Senior Moment

I gotta admit, I never really thought it would happen to me.

I was in the doctor's office the other day, getting a bit of skin cancer cut out (PSA: Wear your sunscreen!), and the nurse was running down a standard list of dos and don'ts for the next couple of weeks, and then she said, "I'll call you tomorrow to make sure you're doing OK."

I was a bit surprised, so asked, "You make those calls on Saturdays?"

She gave me one of ...those... looks. "Tomorrow is Tuesday."

Hmph. I know between retirement and COVID time I may occasionally get a bit fuzzy on the day of the week, but this is the first time I've been flat wrong.

I knew it was Monday when I woke up that day. I knew it was Monday when I got my butt moving and to the doctor's office on time for the procedure. I have no frickin' clue why it was Friday in my head by the time I had that conversation. 

I'm not actually concerned for my memory (yet), and if one looks such things up on the internet, one quickly finds out things like this are a normal part of aging. But, still. At that moment, until she looked at me like I had two heads, I'd have sworn it was Friday. It's a lot disconcerting.

I suppose I could/should take it as a sign I'm finally settling into retired life. I mean, for the 40-ish years I was gainfully employed, I can promise you I NEVER ONCE confused a Monday with a Friday.

And, I gotta admit, I kind of miss it. Not the working part. But the part where I'd leave work on Friday savoring the coming two days of freedom; knowing I got to be the boss of me for the next two days.

*sigh* It's just not as fun when I'm my full-time boss.

At least I'm not alone in my dang-this-retirement-stuff-takes-practice boat. I was talking to someone this morning, and he is also finding it a challenge to transition from a life of doing to a life of being. (As he put it. I like his phrasing.)

I'll keep working on it. Whichever day of the week it happens to be.

Spring Gardening

It's spring and the earth calls to my soul.

It's time to be outside and tend to the garden. I'd been traveling for the last several weeks, so mine got a jump on the season without me. When I left, the shoots in the butterfly garden had just begun to sprout. 

By the time I got back last week, the spring blooms were in full flower. White, pink, purple and blue Bachelor Buttons and tiny red flowers for which I have no name. Chives and sage in purple, peonies in pink. Orange roses and pink Weigelia blossoms. You'd think the colors might clash, but that's not how nature works.

This last week we got a break from the unseasonably hot weather (which is why all the above are blooming at the same time), and I was able to get out in the yard and start to rein in the weeds. The sun was warm without being hot, the breeze cool, the ground pliable beneath my hands, the smells amazing. As I worked, I unearthed a good measure of peace for my soul. *I pause for a moment to appreciate all of the above*

The weeds weren't TOO bad, so I even had time to get to the plant store and pick up some perennials to fill some blank spaces in the beds. Someday, I may actually do some research before I go, but this time I went back to my tried-and-true method of going to the proper section of the nursery (partial shade, native perennials) and picking hummingbird and butterfly friendly plants that I like the look of.

Fortunately, I took time to run the flowers past Google when I got them home, to make sure they'd work in the beds I had in mind for them, before I planted them. Turns out the innocent looking, kind of frail, traily ones I thought would be perfect next to my porch swing put down a 12' tap root over time. Probably not the best choice for my raised bed.

But there are plenty of empty spots in my garden, and I had a lovely time yesterday figuring out what to put where (this is the part many people do BEFORE buying the plants, but hey. I often do things different from many people), and setting the plants in the ground.

This morning, I noticed one of the yard bunnies nosing about several of the new garden additions. I went out there and chased her away, but I'm afraid I may lose this battle. She spends WAY more time out in the yard than I do. Oh, well. All God's children gotta eat.

Spring! Ahhhhh.....

Forever in Blue Jeans

One of the projects we tackled together when I was out in California this last visit was to sort through my granddaughter's clothes closet. It's never a fun task, but it often goes better with someone around to offer opinions on what needs to stay, and what needs to go.

As we were sorting through the assorted items - this is good, this is outgrown (the biggest pile), this she never wears - we came across a brand new pair of blue jeans; they'd never been worn.

My granddaughter promptly put them into the go-away pile. I couldn't figure out why, and pulled them back out. They were blue jean blue jeans - nothing special about them, neither ugly nor fashionable, and they looked like they'd still fit.

She begrudgingly tried them on, and sure enough, they fit just fine, but she still wanted them to go because she has no use for them.

No use for blue jeans?

My brain couldn't compute.

I am a child of the seventies. We wore blue jeans everywhere for everything. I still wear them more days than not, especially in the wintertime.

Her mother tried to explain.

She lives in California. While winter there is chilly, it rarely dips below freezing, so she doesn't need a good pair to block the wind on the coldest days. They have a housekeeper, so she doesn't need them to do the deep cleaning. They have no yard, so she doesn't need them to avoid getting her skin irritated by weeds or covered in bug bites while caring for the plants. When she goes hiking, she just lets the assorted sticker-plants snag up her leg coverings of choice, or wears shorts. And, blue jeans aren't cool, the other kids at school don't wear them, so she doesn't want to wear them either.

My head eventually got it, but my gut still just can't go there. Not cool?  Blue jeans?

A life where blue jeans are superfluous???

A life where one NEVER plays in the mud? A life devoid of home repairs and projects in the shop? A life where you never need to block the north wind as you trek around the park in the cold of winter? A life where you don't worry about poison ivy or bug bites? Where you're not getting down on your hands and knees to scrub the floor? Where you don't wear them just because they're sturdy and comfortable?

As I write, it occurs to me that she probably has a LOT of company; that there are a lot of people whose lives don't include blue-jeans-type tasks. Ah, well. Good for them. I'm sure they live happy and fulfilled lives, don't even notice the gap in their wardrobes, and wouldn't care if they did.

I'm just glad I don't count myself in their number.

E for Effort

I am visiting my daughter in California, and while the beach was too windy and cold to go with Plan A, which was to spend the day there, the weather where she lives, inland just a bit, is just what the doctor ordered. Temps in the low sixties, a light breeze, a bright blue sky - perfect hiking weather for my last day here.

I've been walking her dog, Sylvester, most days while I've been in town. There are trailheads for a gorgeous state park about a half mile down the road, and I like to wander in just a ways when I'm out and about, but the SillyDog, as I call him, will have nothing to do with it when he's along for the walk.

He willingly walks to the park gate, but when I try to go beyond it, he stops. Balks, makes me drag him along before reluctantly trotting a few steps, or, just lies down and refuses to go any further. When I give up and turn for home, he gets up and trots ahead happily. *sigh*

Kate and I have talked over possible reasons for his behavior, because he usually LOVES to go out for walks. The most plausible theory was that he gets thirsty by the time we get that far, and just wants to go home and get some water.

This morning, I decided to take a chance and test the theory. I gathered a few hiking essentials and the SillyDog and set out for a midmorning hike. He trotted willingly ahead of me until we got to the park, then sat down right on schedule. I was prepared, got out the portable bowl and extra water I'd brought with me for just this event, and was pleasantly surprised to have my theory pan out. He lapped up the water, then happily trotted ahead on down the trail. 

All went well for the first couple of turns, then he began balking and pulling back on the leash. I stopped to check his feet, and found both a few of the burrs I'd suspected would be present, and a LOT of grass seeds - those long, skinny things with little hooks on the end. I'd come prepared with a set of scissors to cut out the burrs as we found them, so was able to clear the fur around his paws.

We set out once again, and I found out that SillyDog is not a great master of the concept of cause and effect. The trail itself was fine, but he insisted on jumping off time and again to check out the fascinating smells to the side (can I really blame him?), and the minute he did so, his feet were once again full of pricklies.

After the fourth time he sat down, I gave up. I gave him another drink, re-cleared the stickers, and reluctantly turned to head for home. We'd given it a good shot; I'll give us an E for Effort.

As we trekked back, I was grateful that even if it hadn't been the hike I'd hoped for, it was way better than nothing. It was only a 45 minute break from reality, but for that short time, I was able to look around and see nothing but nature. Wildflowers in abundance, some of the plants taller than I. Lizards and butterflies. Thin, wispy, clouds and brilliant blue sky.

For that short time, I was able to forget about all that is wrong in the world, and to see only what is right. 

*happy sigh*. Good (still) Is.

Financial Fiction

In the midst of the brouhaha around Elon Musk's offer to buy Twitter, I saw one comment that said, "for that amount, he could give $1,000,000 to each of the 330,000,000 people in the US, and still have 9 billion left over". Now, this person is clearly math-challenged (what are four zeros, give or take, between friends?), but the statement got me to thinking. 

At first I was all for it. I mean, if a $2000 stimulus payment was enough to help people through the pandemic, a cool mil in each person's pocket would... irreversibly upend our entire financial system, expose for once and for all the fiction that money equates to value, and cause complete and utter chaos. Wait. That's not where I wanted to go with that. But, it's true.

Our economic system only works if some of the people have to work. Without a money-carrot to hold out in front of people, how would you be able to convince anyone to do our essential but thankless jobs? Restaurant servers, shelf stockers, strawberry harvesters, garbage picker-uppers - I know if I were in their shoes, I'd have my notice turned in about three microseconds after the money landed in my account.

The money would change the common denominator in our calculations of wealth. Narrowing my focus to the current housing bubble - a year ago the house down the street rented for $2000/month. The tenant is moving out at the end of the month, and the owner put it up for rent at $3000/month - and had it rented within the day. Now, if everyone and their brother had access to a million dollars, what would that do to the rent? The number of available housing units vs the number of people seeking dwellings doesn't change in this equation, nor does the instinct to extract maximum value from one's investments. I'm pretty sure, in this case, the rent would skyrocket to account for the new minimum bank account balances in very short order. 

The value of money is a fiction, but a useful one. Take apples. I like apples, but have no wish to get my next one by taking a seed from one of the apples in the fridge, planting it in the back yard, and hoping I'm still around and able to pick apples when the tree gets large enough to bear fruit. (Yes, the first glaring assumption here is that the seeds of the apple in my house are viable. That's a topic for another time.) But if I have a dollar, I know I can take my dollar to the store and buy an apple. We've all agreed to pay the people who have the land and the climate and the oomph to successfully nurture apples a dollar each for their priceless harvest. What's the true value of the apple? That depends. How hungry am I?

Money only works because we all believe in it. It has value only because you and I agree that it does.

Here's hoping we keep believing. Life has been interesting enough these past few years without adding total societal breakdown to the mix.