retirement lifestyle blog – Page 16 – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement

Shameless

I’ve never been very good at self-promotion. It makes me distinctly uncomfortable to put myself forward and try to convince other people I am worthy of notice. And yet, here I am, pitching a shameless plug out into left field of cyberspace!

Some of you will recall that I wrote a book a couple of years ago called Changing My Mind: Reinventing Myself In Retirement. I published the book under my real name, Dorry Curran. That entire process was an extremely meaningful and exciting experience for me. While the book was never going to make any best seller lists, it did have some success in the market. The real success, however, was in personal satisfaction. I was so proud that I was able to accomplish this lifelong goal.

I thought that Changing My Mind was going to be a one-and-done.

Guess what? I have just completed my second book, Random (A)Musings by Dorry Curran! Don’t tell me the quarantine cloud has no silver linings! Who says you can’t make lemonade out of lockdown? The book is a wild ride through my brain, in which I muse about my bizarre personality, my aging body, my existence in the great state of Florida, my obsession with all things Disney, and other random topics. The book will be available on www.Amazon.com on Tuesday, 6/2/20. Paperback ($11.99) and kindle ($4.99) editions will be available. Please consider purchasing one or more of my books. Okay… here is the absolutely most shameless moment of this blog post…. The book is awesome! I love it! It is super-fun. I think you will enjoy it. I would also be grateful if you could share this information with all your friends and relations… your enemies, too… in the interest of creating some degree of buzz about Random (A)Musings.

I want to be responsible and respectful in this time of social separation, so I won’t be having a face-to-face launch party for Random (A)Musings, as I did for my last book. I may be able to arrange some sort of IRL celebration in the future, but it just doesn’t feel right to cram a bunch of people in my living room just yet. HOWEVER…wait for it…. I am going to host a virtual launch party on www.zoom.com at 6:00pm EDT on Tuesday, 6/2/20. I hope you will want to join me. Please email me at terriretirement@gmail.com to let me know you want to come. I will need an email address to send an invite giving you access to the party.

For my last launch party, I did incorporate a virtual component by using a conference call service. A few family and friends who do not live locally joined through conference call. Frankly, it surprised me (and disappointed me a little) that none of my blogosphere friends joined. I am hoping that this time, with everyone getting more comfortable in the techno-virtual environment, some of you will zoom in with us. I’d love to meet you!

Happy Reading!

Okay… end of shameless self-promotion… I return you now to our regularly scheduled programming!

Terri/Dorry 😳

Will you read Random (A)Musings when it is released? Why or why not? You can be honest. Feedback is a gift… or at least that is what “they” tell me. Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com. PLEASE REMEMBER TO EMAIL ME WITH YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS SO I CAN INVITE YOU TO THE ZOOM PARTY!

The Reality Of Fake

A few weeks ago, I lamented the fate of my acrylic fingernails during the COVID-19 lockdown. When I wrote that I had been wearing the nails for over 30 years, something inside me blushed in embarrassment. How could I have been wearing fake fingernails for so long? Time has been marching on over my lifetime. And it seems it has been marching past me with acrylic fingernails.

This epiphany started me thinking about what motivated me to pay someone to paint artificial material mixed with toxic chemicals on my hands every few weeks over the past 30 years. Arguably, the whole acrylic fingernail thing is a ridiculous notion. I have been embracing it for over half my life. How is this possible?

My journey towards three decades of acrylic nails started long before anyone ever even heard of acrylic nails. I was a terrible nail-biter as a child. It started with thumb-sucking and escalated. I could not seem to keep my fingers out of my mouth, no matter how hard I tried. My parents didn’t make a big deal about it, but they tried to help me overcome the habit in every way they could. They tried manicures. They tried bribes. They tried coating my fingers with various solutions designed to discourage me from putting my fingers in my mouth. They put a rubber band on my wrist to snap when I caught myself biting my nails. It was so bad that I often left myself with only nibs of nails. Sometimes, I had to go to the doctor to be treated for infections because of the nail-biting.

Most kids outgrow nail-biting. I was not most kids. As I grew older, I did lose the thumb-sucking habit, but was never able to control the nail-chewing urge. I picked and broke and bit my nails well into adulthood. My hands were always in shambles. I can’t count the number of times I tried to stop, but I always failed.

Fast forward to 1989. My ex-husband left me in 1988 and I was just starting to think about dating again. This was long before internet dating sites (it was long before the internet, period). In those olden dates, the pre-cursor to match.com was the newspaper personal ads. I had no idea how to meet people. I think everyone I knew socially was married. No one seemed to have any suitable gentleman friends with whom to set me up. I eventually met the first man I dated after my divorce through a personal ad. After a few phone conversations, we agreed to meet in person.

I was terrified. In retrospect, I probably had no business dating at that point. I was still too broken from a bad marriage and divorce. Besides, I was almost 30 years old and had not been on a first date since I was 17.

The day we were to meet, my nervous system was in armed revolt. To soothe my squirrely spirit, I went to the mall. Shopping is kind of my drug of choice when I need a little artificial serotonin. As I wandered through the stores, every stress response in my brain pushed me to buy something. I ended up buying some pretty underwear. That didn’t really do the trick for me. After all, I told myself, I had no intention of letting anyone see my underwear that evening so what difference did it make if it was new? I kept wandering and looking for something I could buy. I had already told my date what I was going to wear and, since that was the only way he would recognize me at the bar where we were meeting, changing that particular horse didn’t seem like a good idea. As I walked past the beauty salon, I noticed a sign for acrylic nails. That’s it, I thought, I can buy new nails!

Acrylic nails were just starting to become the rage at that time. I didn’t know anyone who had them. I just saw them as a quick and easy way to gain some confidence for the evening. I knew that my date was likely going to be disappointed in my looks, so I thought that I could at least buy myself some pretty hands. Honestly, if I’d known at the time that you had to come back every few weeks to have more acrylic applied to your fingers, I doubt I would have done it.

I guess ignorance was a good thing in this case because I did like my new nails. I guess I liked them a lot since I’ve been maintaining them ever since.

My hands were nice. They were way nicer than the guy I wanted to impress deserved, as it turned out. I dated him for about a year before realizing he was kind of a jerk and way more trouble than he was worth. I broke up with him, but I did not break up with the acrylic fingernails.

Speaking of breaking up… or, rather… not breaking up… one of the benefits to the acrylics was durability. I can’t say that I completely stopped biting my nails when I got the acrylics. However, the consequences of biting my nails were much more limited. They were so strong, I didn’t demolish them every time they got near my mouth. It was like there was more intervention time. When I put my fingers to my mouth, I had enough time to realize what I was doing and remove them before I did any damage.

All in all, once I had the acrylic nails, I couldn’t imagine not having them. My hands, another shameful secret in my repoirte of unattractive qualities, were no longer a source of embarrassment. I guess, overall, acrylic nails and I have had a decent partnership. But 30 plus years? That just doesn’t seem reasonable. Still, I had every intention of starting over again once the salons reopen. I figured, with the acrylic-related damage incurred by my natural nails and my uncontrollable nail-biting, I’d be lucky to have fingernails at all by the time we are released from lockdown.

Surprisingly, though, my natural nails are doing fairly well after four weeks of freedom from acrylics. They are not in great shape and I’d love to have a manicure, but I don’t seem to be destroying them. The nail atrophy that I expected was nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. The nails are flimsy and rough but seem to be holding up against normal wear and tear and many, many hand-washings. Even more surprisingly, I don’t think I’m biting them. I smooth the edges each day with a manicure block because they do seem to fray a bit, which also seems to help.

Maybe that the reality of fake is that I don’t need the fake after all!

What is the most fake thing about you? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a real day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

PS: EXCITING ANNOUNCEMENT! My latest book, Random (A)Musings will be released on Amazon.com on Tuesday, June 2, 2020. Please look for it and consider buying a copy… or several dozen! The book will be available in paperback and kindle editions.

Wild And Un-Woolly

Well, it has finally happened. There was an alligator in my backyard.

Yes, after more than five years of living in Florida, we saw an alligator meandering around the green belt behind the houses on our street. He was a reptile on a mission, although a slow-moving one. Luckily, his mission seemed to be taking him in a direction away from us.

Let me back up and remind you of the little bit of heaven we call home. When I bought my house in this quiet little age-restricted community, the realtor went into raptures about the beautiful location and natural view. Truthfully, that location and view were big selling points for this particular house. I look out my sliding glass door and huge windows into a beautiful, peaceful greenbelt area. It is a conservation zone. Developers will not be constructing any new houses in that area. It is quiet. It is serene.

What I didn’t realize until several years after I purchased the property is that the “greenbelt” is actually a wetland. It was at least a year after I moved in that I realized there was WATER down the grassy, forested slope from us. The epiphany that there was a body of water about 20 feet from my house dismayed me for a little while. People say that, if there is a glass of water anywhere in the state of Florida, there will be an alligator trying to get into it.

When my mother moved to Florida, she insisted that I find her a home that was not on the water because she did not want to share her property with the alligators. I thought she was being a little unreasonable because we live in a place called LAKE County. There are over 1000 lakes in Lake County, which cover over 200 square miles of water. Finding a place to live far away from the water is sort of geographically impossible. I did find her a place that didn’t back up directly on water, so that was a win in my book. I didn’t take the alligator thing very seriously, though. All in all, my #1 strategy for living in Florida is to try not to think about alligators.

We had a guy do some work on the soffits in our house. This was after the great snake chase ( http://www.terrilabonte.com/2016/07/the-great-snake-chase/) and I was kind of paranoid about wild things entering my home. I was thinking about small wild things like snakes and squirrels. Obviously, an alligator could not get into my house through the soffits. Or could it? The soffit guy mentioned that he heard a big bull alligator bellowing while he was on the ladder screening up our gaps. I, for no reason other than abject denial, decided it must be bullfrogs he was hearing. I validated this opinion based on Google, which told me that mating season for alligators was over, and on some random wildlife page that said an alligator sounds like a motorcycle starting. The noise in the backyard did not sound like a motorcycle. More like the foghorn on the Titanic. Return to strategy #1 for living in Florida…. Try not to think about alligators.

As I lived in Florida longer, I started to get a little more comfortable. The only place I ever saw an alligator in the wild was on the grounds of the Kennedy Space Center, of all places. It was becoming easier to employ strategy #1 for living in Florida. Still, I had friends who kept insisting that alligators are commonplace in Florida communities. They recounted their alligator sightings on golf courses and local ponds. One friend seems to spend a lot of her time in the passenger side of a car keeping her eyes peeled firmly on the surface of any body of water, fascinated by the prospect that she might see an alligator. Sometimes, she does. Me? Strategy #1 for living in Florida… Try not to think about alligators.

Once I got on Facebook, I saw photos of alligators wandering in my subdivision. At first, I thought some of the folks who posted these pictures might be trying to pull my alligator-ignoring leg. Then, there was a video of a whole batch of my neighbors herding a small alligator from one pond to another. Apparently, he was too young to challenge the male alpha-alligator for breeding rights and too old to be tolerated as a juvenile by said alpha-alligator. Papa Gator apparently ran him out of the breeding pond. Junior was looking for new digs, aiding by my neighbors.

Despite my strategy #1 for living in Florida.. Try not to think about alligators…. I think I always knew, deep down, that there were alligators out there. Because I live on the wetlands (which looks suspiciously like an everglade environment to me), I really did believe that someday I would see an alligator in my backyard. The only thing that really surprised me was that it took as long as it did. Well, one more thing really surprised me. This guy was huge! I figured the day would come when I’d see an alligator, but I thought it would be one of those 3-5-foot models. Oh no, this guy was super-sized. He had to be at least eight feet long.

Max was standing out in the Florida room, looking out our windows. He called to me and asked if I could identify a large dense-looking dark patch of matter about 25 yards from our back door. We thought it might be a fallen tree or large turtle (strategy #1 for living in Florida… try not to think about alligators.) I almost had him convinced it was a log. Then, the log lifted its head, opened its mouth, and meandered a few feet up the slope towards the house next to us. Ghastly Gussie the Gator was on the move. We watched, pretty aghast ourselves, as he ambulated a few feet north, stopped to rest for a few moments, then progressed a few more feet before pausing again. He continued in this manner for some time.

I called the phone number Google told me to call for “nuisance” alligators. I wasn’t sure Ghastly Gussie was really a nuisance, to be fair. Sure, I saw him as being in my backyard. I’m certain the alligator thought I was in his backyard. He wasn’t really threatening anyone, although I was certainly relieved that he was “non-threatening” further away from me as time passed. My Google research advised me that the alligator wranglers would likely not “relocate” Ghastly Gussie. At least, they wouldn’t relocate him alive. Apparently, alligators are very territorial and will keep returning to “their” place repeatedly, despite human attempts to change their venues. Still, Gussie was a pretty big guy and I thought, given that he seemed to be getting closer to peoples’ back doors as he headed north along the water line, there might be some danger to people and pets. Anyway, when I finally called the alligator wranglers to get their advice, I only reached voice mail. The voice mail gave me another phone number to call if there was an immediate threat. The message listed the criteria for declaring an alligator an immediate threat. Some of the criteria were finding an alligator in your garage, finding an alligator under your car, and finding an alligator attached to your leg. None of the criteria for immediate threat applied, so I left a message. I also posted a picture and a warning on our neighborhood Facebook page so people could exercise a little extraordinary care.

Eventually, Gussie disappeared from my view. I started trying to re-engage with my strategy #1 for living in Florida… Try not to think about alligators. It was a little harder to force my brain into that frame than usual. However, the experience wasn’t all bad. At least Ghastly Gussie practiced proper social distancing!

What is the strangest thing you’ve ever seen in your backyard? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a wild and un-woolly day! But stay safe!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Random Observations From Quarantine

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

At some point, my hair’s ability to grow wider, wavier, and wilder exceeds my ability to wield a flat iron. I reached that point a couple of weeks ago. Now, not only do I have a gray streak running down the center of my head at the roots, I am also sporting a hair style reminiscent of a terrifying Bozo The Clown.

It’s okay that I can’t flatten my hair because the flatter my hair is, the more obvious the gray stripe running down my roots is.

I don’t recommend watching a Zombieland flick when you are sheltering-in-place to avoid contagion. We just watched Zombieland Double Tap the other night. A movie about the brain-eating “survivors” in a world decimated by a mutant virus probably wasn’t the best choice. Maybe a little too close to home right now. What’s worse is that I found it laugh-out-loud funny at some points. I felt really crummy about that. My soul is dark and evil.

Going to the grocery store is now like foraging. I play hunter and gatherer for myself and several immune-compromised friends. It is interesting that it is difficult to buy milk, eggs, meat, peanut butter, canned soups, and other protein sources, but there is no shortage of potato chips, ice cream, candy, and cookies on the supermarket shelves. I should be fine.

If my work colleagues who tried so hard to shove me into the 21^st century of technology and distance learning could see me now, they would be laughing hysterically. I was using paper and pen long after every rational person opted for word processing programs. Now, I’m experimenting with conference calls and zoom.com like I invented the whole idea.

It is helpful to keep a handwritten food diary when in isolation. You’ll probably stop eating when the writer’s cramp gets bad enough. No guarantees, though. For people who are hoarding food as if we were awaiting the zombie apocalypse (ooops… there’s that zombie thing again), we certainly are consuming it like there is no tomorrow.

My bedroom floor will never be uncluttered again. I often have bags and boxes of things I need for my various organizations arranged carefully on the bedroom floor. Typically, by May, all my pending projects for these organizations are completed and I regain the real estate in my boudoir. This year, however, all bets are off. I prepared for several large interactive presentations for my church groups before we went under house arrest, including buying supplies and equipment. I thought that stuff would be off the floor of my bedroom by now. These presentations don’t lend themselves to the virtual environment. I have an interesting collection of paper goods, decorations, pamphlets, outlines, art supplies, and bed sheets stacked against the wall of my room. Looks like those things, like me, are not going anywhere for a while.

I wonder if my fingers will ever recover from the pruney wrinkles caused by excessive handwashing. It may require plastic surgery. When I was a little girl, I remember my frustrated mother’s response to misbehavior. She’d say, “go take a bath and don’t come out until you are pruney.” I wonder what I did bad this time.

It’s okay to be sad about “selfish” stuff. Over the past few weeks, many people have had to cancel huge, once-in-a-lifetime celebrations. Graduations, weddings, funeral services, high school reunions, and many other similar events have been postponed or cancelled. People feel bad about feeling bad because they know that, compared to worldwide death and disease, their events are not that big a deal. It is a big deal, though, and I feel for those people. I encourage them to mourn those disappointments. I, fortunately, have not had to deal with anything like that. There have been several “next tier” kind of cancellations that have hit me, though. My planned vacation to New York City to see both Hamilton and Come From Away on Broadway is not happening. I miss my weekly trips to Disney and other fun places. I think I am saddest about missing my annual retreat to Discovery Cove. I’m sure I’ll reschedule, but, with the wackadoodle Florida weather, the ideal window of opportunity for this excursion is limited. I think it is okay to mourn these things, as long as I keep everything in perspective.

I think I may have discovered the antidote for quarantined-induced frumpiness. Two words. Video conference.

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

Have a healthy day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Keeping Up Appearances. Or Not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m pretty sure she is in quarantine.

What is left of my fingernails…. heavy sigh

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

Have a frump-free day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

The Lentiest Lent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Resurrection!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Pixie Locks

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a sparkly day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

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

Social Distancing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a healthy day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Going Viral

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terri/Dorry

Bun On The Run

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a hippity hoppity day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂