retirement lifestyle blog – Page 30 – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement

Graceful

I am an extraordinarily klutzy individual. It started when I was a tiny child. I expect that I fell on my head a lot as a toddler. I have a report card from the end of my year in kindergarten that says, “Dorothea should work on her fine muscle coordination over the summer.” I think that is teacher-speak for “Teach this hot mess of a child how to walk without injuring herself or any other unfortunate child who happens to be in her wake.”

I also took dance lessons when I was in kindergarten. After kindergarten, we moved from New York to California. Although I begged to continue dance lessons in California, my parents refused. I was very disappointed, but I think my parents just saw the writing on the wall.

When I was about seven, I broke my right arm, in another predictable demonstration of my clumsiness. I was trying to swing from one jungle gym bar to another. I apparently did not understand that there should never be a time when both one’s hands are off both bars. As far as anyone knew up to that time, I was right-handed. The broken right arm required a cast and I could not use my supposedly preferred hand for some six weeks. I managed pretty well. As uncoordinated as I was when I had the use of both arms, the bar was set pretty low. I don’t think it surprised anyone that I struggled doing tasks with my left hand as much as I did with my right.

It was when the cast came off that we were all in for a surprise. I was actually less adept at tasks using my right hand than I had been when I was forced to use my left. My mother was very alarmed. Let’s face it; there wasn’t much wiggle room in my manual dexterity to begin with. Several visits to various medical specialists later, the consensus of opinion was that I had probably been born left-handed. I had just adapted to a right-handed world because no one knew any better. I guess this is a more common phenomenon than most people realize. Many people become ambidextrous as a result. In my case, I became ambiklutzious. I could find a way to fall, drop things, twist myself into awkward angles, tangle my legs together, and sprain my own wrists equally well using either hemisphere of my brain.

I never grew out of my dexterity challenges. In junior high school, I actually had a pair of tennis shoes embroidered with the words “right” and “left” on them so I could keep my feet straight. The only class I ever came close to failing in my life was Home Ec. Sewing was completely beyond my confused and uncoordinated central nervous system. The art of positioning fabric, laying out a pattern, cutting material, and assembling pieces of cloth was way beyond my ability to cope. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say my problem bordered on a learning disability. When the teacher told us to make a gathered skirt, I was as horrified as if she asked me to construct a nuclear bomb.

When I was training to be a midlevel manager, I had to attend a class that involved spending a day at a ropes course. I am not particularly afraid of heights. However, as a person who regularly trips over lint, I was a little apprehensive about making a fool of myself due to my tendency to pratfall. I managed to get through the first couple of exercises without hurting anyone. Just as I was beginning to think I might make it through the day without incident, my group headed over to the zipline. I’ve always been intrigued by the idea of trying a zipline. I was kind of excited to give it a whirl. Since the point of the whole thing is to fall off a little tower and plummet towards the ground, I thought I might be pretty good at it. I wasn’t afraid.

I should have been. I ended up being the class injury. I screamed as I stepped off the platform. The instructors thought I was screaming from excitement or fear or just because people tend to scream automatically when shooting through the sky. Actually, I was screaming because I was in pain. Somehow, I had managed to come close to dislocating my shoulder. The good news is that the ropes course was right across the street from a hospital. Somebody knew I was coming. I ended up on painkillers, with a huge, nasty, multi-colored bruise that covered most of my back for the next several weeks.

I met Max at a dance. All I can say is that it is a good thing he was drinking at the time. We might not have made a life together otherwise. If he had been completely sober, I am sure he would have taken one look at my graceless dance moves and decided that dating me would be hazardous to his health.

I may be the only woman in Florida who does not wear flip-flops. I gave them up years ago. Max calls them my “fall down” shoes because…. you guessed…. I fall down when I wear them. I love the look of flip-flops, but I have tripped over the front of them and fallen off the back of them more times than I care to admit. I am not talking about stumbling, either. I am talking about full-on, hazardous, land-in-a-prone-position kind of falling down.

Recently, I hit a new nadir in my clumsiness. I was blow-drying my hair and walloped myself in the head with the hairdryer. I actually saw stars and raised a lump the size of a sugar cube on the back of my head. I thought my hair and I had come to an understanding, but I guess it was just lying in wait before forming an alliance with the hairdryer to try to take me out. It almost worked. I did not straighten my hair that day.

As I sat at the kitchen table holding a bag of frozen peas to my scalp, I felt a bit woebegone and sorry for myself. Why do I have to be so klutzy and graceless? Don’t I have enough unattractive qualities without being an accident constantly waiting to happen?

Then, I looked out the window at the view in my backyard. The sun dappled through the large oak trees. Two squirrels were chasing each other along a branch. I could hear sandhill cranes yodeling. I saw the blooms on the bushes out in the wetlands behind the house. I noticed there was a sound roof over my head and a refrigerator filled with food. As I looked around the living room, I saw the beautiful picture of my book cover signed by my wonderful, supportive friends. Max wandered in and kissed the sugar cube on my head to make it well. When I looked up at him, I noticed a Bible verse I have on the wall from Psalm 84:1- How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord almighty!

Never mind about the clumsiness. It doesn’t matter. I have a more excellent kind of grace!

Are you graceful? How can you tell? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

I hope you find some grace today!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

REMEMBER: You can order your copy of Changing My Mind: Reinventing Myself In Retirement by visiting: https://secure.mybookorders.com/orderpage/2076

Growing Grown-Ups

This past Mother’s Day was my first without my mother in my life. I think I’ve been pretty healthy in mourning my mother, but Mother’s Day was more wrenching than I expected. I felt a bit lonely and lost.

When I’m feeling down, it frequently helps to focus my attention outwards. Rather than spending the day grieving the loss of the best mom in the world, I decided to celebrate some of my friends who are mothers. I decided to consider what attributes have made them successful growers of great human beings.

I want to tell you about my three friends- Sunny, River, and Star. These are not their real names, but they are definitely real mothers and I definitely really admire them.

Sunny is still on the front lines of mothering. She is our church rector’s wife. This means that she not only has to cope with the normal challenges of parenthood, but she also has the added pressure of doing her mothering in a pretty public way. She is the mother of five boys and one little girl. She also serves as a stand-in mother for her teenage niece who lives with her brood. Her oldest son is 20. Her little girl, our parish’s princess, is 3. I don’t know Sunny well, but I have been observing her with her children on a regular basis for a couple of years now. It may be presumptuous of me to comment on her mothering skills, but I am so impressed that I just can’t help myself. Luke 6:44 says, “For every tree is known by his own fruit.” Presuming that is the case, I know that Sunny is a first-class grower of grown-ups.

Sunny’s eldest son started his own business while still in school. In addition to growing the business, he writes a blog and is graduating early with his degree. He is also planning to marry in the next few weeks. While most people would think that 20 is very young to get married, this young man seems to be doing everything right to put himself and his bride-to-be in the best place possible to succeed as life partners. The other children are also very accomplished. Two play musical instruments beautifully. Two others sing in the children’s choir. They look after each other, keeping a special close eye on their little sister who is a tornado of energy and potential. They are all respectful, well-behaved, and helpful to others. The thing that really strikes me, though, is that they are not just “good kids.” They seem poised and relaxed and confident. They are secure in the knowledge that they are loved… by God and by their parents. Sunny exudes that love. She is warm and cuddly and wise in dealing with her children. She is bemused but delighted by the notion that she may well become a grandmother while still raising a preschooler. It couldn’t happen to a more qualified woman.

My friend River has two daughters. River is the most free-spirited and independent of my friends. She is strong, creative, ambitious, and charismatic. She has excellent vision and perspective. Life is her personal adventure. River’s younger daughter is sixteen and has big dreams. This child knows what she wants. It never occurs to her to think that anything is beyond her reach. River’s older daughter struck out confidently away from her parents’ home when she went to college. That daughter recently completed her Master’s degree in Accounting. She now lives half a world away from her mother. Still, River remains connected to her child by an infinite kite string that soars as high as her daughter flies. River cultivates strength and independence in her children by offering a form of support that is an encouragement and not a crutch. Her girls know there is a safety net beneath them to catch them if they fall, but they are confident enough to believe they will never need it.

Recently, I had the pleasure of spending a weekend with River and her older daughter. River’s daughter drove four hours each way to come spend the weekend with her mother and me. “Spending the weekend” entailed driving us all over central Texas like honored diplomats. Not only is this young woman strong and smart, she is generous with her time and ability. Another thing I noticed about her is that she understands that what you do is sometimes much bigger than what you do. For instance, she works full time in the accounting field, but is branching out to coach cheerleading on the side. She loves cheerleading and enjoys being connected to the sport. Her excitement about this new endeavor exploded out of her when she told us about her plans. As she talked, I realized that the joy was about more than just the sport. River’s daughter knows that she is doing more than just coaching cheerleading. She is using her creativity to infuse children with a passion for teamwork, fitness, leadership, and positivity.

I’ve been watching my friend Star mother her two children for over 35 years, since her oldest child was a year old. Star is kind, smart, and beautiful. She lives her life with complete integrity. She is unfailingly true to her core values and to the enormous amount of love she holds in her heart for the people who are close to her. In fact, I often call Star the perfect person. I have seen her tired and overwhelmed and low on patience, but I have never seen her without love.

Star’s children are successful and positive. They are optimistic about life and excited about what they can make of their futures. They understand that life is not always happy and they can weather disappointments because they believe that good things await. They believe this because they learned from their mother that, no matter what mistakes or misfortunes they tripped over, their mother would understand. She wouldn’t necessarily approve and she would try to teach them how to make better choices in the future, but she would always love them.

Star’s children are polite, personable, and insightful. They have good judgment and good hearts. They have a curiosity and care for other people that goes beyond just good manners. Star’s oldest child has two small children of her own now. Star delights in her grandmotherhood, recrafting her nurturing skills to support her daughter’s own wonderful way of being a great grower of grown-ups.

My friends Sunny, River, and Star are very different. They live in different states. They do not know each other. I am sure they each make different parenting choices. Yet, they are all great mothers. I think it may be precisely because they are different that they have been so successful as mothers. Each one of these women has brought the best of who she is to the life’s work of growing grown-ups. They have instinctively recognized the uniquely beautiful qualities God gave them and sowed the seeds of those qualities in the children they raise. They trusted that vigilance, hard work, and a super-abundance of love, with God’s help, could nurture and germinate those seeds into high quality human beings. Because they “play to their strengths” in being the kind of mothers they were meant to be, they are able to be the best mothers they can be. They produce the very best harvest imaginable.

Thank you Sunny, River, Star, and all you other uniquely wonderful moms. You do us all a service by cultivating wonderful people.

What qualities do you think it takes to be a great mother? Please

share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a nurturing day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

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Flutterbies

I went on an outing with the community garden club awhile back. Among other things, we went to a natural history museum to visit a butterfly rainforest. It was sensational. The rainforest consisted of a room about the size of a fairly large movie theater. It was filled with beautiful, lush, colorful plants. There were butterfly feeding stations sprinkled throughout the room. Innumerable wisps of gorgeous butterfly bits flitted randomly around the space- color and grace gone wild. The museum’s butterfly whisperer gave a short educational presentation and released a newborn batch of flutterby beauty while we watched.

One of the first things I noticed about the butterfly rainforest was that the air was weighty with delight. Despite the fact that there were a sizable number of visitors in the area, the butterfly rainforest felt peaceful and mesmerizing. Everywhere you looked, there was something gorgeous and enchanting to see. I think butterflies must have some special endorphin that they secrete into the atmosphere because all the visitors stood around with huge, unrestrained grins on their faces. Those butterflies generated joy. Every now and then, a butterfly would light on a visitor. It happened to me once. It was kind of awe-inspiring…. as if the butterfly was God touching me with a tiny glimpse of the miraculous.

As we looked around the rainforest, my friends and I talked about the different butterflies and which ones we liked the best. Initially, all of us settled on a species of large, electric blue butterfly that almost glittered in its flight. The color was so eye-catching and fantastical. As we spent more time in the butterfly sanctuary, though, we started noticing other beautiful specimens. I changed my mind about which I thought was most beautiful. There was one species that was smaller in size and pure white in color. When I looked closely at the wings, I saw that they showcased an intricate, delicate white-on-white pattern. The pattern on the wings looked like the most exquisite handmade artisan lace. But you had to look closely to see it.

Exploring further, we noticed a large species of butterfly with brown wings resting on a plant. Again, looking closely at the wings, we saw a pattern of swirls and dots and curlicues in shades of brown. The wings looked like soft, suedey hand-tooled leather. Again, beautiful craftsmanship, but not necessarily flashy and eye-catching. Then, the brown butterfly spread its wings and took off in flight. We discovered that this “brown” butterfly was actually one of the striking electric blue butterflies. When at rest, with wings folded up, the butterfly appeared to be brown. When the butterfly opened up and showed the other side of its wings, it revealed a spectacular, sparkling surprise.

So here’s what I learned from my day with the flutterbies:

1. The beauty of butterflies can touch you and give you a sense of God’s miraculousness.

2. Sometimes, butterfly beauty is more than flashiness and you have to look closely to find it.

3. No matter what you see on the outside of a butterfly, there may be another whole layer of beauty on the inside.

I guess butterflies are a lot like people.

Have you ever been to a butterfly rainforest? Did you see any similarities between butterflies and people? Please tell us what you learned! Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a fluttery day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Vacationing To Versus Vacationing From

Some time back, I posted a blog piece discussing the concept of vacationing after retirement. You can review it at http://www.terrilabonte.com/tag/vacations/. I asked whether you can still call it a vacation when you no longer have a job from which to vacate. After considering the routine of my post-employment life and the activities I enjoyed on a couple of trips Max and I took after retirement, I concluded that the word “vacation” is still appropriate.

Recently, we visited Williamsburg, Virginia. There is something about the whole vibe of Williamsburg that relaxes me, reduces my physical and mental pace, and delights me. Max and I have been there together three times now. Each time, we have highlighted different sights and experiences. We repeat some activities, but, for the most part, each visit has been different. This time, we experienced a rather impressive number of new adventures.

If I had to put a label on the theme of this trip that made it different from prior visits, I’d probably say that this trip focused on “immersive” experiences.

We went to a reenactment of an actual colonial trial. We’ve done that in the past. This time, though, I volunteered to play the part of the plaintiff. As wild and madcap and uncharacteristic as it was for me to willingly put myself at the center of attention, I actually enjoyed myself. And I did a really good job. Just ask my new agent.

In the colonial city, we also participated in three “nation-builder” talks. Three fantastically smart and incredibly brave historic interpreters channeled George Washington, George Mason, and Thomas Jefferson. These gentlemen spent some time “introducing themselves” to explain who they were and into which specific time period we present day tourists had stumbled. Then, unbelievably, they took questions- any random questions from anyone in the audience (I know because I raised my hand and asked one). It was mindboggling how much these guys knew. What was even more incredible was how deftly they molded the massive quantities of data that must be filed away in their brains into coherent, conversational, and seamless answers to questions they didn’t know the audience would ask. I was in awe.

Not only were these presentations impressive exhibitions of historical prowess, they were damned entertaining. It was more than a mite chizzly in Williamsburg when we were there. The temperatures were in the upper 40s during the nation-building presentations and there was a less-than-gentle “brrrrr…eeze.” We sat in the cold and wind for 45 minutes for each of the talks. We were so mesmerized, we barely felt the blood freeze in our veins.

We ate dinner in one of the colonial taverns for the first time on this trip. We went to Christina Campbell’s, which is a restoration of George Washington’s favorite restaurant in Williamsburg. I say that I have the eating habits of your typical four-year-old. If a four-year-old won’t eat it, I probably won’t either. At Christina Campbell’s, I even pushed the boundaries of my non-adventurous eating. I tried the spoonbread. I didn’t like it, but I got into the spirit of the thing and tried it.

Our “immersive experiences” did not stop at the colonial city. We also visited Busch Gardens. Our main objective for this excursion was to go on two special animal tours. During those tours, we interacted with Clydesdales, border collies, sheep, and wolves. What made the tours even more special was the fact that Max and I were apparently the only two people in the park more interested in animals than roller coasters. On both tours, we were the only two participants. We had private Clydesdale, collie, sheep, and wolf training lessons. I got to pet a Clydesdale, shake hands with a border collie, feed a sheep, and play tetherball with a wolf. It was all pretty terrific, but I have to admit that asking a wolf to jump for her ball and throwing her hot dogs when she did so was over-the-top cool.

This trip really was very different from our other trips. When I think about it, I realize it wasn’t different only because of the activities we enjoyed. The concept of “immersion” went deeper than that. I felt more engaged and connected with the entire experience.

I think my “immersion” experience had to do with the whole work versus retirement thing. When I was working, I looked forward to vacations with almost the same intensity of a dialysis patient waiting for a kidney. The fun of a vacation generated at least as much from what I was escaping as it did from the trip itself. I had to spend a sizeable portion of the vacation bailing work-related stress out of my saturated brain before I could notice the delights of what was actually going on around me during the vacation. Then, there was the period at the end of the vacation when I was reigniting to go back to work. Those periods at the beginning and end of the vacation were not unpleasant. They were helpful and regenerating. It was a personal and professional advantage to take that time to reset my brain. The thing is, though, that it didn’t really matter where I was or what I was doing when engaged in those “decompress and regenerate” cycles. My focus was on the process of resetting my brain, not on the process of experiencing new places, people, and activities. Those new places, people, and activities were really just a backdrop to my own attempts to renew my brain.

Even after I retired, I think I still had the “vacationing from” mentality rather than the “vacationing to” mentality. Taking care of my mother, even before she suffered the stroke, replaced my “regular” job. I didn’t work as many hours at this “new job,” but I invested all my love and energy to create as beautiful an experience as I could for her. In creating that beautiful experience for my mother, I also created one for myself, but doing so required energy and focus. When I went on vacation during the time I was caring for my mother, I had as much need to concentrate on renewing myself as I did when I had a paying job.

I think this trip to Williamsburg might have been my first vacation that was really about the vacation itself. It is kind of ironic that, after grappling with whether a pleasure trip is still a vacation after you retire, I should come to the conclusion that post-work vacations may be more pure vacation than those trips during career life.

Now that I no longer have to focus on renewing my worn-out brain during vacations, I find myself much more able to throw myself into the experience of the vacation itself. A vacation is now an event instead of a respite from events. I can immerse myself in the novelty of the experience. I can participate more fully in the “only on vacation” moments- the activities, the sightseeing, the food, the environment, etc. Everything about the vacation seems somehow more “in focus” than when I took a vacation while I was working. It feels like I was experiencing vacations in 2D when I was still working and now I can perceive the vacation third dimension because the part of my brain that shut down to destress while I vacationed from work is now available to process a richer, more complete experience.

I don’t know whether I would say that vacationing after retirement is “better” or “more fun” than vacationing while one is still working, but it certainly feels different to me.

What do you think? Are vacations different after you retire? What has your experience been? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com. Please also email me if you would like to join the launch party for my book, Changing My Mind: Reinventing Myself In Retirement. There are still lines available for the conference call.

Also, if you would like to get an early copy of the book, you can go to https://secure.mybookorders.com/Orderpage/2076 to order. If you use the promo code terri, you will receive a 15% discount. Those of you who are attending the launch party, either virtually or in real life, may want to wait as I will be offering a larger discount for party participants.

Finally, Happy Mothers’ Day! I’ve been working on a Mothers’ Day post, but it just wasn’t coming together as quickly as I had hoped. I decided I would rather do it just-ice rather than just-in time, so terrilabonte.com will be celebrating Mothers’ Day at some future date. For those of you living in the real world, though…. have a warm, wonderful celebration of motherhood whether your mom is in this world with you or not.

Phew!!!!! Hope I haven’t exhausted any of you. Please try to get some rest today, after reading this marathon!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Hide And Seek

This week, I’ve run away from home. I’ve left behind my day-to-day routine and am bending my reality. I didn’t want you all to think I’d forgotten you, so I figured I’d stop in at the blogsite and say “tag…you’re it!”

Yes, I thought we’d play a game this week. Let’s see if you can figure out where I am. I’ll give you a couple of clues. I spy with my little eye….

A palace
A pillory
A part-Percheron

Where do you think I am wandering? Please take a guess! Everyone who gets it right will win a virtual “prize.” I use the quotation marks purposely. Don’t expect anything of any real value. Let’s not get carried away. This is for just for the fun part of “for fun and profit!”

Where oh where has Terri LaBonte gone? Please share your guess by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have an playful day! I’ll be back next week with news about how you can get in on the Changing My Mind: Reinventing Myself In Retirement book launch celebration!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

I’m baaaaaack! I saw:

Governor's palace me in a pillory two percheron mix horses

Okay, I’ve been working on this for more time than I wanted to invest and have still not been able to get the pictures to stand up straight. Heavy sigh. Anyway, I saw the Governor’s Palace, a pillory, and a pair of Percheron mix horses in Colonial Williamsburg!!!!

Writer’s High

I previously told you that I’ve written a book. I call it Changing My Mind: Reinventing Myself In Retirement. The book is based on this blog, but there is some new information and I’ve structured the content in a new, more effective way. The bottom line is that the book chronicles my observations about navigating the transition from work life to retirement. I poke fun at the comical moments. I vivisect the sad moments. I offer practical tips for thriving during reinvention. I think it will be available for purchase by May 19, 2018. I’ll keep you posted and give you more information when we get closer to launch date.

The reason I am not certain about timetables and purchase sources at this point is that this is all very new to me. I am learning the process as I go through it. The folks at the author services company have been helpful, but there are numerous steps to climb to reach the point where the book will be completed and available for purchase. Each step has its own estimated timeframes, so the total time is going to be highly variable depending on how well each step goes. I am just starting the marketing and distribution piece of this project. The people at the author services company tell me that everything should be done before May 19. Still, I’m not sure I completely believe that. Either I can’t quite conceive that this is really happening after dreaming about it my whole life or I just have trust issues.

I’m not really writing this to educate you on the publishing process. Nor am I writing it to get you revved up to buy a book when they become available (although it would be great if you did get revved up to buy a book when they become available.) I am writing this to report on a momentous milestone.

Throughout the production portion of the book project, I have been making numerous design and stylistic decisions. I’ve also had several rounds of proofreading and editing. I’ve read the typeset version of the book many times and approved the final copy to send to the printer. I’ve worked with the cover designers to select front cover art and produce a compelling back cover. I was incredibly psyched when I signed off on each step. It felt so real and important, somehow. Then the realest and most important thing ever happened. I received the first actual copy of my book to approve for distribution.

When I opened the box and saw my book, I think I discovered a new form of exercise. I wasn’t aware of moving any part of my body, but my physiology sure seemed convinced that I was. I think my pulse rate increased. I immediately felt endorphins explode inside me. I’m sure I was actually burning calories just looking at the book. There is no way that my body was behaving remotely like my usual “at rest” condition. I’m sure I was exceeding the maximum daily allowance of giddiness. My body could barely contain itself. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t concentrate on anything beyond the fact that I was actually holding MY book in my hands!!!. Two weeks later, I am still having a hard time trying to keep my overheated psyche stuffed inside my skin. My excitement and energy just push out from inside me so firmly, my face cracks open into a ragged tear of a grin, even when I don’t know I’m even thinking about it.

Changing My Mind is beautiful. I love it. I hope other people will love it, too. On the other hand, even if no one else loves it, I have to say that I feel something kind of miraculous just knowing that I’ve created this lovely little bit of me. I always say I am an expert at nothing except examining my own navel. The thing is, everyone has a navel and I guess one navel looks very much like another. Hopefully, my navel-gazing musings ring true for other people as well.

So, what do you think? Do I need to just chill out or is this as exciting as I think it is? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a creative day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

The Half-Circle Of Life

My blog post about how my life has been very different than what I imagined in my misspent youth inspired a lot of conversation. I’m glad that so many of you could relate to my observations and commented on them. It made me feel like a less of an oddball. Not that there is anything wrong with being an oddball, but sometimes it is nice to know I am not the only ball rolling around at a different angle than everybody else.

I think most of the conversation generated from my musings about my childless state. Many of you seem to contemplate what your life would have been with children, without children, with more children, or with less children. I guess that is just one of those things about which we all wonder. In general, it doesn’t bother me too much. I think of my lack of children to be part of my overall existence. I don’t know what my existence would have been like if I had children, but I do know it would have been different…. And I’m pretty happy with the life I have.

One aspect of not having children that I think still does bother me has to do with my mother’s death. I wonder if people who are not parents generally grieve differently when they lose a parent. I did some googling to see if I could find any studies or research to suggest that this is an actual “thing,” but came up empty. Still, just because no one ever studied something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Truthfully, just because I may be the only one to feel it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

I’ve talked to some other women about it. I asked women with children and women without children. No one seemed to have experienced what I described. Many offered the perspective that perhaps women with children have a more difficult time with mourning in some ways than women without children. Women with children often have to put the needs of their children over their own need to grieve in their own way. Women with children are often much busier than women without children. Women with children may not be able to spend as much energy on their relationships with their own mothers at the end of life, which may lead to more regrets after the fact. I think all those points are valid and true. I’m not saying women with children grieve in less pain. I’m just saying that the grief may be different.

Being without a next generation myself, I sometimes feel I lost not only my mother, but the entire mother-child dynamic. I’m sure the women who have children often feel a huge change in the shape and balance of the mother-child dynamic when they lose their own mothers, but that dynamic still exists. I remember, very clearly, the day my mother’s mother died. I was six years old. When I came home from school, my mother told me that Nana had died. She sat in the rocking chair my father bought her when I was born. She pulled me into her lap. In the same way as she must have done when I was a baby, she folded me into herself and rocked me as I cried. I remember that rhythmic rocking and the soothing sensation. I also remembered that, on the day my grandmother died, my mother and I were crying together for the first time in my young memory. Even at that young age, I could feel the transfer of emotion in that rocking. I could feel her being comforted by comforting me.

When my mother died, I had no daughter to take on my lap and rock. There was no little person to drain off some of my sadness and to remind me that life goes on and motherly love goes on. Even seven months later, it is difficult to face the reality that my mother-child relationship in this world is gone. It is also difficult to face the fact that, when it is my turn to leave this world, there will be no daughter loving me through that transition.

They say that a parent’s death is part of the natural order of things. Of course, that is true. The implication is that one generation passes and another rises. They call it the circle of life. My circle is incomplete though. Instead of a circle, my life is simply a curved line.

I try not too be too sad about that curved line. Even though I don’t have any little circle-makers of my own, I still know that life really does go on and motherly love is forever. And I am lucky to have had it abundantly.

What do you think? Do people without children grieve differently when they lose a parent than people with children? 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 🙂

The Wild Life

A few weeks ago, I was driving down the main artery of my housing subdivision and noticed a flock of spectators standing at the side of the road. They were staring into one of the many large heritage oak trees that grace our community property. I have to say these oaks are pretty impressive, but I don’t think I’ve ever noticed a crowd gathering just to stare at one before. The people must have come from far and wide to view this spectacle, whatever it was, because the crowd included pedestrians and bicyclists. Many stood motionless, cell phones in hand, breathlessly ready to snap photos.

As I approached the band of sightseers, I slowed my car and peered at the tree as I passed. Then I saw what was captivating the crowd. There were three fuzzy, feathery faces peeking from a messy nest in the fork of the tree. These little puffballs with eyes were baby owls. Obviously, a worthy tourist attraction. I made several trips back and forth over the next couple of days. It was pretty easy to tell when the baby owls were making a personal appearance by the throngs of admirers gathered beneath the oak branches. The owlet view never got old. To be honest, I was gurgling and chortling with the best of them every time I drove by and saw… WHO? The young ‘uns, of course!

Once, I saw the mama and daddy owls. I’m not sure if an owl can actually be self-satisfied, but the avian parents sure seemed to be gloating over their breeding prowess. They stared out of the nest, languidly eyeing the fans below. I guess they deserved to exhibit a smidgeon of smugness. Those babies are quite an accomplishment!

Some days, all I saw was the nest. Before I saw the baby owls, I probably would have been excited just to see the nest. Now a collection of twigs and leaves woven into a bird condominium fails to impress me. I crave the whole baby owl experience.

About a week ago, I drove by and noticed that someone had secured an area around the owl-occupied oak tree with yellow police tape. Apparently, the hordes of admiring fans and cell phone paparazzi freaked out the baby owls. In the interest of wildlife conservation, someone decided to give them a little space. Not privacy exactly, because crowds still gather regularly to gape at the nestful of adorableness. Owl baby pictures are splashed all over the covers of Facebook. Still, now the owl aficionados have to maintain a respectful distance from the owl nursery. The cordoned off perimeter is sort of like an ecological restraining order. The owls are able to get their forty winks (and don’t owls just seem like they wink a lot anyway?) without worrying about a crazed birdwatcher committing some manner of nest invasion crime against them.

I like living in a community where yellow police tape means “please don’t disturb the owls” instead of “please don’t disturb the evidence!”

With the coming of the owlets, I guess spring is officially here! What makes spring official for you? Please share your perspective by adding a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Sorry about the early post this week. I have to be out and about early tomorrow morning, so thought I’d post tonight.

Have a hoot of a day! 🙂

Terri/Dorry

In the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t take this picture. A kind soul shared it on Facebook.

Christmas Pancakes

Last December, I went Christmas caroling. In my community, there is an activity group that sings carols and brings holiday cookies to neighbors who are housebound or experiencing some sort of crisis during the festive season. I’ve wanted to join the group since the very first year we moved to Florida, but something got in the way every year. Last year, I finally donned my bedazzled holiday t-shirt and fa-la-la-la-la-ed with the best of them.
The Christmas caroling was a hoot (random owl reference alert- please tune in next week for an explanation of why I have owls on the brain.)

We had about 30 houses on our list of people to serenade. The mission required more tactical coordination than simply gathering and walking door-to-door. To make sure we covered the entire development and visited all our planned neighbors some time before the break of dawn, we divided into three separate groups of eight golf carts. Yes, golf carts. Decorated golf carts. If Santa Claus lived in central Florida and not at the North Pole, he would have 86ed that sleigh years ago and repurposed a golf cart into a holly-jolly jalopy. We had golf carts festooned with wreaths, reindeer ears, jingle bells and Christmas tree lights. Heck, it wasn’t just the golf carts… WE were festooned with wreaths, reindeer ears, jingle bells, and Christmas tree lights. When our golf cart parades set off on their assigned routes, it was quite the holiday spectacle. I think we might end up on one of those television shows on the Discovery Channel about strange and unusual Christmas traditions around the world. You know… Christmas gone wild in the rare and exotic central Florida senior citizen culture.

Not only were we a sight for sore eyes, we were a sound for sore ears. Contributing to the general wackiness of our traveling Christmas concert was the fact that there was no requirement that the singers actually be able to… well…. sing. Let me point out that I tried out for the fourth-grade glee club and was rejected. How bad does a kid have to suck to be banned from the fourth-grade glee club? The experience scarred me for life. I consider it to be one of God’s biggest jokes that I love to sing but have a voice that apparently scares young children… or at least the teachers of young children. I continue to taunt the Jonas E. Salk Elementary School Glee Club by going through life singing whenever I darn well please. I make a joyful noise unto the Lord on a regular basis, but I never have any delusions that I am actually any good at it. The holiday carolers embraced me and my crummy voice into their fold. I am sure I was not the only one in our merry band of carolers who brought joy and enthusiasm to the experience, if not an abundance of musical talent.

As it turned out, our outrageous spectacle and our less-than-fourth-grade-glee-club-worthy vocal ability made no difference at all. We had fun and, more importantly, the people we visited had fun as well. We were pretty good at stirring up the ho-ho-holiday spirit. When we deposited our cookies and finished our caroling, I felt like everybody’s hearts were a little more merry and bright than when we started.

Now, this is a pretty inexpensive activity. It doesn’t require a lot of money to pull off an evening of Christmas caroling. For the price of some cookies, some platters and cellophane, and forty photocopies of the words to a few a Christmas carols, we can make a little Christmas miracle. Sweet volunteers provide cookies, but there is still a small amount of expense for the accoutrements.

Which brings us to the pancakes.

In our community, there is a big pancake breakfast once a month. A group of volunteers does a terrific job of organizing the breakfasts. They prepare food and coordinate supplies. They sell tickets. They have a wonderfully orchestrated master plan for presenting the event, which usually draws 70-120 hungry breakfasters each month. The breakfast group solicits other activity groups in the community to help throughout the year. The group that assists on a given month makes some money to supplement their activity. The assisting group also gets the opportunity to introduce the larger community to their mission and projects. The volunteers from the activity group of the month act as servers and help with setting up the auditorium and cleaning up after the event. Last month, it was our turn to help. We crazy Christmas carolers hauled out the holiday t-shirts and prepared to get our pancake on.

I have never been a waitress in my life. It wasn’t a career I thought I would start in my fifties. Still, I was game. After all, if my lack of singing skill did not disqualify me from being a caroler, surely my lack of waitressing skill wouldn’t disqualify me from helping to serve breakfast to 100 hungry people.

Little did I know. In actuality, the breakfast group lady in charge of us temporary volunteers had her eyes on me. As I mentioned, the breakfast club folks have a tried- and-true, finely-oiled master plan for producing this event. That plan has a lot of rules and contingencies and fine points. I have no doubt it works very well and I tried very hard to follow it, but I still kept making errors. Luckily, the breakfast group lady was there to correct me. Often. In fact, I think I did more things wrong in the two hours I was there than I have in the past two weeks put together.

At first, I felt kind of bad about myself and my serving incompetence. Then, I realized something. Just like singing badly during Christmas caroling, making mistakes in the serving procedure made no difference. The people I served were happy and content. They were having fun. We were laughing and enjoying each other’s company. I even tried using my high school Spanish to communicate…badly… with a couple who just moved to the community from Peru. This motivated another gentleman at the table to start speaking in Hawaiian pidgin English to see what I would do.

At the end of the breakfast, we caroling servers thanked everyone and concluded the event with a Christmas carol. I tell you, there is nothing like a rousing rendition of Jingle Bells to get you in the holiday spirit. In March. Oh well, only eight more months till Christmas!

In the meantime, Marchy Christmas to all and to all a Good Spring!

Have you ever celebrated Christmas when it wasn’t Christmas? Tell us about it! Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

In the meantime, have a very merry in-Christmas!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Presents

I kind of suck at living in the moment. I am much more talented at rerunning the past in my brain and worrying about the future. I realize it would be much healthier to live with the “what is” instead of trying to change the past or control the future, but I just don’t seem to have the skills.

The toxicity of my general approach hit me square in the face during my mother’s illness. I spent so much energy thinking about the “what ifs” in the past and the future, I pretty much went down for the ten-count on a regular basis. Getting up off the mat became more and more difficult as time went on. Not only was I giving myself an emotional concussion, I wasn’t doing my mother any favors either. It is hard to be present and attentive and loving for someone who only has the now when your heart is so unpracticed at living in the moment. I realized pretty quickly that the quagmire I created in my mind out of “if onlys” and “what will I dos” was nearly as debilitating as the actuality of the situation.

I knew I was making things more difficult for myself by dragging my feet through the past as I rushed to the future. I tried very hard to rewire my neurological synapses. I worked at concentrating on the present that was in front of me. Sometimes I was able to redirect my brain and keep it from straying into the unhealthy paths, but I usually failed. It isn’t any big surprise that I fared so poorly. Over fifty years of conditioned brain activity doesn’t change easily, even when one makes a concerted effort to learn a different way. After all, one does not go directly from Drivers’ Ed classes to whooshing around the track in the Indy 500. I was learning the most elementary lessons in the art of living in the present. Yet, I was challenging myself to do so in the most difficult situation of my life. The circumstances pretty much doomed me to failure. I decided to find other contexts in which I might practice my ability to live in the now.

As a result, I decided to make a deliberate effort to live in the present as I explored the idea of joining the Episcopal Church. I thought, if there ever was a situation suited to releasing control and luxuriating in the moment, surely it must be a spiritual journey. I gave myself the gift of not justifying or creating a situation but simply living one. I didn’t force myself to commit or engage. I didn’t obsess about saying or doing something wrong. I took advantage of learning opportunities that occurred organically, without trying to tick off boxes to complete an established process. I observed and learned at my own pace…. My pace and God’s pace for me, I suppose. The whole process was about pace in many ways. It was restful… and beautiful…. not to have to make things happen.

When the time came for the bishop to visit our parish and perform the ceremony to accept me into the Episcopal Church, I was out of town. I was fine with waiting. I felt very peaceful about the whole thing. I was perfectly okay with being received a year or more later the next time the bishop visited the parish, but our parish priest arranged for me to go to a service at the diocesan office. At first, I was a little wistful that I wasn’t going to celebrate the service with the members of the parish community I had come to know, but I firmly and gently redirected my brain to the peace of the present. I know there would have been certain blessings to have had the service with the parish community, but I experienced different blessings by going to the diocese office. My first friends in the church were also away the day of the bishop’s visit to the parish. Because of my delay, I was able to have them as sponsors to present me to the bishop at the diocesan office. We spent the day together and, through this shared experience, became friend-family for one another. I met the staff at the diocese office. They showed me the heart of the greater Episcopal Church beyond the doors of my parish.

Clearly, my decision to let things be and live in the moment as I explored my spiritual path reaped manifold benefits that I might not have appreciated had I not allowed myself to stay in the now. A success in living in the present. It was a small, safe success. But it was still a success and a success is a better foundation for future growth than failure.

The present is a present. Yes, it can be the type of present that you want to regift or return to the store. On the other hand, if we take the time to really appreciate it, the present can be a beautiful surprise we never knew we wanted until we live it.

Have you ever experienced a time when you encountered a special “present” because you were living in the moment that you might not have noticed had you been focusing on the past or the future? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

May you be gifted with a beautiful present today!

Terri/Dorry 😊