Category: Learning

Requiem for a tent

The tent is going back. After painful thoughtful introspection, we realized we’re both less tolerant of bugs, rain, heat, bears, snakes, outdoor plumbing and other unpleasant elements we used to find charming. The other reason is getting a camp site reservation in California is difficult if not impossible.

I know it can be done, but it takes a more dedicated soul than I to plan six months ahead and set the alarm so you’re up the second the sites go live. And then do that for weeks until you land a spot.

Since I didn’t start six months ago and don’t hop out of bed like I used to, I spent the last several days shuffling through the leftovers. The interface is frustrating, and I came up empty-handed. I even tried the far-flung places you’d think no one would visit, the ones where the mosquitos have names like El Hefe, and they’re booked solid for the foreseeable future.

This little exercise pushed us closer to finding our retirement travel mojo … which is surprisingly difficult for some of us. Dale and I have decided we mostly want to focus on seeing the natural beauty of California and other not-too-distant places, but we’re not going to rough it anymore. Sometimes a simple motel in a nearby town and sometimes a resort. Maybe even privately run glamping sites, where you stay in an Air Stream or something like that.

We’ll be spending more money, for sure, but I think we should be able to keep the costs reasonable. I guess reasonable is a sliding scale. What seems reasonable to me now was shockingly outrageous only a few years ago. But the truth is, like many retirees, we are not spending down our savings. It’s a good problem to have, and we’re ready to kick it up a notch.

I’ve planned a few trips, including Yosemite and Death Valley (yes, in the summer). All from the comforts of a resort. With a bed. A pool. Air conditioning. Restaurants. It was shockingly easy to make a reservation once you decide to throw money at it.

In other news, we had our second Shingles vaccine, and it kicked our butts. We’re both better now, but it was a rough night. I had the chills, and we were both quite achy and miserable. But at least we checked that one off the list.

Easygoing

A few weeks ago, I got wind of an art exhibition for veterans in my county. I debated whether to apply, partly because I’m not sure critics would view my stuff as “real art.” Anyway, I did apply for the exhibit, which is in May. They accepted me, but then I was miserable for a month worrying and fretting about how others might react to my embellished wood scraps.

I tried to tell myself, do the thing that scares you and all that, but life is already pretty scary, and I don’t need to pile it on. It’s not a popular sentiment, but these days I’m all about making things easier. I fought the good fight and made it to retirement. I used to think big deal. Now, I think, hell yeah, big deal.

Retirement, they say, comes in phases. I’m in the easygoing phase and am doing my best to bypass the harder-than-it has-to-be-phase.

Although I rarely quit anything, I mean, do it until it hurts, I withdrew from the exhibit and feel great about the decision. Art is just a thing I do, no more, no less. I enjoy sharing it with you, but I don’t need to beat the streets seeking new audiences.   

Number 36

I was working on Number 36 whilst churning through all this, and I was so grumpy, trying to make it better. Normally, my mantra, is hey, it was just a piece of scrap wood, now it’s something else. So what if it’s not perfect? But thinking about judges and shit messed me up. I simply need to hang out in my garage and do what speaks to me.

So, number 36. What can I say? I love cats.  

Speaking of easygoing, I hate buying new stuff, but I do appreciate tools that make jobs less of a chore. The weather is starting to get really nice, so I took it upon myself to clean up the patio furniture. I used a brush and garden hose to get some of the dirt off, and then it was all over. You see the difference, clean versus dirty, and what can you do but keep going?

I was worried about my back and wrists, which are both sensitive. I called to Dale, who was conveniently absent for the ritual washing of the patio furniture. I asked about a power washer. Would this clean up without a brush if I had such a tool? He said yes, and I said let’s go.

Off we went to Ace, where we killed it with a credit card and dragged it home. It was pretty easy to set up and worked like a champ. I probably saved my back and my wrists and maybe Dale’s life, because you know, cleaning patio furniture – so not his thing.

Then there’s the lawn. We have a small patch of lawn in the backyard. It used to be thin and scraggly, and we I mowed it with a little push mower. Then late last fall, we had a yard makeover and got new sod. This is the real deal. Thick and hardy.

Here’s the agreement I made. I will mow and blow, but that’s it. Nothing else. Nada. Either we throw money at it, or it’s Dale’s job. Mostly that means we threw money at it and have a service that takes care of the rest. Just another marriage-saver tip from Retirement Confidential.

The new grass had time to grow over the winter, but I hadn’t mowed it yet. When the rain finally stopped, I got out the push mower and almost collapsed. I couldn’t get it through the grass. I did do it, but I had to use my whole body and stop several times to catch my breath. I thought, well, the grass is just thicker because of the rain.

A week later it was a bit easier to mow but still awful. I told Dale I thought we should get a small electric mower. He said nah, it would probably get easier. He reminded me of my father, who used to smoke and drop ashes on the floor, suggesting it was good for the carpet.

I said, OK, will you please try it once and see what you think? And that was when we decided to buy an electric lawn mower. It’s small thing, light as a feather and whips through that grass with ease.

Key word. Ease.  

The upside of losing

I’m a wee bit obsessive about games and hold myself to a high standard. Fear of failure is a real affliction, and I’m not sure I have that, but I do dread losing at anything, and it seems to have gotten worse since I retired. Not getting those wins at work, so I work hard at my play time just to see if I measure up.

Seriously, it’s a curse. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I look at the light outside to see if I can guess what time it is. And yes, I feel good when I get it right.

I especially dread playing bad golf. More so since I retired. When I was working, I could explain it away by saying I don’t get to play enough. That excuse doesn’t fly anymore.

It’s not that I mind other people playing better or winning. But I’m mad at myself for not being as good and just want to go off alone to sulk. On the bright side, maybe I’m finally starting to reverse the trend. Last week our women’s league played on a muddy course saturated by rains, and it was tough. My partners and I agreed ahead of time we would laugh at bad shots.

Let’s just say we laughed a lot. I posted one of my worst scores since I learned to play the game more than 25 years ago. When we got to the parking lot, one of the women said, let’s have a drink for making it through that! She had a little flask and plastic glasses and poured us each a tiny shot of butterscotch liquor (which is delicious). We drank it right there by our cars.

Then I joined the group inside rather than exiting the scene with my head hung low, and we had a pretty good time laughing about how horribly we played. I have to say it was a much better way to end a bad round than my usual pity-fest.

The very next morning, as I was playing Wordle in bed, I lost a game and broke my 159-day streak. I thought I’d be devastated, but I surprised myself. I actually felt relieved. Perhaps the universe was sending me a message. Play for fun – not everything has to be a test.

I wouldn’t say I have a pathological diagnosis, and you probably don’t either, but for some of us, the fear of failure can be greater than the excitement of winning. And it holds us back.

Retirement is as good a time as any to try to recover at least a smidgeon of that wild abandon we had before life knocked us around. However, I don’t want it all back, because I seriously did some dumb shit when I wasn’t scared of anything.

After seeing the upside of losing, I feel kind of free. More relaxed. I’ve always dreaded a complete collapse of my golf game, and it happened. It wasn’t all that bad. The experience helped me understand it’s one thing to fear losing. The trick is to shrug it off and work harder at losing the fear.

Life lessons from Wordle

In his 2022 year in review, the humorist Dave Barry wrote:

Millions of Americans on social media realized — it took them a while, but they finally got there — that nobody wants to know how they did on “Wordle.”

So, let’s just say I knew better, but I went ahead and flashed my Wordle stats at my hairdresser, who then flashed me her Wordle stats, which put my Wordle stats to shame. Aside from a year-long streak, she solves most of the puzzles in three words.

My genius stylist then revealed something I did not know about Wordle streaks. According to Lisa, if you forget to play one day, maybe you actually go outside and (dare I say it) have fun … your streak is gone. Her streak was over 300 days, and she said it would have been more, but she missed a day when she was on vacation.

All that time, sweating over my streak, naively assuming the outcome was binary. Win or lose! The pressure was on, and I was ready to perform with excellence.

But now I know there’s a loyalty clause. Being good is not good enough. Let’s just call it Workle because it’s damn near the same thing.

I went through the stages of grief but emerged stronger for the experience. It’s like a cord has been cut, and I feel free.

Life is different now that I know you can lose without losing. I wish someone had told me this, oh, I don’t know, 40 years ago?

Anyway, that’s a life lesson that needs to come with me to the golf course, where I lost my temper this week. Not only dropped the f-bomb but also the mf-bomb. My profanity was not directed at anyone else, only my charming self, but still, I’m not proud.

I’ve decided to work harder at staying joyful and appreciating pleasant companionship on the course, as well as the unique challenges of the game. It’s not about the score. I repeat. It’s not about the score.

While I usually don’t play on Fridays, due to all the people “working from home,” I booked a tee time so I could practice being peaceful. Lo and behold, I had a better score. Of course, there’s a connection, but now I need to see if I can stay happy when the golf gods fight back.

So much to learn! Become a little less obsessive. Enjoy the game, whatever is is. Accept you can lose without losing.

Just another lesson at the intersection of Wordle and life.

A bridge lesson

I was invited by one of the women in my golf group to participate in a series of beginner bridge lessons in her home, and I thought why not? They say this complex card game is especially good for the aging brain. It seems to me anything that might help us dodge dementia is a good thing. I’m retired. I’ve got the time.

Today was my first lesson, and that’s an hour and a half I’ll never get back.

Perhaps I should have known. When I told Dale, he reminded me math was involved. While it’s true I picked journalism as a major because it was about the only degree that didn’t require even the most rudimentary of math skills, I thought, well, it’s a card game. How hard can it be?

Many of you probably know this already, but it’s damned hard. I won’t even go into the complexities I tried to absorb during this first lesson, but it reminded me of high school geometry, when the teacher spent an entire semester saying, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

Because that’s what it sounded like to me.

The bridge instructor scheduled an indefinite number of lessons every Thursday at 9:30 a.m. Not bad, but not good for the retirement practice I subscribe to called, “The Slow Start.” But you know, staving off dementia, I guess I could move out faster for a good cause. Also, Thursdays at 10 is my preferred time for massages, and one must have priorities.

On the plus side, I wore jeans and my old Lucchese cowboy boots, which I haven’t done in a couple of years. At least I looked cute, and that takes a few brain cells, doesn’t it?

Bridge is interesting, and I can totally see the attraction. I generally like games. I really liked this group of women. If they had a Yahtzee league, I’m all in. I used to play Hearts back in the day, and that didn’t kill me. Backgammon. Scrabble.

But bridge, wow. I’m 67, reasonably intelligent and in excellent health. However, I don’t think I have enough time left to understand this game.

Even without the card counting and all that, there are all kinds of weird things including where you sit and what cards you play – north, south, east and west. What’s so wrong about left and right?

Sometimes your partner will show all their cards, and you play those, too. Like one hand wasn’t enough. And all these little codes to signal your partner how you want to bid. If everyone subscribes to the same convention, why not just say it in plain English? I have five spades!

I didn’t want to disappoint my friends, but I also didn’t want to pretend I’d come back when I knew it was a lost cause. While I acknowledge some stress is good for you, this is the kind of stress that makes me miserable. Rather than drag it out, I just laid it out for them. They were gracious, but now they have to find a replacement, which sucks for them.

When I got home, I told Dale he was right. Numbers gone wild! Crazy stuff! And all my Thursdays eaten up just to learn the basics? I’m pretty sure I would start dreading Thursdays, finding excuses to stay in bed, when in fact it’s a rather pleasant day of the week that has done me no previous harm.

He said, “So, you’re saying it was a bridge too far?”

The man’s still got it. 

All this is good news for those of you who enjoy reading my blog. I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks, and I had been thinking, maybe I’ll just quit writing. But that’s looking like a bad strategy now that I know bridge isn’t going to save me.   

I promised the bridge gods I would work harder at writing if they would just leave me alone.

You can quote me on that

    January marks five years of publishing Retirement Confidential. In honor of this anniversary, I suffered through pages and pages of old posts to cull some of my more cogent thoughts about life after work. I hope you enjoy the recap.

    Thank you for making it all possible. Happy New Year!

    • In large part, retirement is about making it to the finish line and doing whatever you can get away with.
    • Many retirees are probably unemployable. Not that we’re uppity, but our bullshit meters are pegged. Oh, and our inside voice is now our outside voice.
    • While big retirement goals typically require planning, preparation and commitment, in the art of the slack, it’s important to set a low bar for the routines of daily life.
    • I got my first Social Security payment this month. That was fun. While I don’t miss work, I do like to be on the receiving end of money.
    • As a childless couple, we want to spend our principal … just not all at once. I like the idea of “die broke.” However, I would like to avoid being alive and broke.
    • We add layers and layers of accommodations and behaviors to earn a living, and we start to believe that’s who we really are. Retirement is a journey toward freeing ourselves from expectations and accepting we don’t have to be more than we are.
    • One thing I’ve learned in retirement is there’s something to be said for wishful thinking. I have been on both sides of the attitude spectrum, and nothing good ever happened when I thought the glass was half-empty.
    • I woke up the other morning thinking, “I should get a job.” I used to like people. Maybe I could learn to like them again.
    • Retirement can be the opportunity to discover or re-discover who you are when nobody is watching.
    • What if we don’t need to continuously improve ourselves? Here’s a radical thought. What if being content is what it actually means to reach our full potential? What if being alive is our greatest accomplishment?
    • I’ve had weird retirement dreams lately. I’m working at my old job but wondering why there isn’t more money in my bank account. Did they forget to pay me? Then I realize I wasn’t working at all and haven’t had a job in years. I wake up happy.
    • Illness definitely affected my professional timetable. My first bout of cancer woke me up to get serious about work, and my second bout woke me up to get serious about life.
    • In the grand scheme of things, I haven’t accomplished much. I consider making enough money to retire my greatest achievement.
    • Retirement can be an unbelievable opportunity to pursue nothing – and that is everything.
    • I’m not one to document goals, accomplishments or disappointments. If I wanted to do all that, I would be working.
    • I never get sick of retirement. Even when I read the news, and it’s all horrible and depressing, I think, well, at least I get to sleep in.
    • On multiple occasions, my boss said I couldn’t take vacation. I think she just got nervous when the flock wasn’t there. When I retired, I had more than 30 days of vacation paid to me because I never got to use it. Yo, girlfriend, guess who’s on vacation now?
    • In many ways, it would have been easier to keep working. At least you get paid to avoid self-reflection.
    • Once you have enough to get by without a job, time becomes more important than money or stuff.
    • Waking up without an alarm is one of the greatest joys retirement brings. I waited my whole life for this.

    Exercise for introverts

    A chair yoga room of one’s own.

    A guy I play golf with took it upon himself to share his thoughts about my personality.

    He said I seemed intelligent and independent, but I was aloof and didn’t show enough interest in other people. I need to ask more questions, he said, if I want people to like me. I just nodded.

    Hmmm, so not interested in your thoughts on this subject.

    For the record, I’ve never been a social animal, just a few close friends, but people seem to like me well enough … as in not universally despised. That’s a distinction I’m rather proud of.

    My buddy is extroverted, randomly chats up people on the golf course and asks a million questions, some kind of personal, and although I find it annoying, it’s not a deal-breaker. As an introvert, I try to avoid the talkers, but somehow we started playing together regularly. He’s a decent fellow, and I don’t want to work all that hard to find someone new.

    I actually did play with someone new this week and thought, what the hell? Ask a question. The problem is questions lead to answers, and if you get a talker, sometimes those answers are more than you bargained for. Then there’s always the possibility of sliding down that slippery slope to conversation.

    Seems like I prefer exercise without conversation. I suppose that’s why I’m drawn to swimming and long walks alone.

    Anyway, my buddy and I are supposed to play again next week, and I’m hoping he’ll have moved onto the next person to fix. I’m not going to apologize for being an introvert. As always, I try to be a pleasant and encouraging partner. No temper tantrums. A laugh, a smile, a thumbs up. Great putt! Wow, you smoked that drive!

    Don’t get me wrong. I do enjoy people. Let’s get a beer afterward, and you can talk all you want.

    I don’t know why he felt compelled to share all that, but in the end, I’m glad he did. In a strange way, it was validating. As I reflected on his comments, I’d say he wasn’t far off on my personality assessment. The part he got wrong was thinking I should do something to change it.

    Feeling comfortable in your old flawed skin is one of the great pleasures of aging.

    Chair Yoga

    Yet another great pleasure is discovering something new that makes you happy. A recent addition to my happiness bucket is chair yoga. It feels good mentally and physically, and it’s reducing my back and leg pain.

    I did the 7-day free trial at YogaVista.tv and tested a variety of YouTube videos. I liked Yoga Vista a lot, but one of the instructors had a voice that reminded me of anesthesia, so I didn’t renew. I looked for similar sites that had a wide selection of chair yoga practices but couldn’t find any.

    After a week or so of random YouTube videos, I decided Yoga Vista was a better deal and signed up for $9.99 a month. There are lots of instructors, so I can easily avoid the drip, drip, drip of anesthesia voice.

    While gentle is not a word typically associated with me, I am trying to take the less is more approach to this new endeavor. My goal is to stick with it forever and watch myself grow stronger and more flexible over time. Some of the workouts also address balance, which is important, because we don’t bounce like we used to.

    I still attend the in-person class at my health club when I can, but I also set up an area in our guest bedroom, where I can take my laptop and follow the instructors on the screen. I like to think of it as a chair yoga room of one’s own, except I share it with the occasional guest and Dale’s war books. The cat seems quite mesmerized by the whole thing.

    Some of the chair exercises are sitting and some are standing, using the chair for support. I have just enough room to accommodate all the movements.

    Kind of perfect for an introvert, don’t you think?

    Art to the rescue

    Although I generally like the way I look, aging and all, I couldn’t stand staring into my face every time I clicked on the blog’s homepage. And then it repeated on all the other pages! It was too much. After tinkering with WordPress for quite some time, I gave up and posted a sample of my pallet art, which is now plastered across all the pages but is infinitely more pleasing to my eye.

    Above is Number 32. This time I experimented with the paint and went with something less than opaque. Also, peace! I mean, why can’t we have nice things? I thought I would rotate them as I create new pieces.

    There was a guy at work, George, who thought he was all that and a bag of chips. Rising gloriously from behind his desk was a giant and quite excellent painting of his own work, and I thought a guy who would do that has an ego that can’t be killed with a stake through the heart. I actually have a wobbly ego, but art makes me feel good, so I kind of get where he was coming from. Creating art gives you a sense of validation you may not find on the job or in the mirror.

    I’m grateful to have discovered artistic passion in retirement. I’m such a beginner, but I confess that recently I got a little cocky and purchased fancy paper and sketching pencils to see if I could broaden my horizons. I’m glad I did it, because I learned that sketching can be fun and helps me with designs for my woodburning art, but it’s the wood that keeps me coming back.

    While I’m no great artist, I find joy in taking scraps someone tossed and transforming them into something else. Anything I do to them is an improvement, so I can just let it rip. I have quite a collection now, and my house is like the Island of Misfit Pallets. In a way, we have rescued each other.

    My father was a creative dabbler who was always trying to make a buck and repeatedly failed at various entrepreneurial ventures. From importing jewelry to making metal replicas of social security cards, they all flopped. I find it interesting he was most successful at rescuing paper scraps from his job in a bindery and making scratch pads, which he sold at swap meets in Southern California.

    Sometimes it’s right there in front of you.

    Gratitude and expectations

    The gold mining ghost town of Bodie.
    A peek inside one of Bodie’s abandoned homes.

    It occurred to me I’m entering my sixth year of retirement, and it seems like it gets better every year. I still rather like the image of me as a slightly eccentric Bohemian heiress who dabbles in what amuses her. Although I am of Bohemian stock, nothing in my lineage includes money, so sadly, I had to earn my little nest egg.

    Although I always had creative drive and longed to be a free agent, writing and puttering as I pleased, I didn’t have the will to live in poverty, as is so often the case with idealistic free agents. Instead, I chose a life of working for the man until there was enough to retire, and now I can dabble to my heart’s delight. Some of my jobs were pretty darned good and some sucked, but now I’m glad I stayed the course.

    I’m reminded of a woman I use to work with. I made director before she did and was included in a variety of events for “directors and above.” When she wasn’t invited to said events, she’d say, “Another year of being a nobody.” She eventually got promoted and is presumably happy being somebody. I don’t miss all that faux specialness and have settled quite nicely into being a nobody.

    While I do believe in the power of positive thinking, I also think there’s a case for not wanting too much. Not everything has to be bigger, faster, stronger or better in every way. For example, I’m a decent golfer, but I tell myself it’s OK to just play. Sometimes you will play well and sometimes you will not.

    Hit the ball, hit the ball again. That’s my new mantra.

    I also love word games and can be quite competitive. I quit playing Wordle for a few weeks because I was so angry I lost a game. I’m back to playing and have a nice streak going, but before I play, I tell myself, “You will lose. Accept it.” Somehow preparing for less than stellar results keeps me grounded.

    Which brings me to Ray Wylie Hubbard, the renowned Texas musician. One of his notable songs is Mother Blues, a song where he and his guitar tell a richly layered life story. It’s such a cool song, and the last lines are pretty powerful.

    And the days that I keep my gratitude

    Higher than my expectations

    Ah! Well, I have really good days

    That’s kind of where I’m at.

    In other news, Dale and I took a little overnight road trip to Bodie, CA, a state historic park and famous gold mining ghost town in the High Sierra’s. Like 8,000 feet high. From our house, we drove almost to South Lake Tahoe on the western side of the Sierra’s and then turned off to cross a high pass that takes you to the eastern side. I’m geographically challenged, so I hope I’m explaining this correctly. In any event, the scenery was spectacular.

    The closest town is Bridgeport, and then it’s another 30 minutes to Bodie – the last 10 miles on an unpaved road. There’s a short window of opportunity to see Bodie because the road is closed most of the year due to snow.     

    The park is in the state of “arrested decay.” Homes and commercial businesses still stand with the remnants of furniture and goods inside. You can wander freely and peek through the windows, and see what was left when the town was abandoned. It’s pretty amazing.

    The gold there was not panned from rivers like you see in the movies. It was hard rock mining, where gold was extracted from quartz they dug out of the mountains. There’s a huge mill that crushes the rocks, much of which is still standing.

    We spent the night at an inn in Bridgeport. There was a restaurant inside, but it was sort of high-end dining, and we weren’t really in the mood. Instead, we walked across the street and had burgers and beer. We haven’t been out to eat much since the pandemic and the prices were rather surprising. Cheeseburger for $16. However, it was a great burger, I’ll give them that.

    Both of us enjoy these short trips. We had a great time, but even after one night away, I can’t wait to get home. We are planning more, especially since I’ve finally come to terms with Covid and am now thinking of the risk as something like the flu. I’ll get my shots every year and take reasonable precautions when the numbers are high, but by and large, I’m going back to business as usual.

    Practicing creativity

    Number 30

    I had a birthday … 67 and damned glad to see it. We did the usual. I made coconut layer cake and helped Dale make my favorite mushroom and Italian sausage lasagna with red pepper tomato sauce. It takes the two of us most of the day to make it.

    We each had a piece of cake, and the rest went into the freezer. We’ll see how long it lasts there! I made a vow to quit eating candy, mostly jelly beans and my all-time favorite, Bottle Caps (a Wonka product).

    But I did not give up sugar completely – just trying to be more sensible about the whole thing. I figure a piece of cake or pie now and then is an essential and joyous part of life, but lying in bed with a book and a bowl of compressed dextrose is unnecessary.

    Tonight is another run at lasagna, and then it’s off to the freezer for him. The last piece usually goes down around January. For two people who love to cook and eat, plenty of freezer space is a gift.  

    I was feeling out of sorts about the creative activities that fuel my retirement and spent some time reflecting on why I continue to beat myself up for not doing more or being better at it. I think it goes back to childhood – wanting to be seen and heard by parents who were largely absent. There’s this drive to succeed at all costs, but the true cost is the toll it takes on my self-esteem because I’m mostly disappointed in the outcome.

    As I was browsing around looking for a lifeline, I stumbled on an article by Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote, Eat, Pray Love, a book I could hardly get through. There’s also a notable TED talk on the same subject. All of it relates to her book called Big Magic. My library had it, so I hopped on over there, killed it with my library card and dragged it home, whereupon I found my spot on the comfy couch and spent the day reading.

    The book was published in 2015, but it was new to me, and I loved it. It is hands-down the best thing I’ve read about creativity and how to deal with the frustrations of fear, expectations, success, failure – all the little demons that try to drag us down.   

    In one of my favorite passages, she compared being creative to having a border collie. She said you have to give it something to do or it will find something to do, and you will not like the thing it finds to do.

    “A creative mind is exactly the same. My experience with having a creative mind is that if I don’t give it a task, a ball to chase, a stick to run after, some ducks to herd, I don’t know, something, it will turn on itself. It’s really important for my mental health that I keep this dog running. So give your dog a job, and don’t worry about whether the outcome is magnificent or eternal, whether it changes people’s lives, whether it changes the world, whether it changes you, whether it’s original, whether it’s groundbreaking, whether it’s marketable. Just give the dog a job, and you’ll have a much happier life, regardless of how it turns out.”

    I know there are a lot of creative dabblers out there – if you need some positive reinforcement, I highly recommend this book. I should probably just go ahead and buy it in case I need a booster shot. It was exactly the medicine I needed to keep this dog running.

    Which leaves me with my latest piece of woodburning art. You got a peek at this earlier, when I burned in a couple of the golfing cats. I like it, but I don’t love it yet. However, it’s early in our courtship. I wasn’t even going to share it, but after reading the book, I said, who cares if it isn’t perfect, put it out there. You can see the details better in the image I uploaded to the gallery.

    Just keep practicing creativity. Give the dog a job.