The Saggy Remainder Years Challenge

Most days I know what I believe, I think about it quite a bit. On what if days, who knows what will cross my mind?

I can see myself as a fat old lady stuck on a broke island waiting to die, which is true or as the adventurous daredevil traveling to beautiful places alone in her spare time, also true.

In between all these good times, I sure can feel sorry for myself. There’s no getting over you, my darling, even after four years.

God, thanks for the opportunity to have the tribulations that balanced my trials. One’s life should be a wild ride; oh, the shit, you do over the years.

Opting out on children means you don’t get to be grandma. It was my husband I never planned on living without. This majorly sucks and how do I let go of the loss enough to enjoy the saggy remainder years of my life?

That’s exactly the challenge; make the best out of the remainder when every day is bitch or brag and the best may be a pain-free day. Our days no longer hold wide open promise; a day working in the garden means happiness.

Daily, my husband suffered physical pain but managed to love his life and bring joy to others; he was one of those guys. I’ve seen a great spirit live a humble life in torture. I can quit complaining. This is me shutting up, accepting the saggy, remainder challenge.

My Angel

Dearest Sister,

Very happy you’re better. Please, be healthy! I need you in my life. We cling to each other as girls in a raft.

To be with you again soaking up your loving care, I can’t wait. Last I saw you was during the worse time of my life. I never could look at life without my husband; you made me feel safe and not alone. It felt like the first growth of life after devastation.

How many times in a lifetime do you recognize a soul mate across a room crowded or otherwise? And, yet, there we were.

Can we doubt God has a plan? You were the angel whose caring reminded me that God cares. Your presence united us; being mad with God doesn’t feel nice.

I miss our conversations and am eager to get to know your country better. Who am I kidding? I can’t wait to hear the jazz, while I hear music I visit my happy place.

Two lifelong dog lovers attending an international FCI dog show; I shiver with delight; can’t wait. To stay with you until the book expo in January would be unfair, so we’ll limit my stay; you say how long. Between now and then I’ll be budgeting.

An unscrupulous company has been burrowing into my checking account, almost caused a huge problem when I was in New Orleans. I bought something on the internet, a cosmetic company began sending and charging for cosmetics that went to my post office box. The purchase as understood by me was a one time deal and I’ll let you know if I want more.

On my trip to New Orleans I encountered difficulty, of course, I budget for some but stood at the counter with not enough in my account to work already done. By the grace of God, I had just enough cash on me to cover. I don’t normally carry more than a twenty or two. My heart beat crazy counting.

I’m too old for this stress. I’m going to the bank to find out how to stop this. Nothing I saw on the cosmetics company website lead me to believe we had an ongoing relationship. I’ll bet this happens frequently. This seems like a sharp business practice, huh!

I could have been so screwed because big business didn’t play fair again. I’ve had a hard time since my return home; health comes with nourishment and exercise. As long as my government doesn’t default on me, I can handle my life.

When you’re up for it please send the correct name of the dog show and dates, town, etc. And the same for the jazz fest. Costs.

Let’s pray we’re not too old for fun; huh, Sister! 

Next Trip

What’s next? When living in a time suspended between past and future, planning a new adventure beats the hell out of dwelling on how much I miss my honey, so what’s next? 

An adventure frequently includes some peril such as the distinct possible of being alone on a boat dock late at night and the cell phone battery dead due to all the pictures you took. It happened to me last January in St. Thomas, but rather than that scenario I hopped into a private car with people I’d never seen before. My heart beat fast and I kept wiping moist fingertips on my pants. Fear  gave way to euphoria when I recognized the light in the distance as my hotel. The lines of waiting cabs left before I caught the ferry from Water Island, where I sat less than six feet away from a piano being played by Julian Gargiulo. The stars were out metaphorically; it drizzled sporadically during my time between heaven and earth, a surrealistic evening absolutely worth the peril.  

Memories give the heft to your soul, most of mine are of evenings enjoyed with my husband. That night, I thought about a Tennessee Williams play in which in the movie version Elizabeth Taylor belts out, “Maggie, the cat, is ALIVE! I’M ALIVE!” We were kindred spirits in that burst of joy  of life. Welcome to a positive, no wonderful memory during my time alone.

If only I could write a story to entice you to come along for the ride, I’d be a good writer, but I’m having enough difficulty in becoming the responsible  adult again. I just want to run away and play. The list of I shoulds grows but I get to prioritize. This could be fun.

Cuba calls me back. My sister from another life lives there. We met in  Trinidad in 2013. Have you ever had an energy connection with someone across a crowded room? This could have been a scene in the movie, Cloud Atlas, with Hallie Berry and Tom Hanks. Of all the people currently on the planet, two of  my best are in Cuba. 

In what Kirt would call, “One of your but firsts,” I want to attend another writers conference and spend more time in Florida. Old dude chic resonated on the Gulf Coast last year during my trip to Orlando from New Orleans. It’s funny that in my twenties I had a fantasy about driving Florida alone in my TR6; come to think about that car would still be fine for the drive if I can still drive stick. 

The hunt for an affordable airfare or what free music offerings are in the area begins my planning stage. This time the search includes writers’ workshops and conferences. Maybe its all in my head, but I think my writing gets better after a little effort. 

Home

I’m just a lonely widow past my productive prime living on an island where I don’t speak the language and have no family ties to the community. Why do I stay here?
It’s warm and beautiful; that’s enough for me. I can’t sell my house; three out of four houses up the road sit vacant and decaying. Maybe when they institute a real estate tax, people barely hanging on will leave. Sad because Puerto Rico grew a warm, loving culture that isn’t the same when Puerto Ricans come back from the states after generations they’re American just like the rest of us, which isn’t bad; it’s different.
What’s the value of living in a melting pot, if you don’t understand your ingredients? It’s like cooking; when I have a sniffing relationship with my vegetables and so forth, I appreciate the flavor when I’m done so much more. Too bad I’m not a good cook, I love to eat and travel.
Where ever I’ve been, I found people to be rather nice; even thieves and murders have charming moments. Mostly, I try to leave it up to God and the courts to decide what’s wrong.
One thing I’ve learned over and over is the value of not judging; being as it’s so difficult not to, I’ll call it a work in progress.
I value my belief that a higher power, a first cause, an intention evolved ahead of everything else; we came from the pleasure of that, which we call God. To my way of thinking to devalue another being in my mind devalues my thoughts of God; I found that profoundly disrespectful.
Looking at whomever I meet as God’s creation, a manifestation of God, that’s become a preoccupation because I love what I find so much of the time I pity the souls who are unable to connect. I adore nodding, smiling, and saying, “Hello.” To me, that connects with a lovely bit of God energy.
People talk about the power of positivity; a smile, a nod, and a greeting do we get a more basic positive exchange than that? We don’t because there’s a dark energy crossing the planet, but I don’t want to discuss that today.
I’m going back to New Orleans, home to the happiest years of my childhood, where I’ve returned throughout my life. New Orleans does weird really well and I’m a fan of weird. The local vibe being a familiar song feels comfortable like a big leather chair.
The loss of my husband depleted my positive energy. I can only handle so much of other peoples’ negative vibes before I need to rush to my corner, where I can see miles of green and blue beauty that God placed before us for our enjoyment.
That’s why Puerto Rico is my home.

Sugar Rush

Sugar, so sweet and delectable steered my holiday awry. Sugar, so tasty on the tip of the tongue carried mouths through foul odiferous words laying waste to friendship’s fleeting greeting.

Holiday ranking Happy Halloween at the top with sweet rewards based on the number of doors knocked would spawn a lifetime overachiever; who knew?

Change coasting on sedentary years informs senior bodies of the future. Take heed; don’t be stupid, but alas it’s inevitable.

My sugar tooth fairy flew in on Delta. Where’s the desert menu? Got to run; let’s go! Where’s the bakery? I haven’t seen any bakeries. Oh, would you look at that! It’s time for coffee and.

Let’s go; let’s go.

Here I am dark and rich; you know you want me. Dribbles on my lips gave me away; what could I say?

Dark chocolate led me down the path to pain and suffering.

Dark chocolate cake, please! I’d like a brownie.

And on the third day like a lump I laid unable to move complements of pain in ankles, knees, hips, and back. A new, never before discovered pain in my right shoulder stabbed the center of the joint as I heard the words Merry Christmas. WTF, what have I done to myself? My middle finger knuckle hurts.

New Year’s resolution: self-control. Is sixty-eight too late?

Culture Divergence

Culture or what my mind refers to as things other people do differently than what I do. Culturally differences can be as domestic as Catholic bingo versus Baptist picnics.

I’ve only understood culture on the broadest most superficial level. For me, it was one of those things I could see, but not truly identify, like an ethereal spirit.

Finally, I had an aha moment explaining why understanding came so slowly and uncomfortably; I thought of culture as what others do. What did I bring to the table? Some days people love me and other days I feel friction. What is it about me on those days?

In today’s climate, it’s all too easy to chalk it off to so and so just doesn’t like Americans or white people. And while I see a difference lately, I prefer to change what I can to minimize stress points.

In the Caribbean cultures I’ve met so far, one common thing is greeting ritual. “Good day, how are you?” Question and reply come before what you want. On a good day, I enjoy that, which is generally on my popular days.

On a bad day, I have no patience for all these good day rituals, I want to get in, get it over, and get out; that’s my American culture, which I won’t diminish by saying, or lack thereof. We may be brash, but we’ve always been good-hearted.

Putting on a good face helps, but many operate on the energetic level where they’re reacting to energy output. When you blast someone with hurry-hurry energy, push back occurs.

And sometimes I get so excited about a new experience, and then I see in some faces that their culture is more restrained. Write this down, no happy dancing after sixty-five.