On Starting a 2nd-Half Career

With retirement approaching (I'll be 65 in April), I know I need a second-half career, and I know I don't want to continue in the work-a-day world I have been in for the last 45 years.  I have always been in secretarial/admin/office work, since my first job right out of high school in 1972.  But, it's never been more than just a job, and I have always longed to work for myself.  I love to type; yes, I love to type.  I have excellent grammar and communication skills, and this seems to be the perfect fit for me.

Actually, I have been following Janet Shaughnessy's blog, Transcribe Anywhere, for two years now, waiting for the chance to jump in--waiting for the courage to jump in.  I believe time has forced me to take this leap, so now, yes, I am excited but also a little trepidatious.  I know I cannot go on working the way I have in the corporate world, yet I cannot afford to retire on social security alone.  My goal is to take her course and to hone my skills and expertise before I actually depart my day job, and to hopefully have a  client or two by then, even if they pay meager wages to being with.  I will consider this my apprenticeship.  Internship and exposure are invaluable.

So, as soon as I get my taxes back this year, I will be finally purchasing Janet's course and delving in.  That gives me a year to establish myself as a professional transcriptionist and ultimately make that transition from office worker to self-employed home worker.  

Wish me luck and success!  66 will be the first day of my new career. 

Sorting and Filing

I have so many boxes of papers and old photos in my bedroom alone, I am trying to go through them one by one, tossing items no longer needed, refiling important documents, archiving photos for later scrapbook pages.  I have found papers, bills, documents 10, 20, 30 years old in those boxes.  Most of them I routinely trashed; safely stored many others.

There were many good memories like trips with my children to Lion Country Safari in Florida and my oldest son's Kindergarten graduation folder, letters from my aunt, and old newspaper clippings.  But some were bittersweet, like the photo of the car my now ex-husband and I bought together, and our wedding invitation.  I stared at that one for a little while; I re-read it.  My most prominent thought was simply, "what a shame."  Just what a shame.  So much blessing, so much promise, so much hope, and gone.  I didn't cry, but I couldn't find it in me to toss it out either.  So I scanned and filed it in old memories.  Maybe I'll never look at it again, but still it is and was part of me and of our family, and I can't just throw that away, even though he did.  

January 1, 2015

January 1, 2015.  A new day; a new year.  Today is the beginning of many new experiences, only one of which is my journey back to abstinence. Healthy eating, but more so.  Sugar-free, flour-free, wheat-free. More on that later.

I will be making a lot of changes in my pantry and fridge, my lifestyle, and my eating habits, my diet. Not just to lose weight, which has been a life-long battle for me, but to become as healthy as I can for these remaining years of my life.  So, for today, meal No. 1 was 3 hard-boiled eggs, 2 pieces of cheese, and a sliced tomato, with a little salt and pepper (it was much prettier prepared).  What! 3 eggs! Yes, 3 eggs, and I'll explain more later; keep reading and following.  Note that the cheese was processed, and processed foods are being eliminated.  But, frankly, I can't afford to throw out the food that I already have, so I will use it up and then purchase more and different whole foods, carefully, thoughtfully.  

One day, one step, one meal.  Happy New Year.

Scrapper

My husbandTheTruckDriver is a scapper. True, he has been known to do his share of bickering, but it is scapping of a different persuasion to which I refer here. In short, he's a junk collector. Metal of all kinds, steel, aluminum, wire, copper, anything he can disassemble and transport to the recycling plant in exchange for a few bucks. In better days, the pile of debris behind our house between the shed and the woods was no more than an eyesore to me; in today's economy and state of rapid global deterioration, it is his little contribution to saving our pennies and saving the planet. He's not big time. You won't see him in a dilapidated pick-up bursting at the seams with mangled steel and rusty old water heaters. Just whatever he can fit in the back of the van, and whatever he has had time to deconstruct during his short lay-overs at home.


I took a trip to the recycling plant with him this week, and it was quite interesting, albeit rugged and dirty. There was a huge 3' high pile of what looked like aluminum shavings in one corner. Stacks of wheel rims and hubs in one area, radiators and other car parts in another, and a shelf full of metalware retrieved from the recycling bins - statues, bells, a goblet, perhaps for their collectible value. There was a huge, flat in-ground scale in the center of the warehouse, and beyond the doors in the gravel yard, numerous industrial dumpsters. First, the aluminum cans. 100 pounds worth, being pushed up and over the scale on a conveyor belt and into a crusher. Net: $4.00. But imagine all those cans in a landfill or strewn along the highways and riverbanks-500 years from now, they will still be discarded aluminum cans! That is money and energy wasted, not to mention the contamination of the landscape and the pollution of the waterways. It is a sad fact that Americans today recycle only about 50% of the 80,000,000,000 aluminum soda cans they use every year. It takes 95% less energy to make new cans from old ones than to produce new cans using virgin ore. Recycling only one can save enough energy to burn a 100 watt light bulb for about 4 hours or to run your television for three, and is equivalent to about 1/2 gallon of gasoline.


All the rest of the metal was just tossed on the in-ground scale by category, weighed, and calculated. To the cans, we added some sheet aluminum left over from a remodeling project and some pieces out of an old radiator MyHusbandTheTruckDriver stripped down in his spare time. Then some large rings of wire that he unfortunately hadn't had the time to strip. He would have found copper inside which would have been worth more than the unstripped wire; nevertheless, the scrap yard still took the wire and will undoubtedly strip it themseleves or send it off to yet another yard that will process it further. Then various parts from the old engine from our son's car. I don't know if they were steel, aluminum, or what, but the experts knew. Finally, some broken copper fittings and pieces of pipe. All weighed, totalled, and sorted into their respective bins. All the net of the rest of our recycled metals was $42. A nice chunk for our piggy bank, but it had a much broader impact on our world. In the US, recycling steel saves enough energy to heat and light 18,000,000 homes. Recycling copper uses only about 15% of the energy it would take to mine and extract new copper, and since mining and refining any metal produces gases and dust and requires enormous amounts of energy, recycling helps to conserve the world's supply of fossil fuels and reduce carbon dioxide emissions.


So, the next time you throw an aluminum can on the ground or even in the trash, or toss out that piece of wire or metal you pulled off the house or the car, why not think to recycle instead; not big business, but everyone doing their own part.

Have a blessed day.

Chatty Cathy and Her BFF's

The Knoxville News Sentinel had an article last weekend about a doll collectors' meeting in the Knoxville area. It featured one woman's 400 piece collection of original restored Chatty Cathy dolls, one of the most popular favorite dolls of little girls in the 1960's. First produced by Mattel in 1959, she was the first "talking" toy and could repeat phrases such as "I want a cookie," and "Let's have a party" by pulling a string at the base of her neck. And "she's cute," quoted the article.

I remember my Chatty Cathy, and my older sister's, as we were always apt to get the same toys for Christmas, even though we were three years apart in age. She took much better care of hers than did I, as she was a much girlier girl than I. I seem to recall coloring Cathy's eyelids black and perhaps cutting off all of her hair. Maybe that's why I stopped getting dolls for Christmas. It led to much jealousy the year my sister got a lifesize (for an 8-year-old) bride doll, and I got some floppy stuffed baby doll that didn't do anything.

I'm pretty sure we both had a pre-Cathy Betsy Wetsy doll as well. Betsy ... you guessed it: she peed. Well, thankfully it was simulated pee, water from a miniature plastic baby bottle squeezed into a little hole in her mouth and coming out a little hole you know where. Of course, and also thankfully, they weren't allowed to make anatomically correct dolls when we were children. Nor would the baby dolls of our childhoods hardly be considered politically correct today: mostly fair-skinned with rarely an ethnic variety among them, and appropriate for teaching little girls how to become above all else dutiful and doting mothers, feeding, bathing, and changing their babies, and if the girl were lucky, pushing them along in little baby buggies (think Margaret of Dennis the Menace fame).

Could be part of the uproar over the newly emerging Barbie doll was that it threatened this idyllic role training of little girls in an era when women were beginning to have louder voices in the world. Inspired by Marilyn Monore with her curvacious figure pared down to more respectable proportions, the Barbie doll opened the eyes of young girls everywhere to the world of fashion, travel, and careers. I remember having had three Barbie dolls in my life (all given up by the age of 10): Barbie, her bff Midge, and Barbie’s sister, Skipper, all of whom had clothes, shoes, and accessories galore. My sister had, I think, every Barbie-clan doll made from the time they first appeared in the stores in 1960 until late into her teenage years. She finally gave them away, perfectly preserved, to a younger neighbor girl. My Barbies, on the other hand, lost limbs, hair, and all their clothes before they finally disappeared into the night. Like I said, I wasn't a girly girl.

I hope that decades from now today's little girls will look back just as fondly on their Baby Alive and Bratz dolls of this era, even if they do color their eyelids and cut off all their hair.

Fast Forward 30 Years

Today, the doors of college open to me again for the first time since 1979. Perhaps not your typical student, this new season of my life finds me returning to college after 30 years to finish my education. I guess you could say it was on my “bucket list.” My goal is to obtain a degree in psychology with a concentration in Christian counseling, as I have deep desire to more effectively counsel hurting women, borne perhaps from my own life experience, growth, and recovery.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to study on-line as a distance education student, something not available to me as a young person, even had I had the direction and focus to pursue a degree through completion. I will be attending Liberty University, the largest and fastest growing Christian Evangelical university in the world, founded by the late Dr. Jerry Falwell, Sr.

I am studying Introduction to Christian Thought and Development Psychology.

My Review of Seersucker Women's Plus Size Bigshirt with Shirring & Pleats by Mainstreet Blues®

Originally submitted at WomanWithin

Seersucker bigshirt with shirring and pleats looks so lovely. We provide the finest plus size blouses and plus size shirts for the price.

• button-tab sleeves to roll up or not
• patch pocket
• shirttail hem
• the highest quality casuals

Seersucker women's plus size bigshirt with shirring & pleats by Mainstreet Blues®

Not My Favorite!

By Woman Within from Knoxville, TN on 10/7/2009

3out of 5

Sizing: Feels too large

Length: Feels too long

Sleeve Length: Feels too long

Pros: Comfortable

Cons: Poor Fit, Washes Poorly, Wrinkles Easily, Oversized Sloppy

Best Uses: Casual Wear

This was not my favorite and I was disappointed. It was oversized and sloppy, and does not have any shape because it is so lightweight. Wrinkles way too easily. Wore it once and won't wear it again.

Tar's Sunday Morning Offering

Tar is a pretty lazy old dog. These days he doesn't do much but eat and sleep, so we were pretty surprised when we opened the door to let him in after his morning's constitutional this morning to find he had befriended a turtle on his way home. We were at first concerned for it's welfare, seeing as how it sat so still, head and limbs tucked securely inside its shell as turtles are apt to do. Closer examination revealed the turtle had fared quite well, no harm done; Tar must have carried him with care, although he guarded him on our doorstep as prey caught for the kill.

Gingerly placed back in the woods behind our house, surely the turtle will find his way back to his creek bed and Tar will eat his normal breakfast as usual.

For the Love of Chocolate!

Do you feel this way when you eat chocolate? This is my grandson Drake at his first birthday party. His expression speaks for chocolate lovers everywhere!

Fish . . . or Foul? A My Town Monday Post

This lovely, serene spot on Watts Barr Lake less than 1/2 mile from my Kingston, Tennessee, home might seem the idyllic place to rest, reflect, and fish.

We even caught these dozing turtles resting on a large log:

Then, we noticed the sign. Translation: Throw All Fish Back!

I wonder, were one to catch a catfish or a bream, would one risk eating it? Not I. Not even one meal per month. (The homophone in the title of this blog post was intentional; now you know why.)

Happy Easter!

Drake had a fever so he couldn't join us. He stayed home with mommy. Still, he was full of smiles and giggles even with his pink cheeks!

Mud Bath

I have heard that mud baths are great for rejuvenating and revitalizing the skin, total mind and body relaxation, and joint and muscle pain reduction. All the benefits of this luxurious spa treatment escaped me yesterday, however, when I took my own form of a mud bath.

That's right, just outside my front porch, I slipped in the mud and fell face down in the cold, gooey stuff. I was unable to stop the fall as my right leg slid out from under me, ultimately stretching as far as it would go before I hit the ground. When the shock wore off after a few seconds, I immediately felt the burning in the back of my right thigh, but I sort of dragged myself to the porch railing then limped up the stairs, chucking my muddy shoes on the porch before I entered the house.

What a sight I was! Mud from head to toe, I limped to the bathroom and put myself back together, but I was in pain. My dear, compassionate son, who's also a CNA, insisted on driving down from Oak Ridge (30 miles) to make sure I was okay. I was; no torn muscles, just overly strained (from never having been used, no doubt). Nothing was broken, either a testament to the soft muddy ground or my soft, flabby body. My thigh ached and I had to sit on the edge of the chair to avoid putting pressure on the bruised area. My son reminded me that he had suffered much worse traumas from playing soccer all those years.

I am better today; most of the pain has subsided and I can walk without limping. Now I can laugh about my mud bath. I don't think it's what Cleopatra had in mind. At least I can now say that I have learned to do the splits.

Don't expect pictures.

Mud and Wild Onions

We drove all over East Tennessee today, it seemed. Through the pouring rain, low fog, and construction zones, I could still see spring blooming everywhere: daffodils in nearly every yard, yellow forsythia bursting on its branches, Bradford pear trees with thick white coats, redbud trees in purple bloom, and two-tone StuffMart potted pansies neatly encircling every little tree in every fast food restaurant and convenience store parking lot. Why, then, is my yard filled with nothing more than mud and wild onions?

It makes me yearn to garden, then I remember, I do not have a green thumb. I recall the Chinese evergreen my girlfriend bought me for Christmas. "Even you can't kill that," she said. Wanna bet? I forgot to water it -- at all; dead by February. Again, another case of sheer neglect. I'm so ashamed. I'd love to have roses, but I dare not.

Still, my yard looks awful--pools of muddy sludge and sprouts of wild onions growing taller with every raindrop, sparsely dotting the landscape (or lack thereof) in front of my house. I'll make a good effort as soon as the ground hardens a little bit; mow down the onions and spread some sod. I think I'll buy one of those roll-out flower beds and lay it down in front of my house to see if it blooms. Just my luck, the rain will stop and I'll be forced to remember to water it.

Trucker News

MyHusbandTheTruckDriver was headed home from Chicago Friday on I-74, on what should have been a fairly easy trip, getting him home by noon on Saturday. Just his luck, thousands of other people decided to converge at the Shelbyville, Indiana, exit just as he was approaching the area. So what tied him up for 3 hours or more and caused him to travel 5 miles in the same time frame he should have been able to travel over 150 miles? The long-awaited grand opening of the $200 million casino at the Indiana Downs racetrack. Somehow, he didn't feel it was worth the wait.

A Quarter Past Christmas . . .

It's the middle of March already and my Christmas decorations are still up. Do you think that's sad? Or just a case of gross neglect? Actually, my Christmas boxes were in the storage room, and with everyone's busy schedule and having been a one-car family for the past 3 months, no one has taken the time to retrieve the boxes and bins. Now huddled on my living room floor, they beg to be filled. And my family begs me to put away the Christmas stuff, already; it's almost St. Patrick's Day!

Car Notes:

Aaron's car has finally started! I believe it to have been the power of prayer that made the engine hum when he turned the key yesterday. The new engine was installed two weeks ago, and no matter what my husband and my son did, they could not get it running, even when every system check they tried said it's a go. He is thrilled, and so am I. Now maybe I won't be so stranded, as I have been feeling lately, especially now that spring is teasing us with her buds and blooms.

I saw the most magnificent display yesterday. Bradford pear trees all in a row, their bulbous contours ablaze with their white blossoms thick as snow. For a brief moment they'll wear their dressing gowns, then don their comely raiment as a debutante presented in the spring.

I must put the Christmas stuff away!

Wordless Wednesday - An Oil Painting by My Dear Late Sister, Debbie

click on picture to enlarge for greater detail

1₡ Per Word

I'm not a professional writer. By many (probably most) standards, not even a very good writer, but I would like to be. In fact, with my children grown and MyHusbandTheTruckDriver on the road so much, I am contemplating finishing my journalism degree (started over 35 years ago).

That being said, I am beginning to build a portfolio and more faithfully contribute to my journal, more for myself at this point than any second-career, post-retirement aspirations. So I was initially pleased when I was accepted by a marketing firm to join them as a content writer. I thought it might be a way to add to my portfolio and gain a bit of recognition, and perhaps a few dollars, for myself.

The catch is, were I to join them, it would be as a ghost writer; I would have no rights to my words, would essentially be selling the rights to my articles to the marketing company and its clients. I would not be able to include my articles in any other form of print or publication or, I assume, use them in my portfolio. They want 400 word articles; they pay $4 per article. That's only 1₡ per word. One Cent Per Word.

So, my question to all you professional writers out there is: Is this a good way to start? What are the pros and cons of becoming (an underpaid, overworked) content writer? Yes, I could go read forums and subscribe to newsletters for feedback, but I thought this would make a good post. Comments welcome.

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Note: Image created by me.

Bumper Cars

Saturday was such a beautiful pre-spring day, with mild temperatures reaching 70 and clear blue skies, one might surely turn her thoughts toward visiting a local amusement park. I, however, had no such intentions. Imagine my surprise, then, when I found myself not once, but twice, a participant in an unintentional game of bumper cars.

The thing about bumper cars is just when you think you have a clear space to break away, the car behind you abruptly changes direction and lunges into your personal space. So it was with the silver El Dorado with the tow hitch that I watched pull securely into his parking space directly opposite me before I backed out of mine.

Now I will sheepishly admit that I am not the most alert driver, but I was watching where I was going. Clearly through my rear view mirror, I saw the El Dorado safely parked, lights off, as I slowly moved backward in my own vehicle. Then, without warning, just like that annoying little bumper car that comes from out of nowhere and rams you when you least expect it, thud! Seems the driver didn’t see me back up when he decided he had pulled in at an angle and needed to back up himself and re-park. Well, truth be told, maybe I didn’t see him all that clearly either, and it was a rather minor bump, although it left a 3” gouge in my rear bumper. The tow hitch was not harmed. It’s still amazing to me how all 50 cars in a parking lot the size of a small city find it necessary to park in the first 3 rows.

Business concluded, and having decided to continue to enjoy the gorgeous pre-spring day, I drove merrily on my way with a few more stops left before it was time to pick up my son, Aaron, at work. Carefree, on our way home at last, we made one last stop at the convenience store for gas and a paper. While I darted into the store, Aaron pulled between the car at the pump and the curb to park and wait for me. Then, it happened again; not a thud this time, but a pop. It must have been a little too tight a squeeze, for the right front tire scraped the curb just where its metal frame and concrete were broken and left exposed, jagged and rough. A non-repairable hole in the tire, oh my! And no spare.

AAA to the rescue, but at my expense for the new tire, and possibly the tow since the distance to the local StuffMart Tire Shop (the only retailer open at 6:55 p.m. on a Saturday night in East Tennessee, imagine!) may have been more than my coverage allowed. We’ll see. Fortunately, a call to the RegionalConvenienceStoreChainEmergencyManagementNumber promised retribution if I would call the office on Monday and report the claim.

Note to self: No more wild rides.

Trucker Notes:

Myhusbandthetruckdriver hit Chicago Saturday morning where he waits to pick up his next load. All weekend in the terminal is not so bad; at least they have a TV in the trucker lounge; it has better reception (usually) than the one in the truck. Monday morning he is off to Oklahoma; hopefully home next weekend.

Wordless Wednesday - Grandma's Angel

Efficiency Vs. Security

As a small on-line seller, I ship a lot of packages. Generally, I pay for postage and print postage-paid labels on line, so everything is ready to go when I take my parcels to the post office. While I expect pre-paying to save me considerable time at the post office, I do still expect to stand in line to have my packages received.

So, I was surprised yesterday when I was called out of a busy post office line and told I could simply leave my packages on the counter, and they would be handled. At first, I thought, "hmm, how convenient." I gratefully dropped my packages and departed on my merry way. Then it occurred to me that I had been allowed to simply leave a stack of sealed packages on a busy post office counter in the heart of a high-security-risk city.

Not that I am an alarmist, but I wonder how easy it would be for someone with less benign intentions to leave a possibly lethal package undetected as well. I'm willing to trade a little inconvenience for the sake of precaution. I promise to stand in line with a smile on my face and never grumble at the person behind the counter for taking too long (unless, of course, the line I'm in is one of the 4 open register lines out of 30 at my local StuffMart on a busy Saturday afternoon).

Wood Carver Extraordinaire - A My Town Monday Post

Kingston is home to a local artisan. Don McMurray, an 82-year-old Kingston native, has a passion for carving wood. For 30 years he has been turning and shaping and carving pieces of wood into beautiful and intricate figurines and other pieces of art.

But he’s never sold a single piece, not because they weren’t marketable; he’s just never been inclined to sell his work. Don’s motto is, “If you charge a dollar, you lose a friend.” Still his pieces have become very popular in the community where they have been displayed over the years or given as gifts to friends and family.

Fond of carving caricatures, Don won a blue ribbon at the Tennessee Valley Fair in the early-90’s for a carving he dubbed “Knicker Knockers.” It was group of 4 golfers with movable heads wearing polos and golf pants and standing near their golf clubs.

One of his more popular carvings are those of Santas in all shapes and sizes and made from all different types of wood. When a local hardware store in Kingston burned some years ago, Don obtained some of the charred wood from the 200-year-old building and used it to make one style of his Santas. Those Santas aren’t painted, and bits of the charred wood can be seen on the statues. Don gave two of those Santa figurines to the Browder family (the founders of the hardware store that burned) and donated one to his church’s auction, bringing $340.

Once while being treated for heart problems, he met a lady in cardiology for whom he carved several wooden name tags that she could pin to herself. She was thrilled with the gift, and now that the woman, nicknamed “Shorty,” has passed away, McMurray muses that at least one of his carvings has gone to heaven.

While McMurray enjoys carving his more lighthearted pieces, he says he has more respect for his more serious carvings, such as the nativity which took him more than two years to complete. (It’s the only piece he has ever tracked the completion time on.) Starting with the Baby Jesus’ face, he was so dissatisfied with the outcome, he started over on the other end of the piece of wood. Always beginning at the face, which McMurray says is the hardest part, he laughs about it now and calls it “twin Jesuses.”

Most of his work can still be found displayed throughout his home, pieces such as ducks and Indian pieces, and a piece bearing the Kingston logo. The rest are stored in five boxes in the basement which is where his workshop is also located.

The craft that he loves comes natural to him. He has been doing woodwork all of his life, and a 4-poster bed in his home testifies to his skill and the quality of his work. He says he took up the carving hobby after he became a card-carrying member of the Smoky Mountain Wood Carvers group, and he hasn’t looked back since. The culmination of his years of work will be a public exhibit at the Kingston Community Center on March 9th.

And although he has slowed down a little over the years, saying he’s lost a little of the feeling and a little of the attitude, he’ll return to his work table often to finish those undone pieces. And sometimes, when the wood calls to him, he’ll even start a new one.

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Photos courtesy David Doonan/Roane Newspapers