The Edgy Ager

“How did I get to be this old and still have to put up with so much crap?”

— T.W. Lawless, Furey's War

This usually happy ager has been a bit on edge lately. I am going to try very hard, readers, not to turn the entirety of this post into a rant. Fingers crossed, through the process I’ll be able to gain an enlarged perspective on what I think is a very important topic for aging adults. There’s a lot to unpack here, so bear with.

The Context
On Wednesdays, my husband brings home a Seven Days weekly local newspaper. Seven Days, which is published in Vermont’s Queen City, is the only paper worth reading now that most news organizations have gone digital and have cut back. It’s full of actual news, commentary, and information on food and the arts. My husband usually gives me a Cliff’s Notes version of the stories as he drops the paper and his pizza box on the kitchen table. As the March 6 issue landed, he told me this week’s From the Publisher editorial was called “Senior Moment” and it introduced a year-long focus on Vermont’s aging population the paper was calling “This Old State.”

The Rant (stay with me)
Let me start by saying that I do understand rants (including but maybe especially my own) often represent an extreme viewpoint that, upon reflection, needs personal mediation. So please don’t stop reading here. But when I heard the focus of my beloved weekly paper, my hackles went up immediately. Leading up, during, and after (oh God, let’s face it, it’s every day) the Super Tuesday Primary, I was bombarded with news story after news story about Biden being TOO OLD. Ageism is the current ism darling of the media. But the sensitive, cautionary reporting reserved for the other rampant “isms” (and rightly so) is NOT afforded to the discussion of advancing age. Apparently if you are a politician, 70’s are okay, but once you break into the next decade, the alarm bells ring. When the President of the United States becomes the punching bag for rampant ageism, it all but screams, “Come one, come all, the bandwagon has plenty of room, folks!” Breathe, Linda.

Ageism has not only become socially acceptable, it’s become the gateway drug of both political parties and their pundits who look to place blame for a myriad of societal ills. “Boomers”are the problem, according not only to news outlets (digression: in Senior Moment, Seven Days publisher, Paula Routly, refers to half the “Boomer” population in Vermont as the “bad kind” who are selfish, resource consumers— the other half as aging hippies who made an “admirable choice to live simply”), but also to most Tik Tok videos that portray “Boomers” as ghouls who won’t give up their homes,“which they bought for peanuts,” and should just go someplace else so young families can buy their houses. What is further maddening to me is these media platforms at the same time are targeting these same generations with a barrage of information on lifestyles, supplements, and a smorgasbord of advice on LONGEVITY! The Blue Zones, green powder, and anti-aging (okay, let’s just point out that the term “anti-aging” is also ageist) medical advances messages are clear: “You, too, could be a centenarian!” That’s right folks. These messages scroll in the same feed as the stories about the problems created by an aging population. Neither is helpful in addressing serious and urgent issues.

Rampant ageism is a hot topic on the psychology front, too, turning some researchers into activists. In the APA’s Monitor on Psychology March cover story, Ageism is one of the last socially acceptable prejudices. Psychologists are working to change that, the author Kristen Weir points out that “most organizations now have diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) departments to tackle issues such as racism and gender bias. Even in those departments, age bias is seldom on the radar. “Ageism is this odd ‘-ism’ in that it’s still socially acceptable in many ways,” said Joann Montepare, Phd.” The article goes on:“What’s more, the negative stereotypes that fuel ageism often get aging all wrong. “When we say aging isn’t all negative, it’s not that we are putting on rose-colored lenses. This is based on rigorous science,” said Manfred Diehl, PhD, a professor of human development and family studies at Colorado State University who studies healthy aging.”

Yes, once again, “rigorous science” is there to point out what the news media is slow to report (or rejects out of hand): “The negative view of late life isn’t just false. It’s also dangerous. ‘The narrative that age is decline, age is burden, hurts everyone: individuals, families, communities, and society,’ said Nancy Morrow-Howell, PhD, a professor of social policy and expert in gerontology at Washington University in St. Louis. ‘Some older adults do need support, but mostly they’re giving it,’ she added. ‘They make important contributions to the workforce, including paid work as well as volunteering and caregiving. Those contributions to society are a resource, not a luxury.’” The article goes on to point out what some of those dangers are (I urge you to read the full article), along with some solutions.

One of my personal solutions to combat ageism is to listen carefully to language — including my own. I am trying to interject myself into conversations that equate age with competence and character. As much as I’d like to think of myself as wise and virtuous, I couldn’t merely chalk that up to turning 65 or any age thereafter. And that would be true for incompetence, etc. as well. It’s mythology. We need to decouple such appraisals, the positive and the negative, from aging. In Don’t call me “old”: Avoiding ageism when writing about aging, Stephanie Morrison, writing for the National Institute on Aging, offers helpful language advice, what to use and what to avoid, to ensure your own communications are not ageist (and to red flag/call-out those that are):

DO:

• Choose neutral terms such as “older adults,” “older populations,” and “people over age X” to describe groups of people.

• When possible, describe the population or age group more specifically, such as: “This study focused on disease risk in Black women between the ages of 65 and 75.”

• Use “we” and “us” instead of “they” and “them” when appropriate. We are all aging, and many issues that affect older adults also affect younger populations.

DON’T:

• Don’t use words that may have negative connotations, such as “the aged,” “elderly,” “senior,” “senior citizen,” and “boomer.” (Working on this.)

• Avoid the term “elders” except when referencing American Indian/Alaska Natives, for whom this term may be preferred and culturally appropriate.

• The term “geriatrics” refers to the branch of medicine that deals with the medical care and treatment of older people. Avoid using “geriatric” to describe individuals or groups of people.

• Consider that terms including “aging well” and “successful aging” imply there’s a right way and a wrong way to age, placing the responsibility for healthy aging on the individual. (Guilty here.)

• Euphemisms like “of a certain age” might suggest there’s something shameful about aging. (I need to watch this one!)

Cause and Effect
Now back to where we started with Seven Days and “This Old State: Getting On” . After being really rubbed the wrong way by the editorial, I tried my best to have a more open mind toward the inaugural article in the series. The reporter, Colin Flanders, covered a vast landscape of issues facing my state, sometimes tying them to Vermont’s older population. And we are a tour de force here. We are the third oldest state, falling behind only New Hampshire and Maine. By 2030, 1 in 3 Vermonters will be over 60. Having such a population creates challenges, but you cannot blame older Vermonters for being the cause of problems such as worker shortages, housing shortages, and understaffed health care and emergency care systems. As the article points out, a bigger issue is retaining our own younger people as citizens and attracting more families and businesses to the state. The failure to grow those populations is not caused by the over 60 population. If younger people don’t want to stay and new people don’t want to come to the state, that has to do with the economy, vibrancy, opportunity, and resources of our communities. That requires planning that most communities just aren’t focused on. We have had ample time. State leaders have trotted out this problem for decades without much impact, policy-driven or otherwise. And more recently, the pandemic has really impacted our capacity to think forward creatively, not to mention exacerbating all the problems outlined in the article. There is a plan to draw 200,000 new Vermonters to our state by 2035. Adding to our current population, is that the right size for everyone to have quality of life in this state, considering that 1 in 3 of those people will be over the age of 60?

As I read through the article, I still struggled to not feel “called out” as an older adult Vermonter. My husband pointed out to me that I was reading the article feeling sensitive that the article is blaming older Vermonters for our state’s problems. Hard not to when the editorial by the publisher asked, “At what point does your independence become someone else’s burden?” Ouch! He urged me to consider whether the article wasn’t simply pointing out the effects of having a disproportionately older population. Perhaps that is what the article is trying to lay out. We’ll see what the bias of the subsequent “This Old State” (come on, isn’t that title inherently ageist?) articles might be. I want to remain open minded, but I have no tolerance for perspectives that marginalize.

Reframing for Change
The aging population (and BTW we are ALL aging) should neither be a source of disdain nor discrimination. Both can only lead to greater marginalization, scapegoating, and problem-admiring. The “effects” (let’s use my husband’s word choice instead of the pejorative “problems” —which still feels too blamey for me) of aging populations are of course not unique to Vermont. By 2030, 1 in 6 members of the global population will be over 60. The World Health Organization (WHO) points out these Key Facts:

• All countries face major challenges to ensure that their health and social systems are ready to make the most of this demographic shift.
  In 2050, 80% of older people will be living in low- and middle-income countries.

• The pace of population ageing (sic) is much faster than in the past.

• In 2020, the number of people aged 60 years and older outnumbered children younger than 5 years.

• Between 2015 and 2050, the proportion of the world's population over 60 years will nearly double from 12% to 22%.

It is critical that we work as hard as we can, in whatever ways we can, to change the systems and the structures of society that discriminate and marginalize — and that includes the systems and structures that are inherently ageist. One way to do that is to envision inclusive communities that both center and respond to voices and needs of older adults, specifically those 65 and beyond. In 2009, cultural anthropologist Phillip B. Stafford released the book, Elderburbia: Aging with a Sense of Place. The book addresses the same demographic shifts and resulting effects (and needs) that the Seven Days article and the Age Strong Vermont plan attempt to address 15 years later, only in a much more comprehensive way and with great examples of communities that are both inclusive and “elder-friendly.” The book is laid out to address Four Domains of Elder-Inclusive Community: 1) address basic needs; 2) optimize physical and mental health and well-being; 3) promote civic and social engagement; and 4) maximize independence. The premise of the book is not to isolate the needs of any one generation, exclusively, but to look at the collective needs from an intergenerational perspective. The book is an engaging and valuable resource for planning to address issues  now and in the future in responsible, respectful, and inclusive ways.

Perspective Gained
I often use writing to explore ideas and perspectives. Writing is an incredible processing and therapeutic tool, especially when I am struggling to move from a place of emotion to a place of understanding. I have always been more of a change agent than a problem admirer, and that is where I choose to land when thinking about the current and future impacts of the demographics of my state. The challenges as well as their solutions will continue to get tied up in all the “isms,” and I feel all of us need to be vigilant about that. I know my ageism lens is hyper-focused right now…and I am offering no apologies. I know we need to stay present in discussions about the challenges of an increasingly aging population. I just want to ensure we are conscious about not being ageist in these discussions. That said, I remain hopeful, readers, that I will find ways to stay informed to fully engage with the issue through some level of activism. Thank you all so much for hanging in there through this long post. In the Comments, I would love to hear your ideas on some of these issues, both how they impact you (or your country, state, province, or community) and your experiences with or perceptions of ageism.

Where I Write

I write my Morning Pages, my blog posts, and my essays for my Women Rowing North writer’s group here in this room that is part writing room and part guest room. I sit at this bright yellow desk in a chair that belonged to my late mother-in-law, right in front of a south-facing window on the second floor of our home. On the best mornings for writing, the sun pours through the blinds onto my desk. From this window I have seen blue skies, endless clouds, swirls of snow, sheets of rain, and brilliant sun. In the spring I see children playing in the streets, men and women walking dogs, runners checking their time, trees swelling with buds, and scatterings of squirrels. In the summer my view includes my Writing Garden, bursting with purple echinacea, scarlet zinnias, and variegated yellow coreopsis carefully planted for such gazing when I look up from my laptop on draft number two or three. In the fall, leaves blow through the yard and across all the lawns on this small dead-end street. Tree limbs litter the roadsides after windy autumn storms. And in the winter, the snow comes, sometimes gently in giant sparkling flakes, sometimes pelting the windows with icy crystals.

On sunlit mornings, rainy dark-skied afternoons, or shade-drawn evenings, I have written at this desk on my laptop, yellow writer’s notebook nearby, along with my gold-lined folder stuffed with scribbled-on scraps of papers housing illegible ideas that hold a least a snip of a memory of a researched snippet or something I believed sounded brilliant a few days ago. Pens, post-its, and tabbed book quotes fill two trolleys, at hand as needed. Inspiration that doesn’t come from watching out the window often comes from the picture on my desk, a framed watercolor of my childhood home painted by my friend, Lauren. I can look into and out of every one of the windows of that house and be reminded of what is fueling almost everything I write today. And when I need to dig into a book for that certain something needed to strengthen what is still not feeling fully formed, I can sit in my rocker and read and reflect, and then return to my writing.

“You write by sitting down and writing.”

— Bernard Malamud as quoted in The Writer's Desk by Jill Krementz

Ahhh…the simplicity of the Malamud quote disguises how much we are influenced by where we write. I didn’t really understand that completely until I decided to get more serious about writing when I retired. I have a beautiful home office, with a large desk, bookcases galore, comfortable chairs, things on the wall that inspire me…but no window. It’s the perfect spot for “working” and served me well when I was working everyday. I would work there nights and weekends, creating everything I needed to be effective and efficient at my job. But that’s not who I am anymore, and the ghosts of a career past seemed to chase away all my creativity. And did I mention there is NO WINDOW! So the guest room, affectionately referred to as the “Bed and Breakfast Room” had to lend some space to my writing goals, and that space had to be right in front of a window. Oh, I can brainstorm or edit at the kitchen or dining room table or even in that office, but my real writing happens at my yellow desk.

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Why does where we write matter so much to us? In 12 Ideas For The Best Places To Write, Moriah Costa points out the importance of your writing environment: “Studies have shown that your environment can impact your creativity. Having a peaceful, distraction-free place to write can help you be productive, whether you are a full-time blogger or a first-time author.Writers often overlook having a good place to write, but it can be as important as having an outline.Our brains often associate certain areas with certain activities so going to a place where you write can put you in the right headspace to start typing.”

In Writers and Places: Does Location Matter?, Joe Bunting digs further into how space anchors or inhibits creativity. “Environments affect all people; this has been confirmed in sociological studies of human life, and urban studies in particular. What surrounds us affects how we feel, what we do, what we think and how we channel these thoughts and emotions.”

To put it simply, place affects writing.

“I always work in the morning.... I don’t pace. I just stare out of the window. I have a large window and I can see a field and some woods, and a fence, a stone fence, and I stare.”

— Robert Coles as quoted in The Writer's Desk by Jill Krementz

There is no end to the places you can write, and you may need to experiment with different environments until you find your own space. Some people love coffee shops, some people love their kitchen tables, and some even prefer to write in bed. Whatever you choose, be true to yourself, keeping in mind what inspires you and what feels limiting. Personally, I am highly distractible. Getting any writing done outside of my home is a challenge. In coffee shops or a library, I have to switch to a notebook and take “writer’s notes:” snippets of dialog and observations, descriptions of something that catches my eye, colors, scents, the way a person moves. Sometimes inspiration will come, and I can jot it down in my notebook. 

Dan Blank, in Writing Spaces: Where you Create Matters, suggests thinking of the goals you have for your creative space. It’s a wonderful article that is loaded with advice and inspiration on our need for a creative space. It features interview questions posed to writers and is distilled into 5 goals.The space you claim should:

• Provide clarity on what you need to do. (In other words, you may need to develop some focusing routines in your space.)

• Remove you from distraction. (I like having a door I can shut. And the window is inspiration, not distraction.)

• Incentivize you to create. (Some people like to have a word count, or a task list/outline. I often have a really loose checklist of ideas, quotes, and/or references I want to include.)

• Remove all barriers to entry for getting started. (There is nothing in this room or on my desk that interferes with writing (except sometimes the computer itself [looking at you, Amazon]. I open a new tab for whatever piece I am working on.)

• Have all the tools you need at the ready. (Whatever isn’t on my desk is in my trolleys. I always have post-its and fast moving pens [thank you Natalie Goldberg].)

So now you have an idea of where I write The Precious Days. If you are looking for more inspiration on where and how writers write, I highly recommend Jill Krementz’s The Writer’s Desk. Published in 1996 by Random House, it is filled with black and white photos (mostly taken in the 70’s) that tell the story of writers in their writing spaces.The contents include a Who’s Who from my days as an English major in the late 70’s at the University of Vermont: Eudora Welty, John Cheever, John Updike, Bernard Malamud, Robert Penn Warren, William Styron, Joan Didion, Joyce Carol Oates, and Saul Bellow to name just a few. If you love to write, are curious to see writers at work, or you just love all-things-writing, this book will captivate you.

All of the photos in this week’s blog are my own.

I’d love to hear about where you do your writing (any kind of writing) and why that space works for you. Use the Comments box below.

Lifetimes—25 Years at a Time

While on a walk the other day with a dear friend the conversation turned to aging, as it often does. I remarked that I hoped, and would be quite happy, to have about 25 years of life left. Now that may sound like a morbid conversation to younger folks, but at this age I find discussions of the life that remains, the “final future,” not only freeing, but a necessary part of this time of life. So the idea of 25 more years, a quarter of a century, feels pretty substantive and full of potential. If I can still be “with it” and reasonably healthy into my early nineties, I would consider myself to have been an extremely fortunate woman. Something really struck me about the concept of chunks of 25 years that I have lived through in my life, as I prepare for the final 25. It seems no matter what age you arbitrarily measure them from (birth to 25, 40 to 65, whatever), these time periods are distinguished not only by the events forgotten and remembered, but also — for me personally— for their stark contrasts in the way I experienced them.

Formative and school age years, let’s say birth to 25, which took me into the early years of my education career, seemed to take a lifetime. I remember so much from this time period. Mostly I remember the learning was more centered on what I did not want to do or be than it was in finding a solid identity. And that’s fine. My nightmare would be to be trapped in my teens and twenties for the rest of my life. I floundered around until my mid thirties, but as I’ll expand upon later, the period of my mid-thirties to my mid-to-late fifties was my “time of life.” My forties were a bit rough on me, but the bumpy ride led me to a much smoother and more joyful journey by the end of that 25 year period. A brief period of transitional years (winding down and gearing up), took me into the present, my final 25 years. And I plan to make The Precious Days of this final 25 my “best life” era.

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living. Each day is the same, so you remember the series afterward as a blurred and powerful pattern.”

— The Writing Life by Annie Dillard as quoted in The Marginalian

As I mentioned, the 90’s began a significant time of life for me. It’s a time when my relationship with writing really began to mature. The Writing Life was a book I really enjoyed in the 90’s. So coming across this quote again, along with some others from the book in The Marginalian got me thinking about where these ideas sit with me now in this final 25 years. I remember when I read the book in my thirties. I was leaning more and more into wanting to be a more serious poet and writer. I remember carrying around a little notebook that had an ornate Chinese art themed cover. in that little red and gold book, I would write all kinds of conversational quotes from eavesdropping and observations on how people moved or sat or gestured. I would move some notes to first lines of poems, and some into story ideas. None of that really went anywhere until my mid-to-late thirties, when it really started to come together. The last half decade of my thirties were my most creative. I took poetry classes and ended up doing a reading of my poems in a bookstore. I went to a ton of lectures and plays, visited galleries, spent hours reading in bookstores and libraries, hung out in coffee shops (Muddy Waters in Burlington was my favorite), read everything by Natalie Goldberg I could get my hands on, and attended several “Keep the Pen Moving” retreats across the state facilitated by Michelle Demers. Once I reached my late thirties, it seemed like some peak creativity years had arrived. I was on one extended Artist Date during those years. I would say that by my late 30’s, a “powerful pattern” ushered in a period of 25 years that informs much of the way I intend to spend my last 25 years.

In The Marginalian, Popova summarizes the quote as “a poignant meditation on the life well lived, reminding us of the tradeoffs between presence and productivity.” And I would have been in total agreement with that appraisal in my thirties. But when I read the quote now, in what may be the final 25 years of my life, I can’t say that it resonates any longer. Oh, I love the first line (an often referenced quote),“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives” and at no time in my life has that been more true or felt more real than it does now. But the totality of the quote just doesn’t sit the same with me. During this last act, this glorious final quarter of a century, looking back on those “powerful patterns” feels anything but blurred. Now, there is actually a clarity about those significant 25 year periods of my past. That clarity has taken over many of my days, despite the murky navigation of purpose and identity. Looking back, with clearer eyes and a much needed mirror, I can see some of those past periods held joy, discovery, and a fair amount of pain, and now I am in a place in my life to be fully present to learn from them, no matter how hard the lessons might be. During this period of my life, that “presence” is my productivity.

When Annie Dillard wrote The Writing Life, she was in her early forties. During the 25 year period of my life from 32 to 57, each decade felt like a different lifetime. From my “writing life” period in my thirties, to a painful divorce and new role in my career, and to finally feeling a sense of belonging in my own life by my fifties, none of it feels like a “blur of same days.” Perhaps it only feels that way when you are in it. I think it’s the looking back that makes it “a life.”

I was truly one of the women who felt like life began at 50. That’s when my “forever life” began with my husband, Mark. It was also the peak of my career. My early 60’s felt like a conscious winding down from a career high, and also as a “looking forward” to the potential of an even bigger forever life.

So here I am in the final 25, readers (god-willing). I promise myself it won’t be a blur but a blessing. And I hope to recapture the spirit of that wannabe writer and poet, sitting in coffee shops with her notebook, a new copy of Griffin and Sabine, and a volume of Sharon Olds’ poetry. Little did she know back in the 90’s when she was curled up in a chair reading and pink highlighting The Writing Life that she was building me a lifeboat on which I’d find myself, decades later, ready to live on for the next 25 years.

Retirement allows us the time to look back at times in our life when we felt excited, authentic, and full of potential. Sometimes those experiences had to take a backseat to our work lives. Are there certain “eras” of your past that are now taking center stage in the way you want to spend the years ahead of you? Please share in the Comments.

What Was I Made For?

Unsplash Photo

In late January and throughout February of last year, my goal of starting a “retirement blog” began to take shape. With inspiration from Ageless Possibilities, I started meeting via Zoom with a former co-worker, sharing my vision for the kind of site I’d envisioned as a newly retired woman fueled by a desire to reflect, read, research, and write as my purpose in the last quarter of my life. I told her my vision, and she worked her magic with some page templates and taught me how to navigate Squarespace on my own, and by March The Precious Days arrived. Ta da.

I am as new to this blogging thing as I am to retirement. I am a retirement neophyte by some standards — just three years since I left my longtime career in education in June of 2021. For my first year, I took another job as an executive director of a state-level organization for curriculum directors. So I only jumped into full retirement the summer of 2022.

I enjoy my newfound rituals and routines during this time of my life. I tweak them and adjust my attitude regularly. But just when I think I’m truly settling into this retirement thing, a blue funk comes along to cast its shadow. I have to do as much “picking myself up and trying again” as I did when I was working and stressed. I guess no matter what phase of your life you’re in, you’re stuck with one constant…YOU. These temporary funks are just how I roll. They are part of who I am, so OF COURSE they are going to be part of my retirement years. Turns out retirement life can be just as ordinary or complex as the ol’ work life you left behind, despite or maybe because of the new found time on your hands. And I do dig a hole for myself from time to time. But unlike during my work life, when the sheer demands of the job or a trajectory of change might snap me back into the “Let’s go!” motivated me, now it’s often the most unexpected things that throw me a rope to climb out of myself.

Case in point: The 2024 Grammy Awards and Barbie.

I watched the Grammys this year for the contemporary music, the sheer energy of it, and well, yes, to see Taylor Swift win some awards. But what knocked me out was Billie Eilish singing, “What Was I Made For?” I’d heard the beginning of that melody as the soundtrack to countless IG Reels and Tiktok videos, but I hadn’t really heard the lyrics until the Grammys. When I heard those first four lines: “I used to float, now I just fall down. I used to know but I'm not sure now. What I was made for…. What was I made for?” I welled up. That’s it! That’s how retirement can feel! You work decades at a career, and you do your best to get really good at it. There are accolades and respect, and you feel you’ve truly found your purpose. As the decades accrue and you’re well into your sixties, you start to look forward to the time you’ve earned…to retirement. And then, there it is, more suddenly than you’d wished for. No turning back for you, you’ve decided. After the euphoria of not going off to work, slow mornings, and pretty much doing as you please, you start to feel like you are moving through life on very wobbly legs. And the question smacks you in the face: “What was I made for?”

Oh my. The song was leaving me so raw. How did this Gen Z pop icon know so much about the deepest feelings of this old Boomer? As I listened to more of the lyrics, the emotions continued to build: “'Cause I, I, I don't know how to feel. But I wanna try. I don't know how to feel, but someday, I might. Someday, I might.” And it may not have been quite this dramatic, but those lines actually snapped me out of the funk I’d been hanging out in, sometimes languishing in since the start of the new year (maybe longer if I’m honest), and I may have actually whispered to myself, “I want to try.”

After a good cry, I had to remind myself that Billie Eilish didn’t write that song for retired women in the final third (or quarter) of their lives; the song was written for … BARBIE! I just had to know more about Eilish’s songwriting inspiration for those lyrics. In an interview in People, Eilish said before working on the song for the Barbie soundtrack, she wasn’t writing anything that felt good to her, and she started to worry about it a bit. Had the creativity well dried up? But they persevered. She explained that as she and her brother, Finneas, wrote the song, she wasn’t actually thinking about herself at all, just the character of Barbie. But as she listened to the song, she came closer to the realization that she’d been writing about herself without meaning to. Eilish said it “felt as if you woke up and someone had taken a photo of you sleeping” (CNN,). Exposed. Vulnerable. Relatable. Just the way I felt.

I am infinitely grateful to Gen Z singer/songwriter Billie Eilish for giving voice to some of the feelings I have about my Great Retirement Experiment — which is sometimes what it feels like—so much trial and error, so many unintended results. Ultimately, the song helped me the same way it helped her. By pushing herself to re-engage with her own creativity, she rediscovered the authentic creative self that had “fallen down.” Now I am not comparing myself or what I do on this tiny blog or during my ordinary retirement days with the phenomenal talent of Billie Eilish, whose music, veganism, and politics I love. But I am testifying that I can 100% identify with the feeling of a lack of purpose and direction she was experiencing as the first line of the song just spilled out of her. And the rest, as they say, is Grammy history. “The rest” for me was just the inspiration I needed.

But this story didn’t end with the Grammys and a little online research about Billie Eilish. My blog readers know I often use music and lyrics for my own creativity and personal reflection. I had to know: What was it about Barbie as a movie character that required a song with those lyrics for her? After all, it’s a song about a very personal version of a world falling apart and having to ask, “Now what?” A song like that for a fun doll? What had happened to Barbie? What caused that painful mix of confusing emotions swirling around a vortex of fear and longing, pushing her to the point where she would: “Think I forgot how to be happy. Something I'm not, but something I can be. Something I wait for. Something I'm made for. Something I'm made for” ? That’s the episodic angst of retirement, too, after all. I had to see the movie. (Spoiler alert: You don’t get to hear “What Was I Made For” until the closing credits, so hang in there.)

On the evening of Valentine’s Day, I planted myself on the couch with a bowl of air popped popcorn and a few Lindt white chocolate strawberry truffles wrapped in their pink Barbie-esque foil, and pushed the rental button for Barbie. And readers, for the next few hours I wasn’t watching a show, I was having an experience. Visually stunning (so much pink!) and full of entertaining characters (evoking so many childhood Mattel memories), I was overwhelmed by the emotions the movie conjured up for me. I laughed, I shed tears (oh, a lot of tears), I cheered. As a retired woman with a newly acquired off and on identity crisis, I was Barbie and Barbie was me. And when America Ferrara’s character delivered her monologue about the struggle of women in our society to “get it right,” I “amen sister” ugly cried. All kinds of women have watched, will watch, and rewatch this movie, as daughters, wives, girlfriends, mothers, sisters, grandmothers, friends, workers, bosses, and dreamers and they’ll all attest, “Yup, that’s our life, folks, up on that screen.” They will all feel seen.

In Barbie, director Greta Gerwig created not only a 21st century tribute to women, but a powerful commentary on feminism and the patriarchy in society…and just so much more. With one little scene on a park bench, she made generations of women think differently about aging.

Barbie: You’re beautiful. Ann Roth: I know!

My Precious Days are not only my Great Retirement Experiment in recalibrating my purpose, they are a marathon therapy session in self-love. The days on this journey can at times feel intoxicating and imperfect at the same time. Despite the ups and downs, the endless questions, and precious insights, this Barbie Boomer dude “abides” (IYKYK 😉). And at the end of each of The Precious Days, thanks to some unexpected support from Billie Eilish and Barbie, the “closer I am to fine.”

And I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
(The less I seek my source)
Closer I am to fine, yeah
Closer I am to fine, yeah

“Closer to Fine” by the Indigo Girls (chorus)
Source: Musixmatch;Songwriters: Emily Ann Saliers / Amy Elizabeth Ray; Closer to Fine lyrics © Godhap Music

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What Was I Made For?

I used to float, now I just fall down
I used to know but I'm not sure now
What I was made for
What was I made for?

Takin' a drive, I was an ideal
Looked so alive, turns out I'm not real
Just something you paid for
What was I made for?

'Cause I, I
I don't know how to feel
But I wanna try
I don't know how to feel
But someday, I might
Someday, I might

When did it end? All the enjoyment
I'm sad again, don't tell my boyfriend
It's not what he's made for
What was I made for?

'Cause I, 'cause I
I don't know how to feel
But I wanna try
I don't know how to feel
But someday I might
Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy
Something I'm not, but something I can be
Something I wait for
Something I'm made for
Something I'm made for

Source: LyricFind Songwriters: Billie Eilish O'Connell / Finneas Baird O'Connell What Was I Made For? lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group

Midwinter Magic

Photo by Unsplash

It’s February. Some people like to see February as the halfway point from when winter begins to take shape in Vermont to when we begin to experience a genuine spring-like pattern of weather, give or take the effects of climate change. But I have a more celebratory approach to February. After what seemed to be 182 days of January, I am not wishing February away too quickly. Most of the magic of February lasts only a day at a time, then the weather (or my mood and motivation) will change. Whereas the dark days of January lasted FOREVER, the ephemeral nature of increasing blue skies and sunshine in February calls me to take notice, to linger, to appreciate that the days can both remind us of the beauty of winter AND that winter will come to an end before we know it. So I will love it and not rush it. In this phase of my life, time is as precious a commodity as The Precious Days it fills.

So it’s time to pay tribute to a few of the beautiful aspects of this month that are bringing me joy. Events and experiences can feel life magic in the humdrum of cold, gray winter days in January. And I’ve decided that this year I am going to start celebrating February not as midwinter, but as the end of winter — March gets to be spring in my book no matter how much snow falls. 😉

What I am loving about February…

• Noticeable amounts of light creeping in. By mid-February it stays light until almost 5:30. By the end of the month, it edges even closer to 6:00. The effect of that extra light is extra energy,

• Brilliant sunrises and sunsets. With sunrise happening close to 7:00, it’s wonderful to wake up to pink ombré skies and end the day with the golden, fiery glow of the sky reaching toward the lake.

• An entire week of sun, blue skies, and springlike temps. Here in Vermont, February often splurges by giving us an entire week of false spring. February 2024 gave us a spectacular one recently and it was just the midwinter tonic we needed!

• Super Bowl Sunday. If I am invested in one of the teams, that’s just a bonus. My husband and I love to watch the game, enjoy our Super Bowl snacks, and comment on the commercials. It’s an all around fun night and a February celebration we look forward to.

• Spring training. Right around the Super Bowl, pitchers and catchers report to spring training, followed by the rest of the players mid-February. By the end of the month, all teams are seeing pre-game action, and it’s time to get ready for opening day at the end of March.

• Valentine’s Day. I love this holiday purely for the fact that it breaks up February. I still send Valentines and try to coax my husband into doing something special. This year he made me smoked salmon Eggs Benedict. ❤️

• Fat Tuesday. I love to catch some of Mardi Gras festivities on television, and enjoy some pancakes. I’m reminded of a trip to New Orleans, years ago, the crowded streets, the music, the beignets, and those delicious Hurricanes.

• Backyard Birds. early birdsong. By February the Carolina wren is beginning to serenade us in the mornings again. The chickadees trill a more spring-like song, and even the cardinals are warming up to join the chorus. And by February, I’m convinced the little red-bellied woodpecker on the suet feeder is my personal pet.

• Waiting for a BIG snowstorm. We usually get one in February, and then another in March. I look forward to the quiet of the fresh snow, and a chance of seeing a bright red cardinal on a snow covered branch.

• Harvesting the lettuce from our AeroGarden. After the holidays we always plant a variety of lettuce in our hydroponic garden. By February we are eating our own fresh lettuce from our little soil-free garden and discussing what we’ll actually plant in May.

• Hot drinks all day long. Decaf lattes, London Fogs, and every kind of herbal tea you can think of (but I am partial to Pukka’s Chamomile, Vanilla, and Manuka Honey) occupy cup after cup once the electric kettle is plugged in each morning.

• Shaking up my reading routines. In February, I start to turn to more non-fiction. I also begin to make “collections” of books I want to read and compare before the sunny warm days set in. This February, I went on an internet expedition to purchase used copies of May Sarton’s novels I haven’t read (note to readers — there were a lot!)

• Store-bought tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils. No trip to the grocery store is complete without grabbing a bouquet of pink, white, or yellow tulips. A trip to Trader Joe’s produced one small bunch of purple hyacinths that had the house smelling glorious for days. Can’t wait to see the first display of daffodil bunches (last year they had to put up a sign in the produce section informing people they were NOT bunches of asparagus).

• Time for the annual puzzles. Each year my husband and I gift each other puzzles. In February, we put them together. Last year I gave up, and my husband finished the 1000 pieces himself. This year, we’re going with a 500 piece puzzle, and I’m in.

• It’s a leap year. So I will get to love February for an extra day!

• Coming out of winter hibernation. During February, I come out of my January funk and hibernation. The end of February signals it’s time to get ready for spring. I’ll be doing a lot of thinking about my 2024 ONE WORD, renewal.

• Looks like we’ve just about made it! 🙂

How about you? What’s delighting you about February?

Dear Planner: It’s not you, it’s me.

This year I made an attempt to choose another ONE WORD to inspire and guide my actions and reflections throughout the year. Most of my ONE WORDS are a distant memory by the spring, but this year — motivated by my word choice— I thought I’d give it another try. I was also re-inspired by one of my favorite bloggers, Katie Noah Gibson. I have been reading her blog, Cake, Tea and Dreams for years. When she picks her ONE WORD, she looks reflectively at how that word shows up in her life. So this year, I did pick a word, RENEWAL. Starting over (and over and over) is something I’ve become really good at…and I’m finally at peace with that. I am truly a creature of “renewal.” I am fond of saying “No attempt at learning is a failure” so I do persevere at certain things, refusing to acknowledge anything as an “epic fail.”

Taking a cue from Katie, I’ve been using my ONE WORD to reflect on and examine where and how renewal has been “showing up” for me. Coupling that with how unmotivated I have been feeling, I wanted to look, once again, at the idea of renewing some relationship with a “planner.” Why, you might ask, would I want to go there of all places? Well, my faithful readers may have noticed that I have been less than productive about posting here. The times between posts have gotten longer and longer. Could rededicating to faithfully using a planner keep me on track? According to Psychology Today ,using a planner can improve productivity, provide stress relief through organization, help to increase time for creativity, act as a life record, and even improve your health if you keep track of the right things. Sounds like a veritable ticket to renewal.

I do have an enticing assortment of planners to choose from. There are ones with dates, dot grids, cool layouts, and all of them with beautiful covers. Right next to them in my desk-side rolling cart are containers of colorful pens with every kind of nib, boxes of stickers, and tins of washi tape. But there are also stockpiles of them I’m less proud of. My stationary drawers and bookcases are littered with blank or barely-used planners tucked among the note paper and cards. There are also empty planners wedged between books where I don’t have to look at them “tsk tsking” me from their blank or barely adorned pages: July 22…um nothing. March 10? A lone sticker. Last year I purchased a gorgeous Angela Harding Diary to organize my blog planning, which I used for exactly one week in August. I bragged about my yellow planner in my September Reset. That one made it to November. Then (sigh)…they, too, joined the graveyard of unused planners.

It’s not that I don’t get how to use planners. Thousands of YouTube video channels dedicated to the planner and planning advice. Watched too many of them to count. Tens of thousands of pictures of them screaming creativity with their pages of hand lettering, ETSY stickers, washi tape, and glossy goals all over Instagram. Scrolled through them ‘til my finger cramped. I considered it time well spent. After all, what could be more fulfilling than creating your own organized, artistically-adorned life planner? The planner is the canvas for the perfect marriage of artistry and productivity. So why do I always end up in a quickie divorce with mine?

It hasn’t always been this way for me. When I was working, I had planning routines that drove my productivity in exactly the direction I wanted. As a teacher, my plan book was my second brain. That along with the Vermont Life Engagement Book I got for Christmas every year, kept me organized and focused. And later, when technology came into my life, Google Calendar became my planner of choice until my retirement. When I retired, I thought it would be fun to finally shift back to a paper planner. 5 Science-Backed Reasons Why Paper Planners Are Better Than Digital Planners and Calendars reports that paper planners are going strong, enjoying a huge resurgence. One of the scientific reasons for this, which is loosely based on some brain science, is that the paper planner is less distracting than its digital sisters. No pings or dings from a paper planner. And no screen time to alter your brain’s pathways. The physical act of writing has been shown to aid in memory. Writing in a paper planner may be more motivating. It appears that the language that we choose when committing things to paper has a tighter relationship to our thoughts than our personal shorthand used in a digital calendar, and that inspires us to “get er done.” Keeping a paper journal is stress therapy for many. And finally, using the paper planner as part of a routine (morning routine for most or a daily ritual) is a healthy habit, which can lead to other healthy habits. So, yes. I want all that. I left the digital planning behind when I retired because it felt like work. But there is, was, and has been a clear recalcitrance in my “retirement life” to follow through with a planner, and it seems to be spilling over into other areas (like writing a blog). I’ll be the first to admit that I struggle with any kind of authority, and for me the planner takes on a bit of an authority role in my life: “This is what you said you’d do, Linda. Now do it!” So, I guess the idea of a planner makes this old broad feel a bit rebellious. “Don’t fence me in, Planner. Turns out I DON’T actually want to do that on Tuesday.”

So what? What now? Despite my growing graveyard of planners, the idea, the “ideal” of keeping a planner is still mighty seductive for me. I still want the benefits: the productivity, the organization of thoughts and tasks, yada-yada-yada. Since it’s taken me weeks to frame and finish this post, I’ve given this a lot of thought. As I pushed that yellow planner from September around my writing desk like cold brussels sprouts on a plate, I came to some conclusions:

• My idea of “regular” will never be daily again with a planner. That was from my work life.

• It’s the practice of writing things down that lures me, but my own motivation to frame it into a daily plan is less reliable.

• I love planning to plan. Making the actual plan is less motivating to me.

• Once the vehicle for writing becomes A PLANNER, it’s almost certain it won’t actually be one for me.

So I think I have solved the planner problem. I have never struggled with writing in a notebook. I love a good notebook. I have filled up many notebooks with goals, ideas, lists, doodles, lettering, and taped-in pieces of paper. So, it’s pretty simple. I hereby turn my bright yellow dot grid planner into a NOTEBOOK. I can write in it after my Morning Pages or at night before I go to sleep or any old time of the day whenever I want. I do know this sounds like a bunch of nothing, folks. I get it. The Precious Days are far too precious to get stuck on something as simple as this, but sometimes that’s how I roll. And for all you Planner People out there, (and I know there are a heck of a lot of you — the last data I saw online from 2016 said there were $342.7 MILLION in planner sales) I will probably never stop envying and admiring your work. It’s not you, it’s me. 😉

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For some fun bonus information on planners, check out The Daily Planner and its History.

The Space Between

I have recently fallen into an abyss I refer to as “the space between.” The fabulous frenzy of Christmas has come and gone, and the New Year has been hijacked by the “meh” of what already feels like an endless January. This stretch of time marks the transition from the annual ending of “the holidays” and the start of the new year to waiting for spring. That transitional space looms large. It’s a space big enough to accommodate some hefty doldrums. Or…could it be a much-needed space set aside for some mental health self-care? If that’s to be the case for me, I need to try to understand my long-broken relationship with the space between. More about that later.

It’s no accident that I am writing this on January 15…

Reason #1: I gave myself the first half of January to rest, reflect, and try to figure out how to not sink too deeply into the winter blues. In my first full year of retirement last year I really struggled, and I promised myself I wouldn’t go through multiple months of that again. I’d use some strategies — daily walking, using my light box, reading fiction and some good non-fiction, writing, planning, and developing some hobbies.
Reason #2: Today is known as Blue Monday, the most depressing day of the year. Well, the fighter in me didn’t want to use this day as an excuse to lean even deeper into the episodes of depression that have plagued me my whole life. How did this day get such an awful moniker (even though most people living in the northern hemisphere would agree that it kind of fits)? According to Forbes Magazine, a U.K. travel company came up with the idea in 2005 as a marketing ploy to get people to book travel plans to escape the winter hell. Based on a “depression formula” they cooked up with a psychologist, they came up with the date of the 15th as opposed to any other random January day. Although the company is no longer in business, the “curse” stuck, and here I am smack dab in the middle of the month, allowing the inertia of “I’m just not feeling it” to make a beeline into a vortex of “blah.” And before you knew it, the first two weeks of a new year were gone. And what happened in those two weeks that inspired the topic of this post? I fell into “a space between.”
Reason #3: That abyss I referred to hits a watershed moment today. January 15 has become a self-imposed day of reckoning for me. Since Christmas, I have been filling this big space in unhealthy ways.

Let’s unpack …

Some of you may be familiar with in-between spaces. They are created by any kind of task, event, time, or life transition. And wouldn’t life just have to be chock full of transitions! For some people, these transitions are just common occurrences. They just happen and pass without much mental stress. Not for me. For me they are periods where I begin to feel a loss of control. I experience January as a major transition. After six plus decades of struggle, the prospect of these first two weeks of January turning into an entire winter of discontent has brought this struggle into glaring focus: I have to finally deal with the impact of my struggles with transitions. If you are, like me, a person who has struggled with transitions for your whole life, then you get it.

Personally, I am aware of at least two effects of my own struggle with transitions, and I have experienced both at various times of my life. One problematic effect of transitions for me is that at times I would just plow onto the next thing in my life, not taking time to reflect on what’s occurred, enjoy it, celebrate it, learn from it, etc. Sometimes that would happen for me when I got too deeply trapped in work mode. I would work all day then line up 20 things to do as soon as I got home from work because I did not deal well with the transition of leaving work and coming home. That was evidenced on a grand scale when I “retired” in June of 2021 and moved right into a new role in July of 2021. And yes, it took a bit of a toll. Retirement is a massive transition…and the pace of its impact can be tricky. Some of its greatest transitional impacts for me occur as the seasons change because my 40+ years in professional education (not to mention the first 16 years of schooling) centered around the seasons and how they drove life’s rhythm.

But more often, it was the second transition-related problem that I was plagued by. I would become immobilized by transition. This would manifest itself in some habits that were really bad for my mental health. Some examples:

• I would struggle with Saturdays and just waste them—sitting on the couch for long periods, watching meaningless TV, and later, with the advances of technology, endlessly, mindlessly scrolling. Before I knew it, it would be 6:00 p.m. Then I’d try to cram the weekend into Sunday. By Sunday night I would be so stressed, I’d just give up.

• I would be a mess the first day of any vacation (school or travel), unable to make a decision or commit to anything until that day was over.

• If I had a deadline of some kind or an upcoming event that I was anxious about preparing for, I’d sleep away my productivity time then panic.

• I’d engage in a stint of retail therapy characterized by impulse buying that would leave me with tons of remorse.

• But perhaps the most destructive way I would fill that anxious, uncertain “space between” was with what psychotherapist and life coach Julie M. Simon calls “transition eating.”

What is transition eating?

Julie Simon defines transition eating as a habit, rather than a pathology (comforting I guess). But the root cause of it may be much deeper than a habit to break for some of us. Transition eating is emotional eating, which is often characterized by mindless eating (sometimes not even being aware that you have overeaten), a desire to “fill up” an emptiness, or often just pure avoidance of moving on to something that is making you uncomfortable. My own root causes go back to childhood feelings of fear, uncertainty, and a need to self-soothe due to some dysfunctional family dynamics. Intellectually, I know, of course, that my transition eating (or overeating) is unhealthy and is most likely responsible for the 10-20 extra pounds I carry around at various times. There have been periods of painful awareness of this problem, along with periods of healthy recovery. But I know I will probably never “cure” it.

Fortunately, these first two weeks of January have brought me into one of those “painful awareness” periods, and Julie Simon has some excellent coaching advice that I can work on and incorporate into these times of anxiousness and avoidance that lead me to transition eating.

Here are her strategies:

1) Make a list of all the times you engage in transition eating–remember, change begins with awareness.

2) Select one transition to work on. Pick a fairly easy one to start with. Don’t try to tackle all your transition eating at once. Keep in mind that your eating serves a purpose in your life and you’ll need to build in other, more adaptive, ways of coping before you can fully release it.

3) During the selected transition, set an intention to stop using food for soothing, comfort, pleasure or distraction. Take a pause when you want to grab food, and make a conscious choice to delay gratification for at least 10 minutes. Remind yourself that you’ll be fine without the food. You’re building a new habit with new associations and over time, these new habits and associations will feel more natural. You’re beginning the process of rewiring your brain circuitry for better self-regulation. Personally I would add…“feel the dang feelings!”

4) Practice self-affirming commentary every time you succeed in not eating during a transition. For example, “I’m proud of myself for going to bed tonight without first getting a snack.” Or, “I’m pleased that I didn’t go to a drive-through after I dropped the kids at soccer practice.”

5) Plan a non-food reward for yourself once you’ve conquered an area of transition eating. You deserve it!

6) When you’ve successfully released one area of transition eating, set an intention to tackle another area. Progress to more difficult areas once you have some success under your belt.

There you go. I’ll give it the ol’ college try. I feel like I’ve already started at the macro level by setting a bit of a boundary for myself to try to not extend my holiday transitional period (and the commensurate transitional eating binges) beyond January 15. I don’t regret giving myself that grace period at the start of the year, and it is probably a ritual of gentleness I’ll continue each year (hopefully in a healthier way). Speaking of rituals, I do have a strong desire this week to focus on some winter routines as I begin anew with trying some of the coaching strategies listed to more effectively deal with transitions. I do know that routines bind me more to the present moment, which is why I need them so much.

And, maybe next year, instead of sharing factoids about Blue Monday for January 15, I’ll just wish you all a “Happy New Year for Real This Time,” and you’ll get exactly what I mean (wink).

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Do you struggle with post-holiday blues, a January slump, or the winter blahs? Or are you energized by a fresh start and outdoor winter activities? Let me know in the Comments.

Happy New Year!

Greetings readers! I wanted to hop on during this quiet, final day of 2023 to thank you for reading the blog and to wish you all a very happy New Year.

The whole “new year” schtick has never been one of my favorite parts of the holiday season. I am sad that Christmastime is coming to a close. It’s a good kind of sad — it just means I loved it all so much. I was never much for going out on the town on New Year’s Eve. Too much partying and loud talk always drained me and left me with an aching head and a “did I really say that???” case of remorse on New Year’s Day. I did love the parades as a child but the endless football was a bit much, and I love football, but not weeks of Bowl Games. I am terrible at goal setting (well good at setting, horrible at attainment), so the whole resolution thing doesn’t interest me much. I usually pick a word, which I forget by Martin Luther King’s birthday. This year I have chosen one based on one of the many fun Instagram reels that pop up to select a word. This year, mine came up as “renewal” and it really fit. A little dose of 2024 optimism there, maybe?

My husband and I have eschewed most of those traditional trappings. We spend a quiet evening at home on New Year’s Eve, enjoying some final indulgences of holiday food, a special cocktail, each other’s company, and a rousing game of Backgammon. At some point, we’ll hear the rumbling and know it’s time to step outside to our front walk to see the annual fireworks, which are set off in a local park. Then I will spend the rest of the evening reading, and he will return to his football coma. We may or may not still be awake to toast the New Year with a glass of prosecco.

So, some New Year’s Eve content—thanks to my online friend and women’s writing group guru, Helen, I have an idea. Helen had posted a list from Calm entitled “12 Questions: Reflect on 2023 and Move Mindfully into 2024.” True confession, this will be my first cold look at the questions. I am not sure what they might conjure up for me, and I am not sure how capable I am of any “deep reflection” today. I am still in that La La Land headspace that happens during the week between Christmas and New Year’s. I’ll give it a try….

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In 2023…

1) What challenges did you face? Well, the state of the world often challenged me to continue to put faith in a collective humanity. But I will hang in there, holding out hope this off-its-axis planet, especially the part my country inhabits, will come to its senses and once again value the lives of the innocent around the world, the rights of women, the health of the earth, and most of all democracy— which to me must involve some tough love sanity to have both the soul and the balls to stop the hate-fueled madness. On a more personal level, my health continues to challenge me, and I am compelled to make it more than an “in name only” priority.

2) What lessons did your challenges teach you? Ironically, in both circumstances, I need to remain vigilant and active. And, as hard as it sometimes is, I need to focus on an open-heart-love for more than I have let in currently, including more love for myself if lasting healing is to be possible.

3) What did you lose? Hmmm….well certainly not this extra 20 pounds I continue to haul around. Other than that, I am blessed that this was not a year of tremendous or profound loss for me.

4) What did you gain? Perspective. A deeper love for reading and writing. A huge appreciation for nature. An even deeper love for my friends and family. Bone-deep gratitude for the abundance in my life.

5) What happened that deserves celebrating? This blog and my wonderful readers!

6) What are you grateful for? See number 4 — and I am most grateful that the list I would include would be far too long to add in a single blog post.

OKAY, HALFWAY THROUGH AND LOSING STEAM, FOLKS!

In 2024…

1) What will you bring with you from 2023? I think more than anything a love for and appreciation of this time of my life and the people in it, which really are The Precious Days for me.

2) What will you want to leave behind? As much fear and anxiety as is possible — both of these were a constant specter in 2023. I have been working hard to get a grip on my perspective on certain aspects of my life. I wish I could leave the ugliness of the world behind….

3) What qualities do you want to cultivate? Oh boy, patience, perspective, optimism, and being more relaxed and joyful (a tall order for me ). And whatever the opposite of procrastination is…I want to cultivate that!

4) What habits or routines will support them? This is WAY TOO BIG to go into. What I do know about myself is that habits and routines save my life. More than anything, I need to remember this and make it my mantra in 2024.

5) How do you want to grow? I’d like to be more connected to the people that I care about. I’d like to read books and actually write reviews of them more frequently to deepen my connection to and appreciation of their value as stories, and what I can learn about myself and other worlds from the books I read. I’d like to continue to grow in my relationship with nature. And I’d like to continue to grow in and reflect upon this very special time of my life.

6) What commitments will you make to yourself? And there it is…the question that stumps me right now. I just don’t know, this one will take a lot of thought. Right now I can commit to working on being a better version of myself in 2024 than I was in 2023.

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So there you have it. I guess I am more ready to wrap up 2023 than I thought I was. But I can’t call it a year, without a final shout out to all of you, dear readers. I think of you all so often going about your lives, living your own version of The Precious Days and taking some time out of them to read my blog. I wish you good health, an abundance of happiness and love, and as much wonder and joy as you can fit into each day in 2024.

Winter Solstice

Written on the morning of winter solstice — Thursday, December 21, 2023…

My husband and I will celebrate the shortest day of the year and the incremental return of much missed light with our annual winter solstice fire tonight. We’ll  bundle up and head out to our backyard spot and ease our down coat-swaddled selves into our camp chairs by an open fire. As is our custom on our solstice celebration, my husband is responsible for having the fire ready, and I am in charge of a festive hot drink. This year we will have hot cider with butterscotch schnapps in our new insulated holiday mugs. Once we’re settled in, it will be time for star-gazing, sharing our thoughts about the current year, and our tentative hopes for the future. We try to keep any fears at bay and focus on gratitude. As the fire starts to die down, I’ll toss in a few slips of paper on which I’ve written what I’d like to let go of and what I hope to let in.

I have come to love this ritual with my husband. Before he came into my life, I didn’t give much thought to the solstice, other than the calendar’s pronouncement that winter had officially begun. Once we started celebrating, I really leaned into the feelings conjured up by this ritual. The stillness, the reflection, and the anticipation helped me feel more attuned with myself. Once I allowed the rhythms of nature to take center stage, rather than my dread of the long winter, the winter solstice signaled the start of my own personal quest to fully embrace the coming months. I began to view the onset of winter as my own personal time for restful hibernation and spiritual restoration.  And with that, winter became a verb. 

Since my retirement, I have wintered after the solstice in ways that didn’t occur while I was working. I enjoy checking the sunrise and sunset times to remind myself of the growing light that began the day after our late December backyard fire. I choose books to read that deepen the feelings of winter through their seasonal settings and also by the authors' explorations of both the dark and light sides of characters. I examine my own darkness during cold afternoon walks and do my best through deep reflection to release it. On those solitary walks I can imagine the flocks of winter birds leaving the bare trees and soaring high, carrying all my worries up into the late afternoon sky to dissolve into nothing more than a distant flutter. And as each day grows longer, I let the increasing light travel inside me to illuminate visions of spring and intentions for new beginnings.

As the winter months pass, the days will warm, and I’ll shed my heavy coats and boots.  I will also find myself shedding the anxieties of the previous year. Embracing the winter solstice is my preparation to create the space in my life for that. Solstice signals it is time to unburden myself of things about the past year that are just that…the past. And I will know that as I continue wintering, my inner landscape has the potential to become as vast as Vermont’s open fields of powdery snow. 

Gazing into our solstice fire on this especially cold December evening, I will be reminded that there are patches of new green growth waiting to reveal themselves underneath the wet ground and islands of snow. Along with the growing light, they will be the symbols of promise and possibility. But just for now, on this still night, the earth and I will prepare to winter together, looking forward to emerging with renewed strength – nourished, restored, and energized after our long winter rest.

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TO KNOW THE DARK

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

—Wendell Berry

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Do you celebrate the winter solstice? Share your rituals in the Comments. And to all of you, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the days of celebration if you celebrate. Whether you celebrate or not, I wish you all an abundance of peace and joy in The Precious Days.

Thankful for so Much

I love Thanksgiving week. So many wonderful childhood memories and always new memories to make each year. This year my husband and I did our annual Thanksgiving morning walk at the golf course. It’s a great spot for a brisk walk. This year our walk was under cloudy skies, but I was just as grateful for it as I would have been under a sunny blue sky. “Grateful for it all” was the theme of so many Instagram Thanksgiving posts, and I have to agree. I am finally learning to be grateful for it ALL. Each morning another day of life unfolds, and I feel it’s my new found purpose in life to actually “experience” it all. Retirement gives us that gift. It was mostly of my own making, but while I was working I was too busy, too preoccupied to fully experience my own life…always thinking ahead or regretting something that had already passed. I don’t want to be that person anymore. But, honestly, it’s work.

So for this post, I want to focus on some of the things I am so thankful for in the spirit of this Thanksgiving week. There are so many things, but these are the things that stand out. When I reflect on them, they are the observations, the lessons, the joys, the serendipitous glimpses and the deliberate pauses I often take to remind myself that my life as it is is just plain enough. And enough is beautiful.

“I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. ”

— G.K. Chesterton

So here we go.

I am thankful for…

Long walks filled with noticing birds busy with their instinctive tasks, trees holding on to last leaves, families coming and going, changing skies, and my strong sense of place.

Watching my dachshund prance around in her neon-lit collar during her late evening walk under a star-filled sky, breathing the night air deeply into my lungs before both our bedtimes.

Morning texts with Dena, Lauren, Laurie, and Brenda through every season, wishing each other happy and productive days, describing plans to look forward to, sharing memes and little jokes along with Wordle scores and just-in-time advice and support as needed. This sisterhood of wise and funny women is the bedrock for so much joy in my life.

Spotify playlists that fit every mood and occasion, some songs with lyrics that sing what’s in my heart or on my mind so poignantly that they are played over and over.

Phone calls with my brother and sister-in-law, chatting about our shared past, sharing complex memories of those who have left us, and how we continue to navigate the ordinary days of our lives, as family.

So many books, my new retirement best friends. Reading challenges, nourishes, and entertains me. These books enrich my days with new perspectives, deep thoughts, places to explore, resonant emotions of kindred characters, shared humanity, and of course, laughter, tears, and downright awe at the wonder of stories.

British everything…cups of tea, The Archers, Acorn TV, Britbox, old Sherlock Holmes black and white movies, and carrying on my mother’s very English holiday traditions that Thanksgiving signals it’s time to begin again.

My book group friends, Maddie and Mary Lynn with whom I’ve have shared about 40 years of history and the bonds of abiding friendship.

My online women’s writing group friends who inspire me to be a better writer, a more thoughtful and realistic sojourner as I age, and a stronger and more grateful woman in each and every moment.

Each and every moment of shared joy and unconditional love from my husband. He continues to be the greatest blessing in my life.

And of course, dear readers, I am thankful for all of you, sharing The Precious Days with me through these posts and your thoughtful comments. Thank you all so much.

What are you most thankful for this year?

The Yellow Light of November

"The thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of. The mite which November contributes becomes equal in value to the bounty of July." — Henry David Thoreau

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This rambling blog post is my love letter to November. I love the yellow hues of November. The “thin yellow light” Thoreau praises is only seen in spring and then again in fall, especially in November. There is a certain slant of light and moodiness of the sky that only comes in those two seasons. And when it comes in November, it turns the treetops golden against the blue-gray sky.

Welcoming early November is a celebration for me. I have actually declared it my favorite month, and I am quite sure from the looks I get that I don’t have a lot of confederates. It’s neither flashy nor full of the bucket-list pressures of October. I confess to feeling a bit manic in early fall. This is me: Cider donuts at the farmstand, come on let’s go while they are still warm! We need mums for the front walkway! Let’s get our pumpkin! Get in the car for a foliage ride! Let’s get pictures of all this color while the light is good! Fall picnic! It’s both exhilarating and exhausting.

Enter late fall…and the Zen Master, November. The ostentatious hoopla of “everybody’s favorite season” in Vermont has calmed down, if not disappeared. The leaves have taken on their yellow hue, many already having turned an earthy brown. There is less of the sun that lit up the oranges and reds, and the clouds of the contemplative month roll in. November’s quiet arrival heralds a month of potential stillness. November’s gray morning skies and golden sunsets offer us days to breathe, to be thoughtful and thankful. It’s a month of space. The space between the first of November and Thanksgiving is just right for long solitary walks, quiet reflection, curling up with a mug of warm tea and a book, resting, and just being. November is my psalm, and I praise its arrival.

“God bless our perfect, perfect grey day
With trees so bare, so bare
But oh so beautiful, so beautiful
The grey, blue sky, the world is here”

— "Thoughts on Grey Day" spoken poem on Fleetwood Mac's Bare Trees album (1972)

By mid-to-late November, you can begin to feel the transitional phase of the month. Punctuated by early, sparse flurries, gray skies, the last of the geese, bare tree limbs, carpets of wet leaves slippery and glistening with rain and melted snow, and of course, Thanksgiving, there is a quiet beauty that I love to savor. It begins to sink in that another year is almost at its end as thoughts of Christmas nudge their way into each day as the month moves on. So the end of the month becomes filled with anticipation, but there will be plenty of time for rushing around for the holidays in December. November, I will remind myself, is for paying attention.

I recently read a book that for me was meant to be read in November, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Sarah B talked about it on her podcast Time and Other Thieves (I listen on Spotify). It’s a painfully beautiful book by Jean-Dominque Bauby, the former editor of the French Elle Magazine. He suffered a massive stroke which left him alive, but with the rare “locked in syndrome.” I won’t go into a full review or any spoilers, but if you haven’t read it, put it on your list. It is the perfect book for a November afternoon. One of the things he comments on is “the small events that punctuate the passage of time: roses picked at dusk, the laziness of a rainy Sunday, a child crying himself to sleep. Capturing the moment, these small slices of life, these small gusts of happiness, move me more deeply than all the rest.” These small events (capturing the moment, small slices of life, small gusts of happiness) are what I slow down and give my attention to in November.

My love affair with the month of November is indeed “punctuated by the small events” that capture my attention and mark the passage of its days. Those small events began as far back as elementary school and have become such special November memories. From great leaf piles of once flaming color, my friend Brenda and I kicked and shuffled the yellow and brown decaying foliage into neat rows in anyone’s front yard on the way home from school. On Veteran’s Day, which was a day off from school, we would run to the local park, jumping through more massive piles of crunchy leaves on our way to Ann’s Bake Shop for a candy apple. Then, wearing our red poppies, we were off to the local American Legion for a free bean and hot dog dinner with local elderly veterans. The waning sun, the smell of snow flurries, and damp socks inside wet shoes signaled it was time for us to rush home before the early darkness of the time change. Then there were the November preparations for Thanksgiving. My job as a child was to make sure the bread crusts were set out to dry in the oven for my mother’s Thanksgiving stuffing. And Thanksgiving, of course, was the crown jewel of the month, rivaled only by Stir-It-Up Sunday, a tradition of my mother’s Anglican, English family. Right after Thanksgiving, my mother and aunt would make our Christmas pudding, with future-vegetarian-me consigned to grind the suet. They each had a “drop of port” when the work was done. This tradition continued until we moved to another house. Through middle school and high school I spent our Veteran’s Day of no school downtown with friends, watching the parade, eating those candy apples (does anyone take more than two bites of a candy apple?), and loving the November day, rain or shine. Then later, in high school, my friend Paula and I discovered Fleetwood Mac’s Bare Trees album. And there it was (and still is)…my soundtrack of November.

November calls on me to pay attention, to be present. It coaxes me to gently plan, create, contemplate, rest, and reflect on how much I have to be grateful for. Although November may signal an end of something to most people, for me it’s the beginning of a contemplative season. Book in hand, I will make my slipper-clad way to the couch and make a toast to the month with my steaming mug of chai latte, then lose myself in thought, gazing out the window at a sliver of yellow light against a moody blue-gray sky.

“November is a bare branch caught in just the right amount of yellow moonlight, moving back and forth in the nighttime wind, holding steadfast to its few remaining leaves, not quite ready to let go of The Precious Days.”

— Me, it's a quote from me...🙂

What about you? Are you a November lover or do you have other feelings about the month? Let me know in the Comments.

The World Tells a Story

Photo: Unsplash - Mark Olsen @markolsen

DISCLAIMER: I wrote this post almost two weeks ago. I debated about posting it. I know many people come here for content about the joys and celebrations experienced in The Precious Days of retirement, and I know how much I love writing about those things. But there are sorrows and grief in those days, too, making the days that are ordinary and full of joy all the more precious. As I continue to navigate my days and move forward with life, I believe it’s important to bear witness to the challenges and tragedies this world seems to hold (with the greatest frequency I can ever remember in my adult life). I grieve for and honor the innocent people who are not able to move on. I have decided to post this as it is, and as it was earlier in the month.

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Once again, this was not the post I intended to write. I was longing to return to topics more reflective of living The Precious Days. Yet from the horrendous events of October 7 and the deaths of so many innocent people to the horrific mass shooting in Maine, with communities far and near living in fear, I felt I had to bear witness to this “story to break your heart.” Even as the news was shared that the gunman in Maine had been found dead, there were fresh images of Israel advancing a ground war into Gaza.

So I felt I could not bring myself to write about the usual topics of my life in a blog post. And I don’t have the energy to go on about the politics of it all, and what needs to change in a country that has lost its way, along with this increasingly unstable and violent world. Nor do I have the words to express my sorrow, my anger, and my outrage. These heavy times are breaking so many of us. And so, I go about my life, weighted with sadness, but refusing to accept that we are powerless to change things. I am thinking through how I can take some action, to be part of positive change in a way that I can say, “This must change and here’s what I am doing.”

But for now, as I often do, I turn to poetry to help me make sense of the senseless and express what I can’t. Poetry is solace for me. I share poems with friends to celebrate, to mourn, to reflect, to acknowledge, and to wonder and marvel. Poetry is a space to draw in a healing breath and exhale a confirmation that someone, a poet, has given voice to the moment in time you occupy. A poem can bear witness, too.

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“What can a poem do? A poem is a not a tourniquet when you’re bleeding. It’s not water when you’re thirsty or food when you’re hungry. A poem can’t protect you from an airstrike, or from abduction, or from hate. It’s hard to write when our words feel like they’re not enough—they can’t do the real, tangible work of saving lives, or making people safer. But can they remind us of our humanity? I think they can, and I think we desperately need a reminder.”

— Maggie Smith - Poet "thoughts on singing in dark times" (Substack)

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I love this quote from Maggie Smith. Mary Oliver’s Lead is such a poem. Sometimes it can seem like there are too many places in life’s journey where hope is not alive, where pain is so stark that it breaks our hearts. But if, as Mary writes, that deep grief can break our hearts open, then we must hold space to testify, to feel deeply, both the bleak and the beautiful. It is still my endless hope that such capacity is what defines us as human.

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Lead

Here is a story
to break your heart.
Are you willing?
This winter
the loons came to our harbor
and died, one by one,
of nothing we could see.
A friend told me
of one on the shore
that lifted its head and opened
the elegant beak and cried out
in the long, sweet savoring of its life
which, if you have heard it,
you know is a sacred thing.,
and for which, if you have not heard it,
you had better hurry to where
they still sing.
And, believe me, tell no one
just where that is.
The next morning
this loon, speckled
and iridescent and with a plan
to fly home
to some hidden lake,
was dead on the shore.
I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.

Mary Oliver, (New and Selected Poems Volume Two), Beacon Press.

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Recently the sun has been breaking through to remind me of all there is to love. I will return to celebrating The Precious Days very soon. Thanks for staying with me here.

Self-Sabotage

Photo from: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/life-what-happens-you-while-youre-busy-making-other-plans-aumeerally/

Self-sabotage — sounds so James Bondish, doesn’t it? And I must say there have been times this month when I felt out-maneuvered by phantom forces. Those forces? Just life being life. That is the curse of too much planning and too many expectations. When I fall into that trap, I can become paralyzed in procrastination. Things aren’t working out? Just avoid EVERYTHING. Well, it’s not quite that dramatic, but that pretty much describes the funk I have gotten myself into this October. I could have pulled from one of the many blog ideas I have ready in the wings. I could have dismissed my absence with a breezy, “Oh, I have been so busy this month, where did the time go” as an explanation for not posting a blog since October first. But that wouldn’t be honest. I promised my readers I would portray the ebb and flow of The Precious Days as authentically as possible.

I am learning so much about myself as the rhythm of the days, weeks, months, years, and especially seasons unfold. I have imposed some pressures on myself in the form of unrealistic expectations about how my life “should be.” Oh, I’d love to go with the flow so much it hurts, but I am not wired that way. For my entire work life I had to have a plan, a design, a framework that would help to make sense of multi-faceted goals and competing priorities. That’s the kind of hard-wiring that is difficult to shake. That careful planning and mapping and evaluating worked so well for me. Yet, one of the lessons I was loath to learn is that it has never worked for me in my personal life. If anything, I find a myriad of ways to rebel against it…to self-sabotage.

There are things about me that I guess I thought would magically disappear once I was no longer working. WHAT WAS I THINKING??? I find a lot of magic in my life, but spontaneous change of life-long struggles isn’t one of them. Darn. Readers, retirement is not my magic bullet. Womp, womp.

“Self-sabotage are patterns of thinking and behavior that lock us in a loop or send us to a downward spiral, preventing us from moving forward and achieving our goals. These are subconscious ways for us to generate our own stress either now or later on.”

— Rachel Bonifacio

In The Thin Line Between Self-Care and Self-Sabotage published in Medium, author Rachel Bonifacio points out the dark side of “self-care.” In many ways, retirement can feel like an opportunity for one long Saturday night of self-care. In the article, wellness coach and psychological counselor Rachel defines real self-care as “consciously choosing to engage in activities that will allow you to live the kind of life you want to create for yourself.” Okay, so that’s what I was going for. Where did I go wrong? Rachel again: “Self-care is all about facing, befriending, accepting, and moving forward with your shadow self, i.e. the parts of you that you think are not aligned to the life you’re trying to create or those that you don’t want to admit that you have (insecurities and weaknesses).” Oh…hello, shadow.

Rachel goes on to describe “self-care” as an umbrella with lots of categories that can actually get us out of balance if there is “too much” of a need to fill our lives with these categories. She further describes self-sabotage in much the same way, and the following categories really resonated with, at the very least, October me: numbing, procrastination, over-committing and unrealistic expectations, and another very interesting category she calls, “searching for chaos.” Hmmm….

Mercifully, Rachel lists some strategies that are very doable and wise. They all begin with practicing mindfulness and pressing the pause button (much like I am trying to do with this blog post), and then asking yourself the following questions:

What is the intention of this behavior or activity?

• Will I feel emotionally or mentally recharged later by doing this now?

• Is this something I need to do for self-maintenance?

• What am I trying to avoid or escape from?

• Which dimension of my well-being am I supporting by choosing this?

• Will my future self thank me later? Or will my future self experience suffer or regret?

• Will this allow me to do the things I need to accomplish more effectively?

• Am I acting wisely or am I acting out my inner child?

The article is helping me think through my own “October Surprise” (and I do plan on having a much more flow-worthy November, my favorite month) with a great deal more reflection and compassion. Journaling has really helped. I highly recommend giving the article a close read if you ever experience something similar.

I write posts like this as a cautionary tale, in solidarity with those who are retired or thinking about it. There are wonderful days of flow and joy and intense appreciation. But it’s my mistake to think they will just unfold, like “yup, this is my life now, ain’t it grand?” That may sound overly simplistic, but in reflecting on “what the heck just happened” in the last month, I can see that was the issue for me. Slow days, autumn color, long solitary walks, yoga and meditation, good books, cozy sweaters, learning new things, etc. — that was the grand “self-care” plan for fall, a season I love so much it actually hobbled me when it didn’t go as planned. Home improvement construction (lots of it), inside and out, filled the sunny beautiful days of October. It seemed like the few days where I could get back on track with things I love were replaced with stress, paint cans, rain, and migraines. Then, another set of construction guys entered the picture. That’s not self-sabotage…that’s just life. The self-sabotage comes in the way I experience those things. In my former life, I would just throw myself into work as a distraction — “this too shall pass.” What I noticed about myself this October was not tactical distraction, but pure avoidance/procrastination patterns (see the categories from the article). And now the calendar days have flown by like a segue scene from an old black and white movie. I felt my beautiful fall reset had turned into a full-on shut down. If this post had a sound effect it would be the screeching of car brakes. And I think I got out of my own way just in time.

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them – that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like. ”

— Lao-Tzu

This quote came into my life at the right time. It introduces a very helpful article from Zen Habits entitled 12 Practical Steps for Learning to Go with the Flow. It reminds me that of all the things I wanted so desperately to learn, to begin, meditation still is at the top of the list. Each time I have tried, I have either been so antsy I felt like fleeing or so relaxed that I simply fell asleep. The lesson in this is clear — those struggles are exactly why I need to show up, put in the mental sweat, and learn. It won’t kill me, but it might, indeed, make me stronger. My body is screaming for me to stick with the goal of stretching. I eschewed The Stretching Sidekick because it was too rigid and boring. That’s that self-sabotage again. I’m clever enough to adjust it and make it work for me. SarahBSeeking of the Time and Other Thieves podcast reminded me about Adriene on YouTube. I used to love those videos…I can come back and give it another try…slowly. No pressure. And I do love that Julia Cameron 12 week course…and if it becomes 12 months and I only intermittently do an Artist Date, that is totally fine. I love the writing parts and the solitary walks. I just don’t want the self-pressure. Now that’s the form of self-care I need that won’t lead to self-sabotage. I feel I am approaching this period of my life, this desire to learn to “go with the flow” in alignment with the steps outlined in the Zen Habits article:

1. Realize that you can’t control everything.

2. Become aware.

3. Breathe.

4. Get perspective.

5. Practice.

6. Baby steps.

7. Laugh.

8. Keep a journal.

9. Meditate.

10. Realize that you can’t control others.

11. Accept change and imperfection.

12. Enjoy life as a flow of change, chaos and beauty.

We are all going to experience retirement differently, so I do appreciate it when women share their ups and downs in the Comments. I had my first session with my women’s group for a new phase for us all. This session was led by Annie of Annie’s Journey. One of the things I love most about these women is the way we gently support each other. They actually inspired this post. All these joys, sorrows, setbacks, and triumphs are valid…they are parts of who we are. Although I may share a lot of my own missteps, I have never felt like any attempt at learning was a failure. That especially goes for my attempts at learning more about myself living The Precious Days.

All You’ve Ever Wanted in the World

I mentioned a quote from Ann Patchett’s Tom Lake in the Comments of my last post. It is one of the books I read in 2023 that will be among my top five no matter what else I read before the year ends. I was actually surprised by the depth of my pure and absolute love of this novel because I believe I own at least three other Ann Patchett books that I never really got into — bookmarks in place witnessing the lack of a compelling reason to keep going. Perhaps I’ll need to rethink that. Tom Lake was different. I lingered over every page, often rereading the beautiful arrangements of words and feeling them deep into my bones. The characters were so alive to me in a vaseline-covered lens, cinematic scope - their complexities, flaws, and humanity, so artfully and slowly moving the plot forward in a “beautiful human” kind of way. The mix of Lara’s storytelling, recounting a life painful in its current examination, with her reflection and her daughters’ reactions, along with Joe’s companionable support as they work as a family to harvest the cherries in this rural setting echo what I love most about “literature.” Sometimes I’d set the book down to just think about my own past and my own life and all the questions I wish I’d asked my parents…and just as Lara says in the story, “It was like being a leaf in a river. I fell in and was carried along."

For those of you who haven’t read it, here is a little context for the book Tom Lake. It’s not a review of the book…others do that much better. The novel is set in Michigan during the pandemic. It is time to harvest the cherries from the orchards on their farm, and Lara and Joe’s three daughters are all home, safe with their parents and helping with the harvest. The book starts out with high school Lara’s participation in the town’s production of Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town.” First, she is just helping out with the play, but then there is an opportunity to play Emily. Her innate talent in playing the role propels her onto Hollywood for a screen test and a movie (which gets shelved), and then Tom Lake in Michigan, summer stock theater, playing Emily once again. In that summer of her youth, Lara is again swept into slow moving life stories, where a half day can feel like six months. Characters take shape, and then in the present time of the pandemic her daughters will beg her to tell the stories of Tom Lake and especially the famous Peter Duke. Lara will finally reflect on that time of her life, her memories, and their meaning as she reveals more and more to her three daughters (so there is a tiny bit of Chekov’s “Cherry Orchard” in there, too, I guess).

The quote that begins this blogpost has become one of the most quoted passages from the book, and it’s what brings me to the page today. So many people can relate to the “simple truth.” So I don’t exaggerate when I say that retirement has become my “one morning”…. I am quite sure that almost moment by moment, all I’ve ever wanted is here. I feel so blessed that I have a home I enjoy so much. I find the property that surrounds my house, especially the gardens my husband has planted and cares for, are beautiful and peaceful, even as they turn to seed, hiding treasure for next spring. My life is filled with good books and ample time to write. The only people left in it are people that I genuinely care about. There is so much agency in the retirement years. I know that may sound contradictory, since society is so focused on what aging bodies and minds can no longer do…but I am here to tell you they are wrong. So wrong. And once you are out of the workforce, you no longer have hundreds of people to compare yourself to, or bombard you with their opinions and judgments. And you know what you get instead? Clarity…authenticity…agency…

“…and you are positive this is all you’ve ever wanted in the world.”

The other day my husband and I were standing on the deck together with our morning coffee. The sun was shining, it was cool and crisp, and the forecast of day-after-September-day of sun and comfortable temperatures was not a dream, but a reality. I looked over at him and said, “This is beautiful, isn’t it?” He knew exactly what I meant. This, all of this, is beautiful. Do I, will I still have problems, challenges, heartbreak? Of course. The alchemy of slow days to meander through, dipping between the joy or sadness of a present moment and memories of the past, paired with a depth of gratitude that I have for this phase of my life and all its contents results in a golden-hued clarity that this IS the time of my life.

“…and you are positive this is all you’ve ever wanted in the world.”

If you haven’t read Tom Lake, take this blogpost as a sign to read this beautiful tale. You don’t have to know the “Our Town” play to enjoy the book, but it makes it more fun. You can watch the sweet 1940 movie, Our Town, which is adapted from Wilder's play. This could be a nice "Artist Date" for devotees of Julia Cameron. Treat yourself to a large slice of cherry pie. Both Tom Lake and “Our Town” share the universal theme of appreciating life, even when it flies by or falls apart or is seen through someone else’s eyes. Happiness is what you have when you have it, so slow it down as best you can. Retirement gives you time to slow down time. Be reflective, be grateful, be still in watching your memories as they unfold, then tell your own stories to those who want to know them…to know you…to understand yourself. “Every, every minute of it” may at one time or another actually become The Precious Days.

“...and all we’re left with is a story.”

— Ann Patchett, Tom Lake

I’m Sorry…For A Bunch of Random Things

A disclaimer: This is a bit of an odd post. It started with the final topic for my Women Rowing North Writing Group, “Living with Intention.” It was a really tough one for me, and I went down a lot of pathways from the past…maybe too many. When I got to the point of my life when my career was finally over, something I’d put decades into, a career that was inseparable from my identity, I was scared. Scary to think that I would actually be in the process of building a new life as a “retired” person. Compared to what is behind me, it feels like I have so little time. Also with a topic like that, it made me think a lot about what I had done in my life, and what I hadn’t done in my life, especially outside of my career…big sigh. Some people live their lives like a beer commercial - “You Only Go Around Once in Life!” Sometimes I think I lived much of mine more like one long “Dear Abby” letter, whining about the sins of omission, wringing my hands in the pain of regret, and playing a waiting game.

“It's permitted to receive solace for whatever you did or didn't do, pitiful, beautiful human.”
There are many actions in my life I am sorry for. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to let those actions overshadow things I should appreciate and be grateful for. I feel like my life story would be a Book of T Charts: Times I tried too hard | Times I didn’t try hard enough; Problems I obsessed over | Important things I brushed off; Times I disappointed myself | Times I overachieved…you get the point. I want to say I am sorry to the people who got caught up in some of my life kerfuffle because I am sure I was insufferable during those times. At this point in my life, I have lots of time to think about things as I look back. I try to tell myself not to dwell too much on things in the past that cannot be changed. But I also know how I can be. So when almost out of nowhere this amazing poem, How to Apologize by Ellen Bass, appeared in my life I took it as a sign. I was catching up on old Lyric Life podcasts, and the host was unpacking the lines and putting the poem back together. And it felt like it was all for my benefit. It felt healing. It was solace. Nothing can do that like a poem.

“Unharness yourself from your weary stories”
Retirement, third act, final countdown…maybe for the first time in a long life of being sorry about things, I’m beginning to finally feel I’m on solid ground. I am tired of those stories of wrong turns and false notes, and I am not sorry, but thankful to let them go. “Let go!” a woman in my women’s group said, and I heard those two words as a warrior’s call, a rallying cry, an anthem. I no longer feel caught in the things I’ve spent so much time and energy worrying about, beating myself up about, regretting, or even genuinely trying to change. Miraculously, they and a poem led me to the here and now. And you know what? I freaking love it here! I am grateful for this time and space in my life. And I am especially grateful for the people in my life who have put up with me for so many years…and accepted the fish with love (wink).

“There is much to fear as a creature caught in time, but this is safe. You need no defense. This is just another way to know you are alive.”

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How to Apologize
by Ellen Bass

Cook a large fish—choose one with many bones, a skeleton
you will need skill to expose, maybe the flying
silver carp that's invaded the Great Lakes, tumbling
the others into oblivion. If you don't live
near a lake, you'll have to travel.
Walking is best and shows you mean it,
but you could take a train and let yourself
be soothed by the rocking
on the rails. It's permitted
to receive solace for whatever you did
or didn't do, pitiful, beautiful
human. When my mother was in the hospital,
my daughter and I had to clear out the home
she wouldn't return to. Then she recovered
and asked, incredulous,
How could you have thrown out all my shoes?
So you'll need a boat. You could rent or buy,
but, for the sake of repairing the world,
build your own. Thin strips
of Western red cedar are perfect,
but don't cut a tree. There'll be
a demolished barn or downed trunk
if you venture further.
And someone will have a mill.
And someone will loan you tools.
The perfume of sawdust and the curls
that fall from your plane
will sweeten the hours. Each night
we dream thirty-six billion dreams. In one night
we could dream back everything lost.
So grill the pale flesh.
Unharness yourself from your weary stories.
Then carry the oily, succulent fish to the one you hurt.
There is much to fear as a creature
caught in time, but this
is safe. You need no defense. This
is just another way to know
you are alive.

“How to Apologize” originally appeared in The New Yorker (March 15, 2021). 

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And on a Lighter Note, Let’s Catch Up!

Trying on a new feature as a way to catch you up on what’s going on in The Precious Days of my life since I last blogged. I hope you’ll use the Comments to catch us up on what’s going on for you, too. Let’s build this community!

ENJOYING
-Planning on paper with my new planner—why is there so much joy in stickers???
-Digging into Julia Cameron’s 12-week coursework, especially the solitary walks on sunny days (which I will never again take for granted).
-Moving (albeit out of step) to @TheFitnessMarshall dance videos on YouTube (not really loving The Stretching Sidekick I wrote about…at least not yet anyway)!
-Making my own cold brew with Starbucks Ground Fall Blend for fall iced coffees with lots of ice and a huge glug of Silk Pumpkin Spice Almond Creamer.

READING
-Fiction: Just started Riley Sager’s The Last Time I Lied. I like his books, and I like a balance of page turners and cozy mysteries this time of year. If you have any cozy fall mystery recommendations that aren’t too sugary or romance-focused (I like a good small town whodunit if I am going to go cozy), drop your suggestions in the Comments!
-Nonfiction: Still focusing on Julia Cameron’s It’s Never Too Late to Begin Again. A woman in WRN mentioned Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic, which is sitting on my bookshelf. That may be next.

WATCHING
-Becoming Frida Kahlo on PBS. Watching the first episode was my version of an “Artist Date” for this week. I was introduced to Kahlo’s art in a graduate school class on Socially Conscious Art at UVM taught by Professor David Conrad (such a wonderful man) and have been a Kahlo devotee ever since.
-The original Peyton Place TV soap opera series starring Ryan O’Neal and Mia Farrow. Episode one begins as the end of summer turns into fall, so it seemed appropriate to follow along as the days here feel like an autumn welcome. I remember this being on TV when I was in grade school in the mid-sixties, but my pearl-clutching mother wouldn’t allow us (or any babysitters) to watch it. I am sure I snuck in an episode or two at my gramma’s house. There are over 500 episodes of the original series, so I think I may be all binged out by episode 100.

LISTENING
-Joni Mitchell’s Blue…I always seem to start playing this album on repeat as we enter the BER months.
-The Archers on BBC Radio 4 Sounds (via Spotify)…This serial has captured my imagination, and I am hooked. Taking this imaginary daily trip to The Midlands of England, I have fallen in love with the families, farm life, and village-related drama.
-Picking a different fall playlist from Spotify each day for Morning Pages and reading time.

Catch us up on The Precious Days of your life in the Comments.

A Celebration of The Precious Days!

I feel like every day of my retirement is a celebration of The Precious Days. It’s a celebration of how I had envisioned living my days once they were not filled with work, other people’s agendas, other people’s goals, and other people’s problems. I did love most of my working years, but toward the end when you start to ask the questions “What is this all for?” and “Does any of this really matter to anyone but me?”… it’s time to live your days on your own terms. And that, readers, is truly precious. The days behind you are legion in number compared to the days ahead, and that is humbling. So, this blog is my testament to not taking those days for granted. And although this post celebrates about six months of blogging, six months before that, in mid-September on a day much like today—cool, crisp, and fallish—I started playing some autumn playlists on Spotify as I wrote my Morning Pages.

I love the classic standards, so Frank Sinatra singing September Song showed up on just about every fall playlist. As I listened and wrote, the ideas for the kind of blog I might like to have started to take shape. I researched, read other blogs, filled a notebook with a vision, enlisted the design skills of a friend, and September Song inspired the name, with a one word change that made it my own…The Precious Days.

“Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short
When you reach September
When the Autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn’t got time for the waiting game
Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days
I’ll spend with you
These precious days
I’ll spend with you”

— (Musixmatch) Songwriters: Kurt Weill / Maxwell Anderson September Song lyrics © Kurt Weill Foundation For Music Inc., Sony/atv Music Publishing Allegro (uk), Imagem Cv, Chappell & Co., Inc.

As The Precious Days moved from song lyrics, to musings and dreaming, then to an actual blog, readers who became subscribers actually came along for the ride, filling me with such gratitude. Since my first blog post in March, I have tried to remain true to what I set out to do. I feel so much joy in crafting these posts. I have learned and will continue to learn so much about myself. The blog helps me live an “examined life” that fuels so much of what I feel is central to my purpose here. I hope reading it allows you to think a tiny bit more deeply about your own precious days….

“It is my hope that this blog serves many purposes for readers and for me. It chronicles this new journey in uncharted waters. It helps me to be accountable about being real about retirement–with you and with myself. It fulfills a burning desire and a need to write and research. Most especially, it has the potential to form a community with women who, like me, have more days behind them than ahead of them–the all important “third act” as it’s sometimes called. This is a time when there is so much to figure out, so much to learn, so much to give and receive, and so much to enjoy and perhaps suffer through.... The Precious Days will be filled with joy and angst, clarity and uncertainty, discovery and letting go, as well as endless questions and burning issues to explore. ”

— "Cannonball" Blogpost - The Precious Days

And that brings us to the purpose of today’s post: to celebrate The Precious Days subscribers. You all mean so much to me! Every time I send that email out announcing a new post, please know it is filled with appreciation, and also full of hope that your own days are filled with purpose, satisfaction, and frequent bursts of joy.

AND THE WINNER IS…

I had my husband choose the winning slip of paper. CONGRATULATIONS, Pearl! You can either email me your full name and snail mail address by replying to the email alert that comes to your inbox announcing new blog posts, or use the Contact Box located on the right side of the banner next to the Instagram icon at the top of each page of the blog. Both are secure. I will put your Polanshek of the Hills delights into the mail as soon as I hear from you.

Thank you to all of you who took the time to enter the giveaway via the Comments. And to all of The Precious Days readers and subscribers, thank you!

September Reset

September joined her place in the year with flourish. She’s not taking a backseat to summer or fall. September is a beautiful month, full of teasing transitions. Still want it to be summer? Here’s a first-week-of-September heat wave for you. Ready for pumpkin spice and sweater weather? On the way next week. September signals the beginning of the last quarter of the year. Four months of fall’s glorious colors, cozy nights, festive holidays, and a preview of the winter ahead of us. It’s time to both get moving before the snow flies and to hunker down in hygge. Oh, calendar gods, I do love this time of year. September is the best time of year to make some kind of plan or pact with oneself to make sure these months don’t just unfold without longings fulfilled or fly by in a blur. For me, September is the perfect month for a reset.

Calling my plan a “reset” feels a little cringe to me. It’s an influencer word and social media platforms are bursting with 20-somethings touting their “resets.” But this 60-something woman takes license to approach this from the retirement perspective. I won’t be talking about deep cleaning my house, changing out my wardrobe, baking all-things-pumpkin, or adjusting my make-up routine. There’s nothing wrong with those reset topics, but this isn’t a blogpost for that. What I will do is take you along as I recalibrate my actions in my retirement. Remember when that nice lady voice on your GPS would say “Recalculating your route” when you wanted to go in a slightly different direction? It’s like that. Having a plan for what I want to enjoy or accomplish and divesting myself of practices that no longer serve me or the rhythm of the season seems vital. The way I experience time is different for me in retirement, and it’s different for me during different seasons of the year, too. The big question for me is how can I experience the months that close out 2023 in ways that nourish my mind, body, and spirit? And through those adjustments, maybe I’ll find some new motivation to prepare for The Precious Days of the long winter season ahead. Readers, what a gift September is for preparing for another season of retirement with as much purpose and joy as possible…considering the inevitable ups and downs of life.

Affirming My “Why”

I responded to a reader who had commented on About this Summer with some thoughts to provide some insight into why I am wired this way. Going to school as a student and my years as a professional educator combine for a total of six decades. I am so seasonally driven. My own rhythms of retirement make it clear that adjustments in these initial years during each season as well as more deeply understanding how I am affected by seasonal change are important insights for me. I wrote to her that “Losing and finding myself in those rhythms and adjustments has become part of my journey into this new chapter in my life. I am continuing to explore, be curious, and kind to myself. Most of all, I am just trying to follow my own flow -- questioning and discovering here and there.” It’s the questioning and discovering through seizing opportunities for reflection that drive The Precious Days blog content.

Reset for both Mind and Mindset

I am actually feeling pretty positive about my mindset going into this season. I am feeling that opportunities for learning and growth are abundant this time of year. I am continuing to read and enjoy lots of good fiction. But during the summer I gave up my routine of sitting for an hour each morning with my Common Place Journal and some rich nonfiction. As the calendar changed from August to September, I returned to that ritual and it feels good. September is the last month of my Women Rowing North Alumni Writing Group. True confessions — I am worried about not having that group of women in my life to challenge my thinking, to inspire me, and to support me. It has been such an important part of my life. I have three learning adventures in writing that I can take on, but I think they might be better for winter. One is the BBC Maestro poetry course. Another is Kerry Clare’s online blogging class. And I have the six-week Write for Life course by Julia Cameron I can wade into. Lots of options and I am sure I will discover more. This reset is needed to get back into nonfiction and some more formal learning.

Decluttering is so helpful for the mind and mindset, so my husband and I will be continuing our Swedish Death Cleaning when the temperatures remain cooler. I made a checklist.

And I know my focus in this area of mind and mindset could be greatly enhanced by adding one more thing to this reset. I need to limit my mindless scrolling on IG and watching random YouTube videos. I am committed to keeping my i-pad out of the bedroom, or at the very least out of reach (because I do have sleep playlists I like).

Reset for a Healthy Heart, Brain, and Body

Uh boy. This area of my life is in desperate need of a reset. Optimal physical health is paramount to me, so why do I keep treating it like a hobby? I need to go into this last part of 2023 with a firm resolve to put my health first. I treated this summer like one long trip to a country fair: lots of ice cream and creemees—often with hot fudge, vegan burgers and vegan hotdogs in soft, doughy buns, pizza, fried food (especially from Mac’s in Wellfleet)…. Then there were my go-to summer excuses…. Too hot to walk outdoors. Too wet to walk outdoors. All that “vacation eating” for an entire summer and decrease in physical activity have really caught up with me. I am most centered and comfortable in my own skin when I am following a Mediterranean/MIND Diet Plan that is 80 (plant-based)/20 (fish, eggs, low-fat dairy). My last doctor’s appointment left both my doctor and I cheering. I owed that to intermittent fasting, my 80/20 approach, and morning and afternoon walking. I’ve gotta get back on track before my upcoming appointment. So here’s the reset. Back to intermittent fasting, back to 80/20, and I want to add a new dinner recipe each week for the fall. My husband and I can take turns with the cooking. In addition to stepping up my walking, pun intended, I am adding The Stretching Sidekick. It’s a 15-minute-a-day program to improve “flexibility, mobility, and range of motion.” I can track my progress right in the book. If this approach works for me, I will order The Yoga Sidekick for the winter. I still struggle with drinking enough water, planning meals instead of binge-watching my refrigerator shelves waiting for inspiration, and eating enough fiber and protein. So I borrowed Atomic Habits from my friend to see if I can find some words of wisdom about creating systems to change habits. Systems—that speaks to me. So I wrap up this area of my reset linking the latest important news on the relationship between heart and brain health. More evidence that what is good for one is good for the other. 

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Reset for the Spirit and Soul (the Joy factor)

In my last blog, I talked about shifting from a nightly “thought-based” reflection to a nighttime Check-in and Reflection Journal as an adjustment to one of my retirement rituals. I used to just think about the beauty of the day, what I was grateful for, and something I looked forward to as I got into bed. Truth be told, I often fell asleep as my mind wandered off before I even got to the gratitude part. So if this new ritual continues to work, I will try to carry it through for the remaining months, and then re-evaluate how useful it is to me.

Also, in the coming weeks and months I would like to delve more deeply into meditation. I listen to meditations apps, but I know I am not truly meditating, I’m just listening. I am not getting the full benefit of the practice. This is a good time of year to make that shift. I’ll keep you posted, and if you have any recommendations for cultivating a meditation practice, please drop me a comment.

I have started a new form of planning with a brand new planner that I am loving. There is more creativity involved in it because I decide what each month, week, and day is going to look like, both in terms of tasks, reminders, and set-up, and I can change my mind if it isn’t working for me. Right now, the process of setting up my weeks with a little flair (thanks to Etsy stickers, washi tape, and tons of art markers) is bringing me lots of joy. And being more organized brings some additional peace to my days.

I am about to embark on something I am really excited about that I think will be soul and spirit nourishing and full of joy. I am going to undertake the 12 week course outlined in Julia Cameron's It's Never Too Late to Begin Again: Discovering Creativity and Meaning at Midlife and Beyond. Julia has been one of my gurus along with Natalie Goldberg since the 90's. The Artist’s Way tools of Morning Pages (already part of my retirement rituals) and Artist Dates are included each week along with a weekly memoir exercise and solitary walks (again, already part of my rituals). I have had the book for a while, but have put the undertaking off until a few other things fell into place. I am ready and looking forward to beginning this journey. I will update my progress in the blog every few weeks.

Finally, I love to decorate for fall. Adding seasonal purpose to the indoor and outdoor environment adds a meaningful setting to the flow of the days. It’s such a joy to celebrate this season of vibrant colors, warm drinks in my fall mug collection, cozy reads, mums, pumpkins, fall picnics, and evening backyard fires. It’s a way to express my creative side and bring deeper joy to the days. “Decorate for fall” is at the top of my Autumn Bucket List…yup, I started making those when I retired, just for fun. It’s nice to both make a new one and look back at the previous year’s list. 🍁

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So that’s a wrap-up of the reset. I am entering the end of this first four-season-year of full retirement feeling very in charge of my own life, even during the tough times. The tools of self-inquiry, seeking wisdom from others, writing, and reflection have led to much cleansing of the mind, new insights, and self-awareness. September is my best time to get unstuck and reset my life.

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It’s Time for My First Giveaway!

I am in my sixth month of blogging, folks, and I want to thank my subscribers with some products from ArtHound Gallery and Phoenix Books featuring the beautiful, whimsical illustrations of Jess Polanshek. The giveaway loot, pictured below, features The Quilted Forest notecards, a Woodland Magnet, a packet of illustrated stickers, and one large sticker — suitable for your journal or water bottle or anywhere you can think of!

To enter, you need to be a subscriber (and anyone can subscribe at any time, so invite a friend or two) and just drop this line— “I want to be entered into the Polanshek of the Hills Giveaway” — into the Comments, along with your first name and last name initial. I will choose a winner by 12:00 on Friday, September 15, and announce the winner on the blog that same day. If you are the winner, there will be directions in the post about a secure way to get your mailing address to me. If you are not the winner, please keep reading! There will be another giveaway next year that will also feature a Vermont artist/illustrator. Thank you for reading The Precious Days blog!

About this Summer…

This was the summer that was and wasn’t. This was the summer of reflecting and being more than planning and doing. This was the summer of more not knowing than knowing. This was the summer of being humbled more than riding high on the anticipated heady fumes of summer. This was the summer I learned more about who I am as I live the seasons of The Precious Days.

So, about this summer of 2023…

About starting summer early and full of anticipation

Around mid-May I was so ready for summer. We placed the Buddhas in their familiar spots. We planted geraniums and pansies in pots with spikes and trailing vines and placed them in their usual spots in the yard: the deck, the picnic table, the small “courtyard garden” tables which accent a bench, steamer chairs, and my much loved Meditation Garden. We populated the lattice walls with all shades of purple annuals, in anticipation of our clematis. We planted a new herb garden. I planted dahlia bulbs for the first time. We admired the apple blossoms. We welcomed summer, inviting her to come early and stay late. I couldn’t wait to experience the magic of June for yet another year.

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All photos from this year’s early garden…

About all that June rain

And then in June it rained…A LOT. It seemed like it rained every day. I loved the sunshine whenever it made an appearance and tried not to take it for granted. This kind of summer weather happens, I thought. My husband and I consoled ourselves by talking about other rainy summers. July would be better. We scrolled my weather app for news of dry days. We took a day trip to Middlebury to visit The Vermont Book Shop. We ate lunch along the Otter Creek. On another dry night we listened to bluegrass at Shelburne Vineyard while we sipped a crisp, dry white wine under a June sky that refused to yield to twilight. On other dry days I returned to my summer walks at the Complex happy to be lost in thought…I met a friend from my old work life there one morning for a wonderful catch up. Still…more rain. My husband and I decided to build a little outdoor hut (a patio umbrella with netting) so we at least get outside yet stay dry, and I could read there between the drizzle and the downpours. There was an upside, the rain had seemed to keep my allergies at bay. But we couldn’t do anything about those Air Quality Alerts from Canadian wildfires in Nova Scotia. Those had to end soon, right? We remembered Quebec fires from another summer years ago. And there was still July to come. July was always proper summer.

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All photos from June …

About July

July heralded … more rain. My tiny state was deluged. We experienced the worst flooding in 100 years. Communities were literally torn apart by flood waters. It was devastating. We were spared in my section of the state, and so much came into perspective. When the rains finally stopped, the heat stayed — such humidity from ridiculously high dew points. Rather than ending, the wildfires spread across Canada continuing the Air Quality Alerts on our phones. Perspective shift: these events weren’t just caused by climate change, this WAS climate change. July was a real turning point in confronting stark realities with new depths of understanding. My heart ached for the planet. It was still summer, and there were glimmers to ease the angst and take some breaks from globally pervasive worries. We visited our local state park to read for an afternoon while we stared at a calm lake and watched the cormorants careening across a blue sky. We took our camp chairs to the local park to listen to a concert performed by a rock band of former classmates, all in various shades of their sixties. And we planned our annual trip to Cape Cod for the first week of August. We crossed our fingers for good weather and for ample time to gaze into the Atlantic to reflect on all we were grateful for. “This will be the beginning of our summer,” my husband said. And we looked forward to an August summer that would carry us right into the days of mid-September.

About adjusting expectations for The Precious Days of summer

In many ways my husband was right. Our summer did truly begin in August on The Cape. We had a week of gorgeous weather at Marconi Beach. Countless small pods of seals swam close to the shore and actually seemed to be waving to us. Fins were spotted one day a little further out, and Lifeguard whistles blew. I read the perfect beach books for Wellfleet. Seafood was eaten. More of The Cape was explored. We came back for a few weeks, and I read a few more excellent books as the rain came again. And then when we headed to Baltimore to see my husband’s beloved Orioles for 3 games in all their first-place glory, and once again the weather gods were with us. Then, sure enough, we came home to rain. But I came home ready to reflect on all that I had learned about myself over this strange summer.

• Lesson One: When I am thrown off course, as I was this summer, my routines fly out the window. I have written before about the importance of my retirement routines. Those routines got me through last fall, winter, and spring. But I have had the same summer routines for decades, so I thought I’d just cruise. Nope. Those summer routines were firmly anchored in the “vacation weeks” of the working world. They no longer fit or served me. In my first bonafide retirement summer, one which was not coming on the heels of a work year, I was not prepared. The routines I needed to ground me just weren’t there. Retirement rookie mistake on my part.

• Lesson Two: My expectations were too fixed. I had taken for granted that summer would just be … summer. There is an important lesson for me about learning to be more nimble in my own life and adjusting accordingly. Experiencing summer as I’ve always known it…well, as much as it hurts my heart to think about it, that ship may have sailed. Summers will be what they are, and we all have to adjust and do what we can as individuals, as a country, and as a world to address the impacts of climate change. We will all be “doing summer” somewhat differently in the years to come. Going forward, I will be approaching summer with a beginner’s mind.

• Lesson Three: I also learned that whenever there is something to get out of my own way about, books are there for me to create a path. I love to read, but I needed to deeply know and acknowledge how crucial it is in my life. It’s hard to go down the rabbit hole of funk when there are fictional characters to care about or be mad at, and writing styles of such gifted authors to marvel at and sink into joyfully and sometimes in awe. I read so many not just good, but GREAT books this summer. Here are just a few of my favorites that I highly endorse: The Vanishing Half, Remarkably Bright Creatures, Tom Lake, Hello Beautiful, and Rachel Joyce’s Harold Fry trilogy: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy, and Maureen.

• Lesson Four: Writing can save my life as much as reading can. My Women Rowing North Writing Group with Helen and the crew of gifted, sensitive, and wise women in their 60’s and beyond is a lifeline. Those sessions where we read our writing and listen to such powerful women’s stories transport me out of the messiest mires of my own making to a place where everything feels bigger than me, and that encourages me to grow. And I have LOVED blogging this summer. It has brought me such joy. But with some trips scheduled for August, I took a break from blogging for the month because that is what bloggers do, right? That really did not work for me. I felt like I lost my voice. I felt like I lost a piece of the self I was becoming since retiring — a piece that already felt core. I need to write these posts, as silly as that sounds. I need to write them for me and hope my readers will find something in my words that resonates. My WRN writing friend Pearl articulated such a beautiful and relatable “why” about blogging in her latest piece celebrating her 100th post. Check out her blog, The Pits and the Pieces.

• Lesson Five: I have celebrated the virtues of Morning Pages in my blog several times. I love the looking forward aspect of the three pages every morning. This summer, I learned they weren’t enough for me. I needed check-in time with myself and more thoughtful processing and reflection on my day. I needed more than my “At Least Three Things” Evening Reflection. So I started a nightly Reflection Journal as a way to look back over the day. I write only what I need to in it and I don’t feel compelled to write every night. It has become a form of meditation, helping me to regulate my mind and my heart.

• Lesson Six: This is the lesson I currently have the most appreciation for — Celebrate September as Summer! Now that I no longer have that “back to school” thing as a major end of summer event, summer really isn’t over for me when Labor Day rolls around. September pulls its weight with three weeks of summer — and they are summer days that usually have something for everyone. There are some sweltering days, some crisp fall previews, and even the rainy days signal hygge is just around the corner. I love fall, and I love the transitional allure of September. When a friend and I were sharing our love for all things fall recently, I told her that after this summer I may become a winter lover. Is it possible that WINTER could become my second favorite season after fall? Hmmm….

I know I am not the first blogger to comment on the sheer weirdness of this summer of 2023. As summers go, it will be one that I remember for its atypical hallmarks that unfortunately are portents of things to come for this fragile planet. And on a personal level, it will be one that I remember because I learned more about who I am as I age. It is possible to savor what is rather than focus so heavily on what was. Those expectations are based on my past decades — the decades I have ahead of me (yup, I am planning on sticking around for a while) are just going to hit differently. And about Lesson Six—stay tuned!

What was your experience of this summer? Did anything change for you that caused you to learn more about yourself? Were you affected by any of the weather extremes? As always, I love it when you share your comments.

My July Top Five

I still intend to take a brief August break from the blog, but before I do I wanted to celebrate the good things about July with this little post. My last blog focused on a few summer struggles, and I would be remiss if I didn’t celebrate some of the things I loved and appreciated during the times in July when the rain took a break, the temperatures dropped a little, and the smokey haze cleared out. There is so much to love about The Precious Days of summer. Here are just a few July highlights:

1. Our Backyard Gardens
By mid to late July, the second phase of blooms begins. So much color explodes: pink echinacea and bee balm, yellow coreopsis and black-eyed Susans, white delphinium and daisies, purple and white hydrangeas, purple harebell and globe thistle, and every color of phlox and lilies to delight. And that’s just to name a few. So much lush color in our gardens serves as the setting for morning coffee, afternoon reading, and lots of lounging and daydreaming.

2. Going for a Ride
The hot July days have been perfect for taking a windows-rolled-down-tunes-turned-up, breezy drive around the lake. Envying lakefront living, watching boats shoot across the bay, planning our next state park picnic — these spontaneous rides cool us off and remind us how much we are loving being able to live The Precious Days. Bonus! They usually end up with a trip to the creemee stand.

3. Chasing Bubbles with our Dachshund
This July I found a partially full bottle of “bubble stuff” in our junk drawer and took it outside while we were playing with the dog. She loves running after those bubbles, and we love watching her. It’s the best backyard summer entertainment we could have asked for. There is no dog more entertaining than a dachshund, and I’ll stand by that statement—back me up dachshund lovers!

4. Blackberry Anticipation
We are fortunate to have mature blackberry bushes in our backyard. The berries start to ripen at the end of July and into August. I am looking forward to August mornings on the deck with warm sunshine and a bowl of yogurt studded with slices of Amish peaches from our local farmstand and our own blackberries. Whether in simple cobblers or just by the handful, our blackberries are a wonderful part of The Precious Days of summer life.

5. Planning our August Adventures
August is becoming my favorite of the summer months now that I am retired. We get serious in July about making our plans for August. They are full of summer travel, baseball games, outdoor concerts, waterfront dining, and trips to state parks for reading, relaxing, and picnics….exhale and enjoy. August is also the month we celebrate the anniversary of our first date, our birthdays, and NOT having to go back to school (IYKYK). The calendar is FULL of what we love about summer.

And One to Grow On…
In the month of July I hit the 1000th entry of my Morning Pages! I know I am just a youngster at Morning Pages compared to some of you, but I am proud of this milestone, and I intend to keep going. Morning Pages is a game changer…a life changer. You can check it out here.

All photos from Unsplash except the garden, our dachshund, and the blackberry photos. Those are mine.

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Hope you all had a wonderful July and are looking forward to August as much as I am. Enjoy The Precious Days!

Stop Thieves! Give Me Back My Summer!

A PREFACE

A few months ago I was searching podcasts to see who had episodes discussing May Sarton. I stumbled upon a podcast on Spotify called “Time and Other Thieves.” I listened to the May Sarton episode and was hooked. The podcaster, Sarah B, describes her show as: “Reflections and conversations on the nature of existence.” It is that and so much more. Give her show a listen. If you are interested in writing, books, ideas, spirituality, metaphysics, and philosophy, just to name a few topics to twist yourself a Gordian knot (and BTW, that’s what I call living), then you’ll be hooked.

Initially what stopped me from continuing to scroll in my Spotify search wasn’t just making the May Sarton connection with Sarah B. It was the intriguing title of her podcast. I am sure Sarah B has explained its origin, and I apologize for not knowing. The only other place I had ever heard the line, “time and other thieves” was from the icon and goddess, Joni Mitchell, in a song from her album Hejira called “Furry Sings the Blues.” This version she did with The Band and Neil Young is extra meaningful to me.

That title of Sarah B’s podcast sent me down a rabbit hole, and I decided to start digging myself out in this post. Time, of course, is the guiltiest of perps in the identity parade of joy-sucks. We all recognize the associations: “not enough time,” “too much time on my hands,” “out of time,” “on borrowed time” … time is the culprit that steals joy, peace, hope, and intention, among other things. It’s almost too easy to blame time for everything that ails us. So I am going to give time a pass in this blog post. Take a seat, TIME…no one needs to hold your beer for this one.

MY OTHER THIEVES

There are other forces at work in my life right now, stealing snatches of my summer happiness just when it was starting to feel like The Precious Days were humming along. I consider these culprits to be more than thieves…they are robber barons who have been stealing from me for as long as I can remember. I don’t know why I thought they’d be magically exiled for this newest phase of my life. It has been hard work to keep them at bay over the decades. Clearly, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.

Having an unprecedented unsettling summer due to excessive heat, fires impacting our air quality, so much rain, and catastrophic flooding has been like leaving the doors unlocked for the burglars. Being off my summer game has made me an easy mark. During this weird summer, my joy, peace, contentment, and “joie de vivre” have been temporarily poached. Self-doubt, comparison, and worry have shown up again. Maybe I should have been expecting them.

All three of these are related of course and each has a gang of emotionally draining accomplices waiting to be called in. My summer rituals and routines — which are so important to my mental health and happiness— never really got off the ground. By about mid-July, I felt I’d been ambushed by the old struggles. I know these struggles are not uncommon among the newly retired. But for me, they are pernicious. Every time I think I have come to terms with something, have let it go, and have moved onto a better place, I get a wake up call: “Is this Linda’s peace of mind? We just want her to know we’re still here.” I don’t know why I still haven’t learned that coping with these parts of me is not a linear process, with a beginning, middle, and end. These behaviors have been woven into my existence, and can be typically set off by environmental factors like too much heat, too much rain, dark days, etc. Factors, catalysts, triggers, disruptors, whatever you want to call them give these three behaviors opportunity and space to pillage my peace of mind. Lately, they are my other thieves.

Lately, self-doubt is pummeling me with questions and second-guesses, and attacking my confidence. Did I retire too soon? Have we saved enough? Am I prioritizing the right things? Do I have anything to offer as I continue to age? Is this blog even worth reading? Yada, yada, yada.

Lately, comparison to other bloggers has taken center stage with my insecurities. This is something I am doing to myself, clearly. I read so many other blogs that I am eager to read. They have tons of followers, lots of comments, and a signature style that is so appealing. I’m feeling stagnant. Inferior. Inadequate. Okay, jealous.

Lately, this summer worry has taken the form of obsessing about my health, from tiny pock marks that I imagine is skin cancer to an ache in my heel that results in some phantom doctor telling me I can’t go for long walks anymore. I worry about our house becoming too much for us. Should we fix everything this summer (oh, but the rain, the humidity)? Downsize? Leave it all to chance? I worry about the uncertainties of aging. And the news, of course. And climate change. Worry is robbing me of enjoying the occasional dry and comfortable day, when I should be enjoying a walk in the sun. Nuff said. I need to kick this thief to the curb, pronto.

Now here’s the intellectual part: the doubts, the comparisons, and the worries are not grounded in anything rational. Why so much self-doubt? I took my time to carefully think through the things I’m second guessing. Doubts are just thoughts. They are not facts. It’s unrealistic and a bit ridiculous to compare myself to bloggers who have been at it, working hard, through hundreds of posts. I am just starting out as a blogger. And worry…well, I know how to deal with that one. If I stay in the present moment and fine-tune my self-talk, worry loses its power. As the British say, “Cheer up. It may never happen.”

There’s nothing to pathologize here. “Lately” equates with temporary in my book. These behaviors are not abnormal. Naming them, thinking them through, and addressing them helps to fend them off. But I can’t be naive about this as The Precious Days accrue. These thieves are lurking in the shadows.

Optimism. I can’t leave this blog post without MacGyvering a plan. So here it is:

• Reframe it. Reframe it all. I have strategies to think about things differently.

• Listen to my husband (he’s a master at reframing). We are getting ready to do some summer travel. He said to think of it as our summer finally getting started. It’s an opportunity for a reset.

• Intentionally create experiences that lead to the kind of summer feeling I am missing.

• Use my Morning Pages to list intentions to set up the kind of day I want to have (see above).

• Take an online blogging class this fall. I hear this one is really good.

• I am still going to worry about climate change, but I can make a plan.

• Pay more attention to what I am eating. That’s one remedy for almost anything that ails me (and the planet).

Again, I want to thank Sarah B for giving me so much to think about (and think through) just from the title of her podcast. The podcast itself is a chance to mine your own thoughts to whatever depths you choose to go. There are so many intriguing ideas, personal stories, deep questions — and all of it wrapped in her own unique voice and tied with a big bow of pure authenticity. Something I can only aspire to.

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Do you have “thieves” that rob you of your peace? Your joy? What are some of your strategies for confronting them? I’d love for you to share in the comments.

I will be taking a break from Friday blogging (maybe the entire month of August) due to some happy travel plans. If you are subscribed, you can keep current about new posts via email. I also highlight new posts on my Instagram Account (@thepreciousdays).

Thanks for reading and commenting!