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.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be...

I think we can have awesome, life changing days and with a little effort we can ignore their wonder and carry on as if nothing has changed and consequently, it doesn't.

Then there's that other hand. And on the other hand, I'm pretty sure this is one of those awesome, life changing days and it's, outwardly at least, nothing special. I'm not willing to ignore the wonder. Not willing to carry on as if nothing has changed. I've changed and I doubt that anyone but you and me will ever know a thing about it. 

That's the thing about life changing moments, eh. They happen whenever we decide, in this moment, to change our lives. It's not necessarily some external happening of momentous consequence, the lottery win or the big promotion, it can be a thought that pops into our minds when we're not doing much else with our minds at that moment. The frost on the pumpkin made glistening by the days first rays. The random drop of dew that picks up the colours of an early rising butterfly. It a 'just'. Just a thought. Just an earth shattering, mind blowing realization that the person you imagine you could be you can just let be.

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.

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.....

…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 met one and I lost my cool.

It was bound to happen. I met someone who voted Conservative in the recent federal election and admitted it. Not only that, when I asked what their reasons were (I was calm), they only had one reason. The dissolution of the long gun registry.

It’s not as if I didn’t know there are voters who have no concerns beyond one issue they feel affects them personally. It’s not as if I don’t appreciate that they have a right to vote any way they please.

I’m not sure what ‘the tell’ was. What gave away the possibility that I was perhaps raging under my stoic exterior. Perhaps my face was red, or my  knuckles were white, or my pupils were constricted or dilated or popping out of my head. I don’t know. I do know that it was not my intention to get all confrontational with this six foot two mass of gun lovin’ humanity.

But this five foot one on a good day blip of humanity lost her freakin’ mind.  “So, what are you saying,” I found myself saying.  “You don’t take into consideration a party’s views on trivia such as war, health care, corporate taxes, foreign encroachment on our sovereignty? You just don’t want to have to register your gun?”  And you know what. He said, “Yeah, that’s about it.” 

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.

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.

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. 

The contentment conundrum

It’s bound to happen. Things I say come back to bite me. I found myself cringing earlier when I was talking to a dear woman who is in that age category that I would call ‘young’ and she would call anything but.  Young is probably fifteen or more years younger than however old we are at the time.

She’s thirty something and talking about being content. Yikes. I wonder how that works. I remember being thirty something and at this sixty something stage I am really glad I wasn’t approaching anything like contentment. I was striving, I was driven, I was working hard and playing hard. I was reading a lot of books that helped in the quest for eventual contentment. But I thank my lucky stars I had only brief glimpses of anything approaching the real thing.

That isn’t to say I wasn’t reasonable happy a lot of the time. Maybe we all have our own idea of what contentment means. I’m going to try to stop using the word. Let’s see. Where did I put my Thesaurus.

OOPS. I said ‘try’. Okay. There’s the seed for my next blog entry. But right now I’m not content to have a leaking roof on the shop. Off to the builders supply.

Love my friends, love my kitchen, and together, well. . .

There's a clarity when I’m sitting in my kitchen sharing a meal with friends. I know the why of this. I’m pretty awkward when I’m out of my own environment. So, at home, I’m more receptive to really hearing not only what guests are saying, but what I’m saying also. No kidding.

For the most part I don’t run into people whose lives are anything like mine. Recently I met someone who really has lived a life that is a lot like my life. AND we are the same age, we both live in modest houses, are single, and have about the same income.

In conversation my friend said very matter of factly (Yeah, well, spell check doesn’t like factly but I do) that since she doesn’t have anything she doesn’t worry about loosing everything.  Okay, on the one hand, how Zen. On the other hand, ARE YOU KIDDING ME.  Here we are in virtually the same circumstance and one of us is walking around thinking we have so much and the other is under the impression she has nothing. Another blatant example of that fine line I’ve talked about before. The smidgeon of difference between content and dis. It never fails to fascinate me.

And here’s the great thing. We’re both right. And who doesn’t like being right.