Tag Archives: Humor

Doctor, I’m Fine

18 Jul

by Terry Rachel

I can’t get this thing about growing old into my head. It’s just not working for me. I have to keep busy, I have to be part of something, I watch very little TV, and I’m not online a lot. Instead I think about nature, and being outside, walking two or three miles, and getting fresh air. And those projects: Furniture needs to be stripped and varnished, and those boxes. Utilize the boxes and place your tools in them. You should get some things to storage, so you can start empyting the closet. And, unlike a lot of people, I am not an online shopping addict, not a compulsive buyer. I think about what I need and then shop in a real store to find it. If it fits, and I need it, I buy it. If not, I don’t think about it again.

When it comes to eating, it’s now a matter of what is good for my body. Is my body going to be bored with it? Will it be too much? I can’t eat a lot now, and I can’t eat late at night. I used to love drinking wine and pairing it with cheese, nuts, and fruit, with cured meats such as pepperoni, and hard salami, always a favorite. But after a glass or two, I’m no longer a sparkling conversationalist (no pun intended), and the cheese and nuts are bound to be stuck somewhere in my digestive track. I have to be sensible. Maybe I’ll have some green tea before bed.

I try to keep western medicine at bay. I’m afraid of taking pills. I debate on whether or not to take 200 milligrams of Ibuprophen when someone else might pop 2 or 4 pills within hours. On a recent visit, my doctor said, “You know, your blood pressure is elevated. We can get that down. I’d like to prescribe 5 mg of…” I looked at her like a deer in headlights. “I’m just nervous right now,” I said, “I get that way whenever I go to the doctors.” I filled the prescription, and when I got it home I stared at the bottle. I didn’t want to be on a prescription drug. That was 6 months ago. Since then I increased my exercise by including bicycling two times a week and staying an extra 15 minutes at the gym for a total of 90 minutes five times a week. My body likes to be physical. Afterall, the doctor doesn’t know my body like I do.

Working still and working with a team. I know some people enjoy their retirement years. For them, getting up at a six o’clock alarm is no fun, and sleeping in is their preference, maybe even lounging in bed with a cup of coffee. I can’t do that. I like routine. I have’t lounged in bed in “I can’t remember when” no, not for me. I like working. I like producing. I like being part of a team, and I really love being a part of the ever-changing technology landscape. Technology is fascinating and I keep in the know about IT and tech.

My relationship with God has taken on a new level of faith. I got away from the church for nearly 30 years, but I returned in 2019, going to mass almost every Sunday. I went to confession on Ash Wednesday in 2020. There was a line that day, nearly 6 people ahead of me. I was nervous. I was looking around. “You should go,” I thought, “What are you going to say, anyway? No. This is wrong.” But I stayed, and I waited on line. I kept checking my watch. Thirty minutes! Wow, this priest must be popular. My confession went off without a hitch, but I have to admit, I stunned the priest when I told him it had been 50 years since my last confession.

My life is a very simple one. I live in a very simple world that I created. With the passing of friends and family, threads of communication, my once reliable byways, have shrunk in size. And maybe that’s why I keep running around, I keep chasing time. I keep wanting to make something happen. I keep getting up for that alarm. I can’t get it into my head that I have to slow down. It’s Sunday. If I buy varnish and stripper today, I can get that piece of furniture ready for October, when it’s not too humid.

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That’s No Group

3 Aug

Today was a Meet Up group for hikers, hikers with their dogs. This isn’t the first time for me. I’m a long-standing hiker. I’ve hiked for years, I love trails. I love being in the dirt. And I like mud. A lot of people go around mud, I don’t really avoid it. I’ve gone to a few group outings with them before, taking Gem, my six-year old Border Collie mix, but I’m not really all that sure you could call them a group.

I did go up to the top of Point Mountain, I did make, it’s just that the group was way ahead of me. Kids, nah, not really, they really weren’t. Just people, men and women in their 30s, some were in their 40s, one guy was older than me, he was about, I don’t know, I’m thinking sixty-two? He coughed a lot, I know that and it annoyed me. He had very thin ankles, not normal for a guy.

One girl, she was watching my tattoos, I knew it, I saw it, her name was Ellen. I don’t like that name too much. It’s like a very bland name. I have never gone out with an Ellen. It’s a very Jewey name. How about Naomi, huh? That’s a very Jewey name. Anyway, Ellen darts her eyes, diverted to my arms. She wants to ask about my tattoos, I could just hear it in her brain going, “This woman is old, what the fuck is she doing with these tattoos, and look at her with her cut-off shirt, showing her stomach, omygawd.”

I wanted to like tell her I could read her mind at that point. But it’s not a big deal. She was all right. I was better looking at her age. Forty-two? Forget it. She didn’t do nothing, nothing for me, but her brain was sizzling, dying to ask, “Are you seriously going to walk up this mountain?“

Yes, you snobby little bitch, I am.

The guys in this group, all of them in this group, are like the losers from high school, the left-behinds, the rejects, the ones no girl in her right mind would go out with. And now they’re all here, with tight underwear and too tight-wearing pants so you can see, kinda’ if you look, glance, don’t make it obvious, but you could see the outline of their penis in their pants! It’s not good; it was never a cool look.

I disregard of all these and I head up the mountain. Look it had rained the night before, so the bugs were out, it was muddy, and the rocks were slick. I hate these conditions for hiking, they’re my least favorite conditions, but I go.

The other four girls practically ran passed me, the guys were ahead too. It was a straight shot up the mountain, almost at a 90 degree plane; it wasn’t easy, and the big drops and spaces between the rocks to traverse the trail was difficult since the rocks, like I mentioned, were slick. I was dressed well, with good boots, so I thought. But the boots sucked, and I was slipping everywhere. Thank God for my walking stick that helped.  I was last in this hike, and the only guy in front of me was the guy with the skinny ankles.

About an hour into the hike, I lost the group, every one of them had pushed themselves so far ahead of me, I couldn’t even hear them anymore, and for the last hour I was alone with Gem.

Knowing that I came with a group, and now no one was around, was a little unsettling. But see, I knew this park, I had been there several times, and so I wasn’t lost. I knew when I got down, I’d come to meadow, a big cornfield, and then from there, the river. At the lower part of the trail, the Musconetcong runs 46 miles and right where I’d meet it was where the trout fishermen fish. So I wasn’t lost and I felt fine with that. This group didn’t turn back to see how I was, and I thought that was really shitty.

When I reached the river, I reached the group and reunited with the group. I pat my dog. She was tired and wet. Her fur had picked up summer prickers and they had settled on her hind legs and withers. She looked at me as if to say, “I’ve had enough.” She doesn’t swim, and doesn’t really like the water except to get her pads wet. The other dog owners have your typical labs and beagles who like the water; they were there. There were the treat givers, giving treats, dogs begging. But not Gem. Gem doesn’t beg, although I knew she was hungry. She hadn’t eaten her breakfast. I needed to get her home.

I walked ahead, I knew where I was going, I pulled out some speed on the flat land part of the trail, and pushed ahead of the group. I heard them yelling for their dogs to come. Most of the time the dogs are on leads and don’t know when to come when called. I pushed on knowing the road would soon unveil itself. I had less than 200 feet to go.

I reached my car, letting Gem in the hatchback where her fleece bed awaited, and having cleaned her towels in advance of the walk, toweled her off good and dry, picking the prickers out from her fur where I could. I got in the car, too, adjusting the mirror, I made sure Gem was settled before taking off.

I heard the voices of the group in the parking lot of Point Mountain making plans for the lunch at Jake and Riley’s. I passed them, I didn’t wave goodbye or say thanks. And I didn’t goodbye to anyone, but instead headed back home, home with Gem, where we both could find a sense of belonging.

Copyright Terry Rachel, August 2014

 Point Mountain

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But there’s…

15 Jul

There’s never been anything that’s ever been easy.

I just walk around, bike, try to talk to people, and try to make new friends. I bring my dog wherever I go, it’s just that this moving around isn’t easy. I miss certain things, I think I miss the friends I made – I know I miss the beach. I use to know the one pizza place I liked the most, but it’s certainly far away now. I tell people here, strangers that I do know a good pizzeria, but it’s not here in Reston, Virginia. Nope. No, it’s in New Jersey. Then I think about my home, the one in Raleigh. I wonder how long it will be before I move back there. Or will I ever? Really. Seriously. Why am I keeping this house? Will I ever move back to Raleigh, North Carolina? Oh, I don’t know. There’s so much…

I used to live in Colorado – don’t know a soul from there – a long time ago. I must’ve been 18 when I hitchhiked out there, lived there for a summer. I fell in love with a boy there, or I should say, he fell for me and I just went along. Never saw him when I returned to New York. In 2001, a visit to Vermont turned into a move to finish my last semester in college. I took away one friend from there who I still speak with – well, kind of – we ‘talk’ on Facebook. In 2007, Atlanta was a completely bad move – I moved there for a contract, thought it was going to be great. Boy, ha! What a joke that was. Get a load of this: in the course of six weeks I was robbed 3 times. Yeah, no kidding. But you know, I took away one friend from there who helped me out of a jam, and I still speak with her on occasion, not a lot, but that’s okay. Look at these towns: Brooklyn, Uniondale, Long Island, Albany, Schenectady, New Rochelle, New York, Stockton, New Jersey, and Trenton. Now I’m in Reston, Virginia. I’m going to tell you why I move so much, but first I want to tell you this:

I was watching this reality show about Long Islanders, how they can’t make it now, how they lost their jobs, how their homes are facing foreclosure. The show profiled these once all working people, how they use to pay their bills, how they use to have a lifestyle where they saw their goals for retirement and the foundation for getting there, and, unbelievably, all three couples were now lost financially on Long Island. Come to think of it, I think that was the name of the show. And Long Island’s not cheap, I mean you have to have money to live there – the taxes are crazy. People there have weird-ass accents.

I moved out of Long Island when I was twenty-nine. I knew the place was gonna’ get crazy. It was nice in the 1960s, 70s, even 80s, but then it got crowded, too crowded for me, so I moved 160 miles north of there and landed in Albany.

This friend of mine just passed away. She was 83. She lived in Albany in the same house since, I don’t know, I want to say at least 50 years. Fifty years! Fifty years in one house. Never had a foreclosure.

Now, personally, I would die. There is no way I could live in the same place that long. Granted, I don’t have kids, and, sure, children make you grounded because of school, friends and friends of theirs; you don’t want to upset the routine they’re in and so on. I get it. But I am a lesbian and I’m a single lesbian and because I am, I can move around and pretty much move, and that’s what I do.

And let me tell you why I love to move: there are so many places and people to see. There’s a completely different culture out here. Take the accents, take the Long Island accent – NO ONE speaks like that in any other part of New York. It’s strictly a Long Island Accent. Albany people don’t sound like Long Islanders and people from New Jersey sound nothing like New Yorkers. I could go on and on about the accents, but you’re getting the picture.

I love to move because, I have to work, and I’m older, and I don’t want to be without work while I’m still young enough to work, and not quite old enough to retire. I get bored easily. Yes, and this is a big one. Last winter I was sitting outside smoking a cigarette, it was right after the New Year, and all of a sudden, after glimpsing the white snow, cresting on a pine bough, I saw my stretched out dog through the pane glass, and said, “it’s time to go.” I guess those are the right words, well, they’re familiar, that’s for certain.

When I lost my last contract – and I did so damn well, I thought they would offer me a full-time gig but they didn’t. I was like, “Fuck it.” I’m moving again. It came as a surprise to everyone. I just got so sick of so much.  Being let go again. What the fuck? Talk about silent age discrimination. It sucks and it’s alive and well. But like I said, I get bored easily. But one thing I knew, one thing I had going for me was that, even through all my adventuring, I knew my word was good, that I was honorable. I knew that if the corporate sector didn’t appreciate my background, I’d pull out my ace in the sleeve – saving it for my older years, so to speak, and that was when I decided to apply for a Secret Clearance job with the government. The government liked that I never cheated on the government and didn’t have a rap sheet.

I’m there five months, right, and guess what I told my boss? I’m like sitting in his office, and he’s giving me my 3 month review (which I did very well; I got a 3% raise – hey it’s something), and I say to him, “You know, I’d be open for relocation.”

There are just no words, there’s only action for me. Because there’s so much more to do.

I think about those people from the reality show, those people on Long Island who are sinking – they don’t want to move. I think if they moved, opened up their mileage and scope for looking for a job – they could keep their house – rent it out, but move around in order to survive. In the olden days people moved all their shit in covered wagons, leaving the rocky roads of Maine, for example, forging into wild, unchartered land because they heard about the California Gold Rush. Americans have always been pioneering. I could go on about how the lazy counter of time can be a killer when you’re looking for work and not finding anything – I’ve been there, I know the trouble, but nothing’s ever been easy.

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Barbara Walters Interviews Author Terry Rachel

30 Oct

We sat down with Terry Rachel, author of A Hardscrabble Daughter at her Connecticut home.  She welcomed my team and I into her sprawling ranch home overlooking the Long Island Sound. Here’s what she had to say about her life, her new book, and why she considers herself hardscrabble.

Barbara Walters: Terry, it’s so good to see you.

Terry Rachel: Thank you. It’s nice to see you, Barbara.

Barbara Walters: You were quite heavy last year. Have you lost weight?

(Terry laughs aloud and crosses her legs, she’s wearing a red cashmere sweater and corduroy slacks. She summons her assistant who brings us freshly ground coffee and scones. It’s a cool October morning.)

Terry Rachel: Yes, it was time.

Barbara Walters: Do you feel free? Free of that baggage?

Terry Rachel: It was baggage. I lost 40 pounds.

Barbara Walters: The last time I saw you was at a Beat Writers reading.

Terry Rachel: Yes, yes, in the Village.

Barbara Walters: You’ve come a long way. This home is quite large. And you have how many dogs?

Terry Rachel: I’m breeding Border Collies. Here I have the Grand Dame, Jewel, and her litter – Ring, Shake, Speare, Robin and Hood. So 6 all together.

Barbara Walters:  Interesting names.

(Terry laughs)

Terry Rachel: Yes, well, I have to detach from them soon. So the names will probably change with their new owners.

Barbara Walters: What was the price tag on the home?

Terry Rachel: Five and a half – well, almost six. It came in around $5.9 million.

Barbara Walters: Let’s talk about your writing. How did you go from blogging on WordPress, to complaining on Facebook, to reading your stories  in coffee houses, to a New York Times Bestseller? You’re doing book tours – there is some talk that Showtime wants to turn some of your stories into short films – is this true?

Terry Rachel: Yes, they’ve been in touch with me.

Barbara Walters: Barbara Lowenstein?

Terry Rachel: Yes, she’s the agent that got the ball rolling.

Barbara Walters: How did you get the attention of the Lowenstein Agency?

Terry Rachel: I kept writing. I entered some contests and won one, then another and another. And I would post these wins through Twitter, Facebook. I had a following through email and before I knew it, all this.

Barbara Walters:  And all this success………. but there is no one to celebrate with – no one living, to share in your success. You mention that your family is all gone, you are estranged from your nieces and nephews, even cousins.

Terry Rachel: My stories have death as a continual theme. It’s through these stories that I release my frustration.

Barbara Walters: Your sadness. Your lesbianism.

Terry Rachel: Yes, that too.

Barbara Walters: Are you really ‘hardscrabble’ as you say?

Terry Rachel: I can be. My life was very hard. I lived for a long time as a minimalist. I saw how people viewed me. But honestly, I was unburdened from material things.

Barbara Walters: Do you think your lesbianism added to being “hardscrabble”?

(Terry laughs at the question)

Terry Rachel:  Let’s put it this way: I was duped many times.

Barbara Walters:  And now that you’re fifty-eight your whole life has changed. You have a home overlooking the water, you’re a successful dog breeder, a full-time author. You live very well now.

Terry Rachel: Yes.  I thank God for my reversal of fortune. It’s nice to be comfortable for a change.

(The phone rings, Terry excuses herself to take it by walking to a quieter space in the living room. The turn of events would cut short our interview.)

Barbara Walters: I have one last question: if you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?

(Terry laughs at the question)

Terry Rachel: Didn’t you ask Katherine Hepburn this?

Barbara Walters: Yes and I took heat for it by the way. But I think it’s a fitting question for you.

Terry Rachel: Hmmn. What kind of a tree… a fiery maple. Yes, a fiery maple. That would fit me perfectly.

 

***

Copyright, 2011 Terry Rachel

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