Old blog, new name. I decided to go with Years That Answer for my new name. Cheers.
coming out of my shell
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Saturday, February 5, 2022
Thursday, September 30, 2021
Playing the roles
People become defined by the roles they play. When I retired and moved away, I was stunned by the difference in how I was perceived. When I worked outside the home, I was someone who was noticed by others. People knew what I was capable of. I was liked, admired, feared by some, disliked and disapproved of by others. It was fun for many years. Then it wasn't. I wanted a change. I retired.
When I moved, I had no personal accomplishments to define me. I knew no one, except the people who called me wife, mother, and grandmother. I was still thinking in terms of roles, and those seemed like the only ones I had.
It took me a couple years to get my bearings.
Now I realize retirement is a transformation. Instead of looking outward for approval, I have learned to define myself. Big change.
I'm actually a lot more like I was at 18. Carefree, creatively involved, interested, and curious. I do what I want. I think what I will. It has been a relief to step back and let the world carry on without me.
Change is freakin' hard. But it is the nature of life, so there you go.
"JOSEPH CAMPBELL: If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Wherever you are -- if you are following your bliss, you are enjoying that refreshment, that life within you, all the time."
Change #3,427, Now I take pictures of alligators.
Sunday, August 29, 2021
We have a cat!
For most of our marriage we have co-existed with at least one cat. Our last one, Buddy, died 5 years ago. We decided then to forego getting another animal. As much as we love cats, we were happy with that decision.
Our daughter and her family have 4 cats (!). One, Murray, is the alpha male. He doesn't tolerate other cats well. It created a stressful environment for all. Murray needs to be an only cat. He would prefer being pampered, spoiled, and admired above all others. Me, too.
Somewhat reluctantly, we agreed to take him in. It was definitely a rescue, but not of Murray. Our taking him rescued the 3 other cats. We just got him last night. He is still scared and traumatized by the change. He's in hiding.
My husband is the Pied Piper of cats. They all love him, and he loves them. I trust his judgment and approach to winning Murray over, which is to give the cat time and space. There is also some baby talk, treats, and petting. It's a start.
When we went to bed last night Murray was underneath. I was totally cognizant there were now three "people" in the house. It was a good feeling.
Saturday, May 9, 2020
Academic Freedom?
Academics don't write for the masses. They don't even write for students. They write for each other. Academic writing is densely dry for the rest of us, kind of sucking the joy out of learning.
I asked a Classics professor why he didn't share his knowledge and write books accessible for everyone. He replied that if he did, his colleagues would no longer take him seriously.
I understand the pressure to conform. Hired as assistant professors they have virtually no independent voice, because after 6 years they must submit themselves to a grueling and soul destroying review of their work. If they pass, they become Associate Professors, with full tenure. If they don't pass, they are fired. Then the successful ones have the choice to come up for another peer review in their career if they want to become full professors.
Don't kid yourself. If any of these tortured souls tried to do something radical before achieving full professor, their peers would become jealous and or judgmental and the younger academic would not be promoted. Silence is a game they must play for many years. But once these scholars have achieved "tenure" they cannot be fired. They have a job for life. When they become full professors, there are no further peer reviews.
Surely some could continue their serious academic writings and still find time to write a popular summary for those of us who don't want to inhale the moldering dust of academic tomes. Well, that was mean of me, wasn't it? Sorry. But books that go unread often make me sneeze.
And knowledge not shared is what my mother would have called a sin and a shame.
I live in a country where intellectuals are considered elitists, distrusted and reviled. In turn, intellectuals look down on the uneducated rabble. Gee, how did that happen? More to the point, how can we change that?
I am so tired of living among people so poorly educated that their only pastime is to drink themselves into oblivion while watching bad TV.
I asked a Classics professor why he didn't share his knowledge and write books accessible for everyone. He replied that if he did, his colleagues would no longer take him seriously.
I understand the pressure to conform. Hired as assistant professors they have virtually no independent voice, because after 6 years they must submit themselves to a grueling and soul destroying review of their work. If they pass, they become Associate Professors, with full tenure. If they don't pass, they are fired. Then the successful ones have the choice to come up for another peer review in their career if they want to become full professors.
Don't kid yourself. If any of these tortured souls tried to do something radical before achieving full professor, their peers would become jealous and or judgmental and the younger academic would not be promoted. Silence is a game they must play for many years. But once these scholars have achieved "tenure" they cannot be fired. They have a job for life. When they become full professors, there are no further peer reviews.
Surely some could continue their serious academic writings and still find time to write a popular summary for those of us who don't want to inhale the moldering dust of academic tomes. Well, that was mean of me, wasn't it? Sorry. But books that go unread often make me sneeze.
And knowledge not shared is what my mother would have called a sin and a shame.
I live in a country where intellectuals are considered elitists, distrusted and reviled. In turn, intellectuals look down on the uneducated rabble. Gee, how did that happen? More to the point, how can we change that?
I am so tired of living among people so poorly educated that their only pastime is to drink themselves into oblivion while watching bad TV.
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Too soon
Aaack, my heart! My youngest grandson no longer thinks I'm the funniest person in the world.
I knew this would happen eventually. But I'm not ready for N The Logical. I haven't yet had my fill of N The Peurile. Not fair!
A couple of weeks ago I picked him up from school. I employed my usual shtick. He did not laugh. Instead, he replied "Grandma, you don't have to try so hard to make me happy." THAT gave me pause. I don't? What if I want to? He's not the boss of me.
Last week I picked him up again. As he climbed into the back seat I said (with great enthusiasm) "Hello, Punkin!" He took his seat, buckled his seat belt and said "You know, Grandma, I'm 8 years old now. You really have to stop calling me all those baby names."
Darn it. I'm not ready to grow up.
Today I am practicing my itsy bitsy spider routine so I can Facetime our great-granddaughter. I'm SURE I can make her laugh, for years and years.
I knew this would happen eventually. But I'm not ready for N The Logical. I haven't yet had my fill of N The Peurile. Not fair!
A couple of weeks ago I picked him up from school. I employed my usual shtick. He did not laugh. Instead, he replied "Grandma, you don't have to try so hard to make me happy." THAT gave me pause. I don't? What if I want to? He's not the boss of me.
Last week I picked him up again. As he climbed into the back seat I said (with great enthusiasm) "Hello, Punkin!" He took his seat, buckled his seat belt and said "You know, Grandma, I'm 8 years old now. You really have to stop calling me all those baby names."
Darn it. I'm not ready to grow up.
Today I am practicing my itsy bitsy spider routine so I can Facetime our great-granddaughter. I'm SURE I can make her laugh, for years and years.
 |
| And hey, look! A new banana blossom in our yard. |
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Knee jerk reactions, part 1: How
TRIGGER ALERT
I have always been good in a crisis. I fall apart weeks later.
As is typical for me, I was doing 3 things at once. Family was coming for dinner, and I was picking up clutter, making gazpacho, and doing laundry. I multitask to keep from getting bored, but (numbnut that I am) I fully understand it kept me from focusing and caused this accident. By all that is holy, I'm gonna change!
Our washer and dryer are in the garage sitting on a concrete step. Built in the mid-1990's it is not wide enough to comfortably hold the newfangled humongo appliances AND a human being without paying close attention to where you are. I was not. I slipped and began my descent. As I fell, I concentrated on shielding my upper body. I did not anticipate my right knee might hit the concrete step where the riser meets the tread.
I heard the crunch and knew I'd broken my patella. I later learned it was broken into three pieces, plus change. However, I felt nothing at first. It was surreal. I was able to roll over onto my back (probably not a good idea). I instinctively raised my knee, searching for a comfortable position (also probably not a good idea) as the pain escalated. I found my pain-free position before the worst of the pain kicked in, absolutely not considering the maxim that what goes up must come down. I wasn't thinking.
I screamed for my husband, T. I didn't scream for the pain, by the way. I screamed for the horror. And, of course, because T is hard of hearing.
I could see he was shaken as he looked at the grotesque condition of my knee. My man was so freakin' sweet to me as he called the ambulance and packed my overnight bag. Let me just say to the entire world: I love that man.
Almost immediately, 4 kind EMT's shot me up with potent painkillers and lifted me onto the stretcher. I was deliriously happy to see one was a woman, so I took the time to congratulate her on being in a non-traditional job. I should have asked if they were registered to vote. Unfortunately, I forgot.
Away we flew to the Orlando Hospital trauma unit, sirens flashing. I have to admit, that was fun.
I couldn't sit up to see so I begged an EMT to take pictures for future reference. I'm a total fiend. Unfortunately, my phone was in my overnight bag in T's car. He was following the ambulance. Bummer.
At that point there was no possibly of straightening my leg, or moving at all without inflicting excruciating pain. Thankfully, the EMT's thought they'd let the doctors deal with that. I was transported to and into the ER with what looked like a leg with three knees sticking straight up in the air. People stared.
The head EMT got into a snippy argument with an aide about how to move me from the ambulance gurney onto the hospital stretcher. He wasn't taking any shit, and insisted it be done his way. I trusted him with my life but I felt sorry for the aide. Geez, I love hospital dynamics, it's always like watching a movie.
To be continued.
I have always been good in a crisis. I fall apart weeks later.
As is typical for me, I was doing 3 things at once. Family was coming for dinner, and I was picking up clutter, making gazpacho, and doing laundry. I multitask to keep from getting bored, but (numbnut that I am) I fully understand it kept me from focusing and caused this accident. By all that is holy, I'm gonna change!
Our washer and dryer are in the garage sitting on a concrete step. Built in the mid-1990's it is not wide enough to comfortably hold the newfangled humongo appliances AND a human being without paying close attention to where you are. I was not. I slipped and began my descent. As I fell, I concentrated on shielding my upper body. I did not anticipate my right knee might hit the concrete step where the riser meets the tread.
I heard the crunch and knew I'd broken my patella. I later learned it was broken into three pieces, plus change. However, I felt nothing at first. It was surreal. I was able to roll over onto my back (probably not a good idea). I instinctively raised my knee, searching for a comfortable position (also probably not a good idea) as the pain escalated. I found my pain-free position before the worst of the pain kicked in, absolutely not considering the maxim that what goes up must come down. I wasn't thinking.
I screamed for my husband, T. I didn't scream for the pain, by the way. I screamed for the horror. And, of course, because T is hard of hearing.
I could see he was shaken as he looked at the grotesque condition of my knee. My man was so freakin' sweet to me as he called the ambulance and packed my overnight bag. Let me just say to the entire world: I love that man.
Almost immediately, 4 kind EMT's shot me up with potent painkillers and lifted me onto the stretcher. I was deliriously happy to see one was a woman, so I took the time to congratulate her on being in a non-traditional job. I should have asked if they were registered to vote. Unfortunately, I forgot.
Away we flew to the Orlando Hospital trauma unit, sirens flashing. I have to admit, that was fun.
I couldn't sit up to see so I begged an EMT to take pictures for future reference. I'm a total fiend. Unfortunately, my phone was in my overnight bag in T's car. He was following the ambulance. Bummer.
At that point there was no possibly of straightening my leg, or moving at all without inflicting excruciating pain. Thankfully, the EMT's thought they'd let the doctors deal with that. I was transported to and into the ER with what looked like a leg with three knees sticking straight up in the air. People stared.
The head EMT got into a snippy argument with an aide about how to move me from the ambulance gurney onto the hospital stretcher. He wasn't taking any shit, and insisted it be done his way. I trusted him with my life but I felt sorry for the aide. Geez, I love hospital dynamics, it's always like watching a movie.
To be continued.
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
Rallying Cries
There
has never been a woman president in the United States. There has never been a
woman vice president. Ever. Can I say that again? Ever!
When I say “Elect women” or “We need a woman president” it pushes some right over the edge. I've had so many online arguments with men AND women who hear a pro-woman rallying cry and assume I'll single-handedly destroy the U.S. presidential election by refusing to vote for a male candidate. Sheesh.
Then there are the ones who say, “We tried it with Hillary and it didn’t work. The country isn’t ready to elect a woman, if you wait it will happen eventually.” Uh, I became a feminist in 1968. I’ve been waiting for over 50 years. I’m sick of waiting.
The "We tried HIllary" argument creeps me out. Although she likely won the election, and certainly won the popular vote, some think if one woman ran and didn’t win, then that justifies not considering a woman candidate. I understand the fears, but really? How can we change the world if we only give women one shot at power?
Rallying cries are emotional shorthand meant to focus attention on an issue. “Vote for Women” is intended to remind us that women are not fully represented in government and we need more women in power. That’s all, folks.
When women say "Let's support women candidates" or "Elect Women" it doesn't mean gender is the only factor. It's like saying "Black People Matter." That statement does not mean ONLY black people matter. It means black people matter, TOO. 'Isms are tricky, complicated, slippery damn things. Let's think more deeply about them.
I will advocate for those I consider the best candidates, and all other things being equal I will vote for a woman. But if a man is the best candidate, I’ll vote for the man.
However, I won't dismiss women candidate out of hand because some believe women can't win. I'm giving all the candidates a chance to convince me. I'm open.
It’s way too early for me to know who I’ll vote for in the primary. I currently have 3 favorites: two woman and one man. That could change over time. Most of the others I like, too. I’m a team player. “Vote Blue, No Matter Who” is also a rallying cry I hold dear. I just want more women elected to government at all positions, even president.
When I say “Elect women” or “We need a woman president” it pushes some right over the edge. I've had so many online arguments with men AND women who hear a pro-woman rallying cry and assume I'll single-handedly destroy the U.S. presidential election by refusing to vote for a male candidate. Sheesh.
Then there are the ones who say, “We tried it with Hillary and it didn’t work. The country isn’t ready to elect a woman, if you wait it will happen eventually.” Uh, I became a feminist in 1968. I’ve been waiting for over 50 years. I’m sick of waiting.
The "We tried HIllary" argument creeps me out. Although she likely won the election, and certainly won the popular vote, some think if one woman ran and didn’t win, then that justifies not considering a woman candidate. I understand the fears, but really? How can we change the world if we only give women one shot at power?
Rallying cries are emotional shorthand meant to focus attention on an issue. “Vote for Women” is intended to remind us that women are not fully represented in government and we need more women in power. That’s all, folks.
When women say "Let's support women candidates" or "Elect Women" it doesn't mean gender is the only factor. It's like saying "Black People Matter." That statement does not mean ONLY black people matter. It means black people matter, TOO. 'Isms are tricky, complicated, slippery damn things. Let's think more deeply about them.
I will advocate for those I consider the best candidates, and all other things being equal I will vote for a woman. But if a man is the best candidate, I’ll vote for the man.
However, I won't dismiss women candidate out of hand because some believe women can't win. I'm giving all the candidates a chance to convince me. I'm open.
It’s way too early for me to know who I’ll vote for in the primary. I currently have 3 favorites: two woman and one man. That could change over time. Most of the others I like, too. I’m a team player. “Vote Blue, No Matter Who” is also a rallying cry I hold dear. I just want more women elected to government at all positions, even president.
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Peach Pie and Politics
I'm eating peach pie. My husband's pie crust is remarkable. We are a team; he makes the crust and I make the filling. I must confess this is my lunch today. It was either leftover pie or a salad - no contest! Actually, I am only pretending this is my lunch. I know for a fact I will eat that salad, too.
While indulging, I am researching candidates for circuit and county judges. I have my mail-in-ballot for the Florida Democratic primary sitting on my desk, and I am trying to figure out some of the more arcane choices so I can finish up and mail it in. Florida's primary August 28.
I'm fairly certain who I will vote for as Governor, positive about Commissioner of Agriculture, and struggling with Attorney General. I love my U.S. Congresswoman, so will definitely be voting for her again. The judicial candidates and the school board elections are the tough ones for me, there is not nearly enough information available.
Florida has had Republican rule for 20 years. During that time they've controlled the Governorship, the State House and the State Senate. The Democrats got sloppy as a result, and became less effective at choosing and pushing good, competitive candidates...until now. We have a wealth of great candidates, many of them new. The Democratic party is being transformed by progressives entering the arena. Big changes are coming in Florida in November, unless Voldemort tampers with our elections from afar. It seems they are already trying. Shame on them!
And that, my friends, is why I am voting by mail. I want a copy of what I did.
While indulging, I am researching candidates for circuit and county judges. I have my mail-in-ballot for the Florida Democratic primary sitting on my desk, and I am trying to figure out some of the more arcane choices so I can finish up and mail it in. Florida's primary August 28.
I'm fairly certain who I will vote for as Governor, positive about Commissioner of Agriculture, and struggling with Attorney General. I love my U.S. Congresswoman, so will definitely be voting for her again. The judicial candidates and the school board elections are the tough ones for me, there is not nearly enough information available.
Florida has had Republican rule for 20 years. During that time they've controlled the Governorship, the State House and the State Senate. The Democrats got sloppy as a result, and became less effective at choosing and pushing good, competitive candidates...until now. We have a wealth of great candidates, many of them new. The Democratic party is being transformed by progressives entering the arena. Big changes are coming in Florida in November, unless Voldemort tampers with our elections from afar. It seems they are already trying. Shame on them!
And that, my friends, is why I am voting by mail. I want a copy of what I did.
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
On passing for normal
I'm going to a family wedding this weekend. I got my haircut so I could pass as normal. Aaack, the pressure to conform. How I hate it.
My hair has been rather long for awhile - way longer than I should probably wear it. However, I don't like going to the hairstylist. For me it is akin to going to the dentist, just another thing I must endure from time to time.
The last time I got my hair cut was September 2017. You can imagine how long my hair was this morning, before it all came off. Long enough to pull back in a ponytail, or messy bun. I like the idea of older women having long hair and pulling it back. I have seen many women of a certain age looking lovely, elegant and artsy with long gray hair. I love that look. Unfortunately, I can't seem to pull it off. If I grew a few inches taller and lost a half a million pounds (or got my neck "done") it might work. But that just doesn't seem to happen.
I don't have another wedding to go to until December. That means I don't have to get my hair cut again until the end of November. Yay.
My hair has been rather long for awhile - way longer than I should probably wear it. However, I don't like going to the hairstylist. For me it is akin to going to the dentist, just another thing I must endure from time to time.
The last time I got my hair cut was September 2017. You can imagine how long my hair was this morning, before it all came off. Long enough to pull back in a ponytail, or messy bun. I like the idea of older women having long hair and pulling it back. I have seen many women of a certain age looking lovely, elegant and artsy with long gray hair. I love that look. Unfortunately, I can't seem to pull it off. If I grew a few inches taller and lost a half a million pounds (or got my neck "done") it might work. But that just doesn't seem to happen.
I don't have another wedding to go to until December. That means I don't have to get my hair cut again until the end of November. Yay.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Goodness Gracious!
Wow! There sure are a lot of slimeball sexist pigs out there. Right?
Everyday it seems like a new one is being called out. There are so many that no one seems to know what to do with them all. Hold them accountable, I say! If it ruins their careers, so be it. Some of them ruined the careers of the women they dehumanized (think Harvey Weinstein), and I'm a firm believer in the punishment fitting the crime. Make them apologize publicly at the very least. Force them to consider their actions and how it impacted on the lives of the women they victimized. THAT's how one "begins" to atone for one's sins - by fully understanding what one has done. Begin being the key word.
It is good to be sorry for your sins, as long as it is real and changes you for the better. It is a step in the right direction and may keep you from burning in the fires of hell for eternity (big mytho-poetic smile here). And for those who are still trying to lie and pretend all those women are making it up, sheesh - that just doesn't fly anymore. Bring on the investigations, regardless of party, or title, or relationship. Let the chips fall as they may.
We have been moving backwards the past year. Change, however, is the nature of reality. Eventually we will stop moving backwards, the political dynamic will re-set, and we will start moving forward again. I can't help but think it is already happening. Am I an optimist or a realist? You tell me.
Everyday it seems like a new one is being called out. There are so many that no one seems to know what to do with them all. Hold them accountable, I say! If it ruins their careers, so be it. Some of them ruined the careers of the women they dehumanized (think Harvey Weinstein), and I'm a firm believer in the punishment fitting the crime. Make them apologize publicly at the very least. Force them to consider their actions and how it impacted on the lives of the women they victimized. THAT's how one "begins" to atone for one's sins - by fully understanding what one has done. Begin being the key word.
It is good to be sorry for your sins, as long as it is real and changes you for the better. It is a step in the right direction and may keep you from burning in the fires of hell for eternity (big mytho-poetic smile here). And for those who are still trying to lie and pretend all those women are making it up, sheesh - that just doesn't fly anymore. Bring on the investigations, regardless of party, or title, or relationship. Let the chips fall as they may.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
I'm no lady
I'm still thinking about snark and how it holds us back. I
think in the patriarchal past "ladies" have had to resort to snark and
innuendo. We have been so controlled by appearance and approval seeking
that we could not be direct. How many of us even reveal our
personalities to all but our closest friends? I know more than a few
cases where women have not revealed their real personalities to their husbands or boyfriends for fear they will not be liked. These poor "ladies" live their whole lives in disguise.
But this is the new world order. Now we need to to learn to act like Women, not like Ladies. We need to redefine what being a woman is. Being a woman means being courageous, direct, and passionate about our truths. It means being more concerned with our presence than our appearance. If we believe strongly in something we need to feel free to speak outright, in plain sight, without fearing how we will look or how others will judge us.
Don't worry over much about being a lady. Consider being a strong woman, instead.
But this is the new world order. Now we need to to learn to act like Women, not like Ladies. We need to redefine what being a woman is. Being a woman means being courageous, direct, and passionate about our truths. It means being more concerned with our presence than our appearance. If we believe strongly in something we need to feel free to speak outright, in plain sight, without fearing how we will look or how others will judge us.
Don't worry over much about being a lady. Consider being a strong woman, instead.
Thursday, June 29, 2017
A case for volunteering
Tomorrow I go to the NOW (National Organization of Women) conference. I am going with one of the other administrators from the political Facebook group I moderate for. Hopefully, we will learn practical skills we can take back and use for our Florida group. I am looking forward to it, even though I dread going. Does that make sense?
When I first joined the group, I was heartened to discover many like-minded women (and men) who wanted to create political community in a swing state. I had felt so alone in this crazy state. I needed to feel part of something bigger, even if it was virtual. Okay, maybe especially because it was virtual. I am quite happy to stay at home.
I became a moderator for the group's discussion page in late December, and I was overwhelmed. Uh, I had a LOT to learn. Some of us didn't spring full grown from the head of Zeus.
I had not done political work before, and I had been retired for 3 years. I was "rusty." I was afraid of conflict and confrontation. I was afraid I would be asked to do things I was not comfortable with. I doubted myself. Most of all, I was reluctant to give up a portion of my retirement time.
Because I am a notorious hot-head, I actually quit once, but went back a few weeks later. I have learned a lot about myself while growing into this role. I am thankful for this opportunity to learn and change. I was afraid those days were over.
If you are content living a quiet life in retirement, I am happy for you (and a bit jealous). Nothing wrong with that! But if you are floundering and/or depressed you might consider seeking a volunteer gig that interests you. Volunteering can give purpose to your life if you are feeling the lack.
It can be as simple as making one phone call a day, or doing spreadsheet work from home for an organization you believe in. Or you could volunteer to go to an animal shelter one afternoon a week to play with the cats and dogs. Whatever floats your boat. The possibilities are endless.
When I first joined the group, I was heartened to discover many like-minded women (and men) who wanted to create political community in a swing state. I had felt so alone in this crazy state. I needed to feel part of something bigger, even if it was virtual. Okay, maybe especially because it was virtual. I am quite happy to stay at home.
I became a moderator for the group's discussion page in late December, and I was overwhelmed. Uh, I had a LOT to learn. Some of us didn't spring full grown from the head of Zeus.
I had not done political work before, and I had been retired for 3 years. I was "rusty." I was afraid of conflict and confrontation. I was afraid I would be asked to do things I was not comfortable with. I doubted myself. Most of all, I was reluctant to give up a portion of my retirement time.
Because I am a notorious hot-head, I actually quit once, but went back a few weeks later. I have learned a lot about myself while growing into this role. I am thankful for this opportunity to learn and change. I was afraid those days were over.
If you are content living a quiet life in retirement, I am happy for you (and a bit jealous). Nothing wrong with that! But if you are floundering and/or depressed you might consider seeking a volunteer gig that interests you. Volunteering can give purpose to your life if you are feeling the lack.
It can be as simple as making one phone call a day, or doing spreadsheet work from home for an organization you believe in. Or you could volunteer to go to an animal shelter one afternoon a week to play with the cats and dogs. Whatever floats your boat. The possibilities are endless.
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Looking for change
When I was young I fancied myself an artist. After I became a mother, I lost my passion for art. Still, I always thought I would sketch and, perhaps, paint in retirement. So far, I have not.
Then I started working outside the home. I discovered I could be creative in other, non-visual ways. That was an eye opener! I made the most of those years, and I was fulfilled and satisfied in return. I loved working outside the home, and I learned so much about myself in the process.
Quilt design and hand work were my passion for a time. Unfortunately, my last job was a snake pit. I was there for the final 8 years of my work life. It was a problem solver's dream, but it was all consuming and left little energy for personal projects. When I was home I only wanted to rest and recover. I lost interest in quilting. I figured I would get back to it when I retired. Nope, not yet!
In NYS I was an absolute fiend for perennial gardening. Florida is not a perennial gardener's dream. I lowered my gardening expectations. I dabble now for color and ambiance. I am not "really" passionate about gardening in Florida.
During the 40 years I worked outside the home I was passionate about my job. Work defined me. I am grateful for the jobs, and the people I worked with during those middle years. The role I played became who I was. I eventually lost my passion for the job, too. Then I retired.
It was harder to retire than I anticipated. I kept thinking I was on vacation and would eventually go back to work. I came to realize this was no vacation; this was my life. Doing nothing became tedious. However, I did NOT want to go out and find a job. I needed to reinvent myself.
Now I write here. I also started contributing to a new feminist blog collective (more on that another time). I continue to moderate for a large, political Facebook group which is part of the great political awakening of women in the U.S. since that unfortunate election. Becoming politically involved has been a game changer for me in retirement.
We moved to Florida to become a meaningful part of our grandchildren's lives. We gave up home, jobs, gardens, and friends to move to a wild swing state filled with alligators and bugs. I find grand parenting immensely satisfying. I also find myself loving Florida. It has all been worth the sacrifices.
Reinventing myself is fun. As long as I am lucky enough to wake up each morning, I have time and plenty of it. I still imagine one day I will thread the damn sewing machine, or sketch a still life.
Then I started working outside the home. I discovered I could be creative in other, non-visual ways. That was an eye opener! I made the most of those years, and I was fulfilled and satisfied in return. I loved working outside the home, and I learned so much about myself in the process.
Quilt design and hand work were my passion for a time. Unfortunately, my last job was a snake pit. I was there for the final 8 years of my work life. It was a problem solver's dream, but it was all consuming and left little energy for personal projects. When I was home I only wanted to rest and recover. I lost interest in quilting. I figured I would get back to it when I retired. Nope, not yet!
In NYS I was an absolute fiend for perennial gardening. Florida is not a perennial gardener's dream. I lowered my gardening expectations. I dabble now for color and ambiance. I am not "really" passionate about gardening in Florida.
During the 40 years I worked outside the home I was passionate about my job. Work defined me. I am grateful for the jobs, and the people I worked with during those middle years. The role I played became who I was. I eventually lost my passion for the job, too. Then I retired.
It was harder to retire than I anticipated. I kept thinking I was on vacation and would eventually go back to work. I came to realize this was no vacation; this was my life. Doing nothing became tedious. However, I did NOT want to go out and find a job. I needed to reinvent myself.
Now I write here. I also started contributing to a new feminist blog collective (more on that another time). I continue to moderate for a large, political Facebook group which is part of the great political awakening of women in the U.S. since that unfortunate election. Becoming politically involved has been a game changer for me in retirement.
We moved to Florida to become a meaningful part of our grandchildren's lives. We gave up home, jobs, gardens, and friends to move to a wild swing state filled with alligators and bugs. I find grand parenting immensely satisfying. I also find myself loving Florida. It has all been worth the sacrifices.
Reinventing myself is fun. As long as I am lucky enough to wake up each morning, I have time and plenty of it. I still imagine one day I will thread the damn sewing machine, or sketch a still life.
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| Let's go out in full glory, okay? |
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Change is hard
In March 2014, we left New York State and started the long drive to Central Florida. Had things gone as planned, it would have been incredible. There are people for whom things go as planned, but T and I are not of that ilk.
We spent the winter downsizing, organizing, packing, and getting the NYS house in shape to sell. We went to Florida twice to find a house to buy. We put an offer down and it was accepted. We were simply waiting for the closing, originally scheduled for late February. We put the NYS house on the market and it sold within a week.
We booked movers for March 24, before the snow melted. Over the years, we had created one beloved perennial bed after another on that quiet property, bordered by state lands. That was the hardest part for me, leaving the land. I thought it would be best to leave while the flowers were dormant and the beds were covered by snow.
Had we closed as planned, it would have been a fun move. Unfortunately, we were buying a foreclosed short sale from Fannie Mae. At the end of February they ominously postponed the closing for a month.
Towards the end of March, two days before the movers were to arrive, we got a tearful call from our Florida realtor. Fannie Mae "just" discovered they did not have clear title to the property and they were CANCELING the sale.
We had already sold our house, all our belongings were boxed up, and we were set to get out of town before the snow melted. At THAT point we were still excited and ready to rock and roll. We decided to leave as planned (minus a clear destination) and rent a cat friendly place while we started the house search again from scratch.
We spent one week in what my husband fondly refers to as the crack motel, then moved into an old travel trailer in a RV resort. All our belongings were in storage. We stayed in that cramped little space for 3 months. We nearly lost our minds before we finally bought our house.
Here it is, three years later. I found my mind.
I will always miss the land and the endless variety of colorful flowers that grow up North. However, Central Florida has a different kind of beauty; subtle, primal, and wild. We have alligators, for crying out loud! It feels like home.
We spent the winter downsizing, organizing, packing, and getting the NYS house in shape to sell. We went to Florida twice to find a house to buy. We put an offer down and it was accepted. We were simply waiting for the closing, originally scheduled for late February. We put the NYS house on the market and it sold within a week.
We booked movers for March 24, before the snow melted. Over the years, we had created one beloved perennial bed after another on that quiet property, bordered by state lands. That was the hardest part for me, leaving the land. I thought it would be best to leave while the flowers were dormant and the beds were covered by snow.
Had we closed as planned, it would have been a fun move. Unfortunately, we were buying a foreclosed short sale from Fannie Mae. At the end of February they ominously postponed the closing for a month.
Towards the end of March, two days before the movers were to arrive, we got a tearful call from our Florida realtor. Fannie Mae "just" discovered they did not have clear title to the property and they were CANCELING the sale.
We had already sold our house, all our belongings were boxed up, and we were set to get out of town before the snow melted. At THAT point we were still excited and ready to rock and roll. We decided to leave as planned (minus a clear destination) and rent a cat friendly place while we started the house search again from scratch.
We spent one week in what my husband fondly refers to as the crack motel, then moved into an old travel trailer in a RV resort. All our belongings were in storage. We stayed in that cramped little space for 3 months. We nearly lost our minds before we finally bought our house.
Here it is, three years later. I found my mind.
I will always miss the land and the endless variety of colorful flowers that grow up North. However, Central Florida has a different kind of beauty; subtle, primal, and wild. We have alligators, for crying out loud! It feels like home.
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| Some of our garden beds in Central New York |
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| The quiet, natural beauty of a state park in Central Florida |
Sunday, December 4, 2016
Getting in the spirit
Yeah, it's December. I suppose it is time to get serious about this Christmas stuff. My immediate family is reasonably small, and for the most part I have stopped buying for nieces and nephews. T and I do not need anything, so I would skip the whole "present exchange with my spouse" thing if I could. However, he seems to want to continue and I want him to be happy. It is also fun to get presents.
When I was a young mother I lived for this holiday. I worked myself up into a Christmas frenzy for the entire month of December every single year. I burned with a bright eyed fever, lusting after the perfect present, the best deal, the cutest stocking stuffer. I would bake at least ten million cookies, decorate with abandon, and loved it all. I used to have trouble sleeping throughout December because of those damn sugarplums dancing in my head. I must have infected my daughter with the Christmas bug, because she is "that person" now instead of me.
I am not sure what or when it happened, but I am cured of that bug. Perhaps because it is December 4th as I write this and I am still wearing shorts and flipflops? I have a hard time believing the holiday is approaching. Or maybe it is because the world seems to be falling apart. Whatever. I need to get with the program here! Christmas is fun. I need some fun.
My daughter lives only 12 minutes away, and she is definitely in the spirit. Are the holiday senses dulled as one ages? Does the capacity for joy diminish, or does it just mature? Oh no, have I grown up?
When I was a young mother I lived for this holiday. I worked myself up into a Christmas frenzy for the entire month of December every single year. I burned with a bright eyed fever, lusting after the perfect present, the best deal, the cutest stocking stuffer. I would bake at least ten million cookies, decorate with abandon, and loved it all. I used to have trouble sleeping throughout December because of those damn sugarplums dancing in my head. I must have infected my daughter with the Christmas bug, because she is "that person" now instead of me.
I am not sure what or when it happened, but I am cured of that bug. Perhaps because it is December 4th as I write this and I am still wearing shorts and flipflops? I have a hard time believing the holiday is approaching. Or maybe it is because the world seems to be falling apart. Whatever. I need to get with the program here! Christmas is fun. I need some fun.
My daughter lives only 12 minutes away, and she is definitely in the spirit. Are the holiday senses dulled as one ages? Does the capacity for joy diminish, or does it just mature? Oh no, have I grown up?
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| An old friend from Christmas 2007 to help me get in the holiday spirit |
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
The World Gets Smaller
Death is relentless. Last week a cousin died at 66 from cancer. This week my son-in-law's stepfather died in his sleep. He was 76 and very much a beloved part of our small family here in Central Florida. There was a time when these seemed like reasonable ages to die, but not in 2016. Not when I am 65. Now, I just feel like they have been cheated. But then again, who am I to say?
When I was young I found death terrifying. Perhaps I will be terrified when Death comes for me, I'm not making any promises! However, the more "other" deaths I experience, the more dying becomes the new normal. Yes, it diminishes our lives and relationships. Our world becomes increasingly smaller with each passing. We suffer the losses. Yes, this is all true. You know what I mean.
Aging can seem like a great battle; the kind where you know you are losing but it still must be finished with courage and valor. So you fight on, with comrades falling all around. In my last post I talked about how, in an alternate universe, I might have become a good soldier. I feel that way again today. The living endure. Because I am a mother and a grandmother, I will start cooking and baking. There will be people to feed.
When I was young I found death terrifying. Perhaps I will be terrified when Death comes for me, I'm not making any promises! However, the more "other" deaths I experience, the more dying becomes the new normal. Yes, it diminishes our lives and relationships. Our world becomes increasingly smaller with each passing. We suffer the losses. Yes, this is all true. You know what I mean.
Aging can seem like a great battle; the kind where you know you are losing but it still must be finished with courage and valor. So you fight on, with comrades falling all around. In my last post I talked about how, in an alternate universe, I might have become a good soldier. I feel that way again today. The living endure. Because I am a mother and a grandmother, I will start cooking and baking. There will be people to feed.
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| Saw palmetto growing after a controlled burn, Lake Louisa, Florida |
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Stand!
I am exhausted with worry about all the things happening in the world right now. This will pass. Not the worry, not the need to fight; those are going to stick around for a long, long time. I am talking about the exhaustion. I know fatigue is a natural reaction in times of great loss and extreme stress, so I am not particularly concerned about how I feel right now. I have been taking it easy the past few days, trying to get some rest. Today I have to get up off the couch and start tackling Thanksgiving preparations. That will be a good reason to re-enter polite society.
My oldest sister, Sister C, shared this with me right after the presidential election. I find this song by Sly and the Family Stone as inspirational now as I did in the late 1960's. It is going to help me stand up and get on with my life. It reminds me how good strength feels. It reminds me that in the dark times of the soul, artists create art, musicians create music, actors allow us to see the world through another person's eyes. They turn their pain into art, and they uplift us all in the process.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving in the U.S.A. Like so many of you, I will be thankful for my family. Today I am thankful for Sly Stone. Enjoy.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
You can't get rid of me THAT easy.
I just read a comment on FB encouraging angry protesters to move to Canada. Ha! That made me laugh.
Move to Canada? No, I think maybe I'll stay right here in Florida and work for change.
It cracks me up when people pretend to be shocked and outraged at the backlash from these "marching in the streets" Millennials. The GOP never accepted Obama as their president and obstructed him long and hard for 8 years. The young have eyes to see and ears to hear.
I do not approve of obstructionism or disrespect. Like it or not, our obsolete Electoral College system has given us someone we do not want. Shit happens. I support working within the system to promote peaceful and rational progressive change. I encourage others to do the same. However, I am not going to lie. I look forward to watching activism flower in the hearts and minds of young people in these United States.
Move to Canada? No, I think maybe I'll stay right here in Florida and work for change.
It cracks me up when people pretend to be shocked and outraged at the backlash from these "marching in the streets" Millennials. The GOP never accepted Obama as their president and obstructed him long and hard for 8 years. The young have eyes to see and ears to hear.
I do not approve of obstructionism or disrespect. Like it or not, our obsolete Electoral College system has given us someone we do not want. Shit happens. I support working within the system to promote peaceful and rational progressive change. I encourage others to do the same. However, I am not going to lie. I look forward to watching activism flower in the hearts and minds of young people in these United States.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Turning 65
I turned 65 recently. Over the past few months I have drawn up a will, signed up for Medicare, re-balanced my retirement investments, and bought dental insurance (finally). I worked long and hard building a reasonable life for myself and my family. The building part of my life is over and it seems like the external part of my life is as "in place" as it is going to get. Now that I am 65 I want to change my focus. I want to take care of my internal self. I have the time, that's for sure. I believe I have the energy, too. I just need to change my attitude. Where there is fear, I need to cultivate strength. Call me naive, but I think it might be as simple as that.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Being Home
We have been living in this house for a little over two years, and in Central Florida for 2 1/2. I love being close enough to my daughter and her family to babysit and go to school functions for the grandchildren. I like living someplace where it never snows and palm trees grow. I am also fascinated by alligators. My life is full to bursting and I am happy with this big change.
However, I won't lie. In the past 3 years I retired, gave up my work persona, moved from the liberal north to the conservative south, and left our old home with acreage, dark forests, and beloved perennial gardens. In Florida we became strangers in a strange land. We adjusted to a different climate, learned about different flora and fauna, and started living in a freakin' neighborhood in a subdivision, dontcha know!
Happy or not, I had a hard time adjusting to all these changes. Change can be traumatic. T and I had too many big life changes in a relatively short amount of time. He can roll with the punches, but it takes me a while to recover AND I want to hit back. It was probably not the best way to manage the first months of retirement. Still, it has been worth the struggle.
I expected it to be hard. I have been through big changes before. The knowledge of what to expect helped me prepare for and cope with this move. From experience I knew the unfamiliar would eventually become familiar if I just waited long enough. I did. It has.
Like almost everyone else in the U.S.A., I descend from pioneers and immigrants. I recently read that trauma has a generational impact on families. The desire to move far away and start over is probably encoded in my DNA. I crave change even as I fear it. I have moved (or changed jobs) many times, always excited and happy to be starting over. This, in spite of the fact that I always know it won't be easy and will probably push me over the edge.
I grew up in Northern Indiana. My family moved to the Pacific Northwest when I was in middle school, and then we moved back to Northern Indiana three years later. I took off for San Francisco at 18, when that was the thing to do. With a few notable stops and starts in between, T and I, with toddler M in tow, eventually ended up in The Finger Lakes Region of New York State. We settled in, building an adult life and raising our daughter. I am not sure how well we managed the adult thing, but we did manage to raise our daughter. Then we retired and like all good New Yorkers we moved to Florida. I am not convinced this is our last move together.
I just tried to count up all the homes I have lived in during my life. I am only referring to the places I actually moved all my belongings into. I came up with 26. I might try writing about some of these homes. It would be fun, with plenty of social and cultural history.
This is a big country, and the last thing you would call it is homogeneous. It is a country of diverse regionalism. I find regionalism interesting, even though it is complex, often unwelcoming, and sometimes dangerous. I like to imagine having had the experience of living from sea to shining sea gives me an edge of sorts. I want to explore that edge without falling off the end of the world.
However, I won't lie. In the past 3 years I retired, gave up my work persona, moved from the liberal north to the conservative south, and left our old home with acreage, dark forests, and beloved perennial gardens. In Florida we became strangers in a strange land. We adjusted to a different climate, learned about different flora and fauna, and started living in a freakin' neighborhood in a subdivision, dontcha know!
Happy or not, I had a hard time adjusting to all these changes. Change can be traumatic. T and I had too many big life changes in a relatively short amount of time. He can roll with the punches, but it takes me a while to recover AND I want to hit back. It was probably not the best way to manage the first months of retirement. Still, it has been worth the struggle.
I expected it to be hard. I have been through big changes before. The knowledge of what to expect helped me prepare for and cope with this move. From experience I knew the unfamiliar would eventually become familiar if I just waited long enough. I did. It has.
Like almost everyone else in the U.S.A., I descend from pioneers and immigrants. I recently read that trauma has a generational impact on families. The desire to move far away and start over is probably encoded in my DNA. I crave change even as I fear it. I have moved (or changed jobs) many times, always excited and happy to be starting over. This, in spite of the fact that I always know it won't be easy and will probably push me over the edge.
I grew up in Northern Indiana. My family moved to the Pacific Northwest when I was in middle school, and then we moved back to Northern Indiana three years later. I took off for San Francisco at 18, when that was the thing to do. With a few notable stops and starts in between, T and I, with toddler M in tow, eventually ended up in The Finger Lakes Region of New York State. We settled in, building an adult life and raising our daughter. I am not sure how well we managed the adult thing, but we did manage to raise our daughter. Then we retired and like all good New Yorkers we moved to Florida. I am not convinced this is our last move together.
This is a big country, and the last thing you would call it is homogeneous. It is a country of diverse regionalism. I find regionalism interesting, even though it is complex, often unwelcoming, and sometimes dangerous. I like to imagine having had the experience of living from sea to shining sea gives me an edge of sorts. I want to explore that edge without falling off the end of the world.
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