....and a new year begins!

January 1, 2011

A very rainy day here, which is completely out-of-sync for a Canadian winter. Above zero temperatures and the first faces to show themselves after New Year's Eve running around in jogging pants, running shoes and even a pair of shorts! Although a wintry day is preferable as far as I'm concerned, admittedly there is something rather nice about a slow, sleepy start to a new year, if for no other reason than it gives me the opportunity to do a little reflecting on 2010 --- and life in general.

In Native Art collection @ Royal Ontario Museum, made of birch bark with these exquisite embellishments.

It's also the first time that I've started a new year as a retired person and it will be both a first and last milestone in that sense. Kind of neat to be living a day that will never happen again, literally, even though no day ever happens twice, does it? So the first thing I might say about January 1, 2011 is that, by virtue of its signification in my life, it has provided me with a window into the fabric of each day, a concept really too huge for the mind to hold conscious from one day to the next, but clearly the reason behind sayings as cryptic as "Make each and every day count" or "Live each day as though it were your last."

My sensibilities have been dominated by retirement as process since my official retirement date, as noted above in an earlier blog. I see now that the November 23 post reflects me being in a state of shock as I woke up each morning with the terrible responsibility ("terrible" in the sense of overwhelming) of what the day would be. My response was to rather drift along, in some ways, seeing what presented itself, a little like a piece of flotsam on a gentle current. Other days, this kind of novelty wore very thin and I found myself turning back to routines that were still part of my life, such as the drudgery of housework. Now, when I was "working at work," I pretty much despised housework. And I pretty much despise it now. But in the smoke and mirrors of pre-Christmas, housework and related domestic chores felt stupid but comfortably solid, somehow. Until the stupid of basing one's day on the satisfaction of having skewered every single dustball (I have one very furry dog + 3 equally furry cats) became obvious -- and even a little humiliating!

There were, of course, wonderful walks with Jericho who, as a senior, has a kind of natural grace and dignity I completely lack. For one thing, Jericho's walks reflect an unabashed commitment to what he feels like doing on any given day. Regardless of how far afield we go, he takes the time to thoroughly investigate every smell, greet his many fans and receive their well wishes & pats, roll luxuriantly in the snow or, before it arrived, the cedar chips in his favourite park and take excursions to the flower shop (for cookies and more praise) or the pet food store (for further cookies and more loving words and the occasional misadventure with Cleopatra, the store cat). Then home for another cookie and a long nap.

I love these times with my dog. And in the midst of this rather confused state of early retirement, his ways of organizing his day and making each day into a however modest adventure have provided me with valuable insight, which I will, hopefully, learn to act upon in the near future. At the moment, I lack the inclination, or the skills, or both.

Another member of the animal kingdom that I find myself studying with a certain fascination is the great thoroughbred, Zenyatta, who was retired at the beginning of December 2010 and now resides at Lane's End in Kentucky. Zenny got off the plane from California in her racing form and stepped into a completely new part of the world. A few days after her arrival to a snowy, wintry Kentucky, the people she most loved in the world went back to California, leaving her to herself with new handlers, a new stall and barn, and a brand new routine. Thanks to her devoted Team, Zenny's fans have been able to monitor her transition from athlete to brood mare via video, prose and photos.

Zenyatta was first hand-walked about her new digs, given the fact that there was snow on the ground, making it unwise for her to be set loose in her own paddock. I doubt she would have been turned out immediately any way, since part of the process involves letting her get acclimatized. When Zenny walked on snow the first few times, Charles made sure that she wore a lip chain as a kind of safety device to remind her to pay attention and not act on her instincts. Zenyatta had her shoes removed at another point, and was hand-walked around her paddock shortly thereafter. Finally, with Mario, Carmen, the Shirreffs and the Mosses present, Zenny was turned out for the first time alone in her paddock, where it took her some time to realize that she could skip and run and whinny all by herself.

As I try to get more comfortable with a process that is brand new to me, I have found it important to watch Zenyatta and read about the "baby steps" in her own transition process. It resonates with me that she spent a lot of time just looking around, kind of taking it all in. Too, the lip chain to remind her not to be careless or silly is meaningful, as are the "test runs" before she was turned out.

Zenyatta arrives in chilly Kentucky to begin her new life.

In some ways, I wish I was Zenyatta. I mean, there are so many people around her whose only job it is to ease her through the transition from race horse to brood mare. But in the human domain, thanks principally to our minds and the sophistication of our other gifts, we must be our own pilots. Otherwise, we would be quite miserable.

I have arrived, post-holidays, at a point where I am mourning what has gone out of my life forever -- something most animals seem not to do, since they live with their memories in an eternal present. It has taken me awhile to get here from the shocky-type state I was in at first. It's as though the struggle to make the days immediately following retirement "meaning-full" has moved me towards the inevitable realization that the career I have left is really, truly gone. I am filled with memories and a sense of melancholy and loss. All part of letting go, however painful and disconcerting this may feel.

There really is no beginning without an ending, that much is certain. And I understand that I must allow myself to feel all that goes along with a departure of this kind -- my version of Zenny's stopping to look around at this new place where she finds herself, as well as the tenderness in her greeting Mario when he returned to visit her with the Shirreffs and the Mosses. For me, this is a fragile time -- reminding me to pay attention to my health and my needs in a way that is even more important when one is crossing over into something new.

And although my immediate state in this -- yes, challenging -- process is painful and even downright terrifying, all of these feelings are allowing me to appreciate the losses of giving up a career that was also my passion for 36 years. For all the pain and anxiety, I would not want to move on without a long, loving look at the people, events, experiences and opportunities of my life as an educator. It's too important to be treated as a mere pebble on the road to somewhere, as long as one has the courage to look it right in the eye. After all, isn't this what fairy tales (also) try to teach us? (Not the Disney junk, the real fairy tale replete with its orphans, heroes/heroines, tasks and journeys and -- most important to me right now -- its monsters and seemingly insurmountable obstacles?) I intend to spend more time thinking about this last bit today ... which fairy tale most resonates for me?

Not that I will only be reflecting and thinking: actions await. A new day spreads its table before me.