GOING BACK IN

PROFESSIONALISM RUINED, I HAD TO DO SOMETHING. I was GOING BACK IN. I love an income... an income that produces a MEANS FOR LIVING what I call life. Retirement is the most boring session in life so far. In it I am advised to try a number of things that include traveling to desired destinations... many of which I have never had the desire. Work life was cut short after accomplishing the basics for becoming a fledgling land developer or working an integral role within a land development corporation. I accomplished the basics for being that woman on a land surveying team and in their civil engineering corporation. I could work for any one of the many major corporations in their real estate department. I could continue working in the "cushy community" where I was initially hired to work as a simple licensed real estate agent after passing course studies and professional exams. In any path persued, I could finally earn a living to carry myself and my family... my son and daughter by my own honest effort from an honest wage earned. Beautiful.

UNFORTUNATELY... as mentioned; I am retired. Retired after injuries on the job and in the military. Injuries of broken bone and some, causing lost memories. I could not return to careers studied for, trained to or called into. What does one do in that case, short of losing motivation and momentum? Not willing to remarry and use a mates's energy and wit to continue, I resolve to observe those out here who exist without preplanned effort. What do I have to draw from? What learned skills and mobility could I still perform?

At best, I could continue exhibiting the fact that I am "yet a woman"... but with the addition of increased age. Add on the injuries sustained while performing work on government jobs and injuries in the military, I take my perogatives down by at least forty five percent. If, from a head injury, stress or built up adrenalin from work, overthinking or exercise... a black out demands a line be drawn against many occupations. It says keep to any calm activity. The fact that any blackout or seizure causes a "blank out" of memory requiring time to rebuild a memory base... similar to a stroke; demands staying away from anything prone to causing a "rushed response" and minimal focus or concentration. No more hectic or assaultive husbands.

Acknowledgements in place, I have some solutions noted.

I could be a "short stance" dancer. Short Stance Dancing being those that call for less the the ultimate physical performance depicted by pervacious "JELLY BUTT FLOPPERS," or the "CLOGGING NOISE STOMPERS,"and nothing like the "ROARING TWENTIES SHAG DRESS SPINNERS" or that recent Superbowl ovation casting "CHICKEN DANCE" stunt by Rihanna. I refer to the limited time required to put on a simple BANANA DANCE that is said to seduce the audience with the complex suggestive maneuver of a shaken banana. I refer to the slide around and jiggle on, along and up against a fireman's pole as found in so many clubs and parlors or comedian stages now days. I could, perhaps, still do the classic HIP TOSSING SNAKE DANCE that hipnotized Beyonce's audience.... cobra or anaconda style. Take into consideration attained age and current injuries... I should think I would come off as comedic at the least.

I could be a stand up comedian. Stand up comedian in my effect would be to laugh from within at the attempts made towards being any and everything, some say "not ordained by GOD." Whether becoming a married woman, married parent, success should come with the "help of God" with the intention of God making the way beforehand. The every method tried and all but failed BECAUSE "GOD did not plan for me to do it." At this late date, I'm guessing God had no plans for me.

I should not be a clergy person... I would never remember my lines. Over a short term of six months done at the request of some inner voice I had already run a newsletter. The news shared was that the base of all or most faiths were teaching the same message. It correalated columns of the weekly sermons of well known highly respected clergy and church groups of Hebrew, Christian, Islamic... added in Bahai and Hindu, word for word alongside the manuscript they presented from the Holy Bible, the Holy Quran and the Talmud as presented on each entity's internet site and in their printed form. That inner voice met in intense prayer during a life stuggle made the request that the newsletter be done as such... unbiased and with fair dispersment from varietal clergy , into the general public in an unprejudiced fashion. The order was done for the requested three months, with another three added as a sort of conceded effort. It was done.

I could drive calm passengers to and fro. At least I thought that to be a safe "community conscious" role until they told me to memorize mechanics of a large vehicle and the modes of performance while shushing a load of special needs passengers and recounting the distance of a train whistle that I could hear of the previous request for silence among the none hearing passengers. Upon accomplishing that task, I would need to measure fifteen to one hundred secured lengths of yellow metal ahead of or behind the rail before reawakening air brake system in a calm manner and releasing the flashing lights for a next turn to pick up more special persons. When the mechanics learned were altered to have me verbally test during performance of each task on hydrolic instead of air brakes No, I will not get that CDL. Not that way.

An aged AARP commrade recommended GOAT FARMING was the deal. It was announced in one of the earlier magazines I qualified to receive as an honorary retiree. She had retired from her thirty year career as an office manager for some mega corporation, and decided to follow through on her fantasy of farming. Her decision to take on the challenge of goat farming was the result of researching animal husbandry and potential for guaranteed income versus loss of assets from unexpected events. Raising goats would represent a smaller loss than would many other options for farm livestock.

I searched out the potential for income from her recommendation to determine my success quota and went in search of nothing less than ten acres to raise food for my creatures, pasturing acreage and enough room for a home and odd crops. I sought out properties with existing structures... barn, outsheds and a farmhouse; and managed to put my bid in on one that fell onto the HUD list for fifty thousand dollars with an option to purchase using my veterans benefits or a federal home loan. It needed repairs but I was confident that I could pull it together. I was confident, that is, until I aligned my ego with those bolstered by Max and Orin... the "GOD'S of MIDWESTERN FARMING." The women surrouding the pair of weekend morning moral supports reassured Max that I was "...not a farmer" and that he should not "support my efforts nor ask them (the farming community) to." I sank out of the life raft I had garnered on an earlier occasion by helping solve the farm service agency funding on the national level by assisting with letter and other contact methods until they pulled their issues through. I fell out of competitional potential for the ten acre farm in Indiana. I fell out of touch for receiving a farm loan as a comparable applicant to any up and rising FFA child member... and fell away from being able to afford the sky rocketing prices of talented and hardworking goats. They were put to performing contractural land clearing... massage jobs and yoga performances. They made appearances in commercials and were being solicited for movies and a docu series in some instances. I would not be able to afford employing a common Nigerian goat or Pygmy for anything I had in mind. They could do better than provide fertile poo, cashmere or mohair, milk, meat or cheese which was already used world-wide. So I put that book down. I pushed my goat meat recipe books out and onto the high shelf in the garage; and put away the meat grinder. It was a good thing I did not buy the Kubota I desired or the red tractor Max pushed. It would have just been sitting here in my back yard.

I could be a writer. I studied literature and journalism in early college years. I had written poetry since the introduction by a fourth grade teacher. Ms. Crowe plunged us first into poetry in patriotic songs frequent to the days of elementary school children, then pulled us through Shakespeare imploring us to "think" like he and other Elizabethan era writers. I have spun out a few books put through as far as legitimacies of copyrighting at the federal level U.S. Library of Congress... number issued and ISBN issued for library referencing. They were circulated throughout the general public and to some popular politicians and royal family households... some world wide, and opinion surveys run for those. By simply watching the faces and hearing the remarks of classmates being co introduced to the world of poetry and literature back in fourth grade, I knew the challenge to be a success would be a huge one. Writing something comparable to those "great masters" and working toward bettering them in having words put to stage or film in these late days would demand serious skill and determination if not a few connections among the already successful stage crawlers and red carpet mongers. The challenge to become would simply be defined by the selected focal point of script written. The chosen genre of subject could make or break talent not in tune to the actuality of a locale, character or customary norm. Characters and pronounced outcome written for varied aged children or family grouping over tea and soda swallowed down mentally along with the handfuls of popcorn and chips as eager minds awaited words read them by mom or dad. I could capture gang ethic suited in FBI or CIA formality swashing away the known terrorist in actions borne over page after page of clever verbage that cause fists of pizza to miss the hole intended for. Or words that cause the reader to linger past the critical moment needed to relieve himself SIMPLY BECAUSE the constant lover of the new buxomous broad is back on line and wearing heavily on her character's innuendo. I could write words to thrill anyone still willing to pick up a book on line or on paper, but published in the traditional way to permit an income for survival. I dropped this series of finger tapping to drop a line into the expansive depths of Hollywood... to test the waters.

Whichever the late blossom that would draw me back into the chasm of life and living I need to find it and submerge for my mental health and continued physical sustenance.

Watch for me... I'm going back in.