The Next Reinvention

I was pouring coffee for one of my dearest friends the other morning. She stays over at my place sometimes to save herself a forty-five minute commute from her second shift job. Sometimes she stays over just because we're like a couple of teenage girls who want a sleepover so we can talk all night.


Regardless, I took the coffee to her and realized I had started to cry.  I had been thinking about the day ahead and it hit me; I don't have to do anything. My bills were paid; for the first time in years I was out of debt. There were no contractors to talk to, nothing to fix.  I had all the groceries I needed for another ten days.  The agony and terror of the week before was gone.  For ten days I had had trouble walking from my bedroom to the kitchen. I had shooting pains up my spine, down both the insides and outsides of my legs, as well as down my right arm; both feet were about 80% numb, so that I had to walk barefoot just to be able to feel them hit the floor--and with every hit to the floor there was pain.

I think those ten days were the farewell pitch of the previous two and a half years. The last hurrah of chaos, failing health, financial instability, emotional turmoil.

In that short walk from kitchen to the couch where Martha was sitting, all those things went racing around in my brain and, like a beautiful sunrise, two words rose from somewhere inside of me, from that life-feeding force some call God, 'gratitude' and 'hope.'

Often, I've mentioned my back.  I wrote very badly of the last dance with romance I had a couple of years ago. And I talk about the struggle to find my way to balance, to learn how to dance around the pain, in spite of the pain, in spite of the inability to even move my legs at times. I try not to touch too much on the terror.  When I want to write in my blog, I want to be exploring the "what's next" aspects, or the parts of my life that saved me; that kept the torture, the abuse from killing me figuratively or literally. It's those things I was given that saved me, not some sort of super human strength.

My strength is real human and fails me often enough.

We do not do it alone. If we rise like phoenixes, usually I truly believe it's that somewhere along the line we were offered examples of the rising. So I write of my mother's and father's graces more than where they hurt me. I rarely write at all of the brother who was so sick. I do not yet know how to handle that, or even whether to handle that. If I want to write the book, he has to be there, but until I know how to write of him with grace, a blog is not the venue.

And I want to write the book; I have already begun the book for real.

I tend to write when I have mostly processed, so that I am comfortable with exposing my heart--long after the fear and anger have left. At least, that's when I write my best. But these last two years have leaped in here anyway sometimes. How could they not?  And reading other people's blogs, looking at your artwork, marveling at your wisdom has helped me believe that I could still write, and reminded me that I should still write.  And paint. And sing.  That if I kept even sporadically returning to the page, either online or in my journals, one way or another the latest hell would leave.

Thursday morning, in the little act of pouring coffee for my friend, I realized I'd made it home again. A new home, true, but home nonetheless.

And for the fifth time in my adult life, I am reinventing my life.

The difference is that, for once, I am aware of the whole process as it is happening, not in retrospect. I am alive. I can still walk! I am in my new home and do not ever again have to deal with contractors, leaking roofs, bad septic systems, sewer hook ups, co owners who do not share the responsibility, tenants to evict, mold in the basement, and neighbors who sabbotage my livelihood. I am here, in a lovely apartment, with room for my studio. I have a studio again!

On that long coffee walk, I realized that all is well at last. I felt flooded with something overwhelming, as I realized that finally I really do not have to worry about a thing for now. Who gets that in their lives? Perhaps lots of people; I don't know. I simply know that it was a novelty in my adult life. For now, for at least a couple of years, I truly have all I need, to allow me the time to create a body of work and build my health back as far as I can, without really thinking about much else. I have no one I must take care of and no home for which I am responsible, and I have the money to care for my needs for probably MORE than two years.

Who gets that? I don't think a whole lot of people have that these days. So that flood of gratitude was real. It was mixed in with a relief or release that I have never known. I've never been in this position!

And I admit, this weekend I may just revel in it a little. I am safe. I am free.

And that's the thing I had not even dared to think, let alone write or say. I am free. Even now, as I write, the tears are beginning. I have never felt this way in all my adulthood. I remember approaching this one February morning. My dad was out of intensive care and my older brother (this is pre-memory of all he did to me) was going to survive the car accident he'd had the night of my dad's surgery. Dad had had a complication and Jim was in a coma and Mom was drunk. So my sister gave money to my other brother to drive to New Hampshire to give to Jim's family while he was in a coma, and everyone decided I should be the one to tell Dad that he was not expected to live! Yes, well. Imagine the scene with my mother slumped over, drunk in a chair in the corner. Daddy asking me if Mom was okay from all the stress, because, after all, she couldn't keep her eyes open.

"No, Dad, she's drunk. THAT is why she's asleep. She couldn't cope."

"Well, don't say it like that. She is just under too much pressure."

"Yes, right. Whatever. But, Dad, I gotta tell you something."

So that February morning, I was going to go to the hospital to tell Dad that Jim was okay AND that I had been accepted into Boston University's graduate school, to get my degree in adult education! I could not believe how great life suddenly was, and was marveling how everything could change in a matter of hours, when my foot hit black ice and I fell down six concrete stairs on my back. That was 1980, and my life changed in thirty seconds, let alone a few hours.  My first of nine operations was six months later.

Thirty-one years later, my spine is far worse, but I am far healthier in a dozen ways. I have lived several lives since that morning.

And now, at 59 years old, I am starting yet another. I haven't any idea where this new one will lead, or whether the goals and dreams I have now for it will come to fruition or change along the way. I know only that Thursday morning something inside awakened the phoenix yet again. The last two years have been two of the most difficult I have ever known, but they have also been two of the richest as well.

I know I am loved; when I do not believe in myself, there are all these women who do it for me, giving me the chance to heal, to rest, to revive.  I know that I am safe; I know I have all I need. I am lucky beyond belief in such a time of uncertainty for so many, to know that I will be okay for at least a few years now.

The rest is up to me, isn't it. No one can reinvent my life for me, and I don't want someone to. I did not spill the coffee, even. I sat on the other couch, looked at Martha and said, "I'm free. I really am free."

She just smiled and said, "Welcome home."

I am happy... My first thought with waking today

I don't know where to start. The retreat was Heaven. I returned and we had to lower the price of the house, but then immediately had five showings.

My closing will be July 29th. All the inspections are done. All the 'i's are dotted. Everything is now a matter of waiting for that date. I will live in limbo for ten days because I cannot get into my apartment until August 6th.

Did I take a huge loss? Yes. Will I be okay for more than a year? Absolutely. I did not need a cosigner and my credit rating was super. And I have complete financial security for at least three years. How many people in this economy know that, even if there is an emergency, I'll be okay. I have insurance. I have a buffer. I HAVE SOME TIME!!

I have the luxury of the next year, to focus on learning how to work and to move AROUND this back of mine. I have the luxury of focusing on how to make some money again, without having to make home owner decisions, without having to consider the ramifications for ANYONE but myself.

I woke up this morning, refreshed and happy. Actively happy. I think for the last ten days I have slept most of the day away. At first I felt scared, then frustrated with that sense that I was drugged and could NOT do anything but sleep. Then I realized that this was probably just my body's reaction to having withstood two years of almost unremitting stress. It simply shut down.

This morning it woke up when I woke up.

I do not know where to start. I do not know what to write about first, or even what to say about a retreat in a place where a waterfall poured its music not a hundred feet from my window. Or what to say about the fact that my home will be a haven for children who were abused and abandoned. Children who have been in the system, but should not be in an institutional settin with children with severe behavioral and emotional issues. Children who need to be in a home setting, even if foster parents have not been there for them.

My home will shelter children who are lost. What better use could this place I have called home and shelter be put to? The woman who came for the first viewing said, "This front yard is like a meditation garden! This whole place feels like peace."

What better compliment to my home could I ask for? And the garden she talks about is the fruition of twenty years of planning, digging, planting, and nourishing. It came out exactly as I had planned and hoped. the front yard in front of the longest part of my home is a place where you can sit and no one can see you from the street. You look toward the house and see my perennial gardens and the walk to the main front door. It is quiet. It is five degrees cooler than any place else on the street. A high canopy of green and Japanese maple red above the bench. No undergrowth and the smell of evergreen mulch. And across the yard, the cacophony of a cottage garden of daisies, wild roses, lilies and hostas.

And today I woke up and realized that, for the first time in my life, I will be living in a place where my decisions need not take in anyone's needs but my own. Even in PA, I still owned this home with my sister and when anything went wrong, I had to make the final decisions and advise whom to call and what to do. I lived with others until I was married.

I am free and alone. But I have security for now, and I am focusing on that. I am lucky and know it. I cannot worry about down the road. I have NEVER made a long-term plan that did not need to be changed within two years. So I will keep myself in the present. I have a lot to do before I move, but that's okay.

I will be able to LEAVE my work on the table and return to it each day. No more putting up and taking down. I can leave out up to three paintings at a time, and be able to work twenty minutes and simply move to a couch to rest a time. I will have my studio again!  I will be in the town where I began adulthood and where I raised my children. The building that once housed the theater group I joined my first year out of college will be a brand new arts center next year! It is only two miles from where I'll be living. I will come full circle. This is where I met   the pivotal men of my life, where I met the friend whose children were my future children's best friends! This place held my future then. Perhaps it holds my future now, once again!

But I am finally truly living on my own. Scary as that may sound at times, for now? For now it holds both adventure and peace. It is temporaray, this living alone, but that's fine too. I have it NOW. A new chapter is unfolding and I am allowing the excitement and happiness to take over.

This is why I've been absent. ONLY for good reasons! No depression. No catastrophes. Just the NORMAL chaos of selling a home, and the stuff of trying to settle a contract. Now, it will be the packing. This has been home or home base for twenty-one years. That is long enough. I will be fifty-nine this weekend. My sixtieth year will be one of NEWNESS.

How wonderful is that? More whenever I can, even in snippets.

It does not stop

I ran outa laughing... Well. Not entirely, but for now. The septic tank filled in three weeks. I saw and heard my ownself. Water streaming into the thousand gallon tank through the seams. So I have to have a grinder pump and hook up to the sewer which is uphill from my house and will require, oh, about 110 feet of hosing. NOW.

So.  If someone. I mean, WHEN someone buys this house, they will have a brand new roof AND one half the house hooked up to the sewer for them, though they will have the lien with the purchase. Still. We'll have done the hook up.

I want to hide. Good thing I got all that back disability pay so that I could pay for a roof AND a sewer hook up. Just how, precisely I'm going to LIVE if we do not sell the house in the next five months, now that is another problem.

So I guess the water gods are still displeased. I have rattled ice cubes in their honor. I sprayed myself with the kitchen sink sprayer and sang, "I love the rainy nights..." I ran around in the pouring rain and danced, playing my tambourine, and singing, "I'm SINGIN' in the rain."

I painted my "Heaven's Garden" painting in WATER COLOR.

So now I am washing dishes in my dishpan and emptying that into JAY's sink. (Different, fully functional tank for that side of the house.) I will do my laundry in his machine when he is at work, and then use my own dryer.

I will rock back and forth making random baby babble sounds.

And I'll simply hope I have the money to cover this and someone will want our wonderful 2800 square foot home with a beautiful bedroom plus office 580 sq. ft.  in-law apartment. And tiled/hardwood new ground level family room with sun nook behind it, plus laundry and full bath. With my gardens that I dug all by myself over the last twenty years. Someone. So. All of you please do your dance to the water gods dances, or, yes, go ahead and pray to Yaweh. Or cross your fingers...  maybe your toes as well, though that can be uncomfortable. Or just laugh along with me and hope I keep finding ways to laugh.

And I'll plug along. I don't think I will have to announce in the blog if the house sells. I think you will hear the whoops clear across the world.  Maybe I should go the gym pool this weekend...  Or the desert? Maybe I should work on my desert painting?

Oy.

Barbara Sher and starting over

I think that anyone over forty — or under it, for that matter — would do well to check out her website and then find one or all of her books. I have to admit she helped inspire me to believe that I am not too old to take computer courses, start an at home business, or keep pursuing the kinds of work I know are best for me.

I tend not to go for things that are too "awaken your inner child" in language or intent. I am down to earth, for the most part. She is anti-power of positive thinking in her approach, but frankly, I think she is one of the most positive thinkers I ever saw. Forgive me Barbara if you Google yourself and read this. If you get a chance to attend a workshop through public television or anything else, be prepared to laugh and to go through some truly PRACTICAL networking and brainstorming exercises, unlike most others you go to. You get to dream out loud and have other people even show you how on earth you might go after that dream. She encourages people who are eclectic in their focus, who feel restless with their lives but don't know why. There. That's my endorsement.

I guess I believe that none of us makes it on our own, even if we think so. If we look hard enough, there are books, shows, random people who have inspired us, held out a hand for just a moment, smiled at the right time. As I develop this blog, I hope to post parts of my autobiography, and bits of how my business is going. I want to blither about whatever I choose, with the recognition that I may think I've deleted material, but it may be here forever. It's an exercise in restraint in some ways, and trust in others.... which pretty well describes some of Barbara Sher's advice about launching your dream.

Here's her website, for any random wanderer who drifts through my blog.
http://www.barbarasher.com/

From the ground up

I am starting over for about the fifteenth time in my life. I could say this is a bad thing, but that would be a lie. The truth is that I'm excited--perhaps more than I have ever been. Being nearly penniless and having a physical condition that precludes "normal" employment are forcing me to do what I've always wanted.

Bummer.

I'm a boomer and I'm feeling new again, and I'm wondering whether there is a world of boomers outther who are reinventing our rusty revolutionary voices. I hope so. For now, I simply hope to use this blog to draw a few people to my business, sure, but to draw more to a virtual community of people who are tired of feeling that our culture has sapped us of our creative joy.

No, I'm NOT talking about touching base with our inner child. I'm talking about being a kid. An all out kid. About playing with paint. Dragging out the building toys. Just getting out a sketch pad. Gardening without a plan. Playing ping pong. My niece and I play Monopoly that never ends. We give each other more money when someone's about to lose, so that the game won't end. It drives her dad NUTS.

I am reinventing myself at fifty-seven. I am making peace with the lumps and bumps and wrinkles and surprises in the mirror. I am decidedly annoyed at the attitudes I run into that tell me I am all through and unhirable. Well, then, I'll hire myself... again.

I have been a writer for twenty years, writing for universities, for nonprofits. So perhaps I'll try writing for myself. I have been to dozens of creativity workshops and memoir workshops, and writing seminars, and computer refresher courses.

Its' time I put to use what I've learned and began running some of my own workshops, dared to create the sort of community I long for, along the lines of an old-fashioned salon. Creative people who want a place to play and to explore. We'll see.

This blog can be a place to start without having to be too specific, but where I can develop the plan and launch it. Perhaps it can draw other people who are reinventing themselves as well.