No bucket list for me

There are times in your life when you make a mental list of the things you want to do before you die. They call it a bucket list, and sometimes people who learn they are terminally ill make such a list and try to check off the items.

Often the list includes places to visit: New Orleans, the West Coast, Alaska and Bermuda, Europe or even Africa. Other times it would be specific activities: fly a plane, skydive, scuba dive, rappel or rock climb. It would be that book they meant to read, or write. The old friend they wanted to track down, the lost love that they wanted another chance to romance.

Nope.

While some of those things, like rock climbing, the West Coast, or writing a book, might be things I'd like to do at some point, if I were terminally ill, I wouldn't be rushing off to do them.

I'd be doing exactly what I'm doing now.

Standing at the Dobson Christmas Parade with my daughter and granddaughters, I soaked up their smiles and giggles like a dry sponge thrown in a bucket of water. And it's not like it's an infrequent opportunity that I treasured because of the rarity. After all, next to the girls' parents I'm their chief caregiver. I spend most of my cell phone minutes talking to my daughter in the morning. We frequently get together on the weekends and holidays.

But the fact of the matter is that these moments, no matter how many or how few, are irreplacable. If I were dying, I wouldn't be sad that I'd not seen the Pacific Ocean, I'd be sad that I didn't get to spend more time with the little people that have turned my life upside down the last two years.

Although they are small now and probably won't remember these long afternoons at my house, they will grow and I want to be a part of the memories they carry forward. While my "Ma Mary" has been gone for almost six years, she lives on in my memory and in the stories I tell my grandchildren. Being a part of the legacy that forms a child is the closest to immortality that we can find on earth.

As far as I know I'm healthy and may someday get around to doing more of the things I'd like to accomplish, including taking a vacation with my husband. But if that were to change, don't look for me to take off for an Alaskan cruise. I won't be trying to check off items on a bucket list.

I'll be right here, filling my bucket with drops of precious memories.

I Miss My Life, or Do I?

It seems terribly ungrateful, I know, as wonderful as my life is now, but I miss my life. My "before" life.

The life I had two and a half years ago when I complained about going to work for 45 hours a week and counted on a set amount of money to magically appear in my bank account every two weeks with health insurance and taxes paid. The life I had when I got up and put on makeup, did something with my hair and wore nice clothes. The life I had when I spent my days with other adults, most of them fairly well educated, when I knew what was happening in the world and had a part in conveying that knowledge to my neighbors. The life when I knew all the movers and shakers and had people calling me all the time.

When I had a job.... When I counted.... When I was someone, too.

It's a depressing refrain, but one I can't quite get out of my head. Especially on a rainy May morning when I don't even want to go to the grocery store, because that would involve taking the tarp off my convertible that I really can't afford to have fixed, no matter how bad it may leak. Because I've just spent more than $500 putting tires on it and making it safe, and there's no longer a regular paycheck to count on.

I know God has put me where I am now, and that there's a reason for it. My job went away to change me. I would never have quit my job to take care of one grandbaby, let alone two, yet without a job it's the logical thing for me to do. I would never have quit my job to be self-employed and take care of other people's dogs (no matter how much I love dogs), because my dad was self-employed and it was never something I wanted to be.

For those who have never been self-employed or lived with a self-employed person, let me clarify a few points. Being self employed is like being an adult in a lot of ways - a disappointment in that no, it doesn't mean you can suddenly do whatever you want when you want. In fact, there's less freedom than having a job or being a child. The difference is the final responsibility is yours and there's no one else to blame. You're the bitch you work for.

Instead of working a set number of hours, it's almost 24/7, at least in the early phases. Not working means not making money and you can't count on another busy day next week to make up for work you turn down this week. Instead of celebrating with an expensive dinner out when you have a good week, you put the money in the bank against those days when the phone doesn't ring and you begin to look at the want ads and consider alternate ways to make a living.

But back to missing my life.

Now I rise early, spend my mornings walking dogs, cleaning the kennel, and sometimes doing a bit of dog grooming. I tend my dogs, feed the chickens and turtledoves, and, when necessary, mow the lawn. I haul mulch and plant a garden. Turn on the Roomba to clean the floors while I'm outside. I wear comfy clothes, Crocs or MBTs (for walking), and my hair is always in a ponytail. I seldom wear makeup and my hair hasn't felt a stylist's touch since February 2010 when I swapped dog boarding for a highlighting job. Now my highlights are natural and more silver than gold.

Afternoons are a similar slow pace with two granddaughters arriving shortly before noon. There's lunch and naps (which allow me to go back out to dogs and yard workd) followed by playtime and dinner. I've constructed a play area at the end of the house with sandbox, pool and watertable. There's a slide and swing in the yard. When the weather's nice, we go for another walk in the evening before they go home.

All that sounds wonderful, and it is.

Do you hear the "but"? Can you see, or more accurately, hear what's missing?

When the phone rings, it's not someone wanting to talk about their issue or their day. It's someone with a dog who really needs his hair cut ASAP, or who wants their dog to come stay with me while they go to Florida/the beach/a cruise, etc. (I hate to travel, in general, so I don't begrudge them although I do look forward to one day having time off again. When I was a kid, my dad took time off for vacations twice! in the 20 years I lived at home!) I look forward to the dog's visit and add them to my calendar. End of call.

I miss conversations, just talking about politics, county government, crime, life, etc. So badly that sometimes I hold someone hostage to a conversation just because I need to talk about something that isn't related to my family or dogs. I don't realize it until afterwards, but then it's like OMG! what was I talking about? I have actually called people and apologized.

Sure, I miss caring about how I look and being out in the public eye - sometimes. But I'd rather clean a dirty kennel than listen to my last editor's crap (something they have in common), and I love being home at night and going to church on Sunday instead of wrapping up a last minute deadline.

So I realize that when I say I miss my life, it's really the people that miss. With that in mind, I'm saying reach out to people. With all the tools of conversation we have at our disposal, we're all guilty of retreating into our own unhealthy space. And I'm as guilty as the next.

I realized that I don't have to be lonely and Facebook isn't the only way to socialize. So if I know you're in the same boat I am, look out. Your phone may be ringing.