What's new? Pickleball and writing, that's what
The quickest way to meet my ultimate destination is to sit back, relax in my rocking chair, and keep doing the things I've always done. I know how to do them; there are no surprises; there are no challenges. If that's true, then how does one keep growing? Does it mean that, just because I'm getting older, I should stop growing? I should stop trying new skills, new methods of working, new ways of thinking?
Growing is something children do. They are on a fast track in changing physically, mentally, psychologically. Every year brings about an adjustment, a major change from the year before. The speed of that change moderates as a person matures. An older person, of course, continues to change as well. The stereotype is that change comes in the slowing-down, the moderating even more, of physical, mental, and psychological growth. Some people might even contend that the change is moving backwards; that growth stops and the older person is going "downhill".
I refuse to see myself in that light. I must push against the temptation to acquiesce, to give in, to say "I'm getting too old for this". Thus, my first lesson in pickleball is coming this Friday night.
At the YMCA, I have an exercise program. Every other day, I pull on my exercise duds, drive about a mile or two to downtown, cross a busy street from the parking lot, enter the building, and climb the stairs to the track. Walking 17 times around gives a mile's worth of cardio. My usual is one and a half miles which is a full half-hour. Another half-hour is working on both upper body and lower body strength by pushing, pulling, raising arms and legs on seven different machines in the Power Room.
On in-between days, I just walk the track. That's when I notice this past Friday two individuals on the gym floor below. The man seems to be instructing the woman on how to play pickleball -- at least, that's what I finally figure out. On different days, I've seen and heard 12 to 16 people, maybe fewer, smacking a ball back and forth across their net, similar to badminton only the ball is heavier (no birdie) and the net is lower. It always looks like fun -- lots of chatting, laughing back and forth.
As I watch this lesson below, my thought is, "I can do this. No problems in the past with my physical coordination. Not as sure about my stamina but many of the people playing are older. So what do I have to lose? I'll stop by this week, meet the instructor, and schedule a lesson for Friday." (I'll keep you posted.)
Keeping up/excelling physically is one type of growth. Another has to do with using one's mind. In my case, that's writing. I write every morning in a journal. I write stories and share them with my small writing group as well as on my blog. I write family stories for Christmas gifts. Letters from Bulgaria while a Peace Corps volunteer, self-help articles on career redirection, reflective stories based on my own experiences have all been published in newspapers in Florida and Montana. So I think I know what I'm doing when volunteering to write an article for MSUB's The Retort, the newspaper for MT State University Billings. The editor is a fellow student in our Writing Workshop class.
I'm currently on my sixth draft. This is after I interview four nontraditional students to find out what qualifies them to be nontraditional, what motivates them, how they juggle responsibilities, and what they recommend for others. The tapes are transcribed and compiled into an outline. From there, my first two drafts are completed.
"Is it alright if I edit your article?" asks the editor. I'm on my way out the door after taking him the photo that will accompany my article.
"Of course," I say.
"I may have to edit a whole section."
"Sure, do whatever you have to do." For the rest of the afternoon, I keep repeating to myself, "a whole section" A whole section? A whole SECTION?"
By chance, I have a scheduled lunch with another fellow classmate the next day. She is an experienced writer -- 20+ years with the Billings Gazette. She identifies the specific format that is used by newspaper writers. Amazing. Never knew this. Never noted it in my newspaper reading.
By email to the editor, I request the opportunity to learn this craft by reworking my draft. Six hours on Friday brings about several more drafts, a more sexy title that includes "success strategies". Each of the three strategies is identified and combined with the student story that best illustrates it. These students are hard-working nontraditional students (one of which is my editor) -- they use all three strategies (network/volunteer while still in school; follow your passion; and never, ever give up -- it'll be hard but worth it). Today, I'll look over the article and decide if it needs more fine-tuning.
Learning a new skill, whether physical or mental, can be a humbling experience. However, it's an opportunity of which I want to take advantage. Learning isn't for youth any more. It can happen throughout one's life; it can give meaning to life; and it can help one grow -- at any age.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Friday, November 25, 2016
A Cook Isn't Really a Cook when...
1. She sees a new recipe on the web, reads it, pronounces it special and decides to make it for the family holiday meal. Ingredients like shallots and Guyere cheese sound intriguing. No matter that her daughter tells her she dislikes Brussels sprouts. Of course, she'll like it. After all, the recipe testimonial says she's not crazy for Brussels sprouts either but she really likes this recipe!
2. She will brook no substitutes for any ingredients in the recipe -- none! Like "thick, sliced bacon"? No turkey bacon from the fridge for this recipe; it's too thin, too fat-less. Like shallots? She has regular white onions in her crisper drawer in the fridge. Nope. Got to go to the grocery store, ask the clerk what shallots are, then be led over near the squash, and get educated on the taste of shallots. Like Guyere cheese? Never heard of that. She's got some yellow cheddar cheese. That will not do, not exotic enough. She can hunt for Guyere cheese in the dairy display at the store. Last but not least, Kosher salt and freshly ground black papper? She spends at least 15 minutes in the spice aisle looking first for Kosher salt (gets the last one) and then across to the opposite side of the store to the "gadget shelf" across from the pharmacy. "That's where the pepper grinders are," says the clerk. Luckily, it's already filled with black pepper.
3. She gets ready the next morning by pulling out all the equipment she will need, taking up all available work space on the counter. Pans; bowls; knives; measuring cups (one for flour, one for milk); cutting boards (one for bacon, one for shallots); mixing spoons; and a bouillon cube to make chicken broth.
4. She measures her flour by shaking the newly-open flour bag over her measuring cup. Luckily, it is over the sink that she does this, although a little mound of white stuff does end up on the floor by her foot.
5. She isn't sure what it means to "blanch the sprouts". However, when she follows instructions to drop sprouts into medium-boiling salt water for 3 to 7 minutes, the sprouts turn more white and she understands: blanch means "to whiten".
6. She envisions in her mind that she'll brag to family today about creating this delicious dish with all its complexities.
7. She pulls out the bubbly, cheesy, concoction from the oven at the ringing of the timer and renders it done! Perfecto! Only it does look a little flat. As she glances around, near the sink she sees a bowl of cut-up shallots. Can she save the recipe? Of course. Add the shallots to the top and reheat at daughter's house. Son-in-law pronounces it good! Cook pronounces it good! Daughter gags, poor thing. Next time, believe her when she says she doesn't like Brussels sprouts!
1. She sees a new recipe on the web, reads it, pronounces it special and decides to make it for the family holiday meal. Ingredients like shallots and Guyere cheese sound intriguing. No matter that her daughter tells her she dislikes Brussels sprouts. Of course, she'll like it. After all, the recipe testimonial says she's not crazy for Brussels sprouts either but she really likes this recipe!
2. She will brook no substitutes for any ingredients in the recipe -- none! Like "thick, sliced bacon"? No turkey bacon from the fridge for this recipe; it's too thin, too fat-less. Like shallots? She has regular white onions in her crisper drawer in the fridge. Nope. Got to go to the grocery store, ask the clerk what shallots are, then be led over near the squash, and get educated on the taste of shallots. Like Guyere cheese? Never heard of that. She's got some yellow cheddar cheese. That will not do, not exotic enough. She can hunt for Guyere cheese in the dairy display at the store. Last but not least, Kosher salt and freshly ground black papper? She spends at least 15 minutes in the spice aisle looking first for Kosher salt (gets the last one) and then across to the opposite side of the store to the "gadget shelf" across from the pharmacy. "That's where the pepper grinders are," says the clerk. Luckily, it's already filled with black pepper.
3. She gets ready the next morning by pulling out all the equipment she will need, taking up all available work space on the counter. Pans; bowls; knives; measuring cups (one for flour, one for milk); cutting boards (one for bacon, one for shallots); mixing spoons; and a bouillon cube to make chicken broth.
4. She measures her flour by shaking the newly-open flour bag over her measuring cup. Luckily, it is over the sink that she does this, although a little mound of white stuff does end up on the floor by her foot.
5. She isn't sure what it means to "blanch the sprouts". However, when she follows instructions to drop sprouts into medium-boiling salt water for 3 to 7 minutes, the sprouts turn more white and she understands: blanch means "to whiten".
6. She envisions in her mind that she'll brag to family today about creating this delicious dish with all its complexities.
7. She pulls out the bubbly, cheesy, concoction from the oven at the ringing of the timer and renders it done! Perfecto! Only it does look a little flat. As she glances around, near the sink she sees a bowl of cut-up shallots. Can she save the recipe? Of course. Add the shallots to the top and reheat at daughter's house. Son-in-law pronounces it good! Cook pronounces it good! Daughter gags, poor thing. Next time, believe her when she says she doesn't like Brussels sprouts!
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
I AM AFRAID
I am afraid. There are no more norms. Norms of decency, norms of civil discourse, norms of how our government works so that transition from one administration to the next protects us from conflicts of interest. The Trump's are coming; they are leading white supremacists; they are taking over our country. Russia's Putin has their ear.
In the past, there are questions. How does a whole country of people like Germany allow a little pipsqueak of a man like Hitler to take over, rule the country, exterminate millions? Now I know. I feel it.
Trump stokes fear, eggs it on. It's us versus them, he says. A loud minority of haters grows and champions this person, this Hitler, this Trump. They give the leader, this Hitler, this Trump, carte blanche to do as he will. That voice, that contingent of haters, drowns out voices of reason.
Some say our country has started down a path to the unknown. That isn't true. If we continue on this journey, we end up just as Nazi Germany: People will be afraid (refer to my first sentence). Countering voices will be/are drowned out.
The ruling party, the Nazi's, Trump supporters, decides what will be done. Who can they overcome now that they are in power? Why, it's the people who are different from them: different skin color, different religion, different gender, different sexual orientation. Anybody who isn't the same as they must be destroyed.
"Get 'em out!" Trump screams at his campaign rallies. "Kill them," screams Hitler to his crowds of supporters. Loyal soldiers follow his orders. Supporters pounce on dissenters and it's the dissenters who are thrown out, arrested, killed.
How does this story end? How does Nazi Germany end? It rots from the inside out.
We as a country have created this monster and it's we as a country who must see that the monster is stopped. Stand up; speak out. We, in this country of diversity, are the majority. We overcome our fears; we decide our own future. We are strong. We come together. We act.
I am afraid. There are no more norms. Norms of decency, norms of civil discourse, norms of how our government works so that transition from one administration to the next protects us from conflicts of interest. The Trump's are coming; they are leading white supremacists; they are taking over our country. Russia's Putin has their ear.
In the past, there are questions. How does a whole country of people like Germany allow a little pipsqueak of a man like Hitler to take over, rule the country, exterminate millions? Now I know. I feel it.
Trump stokes fear, eggs it on. It's us versus them, he says. A loud minority of haters grows and champions this person, this Hitler, this Trump. They give the leader, this Hitler, this Trump, carte blanche to do as he will. That voice, that contingent of haters, drowns out voices of reason.
Some say our country has started down a path to the unknown. That isn't true. If we continue on this journey, we end up just as Nazi Germany: People will be afraid (refer to my first sentence). Countering voices will be/are drowned out.
The ruling party, the Nazi's, Trump supporters, decides what will be done. Who can they overcome now that they are in power? Why, it's the people who are different from them: different skin color, different religion, different gender, different sexual orientation. Anybody who isn't the same as they must be destroyed.
"Get 'em out!" Trump screams at his campaign rallies. "Kill them," screams Hitler to his crowds of supporters. Loyal soldiers follow his orders. Supporters pounce on dissenters and it's the dissenters who are thrown out, arrested, killed.
How does this story end? How does Nazi Germany end? It rots from the inside out.
We as a country have created this monster and it's we as a country who must see that the monster is stopped. Stand up; speak out. We, in this country of diversity, are the majority. We overcome our fears; we decide our own future. We are strong. We come together. We act.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
CHANGE? No Slam Dunk!
It begins last Thursday with a small click sound. My alarm is set and I awake immediately thinking the alarm is going off -- only it's 15 minutes early. The day before, the repair guy for my apartment comes and changes the battery in my hallway smoke alarm located in the ceiling. It is going off intermittently with short beeps. But, before he leaves, the beeps start again. He thinks the alarm is old, goes over to the hardware store, purchases a new smoke alarm and installs it. The click I hear is nothing.
Friday I awake at 5 am to regularly spaced beeps from the smoke alarm. I groan - this is supposed to be fixed! I pull out my ladder, climb up, and twist off the cap so I can take out the battery. Can't get my finger in far enough to get a hold of it. I'll take my shower then decide what to do, I tell myself. Lo and behold, I hear no more beeping. Maybe dampness from my shower has an effect? I leave early for my weekly trip to Roundup.
Saturday there is intermittent beeping. Lori arrives and when I complain, she climbs the ladder and starts to remove the cap. But then I remember how difficult it can be to get to the battery and ask her to forget it. I know the repair guy will return on Monday to hang a new ceiling fan in the dining area. I will have him check it then. After our return from the store, there is no more beeping and I hope against hope that there will be no more problems. If so, I can always turn on the shower, I reason, and it will stop.
Sunday, at 12:30 am, the beeping starts. I run the shower 15 minutes -- no effect. I try the fan over my stove -- no effect. So strange. The beeping seems to happen only at night and is mostly quiet during the day. Is there something inside my apartment that is causing it to go off? I write until about 2:30 am and, just as I turn out my light and relax, up starts the beeping again. I cover my head with a pillow and sleep fitfully. Beeps come at regular 10-minute intervals.
Monday, the beeping begins at 2 am. I close the door to my room and cover my head with a pillow. Again, I sleep fitfully. The repair guy arrives and starts the process of removing the old fan. One beep, then another emanates from the smoke alarm.
"Hear that?" I say. He does. With his fingers formed into the shape of a gun, he shoots in the direction of the beeps. I explain all I've tried to do to stop it.
"None of that would make any difference," he tells me. He says that batteries sometimes sit too long on store shelves. He replaces the battery with a new one and goes back to working on the fan. In the bedroom, I am transcribing a taped interview and hear the beeps, this time they're louder -- like the new battery does nothing but create louder beeps! I say this to him while he works on the fan. Something seems to click in his brain.
"Is this the only smoke alarm you have?"
We practically run down the hall, check around the corner in the bedroom, and there is the culprit: a white smoke alarm hardly noticeable on a white-painted wall not more than a few feet from the one in the hallway. The repair guy removes the battery and goes back to his fan installment.
"If the beeping stops, we'll know where the problem is." He's right of course. No beeping. A new battery is placed in the second smoke alarm, the presence of which I haven't noticed in the four months I've lived here. Blessed relief!
This is just one example of some difficulties that arise in the process of moving to a new place. It takes time to adapt to all surroundings. It takes time to absorb differences. What seems normal in one place may be entirely different in another, even better. But it doesn't happen all at once.
The same can be said of changes in the Presidency of our country. As I write this on Election Day, 2016, I'm confident that our Hillary will be the next President of the United States. If that is true, and I hope it is, there will be changes. Our country will need to adapt to our new surroundings. We will have to absorb differences. We will need to adjust to a President that happens to be a woman! It doesn't happen all at once. What we can be sure of, however, is that Hillary will work hard, persist in bringing about positive change, and never give up on herself or on our country! How do we know that? She tells us. She models it during the election process and long before. Believe her!
It begins last Thursday with a small click sound. My alarm is set and I awake immediately thinking the alarm is going off -- only it's 15 minutes early. The day before, the repair guy for my apartment comes and changes the battery in my hallway smoke alarm located in the ceiling. It is going off intermittently with short beeps. But, before he leaves, the beeps start again. He thinks the alarm is old, goes over to the hardware store, purchases a new smoke alarm and installs it. The click I hear is nothing.
Friday I awake at 5 am to regularly spaced beeps from the smoke alarm. I groan - this is supposed to be fixed! I pull out my ladder, climb up, and twist off the cap so I can take out the battery. Can't get my finger in far enough to get a hold of it. I'll take my shower then decide what to do, I tell myself. Lo and behold, I hear no more beeping. Maybe dampness from my shower has an effect? I leave early for my weekly trip to Roundup.
Saturday there is intermittent beeping. Lori arrives and when I complain, she climbs the ladder and starts to remove the cap. But then I remember how difficult it can be to get to the battery and ask her to forget it. I know the repair guy will return on Monday to hang a new ceiling fan in the dining area. I will have him check it then. After our return from the store, there is no more beeping and I hope against hope that there will be no more problems. If so, I can always turn on the shower, I reason, and it will stop.
Sunday, at 12:30 am, the beeping starts. I run the shower 15 minutes -- no effect. I try the fan over my stove -- no effect. So strange. The beeping seems to happen only at night and is mostly quiet during the day. Is there something inside my apartment that is causing it to go off? I write until about 2:30 am and, just as I turn out my light and relax, up starts the beeping again. I cover my head with a pillow and sleep fitfully. Beeps come at regular 10-minute intervals.
Monday, the beeping begins at 2 am. I close the door to my room and cover my head with a pillow. Again, I sleep fitfully. The repair guy arrives and starts the process of removing the old fan. One beep, then another emanates from the smoke alarm.
"Hear that?" I say. He does. With his fingers formed into the shape of a gun, he shoots in the direction of the beeps. I explain all I've tried to do to stop it.
"None of that would make any difference," he tells me. He says that batteries sometimes sit too long on store shelves. He replaces the battery with a new one and goes back to working on the fan. In the bedroom, I am transcribing a taped interview and hear the beeps, this time they're louder -- like the new battery does nothing but create louder beeps! I say this to him while he works on the fan. Something seems to click in his brain.
"Is this the only smoke alarm you have?"
We practically run down the hall, check around the corner in the bedroom, and there is the culprit: a white smoke alarm hardly noticeable on a white-painted wall not more than a few feet from the one in the hallway. The repair guy removes the battery and goes back to his fan installment.
"If the beeping stops, we'll know where the problem is." He's right of course. No beeping. A new battery is placed in the second smoke alarm, the presence of which I haven't noticed in the four months I've lived here. Blessed relief!
This is just one example of some difficulties that arise in the process of moving to a new place. It takes time to adapt to all surroundings. It takes time to absorb differences. What seems normal in one place may be entirely different in another, even better. But it doesn't happen all at once.
The same can be said of changes in the Presidency of our country. As I write this on Election Day, 2016, I'm confident that our Hillary will be the next President of the United States. If that is true, and I hope it is, there will be changes. Our country will need to adapt to our new surroundings. We will have to absorb differences. We will need to adjust to a President that happens to be a woman! It doesn't happen all at once. What we can be sure of, however, is that Hillary will work hard, persist in bringing about positive change, and never give up on herself or on our country! How do we know that? She tells us. She models it during the election process and long before. Believe her!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)