North, to Alaska

Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center

Visiting Alaska has been on my bucket list for a long time. I kind of always thought I'd go in the summer, prime tourist season, but when an invitation to my college roommate's daughter's wedding arrived in the mail a while back, with a date set for late October, I decided weather wasn't everything. I wanted to be there to celebrate with Mary and her family. (I padded the trip by a day or so on either end, so I could spend time reconnecting with Mary - one of the perks of being retired!).

Turns out Mary is an excellent wedding planner - the list of activities included a morning of sight-seeing for the visitors. This time of year, it doesn't get light until 9AM - so the crew left long before dawn.

As we drove, I was watching out the side window from the back seat. At first, all I could see was the intense unrelieved blackness of countryside beyond the range of city lights. Then, I could see black on black; the mountains in the background taking shape against the imperceptibly lightening sky. A short while later, I could make out reflections in the water of the bay between us and the mountains. beautiful. Since I was being driven by Karla, one of Mary's local cousins, I didn't have to divide my attention between the scenery and the road - a treat in and of itself.

We drove about an hour and a half south, and there, I was able to get my first glimpse of a glacier. I wasn't able to get right up to it; it was an hour's hike away, and part of our crew were non-hikers, but it was majestic nonetheless. Totally worth the drive. A stark visual of the effects of global climate change, the grandest glacier in the area had retreated beyond the view of the visitor's center built just to look at it some 30 years ago. *sigh*

On our way back into town, we stopped at the Alaska Wildlife Conversation Center, run by a group dedicated to the preservation of wildlife. There, as we were making our rounds and ogling the animals, a group of brown bears wandered right up to the fence. I was taking photos with my phone, but stopped to just lean on the fence to watch them amble by. As I put my camera down, one of them stopped and turned to look me in the eye. We stood there for a few minutes, me watching the bear, the bear watching me.It was an awe-inspiring moment - the bear's face just an arm length from my own. I stood there, barely breathing, until she decided to move on. Power, grace, majesty. It'll be long and long before I forget the sight of those unreadable eyes taking my measure.

Oh, yeah. The wedding. It was a beautiful celebration of the launch of their life together. I like weddings - the public announcement of hope; the commitment to do what they can to make their connection last for a lifetime. Most of the group stuck around for the next few days. We hung out together a lot, ate amazing seafood; I made new friends.

Turns out late October is the perfect time of year for a trip to Anchorage!

Painting the House

This retirement has not started out restfully.

One of my goals for this year was to get the house painted. But since much of my summer project time ended up taken by the unanticipated wall repair project, the painting got pushed to fall. No problem, I thought. Plenty of time after I retire in mid-September, I thought.

But then my retirement date was pushed back and pushed back a little more, all for good reasons. So, last week, once I no longer had to work, I was up on a ladder for six hours every day, in a race against winter to finish the job. (the weather around here turns too cold to paint sometime in late October or early November.)

By working evenings and weekends, I'd managed to complete the front before I retired. It's the hardest part of the job, involving the scariest ladder climbs and lots of 'fuss work'; main body, shutters, trim, and door all in different colors. But the rest of the house awaited.

While I wouldn't want to do it as a full-time job, I don't mind painting. Part of my mind is a nervous mix of all the emotions - happy and hard - Retirement II brings with it. Nothing to help one mull things over like a brush, a bucket of paint and a wall. The work takes just enough focus - breathing with the brush strokes on the fine edge work, making sure to get enough, but not too much, paint on the brush - that it keeps me from being bored, but leaves my mind free to wander. Kind of a productive meditative state - I can get into the zen of painting.

As I worked, I decided it's not my inner two year-old that I need to get in touch with this time around. It's my inner perfectionistic mean girl. She was on a tear. Wouldn't take any excuses for not being out there painting when at all possible. She's a familiar part of me. With time, I've learned how to bring some balance back to my life when she gets her teeth into something - she CAN be reasoned with. kind of.

But then, since I was out there in my zen state and all, I went a little deeper. Why is she so driven, so harsh? What's underneath her conviction that I must do it all, and do it all right, and do it right now? As I painted and mulled, I wasn't surprised to find fear driving the boat. It's magical thinking. If I do 'this' job just right, then everything else will be OK.

Ah. She is afraid that if she is not perfect, she is (I am) not worth loving.

This is a familiar refrain; I don't know why I'm always surprised when it resurfaces. Fortunately, once I was in touch with the underlying emotion, I was able to slow down a bit. Even if I don't finish before winter, I will be OK, the house will not fall apart.

Reason tells me chances are good I will have enough good weather to finish the painting before the real cold hits. It helps that I will have ALL the days free. Unlike when I have a job to attend to, I don't have to wait for the magic combination of warm weather and weekend day. When it's warm enough, I'll be able to get out there and get it done, even if that day happens to be a Tuesday.

If I don't finish?  I'll cross that bridge if I come to it. I'm close enough to being done that it's unlikely I won't be able to finish the job, especially with the help of good paint that can be applied any time the temp is over 45 degrees. (that part helps a lot.)

In the meantime, I'll compromise with her. I'll work MANY of the days, but not all of them. I'm going to start to take some time to relax and to 'waste' time on non-productive pursuits, just because I can.

I could get used to the freedom of getting to choose how to spend my days. (yeah!!!!)

Operation Do-Gooder: Update

blue skies!

I first wrote about KC - Kevin - last December, shortly after Libby died. He's homeless, but different from the other homeless guys I've met. He's sober and he reads.  Books.  Real books.

I tried to help him out by getting him a phone, but the experiment turned out to be a dud. He never did learn how to use it, and it eventually got lost, in one of his moves between shelters.

He spent much of the winter in a good place in Olathe, KS. There was a group of people there working to make a difference, and they had a temporary shelter set up in a gym while they worked on a permanent location.  Unfortunately, the permanent location fell through just as Kevin was getting his feet back under him, and back on the streets he went.

I've stayed in touch with him since he found his way back downtown in early spring. Since we started working from home last summer, I made a point to stop by the library on the days I was in the office. Sometimes, he'd not be there, but most days, I'd catch him. We'd sit and talk for thirty minutes or so each week.

It's tough to be long-term homeless. Since he's one of the old-timers, he gets shuffled to the bottom of the list a lot; shuffled right back out the door and onto the streets for the night. When this happens, and it happens regularly, he doesn't have a safe hole to retreat to and spends the night wandering the streets with his backpack and his rolling suitcase.

I haven't given up on helping him. As I've gotten to know him better, I've also gained an understanding of why getting him a phone wasn't enough; I know now why he is unable (not unwilling, unable) to make those daily phone calls.

I brought him to another of the social services agencies this past week - Catholic Charities this time. They made some calls and got him on the waiting list for one of their senior affordable housing units. (He's now old enough to qualify for those places...)

I've made a commitment to myself to make the follow up phone calls for him.  I'm going to call every few days (the plan is to call often enough to keep him on their radar screen, but not so often that I'm a pest...) to see where he is on the list. From what they said, it's a list, but a 2-3 month list, not a once-in-a-blue-moon list.

In the meantime, I've got him on the hunt for the documents he needs to get into the place once his name rises to the top. I hope he follows up.

winter is coming.
fingers crossed.

Ready, Set... (reprise)

Acadia Park, Maine

I have one more week left to work.

Last week, I bought a pair of flannel jammy pants and a pile of books. Retirement planning complete.

No?

No. I thought I was prepared, but it turns out that's not quite the case - I was not ready for the churning emotions I'd experience making this leap for the second time. As I did eight years ago, I'm leaving a perfectly good gig, only this time I really, really hope to never NEED to get a paying job again.  (I might do it, but only because I want to. I hope.)

These past few weeks I've found myself in full avoidance mode. I'm filling my days with work; evenings are spent painting the exterior of the house in a race against winter. I go to bed tired, but wake up most nights at about 2AM, my mind roiling with all sorts of doomsday scenarios. Turns out, if I set my imagination loose, that there are all sorts of ways for things to go wrong.

That's OK. I'm doing this anyways.

There are always more ways for things to go wrong than there are for them to go right. When I stop to think about it, I see miracles everyday in the way our bodies mostly don't break. Most days, I don't wake up to find I have cancer. My eyes, ears and fingers all still work. I can think. I can walk and make decisions and ask questions. Food goes in, my body miraculously turns it to the energy I need to make it through the day. Without thought, I breathe in. My capillaries know how to work with my lungs and my heart to trade carbon dioxide for oxygen - good thing, because I sure don't know how to do it. I breathe out.

I am a walking, talking, breathing example of things going right.

I suppose I'm back to the trust thing. (Somehow, my life keeps circling back to the trust thing.)

It's scary to trust, but I'm doing this anyways.

Along with all my fears, somewhere inside, my inner two year-old is stirring. She cares not at all for  doomsday scenarios. She remembers days of freedom, days spent working on the art of being, days spent seeing beautiful places. She remembers the freedom of not having each day tightly scheduled, time spent wandering where the road went.

She's thrilled to be awake again, ready to give this another shot.

She's ready, set...