What Do We Want?

The world I want runs on compassion, respect, and love; it’s all here. When we behave in harmony with the lessons of Christ, which is my frame of reference growing up in the Catholic Church, life holds some sweet days. I believe in karma and that we’re growing into spiritual beings.

Admittedly, my understanding of the yin and yang concept needs fine tuning, but the Ouroboros symbol of the snake chewing its butt appalls me; can’t we do better than that?

Why does the snake eat its tail? Why is Congress consistently doing things that hurt the people? I can be blind to the obvious sometimes; why do I assume that people want to do good?

A friend of mine, a mafioso type from Chicago once said,

“As smart as you are, how come you’re no further along than you are?”

“I’m honest and do things legit.”

“Oh,”

I could hear disappointment and more in the one word.

This reminded me that many big businesses were funded by criminal endeavors; what does it take for me to get it that all the goodness and love in the world won’t change the greedy willing to do anything for money and power?

A career in government has become the latest path to riches and grand lifestyle with big business buying votes on both sides of the aisle.

Remember marching in the 60’s and the 70’s?

“What do we want?”

“When do we want it?”

Mitch McConnell is right Congress will never against big business influencing elections; why would they?

We, the people, need to be clear about what we want, one human, one vote. We don’t contribute all our working lives to have Social Security taxed or robbed by the rich.

As I recall from my studies a long time ago, we have the right of referendum to put something on a national ballot. Getting lobby perks, pact money, and free trips out of government will have to come from us or it won’t happen.

And then we’ll be heading in a direction where respect and compassion might thrive. 

New Days, Old Ways

Game of Thrones, The Last Kingdom, and The Tudors are some of my favorite shows. Perhaps it’s my overactive imagination, but sometimes I picture the cast of our Congress in medieval attire and our president with a crown banishing and tweeting with abandon waiting for the beheading to begin or maybe it has and I just don’t know it.

In the age of political correctness, we held our tongues and made a stab at considering the other guy’s feelings. Some people took that rather hard.

Given our history, we should understand by now that accepting others isn’t easy and figure out how to get over ourselves, but no, we’re the snake eating its own behind.

In the beginning of the age of political correctness, we learned about how win-win negotiation might actually be better for everybody than the historic win-lose warriors adore.

Paying lip service to respect for your opponent, giving value to the other guy’s wants couldn’t have been all that difficult; could it? What’s the worse that might happen; we gain empathy? Or heaven forbid we appreciate the other guy’s point of view.

Humans considering the wants and needs of others would be so utopia, so Renaissance. We strive for an age of enlightenment; what the hell happened?

Elected official freed to tackle citizen to the floor, power broker sends witch who laughed at him to the stockade, and a first son declares, 

“Democrats aren’t even human.”

Lords and ladies in charge of public programs figuring out how to keep the lower classes barefoot, dumb, and pregnant. If they wore their regal garb, we’d see them for the offspring of aliens they are.

A return to the Dark Ages doesn’t benefit people. If the one percent, the lords have no respect for the needs of the serfs, what are citizens going to do about it?

If we, the people are going to have any power of negotiation, perhaps we ought to do it before robots replace us in the workforce.

Whose Utopia would it be if the 1% outsourced the rest of the human race?

It Is a Big Deal

Sometime in my early sixties thoughts switched to retirement. As part of that process, one takes the look over the shoulder to see the accomplishments of a lifetime.  For me, it was the moment of looking myself in the eye to know that I had earned my respect.

So many things in life aren’t as big a deal as we make them out to be, but liking who you are at the end of your career is important. It’s not a number thing like he who dies with the most toys wins; they’re just toys. I’d rather have integrity than more money, but no mistake I wanted to earn a comfortable living and worked hard.

Over the years there’s always bad times, but I plucked along relentlessly. Earning a big salary may be its own reward, but spending years doing something I didn’t like never made me happy, so I followed the rule of love what you do.

Dogs have perfected the art of presence; in silence, they look at us and perhaps wag their tail with no obvious judgment. Since childhood, I have loved dogs; thank you, God.

After jobs and businesses I enjoyed, the last thirty years of my career I worked with dogs; what could be better? I played with dogs for a living until I ran a dog business that played with dogs, which is almost as much fun but paid better.

Nobody wants to leave a thriving business, but age ain’t easy, so you contemplate and consider before rebelliously declaring,

“I have another good ten years in me, maybe more.”

But the property and the business appraised at a tidy sum, so best think about it; it made so much sense to quit in time to enjoy life. My husband suffered from chronic pain, so he voted to go; we put it on the market and buyers came, but nobody could get a loan.

Bankers lead the news each evening, they called it, the “Great Recession.” Too big to fail, that was the slogan, followed by bailout and lay off.

My modest dog business didn’t count for shit when regular clients can’t afford daycare for the kids and dog, so the dog lived in the yard all day and other clients, I carried. My clients, my neighbors were upside down, as they called it, meaning they owed more than the property was worth. I wasn’t in that boat, but found myself working way harder for a lot less; it was an ugly time, I picked to absolutely need to rest.

We're beaten and broken over time, so when we’re done there’s no debating. I hated to give up everything when we were covering for banking crooks by decree of GWB and company because they caused my pain. Who gives a f---, right?

Greedy bankers invented new products to sell for more than it was worth, oops. We, the people, had to pay; I had to pay when I needed my lifetime payout, another oops.

The Dodd-Frank Act became law to prevent these same greedy bankers we bailed out less than ten years ago from doing the same thing to us again.

I am disgusted by a legislature that would consider repeal of Dodd-Frank. Does the abuse of the people need to become a real ass whipping before we say, “No.”

People in power talked around the problem until I felt dizzy, but superb performances from a stellar cast in The Big Short and Margin Call shine a light on the bad behavior of reputable robbers/bankers. These movies are the modern day equivalent of Redford and Hoffman getting the goods on Nixon.

What is my generation supposed to say to the next?

“Every generation gets its ass beat by government whores with fat wallets of big business money, shut your mouth and take it.”

Please, don’t. 

My Life Purpose Really

Lately, nothing pleases me. I spent all morning searching for a jazz festival in the Caribbean; the Cuban Jazz Fest cheered me somewhat. How bummed must you be when planning a trip to one of the great jazz experiences on the planet doesn’t hit your yahoo button?

Maybe my biggest fault is that my love is not unconditional. I’m sorry, but it seems to me that the biggest spouters of unconditional love frequently treat each other like shit, alternating between hugging and hitting. The verbally unkind bring out the worse in me; sooner or later my mouth flies open and damage done.

Don’t call me stupid or don’t call me bitch; I would rather be alone than with a verbal abuser. Be kind or go home; it’s that simple.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of kind people in the world. Every day I encounter lovely human beings. I have people I love and who love me up to the point of, “Oh, gee, that’s sad; I’m going to miss her. What’s for dinner?”

My ties to the planet slip away, the girl always on a crusade let go. My husband would have seen the change.

Entering that final act scares me, but not like I thought it would when I was young. The worse part of now isn’t being alone; it’s being without my husband. Without him, death will ultimately be welcomed. Thinking about it helps, as long as I don’t dwell on it. What’s funny is that I could never contemplate my husband’s death, but my own I can bear.

Even on those bad days when my honey’s death feels yet unbearable, I manage to occupy myself with a movie or planning a new adventure. Today nothing helps, I miss my man in my life; I could howl and cry. If you’ve ever gotten sick and tired of something, you know how this feels. Being tired of the hurt may be helping because I trying harder, yes, there I am; that’s me.

I believe in God, who teaches me to laugh at the bizarre happenings such as the president breaking past world leaders like he’s in grammar school.

Each life has lessons and purpose; God waited, for now, to give me my biggest life purpose. That’s funny.

Alien observers posed for pictures drawn in stone; we can’t imagine how far their technology has come. Think about it. Intergalactic travelers could be covertly immersing themselves in life on earth for fun and adventure while keeping the earthlings busy fighting each other.

Things we see throughout life, pausing to shake a head for a moment before moving on didn’t make sense until everything in my life had gone; I saw something else.

We know the universe is too large for there not to be intelligent life somewhere, if not here. If our ancient civilizations depicted astronauts, I’m guessing they didn’t leave never to return; who does that?

What would it be like to discover aliens with really nothing in common with us in charge? If they owned the world banks and controlled our food supply what else could they do without our realizing that their behavior isn’t normal for earth people. 

Frankly, in America, we don’t care who runs the show as long as we get a fair shake. Other countries allow citizens a nice life with opportunity and health care. Who with so much has so little heart to take away from the disadvantaged and elderly?

If beings from another planet were caught harming earth all people of our planet would be in the trenches together. Our differences would matter little.

Why at a time when people have the capacity to live peacefully and somewhat comfortably do we war? What do six billion dollars buy? Could a guy live on a little less for the sake of others?

In our history, we’ve always been explorers; why are we more focused on repeating our barbaric history than going into space?

I’ve taken many courses and learned of the knowledge and intelligence on this planet; we do better. Why all the out of control bad behavior? Who benefits by stirring the pot?

Worrying about this is not how I should be spending the last years of my life. What I’ve seen; I know, whether anybody believes, well, quien sabe? God has given me a purpose. Thanks.

Take a Look

Old age, the new frontier of my life, I didn’t believe I’d live this long. With this coming birthday there is no politely thinking of myself as older, but somehow still hip or cool; I’m an old lady.

Goodbye days of admiring glances as I walk past; hello, nobody notices. I’m just another granny weaving my way through the crowd.

My brief escape to Condado and beyond gave me another glimpse into life alone and on the go. In this part of the story, I dined on the beach, straining to hear snatches of conversation, but couldn’t.

A repeating loud, phony laugh regularly caught my attention. Bitterness dripped from the edges of each ha-hah-hah and each time three. I heard the call for help from the next table, a family gathering of a man and a woman with offspring’s young families all dressed to the teeth, a fine legacy to be sure.

The family, the picture of success made me doubt the hollow laugh could come from there. I searched the water for cruise ship lights. Ha-hah-hah, there it came again a plaintive howl.

Affluent young locals laughed near the bar, while families or couples chatted at tables, some body language better than others; I saw no one who went with the lonely laugh.

Caught in mid-laugh, I saw from a wide open mouth, dry sound ejected; only the corners of his eyes confirmed the sadness, the remainder of his countenance radiated pride.

I sent a flicker of light in his direction as I wished to God for more nights with my honey.

A nearby couple caught my eye, you know the ones so into themselves that any contact invading their energy, they suffer. The waiter after receiving the order from the man in his fifties, who immediately turned his full attention to his lady, seemed stunned to be so completely shut out, so quickly; it was fun to see.

In restaurants, we commonly see people’s energy entwine creating a cocoon or you see the ones glancing about the room hoping for someone to relate to other than present company. I have never seen a couple create an energy vortex that looked like a black in a restaurant before; have you?

Soft light, club jazz, the hum of conversation, I scan the scene for clothes I like; a beautiful dress or a well-draped man demands notice. Simple outfits, the woman in black pants and an olive loose knit sweater and the equally lean man in shades of khaki, attracted my attention about two o’clock in my sight line.

The calamari melted on my tongue, the party of one at my table blissed out; I hate it when older people grunt when the food is good, but I’m afraid I may have.

I glanced at two o’clock which went dark, like black hole dark in a circle just big enough for them. This disconcerted me, but another piece of calamari calmed me down. The waiter walked past their table with the order; no energy called to him.

I trained in some soft tissue energy methods, which is why I can sometimes see or feel the energy. That’s pretty weird at first, for a long time I thought it had bullshit written all over it, and then, I felt it.

I’m not some crazy old lady telling you that these were aliens; no human couple I know could pull the light in around themselves achieving that level of privacy in public.

Believe me, I don’t want to be telling you that folks from far-far-away dined with me on Saturday, but unless technology exists to build personal walls what else could it be?

Am I crazy? This question surfaces now and again, but I don’t believe so; in less than a decade I lost my husband, business, nest egg, best friends, and now I’m an old lady. It wouldn’t be an understatement to say I’ve been through a lot, but healing.

Regular exercise and frequent travel feel positive; I mean I’m still fat and sad, but not as much. That’s way better than I felt before and I have hopes and goals again, so I believe in my mental health. Of course, side effects can be a bitch, so judge for yourself.

What seems nuts to me is taking away the needs of the poor for the wants of the rich.  How many human beings can look at another who hasn’t harmed you and say, die? People who become rich frequently give back; it’s the human thing to do.

Without someone to stir the pot I find people to be kind. Is it crazy to question those with the unfair advantage, who treat us as the next old tail they want to eat? Or is greed just another substance abuse?

With a short life expectancy enjoying my day became personal. Working people paid into the Social Security Fund, which is one of our best benefits for this time of life.

Am I crazy to believe that the aberrant elite controlling our planet aren’t like the rest of us because they’re not from here? It’s easier to believe I’m bat shit bonkers than that aliens have quietly invaded us. What do we do?

I mean, if they’re in a position of absolute power and they don’t like us, we’re screwed. We need to know who we’re dealing with before we don’t like the terms of engagement.

We should have evolved beyond oppressed masses and pagan parties at the top. Greed beyond the boundaries of satisfaction is not healthy or normal, like schoolboys running through a store grabbing. That’s the same shit that got us in trouble around 2008; we’re falling for it again. Doesn’t that seem too stupid to be real?

When times are good as they are now for the rich, people have fun, maybe, do something good for the community; who continues to plunder with full coffers? I’m not saying all greedy bastards are aliens, but something’s not right.

    

Act Three

I am a Plebeian woman in many a marketplace examining the wares. Being of humble means I look much and purchase little. As I go I look into eyes and see the world; many souls look back, sharing their truths in a passing moment. I see hurt, love, and humanity, as well as, shame inflicted, but mostly not deserved.

I am proud of my cast, commonplace people, the salt on our table. During my productive age, I seldom looked directly into eyes; I didn’t trust, nor wanted to learn their secrets, or them to see my shame.

When you begin with little or nothing you have a plan and stay focused to get something. I believed in business old school, which meant doing my best each day, having integrity. I worked hard and managed to live a life that pleased me. I was blessed by opportunity.

Most of us don’t want to rule the world, just let me do something I can be proud of at the end of the day; it doesn’t matter what. My husband was proud to be a truck driver. He held respect within his company and his boss trusted him. As a Teamster in 705, he played his part in life, as I did as his wife.

The curtain rises on my third act: old age alone. Compliments of unscrupulous bankers, one of my least favorite presidents, and bad timing I have nothing, but thanks to Social Security am able to survive.

Ever wonder if walking off into the sunset means we die together? It didn’t; here I am. Does it matter? Why am I still here?

Act three, old and alone, who wants to see that? But wait a minute, each day holds promise, maybe not like my younger years, none the less, I see a beautiful sunrise and feel the arms of God under stars.

On the internet, I read inspired words from poets responding to their call and see what talented artists produce. I live on a tropical island, driving roads canopied with orange, purple, and white flowers in trees with trunks so wide I can but wonder what changes they’ve seen.

Enjoy the day, each day, one day in the not too distant future will be my last; this much I know. Those I loved, the comfort I strove for is gone, but there is so much value in the humble. I’m blessed when the bones don’t ache.

Travel alone I never thought I could, but adventure need not include tachycardia. Planning, budgeting, and learning about a destination give as much pleasure as the trip, well almost. So often I hit the financial wall with no way written all over it; my challenge to take a break, do something else, and come back with fresh eyes relishes the moment when doable pops into view.

Europe in 2018 what a dream I have for my third act; what do you think, a little Spain and, of course, some Italy?

Things Break

At the sound of water suddenly rushing from the roof on a sunny day I hit hyper drive going from WTF to panic; grabbed the phone to call my handyman on my way down my steep driveway to turn off the water.

Out of breath from the return trip, I saw that did nothing to stem the tide. Handyman’s outgoing message simply said, “Call again.” I turned off the line to the roof tank; nothing. I stood there with my mouth open calling the handyman again while watching two hundred gallons flow down the sidewalk. The last thing I need before going on a trip is an unexpected expense; this had big bucks written all over it.

I jumped in the car, as I pulled around the house my handyman and his brother-in-law drove up the driveway.

“Water’s really coming out of there,” he said.

Ok, he understands the problem, I thought.

“What happened?” You could find out by going up the ladder, I thought, but instead simply turned my palms up in the universal I don’t freaking know position. When under stress you have a propensity to sarcasm body language tends to be a better choice.

With sweaty palms, I motioned them up the ladder saying, “Tu digame.” You tell me. In the last few years, I’ve had a couple of trips screwed up by unexpected expenses. This always seems to come just before or after budgeting out a trip. I live frugally eating simple meals at home and don’t shop for sport. Going to the gym costs less than a dollar a day; gas gobbles up more of my budget than I’d like, but there’s nothing like an emergency to decimate the purse.

Lifelong neighbors, brothers-in-law worked in tandem beautifully, almost like a dance. Before long I enjoyed watching the precision teamwork; my anxiety lessened somewhat. The flow slowed gradually to a halt.

Excluding next month’s water bill, the minimal damage was done this time. Seniors barely get by and now with inflation increasing and income decreasing; has anyone seen the movie, Soylent Green? The great character actor, Edward G. Robinson died shortly after this performance with a shocking ending.

Anyway, my pulse slowly returned to normal and I’m calming down. See you in the movies.

Bitch of the Day

Aging is a funny thing. I’ve spent most of my life growing up or at least growing into the person I wanted to be. Unlike some people, I’ve never quite had full satisfaction with that, but still, consider myself a work in progress. Now my memory falters, my face is falling, and my joints ache.

A box of thank you letters and citations remind me that I’ve been a good person. Smiling photos speak of happy times with loved ones long gone. Being a caring, responsible adult required effort; being an asshole always seemed easier, but that wasn’t who I wanted to be.

Negativity and problems entered every day; I called it proof of life. Each morning my staff brought their personal problems to work; one woman’s son was on duty in Iraq, so who could blame her? Every morning I listened to one complaint; I called it the bitch of the day.

After hearing one complaint, we were required to focus on having fun with the dogs brought for day care. Did I tell you I loved my work? But the point is after getting it off my chest; I need to move on to the positive possibilities in this day.

As a retired person, I have the luxury of focusing my day on what I choose, thanks to Social Security.

A scientist, Carl Maslow wrote about a hierarchy of needs people had to have a fulfilled life. Food, water, and air are obviously the most basic needs. When those needs are met we get to explore who we are and what we want. When you work all day, who has time?

Most folks my age will attest to the problems we share in our golden years. Putting into our trust fund allows us to search for the gold in our lives.

What’s NOT funny about aging is having some greedy asshole mess with your trust fund, speaking of which I vote Congress give back what they borrowed with interest.

And that’s my bitch of the day. I’m going to the movies.

60's People Do You Hear Me?

I want to be checking prices for car rentals and hotel rooms in cities I haven’t seen yet. Finding free concert venues should be my priority or at least searching for something that registers more than a yeah, so what on my joy meter.

In my life, I walked the walk, as we used to say. While still in my teens I went door to door collecting for cancer research. My dad died of lung cancer at the age of forty-two.

Marches in Chicago against the war in Vietnam frequently had me in attendance, as did later marches for equal rights, and various issues of the day. We have the right to protest, but nonviolently.

I will confess to being a blind sheep just wanting to live my life and munch my grass. A Democrat would get into office and do a few things for the people and I’d feel reassured that all was well in my world, which I had enough damn trouble handling.

After the Great Recession bankers should have been arrested and put on trial. That didn’t happen and that was a huge freaking clue as to how corrupt the system is. This didn’t happen under Obama’s term; I could cry.

Trump may have been a blessing in that our eyes are being opened to our masters behind the curtains. Things I didn’t understand in the presidencies of men I admired when you add the control layer of the man behind the curtain, the controlling world economics, all become clear.

Whenever I imagined it before I thought an elite occult layer controlling us too fantastic, but I’m just one of the ninety-nine per cent; what do I know?

Allow me to live out my life in peace. Don’t privatize or otherwise mess with my Social Security. And don’t threaten our children with bullets like Kent State. The sadness of that day still lives in my heart. Those were our children killed in our homeland.  

This is a battle for your future; the young will figure it out as best you can just like we did. 

Upset, Wait

Greedy rich and powerful are only kept in check by government regulation or revolution. For those who worship money, there is never enough. If you have a dime they want it.

Most of us just want to get by, to enjoy a life with love, beauty, family, or whatever floats your boat. Frankly, I’m only money motivated when I don’t have any; otherwise, I’m busy following my passion. We don’t all rise to filthy freaking rich because we have other motivations or we simply don’t have the talent.

Contrary to popular opinion, the guy who dies with the most toys doesn’t win; you’re still a dead asshole.

We need to see that people willing to step on others for money are sick; that’s twisted. Some people go from a computer in the garage to the top of the heap doing what fascinates them; those people give back in meaningful ways and I admire those folks.

Have you seen shows on TV about hoarders; people who collect something until the house overflows with their treasure. Obsessed deal makers could they be the opposite end of the same stratagem?

Before the days of Workman’s Comp Laws my grandfather, an ironworker, was injured at work severely enough that he could no longer work. Five or six days a week, he hobbled the streets with his cane collecting bottles for the deposit. He resolutely did this even after his family was grown and doing fine on their own. It could be raining and the man would go walking; I thought him obsessed, but when my dad came back from grandpa’s funeral with a wooden keg filled with silver dollars I was pretty impressed.

The bankers and the deal makers control the lower classes when well under control they shake us like a piggy bank. Removing laws that hold them accountable for dealing in bad faith, and then privatize Social Security; OMG it’ll be a vampire’s orgy.

The only thing I can think is thank God I’m old and don’t have long to go; or maybe, I just worry too much.

Do Not Take Our Social Security

The last Republican president cost me the rewards of my economic life in the Great Recession. Trickle down economics turned out to be piss in my boot and here we are again.

I put my energy into the American Dream. A series of real estate investments along with a successful dog business put us into the upper middle class.

Kirt as many country people did, went to the city, got the best job he could and held on for dear life. I watched him work his way from sitting at a table rewinding armatures for a just above minimum wage company to trusted and valued employee at Zack Heating and Air Conditioning in Cicero, Illinois. This was a proud shop of skilled, valued employees, all union members who took pride in their mom and pop shop.

Because my husband put into his pension and Social Security, I can enjoy my old age if I’m very careful, so I have a second reason to be wary of a bunch of rich men lined up against me.

One thing I share with the Trump folks is a misery; dissatisfaction hardly covers how I feel about the recession and bankers getting away with it. Yes, I’m pissed.

I’m a liberal, always have been, so I don’t see the current president as the savior my right wing friends do; but I want to give him a chance. Like it or not we have him for his term, so we must get on with it.

Republican presidents have earned my respect from time to time. Y'all aren’t always terrible. Having been a business owner most of my working life, I identify with the Republican mindset more than you’d think.

I’ve lived my working life and contributed to society as well. The years I have left should be for me and my wishes. When my husband and I did our life planning, this was our fall back position. In a few months, I’ll be sixty-nine, a hell of a time to contemplate starting over on yet another level.

When the mindset is win or lose, fairness doesn’t factor into; does it? The Republicans I know are good people. I need to see the “leaders” in a different light, one that doesn’t threaten me. 

My friend, Sperry in a Facebook post referred to liberal fear mongering. I read so much over the top shit from both sides that I’m frantic and don’t trust either side. We lived by the rules, paid our dues; don’t pull the rug out from under us, but with a win or lose mindset fair never enters.  

Retirement

Retired at last; twenty-somethings tell me how lucky I am to be retired. After all, living on a tropical island, having lunch on the beach is the good life. Aches and pains picked up along the way, for all my mistakes enough things went right to allow me to be retired.

During my working or productive years, I couldn’t imagine not working. Every job or career I ever had became a springboard for something I thought I wanted to do more.

In my first job out of high school, I worked as a reconciler for an insurance company.  Within a couple of months sitting at that desk all day, I lost my mind and went to look for it in a park. Any young woman can fall back on a job as a waitress; right? One shift of lunch hour madness showed me otherwise.

Talk about inauspicious beginnings, my next job as a kennel maid cleaning up after, scrubbing kennels, and feeding dogs tired my muscles and taught me a ton about dogs and people; something that would come in handy in about a quarter of a century. I’ve done many things because I thought I might like it; some worked, and then others not so much, but give the young me a challenge so I could chew it to death.

The real estate market tanked with interest rates at 18.5%; a help wanted ad caught my eye. TRUCK SALESMAN WANTED: base salary and vehicle. My husband was a truck driver; occasionally I went on the road with him. No Sundays for me made him smile; he hated competing with clients for me on weekends. I’d only be selling Scouts from the lot until one on Saturday.

My resume impressive, my background diversified, and I could sell. The sales manager hated me; he sneered. The female office staff had never before enjoyed looking down their noses and made that clear; huh, boss. I followed him around the office and shop, telling him about why he should hire me until he slammed a door in my face.

Smug, nasty looks from the women followed me to the door; “The nerve” was all I heard. Three evenings later the phone rang. “Hi, this is Glenn from Herschberger.” Having a door slammed in my face humiliated me in front of three women who would soon be so jealous.

“You were by far the most aggressive candidate for the job. There is a woman in upstate New York selling trucks.” He wanted me, so I negotiated to work every other Saturday. I could sell.

The second woman in the United States of America to sell trucks, that’s what I believe I am. My best career came from doing what I loved for free.

In 1983 we bought Carrvilla, our home, A Better Dog School, and the end of a rainbow in Yorkville, Illinois. I knew no one; why I think myself shy, I’ll never know. I placed an ad in the local paper: WANT TO PRACTICE OBEDIENCE OR CONFORMATION WITH YOUR DOG it began. Before long word got out that if your dog had a problem behavior, see Pat Carr.

“Dog behavior interests me; I do this for fun. Let’s play with it and see what shakes out.” You wouldn’t believe the shit people brought me. They weren’t going to spend another dime on it, but as long as it was free, here they came. By the time I needed to be income producing again in 1988 I had a wealth of experience.

Doing what you love for a living is priceless; owning your own business is heaven and hell. For almost thirty years dogs were the core of our lives, and then we showed dogs on the weekends for fun. I wouldn’t trade my life for a million bucks right now.

Thank you, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, for Social Security. Retirement means not working beyond your capacity to do so. It’s up to us how we spend it.

Speaking Out on Social Security

If the next President and Congress of the United States don’t ruin my life by screwing with Social Security I intend to ignore politics, especially on Facebook, beginning in 2017.

The world belongs to the rich and the young; old people live on borrowed time. In my day, I’ve done walk-a-thons, manned phone banks, went door to door, and marched for my causes. I've earned retirement.

There’s great power in looking back over your life in your sixties; at least I believe this. I see me ever since I was a little piss ant. In my twenties and thirties, I wished to become a Woman of Substance from the movie of the same title, starring Deborah Kerr, which informed my sense of honor.

The questions I most wondered were: would I be ashamed or proud of myself and would I like myself when I got old.

I’ve done some amazingly stupid shit that I can finally laugh about, well, most of the time; other times I raise eyes to the sky shake my head. Smile.

All that being said, I’ll tell you that I’m happy with my life; as problematic as my life has been it’s been a fantastic voyage.

Reaping rewards in retirement meant work, being productive when I’d rather spend time following a muse. Sadly, I’ve ended up alone in retirement, but I’m here in the reaping.

I may be old and forget what I had for breakfast, but education was so much better in the old days, seniors have the skills; we can help each other.

My future is short. I worked all of my life with integrity. A decent retirement through Social Security was the promise of America, my country; leave it alone.