Category: reflections

Did you miss me?

Life for me is good.

Where should I go?

Someone who had not seen any activity on my website asked me if I had been blogging recently. Okay, it was my sister. Still, it is nice to be missed. Thanks, Sis!

The challenge of writing three different posts each week had served its purpose. I wasn’t staying fit (fitenoughforlife), my grandsons rarely made an appearance (wearenotthewaltons), and retirement had eased into routine (restlessretirement). Thus, I combined the blogs into one (www.corneliusblogs.com) intending to focus less on short blog posts and push myself into writing essays.

Meanwhile, I accidentally deleted an important folder (writing) from my external drive requiring that I spend a ridiculous amount of time, energy, and angst retrieving it. FTI, wine and Southern Comfort does not reduce the angst.

Other first world privileged problems confronted me. Boring. You really don’t want to know. A friend once asked me if saying “first world problems” was helpful. Yes, it is. As soon as I say “first world” or “privileged”, I realize that I have no problems, just minor challenges. I have a roof or roofs (rooves?) over my head, plenty of food, clean water, and the internet. I am surrounded by people who love me and whom I love, all of whom irritate each other in varying degrees. All is good.

Here are my thoughts tonight. I am 71 years ago, approaching 50 years of marriage, and I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. Everything sounds interesting. So, tomorrow, I am running off to Mexico with friends escaping the Midwest winters. Later this year, Mike and I will run north to escape the Southwest summer.

Life for me is good.

Einsteinian Years

. Like a car that I drive with no mechanical knowledge of how it works, I appreciate a computer software that runs despite my ignorance of .php, backend, coding. . .

In the Special Theory of Relativity, Einstein determined that time is relative—in other words, the rate at which time passes depends on your frame of reference.

So True
This is my current calendar.

No Fireworks

The 2022 new year passed with little fanfare, each of us in the family isolated in our respective corners thanks to an outbreak of Covid over the holidays. Twenty-twenty-one dampened our enthusiasm for a new year, a continuation of the challenges of 2020 and 2021; we made no plans to celebrate. Twenty-twenty-two would be no different, at least for the first few months.

Einstein Years

Have you noticed that 2020 and 2021 have melded into one era in your memory? When recounting an event, I honestly do not know if it took place 6 or 18 months ago. Sometime during Covid is all I remember.

Striving for something new . . .

I forked over a chunk of money to a company to help me with my website, using stagnate travel funds freed up since we are going nowhere. You may have noticed that the three blogs are now on one site: corneliusblogs.com. I don’t know if I will like it, but bear with me, please.

The company 24/7wpsupport is actually very helpful, responding to my requests within hours, if not minutes. Most communication takes place via chat. Although I would prefer to speak with a live person, the chat is preferable so that the tech can understand my American accent, and vice versa. Screen sharing simplifies the process. The techs are patient and knowledgeable and call me Ma’am. Their accents betray their screen identities, totally incompatible with names like Justin, Austin, and Sarah. I am reminded of our former investment advisor, Bob. Nice, intelligent man from India or Pakistan. At the time, I was too ignorant to ask. “bob” appeared somewhere in the middle of his Asian name, so he adopted it as his American persona.  

The switch to a single website has elicited much anxiety reluctant as I am to tackle the technical aspects of the blog. Like a car that I drive with no mechanical knowledge of how it works, I appreciate a computer software that runs despite my ignorance of .php, backend, coding. . . The issue is not that I can’t learn it, but I would rather put my time and limited energy elsewhere.

Please continue with me.

Your support and comments keep me going. And I hope my posts bring you some joy.

Help! I Can’t See

I no longer want to fight my way through museums, theaters, airports, restaurants, and other venues. Time with the family to watch movies, play games, and enjoy good food is enough.

Chicago with mountains.

Baby, it’s cold outside. Mike and I are in Chicago to celebrate the holidays with all the kids. After I retired from church music in 2019, we committed to spending Christmas 2020 in Chicago until Covid shut down society. This year, feeling safe as the vaccine came out and venues reopened with precautions, we left the sun of Arizona along with ED and the boys. Nevertheless, plans have been altered. The tickets for A Christmas Carol were refunded because of production cast exposure to Covid. Plans with friends were discarded after a covid exposure in one case and cold symptoms in another.

We are traipsing through the icy wind of the Midwest pretending to have a good time. The difficulty isn’t just the cold for which we don many layers. My knitted cap presses against the flexible titanium eyeglass frames contorting them on my nose. The elastic of the face mask pulls the frames further askew, increasing the distortion and covering the lenses in steam. I stumble, alert for curbs, trying to adjust my depth perception. Thankfully, there is no snow or ice.

Most public places are crowded and noisy. Lipreading is impossible when the faces are obscured by masks garbling articulation. Few people speak loudly enough to overcome the ambient noise and the tinnitus that plagues me constantly. Just getting to a table in a restaurant is fatiguing. Casual conversation is impossible. Reservations are required for every activity.

We had planned to come for no more than 10 days but extended to 14 to accommodate airline travel. Under current conditions, 10 days would have been enough. I no longer want to fight my way through museums, theaters, airports, restaurants, and other venues. Time with the family to watch movies, play games, and enjoy good food is enough. Maybe next year.

Lost, But Not Forever

I scanned the area with little hope of recovering the earring. This was my third earring surrendered to Covid.

Not my jewelry box.

Everyone has a story: personal articles sacrificed as face masks are removed, flinging said article to oblivion. Friends’ stories of lost hearing aids remind me to attend when demasking.

My ears prop eyeglass frames and hearing aids with shades to go outdoors. There is little room to accommodate the elastic of the mask. I abandoned wearing earrings during the pandemic either because I was at home with no need to impress, or was reluctant to risk the loss. Occasionally I place a pair in my lobes just to keep the holes viable, a demonstration of hope.

This past week a friend took me out for a birthday lunch. Feeling festive, I donned one of my favorite pairs of dress earrings. “Dress” describes the style, not the value.

That afternoon, serving as pseudo-wife to my hospitalized cousin, I donned the required N95 mask, catching one earring, slinging it to . . . where? I felt it strike my blouse. A discreete search of said blouse and bra uncovered neither the precious metal nor its bullet clutch. The outdoor patio where I was dressing was covered with rough concrete surrounded by lightly maintained plant borders perfect for hiding small objects. With each successive visit, I scanned the area with little hope of recovering the earring. This was my third earring surrendered to Covid.

I contemplated throwing the survivor away but chose to place it on my dresser. And voila! Today as I did a final load of laundry before leaving for the holidays, the lost earring announced its appearance, clanging in the washing machine as I transferred clothes to the dryer. It felt like Christmas!!

I Disagree: Life is A Gift, Not a Trial

I sit in my shed, vibrant colors of my yard blessing me. I am not a theologian, nor am I a scientist. But I have read enough to be astounded that this planet with its abundant life exists at all.

Heaven?

My initial impulse was to slap the speaker, but restraining myself, I nodded politely. Unknown to this kind man of many years’ acquaintance, another close friend of mine had passed away too young. Not from Covid. But the politics of Covid had restricted our past months of friendship and now dictated the terms of our mourning.

So when my friend offered feeble excuses for refusing the vaccine, I attempted a smile while invisibly rolling my eyes. I was too tired to persuade him of the insanity of his thinking. And then, as a good born-again Christian, he said the words that boil my blood: I’m okay with dying since I know where I am going.

My thoughts went to the families of our friends who have passed away. All of whom would cherish more time on earth with their loved ones. I said my goodbyes to my friend and walked away.

I am not a theologian, but I am Christian. The mainstream Protestant denominations of which I have been a part have all moved away from preaching that the reward of life on earth is eternity with God. The message I hear now is that life as a gift. Teachings point us toward living with compassion, kindness, and generosity. One can assert a belief in the afterlife, but honestly, there is no way we can know. We know the present with enough challenges for a lifetime.  

[I didn’t want to put this in, but at this point believers will say that eternal life is real because the Bible says so. There are entire libraries devoted to this argument. I can’t comment here.]

I sit in my shed, vibrant colors of my yard blessing me. I am not a theologian, nor am I a scientist. But I have read enough to be astounded that this planet with its abundant life exists at all. As a child doesn’t need to understand the intricacies of fetal formation and birth to play and laugh, I don’t need to understand the hows and whys of geographical and anthropological development to value earthly existence.

I don’t want to hear about the rewards of eternal life. I want to see people value all life, human and otherwise. Jesus showed us how to live. He just happened to lose his life by doing so.

Where do you go to pray?

Find a place to pray. The world cries out for healthy souls.   

Where I go to pray.

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. 

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

Mary Oliver ~ Swan: Poems and Prose Poems

Ordinarily, I don’t go to the woods alone. I prefer to go with my friends who are smilers and talkers. Although I welcome the restorative qualities of nature, an environment populated by animals alarms me. I live in the city where the only snakes I encounter are human.

Writing and music are my woods, where I go to pray. Accompanying singers and making music with others is fun and stimulating, but sitting at the piano or playing my flute alone, I transcend to a space where smiling and talking are noisy interruptions. Writing settles my mind, centering me on the present.

Karen Armstrong confesses, I have discovered that the religious quest is not about discovering “the truth” or “the meaning of life” but about living as intensely as possible here and now.

Where do you go to pray? Just as the body needs sleep, the soul needs prayer. Not the heart-wrenching cries to a “Santa in the sky” god, but moments to connect with all living things so that we can live intensely. I call that connection ‘God’ although it doesn’t need a label. It’s awareness and appreciation of the miracle and fragility of life on this planet resulting in valuing all life.

Find a place to pray. The world cries out for healthy souls.   

It rained this week

Violent weather generates humility. I am small and powerless. But I also sense something bigger than myself, bigger than the earth, bigger than politics, and covid, and religion. It is the something that exists beyond but connects us.

Storms elicit fear and awe.

We moved to Arizona for sunshine and dry heat, driven away by the depressing gray clouds of Chicago which hovered low over my head, giving me headaches and lethargy.

My experience contrasted with C-boy’s future wife P-Dil,s who rejoiced in the rain when she moved from her childhood home in Arizona to Chicago. She astonished her Starbucks colleague, running outdoors whenever the clouds burst.

After 27 years in Arizona, I get it. When the rains come, we head outside. I sit on the patio, enjoying the pattering sound, the smell of moist dirt, and feel of the moisture watering the earth. When younger and unconnected to electronics, the boys would head out front on their bikes or scooters, splashing through puddles as we kept our eyes alert for the threat of lightning. Their joy was energizing.

The high heat of summer broke this week, allowing me to enjoy the outdoors as clouds rolled in during a late afternoon. The sunset added an orange tinge to the slight green of the gray clouds, reminding me of tornado weather in the Midwest.

A breeze blew and birds continued to sing, sure signs that a tornado was not imminent. I sensed a longing for turbulent skies that sent us scurrying to safety in the neighbor’s basement. And the relief when the storm passes safely by and we emerged to compare stories with friends.  

I am not glib. Having taken shelter during warnings and seen funnels form at a distance, I take tornados seriously. Violent weather generates humility. I am small and powerless. But I also sense something bigger than myself, bigger than the earth, bigger than politics, and covid, and religion. It is the something that exists beyond but connects us. One might call it God.

Every woman should have a wife

Long proclaiming that I was leaving the insanity of North America to seek peace in the happiest nation on earth, I am opting to get a writing shed for my yard. My friends have named it Norway.

“If my wife wanted to visit her parents in nearby Annapolis on a weekend day, I’d take advantage of the extra child care to disappear to a quiet corner of their house to write.”

— Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World by Cal Newport

“Want to take a drive and stop for ice cream?” was the lone request I addressed to my husband. Although sharing the house, our time together seems sparse, I in my corner and he in his.

The sluggish pace of our life controlled by Covid restrictions/fears and Arizona heat requires minimal management. ED does most of the shopping and evening meal preparation. Other than my household chores, my role is reduced to occasional suggestions for social events.

There was a time, however, when I envied men with wives who managed their appointments, children’s needs, social life, and family commitments. The cost of years of mother/wifehood is persistent alertness to others’ needs. Yes, we can multi-task, but getting into deep work is difficult.

As I write, I hear ED in the kitchen. Should I offer to help? Mike is at his desk. Should I see if he needs anything? Guilt sits on my shoulder, accusing me of neglecting friends and family.

There is more than enough time for me to pursue my interests, but my mind can’t focus on one thing.

Cal Newport’s book presents the rationale for the need for deep work, uninterrupted, concentrated attention for creative processes. I was cheering him on until I read the above sentence. Sure, his wife was handling the social side of family while he was hiding in the corner being creative. In his position, the guilt of ignoring family obligations would have driven me to giving in to forced sociability. Then feeling frustrated for ignoring my work. Women can’t win.

Guys don’t seem to suffer that remorse. A very informal survey of a group of writers revealed no men having issues with this type of distraction whereas the women were nodding in agreement. In fact, the men seemed perplexed by the question.

Not this Norway. But isn’t it lovely?

I am looking forward to see if moving to Norway improves the situation. No, not that Norway. Long proclaiming that I was leaving the insanity of North America to seek peace in the happiest nation on earth, I am opting to get a writing shed for my yard. My friends have named it Norway.

I won’t have a wife in Norway, but maybe the 20 feet between the house and shed will muffle the sounds in my brain.  

How did this happen?

It is a cliché to say that time speeds up with age. My own theory of relativity of time states that the time appears to move more quickly relative to the number of events and memories experienced. I wonder if I can get a Nobel for that idea.

In the blink of an eye.

Where are the boys?

It seems rather absurd that we can go days with only infrequent glimpses of the boys. They are at school weekdays followed by golf practice and disappear to their quarters or go out on weekends. Our schedules often preclude supper together. Noises coming through the ceiling from upstairs are the only evidence of their presence.

Each time their paths cross mine, I am astonished. How did they grow up so quickly?

Milestones

This week Blue Boy turned 17. The family is celebrating today after which the kids will head out for paintballing in the desert. On their own. Weird.

Ironically, my Baby Bro turns 60 today. 60!!! I still remember the family going to the drive-in movie the night before his arrival to view Pollyanna. My mother said, as she did every day, “Maybe Tom will come tonight.” (He was named before he was born, in the day when the gender was revealed at birth.) We pointed out that she said that every day.

The next morning, the family chalkboard bore the message: Went to the hospital to get Tom.

Going on 11 years old, I was more than excited and woke Big Bro to share the news, who insisted on reading the message for himself. We called everyone in the family and waited.

I like to remind Baby Bro that I changed his diapers.

What makes us feel old?

My mother once said that she felt old when her children started taking social security. I am discovering that many milestones remind me of my age. My Baby Bro’s birthday for one. My own children are aging so quickly that I have to do math to calculate their ages. Admiring my grandsons and their growth is another awakening.

Theory of Relativity per me

It is a cliché to say that time speeds up with age. My own theory of relativity of time states that the time appears to move more quickly relative to the number of events and memories experienced. I wonder if I can get a Nobel for that idea.

I want to walk

I want to walk to meander and dream, to work off frustration and despair of daily news, to connect with the divine. I need to walk, to calm the restlessness of retirement.

There is no better way to relax than a walk in the woods.

The theory here is that walking allows the brain to focus on something it already knows how to do, which gives the rest of your mind free rein to wander. Which is all to say that if you are stuck in the middle of writing a book or trying to figure out your life, perhaps the best thing you can do is walk.

House Lessons: Renovating a Life by Erica Bauermeister

I like to walk…

…especially when frustrated or simply between tasks. I am not surprised that creative meandering springs from neuronal firings (see quote above).

The temperature has dropped to double digits, but the air retains the oppressive heat of the summer desert. I am not walking outdoors in this heat. Nor am I rising at 4 am to join my family and friends committed to their routine while avoiding the worst of the day. At one time a morning person, I have come to appreciate my late risings while retired. Late meaning 8 a.m.

I joined a few friends virtually to follow a Leslie Sansone Walk at Home video. Caveat: get out the towel; you will sweat. But that is not walking outside, rambling in nature, where the brain keeps the legs moving while allowing the mind to wander.

Although our current neighborhood…

…is similar to the community we left seven years ago, I find this one less satisfying for walking. It might be more a reflection of my life situation than the setting itself.

The neighborhoods of the north side of Chicago are made for walking, streets lined with trees and gardens, shops offering interesting products and enticing window displays. Surroundings definitely affect the mood of the walk.

It was close to two years…

…following hip replacement that I achieved a level of walking that allowed me to let my mind wander. A few months later, a torn meniscus aggravated by arthritis forced a partial knee replacement, throwing me back into a conscientious gait. Now, one year later, I can feel my body ready to wander in body and mind.

But it is hot!!!

My tolerance for the heat has diminished with age and retirement. When working in AC all day, a few hours of heat in the evening were bearable, relieved by a dip in the pool. The freedom to go out at any hour, although a benefit of retirement, accentuates the unforgiving temperatures, urging me to stay inside.

I want to walk…

…to meander and dream, to work off frustration and despair of daily news, to connect with the divine. I need to walk, to calm the restlessness of retirement.