Fifty-six years a Mother!

And what a ride it's been...

My first child was born fifty-six years ago today, on August 1, 1968—just three weeks before the insanity of the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago, and a few months after the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr and Bobby Kennedy. 

Was I paying attention? Honest answer? No, I was not. The world of politics seemed irrelevant as I basked in the prospects of—and then was overwhelmed by the reality of new motherhood. 

The person I am today looks back at the 28-year-old woman I was in 1968, and shakes her head at how completely I’d bought into the cultural expectations swirling around young girls born around the same time as me (1940). My parents were my impeccable models. They fell in love at 17, married at 23, and lived happily ever after. Mom was a master homemaker who somehow made it look easy. [Here: 50th Anniversary]

Even as a preschooler, I knew a girl had to marry before she had any babies, so when my 3-year-old sister and I played house under the dining table with our baby dolls, we needed husbands. Since I was already in love with Montana Slim, a yodeling cowboy I heard on the radio, I dubbed myself “Mrs. Slim,” and arrange-married my compliant little sister to another yodeling cowboy, Elton Britt. 

There, under the sheet-draped table, Mrs. Britt and I prattled on about our husbands’ busy days out on the range, and poured little bottles of water into the round hole that was the doll’s mouth, delighted to change the diaper that got wet two seconds later. 

But I was a fickle child. Once I started kindergarten I deserted Mr. Slim in favor of countless subsequent marriages—at least three a year—to cute boys in my class. I scribbled my new name(s) in the margins of my notebooks: Mrs. Carl Morabito, Mrs. Sandy Carney, Mrs. Richard Thonesen… 

None were aware of our sacred relationship, which made divorce painless.

By the time I got to college, many of my female peers were already engaged and some were soon married. I had plenty of boyfriends, but I’d imprinted on bluegrass and blues guitar players, none of whom were marriage material (but oh so sexy!).
[Back in the day, when Don West and I were co-managers of the Folklore Center in Harvard Square, and where Jim Kweskin and I taught guitar.] 

In 1960 the average age for women to marry was 20 (!), so on my 25th birthday I had a complete meltdown: I was fated to be an OLD MAID 😳😢🙀. A few months later I met the man who’d become my husband, and you know it—soon after our first date I practiced writing “Mrs. Edward Imboden.” One of my most treasured wedding presents was personal stationary proclaiming this long-coveted status. (I know… I cringe today.)

Somehow, despite living in Berkeley during the 1960s, I was no bra-burning feminist or anti-war activist. I was too busy developing my chops as an even more skillful homemaker than my mom.

That said, I did have outside interests. I became very involved in promoting healthful practices at the personal/individual level: writing about food and nutrition for the Berkeley Gazette; volunteering as a medical aide at Planned Parenthood; and creating Thin Within to empower women to give up dieting in favor of mindful eating. 

My lightbulb moment came in 1983, working on my Masters degree in Public Health. I’d always focused on making things better at the individual level, when in fact I realized every one of the issues I cared about were systemic, best resolved by broader upstream actions.

Suddenly the saying, “The personal is political,” became real. 

If I want my kids to have healthier school lunches, if I want women to have easier access to contraception and abortion, if I want stricter regulation of the tobacco industry, if I am worried about the safety of our water supply or the quality of the air we’re breathing… It is all political. 

Oh…

As Martha Gellhorn implied in the quote above, once you see how much everything is shaped by politics, you cannot unsee it. And seeing it, you want to shake other people out of complacency and complaining. At least I do, in case you hadn’t noticed. 

If this former “tradwife” can gradually wake up to the importance of politics, there’s hope that others will open their eyes, get informed, and become more involved. As Barack Obama said, “Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”

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I’m curious: have you changed in surprising ways since you were 28? Like how? I’d love your comments…

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Let’s see. Where was I? Ah yes, back to my dearest darling daughter, whose birthday is today! Happy Birthday, Heather! For 56 years you’ve been a gift, a patient teacher and a wake-up nudge. Thank you for being such an example.

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Just for fun

More about laughing. I’m not the only person to be unsurprised by attacks on Kamala’s laugh. Many many articles about it by now. Stark comparison to Trump, who does not laugh at all (WTF???). I love how Obama cracks himself up.

Speaking of blues guitar players, how about Keb’ Mo’! He and Roseanne Cash have the perfect campaign song for Kamala!

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Put Yourself in the Way of Beauty

If you’ve been a long-time subscriber to this newsletter on Mailchimp, you know I’m a sucker for all things magnolia. Just saw this one yesterday.

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If you're new here, you can catch up on the last 25 issues of Alive! with Joy until I disconnect with Mailchimp. Over the years I've posted lots more on my various websites:

• ColorstylePDX.com/blog 65 posts about color analysis and seasonal style. 

• joyoverstreet.com/  My author website. Learn about my book about the Thin Within process, the Cherry Pie Paradox: The Surprising Path to Diet Freedom and Lasting Weight Loss, plus other magazine writing, links to guest appearances on a bunch of podcasts and video interviews.