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Sometimes, I just want to get away. Far removed from everyone and everything I know: my family, my friends, my job, all those endless responsibilities, obligations, daily routines and societal expectations. All of it. The reality of my life replaced by never having to be hurt and disappointed by others’ thoughtlessness and inconsiderate behavior. Sigh. I know I probably expect too much of those who I assume really do love and care about me. But sometimes, I just have to wonder…

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Thick, heavy, frayed, knotted and coiled – much like how many of us feel at times due to varying degrees of gluttony, inactivity, stress and uncertainty. Pulled too tight and we’re constricted, restricted and unable to move in any direction. Yet, too much slack and we’re rudderless, with no motivation or intent to do much of anything. We flounder and stagnate in the process.

Finding that balance, that middle ground, to reach a place of agreeable tension – a propulsion of sorts – can be both challenging and reassuring. And quite necessary to our growth as individuals as we work toward finding our way in the world.

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Ramon (not his real name) was a guy I’d seen around work when I was in my 20’s and I thought he was cute, in a lost soul kind of way, even though he was several years younger than me. Some friends and I were scooping the loop one Friday night when I saw him hanging out with his buddies, smoking their cigarettes and listening to music from a parked car. I instructed the driver to stop so I could say hello to him. I recall that he seemed a little distracted but seemed to vaguely know who I was. Our encounter was ever so brief – maybe just a minute at most – and before I got back into the car, I reached up and kissed him on the lips. Embarrassed, I quickly made my exit and that was it.

It was a few months later, back in 1982, that our small northern Iowa town was rocked by the news that a tavern owner in a neighboring burg had been murdered – rumor was he’d been beaten to death with a pool cue – in an apparent robbery gone (very) wrong. A suspect had been apprehended, was later tried, convicted and sentenced to life in prison. I’d locked lips with the young man who’d committed the crime and until now, I’ve never so much as breathed a word of this story to anyone.

All I knew about him personally was his name. He had blond hair, was slight of build and just 19 years old at the time of his conviction. I remember thinking how tough life in prison would be for him and shuddered at the thought. Not so much out of any endearing thoughts toward him – kiss or no kiss – but rather more pragmatically. For perhaps the first time, I contemplated how horrendous a life of incarceration must be. His victim was 65 years old and by all accounts, well thought of in his community. We all felt bad for him and the family he left behind. I knew of Ramon’s mother, too, from work and my heart ached for her. My son was a small boy when this took place and I could not help but imagine the pain and anguish she was experiencing.

What is it about watching the news or reading the paper about any kind of tragedy that, while sad and compelling, becomes exponentially more so when it hits close to home even in some tangential way such as a brief, flirtatious kiss with someone you don’t even know? I see now that Ramon is in his early 50’s and was denied parole in 2013. The photo accompanying the article shows an older, sadder, hardened individual who has, no doubt, been (rightfully so) paying a hefty price for his murderous crime, having killed another human being and in the process, destroyed not just his own life but that of so many others.

Several years ago I served on a jury for a federal drug trial. As the defense witnesses made their orange-clad way past the juror’s box to take the stand to offer their testimony, I was jolted into a new reality. One of these witnesses was a young female, already apparently hardened herself and serving time for drug-related crimes. It was a sobering experience seeing these human beings whose lives had been lost, wasted, destroyed because of the choices they’d made. As the woman spoke, I remember thinking that at one time she’d been someone’s little girl, their pride and joy, perhaps running through a water sprinkler on a hot, summer day with pig-tails in her hair, shrieking with joy. And then, sadly, I thought next – or maybe not. Perhaps years of neglect and abuse had created a life of despair and hopelessness and pain and that is what had, ultimately, led to what she’d now become.

And so with Ramon, I wondered those same thoughts. There is no joy in some people’s lives, sometimes from the very get-go. It makes my heart heavy to realize the very truth of such a consideration. We must, ultimately, strive to make good choices knowing that there is always a price to be paid. The lesson? Choose very, very carefully.

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Iowa is, and has been, a crazy place the last several weeks leading up to tomorrow’s first in the nation caucuses for both the Democrats and the Republicans. We’ve been inundated with speeches, mailings, letters to the editor, phone calls, news conferences, sound bites and kissing babies, hyperbole and promises, TV commercials and, of course, candidates, candidates, CANDIDATES. Tomorrow night, we caucus.

For giggles, my husband and I walked around our state capitol grounds and then descended on downtown Des Moines to take in all the political sights and sounds. We take our politics seriously here although for many of us – whether Democrat, Republican or Independent – we are just ready for it to all be over!

Here are a few shots I snapped this afternoon.

DISCLAIMER: I am NOT a Trump supporter. I only took the photo of the sign as it was part of the whole caucus ‘circus’ environment. And what’s a circus without a few clowns? 🙂

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One month from today is my birthday. I turn 59 this year. And then next year, of course, I’ll be sixty. (How did that happen?) February 26, 2017 will usher in a brand new decade for me, a hastening in the decline – already well underway – of what I’m both physically and sometimes mentally able to do. Certainly, a march toward death to be perfectly blunt about it.

Actually, though, I’m not one to rant and rave or opine – to no good outcome, in any case, so what would be the point? – about what is ultimately inevitable. Like many people my age and even older, I don’t feel ‘this old’. True, my body often conspires against those delights in which my heart and soul would otherwise love to partake. And sometimes, I say ‘body, be damned’ and I’ll go ahead and do what I want to anyway. Maybe not easily or elegantly or with grace. Certainly not without paying a price for it the next day (queue the Icy Hot and ibuprofen). The thing is, though, that is what’s cool about getting older. You don’t really care (as much anyway) about appearances as when you’re younger.

In any case, retirement becomes more of a focus. Most people in their fifties begin thinking about Life After Work and I’ve been no exception. But now, with the Big 6-0 only a year away, I’m starting to think more seriously than ever about what I want to do when I retire. I’ve posted on this topic before but today, with my 59th birthday one month away, the reality of this new stage of my life (yet to come) is now a little more clear, a little more urgent, a little more REAL. And this both terrifies and thrills me.

Being a Cradle Robber, I’m fortunate in that my husband will continue to work once I retire and therefore cover my health insurance needs until Medicare kicks in. I hope to acquire a little four legged friend with fur to accompany me on long walks and hikes and bike rides. I look forward to playing the role of Just a Housewife and welcoming Bill home from work with hot and healthy meals and the occasional dessert (those who know my husband are well aware of his almost unquenchable appetite for sweets so I’ll need to exercise some caution with my Adventures in Baking).

I’ll read. I’ll write. I’ll color. I’ll blog. I’ll have time to exercise and eat right. I’ll sleep in if I want to or get up while it’s still dark out and get my walk in for the day. Certainly, I’ll indulge my passion for photography. I’ll experiment in the kitchen and keep the house clean, uncluttered and organized. In the winter, I’ll crochet and in the summer I’ll ride my bike. I’ll probably even get a part-time job, both for a little mad money and to keep my social skills current and, hopefully, up to par. These are things that I’ll do – for me. And I’ll glory in the freedom to do whatever I want, whenever I want.

I’m not naïve or star struck enough to think retirement will be all rainbows and roses. Things Change.  Life Happens.  But whether I’m working or not, this would continue to be the case regardless. Time and having more of it to do as we please (as we march forward) is that currently elusive animal that I long for, that I crave. And just as I savor the joy of planning a vacation or a weekend getaway, so, too, do I eagerly anticipate the liberation of being daily accountable to an entity other than myself: Work. Sometimes gratifying (and the money is nice), work is no longer the be-all, end-all (if ever it really, truly was) of my existence, of what is ultimately most important to me, to my life, to our marriage. Knowing that I plan to retire in the not so distant future makes it easier to deal with the sometime frustration of meetings, deadlines and difficult co-workers. Because now I know that work really is just a means to an end. We all need money to pay the bills (and plan for our retirements!) Work can also provide a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. All well and good. But the allure has begun to tarnish and I now seek other avenues of pride, pleasure, fulfillment and release.

With anything in life, there are no guarantees. For all my planning and daydreaming and list-making, the longed-for freedom to live a fulfilling life after retirement may not transpire. Sickness, disability, financial burdens, family emergencies can easily wreak havoc on my future in one fell swoop and swiftly (and oh, so cruelly) undo all that I’ve hoped for. So while I’m able to, I’ll continue to chart my path toward that which I covet and nurture my spirit as best I can to deal with whatever comes my way. I’m incredibly blessed and fortunate to have a husband who loves and cherishes me and we are both in fairly good health. Financially – for now, so long as the market cooperates! – we’re in a good place. All we can do is plan for our future and hope for the best.

Full speed ahead!

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Last night, while waiting for the clerk to wind some yarn for me, my husband and I walked around Valley Junction to stretch our legs. This area contains several unique shops and historical buildings and is a fun place to explore. It was just starting to get dark and the shop windows illuminated the walkways. Although I’ve been there many times before, I’d never noticed this old barbershop and dug out the point-and-shoot Canon Elph I carry in my purse. I took a shot through the window but decided to step inside for a better vantage point. The place was empty and I wondered if the shop was even open. Quietly, I opened the screen door (!!) and walked inside.

After taking a few shots, an elderly gentleman walked in from the a darkened room at the back of the store. I asked if he was the owner and did he mind if a took a few photos? Not at all, he was happy to oblige. We then chatted for several minutes and I learned that he’d been the sole proprietor there for 42 years. It was a fun and interesting conversation. Kevin is 70 years old and hopes to continue his barbershop business until he’s 77. That’s the age his own father was when he retired. His dad worked in construction all his life and Kevin once him he hoped to work until he was that same age as well. He reasoned that if his father could work that long doing something as physically taxing as construction, certainly he could fare as well – and for as long – as a barber cutting hair!

Kevin agreed to allow me to return to his shop anytime to take more photos. My little Elph is a great tool to keep on hand for the ‘unexpected’ but I look forward to coming back with the Big Boys to try for something a little more creative. All in all, it was a very pleasant encounter.