Looking back with thanks....

At Thanksgiving 2009, shortly after I began blogging, I wrote about a turning point for which I was especially grateful. It set me on course to become what I am today, a BLissed-Out Grandma. Here's a tweaked version.

About a year and a half ago {spring 2007], I was sitting in my car sobbing on a bright May morning because I didn't want to subject myself to one more day in the toxic cesspool that my place of work had become.

Peter said, "If it's this bad, go in and quit. We'll manage somehow."

So I went to see the Human Resources guy, and I described a few of the freakshow conditions to which our staff was being subjected. I told him what my husband had said. He asked me, "Is that what you want?" I took a deep breath and said, "Yes. This is sucking the life out of me. I have to get out."

The HR guy said, "There are going to be changes. Do you think you could wait a bit?" His tone told me what I needed to know, so I said yes, I'd wait it out. Three months later, they finally fired our boss. Things got better immediately.

The same week our boss left, I drew up a proposal to work fewer hours with fewer responsibilities: Instead of managing seven creative people I would work 75 percent time as a senior writer-editor. "Okay," they said. I wanted to work one of my days at home. "Okay." (A year later I asked to go to half-time and they said "Okay" again.)

And that is how I went from a thoroughly unhappy, burned-out, acting-out director of publications to a mellow part-time writer-editor and part-time day-care grandma who calls herself blissed-out.

I am thankful that the HR guy was willing to suggest I wait...he managed to tell me just enough without violating professional ethics. I am also thankful to Peter for saying, "Quit if you need to." Feeling that I could quit made it less necessary to do so, because I no longer felt trapped.

At the time I wrote this I was a year from retiring, though I didn't know it yet. Our bad boss was replaced with someone both knowledgeable and appreciative, and when I retired I could look back on my nearly 30-year career at the college with satisfaction. That couldn't have happened had I quit on that memorable day in May 2007. 

We have many things for which to be thankful, and I regularly express my gratitude for the life I'm living now, especially the opportunity to care for and mentor our grandchildren. Looking back, I'm thankful that I spoke up that day and said I was ready to quit, and equally thankful that I didn't. 

Sometimes it's difficult to speak up put things in motion. But once we do, the outcome can be even better than we'd hoped for. 

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

Gray November Blues

I was in my twenties when I first realized that I hated the month of November.

It makes sense, really. I live in Minnesota. By November, days are short, skies are cement gray, and temps are cold. I came to picture a typical November day as bleak and blustery, a sharp wind slapping my face and driving ice crystals right into my skin.

It always felt personal, as though some weather god took pleasure in inflicting pain. "Slap! Feel that sting? Now I'm going to make your eyes water, pinch your fingers, blow away your scarf, toss your hair, and penetrate through all seven layers you put on this morning!" Understanding cold fronts and high-pressure systems provided no comfort whatsoever.

Throughout my work life, transportation complicated the picture. The evil weather gods could make the buses run late, stall my car, create glare ice and ridiculous pileups, or encase a parked car in ice and snow that had to be chipped away while your fingers and toes froze. Again, hearing the familiar sound of ice scrapers all through the neighborhood was no solace.

I have come to realize that while November can still be difficult, most of its days don't live up (down?) to my worst expectations. Besides, I now have ways to cope that I didn't always have.

* I am retired. If I want to stay home during an especially nasty weather event, I usually can. 

* By now I have assembled an excellent collection of warm boots, coats, mittens, fleece layers, ear muffs, scarves, etc. When I do go out, I go prepared.

* I no longer have to look professional or even presentable after battling the elements. Nobody at preschool or the grocery store cares whether my mascara is frozen into mud puddles at the corners of my eyes, or whether I'm wearing fashionable shoes.

* I've been taking Zoloft for years to help offset Seasonal Affect Disorder, a result of sunlight deprivation. Around mid-October I still begin to notice that my mood is dragging, but it's manageable. And I can take naps if necessary because have I mentioned? I'm retired.

* Remember when I said that not every November day is dreary and awful? It's true. And the best way to combat the November blues is to get out into those decent days, to see a little sunlight, breathe a bit of fresh air.

* Even when I can't be outside, I can remember to notice the sun shining, take a deep breath, and appreciate the cheery sight of it.

November brings nasty days, and it's the opening shot of a long winter to come. I'm trying to remember that I don't have to cope with all of that today.

Oh, and P.S.: The grandkids bring sunshine into even the darkest day.


Double P.S.: I just noticed that this is my 300th post!

Blarz, said the aliens....

ViMae came to me with four large sheets of craft paper, each folded not-quite-in-half at an angle. She asked me to fasten them together (we decided on staples) to make a book. Next she brought the felt markers and told me she was ready to write a story. She needed me to do the hand-writing. This is what she dictated:

Vi's Best Jewelry Book...and...

The Princess Locked in the Tower

by ViolaMae

Once upon a time, there was a princess. Her name was Golden Rose. She was afraid of stormtroopers. They tried to attack and catch her.

Because she was afraid, Golden Rose locked herself in the tower.

She didn't like being in the tower, so she went to see Princess Leia. She thought Leia had a bow and arrow, but she didn't. Princess Golden Rose put on some jewelry to disguise herself as Smaug. The stormtroopers didn't know she was Rose. She went into the woods and ate some zazzberries.

“Blarz.” said some aliens from up above. They put handcuffs on her. But when she had gone to see Leia, Leia had given her a blaster. So she blasted the handcuffs apart.

She called in the warriors, including Princess Leia, to help her fight off the aliens.

Vi's illustration: Rose and Sabrine

Princess Golden Rose saw an alien getting ready to shoot a bomb. "Duck!" she yelled. "Where?" asked her favorite giraffe, Sabrine, looking around. Golden Rose ducked out of the way, but Sabrine got shot right in the neck. He ran a little and then just fell over, and died. ["Isn't that sad, Mom?" Vi asked her mother when they read it together. "That's the sad part."]

She ran over and put a leash on him and pulled him, but he stayed on the ground. Golden Rose and Leia chased the aliens away. "Blarz!" said the aliens as they ran.

The end.

As her parents have noted, ViMae's story has it all: a plot with a climax in the middle, character development, humor, and sadness. It incorporates elements of Star Wars (Leia and the stormtroopers), the Hobbit (Smaug the gold-encrusted dragon), our Dragonvale game (zazzberries are dragon food), and other bits.

Its humor and sadness both come from an old birthday-card visual joke Peter and I have shared with the kids. (Animals are riding in a car, heading toward a tunnel with a low overhead…. The elephant warns, “Duck!” but the giraffe, misunderstanding, stretches his neck upward and asks, “Where?”) The four of us share this running gag often, and the kids seem pleased that it's a kind of "inside humor."    

ViMae took all those elements and made up her own princess story…and happily, this princess is proactive. Golden Rose locked herself in the tower for protection, disguised herself to hide from the stormtroopers, went to Leia for a weapon, and together with Leia dispatched the aliens. That’s a princess story I can support! 

On being a real ballerina

Pre-class instructions from Miss Ann

ViMae has been wearing tutus and wanting to be a ballerina for at least half of her four-and-a-half years.

Today she started a weekly dance class that will include 30 minutes of ballet and 10 minutes of tap. And how lucky am I? The best time for her to take the class is Tuesday mornings, so I get to take her there. Happy Grandma!

Ballet warmup

I took pictures so Mom and Dad could share in the big day. The photos aren't great, because adults have to stay out of the studio so kids will focus on the teacher.

ViMae did great at paying attention and following instructions (a couple of younger girls had trouble with that). Most important, she had fun and she felt comfortable with the group.

Tap lessons..."heel, heel, step..."

I took ballet and tap lessons for two or three years, starting when I was five. I liked it, but I never had any vision of what it was all about.

ViMae, on the other hand, knows exactly what it's about. When we got home, she kicked her legs in the air and exulted: "Now I'm a real ballerina!"