Not looking back!

I have retired this blog. The title no longer applies. I'm no longer in my 50s and I may be creeping up to being older than dirt. I don't know. But I wanted to give one last post to say fairwell to my 50s and say hello to the spectacular life I'm living at 60.

It's been six weeks since I pulled the plug on my day job. I feel like I'm getting away with something by not punching in every day. I've had a steady paycheck since I was 14 when my dad put me on the payroll. Dad and Mom believed that the best way to prepare for adulting was to learn how to manage your money early. With receiving a paycheck, I got my own checkbook and learned how to balance it every month. My parents didn't dole out any extra money. I was expected to budget what I earned to pay for my own clothes and activities and save for college. It was the best thing my parents ever did for me.

I continued to work all through college. When I moved to California, I got my first grownup job. Since then, the only time I have been unemployed was the three weeks after we moved back to Minnesota. I got a job as a temporary at Mayo Clinic and then was hired on as a permanent employee after a few weeks.

I realize how much a person's life is dictated by their work schedule and, even before that, a school schedule. All through school, I dreaded when I'd have to return at the end of summer. And once I was punching in at a job, no matter if I were on vacation, had a day off or out on maternity leave, I always had that niggling thought of the day I'd have to go back to work.

A lot of people claim they love their job. I truly liked my job, but I love my life way more. There is a reason a job is called work. My life outside work is a lot more fun.

Over the years I've watched coworkers have a really difficult time making the decision to retire. It seemed they were fearful--I'm not sure why. I had no fears. It is what I expected it to be... freedom!

But I can't truthfully say I'm fully retired. I'm just not working. My new career doing my art does not feel like work at all. I am supplementing our income with what I truly love and have been extremely busy with art commissions and sales since my official last day on the job.

I told my husband I couldn't think of one thing I miss about my job. I didn't dislike what I did and there was satisfaction of helping people, but the actual tasks I performed I don't miss. I think over the years I became fairly competent with performing invasive procedures on people, but do I miss sticking a needle in someone's arm? Nope. Never plan to jab a person again.

The part of my job I enjoyed the most was the relationships I made with our donors, but I continue to speak with and see the donors with whom I became close friends. I will keep up with coworker friends on Facebook and we will not doubt meet up occasionally.

I guess there is one thing. I am not as active as I was when I was up and moving around at my job. Just by walking from my car to my building and taking short walks during my breaks and after I got home, it was fairly easy to get in 10,000 steps each day. Now, I am sitting at my desk painting much of the day. It's winter and icy so not easy to take a walk outside. I need to take breaks and do some short workouts, otherwise I'll be a jelly belly in no time at all.

Dave is having more major medical issues, unfortunately. It's another reason I am grateful to be retired. I don't have to worry about getting a day off or having to take an occurence to take him to appointments. I hope to be more available to watch grandkids when my girls are in a pinch too.

So there you have it. Life is good. I know I was a bit annoyed when I'd hear people gloating about their retirement while I will slogging my way to work every day. But, there's hope peeps. Keep your eyes on the prize. In the meantime, enjoy what you do, but know you won't have to do it forever. Unless you want to... And, then I'd ask why you would!

If I start another blog, I have to think of another title. Open to suggestions!

Happy New Year, friends. 

My experience with breakthrough Covid. A lesson in humility.

Thursday I turned 59. My birthday present this year was a positive test result for Covid.

I started to get a headache the last hour of my shift on Wednesday. I dismissed it as not having enough coffee. I noticed too that my throat was a little sore. I told my coworker we had been yacking so much my vocal chords were strained.

I wondered if I was getting sick. I doubted it. At the beginning of lockdown, I had felt rundown several times and was paranoid I had Covid. But the feeling always passed within the day. I realized this Covid business had made me so hyper alert to any quirky pain that I was quickly becoming a hypochondriac.

In the 18-plus months since the initial lockdown, I and my family had avoided the dreaded Covid.  When the vaccines became available to health workers, I jumped at the chance. I was looking forward to being around my 84-year-old mother without guilt.

Originally, the vaccines were to greatly decrease your chance of serious disease, being hospitalized or dying. As it turned out, the vaccines proved even more effective than anticipated. Very few who had been vaccinated were contracting the illness.

Epidemiologists urged everyone to get vaccines as soon as they were eligible. If the majority of the population were vaccinated, it would mitigate the risk of the virus mutating and we could get to the other side of this thing and back to life. They were not sure if the vaccines would have the same efficacy against future variants.

By summer cases had dropped significantly. I think people, including myself, thought Covid would be old news. I had obsessively checked the Minnesota Public Health for daily updates on number of positive cases in our county. By mid summer, numbers were in the single digits. There were even days when zero positive cases were recorded.

I had been cavalier from the beginning. I am embarrassed to say I confidently proclaimed Covid was wildly overblown. I wasn’t scared.

But then Delta emerged as a new variant. Cases began to rise again and the vaccines were becoming less efficient in preventing breakthrough cases. Still the data showed the vaccines were effective in decreasing severity and length of illness. In other words, they were keeping people out of the hospital and dying. I had developed a healthy respect for the virus, but I felt I wasn’t at risk. I have no underlying health problems. I’d like to lose a few pounds, but I didn’t think I was at an unhealthy weight.

So, when I got home last Wednesday with the start of a fever and a continued sharp headache, I wasn’t that concerned. I didn't have Covid. I had been vaccinated. But, I called in to work for the next day, just so I wouldn’t pass on any other bug I might have.

Through the night my symptoms worsened. My fever had me alternating between shivering and changing nightgowns from drenching sweat. The only thing that gave me relief was soaking in a hot bath. I took three long baths through the night.

I got tested the next morning, my birthday. As I waited through the day for results, I told myself my chances for being negative were 92 percent. The daily positively rate was 8 percent. I was sure I’d be in the 92 percent, even though by this time my symptoms were continuinally worsening—a terrible pressure headache, sore throat, stuffy nose, body aches, and fever. But I still had my sense of taste and smell.

It wasn’t until 8:00 I finally saw the result. 

SARS CoV-2 RNA, PCR  - Detected

I had Covid. No way. I guess I shouldn't have been shocked, but I was. I had no idea where I had picked it up. I hadn't been around very many people, other than work and we all wear masks and socially distance. 

I was humbled by being wrong in my previous convictions. I wasn’t invincible after all. I got sick despite being vaccinated. I didn’t want to share the information publicly for fear that it would further entrench people’s positions that vaccines don’t work.  Well, they hadn’t worked for me in not getting infected, but I felt pretty strongly they’d keep me from getting severely sick.

I received a call the next day from Employee Health and Minnesota Public Health. I was impressed by the streamlined process of reporting and communication. Every single person I talked to was courteous, kind, and compassionate. I wondered how often they had to do this every day.

Even though I felt I would be fine, I was surprised by how sick I was. I hadn’t slept the night before. I had the classic Covid headache which has been described as a severe whole head pressure pain. But, just for a fun little twist, my teeth hurt. The kind of pain when you are desperate for a root canal. Maybe it was just an unhappy coincidence that I had a bad tooth. More likely, it was just another weapon in this bug’s arsenal. I was grossed out by the thought all this came from a dang bat. Not natural.

I received an e-mail that I was qualified for receiving monoclonal antibodies because I was in a higher risk group for serious infection. Linked was a video that was helpful in explaining the process and how the infusion worked. I called the number provided to get more information.. The nurse who answered my call was thorough in explaining the process and told me that the antibodies had been remarkably effective in decreasing the amount of time of recovery and greatly lowering the chances of becoming severely sick. It was only effective though if given while the symptoms were mild or moderate. If I began to have respiratory symptoms, it would be too late to be beneficial.

I was curious why I was considered high risk. She said the only thing she could see was that I was just slightly over the BMI. I actually weighed less than I had when my weight had been recorded at my last doctor’s appointment. I probably was in the BMI parameters, but I wasn’t arguing. I was more than ready to sign up. Bring on the antibodies. I wanted to get this thing over with as soon as possible. The nurse ended the conversation assuring me that because I had been vaccinated my chances were greatly improved for a good outcome.

I was instructed that when I arrived to the appointment to stay in my car and call the number to be let into the building. The nurse who answered asked how I was walking. I wondered why she’d be asking, but thought it was standard protocol to see if I were a fall risk. I told her I could walk fine. She told me she’d meet me at the door.

From there, every nurse with whom I interacted was exceptional. Each was very kind, empathetic, and patient in explaining the process and answering my questions. One nurse said they saw a remarkable difference in how sick people became. The difference being the vaccinated walked into the building on their own accord. The unvaccinated were often so weak they couldn’t stand and had to be wheeled in. Thus the question about whether I could walk, I guess. She said that the Covid ICU was full of patients, almost entirely unvaccinated. 

The staff seemed genuinely sad about how sick these patients became. I heard from several they did not judge people’s opinions. One of the nurses said it was humbling. None of us has the answers. It’s prideful to think that we do.

That resonated with me. I had waffled on my position on the seriousness of the pandemic from the beginning… even saying before it arrived in the US that it would be a nothing burger. I had gone back and forth from being paranoid to thinking it was wildly overblown, often being very vocal in sharing my opinions.

I realize how incredibly lucky I was not to have gotten Covid last year, before I was vaccinated and treatments were still being developed. My symptoms were on par with the worst case of flu I’ve ever had. I was miserable with Covid, but I never had life-threatening symptoms. The virus didn’t reach my lungs where the real damage is done.  

The infusion lasted 20 minutes. I was to stay another hour to make sure that I had no reaction.

The nurse who removed my port said I would be feeling much improved in the next day or so. After she removed the port, she shook her head, “This Covid. It’s been a long road.” Then she smiled, “We’ll get through it.”

The nurses who helped me were an example of grace, humility and compassion.  As the nurse walked me to the door, I asked when her shift was over.  She said that normally they would be done, but it was critical to infuse patients early on. They were continuing appointments into the evening and had a full Saturday.

I didn’t bound out of bed the next day completely recovered like I optimistically thought I would. I had another day of on-and-off fevers and nausea. Today I am weak from being in bed for four days and have a lingering headache, but I feel much improved. The fever, nausea and body aches are gone. I still need to isolate in the house for the next week and stay away from Dave. I think we're already getting a little cagey.

I have been humbled. I’m done making judgments on how this virus is being managed. Despite our biases one way or another, I believe people’s intentions are good. I am grateful to live here and I appreciate the access to excellent medical care. Has the pandemic been handled perfectly? Of course not. Humans will never get it perfectly right. Mistakes were made early on and messaging may not have been the best, but this has been an overwhelming burden to those who are leading the fight against it. We've come a long way in learning how to treat it. 

I hope I can exhibit the grace that was extended to me.

I haven't posted in this "Older than 50 but Younger than Dirt" blog for quite a while. Next year, the title will no longer apply. I'll be 60--closer to the dirt side I would think.

In a pandemic, just keep swimming.

I've been trying to look at the positives during Crazy Covid. I actually started a list. Ironically, Pastor Nick ended his message this morning by challenging us to set our minds on things we can be grateful for during this time of uncertainty and angst. I took up my list again and revised it. Here are the unexpected benefits of living with this pandemic.

• Skipping the makeup. It makes no sense to wear makeup when it's going to end up melting into the lining of your mask. Besides, half my face is covered and my glasses are fogged, so no one knows what I look like anyway. It's not a bad thing.
• Keeping my coffee breath to myself. I no longer go through a  pack a day of gum. Again, masks have their benefits.
• Doing livestream church while having coffee and biscotti with my husband on the comfy couch. For good or for bad, this is something I’ll miss when we physically start attending church again.
• Facetiming and getting snaps from the grandkids. I have to put in one bummer here. We have missed out on seeing our grands. But the snaps help.
• Living in a small town.  People are relaxed here and not scared of one another. There isn’t mayhem in the streets. Our local grocery store had toilet paper when no one else did.
• Becoming a tribe with my co-workers during the lockdown. For months, we were it. When you see no one other than your family and your co-workers, you get tight.
• Reconnecting with our church friends from California. Since March the pastor we had at the Vineyard started online devotions every morning at 8:00. Several of our friends from the Vineyard tune in to Devos with P. Bob as well. Pastor Bob’s messages have been so encouraging and refreshing to us.
• Becoming closer to family members. The sibs and I are more intentional in reaching out to one another. It was rare that I talked to my brothers on the phone. Now, it’s become a thing we do every week. 
• Painting! Grateful for the timing of taking up art again. I joined a Facebook watercolor group. Have loved learning from and sharing with other artists.
• Keeping it in perspective. It’s so easy to become frustrated, anxious and even angry by everything going on. It's good to remember God has human history in His hands. It takes discipline to put our eyes where they need to be and  to choose gratitude. 

Keep going friends. Wherever this leads us, like Dory on Finding Nemo, we need to just keep swimming.

The Lion and the Lamb

I draw realistic portraits with charcoal and pencil. The results are gratifying, but truthfully the process is slow, laborious and painstaking. I have quite the crick in the neck after I've been scrunched over a drawing for an entire day.

But, now watercolor. It looks so loose, free and easy. For months I've been trying to learn watercolor from Youtube tutorials. Not so easy after all. I've found it really hard, quite frustrating actually.  I've made one hot mess after another. 

I spend almost every Saturday painting. I start out so positive. I am going to do spectacular paintings. I make coffee, get my supplies situated, and put on Pandora.  I roll up my sleeves, then stare at my paper. For a very long time.

The thing is I'm not all that creative or original. I'm used to drawing realistically with precision from a reference photo. You can't do realistic or precise with watercolor. It has a mind of its own.  When I finally start something, I don't know when to quit. I've ruined the majority of paintings by overworking them. The results look like kindergarten finger paintings.

I keep telling myself I'm done with watercolor. So many frustrations, so many fails. But, surprisingly, I've returned later to some of my fails and realize they're not that bad. Whether they're good or bad or ho hum, I tape each to my wall. Well, some of the really, really bad ones, I turn over and use for practice paper. (Watercolor paper isn't cheap.)

Today I painted bunnies on cards for each of our granddaughters. They seemed to like them or at least they liked the five dollars that was in the card.

Tonight before bed I wanted to paint something spectacular to capture the majesty of the resurrection of Christ. The painting I did is less than spectacular, but I'll share it anyway--straight out of my watercolor pad. (Please don't laugh.)

The Lion and the Lamb...His humility on the cross and his power in conquering death.  

Happy Easter everyone! And, now I gotta go to bed. 

The conquering Lion of Judah and the Lamb who was slain. Rev. 5:5-6

Chance meeting

Sometimes it’s worth looking up from your phone to look at the person sitting right next to you.

A number of weeks ago, I took a trip to see a good friend in Oklahoma. It had been a long brutally cold winter in Minnesota. I had been feeling very heavy-hearted over a situation. I was looking forward to getting away, leaving the polar vortex and flying south, even if it was just to Oklahoma and not Florida. It was in the right direction anyway and bound to be warmer.

When I checked my bag, the lady behind the counter gave me a different seat than what I had been assigned when I checked in online the night before. I didn’t ask why; I didn’t much care as long as the seat wasn’t way in the back by the bathrooms.

Flying used to be more of a pleasure than it is today. Now, you basically just hope to survive the trip without any major hassles.  People generally don’t converse with one another like they used to. Keeping their heads down, most people's eyes are on their phones or some other device. Someone had told me that when he travels for work he doesn’t want to talk. He gets busy working or takes a nap so he can be left alone.

With that in mind, I made my way back to 18D. It was the last seat on the plane by the bathrooms. Oh, well. There was a young woman in the seat next to mine. I wouldn’t bug her. I was going to put in my ear buds and watch Youtube.

I still had this heavy, anxious feeling. I had been praying about it, but the feeling wouldn’t leave.

Thankfully, this young woman didn’t follow the no-talk rule and reached out.

Before I put in my ear buds, she smiled and struck up a conversation. At first we talked about the usual stuff…the extreme weather we’d been having, where we lived, who we were going to visit. She was a single mom and was from North Dakota. She told me about her business which she was considering expanding, but was praying about it. She wanted to be flexible with her time to be with her son.

I saw the book she was reading, “Kingdom Kids.”  I asked if she was a Christian. She was.  For the next hour she proceeded to tell me her story. As she shared, the heaviness started to lift.  Her words were exactly what I needed to hear at that moment.

I told her I felt God had arranged our meeting. She agreed.  I told her I wasn’t even supposed to be in this seat. She laughed and said her seat had changed at the last minute too.

As our plane was landing, God nudged me to offer to draw her son. 

"Snow Day"

Here’s a drawing of Jace, and his friend, Tatum.  Thank you, Sarah, for being a light.

Blessings to you,

Jacci

The Art of Observation

This last year I took up doing art again.  My niche is drawing portraits with charcoal and graphite pencil. I especially love drawing children's faces.

After I shared a few of my first drawings on Facebook, I was surprised when people started asking me to do their children and grandchildren. I was hesitant at first; I didn’t want to disappoint anyone if the drawing turned out badly. But I guess people have been happy because I’ve been very busy doing commissioned drawings ever since.

I don’t think of myself as especially artistic. I think of an artist as someone who designs, decorates, or does crafts. I’m not good at any of these things. I freeze up at T.J.Maxx just picking out throw pillows. I’m a disaster with a glue gun in my hands.

I’m more like a human copy machine. I draw what is already there as realistically as possible.  I can draw an animal freehand. It doesn’t have to be exact. A cow is a cow. But drawing people’s faces is laborious. I use a ruler and a grid to get the proportion right. If it doesn’t look right, I will hold it over the reference photo to see where I’ve gone wrong. If I am off even an eighth of an inch, the baby I’m drawing can end up looking a lot like Winston Churchill.

My skill lies in being a good observer. I am obsessive in the details.  My favorite part is drawing the eyes. Get the eyes right and you've captured the soul. My drawings take between six and eight hours. Sometimes more, especially if I don’t have a clear reference photo. It’s really difficult to fill in the blanks if I can’t see the details.

I’ll keep working on perfecting the drawing until I’m happy with it. Or until I force myself to be done, spraying it with fixative so I can't make any more changes.

While I’m drawing, I often think of the supreme and ultimate artist. I get just a very small glimpse of the delight God must have felt when He made us. Genesis 1:27 says God created human beings in His own image—His likeness. Crazy.

There are lots of verses about God making us perfect, one being James 1:4. “And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

That’s always stumped me. I know Jesus is perfect, and once we’ve accepted Him God sees us through His righteousness and perfection.  But we ourselves aren’t perfect. We'll continue to mess up right until the end.

Since I've been drawing, I've gotten a better understanding of God perfecting us.  God is the original and ultimate artist. He's the potter; we’re the clay.  If we yield to His hands, we begin to look more like Him. He continues to mold us. Our desires change, our actions change, our love grows. We’ll never be perfect this side of heaven, but we’re a work of art (albeit messy at times) on which He is putting the finishing touches.  So cool.

Fifty Shades of Greige

Painting has become a kind of compulsion for me. I’ve painted our house a ridiculous amount of times. Since we built our home 15 years ago, most of the rooms have been painted at least three times; Paige’s old room five.  Maybe I’m spending too much time at home looking at the walls, because I’m thinking about painting again.

The family room downstairs started out white, then was changed to a color I can’t quite describe—it matched the couch I bought off Craigslist.  I got rid of the couch and the rest of the furniture and repainted the downstairs before Paige and Matt moved in with us. They ended up staying three weeks and then Matt was offered a new job and they moved to Madison. Fortunately, the taupe we chose for the family room matched the new furniture we bought to replace what we had cleared out.   

I wasn’t able to live with the seafoam green though in what was going to be the nursery. The color made me feel nauseous when I started using the room as my workout room.  I repainted the walls gray which turned out looking decidedly purple. The next color I chose was cream. I figured it would be a safe color, but two coats couldn’t cover the four layers of color underneath. That room really should be done again. 

Amber and Paul helped me repaint the kitchen in 2011, a shade of green Amber chose that looks good with the oak cabinets. I’m thinking now about changing it when we replace our damaged laminate countertop.

A few years ago I repainted the living room the same golden tan trending at the time we built the house. It now looks dated. I want to freshen things up.

Gray is the new neutral. I actually love gray, but it doesn’t go with the warm colors in our carpet, furniture and oak trim.

If only I could paint the trim and kitchen cabinets white, I could pick any wall color I wanted. But there’s no way Dave’s going to let me paint perfectly good solidly built oak cabinets. That and it would cost a small fortune not to mention be a ton of work (once I got started I’d have to do the whole house of course).

I’ve been told greige is the ticket. It’s a warm gray with beige, considered a neutral that’s supposed to go with anything. Turns out there are at least 50 shades of greige, each having its own sneaky undertones. I’ve spent hours the last few weeks researching and scouring Pinterest for the perfect one. I want to get it right.

After several trips to Benjamin Moore gathering paint chips, I bought sample pints of the top two contenders--Abalone and Revere Pewter. I did what the experts tell you to do. I painted poster board and taped them to the wall. I’m glad I did. The Abalone definitely looks lavender and the Revere Pewter looks like yesterday’s oatmeal or a dried-up mud puddle.

People ask if I like painting because I do so much of it. I actually kind of abhor painting, but after so much practice I’m pretty good at it. I swear this is the last time I’m painting the house.  Maybe I’ll have one of those online interior designers suggest one color and hire a professional to paint the entire house with it.

Or, maybe I should just quit looking at the walls and get out more. I have Pinterest paralysis.

Learning New Tricks

Recently, our department implemented a new computer system. It was a fairly major shift from what we had been using. Employees spent weeks in classes learning the new program.  Those under 40 caught on quickly. The 50-plus crowd were intimidated. Those pushing 60 talked about early retirement.

I didn't think I was that stupid, but I had to ask more questions than the younger coworkers in my class. It was irritating when one of the 20-year-olds laughed at me when I asked how to print out a screenshot. Well sorreeeey, I didn't grow up using computers. Serves me right though. I remember years ago making fun of an older lady in my work unit for how she had to stop and look over her cheaters to see the computer screen.  

Well, the system is now up and running. It turned out that it wasn't that painful. No one even turned in their retirement papers. 

So it's possible to master new things when you're no longer a young pup. I tried to think of what I've learned since being in my 50s. It was a stretch, but I did come up with a couple of things. For one, I discovered and started using the tabs at the end of the aluminum foil roll. Why doesn't anyone know about these? They're there to hold the roll in place so when you go to pull out a sheet of tin foil or plastic wrap the whole roll doesn't get yanked out and you end up with three feet of crumpled mess. How annoying is that? If you've never used these little guys before, go to your kitchen right now and pull out the tin foil. See those tabs. Push them in. Your life is going to be infinitely better from here on in, trust me.

I've also earned how to properly fold a fitted sheet. It took practicing using a YouTube video, but I finally mastered it. 

My last post was about how I was learning how to draw again. Other than doodling the backs of people's heads on the bulletin during church, I hadn't drawn since college. My daughter encouraged me to start up with my art again. I was intimidated. I didn't think I'd be very good and wouldn't stick with it. My first sketches were pretty rudimentary. I began drawing using photographs of people in magazines for reference. That way it wouldn't matter if the drawing looked like the person or not. But when I drew Morgan Freeman and it actually looked like him and not Bill Cosby, I was pleased. I set out to continue to get better.

From YouTube I've learned about using grids. Before I start a new picture, I painstakingly pencil out a grid on my paper and place another one over the photo. It's time consuming and tedious, but it's made a world of difference in getting proportion right, essential in drawing realistic faces. I somehow feel like a fraud because I don't draw fluidly and effortlessly, but I found out that most of the great masters used grids. You better believe that when Michelangelo painted The Creation of Adam on the Sistine Chapel's ceiling, he used a grid. Leonardo da Vinci regularly used grids and mathematical solutions in his drawings. So I guess if Michelangelo and da Vinci used a ruler, I can too.

Several have told me they wished they had my artistic ability. Ha! Truth is, drawing is like anything else. It takes years of practice to become skilled at anything (becoming good at playing piano, singing, writing or whatever). It's not necessarily raw talent.  It takes instruction, time and practice.  A lot of time. My drawings take at least six to eight hours, and I do much erasing and starting over.  Even though I love the process and it is immeasurably rewarding, it's still work.

I think I am a better artist now at this age than when I was younger.  I have the advantage of a lifetime of gaining perspective.  I can see things that I didn't see before. With the help of my cheaters, of course.

Hobbies and House-Husbands

Dave's been retired for three weeks, and so far it's been divine. For me anyway. Working isn't so bad if you have a house-husband. When I step through the door at night, my work is done. 

Dave's taken over almost all of the household duties. I was always the cook in the family, but now Dave starts dinner if I leave him step-by-step instructions. If there's so much as one dirty sock in the laundry basket, it will be washed, dried, matched up with its partner and put away by the time I get home. It's like magic.

He pretty much does all the grocery shopping too. He won't admit it, but I think he secretly loves shopping. He makes regular trips to Rochester when we're low on anything. I mean, anything. Like water softener salt, beef jerky or Twizzlers. Since a trip to Rochester is 50 miles round trip, the Twizzlers have become an expensive item. But I gotta give the guy a break. It's his only vice. That and watching Fox News, but that's another story. Don't get me started.

His joy though is being with the grandbabies. He'll never turn down an opportunity to be grandpa-nanny. 

So far, his retirement hasn't been a bad gig for him or for me. People ask him if he gets bored. He says no and so far hasn't been looking to start a new hobby. 

I, however, have a lot more time on my hands. After binge watching My 600 Pound Life and Intervention for Dave's first two weeks of retirement, I decided I needed the hobby.  

I used to draw. In college I majored in journalism and minored in graphic arts. By my junior year, I had a good start on developing my art portfolio. After spring semester that year, I left for California with the intent to return to Indiana in the fall. I put my things in storage at the school, all except for my art portfolio. I asked a friend to keep the art for me until I returned. Not that the art was so great, but I had put my heart and soul into it. It meant a lot to me. She promised me she'd guard it with her life.

When the summer was up, I decided to stay in California. I flew home to Minnesota, and my mom and I made the drive to Indiana to retrieve my things. The stuff I had put in storage in the basement of Martin Hall was still there. The friend with whom I left my art portfolio was not. Rumor had it that she joined a cult over the summer. I never saw her or my art work again.

The circumstances of my leaving college were painful. For a long time I had this melancholy feeling every fall when colleges started back up. I felt like I should be there. I had intended to finish college in California, but life took over. I started working, got married, had children, and put school and art on the back burner. 

After a number of years, the desire to go back to school left. I had a job I liked and didn't know what I'd rather be doing. I don't regret not having a degree but I have always had a profound sadness about losing my art work.  

Knowing this, Amber encouraged me to start painting again. She asked me to do a painting for her to hang up in their house. The idea of painting is intimidating. It's been so long, I literally don't remember how. I need to learn to draw again before I attempt a painting.

After a 34-year hiatus, I'm drawing again. I'm rusty. So far I've just been doing simple pencil sketches. My first attempts haven't been great, but that's okay. To become good at anything takes time and practice. I've got the time.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to track down the chick who took off with my art work. She probably threw it away, but you never know. Maybe it's stowed away in an attic somewhere. If I ever find her though, I'm going to throttle her.

Kicking Debt to the Curb

Last year Dave and I finally kicked debt to the curb. No more car loans, credit cards, or outstanding medical bills. We celebrated by screaming at the top of our lungs, "We're debt free!!!!" Then we sat down and ate ice cream.

We had been working on getting out of debt for a number of years. We didn't owe a ton and our payments were manageable, but we wanted to be completely out of debt by the time Dave retired. Progress was slow. It was like we were on a treadmill. One loan would get paid off and then another would inevitably take its place.

The game changer was when our daughter and her husband introduced us to Dave Ramsey. If you haven't heard of Dave Ramsey, he's kind of all over the place. Author, motivational speaker and talk show host, he educates and counsels hurting folks on how to get out of debt and gain financial freedom.

Amber and Paul were doing Dave Ramsey's debt snowball plan to pay off their college loans. Newly married and fresh out of college, they weren't making much and were living in Boston, a city with frightfully high living expenses. When their college loans first came due, reality hit hard. The combined loans would equal a monthly mortgage payment for the next 10 years, if not more. 

Amber and Paul heard about Dave Ramsey from friends who had been successful in paying off their school debt using his plan. They bought one of his books and started working the plan to attack their loans, smallest to largest. 

We kept up with their progress and cheered every time they called to say they had paid off another loan. In less than two years, they had knocked out their last payment. Their excitement was contagious. Paige and Matt went all in too and became debt free within six months.

Ours isn't nearly as impressive as the journey our kids made to become debt free. It took us longer than it should have, but we finally said enough already and got 'er done.

Dave Ramsey's just a guy. He admits that he hasn't invented anything new in the area of money. On his radio show, he often says that he gives the same financial advice your grandmother would. None of his concepts were new to me. But he's made the process simple and doable.

The best thing is you don't have to pay one cent to follow his advice. Just check out his book The Money Makeover from the library (or borrow the book I never returned to Amber). You can also watch his podcasts online or catch his radio show. Dave and I stayed motivated by listening to his show on IHeart Radio every night on the way home from work.
We're now working on Step 6 of Dave Ramsey's 7 Baby Steps.

Next week Dave's retiring on his 62nd birthday. We're not going to be rolling in the dough, but we're very happy to be out of debt and have a savings.