A Ten Month Gap. Ah, Time.

Maybe I'll get a couple of chickens or four. I have been chicken adverse since my early twenties, having found myself with three thousand of them laying over 2000 eggs every day. Every day. That was the brainchild of an alcoholic husband who quite probably had a serious psychological disorder. The kind where you are supported in your outrageously damaging behaviour by beer drinking buddies down at the pub and the girlfriends who buy your story of the bitch wife, but I digress. 

NEXT: ten months have slipped by since I wrote the above paragraph. I went through a rough patch, physically. I was poked prodded scanned and told to get my affairs in order. I giggled. I thought that was just a line from movies. Anyway, didn't happen. I changed shape somewhat, got shorter, sometimes have to sleep sitting up but I'm moving better than I have in years, meditate daily, exercise, don't eat sugar, blah blah blah. 

And I have a cat. A tuxedo named Sully. 

I think I may actually do this again. Blog I mean. It's not as if anyone actually sees it ;)

Bought that book about tidying up but just can't bring myself to actually read the damn thing. What was I thinking. It's sitting on the top of the cluttered roll top desk with a droopy plant that really needs feeding and it's been there since the first day of spring when I decided it was time to clear the crap out of my personal environment. I really don't know what happened to that idea back then but it's miraculously returned 10 days before winter solstice.

    To be honest I have only a vague idea of my own capabilities at this point. There are so many things I can't do, physically. But then, wonder of wonders, I can do a lot more than I could two years ago. How weird is that. I'm old. Things fall away. Abilities slip just out of reach. It's part of the deal. But then there's that confounded wisdom shit and you accept with gratitude what's left. Then, inexplicably, a spontaneous and unexpected improvement and again with the wisdom that kicks in and another revaluation your abilities.

    I've been doing this, the blog, this blog, for years and I'm tempted to browse and see how many times I've done this 'okay, this is it, I'm going to clean up and fly right' thing. I don't want to know. Here it is 12, 12, 2022 and it seems like a good idea to just hit 'publish' and resolve to keep you all posted about my progress every few days, or week or... 

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  Here's what I know about this, other than it tastes great. It was two overripe bananas, two of the smallest eggs in the carton, probably a quarter cup of butter and two glugs of olive oil, a quarter cup of white sugar and a glug of vanilla, a healthy squeeze of lemon juice and some grated rind. Okay, that was the wet and I whizzed that up for a minute. Then two heaping Chinese soup spoons of rice flour with Xanthum, some baking powder, a tsp of cayenne and a couple of handfuls of chocolate chips that just needed using. The result looked a little loose so another soup spoon of rice flour and bob's your uncle. Baked it at what I think is about 350 because it's been decades since the temp on the oven dial was visible. Cook 35 minutes. 

  I glazed it with the rest of the lemon juice and some honey. but it would have been good anyway.

 Every day my cat teaches me something and if I don't get the lesson he just does it again and again until I do. 'Don't sweat the small stuff', 'when there's a mess, grab the broom' and 'if you screw up, try cute.' 

 There is no starting point now. It's been lost to the mists of time or some such overworked line but the truth is, every morning essentially marks another 'do over' and it's been this way for a good many years now. It's somewhat paralyzing to not have a place to start. 

No regrets? You've got to be kidding.

     I hear it often. People saying, and proudly, 'I have no regrets.' I can't even imagine what that means. How can you live a life and regret none of your decisions. Isn't that the very definition of a sociopath? Back in the days before I was so entrenched in hermithood, I hardly went a day without feeling I'd blown some aspect of that day. Now the heel of my hand meets my forehead mostly over things I suddenly realized I should have said a decade or two ago. 

     

     There's a weird delay on this particular notch on the spectrum, but that's another story. Maybe there's a need for a facebook group for people who not only have regrets but actually admit to having regrets. I'd start it but I'd end up regretting it. I'll just put it out there and hope someone else takes the initiative. Then I can hit 'join' and my regret will be that I never check it out beyond that. 

 

Things found on scraps of paper while sorting.

Spending a late afternoon in one of those butterfly jails so popular with tourists when I got one of those heel-of-hand-to-forehead realizations. Those wings aren't just fooling birds into thinking this isn't an edible tidbit. Those wings are fooling people into thinking they don't have a bug on their sleeve. All around me these winged worms are landing on brightly coloured clothing. The wearer, were it not for the wings would shriek and swat but instead they watch in wonder and alert others in hushed tones. I decide to start wearing makeup and kick my wardrobe up a notch or two.

I make and sometimes break New Years resolutions...so

Okay, moving right along here. Went out and bought yet another bathing suit today. I have several in increasing sizes in a bottom drawer so this isn't a new idea. What is new I just put the suit, a towel, the never worn years old thongs, and soap into a duffle bag. That's never happened before. Chatting with the delightful clerk about my yearly bathing suit purchase and how I never actually get to the pool she said something about it being hard sometimes to make the effort in winter driving conditions. I could have kept my big mouth shut but no, I admitted I live 2 blocks from the pool. She has a wonderful laugh :)

BAN ADULT SIPPY CUPS

The cult of complaining continues to gain momentum. Complainers chalk up another victory as vaping is banned from all the places where smoking has been banned. My goal for 2017 is to get adult sippy cups banned. Seeing adults walking around with sippy cups held with both hands in classic toddler fashion causes my hand to cover my eyes, much like the waving motion rabid anti smoke and now apparently anti vape people employ, even while standing in a cloud of diesel fumes at a bus stop. I expect my campaign to gaim momentum quickly since it's obvious the involuntary covering of one's eyes is more of a danger to my safety than flapping one hand in front of one's face. Look for announcements on meetings to prepare for initial appeals to civic councils to BAN ADULT SIPPY CUPS.

Where did that come from?

'kay. About four hours ago I walked into the downtown post office and the public area was about half the size it was when I was last there. I did a Laurel and Hardy 'whoa' move, successfully getting the attention of another woman in line and said 'wow, where'd that wall come from.' She filled me in on the time line and told me how much warmer it is now and so on. THEN she looked me straight in the eye and said, 'You should go on a computer and go to google. You can ask any questions and in seconds you get answers. You 'd really like it.' I'm not leaving anything out here. I didn't say for instance, 'I wonder what the average life span of a rhino is.' No. It was that out of the blue. I said, 'wow, you just became the subject of todays blog entry. Thanks.' Life just gets more fascinating.

The point of learning is not just to gather knowledge. There's validity in taking your study of anything to your limit of understanding. Come up against your personal brick wall, realize anything beyond that point is 'beyond you', and appreciate the fact that there are others of your species looking after that, understanding that, and building on that which you don't understand.

There's an ability I wish to hone.

A while ago I was in a group of people. That in and of itself is becoming more comfortable of late. I said something that caused some laughter. Someone said I was funny. A little thing. A casual exchange. Shocked me to my core, actually. I realized in that moment that it isn't so much that I'm funny it's that they had the capacity to see the humour in what was said.

Being kinda funny, well, that's just there or not. But the ability to see the humour, that's gold.

Caution: Current rethink underway.

It’s been a couple of years now since I retired and there have been a few surprises, I must say. Surprise number one: clientele interaction had pretty much replaced social interaction. I had an inkling but yes, it’s time to admit, I’d become a hermit of sorts. So, I’ve been making an effort to put myself out there. There’s the painting group. I’ve attended enough sessions now to feel fairly comfortable. I was accused of appropriating aboriginal art at one point and my reaction was to stay away but after a missing a few sessions I got my to-heck-with-it back and all is well.

Then I saw a poster at the library showing a bunch of older folks sitting around a table having a wonderful time. It was an invitation to a free memoir writing class. I signed up. It’s been a roller coaster of emotion but overall well worth the angst. For one thing, I’ve learned I have angst. Oh Em Gee. I’ve also learned, when it comes to me being me in social situations, it’s well deserved angst. My parents weren’t completely out to lunch when they set about training me to accept that, as my mom would put it, ‘I’m not very likeable’. News flash: all those memes about being yourself are rubbish. If you’re a social moron, it’s probably best to keep a lid on it. I’m working on it.

It’s a great group of people and a fantastic facilitator. I’ve learned some things, for sure. I don’t want to write a memoir for one thing. I do want to write, though. That’s the biggie. There’s a feeling that I get when I’ve been working on something and I’ve finished it. I’ve missed that. When I was potting I’d aim for this many butter dishes and when they were sitting there, shining, in their fresh-off-the-wheel beauty the sense of satisfaction...well, it’s good. I’ve been getting that again from the last sentence. Dot.

And, like potting, writing is done in isolation. For me, that’s the good news/bad news thing. Learning to play nice with others is still on my list of goals but the contentment that I feel during periods of quietly ‘doing’ by myself can’t be a bad thing either. I have to get out there and screw up once in awhile to realize that. So now, I’m back to that aspect of life that continues to baffle. I’m organizing. I’m trying (and you know I don’t like that ’t’ word) to rid myself of the remnants of past interests and make my environment and routine condusive to current activities and goals. How about that, fellow stay-at-home travellers.

So, here goes. I have a file cabinet. Most of the content is rubbish. Good day for a back yard burn.

I'm back.

News flash...procrastination is part of my process. After I've hit 'post' on this I will look back and see how long it's been since my last entry. I know it's been a while. It's been a life changing while. To get anyone reading this, and me, up to speed on what I've been up to I'll start with selling the equipment, all the equipment, that I used to make a living for four decades. The year plus since that all headed down the driveway in three pickup trucks has been dedicated to a major mind reset.

I've long been an advocate of 'checking in' with one's self. Taking a few moments a few times a day, to just sit and breathe and see how you're doing. I've never really understood holidays. Can't remember the last time I've taken what would be considered a holiday. But this 'checking in', I imagine, is related. Well, I've just taken, instead of a few moments, a full year.

I've spent some of that year reading, some of it painting, some of it gardening and a lot of it doing boom all. At this point I see clearly that the most has been accomplished in the periods where I have accomplished boom all.

There has been no time line, no projected outcome, no scheduled input. Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning knowing clearly that today really is the start of a new personal era. I'll keep you posted. Wish me luck.

So, what are you going to do now?

Yesterday a woman was by to pick up some beer steins she had ordered months ago, and that I had finally gotten around to making. We were talking as I packed them up and she hadn't noticed that there was no longer a sign at my front walk. I really understand that. I've walked into commercial buildings without noticing that the business I was looking for had, sometimes long since, relocated. Once I was going to buy a new pair of glasses in a place that had become a flooring outlet and found the perfect tiles for a project... anyway, you get the idea.

So, we, the woman picking up the mugs and I, get on the same page. I say how excited I am that this is my last order and she asks me, 'so, what are you going to do now?'  It's a question I've heard so many times I can't begin to tell you. That's partly because I've been going to quit making pots for years and, well, it's been a process. The 'what are you going to do' has caused so many reactions and emotions. Sometimes I feel a bit of panic. What AM I going to do? Sometimes it brings forth my bitch self. Well, what the heck are YOU doing? But yesterday I realized that I like the idea of not knowing what I'm going to do.

It doesn't happen a lot in our lives, does it. As adults we usually have a game plan of some sort. An idea of what comes next. Sometimes, I know, we're wrong and the universe has something else in mind, but in our minds we're on a track of some sort.

I've known people who know what every moment of their holidays is supposed to look like. I can see there being a comfort in that. But I can also see, right now, that it might be good to just see what happens next. I can hardly wait to see what happens next. Oh, wait. It's happening. This is what happens next. (Smiley Face)

Nominee to candidate to MLA

I was at a meeting on Saturday to see who is going to stand in our riding for Member of the Legislative Assembly next year. The nominee I favoured won. I can't even begin to imagine what that is going to mean for her in the months ahead. We really have to give a great deal of credit to anyone who is willing  to stand for office these days. 

The attacks on the individuals involved in political life have gotten so out of hand. At the expense, I think, of a basic understanding of the ideologies of the parties represented. I'm not one of those people who believe you shouldn't talk about politics or religion. Cripes. What does that leave. The weather? The neighbours? But I can't believe how many people I come across who vote as they vote without having any idea what-so-ever of what the party stands for. I mean, the basics. Let's get the basics down before the next polls. Deal?

Parenting is a peculiar thing.

I'm thinking every generation is an experiment in parenting. Every generation of parents seems to feel that because they aren't doing it, parenting, the way their parents did, they are not only doing it better but they are doing it right.

Live long enough and you start to see the layers. A friend of mine was raised by a mother who instilled the 'you can be whatever you want to be' spirit. She's an artist. She paints. She introduced herself to me a year or so ago as an artist. Okay.

Then I met her daughter. Her daughter says she is a dancer. She does dance. But the other day I was asking her how she like her school and her teachers this year and how about dance. She said she isn't taking dance because she already knows how to dance.

So, mom's an artist who waitresses and has a pre-teen daughter who doesn't have to take any more lessons 'cause she already knows how to dance.

I think this is perhaps indicative of how the 'you can do anything and everything you do is wonderful' experiment is going.

Personally I think you're an artist when other people think you are. I think a dancer is someone who dances and studies dance. And I think it's early on that an attitude takes hold that keeps you wanting to do the next one better than the last. I don't know how that happens. Luckily, it does happen. It happens often. There's an evolution that matches the devolution. But there always has been.

We're muddling onward as a species. Great authors, dancers, artists, philosophers are coming from the streets and the suburbs and the tenements and the good homes and bad homes and no homes.

Think you have the answer and you're probably wrong. That's what I think.