Gone Fishin'

I haven't gone fishing, but I may as well have for all the attention I've been giving to writing new entries for Retirement and Relocation.

I've had some thoughts for blog topics, including "Here Be Dragons." Other possible topics include writing about the joys of spending time with adult children (going to weddings with my older daughter and road trips and baseball games with younger daughter or about the sheer joy of reconnecting with a cherished sibling (my sister visited last week).

But, we're in the midst of an intense election season in North Carolina.

Duty calls.

For Halloween, I may go as a "flaming liberal." I tried out the costume last week at the Charlotte rally where Hillary Clinton came to stump for Sen. Kay Hagan's re-election. (I live-Tweeted -- my new career?) I know, I need more buttons and more blue to complete the look, but I've gotten a start, especially with the Catawba County Dem Women t-shirt.

So, off to work the polls, where here in this conservative county if you offer a Republican information about Democrat candidates the reaction can make you feel as if you just said, "Would you like a vial of Ebola virus?"

Back to fishing.  For votes. For good candidates and fair-minded judges.

Have Glove Will Travel

It’s hard to play catch with a tree. So, my practice is unidirectional. I pick out a spot on our old elm and aim for it. Now, if I had a partner like my softball-playing daughter, she could lean, jump, or stretch to catch my not-quite-on-target throws. 

The tree stands tall in apparent disdain of my amateur attempts. The ball returns toward me about once for every three, okay, four, throws. Mostly, the trees spins the ball off at cockeyed angles, or, worse yet, deep into the bushes.

Today, I am the retriever in the family. Our dog, who in her prime was better at ball than I ever was, watches me with Chessie bemusement.

This weekend will be a ball, with a game, a reunion with dear friends, and a wedding. Before the couple exchanges their vows, they are planning a softball game. One team will be the folks who would sit on the left side, if the wedding were to be in a church, with the groom’s men and women on the other team.

Piper and the ball-eating bush

I’m in training. Well, as much as a 64-year-old, who just discovered there’s little cartilage left in her knees, can train. But, I love the game. I was my daughter’s first coach. That was fun – pitching for contact to seven-year-olds. Another good memory is when my now-husband came with me to an office picnic. He still tells the story of my first at-bat and all the men (likely from the airline’s marketing department) moving toward the infield. Meanwhile, Shirley, the tallest and most outspoken member of the legal department, motions them back toward the outfield and belts out, “She can hit!”

And, I could. My bat connected and my ball sailed over scheduling and pricing department heads.

Sweet.

Yet, there’s more to this weekend’s gathering than softball that has me questioning my abilities. I cannot count how many published authors will be there. Books, articles, essays, and more; genres and mediums that didn’t exist when I was their age. Prestigious outlets and imprints. Heck, I’m bringing my lefty glove and books to autograph.

This brings up a frequent question. Do I have a book in me? I know I can write. After all, I’ve ghosted speeches and op-ed articles (with respectable placements) and written numerous articles (okay, it’s easy to get a placement when you’re FAA Safety Briefing’s managing editor or you’re the one in charge of USAir Magazine). Yet, I did start my writing career with a personality profile in Northern Virginia People and a demanding editor who told me my early draft sounded like I was in love with my subject. I was not. I was in love with writing and the idea of being published.

But, as Kevin Costner’s character called the major leagues in “Bull Durham,” I’ve never been in “the show.” I haven’t written a book, much less published one.

Now that I’m retired and have the time, I wonder if I have a story to tell? A story worth telling.

I don’t know. 

Right now, I know I’m too busy. There are other things I want to try. My top priority is having something worth saying when I stand in front of a couple dozen students next semester in COMM 4101, Speechwriting, at Appalachian State University.

And, as readers of this blog may have noticed, I’m also working furiously to help Democrats get elected in North Carolina on Nov. 4.

Hey, I just got published this morning. The Hickory Daily Record published my letter to the editor about three Democrats running for local offices and why they deserve Hickory’s support.

That is satisfying. It’s almost like connecting and getting on base with a solid hit. I’ll take it. I’m still a player, even if my knees are a little creaky.

Let's Face It

Paul Simon famously wrote and sang there are “Fifty Ways to Leave your Lover.”

Slip out the back, Jack. Hop on the bus, Gus. Drop off the key, Lee.

But, about the leaving – how do you communicate it? In this modern era, there are at least fifty ways to tell your lover you’re leaving.

Post it on Instagram, Sam. Send an email, Dale.  Just write a Tweet, Pete.

And, as difficult as it is to break up, I expect these methods – and other impersonal ways like them (think Facebook relationship status update) –  are used to signal an end.

Today, there are so many new ways to communicate, including the ones mentioned above and likely many more my contemporaries and I haven’t even heard of. We boomers come from a simpler time and fewer methods, e.g., telephones, letters, and cards. (Note:  I am still the queen of postcards.)

Oh, and face-to-face conversations. Remember those?

Communication is much on my mind as I do volunteer work for the upcoming election and as I prepare to teach a spring semester class on speechwriting at Appalachian State University.

As for the election, we have a high energy Forward NC campaign coordinator in our county. He’s working hard for the reelection of Sen. Kay Hagan. This campaign worker is so persuasive it’s hard to tell him “No.” But it’s a firm “No” I give him and anyone else when asked to make phone calls for candidates. I dislike talking on the phone with strangers, but I will canvass up and down hills and traverse confusing steps and sidewalks to talk face-to-face with voters.

Unlike on the telephone, with door-knocking you can read the person’s body language and use your own body language and enthusiasm and conversational gambits, such as “I love your garden!” to start a conversation, engage the voter, and, yes, sometimes persuade.

Get-out-the-vote (GOTV) research confirms my anecdotal evidence. According to the Yale UniversityInstitution for Social and Policy Studies, “door-to-door canvassing was the most consistently effective and efficient method of voter mobilization…the success of canvassing could be attributed to the personal, face-to-face delivery of the GOTV messages.”

Personal, face-to-face delivery brings me to speeches and their delivery. 

With all the new media and YouTube videos and more, are speeches going the way of Ma Bell and landline telephones?  

No. 

Oratory is alive and well. There’s still something to be said about “being there” and hearing a person, especially a good speaker at a big forum on an important occasion (fellow Tar Heels, think Rev. Dr. William Barber II and the crowds who gather at Moral Monday gatherings).  

Rev. Dr. William Barber II, Moral Monday in the Mountains, Aug. 2014

Standing alone in front of a room, on a dais, or on some other platform and speaking dates back thousands of years. The eloquent ones endure.  How many years ago did Martin Luther King Jr. tell hundreds of thousands on the Washington Mall that he had a dream?

Well-crafted and well-delivered speeches are still a powerful way to communicate and persuade. I’m reading Lend Me Your Ears, Great Speeches in History, compiled by word maven and former presidential speechwriter William Safire. The collection includes a speech Safire gave at Syracuse University in 1978 decrying the telephone as the subverter of good English. He told the graduates clear thought and logical argumentation requires time, preparation, and not ad-libbing by quickly responding to a ringing telephone.

Nineteen-seventy-eight:  Jimmy Carter was president and the phone company was a monopoly.  Something on your wrist, it told time.

What would Mr. Safire say today?

We cannot know since the Pulitzer Prize winning pundit and observer died in 2009.  

But, here’s what he said in his preface to the 2004 edition of his compendium. “I used to be a writer. My son, a Web site analyst, calls me a ‘content provider.’”

Today, you can be both a writer and a content provider.  Even with all the ways to communicate – content still comes first.

For speechwriters and speakers, Safire’s collection of oratory -- from exhortations to eulogies -- includes encouraging words:

“Human beings will continue to seek leadership or instruction through the speaking voice of another person who presents a position in an organized and persuasive fashion.”

An organized and persuasive fashion. That’s the point of artful speechwriting, which, coupled with great delivery, can move mountains and minds.

Let’s face it: What we need for the spoken word to remain alive and well is a new generation of stewards to care about logic and clarity. That’s one reason I am looking forward to working with young writers next year in COM 4101: Speechwriting.

Going Home

I told our daughters, when explaining the change in destination for our retirement move, “If your father has friends, I’ll be fine.”

We had shifted gears from building a new home in Maryland to buying an old house in North Carolina. Instead of joining long-time friends in Havre de Grace, we were following great neighbors to Hickory.  At one point it seemed as if we were only considering places that started with “H.”  Our older daughter quipped, “How about Havana?”

We didn’t know anyone in Havana, for one. Two, these neighbors were proven. We liked living across the street from them. Why not continue the proximity and its benefits? Good neighbors seemed a great assurance policy for striking out for unfamiliar territory.

In turn, our neighbors had followed friends of their own to North Carolina. Why not populate a Tar Heel street with like-minded Old Dominion transplants?  We could be a modern-day commune -- separate houses, but joint activities.

My husband, a solitary man, likes and enjoys the once and current neighbors as well as their friends, the earlier settlers or “founding family.” In my part of the calculation to head south by southwest, I figured my husband having “fellowship” so convenient could help ease his transition.

So, that’s how I explained it to our puzzled daughters who asked, “What? Hickory? Where? North Carolina?”

As for me, I knew I would need more than neighbors.  Not hordes of people, but as an EFNP (Myers Briggs shorthand) I am an extrovert, and like all those other “Es,” I get energy from other people. At my last job I hated it when my E supervisor was away. I’d tell her, “Find me a battery charger for while you’re gone.”

As an extrovert, I knew I would be the one in our couple who would likely fare better in meeting people and making new friends.  I just didn’t realize just how hard it would be.

I know the advice about joining groups, volunteering, taking classes, and more, but starting over in a new place in your 60s and finding friends is a lot like dating.  Further, there’s no assist from work or your children’s schools and activities. On top of that, our dog is no longer a puppy. You can meet a lot of people when walking an adorable dog in training.

Like dating, you’ve got to put yourself out there. I’ve gone to lunches. Some more successful than others. (Others, wildly successful. New friend, you know who I’m talking about.) I’ve gone to meetings. Again, mixed results. I’ve also gone to gyms (2) and yoga studios (2).

Yet, anything worth doing takes time. Like so many women, I place great value on female friendships. Women are blessed with something in our brains or hormones or both (pick your study)

that helps us seek and value non-romantic relationships and support networks. The anecdotal evidence and research is clear, if you have friends you have less stress, more joy, and live longer and healthier. 

So, I keep at it. I am lucky that there is a cause here that really caught my attention (“Blue” readers will know what I’m talking about.) There are many great women working on getting out the vote.  After months of meetings and miles of canvassing, last week was a breakthrough in my acceptance that I am becoming a Tar Heel.

As I was driving home from visiting my husband in the hospital (he’s home and okay), I realized that I hadn’t told any of my DC-area friends about what was going on. Over the past year, we’ve had some medical ups and downs in our family (dog included). Each time, I reached out to DC-area women friends for support.

This time, I shared the news with new friends. They rallied with support -- texts, calls, and concern -- and freshly baked bread.

While I miss my old friends, and always will, now I have more friends and nearby battery chargers. 

It’s beginning to feel a lot like home.

My Next Project

I am wonderful. I can do no wrong, no matter what I do or say. I am smart, witty, sweet, and every other flattering adjective you can imagine.

On whose authority do I say this?

My dog’s, of course.

Piper, who is approaching age 13, or age 65, according to the online conversion calculator, knows all things. Can’t you just see the wisdom in those near Medicare-eligible eyes?

I admit. I am as smitten with Piper as she is with me. She is inarguably the world’s best dog. My husband is my best friend. Piper is president of my fan club (see first paragraph).

This week’s blog entry was going to be about the interpersonal dynamics of volunteer organizations, more appropriate to a blog called Retirement and Relocation since so many retirees volunteer. But, writing about the world’s finest canine companion is a far more pleasing topic.

No one, at least no one who knows Piper, can dispute that.

On that other topic, it’s challenging to work with people, no matter the setting. Yes, volunteer work can be extremely gratifying because you are working for a cause or a belief. But, then, that only makes the stakes higher.

Speaking of stakes, Piper loves steaks and all treats and anything our neighbor gives her. Fortunately, she grew out of her Styrofoam peanut phase.

A new favorite, among many favorites, is ground up chicken parts from  a vendor at the local farmer’s market. I gave her some one morning; she now expects it, no, in her Chessie way, demands it, every morning.

Chesapeake Bay Retrievers are insistent and vocal. I cannot begin to spell the ah-roooooooo noise I hear if moving too slowly when getting the ground chicken. Usually, as you can see, she cooperates when I ask her to pose, but ah-rooing on demand for a video to capture the sound, that’s where the stubbornness of her breed comes in.

I tried. I will try again. And, she will refuse again.

Thirteen years ago when Piper joined our family we heard the saying, “You tell a Golden Retriever what to do; you ask a Lab; and you negotiate with a Chessie.”

Piper and my husband and Piper and I have had many negotiations. But, “Will work for food,” is usually effective.  When she and I were younger, Pup-Peroni treats helped her learn the agility course. Turns out the handler needs to be agile, too. We should have done our coursework when we were both younger.

Now, in our “golden” years, our walks are shorter, naps more frequent. We sit and savor more. In good weather and warm water, I take her to the nearby lake for

hydrotherapy for her atrophied muscles. Still, she remains my shadow, resting nearby as I work or waiting just inside the door when I am out.

There are so many great essays, books, and quotations about dogs. I like this one from Arthur Conan Doyle, whose fictional detective had remarkable powers of perception:  “A dog reflects the family life. Whoever saw a frisky dog in a gloomy family, or a sad dog in a happy one? Snarling people have snarling dogs, dangerous people have dangerous ones.”

Mr. Doyle, dog lovers know their animal companions can lift gloom. And, Piper helps complete us. Look at all those therapy dogs visiting hospitals, special needs centers, and nursing homes.

This time last year, I was coming home to an empty house. My husband was in the hospital recovering from surgery, the neighbors with the treats were keeping Piper.

My worries were heavy as I fetched Piper, but my mood lifted. I had a constant and loyal companion who is confident that I am remarkable and worthy. And, yes, I know other people have dogs who are also wonderful. But, Piper is the best.

There is more to this story, however. It’s not all about devotion. I need to get more serious about following the advice on those cards and stickers and try to become the person my dog thinks I am.

Dedicated to Galahad, a best friend's best friend.

A Tale of Two Centuries, or My Head is Exploding

My head is exploding. I have unwittingly posted duplicate updates on my group’s Facebook page. Thanks to me, the group also has two YouTube accounts. One is enough. Two is too many. And, now, I’m supposed to start Tweeting for the organization.

Can I be trusted with new media?

I ‘m doubtful with this track record. Before I retired last year, I half joked (what my husband calls “kidding on the square”) that I was faking it in the 21^st century. Most of my colleagues were years, even decades, younger than I. My Generation X boss ran a communications shop that tactically and artfully exploited new media. I faked it as well as I could – after all, a message is a message however it is delivered, but, thankfully, I wasn’t the one live Tweeting and uploading photos from a crash site.

My entire career was in communications. And, boy, I saw changes. In 1973, I started as a newsletter editor writing, editing, and proofreading articles; taking, developing, and cropping photographs; sending copy to be typeset and then doing paste-up using a drawing table and a T-Square.

Typos were hell. Wite-Out became my generation’s revolutionary development.

Maybe some of these words and terms are as foreign to Millennials as their terms are to we Baby Boomers.

I know I am a digital immigrant. Our two grown daughters, who would help if they lived nearby, are digital natives, a term coined by Marc Prensky in 2001.

Even more native than our 20-something daughters is the 18-year-old I met with the other day to get coaching on social media. OMG. I was floored with her high tech savvy and skills and better yet, for me, her ability to communicate her abilities to me.

Watch out, world.

I have two goals in learning to use new media. One, I must if our organization is to reach young people (or we need a Millennial to step up and work with the old farts) and, two, I believe those articles about how you can retain cognitive abilities if you make your brain do new things. I gave up doing Crossword puzzles; they weren’t new and I was so bad. Now, my new-brain activities include online games, like Words Free and Scramble, and, oh, social media. And, yes, I frequently feel like my head is exploding.

Yet, maybe that exploding feeling is all those underused neurons firing and forging new pathways. Here’s some solace I found on the Internet this morning. I took an online quiz on  “HowMillennial Are You?” and scored a 68. Millennials come in at 73 and Baby Boomers at 11. If I went out today and got a tattoo and a non-earlobe body piercing, maybe I could inch closer to 73.

But, would a nose ring and Taurus zodiac tattoo help me delete that extra YouTube account?

Not likely. It’s probably time to use the time-honored “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” approach.

Or, follow W.C. Fields’s advice. To that bromide he added, “Then quit. There’s no need to be a damn fool about it.”