Love of My Life

Morning mist clings to the lake. Chirping birds cheer my spirit. Sunlight filtered through the trees reminds me of pleasant mornings throughout my life. A new day, I can cherish or screw up any way I want; what’ll it be?

The pleasantness of morning, that’s something I seldom, had time to savor during my working years. Now, coffee and cooing doves can be leisurely enjoyed. Retirement, that’s something I didn’t really want.

After my husband, my business was the most important thing in the world to me. I enjoyed the challenge of the problems of the day and happy dogs in my care made me feel useful. Had Kirt died before I retired, I’d still be there working today, but that didn’t happen.

He could no longer tolerate cold weather; his hands turned into painful claws in fall. We couldn’t wait for winter. We had to go south. I didn’t want to leave my home of thirty years or my business that gave me a sense of self-satisfaction, but I loved my husband so much more.

Before a cold spell, we loaded the car, said goodbye, and headed to New Orleans. The Great Recession had made business difficult. Many of my clients were in financial crisis and I had to carry some of my bread and butter accounts; holding on was hard, but I managed to squeak along. Sooner or later we’d get past this, but Kirt suffered so much that fall. There was nothing else to do.

My heart beat for that man; nothing mattered except getting him where he could be more comfortable. New Orleans, a stop on the way to our house in Puerto Rico turned into the place he lost a toe. Dr. Davila of the New Orleans VA counseled me, as well as taking great care of Kirt. I’d always wanted to retire to New Orleans so when the time came to leave I went to City Park for a good pout.

Why is it you hear of so many guys retiring, moving to warm weather, and then a couple of years later you hear they died? Someone told me she heard that Smoki our cat died, that we put him to sleep. He purred on my lap well past my husband. Rumors are funny.

You never really know how some else feels, but you can get so close; it’s like you are two halves of the whole. He felt like he was in paradise the last two years of his life here where the spectacular sunrise and sunset was a pause for celebration.

His soul soared over this valley in his dreams, as his body withered.  The love of my life died.

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.

Remembering New Orleans

MY annual trek to New Orleans begins to occupy my mind. City Park where I spent much time as a kid will be one the first places where I’ll return to sit under ancient live oaks remembering a grandmother, aunts, and uncles sharing family times in the beautiful park.

One family picnic under the live oaks still vivid I sat at the table across from my Uncle Lou and Aunt Margaret with potato salad and chicken on my plate.

“How do ya like yur chicken?” Uncle Lou asked in his deep Southern drawl. I loved my Uncle Lou as much as I did my daddy. Lean and fit with premature salt and pepper hair and twinkling blue eyes, he charmed everyone.

“Good chicken, Uncle Lou,” I replied with a big smile for my favorite uncle.

“Y’all like that chicken? It’s good, yeah?” He waited for my vigorous nod of approval.

“Ya remember the baby chicks y’all got for Easter?”

No reply; I didn’t remember.

“Ya don’t remember the colored chicks grandpaw gave you and your brother for Easter?”

Oh, yeah, I remembered how we and our cousins were given these colored chicks that the boys chased around the yard and after my little brother stepped on his, it ran with its head hanging down before it died and the adults gathered up the rest and put them away.

I shook my head; I remembered the Easter chicks, which felt kind of weird, but I didn’t know why. I wasn’t much more than eight.  

“Patty, how do you like your chick?”

I hadn’t seen the chick since Easter, so I looked as confused as I felt. I didn’t want to look stupid in front of my Uncle Lou. I didn’t understand a thing about the stress I felt and now the rest of the table had picked up on the conversation so all the adults were looking at me. City Park one the scenes of my early epic I don’t want to be in the spotlight moments, one of those moments when you just don’t get it.

“Patty, that’s yur Easter chick; how ya like it?”

Uncle Lou seemed to be so pleased to tell me. I looked at the tender thigh on my plate; my eyes felt like they popped out of my head, tears flew along with me from the table to the car where I sat bawling until my mother brought me back to the table to finish my plate.

Life’s teachable moments seldom went smoothly, but that’s how it goes. After lunch my dad and uncle to the kids off to explore the park, where I learned to never ever go near a gray goose nest again.

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.

Respect and Strength

After his accident, when he could no longer work my husband dealt with self-worth and identity issues. Who he saw himself as directly linked to his job. To me, my man was so much more, but men identify with a job description.

When Kirt could no longer function he lost identity and couldn’t hold his own, a couple of his buds came over to trim the yard. They discussed how they’d approach the problem. Kirt tried to get a word in only to be told, “Don’t worry; we’ll take care of it.”

“But, Guys, Guys, you need to know.”

They waved him off with a friendly dismissive and went to work whacking weeds. My husband turned to me.

“They wouldn’t listen to me,” he said helplessly.

“Now, you know what it feels like to be a woman,” I shrugged.

A short time later the two men flew out of the bushes with arms flailing wildly. They found the vine Kirt tried to tell them about. My husband had been devalued by his group. I felt his pain and saw it in his eyes.

My forehead slid into my eyes, my cheeks into my neck, which fell into my boobs that drooped to my belly bouncing against the door. If a man identifies with his work, a woman’s looks wrap up her self-worth.

My husband frequently told me I was beautiful and every day told me he loved me. He valued me and now I must find value in me or perish because who the hell else cares?

To find your inner strength you must have it. I always thought myself strong, but now old and emotionally alone, where is that strength?

I fought for my causes. I worked hard for a good life. I took care of my family. All of these things build character; I am nothing if not a character. Who I am has been determined by more than twenty-five thousand days. Some days have beaten me to a pulp, others I’ve scored and heard the roar of the crowd in my head.

I’m old and forgetful, but I’m the author of 25,000 days and counting. My history tells me the strength is in here.

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.