Sixty-Five Plus One

We all sparkled in celebration of turning sixty-five!

 

 

If You Can't Buy A Farmhouse Make It The Setting For Your Book

Sunlight from a skylight above makes this kitchen sparkle!

 

 

I still dream of an 1800s farm house. Not a huge house, but an old cottage with farmhouse style.  I've done changes on my own sweet ranch to turn its head in the right direction - retro to rambling cottage style. Picket fence,  old shutters, you know, the ones with the moon cut outs, old fireplace mantels on walls where there are no fireplaces.  All the charm I could find landed in my house the last months. I started a blog, first to dream about old houses, and then to share my renovations. The Cottage In My Mind was to cure me of my fixation. In fact, the last post was titled My Faux Farm. It failed. Demons still poke at me, prodding me, telling me I need a farmhouse. Realtor.com has not seen the last of me!

 

I am not moving. I do love my house now, situated in a neighborhood that is full of activity, restaurants, art, all within walking distance. But I am still haunted. Every time I see photos of cottages, farmhouses, porches, rose arbors, I sigh and ask myself, What's a gal to do?

 

I decided to do what writers do. If I couldn't live in a farmhouse, I'd write a book where my character does. The cottage farm I dream about is the setting in my new book.

 

A leap of faith on my part, I am writing a fictional thriller with a whisper of erotica. As a non-fiction memoir writer, and one who loves to write about life with dogs, this is an interesting journey for me. I am having fun living out my fantasy life - which, sadly is more in tune with the farmhouse setting than a romantic lead. I am working on my male character and looking for inspiration there!

 

The house in my book is a mix of many old houses I've looked at over the last year. Houses I couldn't afford and houses I could afford, but didn't buy, because I have six dogs that are at home here. How could I move them? I can't even get them all in my van at the same time!

 

The kitchen photo above, with the sunlight sparkling on the old brick fireplace with it's new insert, makes me melt. I could get erotic in my description on how this photo makes me feel, but I'd hate for you to see how really crazy I am!

 

And crazy is the subject of the second book I am working on. A memoir of a crazy dog lady - moi! There I am on familiar turf.

 

Two books in the works that are my presents to myself for my sixty-fifth year. It is count-down to my BIG birthday next week. Sixty-five will be my turning point, not for old age, but to do the things I've been procrastinating on! My list is growing and my mind is sparkling with so many new ideas, it may burst. If you see a trail of glitter, that could just be the remains of my over excited brain.

 

Poof!  She was such a nice gal.

 

 

An Invitation To What????

At the end of the day - it was only an invitation - not a sign from the universe I was ready to go, but a reminder of what I needed to do.



 

       I haven't even had THE BIRTHDAY yet - it is next week - you know, the really, really big one - but the universe is having fun with me I do believe. I'm listening and laughing back.

      If you know me, you know I poke at everything, even serious things. I've found humor and laughter have a way of smoothing over the rough spots. A broken heart can feel the tug of a smile. And I follow that old adage,  laughter is the best medicine. Even dark humor has a healing power, perhaps the best of all healing. Surrounded by sadness if you can make an off the wall joke a ray of light shines in all the murk.

     My caveat for humor, is it is always at my expense, not at another person. I don't make fun of others but I sure do make fun of myself. You are cordially invited to laugh with me as I do this!

    My last BIG birthday, and I categorize big birthdays as stepping stones to the years that make us reflect on life because we are crossing a threshold we've joked about, was my sixtieth. Three months before I hit that milestone, my husband died. So I met age sixty with my widow crown.  I wrote my book on that first year alone - The Unfaithful Widow - a memoir doing all those things I never thought I'd do again. My book, and my adventures that year, were my therapy. I had a choice to let the darkness take over or to find the dark humor in my situation and write my way back to a life of my own. Some days I look at my book, which I self-published in 2010, and think how quirky it is. I sounded like the little engine that could.... I think I can, I think I can. And I did.

     So next week is the big date, my sixty-fifth looms at me.  Three small, minuscule, hardly worth mentioning things happened this week. Three pokes from the universe that tickled my funny bone, and if my funny bone gets tickled, I share.

     1. My primary care physician fired me. I showed up for a routine exam, anxious to try out my new Medicare card, which was effective August lst. Friends of mine, who retired from the same federal agency I retired from, reassured me it was wonderful to have Medicare, especially with my outstanding federal insurance policy as a secondary insurance. My doctor's office - the doctor I really have never liked because when I visit her I leave feeling old, fat, and crazy (that's a story for another time) - informed me they do not take Medicare assignment, I would have to pay up front and be reimbursed by my insurance company.  A life-event about to happen.

     My reply, thinking I stood on firm ground with my excellent insurance coverage, "Then I'll have to find another doctor." I think my chest puffed out about that time, thinking I had the upper hand. A stern nurse looked at me and said "You're fired." Well, not in so many words, but a rule is a rule, and I was booted.  The good news, the universe did what I hadn't been able to do. Make me look for a doctor I might like. 

    2. Later that same afternoon I got my daily snail-mail. A lovely envelope with pale green trees in the background was saved for last. A few bills, a ton of advertisements for Medicare supplements, and then what looked to be an invitation. I was excited to open it and hoped it would be an event I would love to attend.

      "Plan now for your cremation."

      Not what I was expecting but maybe a wake up call?

      Okay. I think that sums up the quality of heath care I might be facing with my new Medicare card if I don't find the right doctor. Yes, universe, I get the message, I will find my new doctor today.

    3. The same batch of mail included an envelope addressed to my late husband. It was stamped boldly on the front, Get out of your time share forever.

      I wanted to call them and ask, "Does this mean I get him back?"


Enjoy your day and remember to laugh! I plan to.