Inside My Joy

The joy of online friends

2010-02-25T18:05:00.006-05:00

Once upon a time (a long, long time ago), a Government contractor walked up to me at work and asked "Do you have a home computer?" When I answered yes, he handed me a business card. It was for his BBS (bulletin board system), which was the way folks got online back before the Internet was widely used and AOL became a household name. Thus began my long history of making friends online. I have made many more friends online (some of whom I've never met) than in "real life." Some online friends have also become long-time "real life" friends.

In those early years online, I met a group of local people that were all pretty silly like me (as you can see from the picture at left). Some of us travelled together for 10 years--from 1996 to 2006. We went on three Caribbean cruises together; made three trips to the Hawaiian islands; gambled together in Vegas, Atlantic City and Paradise Island (in the Bahamas) and had a few other trips in between. We got along well, liked doing the same things, and had a lot of fun.

Below, you'll see sisters Helen & Lynn and I at a luau in Maui (Hawaii) and having lunch in a Paradise Island restaurant. Below that, the larger group is shown in Kauai (Hawaii) and at the ruins in Mexico.

Some years later, I joined AOL and was fortunate enough to find my way to two fantastic chatrooms--DC Chit Chat and Bookaccino--both of which had a major impact on me. The first group was local, so we socialized regularly in person; the other was national, and there was an annual gathering in a major city somewhere in the U.S. The first two pictures below are of some of our DC chat group at the wedding of two of our members, and at the Maryland Renaissance Festival. The second two pictures are of the Bookaccino group at the two annual gatherings I attended--one in Baltimore, MD and one in Philadelphia, PA.

In 2003, I decided the time had come for me to finally change my lifestyle over the long term in terms of eating and exercise for health reasons, so I joined an Internet board dedicated to those issues. There, I met many wonderful and supportive people, one of whom was Denise, who lives on the West Coast. Denise continues to be a close friend of mine to this day, despite having only met her in person one time for a few hours (she and her family came to DC for a vacation in 2005). We speak every week via AIM (AOL instant messenger).

In the past two years, I have made many friends on Flickr, a photo-sharing website to which I am a frequent contributor. I even became re-acquainted with a woman on Flickr who I'd originally "met" on the healthy eating board but who no longer frequents that board. I have not had the honor of meeting any of my Flickr friends in person yet, but I feel pretty certain that it will happen eventually.

I have also "met" new friends on Dogster, a pet-lovers site; Twitter, a social networking site; Shelfari, a book-lovers site and a website for Amazon Vine reviewers.

I've known people who would come right out and say that online friends weren't "real." I've known a number of people who would be chatting with the group every day for a year and then suddenly disappear into thin air, never to be heard from again--not caring enough to let us know what happened and why they were no longer part of the group. To those of us who take our online friendships as seriously as "real life" friendships, this was often hurtful. Even as much as computers are a part of our world now, there will always be people who will minimize online friendships. That's their opinion. And their loss, too.

My life is so much richer, my knowledge and contacts so much broader, because I have been lucky enough to have such diverse and wonderful online friends. Whether I ever meet them in person is hardly important. You don't have to be standing in front of me to matter. And that's MY opinion.

The joy of generosity

2010-02-07T18:47:00.005-05:00

My heart is full as I write this on the evening of Febuary 7, 2010. Our little beach town was slammed with its worst snowstorm in decades, as was much of the East Coast. We lost power Friday night and temperatures Saturday night dipped to around 15 degrees. Having grown up in Ohio, I wasn't afraid of the snow--I went out and shovelled at regular intervals during the day so that I could have a path to take my dog out to go potty--but what scared me was spending the night alone in the dark without power when temperatures were going to get that cold.

Two angels, a couple who live on the other side of my community, had purchased a mighty generator and already had several electric or gel fireplaces. They started taking in neighbors around lunchtime on Saturday, especially the elderly. They invited me but I kept holding out, not wanting to leave my home and make the arduous trek through hip-high snow to the other side of the development. Finally, just after dark, when I saw how quickly the tempurature inside my apartment was plummeting, I gave in and called to say I was coming. They sent two people from that end--one a new but dear friend of mine--and another was coming from my end. They carried my backpack and my dog while I trudged through the dark, the snowstorm raging in 50 MPH winds and whiteout conditions.

With the arrival of my neighbor and I, there were a total of 9 people and 4 dogs in this 2-bedroom condo. While of course it was comforting to have companionship, SOME heat and light and even a TV on which to keep up with the latest news of the storm, I am at heart a solitary person--it would be disingenuous of me to say that being sardined into a livingroom with 8 other people and 4 dogs for almost 24 hours was a fun time for me.

That said, I am so grateful for the generosity of spirit, shelter, food and blankets that these ladies provided, despite the fact that most of us barely know them and vice versa. It makes me almost tear up to even think of their sacrifice for us and their kindness to us, not to mention the women who shovelled a pathway from the court where we were holed up to the court where most of the evacuees lived, the women who shepherded me and my dog through the storm, etc.

The real shocker of this weekend, though, in terms of generosity was my upstairs neighbor. He and I have had a rather contentious relationship for the 2+ years I've lived here. And yet, while I was out shovelling snow Saturday, he offered me a potfull of hot water that he'd heated on his grill so that I could have a cup of hot tea when I came in from shovelling. He then said he'd be making he and his roommate a complete steak dinner on the grill and that he'd be delivering one to me as well. I was flabbergasted...and touched. He did as promised and I tore into it like a person who hadn't eaten in 24 hours--which was almost the truth. I'd eaten cheese and crackers and cereal but it was the first HOT meal I'd had in 24 hours. It was heavenly.

The snow plow arrived in our development about 4:30 Sunday afternoon and worked for hours clearing the deep snow and even deeper drifts from our parking lots and driveways. It is now the next morning (see note below), and I've just returned from walking my dog for the first time post-plowing. It looks like another planet out there--or, at the least, another area of the country--there are huge piles of snow everywhere and every inch of pavement is covered in a thick sheet of ice. Luckily, I invested in ice cleats last summer, so this wasn't a problem. However, in trying to clean up after my dog, I found myself hip deep in frozen snow and fell over, but was able to eventually right myself. So even walking the dog was an adventure!

I have already written thank you notes to the neighbors who provided me food and shelter during this crazy, scary weekend. I am currently writing notes to the ladies who assisted me in my trek through the storm to shelter and who shovelled a partial path yesterday so all of us who had stayed the night could get safely home. It doesn't begin to express how much their kindness and generosity touched me and helped me, but it is a start.

I am blessed. And I am warm.

Note: While I was writing this Sunday night, my power went out again--luckily this time for only a short while--so I am actually finishing this on Monday, February 8th. Thankfully, Blogger had saved a draft of what I'd already written (all but the last two paragraphs) and I didn't have to start over. WHEW!

The joy of exercise

2010-02-01T13:08:00.013-05:00

As an overweight woman over 55 with a major family history of diabetes, heart disease and high cholesterol, exercise is a necessary evil. Most people hate exercise. I find that the hardest part for me is just getting started. Once I'm at the gym, I often quite enjoy it. With the exception of a year or two just prior to and just after retirement, I have been a member of a gym since late 1998. That doesn't always mean I WENT to the gym regularly; I generally went through phases of going and not going.

When I lived in Virginia, I joined a gym next to my office building. I tried working out before work and at lunchtime, but found both provided inadequate time to get in a full workout plus the shower, hair and makeup routine that follow, and still get to work (or back to work) on time. Eventually, I mostly went to the gym on days I wasn't working. This gave me the freedom to take classes (like the hellaciously-demanding step aerobics class I used to take on Saturdays) and stay at the gym as long as I liked.

Here in Delaware, I work out at a small community gym. It isn't fancy like my previous gym--it doesn't have a pool, sauna, hot tub or shower room--but it has plenty of equipment and a huge free weight room as well, so it meets my needs for now.

In my experience, I am unusual in that I am a woman (especially a woman over 55) who enjoys weightlifting. I love the sense of accomplishment it gives me when I can lift more than last year, the definition in my muscles and the feeling of being powerful.

Most women seem to be afraid of weights. They worry about building muscle--looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger. I have tried to explain to many women over the years that we, as women, do not have the testosterone needed to build massive muscles (not to mention that many men with bulky muscles have taken steroids to help them build that mass). I frankly find muscle definition sexy and am happy to find more definition in my upper arms, etc.

It's not all about the gym, though. From 2003 to 2008, I was big into doing workouts on DVD at home. I did kickboxing, tai chi, Pilates, ballet, weightlifting, hula dancing, belly dancing--just about anything you can think of that doesn't require much (or any) equipment. I still own a nice library of exercise DVDs and I rent others from the online DVD rental company, Netflix. Netflix has a great selection and renting is a wonderful way to determine whether a workout is right for you before you invest in buying it. Trust me, I learned the hard way!

I'm also a walker of many years. I think that is the exercise that gives me the most enjoyment. On a beautiful, sunny day, I used to regularly walk for an hour or more, including a pretty daunting hill in my old Virginia neighborhood. Sadly, the area of Delaware where I live now is flat as a pancake, so there just isn't the challenge with walking that there was in Virginia.

I have a dog now, so most of my walking these days is at the other end of a little white fluffy thing. Thankfully, she loves to walk as much as I do so, when the weather is nice, we take some nice long walks. I do miss walking on my own, though. I'm thinking that, when the weather gets nicer in the spring, I may start shortening my walks with the dog to allow me to start walking on my own again. When I'm out there with my iPod and the breeze in my hair, I am in the zone.

Kind of like my favorite new piece of exercise equipment--the water rower. I'd never seen one before I joined my new gym in Delaware. Instead of pulling weights, you're pulling against the force of water. As you'll hear in the video below, it sounds like you're actually rowing a boat. When I turn on a fan and close my eyes, I can almost think I'm outside rowing.

The joy of giving

2009-12-29T05:32:00.007-05:00

I guess it seems strange to some (given the reactions I've gotten from friends and family), but I've dreamed of volunteering for years. When I was working nearly 11-hour days during the career phase of my life, I just didn't have it in me to give time to others at the end of the day, and my weekends were the only free time I had, so they were too precious to give up on an ongoing basis. So, when I did volunteer work during my that time, it was a few hours here, a one-day event there, but it wasn't the kind of volunteering I wanted to do. That would have to wait for retirement.

I've now been retired for 1 1/2 years. In that time, I've given of my time by answering phones for the State welfare office, fundraising for an animal sanctuary, attending meetings of an emergency preparedness organization, reading to preschool children and interviewing and writing profiles of people doing good works for a volunteer- and over-50-focused website. I've gone from working 10-11 hours a day to working 10-11 hours a week (at most). My goal was to find a balance between being of service and being retired--and that's just what I've done.

I've been reading to preschool children at a Head Start school for nearly a year now. Back when I was dreaming of volunteering in retirement, literacy was always a field with which I wanted to be involved. I found a fantastic organization called "Read Aloud," whose mission is to not only prepare children for school and help them excel, but to actually foster a love of reading and books. Being a lifelong and avid reader, this was a mission that I could enthusiastically support.

About two months ago, I had an idea to do something special for "my kids" at the school. I started to buy children's books from Amazon in batches--focusing on books on sale when I could--to make my goal of giving every child I read to a book for Christmas. After checking with the school and with Read Aloud, I got the green light to make it happen.

The week before Christmas, I arrived with a big bag of books to my Monday afternoon class. I explained that, instead of reading to them, each child would get to choose from a selection of books as a gift from me. The kids couldn't believe it. "I can take this HOME with me?!?" many of them said as they made their choices. Their eyes got wide when I wrote each of their names in their book. "You're going to WRITE IN IT?!" they'd say in shock. "Yes," I'd answer, smiling, "because this is YOUR book to do whatever you want with." Their smiles said it all.

On Wednesday morning, I did it all again with my other class. The teacher gathered all the children with their books and took a picture of me with the class. As I was packing up to go, two little girls came up and gave me big hugs and said thank you. Maybe I gave a lot in dollars and books, but those two hugs and all the smiles in that picture were a priceless gift to me.

The joy of a hot bath

2009-10-26T15:38:00.005-04:00

When I lived in my built-in-1958 Virginia apartment, I had a REAL tub--none of this fiberglass hogwash--and I loved to take baths. Not just any baths. Bubblebaths. I collected bubblebath scents the way some women collect shoes. If it was a weekend and I wasn't expected anywhere too soon, sometimes I even took candlelit bubblebaths...with the lights off, candles twinkling around the edge of the tub and music playing (Nat King Cole was my favorite bathtime crooner).

Since I moved into my built-in-2006 retirement condo at the beach in Delaware, I have had to come to grips with the world of fiberglass bathroom fixtures. I don't mind it so much in my master bathroom, where I have a nice big walk-in shower stall that doesn't require me to cling to walls and towel bars in order to climb in (short legs, ya know).

The only tub in the joint now is a fiberglass one. It's shorter than my old ceramic tub; you'd think that would be a benefit since I'm a shorty; I'm not yet convinced. The worst thing about my tub is that it is damned uncomfortable--for me at least. You see, it is angled at the back--supposedly to make it more comfortable to soak in--but being a shorty, it just doesn't fit me right and I can't get comfortable, even with a washcloth folded behind my neck.

Quickly, my bubblebath habit went by the wayside. What's the use of taking a bubblebath if you can't relax and enjoy it? I mean, isn't that the POINT of bubblebaths? My Bath & Body Works bubblebath collection sat neglected under the sink, holding up a pile of bathmats. I love my place and I'm not willing to move to get a better bathtub but, man, it was a bummer.

Cut to almost two years later and I've got some kind of ick in my throat and my head and it's the weekend, which means my doctor's office isn't open. My neck and shoulders are killing me, probably because I've been sleeping weirdly because I can't breathe or swallow. I was starting to turn the corner and feel a little better. I hadn't showered because I was dizzy, weak, had the chills, etc., and was afraid I'd keel over in the shower.

Then it came to me--a bath. A bubblebath! "Oh, but it's uncomfortable." came the voice of my Inner Grump. I was beyond caring. When you're already feeling that bad, almost anything is going to be an improvement. While I ran a nice hot bath, I shuffled between my master bath and the guest bath (where the tub is), ferrying necessities.

Suddenly, caught up in my excitement, I noticed my dog looking at me quizzically. First, I realized that, to her, the tub filling means SHE'S getting a bath. Which means that, in the entire year since I'd adopted her, she'd never seen me take a bath. Wow. Long time no bath!

When I sank into that hot, coconut- and vanilla-scented water, every part of my body let out a collective AHHHH. Not only did I find a way to be comfortable (rolled hand towel vs. washcloth), I completely forgot I was sick and that my throat hurt so bad I couldn't eat solid food. It was a complete escape. A complete joy.

I could almost hear the bubbles welcoming me back. "Ah, old friend. Welcome home!"

The joy of another year

2009-10-11T10:53:00.005-04:00

Yesterday was my birthday. It's an odd feeling for me to realize that I'm now closer to 60 than to 50! Somehow, I still think of myself as 51 or 52 but the reality is that I'm now 57. I was a bit past the halfway point between age 55 and 56 when I retired last year.

Once I'd disclosed that I was pretty certain that I'd be retiring as soon as I was qualified (my 55th birthday), my hairdresser at the time, a very sweet and caring woman a few years older than me, gave me doom and gloom talks about early retirement at every monthly appointment . She said that her clients who retired early shrivelled up (metaphorically speaking, I assume), had medical problems, were depressed, etc., while her clients who were still working in their 60s and beyond were vital, healthy and full of life. She said she didn't want to see this same fate befall me and I could tell that she was genuinely concerned--she really saw early retirement as the kiss of death. If I am to be honest, it freaked me out for a while.

As touched by her worry as I was, I knew that it was time for me to go. I'd put in 37 years with the Federal government and 32 of them with the same agency. There were many years when I really enjoyed my job, but those years were starting to become a memory. I had been reorganized so many times that it was a wonder I could remember what floor to get off on when I came to work in the morning so, when I was once again thrown into another division with no warning in late 2006, my spirit took a major hit. That was the beginning of the end.

Two years ago today, I signed the contract on my new home at the beach. It marked the beginning of a new phase of life. In the space of that year--October 2007 to October 2008--I bought my first home, moved to another state, retired from my job and adopted a puppy. Now that's what I call a vital, full-of-life year!

In the past year--October 2008 to October 2009--I have done a number of volunteer jobs: answering phones for the State welfare office, reading to pre-school children at a HeadStart school, fund-raising for a no-kill animal shelter and writing for a website dedicated to inspiring Baby Boomers to volunteer. If I've done any shrivelling since my retirement, it's only due to age and osteoarthritis of my spine. Through my volunteer work with these organizations, I have met incredible people who are doing incredible things for their community, their State or beyond. These people inspire me to be more and give more.

When I was about to retire, a coworker said "Why would you want to retire so early and just sit in a rocking chair?" And I responded "Who said anything about sitting in a rocking chair?!?" Sure, I spend a lot of time at home...but then I always have (when I wasn't working). I strive for a balance between being retired and being of service...and that is what will keep me healthy and vital, along with going to the gym a few times a week and taking my dog for long walks daily.

So yes, I am thankful for another year...to be retired, to help others, to make friends, to be a puppy mama, to be a writer and a reader and to do nothing at all if I feel like it!!!

You know the old saying...another year older is preferable to the alternative!

The joy of finding the right fit

2009-08-10T16:31:00.005-04:00

No, I'm not talking about clothes shopping, although finding clothes that fit is pretty joyful too, especially when you are built like me (short and stout, like the teapot song). I'm talking about finding a job (volunteer in my case) that fits your skill set to the point where you gain quite a bit of enjoyment in doing the job.

For the last 20+ years of my 37-year Federal Government career, I was (in part) a reader and editor of technical material and a writer of technical documentation (not technical as in computers, but as in regulations). Reading and writing have been interests of mine for as long as I can remember; I was writing poems and short stories from at least the age of 12.

I retired from the Government last year (summer of 2008), moved to the beach, and and went in search of meaningful work as a volunteer. I figured that, after giving 37 years of my life to the Government, it was time for me to do something I really LIKED to do. But what? My initial thought was that I wanted to volunteer in the fields of literacy and animal welfare.

I began my search on Volunteer Match (http://www.volunteermatch.org/), a great website where you can plug in your zip code and some parameters about what kind of volunteering you want to do into its search engine, and it will spit out a list of potential volunteer jobs. The problem was that list I was given for my new zip code in Delaware was only a tiny fraction of the list I used to get when I lived in the Washington, D.C. area. However, via that website, I discovered the Retired and Senior Volunteer Program (RSVP) for the county in which I lived.

I met with one of the RSVP coordinators right after I retired; I wanted to start some kind of volunteer work right away to help me transition from being a full-time worker to a lady of leisure. It just so happened that the State Department of Social Services (DSS) needed help answering phones. It wasn't what I had in mind, but I figured it was something I could get started on right away and would be easy-peasy and not stressful. WRONG!

Despite the fact that working at DSS often made me miserable, I kept doing it for 11 months because I really enjoyed the people I worked with. In the meantime, though, I started some other projects--reading to preschool children at HeadStart through the Read Aloud program, doing occasional fundraising for the county's first no-kill animal sanctuary, and attending board meetings of an animal disaster assistance organization.

Finally, in the spring of 2009, when I was reaching the end of my rope at DSS, RSVP offered me a new gig--a new nonprofit organization was starting up in Delaware and they needed someone from my county to write articles, interview people, take pictures at events, etc. BINGO! Now we were talking!

I've been volunteering for Coming of Age Delaware (CoADE) for a few months now. I quit my DSS job to allow me to devote more time to it (okay, it gave me an excuse to quit). While it may not excite me greatly (CoADE hopes to inspire those over 50 to volunteer and do other community service), it is a good fit for my skill set and I'm really enjoying it. I've written five articles for their newsletter and website (http://www.de.comingofage.org/). Three of them have been published thus far, and the other ones should be published in the coming month.

It gives me a thrill to have finally found a good fit. Maybe not the same kind of thrill as finding a pair of pants that can cope with both my ample posterier and my smaller waist, but a thrill indeed.

The joy of community

2009-05-30T12:37:00.005-04:00

After being raised in a tiny 2-stoplight town in Ohio (where I knew almost everyone), I spent 37 years of my life in a major metropolitan area--in and around Washington, D.C. For 32 of those years, I lived in a small, older family-owned apartment complex in Alexandria, Virginia. In 32 years, I never had a neighbor who invited me into their home, nor did I invite any of them into mine. In my last number of years there, there were two older ladies--one next door and one across the street--who were pretty much the only people who spoke to me. I only knew my next door neighbor's name because I regularly got her mail.

When I would go out walking in my complex, I would smile and say hello or good morning to everyone I passed. Many people didn't even acknowledge me much less return my greeting or smile at me. This angered me. I thought--what is so hard about just smiling or saying hello? Why would you NOT? I never understood it and, while I enjoyed the area, it made me sad not to feel a sense of community in a place where I had spent more than 3 decades of my life.

Last year, I retired and moved to a small beach town on the Eastern Shore. My best friends had lived there for 20 years and I had visited regularly over the years. I called it my home away from home. During the years when my job and its attendant stress were taking a toll on me, this town and my friends' home was my escape and asylum from the madness.

I now live in a small condo community. Thus far (we are a new community), it is an all-adult community and predominately over 50, with perhaps 35% full-timers and 65% weekenders. For the first 6 months or so I lived here, I was the only full-timer in my building and only 1 of 3 or so full-timers in the entire community. There were moments when I thought "Here we go again." and wondered if I would ever feel the sense of community that I had hoped for; but, as more units sold, I got more neighbors--mostly weekenders but some more full-timers too.

Not quite 1 1/2 years after moving here, I finally feel that sense of community that I had craved. I love my neighbors! They are such wonderful people. I adopted a puppy last fall and the community has turned into a major "dog town." I have met most of the community before they even moved in, thanks to walking my VERY cute dog and living near the sales office. :)

I'm involved, via volunteering, with animal welfare, childhood literacy, human welfare and the over 50 population, which further gives me that sense of community--of being OF and doing FOR--and I am the happiest I have been in many, many years. When I walk my dog in this development and the next development over, people wave. Some come over to talk to me and pet Missy. I am meeting new people all the time. My dog has her community of pup pals too. :)

Change was a long time comin' as the song says...but it was well worth the wait.

The joy of retirement

2009-05-17T10:06:00.006-04:00

Two weeks from today (on May 31), I will celebrate the first anniversary of the day I retired. I spent 37 years working for the Federal Government--the last 10 or so years in a very busy and stressful job. I hadn't planned to retire until I maxed out (i.e., until I had a high enough combination of years worked and age that my pension was as high as it was going to get, which would be another few years) but, as it turned out, I didn't make it that far.

In late 2006, I wasn't sure I was even mentally ready to retire (though I wouldn't qualify until late 2008 anyway). Shortly before my boss Frank's departure that fall, I asked him how he felt about his retirement and shared my concerns about whether I was ready to do the same. He said "Once you start to seriously think about retirement, you start leaning in that direction--and once you start leaning, it's hard to stop." By that point in my career, I knew exactly what he meant. It was one thing to be wistful and envious as many of our coworkers said their goodbyes, but to really seriously start fantasizing about being retired meant trouble.

Despite his warning, that is exactly what I did. I started to lean. I don't know if it was intentional or not. I still didn't know whether I was ready to go, but staying was starting to be a much less desirable prospect than going. In the spring of 2007, both of my staff members left for other jobs within months of one another. I held down the fort alone for several months, until we were able to hire one replacement. During this time, I got terribly sick. I was off work for two entire weeks. Well, it is more accurate to say that I was out of the office for two weeks, because I was still running things via email and phone from home.

Not too long after I returned to work, I had my mid-year performance evaluation with my new boss. I told him that those two weeks had given me a lot of time to think, and that one of the things I was thinking about was retiring as soon as I qualified (October 2008, when I would turn 55). As was my custom, I went to the beach for the week of my birthday. I drove from one condo development to the next for days trying to find my retirement home. On the day after my birthday, I bought a condo (some birthday present, eh?).

I came back to work and broke the news--I bought a condo at the beach...I can't afford to live and pay mortgage/rent and bills in both places...so I need to retire. We worked out a deal--I would move to the beach and telecommute all but one day a week, when I would drive back to the DC area and spend one day in the office. I moved to the beach on January 20, 2008, and drove back to DC once a week for 4 months, retiring as of May 31.

It is almost unbelievable to me that it has been a year--I guess this is what they mean when they say "time flies when you're having fun"! It has been a wonderful year. I am SO loving my home and living at the beach...I've kept myself busy with volunteer work and decorating and furnishing my home...and I adopted a puppy in October.

I thought I would have a tough time adapting--going from a Type A harried work life 10 1/2 hours a day to being retired--but, to my surprise, I had absolutely no problem adapting! Sure, I miss the people, but I don't miss feeling like a wound-up top every day; and I CERTAINLY don't miss traffic in the Washington, DC area, which sets new records for insanity every year.

I have a great home, wonderful neighbors, I am being of service to my community and I have the cutest dog in town (who makes me laugh every day). What's not to like?

So, if it feels right, go ahead and lean. I did, and I have never regretted it for a single minute.

The joy of flight

2009-02-27T10:43:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, I was sitting here--in my home office, on the PC--when this strange noise arose outside my window. As it got louder, I realized what it was. I looked out my window and smiled, as what seemed like hundreds of snow geese winged right over me, honking up a storm. A few minutes later, another phalanx (my word--not sure it is apropos for a gaggle of snow geese) flew over.

It appears that I am on the flight path! One could, I suppose, consider such cacophony a nuisance, but I do not. I see it as a gift. Granted, if that much honking went on all day and all night, THEN I might find it a nuisance; but, as it is, it is just an occasional treat--to be witness to the joy of flight.

The joy of having enough

2008-12-05T17:46:00.002-05:00

I am reminded for the eight hours per week that I volunteer with the State how blessed I am. Being so regularly reminded of my blessings is blessing in itself—it keeps me from getting complacent, from staying in my head too much, from assuming that everything is alright. Everything is SO not alright.

What I do at my volunteer job is to answer the main phone line for people who need help with food, medical insurance, housing, bills, etc. I do this job for 8 hours per week (two four-hour days). My coworker, Kathy, does it for the other 32 hours of the week when I'm not there. When I leave after 4 hours on the phones, my heart is heavy from hearing such sad stories and I feel drained. I don't know how Kathy does it for 8 hours a day. I could not.

Women call me crying because they have nothing to feed their children, and no money to buy food. People call me, freezing, because they cannot pay their heating or electric bills. Some are limited in job hunting or keeping a job because they cannot afford a vehicle…or they have a vehicle and can’t afford to put gas in it or to pay to get it out of the repair shop when something goes wrong with it. Some have been put out of their home due to foreclosure or eviction and call me, terrified, after spending their first night in a homeless shelter. Parents feel sad and helpless because they cannot afford to buy their children Christmas gifts.

Many people will judge those in such circumstances. They'll say these people are lazy, that they don’t want to work, that they won’t do what it takes to help themselves. Is this true of some of these people? Yes, I'm afraid it is. Is this true of all of them? Absolutely not!

There are people asking for help now who have never even thought of needing to do so before. The company they worked for went under and they lost their job (along with any benefits, such as health insurance, that may have come with it). They got sick, had no health insurance, and were driven into debt by the staggering hospital and doctor bills (and instead of being able to rest and take care of themselves once they’re out of the hospital, they have to scrabble to figure out how to stay afloat—how to keep from losing their house, etc.).

Before Missy came into my life two months ago, I was visiting the local SPCA weekly to see if I could help a dog escape euthanization (our SPCA is a kill shelter). In the weeks just before I got Missy, a third to a half of all the dogs in my local SPCA were surrenders--dogs that had been voluntarily turned over to the SPCA by their owners either because they could no longer afford to feed them or because the owners had lost their home.

Even some of my closest friends and family members are being hit hard by this economic downturn. My older brother just closed his home building business after 20+ years in operation. Several of my closest friends are struggling financially.

Things are bad. Really, really bad. Appreciate the joy of having enough. Recognize your blessings. And, if you're able, reach out to those who are struggling--either by giving of your time or your money. 'Tis the reason for the season, baby.

The joy of change

2008-11-17T10:44:00.004-05:00

I have lived alone for many years. When you live alone for a long time, you get used to doing what you damn well please when you damn well please--for the most part, anyway. My routine got turned upside down 6 1/2 weeks ago when I adopted Missy, my Shih Tzu puppy. Now, there are Sheri's routines and there are Missy's routines and sometimes they clash, so Sheri's needs sometimes must take a back seat to Missy's.

Change is sometimes uncomfortable or even painful, but it is most often for the good. For a long time, I have tended to be too selfish, and caring for another living thing is helping me change that (and in return, of course, she gives me gobs of love and affection).

Since I am retired now, I have had the luxury of avoiding going outside when it is unpleasant--raining, snowing, extremely cold or windy--but living in a condo with a puppy, I no longer have this luxury. The dog must be walked. Change.

Between her energy, her friendliness and her "Nosy Nora" nature, Missy asks to out about every 2 hours. Naive me, I thought a dog asking to "go out" meant "I have to go potty." But, with Missy, sometimes it means "There is neighbor outside and I want to go say hi!" or "The Verizon man is across the street working on the power and I want to go say hi!" or "Denise (the condo sales manager) is in her office and I want to go say hi!" or "I see leaves falling from the trees and I want to go chase them!" or "I see Lynx (the neighbor's cat) and I want to go play with her!" So now I know to say "no" to some of her requests, especially when it's pouring rain or freezing cold.

Anticipating those freezing cold early-morning walks, I went and bought a double-layer ski-type jacket. I hate the cold. But go out in the cold I must...and right out of a warm bed, too. Change! Now that I have learned proper bundling-up procedure for those morning walks and can actually be comfortable while I'm out there, I've come to enjoy them more. Not to say I'm going to encourage hour-long walks in the freezing cold, but I'm at least not grumbling anymore.

Fall and spring are my favorite times of year. My absolute favorite weather comes at these times--a beautiful sunny day where the sun is warm but the air has a fresh coolness. I have always disliked losing those beautiful fall days to cold, harsh winter--and even moreso now that I have to be outside a lot more than I used to--but the seasons are inevitable. Change.

And now we have a new President-elect. This is change I can smile about!

The joy of being one

2008-11-03T07:37:00.011-05:00

I have been single and unattached for the majority of my adult life. This has been especially true of the last eleven years, since L. moved to California. L. was a man whom I found captivating and frustrating in nearly equal measure (he was as close to the human equivalent of the Star Trek character, Spock, as I'd ever met). Ironically, before I met L., I had wished for a man who was as comfortable with solitude as I; L. was that--in fact, he was probably even more solitary a person than I--but I found it wasn't nearly so enviable a thing to have once I had it (funny how that happens, eh?). I loved him intensely, but I knew that he wasn't a man that I could be with for the rest of my life. When he moved to California, I was heart-broken, and yet I also knew it was probably for the best. L. and I are still friends to this day. He is now married.

I'm just fine with being one, but I wasn't always. I spent my 20s in bars with my best friend B, who was outgoing, flirtatious, built like a brick shithouse and, okay, let's be honest, easy. Men flocked to B. like flies on shit. I was cute, but I couldn't compete with that--I was an old-fashioned Ohio girl! I attracted my share of guys, but I had absolutely no luck at having relationships; at that time, that is what I wanted more than anything.

In my late 20s, I went through a spell where I would go out with B. and come home having met no one. I was despondent about it, because I was still locked in that quaint American mindset that I was supposed to be married by that age (this was the 70s). I became so unhappy, in fact, that I dropped out of dating entirely during much of my 30s and instead hung out with my new (at that time) gay guy friends. It may sound like a pathetic cop-out for a straight girl in the prime of her dating life, but it was one of the most joyous times of my life. I was able to go out, dance and have copious amounts of fun without the pressure of "Is someone going to ask me to dance? Will someone find me attractive? Will someone ask for my number?" I received unconditional love from my gay friends and I didn't have to be anyone but myself.

In my 40s, I found that I was no longer attracted to men my age or older as I had been in my 20s. I dated younger men during this time (which is when I met L., who was 13 years younger than I), but found that--except for L., who was intellectually and emotionally much older than his years--most of them weren't very interesting to talk to. It was in my 40s that I finally came to peace with the concept of being one. Perhaps I just wasn't meant to be paired, I reasoned, and what is so wrong with that? If it was meant to happen, it would; why spend precious time and energy worrying about it?

One of the joys of being one--at least for me--is that you become more comfortable with being with yourself (i.e., not always needing other people to enjoy yourself) and you learn more about who you are and what makes you tick. In my 40s, I definitely developed a clarity about who I was, what I wanted and what I didn't want--and I was no longer afraid of expressing that (I was an absolute wallflower in my 20s, so this was new ground for me). I learned to appreciate solitude--and eventually to require it.

One of the frustrations of being one--at least for me--is that most people have no concept for what it's like to be one. Since most people are paired and filter what they see through their own experiences, feelings and fears, people who are terrified of being alone tend to either treat me like a leper (I have been at the movie theatre alone and had people stare and give me wide berth as if I might infect them with my oneness) or like some pathetic creature who needs their nurturing.

Case in point: Years ago, I once had lunch at a regular haunt near my workplace and was paid an incredible amount of positive attention by the beautiful young man who was my waiter. I was not so silly to think it was attraction, but I couldn't figure out his motivation (it seemed overkill for a good tip, esp. since I was already known there to be a good tipper). At the end of the meal, he presented me with my check and said "I'm sorry that you had to have lunch alone." Ah. A nurturer. I gave him a smile, put down my book, and explained to him that I didn't have to lunch alone--that the hour I spent with a good book and a good meal was my oasis in an otherwise very stressful workday--and that, though he may not understand it yet, there are people who actually enjoy being alone and that I was one of them.

Being one in a society that trumpets "pairedness" as not only the norm but "the way" isn't always easy...but it is who I am.

The joy of relief

2008-10-22T10:17:00.003-04:00

This morning, I came terrifyingly close to losing my little girl--what I call the 10-month-old Shih Tzu puppy who I adopted two and a half weeks ago. Missy and I were out for our first walk of the morning and I was distracted. Just before we left home, I'd heard a neighbor (though not one I immediately recognized) out behind my house frantically calling a name over and over; I presumed that her dog had run off.

Missy and I went out to help with the search but, by the time we got out to where the lady had been, she had switched to her car and was driving around the property, too far away for us to catch up. Missy and I proceeded on our usual walk route, but I kept looking around to see if I could catch sight of the dog. It was bitterly cold and windy for an early fall morning, so I was also distracted by being physically uncomfortable as the wind battered me.

Suddenly, Missy took off in a strong run--aimed straight for the major highway near our house--and between the distractions and the fact that I was new to wearing gloves while yielding the leash, the leash handle pulled out of my hand when she hit the end of the lead. Missy was running full steam toward the rush hour traffic whizzing by at 50-60 MPH and the terrible image of her being hit by a car flashed through my brain.

In a flat-out panic, I screamed her name over the howling wind and passing traffic until finally she stopped and turned around to see what I was so excited about. Getting her attention was only half the battle--us being new to one another, there hasn't been enough time for me to train her adequately to come on command. So I cautiously advanced, knowing how much she loves to be chased, not wanting her to start running again. After several agonizing seconds that felt like forever, I got close enough to the leash handle to step on it and keep her from advancing into the road if she took off again.

Soon, I had the leash back in hand and we resumed our walk. I'm sure Missy had no idea how hard my heart was beating and how labored my breathing was as we headed back home. To her it was probably just another day of romping in the grass and smelling the flowers. For me, it was a terrifying lesson about how important it is to stay focused on her when we're walking. I am so thankful that my scary experience had a happy ending. I can only hope the same for my neighbor.

The joy of a perfect fall day

2008-10-20T07:57:00.009-04:00

Some people think it's weird that I live at the beach and yet I haven't actually been on the beach for more than a few minutes since I moved here in January. I don't find it odd at all. I love living at the beach--I just don't happen to love it as much during the summer as I do during the spring and fall. One reason is that I don't tolerate heat and humidity as well anymore, especially when the water is so cold that I can't easily get in the ocean to cool off. Another is that, in the summer, everyone is on the beach, including hundreds of people who don't live here.

Years before I ever thought of living at the beach, spring and fall were my favorite seasons. My idea of a perfect day, weather-wise, is a bright spring or fall day when the sky is a clear blue with puffy white clouds, there is a light cool breeze, and the sun's warmth balances the coolness so that you can still be comfortable without a jacket. As a person who loves to walk for exercise and yet has a low tolerance for heat, a day like this--with a temperature around 65-70 degrees--is as close to perfection as it gets.

Many days of the past two weeks here have been just like that. It was perfect weather for the new puppy and I to become accustomed to walking together in our first two weeks together. I'm finding that she likes the same kind of days I do--as a Shih Tzu, she has a low tolerance for heat too, so we're well suited. She loves the cool breeze that comes in the window from the trees behind my house along with the sights and sounds of the open window--crickets, cicadas, birds, butterflies, etc.

The past few days have been gray and cloudy, topping out at 60 degrees with a fierce, chilling wind that made me think about pulling out my winter hat and gloves. Not only has it not been pleasant to walk the dog, but I have found myself bummed out by the recent cold front--it is a portent that my perfect fall days are soon to be over and winter is on its way--but first, the forecast says we will have some more (slightly chillier) perfect fall days to enjoy. Get outside and enjoy them while they last!

The joy of puppy love

2008-10-10T10:36:00.013-04:00

Today is my birthday. I got an early birthday present that I wasn't expecting--a puppy. A friend recommended me as a potential adoptive mommy to friends of theirs--a family who is going through a health crisis and had made the difficult decision to give away their 9-month-old Shih-Tsu puppy, Missy, because they didn't feel they could continue to care for her in light of this new unfortunate circumstance in their lives. After a meeting with the owner and Missy on October 4, Missy came to live with me.

Physically, I have rarely felt so much my age as I have this week; and yet, emotionally, I have felt young and happy. There is nothing quite like the love of a puppy to make you smile all over. While I am not elated about having to get out of bed and take Missy outside before the sun is even up, this is more than balanced by the joy of being greeted by Missy upon awakening. She climbs on me and kisses my nose and snuggles for a few moments to give me a chance to wake up before we go out.

One of the most joyous parts of being a new puppy mommy is seeing the world anew through her eyes. Her first big adventure was visiting some of my favorite haunts--the boardwalk, Lake Gerar (aka "the pond") and the seawall. She was enthralled by the seagulls, fascinated by the smells (Thrasher's fries, pizza, cheese steaks, fudge, you name it) and enchanted by all the people she met. She could barely contain herself with all the sensory input and it was sometimes a challenge for me to keep her out of the way of cars, bicycles, joggers and tourists.

I will admit, there have been moments when I questioned my decision--she is needy, has horrible separation anxiety, doesn't know how to play without biting and jumps on everything and everyone--but then I look at her sweet face, see how smart she is and how well she is learning new behaviors in just a week and I know she's worth the effort. I see how the tip of her little baby tongue sticks out when she brings me her squeaky toy and there is no way I can't smile. I hear her little baby growl when she says "Come on, play with me!" or "I have to GO!" and I have to laugh...even when she is getting on my last nerve.....like right now! Gotta go!

The joy of a country road

2008-10-03T18:44:00.010-04:00

I find it ironic that, now that I'm living in a small town, my commute is longer (by both driving time and mileage) than when I was living in the Washington DC area--an area known for protracted and headache-inducing commutes. A Sussex County Delaware commute and a Washington, DC or Alexandria, VA commute can be quite different animals. In the DC area, you can sit at traffic lights at what seems like every 50 feet. In Sussex County, I'm currently driving almost a half-hour one way to my volunteer job and I do not sit at ANY traffic lights (I do hit a few flashing red lights where I have to stop and look for traffic but, if the intersection is clear, I don't have to wait to proceed).

Since I began this volunteer gig in July, I had been looking for a "nicer" route to work. The obvious route from my town to that town is the one that all the tourists use to get to my town (a beach resort); it being the most obvious and direct route, it is used pretty heavily in both directions, especially during beach season. There are a number of traffic lights on this route (though nothing like driving through Alexandria).

I recently started using a more rural route which completely avoids that major state route and uses country roads. According to Google Maps, the rural route is actually longer by mileage than the other route, but I get there faster because there is much less traffic and many fewer traffic lights. But getting there faster is only one reason why I use this route.

I was driving home from my gig yesterday--the sun shining, the crops waving in the wind, the car windows open to welcome in the strong breeze--and I was smiling. It was like being back in Ohio (where I grew up), except that Sussex County is flat as a pancake and the part of Ohio I'm from was very hilly. The crops in the fields were looking bedraggled, but it was all still so beautiful to me and filled me with a simple joy. A ride in the country was an event where I'm from in Ohio (what the heck else was there to do?); in fact, it still is when my siblings and I make it back there. My mother will pile us all in the car and off we'll go. Maybe we'll go shopping in an Amish town or visit our old hometown or maybe we'll just drive--the sun shining, the blue sky dazzling, the trees dancing--and enjoy the simplicity of being home again.

A friend from the DC area was visiting last weekend and I took her to lunch a few miles out of town. As we were driving, there was a large herd of cows all standing clumped together under the trees at the edge of this huge field. I said to my friend "Now that's not something you see every day in Alexandria." We both laughed, and I told her about my adventures since moving here--seeing huge turkey buzzards right on the road (eating the roadkill) and seeing roosters walking along the edge of the road. It's definitely a different kind of scenery than I had for the 37 years I lived in the DC area--but I'm rather liking it.

The joy of a glorious sunset

2008-09-17T11:58:00.027-04:00

I have had a fascination with sunrises and sunsets for much of my adult life. Maybe it stems from being a painter in my younger years, maybe it's the love of nature instilled in me as a child or maybe it's just because they're pretty. Lately, I have taken quite a few pictures of the sunset near where I live. A local company even asked to use this matted one on its website.

I never consciously think "Oh, it's about time for sunset; let me go see." What happens is that I will be walking from one part of my condo to the other and I'll catch a glimpse of color out of a window. I stop long enough to think about whether I'm wearing appropriate clothing to go outside in (because I often sit around the house in garb that is not appropriate to go outside in), then grab the camera and run out the door. Unfortunately, by the time I clear my building and get far enough down the street to get a good shot, most of the light and the best color of the sunset is gone, but I've still been able to get some nice shots.

Back when I was a regular visitor to this area and not yet a resident, I used to love to go to Lake Gerar (what I call "the pond") and write poetry or journal. For years, my favorite sunset picture was this one that I took there. The thing I loved about the pond is that it, though it was just steps from the beach, while you were sitting there soaking up the peace of the place, it felt like some sort of private retreat.

This one was taken from the patio of my apartment in Alexandria, VA where I lived for many years. I still get a little homesick when I see that skyline--I saw it daily for 32 years!

The one on the right was taken on Amelia Island in Florida at the fishing pier near Brett's Waterway Cafe, an excellent restaurant where I had my birthday dinner in 2006.

I am a big fan of the website Flickr (http://www.flickr.com/), a free photo-sharing website. You can go on there and search for just about any thing or any place in the world and find that someone has taken pictures of it. There are some amazingly talented photographers on Flickr. However, one trend in photography that I see there a lot which saddens me is all the digital trickery that is performed on photographs to make them look extra special, extra vivid, extra colorful, etc. To me, they end up looking surreal and, while they are often beautiful, they also look fake. I hate to get all sappy here, but I think God does a pretty good job of making sunsets (and just about everything else) beautiful without having to fiddle with it. As a result, none of my sunset photos are digitally enhanced in any way. I like to remember the real thing--the way I saw it with my own eyes. That's pretty special all by itself.

The joy of new experiences

2008-09-15T13:15:00.004-04:00

While I was a big fan of putt-putt golf in my younger years, I never had a desire to play "real" golf; I thought that the only way to do that was to play on an expensive regulation 18-hole course where real golfers would be hurling curses at a totally green newbie like myself. A friend who is newly and passionately into golf told me about a Par 3 course near me that would be a great introduction to golfing. A par 3 course is a much easier, and smaller, course than those courses you see Tiger playing on TV. The cost is much more reasonable than a big course (this one was $13 per person), and they even had Sheri-sized clubs I could use. I thought "Why not? Aren't retired people supposed to golf?" :)

As with any new experience, there is a learning curve. Those first several holes, I was maxing out on strokes for every hole and not coming anywhere near par 3. My ball didn't even catch air until maybe the third or fourth tee--it's kind of hard to get to the green if you can't get your ball up in the air. :) I tend to be a perfectionist, so of course I was grumbling at myself every time my ball veered off course (though I only hit the trees once and never lost a ball). Because of my putt-putt history (though it's well in the past), I was generally better at putting than driving.

The experience reminded me of learning to bowl. I love to bowl, but I can be quite bad at it. I have a congenital bone defect in my arms that causes them to be off-angle at the elbow. It's not something you'd notice to look at me, but can be a challenge for me in carrying heavy objects or in sports or skills that require precision with your arms--like bowling, golf or billiards.

When I learned to bowl, I threw gutterball after gutterball until I learned to angle my body in a way that compensated for my "crooked" throwing arm. I started going through the same process the day I played golf for the first time, but it will take several more tries at golfing before I find "the sweet spot"--the right place to stand to get the ball to go where *I* want it to go.

Toward the end of the 9 holes (I figured 9 was enough for my first time!), I was really enjoying it and had improved in strokes. Did I ever get a par 3 in 9 holes? Hell, no! But I did get a couple of par 5s...and I was quite happy with that for my first time. It was good exercise and the course grounds are lovely (and thankfully shadier than most courses). I really enjoyed the experience and expect to be trying it again.

The joy of nesting

2008-09-07T17:44:00.014-04:00

Before you get the wrong idea (oops, some of you already have), this has nothing to do with babies ("I don't know nothin' bout birthin' no babies, Miss Scarlett!"). People, please! :) When I say nesting, I mean making your house a home--filling it with things that you love, painting it, decorating it, mixing old things with new things--making it "you."

Until I moved into my current home this January, I had lived in rental apartments my entire life--I even grew up in one. I think that many folks are so driven to own their own home in early adulthood because they grew up in a house and they think of it as something you are supposed to do when you grow up. It's not that I wouldn't have liked to have owned a home at a younger age; but being single and living in a major metropolitan area where real estate was mind-blowingly expensive, a home that I would want and where I would want to live just was not within my financial grasp, even though I made a pretty good living.

Being a rule-following kind of gal, when my apartment lease said "No painting.", I didn't paint. Hence, my blog post on Labor Day about learning to paint a wall at age 55. A friend asked me "Why do you want to paint your bedroom? Do you not like white walls?" And my answer is that I forcibly lived with white walls my entire adult life; and, now that I own my own home and I can do with it what I damned well please (within limits), I want something other than white walls.

To update those who read that Labor Day post (The joy of independence), I did ask my friends for help in finishing the bedroom painting and it is now done. Mike is so experienced that he painted the whole darned room (2 coats) in the time it took me to tape, trim and paint just the alcove portion of the room (1 coat). I still helped--well, he may not have thought of it as helping, to be absolutely honest, but I wanted to be a part of the experience. I cut in around all the switchplates and did some of the painting around windows/doors/corners.

So once the bedroom paint was dry, I put all the furniture back, hung some new art and mirrors and did some decorating. Below is what the "new" bedroom looks like. Yea, I know, it still sorta looks like white walls, but it isn't. The color didn't come out exactly as shown on the paint card, but at least it's warmer than white walls. I was going for a light-but-rich cream color. It looks like that in some light, but in other light has more of a pink undertone to it.

I have been furnishing and decorating my place on and off for nearly the entire 8 months that I've lived here. It has been a true pleasure and so much fun. I watch for the sales and I do a little bit at a time to keep the financial expenditures under control (I'm living on a pension now, after all). This recent nesting process reminds me how passionate I was about interior design/ decorating in my 20s, when I got one of those mail order degrees in the subject. I never had the confidence at that time to actually get a job doing it, or strike out on my own doing it, but now I'm thinking "Hey...I'm not so bad at this."

Sometimes our passion for something and our confidence to take it somewhere don't coincide at the same time in our life. That's okay. All I know is that I'm having a ball doing it now!

To quote my friend Pam, "Nests are best!" Happy nesting from my nest to yours (with apologies to Paula Deen).

The joy of independence

2008-09-03T09:20:00.015-04:00

My 75-year-old mother has come to the realization that she shouldn’t do everything for herself (like being up on a tall ladder washing her house). Being that my siblings and I live hundreds of miles away, the fact that she has acknowledged the need for occasional assistance is of great comfort to us.

I understand my mother’s desire to be independent, though, because I am the same way. Like my mother, I have lived alone for many years; until just the past few years, I rarely asked for help with anything, even though I am barely 4’6”and am not physically able to move, carry or reach a lot of things by myself.

When I was in my 20s and 30s, I refused to ask for help—I was Miss Independence. I did things by myself that I shouldn’t have done—things that my back aches just thinking about now. I remember buying my first microwave (back when they were new technology and half the size of my tiny kitchen). I moved that box (which was much larger than the microwave due to the packaging) from the car, up the stairs, into and through my apartment, unpacked it, and then hefted it up onto the kitchen counter. That could have been accomplished in 5 minutes if I'd asked for help; but it took me forever to go one painstaking inch at a time because the box was not only very heavy but way beyond the reach of my tiny arms to carry.

This past Monday—Labor Day, appropriately—Miss Independence re-emerged. I decided it was time that I learn to paint—walls. I have two close friends who live nearby and are very good at interior painting; one of them, in fact, painted my master bath for me. But I wanted to see if I could do this by myself. Armed with an 8-foot ladder for my 9-foot ceilings, I began in a small alcove that leads to the bathroom. I did all the taping first and then the edging and then the painting. It took me hours just to do the alcove, esp. since the paint roller pan only fit my ladder in a few locations, so I couldn't move it to the level where I was painting and had to reach through the ladder to load my roller/brush. When I finally descended the ladder for the last of what felt like hundreds of times that day, my feet ached horribly, my neck was stiff and I was spent.

The difference between Miss Independence at 25 and at 55 is that the 55-year-old can admit when she’s beat. I’m going to ask my friends for their help to paint the rest of the bedroom. Did I fail? Oh no. The joy inside me when I lay in bed Monday night looking at the newly-painted alcove was so full-to-bursting that it far overcomes any feeling of failure. Miss Independence just wanted to see if she could do it—and she did. The fact that she didn’t do it all by herself is of no importance. The fact that she tried when she was afraid to try (and fail) is huge.

The joy of being a kid at heart

2008-08-30T19:17:00.016-04:00

You remember that TV commercial that goes "I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid..."? I think that was written for me. :) I am a huge afficianado of video games, and I spend far more time than I'd like to admit playing them (especially now that I'm retired!).

Those who know me know that my #1 game addiction is The Sims 2, an amazingly realistic PC video game in which you design, build and decorate houses and then design simulated people (i.e., Sims) to live in them. Oh yea, and you run their lives for them. It's kind of like the opening to the old Twilight Zone TV show --"We control the vertical...we control the horizontal...". In The Sims, you are in charge of fulfilling the lives of all your peeps--getting them jobs, friends and husbands/wives, having children, the whole tamale. It's the perfect game for a creative, detail-oriented, anal-retentive lazy butt with control issues like myself. :)

Most adults who get Sims Fever lose the thrill after a few weeks or a few months at most; I've been playing The Sims for over 5 years now. I still play pretty much every day. I have filled up several Sim towns with houses and Sims that I designed. My older brother is a builder in Florida. I often think of there being two builders in our family--just that he builds the real ones. Here are a few of my recent creations in The Sims 2:

And here's what the first house looks like INSIDE:

Another of my favorites is Pogo (http://www.pogo.com/). My addictions there change over time. Right now, my favorite game is Golf Solitare (http://www.pogo.com/games/golf-solitaire), a wickedly competitive card game that consists of five rounds. Whomever has the highest score at the end of 5 rounds wins; but, oh, how that scoreboard can change during those 5 rounds! It's always fun to see if I can race to the top and leave the others in my dust, but even as skilled as I've gotten at the game, it all comes down to the luck of the draw. Bad cards can send ya packin'!

So what about you? Are you still a kid at heart? How do you humor the kid inside?

The joy of cooking

2008-08-28T14:29:00.003-04:00

If I had a Food Network show, it would be called either “The Lazy Chef” or “The Industrious Chef.” I know those two adjectives seem at odds with one another, but that’s because my cooking is usually at one end or the other of the spectrum—quick & easy or full steam ahead.

I have a bad habit of waiting until I’m hungry to start thinking about what to cook, which means that I end up making whatever is quickest or easiest. That is the realm of The Lazy Chef. To try to counter my Lazy Chef, I often cook multiple servings of one dish on the weekend so I have something healthy and satisfying—but also quick and easy—to reheat during the week. This is where The Industrious Chef enters the picture. Between being a picky eater and a Lazy Chef, I have an aversion to cooking from recipes (at least to using them as written); most of what I cook is either a dish I made up, recreated from a dish I ate in a restaurant or morphed from one or several recipes.

My latest experiment was to recreate my favorite dish at a local Mexican restaurant which they call spicy pulled pork tacos. The pork is shredded, tender and succulent, and spicy without being obnoxious. I’ve had a similar dish at other restaurants where it was called pork carnitas, but I found out that classic pork carnitas are fried in lard and are crispy whereas the pork in the dish I wanted to recreate was slow-roasted and juicy.

After perusing a half dozen or so recipes on the web and choosing ingredients or cooking methods from them that fit my purpose, I created a spice rub of chili powder, cumin, oregano, cinnamon, black pepper, two varieties of Mrs. Dash and a tiny dash of season salt (being hypertensive, I have to watch my salt intake--my preference would be to have added more salt for flavor).

I’d found boneless country style pork ribs on sale, so I used those in case the experiment was a bust. After rubbing the pork with the spice rub, I put it in a heavy, covered roasting pan with about 2/3 bottle of amber beer, a splash of Worchestershire sauce, 2 roasted, peeled and chopped Anaheim peppers and 2 bay leaves. I roasted the pork “low and slow” on 250 for 2 hours. I then pulled some of the pork apart to see if it was cooked through and at the level of tenderness that I desired. It was cooked through, but not as tender as I wanted, so I lowered the heat to 200 and put it back in--about another hour, I think.

The aroma that issued forth from my kitchen was incredible and the depth of flavor was definitely pleasing to the palate. It wasn’t a perfect recreation of the dish I’d had in restaurants, but it was delicious. I pulled the pork apart and let it sit in the cooking liquid (but out of the oven) a while longer so more of the meat surface got flavored. I made some brown rice, threw in some rinsed pinto beans, and used the pork cooking liquid to flavor the beans. I wrapped some of the shredded pork in a tortilla with salsa, served it with the rice and beans, and I was in heaven.

While my pork definitely had a spicy undercurrent, it wasn’t as bold as the dish I was trying to recreate. After having the pulled pork with salsa, I decided that, when I make this again, I will add ½ a jar of salsa to the pan liquids that the pork slow cooks in and reduce the beer by half.

That is an experiment for another day. Right now, the Lazy Chef needs to heat up some spicy pulled pork with rice and beans for her dinner! :)

The joy of helping others

2008-08-27T17:27:00.007-04:00

My hat is off to people who are so completely selfless that they will put themselves in any situation, even physical danger, in order to help others. That is not me. However, I do like to help. I have done a smattering of volunteer work here and there over the years while I was working full time, but I was too selfish to give up my precious few evening hours (I worked 10-11 hour days) to volunteering. Hence, I always said that, when I retire, I want to commit much more time to doing more volunteer work.

Within a few weeks of my retirement date, I had already registered my desire to help on four different volunteer projects in my area via Volunteer Match (www.volunteermatch.org). VM is a fabulous website that allows you to tailor your search for volunteer opportunities in your area to just within a certain distance or just in certain subject areas, etc. They will email you an updated list matching your search criteria as often (or as little) as you like. I recommend VM to anyone looking to volunteer (whether a little or a lot).

In the last few years leading up to my retirement, I had these grand visions (okay, fantasies) of the impact I could make through volunteering and how it would work in my life (and enrich it)--however, there were several stark realities that got in the way of my master plan:

1) I knew that there would be fewer volunteer opportunities where I now live as a retiree than where I had been living before; however, I did not realize how substantial an impact this would have on my plans. When I lived in the DC area, the list that resulted from my VM search criteria was overwhelming in terms of trying to decide which of the opportunities on many pages of those offered I may want to try. In Delaware, I have a much smaller list and have to hunt more to find a few things I might want to do.

2) Not only are there less opportunities here, but the distance to drive to what ones there are is greater. For example, animal welfare work was at the top of my list of volunteer projects, but there are no shelters in my town--I have to drive almost 30 minutes (one way) to the county seat just to find an SPCA shelter. With the price of gas what it is, that definitely impacted my decisionmaking. When I lived in the DC area, I could find multiple volunteer opportunities that were 5-10 minutes away where I lived or worked.

3) Volunteer organizations move at their own speed, which can be very frustrating if you are motivated and ready to start helping! :) This I already knew to some extent from my volunteering experience in the DC area. The opportunities I applied for through the county's Retired and Senior Volunteer Program (RSVP) were a piece of cake (this is a national program, by the way, so if you are 55 or older, I urge you to look up your local RSVP office). The RSVP coordinator got back to me very quickly and I had a meeting with her within a week of expressing my interest on Volunteer Match. Other volunteer programs, not so much.

I started my first volunteer "job" in mid-July. It is not remotely like anything that I had conjured up in my "Dream Volunteer Job" fantasies. It is, in fact, a paid job that they can't afford to hire anyone to do. Since 30 years of my Federal career were in a related area, I figured it might be interesting to see the same programs from a completely different angle, so I said I'd help. Because I'd just retired from a 37-year Federal Government career 6 weeks before and this was way too close to the desk job I had just left, I told them I would only work two half-days per week and they agreed.

I am just a voice on the phone to people in need--people who can't pay the rent, can't feed their children, can't pay for child care, don't have medical insurance, etc. I don't actually provide the help they need, but I am a conduit to getting them to it. I am a small cog in a very large wheel that is designed to provide help to those who need it; but even being a small cog feels pretty good. When I feel I have done my best to provide a friendly, understanding voice on the other end of the phone and to give them the information they're seeking, it's great.

The biggest benefit of this "job" is that it reminds me every week how blessed I am. I own my own home, I can pay my mortgage and bills, I have medical insurance and I can buy groceries. I am not wealthy by any means and there may be times that finances are tight (especially now that I am living on a pension) but, compared to someone who can't feed their children, is being evicted from their home or is sitting in the dark because they had to make a choice between the rent and the electric bill, I am doing just fine. While it is disheartening to hear so many sad stories, it brings the news stories about the economy to a much more personal level.

I have plans to get into more areas of volunteering. I attended a meeting today for an organization that is dedicated to teaching people how to manage their pets during a disaster. I still have the SPCA on my "maybe/likely" list. I've also contacted an organization that is building a no-kill animal sanctuary in the area. In the long term, I'd also like to get involved in the area of literacy--anything from reading to pre-school children to tutoring school-age children to teaching children or adults to read.

Helping others helps me feel like I am connected to humanity and to my community. If you're not already volunteering, I encourage you to check out Volunteer Match and see how you could use your talents to help others. It may take a village (to quote Hillary Clinton), but one person can still make a big difference to someone in need.

The joy of...laziness? :)

2008-08-26T00:30:00.005-04:00

I took a week off from blogging. It was not a happy week. Nothing serious, just was not in a good mental space--and it's kinda hard to write about joy when you're not feeling it, ya know?

I give myself a hard time sometimes about just vegging out--being a couch potato--or, in Sheri lingo, being a lazy butt. I really took lazy buttedness to a new art form last week. Talk about unproductive. Sheesh. But, ya know, maybe that's just what I needed. It's not SO bad to just lounge around sometimes. I'll keep reminding myself of that. Meanwhile, it seems I've come out of my funk and I hope to be back to writing regularly again.

So, I'm still here. Are you? I hope SOMEONE is reading this. LOL

If you are, please hit the comment button and let me hear ya!

The joy of sleep

2008-08-18T19:44:00.006-04:00

I'm a VERY heavy sleeper. I have slept through a fire alarm going off right outside my apartment door (and a fire in my next-door-neighbor's apartment), lightning striking a transformer outside my bedroom window, and many storms that would awaken most folks. I lived most of my life across the street from either a train station or a train yard and was rarely ever bothered by the noise.

There will no doubt be some people who will read that and be envious of my ability to sleep so soundly. However, *I* have always been envious of people who can wake up at the desired time without an alarm--who could just say to themselves "I need to be up at 6 a.m." and then magically awake at 6 a.m. That is miraculous to me. Even WITH a alarm clock (with 2 alarms on it), I was lucky to make it to work on time many days (one of the downsides to living alone is that there's no one to kick your behind out of bed if, in a sleep-induced stupor, you accidentally turn off the alarm and go back to sleep). I hate waking to an alarm--or even the radio. At least with the advent of clocks fitted with CD players and nature sounds, I managed to awake less jarringly in the past several years.

For 37 years, I awoke to an alarm clock at least the 4-5 days per week that I worked--and sometimes even the days that I didn't, in order to go to the gym, doctor appointments, etc. For the last 5 years before my retirement a few months ago, I was chronically sleep deprived because I decided that the only way I could consistently exercise was to do so before work in the morning. I'm one of those people who needs a pretty solid 7 1/2 to 8 hours of sleep a night. I went to bed at a reasonable time on work nights--between 10:15 and 10:30 p.m.--but would read a while and then still often could not fall asleep right away. My alarm went off at 5:15 a.m. on workdays for my workout and then it was into the shower, the whole hair and makeup routine, finding the right outfit, and off to work by 7:15.

I'm finding that one of the greatest joys of retirement is sleeping...and sleeping in. I don't wake to an alarm anymore except for two mornings per week that I volunteer. It is wonderful to just sleep until I awake--whenever that is. Most days, I'm still up by 7-7:30 a.m. and fall asleep much more easily at night than I used to. Because of the heat, I tend to be out the door for my walk--if it's a walking day--by 7 a.m. so that I can enjoy my walk instead of being uncomfortably broiled by the sun.

One of my favorite moments of the day is when I first awake. I lay there and I decide--do I feel like getting up now? If the answer is no because I still feel groggy, I turn over and go back to sleep. What luxury! I have a ceiling fan in my bedroom and I love the feel of moving air on my skin and in my hair as I awake. Sometimes I just lay there snuggled in my high-thread-count sheets and smile like a crazy person with joy.

When I say that I take joy in small things, I am not kidding. :) Taking joy in small things helps me stay in touch with how blessed I am...and staying in touch with how blessed I am helps me to be a more positive person...and being a more positive person makes me a happier and more contented person--both inside myself and with other people. See how that works? :)

The joy of a good book

2008-08-17T10:37:00.014-04:00

I have loved reading for as long as I can remember, but I have probably read more in the past 12 years than at most times of my life. I had two inspirations for not only increasing the amount of reading I did, but for pushing me outside the realm of genre fiction, where I had been stuck for many years. They were:

The Oprah Book Club: Back in 1996, when Oprah first started her book club, I read most of the books she recommended in the first year and loved nearly all of them. This was the first time since perhaps high school that I read what I would call "literary fiction," so it really opened my eyes to the quality of fiction that was available. After the first year, I grew tired of the heavy depressive stories Oprah was recommending and stopped reading them.

Bookaccino: Not long after my "year of Oprah," I discovered an AOL chat room called Bookaccino. They were the most well-read people I had ever "met," and chatting with them was always interesting (and usually hilarious)--not to mention that they were a pot of gold in terms of reading recommendations. During the years I was active there, I had scraps of paper taped around the edges of my computer containing lists of book titles that had been recommended to me. Like my first year with the Oprah Book Club, through Bookaccino I discovered authors I'd never heard of and read some amazingly high-quality work.

These days, I mostly split my reading time between nonfiction, mystery thriller fiction and literary fiction. Here are the books I am currently reading:

The Book of the Dead by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child. (mystery/thriller) A page turner about the re-opening of an allegedly cursed ancient Egyptian tomb in a NY museum, it requires much suspension of disbelief, but has proved to be highly enjoyable thus far. I would have probably never bought this book if I picked it up in the bookstore, but I saw it on a "borrowing rack" where I volunteer and asked if I could read it.

The World Below by Sue Miller. (literary fiction) This was passed on to me at my retirement party, with a huge recommendation, by a former coworker. It is a nice, quiet story about a woman who inherits her grandmother's house; upon moving there, she finds and reads her grandmother's diaries and comes to understand more about her. This is a very well-written book and a lovely story but, unlike the above, it is not (for me) an exciting read. Just right for a few pages every night at bedtime.

I just recently finished reading two books at very different ends of the likability spectrum:

Waiter Rant by The Waiter (aka Steve Dublanica). (nonfiction) Steve tells stories about being a waiter in a high-end NY restaurant--from crazy chefs & owners to addiction-prone waitstaff and annoying customers. He also provides do's and don'ts for restaurant patrons and outlines tipping ettiquette. This was not only a thoroughly enjoyable read (the guy definitely has writing talent), but included some very helpful information as well.
Blind Speed by Josh Harkan. (fiction) I have never been so glad NOT to have paid for a book in my life. Like The Waiter, Mr. Harkan seems like he may have writing talent--it's just not displayed in this book. It is a wacky tale of a sad-sack guy who gets a reading from a psychic telling of terrible things to come. Both of his brothers are hugely successful, which only puts a bigger spotlight on what a loser he is. This is 1 of only 2 or 3 books I've ever thrown against the wall when I finished it. The only reason I finished it is that I had an obligation to provide a review of it and didn't feel I could fairly review it without finishing. It was a slow, painful slog, let me tell you.

You can find my reviews of the above two books and many others on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/gp/cdp/member-reviews/A3JCWGHCVC2ZNF?sort_by=MostRecentReview&display=public&x=8&y=9

Feel free to use the comment link at the bottom of this post to let me know what you're reading these days!

The joy of a long walk

2008-08-16T10:35:00.017-04:00

When I lived in the Washington, DC area, my walks averaged around an hour. My favorite walking route there was through an upscale neighborhood where all the lawns were professionally landscaped and the streets were tree-lined. This route was part flat/part steep hill and part sun/part shade. In the warmer weather, it allowed me to escape the sun/heat and do the most taxing part of my walk in some shade. The steep hill in this neighborhood was also a GREAT cardiovascular workout (and not bad for the legs and fanny either!).

When I moved to Delaware in January 2008, I was physically and emotionally spent from the stress of preparing to move plus the move itself. In the weeks just before and after the move, I was getting plenty of exercise unpacking, going up and down the ladder, hefting boxes, etc., so I didn't worry about working out. I got very ill within a few weeks of moving, which further delayed my return to regular exercise. As so often happens, days turned into weeks and then months that I did not return to my exercise routine other than occasional short walks as the weather allowed. Like many good habits, exercise can be a hard habit to get into but a frustratingly easy one to get out of.

When I retired at the end of May, I pledged to get back to my routine of exercising 5 days per week. My first goal was to work out 3 times a week. I have now made it back to where I am pretty regularly hitting 4 or 5 workouts per week. However, my walks here are still shorter. Part of that is because of the heat and the fact that I am just working my way back into fitness after 5 months of inactivity, and part of it is because where I'm living now is a very different landscape--there are almost no trees/shade where I live and what trees there are are not in a place where I could walk. It's also VERY flat, so it can be boring mentally and unchallenging physically.

I went down to the boardwalk this morning with the goal of a longer walk. It was in the upper 60s and the sun was shining blindingly over the ocean. I walked from one end of the boardwalk to the other (a mile) and back (all but a block) and then cut over to nearby Lake Gerar and walked one loop around the pond and back over to the boardwalk where my car was parked. With stretches, it was just at 1 hour. It felt great to go back to a longer walk and I know that, once we get into the consistently cooler weather, I will go back to doing my long walks again. I will just have to put more energy into finding more interesting/fun walking routes here and getting motivated to drive to them vs. taking the easy way of walking near home.

The boardwalk was teaming with life this morning--joggers, bikers, walkers and tourists. There are LOADS of people taking that last summer vacation before school starts. It is easy to get annoyed at people who don't watch where they're going, want to take over the whole sidewalk/boardwalk, etc. Instead, I remind myself of my blessings...I can walk on the boardwalk anytime...I have my mobility...I can walk for an hour if I want! :)

(Picture taken just north of the end of the boardwalk where I start & end my walks and where I come to cool down after I finish.)

The joy of a quiet moment and a cool breeze.

2008-08-15T11:54:00.006-04:00

I bought my first home, a 2-BR/2-BA condo, the day after I turned 55--I know, late bloomer much? How many people can say that the first home they owned was their retirement home?!? I LOVE my place and I have had so much fun decorating it. One of my favorite spots is the veranda. It wraps around the back of my place in a big L shape, with sliding glass doors into the master bedroom, livingroom and dining room. When the weather is nice, as it has been this past week, I can open all the veranda windows and sliders and get an incredible breeze through most of the condo. To go a week without air conditioning in August is some kind of miracle for me! My place in the DC area had no cross ventilation so the AC was nearly always on in summer.

I've recently taken to sitting in a comfy chair in the back corner of my veranda in the late afternoon/early evening to read. Yesterday afternoon, I sat out there re-reading The Secret (something I've been meaning to do for a while) and highlighting passages that particularly resonated with me. I have a tiny little stereo out there and listened to Keali'i Reichel, a Hawaiian singer I discovered on my first trip to Hawai'i in 1997. His voice is so clear and pure--it always puts me in a relaxed and serene state--and, of course, because many of his songs are sung in his native language, listening to him reminds me of Hawai'i.

The combination of enjoyable reading, calming songs, strong breeze and the sounds of nature (birdsong, crickets and cicadas) made for a joyous moment of quiet reflection. I know that not everyone has the joy of solitude that I do. Many people are afraid to be alone with themselves and fill up every moment with family, friends and activities. But sitting there, alone, reading and taking in all of those sensations--that is pure joy to me. In fact, I had to force myself to not get in TOO relaxed a position while reading because I've fallen asleep out there a few times! After living in a place for 30 years that made it difficult to get much of a fresh breeze inside, I am finding that just sitting and revelling in the feel of a cool breeze on my skin is a joy in itself. It is like that sort of lazy stupor you get after you've spent the day at the beach--the combination of exertion, fresh air and sunshine.

If you'd like to check out Keali'i Reichel's work, try this link:
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_m?url=search-alias%3Dpopular&field-keywords=Reichel

The CDs of his I own are all outstanding:
Kawaipunahele
Melelana
Lei Hali'a

The joy of a guilty pleasure

2008-08-14T05:36:00.000-04:00

Have you ever liked a song, book, movie or TV show that you might have been a little (or maybe more than a little!) embarrassed to admit to others was a favorite of yours? That's a guilty pleasure. There is a large spectrum in guilty pleasures, of course--some pleasures are just barely guilty and shared by many others (though your friends and family may not be among them) and some are deliciously guilty (i.e., you rarely tell others that you're into them).

One of my favorite guilty pleasures is reality TV. Oh sure, reality TV is HUGE (especially in the summer, when there is nothing else to watch) and some of the hottest shows on television are reality shows. But here, too, there is a spectrum. You have your mainstream reality shows like American Idol, which has many millions of fans from little kids up to grandmas. Then you have gems like Living with the Lohans, Celebrity Fit Club, and some of those rock and rap star ones that I don't even know the names of (competing for Flav-a-Flav? yikes). My favorite night of reality TV right now is Wednesday night.

I start Wednesday evenings with Greatest American Dog which, when you get right down to it, isn't that great a show--but, hey, it has cute dogs doing tricks (go Bill & Star!)!

Next is one of my favorites, Project Runway on Bravo. Every season, I get the bug to sew when the PR hits the air. You get a sewing class, a fashion show and the drama of a bunch of creative and slightly crazy people pushed to their limit all on one show. Fab! I adore Tim Gunn, who is sort of a designer den daddy. He has the unenviable job of telling a designer when they are going down the wrong path with one of their outfits. As a designer, you never want to hear Tim Gunn say the words "I'm concerned." Especially when you have 2 hours before the deadline when a model will parade your fashion down a runway in front of some of the most critical judges on television (Elle editor Nina Garcia is straightforward with her painful remarks, while designer Michael Kors is often more hurtful by the jokes he makes about your outfit).

To close out the night, there is Shear Genius--Project Runway for hairdressers. Talk about embarrassment. How about cockily walking around the first few days of the show telling your fellow contestants that you've won an Emmy for hairstyling--and then being the first voted off? Ouch. This show borders on embarrassment more than most of the reality TV I watch. Some of these people are truly talented, no doubt about it, but some of them? Lord have mercy.

Reality show producers are really talented at casting people who will hate each other or at casting big personalities that the audience will love to hate. That's what makes the drama, which often makes for the best ratings. However, my tolerance for bitching and screaming only goes so far. This season of Big Brother, for example, has gone too far on a few occasions--descending into a finger-pointing, in-your-face, screaming throwdown. That is not why watch reality TV.

So why DO I watch reality TV? I love to watch total strangers (usually) of disparate lifestyles and personalities learn how to cope with one another and with the pressure of competition. Many contestants leave reality shows saying that it's been one of the best experiences of their lives--and I think that, in part, is because it often forces them see themselves from a different perspective and challenges them to step outside their comfort zone.

The joy of exceeding one's own expectations

2008-08-13T10:44:00.000-04:00

Like many people, I am not particularly enamored with exercising but, for reasons of health and weight control, I do my best to make peace with it. I usually exercise 4-5 times per week and vary between aerobic, toning and weight training workouts.

Power walking is my favorite exercise. As noted in my profile, I am a newbie to the music revolution that is iPod. A few months ago, I bought an iPod Nano, and an armband designed for it, so that I could have better musical motivation for walking. I have been downloading music from iTunes and creating different kinds of playlists for walking--the current tunes walk, the classic tunes walk, the I-don't-feel-like-walking-today easy walk and the I-am-woman-hear-me-roar kickass power walk.

Last week, I downloaded two tunes that were beyond the bpm (beats per minute) that I usually walk. One is a faster workout remix of Gwen Stefani's Cool and the other is One Two Three Go by Belanova (iTunes Store links to both are provided at the end of this post). The next day, I walked to the new playlist I'd created which included both songs as the pinnacle of the high energy part of the walk. Cool started and I tried to increase my walking tempo to match the beat. Within 30 seconds, I was thinking "OH MY GAWD! This is too hard! I can't do it!" and shortly thereafter skipped to the next song. I did walk through 1-2-3 Go but at a slower tempo. I was feeling a little defeated, which is never a happy feeling, much less after a workout.

This morning, I tried the same program again. This time, instead of walking in the narrow no-sidewalked neighborhood roads where I often trek, I went out on the open road and walked the bike trail on the shoulder. I am not a big fan of walking while traffic is going by me at 40-50 MPH, but I do it now and then when I want a change of scenery. When Cool started, my brain immediately sent out the "You can't do this, remember?" signal, but I was feeling spunkier today so I said "SHUT UP!" and engaged the I-am-woman-hear-me-roar power walker within.

I was busting ass down this highway, all (nearly) 4'6" of me chugging like a freight train and, the next thing I knew, I had it--I found the rhythm and kept up with it. I made it the whole way through Cool and about halfway through 1-2-3 Go before I had to take my speed back down. When I went back to what I had been walking to before Cool, it feel like cooldown music! WOW, what a great feeling. Even more, I think, than the joy of accomplishing that was the joy of beating back that voice that says "You can't do this."--to keep going...to not give in and give up...to persevere.

Joy is saying "Yes, I can!" when your brain tells you "You can't."

http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?id=270550688&s=143441

http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?id=285990712&s=143441

The joy of a fantastic burger.

2008-08-12T15:03:00.000-04:00

Don't tell my doctor this but, while I have substantially reformed my eating over the past 5 years to keep my cholesterol and triglycerides in check (because I didn't want to go on cholesterol-lowering medication to do so), I do still take occasional trips to the "dark side."

Today, on my way home from volunteeering, I decided to stop in to one of my new favorite casual places for lunch--the Greene Turtle. It's a sports bar and I am not one who usually enjoys sports bars (not to mention sports), but I really like the food there and service is usually pretty good. Today, I had what they call "The Pigskin"--a burger with ham & cheese on top. Instead of the little tub of mayo that comes with it, I asked for some spicy BBQ sauce.

I can tell you where I found my joy today, people--at the Greene Turtle, with BBQ sauce smeared all over my face and a really good burger in my belly. That was one spicy slice of joy right there. Yummo! as Rachael Ray would say.

So here I sit, back at home, on my ample backside typing about it and wishing I had followed my own damage-reduction rule of eating only HALF the burger--but oh, it was good. Let's just say the Devil made me do it. Everything in moderation, after all. :)

Welcome inside my joy.

2008-08-11T19:47:00.000-04:00

I was sitting on the veranda the other day with all the windows open, enjoying the unseasonably marvelous weather we were having. I was trying to finish a book for which I owed a review, but was restless, so I picked up a journal that was laying nearby and read some old entries. It reminded me that I've wanted to try blogging but worried that I wouldn't be able to keep up with it. Now that I'm retired (wheee!), I guess it's as good as time as any to give it a try.

Retirement has been good to me--even though it has only been 2 1/2 months. I feel lighter, happier, and more blessed than ever--hence the name of this blog. It sounds so cliched, but I read "The Secret" last year and have really tried to incorporate positivity and the law of attraction into my life. It has worked splendidly so far, so I can't argue! :)

So this blog will be (mostly) positive thoughts on life, retirement, and finding joy in the little things that happen to us every day.

I look forward to hearing from you and about how and where you find joy.
Sheri