THE REALITY OF ESCAPING INTO FANTASY
I just finished watching the last episode of Bridgerton, season three. I am a bit embarrassed to admit it. I would rather say I watched some historical documentary than I spent hours and hours enthralled by a sexy Regency soap opera, but I did. Sometimes I just need to escape into total fantasy, which Bridgerton has in spades. In Bridgerton there are no poor people and no racial or social unrest. The biggest problems people face are concerns about what extremely attractive and well dressed person they are going to marry. There are no termites in their houses like there are in mine. Evidently there are no bathrooms either but they manage to stay impeccably groomed through every crisis that befalls them. So what has kept me willing to revisit this impossible world night after night? I was especially intrigued by watching a woman who was not a size zero playing a romantic lead. That is a fantasy I can get into. A MIRACULOUS TRANSFORMATION It’s rare to see a curvy woman portrayed in such an appealing way. I thought about how her character, Pentelope Featherington, has transformed over the three seasons of Bridgerton. In the beginning she is unsure of herself and uncomfortable in the whirlwind social world of fancy parties and balls. Then it is revealed to the audience that, under the pen name Lady Whistledown, she is the secret author of the local gossip newsletter and a talented writer with a unique view of people’s vulnerabilities. In season three she steps out into society as a new woman (with behind-the-scenes help from an army of hairdressers, costume designers, and makeup artists), and transforms from an ugly duckling into the belle of the ball. It makes me imagine what my life would be like if I were a character in Bridgerton. I don’t feel ugly but I have never felt beautiful either. In my fantasy world, I would love to be transformed, like Pentelope, into a new woman, pampered by all those makeup artists and costume designers. I can see myself in a Regency inspired empire waist dress. They were very popular in the 1960’s and always one of my favorite styles. It’s a look that is flattering on almost any body. I would forego the corset, however, as a enjoy breathing more than I want my waist to look smaller. BECOMING LADY WHISTLEDOWN I am too old to be one of the young ladies husband hunting at the ball, but I would enjoy stepping into the shoes of Pentelope to become the next Lady Whistledown, author of the local gossip newsletter. A gossip column is a bit like a blog and I have lots of experience writing. Words have power and writing has the power to transform.
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I have never been a fan of creepy crawly creatures, but right now they seem to be particularly bad. Cucumber beetles and cabbage worms are carving big holes in my precious plants. Termites are eating my house. How can such small creatures take up such a big space in my consciousness?
SMALL BUGS AND BIG FEARS Yes, they are small and I could easily squish them with my bare hands, but the thought of actually doing that makes me cringe. I don’t want to even think about touching anything that looks like a miniature space alien. Plus they have the power of numbers. I could ignore the three lousy cabbage worms I found on my sunflowers, but if I don’t take action now they will soon take over my whole garden. Unfortunately they aren’t the only thing I’m worried about. Fear struck my heart recently when I discovered a small tunnel carved into my wood floor. I know I will soon be spending big bucks battling the untold number of unseen termites munching on my house. I am overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of insects threatening my sense of peace and security. I feel powerless. It’s not that I can’t do anything. I’ve been checking my garden every day for unwanted critters and I have contacted the exterminators to deal with the termites. What makes me feel powerless is that feeling that no matter what I do, the problem will never go away completely. They will come back, or some new unknown mini monster will show up when I least expect it. I will always have to deal with these insects in some way, shape, or form. WHAT’S REALLY BIG AND WHAT’S SMALL The reality is that there are a lot more of them than there are humans on this planet. Probably long after the extinction of mankind, insects will be the creatures that survive. Perhaps in some dystopian future they will rule the world. I have an image in my head from one of those science fiction movies with ants the size of a tank threatening tiny humans. By reversing the natural order of things, these movies play on our fears that we are not the masters of our lives, They make something we think of as small and unimportant big and threatening. I am beginning to see why I needed to write about my fears and frustrations over termites, and cabbage worms. This is bigger than bugs. They are just a symbol of the powerlessness and fear I feel about having to deal with more than I can handle, whatever that might be. What’s really bugging me is that I’m not sure why I feel so overwhelmed right now. I think I am confused about what issues are actually big and what is small. I have to admit that if termites and cabbage worms are my most pressing problems, my life is relatively peaceful and easy compared to what is going on in the world. I guess I should be grateful that the bugs are giving me something concrete to focus on instead of worrying about all the bigger issues I have no control over. I am doing more driving and way less walking. As result, I am not looking at the world in the way I did when I couldn’t drive. I don’t want to forget that walking helps me see and connect to the world up close and personal. It also reminds me that I am on a journey, and sometimes all I can do on that journey is to just put one foot in front of the other. Walking makes me stronger physically, mentally, and spiritually. WALKING WITH DAD Years ago I used to walk every morning with my dad. He was one of the rare people on the planet whose stride matched my short legged steps. Dad was a fabulous story teller, but not much of a conversationalist. I remember our morning walks as a time where I could really talk to him about things that were on my mind, not just listen to his memories from the past. Ironically those walks have become a unique memory from my own past and I treasure every story he told. WALKING WITH GRANDPA One of my most memorable walks was strolling through an outdoor museum called Land of Legends (Sagnlandet Lejer) on a trip to Denmark where my grandpa was born. It was like a mini Disneyland, but more homey and without the crowds. The park was made up of acres of land divided into historical sections, from the Stone Age and the Vikings to the 1800’s. There was a 19th century farmhouse that was a lot like one my grandpa used to describe when he talked about his childhood. At ten years old he was sent to earn his keep at a nearby farm, The barn and the house were all part of the same structure. The section where they kept the animals was where my grandpa slept. It was an incredible experience to actually walk inside of that house and be able to imagine what his life would have been like. I had driven there in a rental car and gotten lost trying to find the place. I was way out of my comfort zone. My stress and fear started drifting away, however, as I walked alone on a tree lined lane towards the farmhouse. The branches of the trees formed a canopy overhead that kept me dry when it started to rain. I remember that it was very quiet, except for the patter of rain on the leaves. Despite being far from my home I felt protected and safe. As I walked along, I was transported into another era, one in which I could feel the presence of my grandpa. WALKING WITH LINDA I found that same sense of peace on a walk I took a few days after my twin sister Linda died. I had been feeling very depressed and overwhelmed when all of a sudden I had a close encounter with a turkey just a block away from my house. I had never seen a wild turkey in my neighborhood before and I haven’t seen one since. He came out of nowhere and casually strolled across the sidewalk in front of me. It was such a random weird experience that it shook me out of my grief for a bit. Little did that turkey know how much he boosted my spirits. I had not written much on my blog for a couple of years and my turkey adventure made me smile and want to write again. Three years later I am still writing but I feel stuck. The ideas aren’t flowing out of me in the way they used to and I have been struggling over what to say in my blog. Maybe I need to get out and see if I can find that turkey again. Images That Remind Me of My Walks with Dad, Grandpa, and Linda The corn is sprouting. I tricked it into thinking it was in Kansas. Normally corn does not grow well on the pacific coast. Corn needs lots of sun and heat. Summer here can be foggy and cold. I live just a few blocks from the ocean, which sends in a blanket of fog in the morning. The fog usually (but not always) rolls out around noon. It’s perfect balmy weather for humans but not so good for corn. To get the corn to sprout I warmed up the soil in one of my raised beds by covering it with clear plastic. Then I soaked the seeds in warm water overnight, and dutifully watered with warm water after planting. The seeds have been tucked under the plastic sheet to keep them toasty and protected from hungry birds and wandering cats looking for an outdoor litter box. Yesterday I saw little green sprouts popping up. Yay! Go corn! It’s growing fast, so I removed the plastic sheet and built a mini greenhouse around the corn patch using clear shower curtains that I bought at the Dollar Store. It’s all held together with binder clips. I love the challenge of recycling random stuff in an unexpected way. There is nothing more satisfying than seeing something you have planted from a seed spring to life. This is true for other things besides plants. I get the same feeling from fresh new ideas that grow from a small spark in my brain, or from watching home improvement projects blossom into something beautiful. Now the hard part begins. It’s not enough to plant a seed and hope it will grow. It needs to be nurtured and cared for. There will be months of watering and feeding. Corn is a heavy feeder and will need a nitrogen boost when it gets about a foot high. I will have to keep my eye out for garden pests and diseases that can spot a vulnerable corn patch from miles away. Later, after the tassels have appeared and the ears start to send out some silks, I will have to do daily corn stalk shaking. Corn is pollinated by the wind and my patch is only 4ft x 4ft. If I don’t do something to make the pollen drift down instead of getting blown away I won’t get any kernels on the cobs. If this all sounds like a lot of work for a few ears of corn, you’re right. But I enjoy the whole process as much as I enjoy eating the corn. That’s what makes it all worth while.
Right now the corn is too young to notice the lack of sun, but it won’t be long before it figures out that it’s not in Kansas anymore. Eventually it will outgrow the greenhouse and be on its own. Hopefully by then it will be big enough and acclimated enough to the coastal weather to put out a few edible ears. There is nothing like corn freshly picked from my garden to make me feel as warm and toasty as I hope my plants feel. RIDING THE BUS VS. DRIVING When I am in my car there is a steel wall between me and the rest of the world. It feels safe and comfortable. Riding the bus brings me up close and personal with a bigger world that includes a broader range of the people in my community. AN ENCOUNTER WITH A HOMELESS WOMAN The other day I met a woman who is homeless. She was waiting at the same bus stop and we sat down facing each other in the front of the bus that is reserved for seniors and the disabled. All of her worldly possessions were crammed into a large foldable wire cart, the kind my dad used to use for his laundry. She explained to me, in a rather matter of fact manner, that her life was in that basket. Although it was not an easy life she seemed to accept it in a way I didn’t expect. I thought that perhaps she was living in a shelter because she looked fairly put together but she said she was “sleeping out,” as in the opposite of sleeping indoors. I had never heard that term before although I suspect it is a common way of describing yourself as a homeless person. In my mind I tried to imagine what it meant. I found it difficult to picture this middle aged woman with a beautiful smile curled up in a blanket on the ground. I am usually very guarded around strangers. Outside of saying a brief hello when I pass someone while I am out on a walk, I don’t often carry on a conversation with anyone I don’t know. I have had some experiences where that didn’t feel safe. Being in the relatively controled environment of the bus gave me an opportunity to connect with someone I would otherwise never have met. She was anxious to talk and I was open to listen. In the time it took us to ride downtown I learned a lot about her and her family. Her mother lived in the area and needed care, and her sister had moved into their mother’s house. She was happy that her sister was willing to take on that responsibility, something she had no desire to do. She preferred being homeless to interacting with her family. I got the impression that homelessness separated her from difficult family dynamics and gave her a sense of freedom, but it was freedom with an uncertain future. GOING FORWARD The ride and the conversation were short but they left a big impression on me. I realize that I have a lot of preconceptions about what it means to be homeless, carrying your life with you in a shopping cart. Her story put a face on the reality of being homeless. I felt compelled to write about it but I’m not really sure what to say. I don’t have any earth shaking revelations about what I learned other than it confirmed for me that the world is filled with a broad variety of people and we are all doing the best we can to survive. I feel lucky that I have a safe and comfortable place to call home. This week I got my new glasses and finished the online Mature Driver Tune-up class. After enduring two months of limited vision due to cataract surgery, everything finally looks sharper and clearer. Taking the class also boosted my confidence about driving. I am back behind the wheel again, moving through the world in my safe mobile cocoon. There is a part of me that will miss riding the bus. Which Way Should I Go?I had to stop driving when I had my first cataract surgery. All those years of just jumping into the car to go shopping and run errands came to a giant halt. I thought it would be temporary and looked at it as good practice for the future, but the future may be closer than I thought. THE RUN IN After not driving for over a month I decided that my vision had improved enough with the surgery on my second eye that it was safe to drive. On my first outing behind the wheel I ran into a little old lady on a bike. This was not an “I ran into” someone social encounter where I saw a person I knew and said “Hi, how are you doing?” It involved physical contact with my car. No one was hurt but it left a prominent scrape on the bottom of my back car door and a gash in my self image as a capable driver. I am still not sure exactly what happened. I had plotted out a short trip to a nearby grocery store that seemed easy and safe. It felt good to be on the road again. One block from my house I spotted a woman on the right side of the road riding a bike pulling a small trailer. We were both headed in the same direction. As I slowly passed by her I heard a crunch and quickly pulled over. I leaped out of my car in a panic, thinking I would find her and her bike on the ground, but she was still sitting upright with no obvious injuries to her or her bike. She assured me she was fine. When I tried to determine how and where we collided, she pointed to her ear and informed me she didn’t have her hearing aides in and couldn’t understand what I was saying. She seemed surprised that I was concerned about her. After checking again for any damage to her or her bike I went back to my car and finished my shopping trip, but I was not the same person that confidently headed out to the store a few minutes earlier. A WAKE UP CALL I could make up a lot of excuses about who actually hit who and question why she was out on the road without her hearing aides, but I know this was a wake up call for me. The idea that I could have caused bodily harm to someone haunts me. What message is the Universe trying to tell me? Is this a sign that I should stop driving altogether? I thought I was driving normally but maybe, as a result of not driving for a while, I have lost some of my ability to estimate the distances around my car and avoid crashing into something. Am I a danger to myself and others if I continue to drive? How many collisions with little old ladies on bikes does it take to call it quits? When and how do I even make such a life changing decision? I called two of my friends and told them about the accident. Neither of them said “Oh Leslie, you’re a great driver, don’t worry about it.” They didn’t say “You need to stop driving, NOW!” either, but they described some issues I have that make me one of those little old ladies you don’t want to get stuck behind when you are trying to get somewhere quickly. This wasn’t just about my vision. There were other signs that my driving skills were declining. Total strangers beep their horns at me when I drive too slowly or hesitate as I am making a turn. WHICH WAY DO I GO? Just the thought of not being able to drive leaves me flummoxed. How do I give up something so ingrained in my sense of self? What would happen to my independence? How would I do this without being a burden on others? I am eternally grateful for the friends who have given me rides, but I just want to be able to go to a store on my own and shop without having someone waiting around for me to get it done. Yes, it’s possible to do that without a car, but I have been car-less for over a month now and it’s not easy. This is not a decision that can be made lightly. It affects my whole way of life. I feel like I am at a fork in the road and I don’t know which way to go. THE DECISION What I finally decided was that I don’t have to make that decision today. I need to take my time and do some research. After seeking advice from friends, my senior discussion group, and my doctor at my yearly Medicare exam I found some things I can do without committing myself one way or the other. I signed up for a Mature Driver Tune-Up online driving class for seniors. The people I know who have taken the class all thought it was a good way to update their driving knowledge, plus you can get a discount on your insurance. I also found a local driving school that has a Senior Assessment program. They evaluate visual, cognitive, and reaction abilities and it includes a behind the wheel check up. Having a professional evaluation will help me decide if I just need a tune-up in my driving skills or if I need to limit my driving more drastically. In the mean time I plan to continue to hone my skills at riding the bus and finding alternative means of transportation. My Dad was a great role model in so many ways. He didn’t fight the changes that happen with aging. When he needed to stop driving he made the decision on his own. I know that he had some incidents that led to his decision, but he only collided with inanimate objects, not little old ladies on bikes. I want be like my Dad, looking honestly at my limits and accepting whatever road I need to take. RIDING THE BUS I used to ride the bus all the time when I was young and didn’t have a driver’s license. Now I am old and, after having cataract surgery, I can’t see well enough to drive. This is not a permanent condition - yet. I suspect it will happen eventually sometime in the not too distant future as not only my eyes, but also my reaction time and driving skills deteriorate. I guess I better get used to the fact that I won’t always be able to just hop into my car and go wherever I want to. I look at this bus riding experience as preparation for what lies ahead. A NEW ADVENTURE Like anything new it takes some effort to learn the ropes, starting with where the heck do I get onto a bus. It’s not that easy. The bus doesn’t stop at any old corner. You can’t just wave desperately at an oncoming bus and hope that it will stop and pick you up. I found that I could go on Google maps and drive virtually around my neighborhood looking for the tell tale signs of bus stops: a bench (sometimes with a cover to protect perspective riders from the rain) and/or a pole with a bus stop sign. When I was driving, bus stops were not something I was aware of; now I see the importance of their existence. Next I looked online for a bus schedule. Like the ability to drive around my neighborhood virtually, this is something I didn’t have access to in my younger days before the birth of computers. You would think it would be an improvement but it’s not exactly fool-proof. Using the maps I found online it looked like the nearest usable bus route to get downtown was a good 20 minute walk away. Later, when I got access to a paper version of the bus schedule, I discovered that there was a route I could use with a stop just a couple of blocks away. Yay! There is a God. I have a stop where I can get on the bus and a route to get me where I want to go. Does this mean I can just go and hop on the next bus. Nooooooooooo! I have to have a plan. I need to carefully calculate how long it will take me to get to the bus stop so that I am there at the same time the bus comes by. If I miss the bus it could take as long as an hour to get the next one. They don’t show the time for every stop so I have to guesstimate when I need to be at the stop and give myself plenty of time to account for my speed, the speed of the bus, and any other unforeseen issues. This is a bit like one of those math problems we did in elementary school. If a rider can walk from home “A” at two miles per hour and the bus is going 25 miles per hour on route “C”, how long will it take for both the bus and the rider to meet at bus stop “B”? RAIN AND THE WEATHER I remember waiting for a bus on a blistering winter day in Minnesota when the temperature was -30. I was in college and attempting to get to school on the other side of town. I never made it. No, I didn’t die, frozen into a statue at the bus stop. I gave up waiting and walked back home when the burning pain in the tiny bit of exposed skin on my face became unbearable. Luckily the temperature in California rarely reaches freezing, let alone thirty below. It does rain, however. A few days ago I planned to go to a birthday party using the bus to get there. I carefully checked the routes and schedules and calculated the time I needed to leave in order to make it to the bus stop as well as when and where to get a bus home. Then I checked the weather and discovered that rain was in the forecast. I tried to imagine standing at the bus stop near my house where there is no protective shelter, bundled up in my puffy water-proof winter coat with the hood pulled tightly around my face. It was not a pretty picture. Then I remembered my experience in Minnesota. Nothing could be as bad as that. I got myself ready and decided that unless it was pouring buckets I would give it a try. As it turned out it was barely drizzling and I made it to the party relatively dry. I was so proud of myself for not letting the rain dampen my spirits or my ability to get out in the world. THE PEOPLE ON THE BUS You might think the bus is a great place to meet new people. It’s not, but it is a great place to observe people. Not surprisingly, there are a lot of old people on the bus and a lot of young people, but not very many people in the middle. The middles are all happily driving their own cars. In this town there are a lot of people on bikes too, but that is not an option for me. As I sat in the section reserved for seniors and the disabled I looked around and saw the usual college students glued to their phones. There isn’t a lot of chit chatting now that the cell phone is a constant companion. Not that I’m the chit chatting type, with or without my phone. When I was in college riding the bus I remember looking out of the window a lot. I tend to wander off into my own world. Riding the bus can be a good time for contemplation and meditation. You can’t do that while driving. I did carry on a brief conversation the other day with a man sitting on the same bench waiting for the bus. He was not old or young. He had a back pack with a rolled up sleeping mat attached to the front. We exchanged a brief greeting when I sat down and then settled into waiting. He was rearranging the things in his back pack. I commented on how organized he was and then disappeared into my own mental rearrangement of the things in my brain. When I glanced back at him he had a knife in his hand. For a millisecond a tingle of fear ran through me, but he was busy reattaching his sleeping mat and cutting the cords that held it in place. A few minutes later the bus came and he graciously motioned me to board before him. WHAT I LEARNED FROM RIDING THE BUS It’s OK for me to feel afraid. This experience was a lesson in listening to my fears but not jumping to conclusions. Fear keeps me alert and safe but it’s not a reason to avoid potentially fearful situations. Like the river rafting trip I wrote about recently, my bus riding adventure has been an opportunity to do things differently. When the time comes for me to stop driving altogether, I now have some experiences that will make navigating without a car less traumatic. Of course there are other ways to get around besides the bus. My friends have been amazing about helping me get to doctor appointments but I don’t want to burden them with ordinary things when I have other ways to travel. Uber is $15 - $50 one way and the bus is only a dollar for senior citizens like me. Plus I learn more about life when I take the bus. And Other Death Defying FeatsAVOIDING MY FEARS Some people love scary things. I am not one of them. I don’t like horror movies where mass murderers wearing hockey masks attack innocent bystanders with a chain saw. I hate heights, especially when combined with speed, as in riding a rollercoaster. I have no desire to risk potential death by bungee jumping off of a bridge over a deep canyon. I thought that my fears kept me safe. I cautiously moved through the world making judicious decisions that kept me guarded from serious injury, not only of my physical body but also of my psyche. I carefully weighed the consequences of doing anything that seemed dangerous, where I could get hurt. This attitude kept me safe in some ways but it wasn’t much fun. I sat on the sidelines when one of my friends had a special birthday party and we all pitched in to send her on a hot air balloon ride. I stayed with the ground crew while others went up in the balloon with her. I followed in a car and watched from below when the balloon went off course and lost the wind. I witnessed the mayhem of having the balloon pulled down in an intersection in the middle of a heavily populated neighborhood. I was safe but it wasn’t as fun or exciting as actually being in the balloon. FACING MY FEARS I did let my friends talk me into going river rafting on the Snake River. At the time I agreed to do it because I didn’t have a clue what class five rapids actually were. Less than an hour into the days long trip I thought was going to die. We hit the edge of a massive whirlpool and the large inflatable raft I was riding in went vertical. I was sitting on the front edge of the raft holding on to a safety rope for dear life while I watched a giant wall of water crash down on us from above. Seconds later the raft bounced up out of the wave and careened down the river. I was eternally grateful that I was still in the raft and not floating down the river in my life vest, feet first and trying to “breath in the troughs” as we had been instructed to do if we fell out of the raft. We continued through the rapids until we found a quiet spot to pull over to the shore. It took every ounce of my being to get myself back in that raft. When the trip was over it seemed like I could do anything. I felt as if I had faced Death incarnate and survived. I found the sheer joy of having taken a risk despite my fears. Was I a whole new person? Not really. I had many more years ahead of me to slog through the trials and tribulations of life, including divorce, addiction, and the death of loved ones; but it planted a seed. I knew I did not have to be ruled by my fears. EXPLORING THE UNEXPLORED Now that I am 76 and I have a lot of adventures behind me, I am not as afraid of taking risks as I was in my younger days. My writing is filled with references to taking a leap of faith. I’m still not ready to try a physical leap and go bungee jumping, but I am willing to try new things. Actually I am ready for more than just something new. I see myself as exploring the unexplored, whatever that may mean. I am grateful for my friends who have consistently nudged me into doing things I didn’t think were possible for a cautious little old lady like myself. Changing My VisionThrough Cataract Surgery and Speed Dating
SEEING CLEARLY Having cataract surgery made me feel very vulnerable. The ability to see clearly is something I don’t want to loose. Unfortunately, even with the miracles of modern medicine, there is no guarantee that my vision won’t continue to deteriorate at the same speed as the rest of my senior body. I have been hoping that replacing my old lenses with the latest synthetic versions will give my eyes a new lease on life. The surgery on my first eye was much less traumatic than I thought it would be. It’s a bit too early to make a final judgement on how well it worked. Things are still blurry but I hope I will be able to see better soon. Some of my friends warned me that their sharper vision unfortunately enabled them to see every teeny tiny wrinkle when they looked in the mirror. They were right. The cataract induced yellowish haze I have been looking through for years seems to have obscured the signs of aging. I can now see a lot more brown spots and crevices in my face than I ever imagined existed. I guess there can be a downside to better vision. REALITY STRIKES This makes me realize that how I see myself could be somewhat of an illusion. Have I been happily under the delusion that I don’t look like a 76-year-old little old lady with cats just because my eyes don’t register what the mirror exposes? Dad always took pride in the fact that he looked younger than his numerical age. Have I been kidding myself into believing that I take after him? Will my cataract surgery change the way I see myself? Will what I see in the mirror really make a difference in my self image? I go to a discussion group on aging at the local senior center. Last week the question was “Where do I think I will I be in five years.” Five years for a senior is like five cat years; it could mean major changes in a short period of time. There is a big difference between being 76 and 81. By that time I could be a completely different person physically, and not in a good way. Change is inevitable and I really don’t have a lot of control over it, but I don’t want fear to get in the way of expanding my horizons as I get older. With that in mind I find I have been a lot more willing as an oldster to take some risks I never imagined I would do when I was younger. SEEING BEYOND THE MIRROR Speed dating was one of the risky situations I was driven to explore again. It made me see myself in a completely different way. Before I did the first speed dating event last year, I didn’t think that I was datable. I felt too old, too short, too fat. I haven’t really changed physically but I don’t see being old, short and overweight as a limit to my social life in the same way as I did then. It doesn’t take eye surgery for me to see myself in a new way, just a willingness to step out of my comfort zone. My self image is not limited by what I see in the mirror. The signs of aging are going to accumulate whether I chose to see them or not. Although my vision is still a little blurry, my newly cataract free eye makes the world look a little brighter. The colors are stronger and more vibrant and that makes my heart sing. I don’t need perfect vision to feel good about myself, just the way I am, wrinkles, brown spots, and all. |
Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
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(from an entry posted on 5/1/2015) “I definitely fit some of the characteristics of a little old lady with cats: Retired - check, Single - check, Like to knit - check, Have cats - check. . .I do not want to get stuck in my Little Old Lady persona, however. In fact, this blog is a risk taking experiment in exploring and redefining what I want my retired life to look like.” Categories
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