Apparently, I Am a Walker Now

Three weeks ago, I started walking every morning. I’m not exactly sure what possessed me to do this, but I have discovered something completely unexpected—I actually enjoy it.

I started out with a quarter of a mile, because apparently I had no intention of overachieving. But it didn’t take long before I worked my way up to two miles a day. It takes me about 40 minutes, and by the time I get home, I need a shower!

There are quite a few people in my neighborhood who walk, especially on the weekends, so I’ve started getting to know the regulars. Well… “getting to know” may be a little generous. I know them in the way you know people you pass every morning but have never actually introduced yourself to.

I have the Hawaiian man who rides his bike while he sings. I don’t know what he is singing, but he seems very happy about it, and honestly, I respect that.

I have also made friends with several dogs, a few cats and even a rabbit. Although, I’m pretty sure the rabbit wasn’t interested in friendship. He hopped in a deep bush and turned to look at me. So I guess that friendship is still pending.

There are two older couples who walk together, and then there’s a Vietnamese couple. She walks ahead of him and he spends most of the time playing catch-up. And I’m not saying he walks slow, but she doesn’t exactly walk fast. I’m beginning to think their morning walk is less of a stroll and more of a relationship exercise.

There’s also a woman who works out in her garage while her baby sits in a bouncer watching her. I admire that woman. She has figured out how to exercise while parenting, and that deserves some kind of award. Or at least a really good cup of coffee.

Then there is the man who runs through both neighborhoods. He wears all black and checks his watch constantly. I have no idea what he is timing, but I know where he lives and sometimes he runs. He looks serious about this running business.

There’s another lady who walks her dog, and they are both very serious about it. They walk perfectly straight, and that dog never looks my way. Not once. And let me tell you, that is one tight leash. That dog knows he has a job to do, and apparently his job is to ignore me.

We also have roofers all over the neighborhood. So now I have accidentally added “neighborhood nail patrol” to my morning routine. Anytime I see a nail in the street or yard, I pick it up. I’m not sure when I became responsible for neighborhood construction debris, but here we are. The nails change location depending on which house is being roofed.

There is also one particular sidewalk that I’m convinced is where all the worms in Oklahoma go to live. It is always covered with worms. I don’t know why they all gather there, but apparently they have a meeting every morning. I just try not to step on anybody.

And then there is a sidewalk that looks like they poured the concrete right in the middle of a downpour. It is covered in little dents and divots, like the world’s worst case of cellulite. I’m pretty sure that sidewalk is self-conscious.

Also, there is an etiquette to walking that I never knew existed. If I see someone coming, I give up the curb. But if they see me coming, they do the same thing. So then we have this awkward little sidewalk dance where two people are trying to be polite while silently deciding who gets the good side.

The main thing I’ve learned is that I really like walking before it gets too hot. Very important when you live in Oklahoma and would prefer not to suffer heat stroke before breakfast. So far, I’ve managed to get my walk in every morning, even in the middle of moving. And honestly, I’m pretty proud of myself.

I also take solace in having other people out walking when I am. Somehow, seeing strangers along my route makes me feel safer. I guess there’s comfort in knowing I’m not the only person out there. Of course, I also carry my pepper spray and have an alarm, just in case somebody decides my morning walk needs an unexpected plot twist.

At this point, I have my route, I know where the worms live, I know which dogs will acknowledge me and which ones apparently have no interest in socializing, and I know who is going to be out walking.

I’m sure the neighborhood walkers have noticed me by now too. I wonder what they call me. Probably something like, “There’s that sweaty lady again.” And honestly, I’m okay with that.

I Might Have Missed My Calling

Oh Lord… we’re moving! And I don’t mean moving and grooving moving. I mean 'pack up my house, buy 60 boxes, lose the tape 40 times in an hour, have the marker dry out, and discover that Dennis has apparently decided the entire attic needs to come downstairs' moving!

We decided to get out from under the pool. Sure, the grandkids love it, but Dennis and I rarely get in it, and Dennis is over taking care of it. So we started talking about it and thought, why are we paying to take care of something that we hardly use?

So we decided to put the house on the market. Now, we have sold three other houses, so we know how this works. I personally sold one of them very quickly because I had a friend who wanted it, but the other two took over a year! Knowing it is a buyer’s market, we figured this one would probably take some time, too. We definitely didn’t want to end up paying two mortgages, so we thought we would put it on the market and start building our new house and see what happened.

Well, I designed this house with a private architect, so it is a little different. It is a custom-built house, and we built it for what WE wanted. We have a library, a craft/writing hut, and we only put two bedrooms in it so our grown kids didn’t get any ideas. We have a beautiful outdoor living area with a large pool and a huge backyard on a corner lot. Every tree is lit, and there are gardens around the pool. It is a beautiful house, but we knew we were probably looking for a very specific buyer. I figured it might take MONTHS to find somebody who wanted exactly what we had built. I wanted to get that head start on selling while we began building our new house.

Anyway, we decided to go ahead and put it on the market, so our realtor got all the information from us, had professional pictures taken and got it posted online. And then the phone rang. Within minutes, we had a call for a first showing. Well… okay then.

Our realtor came over at 11:00 to show the house for the first time and put a big ol’ “FOR SALE” sign in our yard. We had another showing scheduled for 6:30 that evening. Dennis was already griping about having to leave the house for showings. LOL. Then someone else was getting ready to make an offer on another house and wanted to squeeze ours in at 6:00.

So the 6:00 people came and looked at the house and apparently loved that it wasn't like any other houses they had seen. While the 6:30 people were STILL HERE looking at the house and thinking about making an offer, the 6:00 people made an offer.

I’m sorry… WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE? We don't have a house to move to yet! We went from “Let’s put the house on the market so we have more time to sell it” to “Holy crap, we sold the house!” in SIX HOURS!! That poor “FOR SALE” sign didn’t even have time to get comfortable in my yard before it went “Pending” on the website.

We thought this might take months. We were prepared for showings. We were prepared to keep the house clean. We were prepared for the possibility that it might take over a year. What we were NOT prepared for was that it would sell within the first 6 hours and that we would have 7 weeks to move.

So here I sit, taking a break from packing and wondering if I missed my calling in designing houses!

I Rolled My Eyes So Hard I Saw My Brain

 I just rolled my eyes so hard I saw my brain.

At least I think it was my brain. It could've been one of those random floaters. Once you hit a certain age, it's hard to tell what's a medical condition and what's just Tuesday.

Honestly, eye-rolling isn't what it used to be. There was a time when you could roll your eyes at somebody and move on with your day. Now it's a full-body event.

First, my eyes roll. Then my neck pops. My shoulder makes a sound like somebody stepped on a bag of potato chips. Somehow my knee gets involved even though it had absolutely nothing to do with the situation. And afterward, I have to sit there for a minute and make sure everything went back where it belongs.

Getting older is wild. We don't just react anymore... we recover.

I can't even sigh dramatically without wondering if I pulled something. And don't get me started on sneezing. At our age, a sneeze is less of a reflex and more of a gamble. Will I survive? Will I throw my back out? Will I accidentally pee a little? Nobody knows.

It's like spinning the Wheel of Fortune, except the prizes are muscle relaxers, heating pads, and an appointment with the chiropractor.

The funny thing is, I don't even roll my eyes over big things anymore. Someone says, "Have you tried turning it off and back on?" Eye roll. The grocery store rearranges everything for absolutely no reason? Eye roll. Someone announces they're leaving Facebook for the third time this month? Eye roll... even though we all know they'll be back by Thursday.

Somewhere along the way, my body stopped saying, "That was dramatic."

Now it says, "That'll be three days to recover."

So yes... I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my brain.

The good news is I finally know where it is.

The bad news is I think I strained my neck finding it. 😂

Play The Silly Games!

I hear people talk all the time about how important it is for kids to have grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and extended family in their lives. And I agree. But here’s the thing nobody seems to mention. You actually have to build the relationship. You can have 47 relatives sitting in the same room at Christmas and that doesn’t mean those kids have a relationship with any of them. And really, why have a family if you don’t want to be part of it?

Being Grandma doesn’t automatically create a bond. Neither does being Grandpa, Aunt Whoever or Uncle So-and-So. That’s your title. The relationship comes from what you actually DO with them. Play the silly games. Go watch them play ball, dance, sing, act or whatever they’re into this month. Listen to the 15-minute story that you still don’t understand. Ask them questions. Remember what they told you last time. Laugh with them. Take them somewhere. Teach them something. Let them help you cook. Sit down and actually TALK to them. And for heaven’s sake, put the phone down once in a while.

Kids notice who pays attention to them. They know who lights up when they walk through the door and who barely looks up. They know who makes them feel interesting, funny, important and loved. You can spend years sitting in the same room with a child and still be practically a stranger to them.

Then someday you can’t wonder why they don’t call, don’t visit or don’t seem particularly close to you. You can’t ignore their little world for years and then suddenly expect to be an important part of their big one. DNA gave you the connection. You still have to do the work to build the relationship. Family isn’t something you just have. It’s something you participate in.

About Raven Carter

Apparently, I Need to Introduce Myself to Google 

According to Google, there are other Raven Carters who are much better at being Raven Carter on the internet than I am.

Who knew?

So I figured I’d give Google a little help without giving the internet enough information to show up at my front door. I’m Raven Carter. The Oklahoma one.

I’ve lived a lot of different lives in this one lifetime. I’ve spent decades working with children, owned a business, directed plays, raised a family, survived more than a few “what the hell am I going to do now?” moments, and recently entered this strange little chapter called retirement.

I’m creative. I’m stubborn. I’m independent. I’m sentimental when nobody’s looking, sarcastic when everybody is, and I’ve never been particularly good at being told what to do.

I’ve directed actors on a stage and teachers in classrooms. I’ve dealt with children throwing fits and adults throwing bigger ones. Honestly, there’s not as much difference between those two professions as you’d think.

I’ve reinvented myself more than once.

I’ve been a daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, business owner, director, boss, friend, writer, troublemaker and probably a pain in somebody’s ass at least a few times.

And now I’m a blogger.

I write because I have stories. Some are funny. Some hurt. Some make absolutely no sense until you’re old enough to look backward and realize they were building the person you eventually became.

I’m not famous. I’m not trying to be. But I’ve lived a life worth remembering. So Google, if you’re listening: I’m Raven Carter. The Oklahoma one. That’s really all the internet needs to know. The rest of the story? My blog is at your finger tips. 

Then Do Something About It

We all complain. I complain. Sometimes complaining is therapeutic. You get it out, say a few bad words, tell your friend the whole ridiculous story, and feel better.

But eventually?

You have to do something.

You hate your job.

Every day.

You’ve hated it since 2019.

But you haven’t applied anywhere.

You’re always broke, but haven’t changed one thing you’re spending money on.

You’re exhausted, but you’re scrolling TikTok at 1:30 in the morning.

You’re unhappy in your relationship, but won’t have the uncomfortable conversation.

You complain nobody helps you, but every time somebody offers a solution, you have seventeen reasons why it won’t work.

At some point, I don’t know what we’re doing here. 😂

And yes, some situations are genuinely hard. Not every problem has an easy solution. Sometimes all the choices suck.

But doing nothing is still a choice.

You don’t have to change your entire life by Tuesday. Take one step. Make the phone call. Fill out the application. Cancel something you can’t afford. Have the conversation. Ask the question. Make the appointment.

Do something different.

Because if you’ve been complaining about the exact same problem for three years while refusing to change anything, maybe you’re not looking for a solution anymore.

Maybe complaining has become your hobby.

Change it.

Accept it.

Learn to live with it.

Or at least stop giving the rest of us weekly updates. 😂

Because eventually “I don’t know what to do” becomes “I know what I could do. I just don’t want to do it.”

And sometimes that’s the actual problem.

Somebody needed to say it.

Just Tell Me I’m Fine Again

I’ve recently discovered something about myself: I don’t necessarily need new information.

I need the same information repeated until my nervous system agrees with it.

You can tell me, “That’s normal.”

Great.

Five minutes later: “Okay, but is it still normal?”

Ten minutes later: “Can you check again?”

And apparently, if I own a device capable of measuring something, I will measure the absolute shit out of it.

My Apple Watch has learned this the hard way.

Heart rate 89? Wonderful.

Heart rate 101? Excuse me, what the hell is happening?

Heart rate 116 because I stood up and walked across the room? Well, obviously this is the end.

Back to 99?

“Okay, but check it again.”

😂

I don’t think I’m necessarily a hypochondriac. I think I’m more of a professional reassurance seeker. There’s a difference. I don’t always believe something terrible is wrong. I just need someone to confirm approximately 14 times that something terrible is not wrong.

And the funny thing is, once I’m reassured, I’m perfectly reasonable.

“Okay! That makes sense.”

Then my body does one slightly different thing.

“Wait. What was THAT?”

Maybe some of it comes with getting older. When you’re young, your body can make a weird noise and you think, Huh.

At 61, your body makes a weird noise and suddenly you’re conducting a full investigation.

Was that there yesterday?

Is that new?

What medications have I taken?

Did I drink enough water?

Is this hormones?

Am I out of shape?

Could it be the prednisone?

CHECK MY HEART AGAIN.

I know reassurance can become a rabbit hole, and I’m working on trusting my body a little more instead of monitoring every little thing it does.

But sometimes I don’t need someone to tell me I’m being ridiculous.

I just need someone to calmly say, “You’re okay. What you’re feeling makes sense.”

And apparently, occasionally, I need them to say it again.

And again.

And one more time just to be safe.

Then I’ll relax.

Probably.

But first…

Can you check it again? 😂

Labels: Aging, Anxiety, Health, Humor, Overthinking, Reassurance, Getting Older, Apple Watch, Life After 60, Insignificant Thoughts

When You Learn People Are Idiots... You Can't Unsee It!

I’m trying to remember a time when people weren’t idiots. 

Before Facebook? Probably.

I mean, surely people have always been stupid. We just didn’t have access to all of them at once. I can remember when my life was crazy and unpredictable... Things happened... Plans fell apart... People disappointed me... Bills showed up when the money didn’t... Kids got sick at the worst possible time... Cars broke down... Employees quit.. The washer flooded the floor. 

Life did what life does.

And somewhere along the way, instead of constantly waiting for the shit to hit the fan, I started having a plan. Then I had a backup plan. And eventually I had a backup plan for the backup plan...Because one thing I learned pretty early is that life does not give a shit about your plans.

But apparently, somewhere along the way we decided every inconvenience was an emergency. Every disappointment was somebody else’s fault, and every thought that popped into our head needed to be shared with 14,000 strangers on Facebook.  (Stop it!) When did that happen? When did we decide to air all our dirty laundry?

There was a time when if something stupid happened... you called your mom, or your best friend. You sat at the kitchen table and bitched about it to your husband, and then you figured it out. You didn’t immediately run to Facebook:

Them: “Does anyone know what I should do?”

Me: "Yes. Handle it."

That’s what we used to do. We handled shit. We didn’t need 347 opinions from people who don’t know us, don’t know the other people involved, and have heard approximately 12% of the story. And maybe that’s the biggest difference. Before social media, stupid thoughts had a much smaller audience. You might say something ridiculous at work and three people heard it. Somebody might look at you funny. Maybe your friend would say, “Girl, that makes absolutely no sense.” And that was the end of it.

Now you can post it anonymously in a Facebook group and have 600 other people validate your stupidity before lunch. And God forbid someone says, “Well… have you considered that maybe YOU are the problem?” Absolutely not.

BLOCKED.

Because somehow we’ve also reached a point where being offended automatically means you’re right. It doesn’t. Sometimes you’re offended because somebody finally told you something nobody else had the nerve to say. 

Life has taught me that you can spend all your time trying to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you... or you can accept that shit WILL happen, and become the kind of person who knows what to do when it does.

Have a plan.

Have a backup plan.

Learn how to problem solve.

Learn how to hear the word no.

Learn how to be disappointed.

Learn how to admit when you screwed up.

And for the love of God, learn that not every thought needs to become a Facebook post. Maybe people weren’t smarter before Facebook. Maybe we just didn’t know how stupid everybody was. And honestly, I kind of miss that.

Conversations In My Head With Nowhere To Go.

I’ve talked to my mom my entire life. Not every day, but often—sometimes just to share something small, something that didn’t matter to anyone else but mattered to me. She was my person. My audience. My constant.

After spending my whole adult life running a daycare, I finally retired. For years, I imagined retirement would mean more time with her—slow afternoons, longer visits, conversations that didn’t have to end because I had somewhere else to be.

Instead, I retired... and then I lost her.

Nobody prepares you for grieving not just the person, but the future you thought you were finally going to have with them.

Now I find myself wondering who I’m supposed to call. When something funny happens. When I find a good deal. When I want to brag about my grandkids. When I’m sick, excited, scared... or when there’s another grandbaby on the way.

For sixty-one years, the answer was always the same.

My mom.

Grief has a way of hiding in the smallest habits. Reaching for the phone. Seeing something and thinking, I need to tell Mom. Then remembering I can’t.

Life will go on. I’ll keep writing, loving my grandkids, and doing all the things I’ve always done. But there are still conversations in my head with nowhere to go.

I still want to hear her laugh. I still miss the way she’d start every opinion with, “Well...” before telling me exactly what she thought—even if I wasn’t going to take her advice anyway.

Maybe grief is simply missing the place where all your words used to land. So maybe I keep talking anyway. Maybe I write. Maybe I tell the stories. Maybe that’s how I keep her close. 

One More Thing... Really?

I think we all go through seasons where life knocks us down. Sometimes it doesn’t just knock us down—it throws the whole kitchen sink at us... and then somehow finds another kitchen sink. 😂

Nobody gets through this life without hurt, disappointment, unfair situations, and those moments where you just look up and say, “Seriously? One more thing?” That’s called being human.

But somewhere along the way, we have to be careful that what happened to us doesn’t become who we are. There’s a difference between living through a hard chapter and deciding the entire book is ruined.

And let’s be honest... sometimes staying stuck can feel easier. Because if everything is everyone else’s fault, we never have to ask the uncomfortable question, “What can I do differently?” Nobody likes that question. It shows up uninvited, sits on your couch, helps itself to your snacks, and points out things you were hoping nobody noticed. 😂

Now, this doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen. They absolutely do. People hurt us. Life can be unfair. Circumstances come along that we never would have chosen. But healing usually begins when we stop giving the worst moments of our lives permission to make every decision that comes afterward.

At some point, we have to ask ourselves, “Am I carrying this experience, or is this experience carrying me?” Because there’s a difference.

The victim mindset keeps score forever. It remembers every hurt, every disappointment, every person who didn’t show up, and every time life wasn’t fair. The problem is, when your arms are full carrying all of that, there isn’t much room left for hope, joy, growth, or even the people who are trying to walk beside you.

We can’t always choose what happens to us. But we usually get to choose what we do next. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not easily. Maybe one tiny step at a time.

Your past may explain you, but it doesn’t have to define you. Your story is allowed to have more than one chapter. Just make sure you’re still holding the pen.

Just Say No!

Definitely. I’d make #2 short and punchy:

Somebody Needed to Say It: Just Say No

Why do we say yes when we mean no?

“Sure, I’ll do it.”

Then spend the next three days complaining to everyone except the person who asked us. 😂

“I don’t mind.”

Yes, you do.

You mind a lot.

Then we get mad because people don’t respect our boundaries.

What boundaries?

You said yes!

Stop expecting people to read your mind. If you don’t want to do something, say no. If something bothers you, say so. If someone asks too much of you, tell them.

Saying no isn’t rude. Saying yes and then resenting someone for believing you is ridiculous.

Say what you mean. Mean what you say.

And stop handing people permission slips and getting pissed when they use them.

Somebody needed to say it. 😂