Terri – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement

Am I Too Old For Birthdays?

I recently turned sixty-six years old. You may recall that, to celebrate my benchmark birthday last year, I visited a wonderful place called Beautiful Creatures (Follow The Bouncing Birthday – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement ) This year, I expected a little less fanfare. Still, I was excited. It was a beautiful time doing things I enjoy with people I love. So much warmth and love surrounded me from all over the world.

I have always loved my birthday. This perspective mystifies most of my contemporaries. They cannot understand why I would look forward to celebrating another year of aging. After all, I bemoan my wrinkles, gray hair, creaky joints, and a myriad of realities of my decrepitude. My take on birthdays is different. I never thought of a birthday as a celebration of the number of years I had attained. I thought of birthdays as a celebration of me. After all, when we celebrate the birthday of some famous person in history, how old that person was or would be today does not enter into the equation at all. We commemorate that person’s character, achievements, impact, and other attributes that make that person worth remembering. I like to think that is what everybody’s birthday celebration should be- even mine.

I do not often allow myself to come to the front of the priority queue. I do not often celebrate the qualities that make me uniquely myself. I am genuinely stumped when I try to understand why anyone would love me or think I am anything special. I have no default to such things. In fact, allowing myself to be the top priority, recognizing what makes me special, and celebrating my worth requires all my mental and emotional MacGyver skills to workaround the default- that I am nothing special or worth celebrating and am only acceptable if I put everyone else’s priorities before my own.

A birthday for me is a time to give myself permission to be first in line. It is a time to be selfish for twenty-four hours. It is a time that I can acknowledge what is beautiful about myself, without feeling like I’m being conceited or delusional. It is a time to be happy that I was born- that I am blessed with a beautiful life, and I help create beautiful lives for others.

This philosophy has brought me through many happy birthdays. Even in the worst of times, my birthday has been a little respite of joy. This year, I realized the satisfaction I get from my birthday is about even more than the permission to appreciate myself and put myself first.

I am a very attachment-oriented person. Connection is my life’s blood. I wither without giving and receiving love. Attachment is all important to me, but I constantly fear that I will not have it or will lose it. As a result, I find myself trying to figure out how to merit connection. I feel like I must understand what it will take to earn attachment- what do I have to say, what do I have to do, how little trouble must I be?

Most people would say that grace is often the true basis for connection. I believe that- for everyone else but me. You shouldn’t have to earn love. It is a mystical symbiosis of souls- supported and sustained by shared experience and mutual vulnerability. Somehow, though, I have made myself ineligible for that grace. I believe I must earn attachment, and I can’t figure out what my currency is. I don’t see what it is about me that merits the connection, so I too easily wither.

On my birthday, I allow myself to accept attachment on grace alone. I can accept love and be secure in attachment simply because I am me. I’ll never be too old to celebrate that.

Have a graceful day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Don’t Pay The Ransom

No one has kidnapped me.

I know, I know. It has been some time since I stepped out into the blogosphere. It was a summer and a half. It might have only been one season, but it must have been a season in dog years. I spent four months as an indentured servant in my church’s finance office. I am a marginal bookkeeper at best, but the pickings were slim and I, at least, had a pulse. I had two eye surgeries. For most of the summer, my two eyes were not teetering and tottering on the same see-saw, which meant “sight” was a relative, finite commodity. I had to pace my vision requirements. I had a birthday. When our church finally hired a “real” person to take over the finance office, I went on a vacation in New York City for five days. Now, I am having the wood floors in my house replaced. This required a couple of weeks of intensive tossing and packing preparation time. Also- an exciting announcement- I am working on a novel.

My brain has been busy percolating so many thoughts and ideas, spurred by the tumult of the last six months. I’ve shared some of my random musings in blogs during that period, but I think I hit my wall. There were too many thoughts in my head, and it was getting too difficult to extract them. They were stuck up in my cerebellum, twisted into a gnarly, impossible knot of blockage.

I’ve started sorting things out in my brain. I have begun writing some coherent narratives that I will soon post to share my scintillating revelations. I just wanted to give you an update, so you did not think I had wandered off and gotten lost. Well, I did wander off but did not get lost. Maybe just a little misplaced.

Please bear with me and keep reading. In the next few weeks, I intend to share some birthday perspectives, some Terri-specific New York City adventures (as my secretary once said, “that could only happen to you- you are a weird magnet,”) some ideas about the tension between “doing” and “being,” and some thoughts on producing a novel. Thanks for putting up with me!

Have a patient kind of day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Wrinkles

This has been quite the summer. You have heard about my struggles with the oppressive weather, but there has been a lot more going on in my life. In future blogs, I will probably share more reflections on the events of the past season in my life. Today, however, I want to address a particular issue head-on. Buckle up- here we go!

This summer, I decided to blow up my look. I felt like I was looking rundown and scraggly, in addition to feeling old and used up. I had my hair cut off. Well, not all of it, but enough to startle people. In fact, some people had trouble recognizing me. One of my dearest friends still struggles to identify me from behind. After that change, I decided to go with a darker color for my hair. Then, most recently, I had my long-suffering hair stylist add some red highlights. In addition, I have had two eye surgeries this summer. This means that I have not been wearing my glasses for the past four months. In the next couple of weeks, I will be getting new glasses, but I’ve gotten used to seeing my face without frames and without glare reflected from my eyes. When I do get my new glasses, they will be much smaller and more delicate in design than the somewhat overwhelming spectacles I used to sport.

In assessing me for my eye surgeries, the doctor pointed out that I had wrinkly retinas and, therefore, some of the traditional cataract solutions would not be available to me. It was not a huge problem medically, but it certainly offended my delusional sense of my own youth. First of all, I didn’t even know retinas could have wrinkles. Secondly, I have always been the youngest person in the room amongst my circle of friends. I am beginning to see that I am graduating from that season of my life. I am inclined to rail against it.

To be honest, I never thought too much about having wrinkles. I have enough other body image problems to place wrinkles firmly in the back seat where I can forget they exist. Once the ophthalmologist brought the issue of wrinkles to my consciousness, I could not stop thinking about it. Usually, on Monday nights, Max and I look at old pictures or videos of our life together. That life now consists of almost 30 years. We have a lot of media from 2003 forward, when Max moved in with me. Since hearing about my wrinkly retinas, I cannot look at myself in these images without being painfully aware of how different my face looks now than it did twenty years ago. This may seem like a “duh” moment to many of you, but I honestly had not noticed very much until this summer. I doubt it all happened in the span of four months. Ick.

The other day, I was sitting in the hair stylist’s chair staring in the mirror looking for the red highlights. I was trying to figure out if they were bold enough to do what I wanted them to do or if they were trembling in a corner of my scalp. I noticed that I was furrowing my brow. I decided to relax my forehead. NOTHING CHANGED! I wasn’t furrowing my brow. My brow just has furrows now. No wonder I always look worried. I thought it was just because I am always worried. Apparently not. Those furrows are deep and permanent. I could plant crops in my brow.

I could call my furrowed brow a “pleated forehead” and see if it catches on as a new fashion trend, but I doubt the branding will work. Pleats give too much of a “Catholic girls’ school uniform” vibe. How about a “rouched brow?” Isn’t rouching supposed to be the answer to every body insecurity in the fashion world? Got a lumpy midsection? Try rouching. Got arms that seem to get lost in the sleeves of a dress? Try rouching. Want to show a little leg but are uncomfortable with a slit? Try rouching the hem. Feeling aged? Try rouching your brow? What do you think? Could it catch on?

Or maybe I should stop fantasizing and just come to terms with reality. I am getting older. My appearance is taking the journey right along with me. In some ways, I have been growing closer to making peace with my looks over the past few years. I have been working hard to banish the crippling self-image that has limited my life in some pervasive, insidious ways. There are still days- way more frequently than I would like- when I feel like I am completely ineligible for love and value simply because of my appearance. However, there are days now when I can look at myself and not feel like the most unattractive, repulsive woman ever born. Then there are days like today when all I can see is my permanently creased brow.

I understand that the way I feel about my appearance is not necessarily reality, although it absolutely feels like reality. Feelings are not forever. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to see myself through a more generous lens. Or, if not tomorrow, maybe someday. Why is it so hard to see ourselves as beautiful and attractive when it is so easy to see others that way? Maybe I just think about this too much. Maybe THAT is why my brow is furrowed!

Have a youthful day- but don’t rub it in!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Summer Struggles… Or Bellows On

I was supposed to go to the beach today. One would think that planning a beach day in early September would be a perfectly normal and festive way to mark the passing of the lazy days of the last gasps of summer. One would not live in Florida.

The weather report for today shows thunderstorms on the way to the beach. It shows thunderstorms early enough to limit my time at the beach to about 2 hours (by the way- it is about 100 miles to the beach I planned to visit.) It shows thunderstorms all the way home once the lightning shoos me off the beach. Weather.com mentions “torrential.” I decided this morning that, as much as I wanted to go, discretion is the better part of valor.

Instead of experiencing the vibrant, refreshing smell of salt and gentle, cool water lapping over my skin during my monthly retreat day, I am in my Florida room at home reading, praying, and writing. Instead of a lovely walk through the sand for exercise and contemplation, I will be walking my steps across my living room floor in the air conditioning. A retreat day is a retreat day, so I am not complaining. I am simply observing that summer in Florida is a long way from being done. There are no “lazy days of the last gasps of summer” in the foreseeable future. Florida is dramatic when it comes to summer. There is no lingering death scene. In fact, sometimes I wonder if there is any death at all- it feels interminable. If it is going to die, it will flare out in a spectacular spontaneous combustion. Here’s hoping it doesn’t take all of us with it.

Another remnant of the summer bellows outside my bedroom window each night I’ve said it before, and I will say it again- nature is noisy. The summer is mating season for alligators. Our house backs up onto a wetland conservation zone. It is common for me to struggle to fall asleep amidst the music of horny alligators looking for a hook-up. They say that a male alligator sounds like a motorcycle starting. With some imagination, I guess that is the case. I was thinking more of those annoying vuvuzela horns people blow at soccer games- if the person blowing the horn was the Jolly Green Giant. I guess that makes sense. Alligators are the reptile version of Green Giants. And I bet they pretty jolly or at least will be if some sexy alligator hottie comes calling in response to that obnoxious mating call.

I should note that vuvuzelas make noise that can exceed 120 decibels, significantly exceeding the threshold for permanent hearing loss. Many stadiums have banned their use for exactly that reason. Someone should tell the alligators.

I have a friend who insists that alligators cannot climb simply because she doesn’t want to entertain the possibility. They empirically CAN climb but she prefers to push that fact of nature out of her brain. It is far more comfortable to live in Florida if you don’t think too hard about the many ways an alligator could secure access to your living space. Alligators are not usually running around (and they can run!) trying to enter a human house or even garage, but they do not understand the concept of property lines. It is not uncommon to see them in yards or golf courses within subdivisions. People say that if you have a glass of water in Florida, there WILL be an alligator trying to get into it. If they stayed in the glass of water, we could all live in peace. However, they often go in search of other bodies of water… or in search of a frisky female.

When we first moved to Florida, I tried to adopt the attitude of denial that my friend employs to ignore the idea that some of my neighbors might have scales. In fact, I heard some suspiciously alligator-like noise but told myself it was some kind of bird or frog. Truthfully, a bird or a frog big enough to make the kind of noise I was hearing would be at least as frightening as an alligator. It would be a freak of nature. We had a worker out to close our soffits (to prevent squirrels from getting into our attic, not alligators- I am not that paranoid.) He mentioned that he was hearing a bull alligator behind the house as he worked. I told him I thought it was a bullfrog. He looked at me like I was demented but did not debate with me. I had not paid him yet.

However, I have since seen an alligator in the backyard. During COVID, Max was looking out the window and said to me, “Is that an alligator?” I defaulted to denial and said, “Oh no, it is just a tree root.” Then the tree root moved. It was an alligator, and he was out for a little stroll. We watched as he ambled through eight or so backyards before heading back down into the wetlands. He was a big fella, too. We regularly see juvenile males who have been kicked out of a given body of water because the fully grown males are starting to see them as a threat. The Jolly Green Giant in the backyard was at least seven feet long. That was the day I faced up to the fact that not all my non-human neighbors are fuzzy and cute.

As long as the weather is too volatile to go to the beach…. As long as I am drinking the air I breathe…. As long as I still hear alligators trumpeting on reptile Tinder…. It is still summer. Make it stop, please!

Is it still unrelentingly summer where you are? How can you tell? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a cool day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Okay, I Take It Back

I am now almost three weeks post-surgery to remove my second cataract. Now I understand what everybody talks about after this surgery. I can see much better. On a trip to Daytona Beach last week, I was extremely gratified to realize I could actually read the directional signs for the freeway offramps. Last Sunday at church, I could read the words on the screen- as long as there were six lines of text or fewer. A friend of mne mentioned that her experience with cataract surgery was that she realized she had been seeing the world through a layer of waxed paper before the surgeon scraped that layer of opaqueness of her corneas. That seems like a really good description to me.

My eyes are still not perfect. I am using readers for close-up vision. This continues to be an adjustment. I’ve gotten a little more astute at figuring when to put them on and when not to bother. I am more accepting of the reality that I cannot read and watch television at the same time. Computer screens are still the bane of my existence because they are a little too far away from my face for the readers to help and my distance vision is still not quite good enough to read a monitor easily. It is way better and I knew that I would still need bifocals when all is complete. The surprise is how well I am doing without glasses for everything except reading and computer screens.

The biggest improvement has been that the horrible feeling of discombobulation and disorientation I’ve been experiencing since surgery one is gone. Now that both my eyes are on the same teeter-totter, I am no longer constantly feeling dizzy, nauseous, and headachey. Each eye seems to have gone back to pulling its own weight. My right eye is relieved to go back to moving at an easy trot. My left eye, having taken a knee for most of the last month, is sheepishly back in the game.

In another month or so, I will have new glasses and this summer campaign in the Cataract War will be concluded. I am still impatient for that day, but I must say that this second surgery has given me the stick-to-itiveness and hope to wait it out with some level of good grace. I can now SEE… and see a day when all will be well!

How do you stay patient while waiting for a drsired outcome? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Keep your peepers open for more blog posts soon!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

I Can’t See Clearly Now The Cataract Is Gone

Some time ago- what seems like another lifetime ago- I had cataract surgery to remove the cataract from my right eye. I am awaiting the scheduled date for the left eye procedure.

I had high hopes for cataract surgery. It is something that I have been anticipating for a number of years, but the optometrist kept saying that it was not yet time. This year, I did not even bother going to the optometrist. It was clear (or, really, unclear!) to me that something had been off for at least a year. Even with new prescription glasses in Spring of 2024, my eyesight was significantly worse than in years past.

You know how, when you are losing weight, there are a few signs that you might be reducing before you really see significant weight loss on the scale? Like the way clothes fit? I had a few of those indicators happening to me that suggested, before any eye care professional told me, that my vision was reducing. Here are a few:

In my church, we have a large monitor at the front of the worship space that projects words to prayers and hymns. I used to be able to read it in my usual position towards the back of the church. This year, I am lucky to realize there is in fact a screen with letters projecting on it.

I don’t have any problem driving, really. What I do have a problem with is reading street signs. I have to have a lookout to identify where to turn. At first, Max did not realize that this was his job when we went somewhere unfamiliar. It isn’t so much navigating as it is divining the names of streets. He would repeat the name of the street when I asked for help with directions. The problem was that I heard him the first time and I know the street I need to turn. I just don’t know where said street is. I can usually see the street sign, but making out the letters on the sign is beyond me. This is difficult enough on city roads, but it is geometrically more perilous on freeways and turnpikes. The issue is that the words “NORTH” and “SOUTH” have the same number of letters and look indistinguishable to me until I am almost upon them. The same is true of “EAST” and “WEST.”

Movies with subtitles or closed captioning- those have been a hard “no” for me for at least a year.

Last summer, I spent about two months helping out in our church financial office. I found it exceedingly difficult to read the tiny little numbers I was inputting. I put it down to the fact that the monitor was on the smaller side. When our beleaguered IT staff installed a larger one, I found that the problem was not as related to the size of the screen as it was to the size of the cataracts which were obscuring my vision.

After over a year of ignoring these phenomena, it was time to make my annual appointment with the optometrist. In my heart of hearts, I knew that I was too far gone for a simple adjustment to my prescription and was also slightly suspicious of the optometrist who simply upped the ante on my glasses last year. I consulted Dr. Google and made an appointment with an ophthalmologist.

It took virtually no time to confirm my own diagnosis. The doctor examined me after two other technicians first spelunked around my eyeballs. The technicians both said… “yep, those are cataracts all right.” It apparently did not even take a medical degree to come to that conclusion. Of course it did not. I was ahead of the curve, and I never even took a biology class after the eighth grade.

The ophthalmologist hurt my dignity by informing me that it was extremely common for people over 70 to need cataract surgery. I pointed out that I am 65 and, therefore, much too young for cataracts. He added further insult to my self-perception of youthfulness by explaining that I have wrinkly retinas. I did not even know that retinas could have wrinkles. Beyond exploding my own mythology, that also meant that my options for the surgery were going to be more limited. I was not going to be one of those people who are able to come out of cataract surgery and throw away their eyeglasses forever. I would see better at a distance, but I would still need prescription glasses for optimal distance vision. Additionally, there would be no way of correcting near vision with the surgery so I would need readers in the short term and bifocals or trifocals when all was said and done.

I had my first surgery in early June. It went well. Afterward, an optometrist that works in the surgeon’s office removed the right lens from my glasses, saying that I would see better (although not at the level we will theoretically achieve when all is done) with no lens than with the lens that was in the glasses. I spent the first few days closing alternate eyes to see the profound difference in vision after the cataract surgery. After a couple of days, things seemed to regress. Things didn’t look as clear and I was experiencing headaches, dizziness, and nausea. At the two-week mark, I saw the optometrist again. He assured me that my eye looked beautiful (except for that part about the wrinkly retina presumably) and was healing exactly the way it should be. He explained and YouTube later confirmed that my unpleasant ocular shenanigans are common. My brain is too confused by the extreme difference between my sight in the two different eyes. The right eye with the bright shiny new lens is working way too hard to compensate for the slacker left eye, which has all but given up the ghost.

It was heartening to know that the surgery was a success and there are no unusual and dangerous complications. Once the optometrist lulled me into this sense of relief and euphoria, he dropped the bomb. I could not get the second surgery until August 6^th. Then, I would have to wait a month for both eyes to be completely healed before he could write a new eyeglass prescription for me. Then, it would take another couple of weeks to get the new glasses. At that point- some time in mid-September- I should be happily identifying objects at far, middle, and near distances. That is the hope, and I am clinging to it. However, I do retain certain doubts. To paraphrase Robert Browning, “A woman’s reach should exceed her grasp or what’s a heaven for?” I am hoping that God is not waiting until I get to heaven for me to discern the difference between NORTH and SOUTH.

Presuming there is a light at the end of the tunnel (and I am taking the fact that there is a light (and, honestly, that there is even a tunnel) I simulate seeing by cobbling together a wide range of eyeglass options. I have my old set of bifocals, minus a lens in the right side. I have a pair of readers, I purchased some blue light blocker non-magnifying glasses, old prescription bifocal sunglasses (with the original lenses on both sides,) and a set of the dorky plastic post-surgery sunglasses provided by the ophthalmologist. For some activities, I wear one pair out of my arsenal of eyewear. For other activities, I wear two pairs at once. I juggle the various options, trying and discarding various combinations when different activities require me to shift vision priorities. The floor wobbles when I walk, I have given up even trying to follow the worship service in the prayer book and hymnal.

This too will pass. In another seven weeks, I will probably have deluded myself into thinking “it wasn’t that bad.” And if the second surgery goes horribly wrong, I still have one eye that works.

Have you had cataract surgery? What was your experience like? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a clear-sighted day!

I’m Sorry

I’m late posting today and you are about to be cheated.

I truly intended to post something substantial today. In fact, I have at least three pieces sitting in various stages of development. However, my world has become incredibly noisy over the past few weeks. The world has been far too loud for me to hear myself experience and process ideas, much less write about them.

I’ve always said, “Hope is not a strategy.” I love a good strategy! Plans and strategies are like currency in the way I interact with the world. I’d be a mental, emotional, and social pauper without them. Nonetheless, I have no strategy to quiet either my external world or the world that spins inside me. Strategies don’t seem to like noise any more than I do.

Therefore, I am left only with hope. And maybe that is the only strategy that truly endures, along with faith and love. Anyway, I hope that I will find some quiet over the next week to allow me to craft something better for you. You deserve better.

Thanks for understanding and for hoping right along with me!

Dancing With The Dolphins

Most of you know that I have a weird iteration of a spiritual retreat each year visiting Discovery Cove in Orlando. Exploring all the park had to offer and swimming with their dolphins was supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I had to talk myself into allowing myself to spend a great deal of money to experience the activity and I did not see myself repeating that expenditure. Until I spent my first dolphin day there.

I have never been very good at “once-in-a-lifetime.” When an experience delights me, I usually end up going back. Discovery Cove was no different. In fact, the pull to return was even greater than usual. The sensation of immersing myself in exciting, yet relaxing water adventures all day in an uncrowded park, strolling beaches and private pathways, and eating a good deal of junk food is more seductive than I can describe. I do not receive it at all like a theme park vibe- as much as I love theme parks. From the very beginning, my solo time at Discovery Park felt like a sacred reflection day. As a result, I have been back almost every year.

In the past six or seven months, I have made some changes in my lifestyle. In an effort to become healthier, I have added a few things to my normal routine. Some of the changes directly related to physical health. I’ve increased my water intake. I 86ed the bag of Hershey kisses I kept in my dresser drawer in case of low blood sugar and replaced it with lifesavers- more effective in true emergencies and way less tempting to eat “just because.” I began tracking my food intake

These physical changes also wrap around mental health goals. I am trying to reprogram my brain to disconnect the idea that the definition of diet success is weight loss and feeling deprived. I am trying to replace that definition with the notion that dietary success is when my body feels good. I am also trying to be much less cruel to myself than I have always been. I would not be as mean to anyone else on earth as I am to myself. I started dancing to increase the joy in my life. I have been walking steps for years and it is good for me physically, but 15-20 minutes a day of dancing like a madwoman to upbeat or spiritually nourishing songs provides a helping of dopamine that walking steps never did. I took my walking outside whenever the weather allowed. I’ve been able to increase the dopamine hit in that way, also. There are some truly beautiful and uplifting places to walk close to my house. At least there were before summer hit and “outside” began to feel like Satan’s armpit.

I also began building a monthly retreat day into my schedule. I mark my calendar with one day that I will commit to nothing other than my spiritual and mental health. It is a regular day for God and me to nurture our relationship. It is a regular day for God and me to tinker with my internal workings to bring me closer to being the person He created me to be. I spend time on spiritual devotions, reading, journaling, and praying. I may go for a walk outside. I may dance. I may schedule a message or an appointment with my life coach. The idea is to stop the spinning of busyness in my life- and in the stopping, to reflect, refresh, and reset.

All of these changes are bearing fruit. The results may not appear as dramatic or comfortable as I would like, but I can feel them powerfully.

I am giving all this background and explanation to set the stage for this year’s dolphin day. Spoiler alert: It was fantastic. It always has been, but this year was special. I think this year was better than any of the other years…and I think that is because I ambetter than I was in any of the other years. Because of the changes I have made, I was more able to receive the benefits of the experience. I started the day not eating food I did not want. I journaled for a while, letting myself become more intentional about what I wanted from my retreat time. I prayed. I watched the flamingos stretch and neck with each other. I found a private spot at the back of the park and danced for half an hour, my ear buds filling my soul with John Michael Talbot. I enjoyed some time swimming with sting rays in the coral reef. I cooed over a tiny armadillo. I sunk into the bathtub-warm water at the freshwater oasis, watching little marmosets chase each other across their little island in the middle. I sat on a bench in the shade and read my devotional. I rode the lazy river to my “not-so-secret” cavern. It is hidden in plain sight, but I seem to be the only one who hangs out there, accompanied only by God and my own thoughts. I met a silly anteater. I ate a piece of chocolate cake, a small soft pretzel, and two small squares of pizza (for protein!) but did not eat just because it was there. I didn’t compete with myself to see how much activity I could cram into my eight hours. I went where the spirit led me. I spent no extra money.

I left tired but with renewed physical, emotional, and spiritual energy. It was an immensely satisfying feeling. It reminded me that emotional struggles do not necessarily equal “catastrophes.” I came to Discovery Cove this year on the heels of a vacation that proved to be wonderful in many ways, but also unsettling. I felt overwhelmed and flooded by emotions. My dolphin day showed me that I am much more resilient than I know.

A retreat can be any opportunity to reset and grow. And a retreat should NEVER be a “once-in-a-lifetime experience!”

What do you do to refresh and reset? Please leave a comment to share your perspective. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a refreshing day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

I’ve Been Mugged

The other day, I went to the bathroom. The weather was perfectly fine when I closed the door. At some point, the skies shook, the thunder bellowed angrily, and monolithic rain curtains lashed down on the roof of my house. By the time I finished in the bathroom, the skies had cleared, and, except for some wet patios, one would never know there had been a thunderstorm of Biblical proportions. This would suggest one of two possible explanations. Either there is something very wrong with my GI system or it is summer, and I live in Florida. Thankfully (I guess,) it is summer, and I live in Florida.

My least favorite season in Florida has arrived…. Summer- or, as I like to call it, Sweat Season. The heat, humidity, and heaviness of the atmosphere has reached the unbearable stage for me. The calendar tells me that summer is just barely a week old and I am over it already. At this time of year, the mere act of drawing breath feels like an elite athlete’s workout.

I might need to order Gatorade by the case if I decide to actually change my clothes. It is so muggy and viscous, clothes stick to my skin in a most unappealing way. Peeling off bike shorts feels like peeling off skin. It is disgusting to undress, but it is even more disgusting to remain in the same clothes for more than six hours. When we do our early morning yardwork on Saturday mornings, I make my own mud. My friend Kathleen argues that sweating is good for you. I do not know if that is true. Drowning in my own bodily fluids sounds like a definite health hazard to me… to say nothing of my mental health.

Another difficulty with the summer here is the sheer impossibility of planning anything. Every statement of intent is followed closely by the fearful phrase “weather permitting.” You see, during the summer, it can rain any and every day. It often does. People told us during our first summer that the key is not to pay too much attention to those 98% chance of rain predictions that span across the entirety of the weather.com 10-day forecasts. They tell you that it only rains for 10 or 15 minutes at 4:00pm. It’s easy, they tell newbies, to work around these little summer showers. Sometimes all that is true. Sometimes, Noah calls demanding his flood back. I have been caught driving when I have to pull over to the side of the road for half an hour, just waiting for the rain to decrease enough to allow me to see if I am indeed still on the road or if I veered off into a river. One time, as I made my way from the grocery store to the car, my shoes got so wet, they dyed my feet blue. I looked like a smurf from the ankles down for weeks.

Then there are the hurricanes. I always wanted to live at the beach, but we wisely decided to move to the exact middle of the state, 90 minutes from a beach in any direction because we were concerned that the cardboard box we would be living in after the first hurricane season would not survive a second. In the center of the state, we are honestly fairly safe- at least as far as Florida goes. In the ten summers we have been here, we have experienced three storms that caused some damage close to us. Three, of course, is plenty. We have been lucky that we have suffered only the most minor damage. The bigger issue is the hype that accompanies any hurricane that could potentially impact any area within the broadcast range of the local television stations. For days before and during, everyone from the Florida Keys to Jacksonville is treated to predictions of soggy Armageddon. While this is going on, I cling mightily to my logical brain which knows the odds that we will experience a hurricane disaster are slim. However, I am an extremely suggestible person and the panic that I push to the bottom of my gut never stays completely subdued in the face of constant warnings of catastrophe.

I honestly do not know what possessed anyone to settle Florida in the early days of New World exploration. A Spanish conquistador named Pedro Menedez de Aviles founded the city of St. Augustine, Florida in 1565, making it the oldest city in the United States. My question is why, in a world some 350 years before air conditioning, would Senor Menendez do Aviles have wanted to conquista it in the first place? There is only so much good a sea breeze can do.

You might wonder, with all this weather whining, why I live in Florida. Of course I researched weather patterns, and I even spent time in Florida during the summer. Of course, I knew that the summers are hot, muggy, and tempestuous. Knowing it and living it or not the same thing. Also, I love my life in Florida. I love my little house. I love my friends. I love the cost of living. I love my church. I love the scenery. I love the available activities. Summer sog is the cost of admission. That does not mean I have to like it.

I typically count summer in Florida as nineteen weeks- from the last week of May through the last week of September. Summer weather can and does extend beyond September, but even I cannot justify calling October “summer.” We are currently in week six. That leaves me with almost two-thirds of Sweat Season left to go for this year. Pray for me. And send popsicles!

How do you feel about summer? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Be cool!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Next To Nieveaux- Part Four

Please enjoy the finale of our Next To Nieveaux adventure!

Back To Nieveaux

Joy, Picclapena, and Chomp started on the path back to Nieveaux. As they walked, Picclapena noticed that the road looked unfamiliar. Nothing at all along the way looked quite the same as it had when she first stepped beyond the Edge of the Curve. Also, it seemed like a very short journey back to Nieveaux. Before Picclapena even had a chance for feel tired, Joy halted in front of her.

“There it is!” Joy cried. “There is the Edge of the Curve right in front of us. We are almost back to Nieveaux!”

Picclapena stopped and stared. She turned to Joy and sputtered, “But, but… that’s a snow globe! A giant snow globe!”

“Of course,” Joy responded calmly. “Didn’t you know that Nieveaux was encased in a giant snow globe?”

“NO! Nieveaux is REAL!”

“Well, in a manner of speaking it is real. It is real in the same way the contents of any snow globe are real. They have substance and bulk. They are made of materials that you can see and feel. But they aren’t real in the same way that life Outside the Curve is. Outside the Curve is bigger and thicker and richer in detail. Everything is made of pretty much the same materials as things in Nieveaux, yet, somehow, everything is more than the combination of its materials. Everything Outside the Curve is just more- more beautiful, more joyful, more painful, more interesting, more dangerous, more explosive in every way. Didn’t you notice that when you stepped Outside the Edge?” Joy asked.

“Well, yes. Now that you mention it, I did notice it. I just didn’t think about it. It didn’t sink in somehow. I think, though, that I always felt it,” answered Picclapena quietly. “I don’t really understand what it all means, though.” Her lips buckled. Her cheeks sagged. Tears filled her eyes. “If Nieveaux is not what I always thought it was, what am I supposed to do now?”

“Let’s take a moment,” suggested Joy gently. “Let’s sit down and wait while you decide what you really want to do next.”

They sat down on the green grass right outside the Edge of the Curve. Picclapena cried for a while and then fell silent. Joy sat next to her and waited. Chomp curled up in her lap. Finally, Joy asked, “Well, what do you think you want to do? Shall we keep going Inside the Curve and take ourselves to Nieveaux or would you rather go back to my village? You are welcome to stay with me as long as you like. You can go to school with the other village children. Someday, maybe you would like to work with me in the flower shop. Or maybe you will go on to have other adventures of your own. You have been very quiet. What have you been thinking?”

Picclapena said nothing for a few seconds. She finally looked at Joy and said, “I don’t know what to do. I can see now that the world Outside the Curve is beautiful and wonderful. It can be scary and dangerous, and I do not know if I am strong enough to live there. The idea of trying sounds exciting, though. Still, I am the royal princess of Nieveaux, and I have a duty to be the next monarch. What would they do if I never came back?”

Suddenly, Picclapena was aware of someone standing behind them. She turned to see that Ezra had caught up with them.

“I don’t know,” he said. “What would they do?”

“I don’t know either,” said Picclapena. “They need a monarch.”

“Oh, do they? Why is that?” asked Ezra. “Joy, do they have a monarch where you live?”

“No,” replied Joy. “Every two years, everyone in the village comes together to select five of the wisest and kindest citizens to be elders in the town. They mediate arguments and organize help when someone needs it. It works pretty well. Sometimes, the people get it wrong, and the elders turn out not to be the wisest and kindest. Usually, though, we live very happily and, if we have made a mistake about an elder, it is pretty easy to fix it during the next selection.”

“Sounds to me like a monarch is not a necessity of life, Picclapena,” Ezra said.

Picclapena ignored his comment. “I would also like to see my mother and father and Lady Agnes again, too. Choices are so hard. That is one of those things about the world Outside the Curve, isn’t it? Making choices is scary and difficult and uncomfortable but making choices can also lead to great happiness and great beauty.”

“Yes, love… you have said it just exactly. But whether you decide to stay Outside the Curve or decide to go back to Nieveaux, it must be your choice.”

As Picclapena continued to ponder her decision, she noticed something right at the Curve. A faint dark line was getting bigger and darker and deeper. She and Joy ran over to inspect it.

“Oh no, Picclapena! There is a crack in the Edge. This is a terrible situation for Nieveaux. If it cannot be fixed, everything within the globe will dry out and chip and crack. Life will not be possible there. Everyone must evacuate now to survive. Even now, it might be too late. This means there is no real decision for you to make. You cannot go to Nieveaux now!”

“But people I love are in there!” cried Picclapena. “We have to save them! Will your magic work on the globe?”

“What do you mean?” asked Joy.

“You healed the gash on my arm simply by drawing your finger over it. Could you heal the crack in the Edge in the same way?”

“I don’t know. That is a pretty tall order. Your little gash did not require much magic to close it. That crack is much stronger and more vicious. I could try, but I would have to go Inside the Curve to do it.”

“Let’s go!”

Picclapena, Joy, and Chomp ran towards the Edge. Without thinking, Picclapena stepped right into the Edge.

Joy hurried to the crack and drew her finger up as far as she could reach. Picclapena held her breath while she watched fluid continue to seep out of the globe. Joy kept trying. Picclapena cried, “You and Ezra keep working on it. I am going to warn the kingdom of the danger and tell them to evacuate Outside the Curve!”

Picclapena ran off towards the palace, with Chomp racing behind her. When she arrived at the marketplace at the center of the kingdom, she began to tell the people that the Curve was cracked, and they only had a brief time to evacuate to save themselves. The people just laughed at her and told her that the Curve was completely safe.

One citizen demanded how she had re-entered the Curve without bringing anything with her to make Nieveaux better. All she had brought, the citizen pointed out, was some ridiculous story that was causing all kinds of panic. Picclapena tried to explain that she had entered with Joy, who was a magical healer. Again, the crowd rebelled, demanding to see this “magical healer.”

As Picclapena tried fruitlessly to explain, Ezra appeared from nowhere.

“How did you get here?” Picclapena asked. “How did you pay this magical tribute?”

“Oh, I come back and forth from the Edge all the time. And I never said anything about magic. You are the one who keeps bringing up magic. All I said is that you needed to bring back something that would make life better in Nieveaux. I bring back something that makes life better in Nieveaux every time I enter- me.”

“So, I could have just come back on my own any old time?” Picclapena demanded.

“I don’t know. Could you have? Do you believe you make life in Nieveaux better?”

Before Picclapena could reply, she saw Joy running down the path.

“I did what I could. It was too much for me to bind up the whole crack. It is still leaking, and my repair will breech, but I was able to buy us some time to get the people safely out of Nieveaux.”

Picclapena again tried to address the crowd, but they continued to shout her down. Everyone knew that nothing bad could happen in Nieveaux. There was such an uproar, the king and queen heard the noise from their palace and came out to see what was happening.

Queen Theodora ran to fold Picclapena in her arms, crying and laughing all at the same time. “Oh, Picclapena, I have been so worried. I thought I would never see you again.”

King Noble moved towards Picclapena also but stopped when he noticed Joy. His face flushed and turned bright red.

“Mariette!” he cried.

Picclapena looked startled. “Mariette? No, Father, this is my friend Joy. She helped me in the world Outside the Curve. She is magic and she came with me to help Nieveaux. She has repaired the crack in the Curve to give us time to evacuate the kingdom. But we must hurry, Father. Please proclaim that the people need to abandon Nieveaux and travel Outside the Curve. There is not much time. I do not know who Mariette is, but this lady’s name is Joy.”

Joy stilled. “Mariette Joy. That is my name- Mariette Joy.”

Queen Theodora, King Noble, and Picclapena all looked at Joy incredulously.

“But how? Why are you back? What does this mean?” Queen Theodora’s face was folding in on itself, preparing to cry painful, piteous sobs. King Noble stood stone-faced in despair. Picclapena reached out to Joy.

“What do you mean?” Picclapena begged.

“It is not a simple story. We really don’t have much time, but I need to tell you so that we can concentrate on getting the people to safety.” Joy was impatient but knew that she had to tell the story now that the king and queen had recognized her.

“Once upon a time, I was going to marry a handsome prince and live happily ever after, but I was caught in a storm. The wind threw me through a minor crack in the Curve. My prince could not find me. When I found my way back to him, he was preparing to marry another. I did not want to interfere. Also, I found that there was a different kind of life for me Outside the Curve. I decided it would be better for everyone if I just left well enough alone and went back to my life Outside the Curve. The night of the wedding, though, I left a beautiful flower bouquet of white roses for the royal couple as a gift for them.

My prince knew immediately who must have left the flowers and he came looking for me. That prince was your father, Picclapena. He had not stopped loving me. He loved his wife, too- Queen Theodora, never doubt that he loved you. In some ways, he loved you more than he did me. You were his partner and his helpmate. I was the fantasy of his youth. I was the promise of something he could never have… and perhaps only thought he wanted. But we were both young and still in love. Prince Noble searched for me beyond the Edge often until he found me. We loved each other and one day, I found myself to be with child. I was poor and alone. I knew that my child would be safe in Nieveaux. There was no risk in Nieveaux. Prince Noble told his princess, breaking her heart. That break never quite repaired but, when Princess Theodora saw the baby girl, all the love she ever had spilled out onto the child. I knew it was the right thing to do.”

Joy pushed up the right sleeve of her dress to reveal a small, lavender-colored, cross-shaped mark just like the one on Picclapena’s arm. “You, Princess Picclapena of Nieveaux, are my ever-beloved, never forgotten Penny.”

Picclapena stared at Joy and glanced at the king and queen in bewilderment. She did not even realize that tears were running down her cheeks. Her sorrow and fear and confusion tightened within her. She could feel it crushing her very essence.

“But how is possible that you are my mother? I have a mother already. A person can’t have more than one mother.”

“Why not?” asked Ezra. “Don’t you have more than enough love to go around? Love should be multiplied, not divided.”

Joy moved towards Picclapena and said gently, “I know this might be crippling news for you to hear. I never wanted you to find out this way. We can talk about it all you want in the future… after we get everyone safe. I know you want to save the people of Nieveaux, and I will do whatever I can to help.”

Picclapena gulped down a sob. She squared her shoulders and, with a curt nod of her head marshalled all her determination. She turned to her father.

“Papa, please listen to me. I have seen the crack. I have seen the fluid beginning to flood Nieveaux. The fluid is already beginning to pool. Soon the globe will be so off balance, it will topple over. Anyone who survives the fall will soon drowned. You must issue a royal proclamation requiring everyone to go beyond the Edge of the Curve!”

The red-purple shade of King Noble’s face had faded to a dull, flat grey. He looked hopelessly from Mariette to Theodora, who were both quietly weeping for something they both realized they never had. He stared at his daughter.

“Picclapena!” cried King Noble. “I can’t order people to leave Nieveaux and go outside the Edge of the Curve. It is dangerous out there. It is dark out there. Scary beasts dwell in the shadows. People get hurt. People do bad things. Sometimes, there is not enough to eat. Sometimes, there is no shelter from the cold and the wind. Sometimes, hearts are broken.”

“Yes, Papa…. All that it true. But that is not all of the truth. The world out there can be scary and dangerous. But it can also be so strangely beautiful and joyful. Hearts do get broken, but hearts also get healed. Since I have been away, I have been scared and hurt and hungry and cold. Vicious beasts have chased me. I am sure some people do bad things, but I only saw the kindness. The kindness was always there when I needed it. And, frankly, Father, I do not think you can say people never do bad things in Nieveaux.”

Picclapena paused and looked at her father intently and deeply. He realized that he had done bad things right in the very center of Nieveaux. He had been selfish and thoughtless…and he had broken two hearts in the process. He looked away in shame.

“Anyway, it might be dangerous Outside the Edge, but it is definitely dangerous here!” Picclapena spoke with more confidence and authority. “Papa, you must issue the proclamation! Please, please save your people!”

King Noble looked up at the crowd. In a flat, defeated voice, he said, “No, Picclapena. I have no business issuing any proclamations. I have no right to tell anyone to do anything. I have proven myself to be an unworthy monarch.”

Then, as his voice regained strength and surety, King Noble looked out across the crowd of people and said, “People of Nieveaux! I have wronged my child, her mother, and my queen through my selfishness and foolishness. I am no longer fit to be called your king. But, please, listen to my beloved daughter Picclapena and do as she says.”

The crowd turned to Picclapena. She began organizing evacuation efforts and assigning tasks. She helped pack the wagons with provisions. She calmed children. She helped the elderly and disabled walk to the Edge of the Curve. She ran to the palace herself and loaded a cart with the most important cultural icons of Nieveaux. Everywhere anyone looked, they saw Picclapena taking measures for a safe evacuation of all the citizens. Queen Theodora and King Noble went through the palace and gathered all the valuable treasures so that there would be money to start again in the world Outside the Edge.

In the midst of the carefully controlled chaos, Picclapena looked at the people around her. Nearly all of them were terrified of leaving the comfort of Nieveaux to plunge into a new life full of danger and pain. She wished she could tell them what it was really going to be like, but she could not. For one thing, she didn’t really know herself. For another thing, she realized that her people would never understand the world Outside the Curve until they experienced it for themselves. All she could do was urge them forward to the Edge.

After several hours of hurried preparation, Picclapena led the people of Nieveaux to the Edge. When they reached the Edge, she asked Joy to go through the Curve first so that the people could see how it was done. Picclapena would stay Inside the Curve to soothe the people’s fears and help them through the Curve. Joy agreed and easily passed through the Curve while the people watched.

“Ezra, will you go next?” asked Picclapena.

“No. You can do this yourself. I’m going to go do a few things. You know I’ll catch up with you if you need me.” Ezra walked away, towards King Noble. Picclapena began shuffling people through the Curve. When all the citizens were through, Picclapena reached to help Queen Theodora. She shrunk back a little and asked, “Do you really think I should go? Is there a place for me?”

“Of course, you will always be my mother. I want you with me. Joy is wonderful and I love her already. She fills a place in my soul that I did not even know was empty. You, though, are the mother of my heart and I never want to be away from you again. Please go through the Curve and I will meet you there in just a moment.”

Queen Theodora went through the Curve. Picclapena could see her smiling with a brightness she had never before noticed on her mother’s face. Picclapena looked and saw that King Noble was the only person left. Ezra had disappeared. King Noble backed away as Picclapena moved towards him.

“No, Picclapena. I am not going. I was born to be the monarch of Nieveaux. I let down my whole kingdom and now I am going to stay within the globe and try to find a solution to the problem. I know I can find a way to fix the crack in the Curve. I appreciate you bringing all our people to safety, but it must be my job to find a way to be able to bring them home safely.”

“Father! There is no way. If you stay here, you will die. Joy has a magic healing power and even she could not fix the globe completely. All she could do was buy us enough time to save the people. Papa, you are one of the people, too. We want to save you. It doesn’t matter now what you did years ago! You made a foolish, selfish mistake. It is over now!”

“It can’t really have been a mistake, Picclapena. It brought us you. No, I must stay here and at least try to fix the globe. Let’s go take a closer look at the crack.”

King Noble walked over to the crack. When they got close to the crack, it was clear that the patchwork Joy did was disintegrating. The crack was jagged and angry. Several feet of water pooled over the snow on the ground. The globe had a distinct list. Picclapena could hear the rumbling and creaking of the globe as it struggled to remain upright.

King Noble got as close as he could to Edge of the Curve and called Picclapena to join him. “Look, Picclapena. I see something.”

Picclapena stood right next to her father and peered over his shoulder to see what he meant. As she did, he grabbed her and pushed her through the Edge of the Curve. Just at that moment, the globe broke open and capsized. Picclapena watched in horror as King Noble disappeared into the suction of the dying globe.

Picclapena screamed a mighty cry- a cry that emanated from the deepest part of her soul. She turned away to stop from seeing her father’s head go completely under the liquid. She went to break the sad news to her mother, Joy, and the people of Nieveaux. A sad crew camped for the evening by the outside Edge of the Curve. Picclapena stayed her grief and confusion as she labored to set up the camp. As she cooked food and distributed blankets and dried tears, she happened to look up and saw Ezra helping to pitch tents. She was glad he was back.

The next day, Picclapena led the people of Nieveaux to the little village where Joy lived. As time passed, she and Joy and Queen Theodora helped the Nieveaux citizens find a place in this new world. Picclapena went to school, helped in Joy’s flower shop, and taught all the children- the children from Nieveaux and the children of the outside village- all about the beauty in both Nieveaux and in the world Outside the Curve. When Picclapena grew up, she was a wise and kind person. She was so wise and kind that the town selected her as an elder every two years through her whole life.

The week after the crack, when the shambles should have settled, Picclapena brought a group of volunteers back to the place where the crack had been. There was no remnant of Nieveaux left to be found. The shards of glass and pools of fluid had disappeared. They searched with all their might and found no trace of King Noble.

All they found was a small bouquet of white roses and sparkly icicles.

THE END