A year ago I remember thinking that the hardship would go away with 2007 and 2008 would be easy sailing. I couldn't have been more wrong. Rather than bore you with the details here, I'll refer you back to my posts of January 1, 2008: here and here.
This year has been challenging, difficult, rewarding, and unnerving. I've packed and moved, had a Last Supper with scores of Tucson friends, driven cross-country with only my cat and XMRadio for company, begun a job where I frequently feel I don't fit in, begun a daily 120-mile round trip commute, short-sold both my houses in Tucson at an out-of-pocket cost of $70K, made offers on three Youngstown houses, driven to Asheville for my mother's 95th birthday party, enjoyed my annual Broadway weekend with PianoLady, had a handful of forgettable dates, and enjoyed daily hugs and kisses from my darling grandchildren.
Next week I'll close on my new house and begin again the process of settling and making a home for myself, alone. It's scary. It's exciting. It's daunting.
May 2009 be better than 2008.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Surf and Sand
I am in heaven on earth for the first time in nine years. In 1989, John and I bought our two weeks at Marriott's Harbour Club timeshare on Hilton Head Island, SC. Since then, it has been one of my favorite places in the U.S. John and I spent many delightful weeks here, and I was happy to introduce the area to Tyler and Jaci nine years ago.
This week I am introducing it to my grandbabes. Boston saw the Pacific Ocean about five years ago when his parents took him from Tucson to San Diego. But he has no memory of that visit, so this visit is, effectively, the first ocean vacation for both Boston and Ridley.
We arrived late Sunday night. Monday, after breakfast, Tyler and I took the babes for their first walk on the beach. They rolled up their jeans, slipped off their shoes, and dug their toes in the sand. To watch their bodies race across the sand and see the expressions on their faces was an experience I'll probably never forget.
Ridley ran down the beach at the edge of the water, arms spread wide, with her smile possessing her face. I think the best descriptor is Sheer Glee.
Boston walked deeper and deeper into the water until his jeans were three-quarters wet. I think if he had fallen down, he would have stood up giggling.
This morning after breakfast, we ran into CVS to get pails and buckets. Once the outside temperature reached the upper 60s, we headed for the beach. Tyler and the babes built sand castles and the babes ran back and forth to the water. The water was a little cold for Boston, and I had to promise to bring him and his sister back next year when it's warmer.
This vacation has been everything I've hoped for since we began the planning six months ago.
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Evolution of Relationships
Tyler and I drove from Youngstown to Hilton Head Island yesterday. The babes were happily and quietly settled in the back seat, content with their dual-screen DVD player. I believe it was a six-video trip. Boston was thrilled to have been allowed to watch that many movies, back-to-back.
That long a drive yields a lot of time for thinking. As usual, my thoughts wandered to relationships and my lack of a significant relationship in my life.
I wonder if this is what we come to in our 50s and 60s. It seems to me that all the good men are being held by their women. The only available men are widowers, those never-marrieds that we're afraid of, and the divorced men who, for some reason, just cannot find the right woman. Oh yeah, and the Jacques Arses who, by some twist of fate, just don't understand how to be a good man.
I have a handful of male friends whom I adore. The Gardener, the Traveler, the Professor—these are all men with whom I share the most wonderful, if platonic, relationships. Sometimes I wish it were more, but it is what it is.
And I wonder if that's the ultimate state for second-half-of-life: lots of friends whom you hold in the highest esteem, and a house of your own that holds no arguments over who's going to do the dishes.
Still, it sounds lonely to me.
That long a drive yields a lot of time for thinking. As usual, my thoughts wandered to relationships and my lack of a significant relationship in my life.
I wonder if this is what we come to in our 50s and 60s. It seems to me that all the good men are being held by their women. The only available men are widowers, those never-marrieds that we're afraid of, and the divorced men who, for some reason, just cannot find the right woman. Oh yeah, and the Jacques Arses who, by some twist of fate, just don't understand how to be a good man.
I have a handful of male friends whom I adore. The Gardener, the Traveler, the Professor—these are all men with whom I share the most wonderful, if platonic, relationships. Sometimes I wish it were more, but it is what it is.
And I wonder if that's the ultimate state for second-half-of-life: lots of friends whom you hold in the highest esteem, and a house of your own that holds no arguments over who's going to do the dishes.
Still, it sounds lonely to me.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Community
Oprah's quote for today is from Terry Tempest Williams:
I believe that bloggers are creating the 21st Century community by our regular use of the Internet as our gathering place to express, through our written words, our hopes, dreams, fears, and beliefs.
In the Youngstown blogosphere, local writers—with a heart for what was and what can be—are railing against those who would tear down what remains and leave us with nothing. These writers encourage and praise and admonish and seek to bring out the best in the community leaders and those who would be community leaders. The writers seek, and are striving for, renaissance.
Ms. Williams, who writes about and lives in the American Southwest, notes that change takes time. I believe that the dedication of the Mahoning Valley activists will bring the area back, not to its former glory, but to a greater glory that will nurture generations to come. I'm nearing 60 years of age; I don't necessarily believe it will happen in my lifetime. But I believe with all my heart that it will happen.
With that statement as preface, my question for you today is this: why do you read blogs? And what should be your response to what you're reading?
I become disturbed when I read blogs, especially the community blogs in the Vindicator, where readers feel compelled to express their opinions about what was written, and to attack each other's words. (Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm the most non-confrontational person in the universe.) I don't mind a healthy exchange of ideas, including disagreement, but it upsets me greatly when people put on their helmets and pick up their verbal swords and call each other names.
The wonderful thing about reading a blog is your ability to close the browser page. If you don't like what you're reading, don't read it. Close your browser. Go do something else. Start your own blog to express your opinions! But don't attack, don't be ugly. What is the point of writing the author and making snarky comments and digs about her writing?
Does treating a writer in an antisocial manner make you feel better? If so, there's something wrong with you. Go volunteer at a homeless shelter. You'll see how good your life really is. Go tutor a child (or an adult) who is having difficulty reading. Be grateful your first grade teacher taught you to read. Go take out your anger by planting a tree or repairing a damaged building or painting a wall.
I have told my children countless times that I will consider my life to have been a success if someone stands up at my memorial service and says, simply, "She was kind."
Life is too short to fill it with ugly words and deeds.
I have inherited a belief in community, the promise that a gathering of the spirit can both create and change culture. In the desert, change is nurtured even in stone by wind, by water, through time.
I believe that bloggers are creating the 21st Century community by our regular use of the Internet as our gathering place to express, through our written words, our hopes, dreams, fears, and beliefs.
In the Youngstown blogosphere, local writers—with a heart for what was and what can be—are railing against those who would tear down what remains and leave us with nothing. These writers encourage and praise and admonish and seek to bring out the best in the community leaders and those who would be community leaders. The writers seek, and are striving for, renaissance.
Ms. Williams, who writes about and lives in the American Southwest, notes that change takes time. I believe that the dedication of the Mahoning Valley activists will bring the area back, not to its former glory, but to a greater glory that will nurture generations to come. I'm nearing 60 years of age; I don't necessarily believe it will happen in my lifetime. But I believe with all my heart that it will happen.
With that statement as preface, my question for you today is this: why do you read blogs? And what should be your response to what you're reading?
I become disturbed when I read blogs, especially the community blogs in the Vindicator, where readers feel compelled to express their opinions about what was written, and to attack each other's words. (Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm the most non-confrontational person in the universe.) I don't mind a healthy exchange of ideas, including disagreement, but it upsets me greatly when people put on their helmets and pick up their verbal swords and call each other names.
The wonderful thing about reading a blog is your ability to close the browser page. If you don't like what you're reading, don't read it. Close your browser. Go do something else. Start your own blog to express your opinions! But don't attack, don't be ugly. What is the point of writing the author and making snarky comments and digs about her writing?
Does treating a writer in an antisocial manner make you feel better? If so, there's something wrong with you. Go volunteer at a homeless shelter. You'll see how good your life really is. Go tutor a child (or an adult) who is having difficulty reading. Be grateful your first grade teacher taught you to read. Go take out your anger by planting a tree or repairing a damaged building or painting a wall.
I have told my children countless times that I will consider my life to have been a success if someone stands up at my memorial service and says, simply, "She was kind."
Life is too short to fill it with ugly words and deeds.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Ho, Ho, Ouch!
How did you spend your Christmas Eve day? I was up at 6:30 in order to be at the Acura dealer at 8:00 for service. I have put 37,000 miles on my TL since leaving Tucson on the 22nd of February. It needed some tender loving care.
For the past three days, I would hear a creaking, cranking, knocking noise anytime I tried to adjust the seat, especially if I opened the door with the Driver #2 fob and it tried to adjust to the #2 setting. I asked the service tech about it, and he said something was caught in the track that the electric seat runs along. I asked them to go ahead and remove the seat, hoping against hope that it was my missing gold earring, a gift from John many years ago and lost now for about a month.
When the techs finished with all the work on the car, I asked what they had found. "Oh, a penny."
Would you care to guess how much that penny cost me?
$85.00
Ho, ho, ho.
For the past three days, I would hear a creaking, cranking, knocking noise anytime I tried to adjust the seat, especially if I opened the door with the Driver #2 fob and it tried to adjust to the #2 setting. I asked the service tech about it, and he said something was caught in the track that the electric seat runs along. I asked them to go ahead and remove the seat, hoping against hope that it was my missing gold earring, a gift from John many years ago and lost now for about a month.
When the techs finished with all the work on the car, I asked what they had found. "Oh, a penny."
Would you care to guess how much that penny cost me?
$85.00
Ho, ho, ho.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Magic Gloves
I promised the other day to tell you more about magic gloves. Here's the story:
My work colleague was born with only three fingers on his left hand.
At our company holiday party a week ago, he won a winter gift
basket that included two pairs of "Magic Gloves" - super stretchy one-
size-fits-all black knit gloves. In the office on Monday morning, he
slipped them on and made a fist with his left hand, showing us how
the second and fifth fingers of the glove stood straight up. After we
joked about what it would look like if he had second and fourth
fingers instead of third and fourth, I said, "You know, I can fix
those gloves."
I took the left glove home and ran a seam from the base of the fourth
finger to the cuff, and from the base of the third finger to the base
of the thumb. It took me no more than five minutes.
After he donned the redesigned glove yesterday morning, he wrote me
the nicest thank-you note. He's thirty years old, and this is the
first time in his life he has had a glove that fit his unique hand.
Can you imagine? Can you imagine how much my small effort meant to
him, what a great impact? He tells about being a "fry boy" at a fast
food restaurant for his first job and having to tie the second and
fifth fingers of the rubber glove together to keep them out of the
food preparation.
I felt so honored to be able to give him this small/big gift. I've
been learning to knit, and now I want to try knitting him a custom
glove. This episode of my life just makes me feel good!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all. May your smallest gifts be the most precious.
My work colleague was born with only three fingers on his left hand.
At our company holiday party a week ago, he won a winter gift
basket that included two pairs of "Magic Gloves" - super stretchy one-
size-fits-all black knit gloves. In the office on Monday morning, he
slipped them on and made a fist with his left hand, showing us how
the second and fifth fingers of the glove stood straight up. After we
joked about what it would look like if he had second and fourth
fingers instead of third and fourth, I said, "You know, I can fix
those gloves."
I took the left glove home and ran a seam from the base of the fourth
finger to the cuff, and from the base of the third finger to the base
of the thumb. It took me no more than five minutes.
After he donned the redesigned glove yesterday morning, he wrote me
the nicest thank-you note. He's thirty years old, and this is the
first time in his life he has had a glove that fit his unique hand.
Can you imagine? Can you imagine how much my small effort meant to
him, what a great impact? He tells about being a "fry boy" at a fast
food restaurant for his first job and having to tie the second and
fifth fingers of the rubber glove together to keep them out of the
food preparation.
I felt so honored to be able to give him this small/big gift. I've
been learning to knit, and now I want to try knitting him a custom
glove. This episode of my life just makes me feel good!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all. May your smallest gifts be the most precious.
Thinking about Fear
Bedlam Farm Journal is my morning dose of humanity, and I share with you this morning Jon's writing on the concept of fear, especially as it pertains to current events.
My new house is sixteen days away. I find that my real estate trauma this past summer has instilled in me a fear of real estate. (Domatophobia? Oikophobia? Eicophobia? Orthophobia?) I want this transaction to go well, to be manageable, to not reduce me to sobbing. I want this to be the last house I buy in my life. I want the transaction and the next year of settling into the house to be devoid of nasty surprises (like Jaci having to call the furnace man yesterday and say, "The house is toasty warm and cozy. What's wrong?") I want no financial surprises, and I want to take my time deciding how to transform this house into a bricks-and-mortar reflection of me. (If you haven't seen the pics and would like to, send me an e-mail and I'll share the link with you.)
Drawing on Jon's morning words, the closing on the 9th and the next year should be just a passage through which I walk to attain the home-for-the-rest-of-my-life.
My new house is sixteen days away. I find that my real estate trauma this past summer has instilled in me a fear of real estate. (Domatophobia? Oikophobia? Eicophobia? Orthophobia?) I want this transaction to go well, to be manageable, to not reduce me to sobbing. I want this to be the last house I buy in my life. I want the transaction and the next year of settling into the house to be devoid of nasty surprises (like Jaci having to call the furnace man yesterday and say, "The house is toasty warm and cozy. What's wrong?") I want no financial surprises, and I want to take my time deciding how to transform this house into a bricks-and-mortar reflection of me. (If you haven't seen the pics and would like to, send me an e-mail and I'll share the link with you.)
Drawing on Jon's morning words, the closing on the 9th and the next year should be just a passage through which I walk to attain the home-for-the-rest-of-my-life.
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