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.

My safe place, at last...

I just figured out why I find it so hard to leave home. I'll find any excuse not to actually head down the road. It's not that I don't want to travel around a bit more than I do. It's simply a matter of finally, finally, feeling fairly safe and unpressed right where I am.
     When I was a kid home was a scarey, unsafe place. I married people who were scarey, unsupportive and demanding as hell. (my choices, granted) and right now, aside from the fact that the area is rampant with thieves and vandals, I feel safer here in this little house than I ever have anywhere else.
     So, when a friend suggests a visit, as much as I'd love to go, I tend to find many things that suddenly need to be done around here. There's always many things to be done around here. Good grief. What's my problem.
     Maybe it won't be a problem now that I've figured out the big, fat why. I LOVE those big, fat whys.

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.

A new affirmation for you

Here's an affirmation for you. Bury your little bundle of index cards in the back yard and get out a blank card, put your favorite butterfly sticker on it, get out your strawberry scented, lavender coloured felt pen and write "DO LIFE" across that sucker in your best handwriting.
Now roll it up and stick it up....

Well, you get the idea.

I didn't know that about me

Sitting at my desk this morning and saw a post van pull up out front. The mailman (yeah, I know, postal worker) was heading up my walk with a parcel. I went to the door, got the parcel and exchanged comments on the weather. 

Now, here's the thing...

My thoughts from the moment he put his first step on my walk were:

What the hell is this.

I didn't order anything.

Oh, great, did I click some link I shouldn't have.

It's probably the cell phone I ordered online, gave up on after a week and got at the store instead.

Now I'll have the hassel of sending whatever this is back.

yaddah yaddah yaddah

Actually it looks like it's something, perfectly legit, connected to the new TV/internet provider I signed up with a couple of days ago.

So today I'm pondering the flood of negative shit that streamed through my pea brain. Why didn't I assume something like, 'oh, who is sending me chocolates,' or at least 'what a mystery. I can hardly wait to see what this is.'

Hmmm.....

Gambling had me by the … ovum?

Well, who would have ever thought it. I have a gambling problem. Me. It happened so fast and I can’t believe how insidious it is. I was listening to CBC radio one day and a broadcaster did a bit about a promotion that BC Lottery was doing on their on-line website. You deposit a hundred dollars, make a hundred dollar bet on a certain game, and you win a hundred dollars. Well, I did it and it worked. I was up a hundred dollars. But it worked for them, not for me. I don’t dare even think about how much I’ve pumped into that stupid thing since then. It isn’t desperate or ruinous or compared to a lot of folks, significant. Thing is, I don’t like it.

I started getting on there three times a day. I’d sign in and sit with my first coffee. And what I find really creepy is, it’s in the house. MY house. 24/7.

Today I was having lunch with a friend and she had just lost a whack of money and had decided she was going to go to the local casino and opt out. That’s where she has a problem. After lunch I went online and spent a mindless hour or so watching fruit flash by my bleary eyes. That’s where I have a problem. I realized this used to be fun, and now it isn’t. I ran it down to zero balance and opted out for six months. It feels good.

I'd highly recommend it. 

How did I get here from there?

Sometime in the middle of the last century Alan Watts had this bit in one of his books. He said something like – think of a line of seventeen dots where the one on the left is the least, the right the most, spiritual. Where would you put yourself was his question. The answer, of course…if you put yourself anywhere you are nowhere. (I’m not doing this justice, but you get the idea.)

I thought of this the other day when I was on my back deck doing tai chi. A drunk came up to the back door of the neighbor’s house. I have to tell you, in our neighborhood, this is all going on 20 feet away, tops. So my lady neighbor came out and said, ‘Go away, Al, you’re drunk,’ to which Al said, several times, ‘I want to talk to your husband,’ to which neighbor said, ‘this is my house too and I’m telling you to get out of here.’ I’m parting the wild horse’s mane. From my vantage point I could see that another neighbor, across the street and down a bit, was heading over.

Man neighbor got to the door and he told drunk person to go away and drunk person did, after five minutes more of back and forth. Neighbor from across the street and down a bit is getting closer and I’m waving hands as clouds doing my best impression of someone who is above all this shit. Man neighbor goes back in his, oops, their house and across the street and down a bit finally makes it to the rescue. He’s in a wheelchair and borderline ancient (like me) so his intervention is a delightful mix of chivalry and delusion but hey. By now I’m creeping low like a snake and about to step up to the seven stars. It’s all pretty much in hand and it looks like I’m going to be able to shoot the tiger and get out of here when, bless her heart, neighbor lady looks my way and asks at volume heard three doors in every direction, ‘Valerie, have you met …?’

So, I’ve swept the Lotus but it looks like drawing the bow to shoot the Tiger is out of the question. I rather grudgingly lean on the railing and join the conversation. In the back of my soon-to-be-enlightened mind (my delusion) I’m feeling that this is all something I should not be subjected to. WTF, right?

We consoled, we fumed, we vented, we calmed, we called it  a day and two doors down wheeled away and neighbor lady said she’d have to find someone else to mow the lawn during their vacation. Drunk fella was going to do it but now… I said I’d be glad to, no problem. Neighbor lady happy. Yay. Now I’m really full of myself. I’m the spiritual person who was doing the tai chi and had to put up with this disruptive life stuff then had to talk to the neighbors and didn’t close the tai chi but in the end I got to save the day.

Good news is, it only took maybe five minutes for me to recognize how full of shit I am. How, if it weren’t for my freaking ego I’d recognize in the moment that we were neighbors sharing a moment. The bad news is that now I’m quite pleased with myself for being so evolved as to only take five minutes or so to get a grip… 

Stuck at square one and loving it.  

…or go to the gym. There’s no mystery here.

 The other day I was at a friend’s place. She was making lunch and asked if I’d get the knives and forks.  She nodded toward a drawer. I went to open it and damn near landed on my ass. I’d hauled on that sucker with the same force I’d use on my drawers at home. Whoa Nelly. You don’t have to be named Uri to open that drawer with your mind.

So many everyday things take so much less effort to ‘work’ than they once did. Mowers, drawers, dryers, dishwashers, and let’s not get started on cleaning floors. Even curtains. Heaven forbid you have to reach up and swing your arm across… well, it’s endless.

 I wonder if it’s really more life affirming to NOT have to put a whole lot of effort into opening a drawer or pushing a mower so we can get all neurotic about exercise. 

I'm shocked.

I can't believe how fragile the good times are. For quite a while now I've had brief reminders of how it feels to have low, make that NO, self esteem. And then there are the glimpses of the old anxiety. But generally, thanks to the tool box I left three years of therapy with, it's nothing I can't handle. But suddenly...
         The catalyst is irrelevant. One of those things that most people have experienced, I'm sure. Someone's standing on your foot. You suddenly realize they often tromp on your tootsie and for some reason you choose this time to say, "Ouch, you're standing on my foot." For them, it's a betrayal of your established relationship. The old, I stand on your foot, you take it, routine. For you, it's a last straw, for whatever reason.
        But here's the thing. It's taken a few days to really take root, but I'm experiencing anxiety at pre-therapy levels. And the affect that has on everything is horrible, and fascinating. Every word I say seems all wrong. And I'm obviously projecting that because more than one person has jumped down my throat when I've dared to wish them, 'good morning.' 'What's good about it!' in response is a pretty good indicator that your giving off a vibe. Holy Consternation. I'm going to hole up while this, hopefully, passes. When I dig myself out I'm going to be really appreciative of my next spell of contented semi-bliss. Right now, it's good enough to know that THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

Not satisfied your lot in life. Rename your position.

Hey, it works for business. If you own a greasy spoon and want one of your underpaid slaves to work really hard and keep your other slaves in line, what do you do? Give them a few cents more per hour and a tag that says “MANAGER”.

One of the most amazing examples of this, for me, is the housewife to homemaker to soccer mom to stay-at-home mom. I’m sure I’ve missed a few steps. The thing is, I find it a prime example of how easy it is to be sold a bill of goods. If we can be convinced that we’re somehow superior to those who have gone before us, or even those who surround us, we will remain in an adversarial mindset. Co-operation is the enemy of big business.

If we start caring, really caring, about each other, we’ll all be elevated. It may be harder for manufacturer’s to sell the latest shiny model washing machine for a while, but sooner or later we’ll need a new washing machine and it will even out. In the meantime, life will get better for ordinary people. It’s alright to be an ordinary person. 

So, how far does one go to test one’s personal development?

I’ve just been discussing with a friend, a same gender friend, the logic of us sharing a house. This house. This house that has at long last become what I think of as my first home. Not that it really is my first home, of course. But it is the first time I’ve felt this ‘at home’.

While we are talking about it, the idea makes so much sense. When we’re not sitting and yakking over a cup of coffee or three, I get quite freaked out. Then I realize, to my chagrin that I have not only let, but encouraged, several useless, lying, cheating, scheming, boyfriends move into my space, my home, without much, if any, thought of whether it was the best idea for me. Huh. . .

Personal development? Maturity? Sanity? I don’t have a clue. Or maybe I do have a clue but to admit this new approach, this weighing of pros and cons, IS a definite sign that, in those past mishaps I was in need of personality development, and, heaven help us, immature. Just can’t accept the implications of sanity issue. Excuse me while I go put my head back firmly in the sand.

An exercise in self-discipline. Give it up.

I’m ready for another round of one of my personal favorite exercises in self something-or-other. Self control, self discipline, self knowledge. Whatever. It’s all about me. And you?

Every once in a while I take a shot at giving up wanting. I desire a break from desiring anything. Yeah, I know, you get thirsty, you desire a drink of water. You get hungry, you desire something to eat. I mean the other stuff. ALL the other stuff. It seems to build up, doesn’t it? More socks, no big deal. A new shirt, no problem. But sometimes it’s just new for the sake of it. More for the sake of it. Then you feel like you aren’t really alive unless you’re wanting, and you’re really wanting to feel alive.

I enjoy these breaks. Always amazed, once I start conscientiously brushing aside the first hint of a want coming on, how many times in an average day a want thought starts to form in my mind. Also amazed, when I’ve promised myself not to act on these desires for a while, at how often I can’t even remember what the heck it was I thought I wanted an hour or a day ago. 

Amazing how we carry our ancestors crapola . . .

I don't know if this is so obvious as to be inane but anyone who follows this knows that's not going to stop me going on and on. Here's the thing. We are so, make that SOOO, influenced by the way our families of origin felt about all kinds of basic stuff.

 I have to tell you about a conversation my friend and I had yesterday. We're both old enough to have squealed over the Beatles. We each have made our own way in the world quite competently. Neither of us give ourselves much credit.

We started talking about the experiences we've had with past partners, well, husband and husbandishes. Both of us have either worked and contributed to the 'marriage', or been the sole breadwinner. And we have both found that even when we're the only contributor, money wise, there's been an underlying opinion that the money we make is somehow trivial. Inconsequential. It's sometimes subtle, sometimes not. So, what the heck, we're wondering now, was that all about. Neither of us, at this point in our lives, would put up with that shit for a minute.

So, why did we put up with it then. When we got further into that, it became obvious we'd carried the tendency to put up with that shit from our very beginnings. Not only put up with, but carry, or carried, the very attitudes that drove us up the wall. In my case, we lived on a farm. My father farmed. My mother farmed right along with him. She worked as hard and as long as he did, day in and day out. But, she didn't work. That was the myth. He worked, she didn't.

In my friends case, I can't remember what her father did but he 'worked hard' at whatever. My friend said her mother had 'done a bit of teaching.' Whoa. I could not let that pass. And, bless her, she heard me, when I pointed out what she'd said. There's a whole lot of difference between saying, 'Mom did a bit of teaching,' and saying 'Mom was a teacher.'  Or 'did a bit of teaching', and 'taught school'. Whatever, the attitude was picked up decades ago and brought forward by us, with us, and to our detriment. And we have to acknowledge, I feel, the root of this stuff before we can really change it. Oh, yeah, blame the parents. NO. That's not the point at all. If we carry that stuff it's our own stuff and we have to deal with it. But we have to recognize it, admit to it, and then change it.