Slow Motion
After the fuss and bother, the acquiring and attaining,
somehow life seems better without the extra straining.
Now observing takes the place of doing and of showing.
Tranquility has won out over partying and going,
with “Hold your partner” filling in for former “do-si-doing.”
Retirement?
My future is amorphous. It has no shape or plan.
Up the creek without a paddle, I have no job or man.
My freedom? It is ludicrous. I’m well out of the chase.
All my time is leisure time. I live a slower pace.
Who named this phase re-tirement? There’s nothing that is tiring.
If they want to tire me out again, they’d best replace my wiring.
Prompt words today are chase, ludicrous, amorphous and paddle.
In Retirement
I lie in bed, flat on my back, head raised by pillows,
computer raised to eye level
by a wadded comforter over bent knees.
I listen to raised voices in the village down below,
the staccato of an inadequately mufflered car revving up,
a hammer falling on wood, birds in the coco palms.
A pianissimo chorus of dogs spread
over the surrounding hills swells to a frenzied crescendo,
then falls silent but will swell again.
I have dropped obligations
like clothes shed for a lover.
My Saturday morning pool aerobics and zumba,
I slipped out of years ago.
Group luncheons hang from doorknobs and chair backs.
Committee meetings lie sloppily abandoned in the hall.
I have retired from the running of the world
to run my own small universe on paper.
Saturday morning is my brainstorm session
with “Me,” “Myself” and “I.”
“I” suggested feeding the dogs,
but they are quiet now, so
“Me” suggested we let them lie.
“Myself” laid out some words to dry
in the heat of the fire of our communal
inspiration, laying them smoothly on the page,
rumpling up others in her fist to send them sailing
to join the crumpled singles event invitations in the corner.
This slow Saturday morning dressing of pages
and stripping them bare
is a sort of ceremony celebrating seizing time
and making it my own.
Pages fill up with passion, angst, anger,
irritation, joy, laughter, camaraderie.
There is more than one word for each.
Imagine such control over your world–
not having to live the world of any other.
If you could have any life you wish?
Imagine a Saturday morning building it.
Extreme Retirement
My daydreams lack a focus. They float by like a cloud.
It is as though much logic is simply not allowed.
Should plans besmirch my reverie, I’m sure to blot them out,
for my thoughts are vagabonds—aimless, without a doubt.
A mortarboard and tassel lurk far within my past,
and I fear the plans they made simply didn’t last
I lie here in my lounge chair, getting too much sun.
I should raise the umbrella, for sunburn is no fun,
but I cannot stir myself. I’m simply far too lazy.
Retirement would be easier if all the skies were hazy!
Prompt words today are tassel, blot, focus and besmirch. Here are links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/03/19/rdp-tuesday-tassel/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/19/fowc-with-fandango-blot/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/03/19/focus/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/03/19/your-daily-word-prompt-besmirch-march-19-2019/
Odd Little Saturday Morning Poem
I lie in bed, flat on my back, head raised by pillows,
computer raised to eye level
by a wadded comforter over bent knees.
I listen to raised voices in the village down below,
the staccato of an inadequately mufflered car revving up,
a hammer falling on wood, birds in the coco palms.
A pianissimo chorus of dogs spread
over the surrounding hills swells to a frenzied crescendo,
then falls silent but will swell again.
I have dropped obligations
like clothes shed for a lover.
My Saturday morning pool aerobics and Zumba,
I slipped out of years ago.
Group luncheons hang from doorknobs and chair backs.
Committee meetings lie sloppily abandoned in the hall.
I have retired from the running of the world
to run my own small universe on paper.
Saturday morning is my brainstorm session
with “Me,” “Myself” and “I.”
“I” suggested feeding the dogs,
but they are quiet now, so
“Me” suggested we let them lie.
“Myself” laid out some words to dry
in the heat of the fire of our communal
inspiration, laying them smoothly on the page,
rumpling up others in her fist to send them sailing
to join the crumpled singles event invitations in the corner.
This slow Saturday morning dressing of pages
and stripping them bare
is a sort of ceremony celebrating seizing time
and making it my own.
Pages fill up with passion, angst, anger,
irritation, joy, laughter, camaraderie.
There is more than one word for each.
Imagine such control over your world–
not having to live the world of any other.
If you could have any life you wish?
Imagine a Saturday morning building it.
The prompt today was crescendo. This is a reprint of a poem written a few years ago.
We Gather Together
This is not quite what I have in mind, but it was the only one-story X shaped house I could find on Google images.
I would love to have the money to build another house on the land I own that adjoins my own lot. It would be one story high, so as not to impede my view. It would be in the shape of an “X” with a common area in the shape of a large donut in the middle. In the very center (the hole of the donut) would be an atrium with one or two large trees filled with hanging wire baskets stuffed with spagnum moss that would be the home of bromeliads and orchids. The ring part of the donut would contain a kitchen, dining room and living room/game room–all interconnected but with sliding glass doors out to the atrium. Each of the arms of the X would have a bedroom, living room, bathroom and study/art studio.
At the end of the lot nearest the street and adjoining my studio with a little stile-like bridge that extends over the wall between the upper and lower lot would be a larger art studio with saws, buffers, polishers and drills as well as more space for storage, group activities and classes. The art studio would be on the second level, with a commodious elevator capable of taking larger sculptures and people down to street level. Since that lot is much lower than my lot, the second story would be on the same level as my studio. The first level would be another living space that ties in with my main purpose for building this house.
I want to create a space where three or four of my friends or relatives could come to spend their old age. If there were four, the space under the studio would be a living space for a caretaker/nurse/housekeeper. If I got too feeble to live in my house, I’d move into one of the legs of the house below. Otherwise, I could visit my friends or relatives there. If it were necessary, a nurse or housekeeper/cook could occupy one of the legs of the “X.” It would just be nice to be able to all be together to face old age as well as to keep each other young and silly for as long as possible.
This is a bit grand, and two-story, but shows that an X-shaped house could work. It is missing the middle donut shared area and atrium. (image from Google images)
The Prompt: Tell us about the one luxury item you wish you could afford, in as much detail as you can. Paint a picture for us.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/keeping-up-with-the-jones/
Bob, 1999
Soaring (Addendum to Plummeting)
A very close friend just Skyped me that today is the 14th anniversary of Bob’s death and commented on the coincidence that it was my topic today. The fact that I really didn’t remember that today (although I’d thought of it twice in the past week) combined with the fact that today was one of the nicest days I’ve passed in years only goes to show that we come through the very worst experiences but survive and grow happy again and reach new highs. Bob was one of the great loves of my life (during the highs) and one of the greatest sadnesses (during the lows, including his illness and death.) This is how life goes. We all know this. But we need to remember that more highs will come and not give up. Person after person has proven this in their posts today. The last example, since I just read his post, is Mark. For those in the thralls of the lows: just keep strong and have faith that there is another mountain on the horizon. Love to all you strong people and those who feel weak but have a strength they need to remember!!! xoxoox Judy
P.S. Just noticed that we were supposed to tell what we’d learned from our up and down experiences. I learned that we should not put off what we want to do. Bob was so afraid that we would starve or go into bankruptcy if we retired that he put it off far beyond the time when he should have retired. He waited too long! The very hardest thing for me in moving to Mexico alone was all the times I thought, “Damn! Bob would have loved this!” This was the hardest part of the first few years–harder even than my missing him. Don’t wait. Don’t put off your dreams. Do them the minute it is humanly possible to do them. We have control over what we do, but we don’t always have control over what is done to us by other people, fate or life in general. The power we have is to act. Now. Do it!! (I’m talking to myself as well as you.)
If by chance you have my book “Lessons from a Grief Diary: Rebuilding Your Life after the Death of a Loved One” please read Bob’s poem “About My Mountain Poem” in the Appendix. It is a powerful poem about seizing opportunity in spite of the obstacles. He lived this up to the end, but regrettably had a lapse and didn’t remember to live it soon enough.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/mountaintops-and-valleys/
Re”tire”ment
When I was younger, my mind turned on a dime.
I did what I had to do in very little time.
But now that I am older, things don’t go so fast.
I’m not “spur-of-the-momentish” as I was in the past.
I don’t throw big parties as I did in former days,
for dealing with the details just puts me in a haze.
I can’t do many things at once without getting confused.
Now I simply write my blog while once I danced and boozed!
At first I felt ashamed of how my life is slowing down,
hating that I do not seek the company of town.
But then I noted patterns in nature around me
and saw that this is simply how our lives are meant to be.
Each thing in its season and each thing in its time
is how our lives are ordered—to accept this is sublime.
Why do I need to live my youth and middle age again?
Why not just accept that this is how my life has been
and go on to the next stage without sadness or regret—
going on to see just how much better life can get?
Yes, it is the pits to get arthritic, slow and hazy;
but we are compensated by excuses to be lazy!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Heat is On.” Do you thrive under pressure or crumble at the thought of it? Does your best stuff surface as the deadline approaches or do you need to iterate, day after day to achieve something you’re proud of? Tell us how you work best.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Choose Your Adventure.” Write a story or post with an open ending and let your readers invent the conclusion.
Judgement
Borne, then born.
Clothed, fed, shorn.
Housed and cuddled,
Brain filled and muddled,
Schooled, polished, allowed to roam,
To make the world into a home.
Later settled, now sedate.
Content to let my life abate.
Find worlds inside and there abide,
To let what happens be my guide.
To try to live with less precision.
To fear less the world’s derision.
Why so hard to be oneself?
Easier when on the shelf.
Now here I pull my world around me,
Memories and dreams surround me.
My solitude a crystal jar
that lets me ponder from afar
The current of my life, its tide,
To reach without and pull inside
The things that help me try to see
Just where my life has taken me.
I contemplate and sometimes share
The truths that I’ve discovered there.
You come to read, you judge and . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Please complete the above poem, choosing a two-syllable last word for the line I’ve left uncompleted and then furnishing a rhyming last line. If you want to create your own last two lines, just substitute another line entirely for “You come ro read, you judge and . . . .” and then write a rhyming last line as well. Have fun!!!
Use it or lose it is advice that you might find
in books of pithy phrases or others of their kind.
Though trite, it seems to really work in matters of the mind,
which we should always try to use when we are in a bind.
Unfortunately, panic too often enters in
and takes the place of where our minds really should have been.
Our fears and doubts and terror creating such a din,
distracting us and so we lose what otherwise we’d win.
“I’ve lost my mind” are words that I have often overused.
(Another phrase the use of which is really much-abused.)
And although exaggeration is a sin widely excused,
it’s hyperbole when meant to mean that we are just confused.
I don’t think we had these problems when we were in our prime.
Our minds were so much emptier and we had so much time.
We used our minds for calculus or conjuring up a rhyme.
Our wheels were always spinning and could turn upon a dime.
But later on in life our minds are full to overflowing.
We remember where we’ve been but often forget where we’re going.
We try to still go fast when it is fact we should be “Whoa” ing.
and letting life evolve away from simply being knowing.
A baby sleeps within the womb and out of it as well.
He ruminates and plays for years before the school bell.
And so perhaps re”tire”ment is a story we retell–
recalling us to rest and play before that final knell.
The Prompt: Use it or lose it. https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/use-it-or-lose-it/
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 