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Reality sinks in

It is hard to wrap my head around, but I am 62 years old, firmly in the category of “senior citizen.”  I am unemployed, not entirely by choice (was called a liar--to which I took extreme exception--and was treated punitively, resulting in my resignation).  I have been searching for a job for a few months with no success.  Interviews do not result in offers.  I have been told that it is likely ageism, which is most discouraging.  Regardless, I continue to submit resumes and writing samples and am trying to teach myself Abobe InDesign, since so many job postings mention it as a desirable skill.  It is much too early to stop searching, and it will always be too early to stop learning.

Still, I am shaken.  My confidence is rattled.  I have seen a video of myself on our Ring system and am horrified.  My arthritis is evident, and my ass is huge.  Bummer.  Time for some remedial action.  

I found a website https://www.health.harvard.edu/staying-healthy/regain-your-confidence with what seems like sensible advice for the senior set on regaining one’s confidence (although it was written for the “Men’s Health Watch”--why, when women face the same damned issues?).  It is both obvious and a revelation at once.  At its essence, it is all about treating oneself with respect (and convincing oneself that self-respect is deserved).  I suspect that modeling good behavior for myself will have to be the way to move forward.  I can no longer spend every day at my computer, polishing my resume and submitting it; I have to do something for my own mind.  

Coming from a museum family, it seems like the place to start.  Some museums are free, and at my age, there are senior discounts at others, too, I suppose.  I have options.  I HAVE OPTIONS!  I think that notion may be the key

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The Therapist says, part II

The Therapist says I need to feel what I felt when I lost my mother, but it was and is a complicated event.

After my mother’s death, the adults in my life understandably wanted to ease my pain and their own.  My father withdrew, for the most part, lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling for days at a time.  My aunt (the sister of my mother) was a “take charge” person who planned family trips and events secure in the knowledge that this was what her sister would have wanted.  We children were regularly flown to and from the east coast to stay with her, her children, and my uncle (who related better to the boys than the girls).  It was my responsibility to make sure that the three of us, my brother, sister, and I, made it through each trip safely.

We, three bewildered children, joined my three cousins, making up a crowded household of kids, preteens, teenagers, and adults.  We had known them all of our lives, but we were not the same children we had been.  We were continually encouraged (and genuinely tried) to participate in all of the scheduled activities as well as the constant neighborhood roughhousing and running in and out of houses that made up suburban childhood of the late 1960s.  What I wanted most of all was time to myself.  So I sat in the living room, where no one ever went and read everything I could get my hands on, for hours at a time.  It was my own interior world, where I had some peace.

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The Therapist says, part I

The Therapist says I need to feel what I felt when I lost my mother, but it was and is a complicated event.

My mother’s death, soon after I turned 11, stunned me.  I had no idea it was coming and was wholly, entirely, utterly unprepared.  I had no understanding of what it meant or all that it meant other than, at that moment, it was the ultimate loss; my mother was wrenched from me.  No other loss I had experienced came close to the devastation I felt, and I had suffered many.  

In the moment, I felt heartbreak, although the term doesn’t do my experience justice.  Heartbreak plus bewilderment, combined with no sense of what I should do or what I should be experiencing.  It was as if my family and I were inside a ball that was tumbling over and over, tossed around mercilessly.

It was the hardest blow I had known.  I am still coming to understand all that it meant.  I needed time, time to understand, time to make sense of an event so traumatic that no sense could be made of it.  It was the hardest blow I had known.  Yet, I would not be allowed time.  My childhood was abruptly over.

Nature and fate conspired to propel me into adulthood.  My family (my father and my younger brother and sister) expected and required me to become an adult, looking after my siblings to the extent that I could.  By spring, I had gotten my first period and needed my first bra. 

My father enlisted the help of neighbor women to guide me through these and other bewildering horrors of entering adulthood.  I was taken shopping for sanitary napkins and a sanitary belt, my first stockings and the garter belt to keep them up (pantyhose were only just being introduced), and a bra.  Using and caring for these things was complicated and mortifying, but there was nothing to be done.  In 1969, All Women Needed These Things, even if they were barely women.

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This is me.  The forest saves.

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Choirs, forests, the history of religion, and Asperger’s.

Where am I?  Starting over.  Vowed to write about something other than myself, but look where my first step has taken me--straight to me.  My sense of direction seems to have abandoned me.  Correction.  I have abandoned my sense of direction.  I feel unmoored.  What is important to me?  Making a list is clarifying:

Community, but not generalized.  Must be specific to an interest or activity.  The problem is that, while I would like to have shared experiences, I am not comfortable with socializing.  People take that personally, even though it does not have anything to do with them.  Also, I would enjoy being a member of a choral society, I think.

Being outdoors, in the woods or forest.  Most property in this county is privately-held, so access is limited.  Must identify wooded places open to the public, with trails.  It would be nice not to have to drive far to get there.

History, but not just any history.  I am interested in the history of religion in America, especially how it influenced settlement patterns and how those patterns are manifested today.  Hardly anyone has this same interest, so I don’t hold out much hope of community through this special interest.

I am lucky to have a family that I love and who loves me.  They do not understand me (as a person with Aspergers), however, and are not particularly curious about how I experience the world.

I will consider this further, as this list does not provide me with the clues I seek to identify a current sense of direction.  They identify places my soul has been comfortable in the past.  They still bring me comfort, but no sense of direction.

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There’s a bear in there.

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Join Lean In & The Girls Scouts to Ban Bossy. Encourage Girls to Lead. Learn more at banbossy.com

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Before Selfies :)

A truly unique photo - does anyone have an idea as to when this might have been taken?  Anna Elizabeth Ashburn (shown here) was born in 1876 and died in 1908. Love the harmonica poster! [ Original photo: Anna Elizabeth Ashburn family history ]

Wonderful image.  Based on the costume I would guess this was the 1890s or thereabouts.  A rare window onto a domestic interior.  I love the touches of daily life; wonder what the whisk broom was used for?

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For some, order consumes time.  I'm different; it sets me free.

SUBMISSION: New year, clean desk. —Vignette Agency

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While I am fascinated with culture I don't have much interest in people, which have largely been a mystery to me. It shows in my photography; the photos I take of people invariably fail to capture any meaningful sense of who they are. I suspect it is because of my Aspergers, which impairs my ability to read others. It renders me colorblind to expressions and body language.

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Love the way the tree trunks parallel the barn gable.

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WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?

My camera.  No, wait.  My iPad.  Hm.  I like trees quite a bit, too.  Especially fond of shrubs as well.  Perhaps trees and shrubs don’t really qualify as inanimate.  Stones and rocks can be nice, and are rarely very animated.  A pen that writes smoothly can be a joy.  Pajamas are always welcome.  My heated mattress pad is currently in my top ten.  Kitchen knives, when newly sharpened.  Strong black coffee.  A really good margarita with extra limes.

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December 29, 2013. Cold and misty. I love exploring old buildings.