Road in Retirement

      A former student died the other day. He overdosed. Nothing makes me sadder than hearing negative news like that. My peers would say he got what he deserved. I say no one deserves to be so enslaved to something as harmful as that. I understand he made certain choices, but I don't think it was really him making the choice. It was the thirst for drugs that consumed him much like gambling for others or drinking or any other kind of addiction.  Even like lying or stealing or bullying.     Maybe you don't feel compassion for an addict. I do and I'll tell you why, because there but for the grace of God goes I. I could have so easily gone down that road but thankfully I didn't. I made different choices than my student. But that doesn't make me better than he. I'm grateful for the choices I made. My senior year in high school, my life could've taken that turn. I was one choice away from that path. My last year in high school I moved in a fugue. I wasn't sur

    Life is cyclical. Sometimes you're busier than busy and sometimes it feels like you're almost dormant. The last couple of weeks I've lived the former which is why I haven't written for awhile, so forgive the delay and let's get on to today's blog post. Road trips!      Not all road trips are fun.  I've been on many a travels where fun wasn't even part of  the equation. There was the exciting voyage I embarked on as a seventeen-year-old with my mom and grandmother to visit my brother in Florida.   As a senior in high school, I'd rather have gone on my senior trip with my friends. My mom, however, as she was extracting the money from my bank account (money I had earned and saved for said  senior trip), thought her idea of a senior trip ( on a trip with two seniors) sounded much more fun. Maybe that's why I taught Dante's Inferno so much. I lived it on this delightful adventure. Who wouldn't want, as a 17, to give up a trip to New York

      I've had people ask me if I miss school and how I like retirement. Honestly? I don't really miss school. At all. I suppose I should feel a little bit redolent of my days in Room 2. And I do. Just not a lot. I don't have time to think about it.     What I have discovered about retirement is how busy I am. That may seem like an oxymoron, but it's not. It's the truth. By the time I finish at the Y, I feel like half my day has frittered away. But in all my busyness, how am I giving back? Life shouldn't become inwardly focused once you  set aside the nine to five. That's what I've been thinking about lately. Most volunteer work is outside my wheelhouse. The spirit is willing, but the body isn't compliant. I'm good at organizing events or bringing structure to things, but there isn't much need for that. I do some writing and have volunteered to write grants, but there has to be more that I can do.     Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe

 The Queen is dead. I was shocked when I heard the news. Sure, reports were that physicians were concerned about her health, but she was the Queen. She'd pull through like she'd always done, right? Not this time.     The monarch may be archaic in the eyes of some, but it always fascinated me. I remember from an early age wishing I could meet the Queen, thinking her almost magical. My interest in Her Majesty was fueled by shows like The Crown which gave her a vulnerability that only endeared her to me. Despite her position, the Queen dealt with issues that we all face, only she was scrutinized under a more powerful microscope. Wayward children and a wandering husband were just a couple of trials she faced. She withstood the criticisms with class, never allowing herself to sink to the levels of her critics.     I think it was her embodiment of class that I actually admired. Charles becoming king will diminish the office. With the situation with Diana and his mistress, I can'

       Aurora Borealis--the Northern Lights have been stunning lately. The only problem is you have to drive out into the country to really see them. Light pollution dims their effervescence. These shimmering  greenish phenoms have been astounding people through the ages.      I think about the early pioneers and the life they lived out here on the prairie. Those hardy souls endured the elements, the critters (mosquitos, wildlife, grasshoppers etc.), and the bleakness that the land offered.     Living 150 years ago with all the pioneers dealt with would have been horrible. Housing consisted of soddies. I can't imagine living in such miserable circumstances. Because it was made out of earth, having the dwelling consist of more than one room wasn't feasible. Having a family of five or six live in such conditions wasn't ideal.     If the living conditions weren't abhorrent enough, there were the weather conditions with which to contend. Adverse weather could swoop in at an

        My husband  asked me how I was going to follow  up my last blog entry, and it got me thinking. The answer is this. I will follow up with honesty, truth, and reality. My last blog was full of angst. I was feeling frustrated that day and  expressed it on the written page, That's what  I do. I write. Writing is my therapy, my balm. Some people deal with frustration and anxiety and stress doing a plethora  of things. Me? I translate my feelings into words and emote for my audience.  The emotions aren't contrived. They are real. and they are mine.     Not everyone  who has PD will relate to what I'm experiencing. What I'm challenged with may not be a problem for someone else with Parkinson's. I'm not here to obfuscate people. I can only write what's in my heart. And I promise, I will do that.     My last entry reflected a down day. It was a frustrating series of events that took their toll on me. Not every day will be like that. I can guarantee one thing,

           *Disclaimer--This post may seem like a Negative Nellie post, but it' s not. I promise. This is my reality.     I'm trapped in my body. I have functioning limbs, somewhat, but I'm trapped nonetheless.Sometimes I'll go for a drive and just people watch. My eyes seek out and drink in the movements of others. It's my elixir. I can sit for hours and watch the majesty with which people move. The beauty. The grace. The effortlessness. Then I come home to reality and look at my body. My herky-jerky movements are anything but effortless. I long to run through a field again, with the breeze kissing my cheeks, providing a temporary relief from the waning summer sun. But that isn't my reality.     Instead, my new normal consists of me frenetically trying to balance myself as I walk precariously with my cane. Or better yet, it's riding around in my scooter because the terrain is too formidable or the distance is too great or I'll risk a fall.      Even my