Crone

I didn’t think about what career(s) I’d have–they’d just be automatic.  I didn’t worry about retirement and health insurance–those were automatic, too.  I thought about the REAL things, like where I’d want to live (Northeast seacoast in a cliff house or northern Minnesota in a forest house) and what my attitude would be (Jenny Josephs curmudgeonly).

I’d be writing in notebooks, smoking clove cigarettes (because obviously there’d be a cure for cancer by the 2030s!) and be completely free from the anxiety and deep depressions that hobbled my youth, my 30s, my 50s. I would live simply and have no money worries, because I always knew I’d be working all my life. I used to be a workaholic, often having three jobs, but this was before my health made a precipitous downward dive in my 40s and 50s. I’d have a houseful of cats, and probably live with my BFF since 1979; she and I often talk about our front porch and how we’ll sit in rockers, harass passersby, and drink wine.  There’ll be original art, my own and others’, all over the walls, and boho furniture. 

As I write that, my heart is heavy because I’m so very far from most of those goals, and at 60, not much time to reach them. My hair is refusing to continue on the greying it started in my 20s, stuck in this in-between dingy grey-brown that depresses me.  I may have to dye it purple again soon. I am mostly free from wrinkles (except the very small kind), but we will NOT discuss discoloration and keratoses from my youth in the sun. I’m so speckled that I’m not even sure what my real skin tone is. My wardrobe is close to my youthful vision–I certainly live in Birks and comfy clothes! 

I do like me some sullen teens–I’ve chosen to devote my life to working with the most challenging teens, in many ways.  They keep me feeling young (mostly), and they are endlessly fascinating. And yes, I love all animals.  I hate to even kill ants in my house, and my husband and I spend accumulated hours sending each other cute animal reels.

My career…well, after I finally settled on a major and minor not long before I was supposed to graduate from college, English Literature and Religious Studies (because I’m fascinated by it, tho I am pretty much permanently sporting ??? above my head), I was working the typical three minimum-wage jobs for a bit.  Then I took the postal exam and found myself a rural carrier associate (sub).  That sub job turned into subbing for two different post offices and many days a week, which was very lucrative, though no bennies.  Eventually, I moved up the ladder to full time, with benefits and all.

Great job, but my body and mind wouldn’t have it.  My mind wanted something intellectually challenging.  My body wanted something that wouldn’t cripple me for life.  Too late…before I finally quit in 1999, I had permanent damage, and I’m still dealing with fallout to my bones and tendons.  

As I near “retirement age,” whatever that means, I am both happy and horrified to say I have no plans to retire.  I love what I do and I’m prone to bouts of depression in the summers without an externally-imposed structure, so I want to work as long as they’ll let me. Teaching at an ALC challenges my mind and I learn things every day.  I’m frightened to death, however, because I’ll never be able to afford retirement.  I have no savings (long, long story, for another time, let’s just say that having aged parents needing massive care and having thirty surgeries on my own plus hundreds of doctor visits across two states means…yeah, no money).  I’ve been putting a little away out of my checks toward a 403b, but I don’t even understand how all of that works. I’m hopeless with money. 

I also can’t retire because I need health insurance. I mean, I seriously need health insurance.  At some point I’ll be brave enough to see what Medicare is all about, but not yet.  Fills me with dread and anxiety.

And I absolutely, positively, have the houseful of cats thing going for me. I have seven at the moment, which is far from the highest number I’ve ever had at one time. I had a student years ago who gave me an (unofficial) Ojibwe name (most of my students are Indigenous): Giwaanadiz Gazhagens Ikwe, or Crazy Cat Woman. 

My husband's photos: McGee and Orlando, two of the current seven.

The travel dream is the one that absolutely kills me.  Like George Bailey, every anchor chain,  plane motor, and train whistle beckons me to it, to see the world, to walk among other people and see places I read about. It’s been my number one dream…but I don’t even have a passport right now. I still have hopes of realizing some of this dream, but it’s getting closer and closer to being pipe dream territory.  

In the meantime, I’m learning languages (Swedish, a bit of German and Spanish, and refreshing my French from long ago), spending hours looking at photos of the places I want to go, and using Google Earth as a poor man’s travel agency. 

So, I shy away from nostalgia because it’s painful, both in remembering who I was and also what I’d hoped for.  I’m alarmed by the passage of time, something I’ve written a lot about in the past and will again. Actually, I’ve been obsessed with the passage of time since I was a child. It’s like I’m going through life with Death over my shoulder, carrying an hourglass instead of a scythe. I’ve faced death a few times in my life and I’m much, MUCH more afraid of losing people I love than I ever could be about my own passing. 

And, as a fan of perspective (and also like George Bailey), I realize all I have that may or may not have been part of my youthful musings: A husband I love AND like, who’s kind and funny and brilliant; a nice place to live in trees; great friends, great family, great career; and, well, a blog where I get to post all of this, and maybe someone will read it.  (If you made it this far, kudos!  And thank you!)

Photos: Selfie of Hubs and me, in Duluth, on the pier, a couple years ago/ Our deck, a favorite place in summer.

And I still have some time, I hope, to make a few more of those dreams come true, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. I’m old, but I’m not THAT old.