Random Observations From Quarantine

Over the past several weeks of “safer at home” lockdown, I’ve had plenty of time to observe the world and think great thoughts.  Well, maybe not great thoughts, but thoughts, nonetheless. Here are a few of the notions that are percolating in what is left of my mind:

  • At some point, my hair’s ability to grow wider, wavier, and wilder exceeds my ability to wield a flat iron. I reached that point a couple of weeks ago.  Now, not only do I have a gray streak running down the center of my head at the roots, I am also sporting a hair style reminiscent of a terrifying Bozo The Clown.
  • It’s okay that I can’t flatten my hair because the flatter my hair is, the more obvious the gray stripe running down my roots is.
  • I don’t recommend watching a Zombieland flick when you are sheltering-in-place to avoid contagion. We just watched Zombieland Double Tap the other night.  A movie about the brain-eating “survivors” in a world decimated by a mutant virus probably wasn’t the best choice.  Maybe a little too close to home right now.  What’s worse is that I found it laugh-out-loud funny at some points.  I felt really crummy about that.  My soul is dark and evil. 
  • Going to the grocery store is now like foraging.  I play hunter and gatherer for myself and several immune-compromised friends. It is interesting that it is difficult to buy milk, eggs, meat, peanut butter, canned soups, and other protein sources, but there is no shortage of potato chips, ice cream, candy, and cookies on the supermarket shelves.  I should be fine. 
  • If my work colleagues who tried so hard to shove me into the 21st century of technology and distance learning could see me now, they would be laughing hysterically.  I was using paper and pen long after every rational person opted for word processing programs.  Now, I’m experimenting with conference calls and zoom.com like I invented the whole idea. 
  • It is helpful to keep a handwritten food diary when in isolation.  You’ll probably stop eating when the writer’s cramp gets bad enough.  No guarantees, though.  For people who are hoarding food as if we were awaiting the zombie apocalypse (ooops… there’s that zombie thing again), we certainly are consuming it like there is no tomorrow.
  • My bedroom floor will never be uncluttered again.  I often have bags and boxes of things I need for my various organizations arranged carefully on the bedroom floor.  Typically, by May, all my pending projects for these organizations are completed and I regain the real estate in my boudoir.  This year, however, all bets are off.  I prepared for several large interactive presentations for my church groups before we went under house arrest, including buying supplies and equipment. I thought that stuff would be off the floor of my bedroom by now.  These presentations don’t lend themselves to the virtual environment. I have an interesting collection of paper goods, decorations, pamphlets, outlines, art supplies, and bed sheets stacked against the wall of my room.  Looks like those things, like me, are not going anywhere for a while. 
  • I wonder if my fingers will ever recover from the pruney wrinkles caused by excessive handwashing. It may require plastic surgery. When I was a little girl, I remember my frustrated mother’s response to misbehavior.  She’d say, “go take a bath and don’t come out until you are pruney.”  I wonder what I did bad this time. 
  • It’s okay to be sad about “selfish” stuff.  Over the past few weeks, many people have had to cancel huge, once-in-a-lifetime celebrations.  Graduations, weddings, funeral services, high school reunions, and many other similar events have been postponed or cancelled. People feel bad about feeling bad because they know that, compared to worldwide death and disease, their events are not that big a deal.  It is a big deal, though, and I feel for those people. I encourage them to mourn those disappointments.  I, fortunately, have not had to deal with anything like that.  There have been several “next tier” kind of cancellations that have hit me, though.  My planned vacation to New York City to see both Hamilton and Come From Away on Broadway is not happening. I miss my weekly trips to Disney and other fun places.  I think I am saddest about missing my annual retreat to Discovery Cove.  I’m sure I’ll reschedule, but, with the wackadoodle Florida weather, the ideal window of opportunity for this excursion is limited.  I think it is okay to mourn these things, as long as I keep everything in perspective.
  • I think I may have discovered the antidote for quarantined-induced frumpiness.  Two words.  Video conference.

What have you observed during this challenging time?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.   In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a healthy day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Keeping Up Appearances. Or Not.

For the first time in over 30 years, I don’t have acrylic fingernails.  Which pretty much means I don’t have nails at all. After so many years of hiding under layers of acrylic, my natural nails are significantly atrophied.  At this point, a harsh word can chip, splinter, and crack them. 

My nails are not the only aspect of my appearance that has suffered after weeks of limited contact with other people.  I am trying to be a responsible citizen of the world and stem the spread of the COVID-19 contagion.  I am not making the huge sacrifices that our medical professionals, truck drivers, grocery workers, first responders, and other essential personnel are making.  I do not want to complain. 

It might be time for an intervention, though. I am in a downward spiral. 

My hair is growing thicker and bushier.  I am growing into the oh-so-attractive skunk look as my roots become more pronounced.  Some of you know that I have been flirting with the idea of allowing my natural gray hair color to grow out.  It has been a difficult decision. I got my hair genetics from my father, who I do not recall ever seeing without gray hair.  I started going gray at age 16. I have been coloring my hair since I was in my mid-twenties.  Heaven only knows how much gray has encroached since then.  The prospect is scary.  I have been loathe to suck it up and see.  I may have no choice in the matter now.  Although I believe my hair salon is still open, I just can’t think that touching people all day is the smartest way to manage a pandemic.  I think I’ll just have to weather the gray skies (and gray hair!) and see how I feel if it is ever safe to go back to the hairdresser again.

I haven’t applied make-up in a month. Before the outside world closed up shop and we all went under house arrest, I wore make-up most days.  It made me feel good to show a little effort.  I had more confidence when I knew I was looking brighter than I was feeling.  I seem to recall that make-up made my face look brighter and made my complexion look less like cream of wheat.  It has been so long that I could be wrong.  Nostalgia always makes everything seem better.  They say distance lends enchantment to the view and my memories of make-up are pretty distant at this point.  Actually, the only way a view of me would be even remotely enchanting right now is if it was VERY distant. 

For the past several weeks, I have been dressing in loose, floaty dresses that are cool and comfortable. They make me feel faintly nymph-like.  Let’s face it, though; they are one step above a nightgown.  Maybe half a step on the days I forgo a bra.  However, I am not sure they are doing me any favors.  I think I am going to have to start trying on something a little more form-fitting once a week or so to make sure my form is still fitting.  After weeks of grazing my way from one room in my house to another, I have a sneaking suspicion that, while I may be flattening the contagion curve, I am not flattening any of my curves.  I could be carting around enough curves to build an entire roller under my floaty trapeze dresses. 

I’m not sporting any jewelry, either.  I have quite the collection of earrings and rings and bracelets and necklaces and watches.  Most of them have some sentimental attachment.  They delight me and make me smile when I wear them.  Since I never seem to go anywhere anymore, it seems like a waste to put them on in the morning.  I just have to take them off for the numerous times each day that I wash my hands.

For someone who wrote a blog piece called The Anti-Frump (http://www.terrilabonte.com/2016/11/the-anti-frump/), I have certainly fallen far from grace.  Looking in the mirror this morning, I had to wonder where the anti-frump has gone.

I’m pretty sure she is in quarantine. 

What is left of my fingernails…. heavy sigh

Have you found yourself following the frump during our days of isolation? How do you motivate yourself to keep on keeping on? Or do you just not bother? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a frump-free day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

The Lentiest Lent

I saw a picture of a church on Facebook.  Outside the church, the message board read, “Had Not Planned On Giving Up Quite This Much For Lent.”  Ain’t that the truth? Since the world closed up shop in the wake of the COVID-19 crisis, it does seem like this Lent is laying the whole fasting thing on a bit thick.  No restaurants.  No amusement parks.  No shopping malls.  No live performances. No group activities.  No vacations. No hugs.  And I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone giving up buying toilet paper and disinfectant wipes for lent before. This has to be the lentiest lent that ever lent.

Some people say that this pandemic is an omen.  They believe the contagion is God’s judgment on a wicked world. They see our current times as the end of times.  Maybe they are right.  It is hard not to feel some sense of doom in this time of disease and quarantine.  The television and internet feeds us, minute-by-minute, on the number of new cases and the number of dead.  The curve is growing, not flattening.  This is to be expected in the short term, as we test more potential victims.  There has not been time yet for people who were initially infected to get well, so the curve is still climbing.  Even though this analysis makes sense, it is easy to get caught up in a Doomsday feeling.  For those of us who believe that God is all-powerful, it can be an easy logical leap to conclude that God caused the pandemic. 

I don’t put any limits on God.  It is possible that there is something to the Doomsday theory. I don’t really think God works like that, though.  I don’t think He caused the pandemic to eliminate evil and destroy the wicked.  I do think, however, that He uses the pandemic to help transform us into the people He wants us to be. Now that we are forced to fast from many of our favorite leisure activities, we have more time to spend in prayer, Scripture-reading, and thoughtful consideration of our life’s purpose and goals. Now that we must forgo human touch, communal church services, receiving the Eucharist, and sharing a meal, we may not take these blessings for granted in the future.  Now that the most fun thing we do all week long is zip through the Starbuck’s drive-through (while trying not to breathe), we will be more grateful for those trips to Disney and other more exciting places.  Now that we cannot meet with people face-to-face, we are developing our community-building and care-taking skills in more creative ways. 

I am one of those people who do tend to get stir crazy and bored when I stay at home for more than a day or two.  Weirdly, I am neither right now.  I’ve been productive in my weeks of isolation.  I’ve overcome some of my social anxiety tics and am staying connected with people.  Some of my relationships are even growing richer and closer.  I’ve focused my pent-up energy on projects like figuring out a system for conference call and video meetings.  I’m writing more.  I’ve tackled a few big chores that I have been deferring for months.  I’m thinking more than reacting.  My mind is not as busy or bustling, but I am thinking clearer. I’ve spent more time with God.  I’m working on several prayer projects- praying deliberately and intensely for certain people multiple times a day. 

So, while I did not intend to give up so much for Lent, I think God is using my enforced mega-fast to do exactly what Lent is supposed to do.  He allows me to partner with Him to cleanse, grow, and ripen my soul.  I delight in the paths He shows me during this time.  I am trying to follow them because I believe that God has a purpose for each of us and that purpose is unique to each of us.  I’ve tried to find that purpose all my life, in every job and relationship I’ve had.  The trail hasn’t always been as clearly marked as it is this Lent.  Still, I believe God is teaching me in everything I do, so I try to be patient and trust.  As the Bible says in Romans 8:28, “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

This coronavirus lent has been good for my spiritual development. Still, like everyone else, I look forward to the day when it is over.  I am excited to face a resurrection of activities and contacts.  The sun will shine brighter, and our emotional muscles will be able to take a little rest.  We will be able to mourn the losses we sustain, but we’ll also be able to move towards healing in a different way- perhaps with more kindness and care-taking of each other.  All this time we’ve spent in isolation prepares us for that day.

But let’s not forget that we have a more immediate, even more beautiful Resurrection to celebrate. We’ve spent the last forty days preparing to rejoice anew that Christ is risen. Sunday is Easter, the most triumphant day in the Christian year.  God will remind us again that what we thought we had lost is not lost at all… in fact, it is more brilliant and more wonderful than we can possibly understand.  Jesus- through His life, suffering, and death- brought us back to at-one-ment with God.  Because of Him, we are God’s adopted children.  We are part of a loving, connected, holy family which can never be destroyed. We are never in isolation or quarantine when we follow the risen Lord! 

What has lent been like for you this year, in the midst of the COVID-19 crisis?  Do you feel that you have transformed in some way, as we approach Easter?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Happy Resurrection!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Pixie Locks

Those of you who have been reading my blog for some time know that I am a bit odd on the inside.  I usually frame that oddness with the assertion that there is clearly something wrong with me. 

A few days before the country went into house arrest, I did something to smash that frame.

No, I have not all of a sudden become “normal” and quirkless.  In fact, I walked a step more squarely into the weird zone.  I decided that, if I am odd on the inside, my outside should match.  So, at 60 years of age, I got fairy hair.  I started with the idea that I would get 20 strands of glittery green and copper silk woven into my hair.  As I went through the process, though, it became increasingly clear that I was going to need more… many, many more… pixie locks.  Bit by bit, I ended up with over 50 strands.  I have so much regular hair that even that inordinately large amount of glitter is still subtle, but a girl has got to know her limitations.  I’m afraid I surpassed mine.  I have $100 of sparkly strands hanging off my head. 

I don’t think I will do this again because it did end up being far more expensive than I planned.  Still, I really like the effect.  Because it is so subtle, people have to look twice to decide if they really see something there or not.  It is like I have some sparkly, magical little secret that only people who pay attention can learn. Many people have complimented me on my fairy hair.  It makes me feel bold and brave.  My fairy hair catches the sunlight very fetchingly.  I like radiating, it turns out.  I feel like the fairy hair really does help the way I look on the outside reflect who I am on the inside. 

You see, fairy hair has taught me that “odd” doesn’t have to be negative.  “Odd” doesn’t have to mean there is something wrong with me.  “Odd” can mean shiny, sparkly… and beautiful!

I thought we all needed a little break from coronavirus conversations.  What could be further from a worldwide pandemic than fairy hair?  What little bit of whimsy can you share with us to take our minds off contagion and disease?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have a sparkly day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Subtle, but you can see a few strands if you look closely!

Social Distancing

I’ve been socially distant most of my life.  It wasn’t due to any fear of contagion, but simply because of my anxiety, shyness, and general awkwardness. You might say that, now that social distancing is all the rage, I am on trend for the first time in my life.  I’m very good at it. 

On the other hand, I’m changing in my old age.  I’m beginning to see what I’ve been missing.  It took me almost 60 years to fight my way out of my fear and find my way into warmth, support, and connection with loving social families- both in my community and in my church.  I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it! I feel like I’ve discovered chocolate for the first time ever. 

I keep saying that I don’t feel any particular fear about the COVID-19 virus.  That is absolutely true from a medical perspective.  I still don’t feel scared that I’m going to catch it or that there will be massive deaths of otherwise healthy people.  I am very scared about a couple of things, though.

I am scared about the economic effect that will result from the standstill of face-to-face commerce.  I am especially scared for the people who will lose jobs or won’t be able to provide basic necessities because there is little or no business happening while the world is in lockdown.  I am glad to see that many organizations and individuals are mobilizing to help and I will be supporting them.  There will still likely be financial tragedies.  I will do whatever I can to help.  I believe, as a Christian, God calls me to lead from love and generosity, not from fear and panic. 

For me personally, my biggest fear is that I will lose the social connection that I didn’t have so many years.  It wasn’t like I became extroverted or without anxiety.  It wasn’t like I made the shift to social connection suddenly or without discomfort.  It took me a lot of maturity, courage, awkwardness, grace, sense of service, and encouragement to get there.  The whole thing is relatively new to me.  I am not sure it is firmly rooted or integrated enough into my psyche to survive being uprooted by a period of relative isolation.  One of my biggest “leftover” anxieties is phone contact.  It is still very hard for me to connect to people over the phone.  I think it is because I am fairly intuitive and I pick up lots of cues about what a person if feeling and thinking by his or her body language.  When I am without those cues because I am on the phone, I feel more anxious.  Now that I must use the phone to reinforce a sense of community, companionship, and affection, I guess God is saying it is time to tackle that particular dragon of mine. 

It isn’t just the fear of losing connection while the world lockdown is going on.  I am also scared that we won’t be able to go back to “normal” once we are able to walk amongst each other again.  Will people have become so lethargic and isolated that they will just hang back and forget how much richer we are with touch and face-to-face contact?  Will the whole world be social awkward?  Will I lose all the progress I’ve made in developing genuine, intimate, personal and communal relationships?  The possibility makes me very, very sad.  Once you’ve tasted chocolate, the idea of never having it again is pretty terrible.  I’m going to do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, even if it is not comfortable for me.  I was brave enough to break my own patterns once.  I am confident that I can do it again, with God’s help.  Maybe I’ll be even better because the whole world seems to be in a more deliberate, mindful communication mode.  It seems like a lot of people are expanding their connection skills to try to retain community, companionship, and affection.  I guess I am not the only one who is fighting social distance.

You know how the Star Trek folks have that motto, “Live Long and Prosper?”  I have a new motto.  My motto is “This is temporary.  Stay close in heart and soul while we ride it out.” 

Are you seeing any “silver linings” to the challenge of COVID-19 isolation?  Do you need a virtual hug or some electronic reassurance that you do have genuine connections with people?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a healthy day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Going Viral

The other day, I went to the supermarket to do my weekly grocery shopping.  I learned that I could easily buy a lottery ticket, which could be worth millions, and exotic vegetables with names I don’t know how to pronounce.  However, purchasing a container of antibacterial cleaning wipes was another matter.  The cupboard was bare in that department.  I wasn’t trying to buy the wipes because of COVID-19.  I always use them to clean surfaces in my house and I used my last one.  Today, I tried to find them in several more stores and on the internet, with no success.  I am going to have to muddle through with all-purpose cleaning spray, like we did back in the day. 

I do not want to be flip or dismiss the concerns of reasonable people.  First, a global pandemic is not funny.  Second, pragmatically concerned people who stay on the rational side of panic are likely more realistic and certainly more helpful than I am with my somewhat laissez faire attitude about the whole coronavirus thing. 

The weird thing is that I haven’t felt all that scared or anxious about the situation.  Those of you who read my blog regularly know that one of my few talents in life is worrying.  If they had an Olympics for worrying, I’d win a gold medal.  Except they would probably cancel the Worrying Olympics in an attempt to slow the spread of contagion.  I am a world class worrier. For some reason, though, the coronavirus outbreak has barely been a blip on my radar.  I took very little notice until the World Health Organization started calling it a pandemic and Disney closed all its parks.  At that point, I started thinking about it.  I still don’t feel worried. This is a great comfort to my friends who understand my overactive nervous system.  They figure if I, of all people, am not worried, things must not be so hopeless. 

I am glad that people are having conversations about the best ways to handle potential danger. This gives us a chance to look at all options from a variety of perspectives, including how realistic it is for a society to follow a possible protocol. Having many reasonable, educated, analytical minds discuss a situation increases the possibility that all relevant factors and options will be considered.  Having widespread mass communication increases the possibility of public awareness and education, even if it also increases the opportunity for misinformation and panic.  It is important for individuals, families, and organizations start assessing risks and adopting practices to minimize opportunities for infection.  I also think it is important for charitable, service, and religious organizations to mobilize to meet the health, financial, and spiritual needs that will certainly arise from the coronavirus.  It is also important that people operate from a place of practical caution and generosity rather than fear and panic.

Even though I am not racked by worry and fear, I do support efforts to be smart and careful in an uncertain environment. 

There is still a lot that I find ironic and illogical about the reaction to the pandemic.  Trying to reconcile the actions people are taking makes my brain hurt sometimes.  For instance, my community cancelled our chorale concert a month from now, but we hosted a pancake breakfast for 100 the day after the WHO announced it was classifying the coronavirus situation a “pandemic.”  Disney and Universal announced they were closing to the public but continued to operate for two more weekend days.  The movie theater in my town stayed open but decided to sell only half the tickets to each show.   Max and I went to see a movie advertised at a theater about 10 miles from our town. When we got to the movie theater, we found they had decided to close completely until further notice.  However, across the parking lot from the theater, there was a well-populated bar.  A couple participants in my Alpha group at church (which usually has about 20 attendees) decided to stay away from the class because of fear of contagion.  Two other participants were absent last week because they were on a cruise.  A friend of mine’s husband just went from the hospital to an in-patient physical therapy rehabilitation facility. The hospital allowed visitors, but the rehab facility locked down to prevent spread of disease.

I had one of those decisions of my own to make recently.  I am the leader of my Episcopal Church Women small group.   We meet the third Monday of every month.  I didn’t plan to cancel the meeting.  As news became clearer that the risk is not just a personal risk, but also a risk to our public health and safety organizations, I decided to reconsider my position.  I still did not feel any real personal risk (I mention this to reassure the friends that use me as their personal barometer for panic).  I am just now considering another factor in my decision-making.  I don’t want to contribute to overstressing our hospitals and health care personnel to the breaking point.  Lots of people could seem perfectly well and still be carrying the virus.  For most people, catching the virus will likely be inconvenient but not necessarily dangerous.  However, if the hospitals cannot accommodate all the people who are in danger, the result may not be pretty. 

My decision to cobble together a rough virtual meeting instead of having our normal face-to-face meeting involved considering many interests.  I did not consider just the health and public safety interests, although that was part of the equation.  I also considered the spiritual needs of the group, the fellowship advantages, the need to present a faithful and loving example of Christianity to the world, and the interest in making sure that a short-term decision does not become a permanent answer.  My decision was based partly on the fact that our group has a strong relational foundation, that we can and will change our course if the problem continues or we see people fraying around the edges, and that we will still invest face time with people who have needs that we cannot meet over the phone or with electronic communication. 

Another interesting thing about my decision is that it seems inconsistent with a decision I’ve made for myself about another group in my church.  I don’t have the authority to make the decision for the other group, but, unless directed otherwise, I still plan on meeting with them.  I am putting myself in the middle of the exact ironic, apparently illogical conundrum that gives me a brainache.  In the other group, there are some different factors to consider that make me believe, under my set of priorities, that the benefits outweigh the risks.

I guess I’ve found the answer to my quandary.  For every decision we make, especially in the time of COVID-19, there are many factors to weigh.  Everyone will have his or her own matrix of risks, benefits, and priorities for each situation they encounter.  Likely, all those matrices will be different.  I’m going to stop trying to force everything to make sense.  It’s not my job.  My job is just to analyze my own matrix for my own situations and do the best I can. 

How are you fostering a sense of community, companionship, and affection in a world of COVID-19?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have a healthy day!  Stay well, my friends… physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Terri/Dorry

Bun On The Run

The Elf on the Shelf is so last Christmas.  In my household, we have moved on to a pre-Easter ritual I am calling the Bun on the Run. 

Never let it be said that I don’t know how to milk every ounce of absurdity out of a tradition.  Max and I had such a good time hunting for Kringle, my little elf on the shelf, in December, he suggested we adapt the game to search for a runaway bunny each morning during the Easter season.  I decided to leave no silliness unturned. We hopped off to Hobby Lobby to buy a small bunny Max could hide each morning.  Of course, one bunny was not enough.  After all, we are talking about rabbits here.  I now have a large herd (or whatever you call mass quantities of cohabitating bunnies) of rabbits grazing on my breakfast nook table.  These rabbits are various shapes and sizes, making them suitable for hiding in virtually any location Max finds each morning. We bought some of them at Hobby Lobby and some I painted back in the 1980s in a ceramics class.  Their names are Arabella, Archibald, Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo, Winken, Blinken, Nod, and Tumble.  I used to also have a Sage.  Sadly, she was killed in a tragic dusting accident. 

We started the bunny-running activity the day after Ash Wednesday.  Each morning, a bunny makes a break for freedom.  According to legend (which I have just made up), when the bunny hears me coming, he burrows down in a secret place to wait for me to get tired of searching.  That has not yet happened.  Although sometimes I do need a hint.

My bunnies are enjoying their morning exercise and have landed in some interesting places.  One morning, Miney landed between the reverently folded hands of Clare the Prayer Bear.  Eenie was partial to the telephone cradle. 

This Bun on the Run hunt sometimes takes an inordinate amount of time in the mornings.  Some mornings, I’ve asked for a hint long before I normally would have because there was someplace I needed to be and I could not imagine explaining my tardiness by blaming a wayward fake rabbit,  I have to admit that I’ve even asked Max not to let the bun run too far on a given morning because we had to get cracking on the day in a less leisurely manner than permitted by our normal bun hunt.  These tedious distractions from the hunt (i.e. “real life”) also happened at Christmas time, but it seems that they have been popping up much more this season. 

This makes me wonder if I am trying to crowd way too many things into my life.  For me, the goal of retirement was to slow down and not do things in the most efficient way humanly possible all the time.  I was tired of hopping and wanted to meander.  Now, I seem to be hopping faster than the bunnies.  It is a wakeup call.

Now, I will freely admit that hunting for runaway bunnies is not exactly a traditional Lenten observance.  For Lent this year, I am doing some things to nurture my spiritual development.  I would not include hunting for bunnies in that list.  However, I’m now thinking that the bunnies have taught me something that is critical to spiritual development.  It is easy to let life get overscheduled and out of control.  It is easy to let activities master me instead of me mastering the activities.  I am doing so many things- maintaining relationships, exercising, coordinating the hospitality for our church’s Alpha program, facilitating an Alpha small group, delivering meals to the homebound, leading an Episcopal Churchwomen’s chapter, preparing and delivering devotionals and programs for the Episcopal Churchwomen’s chapter and general meetings, participating in a fundraising activity for a local school, carving out time for fun, and, sometimes… maybe… sleep.

Any activity, no matter how much fun or how satisfying or how ministerial it may be can be a distraction to my relationship with God if I let it.  My time for Scripture study and prayer often comes at the end of the day, before I go to bed… after I have finished up whatever remaining walking I must do to hit my 6 miles a day. I’m not sure my prayer is ready for prime time.  I try to cleanse my mind and concentrate, but I know I could do better.  I know this because I’ve learned I have to do my Scripture reading and prayer standing up.  When I lay down, I fall asleep.  I’m sure the mental noise and busy-ness of the day interfere with my quality time with the Lord. 

If I feel like I’m too pressed for time to hunt for bunnies… or pray without passing out… maybe it’s time for me to take God’s hand and let Him slow me down to a little bit.  Who am I kidding?  It will probably take a training collar!

What techniques do you use to prioritize and balance your time, once you don’t have a job to force you into a routine? Now that you get to decide what and how much to do, what keeps you from getting overscheduled? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a hippity hoppity day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Arabella, Archibald, Eenie, , Meenie, Miney, Mo, Nod, Tumble, Winken, and BLinken
Look carefully at Claire the Prayer Bear’s reverent paws!
Everybody needs a landline!

About Face(book)

As many of you know, I held out against the Facebook invasion for a long time.  I told the tale of my conversion to the posting side in my blog post Social Anxiety. You can view that post at http://www.terrilabonte.com/2019/02/social-anxiety/.  Now that I’ve been socially anxious for over a year, I thought I’d revisit my decision.

I almost put myself in Facebook time-out a little while back.  The drama was beginning to unnerve me. 

I belong to a few different groups on Facebook.  For the most part, I find that these groups are helpful, positive, and supportive.  Now and again, a skirmish breaks out. It can be amusing to watch it play out…  when the skirmish involves people who are strangers to me.  When it involves people I know, it feels too personal and cringeworthy.  It makes me want to crawl back into my Luddite hole and cover myself with a blanket.  Or maybe just feed my phone down the garbage disposal. It upsets me a lot. 

I used to think I could try to raise a point that would help the feuding parties bridge their differences and make peace.  Now, I just feel powerless to stop the madness.  I’m sad that the madness may infect my reasonably sane circle of close friends and destroy the carefully nurtured harmony in my world.  People tell me to “just keep scrolling” if a certain thread bothers me.  I know that is the best advice, but I find it difficult to implement.  It is sort of like telling an alcoholic that she can easily sit in a bar if she just doesn’t order a drink.  Yes, it is possible, but it ain’t easy.  I am a curious person and seem to be drawn to these dramas.  I freely admit that this curiosity is based on a desire to be “in the know” on the gossip front.  It is an extremely unattractive side to my personality and I work hard to beat it down.  Facebook doesn’t facilitate that self-improvement effort, at least not without some creativity on my part.

I’ve been trying to channel my angst about posts that feed the darker side of the online society into more positive avenues.  I try to forge strategies to force the conversation into a more productive place.  That was always my goal, but I found that responding directly to an inflammatory post wasn’t the way to accomplish it.  “Distraction” is my new method.  Instead of squirting Coleman fuel on a fire that is already out of control in hopes of drowning it, I think it is better to leave the building to burn down and set up housekeeping in a more pleasant place.  For instance, a twister swirled into a group recently over a sensitive, polarizing matter.  Posters were passionate about their opinions.  There was little in the way of shared interests.  It seemed that the opposite positions were mutually exclusive.  In short, I don’t think there was ever going to be any consensus of opinion.

There were folks who wrote reasonable, rational posts to try to bridge the gaps in understanding and position.  These posters encouraged those who were so angry and devastated to embrace the (hopefully) shared interest of community harmony.  I admired those posters.  Unfortunately, several attempts to let cooler heads prevail resulted in those cooler heads being knocked from their shoulders.   Just when it seemed that the emotional temperature was decreasing, there would be another belligerent, righteously indignant post that would start the whole argument over again. 

I don’t say which camp was right and which camp was wrong.  In fact, I am not even saying that taking to Facebook to have this argument was wrong (although I probably would say that, if pressed) because I know I tend to be too passive and non-confrontational. What I am saying is that, right or wrong, these social media land mines upset me a lot.  It is just in my DNA to avoid arguments and withdraw when tempers flare.  It hurt my heart that there were real people at the center of these arguments, the targets of some pretty pointed ugliness at times.  After a few days of this running Facebook argument, I thought seriously about leaving the group or even getting off Facebook altogether.

I decided not to take either action because, all in all, I like Facebook.  I am the cornball who loves the cute animal videos, the witty puns, the ridiculous quizzes that apparently send information about my weird personality to Russia on a regular basis, and the uplifting messages.  I also like to see the pictures people post.  It has been interesting connecting with some people from my past.  As to the group that the argument hijacked for a few weeks, it provides very valuable information almost all the time. 

Instead of giving up Facebook, leaving a group that I find generally helpful, or taking a side in a Facebook battle, I decided to feed new threads.  I started posting my “Thankful Thursday” posts in that group, copying from my regular posts to friends.  These posts list some of the things for which I am thankful and ask that others join me in thankfulness, in exchange for a virtual donut.  Much as I did when I was working, I sometimes list a “strategic” thankful, with the specific intent to reinforce positiveness.  I also wrote my blog post Nice Matters (http://www.terrilabonte.com/2019/07/nice-matters/) a week or two after the firestorm started and posted the link in the group.  I saw a few other people taking similar actions, posting about friendship and unity.  We didn’t make a big deal about any of it or allude at all to the controversy.  We were specifically trying to not refer to the controversy.  We just reminded FB groupies that our world is filled with wonderful people who do wonderful things. 

When we stopped feeding the fire, the ashes started to cool.  There is still the occasional flare.  I suppose that is understandable, as people were very passionate about the issue and, in some ways, it was a very big issue.  Some people do burn hotter than others.  On the other hand, the conversation landscape is less scorched and I am not as upset.  The key to managing my Facebook angst was not trying to extinguish the fire.  It was to build a more flame-retardant house!

What are your experiences with social media controversies?  How do you keep your equilibrium when a social media storm breaks out?  Please share your experience by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have an angst-free day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Dreaming

I’ve had a recurring dream since I retired.  I dream that I am back at work.  I don’t think that is too unusual.  What is unusual is that, in my dream, I have still retired but decided to go back to the job.  I explain it to colleagues by saying, “oh yes, I did retire but after a couple of months decided to come back and work a little more.”  I don’t seem to be concerned about money or about missing my job or have any particular reason at all as to why I decided to come back to work. I get the sense that I went back to work because someone asked me to come back to work on some specific project and then I just forgot to leave.

I don’t know if going back to the job from which I retired would even be a possibility.  How would that even work?  I assume I’d have to give up my retirement check and then would get my regular salary until I retired from the same job for a second time, at which time I would get  a recomputed retirement check based on my additional time in service.  See how weird this is?  I’m even compulsively contemplating the mechanics of the whole thing. 

I don’t know why I have this dream or what it means.  It might have something to do with my mom.  As my brother points out, I am basically the same person as my mom.  She received multiple pensions during her life (albeit not for the same job). She always enjoyed having a job.  She kept reinventing her career, moving on to a different job that suited her skills and personality whenever the opportunity arose.  I can count at least 10 different paying jobs she held from the time I was about five.  Maybe part of me wonders if I should be finding a new job, now that my primary career life is finished.  That interpretation doesn’t feel right to me, though.  I’m reasonably certain that I’m not repressing any deep-seated need to have a job.  I have a busy life, filled with satisfying and stimulating activity.  I’m not bored.  I don’t feel worthless.  The idea of being hemmed in by other people’s expectations that I do specific tasks on a specific schedule holds absolutely no appeal. 

Maybe I keep having this dream because I have an idea that, if I could go back to my job, knowing what I know now, I might do it better. I feel like I’ve learned so much about living and about how to be comfortable being myself since I retired.  If I did go back to my old job, I’m not sure anyone would recognize me.  I think I’d be less tense and more confident. Hopefully, I wouldn’t feel so inadequate all the time.  Maybe I wouldn’t drag so much emotion with me through every task I undertook.  When I left my job, I had nothing left in the tank. Exhaustion was my default emotion.

In retrospect, I think I might not have been so tired because of the work, but because of how I felt about the work and how I felt about me.  Instead of simply expending the energy necessary to do necessary tasks, I expended a great deal more energy on worrying and assuming responsibilities that were not mine to assume.  It is one thing to be empathetic and compassionate about other people’s feelings.  It is quite another to hold oneself responsible for trying to feel the feelings for the other person or for trying to force the other person to feel something different. 

In my dream, I seem to be moving through my work life with much more grace and ease than I ever experienced during my waking life.  Everything seems to be clicking on all cylinders and I move comfortably from one thing to another, with little angst or indecision.  There are crises in my dream, but I never feel overwhelmed or beaten.  I don’t seem to mind the chaos.  In fact, I feel strong and powerful.  I am much more effective in my dream than I ever was in real life. 

Maybe that is what drives my dream.  Maybe I feel like I’d like to have a “do-over” and recraft the way I approach work, based on what I’ve learned in retirement.  I’m curious, given how much I feel like I’ve grown, if I could be more effective and less stressed and make more of a difference. 

I guess I’ll never know.  If I am completely realistic, I honestly think it is unlikely that things would be much different if I did go back to work.  It is easy to absorb life lessons and pat myself on the back for my wisdom in the relative peace of retirement.   However, if I were to climb down off the retirement mountain and expose myself once more to the sticky, stressful mire that surely still exists in my former workplace, I don’t think it would take long for me to slide back into the ooze.  I don’t know that people really change their hard-wired approach to life all that much.  I can learn and grow, but I think my instinctive reaction to stress and emotion will probably always be to ramp up my heart instead of my head. 

The next time I have that dream where I’ve gone back to work “for a little while” after retiring, I think I’ll dream myself right back into re-retiring!

Do you still have “unfinished business” that you are working out in your dreams?  Please tell us about it.  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have a dreamy day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Leaving The Nest

I have been living in Florida for over five years now. I wouldn’t say that I live in the country, but I do live in a “country-ish” location.  There is abundant undeveloped land in my community and the surrounding area.  It is certainly more rural than anywhere else I have lived.  I’ve seen more types of wild animals than I can easily count.   I have had numerous opportunities to watch the cycles of nature play out over time.  You’d think I would be used to the aftermath of the circle of life by now.  Not so.  I saw something a few weeks ago that brought me to tears. 

I’d say the wild mascots of our community are the sandhill cranes.  I’ve written about them before on this blog (http://www.terrilabonte.com/tag/coping/ and http://www.terrilabonte.com/2018/05/cranes-in-my-cranium/.)  If you don’t know what a sandhill crane looks like, you should google it.  You should also read my prior blog to get a sense of how I tend to anthropomorphize them.  They are so much a part of our community; it is hard not to.

Sandhill cranes mate for life.  They have babies once a year and those babies stay with their parents for about 10 months.  The time of the year when we start spotting the baby cranes is noteworthy.  Facebook comes alive with notifications of baby crane sightings.  People pull over on the side of the road to take pictures.  There is one street not too far from here that posts official-looking, professionally printed signs proclaiming “Caution! Baby Sandhill Crane Crossing.” We watch those babies grow from little fuzzballs on stilts to mature cranes that are indistinguishable from their parents. 

What we don’t think about is what happens at the end of that ten-month raising period.  I never thought about it until recently. Sure, I’d noticed that our little trio and quartet families of cranes were back to being couples around Christmas each year.  It happened gradually, so it wasn’t something that signified anything to me. I lived in a little fantasy world where the juveniles had a graduation party and went off to crane college or something.  They literally left the nest.

A few weeks ago, I saw the darker side of the Sandhill crane life benchmarks.  As I drove down the street towards the exit of our community, I saw one of the crane families on the side of the road.  One of the adult cranes was charging the juvenile.  There were furiously flapping wings, hissing noises, and gnashing beaks involved. Clearly, the adult was running the juvenile crane off his territory.  It made me so sad.  How could these creatures who carefully hatched and raised their babies turn their backs so callously on their progeny?  How could the creatures, who mourned and cried when a baby got tangled in a telephone wire and died, now snarl and spit to drive away their remaining offspring? It just broke my heart to think how confused and sad those maturing cranes must feel to see how emphatically mom and dad want them gone.  Where will they go?  Won’t they be lonely and scared?  The entire episode really bummed me out. 

I know that there is a circle of life and that last year’s nestlings must make way for this year’s babies.  I know that the newly emancipated juveniles will likely find their own mates and begin exciting new lives of their own.  I know that the Sandhill cranes likely do not take stock of their emotions as humans do, so probably don’t feel as betrayed as I would feel had my parents decided to cut off all ties with me when I turned eighteen.  The logical, rational side of me understands that there is no tragedy involved in the launching of the juvenile Sandhill cranes.  My heart, however, can’t wrap itself around the idea. 

I know it is important for children to become independent and live their own lives.  It is extremely difficult for each generation to accomplish their own goals and achieve societal evolution if that generation is still occupying the last generation’s nest. Just as the very act of struggling to emerge from a cocoon strengthens a butterfly’s wings and prepares it for life in the great unknown, I’m sure the struggle of leaving the nest strengthens children of all species and prepares  them for life in their own great unknown.  Still, that Sandhill crane approach to launching their children seems unaccountably harsh.

Those chicks did not just leave the nest; they were pushed!

What experiences do you have of “leaving the nest?” When you or your children left the nest, was it as harsh as the Sandhill crane emancipation?  What was the result?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have an exciting day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂