Road in Retirement

    I think I married Elmer Fudd, Chris isn't goofy looking like Elmer. He still has most of his hair. And there's no comparing physiques. Chris looks much the same as he did the day we wed. Elmer's lumpy. They do share a commonality, however. They both are obsessed with something. With Elmer it's his nemesis, that, "Wascally wrabbit." With Chris, his obsession is over birds... blackbirds  in particular. It all began innocently enough. I had decided one day to see if we could attract any birds and wondered out loud about getting a birdhouse. I thought it would give me something new and interesting to look at during the day. So we bought a bird feeder and bird seed and waited for the birds.  I was hoping for finches or nuthatches. What we got along with the nuthatches were blackbirds, dozens and dozens of blackbirds.       In the middle of a conversation Chris would whistle and bark out a sound  in an attempt to startle the birds. I do...

    I have a new four-letter word that is pure evil--at least in April anyway. Sno*w. The word that shall =not be named is fluffy and white and oh so pretty in November and Decembr, but gets a little old in April.        Spring. This year that word has been an intangible. Here it is April 5,  and I've yet to see any green. Certainly not grass .I'll be the first to admit this has been a long winter.  November 9 was the last time 40 degrees came calling. November 9.     My friends and  family query me often about my choice of residency. When a spring snowstorm dumps a foot of snow on ground that's already white with frozen precipitation. they tell me I'm crazy for living here Pre-Christmas, this white stuff is welcomed anticipated even. But not in April. Certainly not in April.     I dream of escaping this land. A land I was only going to call home for five years. My husband and   ...

      I heard news the other day that filled me with soy--that means sadness and joy, What kind of news could illicit such emotions? I found out that my favorite Christian author has Parkinson's. Why would such bad news fill me with joy? Don't get me wrong. I'd  not wish this disease on anyone. So how can this revelation fill me with soy?     It's hard for me to explain. I'm not glad that Philip Yancey has PD. But I am comforted by this fact. Let me try to explain. I know lots of people with PD, but I don't really know them. Does that make sense? On the other hand, I feel like I have some connection to Yancey. I feel like I know him through his writings.I take comfort in knowing I have a compatriot journeying with me. In fact, I have covered the same material in my blog  that he touches on in his article.     I am a writer. Not, certainly on the level of Yancey, but in my own way a writer nonetheless. I have a  fascinatio...

      In my early years, rest was a four-lettered word. I never had time to rest. I was too busy. I had papers to grade, meetings to attend, and parenting duties to attend to.I was too busy to slow down. Not that I wanted  to. What would I do with my well-earned badge of busyness I proudly displayed for all to see? And those who missed the badge surely couldn't tune out my recounting of my schedule just to reinforce me busyness. I found my sense of worth in the number of activities I could enmesh myself in. Don't get me wrong.The busyness was something I wanted, something I took pride in. In all truthfulness, I was hiding in those activities so I wouldn't have to face the problems in my life,     I was rotten at resting; something I was clueless at doing. So instead of taking the time to figure it out, I piled more busyness on myself and continued to wear the badge with pride, There were no spontaneous trips to Dairy Queen for my boys or spontaneo...

    I got nothing. Nada. Zilch. No inspiration. I've silently been waiting for the muse to show up. But it hasn't. Some people call this writer's block. I call it stagnation.I have been stagnant in writing my blog. How can a writer be blocked living in a world like this with so many topics  to write about? There's always something in the news  to ponder. Opinions to postulate. But lately my blog has suffered from my stagnation.             It's not that I can't (on purpose double negative; that means I can find something to write about)  I could extol the merits of volunteers, using those who give of their time selflessly at the YCMA. in my city. Without the aid of these folks, the Parkinson's programming at the Y would suffer deep setbacks. From teaching participants how to play the harmonica to holding  the boxing bag in Rock Steady Boxing to teaching a class to work on our speech--all of this is possible because o...

      Recently a friend of mine posted one word she was going to try to live by in 2023. Words like "perseverance" and "grow" populated her Facebook wall. Without really thinking about it, I flippantly wrote what  popped into my head. But after thinking about it for a minute, I realized my error and want a do-over on the word choice.          My updated one-word  selection? Hope. Hope can fill your heart and give you strength to face a perilous circumstance with confidence. Hope can fill you with expectations of brighter, better days to come. Hope can give you energy and something to hang onto to combat the negative Nellie thoughts that can fill your mind when hope is absent or vacationing     Maybe you're hoping for a raise this year. Or a significant relationship. Or a restored relationship. Or relief. Even without knowing it, you can be filled with that elusive substance. You may not realize you have hope in a...

    Enough already. Last week marked the first significant snowfall of the season. And boy was it significant! Twenty inches of snow later led to the residents of my city feeling somewhat of a malaise when confronted with the prospect of added inches. Shoveling it, driving on it, or trying to navigate walking on treacherous walkways could all be source of this unrest.  Or the added burden of another 3-6" could factor into it.     All I know is it's only December and citizens are flying the surrender flag. They are willing to concede defeat. The resounding, "Enough!" heard at the six o'clock newscast when the cheery weather person announced the impending doom of more snow was deafening, even with the doors shut.      "Enough" is the often-said refrain when discussing that four-lettered word like the evil malediction it is. But that isn't the only time I hear that distinctive response. Harried shoppers in search of another gift  ...