My first experience with a computer was back in 1985, or thereabouts, when the accounting office I worked in got a Compaq with DOS. I loved working on that thing. Of course I did. I was 29!
By 1993, out of accounting and into academia, working on my Ph.D. in English, I got assigned, by request, to a computer lab classroom. The lab had Macs.
Did I have real Mac experience? Nooooooo. I had seen one early model in the lab of a wastewater treatment plant I had worked in back in the early '80s, had even fiddled around with some basic programming language on it. That was it. Other than that, I had only had whatever computer experience I had gleaned from that old work PC, plus having to type long English literature papers on a typewriter/homeprocessor I had at home.
Nevertheless, I wanted that Mac computer lab classroom. I wanted to learn how to use them, so I figured the best way to do it was to be required to use them.
By the end of the first class session, I was up and running on the Mac. I was hooked and bought my first Mac a few weeks later, and I think by the time I left teaching in 2003, I was on my 4th one, a G4. That particular computer started gathering dust as I had to start using a PC for some test scoring from home. By the time I got shed of that assignment, my G4 was no longer useful for me. I ended up getting a desktop PC and over the past 3 years have become more and more annoyed by the increasing incidents of "BSD," aka Blue Screen of Death. The final straw came when the dang PC got the BSD when trying to open my iTunes software. That did it. I can't update my iPod, can't listen to my music. Pooh.
Macs were back in my sites, and I longed for the day I could justify the expense to get back to Mac.
Well, I never did justify the expense, really, but yesterday I finally bought my 13" MacBook Pro, along with a very girly white iPhone 4, first day out, with a hot pink bumper. Absolutely NOT practical but absolutely worthwhile to me.
This is the inaugural blog from my new laptop. :-)
It's a bit different, I must admit. This laptop talks more than I do. And what the heck is VO? My dad used to drink it, and now it's on my computer. Once I learn how it works, I reckon I will learn how to turn it off.
Or maybe we'll have some scintillating conversations.
OK, maybe it will take me longer to learn how to use this. I have time. And it will take me some time to get around that iPhone. I still can't get Facebook off the start page. I mean, c'mon. I am not on Facebook that much, Royal Wedding status updates notwithstanding.
So why did I finally give myself permission to buy this new technology? Because it's yet another chance for me to learn. This will be my laptop and phone for my new business, and I will have to learn to use it, because once I get everything migrated to the laptop, the desktop is going to live with Pop.
More anon . . . .
Friday, April 29, 2011
Really Rich and Really Retired: The Duchess and the Commoner
A little over 30 years ago, a prince and a shy aristocratic English rose got engaged. Newly married myself, I was there in spirit for the engagement, up very early for the wedding, there for the pregnancies, the births, the sadness, and the final tragedy that, all these years later, hasn't quite gone away.
Early this morning, their son married his Catherine. Catherine Elizabeth. I am so glad that a brunette named Catherine (even if the name is spelled differently from mine) is going to be Queen of England some day! And I am glad her middle name is the same as my dear departed mum-in-law's. She would have been as tickled about this all as I am!
Some things just become part of our personal histories, and for better or for worse, the House of Mountbatten-Windsor seems to be part of mine. Hence, my attendance at the wedding on my big ol' 46" inch TV, starting at 1 am PST. I wasn't alone, of course; the 4 beagles were sacked on the couch, surrounding me with love, snores, and the other attendant effluvium of dog ownership. But I digress . . . .
I am happy as all get out for Will and Kate, and I find that another blogger was there watching and sharing my interest and enthusiasm.
In her morning's blog about this (early, early, early) morning's Royal Wedding, "The Brazen Careerist" shared her experience watching the Royal Wedding.
Within her blog , I found that I have something more in common with the new Duchess of Cambridge than just my first name. Read on.
According to the results of a study from Boston University, BC writes, "in general, the very wealthy (those who have more than $10 million) are extremely anxious about money. And much of that anxiety is about work. Because for the super-rich, work is essentially volunteer. [Emphasis mine.]
Hey, that sounds a little like being retired, I thought to myself.
BC continues, quoting psychologist Robert Kenny: "Work is what fills most people’s days, and it provides the context in which they interact with others. A life of worklessness, however financially comfortable, can easily become one of aimlessness, of estrangement from the world. The fact that most people imagine it would be paradise to never have to work does not make the experience any more pleasant in practice."
She got that right! "Kwitcherbitchin," my little brother would say. But he doesn't get it. Not at all.
BC concludes, "Kate and William will have to build a life where they find purpose in work in spite of their wealth."
Well, this "Kate" and her husband, two accidental retirees, also have had to build a life where they find some new purpose. It's not about the money, or not yet. It's about the purpose.
Good luck with all that, from one "Kate," the commoner, to Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge and her new husband. I am getting it all worked out (no pun intended), and I am sure you will, too!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
The Entry with No Title Because I Can't Think of One Right Now
Do what you love and the money will come, or so I've heard it said. I would have to say that was true for all the years I taught as well as worked in the testing business. There were many long days and nights of teaching; one quarter/semester found me teaching six sections of four courses at four different Bay Area college campuses! Added to my teaching were the "read and eat" weekends I spent in hotels, working as a faculty consultant for a world-wide educational testing company.
Somewhere in all of that I found time to earn an M.A. in English and pursue coursework toward two unfinished doctorates, in English and in Education. (Well, maybe the third time will be the charm!)
I never felt like it was really work, though, because I was so busy and happy. The more jobs I had going, the more directions I went, the more content I seemed to be. That life as an academic gypsy scholar made up some of the best days of my life so far. According to my Social Security statement, that work style apparently paid off, too, so that adage proved true for me.
These days I am once again going in a lot of directions, as recently dawned on me when I read back over my earlier blogs. I am still "coming out green all over," like Mrs. Fisher in Enchanted April, and following all sorts of trails. The volunteer work with seniors, the recent senior advisor certification, the ongoing coursework in fiduciary management: all are indicators that I am engaged and doing what I like to do simply because I want to do it.
This blog is still another indicator. I am writing because I want to write, and it has led me to yet another pursuit: I just sent a sample of my writing to our hometown newspaper.
Until I submitted that writing sample, I had forgotten that I already had a 'career' in journalism, long ago. In 6th grade, in Alice, Texas, I was the Fashion Editor of my school newspaper, where I recall writing about the "kicky beret" topping off one classmate's outfit. Later on, in 8th grade, I was Editor in Chief of the Kaiser Krier. The journalism advisor actually gave me an independent study class so that I could work on the paper without having a schedule conflict with my band class.
Years later, my French horn has long been donated to a local junior high school band class, which is just as well, since my beagles would get rather alarmed and hide behind chairs when I blew a few notes. "Tally Ho" means absolutely nothing to these progeny of show beagle lineage! But my interest in writing, long dormant, is coming back. We will see where I go with this.
Somewhere in all of that I found time to earn an M.A. in English and pursue coursework toward two unfinished doctorates, in English and in Education. (Well, maybe the third time will be the charm!)
I never felt like it was really work, though, because I was so busy and happy. The more jobs I had going, the more directions I went, the more content I seemed to be. That life as an academic gypsy scholar made up some of the best days of my life so far. According to my Social Security statement, that work style apparently paid off, too, so that adage proved true for me.
These days I am once again going in a lot of directions, as recently dawned on me when I read back over my earlier blogs. I am still "coming out green all over," like Mrs. Fisher in Enchanted April, and following all sorts of trails. The volunteer work with seniors, the recent senior advisor certification, the ongoing coursework in fiduciary management: all are indicators that I am engaged and doing what I like to do simply because I want to do it.
This blog is still another indicator. I am writing because I want to write, and it has led me to yet another pursuit: I just sent a sample of my writing to our hometown newspaper.
Until I submitted that writing sample, I had forgotten that I already had a 'career' in journalism, long ago. In 6th grade, in Alice, Texas, I was the Fashion Editor of my school newspaper, where I recall writing about the "kicky beret" topping off one classmate's outfit. Later on, in 8th grade, I was Editor in Chief of the Kaiser Krier. The journalism advisor actually gave me an independent study class so that I could work on the paper without having a schedule conflict with my band class.
Years later, my French horn has long been donated to a local junior high school band class, which is just as well, since my beagles would get rather alarmed and hide behind chairs when I blew a few notes. "Tally Ho" means absolutely nothing to these progeny of show beagle lineage! But my interest in writing, long dormant, is coming back. We will see where I go with this.
Taking the First Step toward Becoming an Entrepreneur
Today I put in the mail the application for my Fictitious Business Name, and once that's done, I can publish and start using it. Oddly enough, although this is only now a mom and pop business (no pun intended, but a good one, eh?) I am thinking I am also going to register the name of the business -- you know, get the whole TM thing going. Who knows? I may become the next big elder care franchise.
I'd rather think too big than too small!
Oddly enough, the people who have inspired me to go into business for myself are four former high school classmates with whom I've only recently and intermittently reconnected: Rob, Melissa, Eric, and Mike. More recently, Stacy got her own business up and running. I figure if they can do it, what's stopping me from making a try? Thanks to all of you for the inspiration.
I have decided that no matter what the outcome is of the whole foray into entrepreneurship, I am just glad to be working on a new project that requires me to think and learn.
On another note, from a recent post about Medicare costs, I see that someone recently wrote about a variety of possible healthcare costs in retirement. Finally, someone is addressing the fact that not all of us are going to need a quarter of a million dollars for health care in retirement. Average means average!
Many will need much, much more, though, and I would imagine that very few, if any, of those will be able to pay for their own health care. I know at least one person for whom Medicaid pays over $90,000 a year, just for one medication among the many she takes, and I am certain she's not alone in such medical needs.
It's just another reminder to keep taking better care of myself, physically and mentally, so I stay on the low end of healthcare costs.
http://finance.yahoo.com/focus-retirement/article/112604/medicare-drug-cost-coverage-smartmoney?mod=fidelity-livingretirement&cat=fidelity_2010_living_in_retirement
I'd rather think too big than too small!
Oddly enough, the people who have inspired me to go into business for myself are four former high school classmates with whom I've only recently and intermittently reconnected: Rob, Melissa, Eric, and Mike. More recently, Stacy got her own business up and running. I figure if they can do it, what's stopping me from making a try? Thanks to all of you for the inspiration.
I have decided that no matter what the outcome is of the whole foray into entrepreneurship, I am just glad to be working on a new project that requires me to think and learn.
On another note, from a recent post about Medicare costs, I see that someone recently wrote about a variety of possible healthcare costs in retirement. Finally, someone is addressing the fact that not all of us are going to need a quarter of a million dollars for health care in retirement. Average means average!
Many will need much, much more, though, and I would imagine that very few, if any, of those will be able to pay for their own health care. I know at least one person for whom Medicaid pays over $90,000 a year, just for one medication among the many she takes, and I am certain she's not alone in such medical needs.
It's just another reminder to keep taking better care of myself, physically and mentally, so I stay on the low end of healthcare costs.
http://finance.yahoo.com/focus-retirement/article/112604/medicare-drug-cost-coverage-smartmoney?mod=fidelity-livingretirement&cat=fidelity_2010_living_in_retirement
Sunday, April 24, 2011
The Brand-New Résumé : Starting All Over Again
The first paying job I ever got, when I was 16, was behind the counter of our local donut shop, Country Club Donuts. That donut shop is still there, and I smile when I'm down in Orange County and drive by the old place. Forty years of employment that started with a buck sixty-five an hour!
After a couple of jobs in clothing stores, I somehow graduated into office/clerical work, where I stayed for about 10 years. Leaving office work to finish my business degree, I ended up finding a great 15-year career in academia. I left academia for a few corporate jobs, leaving one to move onto the next, better one, time after time.
A couple of years ago my last job 'left' me (for which I am daily very, very thankful!). For those past 2 years, I've considered myself on a sabbatical of sorts, waiting and trusting that I wasn't yet finished with 'work' but just hadn't found out yet what I really wanted to do next, hadn't discerned what would keep my brain and heart engaged.
This is all by way of saying that I've changed careers a few times in my life, and it's always been a real adventure to start something new.
It's time for yet another career. Yeah, I know, I've been calling myself a 'retiree,' but really, I never believed it!
My résumé is once again brief and ripe for developing with new experiences in a whole new field: working with seniors. I really got a start back in 4th grade, when I spent time at the local nursing home in my hometown, and then again in the past 5 years or so, dealing with the issues of friends and family as their needs came up. My recent volunteer work with seniors has also helped me see that I have something to contribute in this area, now that I have the time.
I realize that I like taking care of the business of people who trust me to do right by them. It's nice to be appreciated and trusted.
To that end, I've earned a certificate and designation to supplement my work; I'm laying my plans for my own business, which I plan to launch June 1; I'm taking courses to obtain professional certification as a fiduciary; and in the not-too-distant future, I will probably do what I've always done: go back for some schooling to obtain a gerontology certificate, maybe even the master's.
After all, I'll need something more to put on that résumé so I can fill up a page!
The upshot of all this is that I don't feel middle-aged at all; I feel just like the 30-something I was when I left that office career and launched my next job in academia. I wonder if this next chapter will last 15 years, too!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Another Kind of Mentor
Just yesterday, there was a lot of excitement on our little street. My husband and I had to replace our sewer lateral, and I am pleased to report that everything seems to be going well.
The best part of the day was the opportunity I had to catch up with a long-time friend, who happened to be the man responsible for inspecting and approving the work done at our house. We used to work together, over 25 years ago, and over the years, we have stayed in sporadic contact, running into each other here and there around town.
As we talked yesterday for the first time in, oh, two years or so, I realized, or remembered, the role he played in the way I think today. He was the one who got me into yoga (yeah, no, I don't still do it, but I know I should); he was the one who introduced me to Adele Davis and her ideas of eating right. In fact, he gave me the garlic press I still use today.
And he was the one who, most important of all, taught me in my late 20s about positive thinking, about affirmations, about choosing positive self-talk rather than negative language to describe myself or my situation. He told me that I was as perfect as I could be, at that time in my life.
I guess what he was doing was teaching me about loving and accepting myself, wherever I was at the time, and using language to reflect that love and acceptance. He was teaching me to take care of and to care for myself in a way I'd never known how to do.
Just the other day, in a meeting with a volunteer group in which I participate, someone was talking about calling herself a dummy. I told her about that friend from long ago who taught me to listen to what words I was using about myself and helped me realize that I am not only what I eat but I am also what I think and what I say.
I forgot to tell him that little story in the midst of our reminisces.
We met when we were both young and pretty; now we are both older and beautiful, and he still has good information to impart, generally with a felicity of phrasing that entertains as well as educates.
And except for a few bike-riding twinges in his hip, he's in riproaring good health, thanks to practicing what he preaches about eating and exercising.
This visit really came at a good time, too. Just last week I attended a seminar where I learned a lot about Medicare and Medicaid, and I finally realized why so many people keep saying that someone who retires these days will need upwards of $250,000 for medical expenses. It's all those dang Medicare co-pays, co-insurances, and deductibles they'll have to pay.
With those contingencies in mind, I do have health insurance, purchased privately. I opted for a high-deductible plan so that I could get into a Healthcare Spending Account. However, while that's what that account is for, I just consider it another form of retirement investing, and those investments are in our overall portfolio.
However, I am not thinking I will get sick. That is to say, I am well and I am staying well. And here is where yesterday's visit really made things click.
My friend and his health make the best case for me to gain control, even now, over any potential expenditures. If I take better care of myself, as he has done -- uhm, I mean, because I am now taking better care of myself--then I won't have to be digging into my retirement funds to pay for all that excess medical care. I will have more to spend on other things, like travel.
There he is, still teaching me, as always.
So, off to start the day and swing by the vitamin store for my turmeric capsules!
The best part of the day was the opportunity I had to catch up with a long-time friend, who happened to be the man responsible for inspecting and approving the work done at our house. We used to work together, over 25 years ago, and over the years, we have stayed in sporadic contact, running into each other here and there around town.
As we talked yesterday for the first time in, oh, two years or so, I realized, or remembered, the role he played in the way I think today. He was the one who got me into yoga (yeah, no, I don't still do it, but I know I should); he was the one who introduced me to Adele Davis and her ideas of eating right. In fact, he gave me the garlic press I still use today.
And he was the one who, most important of all, taught me in my late 20s about positive thinking, about affirmations, about choosing positive self-talk rather than negative language to describe myself or my situation. He told me that I was as perfect as I could be, at that time in my life.
I guess what he was doing was teaching me about loving and accepting myself, wherever I was at the time, and using language to reflect that love and acceptance. He was teaching me to take care of and to care for myself in a way I'd never known how to do.
Just the other day, in a meeting with a volunteer group in which I participate, someone was talking about calling herself a dummy. I told her about that friend from long ago who taught me to listen to what words I was using about myself and helped me realize that I am not only what I eat but I am also what I think and what I say.
I forgot to tell him that little story in the midst of our reminisces.
We met when we were both young and pretty; now we are both older and beautiful, and he still has good information to impart, generally with a felicity of phrasing that entertains as well as educates.
And except for a few bike-riding twinges in his hip, he's in riproaring good health, thanks to practicing what he preaches about eating and exercising.
This visit really came at a good time, too. Just last week I attended a seminar where I learned a lot about Medicare and Medicaid, and I finally realized why so many people keep saying that someone who retires these days will need upwards of $250,000 for medical expenses. It's all those dang Medicare co-pays, co-insurances, and deductibles they'll have to pay.
With those contingencies in mind, I do have health insurance, purchased privately. I opted for a high-deductible plan so that I could get into a Healthcare Spending Account. However, while that's what that account is for, I just consider it another form of retirement investing, and those investments are in our overall portfolio.
However, I am not thinking I will get sick. That is to say, I am well and I am staying well. And here is where yesterday's visit really made things click.
My friend and his health make the best case for me to gain control, even now, over any potential expenditures. If I take better care of myself, as he has done -- uhm, I mean, because I am now taking better care of myself--then I won't have to be digging into my retirement funds to pay for all that excess medical care. I will have more to spend on other things, like travel.
There he is, still teaching me, as always.
So, off to start the day and swing by the vitamin store for my turmeric capsules!
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Sticks and Stones: Talkin' 'bout my Generation
My nickname, when I was a child, was Chatty Cathy. In that respect, not much has changed; even my blogs are long! Over the past few years, I seem to have acquired a few more nicknames and labels, and it's been quite a surprise. No, make that shock.
At 55, I am middle-aged. I probably have been for some time but just didn't realize it until lately. (Let's just say that Southwest Airlines isn't the only one splitting seams around here!)
Now, apparently, I am also a "senior" by virtue of my being part of a Senior Peer Counseling volunteer program. Because I am a counselor for my peers, that makes me a senior -- even though counselors and clients in this program range from 50 to 91! Old is old, apparently. OK. It had to come, sooner or later, and "old" will be what I make of it.
I am not just a senior, though; I'm also a Baby Boomer, a special senior, and as a result of belonging to that Baby Boomer group, I have acquired a few other nicknames as well. These have been more distressing, as when I read them, I get a sense of the anger behind those who direct their comments at a whole new group of scapegoats.
As a Baby Boomer, I have become a "greedy geezer" with a sense of entitlement, one who's running the country's economy into the ground with my debt and my offshoring of jobs and all sorts of other evils.
As a former public sector employee, with my small pension, I have become a leech and a drain on taxpayers.
One day, when I collect Social Security, well, you know, my leech-like voracity will grow and grow as I batten on the blood of the nation's young.
I have become someone I don't even recognize from others' descriptions.
No, not really. I have become none of those things. I am the same person I always was, only better: smarter, funnier, more caring, more thoughtful, a whole host of things.
I keep reading, trying to figure out exactly who it is that these people are talking about, because it sure doesn't feel like me.
If I believed everything everyone else said about "me," I wouldn't be able to get up every morning and look at myself in the mirror.
The thing is, it's not "me" at all. I need to remember that.
Not everyone does remember that. On a Facebook wall recently, I read a discussion about all the problems the Boomers have brought onto the shoulders of the generations that follow. The person writing ended one wall comment by writing "The economy won't get any better until all the Baby Boomers die." I wrote my (then-) Facebook friend, a thirty-something, that the comment was one of the most depressing I'd ever read.
It only got worse when she responded that the writer was a retired highway patrolman and a Baby Boomer himself. Somehow that seemed to validate his viewpoint, in her eyes.
I guess he must be reading some of the same things I have read.
Used to read.
At 55, I am middle-aged. I probably have been for some time but just didn't realize it until lately. (Let's just say that Southwest Airlines isn't the only one splitting seams around here!)
Now, apparently, I am also a "senior" by virtue of my being part of a Senior Peer Counseling volunteer program. Because I am a counselor for my peers, that makes me a senior -- even though counselors and clients in this program range from 50 to 91! Old is old, apparently. OK. It had to come, sooner or later, and "old" will be what I make of it.
I am not just a senior, though; I'm also a Baby Boomer, a special senior, and as a result of belonging to that Baby Boomer group, I have acquired a few other nicknames as well. These have been more distressing, as when I read them, I get a sense of the anger behind those who direct their comments at a whole new group of scapegoats.
As a Baby Boomer, I have become a "greedy geezer" with a sense of entitlement, one who's running the country's economy into the ground with my debt and my offshoring of jobs and all sorts of other evils.
As a former public sector employee, with my small pension, I have become a leech and a drain on taxpayers.
One day, when I collect Social Security, well, you know, my leech-like voracity will grow and grow as I batten on the blood of the nation's young.
I have become someone I don't even recognize from others' descriptions.
No, not really. I have become none of those things. I am the same person I always was, only better: smarter, funnier, more caring, more thoughtful, a whole host of things.
I keep reading, trying to figure out exactly who it is that these people are talking about, because it sure doesn't feel like me.
If I believed everything everyone else said about "me," I wouldn't be able to get up every morning and look at myself in the mirror.
The thing is, it's not "me" at all. I need to remember that.
Not everyone does remember that. On a Facebook wall recently, I read a discussion about all the problems the Boomers have brought onto the shoulders of the generations that follow. The person writing ended one wall comment by writing "The economy won't get any better until all the Baby Boomers die." I wrote my (then-) Facebook friend, a thirty-something, that the comment was one of the most depressing I'd ever read.
It only got worse when she responded that the writer was a retired highway patrolman and a Baby Boomer himself. Somehow that seemed to validate his viewpoint, in her eyes.
I guess he must be reading some of the same things I have read.
Used to read.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)