A Burst of Joy on Facebook

 

There are more than a half dozen reasons why I’ve stayed on Facebook for more than a decade. But this summer it brought me unexpected new joy. I originally joined Facebook for networking for not-for-profit business reasons. I was the newly installed Executive Director of a federation of NFP agencies. Rather than risk their reputations by making mistakes or violating Facebook protocol on my initial activity, I joined under my own name.

 

Since I still use my birth name that quickly led to reconnecting with old friends who found me. I promptly learned that people share all sorts of routine information on the site. Photos of the previous night’s meal are just one popular example. Imagine my surprise when one day some friends’ postings were anything but mundane. They can best be described as providing me with unexpected bursts of joy.

 

As I scrolled through my news feed on that particular day, two photos that were not too far apart in the feed caught my attention. They were anniversary shots of friends who had each found their soul mates later in life. One couple lives in my neighborhood in Connecticut. The other is in New Jersey and is part of what I think of as my extended family. Though many couples marry in their twenties or early thirties, later marriages seem to be more and more common. My current husband and I married later in life.

 

I was gob smacked at how deliriously happy these two couples clearly are. Their obvious joy created a similar burst of joy in me, so much so that their photos brought me to the verge of tears. Of all the reasons I stay on Facebook despite the rancor that frequently erupts, photos like these are a key reason I check in at least once a day to see what’s going on in the Facebook world.

 

My husband and I never had children with either of our marriages. Photos of adorable grandchildren are among the most frequent postings on Facebook and another top reason I log in. I claim that I live vicariously through the offspring of others. I used to get that only with holiday cards that had the latest family photos. Now I get them all the time online. Shots of family pets, also popular, easily catch my attention, too, especially cats that were adopted from shelters. Those of my friends who don’t have their own offspring are almost guaranteed to have pets that might as well be human. Their photos are in fierce competition for likes and shares with those of toddlers, preteens and teenagers. Ditto for accounts of their birthday celebrations.

 

Speaking of those celebrations, one of Facebook’s features is providing daily reminders of friends’ birthdays. I usually post a short greeting on their feed, even if I don’t know them well. I consider it a friendly thing to do and most of them seem pleased and acknowledge the greetings.

 

Someone who found me early on was my best friend from our New Jersey grammar school. We went our separate ways in high school. Not because we had a falling out. We just had different interests and followed different paths. For example, I joined the band; she joined the rifle club. We were coming up on our 50^th high school reunion and we wound up working together to spearhead our events, even though I now live in Connecticut. Previously, Facebook had also been useful for planning my college reunions and some other activities.

 

A more pedestrian benefit of Facebook networking is finding people and services for various needs. I’ve obtained recommendations for cleaning services that way. Other folks’ searches have turned up dog walkers. My own most recent request was for a wagon to help transport my saxophone, folding chair and music stand from a parking lot to an outdoor band shell for weekly practice.

 

Bursts of joy on seeing special anniversary photos. Pictures of new grandchildren. Shots of cuddly family pets. Those are some of the things that keep me on Facebook. Let’s hear it for vicarious pleasures!

 

 

Copyright 2021 Business Theatre Unlimited

In Praise of Politics-Free Zones

I was one of the organizers for my recent 55^th high school reunion in New Jersey. Just 40% of our class went on to college back then. In addition to college prep, the school provided vocational and skill-oriented tracks such as auto mechanics, shop, industrial design, beauty culture, secretarial and home economics. The committee members knew that the political leanings of our class range from far right to far left, even just among the six of us. We agreed to declare the event a “Politics-Free Zone.” We posted notices and made an announcement at the beginning of the Saturday night dinner.

I’ve spent much of the past two years alternating between semi-depression and extreme stress. The last thing I wanted to do at my high school reunion was get into arguments about politics. My best friend from grade school (also on the committee) is one of those who hold views one hundred eighty degrees opposite from mine. We’ve managed to stay civil on our Facebook posts and not let these differences affect our friendship—an increasingly rare accomplishment. The fact that we see each other only every few years probably helps, but still…

So it was with some trepidation and a higher than normal stress level that I reached this milestone event after a four hour drive that should have taken two and a half hours. The committee had a brief confab about whether we needed to publicly state no politics, since that was posted on two of the information boards in the room. We decided to do so, but low key, emphasizing that we’re all adults.

Now that the weekend is in my rear-view, I’m happy to report that there was no shouting, no physical violence and no sniping as far as we could tell. Everyone seemed to have an enjoyable time. We shared stories of various trips from one end of the globe to another. Some folks focused on their grandchildren, with photos to support their pride-worthy accomplishments.

Two recent widows who were there had been reluctant to come. I told each of them that she wouldn’t be the only one having had a recent loss. (We had a recent widower, too.) They were able to share their struggles over what to do after so many years with one spouse, and how they were finally emerging from the fog of grief. They were glad they decided to make the trip. The class had invited a handful of our teachers who were still around to be our guests. The event offered the chance for everyone to meet on more level ground at this point in our lives.

I arrived home after a stress-free two and a half hour drive, feeling as though I’d had a mini-vacation. As I thought about the weekend, I realized that a big part of my upbeat mindset was that I hadn’t turned on a TV for three days. I had no conversations about politics or the upcoming election. There were plenty of other things to discuss. Who was still playing in a band or had recently taken up an instrument again. Who had retired but was brought back by her company as a consultant, making more than when she was on staff and with dental benefits, too. Who recently became a vegetarian or is trying that Paleo diet.

There was a lot of talk about joint replacement surgeries. My husband (who had his second knee done three days after the reunion) found someone to chat with through most of Saturday dinner—the husband of one of my classmates. I think they discussed the economy and world trade—perilously close to politics in my opinion, but apparently not in theirs. Everyone agreed that the “no politics” rule made it safer to approach old friends to ask where life had taken them.

As you enter into what is often the most stressful season of the year, I urge you to declare your holiday "politics free". You can make a lovely little sign with holly and berries on it. And if Uncle Biff insists on getting into it with Aunt Edna, tell them politely to take it outside. You’ll thank me by the time you’re doing the dishes.

Copyright 2018 Business Theatre Unlimited

Vacation Weekend

As I have done on a few other occasions, I’m taking a pass on posting an essay to my Retirement Sparks blog this week. I’m going to New Jersey for the weekend for a mini-reunion with my Green Pond summer friends. I'm also meeting with fellow committee members who are helping to plan a belated 50^th reunion for our high school class, Morris Hills Regional, in Rockaway, New Jersey.

Jagdish is staying back in Rhode Island to keep an eye on Luke, with the help of our neighbor cat-care lady. Luke gets fed four times a day now, and I’ll have the car, so we need to schedule store coverage and cat care carefully around this trip.

Some of you may be thinking: “Big whoop. So why didn’t you write the essay ahead of time and post it today instead of this lame message?” You don’t understand. Going away for three days takes a lot of planning at my age. Planning which doesn’t leave time for creative writing.

As a precaution, I need to change the litter in at least one of the boxes before I go; it can’t wait until Sunday when I return. But if I change it too early, Luke will reject it later on next week. I also had to try on at least six pairs of linen pants to see which ones fit. Based on the color, I needed to assess underwear status. Women readers will know that one should wear skin-tone panties under white slacks. Probably TMI, but fortunately both of my beige ones were in the clean pile.

I’m spending Friday night with my best friend from grammar school, whom I haven’t seen in who knows how many years (50?) Inherent in that is figuring out when to leave Providence so I don’t hit rush hour in any major metro areas. I also want to avoid getting stuck in gridlock on the Tappan Zee Bridge in the summer weekend exodus from Manhattan to the Catskills. I decided that four pm is a good time to leave. That should give me plenty of time for preparations and packing.

Just in case, I started this process Friday night. I stuffed a canvas tote bag full of paperwork and yearbooks and program ideas for our Saturday high school reunion meeting. This morning, when I dropped Jagdish off at his store, I picked out some little gifts for my friend’s grandchildren. Also something for her home. All of which I left on the store counter. Fortunately, I realized this at the wine store (see below) and circled back to get the forgotten bag on my way home.

Saturday night I’ll be at Ralph’s “harem” in Green Pond. As he did for the big October GP reunion two years ago, he’s invited a group of women for Italian food on Saturday night. We leave our husbands home. A few of us who come a distance stay over. Ralph’s family has their summer house on the market, so this will likely be our last mini-reunion at GP. Sad to consider, but at least we’ll have some good memories to keep us going.

We’ll be spending some time on the beach and that presents an entirely different preparation to-do list. Straw beach tote, sand shoes and beach towel. Check. New bathing suit. Check. The big shave. Check. Inspect and shave again. Check. (Definitely TMI.) New bathing suit cover-up. Check, thanks to Spectrum-India. Several bottles of red wine (for the evening, not the beach). Check and recheck. Ear plugs for me and also for my guestroom-mate. (We both snore a little.) Check and double check.

As you can see, I really had not time available to create one of my typically clever, funny and self-deprecating posts. Well, I’m uploading this, then off to change the litter and attack the beach prep list. (Read between the lines…)

Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend as summer begins to wind down and the days get shorter. See you again next weekend.

Retirement Reflections — Why I Love College Reunions

Last weekend I celebrated my 45^th college reunion with more than 100 classmates and their spouses/partners. I’m sharing here some of the reasons why I love going to these reunions. My alma mater is unusual in that alumni march in the graduation procession along with the administration, faculty, graduating seniors and advanced degree candidates. The atmosphere is electric and it is foreshadowed by an incredible camaraderie all weekend long.

I love these reunions not just because I get to catch up with friends from my time on campus, but also because I get to connect with classmates I knew only casually during my undergraduate years. Over time, I’ve become as close with many of the new friends that I see again every five years as I am with the ones I made over 45 years ago. Sadly, at this reunion we learned more about some of our classmates’ lives posthumously. No doubt this will become even more of a theme at future reunions.

Here are some of the reasons I enjoyed being part of my reunion last weekend.

One of my classmates who has chosen not to retire yet gave these reasons (paraphrased somewhat.) I love my work. I’m at the top of my game and I’m well respected. I’m known as the go-to guy in my field. How inspiring to hear that from someone in his mid-sixties. A tip of my pen, “And here’s to you, Mr. Robinson, wo wo wo. Coo coo ca-choo, Mr. Robinson!”

I was a scholarship student, so the university’s Annual Fund has a special place in my heart. I’m a co-chair of our Reunion Gift Committee. At Friday’s dinner, I reported on the status of our fundraising and made a pitch for support from those who were still on the sidelines. We needed just 58 more donors to reach our participation goal, and about $16,000 to reach a five-year comprehensive giving total of five million dollars.

One of my fellow co-chairs came forward with this offer: for each new donor who made a gift during reunion, she’ll add an extra ten dollars to the gift she’s already made. Then one of the men in our class made an even greater challenge. He’ll increase his own gift and match new and increased contributions made during reunion in order to get our class to five million dollars. What generosity of spirit by both of them! The dust hasn’t settled, but there’s money coming in because of them.

Another classmate’s second husband was considerably older than she (like mine is). She’s been widowed for some time. She heard me say that my husband has many stents in his arteries. She quietly took me aside and counseled me to make sure my husband gets annual angiograms, even if he has the medicated stents. Her husband’s stents calcified and they didn’t realize it and she lost him. What an act of kindness to want to spare me her same fate of early widowhood!

And speaking of clogged arteries, another classmate became a vascular surgeon after she graduated from medical school. She was on a panel about women breaking barriers in the workplace. She commented that a woman can be strong in her profession yet still show a softer side. And she was wearing red shoes! A woman after my own heart. (No pun intended…)

Another rewarding part of reunions is meeting the spouses of my male classmates. These women embrace our alma mater as though it were their own. The ones whose husbands are active in the class either in fundraising or on the event side are right beside them helping to make our class and our university successful. Our incoming class president is an example of this. At the risk of hitting some raw nerves, I joked that it reminds me of when Bill Clinton became President and quipped that with Hillary, the country was getting a twofer.

There are times when I think it would be great to celebrate reunions every year. As each reunion passes, after a weekend this intense, I’m increasingly exhausted. But with each reunion, there are also more and more familiar faces that did not live the five years from the previous one. All the more reason to savor them as we celebrate.

If you’re wondering why this post is a day early, it’s because we’re heading to Vermont for the weekend. My micro-preemie grandniece (now age 8) has a ballet recital. This may be the only thing that could top reunion weekend for pure pleasure!

Retirement Lessons — Run for Your Life

Last weekend I attended a first-ever reunion of the people who spent their summers in the town where I grew up. More than 120 showed up, with ages spanning three decades. My own group was well represented, including a half dozen women camped out at the family cottage one of the men still owns. Yes, you read correctly: six women and one man, and nary a cat fight the entire time.

It was a fabulous weekend. Exhilarating, yet humbling. And upon reflection, motivating. By my own assessment, I was one of the least fit women my age (or older, perhaps, as well.) One of my peers, who looks to be about size four, was out running every morning at 6:30. I was the last one to get up both days (yet one of the first to bed—after the runner retired, of course.)

As it happened, I had my semi-annual check-up this week. My doctor was pleased that my blood pressure continues to be under control with minimal medication. He did not mention that there is still too much of me. When I brought this up, he claimed not to remember ever having said that. But even in my most self-deprecating moments, it’s not something I would have made up.

A few days ago, my husband forwarded an article from the UK Guardian News on an Indian man who just set the record for being the oldest person to finish a marathon. He’s 100, and he didn’t start serious running until he was 89. His photo shows him in a brightly colored turban, his long beard bifurcated by the breeze, and wearing a T-shirt that reads “Sikhs in the City.” Marathon not withstanding, you have to admire a Punjabi centenarian with a global sense of humor.

All of this has me thinking that the time has come for me to take up a serious exercise program. I used to jog a few miles several times a week. I stopped that well over a decade ago and assumed it would be fruitless to try to reestablish such a routine. Seeing at least one of my peers “just doing it” (running, that is) and reading that others only just began running in their eighties have inspired me. Not to mention that my college reunion is coming up in May.

I’m not foolish enough to go for a run straight out of the gate. I plan to start with an invigorating walk a few times a week. In fact, I convinced my husband to take a stroll with me on our anniversary last Thursday. (He took the day off so we could spend some quality time together.) This afternoon I went for a brisk, forty-five minute walk. Small steps, but that’s how many long distance efforts begin.

Those of you who are my neighbors should keep an eye out for the two of us walking the Boulevard on Sunday mornings. My husband is Punjabi, but he doesn’t let his beard grow; and he’s not a Sikh, so there won’t be any turban on view. However, he can be recognized by his walking stick, a bamboo-like affair with a crook’d handgrip. I’ll be the one in the printed T-shirt, but it’s more likely to be promoting some charitable event than a TV show.

If you recognize us, be sure to call out some words of encouragement. We’re likely to need them. After all, we’ll be running—or more accurately, walking—for our lives. And for my next reunion.

Retirement Pleasures - Reunion Expectations

The town where I grew up was mostly a summer community but my family lived there year round. Summers brought an influx of seasonal friends. We were a close-knit group during our teens, but I began to lose touch once in college. My summer jobs often had me working weekends—prime beach time for most people.

Recently, many of my summer friends reconnected via Facebook. They’ve put together a reunion that is taking place in that lake community this weekend. That means I’ll be away from a computer for two and a half days, so this post is a day earlier than usual.

I’m excited about seeing everyone for the first time in about forty-five years. I also have some trepidation about being the least fit member of my age group. (There will be people at the reunion who are a decade younger and older than we are, too.) I keep reminding myself that this is about catching up on our lives since our beach days, not about winning a beauty contest.

This is a good thing, because Thursday morning Luke’s claws did a number on my face. He lost his balance jumping from the night table to the bed and landed on my head. He regained traction using my upper lip and cheek. Luke has given me superficial scratches in the past, but this was an actual bleeder. I had to get out of bed to put peroxide on the wounds and apply pressure to get the bleeding to stop.

I complimented him on his timing: “You couldn’t have waited until Monday to do this, could you?” Then my “glass half full” perspective kicked in. “It could have been worse; he could have caught my eye with his claw.” And then: “Hmmm. Maybe there’s some fodder for my next blog post in this.” And sure enough, there was.

I decided that a few facial scratches could provide a good conversation starter at the reunion. Then I moved on to asking myself what exactly my expectations were for this get together.

One of the good things about reaching retirement age is that most of us have less curiosity about how people look at this stage of their lives and far more interest in how they spent those lives that has them looking so good (or so terrible.)

I’m a faithful attendee at my college reunions every five years, so I know there will always be female peers who look younger and fitter than I do. I also feel that the women generally look better than the men. I have a theory that the classmates who have not held up very well self-select to avoid these reunions. This is unfortunate, because I’ve developed some great new friendships with people I barely knew back in the day but spent time with at a reunion. If you don’t come, you can’t connect.

The get together with my summer crowd will certainly be filled with old photos and raucous stories recounted with colorful details that may or may not be accurate. But there will also be as much what’s-happened-since-then as we can fit in before we collapse into alcoholic stupors. Everything will be within walking distance, so the vino and the beer will surely flow freely. (Did I mention there’s an open bar?) There will be a jukebox with music of our era, so we’ll be dancing. Note to self: bring comfortable shoes. P.S. to self: bring an extra pair, just in case.

My focus will be on documenting the event, so I’ll have lots of photos to show my husband and current friends. I’ve charged my camera and it’s on my list of things to remember to bring with me. Likewise wine. And the platter of Italian cookies. A group of us women are staying at the family cottage of one of the men. He’s making us lasagna for Friday dinner. (The official event is on Saturday.) Can you say “harem?”

I don’t expect a pajama party full of 60 year olds to be sexy, but I’ll bet it will be memorable. I guess one of my expectations for this reunion is that it will provide inspiration for several blog posts when I get back home. Stay tuned!

Retirement Planning – Creative Sparks

When I hear about reunions with people I haven’t been in touch with for thirty or forty years, I don’t rush to put them on my calendar in ink. Until recently, with the exception of my fellow band geeks, I hadn’t given much thought to what my high school classmates might have done with their lives. Ditto for my summer crowd

It was a 45 minute bus ride to my regional high school, where only 40 per cent of the students went on to college. The cute guys were more likely to be in auto mechanics and shop than in my calculus or physics classes. Let me amend that. The bad boys that I found fascinating were more likely to be mechanics and shoppies.

We lived year round in a summer community, and the seasonal folks came from all around our state. Looking back, it makes sense that they had the potential to become really interesting adults. But adult potential wasn’t something that concerned me.

Here is my deep dark secret. I was a shallow teenager, not prone to introspection and philosophizing. I was more interested in how attractive my girlfriend’s brother had become during his freshman year in college. Or the muscles that my brother’s beach buddies had developed over the winter.

One thing that has surprised me about the people from my past with whom I’ve reconnected as I approach retirement is how interesting they seem to be. They are smart and well-traveled—one was even in the Peace Corps. The biggest revelation is that they are amazingly creative, especially those who are already retired. This gives me hope for my own retirement.

One of my summer friends does puppetry with her husband. She studied it in Prague decades ago. We’re talking serious stuff, not faces drawn on your fingertips in ball point pen. A college classmate took up clarinet late in life and is totally immersed in her community band. My brother, who retired very early, became a fabulous outdoor photographer once he had the time to pursue it. [Check out his recent fall trip. http://www.pbase.com/rickdecker/sigma_dp1x and http://www.pbase.com/rickdecker/gallery/sd15_fall_2010

I used to do all sorts of artsy things. The company where I worked had a holiday doll pageant. They provided naked dolls (no snickering, please) and asked employees to make or buy outfits for them so they could be donated. They gave prizes in four categories for the handmade outfits. I won first prize thirteen years in a row and eventually captured first in each of the four categories. Mutter “competitive b- - -h” all you want, but I truly enjoyed doing it.

Perhaps retirement will afford me the time and the opportunity to take up new artistic pursuits, like photography. I bought a Nikon digital camera several years ago, but my eyes are so bad, I have trouble focusing. Jagdish would like to learn ballroom dancing. He has two left feet and I’ve broken both of mine (mercifully, not at the same time.) Also, his rhythm is distinctly Indian, and then there’s my diminishing sense of balance. Dancing doesn’t seem too promising an option. I suppose writing is creative, but I was hoping for something more… well, artsy. (Or flamboyant?)

I’m sitting here, trying to feel creative, looking around for inspiration. My computer keyboard catches my eye. Some of the keys are almost completely clean, while others have dark, smudgy spots around their perimeters. I wonder why all the keys aren’t smudged. The cleanest ones are the home row, and the dirtiest are the numbers. Maybe Lily walks along the upper edge with her dirty paws and the keys I use most often are the cleanest. But the function keys on the very top row are also clean. There goes the Lily theory. I’m perplexed. I’m also tempted to go get some Qtips and cleaning fluid.

Then I get into Jagdish’s glass half empty/half full mode of thought (see last Wednesday’s blog.) Were the keys with the white spots in the middle at one point totally smudged, so now are half clean? Or were the white spots never covered, and somehow the smudges only accumulated around the perimeter, so now half dirty?

It doesn’t say much for my creative sparking that I’m so easily distracted by a computer keyboard. I’m feeling quite inadequate compared to my peers. What we have here is a failure to find a muse. I don’t know about you, but if there’s one place I’d expect to find my muse, it’s at the bottom of a—you guessed it—lovely bottle of vino.

See ya!