April 2024 with a touch of bromeliad

It has been a busy month for us. Well, busy by our lazy and reclusive retirement standards. We've had two short term visitors this month. A beloved nephew, and then an old friend. Both visits were deeply meaningful and gave me a lot to think about.

Tomorrow we pick up my Baby Sister from the airport. She is just here for the weekend. I look forward to sitting out on the lanai, talking and talking and talking. When my mother was alive, Baby Sister and I talked on the phone every Saturday morning. She was Mom's caretaker. My mother was in the advanced stages of Parkinson's for a long time, and it was hard to talk to her on the phone because I couldn't always understand what she was saying. Baby Sister was my touchstone when it came to Mom. I say "Mom," but as often as not we called her Ma. Why is it so hard for me to believe my mother has been gone for over 9 years? 

I must admit, this whole "time" thing really messes with my brain.

a crazy bromeliad

Do you have the time?

I have a short attention span.  When I was a kid, I used to entertain myself by reading encyclopedias. When I'm bored its fun just learning things quickly and in short spurts. Now I entertain myself by asking google just about anything.  

I was thinking about “time” this morning, the concept of time, that is.  I googled “time” and here are some of the things that came up.

How old is concept of time?

Artifacts from the Paleolithic suggest that the moon was used to reckon time as early as 6,000 years ago. Lunar calendars were among the first to appear, with years of either 12 or 13 lunar months (either 354 or 384 days).

Time - Wikipedia

Who created the time?

The Egyptians broke the period from sunrise to sunset into twelve equal parts, giving us the forerunner of today's hours. As a result, the Egyptian hour was not a constant length of time, as is the case today; rather, as one-twelfth of the daylight period, it varied with length of the day, and hence with the seasons.

About time - Mathematical Association of America

Is time an illusion?
According to theoretical physicist Carlo Rovelli, time is an illusion: our naive perception of its flow doesn't correspond to physical reality. Indeed, as Rovelli argues in The Order of Time, much more is illusory, including Isaac Newton's picture of a universally ticking clock.Apr 16, 2018

The illusion of time - Nature

https://www.nature.com › articles

What is time made of?

Time comes from every particle within our bodies, including our DNA that is made of these same atoms and particles. Time is the frequency of longitudinal energy waves. However, time is not constant. It changes with motion.

What is Time? – EWT - Energy Wave Theory

Does the past exist?

Events in the past and in the future do not exist. The only reality, the only thing that is real, is the present. This idea is called Presentism. This idea, however, runs into some serious problems when you start taking into account relativity.Nov 10, 2019

Are The Past And Future Real? The Physics And Philosophy Of Time

Can we travel back in time?

Time travel to the past is theoretically possible in certain general relativity spacetime geometries that permit traveling faster than the speed of light, such as cosmic strings, traversable wormholes, and Alcubierre drives.

Time travel - Wikipedia

It goes on and on with questions and concepts.  Really fun.  

Unconsciously in Control

Sometimes I simply shut down. This happens when I'm overwhelmed but I don't realize I need a break. Then my unconscious mind steps in and takes charge. My UC mind is my BFF.  She loves me.

I rarely relaxed during my working years. There was so much to do, and it all seemed earthshakingly important. Then UC mind would swoop in like the super hero she is. I would find myself forgetting appointments and meetings. It was wicked, sinful, glorious. Letting your unconscious "have at it" is a bit like having a personal assistant.

Over time I had more demanding jobs, with increasingly difficult people to accommodate. I became a supervisor and you know how that goes (hint: STRESS and confrontation). I was a manager of large academic and research departments. These jobs were ridiculous. Ick. 

I have said this before, but I'll say it again because it is key to who I am in my dotage: For most of my life I had minimal control over what problem happened next, and maximum responsibility for resolving it.

In retirement I've stopped answering my phone. What a joy it is to let that sucker ring! I procrastinate with gusto. I'm good at this retirement thing.

When it is not hotter than Hell, I might power garden for hours at a time. Gardening is hard work, but it is also like meditation. Get your hands in the dirt and the cares of the world fall away. 

Sometimes that's what I consciously want, for all the cares of the world to fall away.

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

I was never beautiful, but still I mourn the loss

I was never beautiful, although I think there were times in my life when I was reasonably attractive. If not attractive because of beauty, then at least attractive by the strength of my will, or the intensity of my stare. I mourn the loss of youth because, as they say, there is beauty in youth. It is hard to say goodbye to all that when your concept of beauty is limited to cultural norms.

Is there also beauty in aging? I think so, if we can only get over our fear of death and our revulsion over the aging process. Wrinkles, gray hair and all the rest less obvious trappings of age are confusing. The changes that aging bring are horrifying only sometimes, but always astounding in their creeping permanency. Still, the older women I have loved always seemed beautiful to me.

I'm inclined to let age have its way with me. I would put my energy elsewhere, because this is a fight I cannot win.

My maternal grandmother.  I didn't know her but I love the children she raised so I guess I love her, too.

My paternal grandmother, one of the best people who has ever walked this earth

My sweet mother (big sigh)

Putting away Christmas

The older I get, the more Christmas becomes a life gauge. Each year I touch and consider my past.

• Owl ornament my ornery friend Maggie gifted in 1983. She died in 2006. I'm still a bit afraid of her.
• Cardboard box to store ornaments. We originally received the box in 1996 when we ordered a printer. The printer is long gone. The box remains.
• Needlepoint bell niece K made when she was a child. She'll never know how touched I was to get it.
• 1970's/80's salt dough ornaments daughter M made. She's forever my baby, my child, my cranky teen.
• Every ornament our grandchildren made/painted/bought for us. Especially when we can't figure out what it is. They go front and center.
• The salt dough ornaments husband T made that are so hideous, so utterly ridiculous that we laugh and hide 'em in the back of the tree. He's a good sport.
• New ornaments from R, the daughter who is my husband's oldest, and a daughter of my heart.
• Yellow cat ornament Chilly Hollow gave us millions of years ago. She's still a friend, a reader of this blog, and an irreverent smart alack.
• Ornaments Syracuse friends bought and pretended were from their son, Coop. Ha, we never fell for it.
• Vacation souvenirs, baubles and tchotchkes.
•  The glass Santa from Sharon, who died in 2015. Each year I hold it and try to believe she's still alive.
• I really must stop, this is getting too long. I could go on for pages.  Suffice it to say that every ornament has a story to tell and circumstances to describe. 

  

  Santa ball from DebbieK, Tibetan ball from Choklay and Nyima, Icon BVM from Oldest Sister

  
  
  

Grandma's letter

--This treasure is a letter from my Tennessee grandmother (1905-2000) to my daughter, written in February 1981, for the occasion of my daughter's 9th birthday. My grandmother was a Pentecostal Christian, so there is a good bit of "Jesus" talk in this.  It is simply the way she talked.

Dear (M),

As I never see you to talk to you long enough, I just wanted you to know how we lived when I was a little girl.  I thought it would be nice to send you this for your birthday in February 1981.

I had the sweetest childhood a little girl could have. We were very poor. We didn’t have toys like children have today. We would always get up at 5 o’clock in the morning, because you see, we lived on a farm. I was about five years old when I can really remember. My mother would wake all of us up and we would eat our breakfast. Then there were cows to milk and horses to feed. There were seven of us children. My one little brother (Johnny) died when I was just about three months old or less (note from Colette – he died September 2, 1905, my Grandma was born at the end of May 1905). I can’t remember seeing him, but my mother said he called them to the bed and asked to see me before he died. He was about two years old when he went to be with Jesus. Well now, to get back to our farm and all the work we had to do. I just had the best daddy in the world, I thought, and he was so kind to us.  I never remember him saying an unkind word to us, yet he had a way about him that to look at him you just didn’t want to do anything, only what he told us to do. We would thin the corn out to two stalks in a hill after it was big enough and that I could do.  As I grew older I got a harder job like hoeing corn. In those days we had hand plows and mules or horses to pull the plow. I can remember my grandfather plowing with oxen with a wooden yoke on their necks. Then we had sheep. The little lambs were so sweet. When I think of them now, I think of Jesus with the lambs in his arms and around him. But I think he created all animals and the lamb was a symbol of his love – how he died that we might have eternal life.

We would cut the wool off of the sheep (I helped do that).  One day I was, as we called it, shearing them. I cut his hide till it bled. It went “ba,ba”. I felt so bad about that. Then my mother would send the wool away and get our blankets for the bed that way. Oh yes, she would keep some and she had an old spinning wheel. She’d make the thread to knit our stockings for winter. They were real warm. She taught me to knit. I was making a pair and I told her this was like going around the world and to the North Pole. Ha!

Now I’ll tell you how we played.  We had rocks that green pretty moss grew on and we would play like we were making beds.  And we did, too –real pretty.  We never worked on Sunday and we had friends come to visit us.  I think back about it now, it was really fun.  We had one little china doll – about 5 inches long.  It was handed down from the oldest to the youngest. We never broke it. I wish I had it now to show it to you. We would play ball and sit around a fireplace in the wintertime popping popcorn.  I remember one time my brother Wint and I got to go to town with my father and we got to go to a movie. We didn’t have radios or TV’s then, but my childhood is all sweet memories.  We were just one big happy family. We had a cave close to our house and at the entrance there were shelves my Dad made.  We would keep our milk and butter there –so cold.  We had one cave us kids used to have to crawl in. After we got in it was the most beautiful place, but scary.  We could see skeletons, maybe of animals, I don’t know.  It was so dangerous as I think of it now. Then we had a place we called the “rolly hole.”  You could throw a rock and you could hear it roll down, down, down.  Somehow the rocks would come to top rolled so smooth. It isn’t there anymore, they tell me.  

We walked 2 miles to go to school. There were no sidewalks, and there were rocks, etc.  We walked barefoot in the summer and when fall came we got new shoes. Like boys wear. We were so proud of them. I’ll tell you about our chickens later.

One day my mother and two oldest sisters went to pick blackberries and blueberries.   They would take a couple of big pails and go up into the mountains and would be gone all day sometimes, as they grew wild in the mountains.  They were delicious, better than what we get now from the grocery store.

Once, I asked my mom what we would eat for dinner. I was only about eleven years old and my brother and two little sisters were there for me to feed. There was no lunch meat like we have now. She said, “Well, you can have chicken if you will kill one and dress it.”  Well, that sounded so good to me.  I told my little brother if he would hold its head and my sister (then about seven) would hold its feet, I’d chop its head off.  We laid it on a block of wood and that poor chicken, I thought, I just can’t do this. But then I thought about dinner so I took an ax and cut its head off. Then we built a fire out of wood and heated a big kettle of water and dipped it in hot water, took all the feathers off, cut it up and washed it good. We fried it on an old-fashioned wood-burning kitchen stove. We did have a good dinner!

We used to have a ball to play with that mother made us out of rags; she rolled over the rags many times with heavy thread. We would play throwing it over the house to each other. We also used to tell riddles we would hear. Maybe your mom can explain that to you. My sister Bertha and I used to saw big trees down. I helped cut corn when in the fall the corn was ready to shuck. We’d cut it and put it in bunches and tie the top. Big bunches of the stalks it grew on and corn, too. Then we’d feed the horses and cows in wintertime. One day my father came to the field where we were working and said, “Ma is sick, you will have to go to Grandma’s house.” So we all went to Grandma Sharp’s house and in the middle of the afternoon Grandma came home. She said, “You have a little baby sister.” Grandma Sharp was the midwife who delivered the baby. You should have seen us run for home! The baby’s name was Neva, my baby sister. She will be 65 years old the 23^rd of May. So you see that has been many years ago.

We had a spring near our house and carried our water by pails full to drink and to wash clothes. It was fun. The water was as clear as crystals. It was pure water that God made; no chemicals of any kind were in it. I went to a little one-room schoolhouse. My Dad took me the 1^st day and I cried to go home with him. I was six years old. The teacher had a watch on a chain around her neck and she took me to one side and showed me the birds on the watch to get me to stop crying.

I just wanted to tell you how different it was when I was a girl your age. Of course that has been over 70 years since I was 5 years old. I wish I could take you and your Mom and Dad to where we used to live. Our house is torn down now, they tell me.

The saddest part I left till last. My father died when he was only 39 years old. He was sick quite a few years and it left my mother with 5 of us to raise. But that didn’t help her as far as missing him. We all worked together and we never went hungry. But that didn’t ease the aches in our hearts for a father. He died in Louisville, Kentucky in hospital in 1919. He never got to see his 1^st grandchild. She was born May 18, 1919.   He died June 1^st, 1919. But you know, someday we will all be together. Jesus went away to prepare a home for us. And then if we live a good life he will see that we all be together someday. I know you are a good girl. You have a good mother, so always listen to what she tells you to do. You also have a good father. I wanted a little girl so much, but God gave me two sons instead. Now I have two daughters (in-law) and oodles of grand daughters and a great grand daughter to love. And I love each of you. And my great grandsons, too. I hope you enjoy just a part of this letter – how we used to live.

Love you,

Great Grandma

Here are some early photos of my grandmother and some of her siblings:

Grandma and her brother, about 1914?

My grandmother is the one in back with the big bow in her hair. Taken about 1918?

 

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?

A morning in the life

At 7:00 a.m., I stumbled into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. I ate oatmeal while checking my blog for comments and reading your blogs. I put in focused Facebook time moderating that "secret group." I need postcards; instead, I wrote call-to-action letters to politicians who don't care. I do some variation on this theme most mornings. I usually do more of the same in the late afternoon or early evening. It is a post-Hillary thing. I think my husband (and many other husbands) fear his wife is becoming obsessed. We are not obsessed; we are persistent.

About 9:00 a.m., T and I rode our bikes to the post office. The sweet post office lady was out of pre-stamped postcards, which I took as a good sign. No problem, I can order them online. We are doing great things for the U.S.P.S.! On my way out I noticed white caladium making a spring comeback under a massive live oak.

Then we rode our bikes to a park on Lake Apopka to see what we could see. We did not see any alligators, but there was plenty of bird activity. The park's boardwalk has been closed to the public for 6 months. Repairs and maintenance are needed, but things do not happen quickly in Central Florida. Our sleezeball governor is probably withholding funds for this just like he's withholding funds to clean up the Everglades.

In the meantime, birds took over the boardwalk. I am sure they think the people-free boardwalk now belongs to them. A bald eagle has even taken to sitting at the edge of the walkway, but not today.

It was about 10:30 when we returned home.  Since I was already dirty, sweaty, and slathered in sunscreen I decided to stay outside and weed. Have I told you that I love to weed? Well, I do. It makes me feel accomplished. I am not sure why housework doesn't have the same effect.

I was gloriously filthy when I finished. T mulched over my work with thick layers of pine straw around cabbage palms, bromeliads, and azaleas. In a few areas I asked him not to mulch because caladium lived there last summer. They seemed happy and thrived until the cooler weather came. I'm keeping a lookout. No sign of them yet.

Here is a bad iPhone photo of the boardwalk this morning.  See the blue heron on the left?

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.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone

I recently read a review for The Lightning Tree, a book by Emily Woof. The last sentence of the review said "...she succeeds in conveying the 'infinity of moments' that make up a lifetime."

Well, THAT scared the ever lovin' crap outta of me! I know it was meant to do otherwise. I realize the reviewer was reaching towards his/her best truth. In fact, it was a good sentence. However, I wonder if the concept of "a lifetime" is flexible, depending on your age?

I am going to tell you my theory on all this and (be forewarned) I will generalize like crazy. None of it will be new or insightful. Like on Battlestar Galactica, this has all happened before and it will happen again. Here goes.

When you are young a lifetime seems mostly ahead of you. The idea of building a life is formidable, but also exciting. I like to think time is meant to be filled with joy and wonder. The young still seem to know that. Youth is about hope, anticipation, and energy. You learn about yourself and so much more. If the young tend to romanticize the future, it is their right. Youth is a dangerous, wonderful, adventurous stage.

Middle age is when you might consider your accomplishments and bask in your strength, or vice versa. You've probably had your ass kicked a time or two. In middle age people are a bit more savvy. A lifetime is no longer an idea, it has become a concrete reality. Middle age is when you finally figure out the mechanics, the process of living a life. At this point a person is usually sustained by responsibilities, duties, and love. Middle aged people are busy, busy, busy. It can be a stable, fulfilling time in a life. 

Older people know they are living on borrowed time. They realize there is an end to all this. If you are lucky enough to retire you eventually find yourself freed from routine distractions. Old age can be messy, fraught with physical limitations, health issues, money worries, and unresolved fears. Oh yeah, and sometimes you leak. However, your time is your own.

I am not really "old" yet, but I am no longer middle aged by any stretch of the imagination. As I age, I begin to think old age has more in common with youth than with middle age because time has that lovely transcendent quality I was too busy to notice in middle age. Now I have time, once again, to experience the moment with eyes wide open. Old age is a glorious and terrifying time of life. It depends on the person to balance that conflict. It is a struggle, I'll tell you that.

So when I read a sentence like "...she succeeds in conveying 'the infinity of moments' that make up a lifetime" I am not thinking, "Oh isn't that a beautiful thought?" Nor am I thinking "Hmmm, I'll have to remember that one when I have a few moments to reflect."  I am thinking "Holy Shit! A lifetime has a lot of moments to live through, but they are definitely not infinite."  

Yep, winter is coming.