Jumping Into the Unknown

Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay. Thank you.

Wow, is it time for a new post, or what? The last one was over four months ago. But I digress. It's been a long, cold, lonely winter...

But the sun and hope are coming!

It's no secret I'd rather live north of the Mason-Dixon line. Husband is okay wherever. I know, that's hard to believe, but it's the truth. As long as he can play bridge at minimum inconvenience to him, and as long as moving doesn't bankrupt us, he's okay anyplace I am happy. I'm lucky that way.

Decisions have been made. Now we are one step closer, once we both get C-19 vaccinations and boosters.

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay. Thank you.

(Something I sent to someone about me:)

"Permit me a brief reminiscence: We lost a lot when 2008 happened. The company where my husband worked for 30 years went bankrupt (it was coincidental--he wasn't in the financial industry, but in very obscure and mathy tech), our retirement funds shat themselves, and we were living in a high tax state with NO chance of selling our modest home in a neighborhood chock-full of foreclosures. And no income except my husband's unemployment. He was 63 with a PhD from MIT and couldn't even get hired as a greeter at Walmart. I was 57 and later (finally) worked part time at the age of 64 in a field related to my old techy one, for three and a half years. Thank God.

"I know financial pain. We nearly lost it all. I spent a good seven-plus years absolutely terrified, not sleeping, shopping at Aldi, and eating a lot of beans (or not eating--it wasn't fun). But we finally sold the G-D house (after learning how to fix it up so we could sell it--it was hard work) and moved someplace cheaper to lick our wounds. I don't like Kentucky, but it's better than a cardboard box in the Northeastern US in winter. That's the truth.

"Nov. 2008 I got pissed off--anger has always motivated me positively--and I taught myself how to day trade. I didn't make a lot of money at it, but, damn, I felt that I was giving them all the big middle finger. And I had a great time! It also gave me hope. At the last, I didn't lose money, and I only made a small amount of profit. I let it all go. I'd proven something (to myself) and what I did was better than sitting around moping. It gave me back my strength.

"I wish everyone the thrilling experience the of beating the big guys. Because the game is indeed rigged. There is no f'n doubt. I work as I can to change the system these days."

So--what now?

This is what I think will happen sometime in 2021. As COVID-19 and the whole vaccination mishegoss continues to F us all over (but YMMV):

1. We'll get vaccinated.

2. We'll sell the house.

3. We'll move to an apartment somewhere in Massachusetts.

4. We'll buy Massachusetts real estate we can afford (no idea what that might be).

I feel so free today.

Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay. Thank you.

Chaos

 

I'm engrossed in a novel that I would not have ever read--"Patient Zero" by Jonathan Maberry--if it had not been for the strong recommendation of a writerly friend back when we hung out together in New Jersey. He's been gone for a couple of years now. He died suddenly (at 54, I believe) but, in a sense, not unexpectedly, because his lifespan was not going to be long despite his many medical procedures and drugs. He and his wife moved to Florida a few years ago, and he had asked me more than once to come see him (he rarely traveled great distances due to his health). I carry profound regret that I did not go see him when I could. As is often the case with me , when I think of him, I feel I did not appreciate him nearly enough when he was still around, cracking wise and eating french fries, one of his food passions.

(Glenn and Maberry were friends, BTW. Glenn knew an amazing assortment of people.)

Now we are in the midst of a pandemic--STILL--and travel for a lot of us has ground to a halt. But at this time, "Patient Zero" feels oddly appropriate to read. Not necessarily because it concerns a deadly pathogen--a lab-manufactured designer pathogen that, if unleashed, will kill all mammals because it infects in seconds. Yes, seconds. It turns people into what appear to be zombies, although they are not in reality. They are filled with mindless rage, bite everyone they can to infect others, and are damned near impossible to kill. (Maberry's science is surprisingly valid, well-researched, quite inventive--and frightening.)

Sometimes I feel a bit like a zombie, moving through the sameness of my days, and I wonder what the hell happened.

The other major cultural shocks in my life--and perhaps in yours--have been sudden: 9/11. The crash of 2008. For some of us, the assassinations of the Sixties: JFK RFK, MLK Jr. But this pandemic sort of snuck up on us. It's not like the other, sudden events that change lives. (Even if you knew no one affected directly by 9/11, and lived far from NYC, the ripples of that have affected all of us in one way or another via governmental changes.) Like it or not, we live in a post-9/11 world, and its effects have been exacerbated by the increasing acceleration of technology.

The book is set in the post-9/11 world (copyright 2009) and this fact saturates the story. Thinking about it made me ponder what a post-pandemic world might be like.

(Honestly, this all hung together better when I was musing after a much-needed nap.)

Will some of us continue to wear masks for years--maybe the rest of our lives--even after a vaccination becomes available? Assuming a vaccination eventually becomes available? What will our future look like--our stores, our schools, our gathering places? How will we use public transportation safely? How will we sing in choirs? How will we relax in a nice restaurant for, say, 90 minutes, to celebrate a milestone? How will we relax at all?

I have no answers. But the feelings I get reading "Patient Zero" and reading news and opinion pieces about COVID-19 are remarkably similar. Not because of the disease factor, but because of the zeitgeist, for lack of a better word, that suffuses the story.

It wasn't until a few years ago that I fully realized what a tsunami is like. It's not usually a 20 or 40 foot wall of water, but instead a relentless incoming of ocean that builds and builds and builds until buildings, trees, etc., are covered many feet deep.

That's what this pandemic feels like to me--not a sudden shock with far-reaching effects, but a relentless tsunami with insidious waves that eventually cover you.

I'm waiting for them to recede.

COVID-19, Black Lives Matter, and 2020

Well. It's been almost a year since I wrote something on this blog. How's 2020 treatin' ya?

Yeah, I know.

Not long ago, it was winter, and scrambling for a mask was one of the things I was doing, along with figuring out how to get food into the house, where to find hand sanitizer (I finally got some three days ago), and reading everything I could find on COVID-19.

And just when it seemed as if life was under control...

No, it was never under control. You know that. And black people getting killed for doing not one damned thing exploded into chaos and people getting their eyes shot out with rubber bullets and old men getting shoved to the ground by the police for nothing, left on the pavement to twitch and bleed from the head until someone finally called 911.

Someone I know posted the following (paraphrasing because I don't remember the exact words): "I miss the 90s when all this shit wasn't happening every day!"

It's true. I recall thinking that the 90s were boring, when I was living through them.

I'd love to have the boredom and normalcy I experienced 25 years ago back again. Please.

So. 2020 isn't even half over and I've got no idea what I might do to salvage a year where I had planned more travel and seeing family and friends, because after YEARS I finally, finally had the opportunity to do so.

I'll bet you're at a loss, too, over what to do next--maybe how to pay your bills.

So, ho-hum, nothing to do but sit home, stew about sick family, sigh because, with my risk factors, attending a protest would be really dumb, and walk and run in virtual races to raise money, and--

Wait. There's a lot we can do. See the graphic at the top of this blog post. Do what you can. Make noise. Donate. Educate yourself (I'm speaking to whites). Read. Cook. Garden. Love your family. Cherish the time together. Lobby for change. And, oh yeah, vote. Vote them ALL out. And you know which "all" I'm referring to.

Because, when this garbage is over...

Change everything. Make it so. Engage.

Why I Am the Way I Am (Partly)

When I was a teenager, my mother told me two things about sex:

1. Don't do it until you're married.
2. Once you're married, you have to do it.

Hand to God. Her words.

But this blog isn't about what you might think.

When I was 15, she handed me a hardbacked book (I forget the title) and told me to read it for more information about, you know, the dreaded thing called sex.

It was a book about eugenics, meaning Nazi-type breeding for "good genes", only dressed up in "science." It was from the 1930s.

Even at a very inexperienced 15 (we can get into my misconceptions about sex and the male body at another time), I knew this was bullshit.

And her gynecologist gave it to her.

And his last name was GERMAN.

And she was IN LOVE (well, in lust, if my mother ever felt lust) with this guy.

How do I know? She told me. She giggled about him like a schoolgirl, as the saying goes.

Holy shit.

It was only recently I put all these pieces together.

My mother gave me USA-proto-Nazi bullshit to read as a teenager to educate me about sex. Even I could see through it.

She thought it was great stuff. Hawt, even.

I was as appalled as an ignorant rural Sixties teen could be.

I still can't fully wrap my mind around it.

This incident, plus serious emotional abuse at the hands of both my parents, warped my world.

And that's all I'm going to say about my life before the age of 18.

(Seen on the internet in a Thirties eugenics book)

Seen in NY Times: Source, Yale University, Harvey Cushing/John Hay Whitney Medical Library

Better Things

Kitty

So. It's been a while.

Kitty died on March 19. She grew too sick and was in pain. It was hard to let her go. In certain ways, I have not fully grieved her passing. But one thing, other than recent travel alone and friends, has helped.

It's a TV show, and you should give it a try, especially if you're female, have female kids, and are sick of certain societal aspects. "Better Things" airs on Thursdays at 10, FX Network, but if you use the link here, you can watch all the full episodes of Season 3. There might be a link to earlier seasons.

As has become my custom, when my husband is out on Friday afternoons, I pour a glass of wine and watch the show. Season 3, episode 7 ("Toilet"), made me scream with laughter. The one I saw today (episode 10, "Show Me the Magic") made me gasp with amazement and weep for my own losses, most recently, Kitty. Even if you don't enjoy the toilet humor of episode 7, this show is real, y'all. If you watch "Show Me the Magic," you'll recognize the scene that made me gasp when you come to it, late in the show. The scene that triggered my much-sought-after tears followed.

Pamela Adlon, whom I have loved for many years, co-created the show and stars in it. FX describes her character, Sam Fox, as, "a single mother and working actor with no filter, raising her three daughters in Los Angeles. She also looks after her mother, an English expatriate with questionable faculties who lives across the street."

No filter. I love that about Sam, and I certainly can identify, as someone who has practically no filter herself.

You might hate the show. You also might not enjoy all episodes. Some are hard to watch. But it will touch you if you give it a chance, and it only gets better with each season.

If we are fortunate, we go on to better things in life eventually. I'm not sure about after death, but I believe we continue to exist on some plane--some call it "the wider life." If that is true, then Kitty is romping in a field, pain-free, and eating her favorite foods. It is my fondest hope that I will be reunited, somehow, even if only on the molecular level, with the humans and animals I have loved after I die.

The current season of "Better Things" will end soon, because all things do eventually end. Peace out.

Adlon in a funny and slightly disturbing scene from "Better Things"

Blue Skies?

image courtesy of jplenio, pixabay. Licensed by pixabay.

Skies in central Kentucky have been pretty gray and are getting me down. And yet, I feel as if blue skies might finally be showing up. My dental work looks to be at an end until April (praise Jesus), some things in my life now appear under control (not that any of us has anything under control, you understand), and I'm singing again with a renewed interest in the local classical group. Last night's first rehearsal for the April 5 concert went well, and I love the music: Mozart, Bach, Purcell, etc., all the old stuff. (Sight-reading Mozart I don't love quite as much, I admit.) 

But it's been a tough winter. They've all been tough since we moved here, each for different reasons. This year, my winter depression has increased, and I suspect the climate is to blame. I miss the cold but bright days of Massachusetts. Believe it or not, New England is generally sunnier than central KY. I've just about had it with the insufferably constant gray skies. Not having traveled in many months isn't helping, of course. Fond memories of Destin remain.

But all is not terrible. A reason to celebrate always seems nearby. I'm making art with acrylics, which feels wonderful (TG the husband goes away on Fri afternoons so I have some glorious alone time to make art!), I'm working on projects around the house--including planning the 2019 garden--I'm exercising, and friends and church provide an invisible safety net I can feel supporting me when things go badly. Feeling supported is something I relish, because much of my life, I felt little to no support.

Chores that have needed doing for one, two, even three years are slowly being dealt with. Expenses are being tracked and brought under control. Budgets aren't far behind. It's a lot of work, but the work is necessary and pleasing. On top of that, I'm decluttering, I'm cooking good food, I'm volunteering and making a difference, and Kitty seems back on an even keel after a nasty crisis at the end of last week.

All in all, everything is improving. Last fall/the holiday period were rough, with medication problems and other snafus, but as I move further into winter, I can feel the days lengthening. It reminds me that spring isn't too far off, so I need to prepare before the good weather and sunshine catch me by surprise.

My favorite season is certainly not winter, though I enjoy a New England one complete with alternating sunshine and snow (as opposed to rain, rain, rain here in KY). I need sunlight like I need oxygen and hate taking antidepressants because they are simply no substitute for the real thing. At the moment, I can't travel to sunny areas, so the trapped feeling comes and goes. But if we had some real snow followed by some bright sunshine, I'd not feel half as bad. Cross-country skiing...

I cannot wait for the end of February. That's when I'm finally able to phase off the drugs and enjoy the lengthening days. Then, March arrives, and it's time to plant the cold weather crops, and summer is on its way. Life turns up the volume at that point.

But I admit it's nice to hibernate a bit in front of a heater, reading a good novel or bingeing on old TV shows (I'm almost through season 2 of "ER", one of my old favorites).

Do you have a favorite season? I'd love to hear what it is.

Do you plan to grow a garden this year? If so, are you trying anything new?

The Unbearable Heaviness of Anxiety

Image courtesy of geralt, pixabay. Creative Commons licensed.

Tough times today. I have some major dental work scheduled this p.m. that is freaking me out. Dental work beyond a cleaning/x-rays is my biggest phobia. I have yet to find a dental practice that is as compassionate as the one I had in Massachusetts (God bless you, Dr. Poras), but until I find one, there's nitrous oxide and speaking up about things that bother me (like forbidding novocaine shot into my jaw joint rather than in the gums around the tooth, because jaw injections cause lingering pain that lasts for 8 weeks--NOPE, not dealing with that!).

The reasons for my anxiety lie in my youth, and are not important here. Suffice it to say that I need a lot of support today. I have a friend who volunteered to go with me to Lex, but I've decided to go alone and just have the gas. It worked for my recent root canal, which had me wild with agitation. And I know I alone am the best soother of me when things are rough. Call it an unexpected positive derived from learning to cope with a shitty, abusive childhood.

My serenity is seriously compromised today. I might go someplace afterwards for a snack/meal/drink because I'll be released around 5 PM and won't be able to deal with rush hour traffic in Lex. I'll need space. TG someone is home with my Kitty because she has not been well lately.

I generally take a shower before I go see any health provider. Not today. That's how wired up I am. Sorry, dudes. Hopefully I am not too stanky.

I know it will all be okay later, but for now--please drop a good thought or a prayer for me.

This is why I've never read the book/seen the movie "Marathon Man." Tortured in a dental chair? Oh, HELL, no. RL is bad enough.

New Year, New Focus

Image courtesy of geralt on pixabay. Creative Commons licensed.

It's been a while since I was here. Life got in the way--multiple dental problems, medical procedures, and general busyness. (Nothing serious is wrong, BTW.) I'll try to do better when it comes to keeping up the blog.

I have decided that visual art rather than words is the best way for me to express my creativity for now. While I might write the occasional piece for my own enjoyment, there is no money to be made in that space any more, not with Amazon's policies/KDP (which I refuse to participate in because it enriches no one but Amazon--it's a race to the bottom). I'd still write except for the fact that my regular publisher has gone out of business. She, too, cannot make money in the current environment.

I don't like the way our country's economic future looks. But that's another blog post for another time.

As for the visual art I plan to turn out, it will involve decorating useful things in fun and funky ways. I think there will be an Etsy shop in my future. I'll let you know. Need any fun small furniture items? I will ship all across the USA.

In more mundane matters, I'm slowly clearing out clutter and revamping my living space. So far, so good. I've begun exercising on an almost-daily basis again, running yesterday for the first time in weeks. I want my life back, and I am slowly reclaiming it. Not to mention I have to start training for the National Senior Games (June).

I've also spent time thinking about what I REALLY want to do this year. I am fortunate to have the luxury of a lot of free time at the moment. How do I want to spend it? What (and with whom) do I want to engage in/with?

I'm leaving huge chunks of time unscheduled each week. I haven't had a lot of free time on a regular basis since 2013. Even if my butt stays planted in the greater Berea area, it's good to know I will have a lot of thinking and dreaming time.

But I DO hope to engage in more traveling in 2019. Maybe I'll come see you!

What are your hopes/dreams/resolutions for the new year? I'd love to know.

Happy the Shoes

My photo. A stack of used-up walking and running shoes early in my athletic transformation.

No, this post is not about athletics or running. It's about donations.

I woke up way too early this morning, but dozed a little after 5 am, only to have the phrase, "Happy the shoes" echo in my head. I suppose it's because I donated four pairs of running shoes yesterday at DSW Shoes in Lexington to Soles 4 Souls, a charity I especially like. S4S takes gently-used (or new) shoes of all types, not just athletic shoes, and gives them to people who need them. As they say, a good pair of shoes can change a person's life--preventing disease and other health problems, keeping them warm, making it possible to go to school or work, and helping them feel better about themselves. (Please, the shoes must be in good condition if you are thinking of donating--my running shoes are used up for running after 500 miles or so, but still have plenty of other life in them and look okay. I run through about three pairs a year, and I can't keep them all for walking and other uses. So I donate the best ones.)

Anyway, I lay there, thinking how strange the phrase was and what it might mean. Are the shoes happy? Are the people who receive the shoes happy? Are the people who work at the charity happy? I haven't decided yet which is the right question to ask, or what any of the answers are.

What do you think?

And I'm Back

My photo.

How did it get to be nearly a month since my last blog post? Well....

• Work
• Bad tooth
• Other health concerns (not serious)
• Other chores--fall is busy when you have a house and garden

In fact, fall has come and nearly gone by now. We've had more than one frost here.

I'm starting a new phase of my life. I'm taking a break from contract writing and plan to improve my mental health, which is in a state of disrepair. Going forward, I'll concentrate on fiction writing and nonfiction articles about personal finance when it comes to work. But I'm going to make a lot of time for other activities. I need to. I have to keep too many plates spinning at once, and they had begun hitting the ground and crashing.

One of the first things I'll do is participate in NaNoWriMo, otherwise known as National Novel Writing Month. While I do so, I'll remember my friend Glenn, who often took part but, even when he didn't, supplied much encouragement to other writers. God bless Glenn, wherever he is now in the wider life, as we like to say in my church. I miss you, you cranky not-so-old bastard.

More will appear soon.

Away

Sandestin Beach at evening. Photo courtesy of family

After the Senior Games, I took care of neglected things for a couple of days, then headed to Sandestin, FL, for time with my grandson and family. What a wonderful trip! Travel, going away, and just spending time by myself in airports (and writing) all help clear my head.

I came back home with realizations that my life needed to change. I have issues I need to deal with. Therefore, I gave notice at my job. It had to happen. Because it's an open-ended contract, I might ask to come back sometime next year, as I am leaving on good terms. But for now, I need to get my head together, as we used to say around 1970 or so.

For now, it's finish out the work I've committed to, then it will be time to take care of some long-neglected parts of me. I will also write things I want to write and have been stifling for three years. Once I see how I can do writing other material (and whether I can make some money at it), I'll decide on my next steps.

I'll probably never have the money to own at place at this location, but I can rent a place and go back to visit. That I will do. Maybe even with family again! I sure hope so.

One view of the immediate neighborhood. Photo courtesy of family.

The Senior Games

I'm heading out tomorrow to see family and take a 3-day Florida vacation. Today is busy, but I wanted to post how I did at the Kentucky Senior Games, which were Sunday, Sep 16. If you've already seen this information, feel free to skip this post.

I ended up with 5 golds, 5 silvers, and one bronze. Some of those medals are qualified with, "Kentucky gold," etc., meaning I didn't take first place overall, just among KY participants. Which means, in cases like the javelin where I was dead last but was the only one competing from KY, I got a gold medal. So the medals are not a big deal to me.

What matters is that  I qualified in the 50m, 100m, 200m, 400m, 800m, 1500m race walk, shot put, javelin, discus, high jump, and long jump for the National Senior Games next June. I'm especially excited about my 100m race, where I had the fun of actually beating someone (LOL) and turned in my best time ever--23.62 sec, or around 9.5 mph (I was second). The 200m makes me even happier--54.64 sec, or a little less than 8.5 mph. I have never done either distance that fast before. None of the rest of my results are all that exciting, but the 100m and 200m make me feel proud.

So, it was a great day where I also had a lot of fun and enjoyed talking with like-minded women my age and older. Tropical Depression Florence stayed away--only a few sprinkles of rain and it wasn't unbearably hot. I won't train all this week, just do normal exercise and enjoy the moment!

Yesterday was a rest day, so today I run myself ragged, metaphorically speaking, to get ready for my trip. See you on the other side!

The Poor and Middle Class are Still Under the Wheels (Links)

Courtesy of Free-Photos on Pixabay. Creative Commons licensed.

This blog post will be long on links as we approach the tenth anniversary of the beginning of the bullshit known as the Great Recession, among other names, of 2008.

The Recovery Threw the MIddle-Class Dream Under a Benz

There were those who could recoup their losses and those who could not...

The Epicenter of the Housing Bust Is Booming Again. (That’s a Warning Sign.)

Money for nothing, and chicks for free...

The Great Recession Knocked Them Down. Only Some Got Up Again.

Please note the story of Terry Sadler of Richmond, KY. More and more people are in her position ten years on.

The Banks Changed. Except for All the Ways They’re the Same.

I used to document software used by big banks. I have worked for the Federal Reserve Banks. Banks are emphatically not your friend.

The Next Financial Calamity Is Coming. Here’s What to Watch.

Debt levels are higher than ever. Hackers are a wild card.


Did the Government Bailouts Work and at What Cost?

The short answer is Yes, we avoided financial Armageddon — but at a cost. 

Read. Reflect. Talk about it. And remember in November.

Who, me?

I am an athlete.

I have never said that before in my entire life.

Last night my first-ever pair of track shoes arrived. Today I tried them on the EKU track to see how it felt to sprint in them. Wow! I felt positively propelled.

Yes, they are meant to be two different colors.

I cannot believe this is ME who runs miles, who sprints at track meets, who actually hired a coach to teach her how to throw the discus, javelin, and shot put, and how to do the long jump and triple jump.

I cannot believe that, if I qualify at the Kentucky Senior Games a week from tomorrow (Sunday, Sept 16), I will be eligible to compete at the National Senior Games next June.

Look, I was such a nerd in high school. I HATED gym class. I felt stupid and uncoordinated playing sports. I never felt that way in the classroom, where I shone.

I always liked to walk long distances and to run and jump, but I never thought that was anything special. It's just what kids do when they play outdoors.

But eight days from now, I'll put my practices and training to the test.

I keep waiting to wake up. Surely this is not me.

My Head is on FIRE

I am a material girl. I am not ashamed to admit it. But not in the pursuit of diamonds and luxury. I'm all about pragmatism and I'm hard-headed about numbers. Save now, spend later. "Only boys that save their pennies make my rainy day."

(I had fun blasting this song while driving through my little town earlier today...)

FIRE (Financial Independence, Retire Early) is all the rage. I see bloggers praising quitting your job and retiring once you have enough money to live on for the next 50 years. (Notably, the bloggers doing the praising are pulling down big bucks as famous bloggers, so, consider the source, y'all...)

Let me be clear: I am all for quitting a job you hate and following your bliss if you can do so! As most of us in their 60s and beyond could tell you, life is short. But I find so many of the FIRE bloggers rather clueless on the practicality of FIRE. They are in their 30s and they simply can't envision the day when they can't find another job because they have aged out of the market.

You have to turn 50 or 60 to run into that concrete reality.

I remember those days... basically I could go out and pick a job off the job tree and never, ever worry about periods of unemployment. But these days, after 50, especially in certain fields, doors shut forever. Don't believe me? Okay, go ahead.

I am all for frugality, for fun, for spending as much time as you can with family and friends, for doing only work you love (or at least tolerate well). But Millennials and Gen Xers entranced by FIRE should keep this in mind:

"Just go find another job" if/when you run out of money only works up to a certain age.

Trust me, you do not want to be still working at 67 because you must. Or be 67 and no one will hire you because you are old. Or be 67 and work at a job paying minimum wage that's beating up your body because otherwise you will starve.

Or be 67 and have all your money gone because health care costs were higher than you thought they would be when you retired at 35. As someone who has paid for their own health insurance, it only costs more the older you get. You might be shocked.

Yeah, you're 35, have a family, and think $500,000 that's well-invested will do the job for the next 50 years? Good luck with that. I do mean that. Maybe you will be one of the lucky ones who makes it work. Maybe you're a market genius and your investments will pay off wildly well. Maybe you will be spectacularly lucky with your health or with life in general.

Most people aren't.

Please, please, for the love of God, if you are considering FIRE and feel cocky about how much you have saved/invested, think again, or at least consider the following suggestions:

• Find someplace that has a low cost of living.
• Find something else to do if you truly hate your job that you can do in said location with a low cost of living that still supports you.
• Be free of debt.
• Know how to live without all the perks of 21st century life. (If you can't do without cable or a new phone every year, you might not be ready for FIRE.)

Take a look at our country. The trend is to provide less of a safety net, not more, for people in trouble. It's a cold world when you can't pay your rent/mortgage, when your EBT card (food stamps) runs out of money before you run out of days, when you have to get to work but can't afford to repair your beater car.

If you have never been there, you're in for a rude awakening.

FIRE is a fine goal. But know yourself, and be honest about what the next 50 years will cost you to live. I suggest FIRL (Financial Independence, Retire Later) and aiming for a 45-50ish retirement rather than throwing in the towel at 35.

In any case, may you never run out of cake to eat.

Photo courtesy of gorartser on pixabay. Creative Commons licensed.

When Failure Feels Like Success

From the memorial created after the bombing at the Boston Marathon, April, 2013
My photo

While reading a friend's blog and enjoying her artwork, I was struck by something she said:

"...reflecting on why in the world I keep putting the energy into applying for these things that have remote chances of success, and realized being awarded a grant or submission to a show is secondary (although lovely) to the necessary hard work of building self-confidence and identity as I am putting my work out there for review. For me, it is this vulnerability of exposure that is the hardest part of being an artist, yet I know it is the only way to keep moving forward." --Michelle Hayden

I have felt this vulnerability in my fiction writing, but I am especially feeling it in my current athletic pursuits.

I am training for the Kentucky Senior Games, something I didn't even know existed until about two years ago. This year, the stakes are high because my dream is to get to the National Senior Games next June, and this is my only shot at it, pretty much. Otherwise, it's wait another two years for a shot. But participating involves the risk of so much failure. So. Much. Failure!

As the man who has been training me in all types of freakin' hard track and field stuff said today, there can be only one world record holder, only one world champion. And someone has to be last, too. (In other words, don't stress about it.)

So, what if I fail? The first 5K I ran, I was dead last (and embarrassed about it). The next race I ran, a 3K, I was second in my age class. Knocked me out. My first medal!

To get to the Nationals I have to battle my injured knee (and my natural dorkiness--I am by no means a natural athlete). And yet becoming an athlete feels so natural to me. I am amazed at how my life has changed since I began running a little over seven years ago in an effort to "lose a little bit more weight." I have more mental toughness. I care less about what others think of me. After all, you can't be a dorky 67-year-old runner and care what you look like while doing so.

I don't know what's going to happen. Training at the moment is painful and difficult because of my knee. I am hugely disappointed I injured myself and haven't been able to heal the problem. Until the Kentucky games, I have to walk a fine line between training adequately and not overtraining, in order to keep from injuring myself worse so that I can't compete.

We all do this, you know--take chances, push beyond comfort levels--and we are the better for it. It doesn't matter what you are doing, or what you are risking--taking a chance, to me, is what makes life worth living. Sometimes you lose in terrible ways, like Rebekah Gregory, who lost a leg in the Boston Marathon bombing, April, 2013. She wasn't a runner--she was a spectator. And yet her trauma inspired her to train for--and run--3.2 miles of the Boston Marathon on a blade prosthesis. She's a winner in my book.

On September 16, I will put myself out there in the starkest way--I will compete in about 10 track and field events, where winning or losing is clear-cut and can be separated by hundredths of a second or by hundredths of a meter. But failure still feels like success to me. This dork loves being an athlete.

I Went Back on Antidepressants/Tenth Year Anniversary of the Death of Dreams

Image courtesy of creozavr on Pixabay. Creative Commons licensed.

I went back on antidepressants, and it's not helping.

It's not the fault of the antidepressants. They work like a champ on my SAD--seasonal affective disorder. No, it's just that too damn much else is happening in my life. So I'm going to vent. Lucky you!

I post on Twitter under a pseudonym because it gives me some much-needed freedom to say whatever I feel I need to say. I don't abuse others, but I don't hold back when it comes to my opinions or my thoughts about life, the universe, and everything. Yesterday, I tweeted something like, "I think I might have just quit my job."

The reasons why and the story behind the tweet are complicated (still no resolution at hand), but my feelings are shifting all over the place about it. To know why, we have to rewind 10 years.

We are coming up on the anniversary of the day our lives ended, as I used to think of it. My husband's place of business died, Lehman Brothers was told, "no bailout for you," and the stock market began its months-long, extreme crash that killed our investments. I remember feeling like a deer in headlights, watching the approaching disaster, and not able to do a damned thing about it.

I'll never forget Monday, September 15, 2008. The panic had not yet set in. Eventually, it did.

Fast forward to Spring, 2015, and the job I landed. I've been there 3 1/4 years. If I leave, I know I'll feel that old panic about not receiving a paycheck. [OMG! We're going to starve! We'll lose the house!] So I'm feeling panicked about not working again. It's an emotional reaction. We are so much better off than we were in late 2008 that the panic is, honestly, irrational.

But who said emotional reactions were rational?

That unholy mess, plus an insane number of committments, including training for the Kentucky Senior Games for my shot at going to the National Games, and I am feeling an incredible amount of pressure. Nothing in my life feels right. (Except when I exercise, which exorcises demons.)

This, too, shall pass. At least, I keep telling myself that.

Back to work.

I Don't Know What to Call This Post

Nietjuh on Pixabay. Creative Commons licenced.

Don't worry, this is not really a political post. It's more about class blindness and frugality and hungry people. If you consider talking about hunger political, well, bless your heart. The rest of you, bear with me, K?

Sometimes the best way to see the wealth divide in this country is to read what middle-class/up-mid class folks read in their off time. I imagine most of us would include NPR in that class group, right?

Recently NPR posted an article about how to reduce food waste.

"Here's advice from one family who significantly cut back on food waste for three months:
Plan out meals for the week to reduce excess food purchases Know when food is actually spoiled Stray from recipes Study personal food waste"
Someone on Twitter reposted the NPR link with this rather savage comment:

Or, you could lose your job/income and need to eat everything you have, along with lots of rice and beans. Both have a great shelf life and are cheap as fuck.... #voiceofexperience

These days, I'm probably considered middle class, though I grew up much poorer: I have a graduate degree, I own a home, I have health insurance, I own a paid-off car, I have a decent job, and I can go to the grocery story without flinching too much at the prices or counting my money before I get in the checkout line. (In the past, I have done the latter, however, hundreds of times.)

I live in a state with a high degree of what is called "food insecurity" these days. Nationally, as of 2016, "41 million people struggle with hunger in the United States, including 13 million children and 5 million seniors. A household that is food insecure has limited or uncertain access to enough food to support a healthy life."

The disconnect between those with plenty--the NPR audience, for the most part--and those who don't have squat really bothers me. When people are hungry, there is no planning meals, there is no "buying local," there is often no using recipes (you just throw crap together, BT, DT), and most of all, there is no "food waste." You eat everything you've got. You're hungry! (Disclaimer: I have been hungry because I did not have enough money to buy sufficient food for months at a time.)

Yes, if you have plenty, don't waste food, by all means. I do my best never to throw anything away. But get out of your own head now and then, and think about what the people down the street might be doing to get by. Yes, I'm talking about the folks who moved out in the middle of the night because they'd been foreclosed on. (Do you cluck over how they ran and that they had a better car than you?) Foreclosure is still a thing. Our neighborhood has one or two foreclosed homes almost all the time.

Give to your local food bank today. Do whatever else you can if your life is bountiful. And, again, if you consider talking about hunger "political," well, bless your heart. Sure hope you don't consider yourself a Christian.

Did I make you angry?

Good.

Tea Time

I'm sitting here with a mug of sweet, milky (decaf) tea while I ponder the events of the past couple of days.

Libertad on pixabay.
Creative Commons licensed.

Someone I once knew recommended hot tea with milk and sugar when feeling distraught or down. Because it's evening, my tea is decaf, but she was right. Something about the combination works to make one feel better.

I'm not normally a tea drinker. I'm mad for strong coffee. I've loved coffee since I started drinking it at 15 (instant with evaporated milk while listening to moody protest songs way back when--instant because that's all my parents drank).

However, decaf tea later in the day (Twinings Irish Breakfast decaf) hits the spot with me. Especially with a European-style, not too sweet cookie like Biscoff.

Work has been tough the past couple of days, lots of brouhaha, which is unusual for my employer. Unfortunately, I've gotten very little real work done and am feeling the pressure of how much I need to do this week. Today we went to the neurologist in Lexington to see what might be going on with my husband. So far, any dementia illness has been ruled out. They took blood to check a couple of things and sometime soon there will be a brain scan to rule out things like tumors and lesions. I suspect we'll end up with a "it's just one of those things, we can't find anything wrong" diagnosis. As frustrating as that can be (I have one of those in my past), it's better than having a tumor.

Kitty

My Kitty weighs on my mind a lot these days. She's old and sick and not doing as well as she had been. Sunday night she got under my feet and I stepped on her. When she screeched, I tried to get off her paw, lost my balance, fell, and put a nasty scrape on one forearm, the whole length of it. That wasn't the worst part. The worst was that Kitty wouldn't get near me for hours, looking upset that I'd hurt her. Man, I hated that. Thankfully, 24 hours later, we were all made up.

Just sitting at my desk, writing this blog while having the tea and cookie is calming. Tomorrow is another day. Things will work out. Think I'll have another cookie...

No Words. Well, Some.

Courtesy of rwayne307 on Pixabay. Creative Commons licensed.

I'm taking a deep breath, astonished that it is already Saturday. The last time I posted here was Sunday. Six days ago. WTF.

It's been a week filled with meetings at church (4 at last count), work, seeing people I needed to see, fighting fires of all types, working out like a fiend for the Kentucky Senior Games, and playing bridge (it's a card game, for those who don't know) for the first time in probably 30 years.

Honestly, last night I was toasted, and not in the good way.

The coming week looks to be similar. My husband goes for a consult on Tuesday regarding memory issues. I'm nervous about it--more another time. There's a big picnic I need to attend. There are people I need to reach out to who are in distress. I'm trying to figure out the best time to see an old friend from my salad days who is a delight (we recently reconnected). Of course, there's always work. Of course, there will be fires of all types to fight. Did I mention I volunteered to be on the search committee for a new music director at church? Holy crap, what was I thinking? I don't need one more thing to do!

And yet, it was a good week. I felt needed and that I did useful stuff, especially when brainstorming worship themes for September. It was wonderful to spend time with my old friend. It was cozy to feel (re)connected with people at church. I enjoyed some positive feedback regarding my work. (How nice to feel appreciated!) I received support from friends about my husband and his possible medical outcomes.

And it was especially, especially good to play bridge again.

I'm not much of a player--my husband has won tournaments playing bridge, while I'm mediocre--but it was a real stretch and probably good for my brain. I was astonished at how much I remembered about the game. And I had a thoroughly smashing-good time. Last night I fell asleep early, exhausted by the week and the mental energy expended at bridge, but it was that good kind of tired.

So, while at times this past week I felt like the tree surrounded by rocks (above), notice that the tree is green and apparently thriving. I can't keep up the pace for long, being a staunch introvert, but for a short while, it's all right. It might even be good for me.

But I don't like that it has cut into my blogging and thinking time.