Hope and a lot of change.....

Let’s talk about change. Not necessarily hope. Just change.

The kind that collects in the bottom of a woman’s purse or a man’s pockets.

Periodically I empty all of the coins from my wallet into a smaller change purse I carry so that my wallet doesn’t look like a chipmunk preparing for a bad winter. I’m not sure what I’ve gained, though, since all that metal is still weighing my shoulder down. It does seem to help for some reason that I can’t explain, though.

Pennies have their own repository in a ceramic dish in my kitchen. When they start falling out of the dish onto the counter, I gather them up and make a trip to that noisy machine inside the door of my local grocery store that whirs and sorts and counts and then spits out bills at me. Who said a penny has no value?

Here’s the thing I’ve been pondering, though. I’ve noticed that “older” shoppers (certainly older than me) must really hate change. There are many levels to this statement—many don’t react well to new ideas or ways of doing things or they haven’t taken the plastic off their furniture in decades—but let’s focus here on the coins that are the inevitable result of buying things. That kind of change. It’s just going to happen.  You give someone a $5 bill for an item that rings up at $4.27 and boom—there it is. Seventy-three cents to add to the collection in your wallet or pocket.

But seniors must hate the stuff beyond all reason, because the next time they step up to the counter to pay, here’s how it goes. Their purchases total $16.63, but rather than hand over the $10, the $5, and 2 one dollar bills, they start digging in their wallets or pants to come up with exactly sixty-three cents to add to the $16 they have begrudgingly pulled out. (We won’t even discuss the oft-seen option of attempting to ferret out the $1.63 entirely in change. My heart won’t take it.) And heaven forbid they use the $20 bill they have hidden in there. Not going to happen.

In the meantime, we all stand patiently (or not so much) behind them, watching this archaeological dig, as the clock tick-tick-ticks away our perpetually disappearing time. And maddeningly, all this searching sometimes ends with, “Oh, here!” as they toss bills on the counter anyway. They give up the quest, and we all sigh in relief.

Maybe legal tender for those over a certain age should ONLY be paper money. No change allowed at all for them. I’m sure merchants wouldn’t mind, especially if they round up to the next dollar when they see white hair approaching. None of us would mind, either.

That would be a welcome change, wouldn’t it?

We can always hope.

 What I like most about change is that it's a synonym for 'hope.' 

Linda Ellerbee 

Hotel rooms by the hour....

Here's a silly question: How many hours are really in a day? I know as we get older it seems that they fly by, faster and faster, as we march to that day (there's that word again) when it won't matter any more. I'm not trying to be morbid here.....the "day" issue is bugging me.

Oh....you want to know why it's gotten under my skin? Well, you know me: I'm about to share that with you!

It seems that in hotels and other such places, a "day" is defined by some strange calculation that has to do with cleaning rooms or something. Towels washed, maybe? But NOT with accomodating guests who might want to stay an actual DAY in that lovely place.

Recently I was calling around, trying to find a room for an upcoming wedding in another city. Which starts at 5 PM. Now stay with me here: I am driving for about 2 hours to get there and would like to check in, shower, dress, get made up, (which, let's face it, takes longer as we age, right?), and catch my breath before we head off to a location that is unknown to me. So, age having provided me some wisdom, I leave time to get lost and then find my way to the wedding venue, park (you never know what that's going to be like, either), and to the right location for the wedding INSIDE the venue. (We all know how big some of those places are. You can walk forever just to find a bathroom.)

Check in times ran from 3 PM to 6 PM. Yep, 6 PM. Oh, no problem, I told my mother. They'll let us check in earlier to get ready if we only explain the situation. Wrong. They didn't care. "Sorry, we can't guarantee that any rooms will be cleaned any earlier from the night before."  Really?

Especially considering that check out time at that same hotel is 11 AM.

So, let's count: Check out time is 11, check in time is 4. That gives them 5 HOURS to turn that facility around, and yes, I understand that some of them are huge. HIRE MORE STAFF! Who are you in business for....your housekeeping staff or, God forbid, your customers??

Which leaves a 19 hour day for the customer who pays a "DAILY RATE" for that room. And that's just using the hours I've indicated above. The one that really blew my mind was the 6 PM check in time, with a noon check out.  And that was a Bed & Breakfast with 6 rooms total! That's 6 full hours subtracted from the length of a day's stay. Even if the innkeeper has to clean all 6 by herself, I could do it in 6 hours. And those of you who actually know me know that would be a painful sight.....but I COULD do it if it meant paying customers on the other end of the agony.

I guess one solution would be for all hotels to charge by the hour, just like some of those, well, you know.....

So, how many hours ARE there in a day? There are 24...unless you enter a time warp of hotel accomodations. Then they suck some of them right out of you at the front desk upon check in.

Time is making fools of us again. ~J.K. Rowling

Time as cash.....

My dance instructor keeps me talking as we dance. Of course, anyone who knows me also knows that I have no problem talking--to anyone. Anywhere. About anything.

But he does it to keep me from overthinking where my feet are supposed to be going. I am not a naturally rhythmic person and this is hard work for me. And don't expect my arms and my feet to go in two different directions......PLEASE. He knows this, so we talk.

One of our conversations the other day led me to reflect on the concept of how much our time is worth. My instructor and I both facilitate group sessions with people, albeit in totally diverse topics, and occasionally all our prep work to plan a session is fruitless. No one shows up. Or a session is on a Saturday or other generally unscheduled day and as the presentor I HOPE that no one shows up. (I can't speak for him on that one, but I'll ask him the next time we're waltzing.)

When no one shows, we probably don't get paid. But if I'm all set up for folks to gather and I'm hoping merely to pack back up and go home, that means something: There are other significant ways to place value on my time.

And as I get older, I'm finding the alternate price tags we assign some blocks of our time are just as valuable, if not more so. Do I really need to schedule six trainings this week when it will leave me exhausted and depleted, unable to enjoy the seventh unencumbered day? There's barely time to catch up with normal things like laundry as it is. (I started to add cleaning, too, but all my friends and family would shriek with laughter at that reference....better I just not mention it.) Plus, my current car runs fine, even if it is five years old. Do I really need a new one?

I value time to do nothing if I choose. And please don't interpret that to mean that someone else pays my bills while I'm cloud-watching. No one does, and no one has for the majority of my adult life. I have simply learned that  if I'm hoping no one attends one of my seminars, even if that means my income is lower, then my time has taken on a richer, more meaningful texture. I have matured to the point that I recognize and accept that.

Now...shall we dance?

Time passes....with or without you

Well, here we are at the end of another one. They do tend to slip by faster and faster as we each get....well, older and older, don't they? I read somewhere that this unnerving fact is because we encounter fewer events that we have never experienced before as we get older. So, the minutes and hours of our lives begin to slip by unnoticed, spinning through the calendar from January to December, our heads spinning with the rapidity of it all. If we even notice at all.

One of the books I'm reading for a second time right now, when I build my fire outside and sit curled in my blanket before dawn each day, is called The Second Half of Life by Angeles Arrien. It's actually the third time, if you count the first one when I didn't understand what this woman was trying to say at all. I slid it back into my bookcase, thinking, "Now, that's a strange book!" A few years later, I tried again. Arrien envisions aging as a journey through eight gates of wisdom, including folklore and customs from around the world in her metaphorical trip through those gates.

One of the verbal customs she mentioned, and one I immediately identified with, was that of intentionally experiencing something new each month for one year on one's birthday. Last year, I had my daughter take me out on a surfboard, which she found entertaining beyond words. I never did stand up on that surfboard, but I had a blast, totally unexpected since I don't swim very well and can't see a  thing once my glasses are taken away from me.

After that, though, it was taxing to find things that I had never done (taking into consideration that there are things I would NEVER do, even under penalty of death, like jump out of an airplane, or things I can't afford, like go to Paris). So, my year of that experiment lasted a month, when I walked out of the ocean with the surfboard in tow.

But I'm reading the book again now. And I think I'm going to attempt that year-long journey of new experiences again. Arrien mentioned that part of the value IS that we have to be creative to find new roads to follow, and that's the whole point.

Then maybe time will slow down enough to savor the moments again, recapturing some of the newness of life that we take so much for granted when we're younger, growing and learning every day.

I'll start a list tomorrow as we usher in a new year, a list of potential new experiences that can reopen my eyes to the world as a source of joy and challenge. I'll keep you posted. Maybe I'll even take pictures. Stay tuned!

The second half of life is the ultimate initiation.....we are a sacred mystery made manifest. If we truly understand what is required of us at this stage, we are blessed with an enormous opportunity to develop and embody wisdom and character.

Angeles Arrien