What to do, what to say?

Geez-o-freakin' Pete, I got quite the tongue lashing from Robbie (Roderick Robinson) in the comment section of my last post. He's an irascible codger with a mind too big for his noggin. I say that with affection, by the way. I must admit I "almost" enjoy when he challenges me. It makes me think. One really must think. Otherwise, well, just look around you at the stupidity that often passes for reality.

In the post he responded to, I made the claim I didn't have anything to say. He took issue with that. Okay, okay, I suppose I should have told the truth when I wrote my previous post. "I don't feel like writing, thinking, or doing anything productive." But then I would have been admitting my current inertia. I've been undergoing a period of stasis. It's like a false awakening, except I'm actually awake. 

I hear my sainted mother in my head, asking "Are you bragging or complaining?"  Definitely complaining. 

I suppose the only way out of this stoppage is to start.

My grandson, N, took this picture.  

I am an inert mass

Some people have panic attacks, some have heart attacks.  I seem to have attacks of inertia. 

These quirky spells usually follow a period of extreme activity.  It is a pattern. I work like a crazy woman at something or other for a relatively long time, then I start forgetting to do important things because I'm overwhelmed.  I'm pretty sure this is my unconscious mind's way of telling me to slow down... and quickly, please. Which I then do as if I was slamming on the breaks. After that, I find it hard to do just about anything for a while.  I become inert. 

Here are the things that are way too much for me to do this morning:

• finding a book to read
• peeling boiled eggs
• putting photos in my photo album
• picking up my grandson's toys and putting them away
• vacuuming the living room
• taking my new flip flops out of the box
• moving the cleaned clothes from the washer to the dryer
• figuring out how to change the formatting of this list from bullet points back to normal.
  

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.

Of course, a uniform!!!

It's hot, and it's going to get hotter. June in Florida is idyllic compared to July and August. Worse than being hot, it gets thick and steamy humid.  Like you step out of your car and your glasses fog up kind of humid. I tried to walk barefoot from the house to our curbside mail box yesterday, and already the sidewalk burns the bottoms of my feet. I had to divert my path onto the grass. You may not realize this, but grass in Florida is not the kind of grass you actually want to walk on. Here, the grass grows out instead of up, and is not particularly soft to walk on. There are fire ants. I try to avoid the grass, and I am thankful for flip flops. 

So I know you are all wondering, what does a Florida retiree woman wear in this year-round, subtropical wonderland?  Well, I have a closet filled with t-shirts, shorts, and capris.  This is what I've been wearing every day for the past 4 years. I've never been a fashion maven, although I admire the aesthetics of fashion. I wish I cared more, but I have never had the money or inclination to pursue fashion in any real sense. I admire from afar.

Summer down here is almost too hot for wearing pants, so recently I bought a housedress. It is a simple A-line, sleeveless dress in a soft indigo fabric. This fabulous dress is comfortable and looks passably good on me. How could I resist? It functions well as long as I don't leave the house, try to garden, or bike. For hanging around the house being an aging bon vivant, this housedress is perfect. In fact, I love it beyond reason. I am happy when I put it on. Consequently, I ordered another one just exactly like it. Would it be ridiculous to order a third?  If I have three, it kind of becomes a uniform.  One less choice to make. One less thing to consider. I think I'm good with that. Going online right now for #3.

Cynicism

I understand cynicism. Really, I do. I just don't happen to like it.  It seems...cowardly.

You know, like when there is a spirited election coming up and the two candidates have radically different approaches to solving public problems.  There is always someone who will smirk and say "All politicians stink, that's why I don't bother to vote."  When someone says that to me, what I actually hear in my head is "I don't know right from wrong, I don't want to think about the issues, so I am just going to act like nothing matters. I hope you think I'm cool"  I don't.

It is easy to be distrustful and negative. Life is simpler if you tune out the noise of the modern world. The hard part is listening to all that noise and trying to make sense of it. The truth is, life is complicated and requires a certain amount of intellectual rigor to figure out right from wrong. Mainstream American culture encourages citizens not to think. The more passive we are, the more compliant we will be.  Don't fall for it.

This is why we are thrilled by heroes. They seem to have thought long and hard about right and wrong. They are incorruptible and keep going when the going gets tough. They take a stand. They DO things. They give us hope, and inspire us to be our best selves. Doesn't everyone want to be a hero? If not, why?

Here's a sweet little piece from an Emily Dickinson poem to help us all recharge our batteries:

We never know how high we are 
Till we are called to rise; 
And then, if we are true to plan, 
Our statures touch the skies—

Okay, I needed that. Now I am going to go plant some seeds. 

This is what happens when I try to buy a car

I need to buy a new car.  Mine is dead and has been sitting in the driveway for a couple of months.  T and I are sharing his car.  It is not an ideal situation, but I do not have the energy to devote to buying a new car.  In early December I tried to throw myself into a car buying situation, assuming I would sink or swim.  I sunk.  I applied for a loan and it was approved.  Then what?  Where's the car?  You mean I have to actually do some work to find one?  Do I have to interact with salespeople?  Do I have to talk to strangers?  NOOOOO.  The loan officers were worried.  They could not understand why I was not buying. They called and left urgent messages.  I would not pick up the phone.  I was filled with dread whenever the phone rang or I received an email.  Finally they offered me the services of a car concierge who works for the credit union to make things easy for buyers.  I would not answer his phone calls, either. 

In fact, I ignore most phone calls because Florida is filled with scam artists who sit around every day calling retired people trying to trick us out of our money.  We actually started getting these con-calls the same day we got our land line telephone installed, so I can only imagine the cable company providing our phone service is routinely selling new phone listings to scumbags.  Nice.  Consequently, I stopped answering the phone months ago.  Sometimes, when I am in just the right mood, I pick up and tell whoever is at the other end of the line to take my name off their list and never call me again.  I use my best cold-hearted bitch voice.  That is always kind of fun.  

This aversive reaction is a direct result of working in an office for so many years.  I OD’d on communication a long time ago.  So what if I have been retired for over a year now.  I still have not recovered.  I may never recover.  It is the principle of the thing.  The thought of having to do anything that resembles office work (including answering the damn phone) makes me want to run off screaming into the night. Every time the phone rings my stomach turns.  If I have an administrative, real-life issue I must suffer through, or a deadline I have to meet, I freak out.  I ignore it, procrastinate; all the things I could NEVER do when I had a job.  It makes me feel so good to ignore things.  By the way, if you want to reach me, call my land line phone or email me.  If I am home and I can see it is you, I will pick up the phone or call you back.  Do not even think about calling me on my cell phone.  The ringer is turned off and I rarely turn the cell phone on unless I am stuck waiting in a doctor’s office and need to play solitaire.  My cell phone is purely an ornamental status symbol.

Getting back to my car buying experience, I finally emailed (note I did not use the phone) the bank, car concierge, and salespeople and let them know I changed my mind.  I said I would reapply in the New Year when “things settled down for me.”  Ha!  I guess I showed them!  Maybe if I put this off long enough T will give me his car and then he will go through the effort of buying a new car for himself.  It is so crazy it might work.

Inert States

Can we talk about inertia?  Some of you have asked how I am making it through this house purchase waiting period.  It is hard, and it is also a sincere test of psychological health and well-being.  I wouldn't mind being depressed.  Unfortunately, it is hard to be depressed in Florida because there is so damn much sun.  Getting enough vitamin D is not a problem for Floridians.  Depression is kind of out of the question when you cannot help but be happy as soon as you step out of the door into the brilliant sunlight.   It is a little unnerving, especially for someone from Ithaca, New York where most days are gray and whenever I stepped outside I felt like I was crawling out from under a rock.   Anyway, I am settling for inertia.  The effect is sufficiently self-indulgent and mind-numbing, which helps.  I am also eating an amazing number of Reeses Peanut Butter cups.  OK, OK, there is wine, too.  

Let me give you an example of my inert state.   I bought a can of tuna about three weeks ago.  I like tuna sandwiches.  I want one.  I realize I have the can in the cupboard, but I cannot bring myself to take it out of the cupboard and open it with a can opener, squeeze the excess juice out of it, let alone add mayo and swish it around in a bowl to mix it up.  Come on!  It is too much work.   You know what I’m talking about!  I am now a delicate flower of a woman living a life of leisure, and it would require me to get up off the couch and stop reading my favorite trashy paranormal/urban fantasy novel, AARP magazine, the New Yorker, or the history of the U.S.A from 1812 to 1848 that T lent me.   These reading materials are all active and assertive subject matter and I feel like I have exerted myself by just reading them.   I need to save my strength for wrestling with my two year old grandson, N.  He likes to play Ring-Around-The-Rosy and when we all fall down he demands that we all fall down flat on our back and kick our legs up in the air.   He has real style.

That, of course, is an exaggerated view of my current life.  The tuna can avoidance behavior and Ring-Around-The-Rosy are true stories; however, we are pretty active most days going to State Parks, visiting tourist traps, babysitting and swimming in M&MV's pool. The grandchildren really cheer us up, too.   We just need a house so we can get all our things back.  Sometimes we go to the storage unit just to look at our things. Hmmmm, maybe that’s what we can do this afternoon.

I think of the quilts I could be making if I had my sewing machine and quilt frames.  I might even finish that masterpiece quilt I started in 1989!  I think of the meals I could be making for my family.  I could be swimming in my pool every day if only I had one.  I could be making lots of fun decisions about paint colors, furniture purchases, where to hang the pictures in the house, how to set up my quilt room.  I could be complaining about the oppression of endless boxes that need to be opened and contents put away.  I am looking forward to complaining about that.  Considering my current state of inertia, it might take a long time to get the house set up.  

Looks like we might close on the house on June 30th at the latest.  I am reluctant to even post this because I do not quite believe it.

Kismet

We are still in the *&^%#@ trailer, but hanging in there.   It feels odd to complain about being stuck in this trailer because, as I have said too many times before, it is actually a lot like being on vacation.  However, I fear it is a Twilight Zone vacation that will never end.

I have a confession to make.  We have not cooked in over 2 months.  There is an oven/stovetop, but it is teeny-tiny small and in a cramped and inconvenient hallway on the way to the bedroom (also laughingly referred to as “the kitchen”).  T considers it unworthy of his consideration and refuses to cook on or in it.  I am so filled with inertia these days that sometimes I will not even pull out the toaster because it seems like too much work.  We exist on sandwiches, frozen TV dinners, and restaurant meals.  T would have NEVER eaten frozen TV dinners before.   Now he spends a good deal of time shopping for just the right one.  It is kind of cute.  I have recently resorted to buying frozen omelet breakfast meals, too.  There is only so much oatmeal or cereal that one can stomach. 

I used to love going to restaurants.  Now it is hard to get excited about going out to eat.   We try to pass the decision of where to go on to each other.  The general dynamic is like flipping a coin and the loser has to decide.  I no longer care.  Just put a funnel in my mouth, push my head back, pour some gruel down the hatch and fill me up.  Three times a day would be nice.  Whatever. 

It is the rare restaurant that cooks as good as home, anyway.  Also, there seems to be a dearth of decent Mom and Pop restaurants in the area we are staying at.  I am sick to death of chain restaurants.  At first it was fun to throw caution to the wind and eat at the chains, but now eating in those places feels like the death of the spirit.  They all serve the same kind of food.  Yes, I am a food snob.  Please do not hate me for it.  I like real food, cooked at home, with vegetables and fruit.  I cannot help it.  And there are no Wegman’s Supermarkets down here with fabulous healthy, multi-ethnic take-out choices.  Those of you in the frozen northlands of New York State need to understand that God gave you Wegman’s to make up for the long winters.   You can’t have everything!

Now that I have had my dramatic moment, let me say that we actually do have a favorite restaurant close by.  It is a Mexican restaurant.  The food is fresh, authentic, and fantastic.   As for the Margueritas, let me just say they are the absolute best. Ever. In the Whole Wide World.  We try desperately not to go there every day or twice in the same day.

We now have a signed and fully executed contract on House#1... again.  We are just waiting to get a closing date so we can sign on the dotted line, give Fannie Mae all our money, and move in to the house.  I hope that will happen before the end of June.  Would it be a cliché to say, “I hope it does not fall through again?”  Bite your tongue woman and don’t tempt Fate! 

I am pretty sure Fate is a huge jokester with nothing much to do in its spare time.  It is bored.  Perhaps it is retired?  Consequently, it devises screw-ups for humans in order to entertain itself.  We have been Fate’s playthings for a long time now.  Just how long can its attention span be?  I am trying my best to not react and to seem boring.  Then perhaps Fate will move on to someone else?  I mean, there are lots of truly awful people out there who could use some attention.  Not any of you, of course.  Fate could be spending time with a wife-beater, a banker who holds up the sale of foreclosed houses, a kindergarten teacher who prefers one gender of small-fry over another, drivers with road rage - there are so many obvious choices. 

Our son-in-law’s mother (SH) and step-father (JY) are moving down TODAY!   We’re all very excited to expand our Florida family and have them down here.   We love them dearly, and can hardly wait to see them.