I’m writing this one on the fly. A short one at that. Now on the cusp of May, April was a whirlwind, kicking up dust everywhere, pushing me into my future. And, there’s still so much to do. I feel overwhelmed, yet exhilarated to be moving forward. After putting my house on the market, it is under contract with the closing looming just ahead, the inspections and appraisal but an April memory.
During all of that, out of the blue came my optometrist’s diagnosis for cataract surgery. Silly me, I thought I was just in need of a new prescription. You know, aging and all. When I couldn’t read a single letter on the chart using my left eye, my stomach felt as if an iron ball dropped into it. My first instinct was to put surgery off until the house closed and I’d been to Italy and back. But, if I was to see anything in Italy and find my way around airports, surgery was a must have it done. I could feel my shoulders drooping under the additional weight. Fortunately, it’s a common surgery and I was in good hands with people who orchestrated all the appointments, and there were many, without a hitch. That’s now behind me. After 30 years, I can see without glasses! Tuscany here I come.
My son-in-law is a busy guy who has my new build on his calendar for an October start. No, I don’t get favoritism for being his mother-in-law and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Fair is fair, which brings me to finding a place to live for the next year. Rents are high with few apartments available. Feeling further burdened with finding a suitable temporary home, you can’t imagine the happy dance I did upon discovering a one story two car garage unit in a new walkable neighborhood at a reasonable rent. And, both my roommates are welcome (meow meow).
Now for the packing, closing, transferring utilities and the bazillion changes in address, moving, unpacking with no time to settle in before flying out to Tuscany for the trip of a lifetime. My biggest worry? Yes, the cats. I’m upending their little lives then disappearing for ten days. Did I mention feeling overwhelmed? Through all the packing I’ve thought seriously about becoming a minimalist. Not joking. With all the giving away, selling and donating over the last year I still have so much furniture and stuff, too much furniture and stuff. But, I’ll address that at some other moment in time. For now, I’m moving forward. And, that is what counts.
During the last 20 years a lot has been written, reported, spoken about being our authentic selves. When the idea of living authentically first entered my head space, I was working. I wondered then how that might be looked upon in our rule based society where fitting in was a job requirement for most of corporate America. Different ideas were often met with, “but that’s the way we’ve always done it”. Rules and policies reigned. Employee manuals included everything from acceptable behavior to dress codes. Group think or face the wrath assigned to anyone not perceived as a team player.
Going further back in time I grew up in a very conformist household. My family was, like many other families of the era, rule based. Rules for inside the home and rules for school, church and social activities. Rules for speaking and rules for dress. Rules for daily living and rules for thinking. The rules were there to ensure that we did fit in, were accepted and belonged. We had to act the part and look the part and sound the part. We’ve all heard the saying, “Go along to get along.”
From an early age I was always the odd girl out among my siblings. I didn’t do sports or fishing or deep sea diving or horseback riding or going to the stock car races. While the kids in the neighborhood played baseball in the empty lot, I reveled in books, dance, theater, music, art and anything avant-garde. The Sizzling Sixties rocked my world and I enjoyed the ride. Growing up an hour train or bus ride to New York City, I was smitten with the anything goes in the city that never sleeps. Back in my little borough on the Jersey Shore, it was rules, beliefs, fitting in and being normal. Anything I did that was different from the perceived normal was shamed and ridiculed ending with the refrain, “We don’t believe in that” or “We don’t do that” or my mother’s favorite, “Kathleen, how could you?!”.
From home, church and the school yard we move on to the work place. Here’s where not fitting in can hit us in the wallet. The job or career where we have to fit in, go along to get along and work, work, work to achieve more and more in order to gain higher levels of prestige, money and success. We create goals to satisfy our egos and our supervisor’s annual review. We burden ourselves with more tasks which, comes with more stress, perhaps competition, and sometimes jealousy, from co-workers, then more hours, education and experience grabbing to do the same thing over again. We dress to fit the role we play. For this t-shirt and jeans type, hands-in-the-dirt gardener, the designer suits, acceptable hair style, perfect makeup and well heeled look grated. It wasn’t dress for success to me; it was a strait jacketed uniform that helped pay the bills.
Throughout our lives for any number of reasons we often strive to fit in, so we will belong, suppressing our very authenticity. We self-edit our ideas and desires to become someone else’s version of normal, acceptable, to meet their reality. It may be for family or societal pressure, to bring home a paycheck, to be liked. For me, that always chafed as if I were wearing a pair of ill fitting slacks. Retirement is a cathartic release of all the above. As poet Mary Sarton said, “We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” Retirement is the opportunity of a lifetime to be truly authentic. Whatever identity we wore in our previous two-thirds of life, we can now create an identity of our own making.
Today I don’t have one designer anything in my closet. My wardrobe consists of many pairs of my coveted jeans, t-shirts and sweaters. I rarely wear jewelry, not even earrings. I let my hair go gray years ago. I write, read, paint, draw, listen to music, garden, of course, and plan solo travels like my upcoming trip to Italy or building my new house. There will always be people who tell us we should do this or should do that. They are thinking what works for them must surely work for you. Listen to them, politely, if you can, then do whatever the hell you want! You have nothing to prove to anyone. You don’t need anyone’s approval.
To an extent we will always need to follow some rules as a society without rules is a mass of chaos. I see this time as choosing to live my reality built upon my dreams. I see it as I need people who support me, who may disagree with me, but people who accept my authentic self. I see it as this time in my life is irreplaceable and it belongs to me with open arms for those who love me and I love in return. I see it as wanting people in my life who see me as amazing as much as I see them as amazing. In this moment I realize the gift of retirement is freedom to be who I am, where I am. I no longer have to fit into someone else’s idea of me. That’s my new reality. That’s my rule now.
Along with crocus and pussy willows signs of spring include more home buyers. Consequently, as a seller I’m preparing to put my house on the market. I can’t afford to build the new house without selling the old house, which presents a whole set of additional challenges like where will I live in between. But, that’s another post.
Unlike the sale of my South Carolina house where my main consideration was Martin, here I sort of have the luxury of not having to sell in a hurry. There, I needed a quick sale to spare Martin (and me) from the stress of weeks of showings, making sure each day the house was clean as a whistle, and leaving on possibly short notice for a showing. I also didn’t want us moving to Michigan in snowy January. Having spent decades in the business I knew the realities. I did what was best for our emotional health rather than getting an extra few dollars.
Every sale has its challenges though. This time I’m in a market, which is transitioning from a sellers’ market to a buyers’ market. With inflation building costs have skyrocketed. Some pressure most definitely exists to get the new house under way. I’ve been here before as well. Clean, clean, clean and plain vanilla sell in any market, but it’s even more important in a buyers’ market. They can be choosy about not wanting to paint over the sellers’ blue, pink or mint green colors. They can turn up their noses at what appear to be small maintenance or repair items. They can demand move-in ready. So, here I am touching up my plain vanilla wall paint, decluttering yet again and looking with a buyer’s eye at every detail.
I hunted ruthlessly through closets for anything I hadn’t worn or used in the last year, packing my car for one more trip to Goodwill. On a sunny 52º day with the drip, drip of melting snow sounding in my ears, I burned reams of old records and paperwork in the fire pit, some as much as twenty years old. Why I was hanging onto this is anyone’s guess. I think it was like discarding parts of my life, but on that day it was past energy from which I needed to free myself, not to mention the space it was taking up. While I watched my life going up in flames I envisioned the Phoenix feathered and golden rising from the accumulating gray ashes. That was me rising to rebuild my life. Then, I spied, just beyond the fire pit, fuzzy pussy willows budding out. Retrieving a pair of clippers from my garage I happily snipped several branches to bring inside. Yes, there were signs of spring, a new beginning, a fresh start.
I received a lot of insightful comments to my query on retirement challenges. It sounds like we all realize retirement is no different from the other times of our lives. There are ups and downs we weathered and will continue to weather as we age. For some of you the challenges provided inspiration to find new meaning and purpose enriching your retirement. For others, you faced unexpected loss as I did early in my retirement. For others still, it was a matter of accepting the situation, what I call lightening up.
For me, while recently working on creating a greater idea about my life, I’ve encountered some setbacks beyond my control. As someone who’s always tried to control events learning to let go and allow this evolution to flow wherever it takes me is a challenge in itself. My personality was never one to lighten up.
Now, I find myself with no other choice. The new house is on indefinite hold. I haven’t sold my current house. In order to build the new one I must first sell this one. Our inflationary period played a role, but the big deterrent came out of the blue. Following the height of the pandemic, people are still working from home and many will continue to do so. I lost two serious working-from-home buyers wanting to live the rural life, but needing the ability to video conference. I now know more about the internet than I ever wanted to know.
My Modern Farmhouse Now On Hold
I have high speed internet. However, the download is fast enough for video conferencing; the upload is not. The upload pushes information out into the world wide web. The only way to increase the speed at my house is access to fiber optics, which my carrier predicts is at least a year away. As I write this fiber is being laid a mere eleven miles from my house. According to a recent article in The Washington Post only 43% of the population in the United States has fiber optics. The Biden Administration passed a bill to extend fiber into rural America and Michigan received its share of the funding. As we all know, everything takes time as a project of this magnitude requires lots of labor and materials to execute the plan.
Since I need to rent while my new house is built, I was also in a quandary about where I would live. Not only are rents exceedingly high, every single place I contacted had long waiting lists. Very few offered short-term leases of six to eight months. In the college town of Kalamazoo with thousands of rental units I was shocked to find nothing readily available. With my three cats and Rachel’s three dogs, moving in with her family is out of the question, unless we want the fur to fly. Consequently, I decided to take the house off the market and wait out inflation, market fluctuations and laying fiber optics.
Though disappointed I’m also grateful I don’t have to move. I have the luxury of staying put a while longer. And, with all the work preparing the house for sale, I can sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor. We all face challenges. The ups and downs are normal. We work through our current sticky wicket, reach a plateau and then the next glitch appears in our lives. Working through each one is called growth. We learn, compromise, rise to the occasion, adapt, acquiesce or whatever else it takes. It’s all part of our evolution. I decided to surrender to this moment. I know what I’m seeking and eventually it will happen. For now, I’ll continue doing nothing and just lighten up.
Over the last several weeks I discovered a luxury I’d been missing. I didn’t know it was a luxury. I didn’t know I was missing it. I never thought of it as a luxury. But, it is. For the moment I’m indulging in doing nothing. Yes, nothing. Oh, I know we can’t ever be doing nothing. Even when we’re asleep, we’re doing something. One of the greatest challenges I’ve faced during the last year is overcoming the habit of being in constant motion both physically and mentally.
After two months of decluttering, donating, selling, cleaning, paint touch ups, spring garden tidying, mulching, cleaning some more, making everything sparkle, the damaged deck replaced, it was show time. The house went on the market. The new deck, which is the result of two cherry trees falling on the old one, the downsized amount of furniture and the fresh feeling of the house and yard almost make me want to stay here. Almost, but not really.
Following the major clean-up I spent a week or two fidgeting as I looked for activities to fill my time. Like a leaf in the wind I blew here and there doing whatever I convinced myself needed doing.
Then, I went to Detroit for a few days with a friend. With tickets to experience Immersive Van Gogh, which was mesmerizing, but way too short, we decided to spend a couple nights so we could shop (I bought one tiny little thing) and visit The Henry Ford Museum of American Innovation. Three days of wandering through museums and shops and art space. Leisurely breakfasts and lunches and dinners. Talking and sharing. Sleeping later than usual. I felt like I hadn’t felt in years.
Immersed in Van Gogh
Returning refreshed I decided to just be for a while. To do nothing. Easier said than done. Years of caregiving had my monkey brain still engaged full tilt. Over my caregiving years I learned to anticipate the next need, upset, crisis putting myself into forever proactive mode. If my predictive efforts didn’t anticipate the next caregiving event, there was, of course, flight, fight or freeze. Rarely did I freeze because I never stopped thinking or doing. And, there was never a time including respites where I focused on just being. Now, I realize what a luxury it is to do nothing.
Remember mindfulness? I wrote about it, practiced it and left it behind probably at the time I needed it most. Mindfulness is achieved by being mentally present. I’d been thinking for so long about the future and replaying the past in my head that I lost the habit of being conscious of my surroundings, my body, my emotions and not even paying slight attention to my current thoughts as they were swallowed up by stressing over what was to come. Somehow, I had to unearth the ability to live in full awareness of the present moment. It was there once; I could relearn it.
Enter neuroplasticity. Remember that? I also wrote about neuroplasticity, took classes on the brain and brain research at Furman University OLLI. Since then, the research on mindfulness and neuroplasticity continues to support the fact that we can create new neural pathways, even in cases where the brain is injured. When we learn something new, we rewire our brains. I’m on a track to rewire my brain with new neural pathways to respond to situations sans flight, fight or freeze. I’m reorganizing the connections in my brain. Doing nothing is helping me. By deliberately slowing my days I’m choosing what to do with intention each day, to be mindful and conscious.
Intention is not the same as having a to do list where you tick off each accomplishment. It’s not setting goals. My goal is to rewire my brain, but it is the daily practice guided by my intentions, which enables me to reach that goal. To me an intention sets the tempo for my day. It guides me. Working in my garden carries an intention such as, “I intend to be aware of the beauty and life in my garden.” Other intentions could be “I intend to eat a healthy diet today” or “I intend to practice mindfulness today” or “I intend to forgive others and myself”.
We often tend to believe if we put ourselves on idle, we’re being unproductive, lazy, wasting time. For me, doing nothing is not actually doing nothing, but, instead, being present, mindful of the moment with intention. Remember meditation? I was always good for about 5 minutes and that’s where I’ve started over with my meditation practice. Years ago I took a course in Buddhism, which is where I was introduced to meditation. The one important part of the practice, at least for me, was learning thoughts enter our minds even as we want to empty the mind. My instructor taught me to identify each thought as positive, negative or neutral, then let it go. It works leaving me with a clear mind, which affords room to consciously rewire of my brain.
During my years of working I prided myself on what I could get done in a day. In the early years of retirement I felt the same way. Following Martin’s diagnosis and years of caregiving, however, I’ve changed my mind. It’s taken the last year, and at times, I still find myself feeling as if I accomplished nothing in a day. And that’s ok. Letting go of old habits takes practice and time. For the most part, I now cherish the ability to slow down, reflect, feel joy, be grateful, create and live in the moment. It’s the luxury of doing nothing.
In order to reinvent my life I must divest myself of fragments from my past. Like my best memories of Martin, I’m keeping the possessions, which are dear to me. I’m not seeking a minimalist lifestyle, but one honoring our past while giving breath to what lies ahead of me. Unlike past decluttering this one requires a wisdom imbued with greater purpose.
I had a longtime habit of cleaning out closets and drawers each January as my version of out with the old, in with the new. Somewhere along the path I’m on that annual ritual went by the wayside. When we sold our South Carolina house, I did a major declutter. Or, so I thought.
In preparation for the sale of my Michigan house, I began going through drawers and closets with the purpose of decluttering. As I cleared drawers of stuff, I also considered furniture, which won’t fit in my new smaller home. Lists of things to donate and items to sell forced me to realize I wasn’t decluttering; this was the big purge.
There were obvious items that must go, like Martin’s bicycle, gear and outfits along with sport coats, dress shirts, slacks, leather belts and shoes. No reason for any of it to languish in closets and cubbies when someone else could make good use of it. It took two weeks for me to act on selling Martin’s bike. I cleaned it, polished it and looked at it day in and day out. I felt frozen in time, slogging through quick sand. After mustering the courage to drop his clothing at Good Will, I felt relief. Then, a few hours later, came a serious meltdown as grief washed over me in a torrent of tears. Divesting myself of his belongings was accepting he would never walk through the door again. Once I was all cried out, I let go of the bicycle as well. It was a kind of release.
Martin’s racing bicycle
As I sort through our lifetime with a mostly clear head I didn’t have in 2019, I often ask myself why I paid to have this or that hauled from South Carolina. Taking a page from organizational expert Marie Kondo, so much of what I had didn’t spark joy. “Did it spark joy for me?”, became my precept, albeit one which is resulting in keeping a few things that may not evoke a modern farmhouse style. Looking at my Great-Great Aunt Josephine’s crystal jewelry box, I opened it. I lifted out a chestnut. Hard and brown my Mother carried it in her purse as a talisman. As I ran my fingers over its smooth rich decades old surface this memento from my Mother was now my symbol of juju, mojo, good luck. A practical woman, a strong woman, her spirit would help me push through this arduous task.
As with the chestnut, possessions carry energy in the memories they summon in our spirits. I looked at the five sets of dishes from the dinner group we belonged to in the 1990’s. I hadn’t needed nor used all this entertainment paraphernalia in decades. The dishes, napkins and rings, table clothes and serving dishes. In an epiphany I realized it was the memories I was holding onto, memories of those evenings when we gathered monthly to break bread. Fun nights like the mystery dinners where we dressed up as various characters in a whodunit. And then, there was the toga party where neighbors must have thought we were crazy traipsing through our garden, glasses of red wine in hand, with our guests, all of us dressed in bed sheets! I would keep the memories and some of the accoutrements, but it was time for most of the physical trappings to go.
Following my second car load of memories taken to Good Will the picture was becoming clear. There were certain objects, furniture, glass ware, keepsakes I would never part with. Antique pieces from both our families needed to stay with me a while longer. A few pieces of the furniture we bought during our marriage were now vintage, slightly marred with scratches or glass rings where a coaster went unused. There is no place for a couple of items in my to-be-built new home, but I’m making a place.
The large marble coffee table in the great room was originally on the chopping block. Then came the evening I sat in front of the fire place mindfully looking at its smooth surface and rough edges, the tiny scratches from grandchildren running toy cars across it along with a few water marks from spilled drinks. Martin and I had gone to The Street of Dreams charity event while living in Seattle. In an 11,000 square foot show house sat a marble coffee table dazzling us both. A couple weeks later Martin went on a motorcycle ride returning to announce he’d found such a table at Frederick and Nelson Department Store. He wanted to buy it. And so did I. I knew now I couldn’t part with it. It represented a joint purchase, a joint love of beautiful things. Though now imperfect with blemishes from nearly 40 years of use, this table also represents the joyous imperfection of our lives. As with ourselves, we looked upon the blemishes as character. There are possessions, which are just baggage. And, then, there are things, which warm my heart each day, that spark joy and must continue to color my life. Despite its ultra modern look the marble table stays.
As I empty the house of remnants of my past life I feel less overwhelmed, lighter, more forward looking. I’m honoring my past. And, making room for my future.
Events of the past few months have left the world reeling in a collective grief on a scale which most of us have never experienced. I’ve written in the past about sociologist Robert Atchley’s views on grieving the loss of our work identity. We are way beyond anything he or any of us could have imagined. We have lost so much in such a short time from an invisible enemy that grief is an inevitable emotion. Having spent the last several years adjusting to a heart-wrenching life situation where I was overwhelmed by grief I’m offering my perspective.
Years ago as we grappled with the impact of Martin’s disease I remember sitting in a popular local restaurant lunching with a friend. People bustled past the windows on that sunny day. Inside seating was filled, glasses clinked, servers brought delicious food and drink. In the midst of cheerfulness, as I poured out my despair, disappointment, uncertainty and anger over this unexpected disease, my friend said, “You do realize somebody else has it worse than you?”
Surprised and hurt at how a friend invalidated my feelings, I recognized in that moment what we all crave in life. We want everything to be normal, usual, positive, happy. Perhaps even mundane. I thought about all the people who told me to look on the bright side, think positive, at least you still have him. Few wanted to listen to my grieving.
Today I read this post on Facebook:
Without thinking, I shared it. Then, I realized I was diminishing someone else’s grief. I did exactly what I complained about in other people. I was no different. We want to look on the bright side. Yes, most cases of COVID-19 are mild. Going to the hospital and being put on a ventilator is not a death sentence. Yet, for some there is no bright side. A person they love died. In actuality people are losing a mother, father, sister, brother, son or daughter. They are grieving. And we must recognize the death toll. We must recognize the grief – their grief, our grief.
This is now a melancholy time. As with Martin’s disease so it is with COVID-19 – there is no vaccine, no cure, no surgery, no nothing. Many of us may feel alone, helpless. Our lives forever changed. Normal is no longer normal. Our usual day is replaced by shuttering ourselves in isolation. If we are lucky we have at least one other with whom to share our space and our fears. We have the internet, Skype, FaceTime, but we are social creatures wanting to go out into the world, rub shoulders with other people, go to work, shop, travel, have fun, be happy. We mourn the loss.
In order to have someone to listen, just listen, I spent six years expressing most of my heartache to a therapist, at first weekly, then every other week. Six years. Without her I could not have found even a morsel of happiness again. I learned that suppressing negative emotions leads to other negative feelings such as resentment. Quashing grief only heightens stress levels, which leads to health issues. Talking about my grief was cathartic. For me it was a release that allowed me to go on. I was able to discard the negative thereby making way for some enjoyment of life. Grieving is necessary for letting go of negative emotions.
I’ve read many articles on grief. Most of the articles refer to the loss of a spouse or significant other. And, every author points to people telling them exactly the type of comments I encountered. Get over it. Think positive. Move on. Most people who give this advice probably think they are being helpful as I did by re-posting the above quote. But, for the person going through the grief process, it can feel belittling of their situation. It can also make them think they shouldn’t be feeling the negativity of the situation – ahhhh – the guilt.
Now, today, we are also hearing about grief over what may seem trivial to some of us. Grief, however, is personal. For my young granddaughters the closing of school for the year brought tears. Our 17-year-old will graduate without making “the walk” to receive her diploma or attending a senior prom or the planned mystery tour for seniors following graduation. The celebrations, which are so much a part of this experience have vaporized. To those of us with wider life experience this may seem small. To her the loss is real. She deserves to shed tears and feel the loss.
This is a time for compassion. Whether we see the loss as large or small is irrelevant. What matters is that we respond with compassion. We must honor the feelings of the person. Grief is personal.
Both my doctor and therapist talked to me about anticipatory grief, meaning I was anticipating the final loss of Martin and grieving over that future event. I had no idea when it would occur so I felt a loss of control. Our future was uncertain. I venture to say many are struggling with the same feelings surrounding the pandemic. We have no idea when it will end or how it will end. We have no idea what the final toll in human life will be. We worry about money and jobs and the economic impact. We worry about our children’s education and socialization. We mourn the loss of our social ties, work, clubs, sporting events, classes. Normal provides comfort. When our normal, usual life is upended so is our sense of safety.
I say it’s important to give ourselves permission to grieve the loss of our lives as we knew it. Grief, whether it’s because of a death, divorce, an empty nest, retirement or the catastrophic assault of a modern day plague, plays a very important role in our very ability to give way to the bright side, to move ahead, to adjust to our altered reality. Depending on a number of factors, from our personality type to our personal circumstance to our support system, each of us has a different grief meter. Divesting ourselves of the negative emotions allows us to move ahead sooner rather than later. By grieving we also honor that part of our life. It’s ok to mourn the loss.
We are in a time when an abundance of compassion is needed as never before. Having a meltdown is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of someone requiring comfort, understanding and love. In this time of coming together, albeit virtually for most of us, lend a willing ear to anyone wanting or needing to express their sorrow. It will be good for both of you.
It’s that time of year again where we made our New Year’s resolutions, face a clean slate, decide what we want to write on our slate.I feel like I started with a clean slate in September.I’m still working on it.If someone told me a year ago, at the beginning of 2020, I’d be living in a new house, different climate and culture, changing my reality, I’d most likely have thought them daffy.Yet, here I am.I didn’t make resolutions again this year.However, I am pondering some revelations.
Rhetorically, does a move to another state change our reality?Decidedly so.
Despite my trepidation about living in the snow belt, our Christmas was not white with snow, but sunny with temperatures in the high 50’s.By Thursday it was 61.I washed, waxed and detailed my car while Martin bicycled 18 miles.Major storms, which made national news, went either north or south of us revealing a short winter season.I’m ready if we get hammered as today it appears ‘The Iceman Cometh’.My new reality includes a snow plowing service for the driveway as well as generator for power outages.
But, compared to my altered emotional, spiritual and mental reality, the change in my physical reality is a minor aspect.
Christmas night, as we prepared to leave our daughter’s house after a day of family, our grandchildren offered up hugs, our son-in-law backed my car out of the driveway and our daughter said, “Watch out for deer.They’re scampering all over the place.”
“I know.We see them scampering.I’m tired.Glad it’s only 5 minutes to the house.”
She smiled.“A lot better than 12 hours.”
Yes.
Having family, assistance and love just 5 minutes away has granted the measure of peace I hoped for.I’m happier than I’ve been in years.My only regret is not making the move sooner.While being a caregiver is still strenuous, it is now a shared responsibility.The kindness, acceptance, attention, effort, compassion, empathy, time together – I could go on and on.
This hasn’t been easy.After 21 years in South Carolina, even with the help of family, adapting to a new culture is a challenge.Fortunately, we’ve lived here before.Some things never change.At the same time, growth renders cities and streets unrecognizable.Family ties, of course, make it easier to find doctors, hair stylists, the best places to shop and other services.When we moved to South Carolina, we had to rely on maps to get around.GPS makes a new locale a lot simpler, especially wending our way through those now unfamiliar high growth, high traffic areas.
While not making resolutions, I did reflect on what I wanted 2020 to look like.Nearly two weeks into the new year and new decade, I decided to take a page from fellow blogger Pat Doyle’s post (https://retirementtransition.blog/2020/01/06/woty-2020-release/) and choose a Word Of The Year (WOTY) as a guide. I wanted a word to lead the way to the emotional, spiritual and mental growth I sought in this new reality.I wanted a word to aide my focus.I wanted a word to define 2020 for me.My WOTY is ‘Engage’.While I’ve been busy settling in, locating services, changing licenses, address, painting walls and whatever else was needed to make this home our own, other than family, I haven’t engaged in the community in a meaningful social way.
We live in the country.However, looking around at what’s close to home revealed a wealth of interests hinging upon our natural world.Small town activities abound.Then there’s always the big cities, a bit longer to get to, but filled with many pursuits to choose from.
Martin’s Painting of Canadian Geese
Keeping it local, as a first step to engaging Martin and I joined the Michigan State University Bird Sanctuary and Manor House only a few minutes from our home.Similarly, we joined the Kalamazoo Nature Center – yes, there really is a Kalamazoo, Michigan – a bit further down the road.
As a caregiver one of the challenges of engaging is finding activities, which will engage and satisfy both of us as well as finding community involvement for me alone.The Bird Sanctuary is home to Trumpet swans, Canadian geese, ducks and rescued birds such as a Bald Eagle.With nature trails surrounding a large pond and a monthly Birds and Coffee Walk, as longtime hikers, it’s the perfect place for both of us to get some exercise, engage with other people and nature.On our last visit we met a photographer who drives over an hour just to take pictures of the once endangered Trumpet swans.Martin took his own photos of geese, translating them to his artist canvas.For me, there’s also the Richland Area Community Center with yoga and art classes.It’s a beginning.
With an open mind and an open heart and ‘Engage’ as my WOTY, we’ll see what I can draw upon my slate by the end of 2020.Engaging is under way!More revelations to come.
Thank you to everyone for the heartfelt messages.Having an international community of support is priceless.My heart goes out to those of you who have experienced or are experiencing similar situations.I learned a lot from this move, not the least of which is to follow my own advice to live in the moment.
When our South Carolina house went under contract, we left for Michigan on a sweltering July day with the objective of buying another house.Since Martin doesn’t drive anymore, the nearly 800 miles behind the wheel was left to me.Many asked why we didn’t fly.Martin doesn’t fly anymore either.Airports are noisy.Jets are cramped.Even with the no check-in line, getting through security is a challenge for me alone.For someone who must be spoken to slowly, succinctly without a surrounding cacophony just getting to the plane is a major stress.I split the drive into two days with a stopover in Lexington, Kentucky at our favorite Man O’War Boulevard hotel.Still, it was exhausting, for both of us.It is what it is.
The closing on our SC house was scheduled for August 28 so time was of the essence.On the advice of Martin’s neurologist I was working to take Martin from one house to the other with scarcely any stops in between.Getting him settled into a new environment with as few adjustments as possible was imperative for his well-being and mine.
With the idea of downsizing both in house and land, we arrived with a handful of properties to view.Houses in Michigan are most often built on basements, many with finished walk-out basements.I knew there would be stairs.With that in mind, I pursued only ranch styles to keep it to one set.After all, I wanted a house where we could age in place.We had a lot of advantages in our quest, from human help to technological help — the internet, smart phones and GPS; our Realtor, Faith, appropriately named for this adventure, is my daughter, Rachel’s, niece by marriage.I felt confident there was a house for us among the ones identified.
However, none of the houses “spoke” to us.Martin was especially discouraged.After two days of intent looking, I found myself sitting on the sofa in Rachel’s sunroom at 4 a.m.Our search was taking us further and further from her address.There wasn’t a point of moving to Michigan if we were an hour away from help.
During this introspection, an epiphany – instead of buying for the present, I was buying for a future I didn’t even know if we would have.I had an idea where Martin’s disease would take us, but how many years away was that?In 2018 his neurologist told us it was moving at a glacial pace.It could be ten or even twenty years.We are still in good physical health.Martin bicycles 80 to a 100 miles a week at 21 miles per hour!He can certainly climb stairs.I needed to consider two story houses, two sets of stairs for the moment we were in, not the future yet to come.
Later that morning as Faith drove us to look at more properties, I mentioned my thoughts to her.We were minutes from Rachel’s house when she pointed to the right and said, “If you’re considering two stories, there’s a beautiful house behind all those trees.” After pulling up the listing on my phone, scrolling through photos and showing Martin, I told Faith we wanted to see the house.
It isn’t a style I would have thought about purchasing.This wasn’t downsizing; it’s nearly 3,700 square feet.Definitely not the smaller piece of land I searched for, it sits on fifteen acres with a small pond and a slice of frontage along a small lake.
As I stood in the huge kitchen that day, I caught a glimpse of Martin disappearing down one of the many paths through the woods.I quickly asked Faith to go after him so I could look around some more.I watched as her 6’2” frame vanished down the path after Martin. With her spring green dress and long flowing blond curls, I felt like I was watching Alice chasing the White Rabbit.I hoped we weren’t about to go down the rabbit hole.Upon their return I put my doubts aside.Martin was all smiles.“Better, better, better” his way of saying this is the one.
There were other two stories, but this is the one.This is the house for this moment in our lives.We will grow old.We will have health issues.We will die.All the advice, including mine, about having a house for aging in place deprives us of living in the present, the here and now, the joy of the moment.
This is the house with the family sized kitchen for cooking and gathering, dedicated spaces for the art studio, indoors bicycling when the snow flies, a writing room for me, the house in a private setting with deer, turkey, squirrels and chipmunks, the house with room for bird feeding stations, the house about a mile from a good riding route for Martin, the house with beautiful gardens to tend in good weather and add winter interest, the house with the dining room big enough for our family to enjoy Sunday dinners and the house close enough for help to arrive in minutes.This is the perfect house for this moment.
Apologies to everyone for my long hiatus.Thank you to those who messaged asking if I’m OK.The answer is I’m OK now and getting better every day.It was a tough past year for both Martin and me, which turned grueling in April as Martin’s dementia continues to swallow his core of self.My caregiving duties increased tremendously.This disease is oppressive for both victim and caregiver.
As bloggers most of us write about the positives of retirement.We don’t write about the negatives unless they turn out to be positives.Yet there is a sad side to aging.One day you wake up to the unexpected.At the risk of depressing you, truthfully, retirement is not all cookies and ice cream.
I’m writing this from my new-to-me home in Michigan by way of a calamitous year.I won’t bore you with a blow by blow of all that happened; just a glimpse.Retirement is like the other parts of our lives.Things go wrong.People can be mean.The best laid plans can be ripped to shreds by a disease you never heard of.Unfulfilled expectations lead to depression, anger, a feeling of helplessness.
We built our South Carolina house for our retirement.Open floor plan, wide doorways, solid surface floors, one story, waist high counters and more.It was the perfect house for aging in place in a warm, sunny climate until the universe spewed a meteor in our direction.It hit us head-on.
I tried hiring help through two different companies I vetted.Both came highly recommended by other caregivers.The first person hired just to clean my home took the nozzles off the bathroom faucets telling me she always cleaned those.Next came her claim that I needed a whole house water filtration system.No, I didn’t need to call my plumber; she just happened to have a friend who did nothing but install filtration systems.(It’s not the filtration system, which is the scam.It’s the exorbitant price charged.)After removing her from my house, yes, I did need to call my plumber.She broke the seal on all four nozzles along with the tiny little baskets designed to direct the water flow.Nearly $500 later, new nozzles sent free of charge from Delta Faucets and reimbursement from her company, I tried a second company with similar results.Not as costly, but, still, someone trying to take advantage of me.
In the meantime, one morning Martin had a dangerous drop in blood pressure, passed out in the kitchen while making his latte.Reacting to the thud I heard, I arrived to a sea of blood and milk on the kitchen floor.He was already standing at the sink with blood drizzling down his chin.Warning to the squeamish:this part is graphic.The metal latte pitcher went into his chin.As he yelled, “No, no it’s only an itty-bitty” I dialed 911, tried to get a towel pressed to his chin to stem the bleeding and said, “It’s a BIG bitty”. Fortunately, a 6’4” fire fighter arrived within minutes and Martin followed his instructions.After an ambulance ride to the ER, where his blood pressure dropped to 70/40, and several stitches inside and out, I thought this was the worst we would endure for the moment.
Mean people are not just strangers.Sometimes they live on the same street.A neighbor spread the rumor Martin didn’t have Primary Progressive Aphasia – I was making it up just to get sympathy.(I wish it were so.) After all, who ever heard of such a disease? And he was still bicycling.The neighbor’s rumor caused other neighbors and one contractor to treat me badly.Of all the situations, this middle school bullying behavior by adults, most of whom are my age or close to it, was the most difficult for me.I understand fear of dementia.I don’t understand cruelty born of ignorance.
There’s more, lots more, but I said I wouldn’t bore you with a blow by blow account.The wakeup call came from my doctor in May.If it wasn’t for the stress I was under, I would be in good health. As we all know, good health is aging’s holy grail.I needed to find a balance for both Martin and me.I couldn’t do anything about his disease, but I could do something about where we lived.
After nearly a year of listening to my oldest daughter asking us to move to Michigan to live near her, I faced facts.Although we had loving helpful friends, we needed more.Living in the tundra was not our idea of a great environment in which to age.But, we spent 46 years living in the North.We could do it again.Reluctantly, sadly we prepared our house for sale.
Fueled by a hot sellers’ market and right pricing, mercifully, within a week our house was under contract.Those few showings alone agitated Martin, which stressed me.The universe was finally spreading sunshine in our direction.Finding a house just five minutes from our daughter convinced me God’s hand was surely in this.I won’t say hiccups didn’t occur along the way, but most situations were resolved with minimal fuss.
Then, on a late August day, with Martin, a car load of cats in carriers and a large plastic bin marked “Survival Kit” I headed north to our new home.
Kathy's Retirement Blog 