I AM THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

Some days, well, most days, I feel like I don't have a friend in the world. I am so lonely. 

I wasn't before. Not before Bob died. Besides his companionship, I felt like my social calendar was perfectly filled--which is to say not too too filled, but just-right filled. 

For people of my age and newly retired, that meant carrying on with the same social engagements as before retirement, whether with my spouse or with our friend-couples. Going out. Staying in and entertaining. It was easy enough to do before my spouse passed away. 

But now, I am the elephant in the room. Even with my own family. You'd kind of wonder why I am always alone on weekends since I have three adult children with two in-law children and four grandchildren? I mean, it's not as if their social life died in January. 

I used to tell the kids, "To have a friend you first need to be a friend." Applying that principle to my own life makes me realize just how much of emotional support goes between spouses. Like, 100% most of the time. I am lucky to have a very understanding sister but she doesn't live in my province and we see each other rarely. If she lived closer I probably wouldn't be lonely unless I chose to be and believe me, right now I am NOT choosing to be lonely. 

Hopefully this is just another stage in grief but I doubt it. I think that I am presently the elephant in the room and will graduate to being the marginalized social outcast (if I'm not there already). I'm not really sure why. Applying the usual rules of social engagement--those same rules that I grew up with--if you were lonely, you phoned someone and went to visit them. You invited people for dinner and then they invited you back, the next week or so, to their place. I think I've done my part but the reciprocation just isn't there. Younger people are just what I used to call "takers". They are happy if you are the one cooking and cleaning and inviting them to dinner but when it comes to inviting you back, they don't. 

Anybody have a peanut to share? (Do elephants eat anything else? I could clean the house, cook it for dinner and invite you over.)

May 27, 2015

I met Bob, the love of my life, in August 1999. We were both living in Richmond, BC and we met through ICQ. I have always been the academic person: he had always been the practical genius. When we met he was building a Harley Evo rigid chopper. It was an interesting process to see those parts come together into what was to become The Excruciator. (I named the bike after riding on it once as a passenger. Riding with no shocks is no treat, believe me.)

Honestly? I loved the feeling of freedom, the wind in my face and the sensation of flying that motorcycles impart. I hated not having control. Bob had been riding and building motorcycles since he was a teenager and he was an excellent, safe driver. Nevertheless, I decided at the age of 52, to get my motorcycle license so I could ride my own. 

I took lessons with an accredited motorcycle school and passed the written and Stage 2 test (known as the Parkling Lot Test; the Motorcycle Skills Test or the Motorcycle Skills Assessment). I was now free to ride my own bike, a Honda Shadow 500, during daylight hours. Bob and I had a few awesome rides and I was at the point of gaining confidence riding solo. 

Then I dropped the bike! It was entirely my fault, I just wasn't paying attention to details. I was on crutches for more than 4 months just at the point where I was starting my Masters in Educational Technology. Doing your Masters degree is expensive and I sold my cute motorcycle. My job description (Special Ed Teacher) became more focused, my workload involved many hours of daytimejob work at home, and my tendons didn't really heal properly or quickly. Those were the excuses I used to cover my fear of getting back up on two wheels again!

A decade passed in a flash. I knew that the ravages of  that one quick accident would prevent me from ever riding a motorcycle with gears. The shifting (left foot) was just too painful so I looked into automatic choices and they were few. And my anxiety was growing with each year that passed.

Ultimately, Bob bought me the cutest 50cc scooter and I joined a local scooter club of like-minded afficionados. It took quite a few rides to get a grip on my ingrained nervousness but eventually I started to feel more condfident.

(This is "Pearl" my first little scoot.) Looks so small but represents overcoming fear of falling, fear of injury and just general anxieties. Bob was VERY proud of me!

My story has a bittersweet continuance. In January of this year, my Forever-Love passed away. He had been sick for a long time and his illness had prevented him from riding or even participating in any part of what would be called a normal life. He liked to say that when I was out on Pearl, filming rides around the neighbourhood, that he was living vicariously through my travels. 

I wanted to do something to really honour my husband's memory. I have published many poems relating to grief so that others may know that they are not alone even when their family ignores them during the Afterloss. Here is one of them:

Aside from publishing the musings of my heart, I wanted to do something that was NOT easy for me. So I sold Pearl and bought a larger scooter. I named her Bailey.

I am now retracing my steps of more than a decade ago. I passed the computer mc test and am right now practising the skills necessary for the MST/MSA license, Stage 2. I still suck at the "weave" (slalom) and am still nervouse about the quick stop from high speed. Street riding is easier so if I manage to pass the Stage 2 license I will immediately take the road test and finally be done with it.

Now I am a senior, retired person with nothing but time on my hands. Time to practice riding. Time to take long scoots around the neighbourhood. Time to reflect on a love now lost and another love (the allure of wind therapy) just beginning again for me.

May 20, 2015

I am a widow. My husband passed away in January of this year and this is his birthday tribute. I was blessed to have him in my life and equally blessed to be able to survive and just...keep...going.

Becoming a Retired Senior: How Life Has Changed

The thing about working is that really, there are certain weekly purchases that you never think about. Groceries. Gas for your vehicle. Dog or cat food. 

So, now, as a retiree, everything has changed.

Canada is not much of a coupon paradise! Before I quit work, I used to imagine retirement. In my mind's eye, I saw myself and Bob (my darling husband) sauntering over to the local Starbucks and relaxing over a cappuccino and reveling in the beautiful West Coast scenery. Added to that scenario, I saw myself searching online for the best bargains at various grocery stores and grabbing coupons--online or from other various sources--and wandering purposefully down the grocery aisles in a coupon stupor of bliss. 

WRONG!

Sadly, my first scenario was quashed by the vagaries of illness and death. I still plan on spending some quality mornings by myself, over at Starbucks, but just...not...yet. Maybe in the Summer when mornings are sunny and hot. I'm an unabashed Morning Person. 

Secondly, the retirement-couponeer scenario has also yet to come to pass. I don't know where those elusive coupons are hiding but the ones I see delivered to my computer are not really the ones I want or need. I have become an obligate vegan now and all I ever see are coupons for meats! My monthly Gardein(R) vegetarian food coupons won't even print on my printer! (Nice company: they are sending them via snail mail.) [btw, it's only their coupons that won't print, thankfully. Others will.]

That leads me to the most touching problem. Money. Lack thereof. Instead of making the rounds of grocery chains, I make the rounds of dollar stores to find cheap brands of products such as freezer bags, handiwipes for counters and the like. Even gardening supplies now come from the dollar store. I don't know why, but I find this situation distasteful. I just wish I could buy the usual namebrand freezer bags at the usual, conveniently-close grocery store and be done with it. 

Last week I had to limit the number of times I went out for lunch with friends and family, simply because I budget a certain amount for gas and for entertainment (and it's like once per week). I don't usually give excuses but it does hurt me to say "Sorry, I can't" even to my family. 

Wonder if there's anything else around here that I could sell on Craigslist? LOL

Prunify and Poodle Patty

I just thought to let you know how my life is centered on the weather. I mean in ways that probably nobody else has delineated previously.

First, let me just say that here on the We[s]t Coast it rains. Frequently. Mildly. You don't have to shovel rain in the winter and it's really good for your complexion. I like it.

When those sunny days of summer arrive I feel elated. Cheerful. Blessed. I just love sunny and warm. Looking outside makes me smile.

Actually going outside is quite another thing.

I'm a tad allergic to EVERYTHING. Like myriad pollens of weeds, grasses and trees; nuts, other foods. Some useful drugs like codeine. Ya, well, back to going outside.

When it's sunny, that means it is a much less onerous task to collect poodle patties that Jake Barkley has deposited. The sun (bless you solaris) dries and prunifies things. Yes, I did mean prunify. And when we are talking poodle patties, that's eminently acceptable.

So as I browse the gathering clouds on the western front I look forward to tomorrow when my friend the sun will reappear to make my life so much easier. And less smelly. 

C'est la vie. 

Safeway Shopping Experience versus The Others

So today I decided to shop at Safeway. I don't normally go there because it's really not very close to my home. I grew up shopping exclusively at Safeway and never thought much about it. I took Safeway for granted.

Years have passed. Choice is king. Right across the street from me are two well-known grocery stores, housed in purpose-built buildings and both less than a decade old. Their ambience is the same, though. Large, well-lit, fairly wide aisles. When you enter, produce is on your right. Frozen foods are on your left and along the back wall with meats. One does not bag your groceries for you; the other is slightly more expensive but has a limited variety of foods which are mostly the store brand. The second store, the expensive one, also has more self-checkouts than ordinary checkouts with a clerk. The first store, the so-called cheap one, does not. Both stores are always understaffed. Both stores are franchises of larger, well known grocery chains. Little brothers, if you will.

My goal for both of these stores is to get in then get out as fast as possible because their ambience is vanilla. Nada. Niente. It's almost as if they really don't want us to shop there. Why do I say that? Personal service is non existent. Pretty much what you would expect since they are both understaffed. At the cheap store, most of their employees seem as if they might be students with a part time job. At the expensive store, their employees come from a wide variety of ages.

But today, friends, I was in for a treat. A happy shopper am I.

Today I went to Safeway. Before I even entered the store two friendly shoppers stopped to talk to me. They were both helping me with my shopping cart/basket. I walked in the door. Low and behold, produce was on the left (yay for differentiation). Another friendly shopper stopped to chat there.

I was feeling friendly and I had only taken ten steps inside the door. As I traversed the store from aisle to aisle I was greeted by so many employees who were stocking the shelves, checking the shelves, tidying the shelves. Without exaggeration, an employee engaged me in pleasant conversation in virtually every aisle. Some asked if I needed help (I didn't). Some asked if I had found what I was looking for (pretty much yes). Some just asked how I was (better and better as I let this new grocery-shopping ambience wash over me!). The clerk at the checkout was also very friendly and extremely helpful.

Why did I ever stop shopping at Safeway? I totally have no clue but I do know one thing. I'm going back in a few days and afterwards, frequently again.

Shopping at Safeway was just SUCH a great time. The store felt cozy and not overwhelmingly bright-white-in-your-face. It was so friendly. The employees are obviously trained in customer appreciation and they all seemed happy at their jobs. It's well known that Safeway is an equal-opportunity employer with many types of people working there. Oh, and one more thing. It was so wonderful to have so many choices and varieties of goods throughout the store. I have missed that soooooooo much while shopping at my neighborhood grocery stores (the one where you get the smart price and the one where you get extra). Both those stores are sterile and just horrible in comparison. Lack of choice. Lack of product. I could go on. The bottom line is ambience and choice. Choice is king.

I choose Safeway from now on. So happy! (Thank you Google Maps for the pic.)

I Met A Nice Young Man Yesterday!

You need to know that I'm having a little drywalling done. Unfinished basement will now be useable space (yay--it's only been 9 years and counting). Such is life: you turn around one day and you've been living here a decade. Where did those years go? So, lately, there have been a few tradespeople on the premises to give quotes for the job.

As far as drywalling goes, this job is fairly straightforward. One small bedroom, a laundry room and a hall cupboard. Ceilings. Some pot lights. A couple of bulkheads. I have been thoroughly impressed with the professionalism of each company that I have dealt with so far.

But yesterday, I met a nice young man. He was here to represent his drywall company and to give a quote.

That man has no idea that he may have changed my life from now on.

Of course he was professional. He was gentle. He was kind. He was respectful towards me. More than that, he spoke of his parents with Olde Worlde admiration and respect.

He'll never know that he got the job because he's a dutiful son. He'll never know that I admire his attitude in a life where adult kids do their own thing and try to "fit in" visits with their parents when it is convenient for all parties. He'll never know just how impressed I am with his family ethic. He'll never know.

I might add that I have not yet received his quote for the job but when I do, I am awarding the contract to him. My own dear Son #1 says, "Mom, you don't know if you really like him until you get the price." Except that I do.