Retirees dream of past workplaces

I had an unsettling dream last night. In it I was recalled from the comfortable peace of retirement to return to my old job to stage an important event for the department. I did a bad job of it. Yes, it was a nightmare.

The Associate Dean of Administration, my former mentor, showed up for this dream event. She angrily asked why I hadn't arranged for a specific faculty member to be there to hand out awards to graduate students. I replied, "I don't care." Sheesh. I was always defiant, but this reply takes the cake. Later in the dream I remembered that the particular professor she asked about died last weekend (in real life), but it was too late to undo the damage my flippant statement made. The AD of A was red-faced furious and ever so done with me. That still hurts.

My "dream" staff (consisting of co-workers from a couple of different actual real jobs) were disgusted with me.  I tried to apologize to them, and closed my eyes for a few moments as I spoke deep from my heart about all my faults. When I was done, I realized the staff members left. They never heard my apologies because they didn't care what I had to say.

My dear friend, the Director of Human Resources (D of HR) for the college, tried to intervene and save me. Bless her sweet heart, I do so love that woman. She lined up an interview with another department. I tried to tell her I was retired, and had earned the maximum work income Social Security would allow this year, but she insisted I must redeem myself. I was freaked out about losing Social Security income for the rest of this year AND had interview anxiety.  Aaack.

I forgot the exact time she had scheduled the interview for. My cell phone was dead. I had to call the D of HR on a public phone. Yes, there was still a public phone box in my dream reality, and it was free! I didn't have to dial. I simply screamed into the phone and she answered. It was also more of a perforated disk than any public phone I've ever seen, but I digress. She said the interview was in a half hour and I needed to get there right away. She would meet me and go through the interview with me (unheard of in reality, but much appreciated in dream-time). 

Unfortunately there was a flood I had to wade through on my way to the building. It slowed me down. I was afraid I wouldn't make it in time. When I finally arrived at the building I couldn't find the room. The D of HR found me wandering the halls and helped me find the room. 

Then I woke up.

I am thankful I didn't have to go through that interview.  I would have screwed that up, too.

This is an actual gargoyle from outside one of the buildings I used to work in

Vulcans and Klingons

I've said this before, and I guess I'm gonna have to say it again. My side of the family are like Klingons. This my husband and I agree on, with great pleasure and deep appreciation. I know without a doubt that should you mess with one of my siblings, they will rip your heart out with their (sharpened) teeth. My sibs think of me as the soft one, the weak one. This I know, too. Perhaps I am. Maybe not. What if I am just the quiet one? These things are all relative, you know.

My husband's family are like Vulcans. They are quiet and measured. Logic rules over the heart. If you mess with them, you might think you won; however, you will never know the jokes and disdain that will follow you for the rest of your life.

Here is the basic difference between our families. Klingons want you to know you've been destroyed. That's the be all and the end all. In T's family, the villain's awareness of their own destruction doesn't matter. Vulcans are not threatened by the continued existence of their vanquished and diminished enemies. What the miscreant thinks isn't important, and his/her awareness is inconsequential. It is an interesting difference, don't you think? 

We have tempered and changed each other over the years. I no longer walk up to strangers and tell them I like their hair. I rarely jump up from my airline seat to scream at the person behind me for kicking my seat. He has learned to apologize and works hard on the empathy thing. This is the truth: together we are better than we are apart. 

I still can't walk away from a fight, but I am now self-aware enough to wish I could.

Entertaining

We've been entertaining guests this past week, so I am kind of preoccupied with sun and fun.  Let me entertain you with some of the sights we have shown our visitors from the frozen northlands:

I had no idea I was going to catch this turtle at this happy moment.  So cute.

Taking it easy on Cocoa Beach

N with a water pistol in the pool.  Watch out.

HUGE freakin' gator at Lake Apopka Wildlife Drive

Elegant and fashionable Snowy Egret

Heron

Jumping the waves at Cocoa Beach

Days of Thunder

I was awake, but just barely. Although the clock next to the bed did glower 8:00 am, I was content where I was, wondering how long I could stay abed without drawing attention to myself. What propelled me out of that cozy cocoon was one of the loudest claps of thunder I have ever heard. Yes, I am from the Midwest.  Yes, I do tend to exaggerate. But for one long moment I wondered if there was an explosion, an attack. It was that unexpected and that loud. 

I stumbled out of bed and headed to the sliding doors opening to our lanai. The rain was deafening and already pooling water over the rug adjacent to N's sand box. Soon the excess water, coming too fast to drain, would creep up towards the doors as it is wont to do in a storm. My first thought?  "Yay, I won't have to go outside and get some exercise today!" 

I've been a bit tired of the relentless sun anyway. This is a nice break.  Today it will be cool and dark with high winds at some point this morning. Too early for hurricane season, but proudly defiant weather nonetheless.

I will stay indoors. Today is the Weather God's day for exercise, not mine.

What's a good book?

I'm feeling "down" these days.  This shall pass, but in the meantime, I have little energy.  I just want to read, relax, and escape reality for a while.  Anyone have a good book to recommend?

One down, one to go.

I just finished my youngest grandson's baby quilt, which I started before he was born. He is now 7 years old, but better late than never, right? I added pieces to make it bigger. Then I took it to the local quilt shop and PAID someone to machine quilt it. What a thrill not to have to hand quilt this thing that has been dogging me for 7 long years.

It is still only 64" x 50 1/2" which means it won't be a bed quilt. However, assuming it ever gets cold enough in Central Florida, he will be able to snuggle up with it on the couch. This is the best I could do. 

I have one more quilt project that needs to be finished.  Unfortunately the one I'm still working on is one that must be finished with hand quilting. I started it in 1989.  If I ever finish that one, I will never hand quilt anything ever again.

Here is a picture of my grandson's quilt:

Dancing with angels

Before Planned Parenthood: Kate

The first day of high school in my senior year (September 1968), I was standing in a crowded hallway during class changes. It was my turn to walk my friend Kate to class, and it was going to be someone else's turn when that class was over. Our large group of friends had worked out a schedule in the morning before classes started. Kate was shattered and broken. She needed help.

She kept her head down, staring at the floor, not saying a word as we walked. I looked all my passing classmates directly in the eyes with the hardest, meanest stare I could muster. I was defending my friend against the insensitivity of cruel people who did not care.

When asked, I lied and said "No, Kate did NOT have a baby over the summer." You had to lie back then. And I thought, “Oh, by the way, if I have to say that one more time somebody's gonna get their ass kicked." The reason Kate did not defend herself was because she had only been out of the hospital for a week and her episiotomy stitches still burned and itched. Most of all she did not speak because the trauma of being forced to give her first child away against her will had silenced her. Her anguish and confusion were palpable.

Kate and her boyfriend wanted to get married. He was just out of high school, and wanted her and the baby. Her parents wouldn't allow it and made the decision to give the baby away. She and her boyfriend were not allowed a voice in the matter.

I lost touch with Kate after high school; however, I heard she eventually married the father of her baby once she graduated and moved out of her parents' house. I hope that's true.

Laundry tales

I'm not sure why doing laundry feels oppressive, but it does. Perhaps because I've been doing laundry for 50 years? Regardless, I really am getting bad about this necessary evil. I wait until there is a mountain of dirty clothes, and then after I do a load or two I procrastinate about taking the clean clothes out of the dryer for days. It's really too much, dontcha know? 

That being said, laundry now is much easier for me than when I was a new wife and mother. All tasks are more complicated and stressful when you have no money or extra time. I remember the first time we got our own washer and dryer. It was liberating. Instead of schlepping our laundry to the laundromat (and spend a ridiculous amount of time waiting for it to get done) I could simply do a load whenever I wanted, regardless of if I had the right change or not. And I didn't have to wait until I got my next paycheck to do it. 

The worst was washing cloth diapers, of course. Many people won't understand the horror I am referring to. Too bad, because even though it was a horror, it also didn't inundate the landfills with plastic. Inundating the landfill with plastic is a much worse horror. And it was a lot less expensive to use your own cloth diapers than to buy plastic ones. Diapers could be used as burping cloths, too. And they were so much softer for the wee bairns. Whoops! I've been obsessively watching Outlander, and that just slipped out.

Gardening jeans from a really muddy weeding frenzy

We are the lucky ones!

Yesterday I received Valentine's Day flowers from my three grown-up grandchildren who live up north. You really have to know a bit about our short but profound history to fully understand how touched I am. 

I've written about this before, but let me summarize: My husband, T, did DNA testing in late spring 2017 to determine his ethnic heritage. When he received his results, he was surprised to find he had another daughter, named R. He contacted her within 10 minutes of reading of her existence, and immediately they began to build a relationship. This is a relationship that flourished and continues to grow and deepen for all of us who are related to this man and his oldest child. Sometimes these things don't work out; however, we are the lucky ones.

At one point I was complaining that there was no familial name, no role to label me. Why? Because I'm a self-indulgent and needy monster, of course. The love I feel for our family and everyone in it is over the freakin' top!  I'm not the birth-mother. I'm not the familial grandmother (they already have grandmothers who were quite wonderful). I'm not really a step-mother, either. So what am I? Can we PLEASE make this all about me?

Luckily, R thinks I'm funny. So when I complained to her about this (and yes, I really did complain to her about this because I am a self-indulgent and needy monster with absolutely no filter) she said I could be her Fairy Stepmother. Well, alright! See why I love this woman?  It turns out her 3 children are equally as lovable.

The card that came with the Valentine flowers says:

"Happy Valentine's Day, Fairy Grandmother!
  Love, The Fairy Grandchildren"

BIG smile. Thanks, SM, AC, and MC. I love all of you, too.