Consumerism or Nesting?

I have a relatively new house. Two years old, in fact. I have a new floor in the kitchen because the painter took a chunk out of the old floor when he moved the refrigerator.

I am not from around here. I come from a land of lush lawns resting on a layer of mud and clay. Here, the grass is not lush but scratchy. It also lays on sand and dirt. That sand gets tracked into the house no matter what you do. Since we have a dog and she doesn’t wear shoes, sand is tracked in daily.

The carpets were an upgrade. They were placed on top of upgraded padding. It cost quite a bit extra. The carpets are shot. So I “need” to replace them. Of course, that isn’t exactly true. I want to replace them. I want my house to look and feel like home rather than always seeing a glaring flaw. The carpets are filthy, worn, and bubble in each and every room.

So I am upgrading a second time. I have ceramic tile to be laid in the living room and third bedroom. It will look really nice. I hope. Eventually, the master suite will have a fake wood floor. I don’t want real wood because of the whole sand thing. No matter how clean we try to be, there will be sand dragged in and it will scratch the floors. So why should I set myself up for failure when there are wonderful faux wood floors now.

I also want a patio because of that whole icky grass thing. I have a screened in porch that is wonderful. We can eat out there and it is bug free. However, if I want to be in the sun, I have to be in the grass. See above for why that is not acceptable.

I don’t know how long it will take to get my house exactly right. As soon as I get one piece fixed, the next thing is looking out of place. Will the new floors make me want new furniture? The couch is 12 years old. I know that I want new furniture in the screened in porch so I can put what is currently in there out on the patio. That and the rocking chairs are about 15 years old.

Is this just a way to spend money? Is this trying to make my house a home? A little of both? I have thought about new bedroom furniture. That is 33 years old. Much of our furniture is around 10 – 12 years old because we bought lots of new stuff the last time we moved. That means I didn’t really have to buy a whole bunch of stuff when we moved this time. I have a smaller house this time and was getting rid of stuff rather than buying new. So do I just want new stuff?

Women are supposed to have more invested in their homes than men, but I’m not sure that is completely true. As soon as I mentioned new floor in the living room, the “man room” was added to the list of things-that-need-repaired. Since it is the “man room” I obviously am not in there much.

The landscaping was nice, but not my idea. Is the outside not part of the whole home ambiance? I think we both like spending money, or perhaps we both like feeling happy with our home.

That’s the reason we upgrade.

My First Day of Retirement – Take 3

I used to be a nurse, but I no longer have a valid license in any state. I’ve retired from nursing.

I used to work in a school as a computer teacher/lab administrator, but I left that field two years ago when I moved. I’ve retired from technical jobs.

I used to work as a secretary which is considered to be a disgusting term so I was called an administrative assistant, but I quit. I’ve retired from my clerical position.

I actually quit last week, but I already had a vacation scheduled for Tuesday through Friday so it didn’t feel like I was not going to work because I didn’t have a job to go to, but that I was simply on vacation. Weekends don’t count for not going to work because you aren’t supposed to work on weekends – even though for many years every other weekend was de rigueur.

So yesterday was my first day of retirement – again. Leaving nursing was difficult because I thought that the work was difficult but necessary to the welfare of my fellow humans. I always wanted to be a nurse, but the local hospital was so awful to work in that leaving wasn’t as difficult as it might have been. There was a class action suit being waged in the department in which I worked that made it hellish for everyone working there. I don’t know who actually “won” the case as the litigants were given a monetary payoff but they lost their jobs. All that happened after I left. I hope everyone is now content, but the whole thing was unsavory to me.

Leaving my teaching post was difficult. I thought it was a worthwhile way to spend my life, too. Teaching the next generation is necessary to the culture as well as satisfying in its own right. Watching small people master a task and make the knowledge their own is a great way to spend your days. But we moved and I surrendered another career on the altar of marital bliss.

Then I was a secretary. It’s not a glamorous job. It needs to be done. Calling it something else is supposed to make the secretary feel better about her lot in life. It doesn’t. Doing menial tasks for menial pay is not the way I want to spend the hours of my only life. As in every job, there were issues to deal with – some even important. However, selling my soul to the company wasn’t really a good deal for me. So I retired, again.

My first day – off to water aerobics just like every Monday because that’s what I did just before work anyway and I need to keep fit no matter what. The beauty was that I didn’t have to rush to get to work on time. I didn’t have to bring half my house with me so that I could primp and prepare myself to present myself in a working situation. I exercised, showered, got dressed and – went shopping! I had two stops to make. One was to look at baby shower presents for our niece and the other was to look at possible gifts for an upcoming anniversary. I did that.

Then on home and a leisurely stretch of afternoon. I had another two loads of laundry. I did that. I watched some TiVo’ed shows. I read. I surfed the net. I debated taking a nap. I stayed up and read some more. I made dinner. I wrote my piece for the zine I work on. I played some computer games.

That was it. I don’t know how long it will take me before I am bored with this decision. No decision is permanent because I can always decide differently tomorrow. I can look for another job. I can look for another career. I can go to school and learn something new. I can volunteer in many places. I can decide that my time is not being spent in the way I choose and choose differently. But that is for tomorrow.

Today, I’m going out to lunch.

Honoring the Living

I have just spent the week with my sisters doing many sister things that are not only fun, but funny. We have a rich history full of stories. If one is contemplating mathematics, then life is a story problem. If one is contemplating life, then life is a series of interlocking stories. We had many stories.

However, our stories interlocked without actually meshing. Our memories have colored the stories. Some philosopher said that there is no reality, only perception. I believe he may have been on to something there. Our memories are colored by our own retelling of our stories. And retelling of stories usually leads to the telephone game phenomenon. There is also the possibility that in telling or remembering, we temper the story in a light that makes the teller or rememberer glow in a more flattering aura.

But mostly our stories match. If we go back and forth and try to find the points of agreement, we can paint what may – but only may – be a more accurate picture. There are definite points of agreement in all our stories. There are stories that my sisters have that I don’t even have a faintest glimmer of recollecting. I’m sure that some of my stories are foreign to them as well. Does that make the story unreal or only singular?

We went through many pictures that were developed as slides for the early 1970s. Amazingly enough, many of them were absolutely beautiful. There were gorgeous pictures of flora and fauna as well as landscapes and suns lowering or raising – really difficult to tell which. There were fewer pictures of people. But there were enough pictures that we will have a memory enhancer for later in life.

Our vacation was a testament to our mother for raising daughters who would love, cherish, and wheedle for a chance to get together. Many families fight amongst themselves and we are blessed with a family that knows that we are all we have against the cruel and uncaring world. Our family and families are the saving grace against a heartless and distant universe. That is a lesson that cannot be taught in school, but must be learned through assimilation rather than rote.

We are orphans now. But I still have these parents living in my head and heart. This past week has been a homage to the parents I carry with me. They run through my head whispering that this or that is the right thing to do. They live in my soul reminding me that there is proper and improper way to be in this world. They taught me that my sisters are my roots and the roots of any plant must be as nurtured and cared for as the leaves and flowers.

Even though we spent many hours remembering our dead parents, I believe that we spent our days honoring the living legacy they left behind. Mom and Dad are dead, but Mom and Dad live on through loving daughters, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

How do I Love Thee ... Let Me Count the Ways

There are so many types of love. And amazingly they interweave and create a beautiful tapestry of life. At least if you are lucky they do. I have been lucky. I have been loved and permitted to love many.

It has been almost a year since we lost Mom. She was vibrant and alive one minute, getting ready to meet a friend for lunch, and then she was gone. She was the first love as every mother should be. She taught and listened, counseled and consoled. She didn’t always agree but she always accepted. And she did this without benefit of example since her own mother died when she was nine. I don’t mean to make her out as flawless but she was the best she could be and it was more than just “good enough” for me. I am grateful.

Dad has been dead for over a decade and his loss wasn’t unexpected or sudden. When he stopped being “Dad” and was lost in his own private hell, I was so consumed with the process of disease that I wasn’t as devastated by the loss. That, and I still had Mom. When he finally died, it was a release more than a loss. It still hurt, but not with the raw open-wound type pain as losing Mom. I remember the fishing trips with the most total joy of my childhood. I got to go fishing and camping with Daddy and I loved it and him and was just lost in the sunshine and happiness.

Then there is the love of siblings. I am blessed with two of the bestest sisters in the whole wide world. I am so proud of who they are and what they do with their lives. They have touched the lives of hundreds or thousands with the soft and caring hands of teachers. They have left the world a better place by their presence in it. There is no better epithet. And what they have done for their students is multiplied by a hundredfold when compared to what they have done for their inner circle. I am blessed to be part of that inner circle. They have taught and listened, counseled and consoled. They don’t always agree but they always accept.

I married the most spectacular man 33 years ago this month. He is not tall, dark, and handsome. He is short, tanned, and cute. He is trustworthy and devoted to me and his sons. He has never tried to smother me with dictates. Everything I cook is wonderful. Every outfit I wear is cute. Everything I do is acceptable. He hasn’t tried to change who I am or what I do. He has met me halfway always and three-quarters of the way often. When I was a nurse, that was fine. When I wasn’t a nurse anymore, that was fine. When I wanted to go back to college, that was fine. When I wanted to quit my job, that was fine. I have never had anyone ever, ever be so accepting of me. I don’t think I have been that same person for him – and he doesn’t seem to mind!

I have two sons. They are quite different from each other on the surface. They are very alike underneath. They are both hard-working and responsible. They are both highly intelligent and driven. They both like to read, which is a gift I tried desperately to pass on. They both like the other brother, even though they both said they weren’t going to do that as soon as they could get away. They live within a couple miles of each other by design having moved 750 miles from their birth place to where they are now. They are different in many ways, too. And I am so proud of both of them.

I have two grandchildren and another one on the way. They are delightful. They are reminders of the circle of life. I’m not responsible for the day-to-day stuff so I can just simply love and cuddle, hug and kiss, and play instead of trying to develop sound adults. I simply get to play with the babies. I am permitted to love without having to shoulder the responsibility of parenting. I find this so very different from being the parent. As a parent, one is always wondering if this or that is the correct thing. As a grandparent, I know that this or that isn’t at all important anyway and I can spoil and love without consequence since that is the purpose of grandparenting.

I have many friends that I love and who enrich my life tremendously. I have people in my life that add variation and color to the tapestry. We share and care about each other. We commiserate and celebrate with each other. We have an ongoing journey of interaction that allows us to compliment the strengths and weaknesses we find in each other. We lean on each other – sometimes this is a short range plan and sometimes it lasts decades or a lifetime. How bleak life would be even with the very best of family if there were no friends to add the color and background. The Mona Lisa wouldn’t be as beautiful without the background. Just the lady on a blank canvass would be so much less. The background is as essential as the foreground.

My family is the foreground and my friends are the background and together they make the beautiful picture that is my life. Filled with love and blessed with loving, my life is a joy.

Thanks For Your Support

John Donne said, "No man is an island" and I must agree with him. No woman is either, but back in his day "man" included "woman" because we hadn't gotten insane with the politically correct language yet. But that whole issue is waiting for another time.

I have been blessed with family and friends who are supportive and sympathetic. This is not a given and it is a total gift. Friends and family have told me with sincerity in their voices how much they commend me for my decision to take a chance with change. These dear people have said that I can tolerate change, that I deserve to take the plunge into the unknown, and that I can not only survive, but thrive after all.

It is a bit of heaven to have someone agree with me. To have someone tell me that I am not nuts and am making a valid assessment with the proper resultant course of action is a welcome relief.

Taking a plunge off the deep end means that one can drown. But with all the people in my life rooting for a better outcome, I know that after the big dive I can find my way to the shore again. It is both comforting and reassuring to have my choice validated. When others agree with my assessment, I can find a sense of peace concerning the frightening choices.

Because it is my friends and my family that read this, I want to tell you all in a public place, that I am so grateful for your unwavering help. Your willingness to listen makes a huge difference but not nearly as much as your willingness to support me. You allow me to lean on you when I feel weak and unsure. You offer your insights into my uncertainty and show me why and how I can lessen my agitation. I am anxious with my need for a scary decision and then my wonderful circle of support steps up and lets me draw strength.

I can't thank you enough. I thank you for listening. I thank you for your empathy. I thank you for your support. I thank you for your faith in my own ability to choose well and to survive my choice.

I know that I am very lucky. This past week has been just more proof. You guys are the greatest.

Change - Terrifying Change

I hate change. I am old and set in my ways. I hate to have my life altered in any way. I would elect to stay in the same place, way, time, life forever more.

So, I quit my job. I do believe that I was hired to do one job - for which I am highly qualified and extremely adept - but was expected to do a second job as well - for which I am totally and intrinsically unsuited. I cannot be the type of person to do that second job. I can do the job for which I was being paid. I do it quite well. I cannot do what I was not paid to do, but it made the whole experience untenable.

So I quit. I feel relieved that I don't have to be what I am not. I feel saddened because I actually liked the part of the job I was being paid to perform.

Now I have to decide what to do next. I could call myself retired. I am old enough and financially able to retire. But I have a low tolerance for boredom. I need something to do with my time. I enjoy being productive. I enjoy being a contributing member of society.

I was not a stay-at-home mom. I was not an overly ambitious mom, either. I worked 2-3 days a week and earned enough money to make a difference in our family's financial health. Then I opted to leave a higher paid profession for something new - an entirely uncharacteristic move. I opted to start over while in my 40s. I went back to college and earned a different degree.

I then used that degree to teach other people how to appreciate my area of expertise. I liked that. I especially liked it when whiney high school Chadults or is that Adren? complained that what I was teaching was stupid, useless, and basically unlearnable. Since it was a combined class with first and second level students in the same room I had the chance to listen to the same whiners telling the next session of whiners how it was easy and actually would become useful. Ah, the beauty of education.

Then I took my skill set and moved to smaller people, real children. And it was another learning curve for me. With very small children, wet carpet is always a possibility. When a small person is telling you they are sick while clutching their stomach, it is wise to move back and off to one side because the carpet is in for another kind of hit. But they learn. And when you are there for a few years, you can see the miraculous growth.

But I had to give that up, too. So I tried a different tack. I tried a different way to use what I know. I knew I was selling myself short. I knew that I was not going into a high powered situation. I knew that I was being paid inadequately. I knew that I was being given a chance to learn a bunch of new stuff. I tried.

However, I am not the person for the job. I cannot be that other type of person. That is not who or what I am. I know both my strengths and my weaknesses. I cannot play to my weaknesses and create something fabulous. I can use my strengths to create wonderful things.

So here I am, without a job. Even though it wasn't the world's best job, I hated to give it up because it did serve a purpose and as I said, I hate change.

But ... my reasons are plentiful. My integrity - my desire to be able to be proud of who and what I am - is the underlying reason. I will have to forego another season of comfort on some level in order to achieve comfort at a higher level. It's all a crap shoot. It's all about change. I hate change.

Lists for the AR

I do lists. I like my lists. They help me organize my life and time. They keep me from repeating mistakes and help me make my life seem fuller.

I keep a list of all the books I read or listen to. I read more books than I listen to, but I have to do something while I drive and while I clean and cook. So I listen to books.

I have this wonderful list of every book I’ve read in the past four years and five months. I wish I had started this list sooner. I would love to know every book I’ve read. But thankfully, I have this huge empty space where I can pretend I read all the classics. A classic is a book that everyone wants to have read, but no one wants to read.

Then there are my favorite authors. I have lists of those, too. Because I am AR (anal retentive) I hate to read the books in a series out of order. The library, in a fit of helpfulness, puts them in alphabetical order, so the only chronologically ordered books are by Sue Grafton.

I keep my lists coordinated, checking off the books I’ve read on my author lists to make sure that I can get the next book in the series in the right order. Otherwise, I know things that I’m not supposed to know, and that ruins some of the joy in reading the books.

I know some people who make out grocery lists and will NOT buy anything not on the list. That seems too rigid to me. I make out the list to keep me from forgetting what I think I absolutely must have. But if I think I want green grapes and red grapes are on sale for half the price, then I change my mind. My lists are written in pencil, not carved in stone.

I have lists of passwords because everything online needs a password to access it. I hate that. I have me favorite passwords, of course, and then I have my this-is-just-an-annoyance-password passwords. I enjoy using BugMeNot and not having to create a password. Why do I have to sign up for every stupid thing? I know it is so that every stupid place can email about their fantastic opportunities whereby I can spend money for crap I don’t want. But I delete the spam without reading it anyway. That or I have an email account that I never use for real and just have my signup spam go to that account.

Which means I have more passwords because I have to have a password for the extra email account so that I don’t have to look at all the mail I have to sign up for when I want to access a site that requires a password.

I have lists of what I’ve done. I have lists of what I intend to do. Lists and more lists. They help me with the patterns of my life. They keep me from spinning totally out of control. That’s my reason for keeping lists.