Some people retire and play golf, volunteer for worthy causes, spend time with the grandkids.  None of these are for me.  What calls me is The Beach.  Since putting my house on the market, I have begun to yearn for life on the beach. Beach being everywhere from Hawaii to Florida and back to Texas.  However, somehow I have come to fantasize about the beach in Italy.  A steady diet of reading books set in Naples, Amalfi and Southern Italy in general has me dreaming of sun, sea and pasta, and the lovely music of people speaking Italian. So, once I began voicing this fantasy, people actually believed I intend to actually do it.  Now it is morphing from fantasy into Plan.

That is kind of scary.  I am no stranger to travelling, travelling alone even, but travelling alone in a country in which I do not speak the language is another thing altogether.  The Internet provides hours of research, leading one to believe it is No Big Deal to wander across the planet, but the reality (seared into memory by earlier trips to foreign lands) of being in a place where not only can I not communicate in the language of the land, but people there cannot speak my language either, is a bit daunting.  The obvious solution of course is to learn Italian.  I have not shown an aptitude for any language other than English. Through four semesters of Spanish in college, a year in The Netherlands, and several vacations to Mexico I have learned about myself that I can learn to read a language and sometimes understand a few words, but I am not quick to pick up the conversational aspects.  That will be my challenge.  Memorize all the Italian words and phrases I can, then SPEAK! We shall see.

Senior-itis

In the metaphor of the grasshopper and the ant, I have always been the grasshopper.  I can sustain about three to five years in a job, house, city, etc. before it is time for a change.  The need for change is usually related to factors in my world, not just some random waking up in the morning deciding to shed my skin.  I am currently in the process of that life transition called "retirement."  Retirement doesn't just mean not working any more.  Actually I have and continue to work part time.  It also involves selling my lovely home to get something more affordable, less upkeep. But in a larger sense, it has stirred up many questions about where to move, what to do next, how do I want to spend the next phase of my life. That is the Big Question.  that next phase of my life thing.  I am recently thinking a lot about where I am on the timeline.  At 67, I vacillate between feeling timeless and feeling Old.  The reality is that although I know many people remain healthy and vibrant until they are in their 90s, I also know most of us don't.  We are not immortal, our bodies begin to function with less shall we say efficiency.  So IMHO, after 80 is pretty unpredictable.  if we are lucky, we tack along until the clock runs out. If we are not so lucky, we become much more bound to the ground.  With one parent gone at 62, the other here til 86, I figure I have a 50/50 chance of being in the lucky category, Hopefully, I've  got 10 good years   Whatever adventures I want to have in this lifetime, I need to get started. 
What usually happens at this kind of juncture is that I ruminate about things for a good while, then jump.

Stay tuned.



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The scratch of the pen on blue paper - now replaced by the click of the keys. A loss of some sensual pleasure once gained from the actual physical act of writing, replaced of course by speed and convenience - so easy to correct misspellings!  So easy to delete or cut and paste.  One of my personal favorites:  the cross out. So you can see what that original thought but know it's been changed to something better.  And of course, the access to audience!  No need to search for a publisher, or even to send paper through the mail.  More speed and convenience.  Everyone's a writer now...everyone was a writer before, but many were too lazy, too reluctant, too shy to share. Now we can twitter our every thought across the social media universe. Here's what I think.  Isn't it profound, or witty, or at the very least, interesting?

Computers and internet have exploded the lines of communication, and encouraged us to share our thoughts with others in a low risk way.  It's a good thing.  But I still pictures writers as people who sit quietly, dipping the pen in ink and scrawling the words across a page, crossing out words, lines, whole paragraphs, rethinking as they go. Occasionally wadding up the whole page and starting all over again.  Creating, sharing thoughts and feelings, sometimes offering new information but often just sparking that feeling in us of "oh yea, I remember that."