Uncategorized – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement

The Big Crabapple- Part One

Back in 2019, Max and I planned a vacation to New York City for May of 2020. As you may recall, the world wasn’t vacationing anywhere in May of 2020, least of all to New York City. We all spent the spring of 2020 hunkering down in our bubbles. We tried not to breathe when we made our potentially deadly trips to the grocery store. We hoarded toilet paper. We collected large wardrobes of fashion-forward face masks. We called driving through a temporary medical facility to get a COVID test a “date night.”

The hotel we had booked in Manhattan was open in May, but it was too soon for most people to even consider traveling for pleasure. I had a relaxed attitude about COVID, but even I felt faintly queasy about shooting my shot with New York City. Besides, nothing besides the hotel was operational. I couldn’t see the point of being tourists when the only sights we could see would be within the four walls of a cramped hotel room. We cancelled our trip.

Somehow or another, the idea of New York became permanently tangled in my brain with the idea of a deadly worldwide pandemic. After there was a vaccine, after the pandemic waned, after the world started breathing in the produce aisle again… I still became overwhelmed with the thought of another New York trip. It was not that I could not face traveling. I led the charge to re-engage with tourism in November of 2020. It was just New York that paralyzed me. It may be that the whole process of planning a trip to New York City scared me as much as COVID. Once the first trip got shoved to one side, the momentum of my tourist courage shattered in an irrecoverable kind of way.

I was born in the Bronx and lived on Long Island until I was five. I have memories from a few trips when I went to see family as an adult. In those instances, I visited New York City, but I always had a keeper. I never needed to be responsible for any decisions or directions. I just kept both eyes and one hand on whatever family member accompanied me and hoped for the best. I found even that to be scary.

So, what in heaven’s name made me think it was a clever idea to become the designated travel agent for a fun New York City vacation? I blame it on my cousin Raymond. Last year, I decided it had been way too long since I had seen him and his family. His younger son, my godson, was going to be celebrating his 21^st birthday in July and I decided to visit them on Long Island for the occasion. On one of the days I was visiting, we planned a trip to Manhattan to see a play. I survived the ordeal easily. The thing is- my beloved Raymond and his wife made it all too easy for me. They helped me select a hotel near them, provided my airport transportation, picked me up at the hotel every day to shuttle me around to anywhere I wanted to go, and provided all my entertainment. When we went to Manhattan, I was able to employ my tried-and-true method of getting around by keeping both eyes and one hand on some member of my New York family at all times. Their generosity, in every way, was almost embarrassing. I certainly did not expect it. I did not want them to feel they had to make that kind of effort again- at least not without me making a similar effort for them in my own stomping grounds.

Bottom line- I was duped. Because this foray into New York tourism was a spectator sport for me, I convinced myself that it was possible for me to do it on my own. Nope. Not even a little bit. Our five-day trip (including two travel days) showed me that I am delusional about my competency in this arena. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count all the mistakes I made.

My original plan was to use Uber to get to the hotel from the airport and for all our transportation needs on Long Island. We planned to take the train into the city on our three whole days of the trip. I had hop-on/hop-off bus tickets for transportation around Manhattan. In the week or so before we left, I started re-thinking- something that is almost always an error in judgment for me. I noticed that the drive from the airport to the hotel was only 18 miles and I did not remember it as being a bad drive when Ray transported me last year. Eighteen miles, I thought… how bad could it be? I decided that, if I rented a car, it would be more convenient to get to the hotel and, also to get to the train station, restaurants, etc. on Long Island. I checked the prices for rental cars and found a great deal. I made the reservation and convinced myself that I could do this thing.

On the day of our trip, we arrived at the Orlando airport in plenty of time. As we sat in front of Starbucks, I received a call from the hotel. They were calling to tell me that the two-bedroom suite I reserved over six months ago was, unfortunately, not going to be available after all. The hotel assured me it was not a problem because they were going to comp us another room so we would have separate sleeping spaces. Not ideal, but we could live with it. It did leave us with the question of how a room that we reserved months ago could suddenly not be available, but we decided to go with the flow.

Our flight was scheduled to arrive at JFK at 1:00pm. We got there around 1:30, thanks to some random pre-flight taxi-ing around the Orlando airport. While in the air, I received a text from the rental car company. They were cautioning me to bring proof of insurance. No car rental company has ever asked for that in my experience. I, of course, had not packed my handy-dandy insurance card. Still, I told myself not to sweat it; I could probably access my account online and get a digital copy of the card. Then, I kept reading (the text had many, many words.) The rental company clarified that said handy-dandy insurance card was not sufficient. They required a copy of the policy as well. No need to fret, they said, because they conveniently sold insurance at their counter.

Well, fret I did. I felt faintly sick to my stomach thinking of how much they probably charged for such “convenient” insurance. Still, I was not yet in despair. The text gave directions on how to get to their pick-up counter at JFK. After we picked up our bags, we embarked on that adventure. The first stage was getting on the AirTrain out of the terminal. We boarded the AirTrain, despite Max’s protestations that we should wait for the next “less crowded” one. About 843 people, give or take 122, piled on behind us on the already overfull car. I had nothing to hold onto as the train lurched forward, but that was okay because I was unable to move. When we reached the place we were to exit the train, Max made it out, but I was trapped in the horde of people who were paying no attention to my pleas that they “excuse me.” Finally, a lady several layers closer to the door than I took hold of my suitcase and used it as a battering ram to get it (and me holding on behind it) out the door.

We exited the train in front of the office for two rental car companies. Neither, unfortunately, was OUR rental car company. Still, not to worry- of course the cheap rental car company would not have a premium location. I opened the War and Peace length text from the company again. It informed to “follow the signs” to their location. I looked to the left, and I looked to the right. No signs. The text also mentioned turning left and walking to the traffic circle to find their office. We did that. We found the traffic circle. Sadly, however, we found absolutely nothing resembling a rental car office. Undeterred, I thought maybe the right and left got reversed so we retraced our steps and went past where we disembarked from the train. We found another traffic circle. Sadly, however, we STILL did not find anything resembling a rental car office.

At this point, if I had had a single brain cell that was still operational, I would have reverted to my original plan to get an Uber and rethink the rental car issue when we arrived at the hotel. However, I did not have a single remaining operational brain cell. I was hungry, tired, and faintly shell-shocked. I already had a significant case of Travel Trauma. As is likely to happen when infected by this disease, I made an extremely poor decision. I decided to rent a car from the company located right next to the train stop. There was a sign announcing that they had cars available.

I entered the office and joined the line that looked like it probably stretched to New Jersey. Max, who was beyond ready to get on the next plane back to Florida, waited outside the office guarding our luggage. After a lifetime or two, I reached the front desk and rented a car. I rented a car for THREE TIMES the cost of my original reservation with the apparently mythical company of The Office That Did Not Exist. I immediately went on my phone, transferred the astronomical cost of the car rental from my savings account to my checking account, and made a payment of that amount to my credit card. I could not bear the thought of seeing a credit card balance taunting me for my financial stupidity.

The good news? Nobody asked for proof of insurance.

Another minor piece of good news is that the car came with GPS. My car at home comes with GPS, so I thought I understood what that meant. On this rental car, though, there was no navigation button on the dashboard or screen to view the directions right in front of me. The GPS was a tired old tablet with, as it turns out, several different directions apps. It thought even slower than I was thinking at the time. Also, I somehow managed to have several apps going at the same time. I tried my phone but could not get it to talk to me through the car’s tech system.

By the time we accomplished all this, it was about 4:30pm On Friday afternoon. In New York City. On the way to Long Island. That 18-mile trip looked vastly different at 4:30pm than it probably would have looked at 1:30pm. Also. The various voices in the GPS choral rendition of driving directions took us through many neighborhoods that I am certain we had no business being. I understand that GPS systems are programmed to avoid traffic. Avoiding threat of bodily harm might be a good consideration, as well.

The 18-mile trip took almost 2 hours. We finally reached the town where we were staying and me Raymond and his oldest son for dinner. That was the eye of the hurricane… a time of peace, fun, and family bonding. It seemed that the worst might be over.

Nope.

Have a peaceful day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Thank God

Yes, indeed. Thank God. As we approach another Thanksgiving, it seems a good time for me to count my blessings. It has been a challenging year (I seem to be saying that every year now!) but to be honest, I would not have changed a thing. In the rear-view mirror, I can clearly see that the incidents that drove me to the brink of despair during the past year have sparked great growth and contentment. This year, I feel like I’ve graduated from “managing” to “thriving.” I don’t think I could have done that without the cuts and bruises of 2025.

As I review my own growth over the past few years, I feel like I’ve travelled through several phases. I guess I started out in a phase of barely holding on to my sanity and sense of self. Over time, I learned coping strategies and made friends with my neurosis. At some point, I stepped onto the battlefield to try to rescue the Terri who was wounded and crying out for help. After that, a new season of barely holding myself together and learning coping mechanisms ensued. My brain probably has the whole cycle on a loop stuck on “repeat.” My very own unhinged playlist.

This year, though, it feels a little different. I think, if I do end up back on the battlefield, it will be to support the Terri who is still standing- and fighting the good fight. It won’t be to save her from destruction. I am in much more peaceful skin than I have ever been. There is a kind of happiness and trust in myself that are new to me. In the past, when I had a glimpse of those blessed qualities, I skittered away because trusting them meant the fear of losing them. This year, I have been starting to lean into them- somehow finding faith that, if I lose them, I can find them again.

None of this is to say that I expect to live in my current euphoric bubble for the rest of my life. I do not fool myself. I understand that it is highly likely I will experience wobbles and freak-outs over challenges in the future. I am sure there will be days in the future when I will read this paean to mental health and bemoan my own delusion. It is not delusion, however. It is true now. And it will be again.

There are many factors that have gone into this wobbly, wandering, wonderful journey. My experience with my life coach, Todd Payne, is probably chief among them. I have also allowed myself to accept and rely on support from the people in my life who love me and value my love in return. My pastor and his family have comforted, challenged, and loved me when I wasn’t able to do any of that for myself. Max, as always, has been the most consistent, stalwart of loves. I have seen both of us grow individually and together toward a deeper love this past year. I know I am loved in a way I never used to be able to understand or accept.

There have also been the hard parts- times when people have been vicious and destructive, times when I have tried desperately (and failed just as desperately) to do everything people wanted me to do, times when the ugliness that I invited into my heart threatened to overcome my very personhood like a parasite destroys the host. I hated every last minute spent in those episodes. However, I look back at them with gratitude today. Would I want to relive them? Of course not. But now, I know I could. Do they still hurt when I think about them? You bet! But now, something better has grown in the heart space they destroyed.

I am thankful that I am loved in different ways by different people. I am thankful that I can experience love- from God, from others, and… sometimes, even from myself. I am thankful I can give myself a little more credit for emotional resilience and courage. I am thankful for the experiences I have had- both joyful and painful- that have grown these qualities in me.

Mostly, I Thank God for the year of blessings He has scattered in my life. I could say that sometimes He disguises them as disasters. The truth is, though, He does not disguise blessings as disasters. He uncovers blessings in the disasters.

I hope you all have a very happy Thanksgiving. God, please grant everyone who reads this blog post a year of abundant blessings. Also, dear Lord, if it doesn’t mess up some huge divine plan of Yours, please grant that those blessings will be undisguised! AMEN!

Have a thankful day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

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 😊