Author: K.S. Schultz

My afternoon with Occupy Grand Rapids

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

No bail money was needed at the Occupy Grand Rapids rally this past Saturday, coincidentally located at the tiny Monument Park across a busy street from the Grand Rapids Police Department.  A diverse group of about 30 fed-up people gathered to protest the state of our union and listen to scheduled speakers on topics such as consensus, the legal boundaries of local ordinances in regard to public assembly, and managing various media outlets.  There was an abundance of heart and rebellious attitude in the small group which grew in number as the afternoon wore on.  Several
folks held up signs along the sidewalk, others knelt on the grass listening to speakers, and spontaneous group discussions popped up as people introduced themselves to one another.  Vehicles driving by honked their passive support and a few passers-by yelled out, “Get a job!”  This is a fledgling movement that is in the early organizational stage, which is my way of saying that the Occupy Grand Rapids movement is in need of structure.
Although an organized structure is practical and I think essential, the Occupy movement was born out of frustration and anger, so it may take some time to create long-burning coals from the initial blaze.  Occupy Grand Rapids has a core group that have the potential of long-burning coals, but personal time constraints of even the most devoted highlight a need for a larger group of participants to assist with the organizational aspects.  Children must be cared for, work and college require participation, and personal relationships need attention.

This is all my opinion, on my blog, which is not a voice for the Occupy movement, but rather the voice of a woman in her 40’s musing on life’s changes in the 5th decade.  It
seems that the biggest challenge for this movement will be engaging people like me who want to fight for concrete changes, like campaign and financial institution reform, concepts that some Occupy demonstrators deem as working within The Broken System.  While the majority of Americans are not happy with the direction of our country, we know that a few steps in the right direction can affect our 401k balances, our children’s future, and our employment opportunities.  The 99% consists primarily of working middle and lower-class families who want the America we were raised on, that idealistic democratic model in which our interests are represented.   Perhaps that is a pipe dream, in which case our indoctrination was a huge mistake.

My Boy-Toy in the 5th decade

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

My husband comfortably residing in his 30’s after I turned 40 was never funny to me, the cougar jokes being unimaginative at best.  What self-respecting cougar chooses a boy-toy only 3 and a half years her junior?  I resisted the urge to lash out at jokesters by reminding myself that he does possess many of the desirable traits of young hotties in the movies, as evidenced by the double-takes he gets when we are out and about.  At one of his office parties a mature female who had rid herself of inhibitions with her tenth drink told me, “Your husband is the guy we all fantasize about”.  I responded that fantasies are best kept private.  I owe her my gratitude, though, for gifting me with something to tease him about for the remainder of our days, especially when he does not feel like a hottie.

I secretly enjoyed his angst over turning 40, but made up for it by not giving him over-the-hill presents, mainly because I knew he would point out that I will always be older.
Using his preoccupation with getting old, I easily convinced him that this landmark birthday demanded a physical examination.  Our doctor told him that he is still young
and in great shape, so my partner may get his next physical when he turns 50 if he can get past the fear of a prostate exam.  He tells me he will need a female physician for that, preferably one with very small hands.  I wonder why the doctor insisted on testing my cholesterol at 35, but told my husband he doesn’t need to be tested now.  Looking like a boy-toy may not work to his advantage in the health arena.

Ten days into his 5th decade my husband has not changed much, although like most women I wonder what is going on in his head while he is staring off into space.  Is
he now considering politics, the economy, or perhaps the Christmas symphony that I
told him about?  His wet towel on the bedroom doorknob tells me that at heart he is still the 23-year-old Marine that revved up my libido all those years ago and is likely thinking about microbrews, football, or and sex.

The value of a good bartender

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

There is a tavern on the shores of Bois Blanc Island, Michigan that feels like home.  Barb’s Boblo Tavern is a meeting place for island folks where I can hear the surf of
Lake Huron and drinking is not required, but encouraged.  What are island folks?  Well, the island is a different sort of place and likewise attracts many of the uncommon characters in my novel life story.  There are year-rounders, usually about 60 of them, which live and work on the island and travel to the mainland over an ice bridge in the winter.  There are the seasonal islanders, most of which can tell you stories about their ancestor’s primitve adventures on the island.  Looking for a unique perspective?  Head over to Barb’s and I guarantee you will find one that has nothing to do with your rung on the income ladder and everything to do with your philosophy.  There are more interesting stories to be told within this small population than there are bar hours to hear them, many rich with the history of the island which was opened to settlers in 1884 .  The seclusion from mainstream America lends itself to conversations that simply are not heard in polite company (the best kind), yet people have no problem bringing their kids to the tavern for dinner and a game of pool or shuffleboard.  We all just try to limit the cussing when kids are there.

Barb Schlund, the owner of the Boblo Tavern, has created a comfortable place where someone will offer to drive you to your cabin if they see you have imbibed too much and are unlikely to keep your truck between the trees, and new visitors are welcomed like old friends, at least until they prove themselves non-island material by asking, “what is there to do here?”.  There is no sense in making friends with them because they will not be back.  What there is to do is evident to islanders that appreciate the over 30 square miles of undeveloped forest and dirt roads, many of which are only tracks, and it is not shopping.  Our friend, Dan Reynolds, is a singer/songwriter who also plays the guitar and created a CD of island songs titled This Ain’t the Mainland.    My favorite is “Ring that bell”,  a ditty about a red bell in the tavern that sports a sign “Ring the bell, buy the house a round”.  We are fortunate that Dan is a true islander that plays at the tavern without charging us a dime, because he loves being a part of the fabric of Bois Blanc.  Even if he became famous, he would still play at Barb’s and graciously take requests from drunkards that sometimes ask him to play The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald more than once in an evening (sorry, Dan).

My husband and I have been the only islanders in the tavern and have been two in a crowd of dozens, yet received the same excellent service from a team of bartenders that somehow maintain a laid-back friendly demeanor even when rushing to insure no one runs dry and the food is delivered hot and timely.  Barb is a demanding boss whose
team of bartenders says they love their work because they love her and because she works as hard, if not harder, than they do.  From the expansive menu to the anything-but-weak drinks, her attention to detail is as obvious as her desire to provide her patrons with a clean, inviting place to swap stories.  This past Saturday we, along with approximately forty other people, watched the Michigan State versus Michigan NCAA football game at the Boblo tavern.  Barb and Jen fed us while keeping our drinks full, all without breaking a sweat.  They even visited with many, not out of a sense of good business, but just because they seem to genuinely like their customers.  Barb and her team have taught me that the value of a good bartender reaches far beyond serving drinks, into the familiar ground of caring.  A simple gesture – Barb giving me her bar stool earlier this summer when the bar was packed and standing room only – is only one of many that have led me to love Barb, Jen, Courtney, Tom, and Lani, the most talented, fun-loving, and genuine bartenders/island folks I have ever met. 

Landscape Redesign

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

In my decade old garden the bulbs and perennials cry out for more room and this year I have the time to devote to a redesign.  We will see how far I get once I dig in, because I have learned that projects tend to take longer than anticipated and
although we had temps in the high 70’s this week they are predicting our first snow next week.  A nursery of tried and hardy plants begging to be spread to other garden beds or have their existing homes widened is a wonderful problem to have.  The cost is especially appreciated, as is the lack of volunteer weeds that often accompany new plants purchased from another nursery or a friend’s crowded garden.

Any big attempt deserves a plan and goals that I can visualize.  I like to ask myself, “What does that look like?” when I want something.  A happy garden with blooms throughout spring, summer, and fall is a huge goal with a multitude of necessary steps to get there.  My landscape on paper helped me create a step-by-step garden redesign plan that reminded me of the life plan I drafted recently.  Multiple moves dictate a process of bite-sized goals.   I cannot move the daisies until the blue fescue vacates their current hot home for a cooler semi-shaded bed that is weed-free and double-dug.  This is simpler than the weeding out of negative messages and habits I picked up at work and planted in my persona over the past decade, but I find gardening conducive to reflection and picture some of that refuse in my wheelbarrow along with the crab grass and root-tangled clumps of dirt headed for the village’s burn pile.  I highly recommend gardening for anyone experiencing a life change; creative solutions are born out of creative pursuits.

Planning does not get the job done, however, and although the meteorologists usually predict snow long before it arrives, past seasons have shown that my window is two weeks at most for roots to acclimate and ultimately survive the winter.  Grass invaded my beloved red bee balm, one of the super stars of my garden, and provided another lesson in patience (I recognize a trend in this area).  Because the bee balm roots are
very tender I carefully dug up the root ball and spent three hours teasing the grass roots out.  This tedious exercise provided much-needed motivation for pulling any grass I see in my beds as soon as I spy it from here on.  I started with two bee balm plants and now have six that are so happy they do not have to share nutrients with grass.  They didn’t tell me so, but a gardener knows.

Yesterday I raked the orange and red sugar maple leaves out of the semi-shaded garden area and watered the blue fescue and daisies in anticipation of today’s move.  I could write about my garden redesign for another hour, but with rain moving in this
evening, today is perfect for replanting so it will have to wait for another day.  Goals realized are more interesting to read about, anyway.

Night sweating the bed

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Jolting awake in the middle of the night sopping wet and chilled is an uncomfortably shameful situation that I thought was buried in my childhood.  I stopped peeing in the bed when I was six, so what the hell was this all about?  The hormonal changes during the fifth decade often cause flashbacks to my childhood, with night sweats at the top of the retro playlist.  Initially I was confused, not attributing my drenched t-shirts, pillows, and sheets to hot flashes because I was not hot, but wet and cold when I awoke.  The same friend that taught me how to use a
tampon 3 decades ago filled me in on the hot flashes that are termed “night sweats”, and occur when I am asleep.  I would be a bumbling idiot of a woman if not for my girlfriends and my Mom.

I did not make a doctor’s appointment to discuss this new development due to totally illogical embarrassment, perhaps a leftover from my peeing in the bed years.  I felt lucky that I was not “flashing” during the day, a perfect term for turning as red as a tomato and pouring sweat in front of witnesses that do not love you.  You may as well be wearing a sign that says, “Menopause, or close to it.  BEWARE!!!” in flashing
lights.  If I begin to have hot flashes that are anything like night sweats I will need to secure a towel to my belt so as not to leave a trail.  The closest I came to needing a towel was at a national conference where I was speaking.  Anxiety was clearly a trigger, and luckily I could run up to my room to change shirts periodically.  I woke every night that week cursing the luxurious down comforter that had lulled me to sleep.  Those few nights were the only times I woke up on fire because the flashes were prolonged.
When estrogen decreases, the hypothalamus steps up production of norepinephrine, a stress hormone that acts directly on the thermo-regulatory center of the brain.  Studies have shown that internal stress, an individual’s perception of life, and external stress
such as overwork and insufficient sleep, exacerbate hot flashes.

The altering effect of meditative relaxation and physical exercise on brain chemistry becomes more essential the further I journey into the 5th decade.  Between the mindfulness exercises that I learned at Mary Free Bed Pain Center and Belleruth Naparstek’s guided imagery exercises I can boost my DHEA (dehydroepiandrosterone) level and counter the increase of stress hormones.  I have focused on stress reduction techniques because anxiety is my most influential trigger for perimenopause symptoms.  The adrenal glands produce DHEA which can be promoted by “learning to think with your heart.”  It is similar to redirecting a toddler’s focus when they want something they cannot have.  Through practice I have learned to acknowledge what I feel anxious about, whether I have any control over the situation (usually not, hence the anxiety), and then refocus on something good in my life such as my family or a good memory.  It seems to put my life in a more balanced perspective and typically reminds me of what I deem important and what I do not.  One of the rewards of this practice is
witnessing the frustration of someone who is deliberately trying to provoke a stress response; it sort of freaks them out.  But, reduced night sweats and serenity must fall under the “living well” category in the common quote about revenge and are even better payoffs.  Other strategies to alleviate night sweats that have worked for me are: avoiding coffee after Noon, reducing alcohol consumption (drunk = guaranteed night sweats), eating fresh food and protein, and getting eight hours of sleep.  Interestingly, fasting and cleansing programs can weaken your adrenal system, which lowers hormone production.

I have discussed my night sweats and other perimenopause symptoms with my doctor who has offered to test  my hormone levels after I attempt to boost production with lifestyle changes.  He assures me that women today do not have to endure this decade in misery, and that in itself changes negative feelings that are woven into my understanding of hormonal changes during this time of life.  By paying attention (mindfullness) to what I consume and how I think I can lessen the impact of decreasing hormones, but it is comforting to know that my doc has a backup plan.  And comfort is the key.

 

I am the woman by Kathy Elliot

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

A fellow blogger who writes an exquisite blog about Rome sent me the following poem.  Reading it reminded me of how powerful I am, how immeasurably magnificent all women are.  I hope it does the same for you.

I am the woman –  By Kathy Elliot

I am the woman who is unstoppable
I am the woman
Whose dreams are immeasurable
I am the woman
Of a different breed, unbelievable
I am the woman
Of all times, incredible
I am a woman
With passion and purpose, unspeakable
I am the woman
Who decides where I should fall
In this universe, unpredictable
I am the woman
Who refuse to lessen my dreams
To meet man’s expectation, inconceivable
I am a woman
Of greatness and this greatness
Should never be compromise, remarkable
I am that GREAT WOMAN.

Lost in Town is not a typical travel blog, but rather an online holiday due to the writer’s use of language and beautiful photos.  I encourage you to visit Rome at: http://lostintown.wordpress.com/

Art, Life

ArtPrize 2011 Revisited

Gallery | Posted on by K.S. Schultz

With over 1,500 pieces, ArtPrize 2011 lured me in for another look.  This time I took my husband who is quite evolved for a Michigan outdoorsman, although not appreciative of the more abstract art forms, the pieces that you cannot exactly say what it is because it is something different to each viewer.  So I plied him with a tasty lunch and a microbrew before we looked and then topped off our outing with one for the road at an Irish pub in Downtown Grand Rapids.  Included in this post are a few more photos of some of the pieces we admired.

Now that the top ten have been chosen by voters throughout the community the art critics are complaining about some of the “amateurish” pieces and the entire voting process.  How could common folk who have not been formally trained possibly know which are the best pieces?  ArtPrize  is advertised as a social experiment designed to promote connections between artists and the community (common folk) and inspire creative conversations.  What I observed was families with children and classes of schoolchildren viewing the art downtown.  Many of the people dressed in jeans and t-shirts and the price to get in to view the art was zilch.  ArtPrize made art accessible, which is what most deserves an award.  Kudos to Rick DeVos, the founder of ArtPrize, for his response to the critics’ assertion that ArtPrize lacks credibility in the art community, “I just want to see crazy crap all over Grand Rapids, and I think we’ve achieved that,” DeVos said. “The goal is not to find better art through voting. It’s not better art through democracy.  The prize and the voting are really just mechanisms. It comes back to building a creative culture in West Michigan.”

Dinner anyone?

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Rachael Ray asks the guests on her daytime TV show 3 random questions designed to let the viewer know the celebrity a bit (because they are always unflinchingly honest during a talk show interview).  She asked Sarah Michelle Geller, “If you could have dinner with anyone, alive or dead, who would it be?”  Ms. Geller responded “Jackie Kennedy Onassis” to which the crowd “ooohhed” and Rachael complimented “good choice”.

I have heard this question before and enjoy hearing the wide variety of answers and reasons why.  Some people feel the weight of it and take a long time to decide, while others quickly answer something like, “Brad Pitt, hands down”.  One of the most popular answers is Jesus; so many people are dying to meet Jesus.  I anticipate a moment beyond the greatest joy I can imagine when I meet my Lord, but I have a gut feeling that it is best to wait until my reservation is called.

As a toddler, I lived with my Mom’s Mom for a while until she died when I was five.  To
people who knew Evelyn she was a strong woman with firm opinions rooted in Christianity and traditional values.  Everyone agrees on that and her tendency to hand out harsh criticism.  I would not say I was spoiled, but I was certainly doted on by my Grandmother and she took wonderful care of me.  I recall much of my time with her and have no mean memories, except when she sent me to bed at 7pm., which seemed malicious at the time.  She went to bed an hour later and got up early to go to work as a housekeeper, so obviously my perspective has changed.  We were fortunate that my
Grandmother’s sister saved a paper she wrote for a 12th grade oration where she spoke about World Peace and won third place.  In this paper my Grandma’s idealism shines
forth as only a young woman’s can, calling for men to love their countrymen and
put an end to war forever.  She talks of Christianity and acknowledges that not all Christians are peacemakers, but all peacemakers are Christians.  I have always doubted the assessments of people who knew her because my experience was
with a loving Grandmother who may have sternly insisted I keep my head still
when she put in ponytails, but looked the other way when I snuck Hershey bars
from the kitchen cabinet.  Her oration paper made me realize that she was much more than the stern first-born child of Rose and Charles, more than the judge of my mother’s young pregnancy, and more than my Grandma.  I think she was likely a complicated woman who may have been bashed about by those strong ideals, but held on nonetheless to what she believed was right.  I would love to have dinner with her and get to know her better.  I think we might have a lot in common and I would like her.

 

 

The velocity of forced change

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Is the world actually changing with disorienting acceleration or is my perception of break-neck speed merely a product of getting older?  My knowledge of physics is rudimentary at best, yet it makes sense that life’s velocity is picking up
speed for me because I am slowing down.  I did not choose change, at least not consciously.  I resided in a comfort zone where so many people in their 40’s live, a zone of familiar responsibility and paychecks.

My scope of responsibility has changed dramatically since I lost my job two months ago.  I am confused when asked if I am bored not working.  Not working?  I am working my ass off adjusting to this change and worn out at the end of every day from the learning curve.  Entertaining that my exhaustion is due to my age does not help me get back on the treadmill tomorrow; it makes no difference why my mind is tired, only that I keep learning the new rules of our tech-savvy and untrustworthy world.  And all of this needs to be accomplished while nurturing my wounded spirit.  I am not a natural nurturer, so this is my greatest challenge.  I am more of a kick-it-in-the-ass kind of woman, having always believed that my choices impact my reality more than anything else.  If you do not like something, change it!  The toddler inside me is stomping her feet and yelling, “I want!” and I am so frustrated with trying to convince her that my efforts will pay off eventually that I just want to tell her to shut up, be quiet.  See what I mean about not being a nurturer?

I cannot deny the excitement of learning new things, both practical and existential.
From matching coupons to grocery sales in order to save money to practicing mindfulness, it is all new ground.  I thought I needed to break the mold of who I was two months ago, but find myself more comfortable blending who I am with new skills, yet there is no money in it.  Perhaps this is how college students feel.  How do you place a value on skills and lessons learned during times of change and who determines the value?  This is where my true nature kicks in.  I, and only I, can assess my cost for forced change because I am the one paying.

“I looked up the road I was going and back the way I come, and since I wasn’t satisfied, I decided to step off the road and cut me a new path.” – Annie Johnson from Maya Angelou’s Wouldn’t Take Nothing for my Journey Now

Art, Life

My Interpretation of ArtPrize 2011

Gallery | Posted on by K.S. Schultz

ArtPrize is an annual arts festival and social experiment showcasing 1,582 artists in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  The monetary awards are the largest in the world and the competition is decided solely on the general public’s electronic vote.  The goal is for the community to explore new ideas and form relationships with the artists.  I often think that the DeVos family just has too much damn money, yet am grateful for their philanthropy in my home, which is considered one of the most depressed states in the country.

I developed a taste for art in my 20’s.  In my 30’s I began to step out of my impressionist comfort zone.  In my 40’s I seek to find the vision of the artist, to understand the intended meaning of the work and incorporate it with my interpretation of a piece or performance.  With this approach I have discovered the emotional facet of art, finding joy and haunting sadness in unexpected pieces that I was previously unready for.  Including a friend in artistic excursions, I am gifted with a contrasting view that leaves me appreciative of what I gain from being open to other’s visions.  Besides, I always laugh in the company of dear friends and there is no greater joy than that.