Category Archives: Friendship

01.19.17
by

Remembering John

2016 was a brutal year. And in its final days, it stole the life of one of my dearest friends. John’s death was tragic, sudden, and wholly unexpected.

I first met John almost 29 years ago, in April of 1988, probably on the first day of my new job at Mercer. He was the kind of person you would notice right away. Three things always stood out: (1) his looks (young, tall, handsome, and always impeccably dressed) (2) his laugh (raucous and infectious), and (3) that mouth (loud and profane).

About a year into the job, when I tried to play match-maker between a single young woman, who worked as my paralegal, and John (who, as previously noted, was drop-dead gorgeous), she politely informed me that John was gay. The fact that I was so astonished shows how naïve I was at the time, and how much I had yet to learn. I had yet to experience the John Canova Tutorial on Life & Style.

I worked closely with the group that John was part of, and as time went by and the number in the group diminished, I found myself working more and more with John. I began to see that, under that brash, flamboyant, irreverent exterior, was one of the most genuine persons I’ve ever known. John gradually crept into and occupied a place in my heart as I slowly and unexpectedly found a generous, caring and loyal friend. In our large, competitive work environment, there were always competing agendas and shifting alliances, and I was forced to always watch my back.  John was one of the few (maybe the only) colleague who I never doubted had mine.

John and I at my retirement celebration in August 2013

John and I at my retirement celebration in August 2013

I encountered a very rough patch the first year back on the job after giving birth to my son. I was tired, distracted, and trying to find my work-life equilibrium. John was a teammate of mine on two of my largest clients, and he went out of his way to help me, in a variety of ways – whether cutting me slack on deadlines, pitching in where I needed assistance, or even sticking up for me when others in the office complained about my new part-time schedule. When one of my colleagues repeatedly grumbled that I “wasn’t pulling my load,” I heard (after the fact) that John paid a special visit and flatly told that person to “f*@k off.” I was mortified and delighted.

And we had such fun together on business trips! Once we went to a 403(b) conference in Denver. We flew in late at night, took a cab for what seemed like miles (at one point, John asked the driver, “Are we in Wyoming?”) and arrived quite late at our hotel. We met for dinner, and since we were both starving, ordered the huge rib-eye steak special. The next day, we were so dehydrated from the altitude and protein that we could barely stay awake, much less concentrate on the complex details of the tax code being taught. We laughed for years about the time we “ate a side of beef, a mile high, at a 403(b) conference.”

Another time, we flew to Nashville to do a compliance review on a 401(k) plan. We ate chicken-fried foodstuff at the Cracker Barrel (the first and only time I’ve been) and laughed at the Big-Hair ladies, we walked around the Opryland Hotel, and then got horribly lost on the way to our hotel in rural Tennessee. We found ourselves on back country roads, and John remarked that he was expecting men in white robes with burning crosses to appear from behind the trees. Which launched us into hysterics for no good reason. We stopped at a 7-Eleven to ask directions and John re-enacted his conversation with the “snaggle-tooth meth addict” clerk for me. Oh, he was so inappropriate, and all I could do was laugh!

Then there was the time that John and I were on our way to a meeting at Cal State University headquarters in Long Beach and we missed our turnoff and kept going right over a very long bridge. Even though we were late for our client meeting, we laughed uncontrollably all the way over the bridge and back.

Many days, in the office, at around 4:00, a bunch of us would gather in my office, to laugh and gossip, and basically blow off steam from our stressful day. When John was there, he and I would invariably start down some path of discussion (again, usually something wholly inappropriate) that would result in side-splitting fits of laughter, with tears streaming down both of our faces. There are only a handful of people in my lifetime that have consistently made me laugh that hard, and John was the best.

Apart from all the fun, there was a serious, sensitive side to John that I grew to admire. We talked about almost everything in our lives with each other and I valued his opinion because I knew he was always honest in his feedback. Likewise, he trusted me with his struggles, and we discussed everything from his challenges as a gay man to his heartbreak over his mother’s decline due to Alzheimer’s disease. My long friendship with John opened my eyes and informed me, and gave me new perspectives on numerous issues, and for that I am indebted to him.

Christmas cookies with John and Andy 2015

Christmas cookies with John and Andy 2015

After 25 years on the job (all of them with John) I took early retirement from Mercer in 2013. I wondered if my work friendships would survive the transition to retirement. I found several lasted a few months, but only a very few endured as lasting friendships. John’s friendship was probably the strongest. He continued to call me regularly (his favorite pet name for me was “Treasure,” along with “Bettina” and “Lamb”), and we enjoyed seeing each other for lunch and museum dates.   Once, when my son came home from college and needed a new suit, John met us at the Macy’s in Sherman Oaks and we shopped for a sharp-looking suit. Every Christmas, we made holiday cookies together at my house. And on December 17, 2016, my husband and I had dinner with John and Andy (John’s partner) to celebrate the holiday season. When we hugged and said good night, and he called me Treasure, I had no idea that would be our last time.

For me, a bright light has gone out, forever. Someone who has been in my corner, in my heart, for almost half my life, has left.  There will never ever be another John, and I will always cherish the memories of a sweet and beautiful friend.

09.18.16
by

Island Living, Canadian Style

Per typical for us, planning for our latest road trip began with a couple of destinations in mind, then grew organically as we thought of more things to do and then strung it all together. When all was said and done, we were gone 50 days, traveled over 8,500 miles, visited 14 states and 4 provinces (Canada).

The primary impetus for the trip was to visit our friends Sted and Robin, who invited us to spend a couple of weeks with them on their island on Georgian Bay, in Ontario, Canada. Yes, they have their own island and compound where they’ve spent every summer for the past thirty years.

Sted and Robin also have a home in Annapolis, MD, which they generously opened to us while our son attended the Naval Academy, and which basically became our second home for four years. Sted and my husband rowed crew together as midshipmen at the Academy, but we became close friends with them during our son’s stint in Annapolis.

During the many hours we spent with Sted, he spoke tenderly about Georgian Bay. His grandparents and parents owned lake cottages there, and he recalled how summers in Canada were his fondest memories from childhood. Many friends and relatives from Cincinnati, OH (his hometown) also summered there. Shortly after turning 40, he talked Robin into buying their own place on Georgian Bay, and they have spent every summer there since. Their four kids and 7 grandchildren grew up going to the island. It was always clear to me that Georgian Bay is key to Sted’s heart, and only by visiting would we truly know him.

Our ride is here!

Our ride is here!

With that in mind, and dearly missing Sted and Robin since our son graduated, we accepted their invitation to visit the island this summer (not an easy proposition since we live in Southern California).   In late July we left home for our trek across country on the Lincoln Highway (see my previous post The Lincoln Highway for that part of the trip). On August 11, we pulled into the marina at Pointe au Baril, ONT, parked our car, and waited for Sted and Robin to pick us up. Ten minutes later, they appeared in their 20-ft motor boat, loaded our suitcases and took us to the island.

The island

The island

After hearing so many of Sted’s island stories, I had a mental picture of the place, but didn’t know exactly what to expect. I had imagined a bay, with the various cottages in a rather straight line along the water. Instead, we discovered a vast body of water (Lake Huron) with inlets and islands dotting the bay, requiring navigation through a maze of twists and turns. Their island compound was about what I expected, but more comfortable, although not at all ostentatious. There was a dock for the boats, then a short walk up to the main cabin (where we stayed). They have two small guest houses (for their two daughters with kids) and their own small cottage on the opposite side.

The view from the main cottage

The view from the main cottage

We spent 12 blissful days on the bay, and got a real taste for island living. Every morning, my husband would go down and take a dip off the dock (it was a little too chilly for me, but I never tired of telling him to go jump in the lake). We woke at our leisure, made our own breakfast and lunch, and then had dinner together. There was no TV, and unless we had something planned, we spent our days reading, writing, talking, or napping. One day, we took Sted’s large boat out to Western Island harbor, jumped in the water, and grilled hamburgers and hot dogs onboard for lunch. Another morning, my husband joined Sted’s mens’ kayaking group for a morning paddle. As I waited on the dock to take pictures, I was astonished to see an armada of old guys in kayaks sweep around the bend. Later in the week, I reprised most of kayak route with my husband and Sted. The up-close views of the landscape and wildlife were breathtaking from the quiet of a kayak.

Another beauty of life on the bay is that, as an alternative to the solitude of the island, one can enjoy an active social life. During our time with Robin and Sted, we accompanied them to two cocktail parties, one dinner and a morning Bible study on other islands. We simply dressed up (a little), got in the boat, and motored over to the other island, where we were typically met at the dock by our hosts, who greeted us and helped tie up our boat. On our last Friday evening, Robin and Sted hosted a dinner party, and we spent a fair amount of time helping them prepare. We learned that menus are often driven more by what ingredients are available in the cottage, or at the small store at the marina. The only alternative is to take the boat to the marina, pick up the car and drive 45 minutes to the grocery store in the nearest town.

As comfortable as our island stay was, we were appreciative of the hardiness and resourcefulness of the Bay community.   Each island must be largely self-sufficient. They each have their own septic and power systems, and many don’t have electricity. Any large equipment for repairs or building must be brought in by barge. To go anywhere off the island requires a boat trip – day or night, good or bad weather – and most residents, from older kids to adults, are skilled in boating. Robin talked of her first few summers on the island, unfamiliar with water life, when she was basically left to fend for herself (when Sted had to return to work for several weeks) with four small kids and a boat. She learned ingenuity, but she also learned the mutual dependence of the community. We witnessed firsthand how the residents support each other, be it borrowing items, coordinating rides, or sharing information. On the morning that the guys went kayaking, Robin volunteered to make the coffee for their post-kayaking breakfast at a cottage with no electricity. We woke up early to start two large percolators, filled several large carafes with coffee, and waited with them on the dock for the hostess to pick them up in her boat.

Sunset on the bay

Sunset on the bay

Our time on Georgian Bay was a gift on so many levels. It was beautiful and relaxing. It was a joy to spend time with Sted and Robin. It was fun to meet their friends and enjoy a taste of the Bay social life. Most of all, it was a profoundly special experience to be invited into, and enjoy, the cherished place of a dear friend’s heart.

07.25.16
by

Travels with Flat Monica

I have been neglecting my blog lately, but only because I’ve been traveling and having way too much fun. I particularly enjoyed a recent trip to the Big Apple with my new close friend Flat Monica.

Originally, the trip was conceived as an epic birthday gala for my friend Real Monica. We have a tradition in our book club of celebrating milestone birthdays with a special expedition. In the past, we’ve typically stayed closer to home in Southern California, but Real Monica decided, for her milestone birthday festivity this year, she wanted us all to visit Tracy, a book club member who moved to New York a few years ago.

We went about planning our trip, finding dates that worked for everyone, exploring various activities and shows, and coordinating travel schedules. Ultimately, three of us (in addition to Real Monica) committed to the trip.

A few weeks after we purchased our airline tickets, Real Monica announced she couldn’t go (it’s a long story). The rest of us conferred and decided (what the heck!) we would go anyway. Our imaginative and creative friend Kathy hatched the idea of taking Flat Monica (a takeoff from the old “Flat Stanley” craze I only slightly remember) and showed up with two laminated photos of Real Monica (now Flat Monica) for us to haul around New York City.

Flat Monica proved to be an ideal travel companion. She fit in our purses and backpacks, did not require travel costs, space, food or her own bed, went along with all of our plans, never complained or got lost, and, no matter what happened, kept the same smile on her face.

We had a ball planning, staging and executing Flat Monica photo shoots all over town and posting them on our group page. To kick things off, we filmed a video tribute of Flat Monica behind a pie with a lighted candle, while we sang happy birthday, ending dramatically as one of us (off-stage left) blew out the candle on cue. We photographed Flat Monica kayaking on the Hudson, enjoying two plays, listening to commentary on an architectural boat cruise, sampling rice pudding at a trendy eatery, and strolling through Central Park. In fact, at Strawberry Fields, in Central Park, we ran into two young men from Australia, one of whom was carrying a life-size Flat Mom (a photo of his mother) and we introduced and photographed Flat Monica with Flat Mom.

Some of the many Adventures of Flat Monica

Some of the many Adventures of Flat Monica

At one of the (Way Off-Broadway) plays, an odd affair involving puppetry and video, we took Flat Monica backstage post-play and photographed her with the star, a Flat Monica-sized puppet (he waived the “no touching” rule and put his arm around her). We took Monica to a 7-Eleven store on 7/11 and plied her with a free Slurpee, and then took her on a mine tour in New Jersey. And when we dropped our friend Sara off at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel (where she was staying the following weekend while she visited her son) we photographed Flat Monica in the lobby with the ornate London-built clock and under the 800-thread-count sheets in Sara’s room.

Real Monica seemed to enjoy traveling vicariously through Flat Monica. And Flat Monica made a delightful portable companion, providing us with hours of amusement. All in all, I highly recommend taking Flat Friends along on travels, especially when Real Friends can’t go. Since I was the last to leave New York, I flew home with Flat Monica (in my carry-on, although I let her look out the window a few times, much to the amusement of the 8-year-old girl sitting next to me). As I now write, Flat Monica is smiling at me from the coffee table, and, since we had so much fun together, I’m seriously considering taking her along on more trips.

01.21.16
by

Some Things Never Change!

Often, the saying is uttered in exasperation to describe a never-ending irritant. But, I recently discovered I am grateful that some things don’t change.

Two dear friends from college visited me this past weekend. Lynne was my first roommate in the dorm, and Devie lived down the hall. I met both of these women when I was eighteen, my adult self still very much a work in progress.

The first day I met Lynne, she came bounding into our dorm room carrying a field hockey stick in one hand and a tennis racket in the other. Before her dramatic, high-energy entrance, I warily scrutinized the photos already hung on her side of the room, which were mostly of pigs. She later clarified that she was a P.E. major (which explained the multiplicity of sporting equipment) and had been in 4-H (which explained the pigs, whom she proudly declared were named Aristotle and Socrates).   Over the course of our college years, I found Lynne to be uproariously funny, whip smart (she later changed her major to biology), with an almost insatiable curiosity, and a great problem solver. She was our unofficial dorm den mother, a natural caretaker with her calm wisdom and ingenuity.

I met Devie in my Art History class. She was physically striking, talented, creative, slightly neurotic, and I found her endlessly entertaining. She was an art major and a gifted pianist. I spent weekends at her Jewish parents’ house, and she was highly skilled at discussing and dissecting (often inventing) problems (hers and mine) until we were both near exhaustion.

Last weekend was the first time in 37 years that the three of us had all been together. Although Lynne and Devie became two of my closest friends during college, after I graduated and continued to law school and then moved to the east coast for a period, I largely lost touch with them until recently. I was curious to see how much we’d changed, both individually and as a trio.

We quickly discovered that the essence of who we each were at eighteen had not changed, and that we eased almost immediately back into our comfortable, safe friendship. Thirty-seven years later, Lynne is a retired science and special education teacher, married to a deaf Native American man, who lives on a chicken farm in Tennessee and is currently building a fence. Devie is an art therapist who is even more beautiful now than in college, works with children and teens in the Bay Area and is still highly conflicted about many things. They both found their callings, perfectly predictable based on their eighteen-year-old selves. They both claimed that my successful legal career was completely foreseeable (even though I began college as an interior design major).

My weekend also wonderfully illustrated teachings from a recent Alive and Well Women workshop entitled “Deepening Connections” in which my friend Cissy spoke about self-compassion. We talked about how we, as women, are often more compassionate with others than with ourselves. We explored the power of female community, and the healing that takes place when we find those friends to whom we can safely confess our self-loathing, our fear, our shame, our needs, and from whom we can receive loving empathy and compassion.

With Devie (far right) and Lynne (middle), back in my world

With Devie (far right) and Lynne (middle), back in my world

After three solid days of each other, in which we laughed (much) and talked (a lot) and even cried (some), Lynne, Devie and I shared how affected we each were by our weekend together, both emotionally and physically. The best that I can describe it, for me, is that I was not changed by this deep re-connection with my old friends, but anchored. An important part of me, deep inside, never lost but perhaps unnoticed, was re-aligned, reinforced. Through speaking our fears, our shame, our needs to each other, and finding the solid core of our friendship still trustworthy and strong, it became a deeply comforting, healing, and spiritual experience of compassion.

It was also great fun for my friends (and for me) to get a glimpse into my current life.   I took them to my yoga class and my favorite brunch restaurant and we walked around my neighborhood. We’ve now decided to make this an annual event. Next year, whether chasing chickens in Nashville or doodling with crayons in Palo Alto, I will be joyfully discovering new friends in my old.

 

10.08.15
by

The Best Trip Ever

Whenever someone asks me which was my favorite retirement trip so far, my answer is usually “The last one!” But, I have to say, with all due sincerity, this last trip may have really really truly been the Best. Trip. Ever.

Looking back, one of my stated goals, in my quest to be ‘Alive and Well’ in retirement, was to “discover rewarding activities that feed me physically, spiritually and emotionally.” In part, to pursue joy and beauty in my world.

In thinking about our last adventure, a road trip from the Pacific Northwest (Washington state) down the Pacific coast to California, there were so many elements that I’m recognizing are the building blocks (for me) of pure happiness:

Travel Bliss. Many urged me to find something my husband and I would enjoy doing together in retirement. We don’t have many common hobbies (other than our son, who technically shouldn’t be labeled a hobby) so we’ve experimented with a few of the obvious things, like hiking, biking, golf and tennis, with some success, but none of them a home run. Our “thing” seems to be travel, especially driving trips.  Some have marveled that we can be cooped up together in a car for weeks at a time, not only without killing each other, but actually enjoying ourselves. A very odd and magical thing happens on the road, and we actually seem more compatible. We have a sense of freedom when away from the responsibilities (and the unfinished projects) of home, we enjoy similar sights and activities, and we work well together as a team. With each trip, we fine-tune our processes (preparation, packing, etc.) so our travel has progressively become more fun and less stressful. On our last trip, I was particularly struck by a profound sense of joy and gratitude to have a partner, in my husband, with whom I can experience these great adventures.

Girl Time. An added bonus was that this trip started with girlfriends. I initially left home with two female friends on a two-day road trip (see my previous blog The Girls Road Trip), then spent the weekend in Sunriver, Oregon with four girlfriends. After the weekend, my husband drove up to join me. First of all, this set-up was brilliant in that I avoided the whole joint packing and departure step – by far The Most Stressful part of any trip with my husband. But more importantly, our girls weekend was pure joy and beauty in itself. Beyond the beautiful location, shopping, cupcakes, giggling, and super fun activities (like canoeing down a river á la Lewis and Clark), there was something restorative, which blessed me deeply, in being with close female friends for an extended time.

Connection with Friends. After the girls weekend, most left, one stayed, and my husband and her husband joined us for a few days. We had not previously spent extended time together as couples, but we had a delightful time getting acquainted and playing together as twosomes. We rode tandem bikes, frolicked in the pool and water slides, went for ice cream, and generally enjoyed an extended, enchanted old-fashioned double date. On our next stop, we had lunch in Portland with a college sorority sister I hadn’t seen in thirty-five years. In Seattle, we were treated to a lovely dinner with three of my favorite former work colleagues and spouses (at the charming Bainbridge Island home of one of them). The next day, we traveled via car and two ferries to a fairly remote location in Washington to visit a good friend who previously lived around the corner but moved a few years ago. We spent the afternoon touring her new town and savored a fresh salmon dinner together. Rekindling long-lost or neglected friendships or spending time and deepening bonds with current friends, has proven to be one of the best parts of retirement. I’ve met a few new friends, but I have mostly cherished the opportunity to spend more time with the people I already know and love. I generally only spend time now with the people that I want to. What a marvelously liberating realization that was!

Family Time. Our first stop after Sunriver was a 3-night visit with our niece and her family in southern Washington at their new house. Our two adorable little grandnephews had grown leaps and bounds since we last saw them in May. I played as much as I could with the boys (until they wore me out), and we had great unhurried conversations with our niece and her husband. Finally, our last stop before heading home was a night with my sister-in-law in the Bay Area. She and her husband are preparing to sell their house, which was the site of many family gatherings and weddings, and we enjoyed reminiscing. Time to visit with family across the country has been another unexpected blessing of retirement. Since we are essentially on our own (as far as family is concerned) where we live, the more frequent contact with family has been precious.

This was the view from our breakfast table at the Lake Crescent Lodge in Washington

This was the view from our breakfast table at the Lake Crescent Lodge in Washington

Breathtaking Scenery. On top of everything else, the landscape of the Pacific Northwest was arguably the most beautiful of any of our trips. At times I was stunned by God’s creation so spectacularly laid before me. We took scenic ferry rides; saw rain forests, waterfalls and redwood forests. We stayed in historic national park service lodges. We saw a long list of wildlife – gray whales, seals, seal lions, sea otters, sea elephants, elk, deer, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, fox, bobcat, bear. We went for long hikes through forests and walks through picturesque small towns. A refinement that worked well was to plan shorter daily drives with plenty of time for active stops (walking, hiking and physical activity). On previous trips, we’ve found that long unbroken stretches in the car not only wreak havoc on us physically, but also inhibit us from truly experiencing the land we are touring.

To summarize:

Travel Bliss + Girl Time + Connection with Friends + Family Time + Breathtaking Scenery = Best.Trip.Ever.

WHAT COULD BE BETTER THAN THAT?   Just ask me after our next trip.

09.10.15
by

Fear and Friendship

I am not a courageous person. My older brother claims I was born afraid of everything. This may surprise some, as I have learned confidence over the years. But even today, my Fear List is long and ranges from things I am not particularly fond of to those I hold in stark terror. Darkness, bats, heights, clowns, men with black hair and mustaches (I’ve mostly grown out of that one), to name a few.

When I hike (usually with my husband) I worry about cliffs, bears, falling rocks, drowning in cold water, tripping on roots and breaking my foot. Approximately 75% of the time, I am happy that I powered through, but I am usually more comfortable on the hike back (once I’m familiar with the hazards). In the past week, I walked a mile-long cave in pitch black darkness. One that required lanterns and was billed as habitat to several variety of bats. Then I canoed six miles down a river, about a third of the way going in circles and zig-zagging from shore to shore. And the piece de resistance – I rode a tandem bike with my husband (previously, our first, last, and only tandem bike experience, about 25 years ago, did not, shall we say, go so well). And it was all awesome.

It was awesome mainly because I was with good friends, first on a girls weekend in Oregon and then with my husband, who joined me, and another couple. We are at that sweet spot where we are okay with our limits. And our choices. When someone floated the idea of touring a volcanic lava tube cave, I was perfectly free to ask to be dropped off at Starbucks. Or, as I actually did, I could confess to my friends that I would go in the cave but would likely be slightly nauseous the whole time.

Facing fears is part of growing up. And, even in this later chapter of life, I still have growing up to do. Being a naturally fearful person, I have had to stare fear down all my life, and it sometimes leads to inertia or even failure. But as Eleanor Roosevelt once said “You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.”

My recent adventures illustrate some important principles on approaching fear and anxiety…and the power of supportive friendships in the journey:

First, it was important to recognize and acknowledge the fear. When I heard the words “cave” “dark” and “bats” all in one conversation, I recognized the familiar pit in my stomach. I acknowledged the fear by being honest with myself that I was scared. I was also honest with my friends, who were then able to care for me. There were four of us in the cave with two lanterns, and my “lantern buddy” Kathy graciously let me hold the lantern in a death grip and walked in front of me.

The end of the cave. No sign needed for me to go no further!

The end of the cave. No sign needed for me to go no further!

Second, I embraced the fear. The entire time I was in the cave, I felt uncomfortable. When I was in the canoe, with my friend Monica, we were slightly out of control until we got the physics of rowing under our belts. At one point on the river, we were floating backward and heading for a large tree jutting over the river, and the beginnings of terror were forming in my gut. On the tandem bike, I was riding in back, unable to see where I was going, brake or steer. I was doing the best I could but occasionally my husband would call out “Are you pedaling?!” which indicated I was probably intermittently freezing up or spacing out. But I have learned over the years to distinguish “good” anxiety, which often accompanies growth, from “bad” anxiety, which can be a sign of danger. As long as I am able to tolerate the good anxiety, I am open to experiences and growth that I might otherwise miss if I gave in to fear.

Third, it helped immensely that I could lean on trustworthy people. Good friends are the embodiment of God’s love: “Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid or terrified….God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 3:16, NIV) I had friends around me that I felt comfortable confiding in, who were not judgmental and who were encouraging and supportive. In the cave, Kathy occasionally asked “How are you doing?” (To which a little girl, coming the other way, responded, in tears “Not so well” which made me feel brave in comparison). On the river, Monica laughed good-naturedly as we spun in circles, saying “Don’t worry, we’ll get the hang of it!” As for the ride on our tandem bikes, my friend Kathy (also my cave lantern mate) encouraged me to give it another try and she and her husband accompanied us and cheered us on.

Our successful completion of tandem bike riding

Our successful completion of tandem bike riding

Finally, celebrate the victories. I have not conquered my fear of caves or the dark or bats or tight places or drowning or falling off a bike. But, as Eleanor Roosevelt said, I gained a measure of strength, courage and confidence with the experience. And in the midst, I felt a profound sense of gratitude and joy. I occasionally stopped in the cave to shine the lantern on the walls, marveling at the structure and grandeur. Our day on the river was beautiful – spectacular weather, breathtaking scenery, and a variety of wildlife. And before this week, I assumed that riding a tandem bike with my husband was not a good idea, when in fact, it was a great idea. When we completed our ride, we did a victory lap for the sole purpose of taking photos. And to celebrate our day of tandem-tandem riding, our foursome went for ice cream and I treated myself to a hot fudge sundae. I am never too old to grow up!

11.06.14
by

The Return of the Blog

This is no Japanese horror movie (that was Return of the Blob). Rather, it’s the first post I’ve written since August, in which I commemorated my one-year anniversary of retirement, or my “Retireversary.” Since then, my new norm life has been so abundantly eventful and hectic that I haven’t either found or taken the time to write. Yet, to my surprise and delight, many friends have asked about my blog. And I’ve found that I’ve missed the writing. But where do I pick up?

I have become increasingly aware that the single most meaningful thread weaving through my current life, the central emergent theme, is the significance of my personal relationships. With the corporate career over, the kids gone, the merry-go-round paused; retirement has been a time to take stock. Although I have been busy with travel and activities, what has truly fed me emotionally and spiritually has been the time spent nurturing (and in some cases re-establishing) close family and friendship ties.

In fact, travel has been, most importantly and somewhat unexpectedly, an avenue for my husband and I to reconnect. After years of co-parenting, tag teaming and separations while I traveled extensively for work, adjustments were required when I was suddenly home full-time. I blithely anticipated that all of our “challenges” would miraculously disappear once the stress of work was gone. Instead, not only were many of the “challenges” that we’d successfully ignored for 25 years still there, but now we had new ones. We’ve since gone on 3 major trips together (Paris, our cross-country Routes 50 and 66 road trip, and Ireland) and they were akin to enrolling in an intensive Marriage 101 Lab. Not always easy, we’ve learned (or re-learned) skills such as teamwork, how to live alongside each other, how to compromise and manage expectations, and in the process found renewed enjoyment, companionship and discovered a shared passion for travel.   Most importantly, we find ourselves exceedingly grateful and content in this “Just the Two of Us” stage of life.

Similarly, I’ve been blessed by the rich camaraderie of friends. I’ve enjoyed meeting some new friends through recent activities, like yoga and study groups. But mainly, I find myself enthusiastically devoting time and energy to nurturing longstanding relationships (friends and family) that, in many cases, had been relegated to the back burner in years past due to other demands on my time. I am finding that I am most energized and renewed by the company of dear friends. My husband warned me before I retired that my friends would all be too busy working to spend any time with me, but I’ve happily found I have more social opportunities than I have time for!

I was recently reminded how precious, and fragile, long-term friendships can be. Near the end of our recent trip to Ireland, not long after we arrived in Dublin for a 3-night stay, I was notified that a very dear friend of mine was critically ill. We’d been friends since I was eleven years old. We were close friends through high school, and roomed together in college. Not long after college, she moved across country, but we kept in touch over the years. I had hoped to finally be able to visit her in Green Bay, Wisconsin, now that I was retired. But two days after my friend was admitted to ICU, on the last day I was in Dublin, she passed away. That night, I went to a pub and sang a ballad and raised an ale for my beloved friend Sue, who once told me she would love to go to Ireland together.

Some of the anam cara in my life

Some of the anam cara in my life

When I returned home, I organized a gathering of a group of close friends from grade school for a Day of Remembrance.  After thinking how I could best grieve the loss of my friend Sue, I turned to this group for love and support.  We had all been close friends with Sue through the years, and together we celebrated her life and our enduring friendships.

Someone recommended to me a beautiful book called “Anam Ċara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom” by John O’Dohohue. The book almost poetically explores the spiritual landscape of friendship:

“In the Celtic tradition, there is a beautiful understanding of love and friendship. One of the fascinating ideas here is the idea of soul-love; the old Gaelic term for this is anam ċara. Anam is the Gaelic word for soul and ċara is the word for friend. So anam ċara in the Celtic world was the “soul friend.” In the early Celtic church, a person who acted as a teacher, companion, or spiritual guide was called an anam ċara. It originally referred to someone to whom you confessed, revealing the hidden intimacies of your life. With the anam ċara you could share your innermost self, your mind and your heart. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging. When you had an anam ċara, your friendship cut across all convention, morality and category. You were joined in an ancient and eternal way with the “friend of your soul.”

What this book has illuminated for me, something I already sensed but not completely understood, is that there is a spiritual aspect to our friendships and the effort we devote to them. As I’ve become more aware of their significance, I am grateful that I have anam ċara in my life, and that I have been given this season of life to be open to them.

03.29.14
by

My Girlie Adventure Morning

My friend Patti called me earlier this week and asked if I would be interested in a Girlie Adventure.  She’s a Girl Mom (she has two daughters) and knows that since I’m a Boy Mom, I don’t often get to do Female Stuff.  So when her daughters are home, she kindly lets me tag along.

This time, the Girlie Adventure was a trip to the LA Fashion District.  Patti explained that on the last Friday of each month, the designers sell their “samples” at rock-bottom prices.  Sales are cash only, and I was told to wear an outfit that would lend itself to trying on clothes in a crowd. Patti suggested that I wear a camisole and leggings, with a dress or something over them that I could easily take off for fittings, and bring a large tote bag for purchases.

Last night, I looked through my closet and found a yellow camisole and decided to pair it with my yoga pants.  Then I looked for a dress to throw over it, and the only possibility unearthed was a cheap, extremely dated, khaki thing I bought at Target years ago.  Since my yoga pants were black, I saw no reason why I couldn’t wear my comfy black Clark’s walking shoes (with my white sport socks). And because my Target dress was short-sleeved, I found an old tan sweater (made from bamboo fibers) from Sports Chalet to keep me warm. Being a Boy Mom, I was going for functional.

I first grasped the folly of my wardrobe strategy when Alana (Patti’s daughter) came to my front door this morning.  Besides being young and generally adorable, she wore black leggings and a chic blouse with matching sweater.  When I got to their car, Patti looked put together in leggings and a tunic.  And here I was heading to the Fashion District in my Wal-Mart Eccentric look.  So, for lack of other options, I decided to just embrace it. The Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising is a few blocks from my former office, and fairly outrageous outfits are commonplace on the FIDM students, so I decided my best strategy was to carry myself like I meant to dress this way.

 

Modeling my Wal-Mart Chic at the Johnny Was showroom

Modeling my Wal-Mart Chic at the Johnny Was showroom

As we drove to the Fashion District, I realized it was about four blocks from the office where I worked for twenty years. Of course, being a Boy Mom, I was oblivious.  After parking and walking to the LA Fashion Mart, we began our adventure in the New Mart building at the Johnny Was showroom, which was a little larger than my family room, only crammed with 50 women, some of them crazed.  This is where I got my first taste of Fashion Mart guerilla-shopping tactics.   There were racks of clothing samples, in no particular order; most of them size S or 6. There was one mirror at the far end of the room.  Women (many of them clearly not size S or 6) were ripping off their clothes (believe me, it wasn’t as appealing as it might sound) to try on clothes, and jockeying for mirror space. Patti saw some other woman carrying a blouse that she liked, so she stalked the poor woman for fifteen minutes until she finally dropped it.  (I offered to give the woman unsolicited negative feedback).  Then, when making purchases, there was an art to skillful haggling and negotiation over price.

At the Johnny Was showroom, I expended an inordinate amount of effort trying on piles of clothes, only to identify a mere two blouses that looked decent on me.  It was especially galling to see that no matter what Alana tried on, she looked gorgeous. I was heartened when two young shoppers asked me about pricing on samples.  I took that as an indication I looked like I belonged in this scene. (In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to see my Wal-Mart Eccentric look take off at Fashion Mart.) I was bummed, however, when I inquired as to the price of my potential buy, and was told that the two items exceeded my entire self-imposed budget for the day (even after haggling over price).  On to the next showroom!

I finally found success in another showroom in another building (the California Mart) where I spotted a Vince Camuto dress that Patti and Alana agreed was flattering and that I nabbed for $25. I was doubly happy to have something to wear, other than Target, to a DVF exhibit at LACMA tomorrow.

 

Outrageous Fashion Mart Moments

Outrageous Fashion Mart Moments

Once we each had at least one purchase under our belt, it was time to get goofy.  We agreed to look for outrageous photo opportunities and found success in the European Design and the Hats and Accessories sections.  We tried not to offend the shopkeepers as we identified some truly amusing clothing items and photographed ourselves in them.  The problem, again, was that no matter what we put on Alana, she still looked annoyingly cute.

 

"The Three Fashionistas" A classic women's fashion shoot

“The Three Fashionistas”
A classic women’s fashion shoot

Our piece de resistance, shot on our way out, I’ve entitled “The Three Fashionistas,” a timeless portrait of us posing amongst the fashion dummies in the lobby of the California Mart, taken by a complete stranger with my iPhone.  There are no doubt universal themes and messages, none of them particularly meaningful, embedded in this exquisite portrait that perfectly and brilliantly captures our wildly entertaining and wacky Girlie Adventure.

01.15.14
by

Bridge Lessons

The game of Bridge, the game of my parents, has finally hunted and overtaken me. Retirement can be a time to pick up new hobbies and try new activities.  Retirement can also be a time to revisit past challenges.  Looks like, despite my better judgment, I’m learning to play Bridge, which illustrates all of the above.   And it’s more than a bit ironic since I’ve spent my entire life vigorously avoiding the game.

My parents were avid Bridge players.  My mother played with the ladies in various groups and clubs over the years, and both parents enjoyed Bridge parties with other couples.  It was seemingly polite social activity, but make no mistake —–they were both highly competitive and loved nothing more than crushing their opponents.

My first encounter came when I was about seven years old.  My parents determined (since Bridge requires four people, two more than them) that they needed a ready pool of Bridge players, presumably to hone their skills for the kill at Bridge Club, and looked no further than their offspring to inflict Bridge lessons.   Thank God Almighty I am the THIRD child and have two older brothers.   Tom and Jim, who must have been about 12 and 14, were led to the card table like sheep to the slaughter.   My dad claimed my younger brother as his partner and Jim took the news like a prisoner receiving a week of hard labor.

I quickly deduced what was about to transpire was not going to be pleasant and wisely decided to go underground in my room the remainder of the evening.   Not even Mary Poppins (the sole record I had, volume turned high) could drown the distinct sounds of irritation (parents) and misery (brothers) coming from the living room.  I heard sounds of shouting and crying and words like “Trump” and “No Trump” and “Three Spades” floating down the hall.    I heard Dad bellow, “Mary, Jim trumped my ace!!!!”  (Dad spoke through Mom when he was particularly agitated or flabbergasted.) I did not know what this meant, but I knew it spelled big trouble for Jim.  I thought I heard Jim whimpering. It was about this time I formulated my life-long goal of avoiding Bridge at all costs.

Family Bridge lessons were perpetrated over the years but I always managed to evade them.   There were a few close calls – for example, when I was older and Mom hosted the bridge ladies, one of whom cancelled at the last minute.  My mom sweetly suggested she could “give me a quick lesson” so I could fill in, but I knew better than to take that bait!   I understood it would be a slippery slope if I capitulated, so I quickly manufactured urgent errands and fled.

You can imagine my reaction, then, when one night in November our good friends proposed a pleasant game of Bridge.  Now, Renee and Stan (names changed) are dear friends who host us in their lovely home when we visit Annapolis.  They have been more than generous to our family and we love them dearly.  Anyone else, upon mere utterance of the word Bridge, I would have refused immediately.  But I knew this was music that I must face.   My time had come.

So there I was seated at the table, with Renee as my partner.  She is affable, warm and outgoing, but with that same steely competitiveness as my mom.  Renee loves to play Bridge. She rattled off the rules and described the basics of strategy, and I tried to listen (through the buzz of anxiety in my brain and the chattering of teeth) while simultaneously controlling the terror in my belly as bad memories came flooding back. As the night wore on, I relaxed a little (once I realized Renee wasn’t going to yell at me) but it also became clear I am not a natural.  I was hoping one or both parents had genetically passed on knowledge or skill that would render me a prodigy once I got going, but sadly that was not the case.  In fact, I was rather a dolt.  I loved when I was “dummy,” which is a perfect role for me, and could just lay down my cards and cheer Renee on.  As part of my training Renee usually told me exactly what to do every step, which worked really well.  Until, she suddenly announced that I should play a hand with no help – and I still hadn’t a clue what I was doing.  Renee was gracious enough to remain calm but did say things like  “Now, why would you do that?”  It was clear I was no Goren.   I counted and recounted on my fingers the points in my hand, the bidding made no sense to me, and I could only think about playing one trick at a time.  Forget counting cards or any grand strategy for winning a round. It was pure survival.

We played Bridge a few more times while we were there and I was starting to get the basics.  But Bridge makes as much as sense to me as my son’s electrical engineering class.  There are the basic rules, and then the more advanced rules, and then the rules that good Bridge players just somehow know, and then there is the larger strategy that very good Bridge players have a mind for.   Renee assures me that Bridge is a complicated game and I will learn with practice.  I’m not so sure, but for Stan and Renee, and for Mom and Dad, I’m going to keep trying.

12.23.13
by

The Fellowship of the Cookie

Among the things I miss most about my former work life are a few really good friends.  After working closely with some of them for over 25 years, I find myself yearning for that day to day contact, sharing the up’s and down’s of each other’s lives, and working on projects together.   When I retired, I had no doubt that I would stay in touch with my closest friends; however, I underestimated the loss of that daily contact.  It takes effort to set up lunch dates and even phone calls when no longer coworkers.  In my ideal fantasy world, I would have my own office where I would see my pals at the beginning of each day over coffee and at the end of the day to share our stories.   Sometimes we’d also have lunch.  (The time in between I don’t really want to do any work; hence, this is my fantasy world.)

Which is why last Sunday I was in heaven.   I decided to invite my former work group to my house for a holiday multi-tasking party.  I reckoned since I’m not working, I’d decorate my house early and we could bake, wrap and address cards together.   I remember being under such stress this time of year, with much to do, and my idea was to provide a festive environment where we could complete tasks together.   As it happened, because it is such a busy season, only my good friend John could join me.

The backlog of cookies that formed with just one oven!

The backlog of cookies that formed with just one oven!

But, oh, did we have fun!  John and I baked cookies together.  For SIX hours.  We planned our recipes during the course of the week and coordinated our ingredients.  On Sunday morning, we plotted our cookie strategy and then made adjustments to our project plan (oops, we forgot to take the 14 sticks of butter out of the fridge to soften) and more adjustments (oops, we hadn’t read the part about chilling the dough for several hours).  We helped each other by holding bowls and spatulas and measuring ingredients.   And we made SIX recipes together.  We talked and we laughed and we invented inside jokes about our baking adventure (“those damn pecan balls!”).   During the course of the following week, we texted gags to each other about our cookies.   Very little of our conversation was about work.

After six hours of baking, displaying the fruits of our Cookie-Palooza

After six hours of baking, displaying the fruits of our Cookie-Palooza

In some ways it was just like the old days working together on a joint project.  But in other ways, it is a delightful new relationship that transcends our work history.  By carving out a block of time for our friendship (my husband watched football in the other room while we worked and John’s partner was visiting his mother) we underscored its importance in our changed circumstances.  We did more than bake cookies together.  We created new memories and a new tradition for our friendship.