On Emily and Solitude

I was (and still am) trying to wrap my brain around this idea of spinsterhood. When the idea of spinsterhood existing in my own world at the mere age of twenty-two came to me, at first it was comical, because when one hears the word spinster, this image usually comes to mind:

  There seems to be a stigma built around the concept, that stigma consisting of women who are lonely, shriveled, haggardly, pitied, own many cats, are hunched over and creeping, etc.  When I began using this word in passing conversation, trying to rouse the idea with friends and acquaintances, I was surprised to learn that a handful of people weren’t vaguely familiar with the term. When describing this lifestyle, they immediately became familiar with the term, and most retorted oh! An old hag! The concept has seemingly become fictionalized. We only see extremities of spinsterhood characteristics in stories—the most prominent in my mind is Faulkner’s Emily in A Rose for Emily. But this can’t be what represents spinsterhood, a women living in her old colonel father’s house, isolating herself from society and hoarding a dead body of a man she sleeps with every night. Many negative connotations have been constructed, so I’ve been racking my little brain about how to glorify this idea of women remaining in solitude for the span of their life. I wanted to break this fictional element that has attached itself to my current fascination. I turned to my literature (where the fictionalizing began) and started musing on the author’s motivation in creating these characters. I then looked up quotes, hoping someone else’s brilliant thought would give birth to some sort of epiphany—rather give me some sort of guidance to glorifying this lifestyle of solitary women. Here are a few quotes that I stumbled upon:

 “The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.”—Charlotte Bronte

            Okay, so this particular quote wasn’t so inspiring, but it captures the fear that has been derived from spinsterhood. It does recognize that being singular is not what is feared, but being lonely. No dependency on another is needed.

“Better die an old maid, sister, than marry the wrong man.”—Billy Sunday

            This one was a bit more comforting…

“Without a doubt... the worst part of being a single woman was having to take care of your own car.”—Lisa Kleypas

            This one was just simply humorous.

And then I stumbled upon this little gem:

“She could become a spinster, like Emily Dickinson, writing poems full of dashes and brilliance, and never gaining weight.”—Jeffrey Eugenides

This spurred some encouragement and turned me away from fictional characters that portrayed all the haggardly elements of spinsterhood and pointed me toward a real woman who represented lovely qualities, despite her solitude: Miss Emily Dickinson—thank you Jeffrey.

Meet poet and brilliant Emily Dickinson:

Emily lived in Amherst, Massachusetts where she lived reclusively and wrote beautiful, stopping poetry. None of her poetry was published until after her death; her sister founds hundreds of poems and they began being published after 1860—they sold rather well. Dickinson never married and slowly began to withdraw from society. Her quiet life was not seen as morose or pitied, it was infused with creative energy as she wrote one brilliant poem after another.

Here is a link to an article with further details on how her hermitary affected her work:

http://www.hermitary.com/articles/dickinson.html

On looking at Emily’s solitary life and on looking at her work produced from this solitude, it gave me satisfaction and hope for those who also share in this solitude. One does not need to be wrinkly with whiskers poking from their chin, or surrounded by wailing felines. One can be imaginative, creative—influential—despite their solitude, hell, solitude may help spur some of that creative energy—it did for Emily. If there are those who are shrowded with doubt within their solitude, do not let the stigma that society has created around spinsterhood define you. You are not haggardly, you are not “of no use,” you are not truly alone. Look at others who have impressed their ideas and imagination on life. Something lovely can be born from solitude. Thankfully, Emily Dickinson aided me in my quest to glorify this “lonely” life we call spinsterhood. 

Choice of the "Qua La"

It must be of no great surprise now...we've added another to our family. 

This is Eliot. He came a bit more quietly than Edgar. He is quite the lover with a sweet amiable nature. We assume him and Edgar to be brothers--they compliment each other so nicely.Edgar definitely has the traits of an older brother as he is always pushing poor little docile Eliot around and frequently stakes his territory on the wooden ledge of our back porch, looking down on sweet Eliot. We often find the two kissing and showing brotherly affection toward each other, but there are oftentimes we find the two in a hissy fit--Edgar of course initiates this. 

But no matter what, we still love them both dearly.

It's rather canny how with each blog post comes a new cat purring its way into our two sizes too small spinster hearts.It may seem like canny coincidence--involuntary and a frequent happening, but it is really a choice. We choose to care for these little lovers and we choose to to stay at home drinking Delicious Red (yes, wine straight from the box) and read poetry out loud.

These certain aspects of our life may ring lonely, deplorable,in a sense, or just unfortunate circumstance, but my friends, it is a choice! Today's blog is about choices, and we're going back about thirty years to the little village of LOI, Vietnam. 

(With many thanks to one of my Professor) I discovered this  article on women in this small village who were considered "too old for marriage" when they were a mere twenty-six years old. These women decided that this was not going to be their fate--they were not going to be told by their society that they would remain alone. They chose a life of solitude for themselves, but here's the twist (which breaks the barriers of my own "spinsterhood"): a group of women would find men willing to impregnate them and then would choose to raise the child on their own. They preferred to remain alone, and so they did without allowing society to deem them "qua la" or "past marriageable age." They just really wanted babies! 

Here is a link to the website (again, many thanks to my professor for showing me this) that'll give you these women's stories in a bit more detail: 

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/15/world/asia/in-vietnam-some-chose-to-be-single-mothers.html?_r=0

So there are many different aspects to this life choice we call "Spinsterhood," or "Qua La" or what have you, but one thing should be made clear: For most (including my roommate and myself) it is a choice, a lovely simple and quiet choice that entails (at least for us) many glasses of boxed wine, poetry by the lamp light, and lots of purring kitties. 

Whisker On My Chinny-Chin-Chin

    So, I last left you all with our latest addition to our little spinsterhood family (Hamlet the noble stray). Unfortunately, for him, we had to leave our apartment--but gratefully we walked into our new/old home nestled within the Tower District. But no need to fret! We quickly made friends with another stray. Stray he may not be, though. A few weeks back when we did a walk through of our now lovely little home, we spotted a cat on the wall in the backyard. We immediately swooned, and the previous owner (picking up on our amorous nature toward the cat) subtly remarked that if we wanted the cat, he was ours; she couldn't take him along. We thought she was kidding.  

    That Friday afternoon after we had moved all of our big furniture, I was perusing the back yard and heard an awful cry coming from the far end of the yard. Low and behold, here was that very same cat, hissing at me and staring me down with his yellow ominous eyes. His sibilating could not frighten this young bitty away, though. With a little help from my fellow bitty, we quickly de-jaundiced his eyes and heart. 

Meet our latest addition Edgar, who came a rap tapping on our door crying Nevermore--leave me hungry; we call him Poe for short:

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But our continual catnapping is not the heart of this blog. The main issue I wish to address is facial hair. Hi, I am Jessica. I am twenty-two years old and I have whiskers on my chin. 

I remember the days of old when my brother, sister and I used to go visit our great-grandma and ransack through her library, tip on her type writer, and climb her gnarly tree out in her front yard. We loved our stubborn old grandma. She had a stern voice, endearing blue eyes, and flailing whiskers. I remember them vividly, poking out from her chin, and my sister and I would try to stifle our giggling. Here I am now, twenty-two, and my chin mimics my dear old grandmothers. So what does one young bitty do? Buys herself a good pair of tweezers. 

Luckily, I am not alone in this plucking event. My roommate and I have made it into a game of sorts--a "hangout" session, if you will. We like to call this "Whisker Patrol." We enjoy sitting in the living room, soaked in sun, plucking our chin whiskers; it's become a favorite pass time, really. I am often reminded of my grandmother and her whiskers glistening in the light that peeked in through her blinds. We now have another commonality, the only difference is I put my tweezers to good use. I am lucky to have a fellow young bitty to share in my curmudgeon-ity. It's these minute things that perpetuate this spinster attitude--lifestyle I've acquired. Things as small as a whisker on the tip of my chin. 

The Cat's in the Bag

When talking about young/old spineless hags, where does one begin? Ah, yes of course: cats. Every good spinster has her feline. Having a cat serves as a mirror really, both cat and hag are independent, frumpy, and moody as hell. Spinsters don't have the luxury--or perhaps the need to look upon a significant other, so what better than having a smaller, harrier form of themselves lounging about the house? Unfortunately, my roommate and I do not have the luxury of having a cat(s) due to the fact we live in an apartment complex that charges out the wazoo for pet ownership. That does not confine us though; we resort to catnapping. This, my friends, is a poignant sign that you just may be a spinster. 

Meet our friend Hamlet, also known as "Hammy" for short.
We heard this little handsome man crying outside our apartment door. We couldn't resist. We littered the entry way with bits of salami, but surprisingly, he preferred our third roommate's dog's food (she still does not know this little guy was in our house all night). We don't have time for luring men into our home, we're too busy catnapping: a positive sign of onset spinsterhood. 

Welcome to My Spinster"hood"

 As of late, I have been obsessing over certain habits I have acquired over the past couple of years. Not only habits, but interests, vernacular, regimins--life style choices. I've become more comfortable with the idea of going places alone, and sometimes I'd prefer to be alone. I'll choose a quiet night at home with my cup of Earl Grey tea over a hazy night down at Livingstone's. Yes, some may say that it is merely a passing of time--growing older--but I am only the mere age of twenty-two. When trying to explain this to a friend he only replied "it just sounds like any single girl's life"but I had to disagree. The word spinster popped into my head. Spinster. Meaning:

1. A woman who has remained single beyond the conventional age for marrying.

2. A single woman.

3. A person whose occupation is spinning.

Now I do not entirely believe I am beyond the age of marrying, but the abundance of babies and wedding bands that circle a large group of friends and acquaintances should make me believe otherwise. A single woman, now that is not entirely true, but I still believe myself to be singular--dependent on only myself. I do not occupy myself with spinning, but I could certainly use it as a metaphor (as I do with most everything I encounter) and say that within my small singular life I feel as though I am always spinning and spinning ready to go tumbling to the ground. 

So needless to say, I want to write a blog about spinsterhood for the twenty-something year old. I am lucky enough to have a roommate who shares in my solitude, so this blog will focus on both of our perspectives and our happenings of being singular, unmarried,  forever spinning ladies--two old bitties. I want to focus on the mundane, the quiet activities that separate us from our "yolo" generation. Yes, awful, I know. These activities could be as mundane as planting flowers, having crafty Tuesdays, or picking out an unwanted whisker. 

Here are some blogs I found interesting and somewhat appropriate with my own blog idea: 

-http://margaretandhelen.com/

-http://www.smartplanet.com/blog/intelligent-energy/grumpy-old-womans-energy-tips/16315

I feel like these two blogs are more like a conversational piece, which I eventually want to incorporate. I want to express our cynicism and our bitterness toward this isolation we feel from others our age but all while employing humor. Because we truly don't take our loneliness quite so seriously! 

I hope to incorporate literature too (especially poetry--duh) because I feel that that also separates us as we cling to Romanticism and the 20th century, afraid to leap onto new modern branches. So here is a link to a blog I found interesting:

http://www.thethepoetry.com/

So, Spinsterhood for the Twenty-Something Year Old: Two Young Bitties. Hooray!