

See https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/life-of-jem/id1700562573?i=1000728484744

Dark daze

I'm at Lowe's. It's ironic that I'm writing this here because a piece just got accepted to a literary journal about a trip to Home Depot that I wrote during the Christmas season last year. 

It's late September, and it's not even Halloween yet, but the Christmas decor is already being put out on the floor. So there's huge seven foot werewolves and witches alongside the snowmen and Santas. The contrast is striking.

I've always been a Halloween type of gal myself. I am dark. Gothic. In literature, in movies, in clothing, and in my mind. Although I do consider myself an optimist, I am a realist too and reality is dark, especially right now. 

Everything seems to be spiraling in the world. I try to find solace in my writing, in music and in helping the least fortunate and most vulnerable in my day job as a deputy public defender. But even that's been darker than usual lately. It's gotten harder and is getting harder. 

There are days that I yearn for a positive job where I could go to work and not have to see people in chains. Yet, what I also know in my bones is that my clients need me. I think now the issue is that I don't know if their need outweighs the vicarious trauma I take in daily. It's harming me. The stress can be extreme, especially because I care.

I'm just learning I need to put myself first. 

So back to the home improvement store. There's a metaphor here I'm searching for because recently, I have been working on improving myself. You see, I need a remodel. My body can't handle everything it used to. Hitting my fifties has been a wake up call for me to practice self care, improvement and fulfillment. So I'm trying. Day by day. Minute by minute. I'm trying really hard to do better and be better. That's all we can each do. Live in the moment. Realize that life is fleeting and we must do the best we can. 

About last night (or the night before)

A few nights ago, I read from a literary anthology I am a part of. The event was at the Ugly Mug coffee shop in Orange. I had a lot of coffee beforehand because the event started at 8 pm and I had to drive myself and my friend Gina (who was also reading from the anthology, which she edited and curated) for the event after a full work day in Riverside. 

I started getting ready at work about five and muttered under my breath, "why do I do this to myself"? A nine hour work day was turning into a fourteen or fifteen hour day. But I consoled myself by thoughts of good food beforehand, poetry and more coffee of course. 

We got there quick, despite taking the 91 freeway, and after a circuitous and ultimately successful search for parking, we ate friend chicken and waffles at Bruxie in Orange. Then we ambled over to the Ugly Mug which is in a craftsman style house. 

The proprietor is notoriously grumpy and he did not disappoint. It took my friend Gina four tries to find a coffee drink from their menu that was available. I ordered my usual espresso which he replaced with an Americano. When I brought out my credit card to pay, he smirked and pointed to a sign that said CASH ONLY. I looked back at him with a raised brow and said, "Am I in a Seinfeld episode?" He said, "Yep" and directed me to the ATM down the street.

I got my steps in, got growled at by a dog (which was ironic considering I was reading a story about a dog that bit my twin sister when we were little) and made my way back to the Ugly "cash only" Mug of a coffee shop. 

Despite all that, the poetry was superb. An open mic bookended our readings and I was very impressed. The poets could perform and did and were super talented. Gina and I did our readings, which went down well, and then there was another open mic. At the end, the poet slash host read a poem about Gleek (the monkey from the justice league cartoon) he had in homage to my piece about wonder twins. 

I got home after eleven and fell into bed to sleep and perchance to dream. To dream of writing full-time one day... 

 

My way

I've always thought I had it all together. That I was put together. I had a good life, a nice house and family, and a fulfilling job. But recently, I've come to know one thing. I don't know shit, and I'm a mess. Everything I thought I knew is now being questioned because I'm shedding the light of truth and self awareness on it. I know I'm being opaque. For now, I have to be. I have to make sure that my perception is true. I am trying to honestly figure it all out. 

My goal in the next few months is to just take each day as it comes, and to work on myself, in whatever way I can. I want a peaceful and serene life. I deserve it. I know I can have it. I need to quiet my mind and find myself again. 

For years, essentially a decade now, I have been a spinning top. And I have finally stopped the spinning and am looking at myself in the mirror.

Ultimately, this self reflection is just about me. It's not about anyone else. And I need to do this because everything I've created, all my reactions, over reactions, compromises, and complications have been self imposed. I am the only one who can find myself again. I need to find the person I am meant to be. For me and only me.

I won't call this a mid life crisis, it's a mid life creation. A new me. And a new day. My way, as Sid once sang, I'm gonna do it my way.