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Laid Off Luxury

Free stock photo of hotel, bed, house, luxury

Since I’ve been laid off from the position of wage slave, my sleep pattern has been disrupted. Never an early riser, I was at least reluctantly accustomed to getting up for work and showing up for work, esteemed traits of the boomer generation. Since I can live by my own schedule now, I enjoy late night binging on Netflix and Amazon Prime Videos or listening to music. With my alarm silenced, mornings are later than usual and sometimes occur at lunchtime. In fact, you might say my schedule is more like mayhem. It’s great.

Regarding the scheduled life, there are two personality types—structured or non-structured. I am the non-structured type who goes with the flow, unlike my husband, Alan, who prefers planning and detail.  I think our opposite circadian rhythms contribute to the success of our marriage.

Some nights, I can’t get to sleep at all without Benadryl and/or Ibuprofen. Lately, I’ve been tossing and turning until around 4 and 5 am, despite listening to Beethoven and infusing the room with eucalyptus oil. My sister, Anita, tells me she doesn’t know a woman over 60 who doesn’t have insomnia. I told her Alan has it too. He says he gets up every morning at 3 am and has a hard time getting back to sleep. It’s true. I can hear him foraging in the kitchen while I’m watching T.V.

Because of our erratic schedules, there is no telling who’s up or down in our house at any time of day or night. There may be a body napping on the couch or guest room bed during the day or someone wandering in search of Tums at night in the kitchen. Alan is an extremely light sleeper. Since our kitchen is adjacent to the master bedroom, I dare not do dishes or noisily close the microwave door while popping corn in the middle of the night because he’s a bear when a person disturbs his sleep. The courtesy of not disturbing Alan’s sleep has become a good excuse for not working around the house.

The medical experts don’t seem to know why we can’t sleep very well as we age. It probably has to do with changes in the brain, but I like to think I’m returning more to my natural, biological self—eating when hungry and sleeping when tired, which is as it should be. I’ve been one of those who needs lots of sleep all my life and have loved every minute of it. Now that I don’t engage in the drudgery of work, I have no problem with staying up late, rising late, eating at odd hours and napping. In fact, napping is a laid off luxury.

I took two Benadryls and two Ibuprofens last night. That’s 50 mg and 400 mg respectively. They worked well with the 3 beers I had had earlier in the evening. I barely got through one episode of Monroe before I dozed off. It was a night of light comedy and deep sleep. There’s no telling what tonight might bring, though. The second series of Goliath airs today on Amazon and I’ll definitely be watching it. Sweet dreams everyone!

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It’s Getting Better All the Time

John and Me

It’s been a year since the Beatles channel started on Sirius XM Radio and six months since my surprise layoff from the drudgery of the day job. It’s getting better all the time.

The Beatles radio channel is my constant companion in the car and on my Amazon Music playlist. Beatles songs are sacred to me. They evoke feelings of youthfulness and of hope. Even though I’m now 64, getting older and literally losing my hair, I still love them and their incredible music every bit as much as I did when I was a kid.

But, I’m not the only one. There’s a lot of gray-haired Beatles groupies out there. At the Publix check-out last month, the cashier commented on my John Lennon t-shirt. (It’s the only printed t-shirt I own). It’s the iconic one pictured above with the black and white photo of John with folded arms, wearing the “New York City” sleeveless shirt and dark, round shades.  The Publix man said he had a shirt like it, but that his had the “Imagine” lyrics on it. He told me he recently wore the shirt to a “March for Our Lives” demonstration. I turned around to show him the same lyrics printed in red on the back of my top. When I faced him again, I saw his eyes filling up. He said something about how they were the best of times. I agreed. I ended our brief conversation by saying maybe “these kids” will turn things around like we did and he nodded.

My encounter with a fellow hippie may seem trite to some, but the fact that we shared a nostalgic sense of hope for future generations was important for me. I believe the millennials are trying to get us back to where we once belonged, just like my generation did. Although they have better technology and superior weed, there is ample evidence of the same free spirit, social engagement, and intolerance for conformity. They want the personal freedom we craved, a healthier planet, and a better world.

People my age who complain about the lax work ethic of kids in their twenties, could just admit that the millennial message is like that of our generation. However, we ended up working way too hard and often reluctantly. Many of us, like me, with “jobs” had to bow  to the very establishments we protested against in the 60’s.

In the seventies, that establishment strengthened. Noam Chompsky, the greatest intellectual of our time, calls it the age of neoliberalism and it is a powerful force of control in our world. It assures that we remain in our social place. It was what weakened our sense of solidarity and our power.

I never liked a single job I had for four decades and I don’t want that scenario for my grandchildren.  I hope that millennial self-respecting intolerance for corporate control helps turn it around and that they do build a better world. It’s their turn and I stand with them.

Power to the People!

Continue reading “It’s Getting Better All the Time”



For months now, I have seen the number 444 and 44 several times a day. Numerologists say it signifies the successful outcome of a project, that hard work will reap rewards. So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

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Victoria Park from “Dead Mentors”

Mother and Moon

The forest that rests deep inside Victoria Park is my favorite
place in the city of Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.
Th e stillness there unwinds my tangled thoughts. In September,
the path is laced with color, beckoning the weariest of dispositions
to take heed of the park’s aged splendor. It is the humbling power
of nature’s silence that grants its authority over my senses like the
Wise Old Woman of Sophia’s dreams. I am a visitor of minute
awareness amidst its solemn grace and unspeakable beauty. To
ponder, even briefly, to begin to take note consciously amid such
elegant simplicity is an act of dishonor. It is there for the senses
only, for the deep roots of life’s core to silence human triviality.
Th ere are many such places on a quiet island, places where nature
is salvaged. Each one is a depiction of change and growth and
death, displayed with blatant disregard for human frailty. My
walks in Victoria Park paid homage to nature itself, not to my
From “Dead Mentors” Fifth Chapter, Mother and Moon