ON PHIRE

This is a story.

[onphire-blog]

July 1, 2013

I woke today thinking about the weekend events.  Though it was a wonderful weekend with friends, I miss my daughters.  I really miss my daughters.  I miss seeing them on a daily basis.  I miss their smiles.  I even miss their messes! 

What is this familiar feeling?  Yes, it is a familiar feeling—the empty-nest feeling.  I laugh to myself, as I feel the anxiety and apprehension rising.  I am already anticipating my drama.

My daughters live in New York.  They have become New Yorkers.  You know what I mean.  Even the New Yorkers out there know what I mean.  A place that houses the best restaurants, the best bars, the best cultural events, the best parks, the best doctors, the best hospitals, and, of course, the best bagels.  Yes, New Yorkers believe that there is no better place than New York.  “They” may be right about the bagels!  But really?  Come on.

My daughters were raised in the midwest.  Ann Arbor, Michigan has been our home for about eighteen years.  Before that, we lived in another beautiful, but smaller, midwestern town—Milford, Michigan.  We had a garden the size of a football field!  Well, not really, but it sure felt like that when we were out there weeding.  We went for long walks in the woods near out home. It was during those walks that my husband made up stories that he would tell the girls, stories about the “Little People in the Woods.” 

The “Little People” protected the woods.  “Stoney,” protected the stones and the rocks.  “Barkey” guarded the trees.  “Leafy” was in charge of the leaves.  The “Little People” always won the battles when the “bad people” tried to destroy the woods.  The “Little People” even showed up just at the right time and helped the girls get out of whatever jams they got themselves into.  Kir, our dog, also traveled along—she acted as a protector for the girls.  The girls loved the stories.  Ah, nostalgia.

I think one of the reasons the girls moved to New York was because we lived in the country, and we had to travel to the grocery store, to the schools, and to just about everywhere!  I think all that traveling was just too much for them.  Now, they don’t have to spend every waking hour in a car.  Rather, they walk or take a cab or take the subway.  Food is just a phone call away and delivered to the door.  They live in neighborhoods, where the dry cleaner, the pharmacy, and the nail salon are within a short distance from their houses.  Everything is close.  Yes, those are all good reasons to be in the city.

I am proud of my daughters.  I see their beauty, inside and out.  I am very proud that they have chosen me to be their mother.  I have enjoyed the journey of motherhood.  I love watching my daughters grow into adulthood; the adventures.  Yes, I miss the little-girl times, but I embrace, with misty eyes, all the moments that I have had with them and I look forward to the next steps of our journey, but not without some more advice from the mom.

I want my daughters to know that I have made many mistakes in my life.  It is okay to make mistakes.  In fact, we learn through those mistakes.  Just take responsibility for those mistakes, and hopefully, they won’t be repeated! 

And, there will be many people who will help you along in this thing we call life, but also know, there will be those who don’t, but they are there to help you too; to let you know that life is not a bowl full of cherries.  It is not meant to be.  Keep that in mind.

Things will happen in your life that you cannot control, but it will be you who decides how to handle them.  Try to change those things but if you can't, then try to change the way you think about them.

Do not whine.  Not only is it unattractive, it lets the “all-powerful” know that you feel victimized!

And, maybe, just maybe, it is good to tell the truth!  Telling the truth can be liberating, but remember you don’t have to “tell all,” but rather, just enough for someone to know that what you are saying is the truth.  Now, when someone asks you, “How are you,” have the hutzpah to sometimes tell them the truth!  And, watch their expressions!

I love my daughters!

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a forty-five-minute run.  It is a new week.  How do I feel?  I feel like crap!  I miss my girls!

[onphire-blog]

June 27, 2013

Well, believe it or not, I am into the “Groundhog-Day” routine, once again.  Turn off the alarm, dial the mom, and push the button on the coffee maker!  Yikes, after reading the chapter in Josh’s book about how monotony collapses time, you would think I would try to change my daily ways.  You think?  Not successful on that one yet, but I am giving myself time!

Anyway, what does it mean to be successful?  With all this time on my hands, I have been thinking about that question a lot.

I have always wanted to be an expert on something, remember?  But I am coming to terms with the fact that I am not. 

Yes, I am not an expert in anything.

Having experienced the recent change in my life, the job change, a change that was not planned by me but rather others, has made me realize that I am just ordinary.  Yes, I am just plain ordinary.  And, I am really okay with being just plain ordinary.

Recently, I heard some folks talking about how parents might be doing their children a disservice nowadays because they are telling them just how amazing they are.  Really, how is that a bad thing?  Who doesn’t want their kid to be that special one?  But, can all that striving to be or raise or experience the extraordinary cause us to lose sight of the smaller, ordinary moments that truly matter?   

Thinking back to last year, when my running coach Matt and I had a conversation about the upcoming summer 2012 Olympics in London, I remembered what he said makes a great athlete.  “It’s the athlete or performer whose skills become a habit that becomes the winner,” he said.  “Winners don’t think about what they are doing.  Those who do will not win.” 

I had no idea what he was talking about, and I wanted to hear more, but he said no more.  He wanted me to think about it.  So, I did. 

I was glued to the TV during the Olympics last summer.  I watched the competitors closely.  I wanted to see if I could figure it out.

My favorite Olympic sports are swimming, and running, of course.  I watched those particular athletes carefully.  I looked at their faces closely.  I saw their expressions.  I noticed their habits.  I listened to what was said by those who won. 

I then saw and heard what the winners had in common—they maintained the mundane.  To them, the Olympics was nothing more than just another workout, a normal, manageable situation.  They didn’t choke when they got to the start line.  Rather, they seemed to make the Olympic competition just another ordinary workout.  And, they said just that when asked what their thoughts were at the start of their competitions. 

I am now starting to look at success differently.  Success is nothing more than simply knowing how to appreciate the ordinary.  It is not about the medals.  Rather, it’s about learning how to embrace, enjoy, and behold; embracing an experience, enjoying it, and beholding it.  It is the little things that we do that count.  It is about appreciating what we have--life.      

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a sixty-minute run.  I have only been running for three years so, I am learning.  And, today I run so I can embrace my world.  I want to run to see my world.  I don’t want to run so the world can see me.  I now realize what it means to be just ordinary.  It is a good thing.

[onphire-blog]

June 26, 2013

I wake up this morning thinking about Josh’s book, after, of course, performing my “Groundhog-Day” routines. 

Before going to sleep last night, I read the chapter about “The Most Forgetful Man in the World.”  I immediately thought to myself, “How sad to be labeled like that?”  Well, anyway, Josh did not use the man’s name.  I was happy he didn’t.

So, Josh decides that in order to really understand how our memories work, he needs to take a look at its absence.  He finds a researcher who is studying a man (EP) whose memory goes back only as far as his last thought.  EP does not have Alzheimer’s.  Rather, he has a form of amnesia, apparently caused by a virus.  EP doesn’t even remember that he has a memory problem.  “Oh,” I thought to myself.  “This is way too sad.”

When Josh meets EP, he finds him to be very happy and personable.  Josh asks him lots of questions.  He finds that EP is not at all embarrassed that he cannot remember things.  When Josh asks him why people want to know what happened in the past, EP simply says, “Because it’s just interesting, frankly.”

This is a sad situation.  I so feel for EP.  I think to myself, “What in the world can be learned from this?”  Well, Josh says it’s about time.  What does that mean?  I read on.    

Josh says that time is something we construct, mentally, for ourselves.  Time is centered around events.  When we have lots to do, we think that time is passing us by. 

We ask ourselves, “Where did the time go?” 

And, we believe that “Time flies when you’re having fun.” 

So, are we having too much fun?  Do we slow the passage of time by not having so much fun? 

“No and no,” Josh says.  I agree.

Josh then goes on to talk about a man who did his own experiment on time; he chose to live in total isolation, in a cave, for two months.  Yes, total isolation in a cave for two months. That meant no clocks, no calendars, and no sun.  The year was 1962.  By living in total isolation, he felt he could better tap into the natural rhythms of life, meaning he would sleep and eat only when his body told him to do so.  Essentially, he was attempting to live “beyond time”

But what happened to this man was surprising.  His memory actually began to deteriorate; his days became indistinguishable and his sleep patterns were disturbed.  Time became a blur to him.  In fact, on the day that his experiment was over, the date and time he had written in his journal was one month behind the real time.  He lost a month of real time.

So, the moral of this man’s experience is that monotony is not good.  It is good to change routines!  The idea here is to have as many new experiences as possible.  Why?  Because it will serve an as anchor to your memory.

What?  Wasn’t it just about a week ago that I read that routines were good for my memory?  Am I getting mixed messages? 

No wonder why we sixty somethings get confused.  Well, I speak for myself.  This is my story.  Remember?   

So, now I need to create new routines and new experiences?  New routines that will create new memories, which stretches out my psychological time, which will lengthen the perception of my life?  What?

I conduct my own experiment.  I think back to the wonderful vacations that I had with my family; my husband and my daughters.  I ask them if they remember those times.  They don’t! 

“You don’t,” I say. 

They answer, “We don’t!

I get worried.  So much for creating memories for them!

Well, just because they don’t remember those wonderful vacations doesn’t mean that they didn’t happen.  Or does it?

Remember, this is my story.  I am examining my life.  Yes, we had wonderful vacations!

No run today.  I am going to see Jen!  Remember?  No gray.  I am putting time on hold for that!

[onphire-blog]

June 25, 2013

Oh my, it’s that time again.  The alarm goes off.  It’s sixty-thirty in the morning.  Once again, I look around me and realize another “Groundhog-Day” routine is about to begin.  My husband wakes.  I call my mom.  And, I will spend another day analyzing my life.

When I read the book-review section in the Sunday paper this past weekend, I found a book I thought might help me get my life back on track—“Moonwalking with Einstein,” a book on how to improve your memory.  It was one of Dan Brown’s favorite books.  I thought to myself, “Well, if it’s one of his favorite books, then it must be a good book.”  Dan Brown is an author so he must know something about books.

I guess being the owner of seventy self-help books isn’t enough.  But I didn’t own a single book on “How to Improve My Memory?”  I do now.

Besides, I can hardly remember anything these days, well with all the gadgets—day planners, GPS devices, cellphones that log every number I ever called, and, of course, my aging mind, who needs to remember anything.  That’s about to change. 

I immediately ordered the book on my Kindle.  Yes, my Kindle.  Talk about gadgets. But this is good because now I have no more worries about not having enough room on my shelves for another self-help book!  Anyway, I begin to read.  I am intrigued.

So, the author of the book is a formerly absent-minded, young science writer, Joshua Foer, who became the 2006 U.S. memory champion.  “Anyone can do it,” he says. 

I read on.  I can do this. 

Seriously?  Can memory be taught?

Josh says we are born with a blank slate of memory, and, over the years, we lose the incentive to store large amounts of information.  Really?  No kidding.  I have to remember this is Josh’s journey not mine!  I have no intention of becoming the next U.S. memory champion.  I just want to remember why I walked into the kitchen! 

Well, Josh says I need to learn the technique and practice.  So, what’s the technique?  I read.

Josh is not against our present-day technology.  He says it’s good but it takes lots of information away from us remembering because we no longer have to remember facts—we have the Internet—we look everything up.  So, no need to create new ideas, or to think about things, or to make new connections, or to make sense of the world.  I agree.  I read.

No technique yet but I am very interested in this young man’s journey.  I think the book is well-written.  Josh is wise and witty.  I like him, especially when I get to the chapter on “Expert Experts.”  I have always wanted to be an expert on something.  Remember?

So, what does it take to become an expert?  I am about to learn.

Josh talks about his encounter with Professor Ericsson, the world’s leading expert on experts, at Florida State University.  Professor Ericsson says experts require at least ten thousand hours of training to achieve world-class status. 

No wonder why I am not an expert on anything.  I don’t think I have spent that many hours studying!

Well, it turns out that experts see the world differently.  They notice things that non-experts don’t, they hone in on information that matters most, and they seem to have an automatic sense of what to do with it.  Josh says that it may appear experts rely on their “gut feeling.”  Rather, what they really are doing is acting unconsciously on their memories, not their gut. 

Take the chicken sexers for example.  The chicken sexer perceives the world in a way that is quite different, at least when it comes to the world of chicken’s privates!

I had no idea what chicken sexers were until I read about them in Josh’s book.  After reading about them, I am so glad I was not born a chicken, especially a male chicken. 

Male chickens are useless.  Hmm?  Can’t lay eggs, their meat is stringy, and they are ornery to the females who do all the hard work.  Hmm?

Anyway, it’s very difficult to tell the difference between a male and female chicken until the chick is about four-weeks old.  However, in the early 1920’s, some veterinary scientists from Japan discovered something about the chick’s rear end.  Inside, there are folds, marks, and bumps that to the untrained eye are nothing.  But when these folds, marks, and bumps are properly read by the expert, they divulge the sex of a day-old chick.  Of course, that takes years to master!

So, it turns out that chicken sexing is a delicate art.  Yes, it requires Zen-like concentration and the hands of a neurosurgeon.  The art goes like this.  The chick is held in the left hand and given a gentle squeeze—can’t squeeze too hard or it will kill the chick!  Oh my! Next, with his (not her) thumb or forefinger, and well-trimmed fingernails, the sexer flips the chick over, parts the flap on its hindquarters to expose the genitals, and then peers inside.  The sexer is looking for a protuberance, or the “bead.”  If the bead is convex, the chick is a boy and gets disposed.  Oh my!  If the bead is concave or flat, it’s a girl and gets saved.  Oh my!  And, the sexer has to make the diagnosis with just a glance!  Oh my!

The best part?  Chicken sexers get paid.  Yep, a penny for each chick correctly sexed.  The best in the business can sex twelve hundred chicks in one hour, with about ninety-nine percent accuracy.  But the chicken sexers can’t tell you how they do it because their art is inexplicable.  They simply say they have intuition!  Oh my! 

Yes, the chicken sexer perceives the world very differently.  I am happy for the sexer, but I am not sure about the comparison to memory---what does a chicken sexer have to do with improving my memory?  I guess I need to think about that and read on, but not today.         

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a sixty-minute run.  I think I won’t be applying anytime soon for a position as a chicken sexer.  Oh my!

[onphire-blog]

June 24, 2013

            Oh my!  I just can’t get away from this “growing-older” phenomenon.  In Sunday’s paper, in the Styles section of course, what do I find?  It is an article about a woman who is “Done with Washing It Away.” 

Washing what away?  Her gray hair, of course.  She has chosen to go gray. 

“Good for her,” I say. 

I read.

            So, here is this woman who has “allowed” her mane to go gray!  And, she’s happy?  The advantage?  She got into the movie theater at the senior rate of nine dollars as opposed to thirteen dollars.  She’s fifty-seven years old!  The senior rate is available to those sixty-five and older! 

“And, that’s exciting,” I think to myself. 

Wow.

            This woman says she did away with the dye bottle when she was about fifty-three, after quitting her job as a movie critic.  She points out, and correctly so, that the TV news and entertainment industry suffers from what she calls “white fright.” 

“Hmm,” I thought.  “Could she be right?”

            I think she is right.

            So, there is Anderson Cooper and Wolf Blitzer.  They are men and they are gray.  

But where are the women?  I can’t think of any.  Are women afraid to let it go? 

Well, I know I am.  Sure, I want to make a statement but can’t I make it without letting my hair go gray? 

So, I am committed.  I have said I am the new sixty-one, and I am. 

But could it be that hair dyes have made sixty the new fifty, or forty, or thirty, or whatever?  The color of my hair makes me look younger?  You bet it does.

            Hair dye, yes hair dye, has been the savior for us older women; our fight against the cult of youth.  Indeed, I have been dying my hair for several years now.  I won’t say just how many.  In fact, I used to do it myself.  My husband never knew I dyed my hair until I went from being a light-brown-haired woman to being a dark-brown-haired woman. 

Yes, one day, I accidentally bought the wrong color.  I never looked on the box.  I just assumed it was the right one.  Oh, how wrong I was!  And, to top it off, I dyed my hair just three hours before we were expecting company for dinner—company that my husband knew but I did not!  I panicked and thought, “What have I done to myself?”

            Well, it was too late in the day to do any color-correcting so, I just had to go with it.  Anyway, I had to tend to the dinner that was in the oven, set the table, and get the children ready.

            It actually turned out to be a lovely evening until, as our company was leaving, the woman turned to me and said, “I am so glad you are Italian.  I didn’t know John’s wife was one of us!” 

I am of Russian/Slavic/German descent!  That means I am very pale!  That was the last time I dyed my own hair.

            I then began going from hair salon to hair salon—trying to find that person who would give me just that right color, that color that would make me stand out in a crowd.  Because of my wandering around looking for that special hair salon, my friends started calling me a hair slut.  Why?  Just because I went to Canada to get my hair colored!  Really?  This is normal.  Was I making a career out of finding just the right salon?

            So, after years, yes years, of experimenting with different salons, I have settled.  I have settled but I have not settled for just anyone.  Jen B. at Six Salon is my best friend now.  She knows what I like. 

            I am a blonde and I love it.  I might spend two hours at the salon every five weeks but it is the most pleasurable two hours because I know when I exit not one single person will look at me and ask if I am Italian!

            The revelation here is that I still think of myself as the new sixty-one, a blonde sixty-one.  Change is difficult.  Maybe when I am the new seventy-something. 

There are other ways we sixty-somethings can make political statements.  In the meantime, Jen B. is my pal.  And, I am not giving up dying my hair because I am in the midst of a job change.  No, not me.  I have not made that promise to myself.  Right now, I am not ready to “wash it away.”

            So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a fifty-five-minute run.  It is a new week.  And, I get to see Jen B. on Wednesday.

[onphire-blog]

June 20, 2013

This is an addendum to yesterday’s revelations. 

Just when I thought that reading the article on retirement was enough to push me over the edge, well . . . . 

Another day of the “Groundhog-Day” routine!  Is this what it is going to be like from now on?  I can’t think about it.

So, I walk out to get the mail.  Getting the mail has become a routine, too.  It is the highlight of my day.  Is it because I am unemployed or because I am getting older that getting the mail is a big deal?  Whatever.  I look forward to getting the mail.

In today’s mail I find my monthly woman’s magazine, along with some junk mail.  I throw the junk mail in the recycle bin.  I look at the cover of my woman’s magazine, the cover, which of course, highlights for me the most interesting articles in the magazine.  Yes, the publisher’s way to get me to buy--ha. 

So, the first highlight that catches my eye is about the “best” anti-aging beauty ideas for those aged thirty, forty, and fifty.  What?  No sixty?  No anti-aging beauty ideas for sixty-year-old women?  Is there no hope for us sixty somethings? 

I open the magazine and look in the table of contents.  There, under “Master Class,” I found my number—sixty somethings!  Yes, there is hope, I guess. 

I turn to page thirty-two.  I am about to find out the secrets to the “best” nails, hydrators (not vibrators), blushers, concealers, eye brighteners, lip enhancers, hair, and scents.  I read the article. 

Phew, I am so happy to be more educated on what products to buy.  Am I now an expert? 

I decide to head into my bathroom to examine the products that I have sitting on my counter.  I am amazed at what I find.

There are bottles, lots of bottles.  Bottles of skin creams, body creams, and serums.  There also are skin machines in my bathroom, yes skin machines.  You know those machines that scrub your face and emit microcurrents to your face. 

Yes, I cleanse, I exfoliate, I mask, and I microcurrent my face. 

Seriously?  Do I need to rethink this anti-aging thing?

I am thinking.

I am thinking about the many times that I have heard that sixty is the new fifty.  Really, sixty is the new fifty?  So, what does that mean? 

I am thinking. 

I am thinking sixty isn’t the new fifty, forty, or even thirty.  Rather, sixty is sixty. 

When I look at my face in the mirror, I see a sixty-one-year-old woman.  I am not fifty, forty, or thirty.  And, a quick check of the rest of my body parts confirms just that!  So, why are folks saying that sixty is the new fifty?

I am thinking.

I am thinking that when I compare my sixty to my mother’s, or grandmother’s, or great- grandmother’s, or great-great grandmother’s, I think my sixty is different.  Yes, I think sixty now really seems to be different from sixty back then.  I think my generation of sixty-somethings is in the midst of redefining the decade and for lots reasons. 

Well, for a starter, we now have access to better medical care, including and repairing a lot of internal and external body parts!  We also have medicines that keep us alive longer.  And, we have the internet to help us stay connected.  Yes, we are a new generation of sixty-somethings—we are looking at aging differently.         

Anyway, I don’t think I should have my face lifted in any way, shape, or form, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t take care of it with all my creams and lotions and serums and skin machines!

I want to grow older gracefully.  I want to look at my aging face with admiration.  I want the world to look at my face and see and love my wrinkles, my wrinkles of time.  Really, I think it’s about time that folks look at me and tell me just how much they love my wrinkles!  Those wrinkles reflect the etchings of my experiences and my character.  They are lovely.    

Seriously, I feel lucky that I am here to say that I am a sixty-one-year-old woman.  I am not the new fifty-year-, or forty-year-, or thirty-year-old woman.  I am the “new” sixty-one-year-old woman.  I am alive! 

And, I have worked hard to get here!  So, I am not looking to change a thing. 

Did I really say that?  Yes, indeed I did!

So, onto the next article. 

I next come upon an article that’s talking about foods—foods that I could eat to age-proof my brain.  Really? 

I already had a revelation for the day.  One is enough.

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunarglides, and off I go for a sixty-minute run.  And, I just found out that lunarglides is one word.  I should know that if I am going to run in them!  Oh my, lots and lots of things to think about.

[onphire-blog]

June 19, 2013

Today, I have a revelation.  So, after the “Groundhog-Day” routine, I head into my office to check my email, only to find, in my inbox, the online magazine from my college alma mater, The University of Michigan.  The heading on the front page: “To retire or not to retire?” 

I thought to myself, “Is this a sign?  But a sign of what?” 

When I read the first sentence, I almost fell over.  It said, “Once upon a time, baby boomers were typecast as feckless do-nothings.” 

“Feckless do-nothings.  Is that something that is fried or sautéed?”

Never having heard the word feckless, I had to look it up in my dictionary—The American Heritage Dictionary of course.  Oh, my old English professor would be proud!

I discovered that someone who is feckless is “lacking purpose or vitality; feeble or ineffective.”  Oh my!  Seriously, is that how we baby boomers were typecast?

Anyway, I went back to the article and continued to read on.  The article talked about a recent research study that was conducted at the University, finding that we, “sixty-somethings” are not ready to leave the workforce just yet.  Rather, the retirement age is on the rise.  Really?  I could have told them that.  So, being sixty something does not automatically classify me as a feckless do-nothings?  I am intrigued. 

Well, these researchers discovered that about fourteen percent of women aged seventy to seventy-four are still employed.  “Oh,” I am thinking, “this is really good news!  But how do I get to be part of that fourteen percent?  Will I find the answer if I read on?” 

I read on and find out that the main reason “we” stay employed is because of the changes in the economic atmosphere; changes in Social Security, Medicare, and the recent economic downturn.  And, staying at our jobs helps us keep our employer-health-insurance benefits and helps us recoup some of the money lost in our retirement-savings plans. 

“Yes, indeed,” I think to myself, “exactly.”  They should have interviewed me!  I am really depressed now. 

And, get this, the researchers also found that staying employed helps to preserve our memories and other cognitive abilities! 

Not only that, but they also found evidence that having a routine like getting up in the morning and dealing with people is also mentally stimulating. 

Okay, I am done reading this article.  I am really, really depressed now. 

Don’t they know that I am unemployed?  Why did they send me this article?  So, now, not only do I have to worry that my being unemployed will affect my household budget (not a surprise there) but also if I don’t work, then I am going to lose my memory and my cognitive abilities?  Yikes!  Am I headed to becoming a feckless do-nothing?  Not if I can help it.  

Then, a revelation, “Ah, but I have a routine—I have a Groundhog-Day routine!”

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a sixty-minute run.  I am not going to be a baby boomer who is a pheckless do-nothing!

And, oh, oh, another revelation, my runs, my runs, they are part of my routine, too!  Phew, I am really not going to be a pheckless do-nothing.  Off I go.

[onphire-blog]

June 13, 2013

Yesterday, the “Groundhog-Day” routine was broken.  Today, it resumes!  Ugh!

Okay, so, I think I better have a talk with myself. 

What kind of advice would I give to a friend? 

Well, considering where I am in my life right now, I am not so sure that I should be the one giving the advice.  But, oh, it is not advice—it is suggestion.  Oh sure it is! 

So, I listen to my inner voice.  I start talking to myself . . . .

“Don’t fret, my friend, with what has happened to you?  We don’t always have the wisdom we need at the time we need it.  We struggle.  But the answers are in your hands.  Write it down.  Your heart will speak to you through your hands”

Really?  Really.

Okay, I take my own advice and write a letter to me from me.  So . . . .

Dear Jean, 

You have worked hard for the last thirty-two years, raising children, returning to college for four years and then law school for three years, and then trying to pursue a career for seventeen years, so don’t be so hard on yourself just because now you find yourself unemployed at sixty-one!  No wonder why you are exhausted and confused.  Chill out woman.  I promise you, this too shall pass.  (I really hate that phrase but it seems to work right here!)  Don’t let those emotional needs of yours beg for attention.  Right?

So, now that I have really depressed you, where do you go from here?

You will get through this fog and uncertainty about your life.  And, you will do it in the best possible way—you will not become cynical or bitter or hateful!  Right?

You have the moxy to find your purpose and fulfill it.

You will find your voice and it will surprise you.  For a long time now, you have been looking for it.  You really don’t want anyone telling you what to do or how to do it—you know what to do.

Hey woman, I know that you are impatient now but impatience will be an asset to you.  I’ve watched you go after that box of chocolates—just when you have finished one, you go after the next!  Now, you need to learn how to savor the one that is in your mouth. 

Learn to follow the certain rhythms of life and flex that muscle in your heart.

So, Jean, start now, and listen to what I am saying to you with an open heart.  Stop worrying about what others think of you; your happiness does not depend on them.  Trust yourself and you will evolve naturally.  Listen to your gut instincts—if something doesn’t feel right, it probably is not.  Stop looking outside of yourself for validation and approval.  It is time that you define your happiness.  If you do this, then all else will follow.

Perhaps all the advice you got from others when you left your job, “when one door closes another opens, things happen for a reason, and sometimes there are other plans for you,” simply means you need to stop trying so hard to manipulate life. 

Love you woman,

Jean

  So, after I write the “me letter to me,” I head out, going to lunch with a friend, a new friend.  We are scheduled to meet at a local restaurant in town.  I arrive first and grab a table, an outside table because it is such a beautiful day. 

When she arrives, she seems jittery.  I ask her how things are going.  She begins to describe her day—listing all the things that have, thus far, gone wrong.  All the things she lists have gone wrong because of the actions of others.  I listen and wonder, “What is she really trying to say?”

My friend has strong feelings.  She judges.  She dismisses.  She jumps to conclusions.  I ask myself, “What is it that I need to learn from this encounter?”

I need to listen and feel her pain—have empathy.  But it is so much easier to be judgmental—less work if you see everything in black and white. 

With those thoughts, I am humbled.  After all, as Stan, who is a wonderful family friend, would say, “Everyone has a story to tell.  And, everyone wants someone to listen.” 

Stan is a very wise man, with a very special spirit. 

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a sixty-minute run.  I want to think.

[onphire-blog]

June 12, 2013

Buzz!  The alarm—it is six-thirty in the morning, again.  I call my mother.  She is already awake and chipper—so eager to do her volunteer work! 

I am beginning to feel like Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day,” repeating every day in every way. 

Then, I hear a little male voice say to me, “So, what are ‘we’ going to do today?” 

I think to myself, “Who exactly is the ‘we’ in that statement?”

            I totally forgot that today is Wednesday and my husband does not work on Wednesdays.  So, I guess “we” are going to spend the day together!  And, I know exactly how it is going to start—no, no, not that—he is going to get the paper and read it to me.

            How right I am!  He jumps out of bed, makes the coffee, changes into his casual Wednesday clothes, and out the door he goes, to fetch the paper!  I run into my office, get the computer up and running, and start to check my email, when I hear, “The coffee is done.  I got the paper!” 

            “Patience, patience,” I say to myself.  I must enjoy these moments. 

But really, does he think that I cannot read?  Does he just like hearing his voice first thing in the morning?  Or, does he love me so much that he wants me to know every single thing that is in the paper today?  Hmm!

            So, I listen and learn about what is happening in the world, which includes all continents! He especially loves to read “all” the articles about New York City, because our daughters live there!  Connection?  Yes, indeed, I get it!

            Afterward, “we” decide to do some errands.  First on the list, “we” go to the cleaners.  I go in.  Second, “we” go to the pet store.  I go in.  Third, “we” go to the local coffee café.  I go in.  Finally, “we” go to the grocery store.  I asked him if he wanted to go in and get the groceries.   He said, “I’ll stay in the car and rest—you can go in and get the stuff.”  I love it!  He was my chauffer for the day!

            When “we” get home, guess who gets to unpack and put the groceries away?  “We” do.

“We” then decide to clear out, or clean out, more bookshelves.  This “we” really do together.  We find old children’s books, yearbooks, and family albums.  Oh, the wonderful memories. 

Now, I know why “we” are doing this—“we” are feeling nostalgic.  We know that life can change in an instant and take these moments away from us.  “We” understand this but “we” are not ready to talk about it.  So, “we” (we really do) clear out more bookshelves.  “We” are enjoying the time together. 

And, then, “we” make dinner and watch a rerun of “our” favorite TV show.  “We” fall

asleep.

“We” did not get to run today.  “We” had more important things to do.  It was a beautiful day!

[onphire-blog]

June 11, 2013

The alarm goes off—it is six thirty in the morning, again—my second day of non-employment.  Today, I am not confused.  That did not take long!  Jumping back into reality has never been a problem for me.   

Okay, so?  Well, first things first.  I have to call my mother, who lives in Pennsylvania and does volunteer work for the local hospital.  I am her Tuesday through Thursday alarm clock.  She is almost ninety-years old.  I call.  She wakes.  She says, “Well, how about it—today I go to work while you don’t!” 

“Yep,” I say.  “Have a great day, mom.  Thanks, mom.” 

You know, moms are always moms.  They really know how to make their daughters feel good.  I will think of this encounter the next time I talk with one of my daughters. 

For whatever it means, I am an only child—the only daughter—my mother’s only child and only daughter.  I understand my mother.  She means well.  I do love her.

I have coffee with my husband and send him off to work. 

I head to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Oh no, those feelings of insecurity, loneliness, and lack of fulfillment are setting in. 

I look in the mirror.  I see the lines around my lips, on my forehead, and around my eyes.  I look deeply into those eyes.  What do I see? 

Eyes that are mature and reflect a lifetime.  Eyes that have glistened with pride.  Eyes that have filled with tears of sorrow, snapped in anger, and burned from loss of sleep.  I have seen those eyes before.  Oh my, I am looking into my mother’s eyes!  I panic.  I can’t deal with that yet.  Okay, so I brush the feeling aside and start my day.    

I promised myself I would read the paper (the New York Times) on a daily basis, do the crossword puzzle (I want to get really good at this) on a daily basis, and meditate (by myself) on a daily basis.  I do just that.  Then, I write a few thank-you notes, and, here I am again.  What shall I write about?  Change, yes change.

For the last several years, I have watched the world around me change into the digital age.  Because those changes continue to occur so rapidly, I am afraid that one morning, I will wake up and discover that, while I was asleep, I went out of style.  But I can’t revert to becoming that woman from long ago, the woman who sat at her kitchen window year after year watching everyone else do it.  No, no, it’s my turn.

 But I do not feel animated today.  Rather, to be honest, I feel melancholy. 

I turned sixty on February 20, 2012.  Wow, am I really telling you that!  Blogging must be cathartic! 

Anyway, it was a rough year.  Why?  Because one of my best friends, Rita, was not here to help me celebrate—she died on January 7. 

My family did their best to make it a memorable day.  They had a party for me at one of my daughter’s apartments in New York City.  My cousins came from Pennsylvania.  They also brought my mother, as a surprise!  And, several friends joined in the festivities.  The food was fantastic; the company superb.  I was cheerful and Pollyannaish but I missed Rita.  I felt an air of melancholy.  How could I not.  Rita’s death was forcing me to deal with life. 

Yes, today I am sad.  Should I apologize for being sad?  No, it is life, and life has its sad moments.  Being Pollyannaish does not take those sad moments away.  Rather, I think that it is important for me to deal with my feelings today. 

Because I am getting older, I actually think about death more, but not in a morbid way.  I am trying to make sense of it.  I don’t want to have regrets.  A life without regrets?  That it almost impossible.  But there must be a way I should be looking at this.  I think.   

So, here are my thoughts.  I think that, no matter whose life it is, there will always be disappointments and mistakes, both little ones and big ones.  There will always be dreams that will never come true and ambitions that will not be realized.  Regrets?  Maybe?  Maybe not?

Anyway, I am also thinking that, because the past is already paid for, removed, and forgotten, we should not have regrets.  Rather, we should be happy with the past.  Or, maybe we should sweep it away and start over, at zero. 

I don’t have the answers.  Maybe another day.  I am thinking.  But what I do know today is that I miss Rita.

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a sixty-minute run.  I am increasing my running time.

[onphire-blog]

JUNE 10, 2013

            I woke up this morning thinking it was Sunday.  As my husband got out of bed, I said, “Hey, it’s Sunday, don’t get up yet.”  It was sixty-thirty. 

“No,” he said.  “It’s Monday.  Remember, yesterday we read the Sunday New York Times.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said.  “I am not going to work?  I am unemployed?”

Wow, it is true.  I said the words--I am unemployed.  Phew, phooey, ph---! 

Yes, I am unemployed—the result of a reduction in the workforce in my department, or so “they” say.  What the heck!  This should not be happening to a sixty-one-year-old woman.  I did not plan this.  I planned on working for at least another eight years!

About one month ago, I was called into my boss’s office, only to be told that my salary was going to be reduced by fifty percent.  “They” said, “I have options—I can take the offer or take a package.”  I thought to myself, “but I need full-time employment.”

I knew this was coming—people were speculating, as was I, but I was paralyzed when it actually happened.  In fact, I felt humiliated and demoralized.  Could I really stay?  No, this sucks.  What now?  I decided to take the package.  I told my boss.

Afterwards, people were very kind.  When I saw others in the hallways, they would stop me and say they were sorry to see me go.  They said things like “when one door closes another opens,” “things happen for a reason,” and “sometimes there are other plans for you.” 

What door opens?  What are the reasons?  What are the plans?  And, more importantly, who is in charge of opening the door, giving the reasons, and making the plans? 

Okay, so I appreciate the comments but really, I had other plans for myself and that was to retire from the job in about eight years!

So, now what?  Do I resort to reading those books for “older” women about how pleasant life can be once free from all obligations, including a full-time job?  Do I resort to a life coach?  Or, do I resort to simply doing it my way?

I opt for option three—I am going to do it my way.  I need to open the door, give the reasons, and make the plans.  I will not be the woman who says, “Well, in my day.”  Rather, I say, “This is my day.”  But how do I do it? 

After weeks of contemplation, I decided that I am going to write a book blog—it is the new way, of course.  Yes, me, I am going to become techno-savvy.  This is a challenge for someone who doesn’t know how to use all the functions on her cellphone, on the remote control, or on the satellite radio!  But thanks to Logan Chadde—he has set me up to become Rosella Chatty!  Logan, my dear young man, you will be highly compensated when the ads start flying!

So, perhaps it is true that “when one door closes another opens, things happen for a reason, and sometimes there are other plans for you.”  Time is on my side. 

And, I add, “The secret to life is enjoying the ride.”  I intend to enjoy the ride.  I am alive, and I am not writing this blog because I think my life is interesting.  Rather, I am writing it because I think life in general is interesting.  So, here goes.

            For years, I have been curious about myself.  What makes me happy? 

After I graduated from law school in 1996, and while I was studying for the bar exam, I thought about that question and asked myself even more.  Why did I become a lawyer?  What the heck was I thinking?  Is this what our forefathers meant when they penned the phrase “in the pursuit of happiness” in the Declaration of Independence?  After all, I was a nurse.  Did I really need to go to law school?

Well, yesterday, my husband and I cleaned, or better said, cleared out, our bookshelves.  I found over seventy-five books on self-help—how-to-eat-right books, how-to-run-better books, how-to-exercise books, how-to-be happy books, how-to-have-a-better-marriage books, and how-to-understand-your-spouse books.  Get the picture?  I have been trying to raise my level of conscious awareness for years.  The point?  I think I wanted to be an authority on something—anything!  But something was missing.  What? 

So, now, I say, “When exactly does one reach the pinnacle of happiness?” 

Through the years, and after reading all those books, I have come to realize that it is nothing more than the concept of when is enough, enough! 

Looking at the circumstances surrounding the loss of my job, and making the choice that I did, I put myself in the midst of the pinnacle of happiness.  How? 

Well, my decision was based on self-respect, and having self-respect means having enough and having enough means having self-respect.  I am there.  But am I?  I must still want more because I am writing this blog!

So, I put on my Nike + watch, my heart monitor, and my lunar glides, and off I go for a thirty-five minute run.  I think this is the beginning of a long-awaited journey.