after three months I recognized the true nature of dining hall menus in their two-week cycle of institutional perdition now I’ve revolted by way of vegetarian practice and straight from the garden gratitude for herbs and spices, sauces, flavored vinegar, pressed oils, the religious dimensions of feasting and fasting as well as prohibitions, there are reasons apart from snobbery no wines accompanied those dinners, after all, what do kids know and who would teach of goodness : as in what God saw as good, as in good to eat? and so it was, grace before vittles / sweet tasty dreams
Tag: Life
So much for one game plan
As I’ve been revisiting my earlier planning for retirement, I started to scold myself for not looking more carefully at finances. Then I remembered something I had anticipated but never noted: adding an overtime shift or two each month during my final five years of employment.
For years, management always seemed to have those openings, and the pay was good – time-and-a-half, often with a nighttime or weekend differential.
In the last five years, the kids would be on their own, for one thing. We would really build up our savings – by 25 to 50 percent, as I’m now calculating.
What happened instead was that the newspaper found itself increasingly financially strapped, to the point our pay was actually being cut. Officially, I was the copy desk chief, except that in the end there were no longer copy editors. They were all wearing other hats as positions consolidated. As for those overtime hours? We agreed to allow the hiring of part-timers.
So much for the big plan.
At least the stock market hadn’t crashed when my wife and I closed out our IRA to purchase the house in Maine.
Even with a deadline
Why is writing so slow?
You know, take so long to do, good or bad?
Reading, on the other hand, runs much faster than talk.
That’s why you don’t get much news in a newscast.
Just sayin’ …
I might as well get out of bed
Once again, another disturbing dream pushed me out of a restful sleep. It kept returning, with new twists.
It’s been nearly a decade since I last designed and paginated a newspaper page or faced its deadline pressure or even dealt with kinks in the paper’s latest computer system, but the game keeps popping up in my slumber – a game I’m also always on the verge of losing.
Why that and not, say, invading armies or insects or storms when it comes to anything verging on nightmares?
What are your repeated dreams?
Ways this move was easier than others in my life
I’m not counting the few times I relocated across town. I mean the big moves, from one state to another, even from one part of the country to another.
You already know my fondness for Dover – and I have been intensely loyal to some of the locales I’ve made home but not others – yet this transfer of fidelity has been rather startling in its speed.
Dover? That was the address I had longest anywhere, edging out my native Dayton. Yet the 300-mile leap from Dover to Eastport was a breeze in comparison to the others I’d done. It’s rather perplexed both my wife and me.
Here are a few factors.
- We needed to downsize, and our house and garden and stuffed barn were more than we could keep up with. Quite simply, they were weighing on us, not just emotionally but especially when we looked at our bank balance.
- I had been to Eastport. Apart from Dover, where I had been worshiping as a Quaker, the previous moves had dropped me in as a total stranger. I hadn’t even visited Indiana University until showing up as a student in the middle of my sophomore year. Well, there was my return as a research associate, this time with a wife and a duplex rental on the other side of town. I hadn’t even been to Binghamton, New York, for a job interview.
- Eastport had a few things I was anticipating. Quoddy Head State Park had rekindled a sense of wilderness I’d left behind in the Pacific Northwest 40 years earlier. And the local choir had a repertoire much like our Revelsingers in Boston. Plus, I had been to the small Quaker Meeting and worked in projects with one of its outstanding members.
- I wasn’t alone. Eastport started out as my elder daughter’s wild dream, soon supported by my wife. Where else could we afford to live so close to the ocean? Back to downsizing, but as a whole-family venture. No more Lone Ranger sans Tonto, even if I was coming up as the vanguard. Their visits were festive occasions.
- We weren’t doing it all in one fell swoop but rather in stages. For the first four months, I was commuting back to New Hampshire almost weekly as we prepared our old house to market – meaning largely decluttering and cleaning. On this end, we still need to make renovations before filling this place with goods now in storage. Frankly, I’m enjoying doing more with less.
- Emotionally, Covid had already distanced me from many connections. I wasn’t swimming daily, for one thing, so that part of my routine wasn’t severed. I hadn’t even seen my pool buddies or the lifeguards for the better part of a year. We Quakers were worshiping and conducting business by Zoom, and I could keep that connection going a while longer. I was even getting together monthly online with Dover’s religious leaders and a Seacoast writers’ schmooze.
- Being in the middle of a big writing project gave me a crucial focus and meant the solitude on this end was welcome. Normally, access to libraries would be essential to what I was investigating, but I found rare resources in my computer searches and downloads. Yes, times have changed.
- There was no accompanying sense of failure or betrayal. My job hadn’t been terminated or taken an unacceptable turn – gee, that could lead to another Tendrils! (You know, the modern American workplace – see my novel Hometown News for examples.) I didn’t even have a new job to confront – what a relief! My lover hadn’t just dumped me or failed to reconnect when I arrived, and I wouldn’t be searching for love, either. Nor had I left paradise for an industrial or suburban wasteland.
- I’ve enjoyed exploring with an eye for what I’d introduce to the others on their visits. And meeting some fascinating new folks, likewise. I still feel I’m living in a real-life Northern Exposure.
- Well, there were moments of feeling exiled, like “What have I done wrong,” but they were soon countered by reclaiming some of my independence. I’d gotten spoiled, as far as food goes, and not really cooked anything for two decades, other than lighting the grill or popping something in the microwave. (Well, there was a fried rice that impressed one of our Chinese guests.) But now our morning phone calls have included cooking advice and insights. That sort of thing. I’ve been pleased with my dinners, even the ones I wouldn’t serve anyone else, should I have to. As for exile? Nah, I’ve never felt more comfortable anywhere.
How else do you manage your time?
One of my pre-retirement exercises involved trying to envision a routine that would help me meet my dreams – or at least some ambitious goals. It meant considering how many hours a day and week I would devote to each segment of my life – what percentage of my time I’d devote to Quaker, to literary pursuits, to being outdoors, and so on.
This is what I came up with, though I have to confess it’s far from where I wound up.
- Meditation, hatha, scripture reading: 1½ hours a day (except for Sunday, when it becomes Quaker Meeting).
- Writing/revision/submissions: 3 hours a day.
- Outdoors &/or household care (including gardening): 3 hours a day. (Note: These two might float, so that a trip to the mountains is balanced by a longer day keyboarding).
- Reading & personal correspondence: 2 hours a day.
- Cooking, cleanup, errands, dining: 3 hours a day.
- Personal hygiene: ½ hour a day.
- Social (dancing, concerts, plays, film, community affairs): 3 hours a day.
~*~
Putting it together on a daily clock led to this:
- 5 a.m. rise, meditate, exercise (hatha or short walk), read Bible (break for coffee/light food – yogurt, fruit, toast).
- 6:30 a.m. write & revise.
- 9:30 a.m. outdoors &/or household care (bicycle ride, walk).
- 12:30 p.m. lunch.
- 1:00 p.m. nap.
- 2 p.m. personal hygiene.
- 2:30 p.m. reading/correspondence (including submissions?).
- 4:30 p.m. errands, cooking, cleanup.
- 7:30 p.m. social.
- 10:30 p.m. sleep.
~*~
It was awfully regimented, even for someone used to “living on the clock,” as I had in the newsroom. Worse, it still didn’t fit everything in. I wondered about something more flexible, perhaps alternating a month of intense writing/revision with a month of other activity. Did I need to specify reading or rereading one novel and one other book each week? That sort of thing.
~*~
Arraying them over a full week led to this:
SUNDAY: Quaker, with visitation to other Meetings once a month. Family and friends in afternoon or visits to museums and galleries. Possibly an evening movie.
MONDAY: My normal disciplined schedule (see above).
TUESDAY: Normal disciplined schedule. Take the trash out.
WEDNESDAY: Option for travel, mountaineering, hiking, swimming, etc. (may actually float in the week, depending).
THURSDAY: Normal disciplined schedule.
FRIDAY: Normal disciplined schedule.
SATURDAY: A real weekend break, for a change. “Simmering” abed. Brunch. Opera broadcast. Weekend trips. A “date” night. Dance/concert/theater/party.
~*~
Let me repeat, that’s nothing like what actually emerged. If anything, I wound up spending too much time “up in my lair” at the keyboard, at least before moving to our new old house.
The new exercise, when I remember to apply it, has me waking up with a question: What do I WANT to do today?
Deciding I want to do certain chores or tasks, knowing how I’ll feel when they’re accomplished, is a much better approach, than performing them with a sense of duty or obligation.
Or I can decide I want to do something else more … and can put them off because I want to.
How do you decide to best spend your time? And suggestions for the rest of us?
Ring around
under a busted shack or tongue of cocklebur she unearthed her own powdering honeycomb voicing nothing – through the ice, some observe private property, basketry over the window exposed as nutshells before straying that far from the wedding cake
So much for preserving footprints in the sand
After 50 years of keeping a journal, though more often of a weekly than daily regularity, I’ve passed the 200-volume mark. By now, most are hardbound, while others, especially early on, were of spiral-bound notebook nature or smaller size.
A few people in my past who admitted to trespassing into their contents were all disappointed. Guess they were expecting juicy details, though one was quite angry and accusatory. Look, mental health requires someplace to spew forth, and if a journal isn’t safe, corking up will only mean the feelings will fester.
Except that few of my entries articulate my emotions, feelings, or sensations. Yes, there were way too many of the hippie-era wow variety, but mine soon became a matter of tracking my ongoing activity. Just trying to remember what I did, who I met, what I saw filled the pages, when I could get to them.
Even so, they remain prompts into so much that happened at the time. And without them? There are no photos. Could that be why everybody is shooting like crazy with their cell phones?
The first newspaper editor who hired me, Glenn Thompson, urged me to keep a journal, though I didn’t get around to the practice until three years later, shortly after graduating from college. Still, I am everlastingly grateful. For the record, I was trying to puzzle together my “problem,” at least as it applied to the lack of a love life. Instead, it began noting the highs, even in the absence of a lover. And then began going from there.
Yes, I wish I had started earlier, there are so many details of my life I’ve forgotten and a trail from there would be deeply helpful in seeing how I eventually landed where I have.
Still, looking back, maybe mine aren’t journals, after all, but maps of my time, movements, and interests.
How do you keep track of where you’ve been?
Ten things about the leading lady in my life
Quite simply, she’s the coolest woman I’ve ever known. Warts and all. Now for some details.
- She’s an idealist while having no tolerance for b.s.
- Witty, even caustic, but never cruel. The truth, however, can sting.
- Much smarter than me, and better read, though knowing everything can be a problem. In other words, she remembers everything, especially what I’ve done wrong.
- I love watching her, the way she moves, the twinkle in her eye, the perplexed twist of her lips while solving a problem. Oh, yes, and her long, long hair.
- Has an artsy, natural style that leans toward earth-tones, folk sources, and simplicity.
- She’s frugal but generous.
- Has never been remunerated in just compensation to her societal contributions. If she were, we’d be living in high style.
- Is one of the world’s great cooks. And that extends to the garden, though she rarely has time for the weeding. The problem is, neither do I.
- Is gifted in spades with empathy. Only she can’t understand why the rest of us can be so lacking in it.
- Should have been an astronaut.
Do you follow a to-do list?
I thought everyone did. And then one day, at the close of Quaker worship, I casually asked the circle if anyone in the room didn’t do such a checklist. I was surprised by the number of hands that went up, even if they were a distinct minority.
How do they get everything that needs to be done, done? It’s still a mystery to me. It’s like I need a map if I’m gonna get anywhere.
My wife and I have multiplicities of such lists. The problem is keeping them all straight. Sometimes, once we find where they’ve gone missing, just trying to read the handwriting is confounding, but even guessing still helps.
For years, I kept both seasonal and monthly lists, broken down into categories of Personal, Domestic, Creative, Quaker/Spiritual, and, at times, even Computer and Astro. I eventually kept a master file on my PC for easy updating and printed out pages as needed for a clipboard.
You know, reminders of auto tag renewal, driver’s license, income tax filing, ordering firewood (and the phone number), furnace and chimney cleaning, medical exam and dental cleanups, birthdays and anniversaries, Yearly Meeting sessions, drafting our local Meeting’s State of Society report, and so on.
To that I added goals like weekend escapes, writing and publishing agendas, gardening chores, home improvements, even exercise, which never did actually happen. Reviewing these can be embarrassing.
Yes, we can regiment ourselves or else try to go with the flow, even if that means trying to put out endless fires we hadn’t planned on. The frustrating part is all the stuff that never got done – or as I’m seeing in my review, did so only years later. Others remain unfulfilled dreams or promises.
The more practical solution has been my keeping of weekly planning calendars, though a master list would still help in inserting some of the tasks. This year, I’ve gone with a smaller book – make of that what you will. I do miss the big artwork, though.
Jnana's Red Barn 