essays on life...by me

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Life after life

My strawberries

My strawberries

Amongst my parent’s generation, there were a few men who, though they had reached the age when they could retire, they didn’t. Their wives had retired already, if they had worked, but not these few men. Their workplace was still willing to have them even though they might have passed their best before date. I assume they must have liked their jobs enough to keep working even when they didn’t need to. My parents retired as soon as they were old enough to do so, leaving behind them jobs that were just jobs and looked forward to doing something that they really wanted to do. But my parent’s friend continued working and kept on traveling to his job every day. If you asked him why he continued to take the hour and a half bus ride in to the city from the retirement community he had recently moved to, leaving behind wife and new friends, he would stare at you with a look on his face of incomprehension. Finally, he said, in a very quiet tone of voice, “If I retire, I am afraid that I will die.” He wasn’t speaking metaphorically. He was serious. He was sure that if he should stop working, the next day or week or month after his retirement party, he would die…of something. He eventually did retire. He and his wife got to spend more time with their kids and grandchildren. They traveled a bit together. They spent time at the clubhouse of their retirement community. And eventually in the fullness of time, his wife died and soon after so did he.

I have worked since I was about 17 – nothing serious until I was about 25, when I got my first job in the field that I had studied in college. Since then I have managed to support myself as an Art Director, Illustrator, Production manager, Board artist, Speaker support slide maker, Website designer, Powerpoint designer, magazine designer and in general, whatever one can do in the commercial art field. I have never needed the typing skills my mother insisted I acquire to help put food on my table – which is a good thing since my typing skills are really not all that much to write home about.

But all that professional working life is now 7 years behind me…and I am definitely retired. Am I dead yet?

I am not completely without things to do. I have 2 pro bono clients for whom I volunteer my skills and knowledge. I basically work for free now. But I get a pension, so I’m OK.

One of these groups, a Writers Festival, thinks I’m great. They love what I do for them. They are fun to work with. The project is something I am also interested in. I feel like I am doing a good job for them. But that little nagging voice that always lives in the back of my head says, “Of course they like you. You are free.” But the important thing is mostly they listen to my suggestions and often do what I suggest. That satisfies my control freak tendencies. So I’m OK.

The other group is a Jewish group working to bring Reform Judaism to Stockholm. It is a group that I have been involved with since before I retired – almost 2 decades, actually – a long time. I feel I know most of those people well. We have been on on the same board of directors together for so long that many of them have become friends. There are a lot of tasks on that board that I can not do. No one in their right mind would ask me to take the meeting minutes – the mishmash of swenglish would be illegible. Neither would I be useful to do anything in regards to religious tasks for my knowledge of such things is extremely superficial, a la carte and personal. To be the contact with the greater Jewish community is also something I would not be well suited to due to my poor comprehension of how Swedish society works and my latent phone fear. My only real usefulness lies in my years of work experience as a graphic designer. So that is what I have been on the board – a graphic designer. I designed their logo, I designed the now very out of date website and made a new one in WordPress. I make whatever graphics they need for promoting the group. And I try to maintain the look of the brand. These are things I know how to do. These are things I have experience in doing. With this group I feel like I am doing something important. So I’m OK.

Unlike my parent’s friend, my concern about my post-working life – and my fear – is metaphorical. I am still walking around. I am still breathing. I am not worried – at least not too much, that I will imminently drop dead any minute now. But…am I still alive? Do I still have worth? Does what I know have any value? And why aren’t people doing what I tell them?

In the summers, I have been spending most of my time at our country house with my husband. We have filled our planters with topsoil and I have bought plants to grow there. There are 3 requirements I insist on for any plants I might bring home: The plant has to be an almost indestructible perennial and need very little care from me, the plant has to have flowers, and finally if it has a wonderful scent that’s great. I have planted two small lilac bushes, 3 mock orange bushes, a flowering bush called Ölandstok in Swedish and two strawberry plants.  I also planted 3 clematis plants to climb up the wall behind the planters. So far none of my plants have died yet and this year one of the lilac bushes had wonderful, scented flowers and my strawberry plant had strawberries. I spend a lot of time looking at these plants. This seems to be my new thing-to-do. It seems to pacify my anxiety about what I am doing with my post-work life. For the moment at least.

I guess with my two pro bono “jobs” and my green, planted friends, I have found my life after my life. I hope, as I work to keep all of these things alive, they will also keep me alive.

 

 

Mindful of one’s nature

It rained yesterday – on and off for most of the day. It was the first rain we have had here in Stockholm and out at the country house in almost a month. In fact, I can’t remember when it last rained but that might be more a problem with my memory than anything to do with weather.

The skies have cleared up. The wood deck is drying. The air is humid and still tanktop-and-shorts warm. I’m glad we planted clover together with the grass seed when we made a lawn. Now, after the rain is over, it’s the clover that has recovered the quickest from the mini-drought. It is lush and green and soft underfoot and sprouting everywhere with globular white flowers. Dozens of bumble bees are hopping from flower to flower, doing what bumble bees do. Together with Håkan, I sat on our discolored, almost 30 year old, white plastic chairs in the middle of all this activity, watching the bees work, listening to the deep hum of their drumming, impossible wings. After a while we got up to have a very late lunch. While I am not complaining about the lack of rain, all the nature around me, has missed it a lot – everything was so dry. I have had to tend my planted babies with a regular hosing down.

I recently posted on Facebook a picture of me, (well, just my legs) lying on an ancient lounge chair, doing nothing but reading and eating watermelon. All the responses were positive, with friends leaving comments such as; Perfection, Sounds ideal, Good on ya, My hero, I second your choice, and more variations on those themes. Everyone seemed to be agreed that it is a good thing to be able to take the time to just lounge around, reading a book, snacking on food, basically doing nothing – thinking of nothing other than the moment I was in. Some people might call that being Mindful. And Mindfulness is supposed to be a good thing.

But is it?
I suppose if one is a true busy extrovert, unable to sit still, always on the go, I guess choosing to just sit down and live in just that moment – doing nothing but reading and eating watermelon, that that is a really good change from what is normal in your life.

But I am not that – a busy extrovert – always on the go. I’m an introvert who knows how to act like an extrovert when I am among people. But I am a sluggard when alone. Sitting and doing nothing is easy for me. Almost too easy. My natural state of being is to be at rest and to let my foggy brain wander, instead of my feet. That afternoon spent reading and eating watermelon was just standard operating procedure. For me. Was I being Mindful, if Mindfulness means living in the present moment?

Now, I’m sitting in the shade, on the small deck outside the kitchen window. For the past 2 months, I have been living here at the house with only brief forays into town. Climate Change or maybe just the weather gods have given us amazing summer weather – dry, sunny, and warm – instead of the normal Swedish summer weather – damp, rainy, chilly, with only brief moments of sunny warmth. It’s the kind of weather where you can spend a lot of time outside – enjoying morning coffee at the lake, eating dinner on the deck, even wearing shorts while gardening. The kind of weather when you invite friends to visit and share food and conversation with, while sitting outside on the deck.

But have I?? Invited friends to join me? No, I have not. I have had very few friends out to join us on our deck, to share a drink or a cup of tea with pastries, to walk down to the beach or even eat a whole meal together. And I ponder…why not?

Do I have no friends? I don’t think that is the reason – I have a lot of friends who I like a lot. Why have I not invited them out to us? Is it just too much work to clean up the house & yard and buy food and serve it? Well, maybe the cleaning and straightening up is a pain in the neck but its not that bad. And I like sharing food with friends.

Or is it just too much work to make a phone call or send an email, to plan a visit? And now I think we are getting somewhere. I have to make that phone call. I have to send that email. I have to plan and schedule my time. Have I mentioned I am a sluggard??

When I think about what kinds of people have been my closest friends I realize that many of them are extroverts, FOMOs (People who “suffer” from the Fear Of Missing Out), people who are always busy – who’s natural state of being is not to be idle but to be active and always on the go and maybe not spending a lot of time being Mindful of the moment. Back when I lived in Manhattan, friends would have to venture up to my apartment on the Upper West Side, ring my doorbell and practically drag me out, Saying, “Put on your shoes, Hilarie. We’re going to the movies now.”

And 40 years later, after so much life lived, I am still the same – I spend a lot of time just thinking about what I am doing rather than going out and doing things. I guess you could call that Mindfulness. But I don’t. I don’t like the term. I need my extroverted friends to come ringing my virtual doorbell, texting my smart phone, writing an email and saying…”What the hell have you been doing kiddo??? Want to meet for a drink/lunch/dinner? Can we come out to visit you at the house?”

After all is said and done, I am an introvert by nature who is usually content to just sit and think. And all this Mindfulness, to my mind, is just a bunch of hooey designed to make busy extroverts slow down.

But I’ve been spending a lot of time out here in the garden, trying to figure out what I am going to be in this next phase of my life. Call me. Ask me to do something…I just might say yes…

A new season

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time to every purpose, under heaven*

Celebrating 70 with princesstårta

Celebrating 70 with princesstårta

This summer, on the 29th of June, l shared a Princesstårta with a few friends at our country house, thus observing and commemorating the last day of my seventh decade and officially turning 70. Four days later, I celebrated beginning a new season and the start of my eighth decade, together with a much larger group of friends at a big party at our summer house.

OK… so I am now 70 years old. There is no new age box for when you reach 70. The highest seems to be simply 65+ as if over 65 is just one big blur. What does that mean?

Originally, I hadn’t planned on doing anything special to mark my seventieth birthday. All I really wanted to do was hide and pretend it wasn’t happening and just go on from there. But I got talked into celebrating by my long-time friend and summer neighbor, Barbara Eveaus. She insisted I had to have a party and it would be a breeze because she would take care of planning everything for the party. LOL…you can not say that to a control freak like me. I am compelled to take care of that kind of thing. So… I gathered the long list of email addresses, I designed the invitation, I composed the overly wordy email message that sounded just like me, and then…I pressed send.

Empty Nester

This summer like every summer, we had a bird family move into the small, wooden, video-monitored birdhouse on our property. Small birds, like the Swedish talgoxe or the blåmes seem to like raising their families there. The video camera mounted inside this tiny home is connected by a long cable which hangs along various tree branches as it makes its way past our porch door to our wall mounted flat-screen TV and for about 5 weeks we can watch our little feathered family lay and hatch their eggs and raise their babies. We keep the TV turned on and its like having a moving Harry Potter-style black and white painting hanging on our living room wall.

In spring almost two years ago, my son bought his own apartment here in Stockholm. He and I had spent the fall and winter months looking at apartment listings and every Sunday we made our way to 3 different showings. He put offers on a few of the apartments but he knew his top limit of how much he could afford to spend and while he came close a few times, someone else always offered more. Until the last one, when his offer was accepted. I helped him to paint all the rooms. We spent a day at IKEA looking at and testing out furniture possibilities which he then ordered online and had delivered directly to his second floor apartment. We spent another week putting the furniture pieces together. By then, it was finally summer and his dad and I moved out to our summer house. Our son was busy at work in the city and just continued to live in our apartment. Time passed as it usually does – all too quickly. Fall and then winter and once again spring. In the meantime, his fully furnished apartment sat there, collecting dust while my son continued to live in the only home he has known, our apartment. People who knew he had bought an apartment would ask me how he liked living in his new place and I had to keep answering, “He hasn’t moved out yet.”

It became a running joke every time I met a friend… ‘Has he moved yet?’ they would ask. We just laughed.

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