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Original by Alanis Morissette — Personalized Version by Me
I’m old, but I’m happy I’m spoiled, but I’m kind I’m short, but I’m healthy, Oh yeah I smile, but I’m grounded I’m sane, but overwhelmed I’m lost, but I’m hopeful, baby
And what it all comes down to Is that everything’s gonna be fine, fine, fine ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one’s giving a high five
I’m alone, but not lonely I’m smart, but retired I’m tired, but I carry on I’m still, but I’m restless I’m here, but really gone I’m wrong, I’m sorry, baby
And what it all comes down to Is that everything’s gonna be quite alright ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one is eating chocolate.
And what it all comes down to, my friend Is that I haven’t got it figured out just yet ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one is giving a peace sign
I’m free, but I’m focused I’m a fool, but I’m wise I’m hard, but I’m understanding I’m sad, but I’m laughing I’m brave, but full of $#%@ Wrinkled, but still pretty, baby
And what it all boils down to Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet Well, I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one is planting a peony. And what it all comes down to my friends, Is that everything is just fine, fine, fine ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one’s writing my story.
Oh, the varied activities of the retired. Choices are everywhere. Even at the brand new Senior Center, which has been brimming with excitement. It was there I found myself two days ago. A friend needed a ride into the biggest little city just west of me. She asked that we could leave after her exercise class.
Now, here’s the deal.
Exercise is not for everyone. That’s an uncomfortable fact. Haven’t we all heard of the pencil thin jock who loves his 10 mile long morning jog, until one day, he drops dead in the middle of it? At the present time, my knees are good. Hips bones, work well. Connective tissue doesn’t complain. Spine remains flexible and working fine. I’d like to keep all the parts working as they are at the present time. Structured exercise isn’t in my plan at the moment.
I get plenty of exercise in the workout place otherwise known as Winterpast. There is stretching to reach high places with my dust cloth. Endurance when vacuuming. Endless miles of sprinkler line to repair. Squats while lifting heavy pots. Lunges chasing Oliver. Weight lifting when I move the furniture from here to there. Balance when doing things on the ladder. Truly. For an old gal, I get a lot done in a day. All followed by plenty of soaking in the hot tub. A real gym and spa around here.
People are quick to point out that the I just things listed aren’t cardio fitness. I would ask them to lug bags of mulch from the truck to the back yard for me. We’ll find out who is winded first. We can do this at 4400′ elevation for a little added fun.
When I arrived to the Senior Center, I found my friend, Willow, my friend, LEADING the class. A detail she forgot to mention. She is gorgeous and thin. Pencil thin. Model thin and tall. The perfect woman to lead the class. I decided to give it a try. Luckily, I do own favorite leggings. I resisted leggings for a long time, and then made the fatal error of buying a pair. They are from the heavens. Along with the leggings, I wore a turtleneck for warmth, layered with my new t-shirt that has a big butterfly on the front along with the word FEARLESS. On top of that, a cashmere sweater, because cashmere is perfect for everything. I was ready.
Remember, this is a Senior Center. My friend is more senior than I am. By ten + years, mind you. The other women in the class were all more senior than she. There were chairs on which to sit on and balance while standing. No high impact, these were all stretching and balance exercises. No problem, right?
Those.
Exercises.
Kicked.
My.
Saggy.
Butt.
One hour is way to long to focus on exercises. No text breaks. No coffee break. No time to check the latest news. Nothing. Straight exercising for one hour. After 30 minutes of hell, I hobbled over to the art room to see what was going on there.
Hallelujah.
There were three of the coolest women in the place. Pinkie, Raspberry Beret, and Free Spirit. They sat while working on an acrylic painting projects. Pinkie had escaped the torture of the exercise class by following my lead. The three of them were full of questions. I found my people! I left there with a list of necessary art supplies. Rather than gym shoes, I’ll be hitting the Art Section of Walmart to stock up.
After class, Willow was excited to see if I’d be attending the next class to be held today.
Living alone isn’t for everyone. Some people are scared of their own shadow. One person I knew had so many outside lights screaming into the night sky, the house was never in true darkness. While neighbors silently complained, these lights were left on day and night. The house glows at night. Of course, Winterpast is in the desert. It DOES get VERY dark here at night. Bad things CAN happen in the dark. But, bad people have also discovered they can do their evil in broad daylight, too.
Here at Winterpast, the outside lights are rarely on at any time. I detest light pollution. Trying to do my part to enhance the night sky, when I’m safely tucked inside, there’s no need to light up my surroundings outside. Beside, if I do hear something, I hope the someONE creating the someTHING I hear trips and falls over the rocks, boulders and other obstacles outside. Why give them a clear path to my home?
Asking for protection from angels before I slept every night, being scared of the dark isn’t in my nature. I was raised on a farm. There were no street lights to help joggers find their way home. No one jogged because we are all too tired from the day of farming. No one ran down the street in the dark because every house had a few loose ranch dogs that worked the night shift. If you DID hear someTHING in the night, it was someTHING that needed investigation with a shotgun. That explained the situation in which I grew up. I have a healthy respect and love for guns.
Times are changing, and I decided that protection might be a good idea. A can of wasp spray by the bedside is a great idea. The stream of toxic goo can shoot a long way. Wouldn’t want that in your eyes. There’s the secreted big rig tire thumper VST and I bought in Wyoming. That would bring on a headache for a little while. The skull crusher is positioned in another “quick-grab” spot, ready if I need it. The name explains that manual device perfectly.
Living on the high desert a girl can’t be too careful. Nevada is an open carry state. That doesn’t refer to a open can of beer in the truck. It refers to wearing a gun strapped in plain sight on your body. At my age, that would be an open invitation to a mugging. Not being strong enough to keep it away from an attacker, I realize I’m too old to do that. But, I’m not too old to have gun properly stowed right next to my bed. It’s for that reason I purchased a pink and black Saturday Night Special (similar in appearance only to the picture above).
Without research, I chose this gun because it fit perfectly in my freakishly big but weak Germanic hands. Basically made of plastic, this gun felt fantastic at the gun store. A perfect fit. Love at first sight. No, the color wasn’t the reason I liked it. A gun is a tool used for protection. In my opinion, guns shouldn’t come in pink. It was the weight and balance in my hand that sealed the deal.
It’s been a long time since I shot anything. I never liked going to the range with VST, as he was an expert at shooting, like everything else. A target would go up. His gun held five bullets. He’d shoot five times. The bullseye would be eliminated by his shots, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the target. Then, it’d be time to go home. Every single time was the same. Buying the best gun is half the battle and VST shot with high end equipment.
Ace is also a precise shooter. There is a difference. His precision skills kept him alive during two wars. With that being said, the equipment I purchased for myself is low end. How is it that for everyone else, I bought the best money could by. For my own arsenal, I bought low end products. Yesterday, I discovered the error in my way.
Ace offered to take me to the range for gun safety and shooting. Off we went into the bright blue sky with a scary black long gun, two black pistols, and my cheery pink gun. The range is a marvelous place. With a range master watching over everyone, lots of people were practicing.
Proper preparation is needed when you go to an outdoor gun range. First, you better have a reason to be there. Don’t just drop into watch, because everyone is very aware of who’s there and what they’re shooting. There are very specific rules. You need to have ear and eye protection. You need to listen to the range master to know when the range is hot or cold. You also need to be on high alert for idiot nimrods that don’t know the rules. They can be a danger to everyone.
We chose to shoot in a private lane for my first lesson. Ace was patient and kind. We loaded my new pink gun, while he was worried about this pink nightmare. The Saturday Night Special was quite possibly the cheapest gun he’d ever shot, and I know he was praying it didn’t blow up in my hand. Confidence in my weapon of choice was evaporating in the morning sun.
After 50 rounds, we both agreed I need to trade up to a quality pistol. That being said, I hit the target and still know the gun is the perfect weight and size for me. I could hit the target. Aim and shoot. Hit center mass. That’s all you need to hit. Accomplished.
It would be a mistake for someone to break down a window or door and enter Winterpast with evil intent. Oliver and I are ready. Not scared. PREPARED. Preparation empowers even the oldest of widows.
Scared of the dark? Negative.
Scared of intruders? Isn’t everyone?
Prepared for the worst? You betcha. All part of living in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada in a little house named Winterpast.
In winter I get up at night,
And dress by yellow candle light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
This is my least favorite morning of the year. Time change. Why? Oh, Why? Oh, Why? Things are going along nicely. The sun is shining a little longer every day. The birds are returning to Winterpast. The trees are budding. Spring is less than a week away. And, BAM. Right in the face. Time change brings an hour of lost sleep.
The first day isn’t always the worst. Retired, I had time to set the clocks Saturday night. Ace set the more complicated ones by looking up instructions on You Tube. Why didn’t I think of that??? Lots going on yesterday while I preparedfor Bible Study and Church and Ace drove west through a high Sierra snow storm to attend to his life in California. The time change wasn’t even noticeable.
It’s always the first week of time adjustment that gets me. Sleeping soundly, my 4:30 AM alarm went off with its annoying little beeps. My brain was shouting, “No, No, No. It’s still 3:30.” Even Ollie gave me a dirty look and burrowed deeper into his blankets. Morning involves his breakfast, so that says a lot.
Of course, there is the promise of summer evening barbeques in the back yard. The evening breezes as the sun sets and the stars come out. Evenings on the desert are grand. In the big scheme of things, adjusting an hour either way is not a nuclear crisis. Just something small to complain about in a blessed life. God is great, all the time. All the time, God is great.
Whatever you do today, enjoy the last few days of winter. Spring comes on Sunday. Easter is just around the corner. It’s a beautiful time of year for renewal and new beginnings. Have a wonderful day.
Childhood on a farm is as magical as it gets. The world is open for experimentation and exploration. In the mid 1900’s, there were few boogiemen that ventured into the vineyards of the Central Valley of California. Sure, there were roaming hippies high on drugs and love, but they just sauntered on by on their walk towards the coast range and the Pacific beyond. Nope, it was an idyllic place for a blonde little tomboy to grow up.
Although we did have animals, we could never have had enough for me. The ones we had really didn’t count as REAL farm animals. No cow. No pig. Not even a rooster if Dad could help it. Just chickens, rabbits, pigeons, and 4-H lambs. On a farm, it’s not wise to name the animals. Whether furry or feathered, they all met their end at the dinner table.
Of course, there were the dogs. Through the years, many many farm dogs. There were also the visiting Guide Dog for the Blind puppies that came to stay for a spell while we helped them grow and learn. Although I raised five puppies to maturity, all five were rejected due to physical birth defects. Random problems that broke my heart each time. Crooked ears that never straightened. Hyperactivity beyond the normal. Hip dysplasia. A pronounced limp that never went away. Just a few of the problems that came with little puppies delivered in the amazing Guide Dog for the Blind van.
An amazing imagination was necessary because toys weren’t plentiful. It wasn’t smart to be bored because plenty of chores could be found to amuse you. Living on a farm, there was always dusting and ironing, if nothing else could be found. Our farm was a 45 minute drive from town, so there were no matinee movies for us. Just long sunny days outside.
An old rusty bike from the 1950’s always had a flat which always needed fixing. Goat Head stickers were tough on tires, even those with thick tubes. Grammie and Grandpa lived down the road to the north. A best friend lived down the road to the South. Two feet never failed me in either direction. That was my world.
Name brand toys were just starting to become popular. I had my cousin’s hand-me-down doll, Lula Belle. A Madame Alexander baby doll, she was about to be discarded when I snatched her up for my own. She sits in my guest room today, having earned some down time in her old age. She still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Barbie and Ken came along.
As a young girl, my nose was always in my Dad’s shop. Girls weren’t allowed. Ever. Except for me, his favorite. A dark, mysterious, rusty place of dust, rust, grease, and oil. Dangerous beyond anything in today’s world, open bags of chemicals and heavy equipment were everywhere. Spray rigs for the ranch were waiting for repair, dripping with toxic goo. Big disc blades that could cut off a toe, or worse were propped by the 12″ galvanized sliding doors. A huge hoist could lift up a butchered cow’s carcass like a feather. Mysterious and wonderful things were in the shop, and I loved sneaking around there to check out the equipment. Boys had all the fun. Sadly, we were a family of five girls.
Presents of any kind didn’t happen too often and certainly not without a reason. At Christmas, there was one gift for each girl and occasional gifts from relatives, if they remembered. My Auntie TJ never forgot. Her gifts were always the ones I waited for. Special and just right, she knew us so well.
On my tenth Christmas, Santa brought one gift so special it left me speechless. My first box of Legos. Primary colors. Little square and rectangular blocks. No specialty pieces. Just a box to blocks with which to build things. I was in heaven, slowly adding to my set from year to year.
Fast forward to Winter 2020 in Walmart. A down-in-the-dumps kind of day, I was purchasing some toys for the Children’s Hospital just west of here. It was then I accidentally found myself in the LEGO aisle. No longer just squares and rectangles, there were boxes of every type of LEGO known to the world. It was then I realized I never stopped loving them.
Looking from side to side for onlookers, I found the perfect set and put it in my basket camouflaged by the toys for the hospital. THIS set was mine. Christmas is a great time to let the inner child run the show.
The box sat for a year, just collecting dust. With so many adult things to do, every time I looked at it, I felt silly and childish. Why did this 65 year old woman purchase such a toy? Utterly ridiculous! Shameful! Here’s the deal. I didn’t return it. 😁
During the winter Olympics a few weeks ago, I remembered the box and took it out. Well, the genie is out of the bottle. LEGOs are still as fun as they every were. Gone are the rectangular and square pieces in red, blue, and yellow. There are inventive and wonderful pieces that make all sorts of interesting projects. Mine happened to be an RV with moving parts and adorable tires.
Now, LEGOs are not for those gifted with true talents for carving wood or painting pictures. Not for those that can sew up a dress out of nothing or create a handmade dollhouse from scratch. They are for those of us that are challenged by following simple directions, while hoping that we use all the pieces in the right place. We, too, need a little creation to sit on the shelf.
Next Christmas, Santa will bring me that functioning LEGO typewriter. Age — 18+. “Perfect for that special writer. 2,079 pieces.”
Have yourself some fun today, whatever life brings you. It’s never to late to play. Isn’t retirement grand?
The other day, I was in working in the “vault” of my online banking account. One of the last things VST taught me was how to navigate through our online banking site. Decades ago, we switched from “In-Person” banking to online banking. It’s been convenient and safe. So Far.
I make it a habit to check in with the banking every day. Crooks these days are quick, so a daily wellness check on the banking site is important. On my site, there are a variety of alarms that sound off from time to time. Alerts for messages. Bills that are due. And a new one that came to my attention last month. A monthly Credit Review.
There are three main credit agencies and your FICO score (credit scoring model designed by Fair Isaac Corporation) can be found on any of them. Equifax. Experian. TransUnion. Each one offers a free credit report once a year. I was about to get my free review from all three at once when my banker suggested I stagger the reports throughout the year. Such a good idea. Every four months, request a free report with another company. Mark your calendar so you don’t forget.
Reviewing posted information for my first report, I found some obvious errors. My entire teaching career was missing from the report. Isn’t that a rather important part of credit??? Everything seemed in order except one thing. I found a delinquent account reported in 2001. It was reported that I stiffed someone for $327. Yes. A credit card company. Walked right away from that bill.
Now, I’ve done a lot of things in my life. Some things I’m not so proud of. But, walking away from a credit card obligation isn’t in the lineup. Even in our poorest days, the bills came first. VST and I were careful about the bills. Always. This information was incorrect so I disputed the delinquent charge.
“Thank you for your inquiry. You will hear back within a month.”
Sure enough, this week, I heard back. The abandoned bill wasn’t mine and removed immediately. After 21 years of being there, of course.
Credit is so important to a widow. You never know when you’ll need to borrow on that rainy day. Last summer, my air conditioner broke. After catching my breath, I had no choice but to replace it as the sun is pretty hot in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Expenses don’t stop for the grieving. Life keeps rolling along.
Along with checking your credit report at least once a year (free), be sure to keep an eye on your credit card charges and balances. My cards have been compromised a few times. Just call the number on the back of the card and they’ll have you up and running in no time. Always stow a second card in case something happens to your main card.
Talking to some women in church the other day, I was surprised how many don’t shop online. I was one of them long ago. These days, everything is online. Even grocery shopping on some days. During my last shopping experience at Costco, a customer was run over in the parking lot requiring an ambulance. I love ordering staples from the safety and comfort of my kitchen table. My paper towels, coffee, and laundry detergent arrive within two business days. They never let me down.
As for Oliver, Chewy’s delivers his dog food and toys. Amazon handles everything else. In all the transactions I’ve made, I’ve had few problems. If one does arise, the bank is excellent in handling it. The key is to keep a watchful eye on things.
In my banking experience, it has been most helpful that all my business is with one large bank. Checking accounts, credit cards, and investments can all be seen from the main website. It’s convenient having everything in one place.
So, along with the dust bunnies and window washing, take a little time to look at your finances and credit accounts. As widows and widowers, it’s all up to us now. We can do this!
Turn on the television these days and what’s playing at any given time, day or night? Adults behaving badly. Screaming in the name of what they’ve decided is right. Yelling over each other. Setting a bad example in technicolor. The worst behavior get the highest ratings. The world has become The Jerry Springer Show. At some point, I started to accept this as the norm. Until last night.
Baptist on Main needs some updates. Built in 1974, there’ve been updates along the way. The building is structurally sound. Although a little worn around the edges, so are we, the members that attend. It’s a high desert church of Northwestern Nevada. Paint peels a little around here. Carpet gets worn. Those aren’t the reasons our membership is growing. God is.
Last night, Pastor C called a business meeting to order at 6PM sharp. Familiar faces settled into their seats to discuss the needs of our building. Everyone was Sunday Morning friendly on a lovely Wednesday evening.
First on the agenda was discussion about a new sign. Our sign is a 1974 model. It’s outdated, with black plastic letters that are changed every other week with our message. As signs go, it’s a nice sign. The thing is, it truly needs updating. I’m not sure if anyone thought of pressure washing the thing and spray painting it. A sparkly new sign will cost $30,000. That’s a chunk of change in a town of 25,000 people. We’re a fixture on Main Street. Everyone knows the building and who we are. Although a bright and shiny sign glowing with electronic messages would be cool, we aren’t the glow in the dark kind of folk.
While viewing Sign #1, #2, and #3, people discussed their favorites. All lovely. Personally, I see a $30,000 target for vandalism. One pellet gun could ruin a big investment with a single shot. With removable letters, the most vandals can do is change the message. One company was located 75 miles to the East. The other company was in Florida. Not much service available when the provider is on the east coast.
The remarkable part of this meeting was how this issue was discussed in a lovingly and quiet way. Dressing up the sanctuary was the goal, not personal victories. The committee put a lot of time and effort into their project. They had their personal favorites for different reasons. They had gotten the very best prices they could using hours of their own time. Sometimes church work is behind the scenes without many thanks. It’s always an offering of time and gas. Without reaching a decision, we went on to the next topic.
Future plans for expansion were discussed. There were the lofty thoughts of a new sanctuary with all the bells and whistles. Then, there were practical suggestions of rearranging furniture to provide more space in the Sunday school classrooms for our 12 students. After an hour of meaningful and respectful dialogue, the membership decided to table everything for right now. A purging and rearrangement of furniture will be first on the list. I’d imagine the same people will show up on our church work days. The church savings account remains untouched for now. After hugs and well wishes, everyone left with smiles on their faces.
I wish this meeting would’ve been televised to demonstrate adults behaving like adults. It was a beautiful example of a goal driven meeting. An example of how to show love for one another. Listening skills and indoor voices were used. No one turned red and stomped out of the sanctuary. After all, it was for the love of our place of worship that we met.
The meeting started with praises for many wonderful things that had happened to members since Monday. Even the weather is looking like spring. As we met, the sun hadn’t set on another bright and beautiful day on the high desert plains.
Naomi is missing.
Then, we prayed for our Naomi. Naomi is 18. I’ve never met her. She is a brave girl making her way in this world. Certainly she’s braver than I was at 18. Her mom and dad work in South Africa while she lives here and works at a factory 20 minutes down the road.
Saturday, she was waiting outside our Walmart for a bus ride to work. Around 5:00 AM, a hooded man was caught on camera. He overpowered her, taking both her and the vehicle. The car’s been found riddled with signs of foul play. Naomi is missing. She wasn’t missed until Sunday evening and by then, leads were fading.
I stopped going to that Walmart some time ago. Right on an interstate, it didn’t feel safe anymore. These days, it’s hard to find things that do feel safe. Just yesterday, Willow asked if I would help her learn to shop online. As a new widow, she’d like to shop from the comfort of her own home. The mall isn’t a place to meet people anymore, but a place to look over your shoulder before you dash to your car with keys at the ready.
Nevada is an “Open Carry” state. My town is a gun town. It’s full of manly men and strong women capable of protecting themselves. For goodness sakes, Pastor C owns his own gun shop. But, on March 12th at 5:00 AM in that empty, dark parking lot, no one was there to protect Naomi.
As you read this, please pray that more people remember kindness and respect. Please pray that our leaders would behave like adults and be quietly helpful. Please pray for the innocents in Ukraine. Please pray for our Naomi. We need her back. She’s one of us. Desert Strong.
Driving through town last night, you’d never know anything was amiss. The Tee Pee Bar and Grill had the usual five cars in the parking lot, while The Bear’s Den was overflowing. No traffic to speak of, even though it was the evening of St. Patrick’s Day. The truck stops were bustling with activity, but there was no sign of police presence. That’s usual, because, 18 year old women didn’t get snatched while waiting for a work shuttle.
The hidden homeless encampment secreted by the brick next to the freeway is now exposed. The homeless near the abduction site have moved on. Otherwise, the town’s folk carry on, many not even knowing this happened.
The usual things you read about in other abductions are happening. The ribbon makers are sitting at the local Pizza joint making Rainbow pins. Flyers are being sent far and wide. The candlelight vigil is being planned by a family friend. The “Find Naomi” Face Book page is up and running, keeping everyone informed of what the news isn’t saying.
Last night, in a tiny lake town next to an Indian Reservation, law enforcement showed up with lights blazing. The locals wrote about both uniformed and plain clothed officers working an area. The FBI had arrived. You can tell from the picture, this isn’t a city. There are thousands of square miles with desert terrain just like this. Naomi could be anywhere, but they chose this spot to investigate. With requests for the public to “Stay Away”, they worked late into the night searching for possible evidence in the case.
As today’s sun rises, there’ll be more facts and rumors weaving a tale more fantastical than the girl they are about. With the best luck, we will all be celebrating her return. But then, the story may end like it does for so many young women these days. With tragedy facing her friends, family, and our little town.
Please keep Naomi and her family in your thoughts and prayers.
