Summer time, and the living is easy...

...or so it seems. Now that Peter and I are down to one full-time job (his), a handful of responsibilities for the carousel (his and mine), and fewer daycare responsibilities, we have more disposable time on our hands. We've set out to use at least some of it wisely.

Cousins at the rodeo

We are making it a point to spend good time together, in ways that help us rediscover who we are besides grandparents. Peter used to comment that all our conversations related to the grandkids. They filled our lives and our home and our hearts and our heads. They still do, and believe me, we are happy about that. But it's good to enjoy our alone time, too.

After being with their Montana relatives a little more than three weeks, the kids have come for three play dates in six days, and we're all delighted to be together. But our relationship seems...fresher.

Bison just outside the car window!

As usual, the kids have lots to tell about their adventures - cousins, ballet camp, water fun, bison, black bears, a wooly mammoth excavation, and so much more. But guess what? This time we actually have a few things to tell about what we did while they were away.

And what DID we do while they were away? Among other things, we went to two concerts in ten days--and that's a lot for us. There was the Dylan concert, which was fun although, to tell the truth, it had the problems inherent in any Dylan concert: his voice isn't getting any better with age, it's tough to understand the words, and he rearranges songs so much that often you can barely recognize the old favorites. In fact, he takes off down musical side roads even during the performance and the band can't follow, so things get messy. But you know, Dylan fans will just keep showing up anyway.

Dr. John concert at the Minnesota Zoo

Last Friday we saw Dr. John perform at the Minnesota Zoo. A master of blues, rock, and the rich music of New Orleans, he is a long-time favorite in our house.  The concert was everything we could have hoped for. High energy, tight arrangements, and a band whose members are talented individually and together. It was another gorgeous evening; there were even ducks swimming on the pond just behind the stage. We went with friends whose daughter Irene was regularly serenaded as a child with Dr. John's version of Leadbelly's "Good Night Irene." It was Irene's birthday, and her dad had reached out to request that the song be included in the concert. We'll never know whether they would have played it anyway, but it gave our little group a special highlight for the night.

Just to bring things full circle...Dr. John was a big hit with Augie. When he was not quite two, I recorded his enthusiastic impression of Dr. John playing and singing the Pinetop Boogie. When Augie can stay up a little later we hope we can take him to a concert. We, and Dr. John, need to stay healthy long enough for that to happen! Meanwhile, here's a kid who loved the piano, and will again. 

Claim to fame: I beat Bob Dylan...

...in a talent contest. And I bragged about it.

Peter and I attended the Dylan concert at Midway Stadium in St. Paul Wednesday night, and as I have done twice before, I proclaimed my achievement on my shirt for anybody to see. (I've also told the story here.)

Some people who see the shirt think it's a joke at Bob's expense. Peter likes to say, "You'd still beat him in a talent contest," not because he doesn't like Dylan but because he knows many others don't.

But those who really do, and who decide I might be telling the truth? Those people are all over me. They ask me to tell them the story, and then they ask how well I knew Bob (I knew his mom and brother well but not Bob). Often they ask me to pose with them while someone takes a picture of us. I find this amusing, and I oblige.

Some of those people had Dylan connections of their own. A doctor told me he once stopped Bob on the street in New Orleans and they carried on a pleasant conversation. (The doctor's daughter backtracked, saying Bob was more surprised than gracious.) Another man told me he was friends with the English teacher who figures in some stories about Bob, with whom I also was a friend.  A musician spoke with me at length and then came back to ask whether I realized that Bob was playing keyboards as part of the concert - significant since both Bob and I had played the piano in the talent contest in question.

I came to realize that by striking up a conversation with me, each of these Dylan fans got to tell his own story, which made the concert a more personal experience for them. And, of course, for me.

When my dad was still alive and living in Hibbing, just across the street from the house where Bob grew up, I'd run into uber-fans who had made the pilgrimage to Bob's hometown. There are self-directed tours that tell people where he lived, where he went to school, and where to find displays of photos and other memorabilia (the library and a restaurant called Zimmy's). I was sitting on my dad's front steps one Sunday morning when a father and grown son drove up and began taking pictures of the house across the street. Eventually, as so many Hibbing residents do, I struck up a conversation. They only had a few hours, the library was closed, and they hadn't spoken to anyone else. They got to ask me a few questions, and they got to tell me of their devotion to the songwriter who has been called the poet of his time. They were excited and grateful...and they took each other's picture with me.

Just before going to last week's concert, I had posted about self-identity. I was wondering what I would tell people about myself now that life was changing. For one evening it was this:

"I beat Bob Dylan in a talent contest. Yes, really."

And as a result, I met some interesting folks and had a great time. 

Who will I be when I'm not who I was?

Retiring from a lifetime of paid work was not difficult for me. For one thing, I eased into it over a couple of years, gradually decreasing my hours and doing more work from home.

With Augie 2007: New proud grandma

More important, while I was tapering off at work, Peter had begun caring for our grandson Augie at our home while Augie's parents worked as teachers. I spent as much time as possible with Augie, and before long with little sister ViolaMae. Being a grandma and a caregiver was a big part of my identity, and I couldn't wait to be home all the time. So when I finally retired in December 2010, I jumped right into our full-time ongoing adventure. I knew it was the most rewarding work I'd ever do; BLissed-Out Grandma was more than just a blog name.

In a sense I'm retiring again. As always, the kids are at home with their parents for the summer. This fall when we start up again, we'll only be part-timers. For the first time, both kids will be in school all day. Abby will drop them off here at 6:45 for breakfast and play, and at about 8:10 we'll drive them to school. By 9 a.m. our day-care day will be over. And that takes a little adjustment.

It's delightful that we'll still see the children every weekday. And of course we'll have play dates, Facetime phone conversations, family events, and occasional full days when their parents have school and they don't.

But the truth is, Peter and I have completed our full-time commitment to care for our grandkids until they begin school. We've had a month to absorb the fact that we'll miss our full days with them, and that as of now we have more time for other things. We've consciously spent more time together, started planning some special projects, talked more seriously about all those tasks we kept putting off "until we're done with daycare."

We'll de-clutter the house (and I don't mean the kids' toys we've amassed, I mean the lifetimes of paper and clothes and would-be valuables that inhabit every room and closet). We'll plan a 100th birthday celebration for the carousel and write the carousel history we've been promising, which will occupy us well into 2014. We might travel, just a little. Peter will continue to work full-time at home, and maybe now he'll sleep more regularly. I will dance, blog, garden, take photos. We'll take care of one another and hope our health continues so we can watch the children grow for a long while yet.

With ViMae 2011: Retired and happy

What we won't be able to do is to say, perhaps a little too proudly, "We provide full-time daycare for our grandchildren." This single statement has been central to my identity and sense of purpose since before I retired.

Sometimes I think a major reason people have trouble with retirement, or other kinds of change, is this: "How will I introduce myself to someone new?" How will I answer, "Who are you and what do you do?"

I was one of those who always led with my job. It only described part of me, but it was a handy label. When that no longer fit, I was more than happy to lead with my full-time grandma-daycare role. Will I now be satisfied just to say, "I'm retired"?

I've spent a little time experiencing this feeling, and thinking about what I might say. I don't have an answer, but I have this question: Why does it matter? I don't need a label or an instant claim to fame. I'm older now, more mature. I have time to carry on a whole conversation and mutually explore what it is about me that might interest another person, and vice versa. 

So I'm not really worried, but I'm curious. As I meet new people and make conversation, I'll be defining myself to them in new ways. I wonder what that will sound like.  

"Who are you and what do you do?" How do you answer?

Clearing a space for myself

I spent all of last summer nursing a broken leg and damaged ankle, and my garden went untended. I did no weeding, no mulching, no cutting back of overeager perennials or overhanging tree branches.

This year, for reasons including sketchy weather and a dance recital, I didn't start gardening until about ten days ago. That's when I finally took a good look at the state of things.

Everything was overgrown. Perennials wrestled one another for territory and threatened to swallow the lawn furniture. Weeds looked especially proud of themselves for having taken over the entire strip behind the garage--a challenge I'm ignoring for now. The stepping-stone paths I had carefully created were invisible under on-rushing greenery. And the giant horse chestnut tree (which may instead be a buckeye but experts can't agree), which is too large for a small urban lot in the first place, formed a low-hanging canopy all the way around the back yard. It gave me a choking sense of claustrophobia.

Last weekend I spent three days cutting back, clearing weeds, spreading the eight bags of mulch still in the garage from two years ago. On Sunday I got out a ladder and spend several hours cutting overhead branches. In the post I wrote that evening, I mentioned that thanks to dancing I had a lot more stamina, a statement I based on the fact that I had perhaps never spent so many hours working in the yard.

Monday morning I couldn't move. My neck and shoulders were so stiff and sore, and so resistant to the usual pain meds, that I began to wonder whether I had some kind of dread disease.

Then I remembered that I have fibromyalgia, a chronic condition that can kick in when I eat too much sugar or become too sedentary or, ironically, overexert. It's a tricky balance, staying active but not too active. Fibro kicked in last summer after I sat around favoring the broken leg, for example. But this flareup was stronger. My upper body felt as though it had seized up, and it stayed that way for much of the week. My sleep was disrupted, which only makes things worse. Eventually gentle exercise and massages from Peter helped enough for the meds to do their job.

So now I'm back in the garden, being a bit more cautious and aware. I always enjoy the work of gardening, but I have to remember to stop periodically and look around, admiring the progress I've made while allowing my body to regroup. It feels good to know that I'm in charge of this space again. There is room for me and mine to walk the paths, sit on the benches, smell the roses.

The last peonies greet the first purple coneflower.

Yesterday I took a few photos to share. A cleared and mulched pathway, a few planters now populated with petunias and calibrachoa, and a cleared and mulched seating area where last week we sat outdoors with guests. Small victories, but satisfying.

Life is good.