Island Princess Day at Sea Two May 3, 2014

Posted on May 3, 2014 by favoritephilosopher

Island Princess Day at Sea Two May 3, 2014
The wind and waves have picked up considerably. I now understand how people get seasick, although I am fine. I tried walking down the hallway in a straight line as if I was taking a balance test to no avail -well, physics speaking I suppose I was walking in a straight line, but the walls came closer to me, first on the right, then on the left. On the Lido deck the swimming pool was sloshing water on one end and sloshing back in on the other – – back and forth it sloshed. Net water loss in the pool = 0. Taking a shower was interesting. You know how when you use the bathroom on the airplane it’s a bit difficult if there is any turbulence at all? Taking a shower was like taking a shower in an enlarged airplane bathroom. Lifting my foot up to wash between the toes was when I first remembered I was not standing on terra firma. When we were on the aforementioned Lido deck I had grabbed a slice of thin crust pizza and held it on to my plate as I was concerned that it would fly off and become attached to my face as in some kind of Three Stooges skit. I tried taking a movie of the waves but of course my little camera is insufficient to the task of capturing the grandeur.

What I find interesting is that the same motions, the same “creaking” sounds of the vessel that would have me saying Hail Marys and grabbing the hands of complete strangers on an airplane are no big deal out here on the sea, despite the fact that a catastrophic occurrence would have much the same result. As I write, the “earthquakes” are nonstop below me.
Lest you think I am not enjoying myself, let me assure you I am loving every minute of it. The waves are huge and appear as if you could surf on them…well, at least a novice like me could surf on them. My neighbors would want something considerably higher, I’m sure.
Spray is flying off the crests of the waves and it’s all quite beautiful. Walking outside in the wind is cleansing to my soul. Last night after “formal” night and an evening of shows we went out on the balcony for the real show – stars. It is quite sad what light pollution has deprived us of in our daily lives. I could imagine the use of the sextant and the stars instead of GPS for crossing the seas. As a matter of fact, as we sailed past islands around Cuba yesterday my imagination went off at it tends to do and I imagined sailors of yore seeing land in the distance, of perhaps a pirate treasure over there, and of course my favorite scare-myself-to-death fantasy, seeing that piece of land after being on a life raft for three weeks. Such a crazy girl. Blame it on reading Kon Tiki so many years ago.
This morning I made the grave error of crawling back into bed for a few more minutes and the rocking of the boat…well, let’s just say I got a little later start this morning. Tomorrow we awaken in Aruba and have to get off the boat. We plan to head to a beach and maybe walk through Orenjastad (sp?) for a bit – only have 5 hours but that should be enough. Our on-ship tour guide tells us it’s VERY windy and VERY hot – we are 12o north of the equator. Very cool. Or hot. Or whatever.
Sunscreen. Check. Hat. Check. Water. Check. Camera. Check.

Posted in Panama Canal | 1 Comment

Island Princess Day One: At Sea May 2, 2014

Posted on May 2, 2014 by favoritephilosopher

Island Princess – Panama Canal

Day One at Sea May 2, 2014

Well we sailed out of Fort Lauderdale right on schedule at 4 p.m. yesterday, after passing muster. Muster is a mandatory drill that occurs before sailing – you grab your life jacket from the closet, learn where the emergency exits are to get to your room’s muster station, where you are checked in. Then the fun starts. You learn how to put your life jacket on, how to get into the life rafts, how to hold your nose AND your mouth if in the unlikely event of a need to jump ship. Except you aren’t supposed to jump. You are supposed to “just step off.” How about “the guy behind you pushes you off.” When everyone arrives at the muster station there is quite a bit of joking going on, but by the time they get to the scary part, scenes from every ship disaster you have ever heard of comes dancing across your mind, starting with the Titanic, moving on to The Poseidon Adventure and ending with the crash on the rocks in Italy where the captain was canoodling the young lady he stowed away and then ran for the bar on land while the ship sank. It is all forgotten the minute you walk back into the main ship where, like the Titanic orchestra, the music is playing and you are back in fairy tale land.

We are high tailing it across the Caribbean with strong head winds. (Thank you spell check. I always have trouble with the whole two r’s or two b’s thing.) For the first time on a cruise I am feeling the ship rock and roll a bit. This isn’t a problem for me – I think I must have been a seagoing girl in past lives, which explains my fascination for tales of the sea – pleasant or otherwise. What’s funny is that last night I was reading in the stateroom and suddenly thought “oh! We’re having an earthquake!” before I remembered we are on a boat. Guess I’ve lived in California long enough.

Damn the food is good on this ship. Last night we had melon and ceviche for appetizer, moving on to chicken boullion with tortellini and green onions, then Al had prime rib and baked potato while I opted for grilled Basa with a lovely papya and pineapple salsa. I make Basa a lot at home, going to have to scare up a similar salsa. Ended it with a bit of hazelnut ice cream. It sounds like a lot but the portions are reasonable.

I have made a commitment that I am going to look at this as a spa vacation and practice moderation and not return home with an extra ten pounds, especially since I carried an extra 8 when I embarked. This morning I kept my eyes to the left at the breakfast buffet and dared not glance right where the Belgian waffles and sausage and bacon and omelets all reside. A yogurt parfait, some fruit and a bit of smoked salmon was just fine. The fitness center is pretty nice and it is part of my plan to arrive home ready to continue at a gym. Working out at home is not working.

I am happily preparing for my next teaching course, electrotherapy. I know that sounds like work but it’s really not. I love the subject matter and it’s nice to be uninterrupted.   Tonight is formal night so we get all dolled up and head out for dinner. The best part of cruising – no thinking required. No check, no figuring out tip, no real reason to carry a purse except for Kleenex, and if my Mom were here I wouldn’t even have to do that.

Before I sign off today I will admit that I watched The Love Boat on TV this morning. The Pacific Princess WAS the Love Boat so of course Princess would have that on TV. I was amazed at all the character actors who were on just one episode, including a younger and much thinner Kathy Bates as a young bride. The young traumatized pilot who saved the day in “Airplane” was present as well. Numerous others you would all recognize, but I can’t remember any of their names. Al caught me smiling – but of course – as I watched everything end up happily as it always does on the Love Boat. The cameo steward discovered the daughter he had abandoned when she was an infant was on board after he found a photo in her room of his ex-wife. Resolved by the end of the episode. The young couple who had spent their last dime for a lousy room were given the no-show super suite by the lovely Julie. Of course, this meant they had to pretend to be the high powered ad exec and there were hijinks to make sure Capt Steubing (no spell check on that one) didn’t find out. It got dicey when he arranged for them to join another ad exec for dinner, who was courting a new high powered client. The young grocery clerk had great marketing ideas due to his tenure in the grocery business, so when he “stole” the client he had to fess up that he wasn’t who they thought he was. The other ad exec and the client were so impressed by the young man the ad exec offered him a job and he would be working the client’s account.

Everything always works out on the Love Boat!

Posted in Panama Canal | 1 Comment

Rescue Doggies and Their People

Posted on April 24, 2014 by favoritephilosopher

http://blog.petflow.com/im-in-tears-this-mama-pit-bull-was-rescued-alone-and-scared-but-then-a-miracle-happened/?utm_source=fbspblogrescuepitbull&utm_medium=Facebook&utm_campaign=fbspblogrescue

These are always touching stories, when people rescue dogs and cats.  I can’t watch that animal planet stuff or even those difficult commercials most of the time – I would rescue each and every one of them and it breaks my heart that I can’t.  Can’t go to an animal shelter for the same reason.  Al has enough trouble with one cat (not ours) and one dog (ours) and he prefers the cat because he’s a stick-in-the-mud, like the cat.  (To be fair, he just is tired of the neediness…I can understand that, but I’m needy too so I can relate…)

This one particularly touched me, though.  I’m not going to describe it, you can watch it and it is really lovely, but what struck me is the man who rescued the dog and her pups.  He exhibits the best we humans can be.  Gentleness. Compassion.  Persistence. Cleverness. Creativity.  Kindness.   It makes me wish I was doing what he is doing, but alas I am commissioned to be the same for humans who are sick.  Like dogs, some of them are grateful and give me much in return, some refuse my help and growl at me as I leave.

It doesn’t really matter who you are or what you’re doing or how you make your living.  This guy is a nice example of how to BE in your world.

Oh and the puppies are damn cute, too.  Eyes not even open.  So cute it hurts.  Enjoy the video.

Posted in Animal Lover, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Let’s All Sing Like the Birdies Sing

Posted on February 15, 2014 by favoritephilosopher

“Let’s All Sing Like the Birdies Sing” – that was the name of a record album my folks gave me as a gift one year.  They were into classy music – Frank Sinatra, Ella, Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, etc etc etc – and NOT into this particular musician but they gave it to me anyway.  Mitch Miller.  Yes.  Mitch Miller.  Now Mitch Miller was really quite an accomplished musician, but those of my generation only really know of him from Sing Along with Mitch, which was a TV variety show in the early 60’s, which was not really considered classy.  Entertaining, yes.  60’s TV, yes.  My grandparents loved it, but then they also loved Lawrence Welk.  (I did too.  Just shut up.  The Lennon Sisters? I wanted to BE one.)

I still have the children’s album.  A little internet spying tells me the song was from Disney’s Enchanted Tiki Room which opened in 1963.  I remember these lyrics because I did, indeed, love my Mitch Miller album and sang along with Mitch:

Let’s all sing like the birdies sing,
Tweet, tweet tweet, tweet tweet.
Let’s all sing like the birdies sing,
Sweet, sweet sweet, sweet sweet.
Let’s all warble like nightingales,
Give your throat a treat.
Take your time from the birds,
Now you all know the words,
Tweet, tweet tweet, tweet tweet.

Which brings me to the computer this morning.  The canyon is ALIVE with birds – maybe it’s because it’s been warm and the doors are open, but I swear it has been noisier out there in the past two weeks. Non stop tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet.  My favorite sound in the entire world – see: story of Joe’s birth, where I was supposed to be pushing, it was 5 a.m. and I could hear the city birds tweeting.  I commented on that, demanding everything stop and commanding everyone to listen to the birds, while they were yelling at me to “PUSH!”  How many moms got to give birth to their first child while listening to their favorite sound in the world?  It was special.

But I’m babbling.  It’s my blog.  I get to do that.

This morning I also saw one of my favorite sights – a hawk circling, circling, circling over the canyon. If he’s close enough this sends Ed the Dog into a frenzy – oh if he could only fly, he’d get that sucker…but no need; the next thing I see is swallows chasing the hawk, diving at his wing feathers and slowly they work him away from their territory and presumably their nest.  I just love watching that process.  What amazes me is you’d think the hawk could just turn around and growl at them or something, but no…he just keeps circling, pretty much ignoring their panic until they feel confident that he’s moved out of their danger zone and they return to their nest.

So, hang in there, East Coast, spring will come again.  I know it doesn’t seem like California has seasons, but we really do, the animals know it and settle down for the winter.  The flowering bushes remain in bloom but the daffodils have only come up this week. (I know, I know, it’s February, but it’s been a year since they’ve been up!)  Things are back in full spring swing – we’re hearing coyote pups again and baby bunnies practice standing stock still when we come upon them on our morning walk.  The jasmine is back in bloom  in the backyard – all of a sudden the air is heady with flowery aromas.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet.

Bonus: This isn’t Mitch Miller, but really, isn’t this a great happy song?  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVme82oYH-g

Posted in Animal Lover | Leave a comment

I’ll Love You Forever

Posted on February 1, 2014 by favoritephilosopher

This is unexpected.  The nest has been empty for quite some time now.  We’ve even moved the nest!   Why does the thought of Jeff, the youngest of our three sons, sleeping in Minnesota tonight cause me to grieve in a deep new way?  Why am I holding back the tears?  Grief is a normal and not necessarily bad human emotion.  It is merely what we feel when something has changed, whether it be losing a loved one to death or moving or even finding out a favorite lipstick color has been discontinued – it’s only a matter of degree – and it is the emotion that helps us continue living even after our favorite lipstick has been discontinued.

A mother never stops being a mother.  The phone calls for advice from my sons still roll in from time to time, often coming from an aisle in the grocery store wondering about an ingredient for a planned meal that might approximate something I’ve made in the past.  I don’t worry as when they were all under my roof, but I do find myself taking a deep breath and having faith that everything will be all right. (That’s an inside family joke – Mom always says “I hope everything will be all right.”  I’ve just made a lateral move to one of the other three Catholic virtues – faith.)  In the day to day of my life I don’t think about the past of parenthood too much.  I am proud of them and prouder even more that I am blossoming into a new person as well. The wistfulness of how quickly the time went raising them has morphed into dismay at how little time there is to get everything done during the day just for me.

But this.  This is a different feeling altogether.  All three are, as of Jeff’s arrival in Minnesota tonight, officially adults now. Independent. The amazing journey that began sometime in July, 1984 when Joe was conceived, the daunting responsibility of delivering little persons from birth to the doors of adulthood to the best of my ability is complete.  I’m stunned.  I am crying and I’m not sure why.

It is as if I have awakened from a dream.  It all seems so impossible now, so unreal.  The diapers, the constant mess in the house, the noise, the noise and did I mention the noise? The house festooned with children’s artwork, the closets full of God-only-knows-what, the stash of craft supplies, the dog and the boys running through the house like maniacs, the crazy busy elementary school years, the laundry, in short – the chaos.  Until tonight, there was always a continuous thread leading back to that, but like finishing sewing on a button, the knot has been tied, the thread cut.  The button remains, but without my hand to steady it as I attach it to the sleeve, without my decision about whether to take one more pass with the thread to make sure it is secure.

Tomorrow I will feel better.  We are all very close.  The real connection remains…the needle and thread is always there just in case.

But tonight, I find myself truly understanding the meaning of the book that became popular when my boys were very young.  The book was by Robert Munsch.  The title:  I’ll Love You Forever  The hook:

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

Except not really.  I’ll love them forever and like them for always, but now they are all my grown men.  I think I cry because there is no way I can ever thank them for the amazing thing they did while I was raising them: they raised me.  Only now has that truth hit me, as I walk through the door of my own new stage of adulthood, as their peer.

Posted in Middle Aged and Onward, Raking the Playroom | 3 Comments

Weather Questions: West Coast Readers Only

Posted on February 1, 2014 by favoritephilosopher

For West Coast readers only; all others go away:  It’s cold here tonight.  But how can we complain when it’s not -5 degrees or worse like everywhere else?  This is so unfair. Have we not feelings?  We have warm weather most of the time.  When it gets to 50 degrees, do we not feel cold?    Have we not goosebumps when the wind blows when it’s 50?  Do we not need to put up the hoods on our hoodies?

They shouldn’t judge us as weenies, should they?

One thing I don’t understand, and I’m going to make sure Suzy Snowflake, aka Dee Kann, my meteorologist friend, reads this post to get the answer.  Back in Illinois, when it got to a certain cold temperature, we could see our breath in little puffs of smoke when we exhaled. This happens a lot to Chris and me on our morning doggie walks.  5:30 a.m., it’s maybe 48-50 degrees, and there is my breath like it’s 10 below zero.  It kind of bugs me.  I know I’m not suffering enough to be able to see my breath.  Back in Illinois, the first time you could see your breath in the fall everyone would comment on it: “I was able to see my breath this morning!” with wide eyes and a sense of foreboding in their voices, the others shaking their heads and slightly shivering.  For all practical purposes, summer was gone the first time you saw your breath in the morning.

Not quite the same here.  I almost feel deceived.  I know it’s not that cold.  Yet there is my breath, looking like I’ve taken a hit off a cigarette.  Makes me kind of wistful for those early days of fall in the midwest, but I can’t go there right now.  Some east-of-the-Rockies friends might be reading this illegally and I dare not say I miss the winter this year, or I may suddenly find my facebook page devoid of all but the surfin’ safari kids I hang with now. I haven’t been able to say “I miss Illinois winters” since about November 2013.  However, when people say “yeah, you just don’t remember…” I always respond that I do, and I still miss it.

I do this year, too, and I must admit I remember it well and am glad I’m not living there right now.  I mean, I’d survive it and enjoy the sadistic commiseration with my neighbors, but I DO remember and don’t want to endure it until spring.  It’s getting pretty old right about now.  And it will be a messy, muddy, slushy, icky spring that will include snow on Easter Sunday.

Uh oh, I think I just heard the sound of my name being clicked off people’s facebook friends lists.

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Dying with Dignity

Posted on November 25, 2013 by favoritephilosopher

Just read an angry rant from Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert comic strip, about watching his father die a tortured death and why assisted suicide should be legal.  This blog, because it’s mine, allows me to reflect on everything he said.

I’m not going to get into the assisted suicide discussion.  It’s a moral/ethical/legal conundrum that we are working out, albeit slowly in our democratic republic way.

What I want to talk about is how in the world did we get to this point?  I have thought a lot about this over the years, as a physical therapist working in hospitals, ICUs, and skilled  nursing facilities.  I remember a woman in her 80’s who was on a respirator and a thousand tubes and in ICU for months. She was terribly ill.  She was emaciated.  She was alert.  It was her choice.  For those of us who were working with her, it was mind boggling.  None of us could imagine wanting to live that way.  Her motives were unknown to us, and here’s a case where assisted suicide would have been irrelevant.  It made us angry, honestly.  We often felt as if she was torturing us.  She eventually died in that condition.

Over the years I have come to believe that how we got here was because medical technology moved so quickly we didn’t have time to understand the consequences of prolonging life at any cost.  For previous generations, these medical treatments were miracles, and they are.  The problem became where to stop.  I am on the side of Mr. Adams. Stop before the torture is endless and hopeless.   However I can attest that there are people, and there are families – sons, daughters – who have no problem hanging on to some vague hope in the situation he was in – wanting more and more treatment.  They want “everything” to be done if there is even 1% chance that life could be prolonged.  It becomes a selfish position to hold, but people hold it nevertheless.

I had a woman with cancer once confide in me that she was “done” but that she didn’t want her family to think she hadn’t done everything she could.  A few months after I worked with her in her home she did pass away, but her words have haunted me.  I remember her frightened and hopeful family giving her encouragement and telling her to “fight” when clearly she was ready to let nature take its course.  They were good people.  They didn’t want to torture their mother.  They just didn’t want her to go.

I have had to stand up to sons and daughters and explain to them as they yelled at me that I was incompetent and that I “just need to make them do it” – walk or exercise or eat or whatever – that they were asking me to torture their parent and that I would not do it.  Believe me, that is where the doctors are in a terrible position.  As a PT, I can say “they aren’t progressing, Medicare won’t pay, even if you want to pay privately it would be unethical of me to take your money.”  A doctor cannot say that.  She can and must present the options and let the family make the choice.

One answer is for us to all make sure we have written our advanced directives.  I had a recent conversation about this with friends who are adamant that the significant other would “know what I want.”  I gotta tell you, that’s just not true.  So many factors come in to play.  Dialysis one day a week? OK.  Dialysis four days a week? No thank you.  So what, then, about dialysis three days a week?  Would I want someone to have to wipe my ass if I was clear of mind and could live to see my grandchild’s wedding?  Probably.  Would I want someone to have to wipe my ass if I were demented or comatose? Probably not.  Write it down.

My final comment has to do with a comment on the article page re: assisted suicide about “this is what religion gets you.”  Sigh.  I try not to get into a space where I have to defend my religious support system but sometimes I must.  My mother is a practicing Catholic.  She has an advanced directive.  It does not authorize life at any cost.  It is an advanced directive that is approved by the Catholic Church, based on reason and compassion.  Religion really has nothing to do with whether someone or a family wants to prolong life against all odds.  Many religious people await the progression from this human experience with a sense of joy and anticipation and would never in a million years want to torture ourselves or others.  Many non-religious people would rather be tortured than die.  So can we leave the whole “all religious people are assholes” argument out of this?

It’s so complicated.

Posted in General Musings, Physical therapy Stories | Leave a comment

Southern California Rainy Day

Posted on November 21, 2013 by favoritephilosopher

One of the few things I miss terribly about the Bay Area is the winter storms.  I used to love when the forecast would say “starting in the North Bay…”  I learned over time that I lived in the North Bay and we would be the first to get the mist, then the showers, then the settled-in rain of the storm, maybe accompanied by some exciting wind.   It just doesn’t happen very often here and seems to leave as quickly as it comes.  This morning Al was joking that the weather forecasters get all excited by a possible rain system, as if it is a tornado warning.  “IT’S COMING DOWN IN SHEETS IN IRVINE RIGHT NOW!”   They have to announce it while they can before it’s over!

Last night I was up late catching up on “my” TV shows (Detective Carter dies on Person of Interest? Noooooo…….! Didn’t see it coming at all.  Had to watch a recorded comedy after that…) and I suddenly heard a strange sound – rain!  Real rain! Rain you could hear with your ears from inside the house!  Instant bliss!

This morning Chris and I walked in the mist. My overreaction to the rain last night was short-lived. I took an umbrella just on principle, the one Al brought me from London with the carved bird head handle.  It’s a shame it has to sit in the closet so much.  It was more of a shield from the wind than a tool for keeping me dry.  It was a lovely walk, although every morning walk is unique in San Clemente. 

Now it is about 9 a.m. and the rain has started again.  It is so so beautiful.  I cherish every second.  As I write it has already stopped but for one brief shining moment there were sweet rain icicles falling from the eaves.  I took a picture even!  I’m hoping it will continue during the day – I see clouds as far as I can see out to the ocean.

It’s not even so much the rain I miss.  I remember by the end of winter I was so done. On the weekends I wouldn’t even want to drive anywhere after carting the kids around in the non-stop rain all week.  I know the romance versus the reality has gripped my soul again, just like the memories of Chicago snow.  What I miss is the imperative to sit by the fire with a book or the knitting needles, covered by a quilt and a vague sense of melancholy.

There is the beach, I know, and it of course has its own call to grab a book and eschew all responsibility.  However, it takes a little more work to get there and it not as irresistible as the overstuffed chair and the fireplace.  A gorgeous southern California sunny day offers many options of how to utilize that weather.

I am thinking I may have to watch the weather forecast and head up to the Bay Area spontaneously and crash at a friend’s house (I’m lookin’ at you, Katie) for endless tea and deep conversation and rain, rain, rain.

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Snapshot

Posted on November 19, 2013 by favoritephilosopher

I decided to throw a few photos on my facebook page because when I get bored of my profile picture I have nothing new to put up.

A bad thing happened on the way to uploading.  I realized that the “new” way of storing photos – on the computer – has not improved the photograph storing issue AT ALL.

Remember back in the day (ok, I’m not going too far back here, just to 1985 or so) when you would take your photos to Walgreen’s or wherever and you would get FREE double prints?  This was handy when you first had kids and wanted to send Grandma and Grandpa pictures, but eventually they begged “no more!” and you ended up with boxes of photos, complete with negatives and double prints?

Before moving down to SoCal I went through photos like I went through everything else: coldly, heartlessly, without mercy.  Double prints were easy to toss, some photos were just ridiculously awful and were just as easy.  The others have been pared down to two boxes and an antique travel chest.  I have dreams of “going through” them some more, but I will let my dear Mother clue you in on the likelihood of that – whenever I go to Illinois we plan to do that and end up playing Canasta instead.

What shocked me today was two realizations:

1) I have been storing photos on my computer for over 10 years!  They start around 2002.  The over ten years part I don’t like to think about.

2) They are no more organized than the piles of photos in boxes!  Somehow, just like the free double prints of years ago, I somehow have duplicate photos in different files and places.   I think part of this is having uploaded photos from cameras and not deleting them before uploading more from the same camera.  Who has time for this?  There is Canasta to be played (or in the case of Al, cribbage to be played).

3) Dammit.  Step away from the computer…

 

 

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A Whole ‘Nother Adult Lifetime

Posted on November 15, 2013 by favoritephilosopher

The last four years have found such changes in my life.  The move from the Bay Area after 30 years.  From our home of 23 years.  The loss of a soul sister.  Al was travelling for work, and I found myself alone for much of the time, and in that quiet space I remembered who “Mary” is – apart from wife, mother, physical therapist, parish volunteer.   I wondered what I wanted to do with myself now that the kids were raised, now that my body was not as anxious to continue working in clinical physical therapy anymore.

Suddenly,  I found myself looking back at my life as the space station looks back at earth.  I considered that,  in the thirty years since I was 25,  I had gone to PT school, gotten married, raised my three precious baby boys into men I am so proud of and so honored that they were entrusted to such an imperfect but earnest  and loving mother.

All of that had happened in a thirty year span of my adulthood!  It occurred to me that if I lived to be 85 and carried on the clear-headed anti-dementia gene that my mother and grandmother were blessed with, that I had a whole ‘nother adult lifetime ahead of me.  Just as I looked out into the world as a twenty-something and wondered where I would go and what I would do, I was looking at yet again that time span, albeit with perhaps less energy and more aches and pains.  I gleaned an understanding of the concept of time.

Even though it feels like it is all moving so much more quickly now, I have a choice .  I can lament the looming dwindling of my days here on earth and procrastinate them away.  Or.  I can look at them with the fresh eyes of a twenty five year old girl and make my dreams come true before it is too late.

Thus the piano lessons. And the singing.  And the ice skating lessons.  And the quilting.  And the writing.  And becoming a Medicare provider to be able to see patients privately.

And now.  I applied for a job as a lab instructor at a local college PTA (Physical Therapy Assistant) program.   The interview went well.  Yesterday I presented an “audition” lab for faculty and students.  Today I was offered the position.  It is part time.  I am ecstatic and not just a bit nervous.  I am so ready to pass on the wisdom and experience and knowledge I have collected over 31 years as a PT.

Today on my Facebook page a friend mused that it seemed like yesterday she was getting her first job and was now today applying for Social Security.  I can relate.  It seems like yesterday I followed the bad boyfriend out to New York, got the only job I could with a philosophy degree – receptionist in a physical therapy department of a small town hospital – and was introduced to the field of physical therapy.  I went back to school with a spring in my step and the whole world in front of me.  Now here I am, on the other end, with gray hair that requires regular trips to my colorist, ready to share the passion of my chosen career with new eager young people.  And I have been granted the privilege to do just that.

In the August before PT school began in 1982,  I joined Al and another friend out in Hampton Beach, New Hampshire for a bohemian beach vacation.  One night Al and I went to a little boardwalk bar to see Dave Mason – it was magic and we were in love.  Guess who is playing (he’s bald) in San Juan Capistrano tonight?  Yep.  Dave Mason. We’re going to go and listen to a once young musician, now old, share with us what he has learned through his voice and guitar since that hot summer night on an East Coast boardwalk. Once again your favorite philosopher is going to try to make sense of the questions of time and life and what’s it all mean, Mr. Natural?

 

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