My fence has been hanging over me, not physically but psychologically. It surrounds half of the little plot of land that my house sits on. It is tired and worn and it needs my attention. The reason it has my attention right now is that I want to give my Abby cat a safe place to be outdoors. She is having a hard time confining her energy inside the small space of my house. The problem is that all of the remedies for cat-proofing a fence require an actual functioning fence to begin with. There is a part of me that thinks I need to do it myself. Why do I even think that a 74-year-old little old lady with cats needs to be an expert on fences? I am not that guy on PBS who remodels old houses. I don’t need to get out there and dig the post holes myself. Unfortunately just the thought of trying to find someone to replace my fence makes me feel paralyzed with anxiety. Finally, after spending weeks trying to figure out what I could do, I called my reliable handy man, even though he said he doesn’t do fences. It turns out he does REPAIR fences he just doesn’t build them. There is a glimmer of hope. He can figure out how to keep Abby from escaping. He can determine how much of the fence is OK and what needs to be replaced. He can order materials and replace posts and do all the stuff that overwhelms me. Hopefully I can turn it all over to him. Oh yes, that turning it over thing. My fence is reminding me that I am not Superwoman. I don’t have to try to do everything by myself. I need to be willing to reach out and get help and trust that, as with all things in life that I find overwhelming, there is a solution beyond what I am capable of imagining. That’s where turning it over comes in. There is a God and it’s not me.
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I started writing this post a while ago, but after Russia invaded Ukraine the world suddenly changed. The idea of writing about humor seemed ridiculous. There is nothing funny about war. Then I remembered that Zelensky was a comedian before he became the president of Ukraine. It made me wonder how that influenced him and if it had any affect on preparing him for the challenges he is now facing. There is a certain irony in the fact that Ukraine’s president used to be a comedian. I can see how that could have shaped his ability to deal with the unbearable responsibility he faces. Humor requires being able to take an honest look at life and to respond quickly to what is going on in the world. A friend who is a political cartoonist told me he thinks humor comes out of sarcasm and anger. I am not sure if I totally agree but I do see this in President Zelensky. He has a clear-eyed focus grounded in reality. He channels his sarcasm and anger in his responses with practiced skill, like the “I need ammunition not a ride” comment about the U.S. offer to assist with evacuating him from his country. It’s not often that you see that kind of straightforward response from world leaders. When I first started writing my blog I found that it was a great and surprising way to express my inner humor. I don’t consider myself particularly funny but funny things just seem to pop up out of nowhere when I’m writing. Unlike my cartoonist friend, however, my humor doesn’t come from cynicism and anger, it comes from looking at life and my own foibles in an honest, self-deprecating way. There is no cynicism in it. More like unvarnished truth and acceptance that I am human. Several years ago I went to a book signing with Dave Barry, a very funny guy and incredible writer. I did some research at the time about what makes something funny and wrote a blog about it. I just found that blog again (check out “What’s So Funny?” February 7, 2016 in the archive). Sure enough, one of the suggestions about how to be funny was to tell your truth in an entertaining way and be honest about the stupid things you do. In times like this I need humor more than ever. So what’s the stupidest thing I have done lately? I was running late for a zoom meeting and ended up wearing giant red Velcro rollers in my hair. It was an interesting choice and certainly got some attention but it was probably more stupid than funny. But it could be funny, depending on how I write about it. I think the people at the zoom meeting thought it was funny, although maybe more like “funny” in the same way my Mom meant when she said something was “different.” It was her “Minnesota polite” way of saying she hated it. My zoom photo (which required a lot of time taking a multitude of selfies to achieve the most flattering look) was the first thing they saw, and then up popped the real me. The contrast between the well-coifed Leslie in the photo, and the little old lady with curlers certainly made an impression. No one said anything at first, but later on in the meeting one of the members questioned my choice of hair-do (or hair-don’t) in a nice but straightforward way. Evidently this was a look that fit the image of a stereotypical little old lady with cats perfectly. She thought that I should put a photo of myself in curlers in the book of blogs I am writing. I don’t think I will take her up on that suggestion. It’s one thing to let my small and supportive zoom group see me with large red cylinders protruding from my head, but it’s not something I want to blast out to the universe - unless I want to look like a space alien. Nope, my Abby cat will be the only living creature who will see me in rollers at this point, and of course I will too when I look in the bathroom mirror. I can get a good start to my day by laughing at myself. I am not a fan of wrestling. You will never find me watching people getting pummeled on TV unless it involves murder and death in a PBS mystery. My newest cat Abby likes to wrestle. She is 10 months old and I realize that this is an important part of her cat development. She needs to learn how to protect herself. I bought a big stuffed toy that looks like a fluffy green worm with a tail. She grabs it and shakes it and kicks it with her hind legs. I am glad she is doing this with her toy and not my hand. I remember being very uncomfortable with adults who liked to tease and wrestle when I was a kid. My Dad was not the wrestling kind of guy. He liked quiet peaceful things like reading, fishing, and hiking. He took us to the library, baited our hooks, and showed us where to find wild flowers and blueberries, but he never wrestled. In my late 30’s I went to some singles activities where they did playful physical games. I was very uncomfortable. Someone questioned my ability to be in touch with my inner child but my inner child could not relate to this kind of aggressive physical play. I felt like a wierdo because I had no desire to chase other adults around. This is probably one of the reasons I am a single little old lady with cats. So what am I wrestling with now? Certainly nothing physical since I wouldn’t touch that with a 10 foot pole. What is it that makes me fascinated by Abby’s physical prowess at beating up a stuffed green worm? Who or what would I like to take down in a mano a mano confrontation? It feels like I am having an inner battle with myself. There are times when I question how much of myself I want to reveal to the world, especially when I am writing this blog. I put a toe into the self expression waters and then draw back, afraid of what people will think of me. Old feelings of rejection and fear of looking weird, the way I did in the singles group, pop up. Unlike me, Abby is super aggressive in her pursuit of the things she wants, especially her green worm. I am more likely to tippy toe around and try not to stand out too much. No wonder I am in a wresting match with myself. I want to be a little risky but I am afraid to rock the boat. Ugh! There is no “winner” in this battle. I am the winner and the loser. The more I put myself out there in the world, the more vunerable I am and the more likely I am to experience what I am afraid of. Where’s the win, win? I put myself out there and I learn to accept myself as I am? I put myself out there and I strengthen my mental muscle to be who I really am, my authentic self? Like my Abby cat, I learn to fight for what I yearn for? Winning is probably not a good reference here. Experiencing and participating in life is more what it is about. I don’t have to be in the WWE in order to do that. I just have to get out of the battle in my head. |
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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