We knew the storm was coming. We had plenty of notice. So first, I skied. Then, I excavated.
Play first, then work. In retirement, it works better for me that way.
As the storm-with-no-name (as of today) struck the Washington DC area with both snow and ice, I tackled the inside job I’ve been avoiding for years: office clean-up. Into the recycle bin went tax records, old letters, training modules that I created and thought I would teach again some day.
And then, in the office closet, I came across a box full of forgotten certificates and photos.
I’ll throw them out some day, too. But first, they went up on my walls. Why? Because they’ve been bare for 10 years. And to remind myself of my past life. Why do that? Because it reminds me who I am and how I got here. Because there’s someone out there like me who can relate. And because I have trouble talking about it. Rediscovering “the box” gave me a reason to write about it instead.
I often interviewed my Mom, who lived through WWII and the Great Depression. When she died, I wrote about her life. I have no children or grandchildren to ask me questions or put my life on the record. (I wanted them but it didn’t happen.) I’m not the kind to write my memoirs, or display accomplishments — until today, in my private office. Maybe this is my way of putting it on the record: “I was here.” Because every life is unique and deserves to be remembered. (Yours, too.) Below, in photos and captions, is Pt. 1 of mine. Pt. 2 will come later, from photo albums – a “private” peek!
A funny thing happened while skiing in eastern Pennsylvania a few days before the storm. (I’m covered up here more from the sun than cold–something you think more about with age.) An eight-year-old asked if I’d help her ride the chairlift, as she was just learning. “Sure!,” I said. I usually ski and ride alone, but she was so endearing and eager. She asked my age. “Sixty-seven,” I said. Her mouth fell open, as far as it could go. As I passed her on the hill, skiing aggressively as I normally do, it fell open again. I busted that girl’s expectations of what “an old woman” looks like. As I excavated my box, I realized I’ve always busted expectations. I didn’t choose to — it’s just who I am. It can be a lonely place for a woman of my generation. But it was my place. Starting with…
…jumping out of airplanes during college. This was the first of 13 jumps, and 10 of them were free-fall (opening your own parachute). I often ask myself what drew me to that. First, I think, it was about facing fear; then, the thrill of falling; then, the silence while drifting under an open parachute. I’ve thought, later in life, of going up again. But, no. Some things don’t need repeating.
After I joined the Navy — another unexpected turn — it was on to karate. The deliberate motions called for physical and mental discipline, a kind of meditation, which was new to me. I attained “orange-belt” before I lost my teacher and moved on to…
…diving, which I still do and love. (About 300 dives so far.) It combines the occasional physical thrill — a vigorous swim against a current, for example — with the more common calm of the gentle drift. When I hang motionless midway between the seafloor and the surface, it feels like skydiving.
I wasn’t always chasing sport or action, although there was more of that – whitewater rafting, rappelling, zip-lining, triathlons, various snow sports, etc. This very special certificate marks a trip to Lapland with family members to visit our grandparents’ birthplace north of the Arctic Circle. (I came by my love of winter naturally.) I made a return trip years later and plan to go again. Understanding “who we are” takes many forms. For some of us, those ancestral roots explain a lot.
I suppose it’s no surprise that I loved Antarctica. I went twice, for work, and wore this medal on my Navy uniform even though I earned it as a civilian. (Yes, I confirmed it was “legal” to do that.) It was the most extraordinary experience of my life, and different from today’s cruise excursions.
This photo, playing my harmonica by our newly-built snow fort, was framed for me by the USA Today Weather Editor after it appeared in that paper. As NSF’s Media Director, I guided him (and other journalists) on their visit to “the Ice.” Building a snow fort and igloo — and sleeping in it — is required survival training before any journey inland. We thought it was great fun, but glad we didn’t need to use our new skills.
My 15 years at NSF were the most satisfying of a 22-year federal career but no day was more satisfying then this one, when the NSF Deputy Director helped promote me to Captain in his office — because it combined both sides of my work life. I was in the reserves for 20 of my 30 years in uniform, so juggled two jobs for 20 years. In my field and at my rank, the reserves were much more than “a weekend job.” I was fortunate to (almost) always have support from my civilian bosses for my Navy role. Joe Bordogna was once a Navy officer and enjoyed this moment almost as much as me. (He was an engineer with such intelligence, integrity and kindness. I think of him often and hope he knew what an impact he had on me.)
The Navy gave me many extraordinary memories. I’ve displayed this one for years. Working in France for the 50th anniversary of D-Day was so humbling. French schoolchildren gave me this poster. (Please read the English translation — a reminder of what the U.S. once meant to the world.)
This certificate doesn’t communicate the excitement behind it. This was the sea trial of “Old Ironsides,” to make sure she could sail under her own power before she welcomed the President, Dan Rather and many VIPs aboard to witness. It’s the world’s oldest commissioned warship still afloat, launched in 1797. She hadn’t sailed in 116 years before this day! A documentary crew and I were the only ones on board besides the crew. It was quiet, and tense. I remember what it felt like when the tug cut its line, the ship rocked gently, and…sailed! Such a special (and private) moment.
And then, a totally different kind of ship…a kind of mini aircraft carrier. I spent two weeks aboard during a joint exercise with Panama in the Panama Canal, coordinating international media coverage. I remember my conversations on the bridge with the ship’s female commanding officer, who later became a vice admiral. Though we were the same rank, she had so much more responsibility than me. I was a bit embarrassed about my role, given hers. (Female ship CO’s were not common then.) Yet she put me entirely at ease as we discussed the importance of communicating with the public. She was so “in command,” clearly respected by the crew, and yet relatable. Just like any good CO. I can’t help but wonder if she would have survived last year’s “DEI purge.” Probably not.
Pulling this one out of hiding made me smile. When a Navy person leaves a command, they often receive a photo signed by shipmates. My crew gave me this when I ended my tour as head of the Media Training Team at the Naval War College in Newport, R.I. We had fun training every officer who came through those doors, including many from overseas. But it wasn’t just about helping them not look foolish in front of cameras and microphones. While I was leading the team, we added the “why” — how a free press is essential to a functioning democracy, and why military officers owe the public an honest accounting of how they use public funds. (I remember an Egyptian officer’s response and realized later that he must have been thinking of Egypt’s public uprisings.) How quaint my idealism seems today, in such different times.
And then there was DHS. I spent eight years at HQ (Science and Technology), and it was a mixed bag. I ended up retiring early when it became what we called a “soul-sucking” culture–but there were terrific people doing terrific work there in order to keep Americans safe after 9/11. This was my good-bye gift.
It wasn’t all bad at DHS. The year before retiring, I spent a six-month detail at the office that leads national efforts to combat human trafficking. (Not easy to coordinate with law enforcement and nonprofits across the country, at all levels.) I was in my 50s then, and remember the 30-something staff was skeptical of my abilities…my first experience with “age-ism.” I had to prove myself. And did.
Lunchtimes at DHS were often spent at the Toastmasters Club. I’ve been a public speaker all my life, so didn’t think I “needed” it, but I did learn new techniques and had a lot of fun, too.
So what does a woman do after 52 (combined) years of work? Find a new “purpose?” After 10 years of working on it, I completed my training for this certificate. I never did use it officially. (I do teach informally.) I just like to finish things. Anyway, it turns out the main purpose of this program, for me, was self-awareness. One good thing about retirement…there’s more time for that.
Like many others, I travel a lot in retirement because the desire to learn never ends. This is from a fabulous and educational trip to Egypt. That’s my name in hieroglyphs on the left. On papyrus! (The precursor to paper.) I loved learning just how far back writers and scholars go. Way-y-y back.
And, from my most recent trip–the 80-mile trek on El Camino in Spain–this certificate of completion, with my name in Latin. I think you can “Latin-ize” any name by adding “-am” to the end. 😉
I leave this unusual post with a recent photo of my only full-time companion, who travels with me (though not overseas), and will again soon as we head north to Lake Superior for the best of winter. We are both aging — she’s 80 in human years — but not yet done! Life has more in store for us both, and for you. The past informs the present and the future awaits. Thanks for joining me for a tour of my wall. Part 2 of “A Life Exposed” to follow. (Note that this is filed under “Reflections” on my menu. Future posts from the far-north will be filed under “Camp Many Moons.”)
Thank you, Terry. You understand more than most why I write about it instead of talk about. 😉 Most of this happened before I met you so it must be strange to read. When we make friends in later life, there’s so much we don’t know about how we each ended up as we are today. Some of it doesn’t matter, but some of it does, right?
Good chilly morning, Good to see your Reflections and learn more about your fascinating background. Perhaps we all should take a look back as we age, surprising how many highlights you might discover. We’re still in an arctic freeze. Grant and his ski bunch are in Montana and he should return in early February. I’m in my second week of recovery and seem to be on schedule. Getting tired of the inactivity, but the old body has learned to tell me when I’ve done enough. Looking forward to seeing you. We have tons of snow, but the back roads are still in rough shape following all the storms. Cheers and love, Pat
You made me smile with that comment about future generations of young women. Yep, i guess that’s another reason why I put my private stuff out there. Past generations of women have inspired me, so maybe I can do the same! I hope so. Especially with what appears to be recent backsliding about our place in society.
For Many Moons 
What a journey, and an honor – to cover so many years and achievements with you in such a short time. Thank you for that!
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What a journey, and an honor – to cover so many years and achievements with you in such a short time. Thank you for that!
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Thank you, Terry. You understand more than most why I write about it instead of talk about. 😉 Most of this happened before I met you so it must be strange to read. When we make friends in later life, there’s so much we don’t know about how we each ended up as we are today. Some of it doesn’t matter, but some of it does, right?
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Good chilly morning, Good to see your Reflections and learn more about your fascinating background. Perhaps we all should take a look back as we age, surprising how many highlights you might discover. We’re still in an arctic freeze. Grant and his ski bunch are in Montana and he should return in early February. I’m in my second week of recovery and seem to be on schedule. Getting tired of the inactivity, but the old body has learned to tell me when I’ve done enough. Looking forward to seeing you. We have tons of snow, but the back roads are still in rough shape following all the storms. Cheers and love, Pat
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Good to hear from you. I’ve been wondering how you are.
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An extraordinary accomplishment over several lifetimes, each unique and separate from the others. Future generations of young women, take heart.
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You made me smile with that comment about future generations of young women. Yep, i guess that’s another reason why I put my private stuff out there. Past generations of women have inspired me, so maybe I can do the same! I hope so. Especially with what appears to be recent backsliding about our place in society.
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