The Enthusiast
Taking a little breather from the grand-parenting drama, with the addition of a dog—which you’ll be able to read about in a future post—here’s a fun little musing.
On August 31 I hurt my back and, after three days of trying all the tricks I knew to get better (ice, physical therapy etc.) with no improvement, I sought a chiropractor nearby who took my insurance.
By pure dumb luck, I found one literally around the corner, and it’s turned out to be the most wonderful practice. Everyone is cheerful, helpful and nice; there is seldom a wait; and the whole atmosphere is cheerful.
On my first visit I thought it was a bit noisy for a medical practice–doors stay open and multiple conversations go on–but I soon realized the exuberant atmosphere was mostly because of the doctor himself. He’s loud, he’s happy, he’s positive, and he’s totally in love with life.
One of my traits that embarrassed my first husband was that I’d get to talking at a party and slosh my drink waving my hands around. When I’m excited and interested I wave my hands around—what’s a splash of wine here and there?
Dr. W. probably sloshes drinks too. We talk about everything—our travels, our pets, what we did over the weekend, what we’re planning next week, and our philosophy of life—all in a short exam and treatment. When I first went in my pain level was eight. After three weeks it was zero. I can’t help but think it wasn’t just the physical treatment that helped.
Dr. W., “the Enthusiast.” How can that grin NOT cheer you up?
I caught part of a TED talk the other day about happiness, and someone said that people think that gratitude comes from being happy, but it’s actually the opposite: if you have gratitude, every moment, for whatever you have at that moment—your breath, your legs, the sandwich in front of you—you will experience happiness in that moment. And that’s all we have: each moment.
Right now I’m going to play with the dog, something that makes me happy and grateful. Or grateful and happy. More on “Junior” soon!
Radical Retirement Review
Since I started this blog, I’ve mentioned more than once that someone told me it takes about five years to settle into a rhythm in retirement. Before I retired I was sure I’d nail it from day one, but my friend was right.
Today marks the end of year five. I think–although I’m not so smug about it–I’m finally getting it right. Not doing too much, not bored. The days are still not long enough, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s better to have a never-ending to-do list than to be bored or idle. I am NEVER idle. A neighbor says I’m “driven.” Maybe so, but the older I get the more aware I am of time running out, and there are so many things I still want to accomplish while I can.
Today I’m looking back over the five years. I’m not re-reading blogs or pulling out diaries. This is just what pops into my memory as I look back.
Year One, 2010: I had the privilege of serving on the search committee that recommended Meg Barnhouse as the settled minister at the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin. If it’s possible, her ministry has even exceeded our hopes; the congregation is growing and a capital campaign is raising money to expand the physical space.
2011: Traveling with Texas Choral Consort to Uruguay and Argentina; singing Faure’s Requiem in Montevideo and Colonia, Uruguay, and Mozart’s Requiem in Mercedes and Buenos Aires, Argentina. Eating empanadas and drinking malbec. Making new friends, especially my Montevideo Posse.
2012: A chilly spontaneous spring art trip to Washington and Baltimore. Taking the then-five-year-old granddaughter on a road trip to Carlsbad Cavern and San Diego. I became nearly ill from the stress of nine days 24/7 with a young child. My doctor eventually diagnosed me with anxiety disorder and put me on Prozac. That trip made me discover I had been suffering from severe anxiety all my life, so I’m grateful for the trip, and we did have a good time in Coronado, La Jolla, Sea World and the Zoo.
2013: Our four-week tour of England and Scotland was the highlight of the year. Seeing “Matilda” with my New Zealand cousin and her husband, who were in London when we were; visiting the Yorkshire cousins and their families; Edinburgh, St. Andrews and Inverness; Bath; Cambridge; Newmarket (my birthplace) and a very warm London, including museums, galleries and more shows.
2014: Singing Mozart Undead with Texas Choral Consort at the French Legation, and the Beck Song Reader at the Blanton Museum, were peak experiences. A week at the coast with the grandchildren. A week in New York in November.
Most of my creative output has been been writing poetry and blog pieces. It was cool getting a poem and painting in Postcard Poems and Prose this month.
But I’ve mostly just dabbled in art, using my graphics skills for things like the condo association newsletter and publicity materials for my husband’s theater company.
In April I got into a postcard swap and something about the format lit my fire. I have mailed more than 70 cards in a variety of media including water color, marker, collage, monoprint, acrylic, photography, poems and quotes incorporated with art. I have a million ideas I want to try. I launched a second blog solely to show my art.
Newest postcard, “Monkey Shines.” I can get silly and whimsical with the small format. (Water color, metallic marker, sticker)
I’ve also been knitting quite a lot, but I’m not good about keeping photos or records, and I give most of it away.
Current project, a sampler blanket for Chloe, trying out stitches from a book I got at a garage sale.
Now I’m excited about… drum roll… stitchery! I have several pieces working, one of my own design, in a postcard-size format, so someone may get a stitched postcard. For a person who is constantly moving, I find needlework to be calming and meditative (yet productive!).
Sampling stitches from another garage sale book, painting with stitches and cloth.
The best use of retirement has been being able to spend time with the grandchildren, especially the now-eight-year-old, Chloe. She is a ball of fire, light of my life, force of nature. I adore her and she exhausts me. I pray for the stamina and energy to keep up with her as long as she needs me to.
I haven’t come up with any new year’s resolutions, but I hope to laugh a lot, meditate a bit, get enough sleep, and keep living a healthy and active life. I’m getting a new laptop, replacing my reliable workhorse seven-year-old Dell Inspiron with a Dell Latitude; the only other thing I want now is Google Fiber in the complex–a real possibility this year.
With gratitude, wishing everyone a beautiful, healthy, joyful and richly rewarding 2015!
Fallow
Has it been only four weeks since Labor Day? It feels like six months.
September was jam-packed with projects and activities, after a summer of mostly grand-kid stuff.
I finished the infinity scarf (it’s wet and blocking at the moment). Sixty inches (an actual pattern, the cartridge belt rib, not straight garter stitch) in less than a month is probably a record for me, but about eight or 10 hours of it was done in a two-day racism workshop at church (which was enlightening and possibly fodder for a future blog).
finished but not blocked
But I have some hand pain from too much knitting and should rest a bit. (Hah. I have a sampler blanket going for the granddaughter.)
I kept up pretty well with jillybeans and mail swaps.
My husband needed post cards and a poster for his upcoming show at Paradox Players, so that was a quick turnaround project, and we now have cards in hand.
Play poster
post card
Several plays and concerts took up some evenings, including the surprisingly funny “Urinetown,” a terrific one-man production of “Henry V,” a terrible puppet show, a Gilbert & Sullivan musicale/parody of Downton Abbey, and a wonderful recital by our dear neighbor and fantastic pianist, Rick Rowley, at UT’s Bates Recital Hall. Seven other evenings were well spent on Ken Burns’ excellent series, “The Roosevelts.”
The courtyard and patio are cleaned up and freshened with new plants and pottery. I turned Chloe’s abandoned sand table into a small writing/drawing table so I can get out of the garret on pleasant fall days.
before
after
collapsed sand table, before
after, a needed bit of color
I also got the garret (studio) reorganized once again, and went through years’ worth of writing, organizing it for rewriting and finalizing. I shouldn’t start a new piece until I’ve cleaned up that huge backlog. (Hah, once more. That’s like having only one knitting project going.)
Clear art space
A couple of weekends with the granddaughter (including one with her friend from next door) ran me ragged, so I gave myself this weekend off. I did go to a Texas Choral Consort retreat yesterday, but I was so tired from Friday’s hauling concrete blocks and bags of pea pebbles the notes swam before my eyes.
I was feeling at loose ends for a little while, wondering what to do next. Then I decided “fallow” is a good concept, and it’s nice to take some time off, watch a movie, read.
October will fill up quickly, starting with a long-overdue condo newsletter. Now I’m going to finish reading the Sunday paper and have leftovers for dinner.
School’s In
All summer I have been compiling a list of things I wanted to do when school started and the grandchild schedule eased up.
I’m finishing up tasks that have dragged on for some time, one of which was scanning old photo albums. The photos are fantastic–many were taken when my dad was in the Royal Air Force in Karachi (then India) from 1928–but the scanning was tedious, and I still have to organize the scanned images to share with family.
Dad’s albums, dating back to the 1920s
Sample page, with Dad’s inscription in white ink
The summer was fun with the kids, going to the beach and spending time at our condo pool. But having a kid (or two) every other week meant I spent the other week recovering. I’ll have Chloe some weekends, and I have to get used to the idea of having this week free, next week free…
… to fill up with appointments, to start with. Dentist, gynecologist, eye and so on. Lunches with neglected friends.
We closed out a bank safe deposit box, which contained only our wills, so we’re going to update the wills and powers of attorney, financial records etc. and provide to my older daughter. It’s so much easier to do it now, when we don’t actually need it. I’m also going to take pictures throughout the house for an inventory of our worldly goods.
Chloe hasn’t played in the sand area in the courtyard for many months, so when we get some cooler mornings I’m going to clean it up (again).
Saggy sand table
Too hot to sit out here anyway.
It’s way past time for a condo newsletter. There is lots of news and many new neighbors.
I’ve created a template for Christmas cards. This year I’m going to do a small piece of original art on each one, similar to my Jillybeans postcards.
I have several craft, knitting, sewing and other projects hanging.
An infinity scarf, a gift
I want to refinish my old desk, which I had as a child. It’s too precious to neglect, and Chloe has put permanent marker and wite-out marks on it.
My beautiful old desk.
I can work on poems, journals and book ideas(and read books) any time.
There is always postcard art, which feeds my soul. That’s my default, every day.
Workouts. Errands. Household chores.
A neighbor recently described me as “driven.” I know I am incredibly blessed. Soon after we moved into the condo and I was feeling overwhelmed, I told an elderly friend I had too much to do. She said, “Be glad you have too much to do.” She has since passed on. I am glad I have too much to do.
Bodysurfing in Art
People who are so consumed by their art that they forget to eat or bathe have always been a wonder to me.
When I subtitled this blog “radical retirement,” it was my brazen way of saying I was nailing it from Day One. A friend had told me it takes about five years to get into a rhythm in retirement, and I set out to prove her wrong. Except I didn’t. In several postings I expressed frustration with how much I wanted to do and how little time I seemed to have.
I’m nearly halfway through Year Five. I’m still not sure if I’ve got it right, but I’ve done a 180 in how my days are structured, and now even I forget to eat (or delay till I’m starving) and skip a shower now and then.
Since I got my art degree, I’ve been looking for something that would be “my” art–unique and identifiable, that I felt passionate about. I’ve dabbled in almost every medium, never feeling like I was getting close to mastery in anything. The closest I’ve come to feeling consumed has been this blog: when I sit down to put a piece together I stay with it like a dog with a bone. And body surfing. Whenever I’m in the surf, it’s always “one more wave.”
Through a weird confluence of events I believe I’ve found my true calling in art:
- Because of a stressful family situation I was seeing a therapist, who encouraged me to put my creative needs first. She also told me that people who don’t find an outlet for their creativity release it in drama instead.
- I started listening to Katherine Torrini’s Creative Life Spark and discovered I’m a High Voltage Woman. Katherine says if the voltage isn’t channeled it–guess what–comes out in unhealthy ways.
- I received a link to a post card swap. Hesitated to sign up–could I produce 10 small pieces of art I wouldn’t be ashamed to mail to another artist? I worked on it for a while before registering, so I’d be sure to have something to mail. Discarded two or more for every one even halfway usable, but kept pushing through. Surprised myself many times with the results. Finally registered and mailed out the 10 pieces I thought were the best (with at least a dozen left over I wasn’t so sure about). I’m also receiving cards in the mail, and mine hold up quite well in the mix.
Now that the swap is finished I can’t stop. If I don’t make at least one card a day I feel twitchy. When I’m working at the computer I’m coloring something (right now, as a matter of fact, while photos load). I’m mailing random cards to friends, people I’ve just met–anyone at all. I scan everything before it’s mailed as a record.
First batch for the post card swap
My granddaughter sometimes calls me “Jillybeans,” so that’s what I call this work. I’ve created a logo, labels, a business card, and *TA DA* a new Jillybeans blog.
Even if you can’t swap, if you’d like to receive an original jillybean, send your mailing address to jillybeanswiggins@gmail.com.
I’m getting my granddaughter into the act as well, and her recent work sort of channels Mondrian.
Chloe’s Mondrian
The funny thing about this reversal or priorities–the laundry still gets done, as well as the grocery shopping and choir practice and even bathing and eating. Just not quite so obsessively. I suppose I’ve just changed my obsession, but this is a lot more satisfying, and way more fun.
New Year’s: Peaking at Nine?
Technically I was 8 1/2. We had been in the U.S. for about six weeks and it was the first New Year’s I remember, the first one I stayed up to greet, 1954.
My mother had quickly become friends with another English woman, who invited us to their party. I remember almost nothing of the evening but it remains a treasured New Year’s memory.
The other “best” was 1995, when my husband and I had been dating about three months. He had a murder mystery gig at a hotel in Fort Worth. Afterwards the manager sent a bottle of champagne to the cast table. I wore a borrowed black cocktail dress, there was a band, and we danced. Later, I did my first (and only) karaoke, “Leader of the Pack” with two other women. It was terrible, but great fun, both of which I attribute to the champagne.
The absolute worst New Year’s was 2001, when Gary had another gig, this time a private party that I attended with him. We left before midnight “to beat the drunks,” but we were hit by a pickup running a red light, totaling our car and sending us both to the ER, where we greeted the millennium on side-by-side gurneys. We got home at 5 a.m., lucky to be only slightly injured, but the repercussions (physical, psychological and financial) continued for months. We ultimately had to get an attorney to reach a settlement from, yes, I’ll name the insurance company: USAA.
The year before, with the Y2K “scare,” a friend joined us to celebrate in the condo hot tub with a bottle of bubbly.
I’ve missed many New Year’s celebrations, including a couple (1990 and 2008) when I was deathly ill, once with the flu and the other with a violent stomach virus. The best “miss” was Savannah in 2012. After dinner and a bottle of wine at Paula Deen’s restaurant we went back to our b&b to rest, intending to go back out. I awoke with the clock reading 12:00, wondering why it was so quiet, then the fireworks and horns began. We didn’t get up.
Lately we stay home and don’t even last till midnight. This year we’ll have Chloe overnight. I’ll let her stay up, but at age seven she probably won’t make it till midnight. We’ll go to a couple of New Year’s Day parties.
Saying goodbye to a mostly very good year, I am putting my blog on hiatus for a short while. I have some deadline projects, including the print publicity for the next Paradox Players show, Six Dance Lessons in Six Weeks; I am about six months late in getting out a condo newsletter (not that anyone but me is counting); and being OCD I am desperate to do a massive cleaning and reorganization of the house. We are coming up on 15 years in the condo, the longest I’ve ever lived in one house. I believe God intended us to move every five years, so it’s time to pretend we’re moving and do a major purge. I even have a sage-sweetgrass bundle to smudge and purify afterwards. I’m hoping for a year of music, poetry, travel, good health and new experiences.
I also plan to refresh and redesign my blog. In the meantime, thank you for reading the ups and downs (mostly ups) of “Radical Retirement.” I wish everyone a healthy, happy and blessed 2014.
A spiritual practice of mindfulness and meditation will be part of my 2014.
Seventh Summer: “The Birds”!
Chloe doesn’t know about Hitchcock’s movie, and I wasn’t about to tell her. Sunday morning she went out for a walk around the complex. When I went to look for her she disappeared around a corner near some trees. As I approached,she was stalking a small black bird, then suddenly the air exploded in a cloud of crows, flapping and shrieking around her. Terrified, she turned and ran straight into my arms, even though she had no idea I was standing there. She said she just wanted to touch a bird. I told her the mommies and daddies were just doing what all mommies and daddies do–protecting their baby. They never actually attacked, but I understand the collective term: “a murder of crows.”
When we were swimming Saturday, Chloe said to me: “I’m so happy I get to spend time with my family, especially my Gramma and half-Grandpa.” That’s the first time she’s given Gary an adult title. We tried “PapaGary” for a while but it was awkward and didn’t stick.
This weekend’s food activity was Play-Doh, starting with cupcakes but soon devolving into “multicolored” balls–she loved saying that word over and over. I thumbed through a magazine while she sculpted, until she asked me to stop, saying she “didn’t want distractions while cool things are happening.”
multicolored balls
cupcake
Things got more outrageous with a carnival game she and Gary played–tossing the balls into the assortment of ceramic pots on the hearth.
ammo
Gramma was not happy, suggesting dress-up instead.
Chloe in motion
- Dressed up for dancing
Bedtime got a little rocky–10 books requested, four read, and as she was trying to settle down Chloe saying she was “bored.” I hope she learns to amuse herself in her own head before long.
After Sunday’s incident with the birds I told her to look in the play closet for something to do while I got ready for church. She brought out the makeup bin and Gary actually let her make him up (I refused because I didn’t want to have to scrub it off). He missed his breakfast getting cleaned up in time to leave. And the powder room lived up to its name–powder, blush, lipstick, eye shadow–everywhere.
After church we had lunch with a young family I am mentoring. Chloe and their little boy played in Central Market‘s playground while the adults talked. Chloe is in love with the mom, and I want Chloe’s mom to meet her.
I got home to no air conditioning (we had a power outage Friday night, which apparently zapped the thermostat), so I did a quick cleanup and went off to two events, a fund-raiser for Texas Choral Consort, and the after-show party for Paradox Players.
The AC is working. I love Mondays.
The Virtues of Slacking
Last Sunday we went to a birthday party in a winery in Driftwood, about 40 minutes away, where the Austin area meets the Texas Hill Country. What could be nicer than good wine, artisan pizza, a beautiful setting and celebrating the birthday of one of my favorite people in the world, my friend Jane?
Photo from Duchman Family Winery
Her husband, Sonny, retired soon after Jane and I did. He said he was going to do absolutely nothing, and since he had been a middle school shop teacher, who was going to argue with that? So my husband asked him if he was still doing absolutely nothing. He said “Yes,” but when pressed he said his son had given him a tiller for Christmas and had been tilling their garden.
That surely didn’t sound like doing “nothing,” but I got it. After years of working for other people, doing just what you want to do feels sort of like nothing—nothing you have to do.
I’ve explained my struggles with time and over-commitment many times here, and I’m thinking Sonny has the right idea. I’m tired of chasing the clock, the calendar and my own tail, and I’m slacking off a little.
I skipped my poetry critique group this week; I didn’t have a poem to take, which is not a good reason not to go, but it’s OK that I’m not writing poetry right now, and it’s OK to stay home if I feel like it. I considered skipping choir practice this week, but if I don’t go Chloe will think she can skip kids’ choir, too. I’d also miss singing, and I don’t want to turn into a recluse.
On days when I have no commitments I try to avoid looking at the clock and just go with whatever I get involved in. This week it has been organizing and clearing out books. I bought my granddaughter a book, “Corduroy’s Easter,” which I’m virtually certain I brought into the house, and it has vanished. In searching everywhere for it I got involved in cleaning out bookcases and took a box of books to Half Price Books. I’ve also been studying my French a bit, planning our trip to England this summer, and working on the condo spring newsletter. I’m reading “The Book Thief,” by Markus Zusak, which I’m enjoying after slogging through “The Corrections” by Jonathan Franzen (what was Oprah thinking?) I stay up later and get up later, which means more reading and less working.
That’s the way retirement should be, right?
I’m thinking about revising “Radical Retirement” to “Rational Retirement.”
PRSD,* Part the Third, and Finale!
I hope it’s the Finale.
Two weeks ago, at about the time the shakes usually hit, 11 or 11:30 a.m., I somehow knew they weren’t coming that day. I had stopped drinking even decaf coffee, thinking maybe that tiny amount of caffeine was causing the jitters. Then I wondered if it was the Prozac and started drinking decaf again, with no shakes. Voilà, it must be the Prozac.
Then stomach problems kicked in, so the doctor prescribed ranitidine (Zantac), and suggested I try different dosing times, which seems to have fixed the problems. I feel like my (better) self: calm yet energetic. My granddaughter’s behavior has improved. I’m sleeping well. I’ve also noticed the OCD has abated. Previously, as soon as I got back from taking Chloe home I would tidy up the markers, silly putty and other kid clutter. Last week I looked at the mess and thought “eh.” WHAT? ME? This is an astonishing and welcome side effect (as long as I don’t turn into a complete slob, which is doubtful. I still make the bed and don’t leave dishes in the sink.)
For a fairly healthy person I take a lot of pills. I’m not diabetic, I don’t have heart problems or high blood pressure. My only chronic conditions are periodic low back problems, seasonal allergies and a wonky digestive system. Yet each day I put into my mouth at least 20 pills, including prescriptions and supplements.
If that’s what it takes, along with eating a healthful diet, exercising and getting enough sleep—what everybody knows to do but I really do—I’m ok with taking pills.
I wonder if my granddaughter is calmer because I am, or if she is just maturing. I suspect it’s a self-feeding cycle. I am grateful and hope it continues. We had what may have been our last swim on Saturday (the water was 72°, about the temperature of Austin’s iconic Barton Springs and warmer than the Pacific was in July, but still awfully chilly). But it’s warm again, so we may be back in the pool tomorrow.
Last swim of 2012?
Another joy this week was celebrating my joining the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin in October, 1982. I cherish that community and all it stands for and took flowers to mark the occasion.
Postings may be scant for a while. We are embarking on major redecorating, including carpet removal, painting and replacing the downstairs flooring with laminate. We’re not doing it ourselves, but it’s still a lot of work—planning, shopping, preparation, moving small furniture, knickknacks and books upstairs, taking all the pictures off the walls, packing up the china cabinet (which is bolted to the wall). The carpet comes up on November 2, and the work should be done before Thanksgiving. Oh, and I have a routine colonoscopy scheduled for November 1.
Back to the Sisyphean task of scraping our bathroom wall—28-year-old wallpaper next to a shower. Need I say more?
Endless, thankless task.
Singin’ and Dancin’ in the Rain
Sometimes magic happens so unexpectedly it catches us off guard and unprepared. There are no real-time images of this bit of magic.
Chloe usually spends Saturday nights with us and we take her to church on Sunday. After dinner last Saturday, she wanted to go outside. It had rained on and off all day, but it was a nice warm, steady rain, so I suggested we get umbrellas and go check the mail. Then we just meandered around the condo complex for a while. I noticed that the sun was starting to peek out in the west and told Chloe we should watch for a rainbow in the opposite part of the sky.
We circled around the complex and looped back toward our unit, by which time Chloe had abandoned both umbrella and flip-flops, running, dancing, splashing—soaking wet and in total bliss, the embodiment of e e cummings’ “mud-luscious… and puddle-wonderful.”
Watching her, clutching mail and keys, I turned slightly and saw a perfect rainbow in the clearing eastern sky. The view was such that we could see almost the entire 180 degrees, nearly horizon to horizon, with its faint double just above. I called to Chloe, “Hurry, let’s go get Gary.” We ran into the house, dropped mail and keys, and told him to come out quickly.
He did, and being the incorrigible showman began singing “Singin’ in the Rain….” The three of us danced and splashed around the complex as the rainbow faded. Chloe always complains when Gary belts out his movie tunes, but we have shown her the clip of Gene Kelly from the movie, and I hope someday she’ll hear that song and remember splashing in puddles with Grandma and Gary one Saturday evening when she was not quite six.
I was sort of sorry I hadn’t taken my phone out with me and had no way to capture the images, but in a way I’m glad. Instead of seeing it through a screen, I was just caught up in bliss of the moment. It also burned it into my memory more than if I had taken pictures.
Wet as they were, Gary and Chloe decided to put on their bathing suits and go swimming.
Our two umbrellas. Chloe’s is, of course, the polka-dotted one.
Wiggins Words and Images 