What about me? What about you?

I write this blog to answer questions no one asks me. My post-retirement life is filled with introverts. Believe me, they are NOT asking me questions.  

Still, for some reason I'm drawn to introverts. They are beautifully self-contained, have clear boundaries, and are super damn interesting. Yes, I've written about this before, but I want to revisit this subject. I have more to say. 

Introverts know I would gleefully upset the applecart. I would. And I'm not a linear thinker. I jump around. Naturally, introverts are wary around me. More to the point, they don't trust me. Most of the time that's okay. I have enough trust for all of us. But sometimes, I get lonely.

In my wide-ranging birth family extraverts dominate, although we have a few introverts. When we get together, which is increasingly rare, there is non-stop laughter and teasing. Personal questions are asked! The introverts gravitate towards the other room to recharge their emotional batteries, or position themselves in places where they are far enough away to watch us at a safe distance. Us extraverts sit together in the kitchen, savoring the chaos and each other. 

I wonder if the introverts in my birth family feel lonely, misunderstood, and/or judged amidst our chaos? Because that's how I can sometimes feel amidst their order. It's confusing. How do we accommodate such different world views and personality types? How do we make everyone feel like they belong and are respected? I'm asking you this question.  

Not to change the subject (!). I could use a good laugh. I want a long, loud belly laugh from that measureless soul place, unfathomably bold and deep. I'd like to laugh so hard the terror of existence is scared away. Runs like Hell. Hides in the corner, cowering with fear. Let's consider laughter as an existential weapon. Gimme some a' that!

Damn this pandemic.  

The Glass Ceiling

 I love the sound of breaking glass!

My Day of Rest

Sunday is my day of rest. I'm happily retired, so why would I, of all people, need a day of rest? Because it is hard to find my way back to me. Know what I mean?

One friend (who is still working) often accuses me of being a "princess" when I complain. Hey! After 45 years of working jobs I didn't love, and putting other people first, I want to be a princess now.

A couple of months ago I noticed I was always in a hurry and unable to relax. I was over scheduled, which happens, dontcha know? However, I don't want to eliminate any of the things I do.

My solution was to make Sunday my day of rest. On Sunday I only do what I want to do, even if it is nothing.

Sunday is now the day that I feel most retired and free. I look forward to it. Everyone should have a least one "ME" day each week. If I ruled the world you would have one, too.   

I could get an exact copy of this tiara for $15.99 on amazon

Mr. Moonlight

I was a diehard Beatlemaniac as a young girl in the early and middle 1960s. 

I guess if I had to choose one favorite it would be Mr. Moonlight on the album called Beatles for Sale (in the U.S). John Lennon screaming his heart out about Mistuhuhuhuh Moonlight in the beginning was a revelation to me as a tween. I remember thinking "What the heck was THAT?" I played the beginning over and over, just to feel what it made me feel. In my youthful innocence I didn't know.  I just knew it moved me on a deep and joyful level. Only later did I realize it was passion. Of course the passionate cry was also perfectly executed, providing one of my earliest experiences of pop excellence.

I'm probably driving my husband nuts right now, because as I've been writing this I've been restarting the song over and over again. Apparently, it never gets old.

Do you have a favorite Beatles song?

The Most Famous Reindeer of All

The other night, while driving our 6 year old grandson home, we made up silly and a slightly naughty lyrics to Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. For instance, "Comet" became "Vomit," "Cupid" became "Stupid," and Rudolph became the "Snot Nosed Reindeer." We pulled out all the stops, using as many gross terms we could imagine to make a 6 year old boy laugh out loud. When Grandpa substituted Shitzen for Blitzen, I thought little N would bust a gut. Good times!

I don't remember my grandparents doing things like this. I fear I am a bad influence. I always knew I was with my friends, but I figured I'd outgrow it long before I became a grandmother. Guess not.

Settle down or someone is going to get hurt

I thought I broke my damn toe the other day. It's not the worst in the grand scheme of bad things; however, walking and biking are a big part of my daily routine. Right now it is black and blue and a little sore, but I can bend it so I think it is okay. Yay!

How did I do it?  Well, I am in the habit of racing my little grandson, N, from the front door to the car when he leaves our house. It started out more of a command performance than a habit. Now it is a simple joy. As he is leaving he looks at me with those big brown eyes and exclaims "Race you, Grandma!" I can't resist. I have only won once or twice because he is much faster than me.  But I run for the joy of the race. 

My husband, T, was amused and wondered out loud if I have reached that age where I should stop acting like a child. Sorry honey, but as long as that little boy wants to race me, I'm gonna run.

Wine Tasting Tour

I just returned from a long weekend in California's wine country (Napa and Sonoma). T and I went with my brother (Big D) and his wife, Vacation Sue; Baby Sister and her husband, Mikey; Big Sister C; and Little Sister (my youngest brother's wife). There were 8 of us. Big D was the master of ceremonies. He made all the arrangements, wrote up an itinerary, and drove us all around in a large Suburban. It was kind of like the clown car. Whenever we stopped, seemingly hundreds of us poured out of the vehicle, laughing and shouting all the way. 

In addition to visiting a number of wineries, we also spent a day being extremely touristy at Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco where we ate at Scoma's, drank Irish Coffee at the Buena Vista, and made a stop at the See's Candy store. It was fun, and also beautiful. Here are a few photos, sorry they are not in order:

The last of the convoy of ships that stormed Normandy beachheads in 1944

Alcatraz

Golden Gate Bridge

I expected to see Popeye on one of these.

C and T in Fisherman's Wharf

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. 

Let's go out in full glory, okay?

Girl Culture

I recently accompanied my daughter, M, to my 13 year old granddaughter's middle school where E is in rehearsal for a play. M is the parent in charge of costumes. She has a crew of 13-year old girls to help with sewing, carting things around, etc. There are lots of teaching moments where the girls learn to sew and to problem solve.

I sat back in a corner and observed. I don't have mad sewing skills so I did not have much to offer.  Also, as an older person I find my presence often makes younger people uncomfortable if they don't know me. They feel like they have to behave. So I tried to fade into the woodwork. No need, as it turned out.

The crew was designing padded "parts" for a female character in the play. All these girls are twigs, and the character is supposed to be large.  They were hilarious flouncing around and bouncing off each other with the fake body parts. I couldn't help it, I laughed loud and long at their hijinks. It was like being front row center at an old time Vaudeville show. How glorious they were in their bawdy innocence. They were boldly comfortable with the shared silliness. Most of all, they were happy, young, and goofy.

It was comforting to know that when girls are in what they consider a safe space, they will still act like the children they are. I hate the pressure our society puts on young girls to grow up too fast.

Each one, a joy unto herself

New York City with my girls

What a great time, 3 generations of women together in NYC. Sure, there was squabbling and snark; however, those inevitable moments sparked by lack of privacy were overshadowed by the love we felt and the fun we had.

We flew from Orlando to Newark, NJ, then took a hotel shuttle to Manhattan via the Lincoln Tunnel. The 3-day musical theatre workshop (acting, singing, dancing) was staged by Broadway Artist Alliance, housed in the heart of the Theatre District. The hotel was conveniently a block away.

E's workshop started each morning at 9:30. M&E sleep until the last minute (trusting the world again). I wake up at the crack of dawn. I did NOT want to be around when they woke up late and crashed around the hotel room. I slipped out and went down to the lobby to drink lots of coffee and read an actual newspaper. Oh yeah, there were BAGELS. The real deal. I was in heaven.

The workshop didn't end until 7:00 p.m., leaving M and me free to roam, shop, eat, and talk each day. I loved spending time alone with her. It was also a long school holiday weekend, so crowds on the street were fierce. I walked fast, weaving and bobbing like a prizefighter. Or maybe more like a drunken sailor on leave, desperate to keep up?

Space is a prime commodity on an island. Stores in the City are narrow and multi-floored with people everywhere, even grocery and drug stores. It seemed odd to take an elevator to get to the sinus meds in Walgreens. Buildings are unique and details a joy, especially on the oldest, funkiest buildings. I had a good time just looking at things.

We went to a NY style pizzeria and devoured a fabulously greasy pepperoni and black olive pizza! The crust was perfect. I'm happy to report Florida pizza will never satisfy my granddaughter again.

Homeless people begging on the streets are heartbreaking. I imagine native New Yorkers become desensitized, but it hurt my heart. One young man was lying next to a building covered with a dirty blanket. He was clearly sick or high, his eyes glazed. He never looked up, even when I put money in his cardboard box and he muttered a weak "Thank you." He is someone's child. I wanted to hold him in my arms and call him honey. I wanted to tell him everything will be okay, even though I know it won't. I wonder if his parents know where he is? I hope not.

Me, capturing something "important" while M screamed at me to get out of the street

My Mother's Christmas Tree

When I was young we did not put our tree up until 3 days before Christmas. My parents were quite strict about that. My mother said that when she was a child the tree always went up on Christmas Eve after the children went to bed. They woke up thinking Santa had brought it. As an adult she must have felt quite modern putting it up so far in advance...  

The tree was my mother’s pride and joy. She decorated it herself, no children allowed. Great care was taken to get a tree with the perfect shape and density. They were always beautiful, real works of art. Mom liked to spray the tree with canned "snow" so it looked like it was frosted. It must have been a 1950's thing? No one does that anymore, do they? For a couple of years she covered the tree with "Angel Hair", a fibrous fiberglass material she painstakingly spread over the entire tree, making a spider web effect as it encased the large colored lights. I distinctly remember the fibers got into our clothing and became an itchy mess on our backs. Ouch. It is probably against the law now.

The most amazing part of Mom's tree was the tree topper. It was spun glass featuring a paper angel with foil wings who seemed to be floating in a cloud. I was searching for a new tree topper this year and came across an antique one online just exactly like my Mom's. I didn't buy it; however, I have a picture of it.

When I was a child I thought this was the most beautiful thing on the tree

 

Holiday Glitz

The tree is decorated. T put up the outside lights. No tasteful white here! We go full-on gaudy in this house, dontcha know. Not that I dislike white. I quite like other people's all-white lights. I find the all-white shtick soothing and calm, as well as exquisitely beautiful. However, Christmas decorating is personal. It is folk art, so I gotta be me. I have always wished I was a soothing and calm sort of person, but I'm not. I'm shooting for the overstimulated, bouncing off the walls, bacchanal effect. I am happy to report that colored lights and sparkly glitz have made a positive difference in my attitude. I am now feverishly in frenzy mode.

I made my mother's fruitcake. I went ahead and added those red candied cherries I was insufferable about avoiding in previous years. Bring 'em on!

I live in constant fear of chocolate fudge. Homemade fudge is my nemesis. One piece on Christmas Eve and I'm off and running, eating everything in sight until Saint Patrick's Day. Oh gee, now that I've thought about fudge I just know I will end up making some.

I mailed out all my Christmas cards; however, I mailed most of them without putting our return address on the top left. Sheesh. This is what happens when an old lady in complete frenzy mode tries to do more than one thing at a time. Then I had to go on FB and post that I did that.  Why? Well, I didn't want anyone who got the card without the return address to think I didn't realize what I had done.

A postcard my friend Chilly Hollow sent in 1988.  On the back is the best fudge recipe ever. 

 Damn you Chilly!

Stand!

In an alternate reality I would have made a good soldier. I have a gift, at least I think it is a gift. I don't react to crisis in the moment. Instead, I fight. It isn't until a few days or even a week later that the gravity of the situation fully hits me and I collapse. 

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.

The things I saw

Here are some of the old friends I DID manage to see in Upstate New York a few weeks ago.

A proudly magnificent Solomon's Seal

Trillium, with some kind of little bug crawling around the center

Virginia Bluebells, pretty far from Virginia

Lilies of the Valley, you know the Valley I'm talkin' about, the one where you have to walk it by yourself?

Skunk Cabbage (top) and Marsh Marigold (bottom) in the swamp lands

Wild Geraniums, one of my favorite wild flowers

The amazing wild, red Columbine

A debonair Jack in the Pulpit

The Mighty May Apple, as Mother Earth News has referred to her

A pale yellow Primrose, not really all that prim

Peony shoots coming up, always a reassuring sight

The mysterious Hellebore

Freaking Fern Fronds, for cryin' out loud!

And last, but not least, the always hilarious Toad Shade (a variety of Trillium)

Rise and Shine

I have become a morning person. I did not see that coming. In my working years I always woke up early, at 6:10 a.m. to be exact. I did not like getting up early in those days. Perhaps it was because I HAD to get up. I resented having to follow an established schedule. Still, it was the way of the world and I did it for many years. I was happy to have the job, the work, the money, the people who filled my life.

Now I am retired and I still wake up about 6:10 a.m. Now it is my choice to either rise and shine or to turn over and go back to sleep. Rarely do I choose the latter. NEWS FLASH: Early morning is a great pleasure. Who knew?

Sometimes I stay in bed for awhile, awake. When luxuriating in bed is meditative and relaxing it is a lovely way to start the morning. Unfortunately, staying in bed can also become an anxiety fest.  Then it is best to get up and start the day. There are things to do. Buddy the Cat wants to be fed, coffee needs to be made, and the computer wants to be started up. Flowers and vegetable plants must be inspected for overnight growth. More often than not T has already fed the cat and started the coffee. Then I stumble around, looking a sight and trying to find my bearings. No rush, no hurry. I can slowly find my way.

A frog, taking her own sweet time

I live in hope

I planted caladium under the American sycamore tree out front. We shall see if it grows.  After so many gardening failures I no longer have strong expectations for things I plant.  However, I continue to live in hope.  Why?  Because it is always a visceral thrill when something I planted begins to grow.  In that moment, I feel joy.

As I age I find I have lowered my expectations considerably in nearly every aspect of my life.  I am no longer as excitable or exuberant as I once was.  That's a relief, considering what a big nut I can be.  I am not complaining, I actually think this "adjustment" is a reasonable and welcome change in my life.  I am more able to accept life for what it is instead of what I want it to be.  Who knew I had it in me to be reasonable?

It was fun being young and having unlimited expectations.  I enjoyed the excitement of thinking wonderful things were in store for me at every turn.  So often that turned out to be true. Youth was a great gig.  I think I made the most of it.  I have no regrets. But you have to kiss that joy as it flies. 

For those of us who are lucky enough to survive into our 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's and beyond, one occasionally has to look in the mirror and face facts. There is more of life behind us than there is ahead of us. That is not a tragedy, by the way.  I am not trying to freak you out. Youth and beauty are great, but they fade; they simply do not last. Joy is also momentary and temporary, but it continues.

Maypop, aka purple passionflower, aka Passiflora incarnata - a wild flower in Central Florida