Big Changes

I decided at the end of October to leave my job.  Perhaps I should say the decision was made for me, since I was overcome by the strongest urge to simply bolt, an urge that had me in tears my last working day, and almost paralyzed me with dread and fear until I sent my resignation by e-mail.  I would like to say I was filled with a sense of relief that carried me through the many weeks until I was working again, but that would only be partly true.  I was relieved to be away from the rudeness of certain coworkers and the ineptitude of the so-called managers, but I am a realist, so I was also very, very stressed out as only non-employment and the job search process can make me.  I traded one set of stresses for another, but ultimately and deep inside I knew that the decision was correct.

The job I found after three solid months of searching and worrying is an accounting position with a property management company here in town, one I can walk to, and with hours I like (8:00 to 4:30).  My first week was filled with plenty of learning and also plenty of praise for my efforts.  I have a boss that I like just as much as my primary co-worker, both of whom have been immensely helpful in getting me up to speed.  Finally, I can exhale.  Friends of mine have proven to be a blessing, offering emotional as well as financial support, and I love and thank them.

Dad just turned 87 and sounds very happy and healthy.  He is comfortable in his new apartment, and for that I am very grateful.  It's good to know that there are people near who can help him when he needs it.  I really don't think he has Alzheimer's or even dementia, just the forgetfulness that comes with age.  Hell, those of us in our 50s tend to forget why we walked into a room or logged onto our computers, and we're not ready to be shipped off just yet, thank you.

When I turned 30, I did nothing to mark the occasion.  When I turned 31, I took a trip from Grand Rapids to Chicago with Jamie Scenna for four days of fun.  When I turned 40, again I did nothing.  When I turned 41, I booked myself a flight to New York to hear Rosanne Cash debut at Lincoln Center on my birthday, which was the first of many times seeing her.  Last year when I turned 50, I gave myself a little trip to Boston, but that didn't really count, and you can see the pattern here ... I am running out of time to do something for 51, which will be next month.  It's possible I'll go to see Ms. Cash yet again, but this time at Metropolitan Museum of Art on Valentine's Day.  It's a few days after my day, but it will be a nice way to wrap up a decade of good shows and to give myself a treat.

P.S.  The Dar Williams and Paula Cole shows were excellent!  Wow.

Some Updates

I'm so neglectful of my little blog.  Here are some tidbits:

Foot is still sore after May surgery for bone spurs.  I'm a bit dismayed that it's taking this long to get back to normal ... or will I?

Last Saturday, I finally made my way to a place called Jonathan's Ogunquit (in Ogunquit, ME), which is a restaurant and entertainment venue.  Judy Collins was the attraction that night, and let me tell you, folks, the woman has still got it!  She is a singer of great beauty, feeling, and control.  She can hit those high notes and is so smooth throughout her wide range.  I was very impressed.  The music venue was not so good, better suited for a wedding reception.  Luckily I have a favorite place to go, which is...

Stone Mountain Arts Center!  Next week Friday will be Dar Williams, who I saw last February at a place a block from my apartment.  I've been so craving her performance at SMAC, and now she is coming back (my first time seeing her there)!  Tickets have also just been purchased for Paula Cole, who will be at SMAC November 22.  Woo hoo!  The 50th birthday gifts to myself just keep coming and coming.

Dad is now in assisted living, and seems content, which is surprising after 55 years in the same house.  Maybe he is enjoying having fewer responsibilities.  I'll travel to Detroit to see him next month, and also see some friends in Detroit and Grand Rapids.

Triglycerides, cholesterol, and glucose levels are all in check.  How the hell did I manage that?  I have made some changes to my diet, but I've been concerned that those changes were pitifully inadequate.  Now to get more walking in (but don't hold your breath).

Summer Fun

About my toe:  after a week, some soreness began, as well as muscle stiffness from not using all foot muscles as normal.  Today, there is some soreness still and I have been managing it with a few changes to my diet; walnuts seem to have the best effect on the inflammation.

Summer has been beautiful this year in Maine, and I've managed to get one trip by bike out to Peaks Island.  Earlier this month, I saw Rosanne Cash perform in Portsmouth, NH, followed six days later by Mary Chapin Carpenter at Stone Mountain Arts Center in Brownfield, ME.  Both great shows!  I've just purchased tickets for my friend Perry and I to see Judy Collins in Ogunquit at Jonathan's Restaurant (my first time!) in September, and then in October it's back to Stone Mountain for my second Dar Williams show of the year.  A whirlwind of great music and food!

Surgery

It's been nearly 48 hours since my foot was sliced open and some small bone spurs removed from my toe joint, and I really feel good.  Doctor discovered that I have about 40% cartilage loss there, however.  There isn't much swelling, and the pain has been managed well with just Naproxen.  I used oxycodone early on, but haven't needed it for at least 24 hours, so that's good.  I think I'll be back on my feet sooner than anyone would have imagined.  Woo hoo!

In the meantime, I am still expected to keep my foot elevated above groin level, so that means even more couch time than I am accustomed to.  I've been bouncing back and forth between DVDs and this huge book on Teddy Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the Progressive Era, "The Bully Pulpit" by Doris Kearns Goodwin.  When I do get up and about, I find that the crutches are a hindrance, and that I am pretty comfortable without the clunky boot.  Shower time went well with my special leg bag. 

Gimpy

Well, kids, it took just 10 days of being 50 before the old age shit started to hit the fan.  My large toe joint screamed out in extreme pain, my doctor and I thought it was gout, and I was asking for elective amputation.  Yesterday's x-ray and consultation with a rheumatologist revealed two tiny bone spurs on an otherwise healthy joint, so I have decided that the long term solution is best -- buzz those babies off!  I'm hoping recovery from this type of surgery will be relatively quick, so I can get back to being 50 again.  :)

Meanwhile, I'm finding that the 20somethings annoy me more than ever, what with their yelling at each other (normal conversation to them) and the noise they create in my building.  But should I be upset with them or my own generation?  After all, we raised these brats to be the inconsiderate, self-centered young "adults" they are today.

Thanks.  I feel a bit better now.

The New Era

So far I see no mention whatsoever that today is the 50th anniversary of the Beatles' arrival in New York.  No HuffPost, no NYT, not even the Google page.  People!  This was the beginning of a new era in music!  I don't say this as a fan of the Beatles, particularly, because I really am not, but I do recognize the enormous contribution they made to popular music.  Are we saving up our enthusiasm for Sunday, which is the 50th anniversary of their first appearance on Ed Sullivan?  Maybe that's it.  TV trumps all, after all.

On my way to Boston for a few days of museums and relaxation, and to turn 50 on Monday.  :)

Twenty Fourteen

Farewell to a rather dreadful year, and good riddance.  In the state of Maine, we will -- we WILL -- replace Paul LePage with a sensible governor who is elected by a majority of citizens, and who does not have an appetite for his own foot.

We will -- we WILL -- see a similarly sensible replacement for Rick Snyder, the current governor of my home state of Michigan.  I implore the fine folks there to also replace the majority of their legislature.

We will -- we WILL -- see Wendy Davis succeed in her bid to become governor of Texas.  Even they have had it with stupidity.

I will -- I WILL -- move into a new job where I can make a difference.

I will -- I WILL -- turn 50 and be so, so grateful for it.  And I'll look pretty damn good, too.

Decisions, Decisions

Planning continues for my 50th birthday, which is in February.  Part of me feels a need to not pressure myself into doing something "big" or profound, so that I won't be disappointed by a trip to Ireland (how could I be?) or a skydive (forget it).  The closest I've come to a plan is to send myself to Chicago for a few days of grown-up fun, including a walk out onto one of the glass sky decks at the Willis Tower (yikes!) on the day, plus trips to a couple of museums.  Air fare is quite reasonable, and I love Chicago, so this is Choice One.

Choice Two is to send myself on the Downeaster to Boston.  To be at the Kennedy Library on my birthday would be significant to me, and I do love Boston.  Great museums are in place there as well, and I found the city's early history quite fascinating as a kid.  Train travel is dirt cheap, allowing me to spend more on dinner, entertainment, and exploration.

What to do, what to do?  More hand-wringing to come.

Trending ... stupid

People are exhibiting signs of a disorder that is becoming more and more common and, to me, quite alarming.  I'll have to figure out a name for it, but the afflicted seem to be incapable of walking at all, anywhere, without a paper cup in their hands.  Presumably the cup is filled with coffee, because it is almost invariably paper or styrofoam, sometimes with a recognizable brown paper band around it.  The practice defies logic, because they either try to sip the hot liquid while in motion, or they carry it prominently in front of them like it is the Olympic torch or a gift for the Christ child.  Worse still, they will almost always put it into the microwave the minute they reach their destination with the quickly cooling beverage.  And of course, in the end, much of the coffee will be dumped and the paper cup tossed into the trash.  It is multilayered stupidity at its worst.  Shouldn't coffee or tea be enjoyed at a quiet moment, while seated, and from a freshly brewed batch?  When did it become something you carry simply because everyone else seems to, or worse, something you drive to a building to get?  Would you drive through for a bowl of cereal or a toothbrush?

This is the Blog Where I Scream

It's Sunday night, and I'm listening to Lady Earthquake downstairs stomping around.  Yes, she lives BELOW me, and I feel like there is someone living above me here on the top floor.  A heavy walker can be forgiven, but add to it the fact that she has to slam EVERY door in the apartment, including cabinets, her wardrobes, closet doors, bathroom door, front door.  It's been 10 months of hell in what I thought would be one of my favorite apartments.  Dear God, why can't I afford to rent both apartments and get rid of the menace?

You Guessed It

Yes, I'm going to write about JFK today, the 50th anniversary of his assassination.

I was in the womb, yet it could very well be my first memory.  The images of our house are so vivid, from Mom's retelling of that day's event.  I can see the kitchen as she brings in groceries.  I can see the color of the rooms.  I can see Dad in front of the TV, about to go to work on a later shift.  He is watching Walter Cronkite report our nation's horror.  When I found in the hall closet the front pages of the Detroit News that were saved, my first observation was how close to my birthday the date was.  The inevitable questions were asked, and thus my fascination began.

I've read a number of books and articles about JFK, and a couple of years ago I finally made it to the Kennedy Library in Boston.  The allure of this beautiful First Family leading us into the 60s continues.  Things would have been different had JFK lived, but my imagination absolutely soars when considering how different our world would be had RFK lived.  I can write about that in a few months.

Origin of the Species

Working now for five years in a sales-based company -- for the third and last time, I might add -- reinforces conclusions that I have made over the years regarding the genetic makeup of salesmen. Had I the patience and incentive to document my findings, I might have been able to cobble together a decent thesis or dissertation on the subject.

 First, they never stop talking. Ever. I'm typing this at work amid the din of continuous, relentless, inane blather from the pen in which we contain these mutants. Combine the chatter with the occasional outburst resulting from a sale and with subsequent hand-slapping, and one wonders how murder or mutilation isn't justifiable in our legal system. Bonus points for talking over people.

Second, they never say no. Ever. They might be asked if it is possible to buy our product with a built-in refrigerator and monthly masseuse service, and somehow the rest of us in the office will have to figure out how to make it work to make the sale. Worse is trying to correct a problem caused by a promise a year prior that was not mention to the administrative staff.

Third, they despise paper. We have managed to reduce to four pages -- four! -- the number of documents required to sell our product and set it up for ongoing service coverage, and yet something will be missing, be it a page or a signature or a price. Some don't even like their communications via e-mail (virtual paper), so they will step right up or dial the phone or stop me in the kitchen, knowing full well (oh, the presumptions!) that I am not able to provide information they need while I'm rooting around a cabinet looking for French Vanilla decaf. The list goes on, and I may amend this later. But I need to go downstairs now and see how the installation of our new trap door is coming along.

Urban Living

Today is a typical Saturday for me, a quick walk down to Deering Oaks park to visit what's left of the summer farmer's market and back again.  Soon we will switch to the winter farmer's market, which used to be a quick walk in the other direction down my street, but will now be a bus ride up to the East End.  Until this switch happens, I follow my farmer's market trip with a walk to the grocery store and then back home on the bus, which will dump me off a block from my apartment.  In winter, I'll do the farmer's market after the grocery store, and this will work out just as well.

Who knew that moving downtown and into this building would place me about as perfectly as possible to bus stops, my car share, food shopping, dining, and entertainment?  It's a good thing all of this came about after my move, because I chose an apartment in a building with no parking.  Now I feel spoiled, getting rides everywhere I need to go with a much, much smaller outlay of money.  Being nearly car-free has been far easier than I ever would have expected after nearly 30 years of owning, driving, and loving cars.  Who knew?

As ever, the final piece of this little portrait will be finding meaningful work within walking distance of home.  Now that will really make me feel spoiled!

Round 2

For the second time, I am here in the blogosphere, attempting to rid my cluttered mind of debris.  You, patient reader, will be there to sweep it away.

My first blog -- read by about six people -- was Eggs on Top, a name which has since been snatched away, so I was forced to think up something new.  I like Whirled View, because it is bound to be scattered and messy and at times all over the place.

This opening post will be brief, as it is me taking a moment to bitch about how much I am annoyed by technology, including the building of this blog and the eventual linking of it to Google+ and my eventual disconnecting of it from Google+ once I get annoyed, which may happen before I dismantle this whole damn thing.  Hopefully, it won't come to this.

Now that that's off my chest, I shall retire for the night, as it is late.  I will gather some thoughts to post here very soon.