retirement lifestyle blog – Page 15 – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement

More Buckets

As I considered my tale about my College of William and Mary fantasy, I started thinking about other bucket list items I have embraced in recent years. Retirement can truly be a great time for pondering what it is that we really want to do… and making it happen. It can be easy to get stuck in the “pondering” part, which can be a little disillusioning or embittering. It can also be a bit anxiety-producing and manic if the “making it happen” part overtakes all good sense. The key, as it is with almost all of life, is balancing. There is quite a bit to be said for daydreaming and luxuriating in your “what ifs.” It is even more satisfying to take some of those “what ifs” and make them “now whats?”

I do not think I realized how much I have been doing that in the past several years until I began working on the William and Mary piece.

Bucket list activities do not have to be exotic, dangerous, or even expensive. It depends on the kind of person you are and what satisfies your soul. I am a bit quirky. There is no denying it. I am not, however, exotic. My soul-satisfying activities over the past few years do not involve jumping out of planes or going on safari or winning a Nobel prize. Still, they have all brought me great happiness- in the pondering and in the doing. Here are a few of my favorite bucket list accomplishments:

I’ve been publishing a blog, nearly ever week, for over five years.

I’ve published two books.

I’ve swum with dolphins several times.

I’ve been Bippity-boppetied.

I’ve been to New England to see the fall foliage.

I’ve taken courses at the College of William and Mary.

I’m sure if I thought about it, I could come up with a number of other experiences that have delighted my spirit. In fact, there is one that just came up the other day.

Those of you who have been paying attention know that I am a bit of a Disnerd. My parents called me Tinker Bell from the time I was born. I spent my childhood three miles from Disneyland. When I contemplated moving in retirement, Florida was a top contender largely because I could get frequent doses of Disney.

Now, I would be incredibly happy if the COVID epidemic never happened. It has been a health, financial, and emotional crisis for the whole world. I do not want to seem insensitive to the tragedies that occurred because of this horrible disease. I am not insensitive. I know people who were terribly ill. I know one person who died. Please do not think I am making light of the situation.

When Disney did reopen, there was a unique opportunity. They opened carefully and with respect for public health issues. They opened first for special minimal capacity passholder events. Even when the parks opened to the general public, they enforced a limited capacity by employing a reservation system. During this time, I have visited the parks several times. I have been able to experience “hot ticket” rides that are usually so popular I am not able to get on them under normal circumstances. There were about four or five newer attractions that I wanted to experience but had never waited in the 60 minute plus lines to get on them. I have been knocking them out during the COVID-tainted reopening. Some, I have been able to ride more than once.

Yesterday, I was able to ride the last attraction on my “never done before” list- Mickey and Minnie’s Runaway Railroad at Disney’s Hollywood Studios. I have now been on every ride I want to at Walt Disney World at least once.

#lifegoals!

What do you think? Is my bucket a little shallow? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have an adventurous day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Buckets

I would not say that I have any regrets in life. Even people, decisions, and events that caused me trouble or pain have made me who I am today. Everything from the past frames the life I live now. Since I am pretty satisfied with who I am and the life I have, I cannot regret anything. I would not want to do things differently.

There are, however, a few things I wish I could revisit. I am not going as far as saying I wish I had not done what I did at the time, but I wish I could somehow go back and take the path that I did not take the first time around. I want to experience two parallel realities… what I actually did and what I left behind.

One of those few “path not taken” experiences has to do with my college years. I read many novels as a kid about teenagers going to college. These teenagers always seemed to be going off to ivy-covered halls, living in dorms in beautiful small college towns, and enjoying an entire college lifestyle. Their time was filled with coursework, socializing, studying all night in the library, and participating in a mad rush of school spirited activities. Admittedly, most of these books were published in the forties and fifties. I graduated from high school in 1977. I am sure my experience would have been much different.

Still, I imagined the college life inside my head. I fantasized about a college life that would look like the rah-rah-sis-boom-bah lives of the co-eds in my novels. I saw myself going away to college, developing a life away from the safety net of my familiar surroundings and loving parents. Growing up in Southern California, I dreamed of going to a school someplace that had seasons where I would wear crisp wool skirts and sweaters when classes started in the fall, see snow blanket the campus under the sharp winter night, join hordes of rollicking students welcoming spring relaxing under the warm sun on the quad, and happily go home for a refuel each summer. I craved history and charm. I did not necessarily think of an Ivy League School, but I did want a school that oozed history and tradition. I did not want to go to a mid-century “living better electrically” university. I would not go to an “education factory.” I would go to a college where education was a fine art.

As the time approached for me to apply to colleges, somehow all my fantasies deserted me. For some reason, I never thought I could make my fantasies a reality. In looking back now, I think there was every chance I could have done so. My grades were excellent. I had reasonable SAT scores. I participated in the speech club, girls service club, high school newspaper, and Junior Achievement. I came from a solidly middle class, blue color family. My parents made enough money to live comfortably, but I was afraid that the cost of educating me at a private college where I would need to be a resident would be beyond their grasp. I never asked and I still do not know if they would have been able to help me. I did have a part-time job in my last year of high school, although I did not make much money. I could have paid for part of the cost. I also could have applied for grants and loans. My parents believed it would be impossible for me to get financial aid because they were in a sandwich economic bracket- not wealthy enough to afford a “fancy” college education and too well off for me to qualify for financial aid. Today, I am not so sure that would have been true, especially if I had gone to a more expensive institute of higher education.

I also worried about leaving home. I wondered if I was confident and mature and worldly enough to hold my own in college lecture classes of 100 students, much less live an independent life. Now, I know that most graduating seniors feel the same way. College does not necessarily require that one already have these confidence, maturity, and worldliness skills. In fact, college is the place many young people acquire them.

Whatever the reason, finances or maturity, I did not achieve my dream of going away to college. I spent two years at the neighborhood community colleges, completing most of my general education classes and earning an AA degree. The man I eventually married called it “high school with ash trays.” I continued to work while attending classes. When I finished there, I transferred to a local commuter college about 15 miles from the home where I lived with my family. Four years and about $2000 (all in) later, I proudly graduated. I had my degree. I had set myself up to move respectably into a stable government job. I had a bachelor’s degree, but I do not think I can say I really had the “college experience.”

Years past. I married immediately after graduation. I did well on my job. While just scraping by in the early years, I could take care of myself and my husband financially. I continued to progress in my career. I received promotions and pay raises. Eventually, Congress passed a federal pay reform act that resulted in me being quite well-paid. I bought a tiny condominium in southern California. I retired with a nice pension, sold my condo at a great profit, and bought my sweet little house here in Florida.

My career also provided me with enough money to take vacations. Over the course of the years, I visited Williamsburg, VA several times. My parents spent their honeymoon there and we stopped there when driving across country for a family wedding when I was about twelve. I went once on my own as an adult. Max and I have been there three or four times. I love the place. On the first trip Max and I took, I realized that the College of William of Mary (where we spent a good deal of time on that trip) was the college or my fantasies. That was the campus that exemplified the college experience my novels described.

Now, I cannot really go back and start my college days over again. I would not even want to do that. However, in retirement I have been busy thinking about how I can capture some of what I would have wanted from that experience. I did some research and found out that William and Mary has something called the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. It offers a wide variety of limited time classes for people (aimed at the senior citizen population but open to anyone) who just want to learn “stuff.” Because of COVID, their offerings have been done through Zoom and other distance learning platforms this past year. This allowed me the opportunity to participate. For the price of $135, one could sign up for as many as eight classes in the semester. I got a bit of a late start and some of the courses that drew my attention were full when I registered, but I did sign up for two classes during the spring semester. This involved 4 sessions and added up to about 8 hours of instruction. It was terrific! It was so good, I am continuing this summer. The summer session is even less expensive, and I have four classes I will be taking.

Last month, when Max and I were in Williamsburg, we walked around the campus again and I felt such a sense of connection. It was so indescribably satisfying. In the bookstore, there was a small stuffed bear in a graduation gown inscribed with the William and Mary logo. Max kept pushing me to bring the bear home with me. I resisted, insisting that I did not qualify to have the bear because I was only an “adjunct” student and certainly not a graduate. A few days after we got home, a neighbor came to our door to deliver a package that had been erroneously left on his porch. I opened the box and “Wilma” the bear was inside.

Sometimes, some facet of fantasy gets so enrooted in your soul, it qualifies as reality.

What event or decision in your life would you want to revisit and experience the road not taken the first time? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have a regret-free day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Liberal Minded

A little while back, I spent a couple of weeks waxing poetic about the power and diversity of the human brain. It is an interesting topic to ponder. I like discovering how the creativity and diversity God gave us can combust in amazing ways. That chemical reaction of creativity and diversity can produce explosive results- both productive and destructive. Humans are powerful and unique creatures… by intentional design, I believe. God intended we would combine our miraculous minds to do wonderful things. Unfortunately, sometimes those miraculous minds do terrible things with just as much power and creativity. That is where that pesky “free will” thing comes into play.

While all the meanderings of my powerful and creative mind may be absolutely fascinating (at least to me), I know someone is likely to raise the question, “but what does any of this have to do with retirement?” After all, dear Terri, you call this bit of literary fluff a “retirement lifestyle blog.” You even call it “Terri LaBonte: Reinventing Myself In Retirement.” Haven’t you wandered a little far afield?

I think these are fair questions. However, I do have a few appropriate responses. Of course I do. Why would I have raised them if I did not?

First of all, the blog has been wandering off the “retirement” trail for years. There are six words in the name of the blog. Terri. LaBonte. Reinventing. Myself. In. Retirement. The first four still apply. The blog, as self-involved as it may seem, is all about me, so the Terri LaBonte bit still fits. As for “Reinventing Myself,” I feel like I do that every day. I am, at the very least, “rediscovering myself.”

Secondly, I think the only way I would have time to think these great or not so great thoughts is to be retired from working for a living. Self-discovery and philosophical musings, as entertaining as they are, did not fill a slot in my Franklin planner when I was working. Days seem to move along almost without any kind of thought whatsoever. So many times, I would cry out (at least on the inside, but often on the outside as well), “Could someone please just stop the earth from turning on its axis for just a few minutes so I can reorganize my brain?” My lungs certainly worked differently in those days. I inhaled frequent, tiny, shallow nibbles of air to keep me operational while saving precious seconds of time I might have expended feasting on oxygen. Nowadays, my diaphragm relaxes, and I feel my lungs fill with air on a regular, steady basis. Sometimes, when I get too wrapped up in my post-retirement activities, I can feel my lungs starting to ration air again and I know it is time to slow myself down- something I could never do in my working life.

I think my brain operates similarly. When I was working, I was so harried and so busy and so time starved. Small, practical, critical thoughts might ooze from my tightly disciplined brain when I squeezed my mind hard enough, but there was nothing free-flowing, organic, or invigorating about thinking. Now that retirement gives me time, my brain relaxes and wanders off on its own. Sometimes, I think some satisfying thoughts. And sometimes, I am just silly. Either way shows a certain delight with myself that was missing in my work life.

The third reason I think that sharing thoughts not necessarily about life in retirement is appropriate for a retirement lifestyle blog has to do with how one is conditioned. When I was working, not only did I not have a lot of spare time to network with the uniqueness of my mental disposition, but I also found that my job required that my brain behave in a certain way. I will not say that creativity and individual talent had no place in my career. I think they did. I will say, though, that I learned early on that the creativity and individual talent is best received when presented in an employer-shaped box tied up with agency-colored ribbons. My agency, like most corporate, hierarchical entities, did not value brains that wandered wildly. When a brain sits in a box for too long, it is apt to stay there until someone opens the package.

One of the sweetest things about retirement is that one’s mind becomes one’s own. When we walk out the door of our workplace, our employer hands us back that brain in a box. We have the time to open the package and we have the freedom to do so. We can even throw the package away. Since retirement, I am often able to let my mind behave as it wishes. For me, that means thinking and exploring and creating in ways I never could have when I was earning my living as a brain-for-hire.

So maybe “Terri LaBonte: Reinventing Myself In Retirement” is not exactly the best name anymore. Maybe I should reinvent the title of the blog. Maybe, from now on, I should call it “Terri LaBonte And Her Liberated Brain.”

So, what do you think? Should I change the name of the blog? How have your mental processes changed since retirement? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a liberated day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Shot Down

As the COVID-19 vaccine rolled out over the country, I knew that I would not be in the first group eligible to receive it. Max was, but I am almost a decade younger than he is. I also knew, based on the stories all my friends were telling, that getting a spot in the vaccine lottery was a crap shoot. I had friends who waited hours in line only to be told that there was no more vaccines availability that day. I had friends who wandered from vaccine center to vaccine center, like Mary and Joseph looking for room at the inn. I was lucky in that I was able to get Max an appointment online for both his vaccine doses at the same time. It meant having to drive 35 miles each way to the next county for both doses, but it was worth it.

There were several problems with the vaccine distribution in the beginning. First, the vaccine became available the week between Christmas and New Year’s. That is kind of a recipe for administrative disaster in and of itself. No one, of course, would even consider holding off the vaccine distributions for a week. We had been waiting so long that everyone was committed to slogging through whatever process management sludge existed to begin getting shots in arms.

The state of Florida probably should have had a better system in place when the vaccines started arriving. I believe that there was a lot of preparation and decision-making about how to handle the distribution, especially about establishing priorities. We all knew who was going to be first up to bat. I even believe there was a lot of planning as to logistics, but that planning was not “just in time.” Because no one knew how many vaccines were coming when, no one could really staff and open the vaccine appointment phone lines and vaccine centers immediately when the vaccines crossed state lines. Therefore, when vaccines arrived and authorities rushed to get people immunized, there was no clear process in place yet. Other than the parameters set up for the “who’s first?” decision, everything else was pretty random. I think we could have done a better job of setting up the infrastructure so that when it was “go time,” the grab ‘em and stab ‘em processes could start functioning immediately. Someone should have been building a web-based appointment scheduling system as quickly as someone was working on a vaccine.

I will say that I was impressed with the immediacy with which Florida jumped into the jabbing. It was certainly confusing and frustrating and upsetting to all the people playing musical vaccine centers in the beginning, but Florida clearly prioritized getting the job done even if it the process was ugly. Also, the people staffing the sites have been consistently amazing. Everyone I know sings the praises of every person with whom they interacted. When we went to get Max’s vaccines, the atmosphere was far from harried or stressful. Despite all the bruhaha involved in the scheduling process, the workers seemed unflappable, friendly, and calm. In fact, there was almost a party vibe in the auditorium.

Finally, as vaccine supplies stabilized and distribution increased, it was time for me to schedule my immunization. I had registered to “save my place in line” when that option first became available, long before I was eligible for a shot. I never thought that would work. However, as soon as my number came up, I was able to go online and schedule an appointment in a location about 8 miles from our house. I also received several calls from the nice people at the Florida Health Department to make sure I had an appointment. I was somewhat concerned because the system only permitted an appointment for my first dose, but the fact that the contact system seemed to work heartened me.

When the day came for my first shot, I marched into the abandoned Sears building and proffered my arm as a target. I have been saying all along that I was not particularly worried about getting the novel coronavirus myself. My fears were more social than personal health oriented. Weirdly, though, when the needle went into my arm for that first shot, I had a huge feeling of lightness and relief. I don’t know if I was more scared than I thought I was. It was probably just a relief that there was this very tangible sign that the world’s focus is taking a detour off the highway to “survival mode” and exiting via the offramp to “normal life.” Whatever it was, it has been a rougher year on my psyche than I knew. Experiencing the vaccine process was such a clear glimpse of a path forward, it gave me a lot of joy. We are not “there” yet when it comes to “normal life,” but the vaccine showed us that there is a way to get “there.” I just hoped that the system would work, and I would be able to get an appointment for dose two without significant Divine intervention.

A day or so after my first shot, I had a mild reaction. I was lethargic and tired. My arm hurt. I never had a real fever. My temperature typically runs low, and it did go up a couple of degrees. It was so not a big deal. I only mention it because it was noticeable. The reaction stopped within 36 hours.

The contact system worked, and I got a call for my second dose a few days before it was due. I made an appointment and confidently scooted down to the abandoned Sears. I was anticipating some sort of reaction because I heard the second dose was usually worse than the first and I did have SOME reaction to the first.

After the second dose, which did seem to sting a bit more going in than the first one, I sat in the waiting area waiting to explode for the requisite fifteen minutes. During that fifteen minutes, I congratulated myself for completing the process. My goal had been to get both doses before our planned trip to Williamsburg on April 17. I met my goal. Even though I was not going to have my full two-week incubation period after the second shot, I felt comfortable that I was well protected before getting on the airplane. Mostly, I was just glad that I was done and wouldn’t have to play “Stalk the Vaccine” anymore. When I did not spontaneously combust after the requisite fifteen minutes, I walked out of the vaccine stockade with a smug spring in my step.

It turns out…. I was not done. Not by a longshot. An hour or so after dose two, I began to feel the familiar tiredness. I could barely keep my head upright. My neck seemed to be liquifying. My arm was killing me. I went home and tried icing my arm, which did not seem to help much. I also kept ingesting water like it was going to stop coming out of the tap. As the day progressed, I began to feel crummier, but I had expected the reaction. I was not alarmed. I just went to bed early, believing I would feel better in the morning.

And I did. When I got up the next day, I did not feel great, but I did feel better. I felt more tenderness and sensitivity than actual pain. At first. By midday, I was officially trashed. Every place on body that could hurt did hurt- every bone, every muscle, every joint, every molecule. I tried to stay as still as I possibly could because moving in any way caused shooting pains somewhere. I also had a massive headache. Any cognitive ability I ever had was long gone. I mostly sat wrapped in an afghan in a recliner and stared stupidly into space. My arm hurt, but that was almost a non-issue, given that I hurt EVERYWHERE. Still, when Max felt my shot arm and then felt my other arm, it was abundantly clear that shot arm was living in a different climate than the other one. The injection site was hot to the touch. When evening came, I checked my temperature. I had a fever of 101 degrees, which is about four degrees above my normal temperature.

The next morning, it was like a miracle. I still had some vague achiness, and my arm was still protesting loudly, but I felt so much better. I still cannot say I am completely done, as my arm still hurts from time to time, three weeks later. I know I am getting there, though.

They say that reactions mean that the vaccine is working properly. I must have some exceptionally talented immunity builders in my physiology. I am certain I have some pretty kick-ass antibodies running around my bloodstream about now!

Have you received your COVID vaccine yet? If not, why not? If so, what kind of reaction did you have? My reaction was unpleasant, but certainly less unpleasant than getting COVID. It does feel great to be part of the solution rather than part of the problem!

Have an immune day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Wayback Wednesday- Mission To Marry Part Two

This post continues the story of my quest for love and marriage that I started last week. I recommend that you read last week’s post ( Wayback Wednesday- Mission To Marry (Part One) – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement ) first. In full disclosure, I wrote this essay 10 years ago, so specific facts (for instance, ages, shared life experiences, etc.) are no longer accurate.

The realization that it was okay if I ended a relationship because the man just was not the person I wanted did nothing to stop my search for love and marriage. I took a moment to remind myself that I wanted more than a husband. I also wanted happiness. Then, I decided to up my game. I attended an adult education class called “How To Meet The Right Person.” At the end of the class, I signed up for private lessons from the instructor. Imagine! I was plunking down $75 a week for private tutoring in the art of meeting people who might like the real me and I might be able to enjoy without twisting my personality into a pretzel.

My dating guru suggest some strategies and gave me some assignments. He even set me up on some “practice dates” with other clients. In one situation, he sat at a nearby table and gave us feedback about our presentation and dating skills. I almost expected one of those electronic score boards that you see in the Olympics. At any minute, I figured a blinking “2.1” would come up on the wall in the restaurant to tell the whole world how far away I was from a perfect “10”.) It was all incredibly stressful and emotionally draining. I was still experiencing all these situations as me trying to fix myself to be good enough for this man rather than realizing I was supposed to be deciding if this man was good enough for me.

Just as I was summoning courage to discontinue my private dating lessons and cut off the guru’s $75 per week, he made one last suggestion. He mentioned a singles dance he thought I might attend. The event was what I referred to as “the pudgy people’s dance.” It was sponsored by an organization that celebrated women with “more ample” figures. I was little skeptical and, to be honest, more than a little horrified that the “secret” that I am overweight was out of the bag. Still, I told myself, if I was going to pay this guy $75 a week, I should at least try to get my money’s worth.

The night of the dance, I entered the room tentatively. Within minutes, I was surrounded by gentlemen of all sizes, ethnicities, and ages asking me to dance. I relaxed. I had fun. I talked to people. I set down my worries about not being good enough, since this bunch seemed to think I was plenty good enough. I stopped trying to be the woman trying to attract a husband and started being one of the gang.

That night, I met a wonderful man. A man who, specifically, is wonderful for me. We both loved movies and had some of the same favorites. We both loved Las Vegas. We both enjoyed some of the same music. We both had similar religious values. We both were financially sound. We both had successful lives with career, family, and friends. We each had interests that we did not hold in common at the time, but that we could grow to enjoy together in the future. We were both wildly attracted to each other.

It has been almost 16 years since that night. We are still together. Between us, we have lost three parents since we met, weathered illnesses and surgery, gone through job changes, and shared the sorrow of saying good-by to my elderly welsh corgi. We work well together as a team and we play so joyfully that I cannot imagine how my world would keep moving should he not be in it. He moved into my tiny, one-bedroom, one-bathroom condo nine years ago. He has filled every inch of that small space with love.

No, I still do not have the husband for whom I worked so hard. I suppose you could say that my mission to marry has been a failure. Now and again, there are times- when I watch a wedding on TV, or a friend gets married, or I am feeling a bit “not lovable enough to marry”- when I still dream of a proposal and of a wedding. After all, if nothing else, there is something kinda ludicrous about calling a man your boyfriend when you are 52 years old and the “boy” in question is 60.

More often, though, I understand that my mission to marry didn’t really fail. Sometimes, on a mission, you do not accomplish what you wanted, but you do accomplish what you needed. I may not have the husband, but there is no doubt in my mind that I have the happiness.

What are your thoughts? Have you also experienced a “mission to marry?” Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a HAPPY day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

PS For those of you who want to receive automated email notifications every time I post new content, please read Bonus Blog from yesterday. I think I’ve figured out how to fix the glitch.

Wayback Wednesday- Mission To Marry (Part One)

This begins a two-part essay that will be the last in my “Wayback Wednesday” series. In full disclosure, I wrote this essay 10 years ago, so specific facts (for instance, ages, shared life experiences, etc.) are no longer accurate.

After my husband dumped me (or, as I prefer to think of it now, “released me for good behavior”) nearly seven years into a bad marriage, I stumbled through a serious of unfortunate relationships. I was engaged for about half an hour to a lithium-resistant fellow on disability for his bipolar disorder. I spent several years dating a guy whose idea of a romantic birthday gift was a rain gage. I had dinner with a thrice married man and his young daughter nearly every night for a couple of years. I was imagining a married life in which our little threesome would be a happy family. He was imagining me babysitting his daughter while he dated other women.

Eventually, I came to the same sad conclusion that women have been coming to for centuries. There’s gotta be a better way to run a love life.

Although I never would have admitted it, I was always one of those women who defines herself too much by her relationship status. Oh, in the light of the “real world,” I said all the right things. I grew up in the first blush of the modern feminism movement. I graduated college in the eighties and went blithely into the workforce, wearing shoulder pads in my polyester business suits. I knew that my happiness and power were supposed to come from within me and they were within my control. I knew a modern woman was supposed to concentrate on her own career, her own interests, and her own personal growth. I knew I was supposed to believe that, if I did all those things, love and marriage would take care of themselves.

However, in the darkest part of my soul, I doubted. I doubted so loudly, I could not hear all the wise, conventional axioms about modern womanhood I knew I was supposed to believe. No matter how strongly a voice inside me tried to insist, “you should be yourself and make your own happiness” and “when the time is right and you are ready for it, love will find you,” an uglier voice rebutted vociferously. That ugly voice said, “no one will ever fall in love with you” and “you are not normal or adequate enough to find a husband and have children.” That ugly voice won the shouting match, I am sorry to say.

Therefore, when a boy I met in high school asked me to marry him (largely because he wanted sex and good Catholic girls didn’t put out without at least an engagement ring,) I accepted. My acceptance of his proposal mystified everyone who knew me. The common opinion was that me getting engaged to this guy defied all logic. It did not defy logic at all. When you are certain that no one will ever want you and you are sure that the only way to be happy is to get married, it is perfectly logical to accept a proposal from pretty much anyone.

As you might imagine, given its genesis, the marriage did not work. Eventually, my husband left me and I was again alone. His departure convinced me that the secret was out that I was “too” something or “not enough” something to enter that “young girls club” of marriage and family that I read about and saw on television. I was too ugly or too inept or not sexy enough or not nurturing enough or something. I did not know how to fix any of those things. I also did not understand that the only way to fix them was within myself and not by snaring another man. My campaign began in earnest. I was on a mission to marry.

For the next several years of my life, I tried numerous techniques to find love. I tried personal ads in the newspaper. For all you youngsters out there, this was the primeval equivalent of internet dating. I tried joining clubs. As it turns out, all the clubs I chose seemed to be already populated by many single women. Not that there aren’t men out there who enjoy ceramics-painting and small art house theater, but it seems clubs centered around these pursuits are often magnets for desperate women who just need to get out more. I tried going to singles dances. I experience some success with this activity because the venues were usually dimly lit. I am sure I would have fared better in that environment if my appearance did not so readily remind single men of the “before” pictures in TV commercials for various self-improvement products. I tried hanging out at church after services. Shame on me for using the House of the Lord as a spiritual singles bar! It didn’t work, anyway. I tried flirting with men at work, which was just plain terrifying. I even tried joining a professional video dating service. I do plead a certain amount of innocence on that one. I won the membership in a drawing. It would have been gut-wrenching to actually pay for something so unsuccessful.

I remember going to one singles dance sponsored by a club at a church. I found myself to be the belle of the ball that night. I danced constantly and had masculine company at every turn. Several asked for my phone number. One invited himself to my upcoming 35^th birthday celebrations. I had a line of admirers to walk me to my car at the evening’s end.

The next day my mother called me. “So, how did it go?” she asked. I paused and asked tentatively, “Does Daddy like me?” “What?!” she replied, “Of course he likes you.” “Well, so does every other 70-year-old man in the country,” I replied. It says something about my state of mind that I was considering trying to lure one of these lovely gentlemen twice my age down the aisle.

This incident highlights a hallmark of that place in my life. I thought I was taking control of my own fate and doing things that would get me what I wanted with such single-minded ferocity… a husband. How could I look slimmer? How could I present as sexier? How could I make small talk more easily and breezily? How could I appear more “normal” and subdue my naturally childlike (and now, can I say… charming?) personality? And, above all, how could I hide my addiction to all things Tinker Bell?

The real story is that I never really did think about what I wanted. I was always too busy plotting to figure out how I could present the traits the single men out there wanted and how to hide the parts of me that I suspected would be unappealing to a prospective husband, I never bothered to evaluate the men who I were so sure were evaluating me and finding me wanting.

When I hit my wall after parting company with the guy who bought me a rain gage for a birthday present, I realized there had to be a better way. I realized that, while the break-up with Mr. Rain Gage had been mutual, it was I who initiated it. Why did I initiate it? He was a perfectly nice man. It just occurred to me that he wasn’t what I wanted! It was a novel concept. I was alone, not because I was somehow lacking or because the potential husband saw past my façade and realized I wasn’t what he wants. I was alone because the man I was seeing wasn’t what I needed. I realized it was okay.

To be continued….

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Giving Is FUN-damental!

Many of us grew up hearing the slogan “Reading Is FUN-damental,” meaning that being able to read is key to success in life. Being able to read allows us to learn all kinds of things and contribute to the world in many ways. The slogan also reminds us how much pleasure reading can give us and how much fun it is to explore new worlds and ideas through the written page. As a lifelong reader, I embrace this philosophy. I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without literacy.

However, there is something that is even more FUN-damental- giving. To me, the gift of being able to give is something that brings me a lot of joy. It also allows me to practice grace and contribute to many people in many ways. I would venture to say that God blesses what little I do and multiplies it so that I will never even know the full impact of my giving. I certainly hope that is the case when I read Matthew 22:36-39:

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.”

In the act of true giving, we show love for the God who first loved us and for our neighbors. I also submit to you that giving is a whole lot of fun.

I met a lady at our church recently who is a great example of how giving can be fun, as well as charitable. She did not want to draw attention to herself or appear to be bragging about her giving, so was reluctant for me to mention what she has been doing since the start of the pandemic to increase her charitable giving. I thought her story was so interesting, I believed it would help others to hear it. She agreed to let me tell her story if I did not identify her. I will respect her wishes.

When the pandemic started, she wanted to do something to help others who were having a more difficult time, as many of us did. She ended up working with a few immune-compromised people, doing their marketing and running some errands. She had no intention of taking money for these tasks, as she wanted to simply give of what she had- her time and relative good health. It did not feel like it would be much of a gift if people paid her to do it. On the other hand, the people she was helping felt extremely awkward about allowing her to assist them if she did not allow them to pay her. Since they were so insistent, she agreed, thinking the situation would only go on for a few weeks.

My church friend told me that she still wanted what she considered to be a minor sacrifice to be a gift, so she decided that she would give the money to others who needed help.

“It is like having my own private mini-foundation,” she told me. “Every month, I get to decide how to distribute the money. Sometimes, I add a little to my church pledge. Sometimes, I give money to the food bank. Sometimes, I buy supermarket gift cards and send them anonymously to people I know may be struggling. At Christmas time, I made it a point to eat at various small restaurants that I frequent and gave the servers $20 tips on a $10 check. It is so fun! Giving is a great hobby!”

Her enthusiasm for giving was infectious. She seemed to get so much satisfaction out of helping people. I think she especially got a charge out of doing it in surprising situations and doing it anonymously. She told me her goal was to create delight… both for the recipients and for God. She intends to continue, even if it needs to be to a lesser extent once she is no longer getting the extra money for running errands. She wonders, too, if God will continue to lead her to opportunities to find that extra money so that she need not decrease her giving.

I agree with her. Giving is a great hobby. I am going to take a page from her book and begin my own campaign of random acts of giving. Let the delightfulness begin!

How do you best enjoy giving to others? Do you have particular strategies for deciding how and to whom you give? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a loving day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Aftermath

Sunrise… cool, heavy, haunted morning…

Air heavy with grief and fear…

Women crying, numb-minded and shatter-hearted.

Yesterday, our Morningstar destroyed. We are lost.

Hiding, not shining.

Scampering, not singing.

Huddled, not journeying.

Yesterday, the sky went black when our Master died.

Today- the world still black and dank.

The sun is opening the day, but the light lacks life… flat, stagnant, polluted.

We can no longer see the Light.

Our hearts, so recently expanding and uncontainable with joy

Now feel stunted and hollow.

Was Love just an echo?

Is that an angel or a man or several men waiting in the garden?

We barely register the landscape through fuzzy eyes, not caring what we see

In a world that now seems blind and dark- Lightless.

Does light ever truly disappear?

He told us it will not, as long as we believe.

Believe in Him…

He left us with love and faith and joy.

He is gone, but they remain…

Maybe He remains, as well.

The tomb is empty but filled with hope.

Happy Resurrection! He is not gone! May the risen Christ be with you always.

Terri/Dorry 😊

The Difference Between Bamboo and Violets

In my blog last week, I marveled at the creativity, innovation, and adaptability of the human brain. This week, I am going to tackle another facet of the miracle of the mind. It is true that our individual minds are capable of transforming to meet the needs of our individual environments. It is also true that different brains work very differently right from the get-go.

This thought came to me a couple of weeks ago when Max was trying to explain some fine point of Christian apologetics. Now, I am not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I am by no means unintelligent. I do like to think deep thoughts and consider meaningful questions. Still, my brain’s tolerance for detail and abstract reasoning is quite limited when compared to his. It can be overwhelming listening to Max follow a point of theology or scriptural history through a frenzied labyrinth of names, dates, and arguments. When I try to keep up with the breakneck pace at which his synopses are firing, I crash against the wall at the first turn. I try to slow him down, interrupt him to ask questions, and have him repeat his points in different words, but he still almost always leaves me in the dust by the second lap. The good news is that I usually get something from the conversation. The bad news is that what I get from it is a fraction of the information Max intends to impart. I guess getting some knowledge beats getting nothing except annoyed (which I admit I often also get.)

I have to say that this mental pattern of Max’s is nothing new. It is just the way his brain works. He tends to get interested in a topic and just inundate his mind with it. I have seen him go through periods when he has scavenged all the information to be had about The Titanic, William Desmond Taylor, East German military, cosmology, and Jack the Ripper… just to name a few of his mental renovation projects. Some of these projects have been easier for me to grasp than others. Now that he seems to be on the Christian apologetics kick, I seem to be particularly abysmal at keeping pace.

I was talking to our rector about the issue a few months back. I really did feel badly that I was being such an incompetent conversation partner on such an important issue, but I also felt like there was no way I was ever going to have the energy, inclination, or nimbleness of brain to meet his need for theological conversation. My rector was holding weekly “coffee and philosophy” sessions at a local café and I thought that it might be more satisfying for Max to have the opportunity to exchange ideas with people whose brains were more in line with his. The rector told me that he and his wife have a similar experience. He will be caught up with some theological point he is researching and will have to curb his enthusiasm… or at least the minutia… when sharing it with his wife. My rector said he would be happy to have Max come to the sessions, but that I should know that it probably would not be an outlet for Max to burn off his theological energy. He warned me that it would likely kindle Max’s desire to explore theological ideas even more.

Max did decide to attend, but only if I went with him. We have gone to about half a dozen of these sessions. We both enjoy them. My rector was right; it has done nothing to curtail the plethora of theological ideas being uttered in my household, but it has helped us both benefit a little more from the discussions. We have also had some rich conversations about how much apologetics is more than I can absorb. We have also had some conversations about our different approaches to faith. It is not that we disagree; it is simply a question of emphasis. St. Anselm of Canterbury said, “I do not seek to understand in order that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand.” Both of us think sturdy faith is faith that comes from both reason and spiritual experience. I am just more on the “believe in order to understand” side and Max is more on the “seek to understand in order that I may believe” side.

One day, when we were attending the “coffee and philosophy” session, Max alluded several times to an idea saying, “even Terri was seeing the holes in that statement.” Other attendees kind of took him to task for making it sound like he thought I wasn’t that smart. I did not take it that way because I knew he was referring more to brain orientation than brain power. Max thinks I am very smart… far smarter than I am. Max tried to explain this to the group and the rector said he knew what he meant… that my intelligence was more an intrinsic wisdom (rather than a scholarly approach.)

That got me thinking about how each person’s brain operates differently. We all grow ideas and thoughts and solutions and relationships in the messy gray matter of our minds. We all grow them differently and cultivate different crops, as a result.

This brings me to bamboo and violets.

Max grows bamboo in his brain…. Tall, towering, practical, sustainable ideas that are limitless and sometimes out of control. You can watch a whole bamboo forest of ideas grow to the very stratosphere just by listening to him for five minutes. You can literally see the bamboo of his thoughts grow before your very eyes. Bamboo will grow almost anywhere. It has shallow roots, making it easy to harvest. If one idea gets harvested, he is on to the next one. He mulches and fertilizes and lets the momentum of growth carry him along.

I, on the other hand, grow violets in my brain. Violets are deep rooted. They are a little delicate but are much stronger than they look. They tend to grow out rather than up. They need to be kept out of the direct sun and nurtured with some restful, contemplative shade. They do not really have any practical purpose. They are just there to be beautiful and interesting and colorful and joyful. My brain is just as powerful, but the output is nothing big, noticeable, or intrinsically valuable.

Sometimes I wish I could have a bamboo brain. On the other hand, the world needs violets, too. No one who trades in beauty and joy is powerless. I enjoy stretching my mind and finding the parts of it that could grow bamboo if necessary, but I also enjoy knowing that the best of me will always be the best of me.

How would you characterize your brain? What kind of mental crop do you raise? What about the way you think makes you uniquely you? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a growth-filled day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Brains

If there was a word to describe 2020 (besides the unprintable ones, of course), I think it would be “pivot.”

The human brain is a strange and wondrous thing to behold. Especially during the pandemic, we have seen how adaptable and creative it can be. I marvel at how nimbly many people resculpted their brains to accommodate the changing times. There are many examples.

After a brief period of discombobulation, the world figured out new ways of doing old activities. Disney World scrambled their approach to queue management and replaced parades with cavalcades- single floats that wandered through an entire park to prevent people bunching together to watch a parade. Churches have employed various online platforms and “drive-in” methods to continue to engage congregants. Doctors have developed “telehealth” to handle medical visits that do not require “hands on” examinations or treatments. People who never thought they could work effectively from home and collaborate with their teams are running efficient, effective businesses from inside their Zoom accounts. In times of plummeting sales, many retailers have expanded their product lines to include snazzy face masks and hand sanitizer.

It is also true that the strain on our collective brains has caused many people to temporarily throw in the towel on “normal” activities. They started spending their time doing new things that they never would have explored before the pandemic. I hear a lot of people talk about completing big home projects, catching up with old friends with whom they have not communicated in ages, taking up new creative pursuits, learning new skills, and finding more time to settle into God’s arms.

The more deeply we delve into the COVID19 world, the easier retooling our lifelong routines, thoughts, activities, and perspectives seems to become. I hope we have not become so comfortable with our new circumstances that we permanently discard some of the activities and traditions that used to give us joy. I can see people thinking that there is no longer a need for in-person continuing education conferences because, while it was pleasant to get together and share ideas, “we’ve been doing the same thing on Zoom for a year, and it is so much cheaper.” I can see people thinking that they miss traveling, but it does take a lot of work and planning to implement a vacation. I can see people thinking that they used to like going to church services, but it has turned out to be so easy to simply watch YouTube in their pajamas. I can see people thinking that they enjoyed all the clubs and activities they had pre-COVID19, but that it has turned out to be quite restful not to have to juggle such a full calendar. I can see people abandoning hugging, shaking hands, and touching each other because it now feels awkward.

I have been worried about the slow degradation of communal life since we began the “two week” stay-at-home order. Our experimentation and discoveries about alternate ways of doing things have been wonderful. I love that the pandemic has forced us to re-examine the way we live and relate to one another. I love that some of the strategies we are forced to employ to promote social distancing have allowed us to be more inclusive. For instance, my Alpha course is meeting online, which has allowed guests from all over the country to attend. Entertainment has become more interactive, in some ways. I am thinking of the Disney Sing-along television specials that popped up during quarantine. In the past, most television entertainment was extremely passive. The action focused on the performers while the audience just sat at home, staring at a screen. Because performers could not be on stage together during the pandemic, Disney changed the emphasis to creating strategies to allow the audience to provide their own entertainment. The place where I get my nails done now has a plexiglass wall between my face and the technician’s face. I put my hands through a small opening at the bottom of that barrier. Surely, this is a better procedure, COVID19 or no COVID19. The technicians really do not need to have client after client breathing their germs of any kind into their faces all day long.

All the positive changes aside, I still believe there is a more sinister downside to month after month and year after year COVID precautions. As people’s acceptance, tolerance, and lethargy about our “new normal” grows, so does the danger that we will never regain the things we have lost. I do not want to lose the warmth of hugs, the excitement of traveling, and the rich connectedness of gathering with people in person. All the restrictions and adaptations have been necessary over the past year. I am glad we did them. I just do not know how long we can continue without permanently losing some of the emotional and social richness of living communally in the world.

I do have some hope. A friend and I have been stubbornly supporting our community’s book club over the past year. Before the pandemic, our club was extremely well-attended. In fact, it was starting to get a bit unwieldy, with 20 members often attending the discussions. We discontinued meetings for a few months at the beginning of the pandemic. We discussed going to Zoom, but most of our participants were not ready to enter the Zoom-asphere at that time. As soon as our community center opened, we went back to scheduled meetings. For several months now, our attendance has ranged from 4-6. Well, things are changing. Many of the people in our community have now been vaccinated. At our March meeting, we had 10 participants. Clearly, people are emerging to start searching for the good things we left behind in the pre-pivot world.

What’s next? Hugging?

Have you seen any indications that the world is starting to get back to its pre-pandemic state? What are you observing? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a normal day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂