Writing My Way Out

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My good friend Carol mused recently that she saw a little bit of Alexander Hamilton in my writing after reading the latest installment of My Private Life (MPL), saying that I write my way out of situations like he did. And I do.

Even though I haven’t posted anything for nearly a month the truth is that I have been writing a lot…but what I’ve written is private and confidential. I’m just not one to live out loud on social media. I email MPL to five friends I trust explicitly. I know they’ll hold whatever I tell them in confidence, and so I’m able to write freely. I’m careful not vent (because who wants to hear that?), but rather tell them what I’m learning about myself as I trudge along on this particular portion of my journey. And, wow. I’m learning a lot.

Life has peaks and valleys, and right now I’m climbing my way out of a valley. Nothing tragic, thank God, just Life. Thank God, indeed. Though it isn’t easy, I’m striving to release a situation I’d rather control and let my higher power take over. If this particular situation had happened just a few years ago, I’d probably be checking a different marital status box on IRS Form 1040. I’ve never been more grateful to be in recovery. I definitely am not the same person I used to be.

The past few months have seemed like a roller coaster at times, complete with ups, downs, 360 degree loops, and terrifying descents. I think back to one of my favorite movies, Parenthood, where the grandmother compares marriage to a roller coaster ride…something that made her “so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, so thrilled all together.” So maybe my situation isn’t unique.

When I lived on a sailboat I quickly learned that the wind is never ‘just right.’ Most times it came right out of the direction we wanted to go, and it was only by tacking back and forth that we made any forward progress, and always much slower than desired. Believe me, sailing is neither as easy nor as relaxing as it appears! There is always something to do. A sailor needs to pay close attention and know when to pull the sails taut and when to let them out, all the while keeping his hand on the helm so that he can make slight, constant adjustments to the rudder.

It’s the same way with our closest relationships. Smooth sailing often gives way to both storms and doldrums. Here are just a few of the adjustments that have helped me lately, and maybe they’ll help you, too. Granted, they’re not easy to do, but they are simple:

Vow to live just for today. Just in this particular 24-hour period. This is vital. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow isn’t here yet. Do what needs to be done today, and tomorrow will take care of itself.

Be honest with yourself. Acknowledge that you can’t control anyone or any circumstance–just your self and your responses.

Be openminded to the idea of a source of power outside your self. There is a reason the stars don’t fall out of the sky, that it always takes 365 days for the earth to travel completely around the sun, and that there’s a certain order to the seasons. Even if you don’t believe in a power greater than yourself, just be openminded. Or at least realize it’s not all about you.

Be willing to do the next RIGHT thing, whatever it may be. Sometimes it will not be what you want to do at that particular moment, but just do whatever needs to be done next. Don’t worry that you won’t know…your heart will let you know what ‘it’ is.

In “Parenthood,” the grandmother goes on to say that, “Some didn’t like it (the roller coaster.) They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.”

So it is with Life. We can choose to either play it safe or take a leap of faith. I think I’ll put my trust in the latter.

Wild hair!

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Yesterday I got a wild hair, the first one I’ve had in a long time.  It happened quite unexpectedly around 6:30 in the morning when I decided do something fairly impulsive: surprise my 7-year-old granddaughter by having a few colored streaks put in my hair, just like she’s got.

The plan hinged on my hairdresser having the time to do it, of course. I’m vain enough not to let just anybody do something crazy with my hair. As luck would have it, she did, so I felt the Universe was cooperating with my resolve. Besides, I thought it would be fun.

My hairdresser, Liz, is good at what she does, and even though I sometimes think about trying out someone new just for variety, I never get around to doing anything about it. After all, there is a certain assurance and comfort in people and things that are dependable.

The whole process took longer than I thought it would (I’ve never had color put on my hair professionally), so Liz and I had time to talk about everything from baseball (her Yankees, my Cardinals) to hair extensions. (Did you know they’re sometimes GLUED on?!) Since I was there nearly three times as long as I usually am, I was privy to what gossip in a small town beauty shop is like. It was just like the beauty shop scene in “Steel Magnolias,” one of my most favorite movies, and I chuckled at the thought. I listened mostly, and did not contribute much to the conversation other than to answer questions about the brewery. But WOW, did I learn a lot that I really didn’t need to know. I felt grateful for living a fairly low-key existence.

By the time I walked out almost two hours later, I was wondering if it was all worth it, but that question was soon answered. Maeby loved it! As the day went on, the color got a lot of notice especially when I stood in the sunlight, and one of my girlfriends commented that it was UK blue (University of Kentucky), so I’m ready for March Madness! Even the 20-somethings working at the gym noticed it and said they loved it. I admit: the entire day was an ego-boost! I don’t remember ever having had that much attention, and it felt good. Unusual, but good.

I doubt that I will habitually continue to put colored streaks in my hair, though. I learned after the fact that with color comes a certain amount of upkeep, something I know wouldn’t be sustained in the long run. Liz suggested that rinsing my hair in cool-to-cold water would preserve the color for awhile. That probably won’t happen on a consistent enough basis to make any difference. Besides, I have grown to love my natural grey streaks. Still, I’m glad I threw convention out the window and went with my wild hair. The memories alone were worth every penny!

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It is what it is.

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Cheers!

Cheers!


Just yesterday I wrote about life never going the way we planned, except it was in the context of three individuals in the world of sports. It made me think about my own life, and absolutely no part of it is anything like what I dreamed it would be. Take the past year, for instance.

It’s been ten months since I left my job at our local community college where I tutored students in writing. Since that time I have been navigating the uncharted waters of being with my husband of almost 40 years, 24-hours-a-day. It’s been challenging for both of us, and I laugh when I remember a couple of sayings within my fellowship that help keep me sane: “The Steps keep us from committing suicide and the Traditions keep us from committing homicide,” and “One day at a time,” both of which are true.

I am, and will always be, ever so grateful that I was able to walk away from the ranks of the gainfully employed at a relatively young age. In retrospect, though, I should have thought things through a little more thoroughly before submitting my resignation. I just assumed that life would be pretty much like it was back in the day, before kids. My naïveté still surprises me.

Immediately after I retired last year, we took a month-long camping trip out west to Colorado Springs and had a sort of honeymoon period before launching full bore into living together again. We returned home just in time to welcome our daughter and her family back to Hopkinsville. The Army had kept them away for nearly four years. They were the reason we even settled in Kentucky in the first place (they both were assigned to Fort Campbell), and all of a sudden we went from being scot-free to having our kids and grandkids living just down the street. I am not complaining. I’m just saying it was no longer just about us.

A whole lot has happened in the past ten months. For one thing, our kids are in the process of establishing the first microbrewery in Hopkinsville, and the road (that we find ourselves on with them) has not been easy. First there was the daily anguish and gnashing of teeth of what turned out to be their very successful Kickstarter campaign. Thirty days of being on the “will we make it or will we not?” rollercoaster smack dab in between Thanksgiving and Christmas was something I would prefer not to ever repeat. I was so thankful when that was over!

And now, in addition to dealing with mounds of paperwork to satisfy city, state, and federal regulations, they are renovating and upgrading an almost-100-year-old building–doing a lot of the work themselves–and there have been twice many steps backwards as forwards. But that’s entrepreneurship. It’s an education. And actually, all of this is being done on the side… they’ve both got other things going on. He’s still full-time Army and she’s a full-time mom who homeschools, teaches yoga, takes graduate classes, and is a Girl Scout leader. It’s crazy now, but in the end, it will all be worth it. Hopkinsville Brewing Company will hopefully be open by early this summer.

Because they live just a few houses away and the fact that their parents are burning the candle at both ends, I see two of our three grandchildren nearly every day, and I love it! I lived in the same house as my mother’s parents until age seven, and to this day I still have the fondest, most loving memories of both my grandma and grandpa. Nothing compares to the love between grandparent and grandchild, and I love that I get to be a Mimi. I’m grateful that I have the wisdom and the foresight to know that these days will never pass again and to appreciate the time we have together. Bobby’s big double-digit birthday is coming up in June, and Maeby will be 8 in September. He’s already playing travel baseball. Pretty soon they’ll be teenagers, and we all know what happens then.

I expect by that time we’ll have traded in our 5th wheel for some sort of smaller, self-contained rig; the jury’s still deliberating on whether it will be what I want (a Class B) or what Dave wants (something bigger) and we’ll be on the road to somewhere, at least in the wintertime. The older we get, the less we want to deal with cold and snow and yuck weather. I prefer that things get easier the older I get, which is why I want a Class B. I want a smaller rig that would make it easy to explore national and state parks and he wants “comfort,” which comes with bigger units. There will be time to hash it out.

In the interim, we’re planning to spend the next few years getting away from time to time in what we’ve got, including wintering in Texas where our youngest grandchild lives. Our older RV is big and has got all the comforts of home, which is exactly what we wanted when we bought it in ’06 and thought we’d be full-time RVers for a while. That’s not exactly what happened; grandchildren did instead. So we just take them with us, and when we do we’re REALLY grateful for the space the 5th wheel affords.

It’s good to have plans, but it’s better to be flexible and accept life as it unfolds. Like most everyone, there have been certain unplanned experiences in the past that I wish didn’t happen, but they did. And there were probably at least twice as many—if not more—that were over-the-top wonderful that I also didn’t plan on happening, but did. Mine has been a fairly fantastic life.

I’ve finally realized that “acceptance” doesn’t mean we have to like a particular situation; we just have to acknowledge that it’s different than what we expected and go on. So what if my retirement isn’t exactly what I thought it would be? In actuality, it’s way better! All in all, life is, too, when I remember to live in the present, one day at a time, and enjoy the journey.

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Oh, life! It’s never what we planned.

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Other than the news programs I see on the television screens when I’m working out at the gym, I’m pretty much a current events cripple save for what’s going on in the world of sports. I’d much rather watch Sports Center any day than constantly negative news (aka CNN.) Three different-but-similar sports stories captured my interest last week. Each one involved a personality who was leaving the game: one willingly, one probably and reluctantly, and one because he had to. The irony led me to think of the parable about the talents, which is pretty remarkable since I’m not at all religious and certainly don’t know my way around the Bible.

Thirty-year-old Calvin Johnson, a wide receiver for the Detroit Lions, retired after nine seasons. Though only two of them were winning seasons for the team, Johnson was invited to the Pro-Bowl six times and holds 15 NFL records, including most yards received in a season, 1,964. His humility and integrity were obvious in that he did not hold a press conference to announce his decision to retire, but instead issued a thoughtfully written statement in which he acknowledged his gratitude for those who helped him along the way. Moreover, he returned a portion of his signing bonus to the Lions, which I thought interesting and quite an admirable thing to do.

Drafted in 2007 like Johnson, Oakland Athletics pitcher Jarrod Parker’s career more than likely ended this week, though completely unplanned for and quite unexpectedly. Having already undergone two Tommy John surgeries on his pitching arm, Parker first broke his elbow last May and then again on Friday, just twelve pitches into yet another comeback attempt. My heart breaks for this young man, because when he’s healthy, he’s good: a cumulative 25-16 record over three partial seasons, and even going 19 straight games without a loss, a team record. But an athlete’s health is as important as his talent, if not more. I can’t imagine any team risking an investment in Jarrod Parker. He’s only 27.

Perhaps the sorriest story is that of Johnny Manziel, former quarterback for the Cleveland Browns, who just can’t seem to get his act together and grow up. Winner of the prestigious Heisman Trophy only two years ago and drafted with the highest of hopes, Manziel has squandered the many opportunities his team gave him to get clean and sober. The Browns paid him big bucks to deliver, and for one reason or another, he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. At any rate, no team wants him, so the Browns placed him on waivers yesterday. He’s 23.

Each of them was blessed with the incredible talent necessary to become a professional athlete and do what they do best in front of millions of fans and get paid! One developed his the best he could and reaped an abundance of rewards. Another had the desire and the willingness to do whatever it took–including a couple of surgeries–but life is not not panning out as planned. Hopefully his tenacity will help him overcome this sad hurdle and put him in a position where his talents can be utilized in another capacity. The third made a series of poor choices that completely obliterated the talent he’d been blessed with. His future is up to him and anyone’s guess.

I couldn’t help but think about my own talents…not in a conceited way, but more like an inventory assessment. I pondered whether they were being used effectively, particularly at this stage of my life. I’ve got a couple of projects that I’m developing and that have me pretty jazzed. They have all the components of things I love to do: have fun, be with people, write, put things together, have fun. Oh, did I say ‘have fun’ twice?

Back to the parable…the master was so pissed with the slovenly servant that he stripped him of what talent he had left and threw him out ‘to the darkness.’ Interpret that as you will. Everyone’s darkness is different and is, in essence, the pits. Complete darkness. Hopefully Johnny Manziel and others like him will eventually see the light and opt for a Hail Mary pass before time runs out. After all, miracles happen all the time. But you first have to want them.

 

(I’m) Completely Clueless About Minecraft

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imageLike a lot of other kids these days, my grandkids are really into Minecraft. They love it. If they had their way, they’d probably play it for hours. Because the players themselves design everything as they go along, they are literally in their own little world. If I happen to drop by while they’re playing it, they are only too eager to tell me all the details: where they’re at, what this and that is, what they’re doing. Once they were in London and built Big Ben; they were genuinely excited! I feigned understanding, and I think they saw right through it. I’ll admit, I just don’t get it.

The closest thing I can compare Minecraft to is blocks, but using a mouse to manipulate a virtual one just doesn’t seem to render the true experience of holding a real block, nor does it require the use of imagination to place and balance it one way or another. It doesn’t even seem the least bit challenging. Of course, what do I know? I remember Pong and Pac Man coming on the scene (can it really be more than 30 years ago?) and though I enjoyed them the few times I played, I never became addicted. Unless playing pinball and shooting pool count. But, since I love to learn anyway, I thought I’d research Minecraft and at least try to have some idea of what Maeby and Bobby talk about. As it is, my brain automatically goes into “I have no clue” mode when they do, and I really don’t want to be that old person. At least, not yet.

I began to google ‘Minecraft for grandparents,” and simply typing the first couple of letters of the word ‘grandparents’ resulted in a plethora of potentially helpful links. At least, at first, that’s how it seemed. Descriptions of a YouTube video entitled,”If GrandParents Played Minecraft,” and a grandparents’ chat forum about Minecraft were enticing and made me think that I could find out everything I need to know, in a nutshell, preferably. My encouragement was short-lived, however, when the video proved to just have grandparent-looking characters and the only grandparents in the chat room were wandering around the internet as clueless as me.

I was flustered that there wasn’t a quick fix to this trivial–yet important-to-me–dilemma. Then it dawned on me to simply google “minecraft,” and what do you know? The first link, https://minecraft.net/, took me to exactly where I needed to find the information I wanted. Lesson: See the big picture instead of focusing on me.

"No, it's not," by Maeby (2015)

“No, it’s not,” by Maeby (2015)

Skimming through the pages of the website, I came across phrases like “watching the sun rise over a blocky ocean. It’s pretty…” which I have a hard time wrapping my head around. After all, how can pixilated blocks even remotely capture a splendidly indescribable sunrise across the ocean? I guess that’s where one’s imagination comes in.

When I found the Community Resources page (on the very easy to navigate website, I might add), I congratulated and high-5ed myself when up popped supportive links to forums (in several languages), Minecraft wiki (“learn anything and everything about Minecraft”), and of course, Facebook and other networks found on social media. There’s even a Minecraft Paper Studio that gives instructions on how players can make their favorite characters in 3-D. It claims that “arts and crafts has never been this much fun,” so I’ll pass this along to Maeby. She’s the creative one in the family.

And so, I’ll dabble little by little into their world via the Minecraft website, and hopefully get a handle on what the big deal is all about. (As an aside, Minecraft’s home page has a counter of times the game is downloaded…14 million and counting. That’s how popular it is.) This will be like eating an elephant, a metaphor for something seemingly impossible…one bite at a time. I may getting older but there is always something to learn, and that seems to be a good way to pass time which is going to go by anyway (quicker and quicker as one gets older.) That being said, I better get to it!

Live and Laugh Out Loud!

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Enjoyed. Embraced. Celebrated!

Enjoyed. Embraced. Celebrated!

I have had attention deficit disorder plus hyperactivity (ADHD) forever, but it wasn’t officially diagnosed as such until six years ago when I was 54. In years past, from time to time, I’ve tried medication to ‘dial it down,’ but no more. I figured at my age, I can be the real me. Authentic, as it were. Besides, I forgot to take the pill half the time anyway.

As a result, cooking and baking routinely result in some sort of dilemma involving the ingredients–or rather, the omission of them–and the eventual realization of which that usually ends up with me deflated, uttering the words, “Oh, shit.” Ironically, these are the exact times that cause me to run to Google to find the solution. Problem/Solution…two sides of the same coin. Yesterday was such a day.

The situation always–always–starts off well and with the best of intentions. By 8:30 a.m. I already had supper in the crock pot and decided to make some bread. I was in a rare Suzy homemaker mood. Things were humming along nicely…ingredients were being kneaded effortlessly in my mixer, and then it was time to cover the dough and let it rest for twenty minutes. As I began to clean up the counter and put things away, I happened to glance at the recipe in the cookbook and saw my daughter’s handwriting where she had scratched out what was printed and had written the amount of salt she used when she made this bread.

Salt?

I didn’t put any salt away, which meant it never made it out of the cabinet. Which meant the dough–which was now rising beautifully–had no salt. I didn’t take home ec or chemistry in high school, but I knew that salt was an integral ingredient in the process…but just HOW important was it? I wondered if I could let it slide.

My knee-jerk reaction was to throw the baby out with the bathwater, but if I threw away the dough, I’d have to figure out something else to make. That would probably mean a trip to the grocery because I’d used all the bread flour. I decided to grab my iPad and do a search on “made dough forgot salt.” Either alternative would take time; additional time I had not built into my day. I mentally scolded myself. As I already stated, this (forgetting an ingredient) happens regularly. I really should know better.

Amazingly, several links popped up rather quickly…it’s always reassuring to realize that I’m not the only forgetful one. While searching for a solution, I scanned someone’s comment, “Bread without salt is like life without love.” That did it. Obviously, salt was important and I could not take the easy way out and let it slide.

One suggestion was to roll out the dough, brush on a mixture of the exact amount of salt in the directions and just enough water to moisten it, knead it again, roll it out again, and form the loaves. This I did. The dough in both pans rose nicely, but my expectations were quite low as I slid the two loaf pans in the oven. They baked nicely, too, which gave me hope that there just might have been salvation. Slices were cut, tasted, and OH, MY! The bread turned out GREAT!!!

I was so happy. I was so proud. After dinner I called my daughter and when she answered, I announced, “My bread turned out GREAT!!!” practically jumping though the phone.

No response. Nothing. Until a few seconds later when she said with feigned enthusiasm, “That’s great.”

“Didn’t I tell you about making bread and forgetting the salt?” I asked, trying hard to remember who I told. I KNEW I had told someone.

“What salt?”

Obviously I hadn’t. I knew that I told SOMEbody in the course of day, but that really didn’t matter now. Both of us just burst out laughing and laughed so hard we couldn’t stop! We couldn’t speak, we were laughing so hard. So we just ended the call, still laughing! If it wasn’t so damn funny, it might have been embarrassing. But as it was, a genuine, hearty belly laugh was good for my soul, and it probably lifted my daughter’s spirits, as well.

I can’t remember when I laughed so hard, but it felt so good. I’m going to have to remember to do it more often. After all, laughter is the best medicine!

Martha Lives Here

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Actually, she does...

Actually, she does…

Maeby (listening to Pandora): “Mama, what’s the name of this song?”
Kate: “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”
Maeby: “I know!!! But what’s the name of this song?”

by Maeby

by Maeby

My granddaughter, Maeby, is a riot. She says the funniest things without meaning to. I really need to start documenting them, and when I find the right illustrator who can capture her essence, I plan to put together a priceless collection that will entertain my descendants in years to come. In the meantime, let me tell you what happened yesterday.

Our extended family is quite small, and thus news spreads quickly. Besides those of us who were affected by the snow storm last weekend, there was the recent news that my nephew and his girlfriend were getting an apartment together.

Last night I got this text from my daughter: image

And, soon this: image

 

Of course, I just had to tell my sister-in-law (my nephew’s mother)… image
We chuckled at how this episode so easily reminded us of my deceased mother, Martha, Maeby’s great-grandmother, who had very certain opinions of how other people should live–and who was not afraid to voice them. Maeby’s that way, and because she is a pure and innocent seven-year-old little girl, it’s her Truth: marriage before cohabitation. I think her point of reference are her current favorite movies, “High School Musical” and “High School Musical 2,” and the characters Troy and Gabriella. There is a certain order to life. Martha was not at all diplomatic and Maeby is to-the-point–two peas in a pod, when you think about it.

In spite of my not-so-great relationship with my mother, I’m grateful that her name comes up in conversation from time to time. And if truth be known, I don’t think it’s so bad that her great-granddaughter takes after her a little bit. I tend to think that’s a form of eternal life: living on in the thoughts and minds of others. I hope to be so lucky.

Snow Day!

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imageThe winter storm named Jonas came roaring through our town a couple of days ago with a vengeance. Estimates of snowfall in Hopkinsville ranged from 8-11″, and that was on top of a rather substantial layer of ice. A state of emergency was declared by our governor–it was that bad or worse–just about everywhere in the state. But now that my grandkids live down the street, I am getting to view snow from their perspective. It’s FUN!

By the time I walked down to their house with the still-warm brownies I had baked for their parents (who had shoveled our sidewalk and driveway earlier in the day), the Girls (my granddaughter and her two friends, who are sisters) were putting the finishing touches on their fortress (which resembled an igloo.) Sixty or more blocks of packed snow, firmly molded with a plastic container, formed their shield against the dreaded Boys, my grandson and his friend (the sisters’ sibling).image The fortress harbored a stash of snowballs roughly 4″ in diameter, made with a plastic contraption my daughter had bought at Target a couple of months ago. There must have been at least a dozen of them. The Girls were ready. It was just a matter of time.image

It came soon enough when one of the sisters, now positioned as the lookout, spotted the Boys rounding the corner. The Boys were not oblivious to the possible trap awaiting them as they approached, and it was the Girls who threw the first snowball, launching the attack! The Girls were fired up and confident, and the Boys scrambled to keep up. The already-made snowballs ensured that the initial assault was relatively lengthy, and for awhile, the Girls seemed to be winning even though the Boys pummeled the fortress little by little. Their screams and laughter could be heard from inside the house.

I couldn’t help but smile and laugh as I watched kids being kids. Pure joy was embodied in that fragment of time when all was well with the world and the snowball fight was friendly. Eventually, the pre-mades ran out and the playing field was leveled. Both sides were trying to keep up with throwing snowballs until all of a sudden, one of my grandkids got physical, and suddenly they were wrestling in the snow like a couple of puppies! They were having a grand old time until one of the other girls decided to ‘help’ and slammed a double handful of snow in my grandson’s face. In a split second, he was up, his face red with what looked like rage. But it wasn’t. It was bitterly cold skin reacting to a lot of snow being thrown at it!

The saying, “It’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt,” is so true. Bobby raced into the house, livid and in pain. I felt so bad for him, and I watched my daughter comfort him as best she could while not saying much. After she helped him with his snow-encrusted boots, coat, snow pants, and gloves, Bobby just sat. I mean, just sat. My daughter even mentioned that he looked as though he was shell shocked. I wonder what was going through his mind. Meanwhile, my son-in-law gave the word to the others that it was time to break it up for the day, and called my granddaughter–who didn’t know what had happened so abruptly so as to end the wrestling match–inside.

Everything had happened so fast, and it’s really only now–a day later–that I myself am processing the whole, short episode where things had gone from great to crap in an instant. I began to see it from a 10-year-old girl’s perspective: her friend needed her help, so she reacted! What seemed like a good idea at the time had turned out very badly. How many times do we ourselves do that? I know I do or say things without giving them any thought, and I regret my behavior afterwards. I think we all do that sometimes. Sometimes many times.

Today is Sunday, and we have family dinner together every week. Today it’s at our house. I think it might be a good idea for all of us to talk about what happened yesterday. The friend has since texted her apology, but I’m not sure Bobby’s forgiven her. This just might open the door to a good discussion topic: Forgiveness. Simply letting go. It isn’t saying that something is ok…it’s just letting it go. It frees up our minds to think about other things besides the wrong we think has been done to us. After all, ‘things’ are neither good nor bad; they just are.

Grand-parenting is almost like a second chance to do ‘parenting’ the right away, only it’s actually guidance this time around. And, among the many things I’ve learned as I meander on my journey through Life is that resentments are apt to eat us alive. Best to let it go and move on. Today’s another day!

To err is human; to forgive, divine. Alexander Pope

All Set for a Great Year!

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Just a hint of what's to come

Just a hint of what’s to come

The new year is still very young, and already some very auspicious things are happening in my world. My kids’ crowd-funding campaign exceeded its goal by nearly $5,000 (and it was our community’s first-ever successful Kickstarter program!), so their dream of establishing the premier microbrewery in Hopkinsville is coming to fruition. Over the holidays and for nearly three weeks I got to be a “winter Texan,” which stoked both my passion for travel and my dream to be a snowbird every winter. And my resolve to call at least one person a day is snowballing in ways I could not have imagined. So, if the first three weeks of the year are any indication of what is to come, I’m in for a wild ride!

Our reservations at the RV resort in Rockport, Texas began on December 20th so we left home on the 17th, well before holiday travel started in earnest. The timing could not have been better. The kids’ nerve-wracking 30-day Kickstarter campaign began immediately after Thanksgiving dinner (they had just purchased the building the day before) and ended around four o’clock in the afternoon on Christmas Day. Imagine the holiday season at their house! Suffice it to say that I empathized with my grandkids, who had to live with two adults who were on a daily roller coaster ride of emotions, one day certain that everything was going great, and the next day certain that things were going to hell in a hand-basket.

Removing ourselves from their immediate world (five houses separate us) left us feeling a tiny (very tiny) bit guilty, but it all worked out. Sometimes the kids stayed by themselves (they’re 9 and 7, so it’s time they learned to do that) and sometimes either Kate or Steve had to tend to business matters without the other. The bottom line is that all of them worked together as a team, missed us greatly, and seem to appreciate us a little more than they did previously, which already was quite a lot.

Seeing them doing what they’re doing makes me very proud. The community has embraced them, and they’ve even received several ‘thank you’ messages from people they don’t know who are grateful for what they’re bringing to Hopkinsville, a city that’s been in need of reasons to make people want to live and raise their families here–especially those who’ve gone away to school and experienced trendy college towns. It certainly seems like a win-win situation, and those are always the best. Watch them grow! http://hopkinsvillebrewingcompany.com

HBC - The Vision

HBC – The Vision

Our home-away-from-home was Rockport, Texas, with which we were slightly acquainted. We had lived in a marina in nearby Port Aransas when Dave worked at Corpus Christi Naval Air Station. But that was in 1994, and a lot can change in 20+ years. It sure did in Port A, where we visited one day. Actually, we didn’t visit; save for poking around in a couple of shops in search of postcards, we drove through. It had been built up so much, the waterfront especially, though not opulently like Destin or Perdido Key. It still borders on quaint. Surprisingly, the A&P was still the only grocery store on the island. Driving past it triggered a flashback of a woman I had seen there so long ago, slowly pushing her shopping cart, lit cigarette dangling out of her mouth. I had not seen anything quite like that before, or since, thank God.

There are 2 ways to get to Port Aransas by car...the ferry is one.

There are 2 ways to get to Port Aransas by car…the ferry is one.

We circled back to Rockport by way of Mustang Island, South Padre Island, and Corpus Christi and didn’t leave Rockport again until it was time to head back north. The population is less than 9,000, and very laid back. Both the residents and the business owners were really friendly and seemed genuinely appreciative of the winter Texans, probably because of the uptick in the local economy that followed them. It was a welcome relief from some winter havens that would prefer that the snowbirds never come. I never could understand that attitude, especially as a waitress in Key West in 1980. Tourists were my bread and butter!

And they mean it, too!

And they mean it, too!

We took in as much of Rockport as we could in the time we were there, using the “51 Things To Do In Rockport” guide we’d gotten at the Visitor Information Center. Many of the attractions in Rockport are natural and therefore free: hiking trails, fishing, birding, and of course, the beach. But one day we splurged and went on a three-hour bird watching tour by boat ($80/per person) where we got up close to the winter breeding grounds of one of the rarest animal species in North America: whooping cranes.

The whooping crane is the tallest North American bird, averaging 4.9 feet. Photo taken at Bay Education Center.

The whooping crane is the tallest North American bird, averaging 4.9 feet. Photo taken at Bay Education Center.

Roseate spoonbills, cormorants, herons, egrets, pelicans and other coastal birds mingled and perched wherever they could: in marshes, on sandbars, in trees, on islands, on wooden pilings. The boat captain was competent at boat handling in the shallow water as well as birding, and that made the trip a good one.

Most days were filled exploring, and we even made progress on the never-ending RV to-do list. All in all, it was a very informative reconnaissance trip. We’ve been dreaming of heading south EVERY winter, and we think we might have found the ideal destination.

Something I get a kick out of is how PASSIONATE Texans are about Texas! It’s really kind of cool to see the clever ways in which the state’s shape is weaved into daily sights.

When it came time to go home, we didn’t want to. That’s always the sign of a good trip. We took our time, ate as much Cajun food for as long as we could, and even took a little side trip on the way home, New Orleans. We’ve been to the French Quarter a few times, but never on a Saturday when streets are blocked off and street performers of every sort hawk their talents in the hopes of earning money or even better, being discovered!

My experiment of calling at least one person every day (which I blogged about previously) is getting easier and easier and is yielding some very unexpected bonuses! I’m getting over the fear of making small talk, strengthening old relationships, discovering commonalities with acquaintances, and learning so much about my friends! I have even received a few “Hey, how you doing?” calls myself, and it’s a great feeling to know someone cared enough about me to call and inquire.

As irritating as it is to see people glued to their cell phones, I have faith in humanity and trust that we aren’t destined to become a world of techno-jerks ridiculously tethered to electronic devices. I am inclined to think that my experiment in communication is going to evolve into much more than just idle chitchat. It’s going to be beneficial somehow…and to think that it all started with the casual comment, “People just don’t talk anymore.” Whatever direction this journey takes will be interesting, and I’m open to however it unfolds since I’ve placed myself smack dab in the middle of it all. Yup…it’s going to be quite a ride!

Sunrise over Rockport

Sunrise over Rockport

My Plan for the New Year

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Over dinner a few weeks ago, our daughter and son-in-law commiserated about having to replace his cell phone which had been accidentally dropped and had broken as a result. It wasn’t so much the cost of a replacement that bothered them as much as its size; it was too big to fit into a back pocket. Why, I questioned, and was told that ‘people just don’t talk anymore,’ and connect by text or social media instead.

That’s crazy, I thought. But I really shouldn’t be surprised. After all, writing letters or thank you notes is all but a lost art. Heck, so is cursive handwriting, for that matter. I remember when an entire class was dedicated to penmanship, or at least it was in Catholic grade schools. And as a writer and editor, I cannot even begin to adequately express my disgust and disappointment about how texting has desecrated the English language, what with its acronyms and initialisms (i.e. LOL and BTW, respectively) and total disregard for spelling and correct grammar. Our world has become “all thumbs,” which literally does not bode well for the future.

But my point is not to go off on a tirade, not at all! The difference between me now at 61 and the me I was when I was younger is that I’ve finally realized that, try as I might, I cannot change people and I cannot change the world. It is what it is. But I can still do something that will make a difference, somehow, someway.

So, I’ve decided to call one person every day in 2016 and have a good, old-fashioned telephone conversation. I’ll document who I call and the gist of the conversation. It sounds like a simple exercise and it is, but it won’t be easy, and therefore I’m viewing it as more of a challenge. Previously I’ve challenged my self to things like half-marathons (which isn’t easy for someone who doesn’t run) and daily writing challenges, so I know there will be hurdles and slumps. Challenges stretch me out of my comfort zone, and even though I always go through a period of regret for having taken it on, eventually I accomplish the task…usually, anyway…and feel all the better for it.

The holiday season a couple of years ago was somewhat of a downer, so to pry my self off of the pity pot, I forced my self every day to take a photo of something for which I was grateful and ‘pin’ it on a Pinterest board I named, “365 days of gratitude, one day at a time.” Some were grand…like a breath-taking sunset. Others were ordinary…like discovering a roll of toilet paper underneath the sink when it was needed the most. In retrospect, I’m really glad for that experience; I discovered that I became so much more aware of the world around me.

At the very least, a phone call might make someone’s day. Even bigger, I think this experience will render insight into others that is unable to be had electronically. Time will tell.