Neighborhood Gossip

When we left LA, I also left behind a social world that felt like a throw back to another era. Women stayed home, men worked, kids were shuttled to T-Ball games, soccer games, pool parties, and play dates. In some ways, the social incestuousness of these families co-mingling cast an illusion of the All-American experience. But like most idyllic scenarios, there was an undercurrent of ugliness that was stifling. Gossip was the real past time of all those twenty or so families involved. I could imagine a few affairs among the spouses causing tidal waves of unrest. During my experience it was the adults that behaved like children as phone lines lit up after a cocktail party, dissecting the evening's intricacies. The kids, all too young, hadn't become the cause of families splintering over slights, hurt feelings, bullying, and possibly even young hearts being broken. But I imagine that is all just around the corner.

The New Yorker reported on a story that resonated with me, reminding me of the cloistered neighborhood I'd just left in LA. A young troubled girl committed suicide after meeting a young boy on line on her MySpace account. It turns out the boy was pure fiction, created by her former friend and this former friend's mother. The young adolescent's suicide is tragic beyond comprehension, but the story really paints an ugly picture of a world where lives are so unhealthily intermingled and where time is plentiful. What's unfathomable is what happens when parents get so involved in their children's lives, boundaries blurring as mother's take on their child's hurt feelings as their own. The story also showed the way technology has accelerated social situations. Behind the mask of words, intimacies can be revealed all too easily. Personalities created or discarded with one key stroke, sometimes with such tragic consequences. The real tragedy here is that this young girl, in the throes of that time in all of our childhood, adolescence, was going through what most of us had gone through. Yet, with a few email exchanges, her loneliness and self-hatred took a turn impossible to comprehend.

The most shocking part of this story is that the mother behind this has shown no remorse for her part in this horrendous story. In the eyes of the law, she's done nothing wrong. Egregious morally, yes, but not illegal. These two families still live on the same block, having to face one another in this suburban town as they try and go about their lives. I don't know why this piece reminded me so much of LA. I could see all of those families we'd socialized with, the ever-changing alliances part of the amusement of most social gatherings. I could see all of those families I'd come to know so intimately, falling victim to this type of pettiness as their kids got older. It wouldn't be the slights over who got picked or ignored for a specific T-Ball team, but would now center on a few of their daughter's friendships fracturing as one girl became the target of their collective meanness. Kids learn these social games from their parents, I believe. And it is easy to see how kids would emulate their parents, whose behavior is no better than that of teenage girls and boys.

We have not yet become so ensconced in such social situations. This year has been a reprieve, allowing us a freedom to explore and examine this city without the strictures of social groups, each them embedded with expectations and rules. I don't know how moving to a different neighborhood, moving our child to a different school may change all of this for us. I'm hoping New York is much too big, much too preoccupied with games of life that extend beyond cocktail parties, to fall prey to such pettiness. But who can say? We may find the Upper West or East Side is a replication of the four blocks in Hancock Park that was the center of the universe for those families. I pray that is not the case.

War of the Sexes

It's everywhere, he versus she, Obama versus Clinton. The country is seeing something unimaginable only ten years ago: the possibility of either a woman or Black President. With all the world abuzz about that tearful moment, turning the tide for Clinton as her sisters rallied around her, I happened to catch a movie that was a feminist war cry, only a few decades ago--9 to 5. This movie, seen in the year 2007, is quaint, kitschy, and yet, the anger, outrage expressed by the three women is still relevant today. Yes, not all secretarial pools (they don't even exist, and if they do they would be referred to as the assistant's lounge) are gender specific. Right? Well, one would hope.

9 to 5 is of its time, when feminism was about competing with men, or rather, women being like men. This definition of being like men was displayed in women dressing like men, carrying brief cases, and casting off any of the trappings of femininity, as to not appear like a woman. I am of the generation, raised on movies like "Working Girl" where women still strive for that office, but falls in love along the way, so that we get our Prince Charming and the corner office. What's striking in comparing these two mvies is how much more progressive 9 to 5 was in its feminist politics. The males in this movie is ultimately expendable. Only one character is married, but the husband is rarely seen. The other two are divorced, single, trying to create a life for themselves after marriages had come to an end. It's the absence of men in their lives, other than the boss, that is striking. Men still rule their world, obviously, but they don't figure in quite a dominant thematic manner as in "Working Girl."

If one were to do a true feminist critique of these two movies, some ideas would be apparent--the slide backwards in philosophy of feminism, as a whole. The days when Betty Friedan was preaching to her sisters is truly a distant hum. The world has changed, most dramatically in gender roles and its definitions. And in its wake, the world is mixed up, messier, and more complicated. See, we, women can now have it all, the world likes to remind us. Except the rules of the game haven't really changed. Instead of previous role definitions, we are now expected to be income earners, mothers, wives, and still make a pot roast on Sundays. If you lack in any of these areas, well, the world can be quite unkind. And not to indict my own sex, but women are the least empathetic toward their own. We are the first to judge our peers for whatever lapses they may face in their quest for perfect womanhood.

This idea of perfection, something that is the new disease of this new millennium, manifests in all the wrong ways. I relish this political season. It will become more divisive as he versus she becomes a war cry. They will all talk about change, but really, we all know how little the world has changed since the days when three women, secretaries, felt they had to lock up their male boss in order to make changes to their world.

Marriage--True Test of Character

Marriage is, next to parenting, the hardest undertaking of any individual. I don't believe the institution of marriage was created to survive the years we now live. The daily negotiation of marriage means you are part lawyer and part therapist. I've always said if my husband dies (God forbid, right?) or we divorce, I shall never, ever get married again. The thought of entering into another union where compromise is the constant theme seems downright crazy. When I say this, people laugh (usually uncomfortably), and then probably assume my marriage is profoundly unhappy.

Our marriage is no more unhappy or happy than the average marriage. My feelings, rather strong ones at that, have always percolated underneath my seemingly naturalness at domesticity. Most people know I didn't really want to get married. This resistance was not a comment on my husband, but rather the institution. I felt, and still do feel, women lose much more in marriage than men. Statistics are always coming out with figures that show men's longevity improving in marriages, whereas wives seemed to suffer all sorts of ailments when married. The new murkiness of gender roles has made it all the more difficult for women and men to maneuver expectations of this long held institution.

A new obsession in our house is a show called, "Mad Men." It is set in the world of advertising in the late 50's. The show could be a metaphor for any of the financial industries today where people are constantly hedging their morals and ethics for the bottom line. What's disconcerting about this show is how little marriage, or rather the strains between the two genders, has changed since this past era. Or let me rephrase by saying, how little these roles for husbands and wives have changed in certain sectors of our society--namely the upper-middle class. Yes, we have a viable female candidate for the Presidency. But within the walls of most gated homes, these deeply entrenched roles for men and women still persist. And in truth, I saw these traditional roles being played out ad nauseum in LA.

It was quite enlightening for me to see smart women, who had accepted this role of 'wife' so readily. The question of equality and why women's roles have, or have, not changed didn't seem to be of concern to most of these women. Those discussions and fights were for 'others,' not for their PTA crowd. They were only concerned dinner get on the table, and that their kids were chauffeured to their various after school activities. It was distressing to see their days relegated by driving and feeding duties, their entire intellectual life put away, if they ever had one.

My husband and I struggle constantly with the shifting roles of husbands and wives. It is something we address each time one of us gets pissed off at the other for some oversight of a household responsibility. We are, despite me working from home, a two career household, which creates all sorts of complications. I don't view my career of writing any less important than my husband's. If I were to say his career more important, well, I might as well give up writing entirely and succumb to motherhood, wivehood, and every other 'hood.' Re imagining marriage, or the roles within a marriage, takes courage and a certain cavalier attitude that what we create will, more than likely, be frowned upon or misunderstood by most people.

I've thought a great deal about these differences, and in context of how they seem to differ between what I witnessed in LA and here. I do find more women in NY who are professionals. I have not met many women of the 'those who lunch' crowd here. Most of the mothers at my son's school seem harried, tired, juggling working and taking care of their family--a true modern woman. And the ones who are not working seem to view motherhood as their job, so that they don't have a retinue of nannies to help them. But then I don't live on the Upper East Side where this may be more prevalent, women with help who shop and lunch as their main profession. Perhaps this has to do with the Protestant work ethic being such a foundation of life on the Eastern seaboard. Or perhaps it has to do with the expense of hiring nannies, which is not an issue in LA where cheap illegals can be exploited at a very affordable price, making what used to be mainly an upper-middle class option now an option for everyone.

I've also been thinking about marriage a great deal since I've been reading a book that looks into Post Victorian Marriages of writers in England. This book focuses mainly on the unique unions of writers and intellectuals as they try and redefine gender roles post-Victorian era. And how miserably they fail despite their efforts to redefine this institution. What's striking from reading this book is how far we've come and how little has changed, really. So, this balancing act that I am always living will hopefully become easier over time. Or it may not and I will still be grousing about the inequities between the genders, particularly within the confines of married life.

Values: East versus West

The inherent difference of values between the East coast and the West is most apparent in the offspring of the leisure class. Those children, fortunate enough to have parents who own houses here, work around the island, their summers a healthy combination of work and play. Kids, despite their parents' affluence, start babysitting or working as young as 14. Yes, they spend plenty of time hanging out at the beaches, traipsing around the three towns, and enjoying being young and here on this island.

As they get older, the jobs seem to get more taxing, their college summers spent waiting tables at any number of eating establishments. This parental expectation of kids working must be a result of the Puritan work ethic. Their counterparts in LA rarely pushed their kids to take on such responsibilities. In fact, my friends, whose kids were of working age, never seemed to view this as a possibility--as if working were something beneath their kids' stature in the world. This is not to pass judgment on their decision to keep their kids shielded from the grind of having to work since most will spend the bulk of their existence doing just that. Yet, is this prudent? Even for those with trust funds--although so few will be so fortunate--the drive to do something should be fostered, right? Isn't it realistic for those kids, who will have to face the reality of a life where they don't have the luxury to do nothing, be given some forewarning? To be given a preview, so to speak, when the stakes aren't nearly as dire.

Our baby sitter's work ethic, which is astounding for someone her age, is not a fair measure. She can out work even most grown adults, it seems. But her assumption she will work, and work hard, is something I didn't witness in most of my friends' kids. Most of my friends spent their time fostering a charade of life where their kids' main job was to move from one 'enrichment' activity to another, as if this were a preview of what their lives will be. And again, so few will be lucky enough to avoid the reality of life: going to work each day to pay for mortgages, cars, and all the other necessary every items. I can imagine the sense of disappointment these kids will feel once they realize that life isn't simply about merely doing things they want, that much of life is doing things that are far from exciting or enriching.

You see these teens, standing behind candy counters, ringing up your groceries, taking your order for a pizza and clam strips, all over the island. Some move from job to job each season, this dance for the perfect job an early preview of what their twenties, and possibly, their thirties will be. They may have missed some revealing moment about themselves and their interests from not having spent their summer at drama camp. But I would bet my money on these kids faring better than their counterparts, who spent their summers at camp or traveling. This advantage may not be apparent at the moment, but will reveal itself later, when the stakes are more important. My son, who is a mere four and a half, has identified places he would like to work once he gets of age. Of course, this list of potential jobs changes each day, but his expectation that he will work never wanes. We hope this imperative lesson of life will provide a sturdy foundation for him as he enters adulthood.

Martha's Vineyard Agricultural Fair

Each August, the agricultural community of the island gets together to put on an old-fashioned fair to help promote the agricultural community on the island. They have exhibits where baked goods have been judged, an orange chiffon cake winning one of the prizes. The other exhibits celebrate and promote talents of those on the island. There are canning contests for the best berry jams and preserves, exhibits of children's artwork, and quilts and a kayak as drawing prizes for the raffle.

This enormous open field, which is normally home to a farm, is turned into a fair ground with rickety rides, stands doling out sugary confections and fried foods, and vendors selling home made items. There are pig races along with a barn full of roosters, chickens, cows, miniature ponies, for display. The best attraction were the Llamas. Yes, Llamas. The Llama farm is near our home and they were brought out for the fair, so that all of us could take a closer look at these exotic animals. There were sweaters made from Llama hair for sale, as well as hats and mittens. My son found all of it exciting and fun, especially the super slide, which he made his sitter go down with him four times in a row.

The drive out to West Tisbury for the fair is one I love. Imagine me admitting to loving driving anywhere. The scenery is pastoral, big open meadows and fields gracing each side of the two lane road, a canopy of trees shielding your car from the sun. The woods are interrupted by a dirt path, a mailbox at the entrance, letting you know there is a house tucked deep among trees and brush. My favorite part of this incredibly scenic drive are the 'stores' that you pass. There is the famous Eileen's pies shop, which is really her home turned into a store for the summer season. Eileen, a woman I've never met, but imagined, makes these delicious home made pies all summer, which people drive out to purchase. She sells her pies from a gazebo on her property. Chilmark Pottery is at the end of a windy dirt road. All the pottery is hand made by potters on the island. These delicate bowls, vases, and jars are in the hues of this island: greens, blues, some red, and yellows. There are a few antique stores also on this road with antique chairs placed outside to entice the driver to stop and browse.

But my absolute favorite part of the drive are the stone walls that border some of the properties. They are large sandy colored rocks, all different shapes that have been placed gingerly, one on top of another until a wall has been created. They are stunning in their simplicity. I always imagined Indians from long ago had made these walls, but of course that is not the reality. It is usually at this moment when I am passing a large farm, its borders defined by these walls, that I sigh in sheer happiness. I don't know what it is about these walls, but each time I see them I rediscover their singular beauty. Perhaps they are what each of us imagines when we read those Jane Austen novels, all set in the English countryside of sweeping meadows, trees, and these walls.

The news is full of gloom and doom about the ravages of hurricanes, high heat, and flooding. The onslaught of so much extreme weather should be worrying for us all. But yet, so few of us really consider our every day behavior and how each simple, uncomplicated task like driving two blocks to the market, can have such a devastating impact on our world. When I was in LA, a city that is not beautiful by any means, I thought less about the environment, other than how annoying it was that this issue had become so in vogue among the Hollywood set. But sitting here among the graceful wonders of nature, I consider the possibility of losing all of this to our thoughtlessness. The one outcome of this global warming is that the weather here has been glorious all summer. The heating of the planet has made this island ideal for all summer activities.

We left the fair, tummies full, each of us satisfied in this afternoon outing. There was nothing special about this fair, but the lack of special effects was what was so reassuring for me. The only disappointment was the fried dough stand, which was nothing like the funnel cakes of my childhood.

House guests!

It is an accepted expectation and burden once you own a summer home you will have visitors. I've heard, although yet to be substantiated, that people, relatives--even the most distant--, and acquaintances all vie for an invitation to come out and stay once word gets out you have a place in whatever idyllic setting it may be. I find this idea of visiting someone during their vacation, well, odd, really. It isn't as if those who come have invited us to join them on their holiday to the Hawaiian islands or some other far flung resort. Yet, this expectation that friends will come stay for free seems universal for those who have homes where visitors want to come.

During our time here, even when we were, ourselves, renters, we have had a flurry of guests come and stay--all free of charge. There are some friends, whose visit is simply a part of our annual ritual on this island. When we were in LA, it offered us an excuse to catch up with those whom we love, but don't get to see very much because of the sheer distance. But all the others, well, we are fond of our friends, but the idea of having them sprawled in your living room all week, waiting for meals to be served is too wearying even for this 'wannabe cruise director.'

We, as a family, have decided on a family 'one time only' rule. If you've been to visit once, your next visit should occur at your own rental or one of those lovely B&B's all over the island. If you have fallen so head long in love with this place, an easy thing to happen, then please avail yourself to the countless websites for rentals. We would love to have you over for dinner, meet up with you at the beach, have the kids run around in our meadow. Obviously, this rule doesn't apply to family members, who are expected to come, stay, and make a nuisance of themselves since they are family.

Since I've had the occasion to have hosted countless visitors, I've amassed a list of 'dos and don'ts' for those who want to come visit anyone. So, I will start with the Do's, a much shorter list.

-Do help out during meal times whether setting the table, stirring sauces, or simply standing around with a wine glass in hand offering company for the cook.
-Do offer to pay for something, even if the offer is rejected by the host.
-Do bring a very nice hostess gift--it's not what you bring, so much as the idea of this gesture that is paramount to setting a tone for your stay.
-Do clean up after yourself more assiduously than you would at home.
-Do offer to babysit, so your host can have an evening off--again, this will be rejected, but it is the gesture that matters.
-Do rent a car and plan activities that are for you and your family--never, never, expect chauffeuring duties to be included in your visit.
-Do follow all rules of the house, particularly pertaining to rules for children.
-Do offer dish washing duties nightly, even if rejected by your host.
-If babysitters are used, offer to help pay since it is more than likely your child was 'watched' in the process.
-Do invite your hosts for a visit to some place you are thinking of going, even if this offer is never taken seriously.
-Do leave a thank you note and a little token before you leave the house. Again, it is the gesture that is important.

The list of 'dos' are not as exhaustive as the list of 'don'ts.' We have some great family stories of people who have visited, whose conduct during their stay has helped create this exhaustive list.

-Don't let your child rule the roost--if your little one is known around your home as Emperor, it is advised to not let him or her run the show during your visit. This would mean the parents should spend all of their energies, making sure their Emperor or Empress is sharing, is not demanding, is following proper protocol of being a visitor in someone else's house.
-Don't go around changing things in the house, like moving furniture out of the way because your Emperor or Empress might hurt themselves in their frenzy to be the center of attention.
-Don't impose your differing parenting philosophies on to your hosts. If you don't believe your child has to share since you are raising the next Ted Turner or Rubert Murdoch, well, do force your child to make this concession during your time.
-Don't let your rigid food issues--other than severe allergies--be a source of consternation and anxiety for the hosts. If you don't like to eat meat, for whatever particular issue, just eat everything but the meat. If what the hosts serve is too offensive for your picky sensibilities, then go out and get your own food, which you should prepare once the kitchen is empty.
-Don't leave your rooms a mess each time you leave the house.
-Don't sit around sipping cocktails when you see your hosts working hard doing things for your comfort.
-Don't bring two kids and have only one parent be the one in charge. If you have two, then both parents should be actively parenting. For those with families where kids outnumber the parents, well, good luck since it is unlikely you will get invited to this house.
-Don't take over the house by having your things all over the place.
-Don't invite yourself to every outing your hosts may need to be attending--remember they are longtime residents here, so they will have occasions when they will need you to be self sufficient.
-Don't expect your hosts to drive you around, for whatever reason.
-Don't use up the last of house hold items without replacing it. Remember things on the island are three times the price of things you usually pay for at your neighborhood Costco.
-Don't invite others over to your hosts' home, for whatever reason. If you have others you know here, then meet them out.
-Don't hog up the home computer. If you need to stay connected to work or friends, bring your own equipment.
-Don't be a couch potato, if that is your idea of a vacation.
-Don't leave your dirty dishes in the sink, ever.

I'm sure as the years progress, we will be adding to this list. Those you hold with much affection don't necessarily translate into commendable house guests. We have had our range of great visitors--those usually get invited back--to the most horrifying. Again, we're waiting for that invitation for us to join our friends on one of their vacations, something that has yet to happen. We're quite happy to go to Puerto Rico--we are on the East Coast now--or any other tropical locale as guests of others.

Match Point

I started playing tennis over a year ago after not picking up a racket for nearly ten years. I found it incredibly relaxing to channel all of my fury into hitting, actually demolishing that yellow ball. It was less a game about finesse as aggression, my aggression, that is. I loved the running around, shamelessly grunting as I tried to kill this ball that had done nothing to warrant such ferocity. I was not out there to get a 'game' or to become a Tennis Bunny, the name I call all those women who make tennis their new found career. But rather, it was a way for me to relieve the excess amounts of stress that I suffer from for so many reasons, most of them genetically coded.

In LA, I knew a group of women, who all belonged to a particular tennis/swim club, most of their days spent playing in matches, practicing, and gossiping about all their fellow cohorts at this club--which I called THE CESSPOOL. I found them, as a group, quite off putting in their exclusivity and snobbishness about their particular world, which to me felt like a gilded cage or high-class prison. Their tennis playing was on some list, along with book club, scrap booking, and wine tasting, all of it designated for those aspiring or clinging to this precarious world of privilege. It is, I'm afraid to say, a world I know intimately. Yes, I do, did belong to a book club, although my club, I felt, was comprised of smart, interesting, intellectually engaged women, none of them remotely close to being labeled a Tennis Bunny. But that's my opinion, right? Someone outside our club may have found us lacking in so many ways, all of it depending on how smart, educated, and how intense their own snobbish meter.

So, in LA, I was relieved to be playing on public courts, far from the Cesspool that was the tennis club to which I would most likely have joined. It freed me to play as hard or not as I needed. There was no danger of running into one of those Tennis Bunnies, whose prying questions about what I'm doing or not would surely be repeated ad nauseum once they had walked far enough away to not be overheard recounting this discussion with someone on the other end of their cell phone. In fact, my tennis playing was something I didn't discuss with the members of the Tennis Bunnies sect. It was my secret, actually. Yes, I still engaged in the other activities that seemed de riguer for those in this class, but again most of it was far from the judgment of those that belonged to this particular group. My vehemence about the club and its members was something I thought just another aspect of life in LA I found reprehensible--a city that is not a city since it felt like living in a hyper-real Mayberry.

Oh, how wrong I was. It seems there are Tennis Bunnies everywhere, even on Martha's Vineyard. I found myself cringing in recognition at the same vapidness in the Tennis Bunnies here at Farm Neck. It seems there is some mold that churns out this particular breed in every state, every town, every Tennis Club. Or, is it simply that this particular sport, something which I enjoy so much, attracts all of those with characteristics I find so discomfiting? Yes, I am a hater of my own class, it seems. No matter how much I like to pretend to be a philosophical Marxist, I can't seem to shake my own inclination for, towards all those things that designate my class. See, I prefer playing at Farm Neck where the instructors, all male, all overgrown adolescents in adult bodies, are available to hit with me. The public courts in Oak Bluffs seem, well, dingy in comparison. Terrible to admit, but it is in fact how I feel each time I drive past these public courts.

So, I go to Farm Neck, gritting my teeth whenever a group of these women--why are so many of them blond?--come to play. I eavesdrop on their conversations about their 'kids--it seems all of their kids are in some baseball league together--,' 'book club'--everyone seems to be reading the newest written by the author of The Kite Runner--, and the mention of someone they are acquainted who is well-known for something--since this is the Vineyard and not LA, it is usually a writer and not a producer or actor. Their smugness is what I find so suffocating.

When I observe them, I can imagine them as they had been in high school, all of their insecurities or meanness barely hidden under the mask of adulthood. They are again vying for some top spot, although their 40ish, squishy bodies now makes it impossible for them to become the Homecoming Queen, if any of them were ever close to such a title. Instead, their competition is played within the arena of everything else in their lives: their spouses--whose makes more money, whose got the promotion, whose summer home is the grandest, who belongs to what yacht club--, and their kids, those unfortunate beings that are now shouldering the burden of the failures or disappointments of their mothers and, in most cases, their fathers. I assume, rightly or wrongly, most of them don't work, and have no real desire to do so. I know, I'm being incredibly narrow-minded in my own judgments since some of them, much to my shock, might be a Cardiologist, Professor, Marketing Executive--a glorified term for those who sell s**t we don't need--, and perhaps, even an anthropologist. Yet, I find this highly unlikely since most of my friends with rigorous careers have so little mental pr physical time for tennis, other than a quick hour lesson or run around on the courts, and certainly no time for the endless, inane discussions.

This being inside particular worlds, yet not truly inside is a familiar place for me. Perhaps it has do with being a child of transnationals. Perhaps not. I am starting to think this may be the way I am built, this need to be an observer, no matter how involved I am in whatever particular world. And so, I watch. And I take note. What I'm discovering is that class, this thing our country claims it doesn't abide by, is constantly in play at all times. It is the master behind all the chess moves of all the players--us. Whether we become pawns or the Queen is what most of us spend our entire lives battling. And then throw money--the desperate need to accumulate, the desperate need to spend what we accumulate--well, that is just the match to a building of sticks, dry sticks that is. So, I head off again for another lesson at Farm Neck, bracing myself for the most inane discussions I will, most likely, overhear. I wish I could say I find these women amusing instead of the profound sadness I feel for me and for them.