The Time My Life Changed
(The picture above: Graduation from Western State University College of Law in Irvine, California. To my left is my son-in-law Doug Vavrick and to my right is my daughter Kathleen Quirk.)
Funny, sometimes we experience what would be life-changing events, and we know that in an instant. Sometimes we don’t realize the effect these events have until much later. In my life, the latter led to the former.
When I was in ninth grade, our teacher, Mrs. McLaughlin, had us do a four-year plan of the classes we would take so that we met the requirements for graduation. I filled mine with the required courses, typing, shorthand, and bookkeeping. Mrs. “M” pointed out that I had no college prep classes. I immediately commented that no one in my family would go to college.
She replied that she hated to see a smart student not at least prepare for college. Smart? Me? No one ever told me that I was smart.
So I did take typing and shorthand, but I also took Latin, geometry, and debate! That would be lifesaving for me as I eventually went to college. Without that, the most incredible life-changing event could never have happened.
Many years later—in 1992, I was fifty years old. My daughter had just graduated from college (there was no doubt MY daughter would go to college) and was considering law school as her dad had. Law school? Wait a minute. Did I miss a turn? I wanted that when I graduated from high school. But I was talked out of it because I was a girl.
At the time, I could be a secretary, nurse, homemaker, or teacher. My clerical skills were nonexistent. I worked in a hospital and could not become a nurse. No one was offering me the job of homemaker. I became a teacher instead. Here I saw skipping a generation from my dream.
I was living in Orange County, California, and wanted my daughter to move there. I mentioned there was this private, for-profit law school down the street. “Let’s go in and get a catalog,” I said naively. I have always likened it to going into one of those pushy gyms where if you went in to get a catalog, you came out a member.
Well, one of us did become a member. Only it was not my daughter. I was now, at age fifty, officially a law student. My life had changed forever.
And the rest is history. All because of Mrs. McLaughlin.
So It’s New Year’s Eve – Must Say Something Meaningful
How many New Year’s Eves has it been? I remember the year I said that I had no expectations of anything happening in the coming year. Funny, before the year was over, I was married. The one and only marriage I have ever had. While that may be a subject of future posts, it is not now. I felt obligated to do at least one post tonight, one more New Year’s Eve. How many more will there be?
All around me, folks are retiring. I am always asked when I will retire. My answer is always: retire to what? I learned of another colleague’s retirement tonight. Again, I ask: retire to what?
Travel? I have traveled more in the last three years than I have in my entire life. Grandchildren? Of course. But that is not a full-time occupation. What else? Needlepoint? OK. Not that there is anything wrong with that but is that it? Who says you cannot do needlepoint, photography or travel or, or, or? I intend to do it all.
This holiday weekend I moved into a new office. Does that sound like retirement? My new office is a launchpad for whatever I choose to be in the next year and the next few years. A home office just does not cut it. A home office, for me, is a variant on the retirement theme. I want to get dressed, interact with colleagues, and get out there. Retirement? I don’t think so. Gardening? Are you kidding me? I live in a dark, gloomy, sunless, always looking like it will rain during the winter part of the country. Gardening? I think not.
Writing? Of course! But what does one write about once one is retired? Gardening? Grandchildren? Needlepoint? See above. Writing means having something interesting to say. Call me judgmental, but I do think that if you are going to write, you need to live.
Mood Indigo Blues: From the Archives of Not Your Grandmother’s 70 – May 2017
You ain’t never been blue; no, no, no
You ain’t never been blue,
Till you’ve had that mood indigo.
That feelin’ goes stealin’ down to my shoes…
You know what it is. The pits, the gloomies, down in the dumps. Rolled up in a ball on the bathroom floor. In bed, covers over your head. Or maybe you are the outdoor type, and you howl at the moon or scream into the wind.
Nothing in your life is right. Nothing will ever be right. I call it my 3 am darkness of the soul. It doesn’t help to know that everyone goes through it sometimes. You also will chew someone’s head off if they tell you platitudes like “It’s not that bad.” or “It will get better.” That was not what you wanted to hear. Not now, anyway.
I also like to refer to the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible Very Bad Day, which Alexander keeps repeating after one more misadventure, “I think I’ll move to Australia.” It ends with Alexander acknowledging: “Some days are like that, even in Australia.” And they are.
There are books galore on how to get past this. But right now, you really don’t want to. You WANT to wallow. You deserve to wallow. We all do deserve some wallow time. Never mind that EVERYONE on Facebook is having a WONDERFUL time. Everyone is. Really!
I am not here to tell you what to do. I am not here to give you platitudes. I am merely here to tell you that it is ok. It is ok to wallow, scream, sniff and cry. Sometimes that is all there is. When you are ready for more, you will find it.
In the meantime, get down with that feelin’ that goes stealin’ down to your shoes. Some days are like that. Even in . . . .
Australia, or, or or.
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Karin Quirk