Am I living up to my own hype?

It’s been one month since I retired. A mini- anniversary of sorts. I’ve spent some time reflecting on the title of my blog and contemplating if I have lived up to the title and if I have truly been re-vamping my life for my 3rd Act.

My thoughts:

Renovating – wish I was doing more. Master bath is on hold again until a month after my husband’s hernia surgery that he postponed from December. I will be doing some small things around the house but they are pretty much a big snore, like painting, and I wouldn’t want to bore you. Besides I’ve already given you all my painting tips in a previous post and that is about all I can squeeze out of that, unless of course I once again do a face plant during the process (see previous post).

Reinventing – I have found this to be a slow process of morphing into something else besides a school administrator. Slow, because I spent over 16 years as a school employee and was immersed in my work. Transition (mentally) takes time. A lot of thought needs to be put into how I see myself being productive and doing things I enjoy  while hoping to earn some money. But I am, if nothing else, determined to try new things. Now, I’m not going to start training to climb Mt. Everest or have aspirations of becoming the next Nobel Peace Prize winner. But I have managed to start a blog, acquired advertising on the site (click on ads if you see something interesting!), and began cleaning out the s**t we have accumulated over the last 30 years, which I have been selling on eBay and Craig’s List. I've been working on staying healthy and fit, working out at the pool three days a week, walking daily whether it’s outside or at the mall, and oh, by the way, signing up for a gym membership (there will definitely be a post about this experience soon). None of this is earth-shattering or really difficult but, I’m happy with what I have accomplished so far. Is it enough??? Oh hell no.

 Reimagining – This to me is the most exciting part of the process. We sometimes can be our own worst enemy in regards to limits we put on ourselves. Now, physically I know I have some limitations due to age and just plain ole creakiness. But mentally, the sky is the limit.  An interesting and thought- provoking idea started as a small tickle in my brain and has now become an itch that must be scratched. Through my blog,I have found that I have really enjoyed the writing process and making people giggle or even just smile. Lately, I’ve been thinking that I could maybe, somehow, potentially, possibly write a book.  I have a lot of things I’d like to write about in regards to my experience with middle school. Most of it, I would like to think is humorous. I guess that will ultimately be for the audience to decide.  Could I really be an author?  Do I have what it takes? Have I lost my mind? And you know what I think? You never know until you try.

I have been dabbling with writing chapters on some things that teachers and administrators deal with at a middle school on a daily basis. I’ve sent these ramblings off to my sister, who by the way is not only a voracious reader but taught English for many years, and I consider her my first line editor for all things I write. As a former teacher at a middle school, she can certainly relate. I have gotten a “thumbs up” from my sis whose opinion I value the most, so I thought I’d just throw this idea out there to you, my blog audience, because I always feel like the more you tell people you are going to do something, the more it holds you accountable. Kind of like, "Hey I've started Weight Watchers" and then you know everyone will be watching your cafeteria tray to see if you are indeed keeping to the program. Here it is - I’m going to do my best to write a book. There I said it. Now I have to follow through. There is no guarantee it will ever get published but that’s OK. At least I tried.

Here is a small excerpt from my book under construction, working title: Caught in the Middle. If you have ever had a middle school child or worked in a school or were a middle school student  (how’s that for covering everyone?!) it will hopefully make you smile. This excerpt is from the chapter entitled "The Invasion of the Cell Phones (as opposed to Body Snatchers – although plenty of cell phones are indeed snatched)."

**************************************************************************
Sometimes I think about when I was in middle school in the 1960s, which was then called Junior High. I still didn’t really understand how the whole sex thing worked, let alone shared pictures of my then very perky breasts (which are unfortunately now a distant memory) with any boy that would look at them – which, by the way, is every middle school boy. There was something to be said about an adolescent having a healthy fear of sex. I think my Catholic upbringing had a lot to do with that. I’m almost sure the nuns told us that not only would you go to hell, but things would slowly start falling off your body if you ever let a boy touch you before marriage. Or maybe it was my mother that told me that– I can’t remember.

Horney teenage boy: Holy Moley! Your ear just came off as I was breathing into it!

If this was the 1960s, instead of taking naked selfies and throwing those pictures into cyberspace, girls in my day would have had to borrow their parent’s camera, buy film, and then take it to a developer who would have then called your parents or the police, which would have inevitably led to a life in the convent. Or if you were lucky enough to have a polaroid, you could develop it yourself and wait for it to appear before your eyes, which would give your brain enough time to realize that you are indeed acting like a “bad girl” and that the gods above would still see this as virtually touching a boy before marriage and soon your nose would drop off in your lap. 

Now middle schoolers think they know a lot about sex and relationships, but truthfully they know just enough to be dangerous. Maybe instead of sex education in health class we should go back to the story about body parts falling off. Raise your hand if you think that’s a good idea.

Yep - sex, bullying, distractions galore - cell phones have changed the life of parents, students, teachers and principals forever.

Parents not only deal with having to check their child’s cellphones for porn or other disgusting things, but it seems that they themselves have become tethered to their children through this technology. Even though we strongly urge them not to, they text their children at school in the middle of class. What? Has someone in the family lost a limb? Has Dad run off with the neighborhood bimbo? Is a tsunami heading this way? No - It’s usually something like, “I’m checking you out at 1PM.” Guess what?  The kid will figure that out at 1.

Students not only text friends at school but also their parents.  Texts, by the way, are usually done in the bathroom stall which is why so many kids are asking to go to the bathroom every ten minutes. Heaven forbid the teacher says no and the child ends up with some sort of freakish bladder infection. That teacher will undoubtedly be sent before a judge trying to explain that he or she was just trying to educate the child, which is hard to do when the child in is the bathroom 90% of the school day. Maybe the teacher should text the student the lesson so he or she can at least learn something while in the stall.  I shouldn’t even joke about that because some idiot with authority might just read this and think that’s a good idea.

*********************************************************************************

This is just a tidbit of the chapter. So whaddya think? Can I do this? Is it possible?

Am I crazy? I welcome any feedback.

So what's next on the renovation menu?

With the master bedroom complete we really need to move on to the master bath. What’s wrong with it you ask? Hmmm…Besides being 30 years old, it's ugly, it's ugly and - that's it. It's just ugly. It’s also very tiny, but unfortunately that is not going to change. I’m hoping that once renovated, it will be a gorgeous albeit tiny master bath. I had considered actually enlarging the bath by using some space in the master bedroom, but eventually decided against it for multiple reasons. One, the most important reason, is that it would be much more expensive. Two, I don’t think we would get the money back when this house is sold. And three, we don’t really need a large master bath. I know, I know. All the ones you see on HGTV are enormous with a separate tub and shower and enough square feet for a Dancing with the Stars episode.  But really how much time are these people actually spending in that bathroom? If it’s more than 15 minutes a day I think we need to consider this a problem that needs an intervention or at the very least a gastroenterologist.

I know this may be hard to believe but one thing that my husband and I do not fuss at each other about is use of our minuscule bathroom. It’s too small for two people to be in there at one time and frankly even if it was larger, I don’t WANT to be in there when he is doing whatever he spends his time doing in the bathroom, which usually involves reading a magazine – and guys, I still do not get that. And just for the record, I’d like to know how you guys can time it so you "read" at the same time every day. How do you do that? Trust me - it’s a mystery to women. And while I do NOT want to be in there while he is doing his thing, he certainly does not want to be there when I’m in there plucking, flossing, and exfoliating, whatever. I truly believe our marriage has lasted nearly 30 years because we have both steered clear of the bathroom when the other is utilizing it and kept that part of our lives private.

The plan for the bathroom is take it to the studs. It’s a gut job. I can’t wait to get started. So the question is when will we start? Wish I had the answer.

I’m waiting for the go ahead from my husband. He really needs to be on board since he is most of the brawn. I think I’ll start leaving subtle hints like maybe removing the toilet paper holder or taking off the toilet seat or maybe writing on the mirror, “This bathroom stinks!” Well not literally, but you know what I mean.

With a new renovation looming I think it’s time I gave you an insight into the last time we took on a complete gut job in our guest bath.

We started over spring break and I thought it would be like TV – done in one episode. Let’s just say that certainly wasn’t the case. We were still working on it in June. We ran into lots of problems – leaky plumbing, unlevel floor, a tub that did not fit, and last, but definitely not least – a trip to the hospital.

I am SO Nicole Curtis in this picture!

Everything had been demoed – walls and sub-floor. The bathroom was a shell. Since this was a 2^nd floor bathroom the floor joists were exposed. Phil laid a piece of scrap lumber over part of the floor so we could stand in the room. It covered a few floor joists however, the end of the board was without support. It was dangerous to be sure. If Phil were to step on that end, the board would flip and he would go straight through the ceiling and into our laundry room below. As he worked while standing on that board, he heard me harping, “Don’t step there,” “Be careful”, “Watch out for the end of the board,” over and over and over again. I thought I was doing a slam up job of giving him warnings of the dangers that lay beneath his feet. He was probably screaming in his head, “Shut the f___ up you stupid woman!”, and I would not have blamed him. I was getting annoyed with my own badgering.

Everything was exposed including our lack of renovating talent.

We were at the point where we were measuring for the sub floor we were installing. Measuring was my department. I was kneeling on the board with tape measure in hand and I could not reach the place where I needed to get dimensions. Without thinking of the ramifications, I scooted to the end of the board and -----WHAM!!!. The board flipped and my face came crashing down on the floor joist. It wasn’t funny at the time, but now when I think of what I must have looked like, it must have resembled something comical. My butt was in the air, my face was planted on the joist, my shoulder was wedged between two floor joists, and my hand was still holding that frickin’ tape measure.  I was stuck. Phil acted quickly knowing he had to somehow pull me out. He managed to get the board down so he could step into the bathroom. Once he got a foothold he literally pried me out between the floor joists. This was our conversation when I was finally upright:

Me: I think I broke my face.

Phil: I think you broke your shoulder.

(I rotated my shoulder around):

Me: No, It feels OK. What does my face look like?

Phil: It’s really bleeding.

Me: Does it look broken?

Phil: Hard to tell.   (Hmmm – now that I think about this comment I think I feel insulted)

I made my way to the mirror while I was feeling around my cheekbone for anything that was loose or moving in my face. I couldn’t feel anything move so I began to think I just dodged a huge bullet. However, the blood was trickling down my face and down my chest. I had a sizeable cut right on my cheekbone. Phil thought I needed stitches. I told him that we should try butterfly stitches first. (I didn’t want to admit that I was a wimp who was afraid to get a shot in my face and so vain that I didn’t want that ugly black thread sticking out of my face). Well it seems that the ugly black thread would have been the least of my worries. The whole side of my face was turning a deep shade of purple very quickly. I grabbed the ice packs and thought they should take care of most of the swelling. Boy was I wrong.

This was BEFORE everything swelled and turned purple.

The next day was a Monday and of course a school day for me. By now the purple had spread from all over my cheek to all around my eye. The swelling was ridiculous, and I’m sure to most people I looked like someone had beaten the hell out of me. Being a person that never misses a day of work I slapped a HUGE band aid on my face and soldiered on. When I got to work I sent out an email to the entire faculty explaining that I am an idiot and that I watch too much DIY TV and to please not laugh when they see my face. But wait, you may ask – when does the hospital come into play? 

A few days after this debacle I started running a fever and not feeling well. While bemoaning my condition to a co-worker, she told me that I could have fractured something in my sinus and that she had read somewhere that all the goop could leak into my brain and I could die from the infection. I proceeded to drive like a banshee to the ER convinced that I was already on death's door in regards to the goop. I could picture Phil telling our children, “I’m sorry kids, your mother died from goop on the brain.”

I ended up with a CAT scan and luckily and quite amazingly nothing was broken. The fever, according to the doc, was just a virus. I asked, “So my brain isn’t being overtaken by sinus goop?” He gave me a look that screamed, “They let you around children???” But he politely said, “No, besides being black and blue, nothing is broken.”

So as we prepare for another round of bathroom renovation I must summon up the courage to face the measuring tape and carry on. Good news is the scar on my cheek is hardly noticeable. Bad news is I now have floor joist phobia. Wonder if there's a support group for this?

After the blood, sweat and tears... a really well done guest bath!

Exfoliation to Mortification - How does THAT happen?

Warning: Name has been changed to protect the humiliated

I remember when I was a very young girl, I had the belief that teachers and principals actually lived at school. In my mind they slept there, ate there and basically never left the compound. You see, this all made sense and to me because I never saw my teachers anywhere else. They were at school when I arrived and when I left. I suppose in my warped reality their husbands and children just visited them at school. In all probability I couldn’t even imagine them with a husband or even kids. And sex? Oh hell no.  Not a chance. Ewwww gross. Just like thinking about your parents getting it on. Man – I have to erase that picture out of my head immediately.

As I reflect on my perception when I was younger, I can see why students are shocked to see me (their former assistant principal) out and about. They stare and try to place how they know me because #1 out of school I’m usually not walking around in a business suit and pumps, and #2 I must confess that makeup is not a requirement on days off. However, there is nothing worse, let me repeat, nothing worse than having your students see you in a bathing suit, albeit a 2 piece suit. Well maybe a few things worse, but right now for the life of me I can’t come up with one.

So if you've read my prior posts you know I am newly retired and have made a commitment to taking better care of myself. This includes but is not limited to: flossing daily (exciting eh?), drinking more water (ugh), limiting my intake of wine (this is so sad), exfoliating regularly (sounds disgusting) and getting plenty of exercise. Due to the bad weather we have had lately, I have taken up mall-walking (no snorts of laughter please) and I am taking advantage of the county’s Olympic sized indoor swimming pool about 2 miles from my house. 

My neighborhood is not in the same area as the school where I worked, which is the way I like it for a number of reasons. One being that you do not run into the students and parents at the local grocery store and as a result, the ice cream doesn’t melt in your cart when you end up in an impromptu parent conference because they just want to ask a “few” questions. Two, and the most important reason, is when they are not your neighbors they cannot see all the empty beer and wine bottles in your recycling bin and therefore they will not think you are a depraved person moonlighting as an assistant principal.

I normally try and swim in the morning, however one fateful day I decided to go for a late afternoon swim. And as always I donned my 2 piece suit. Ever since I was a little girl I loved the feeling of water on my bare skin. To me, wearing a one piece is like wearing a glove over your torso. Confining, restricting, not for me. Skinny dipping would be just the ticket if being arrested wouldn’t be part of the package. I know that someday as my body increasing submits to the aging process I will have to cave in and swim in a one piece, but I ain’t there yet.

That's me (circa 1964) in the ruffled and polka-dotted, scandalous 2 piece. I was the talk of the 6th grade boy's locker room. I remember coming home completely covered with wrinkles from the water. I still come home that way only now they don't go away!

That afternoon I was a little taken aback as I stepped into the pool pavilion and saw an entire high school swim team in training. But then I thought NO problem. The pool is PLENTY big enough to avoid the teenagers. As I started looking at some of the faces I wondered why they all looked hauntingly familiar. I soon realized it was the high school that my middle school feeds into. Yep – at one time all of these kids were under my domain at the middle school.  At least 30 of them. Now, it’s bad enough to be seen by one student in your almost birthday suit – it’s a whole other ballgame to have an entire team see your gams completely naked, your sagging 60 year old breasts , and your bare stomach complete with wrinkly skin with belly button exposed. Oh the shame of it!!!!

For the first time in my life I was wishing I had a swim cap to hide under, which I have not worn since the 1960s when my father made us wear one in our backyard Florida pool. I was somehow managing to keep my presence there a secret when one student who had been staring at me for some time finally asked, “Mrs. Owens, is that really you?” I sighed, smiled and responded, “Hello Phillip.”

I then heard, reverberating throughout the indoor pool pavilion, “Hey guys! Come here! Look, it’s Mrs. Owens!” I was quickly bombarded with smooth skinned, lean and muscular 15 - 17 year old boys and girls staring at my droopy, wobbly triceps that sometimes, I’m afraid to say, have a life of their own and cleavage that is usually hidden beneath a silk blouse. Behind their smiles and chlorine reddened eyes I could tell they were thinking this had to be the grossest thing they have ever seen and that they would probably be scarred for life. Or at least have night terrors.

They were polite and kind and after chatting for a few minutes we all got back down to business of swimming. But my time at the pool had been compromised. I couldn’t wrap myself in a towel and get out of there fast enough.

Moral of the story is - “Go to the pool when they’re all in school!”  I’m a poet and don’t know it…. and at the pool I did show it. Oh goodness.

Csm you resd yhis massage? (Translation: Can you read this message?)

I am an awesome speller. I can see a word once and my brain takes a snapshot of it and then recreating it is a breeze. Back in the old days, we actually had a spot on our report cards specifically for spelling and mine always sported an “A”. This was before schools introduced “creative spelling” or not counting spelling as part of your grade. As competent as I am at spelling, the opposite is true of the phenomenon called texting. I’m severely challenged. Some might go so far as to label me Thumb Disabled.

Up until a year ago I was still hanging on to my precious flip phone and was proud of it. I was the brunt of jokes at work. Didn’t bother me. Didn’t care about not receiving texts nor did I want to send them. I would watch people texting moving their thumbs in a crazy, maniacal manner and wonder why not just call the person? I was disdainful when people had their phones out in restaurants or were in meetings and you heard the constant “zzzzzz”, “zzzzzz”, “zzzzzz” of the vibrating phone. I thought to myself, “Turn the damn thing off!!”

Then one very sad day my trusty flip phone battery died and I had to face the reality that they stopped making these batteries a gazillion years ago. That left me no option but to join the 21^st century.  I got a smart phone.

Learning how to maneuver a smart phone might as well have been learning how to operate the instruments in a cockpit. There were more bells and whistles than I knew what to do with. But the one thing I know I needed to learn was to text. Now, you think it’s easy – just type, dummy. Right? But I’m not talking about learning the keyboard. I’m talking about hitting the right key in a miniscule space that is 10 times smaller than the end of my finger. Really, how DO you DO that?

My messages come out something like this:

Instead of: “What time do I have to be there?”

It is… “What time do I have to pee there?”

Instead of: “I don’t want to go there.”

It is … “I don’t want to ho there.”

Instead of: “I haven’t had any luck lately.”

It is… “I haven’t had any _uck lately.” (You get what I mean)

This is a text I recently sent to my sister. “I dhut y be computer off and that’s when I got the massage.” It was supposed to be, “I shut my computer off and that’s when I got the message.” (Seriously – not making this up)

I text like some kind of pervert or something.

And what about the pressure? I receive a text and in the time it takes me to text back and correct all the mistakes four more texts come in asking me more questions, which means more responses, which means more frustration, which means texting can become incredibly stressful. It’s like, “What the hell! Give me some time to type with these chubby, wrinkly, uncoordinated fingers will ya???!!!!”  I can see myself talking to a psychiatrist and he asks, “What seems to be the cause of your anxiety Patti?” And I answer, “It’s texting. I need drugs.”

And really - texting and driving? I might as well just drive the car right up a pole and be done with it.

I may never get the hang of the thumb thing and you know what? I don’t really care. My family and friends can somehow decipher the texts and that’s all I care about. I don’t even bother correcting the crazy mistakes anymore. Hopefully they know I’m not really deranged. Texting and sending pictures can be fun, but I never want to be one of those people who are chained to his or her phone. It is still not placed on the dinner table and I do not carry it around with me as I walk around the house. 

However, I find the connection between me and my phone becoming stronger - almost like a tether line that is pulling me in. I still have enough distance to where I’m not obsessive about it, but I sure am more aware of whether or not it’s charged, its location, or whether that annoying sound of a text has arrived.

 Oops have to run. The text whistle just went off. TTYL (I’m so cool!)

and the tether line gets shorter…

Mall-walking…what’s next for me – shuffleboard?

I am a walker. An avid walker. Mostly because that is really the only form of exercise besides swimming that my artificial hip and creaky old back can take. But even if all my joint and bones were in tip top shape I would still choose to walk. But not on a treadmill. I love being outside in the fresh air. It is invigorating to me. Even when it’s 95 degrees in the summer I trek and sweat and soak up just being out of an enclosed building. I don’t listen to music or walk with a friend. I like the solitude of walking and thinking. My thoughts range from solving current problems to plans for renovations or maybe even a plot of a book or script I will write that will make me a millionaire someday. It’s just me alone with my thoughts.

So part of the plan for my retirement was to make sure a daily walk was on my agenda. And I can proudly say that I have been able to make that commitment a reality. However, today I was faced with a significant challenge. Frigid temperatures.

When I woke up this morning it was 11 degrees! Did someone forget to tell the weather gods this is The South??? Never to be dissuaded, I did the unthinkable. I drove to the mall and became a mall-walker. I became one of the people of whom I have made fun of in my head. I have to say it was enlightening.

As a novice mall-walker I observed the following:

#1. Most mall walkers are grey-haired. And I guess I’m putting myself in that category now too because if it wasn’t for Miss Clairol I would be totally grey.

#2. Some are able to walk briskly, for others it’s more like a hobble. I’m in the briskly category – just sayin’

#3. They carry water bottles with them. This was hysterical to me. I thought, “What – you need hydrating? Like you are going to lose electrolytes?” I was snickering as I left them in the dust.

#4. Mall-walkers acknowledge each other’s’ presence with a silent nod of the head. Like we are some sort of cult or something. Did I just say “we”?

#5. The majority wear white sneakers. Mine are white too. I’m throwing them in the garbage.
#6. Fanny packs. Hundreds of them. In every color of the rainbow. Okay I'm hyperbolizing again but really, they are still alive and kicking and making appearances on the butts or tummies of mall-walkers. Someone should tell these people they went out with the 90's. I kept thinking there must be a kiosk around still selling these things. Speaking of kiosks...

#7. The vulturous kiosk people leave you alone when you are not carrying a purse and walking at a thunderous pace. But do not, I repeat, do not give them one iota of eye contact. If you do, you are doomed. They will latch on to you like a suction cup and follow you until you have to almost swat them away like a fly. That was mean. True – but mean.

Truth be told I didn't mind mall-walking too much. My fingers and nose were not frozen and the stores gave me something to look at. Would I still prefer outside? You betcha. But in a pinch (or deep freeze) I would do it again. And next time I will bring a bottle of water. I was really thirsty when I finished. And maybe I should invest in a fanny-pack. Something in a nice shade of purple.

Renovating the bedroom - was it worth all that work?

Oh heck yea!

With a very small budget of $1000 my goal was to create a room that would be like a sanctuary. A place that exuded calm and class. I knew that I hit the nail on the head when each person who saw it for the first time stated that it looked like a luxury hotel room. I couldn't be more happy. I will let the pictures tell the story.

Some "before" shots...

"During" shots ...

And as they say on HGTV - The REVEAL .....

I went with taupe and a champagne color for the accent. It just worked well with the grey and continued the very elegant feel.

My mom's lamps are like pieces of art in the room and stand at attention on each side of the bed.

The 40 year old dresser got a new life and my mom's "disco" kitty reigns supreme below a fabulous new mirror.

Light breezy curtains that let the light shine through frame the renewed armoire, while black and white photos of my children truly make this room homey.

I know it's been a while since I posted. The holidays brought my daughter home, my sister and brother-in-law, and my son and family as well. My time was spent cooking, shopping, and just enjoying my family. I will be back to posting regularly soon!