Cooking the NYTimes and Other Assorted Retirement Activities

And here's the wind up for 2018 and the pitch for 2019... This morning, driving to yoga, I heard a gentleman being interviewed on MPR talking about President Trump's disturbing description of Dr. Christine Blassey Ford's testimony during the Kavanaugh confirmation hearings.  He used the analogy of the President speaking to a crowd at the Roman Colosseum as they cheered on his belittling words. This seems like a particularly adept way of looking at how we can react to the President's diatribes and verbiage.  We can simply stay out of the Coliseum, not buy into what he is saying.  Doing so give his words unwarranted power--and besides, they change within minutes (if not seconds) of spilling out of his mouth. Does this mean we give him a free pass?  He of 7,644 falsehoods in 2018? ( Washington Post )   Of course not.   It is our civic duty to pay attention.  (One end of the year wrap up article thanked all politicians for the crash cou...

Yes, this is me. Let's face it.  The Spousal Unit™ and I watched way, way, way too many Hallmark Holiday Movies this season.  So many, in fact, that as we scrolled through to find something to watch, we found ourselves saying, "Oh, I saw that one already."  Once, the Dan-o said that about one I hadn't seen.  I know, pretty pathetic, or, as our President might say, "Sad." Anyhow, they have an insidious way of creeping into your subconscious.  At an unnamed point this December, I found myself thinking how lovely it would be to engage in the activities that are hallmarks of the Hallmark Holiday Movies.   Going to the Annual Christmas Festival and Tree Lighting and Choral Concert and whatever else falls into that category.  Finding the BEST TREE EVER at the tree lot (even though my home is bedecked with 6 artifical trees). Decorating same with lights and garlands and stringing popcorn and perhaps even playfully tossing the popcorn at each ot...

A few random thoughts have been rattling around the aging brain... Propped Open Hearts:   (This has a religious bend to it. )   I'm a fan of Maria Shriver's Sunday Paper , as previously noted here.  She ends each post with a prayer, and this was last Sunday's:  Dear God,  this world is filled with so many people and so much good, yet it’s easy to slip into the feeling that I’m all alone. Help me remember that I am not alone. Help me remember that there are people who care. Help me to be a beacon of light and understanding for others as well. Amen. Something I've been having internal conversations about is my ability--or rather, self-perceived lack of ability--to formulate prayer.  Reading this one by Ms Shriver, who is a journalist I had to remind myself, hammered that home again.  My verbal prayers tend toward the formulaic and ritualistic, as in the Hail Mary, Our Father and I find great comfort in those.  I've decided that prayers ...

Every so often, someone utters a word or phrase that resonates with me, frequently in a manner it was not intended when said.  This was the case last week at yoga, when the instructor referred to the yoga block as a little rectangle of hope.  For the not yet members of the yoga tribe among these readers, the yoga block is usually used to facilitate the practitioner moving into a pose that might not otherwise be available to them.  If you can't reach the floor when going into a twist, for example, you move the yoga block close to your hand so you can hold on with the intention--hope--that at some point, practicing yoga will allow your muscles to become strong enough that you can reach the floor. I love this concept.  All around us, there are little rectangles of hope we can grasp.  You don't need to ask permission to hang on.  Some days you need that little rectangle, others not so much.  The rectangles of hope can be manipulated by you into any ...

This fall I’ve been privileged to teach a fair number of Road Next Taken classes.  I’m always overwhelmed when in the space of a one time, 1 1/2 hour class, participants not infrequently crack open the window into their soul and share what’s there. For the majority, retirement is simultaneously wonderful and frightening.  They’re uncertain about what they also feel certain about.  Surprised that tomorrow can be challenging in ways they never imagined.  So happy that they don’t have to go to work in the morning while wondering what this day...and the next...and the next might be. Like me.   Like me, they wanted their lives back; they got them; and now what?  What does happen when you get your life back?   Is it handed to you on the metaphorical silver platter?  Or do you have to rummage around in the kitchen drawer to find it?   Is it what you expected, anticipated, planned for or does it end up being none of the above? T...

Let’s face it.  In the ongoing spate of bad weeks, last week really took the cake. I wish I had a nickle for every time I shut off the television or radio in frustration.  Anger.  Sadness.  Only after yelling, “Oh, shut up!”  at the commentator or guest or whatever.  Come Sunday, I decided I needed to pull myself of the Rut of Desperation.  I took some of my own advice and concentrated on the LCD of Happiness. What is the LCD of Happiness, you might ask? It's the Lowest Common Denominator (and Determiner) of Happiness. I teach that we are responsible for finding, celebrating, feeling grateful for the smallest things—the lowest common denominator—in our lives.  It's not always easy; life is strange that way, isn't it?  But it is possible. The following is a sampling of what bubbled up when I mulled over what factors were contributing to my personal LCD of Happiness. A bra fitting.  This would fall into the "Never Have I E...

One of my goals for 2018 was to reconnect with " Old friends/Always friends " that have impacted my life and, if you will, shaped me. At this stage in the journey, it's rather sobering to realize how long said friends have been in your life.  My grade school and high school girlfriends, for example--over 50 years.  College friends, bumping up on that mark.  And the friends made during adulthood, well over 25 years. Recently, with the able bodied assistance of friends Kathy and Marlene, we got the old Childbirth Education Association of Greater Minneapolis St. Paul (CEA), a now defunct organization, band back together.  There were a group of us that shared sisterhood which surpassed making a difference for childbearing women and families.  I will not be shy about that.  We made an impact and once we completed our work in CEA, went on to continue to make an impact in a number of arenas.  Impressive women, all.   One of the 'band' was unab...