Tag Archives: Identity

Jan 30 2024

A Gift

Recently, a long time follower gifted me with a book.  Knowing I was widowed in 2022, she messaged me and asked if she could send me Hope For Widows – Reflections on Mourning, Living, and Change by Marilyn Nutter.  Having read several books on loss, mourning and starting anew, although I was firmly planted in the starting over phase of my journey, I was interested in reading this book, not only for me, but for others going through a similar experience.  Starting over is hard.  Any nugget of information to help along the way is much appreciated.

As it turns out, I wish I had this book many years ago when I was grappling with anticipatory grief.  Marilyn Nutter had a very different experience than mine, becoming a widow unexpectedly while she and her husband, Randy were 3,000 miles from home and just two days prior to Christmas.  Conversely, I had years to grieve and mourn the anticipated loss of my husband, Martin.  I had plenty of time to plan and prepare and I certainly wasn’t thousands of miles from home during a major holiday when he ascended.  That alone must have added to the trauma of losing her spouse.  On the other hand, I had time to reflect upon this deeply felt loss.  I had time to rage against the disease.  I had time to journal my thoughts and feelings. I had time to make peace with the universe. I had time to accept the situation.  I had time to decide what my life would look like without him.  Time.  Time that many widows or widowers do not have. Yet, I found this book helpful with the insights and comfort Nutter offers.

While the book is sixty-five chapters, each is more like a vignette of only two or three pages, followed by what Nutter deems “Treasured Reflections”, where she offers up ideas to ponder and “Treasured Thoughts”, which the reader might journal as a means of recognizing their personal rumination on the subject.  In this, there is a type of self-help aspect to the book.  Perhaps the most prescient chapter to me is Chapter 10 “His Work Isn’t Finished”.  Here, Nutter’s pastor provides a vision contrary to what I and many think of as the deceased’s life being over, finished, done.  

Martin’s work is still here in my life, the lives of our family and his co-workers and friends.  For me, he’s here in the everyday reminders from our furniture we chose together to the recipes we enjoyed cooking as a couple to his art and photos. During the last few years of his life, he produced hundreds of paintings, so many so that after choosing the ones I wanted to keep and some, which family and friends chose, I donated the remainder to Good Will.  Towards the end his paintings became more child-like, almost all of them featuring animals coupled with whimsy.  When I donated his works, I thought about how great they would look in a child’s room.  I hope that’s where they landed to add cheer to another’s life. Our grandchildren share his artistic bent as well as his athleticism.  Former employees have reminisced about what an influence he was on their careers.  A former supervisor told me in tears how he thought Martin could do anything.  Yes, he lives on in so many ways in so many lives.  This thought brings a much needed warmth and comfort to my soul.

There are other passages, which struck a cord such as the ones where grief is not wholly recognized in our society, but something where we shouldn’t cry in public (we should cry whenever we need to) or the mental, emotional and even physical manifestations of grief.  These chapters would have certainly aided me during my years of anticipatory grief to know that what I was experiencing is not unusual.  So, I thank Renee for the gift.  And, since some of you have expressed how you are going through or anticipate loss, I’m passing this on to anyone who may need some encouragement and hope for a brighter tomorrow.  

Copyright © 2024 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

Jan 15 2024

OLD!

A few months ago I went to my bank, something I rarely do in this world of banking apps and cash back at almost every retailer.  As I waited in line for my turn the woman in front of me struck up a conversation with the branch manager who was behind the teller counter attending to some unseen task.  The woman and branch manager apparently knew each other as they chatted easily about mutual acquaintances and activities.  

Everything was genial until she asked, “How’s your grandmother?”

The branch manager stopped what he was doing, straightened up, looked out into the lobby as he emphatically announced, “Old!”

The woman didn’t respond as her smiling face sunk into a bewildered expression, her eyes nervously darting around the lobby.  I felt she was as stunned by his response as I was.  Without another word he went back to what he was doing.

During the previous several months I had had a couple of ageist encounters with this early thirties something man.  Had he looked past the woman at me as he made what I thought was a disrespectful response, both for his grandmother and his acquaintance customer?  Or was I just imagining? 

Not so sure I should let this pass without a word, I, too, looked around at the young faces behind the teller counter, at the personal banker in the glass cubicle chatting with a customer.  They were all young twenty, thirty somethings.  The branch manager was the standard bearer for how to treat customers with respect and dignity.  He was their leader, their guide from whom they took their cues.  Since the previous manager was promoted to a higher level, which came as no surprise to me, I had noticed a change in the culture of this branch.  Weighing the larger consequence of not saying anything about the incident, I was now sure I would say something and to whom I would say it.  But, more on that later.

In recent weeks I’ve encountered a number of women speaking up about ageism in our society.  During the last year I’ve become more conscious of ageism, mainly in the medical and health insurance fields as well as the experiences at my bank and a few stores.  I’d like to know what you have experienced, if anything.  One woman told me the ageism in the US is ‘shocking’.  Is it that way across the country? Is it that way in other countries?  Several others have chimed in about how going grey was met with being called ‘old’ or ‘elderly’ followed by ‘dear’ and ‘sweetie’.  One woman even decided to start dyeing her hair again.  Not me.  I’d rather raise someone’s consciousness by speaking up about it.  There’s nothing wrong with a little silver protest.

According to the National Institute on Health (one of my favorite resources) “rising prejudices have spread concerning the elderly, who are seen as hindering productivity and social dynamism. Stereotypes about aging, beyond influencing behavior and ways of managing the care of elderly populations, can also impact personal experiences of aging.”  The simple fact of the baby boomer demographics makes our aging population larger than the generations, which followed.  What’s more, ageism influences our self-perceptions as well as our physical and mental health leading to such negative experiences like depression and isolation, which in turn translates into a shortened life span with a lower quality of life.

I have no doubt we live in a youth culture.  Personally, I’m anti-anti-aging.  All the ads by companies selling anti-aging products are laughingly, for the most part, using women at least 40 years younger than me to show ‘results’.  It’s as if aging is a disease, which we have to keep at bay for as long as we can with creams, lotions, dyes, supplements, makeup, botox and even plastic surgery.  Equally as pervasive is the vitamins and supplements industry raking in a hefty $150 billion per year globally.  The US makes up nearly one third of that number.  Age cannot be staved off forever, so we may as well accept that fact and enjoy life without going under the knife and getting our vitamins from healthy foods.  

Do I use creams and lotions?  Of course I do.  Who wants dry skin?  My objective is to feel the best I can without being obsessed with my body and looks to the point of trying to hide my age.  At 71 I’m comfortable in my own skin and love my grey hair.  I stopped coloring my hair somewhere around 12 years ago.  It was so freeing I’ve never thought about hair dyes again.  

But, the real issue is the devaluing of aging people due to accepted social norms centered around looking youthful, acting useful and contributing to society through a job.  According to the NIH, “the most complete definition [of ageism] has been offered by [researchers] Iversen, Larsen, and Solem, who, after a review and analysis of all the definitions given over the years, defined ageism as “negative or positive stereotypes, prejudice and/or discrimination against (or to the advantage of) elderly people on the basis of their chronological age or on the basis of a perception of them as being ‘old’ or ‘elderly’.” 

While visiting Italy I noticed a difference in the way I and my fellow aging travelers were treated.  It was with a graciousness and respect that was palpable in transactions at stores, meals in restaurants and just strolling down the street.  I believe the stereotyping of aging in Italy is a positive stereotyping where “respect your elders” is ingrained in the fabric of their social norms.  

I remember touring a villa where certain spaces were roped off.  The very young woman serving as monitor wore dark goth makeup, spiked black and maroon hair, black army boots, pants and pea coat along with a deadpan expression.  Visually scary.  No one was going to touch a thing or cross a barrier with her walking behind us!  Then, I had to make a run to the rest room, which was outside and down a long path on the grounds.  Upon my return she let me in with a stern look.  But, when I went looking for my group to catch up, she motioned to me with a smile, “Come.  I show you short cut.”  With that she led me around a roped barrier, across the living room’s ancient rug I was positive was not to be walked upon, around another barrier and down a hall where I joined my group.  As I turned to thank her she winked and said, “Secret.”  Although with cameras all over the place I don’t think it was a secret.  It was an act of kindness from someone who initially appeared so forbidding.  A reverse lesson in not judging a book by its cover.  I wonder now if the act of kindness was because of my grey hair and wrinkles and the Italian view of aging.

We are at once going through a transformation where aging is not what it once was as people continue to work, remain involved in their communities and are physically active.  Yet, at the same time, much of society views this natural part of life called aging with disdain or perhaps a bit of fear.  After all, following aging to the last is the grime reaper awaiting.  For me exercising, eating a healthy diet, keeping my mind sharp, being involved in my community, having a spiritual practice and engaging with family, friends and my hobbies are the components of healthy aging. That is my anti-aging strategy.

What do we do about the disrespect, the minimizing of our value to society?  I speak up and out about the situations I encounter.  For example, the branch manager.  As mentioned I decided I had to do something about his attitude and comments, not only for the sake of other customers, but for his employees.  Well, I emailed my contact at the bank and expressed my concern and how I had encountered what I believed to be ageism three times over a period of several months.  The CEO and president of the bank asked if it would be ok if the branch manager’s supervisor called me, to which I, of course, agreed.  

I learned that the bank has training about what respect and dignity look like, on discrimination including ageism.  I learned that upper management was sincerely disappointed in the branch manager’s attitude and, as was appropriate, apologized for the ageist treatment.  I haven’t been back because, as noted above, I don’t find it necessary to go to the bank very often.   However, I do hope to see a cultural change on my next visit.  I also hope this young manager views the experience as an opportunity to grow and learn and set a positive example for his staff.  Lastly, I hope he learned that just because someone is “old!” with grey hair and a few wrinkles doesn’t mean they don’t have wisdom,  influence and the power to create change.  

Copyright © 2024 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

Dec 31 2023

Creativity, Self-Discovery and Adventure

A year ago I sat at this computer writing about my word of the year (WOTY), a trendy replacement for making New Year resolutions.  Conflicted about which word to choose, I chose all three in the title of this post – creativity, self-discovery and adventure.  I believe I lived up to actually using these words as my guide for 2023.

I thought about no word of the year for 2024.  I never make resolutions, so why was I choosing a word or words to define my path?  Hmmm.  Maybe it’s because the word doesn’t define my path, but rather shines a light upon it to illuminate my journey throughout the coming year.  I spent 2023 focused on renewing my spirit, sorting out emotions and finding my way forward as I learned to fly with only my wings to lift me.  Consequently, I decided a word of the year would help me continue to envision my futurity while I focused on my present.

As I began building my house the structure became a personal symbol of my fresh start in life, a foundation, an anchor for whatever I choose to do.  The idea of having a haven from which to augment what I’ve built during 2023 led me to realize my purpose is to continue building upon this foundation. There will be more creativity, self-discovery and adventure to come as I craft, add onto and develop what I accomplished in 2023.  Build.  That is my word of the year for 2024.  Build.

Building On-A-Whim Cottage

There’s much more to build than my house.  I began re-building my blog, which is a challenge in itself.  After years of neglect in favor of my caregiving duties and subsequent emotional recovery, I’m beyond rusty at finding my way around the WordPress platform.  Some of you may have noticed a weird post of just my picture.  As I grappled with uploading a new photo to my media files and Gravatar using my phone, my fat fingers touched the icon for publishing the photo as a post.  And in a nano second…yikes!!  I immediately deleted the post, but not before it went out to all of you.  I even received a couple of comments telling me what a great photo it is.  Thank you.  As always life includes challenges, snafus and missteps.  But, that’s the fun in learning and the lure of creating.

Another example of building is my beloved hobby of gardening.  My property currently looks like a mud pit as we’ve had rain, rain and more rain.  My plan to seed wildflowers after two hard frosts was sidelined as warm temperatures, at least warm for Michigan, hovered from the high 30’s to the almost unheard of December temp of 61.  That doesn’t mean my head isn’t swimming with plans for the various areas around the house as well as those far afield.  As I draw and collect landscaping plans, I’m grateful for the rainy days where I can sit and sketch and dream.  Nothing makes me happier than building gardens.  And, over time build them I will.

Building upon my social support groups is also a priority for 2024 as I work to expand my toehold of belonging in my new community.  While I’ve made the tentative beginnings of friendships, building a moai or tribe takes time as we get to know each other.  Joining in activities like yoga and book club at the area community center was the boost I needed to meet other residents with similar interests.  Fortunately, there are a few who are also new to the community and as open as I am to forging ties.  Add to that the welcoming spirit of many longtime residents and I’m on my way to building a support group.

As my mind’s eye conjures up a visualization of my imagination, my thoughts overflow with ideas for how I will live my life. I’ve mined the bottomless depths of my spirit, that which exists beyond the body and mind.  Much of this is and will always be a work in progress.  It’s all been an adventure as I turn ideas into reality, examine the heart of my being, make life decisions as a single woman, change my circumstances, visit venues solo and navigate my illuminated path. It’s been both scary and exhilarating as I seek sure-footedness along this never-before-traveled road I’m on.  

On this last day of 2023 I wish you all sure-footedness on a well illuminated path to carry you through 2024.  May your year be filled with peace, joy and love.

Happy New Year! 

Copyright © 2023 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

Dec 13 2023

Where Have You Been?

I kicked off the holiday season at Thanksgiving with my family.  In the United States we celebrate on the fourth Thursday in November.  This year I felt especially grateful for my life and those sharing in my journey.  Now, with Christmas less than two weeks away and 2023 drawing to a close, I find myself ruminating daily about what a year it was for me.  Thankfulness for the good and not so good dominates my wondering mind. The not so good unsettled my ideas about life. Family, friends, love and compassion took on greater meaning as I felt humbled by the acceptance of my own mortality.

Of course, this acceptance came from the unrivaled challenge of my life, of my entire life, which was beginning 2023 without Martin.  It was years since he was really with me, yet I felt as if my purpose in life died with him.  I was no longer caregiving him, visiting him, attending to his needs, conversing with doctors, nurses, filling out paperwork, paying his bills.  2023 was my year of mourning as I wrote about my loss, felt his absence and made peace with it all.  Now, as 2024 appears on the horizon, that is  behind me.  

A few weeks ago someone asked me how long I’d been widowed.  My response caused them to say, “But you’re so happy!” 

Yes, I am.  And the reason for that is what I can only call a spiritual awakening.  As I plumbed the tangles of my soul in search of meaning for life and loss, I sometimes questioned if all my endeavors were really just a patch for my grief.  Instead, my meditations led me to realize Martin is with me and always will be, that the universe to which we all belong is filled with the essence of a greater natural being that has immersed us in a world brimming with life, mystery and wonder.  Answers have yet to unfold, but I have faith they are there. 

As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen.”

This realization led me to feel content.  Contentedness leads to happiness.  During 2023 I became braver about living my life.  I became increasingly confident about the path I am on.  I became more aware of the suffering of others and more compassionate, including self-compassion.  I gained greater faith in the unseen.  Lastly, I recognized that in order to truly live, one must accept one’s mortality.

Instead of identifying feelings as negative or positive, I embraced emotions as just emotions that come and go learning to allow my feelings to manifest themselves.  In what may seem contrary to that thought, I began working on being proactive instead of reactive.  I became creative beyond my usual internalized boundaries.  I opened my mind and soul to self-discovery.  I went on adventures of all sorts.  This past year was one of growth, transcendence and lots of new wisdom, which is perhaps the grace in Martin’s death.

There were tumultuous days when I sold my house where not much seemed to be going the way I wanted it to.  But, in the end I got exactly what I wanted.  My faith grew.  Not blind faith, but trust in my abilities.  The decisions were now all up to me, which was scary.  Yet, hadn’t I been making all the decisions on my own for the past few years?  Weren’t most of those decisions good ones?  Acknowledging my self-reliance boosted my confidence.

Speaking of braver I went off to Italy all alone making my way through four airports and three countries.  Frankfurt, Germany was the most challenging. Contrary to my perhaps stereotyped expectations of Germans being highly organized, customs was a chaotic herd of people taking a good hour just to reach the roped off lanes corralling us into order.  I’m not the most patient person in the world, so my already frayed nerves were tested.  I decided if I could weather that nerve-racking process, the rest of the trip would be a piece of cake.  And, it was.  By the time I traversed homeward bound through the Frankfurt Airport I was a more seasoned traveler taking everything in stride. I had experienced the merging of cultures as people from different countries and backgrounds gladly assisted me along the way. That is our real wealth, our real gift as human beings.

As I endeavored to claim my place in the community where I am building my house I entered 2023 continuing my yoga classes. I also joined a book club in January.  Both have led to budding friendships and a feeling of community.  Creating a space following retirement is always part of the challenge as we leave our work identity behind.  Here I was again building a new life in a new community meeting new people.  It was/is daunting. 

Building my house has taken on a symbolic meaning as I build my identity anew, willing people to make space for me. This is how I will enter 2024, building my house, my community, holding dear my family and friends while embracing new ideas, unsettling my past beliefs and growing into new ones.

With that, my dear readers, I ask you what did 2023 bring for you?  Where have you been, what have you done, how have you grown?  And, where are you going in 2024?  

Happy Holidays

Copyright © 2023 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

Jul 25 2023

A Life Of My Choosing

As mentioned in a previous post I’ve been journaling my thoughts about what I want to do in my future.  Titled “A Life of My Choosing” I was filling more than a few pages with what I wanted, needed, envisioned, imagined.  I kept my journal at the ready on the coffee table, so whenever an idea worth considering pushed its way into my consciousness, I could easily retrieve my book of blank pages and fill a leaf or two.  I detailed every single undertaking I pictured as fulfilling my life.  Never having made a bucket list, this is exactly what I was doing.  

Then, at a Fourth of July celebration with family and friends I drifted lazily at the edges of Fair Lake, buoyed by a donut shaped floaty.  Peering at gray skies, my hands and feet and bottom immersed in the clear water, my mind emptied in a meditative reverie.  This was heavenly.  No timetable for anything.  Gliding across the water in slow motion, my mind wondered to all my plans for the following year and then some, the building of the house, visits to friends around the country, choosing a volunteer gig, my next big trip.  With plenty to fill the next year, after 2024, what would be my next big thing?  Suddenly, I felt my derriere scraping the sandy bottom of the lake, grounding me.  I wriggled off the floatie.  Standing at the waters edge I asked myself if I was doing what I promised I would never do in retirement – chase the next big thing.

Shortly after retiring I took a class in Buddhism at the Osher Lifelong Learning Center at Furman University.  Our teacher, Sandy, was a  cheerful woman eager to share her story of finding spiritual peace.  At one time she had a career with a Fortune 500 company where she rose to the top as one of the few women to hold the title of vice president.  Sandy shared how she viewed herself as the person who could always handle any situation.  She could do it!  Whatever “it” was at the moment she could do it more efficiently than anyone else and in a timely manner to boot.  Additionally, she was always looking toward the next big thing, whatever that was. Then, her company was sold to a larger company, which already had a vice president for her department.  In one day she went from being a very important very efficient vice president with her chest puffed out to being jobless without a title without the next big thing to chase, her chest and ego deflated.  That’s when she realized her entire identity was tied to her job.  She worked hard putting in long hours.  She never slowed down for anything or anyone.  No matter where she was, she never stopped doing her job.  After much soul searching, in an effort to find her core identity, she began a spiritual journey learning to be more than her job, to slow down, to take pleasure in the small things, which make up our daily lives.

I could relate to her story.  During my work life I chased the next big thing, which is why I have such a checkered past.  It’s also why I’ve been so many places and taken up so many challenges including demanding hobbies.  Fifteen years ago while I was keeping a couple bee hives a friend quipped, “I can’t wait to see what you do next!”  Ah, he knew me well, perhaps better than I knew myself.  My identity wasn’t solely tied to my job, but it was always tied to doing the next big thing.  After taking Sandy’s class, I decided I wasn’t going to keep doing business as usual.  Now, here I was after years of caregiving, reviving old habits.

Perhaps I’m trying to make up for lost time or what I perceive as lost time.  Realistically, the time is gone and cannot be recovered.  It was not really lost, but spent caregiving while my expectation of what we were going to do during retirement was something altogether different.  The big question when we retire is, “What are we going to do with all that time we once spent at work?”  While I don’t want to end up with an easy chair and a bag of chips watching TV to pass the time, I also don’t want to be scurrying here and there looking for the next big thing.  I believe happiness comes from doing a balancing act no matter where you are on your timeline of life.  After investing much thought, a life of my choosing comes with both engaging in spectacular moments such as my trip to Italy, and now planning my new house, as well as down time indulging in the mundane aspects of everyday life, reading a book, grocery shopping, a walk at a local park.  For now I’m not looking beyond 2024.  Oh, I’ll keep writing in my journal, but I’m not actively looking for the next big thing.  Instead, I’m looking for the next everyday thing in a life of my choosing.

Copyright © 2023 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

Jun 27 2023

Transformations

After visiting three kitchen showrooms, looking at countless paint colors, wood stains, styles and price points, drawers, sizes and inserts, last week I made a decision on the kitchen cabinets and countertops for my new house.  There were also countless hours spent online looking at trends for all of the above and deciding if I want to be trendy or go my own way.  I settled somewhere in between.  The process of sitting down with a designer showing me options, current products and asking me what I like, what I want, forcing me to think about my preferences, and mine alone, was daunting.  It was also fun.

While we often think of our identities as steadfast we have all experienced many transformations throughout our lives, some intentional and some forced upon us by unexpected circumstances.  I’m going through a transformation not by choice, but I have no choice other than working through it.  As I’ve mentioned in other posts the one thing in life we can count on is change.  Transformative change occurs when an event takes place, which revises our view of ourselves and how we fit in our world.  My view of myself is changing.  My world has changed.  

I’m single now contemplating every decision with the support of others, but knowing that in the final analysis, the decisions are all mine.  Yes.  Daunting.  Also empowering.  Every change comes with personal growth as we face uncertainty, anxiety and countless other emotions during experiences, which alter our state of being.   I think of the job promotion that comes with both a feeling of accomplishment as well as an ounce of trepidation knowing the work responsibilities just increased.  The learning curve may be way up there.  Family life may be affected.  I remind myself how I’ve successfully come through other transformations.  How we handle change determines how we transform ourselves as a transformation most certainly will take place whether or not we are conscious of it.  I’ve found that accepting change brings peace as well as the opportunity to experience profound growth as I allow myself to inhabit other identities.

During the past year my identity has experienced serious changes.  Death of a spouse is a transformative experience.  A life change like no other.  While in my grief I haven’t always embraced this change with a tight bear hug, I have gathered it in my arms and heart as the only way forward.   I focus on the positives.  Being single has come with an unexpected amount of personal freedom.  I’ve definitely stepped outside my comfort zone and enjoyed doing it.  Without caregiving duties my mind has uncluttered.  I can focus on my health and well-being.   Recently, another widow shared how she redecorated her bedroom after her husband’s death.   This is a woman I admire for the resilience she has shown in the face of such a loss.  I didn’t redecorate my bedroom, but I did book a trip to Italy.  It seems we must take some action to embrace our current reality.

On my return from Italy I journaled my new life story re-examining who I am now and imagining what I will do and who I will be.  It helped.  Journaling allowed me to see on paper, in black and white, what resources I have in my bag of tricks and what I desire to do with them.  I let my imagination run wild.  This exercise was also a portal for expressing my gratitude for this transformation and all the transformations, which created my personhood.  Gratitude.  Acceptance.  Inspiration to take my plan and start implementing.  

The house, of course, is a symbol of this change, my personality, my hopes and dreams.  We break ground in September, in my mind representing the new territory I have entered.  Today, I bought the Seafoam blue metal lights, which will illuminate the island.  Tomorrow I start looking at flooring.  As I explore styles and options I, hopefully, will continue to feel confident in my decisions as I discover and grow and transform my life.

Copyright © 2023 kathysretirementblog.com – All rights reserved.

Jun 20 2023

Turkeys And A Groundhog

Turkeys grazing on the hill

I returned from Italy facing the daunting task of moving my household in the next three days.  It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.  The sale of my house was going well until it wasn’t.  At the end of April I had all my ducks in a row.  Based upon contractual requirements I planned to move to an apartment pre-closing as the sale was contracted to close before I flew to Tuscany.  But, not so fast said the universe.  As we all know the best laid plans of mice and women sometimes go astray.  After much angst and frustration, the sale did close.  But, with no time to move before my trip.

I went to Italy.  I came back to the US.  Fighting a head cold and jet lag I moved into my apartment.  Forget unpacking.  I slept for the next week.

I awoke one morning to find Chanel and Carmen glued to the patio slider, their tails sticking out from under the vertical blinds.  As I twisted the wand opening the blinds I couldn’t believe what I saw.  A band of four fat turkeys grazed in my backyard.  Because of my movement they stood like statues for a moment, one grouching in the tall grasses and wildflowers to hide herself.  As much as I wanted to dash for my phone to snap a photo I stood rigidly still myself.  Satisfied there was no threat the turkeys resumed bobbing their heads as they moved across the embankment nibbling seeds until they disappeared into the trees lining the crest.  One stopped for an instant looking back at the apartments as if gauging the safety of the environment, then disappeared with the others.

WOW!!!

My apartment, which is more like a one story condo, backs to a hill.  This hill is the main reason I chose this particular apartment.  Instead of attempting to mow it or put up a retaining wall, the developer had the presence of mind to plant the steep bank with wild grasses, clover, daisies and other wildflowers.  Mature trees were left on the ridge, another feature attractive to wildlife and humans alike.

Rummaging through a couple of boxes marked “books” I found my Pocket Guide To Spirit Animals by Dr. Steven Farmer, a psychotherapist, international lecturer, ordained minister, shamanic practitioner and best-selling author.  The property manager told me about turkey sightings.  Now, I wanted to explore if there was any spiritual meaning to my sighting.  Considering we are located not five minutes from every store imaginable with busy roads and snarled traffic, actually seeing turkeys in my backyard was a welcome treat.  They were also a reminder of how we had turkeys quite often on our South Carolina property as well as the property I just sold.  Martin produced paintings of turkeys along with a whimsical carving I bring out every fall.  I opened Farmer’s book to see what this visit by the turkeys may mean in a spiritual sense. Just seeing them had lifted my spirits.

Martin’s whimsical carving

As Farmer reminds us, “Those spirits that are in animal form that teach us, guide us, empower us and help us heal are called animal spirit guides or spirit animals.”  This has been known to indigenous cultures for centuries.  As Benjamin Hoff wrote in The Tao of Pooh, “Lots of people talk to animals…Not very many listen though…That’s the problem.”  As I flipped the pages to the meaning of the turkey sighting I was ready to listen.  Or so I thought.

As I read about how “It’s important to transcend the focus on your needs to consider the greater needs of the whole, such as your family, community, or world”  I felt a flush of skepticism.  I had spent years attending to Martin’s needs.  Didn’t I deserve to focus on my needs?  Then, “you’re about to receive a gift of some sort” and “perform some act that honors the earth” and “volunteer your time”.  Geez.  I closed the book not sure if I was ready to focus on someone else’s needs or volunteer my time again. I would accept any gift, large or small, with grace. I planted pots of herbs, flowers and small trees around my patio with the intention of giving them a permanent home when the house was built.

As the turkeys continued to come and go entertaining the cats and causing questions about my future to roil in my brain, I went onto the patio one day to eat lunch.  I sat down before I noticed an upright furry brown figure, paws together as if in prayer, chewing down some food – a groundhog.  As I eyed him or her, they eyed me back.  They stopped chewing, turned, waddled up the bank and disappeared into the trees.  I fetched the guide.

I liked the message of the groundhog better than the message of the turkeys.  The line that jumped out at me was, “You’re going through an initiation, one where you will experience a cycle of death-rebirth, and emerge with a new sense of self.”  Then, there was the portent of investigating a new area of study apparently requiring a lot of work on my part, but worth it in the end.  Following this, “pay close attention to your dreams at this time and see if you can discern their meaning.”

Suddenly, an epiphany.  As a normal part of the grief process my dreams often involve Martin being with me.  They are sometimes so real I think he is still in bed beside me.  Yes, I am going through an initiation of being on my own, my rebirth after his death and there is a new sense of self, especially after going to Italy on my own.  Turkeys were always Martin’s lure.  According to the guide they would be Martin’s spirit animal.  Wherever we lived, he was always drawn to the flocks of wild turkeys.  Perhaps their message is from him telling me it is ok to focus on my needs, which for me include engaging with family and community.  Perhaps the gift is knowing it’s normal for me to focus on other people, to volunteer again, to let go of the grief, to be a regular person enjoying time with our family and going out into the community.  I thought about the Master Gardener Program where I spent many enjoyable hours in South Carolina learning and teaching others about gardening. Training to re-enter the program in Michigan was something both satisfying for me and worthwhile for the community and world. I decided to accept my interpretation of the animal spirits as it was the only one I had.

Now, about that little black squirrel who dashes over the bank each morning…

Mar 7 2023

Signs Of Spring

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.

Aug 2 2022

Doing Nothing

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.

Mar 27 2022

Decluttering – Or The Big Purge

My Mother’s good luck charm

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.