Retirement Plan

Three years ago I knew I would retire and some day my mom would die. I wanted help preparing for those two big life events, so I hired a therapist. Several months after starting therapy with a nice but very young therapist he told me that he would no longer be accepting my insurance. It was a godsend because I had felt like he was over his head with me. So I found a new person, lickety split. And she's great.

Just in time! Right as my new therapist and I started working together, mrguy got sick and I really needed someone to help me navigate this. And I no longer had the bandwidth to deal with my increasingly cantankerous mom. Mrguy's illness gave me clarity. Readers of mrsguy know the story well.

My retirement plan started in earnest in January. Mrguy's recurrence helped focus my thoughts, as did a realization that I'll never get a chance to do the things I wanted to do in order to prepare for leaving. I have always feared leaving a mess. But that's what work allows me to do -- make messes and move on. I am coming to terms with this, and realizing it has made it easier to let go. 

Finally, I will miss everything about the work people and the work place, but how much of it all do you need? I have tried during my time at the factory to be observant, to enjoy, to smell the flowers -- to appreciate every wonderful thing about it.

I've had a plan for some time. If I get into the Academy of Forklifts I stay for a while. Then if there are layoffs the choice will be made for me. There's a forklift convention where I'm giving some talks, and that would be a good time to say PEACE! and drop the mic. And maybe there will be a forklift bonus at the end of the year. I have a retiring friend who is staying for that. Again, after mrguy had his recurrence I didn't care a whit about any of that. He kinda wanted me to stick around, but I told him that if he died and all I had was a pile of cash to hug I wasn't going to be happy about it. The time is now, you know? But he has a great attitude and thinks he's going to live for a good spell with cancer.

The layoffs are in a few days. My fingers are crossed because that would be the easiest thing. I have an external hard drive coming today, and I'll use it to grab personal stuff off my computer -- all those random folders that say "send home" and the personal mail between mrguy and I. Maybe some resume stuff, like some of my keynotes (or just the text of them). Not so I could give the presentations elsewhere, but to enjoy things I've created. I have made things.

And Hammerslag, you can have those two keynotes I wrote for the big forklift convention next month.

Pretty Things -- Tiny Paintings Edition

I bought two small paintings for $60 and put them over the sofa. 

O'Hara, whoever you are, I would like more, please. These are from 1970.

I love them.

Visible Mending. VERY Visible Mending

I went on ebay looking for cashmere sweaters with holes, specifically so I could do some visible mending.

I bought a lovely orange sweater with a few holes. More holes than they said, but I don't care:

I received the sweater and began covering the holes. First, I used a piece of vintage fabric to cover the one on the back. Then I picked out a few colors and used them to embroider some designs over holes. I was very pleased with myself.

I put the sweater down on the table, and turned around mere minutes later to find this:

Such a pisser. Boy kitten chewed a ginormous hole right next to the mending I'd done. I decided to see if I could salvage it. I used a piece of a tshirt from the free table (the same one I used to repair my "skirt") to make a patch. Then I used a little bit of it on the sleeve to make a teeny patch. It looks kinda nutty, but I'm really liking how it turned out, and I got unprompted admiration from my coworkers yesterday. They pretty much agree that boy kitten's work led to improvements.

Here's the patch on the back. Yes, I will iron it at some point.

I just bought another cashmere sweater on ebay yesterday. I'm having fun.

Never Again Will I Ever...Or Will I?

This was the prompt:
"Think back to a fiasco—a moment when you were helplessly, hopelessly human. A mistake, a misstep, a plan gone spectacularly sideways. Write about what happened, what you were afraid it said about you—and what it revealed instead."

We were on a work assignment in Hamburg. Our project manager had quit and hadn't been replaced yet. We didn't think we could get our crates (artwork, AV equipment) past customs for no good reason other than fear, and the registrar at the museum was cackling with laughter because this was her last act / responsibility before retirement. Also she made disturbing jewelry with glow-in-the-dark rubber zombie fingers. You'd think I would like that but I did not.

With great relief, in our penultimate evening in Hamburg the bulk of our work was complete and we'd passed inspection. We went out to dinner and we / I got hammered.

A guy tossed a colorful postcard on the table, advertising a nightclub. Cool! Before the guys could stop me I walked out of the restaurant and hailed a cab. They managed to jump in with me, and off we went. And thus, at the tender age of 50, I found myself dancing in a cage at a raging gay nightclub in St. Pauli. I had so much fun until I realized that someone had stolen my purse which contained my passport and a week's per diem. My more sober companion, an air force veteran, noticed it in the hands of a woman in the parking lot. He snatched it from her and returned it to me.

The next night at dinner I apologized to my workmates. My hero responded "THAT was AWESOME", which took away a tiny piece of my mortification, which I feel even now, for obvious reasons.

What did I learn? Nothing, to be honest.