Sunny-side-down!

Dear Friends,

This morning, my anxiety manifested itself in a very peculiar way. I stood there, in front of my innocent dishwasher, and flapped my arms vigorously, till my thighs begged for mercy. Imagine, the thought of unloading and reloading my dishwasher had overwhelmed me.  

We all have heard stories about people who die shortly after they retire. Well, now I can see why! It’s not the boredom of eventless days that will kill you, but the preparatives!

Clearly, more than one stressor is tugging at my nerves. In case you are wondering why I'm retiring, selling my condo and moving to Cobourg all at once, it's because I can't afford to hold a mortgage (never mind two) with my pension cheque.

As soon as I press the "publish" button on this post, I'm rolling up my sleeves and following the Chinese proverb; a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.  
Since I have to pack anyway, I might as well take down the pictures and the paintings in the den, and let the painter turn my sunny, stimulating writing nook, into a grey windowless hole. 
Just that you all know, henceforth, I’m not taking any responsibility for the quality of this blog.

Stage Freight!

Dear Friends,
Nothing moves the real-estate market faster than warm temperatures!
Within days, three almost identical units popped up for sale, in my building!
Nothing chases away Procrastination faster than Panic! As I am scrambling to find a painter, a plumber and a handyman (to fix-up my condo), I can feel the wicked cortisol making its way up my esophagus! 
Yesterday, I called my agent to come over for a quick consultation. Diagnosis — not so good!  
The orangish-yellow study has to be painted grey, the "huge" dining table has to be removed, the upholstered chair needs to be stored and of course the living area needs a carpet! Luckily, I don't have to worry about a thing! All I'm asked to do, is to dish out two-thousand dollars to have the "Expert" replace the bad goods with the good goods!  
In simpler times, people walked into each other's messes, looked around a bit, measured a couple of doorways and walls, pictured their old furniture in the new environment and made an offer. Nowadays, the seller has to compensate for the buyer's lack of imagination! According to my agent, my modest sprucing up plan (touching up the entrance, polishing the floors, washing the windows and of course, fixing the faucet) will not enable my condo to compete against "staged" units. 
Although I have to accept that I live in a fancy era, I'm not ready to part with my money, yet!              

One More ...

Dear Friends,

I’ve given the word procrastinator a whole new meaning, mostly because I’ve never been one!

One more push, one more rep, one more round, one more jump — it doesn’t really matter what I call it, it’s the ONE MOREness of it that has me crippled! I can call it LAST, to provoke some stimulus, but still it won’t diminish the magnitude of the effort that I have to make, for this one last move.

If God Almighty has given us all a deck of cards, to use strategically on our path of life, I believe I might've been left only with the Joker! 
Of course, I’ve scratched out a few minor items from my to-do-list; however I spend most of my weekends getting rid of certain things and stocking up on others. I can't see myself getting off this Sisyphusish merry-go-round any time soon. I wish I could splurge and hire a project manager to take over my chores for the next few months, and wake me up sometime in August, in Cobourg. 

Maybe, I ran out of steam (finally)! Maybe I just can’t wait for my new life to begin, or maybe, I just want to savour every remaining minute of what’s left of this one, without unnecessary (or necessary) interferences. 

Another weekend has come and gone, and all I can say is: I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.

― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind

Have philosophizing and blogging become my supplementary delaying tactics? 

The Last Dress-Rehearsal

Dear Friends,

Today, my students were exceptionally brilliant. After writing an instructional piece (how to put on a good show), in the morning, they backed up their words in the afternoon and staged an amazing show. It included comedy routine, song and dance.

They were focused, confident; punch lines on time, voices clear and expressive. They sang cheerfully and moved to the music flawlessly. I was very proud of them, and a bit proud of myself, too.  All the lectures, rehearsals and praises had paid off. The yelling hadn't been ineffective either! 

As my students’ peers applauded them enthusiastically, and my colleagues complimented me, I realized that I had just put on my last show!

Tonight, an unsettling question is gnawing at me; do I still belong with students?

Perhaps if the winter had been milder, my Christmas holidays happier and my Chi more fluid, I would’ve been less depleted. 
I have to accept that I don’t want to go, but I have to. Not because I’ve publicized my intentions, but because henceforward I have to put myself first. I just hope that I can make me as happy, as my students have managed to make me for 23 years!

The Immortal Mortality

Dear Friends,

When you have too much time on your hands, you end up watching Super Soul Sunday with Oprah!
She was in conversation with Shirley MacLaine, so I sat down to learn what else these two spiritual gurus had to say. Shirley MacLaine is probably the only living actor from my childhood. Although performers are immortally mortal, when one with whom I grew up dies, I feel an incredible void.   
Actually, I'm a bit obsessed with life and death of actors. Without fail, every time I watch "in memorandum" portion of any award ceremony, I believe all members of the industry are having the same thought; one day, I will not be here, but up there, on the screen, affiliated with the Departed Club.  Maybe, they don't, but I do, for them!

When you are in your intimate social circle, sharing, laughing, celebrating, do you ever wonder who amongst you gonna go first? I know, it's a morbid thought (especially on the brink of retirement), but I can't stop it from popping into my head, every so often. There is a movie called, The Cemetery Club, quite uplifting actually, that touches on this same topic. I might watch it tonight. After all, aren't we alive only when we think of death? Before getting out there to get myself some sub-zero sunshine, I'll leave you with another uplifting message!

“And now let us love and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips. Nothing perchance, or perchance but bitter memories of what might have been.” 
― H. Rider Haggard, She

Blessed!

Dear Friends,
It's almost midnight. Silence is slightly disturbed by the sound of my middle finger running across the keyboard of my MacBook Pro. I'm very tired, I should really take advantage of the quietness and crawl into bed. It was a long day, lots of shopping, preparation and dirty dishes —  as it should've been. What's a celebration without cooking, cleaning and entertaining! Not that I had a big party, only my children and grandchildren, but my enthusiasm remains oblivious to the size of my home and energy level. 
So, another spring has arrived (in the middle of winter), with the same old agenda; new life, new promises, new hopes and resolutions. Thank God I've learned to play the future by ear, although I'm tone-deaf! Perhaps that's why I constantly drift, unable to establish or renew so many contracts every year! But, tonight, I'm at peace, centered. I can't help but acknowledge that I'm blessed. Not only because I've washed and put away all my dishes, or that I've stored enough leftovers for the next two weeks, but because I have the privilege of being Here, Now!

Good or Stupid?

Dear Friends,
We all like to believe that we are good people, but are we? What does being good really mean?
Does not killing, stealing, cheating, lying or embezzling make us good? Or, do they simply make us not guilty. Is not being "bad" good enough to make us fine?
All of these nutty questions came to me at midnight, naturally. My mind and I were up till dawn, tossing and turning, philosophizing, tossing and turning, and then philosophizing some more.
Earlier in the evening, I'd informed my elderly tenants of my plans to move to Cobourg. The thought of inconveniencing them at their age upset me. Furthermore, they loved their home of six years and were renting below market value. 
My conversation with Mrs. B, my tenant, started with, I'm so sorry, and it ended with, I'm so sorry. She was very understanding, which made me feel even worse. When she told me she was going through her annual depression, but she will be fine, my heart broke.
I wished her husband had answered the phone. He feels entitled. He wouldn't have taken the path of least resistance. His accusations would've angered me. Then, I could've told him that I hadn't raised the rent in six years, that I'd repaired whatever they had broken immediately and that I was giving them more than three months notice. But, alas, all I got to say was, I'm so sorry!
Finally, as my body was pushing my mind into oblivion, I heard myself confess, I am a bad person. 
I should be able to make other arrangements, even if I cannot afford to. Would that make me good, or stupid?
I hope Mr. B doesn't put a curse on me. Those of you who read my Christmas adventures know that I'm already operating under another malediction, my mother's. I'm afraid all these old people's sighs will eventually seize and destroy me, as we say in Farsi. That's why I took some precautions and gave my tenants notice, in the old year! May the New Year bring only Joy for everyone! 
Happy spring!