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.

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.

A woman now, but not so long ago....

A friend came to visit yesterday. She was about 15 when I first met her. A cute and curious teen drawn into my shop to view the shiny things. She was, as my mother would have said, 'as bright as a button.' And yesterday she sat in my living room with her husband and their beautiful baby girl.

I'm more conscious now of the distinction between having and being a friend. I started this with the words, 'a friend came to visit'. I don't know if that is true. A young woman came to visit an old woman who is her friend. I suspect that I am, to her, more of a project. Someone you feel you must drop in on while you are home for a visit in summer.

As I made tea and chatted I made several statements that, while I can't recall what they were at present, were obviously unacceptable. The first two or three times I saw the look pass between this smart young couple and received a gentle nudge to a more modern way of thinking, to the right way of thinking, about matters quite inconsequential, I blundered on. That's what I do. Eventually, a wave of profound sadness mercifully shut me up.

The sadness I felt: it was the realization that I had been that young woman. Maybe not to that extent, I don't know. How would I know really. But the experience, I think, I hope, has softened me and ground down my opinionated edges. And while I'm grateful for the lessons, I'm resolved to be less accessible to some of my teachers.

She stopped by again today. She left a note. I wasn't home.

So many ways to communicate, so many gaps in communication.

Lord knows, we have more ways of communicating with one another now than ever before. But is person to person, human to human communication getting any easier. I think not. I know I'm a dinosaur, but I am getting really fed up with trying to keep up with what's currently acceptable. It's never been one of my strong points but this is getting ridiculous.

Email, apparently, isn't cool with the cool. And actually having a conversation via land line, well, my dear. I'm really fortunate in that I still have a few people in my life that I share great phone time with, but outside of a small circle, you just can't be sure. And just dropping by someone's house to say hello, well, forget that. Except when it comes to dropping by my house. You'll be welcomed. And phoning my land line. You'll be warmly greeted. Like I said, I'm a dinosaur.

Email is an interesting thing. It used to be a major part of my communication with friends. Still is with some, of course, but there's an interesting lapse when it comes to married friends. I'm floored by how many couples have one email address. Usually, it's the man who has an email address and the woman doesn't have one. Again, this is about Dino Val. Way back when it was unthinkable that someone would open someone else's mail. I'm talking a letter in an envelope with a stamp on it. Now there's no such social boundary apparently.

More and more means of communicating. Less and less actual communication. More and more I'm realizing I'd better hurry up and catch up. Aside from those few people who actually sound glad to hear my voice, I have to NOT phone people. The 'dead' response is just too chilling. And going to someone's house that you've known for years and having them stare blankly at you without a word. Yikes.

The good news is, it's not everyone. It's just a matter of getting it through my head that this is tricky territory these days. Wonder if there's a night school class on navigating the new day to day reality. I'd sign up in a second. Hmm...might be a good place to meet like boggled people.