Tag Archives: Retirement

Obsession or Procrastination

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The Days of My Life

Is decluttering an obsession or a form of procrastination? Regardless, there is no time for writing. Here’s my latest pastime, finding a home, not mine, for the perfectly good items I no longer use or want. Like; a Garmin, or the shower head that was replaced, or curtain rod brackets. I save the plastic containers strawberries and other food items come in. I can see what is in each box and they snap shut. But, do you know how much effort and time goes into removing the old labels? There was no time for new labels. That’s on next’s week to do list. I probably won’t have time to write. Besides it was garbage day.

I am preoccupied with getting my house in order, i.e., fixing the outdoor water spigot that spits water in my face when turned on, or replacing the entrance way light bulb twenty feet above ground. Do you know anyone who will come to my house with a ladder? I am willing to pay.  

Is it anxiety? Some people take a pill, and that is fine. I scrub, run the sweeper, and organize. I want the towels folded just right and my underwear stacked by color in the dresser. My life is about tidying-up, and how did get to be so?

Perhaps it’s about control. The world has become chaotic. We wake up to another mass shooting, unprovoked invasion of countries, and weather disasters.

I want hospital corners on the bed and the pillows fluffed.

                                                                                     

. . . just saying

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Easter’s What Not

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The Days of My Life Series

Easter is a significant Christian holy day, although many of the traditions and symbols surrounding the day have roots in agnostic celebrations.

Can you imagine Easter without the Easter egg and Easter Bunny and all the other what not? I can not.

Some historians maintain that the word “Easter” comes from Eostre, or Eostrae, the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring and fertility. Others explain Easter is a derivative of a Latin phrase alba or dawn.

The History webpage linked above explains in detail all the popular non-religious Easter traditions, including Easter eggs, and related games such as egg rolling and egg decorating. The egg represents fertility and decorating them a way to celebrate of life.

The Easter Bunny? No one can say for sure. . . although there is the metaphor; to multiply like rabbits.

In Florida, things will be quiet. But I have wonderful memories of Easter Sunday mass, baskets, new dresses and bonnets, egg hunts and searching for the golden egg.

It is a celebration of life, new beginnings and hope in the world.

Happy Easter.

                                                                 . . . just saying

https://claudiajustsaying.com/2018/03/31/easter-hats-and-egg-hunts/

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An Eye Opener

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The Days of My Life Series

Yesterday was an eye opener. Not just because it was the 83rd day of the year and there are only 282 days left, but. . . because I fell.

Thankfully, I wasn’t seriously hurt and able to get up. However, I’m now calculating the days until I fall and can’t get up.

I’ll be 75 this year. In five years or 1,825 days I’ll be 80. This isn’t new math. You get the picture.

The other issue is that every day something else occurs, like. . . someone backs into my car in a store parking lot, or my Facebook account is hacked. . . again. One day my social security 1099 form was accidentally shredded and I drove 30 miles to the closest office and waited in line outside for a very, very long time to get a duplicate. It’s as though I playing Monopoly and keep landing on Chance.

I would rather be writing, than on hold attempting to reorder the toothbrush charger I’ve missed placed. It’s hidden somewhere in my house. I just can’t remember where, and none of the 20 other chargers or adapters I find, fit.

But not to be side tracked, how did I fall?

Well, it was 6:30 am and I was sleeping peacefully, when my Tandem insulin pump alerted me wake up and drink juice. I knew where the kitchen was in the dark. So, I walked with my eyes closed, attempting not to wake myself. Except there was a crash, and I found myself laying across an opened dishwasher. It was an eye opener and I cursed like a banshee.

Why was the dishwasher open with the bottom rack pulled out at the crack of dawn?

Well, I’d rather not talk about it, and another something that pulled me away from a day of writing.

Anyway, I’m thankful; I could get up, didn’t have a fork stuck in my nose and had not been woken by a Russian bomb dropped on my house.

                                                                                      . . . just saying

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Out With the Old in With the New

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The Days of My Life Series

Today is the 72nd day of the year. Can you believe it? My draft of this post was written on January 1st., with a commitment to post at least once a week. However life didn’t go as planned. It’s a mystery as to where and when I lost control. February flew by with little to show for it and is a blur. Perhaps it was the shower curtain rod that kept falling down in the guest bathroom, the bedroom wallpaper curling off the wall, or the bedroom shade that collapsed leaving us exposed. Duck tape failed to solve anything. Maybe because we frequently need a magic wand to get the automatic garage door open, or that I got COVID after being fully vaccinated, and I’m not going to mention other health related stuff that consumed my time and energy.

The original post is below. Welcome to the days of my life.

We all can agree 2022 was one heck of a year. Combine that with the previous pandemic years of hibernating, well. . .I want to break out and tidy-up. So, it is out with the old and in with the new.

First step was to get rid of and rearrange furniture. I listed a couch and wooden file cabinet on Nextdoor, moved the dining room table to the breakfast nook, and ordered a new dining room table.

Now we have a dance floor until its arrival.

The 20 plastic carriers hidden in the closet have been reduced to 10.

But what do you do with that stuff? Framed college diplomas, wedding and communion picture albums, football trophies, baby teeth and dried up leather baby shoes, a box of flower vases, that were never unpacked, etc. It is time to say goodbye.

And then there is the stuff I am not ready to say goodbye to.

Like the card below.

My friend Liz, made Bob’s 60th birthday card, fourteen years ago.

She and I have been friends since we were thirteen.

I can’t throw out a find that represents our lifelong friendship.

This treasure will go back in my closet.

                                                                                      . . . just saying . . .welcome to the days of my life

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Christmas 2022

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Christmas 2022 Poem

The Day After Christmas

It was the day after Christmas the presents unwrapped. The plants nestled and covered. . . taking a nap.

We stayed in pajamas relieved only three gifts go back,

Then what to my wondering ears did I hear, “didsomeonejustshout?”

Confused, I responded, “what are you talking about?”

Bob repeated, “didsomeonejustshout?”

I hollered back.

To which he exclaimed, “WEDNESDAY…THE…GARBAGE…GOES OUT”

Merry Christmas to all!

Processed with VSCO with e3 preset

 Wishing you a happy and healthy New Year

. . .Claudia just saying.

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Doing Nothing

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Searching For a Four-Leaf Clover

“Do you like doing nothing?” The question, posed by fellow blogger Kim is intriguing and 67 people commented.

Kim said, if you’d like to do more of nothing; start small, plan unstructured vacations, and choose soft fascination, aka go for a walk. She quotes three University of Michigan psychologists to support the point that nature heals.

Most comments favored doing nothing, I disagree.

Once I start doing nothing, I’m stuck and can’t return to doing something. However, my nothing was not their nothing and many comments addressed the definition of nothing.

The doing nothing discussion was really about the self-imposed lack of unstructured vacations or leisure time.

I can remember only one unstructured vacation for our family of ten.

What I do remember is being sent outside to play after breakfast with strict orders to be home for lunch. Playing cards under our Weeping Willow tree and walking to the pool by ourselves in the afternoon. If I really had nothing to do I’d search for a four-leaf clover.

 

. . . just saying

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Where Are You Going?

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My brain is fried.

I simply cannot think, not that there is anything wrong with that.

Bob and I have “Binge Watched” Virgin River.

Now that we are finished, I’m in withdrawal and miss Doc and Mel every day. We haven’t a clue if or when season five will be release, and I worry about Preacher when I go to sleep, and pray Jack isn’t alcoholic.

Meanwhile, I introduced Bob to Frankie and Grace. It’s in its thirteenth season so there will be lots of binging, and no worries about Jane Fonda; she knows the best plastic surgeon around.

Today I thought this is ridiculous, and grabbed a book that wasn’t a book club selection.

Sacred Contracts Awakening Your Divine Potential by Caroline Myss is a heavy read. Forget fretting about why we are here. The spiritual path to wellness and a happy life is purpose and Myss has a processes to get us there.

My head was spinning from the Acknowledgements and Appreciation sections, but I pushed through my lack of comprehension to read page one where things started to make sense.

Myss, referenced Howard Thurman, a late theologian, mystic and Harvard professor who had two questions he said to ask ourselves.

“The first is ‘Where am I going?’ and the second is “Who will go with me?”

Now, that’s what I’m thinking about.

Travel!

So, where am I going?

Well . . . I’ve visited the White House at Christmas before, but want to go again.

Who will go with me?

I’m unsure.

This is a link to my December 2012 visit, A White House Christmas

. . . just saying

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Today is Thursday

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How did it get to be Thursday?

It was just Sunday!

It’s hard to believe five days have passed since I watched Jane Pauley on Sunday Morning and planned to blog about what is happening with Libraries when. . .  there was a knock on our door.

As Amazon promised our new television was delivered. Yes, we fell victim to their Tech Sale and Janine’s power of persuasion. Although I never wanted a TV smarter than me, the price was right.

We luckily were able to slide the very large box inside.

Still committed to writing every day, I was on the way to my office when the phone rang. My brother wanted an update on Bob’s recovery. Victor was pleased to hear Bob was doing well; that he had resumed his morning chore of emptying the dishwasher, but not that he won’t be able to move his arm until an x-ray says so.

Now I’m was at least an hour behind of schedule, so instead of my office, I headed to the kitchen and dinner preparation; cutting up onions and peppers, dicing and marinating the chicken and making a spinach quiche. Things took longer than anticipated because I did a wash and set the table in between while seriously thinking . . I’d write, later.

But everyone arrived early, and before I blinked; Marcela was cooking rice and beans, Marie was sautéing the peppers and onions, Janine was mixing drinks and helping Dominic set up the new television.

Bob? He hid in the guest TV room.

I won’t bore you with how Monday and Tuesday got away; but you need to know I have a legitimate excuse for Wednesday because I baked zucchini bread.

Now, what’s of interest regarding libraries? Well, those library cards with the metal clips and card catalogs are obsolete. Wall murals, tech centers, game rooms and coffee lounges are in.

. . . just saying

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Murphy Brown

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Ask Me if I Care

The answer? Yes, I do!

Recently I listened to Hoda Kotb’s 2017 interview with Candace Bergan in which she claimed repeatedly; “I don’t care!” Although the quote is five years old, I paused to think hard about why I still do. Evidently her appearance on NBC was to promote the romantic movie, Home Again, starring Reese Witherspoon.

It was entertaining.

However, let me be clear, Candace was not talking about politics, environmental issues, poverty or medical insurance. Candace was talking about that stage in a woman’s life when she stops censuring what she says to family and friends, applying mascara and changing clothes numerous times before she goes out the door.

In her memoir, A Fine Romance, she happily acknowledged and embraced her weight gain and in a magazine article said, “Let me just come right out and say it: I am fat.”

She sounded as though this acceptance of self happens automatically, like your wisdom teeth coming in between the ages of 18 and 21.

Well, I have news for Murphy Brown, some women never get wisdom teeth and many, have to have them pulled.  

. . . just saying

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Flash Fiction

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Short Cut to Love

Tanya Templeton’s slender fingers grip the dirty door handle to the Last Chance Corral. She yanks the door open. It slams behind her.

Heads turn to watch her long blonde hair sway as she wiggles across the room and sits at the bar. Her piercing blue eyes study other patrons whose elbows rest on the hard surface.  

“The usual?” Kurt, the bartender, asks grabbing a glass.

“Yea, a double. Who’s the dude?”

“You mean, the guy hound dogging you?”

Tanya smiles, shoots a look the man’s way, and runs her tongue around her lips like she’s ready to lick a lollipop.

 “Don’t get carried away, it’s early you know,” says Kurt.

“Not early enough?” Tanya laments. “What’s vibrating? Oh, my cell. . .”  She tosses her streaked hair, and checks the phone screen.

“It’s not love calling,” she says, then squeezes the phone back into her pant pocket.

When she slides the bar stool in closer, the metal scrapes the floor with an alarming sound.

“What’s his name wants to buy you drinks.” The bartender points his chin in the right direction. “Or are you running a tap?”

“Does he have a name?”

Instead of listen to Kurt’s reply, she slaps a ten-dollar bill on the bar like a husband slamming a pink slip down on the kitchen table, and sashays across the room, thumbs inside her belt loops.

“I’m Tanya, you must be . . .?”

“Damn woman, looking at you I can’t remember much, especially my name.”

“Well, you don’t mind being called Dean, do you? I once had a boyfriend named Dean, lived in the panhandle. . . Apalachicola. . . ever been there? You gotta love oysters to live there.”

She studies the creases in his worn jeans.

“Dean suits me fine. I’ve passed through Apalachicola many times hauling lumber. These days’ runs keep me traveling the interstate.” He smiles with his eyes. “I’ve been dreaming about oysters.”

Tanya toys with his body using her mind and quips, “Glad you have a sense of humor. You’ll need one.”

 After the small talk and learning nothing about themselves or each other, they saunter out together looking for the short cut to love.

The End

. . . just saying

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