Posted on January 27, 2014
Last night I wasted three and a half hours watching the Grammys, the annual awards show for the music industry. I always thought the program was supposed to be about music. In fact last night’s host, LL Cool Jay, said in his introductory speech that it was definitely going to be about the music this year.
Instead it was about a gigantic stage, strobe lights, rings of fire and other pyrotechnics, performers descending on ropes, backlit photographs, and smoke machines. The only performers who didn’t have special effects were the country artists. And while they performed “acappela” if you will, their lighting was truly non-country.
There were some interesting numbers. Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr shared the stage in honor of the fiftieth anniversary of the Beatles’ arrival in America. Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Blake Shelton, and an extremely tired looking Merle Haggard riffed “Mommas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys.” It wouldn’t have persuaded me.
Then there were the winners: Daft Punk, Pharrell Williams, Lorde, Macklemore & Ryan Lewis. I am not familiar with any of these people, and judging from last night’s performances I won’t be surfing iTunes to download their acquaintances.
Perhaps it’s an age thing (My age is the thing!), but the entire program seemed more like performance art than music.
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Posted on January 26, 2014
Southwestern Michigan has been experiencing an old fashioned winter. By that I mean we’ve had snow, snow, and more snow. Twelve inches in the past three days. Which isn’t so memorable unless you know that it’s on top of two or three feet of snow since the season began. It makes for hazardous driving, icy walkways, and the tendency to hibernate.
Especially hibernate. I’m becoming a pro.
I’ve loved not being able to get out of the garage because the snow is higher than the bottom of my car’s body. I’ve loved having to cancel appointments so I could read more, play piano more, and catch up on life after employment.
My job officially ended in December, so being snowbound has enabled me to take care of little things that needed attention. Like the jammed stapler, the thermometer that needed batteries, the snack table that needed a small screw.
All of this means I’ll meet February ready to move on to other things: writing more regularly, maybe jigsaw puzzles, trying new recipes . . . all the things that retirement is presumably about.
Stay tuned . . .
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Posted on January 19, 2014
I love cookbooks, even ones without photographs. (Although I do prefer ones with them.) So when Earl gave me a cookbook assembled in 1998 by the congregants of St. Peter’s United Church of Christ in St. Joseph, Michigan, it reminded me of other quirky cookbooks I’ve collected over the years.
The St. Peter’s version is titled “Sharing Our Best”; and since many attendees at this church were German, their influence is truly seen in this cookbook. It’s also a sad note that the church itself is currently for sale and many of its members from 1998 are long gone.
Still, the cookbook remains a special legacy. There are multiple lasagna recipes, multiple soup recipes with the same ingredients, and multiples of other recipes too. Nobody was left out. I like that.
Years ago, my friend Judi belonged to a church that also created a cookbook in 1981. It was called “A Measure of Love,” and I still cull recipes from it. Then there is my own upstate New York family’s favorite recipes, organized in 1995, into another cookbook.
These three volumes are all comb bound, a great thing. They open and stay opened to the respective page, where other – fancier, hardbound – cookbooks can’t. They are all solid and un-fancy in presentation. And they are treasures not to be found in giant bookstores or on Amazon.
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Posted on January 16, 2014
Learning to retire is a process. It begins when one becomes aware that the last day of work is on the current calendar and close at hand. I suppose for some it’s a long awaited date. But then maybe those people didn’t love what they did. Or maybe they were just tired of doing it.
For me, I loved the various jobs I’ve had over the years. I found something redeemable in every one; honestly, I did. At the same time, I always had a bevy of hobbies and interests that often took a back seat to work. So I knew that if I ever retired, I wouldn’t become a couch potato.
More than one of my friends has said, “You’ll love it. You’ll wish you had done it earlier.” I appreciate their opinions, and maybe in time I will wish I’d done it earlier. But for now this feels right.
As for the process, the next step is to take the hours I gave to a job and make them productive in other ways. My bevy of hobbies and interests waits, and I feel like Elizabeth Barrett Browning is talking to me: “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways . . .”
How do I spend my newly found time? Let me count the ways.
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Posted on January 15, 2014
There’s a running joke in Chicagoland that there are two seasons: winter and construction. I’m sure it’s noted in other areas too. And for me, there are truly two seasons; but neither has to do with ice and snow or bulldozers.
I call my two seasons “Indoors” and “Outdoors” and created this dichotomy a few years ago to combat the cabin fever I felt in winter when the days are short and bleak.
Indoors is the season where I’m more housebound, when the days are short, and the skies are interminably grey. I used to mentally whine about this, but now I embrace it. After all, the grey disappears once nightfall occurs. And because it occurs early, I use the evening time to read, reflect, and reminisce. I probably play piano more too. And do crafts.
Outdoors is the season where it’s easy to jump in the car without having to bundle up. Outdoors is about gardening and swimming and working out more passionately because it’s easier to do. It’s also about visiting farmers’ markets and cooking really fresh food and lounging on our patio as the sun bids adieu.
There is no magic date on which either of these seasons begins or ends. It’s not about turning back the clock or acknowledging a particular solstice. Instead, it’s about looking forward to doing cherished things all times of the year.
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Posted on January 14, 2014
The job I’ve had for the better part of nine years has ended. Well, almost. There are a few loose ends to tie up, but I no longer keep regular office hours and my company inbox goes hours without an email. It will be turned off completely next week.
I worked only part-time, but I was always aware that Fred Flare occupied more hours in my mind than my paycheck covered. I’m a great sleeper, but sometimes I’d waken in the middle of the night to solve some problem. Like the time a super-aggressive NY State employee thought we owed half a million dollars in taxes. Or the time we were sued by Hershey. In both cases, we won and I eventually returned to sleeping all night.
Still I often find myself thinking about Fred Flare and its owners, who happen to be my son, Keith, and his partner, Chris. Perhaps that’s why they have such a hold on my mental life. We are family.
I hope in the coming weeks that Fred Flare itself will depart, but that my contact with Keith and Chris will take on a different, really wonderful, dimension.
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Posted on January 9, 2014
Turns out I’m a finalist in a writing contest. There were around 900 entries and ten finalists, one of them being me. So I’m flattered.
At the same time, I’m dismayed because there are two prizes when I think there should be only one. One prize is the popular vote, which means the winner is decided by the number of votes he or she receives. It’s worth $250. The other prize is what the professional critics determine is the best story. It’s also worth $250.
The thing is that popular vote becomes just that: a popularity contest. I believe it has nothing to do with literary quality as much as it has to do with how many friends the author solicits. So it isn’t about literature as much as it’s about our culture and its stress on Facebook “friends.” Since I’m not on Facebook, I already have a disadvantage even if my work is the most literary of the finalists.
Then there are the professional critics who will also award first and second places. I hope they are not influenced by the popular vote, even if I should win. Rather I’d like to see some constructive criticism about their choices, some analysis as to why these stories are merit worthy, some reasons why popular culture should embrace them or not.
Posted on January 8, 2014
I’ve been housebound for the past five days, due to an amazing snowfall and amazingly cold temperatures. It has to do with some sort of artic conditions that found their way off track to the Midwest and beyond. And while others might feel inconvenienced by this blast of prehistoric winter, I’ve loved every minute.
Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t spent time outside creating snow people, nor have I shoveled a single inch of the white stuff. I left that to the snow removal company our complex hired. I haven’t even ventured to the mailbox. Instead I cancelled all appointments and decided to hibernate. Slept in. Ate well, as attested to the one-third of a banana cream pie I had for dessert last night. Forgot exercise and New Year’s resolutions.
Besides, the snow has been one-third the way up our front door for a couple days, which tells me my car wouldn’t make it on the streets anyway. So this was the time to hunker down and enjoy indoor pastimes. Like more piano playing, more reading, more blogging. And yes . . . the cryptic jigsaw puzzle I gave Earl for Christmas. It is a 3D version of Chicago, where we spent most of our lives. Currently, it is driving us nuts.
But the temperature is scheduled to rise from here on out, so tomorrow I plan to sally forth to see my trainer, take my car in for a check-up (Serious knocking is becoming habitual.), and check out our white world. I wouldn’t want to live in hibernation forever, but for five days it was great.
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Posted on January 7, 2014
As most of my good friends know, I’m not a morning person. And now that I’m no longer gainfully employed I have every intention of staying that way. At the same time, there are occasional reasons to set an alarm and rise before the sun.
To make it more pleasant, Earl researched “The Lady’s Speaking Butler Alarm Clock” for me. According to Hammacher Schlemmer, the catalog that features this item, it “faithfully reproduces the subtle wit employed by P. G. Wodehouse’s most famous character – the valet Reginald Jeeves – as he politely affirms the beginning of the day.” No mention is made of what time that is, but I’m willing to speculate.
Apparently, Jeeves rouses the sleeper at the appointed time with such comments as “Excuse me, Madam, I’m so sorry to disturb you but it appears to be morning.” Or “I believe it is the rotation of the earth to blame.” This seems so much more civil to me than Earl’s beeping alarm that was made in China and arrived on our doorstep as a promotional gift.
The problem is that the Butler Alarm Clock is no longer available. We’ve checked with Hammacher, studied the original manufacturer’s site, and even culled Amazon. But to no avail. So now that I’m ready for the dulcet tones of a butler, it seems I’m to be denied.
So sorry, Madam.
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Posted on January 4, 2014
For me, the New Year really starts on Friday, January 10, when I’m hosting my own “retirement” party to celebrate the fact that I shall no longer receive a paycheck. Or keep regular working hours. Or lose sleep because of some problem related to my job.
I guess that’s what “retirement” means, although I’ve never liked the word myself. It feels stodgy and small, as if I’m withdrawing from life. Maybe this is because I’ve worked until almost age seventy; and – honestly – it’s going to feel strange not to be employed.
At the same time, there are so many things I want to do that perhaps I won’t miss work. There are piano lessons to take and essays to finish and recipes to try and craft projects to start. And there are all the household things – like spring cleaning from 2011 – that I never got around to do. The list is endless.
And while I don’t have endless hours, I do hope the coming year finds me tackling that list with as much enthusiasm as if it were a full-time job.
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