Third Act With Pattie

Category: Wandering Thoughts

  • Quietly Judging…at the No-Judgment Gym

    I made a decision.

    A grown-up decision.
    A responsible, health-oriented decision.

    I decided to join the gym.

    Let me be very clear about something.

    I hate the gym.

    The gym and I have a long-standing policy:  mutual avoidance.

    At best, we coexist on the same planet.

    I am a 4’10”, short, round, senior woman.
    I do not look like the gym loves me.
    I do not look like I love the gym.

    But this is the Third Act.

    And in the Third Act, apparently,

    we make mature decisions like this.

    So I went to the “No Judgment” gym.

    Have you ever been there?

    Because I can assure you—
    people are judging.

    Okay, fine.

    It was me.

    I am people.

    That said, there were quite a few seniors there, which helped.

    There were also quite a few young people.

    And while I was not judging
    (I was absolutely observing),

    I noticed something important:

    The young people were in far better physical shape.

    But the seniors?

    They were having way more fun.

    They talked to each other.

    About working out.
    About hating it.
    About the weather.

    Possibly about grandchildren, medications,
    and who had knee surgery last year.

    I didn’t catch everything,
    but I feel confident in those topics.

    I also noticed something else.

    People with very real physical challenges
    still showing up.

    Still moving.
    Still trying.

    Not to impress anyone.

    Just… showing up.

    And I found myself unexpectedly inspired by that.

    My first visit?

    Fifteen minutes on the treadmill.

    I went home like I had metaled in an Olympic event
    and should be met with applause and possibly snacks.

    Now?

    I’ve advanced.

    Fifteen minutes on the recumbent elliptical.
    Fifteen minutes on the recumbent bike.

    That is a full thirty minutes
    of mild suffering

    and excellent people-watching.

    I plan to add more.

    Machines.
    Maybe even weights.

    Eventually.

    Right now, the lingering effects of chemo
    are still living rent-free in my muscles and back.

    So we are… negotiating.

    Here’s the truth:

    I am slow.
    I sweat a lot.
    I have absolutely no speed on any machine.

    And no one has spoken to me yet.

    I’,m shocked too. Honestly.

    To be fair, I don’t always look like someone you should approach.

    But still.

    But here’s the part I didn’t expect:

    It’s helping.

    I feel a little stronger.
    A little steadier.
    A little more like myself again.

    So despite everything—

    my official Third Act recommendation is this:

    Just do it.

    (I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere before…)

    Slowly.

    Reluctantly.

    Judging quietly.

    But do it anyway.

    Because sometimes showing up is the win.

    -Pattie

  • So… this is my Third Act

    So… this is my Third Act

    Most mornings in the Third Act start the same way.

    Coffee in my hand, the lake in front of me, and a dog beside me who has very strong opinions about how the rest of us should be running this household.

    The lake is usually still enough to see my reflection.

    Which is why coffee comes first. 

    Here you’ll find stories about life after the bell — retirement surprises, lake life, surviving cancer, making things, wandering thoughts, and the observations of one very opinionated Wonderdog named Sassy.

    Before we go any further, I should probably be honest about something.

    This is not a lifestyle blog where I pretend to have everything figured out.

    For most of my life I was working, raising a family, chauffeuring kids all over creation, and doing all the things people do when they’re moving through the first and second acts of life.

    Then one day the bell rang on all that.

    I’m now a semi-retired two-time cancer survivor who is still trying to figure out what retirement actually means, how two people manage to be home all the time without driving each other crazy, and why the dog seems to be the only one in the house with a clear plan.

    Most days I’m just writing down what happens next.

    Life has acts.

    The first act is learning and exploring your world.

    The second act is building careers, raising families, and generally running as fast as possible.

    And hoping somebody is learning something.

    The third act is different.

    It’s where you finally have time to look around and notice things — the lake in the morning, the dog at your feet, the creative side of yourself you finally have time to get back to, and stories that suddenly feel more important than they used to.

    You might be somewhere in that act too.

    This blog is about life after the bell.

    I have a feeling there are quite a few adventures left to experience.

    This is where I tell those stories.

    Before I forget them. 

    I’m glad you’re here.

    Pull up a chair, watch the lake for a while, and see what happens next.

    We might even raise a glass – or two. 

    — Pattie

    🐕 Sassy says if you stay long enough, treats should be involved.

  • There’s Quiet… and Then There’s Lake Quiet

    There’s Quiet… and Then There’s Lake Quiet

    The town where our city house sits is… small.

    Not one-red-light small…

    But everybody-knows-your-business-if-you-leave-the-trash-can-out-too-long small.

    Most people wouldn’t call it a city house.

    It’s a quiet little town.
    A sleepy town.
    A town where sirens are the exception…
    not the rule.

    On warm summer nights,
    you can hear the crickets.

    When I say it’s quiet here—
    can you picture it?

    Because I can.

    It’s the kind of quiet that settles in around you.
    Predictable.
    Comfortable.
    The kind of quiet that knows your name.

    But at the lake…

    it’s a different quiet.

    We live at the end of the road.
    And I mean the end.

    If you don’t stop,
    you’ll be in the lake.

    There’s no passing traffic.
    No headlights sweeping the windows.
    No late-night somebody-driving-home noise.

    Just water.
    Wind.
    And whatever decides to speak up in the dark.

    You can hear things here.

    The soft plop of a fish jumping
    from somewhere across the lake.

    The low, steady buzz of mosquitoes
    that always seem closer than they are.

    The sudden flap of wings
    as a blue heron lifts off and disappears into the trees.

    And sometimes…
    voices.

    Just whispers of conversation
    carrying across the water,
    drifting farther than they should.

    At the lake, the quiet isn’t tucked in.

    It’s wide open quiet.

    It stretches out across the water…
    and comes right back at you.

    Sometimes it’s so still
    it feels like the whole world is holding its breath.

    And sometimes…

    it’s not quiet at all.

    Even when it feels completely still…

    it isn’t. 

    And somewhere out there, between the crickets and the water,
    I’m starting to understand the difference.

    If you know wide open quiet, you’ll fit right in…

    come back and stay awhile.

    Pull up a chair on the deck. We’ll raise a glass – or two.

    –Pattie

    The water’s sparkling, the dog has opinions… and this Third Act is just getting started.

    If you made it this far, we’re basically friends.

    No spam. No nonsense. Just stories.

  • I Rang the Bell. My Hair Revolted.

    I Rang the Bell. My Hair Revolted.

    I beat cancer.
    Nobody warned me my hair would come back for reveng    e.

    When you’re a cancer patient on chemo
    (also known as: medically sanctioned poisoning),
    the doctor will tell you whether your particular poison
    is the hair-killing kind.

    What they don’t tell you…
    is that your hair will remember.

    And it will extract its vengeance.

    Some people shave their heads early
    to avoid the heartbreak

    of waking up

    looking like you lost a fight with your own pillow…

    and the pillow has no regrets.

    Some of us think…  maybe it won’t fall out.

    So we keep it.
    We baby it.
    We speak kindly to it.
    (Some even try cold capping,
    which feels like negotiating with a hostage.)

    It doesn’t matter.

    The hair remembers.

    I’m convinced a full head of hair
    is deeply proud of itself.

    No one explains to it,
    “Hey… this poison is necessary so the rest of us can live.”

    And judging by what comes next,
    I’m not sure it would care.

    Eventually, you get to the bell.
    The glorious, emotional, hard-earned bell.

    I personally rang the hell out of it. That’s another story.

    The scan says: no evidence of disease.

    And you wait.
    Excited. Hopeful.
    For the hair to return.

    At first, it’s thrilling.

    Tiny sprigs show up
    and you think: we’re back.

    But around the one-inch mark…

    That’s when the vengeance begins.

    First: the color.

    Not silver gray.
    Battle-ax gray.

    Patchy.
    With pink scalp shining through
    like it was done on purpose.

    You finally have hair again…
    and somehow it’s worse.

    Then: the texture.

    Give it another inch
    and now it curls.

    The first time, it curled all over.
    I liked it.

    This time?
    It chose chaos.

    Curls in the back.
    At the crown.
    No pattern. No logic.

    Mostly it just sticks up
    like it’s trying to leave.

    That is not happening.

    Eventually it reaches my preferred length.

    Still gray.
    Still patchy.
    Still flashing scalp like a warning signal.

    So I went to my hairdresser
    and begged for help.

    Same color. Same process.

    In some places… nothing.
    In others…
    a deeply unfortunate yellow.

    So now I’m on a mission
    to earn my hair’s forgiveness.

    Expensive shampoo.
    Luxurious conditioner.
    Heat protection.

    Gentle brushing.
    Careful handling.
    No sudden moves.

    Because I finally understand:

    This is not my hair.

    This is a grudge.

    And I am just out here
    trying to negotiate a peace treaty

    with my own hair…
    which clearly has no interest in peace.  

    And somewhere in all of this—
    the gray, the curls, the absolute rebellion—
    you realize something important:

    You’re still here.

    So you take your coffee out to the deck,
    watch the water for a minute
    and decide… that’s enough.

    Pull up a chair.
    The water’s sparkling… and apparently, so is my attitude.

    -Pattie

    If you made it this far, we’re basically friends.

    No spam. No nonsense. Just stories.

  • Still Nobody Asked Me

    Still Nobody Asked Me

    🐕A Sassy Says Post

    I have concerns.

    Serious concerns.

    Let me explain.

    Do we live in the city house?

    Do we live at the lake?

    Because apparently..

    we live in two houses now.


    There are three people in this household.

    Three.

    And somehow, still nobody asked me.

    I have thoughts.

    Important and strategic thoughts.

    No one asked for them. But here we are.

    For example.

    I like the city house.

    It’s big.

    It has excellent laying-down spots.

    And I have my own section of the couch.

    That’s why they call it a sectional.

    I don’t make the rules.

    Now…

    I don’t hate the lake house.

    But it has a lot of steps.

    Mama says I’m fast on the steps because I have four legs.

    That is not how this works.

    Four legs is twice the effort.

    Also, while Mama had that “C” disease, I had responsibilities.

    I had to make sure she ate.

    Snacks.

    Lots of snacks.

    To prove they were safe, I sampled them first.

    Repeatedly.

    I sacrificed myself.

    Because, after all, I am a very good girl.


    And yes… I may have gained a little weight.

    Those steps are… less friendly when you are generously nourished.

    Now let’s talk yards.

    The city house has a fenced backyard.

    A secure back yard.

    The kind where a girl can nap in the sun without worrying about creepy things sneaking up on her.

    The lake house?

    No fence.

    And it has those creepy blue birds

    They Swoop down…

    ….and then WALK ON WATER.

    Explain that.

    Also –

    The city house has two perfect pillows on my couch section.

    Excellent for bone hiding.

    The lake house?

    No proper bone storage system.

    Although…

    I have identified a chair nobody sits in.

    That may work.

    Now, here is something interesting.

    At the city house, Daddy is gone all day.

    At the lake hosue…

    He is here all the time.

    I am not saying that matters.

    But I am also not not saying that.

    And….

    The lake house does have a very nice deck.

    Mama drinks her coffee there.

    We watch the ducks in the morning

    In the afternoon, we watch the boats.

    It’s a very strong observation position.

    Also important –

    The lake house has lots of doors and windows.

    Excellent for surveillance

    The city house?

    Very poor viewing situation.

    So.

    After careful consideration…

    (and one very serious bone session)

    I have made a decision

    The lake house will be acceptable.

    Possibly even good.

    But let the record show –

    this was not a group decision.


    — Sassy The Wonderdog 🐾

    Still waiting to be included in major decisions…

    Subscribe for updates.
    I will allow it. —Sassy