The way of Lucy Jordan?

The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town
As she lay there neath the covers dreaming of a thousand
lovers
Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning
round.

At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her
hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly
singing
Little nursery rhymes shed memorised in her daddy's easy
chair.

Her husband, he's off to work and the kids are off to
school,
And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.

At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never
Ride through paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her
hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly
singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy
chair.

The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too
loud
And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his
hand,
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the
crowd.

At the age of thirty-seven she knew she'd found forever
As she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair
...

I have liked this Marianne Faithfull song for many years. Earlier this month I turned 37 and I wondered if the song would come to be me at all. When I was much younger I imagined myself living alone in a coastal cottage, wearing purple docs and riding a big motorbike. Right now, the coastal bit is spot on. I bought some purple docs when I first got to London but they didn't fit properly and hurt my feet. Some people are destined never to be hip.

I can still recall studying the play Equus when I was at high school and contemplating this psychiatrist who found his life numbingly normal and partly admired his patients for their lives outside of the norm.

My sister has recently started playing roller derby. She had to send me a youtube clip to explain what it is. You can view it here. The voiceover person at the beginning says she plays roller derby "to keep from melting into an suburban abyss".

hmmmmmmmmmmmm. So at 37 am I melting into a suburban abyss, alone in a white house with nothing to do but dream, stultified by normality? It seems a reasonable perhaps even important question. Particularly given that I am really very happy with my life. Am I too idiotic to want more? Given some recent experiences with people who do live to shop and value clothes over ethics and royal weddings over discussions of what I consider to be the big issues of our time, I am prepared to roll out the arrogance and claim that I am not where I am because of idiocy.

The garden is my anchor, the project which saves me from a life of cleaning. I never rode through Paris during my time in Europe and the UK but I did do a pile of things which made me think, gave me a wonderful sense of freedom and fulfilled some of the dreams of London life which I'd had since I first started to read.

When I first met Favourite Handyman, he shared some of the social justice goals I'd had/have. I'd had boyfriends claiming to be into some of these things before, but they always turned out to drop them once they left university. FH and I have and are getting to work on some of our goals for social justice in our town and I'm really proud of that. Not in big note ways - you won't find us in the local paper. But we are getting to use our skills in ways which empower others.
.
The children don't drive me crazy so much as the house does. But even the house, I'm coming to terms with how we keep from falling into total chaos and accepting that mess is us. We don't make anyone come to visit and when they do we usually find some small space of tidyness for them. We try to be nice like that.

So in a world where big time recession is never far from our newspapers and minds, I've got chooks and a vege garden, budgeting skills, love, books and the blessing of secure employment. I still love Marianne Faithfull's throaty voice, but I think I'll ride through thirty-seven with wind through my hair, dirt under my fingernails and no need for valium just yet. Homeopathic naturopathic nutters like me probably wouldn't choose valium anyway.