The Questions of Retirement

 

Last year, every event that keeps Cafe de la Rue afloat was canceled. 

It was worrying, because we still have about $30k in debt associated with the business. Plus a building for which we have to continue to furnish utilities, internet and trash service.

Somehow, between the COVID stimulus payments, our tax refunds and the money we had squirreled away from 2019, we managed to keep the bills paid without too much hand-wringing.

We're now poised to re-start Cafe de la Rue.  Our one big event--the Scandinavian Festival in Junction City--is determined to go forward.  This depends heavily on the vaccination rate in the state: The governor says she will relax most if not all COVID restrictions once 70% of Oregonians 16 and over have received at least one dose of vaccine.  We are currently at about 60%. And while the Oregonian (Portland's newspaper) optimistically predicts we'll reach 70% by June 28, I am not getting behind THAT prediction.  We have way too many brain-dead Trumpsters running around the state for me to predict we'll EVER get to that 70% benchmark.  Be that as it may, we're preparing to gear up for the August festival.  

But the year of enforced idleness has given me fresh insight into my little business and its future...or lack thereof. 

We "founded" Cafe de la Rue in 2002.  It was started in part to fulfill my dream of owning my own food business, but there were two additional factors that were key to the genesis of Cafe de la Rue. #1--I was determined to have a place where family members down on their luck and in need of cash could work, and earn enough money to get them through rough spots. #2--As a family, we were totally in love with the Scandinavian Festival, and being a part of it was a primary goal. (It helped that it generated a fair amount of profit, as well...)

The "stasis" year of 2020, and the prospect of getting back into things in 2021, have given me the opportunity to take a stark look at how my business is continuing to fulfill the goals that inspired it, and what life would look like without it. 

Is Cafe de la Rue still fulfilling my dream of owning my own business? Better question, is owning my own business still a dream?  I'd have to say, "Been there, done that."  Entrepreneurship has morphed from dream to obligation.  Which, at nearly 66 years old, I'm wondering if it's an obligation I want to continue to carry around.     

 

Is it providing needed income to any family members?  Most of us don't NEED the income of the business any more.  It generates a decent amount of pocket money, but not enough to call a "windfall" and/or apply to any major purchases we might not have made without it.  The one family member who could actually USE the extra cash has informed me that her physical limitations will preclude much of her involvement in the festival and preparations for it.  So...no.  Family is no longer benefiting from the business.  In fact, the advanced age of all concerned has all at once caught up to us; to the point where we will need to procure outside help if we even hope to pull off this year's festival at all.

Lastly, are we still in love with the Scandinavian Festival?  The answer to that has to be an unqualified, "No." Which I realized last week for good and all, when we attended the lamest "vendor meeting" associated with the festival upon which it has ever been my misfortune to waste an hour of my life that I will never get back.  In fact, it was that meeting that inspired this post.

I got home from that meeting, and I had to pause and really think about why we USED to love doing the festival, why it was so important for us to be a part of it, in the past.  And if those parameters still exist.  And I realized that the festival IS NOT THOSE THINGS to us, anymore.

Because we wanted to be part of the experience.  We wanted to be able to go watch the dancing on a slow afternoon, or go out and wander the craft booths, or take an hour and go to the wine terrace at the end of a shift.  In the old days, that was what we did.  Unfortunately, in the last three years, there has been a major attrition of food booths at this festival which commands an attendance in excess of 100,000 souls in a weekend.  As a result, our own business has increased exponentially.  We've gone from that state of being able to partake of the festival to a 4-12-hour-day hammer-fest.  Lines at the window, 2 blocks long, for hours at a time.  ANY time.  ALL the time.  

Sure, we bring in a lot of bucks.  But it isn't fun anymore.  In fact, this year, I'm wondering if it's even possible.  Or if there's enough of fun, reward or exhilaration about it for about it for me to make it possible.  I have serious doubts.

Unfortunately, we are not going to be able to throw in the towel quite yet.  The federal government came to our rescue in the form of a sizeable chunk of grant money.  Which was bestowed upon us in the interest of helping us restart our little business and get it running again.  

If we don't keep going, we have to give back the money.  And I have a hard time with the concept of giving back $40k of free money.  

Though, honestly, we might have to revisit that question on September 1.  And I'm prepared to do that. 

Sometimes It's Better Not to Know

 One of the ostensibly positive services social media provides is the ability to locate long-lost friends and family members.

Though I have to say, for me, this particular "service" has more often been a curse than a blessing.

It has shown me exactly how valued I am/was by any human being in my past.

The few times I have located people I knew years ago, they have politely responded with a weak, "Oh...hi!" and then disappeared back into the ethereal forest, never to be heard from again.

So, oh well.  Not really life-affirming.

Be that as it may, I had one friend that I secretly yearned to reconnect with.  A friend from my childhood.  My best friend.  For more than 20 years.  We were practically sisters during our school years.  Nearly inseparable.  We spent so much time at each others' houses that we called each others' parents "Mom and Dad."  

Maid/matron of honor in our weddings, months apart, in 1976.

 

When the husband and I moved to Oregon in 1984, my friend and I drifted apart.  She and her husband visited us a couple of years later, on their way to moving themselves to Arizona.

I saw her one last time back in the 90's--an awkward weekend visit that ended with promises to keep in touch.  I wrote her a letter shortly after she went back home.  It came back, "Moved, Left No Forwarding Address."

After that, I made a few attempts to find her on the internet now and then.  When I came up empty time after time, I put 2 and 2 together and figured I had my answer. If I couldn't contact her, it was probably because she didn't want me to.  Ok.  I made my peace with it.  It was what it was. 

Until last month.

A whole complex set of circumstances involving Facebook and my husband (who refused to have anything to do with FB during the years I was on it, but has inexplicably changed his mind, now that I have walked away from it...) put me in touch with this friend I have been secretly longing to find for so many years.

She sent me an email.  I sent her one back.  She answered.  I responded.

All very tentative.

All very revealing about where each of us is on this life's journey.  

And increasingly indicative of how far apart we have traveled from one another, physically, spiritually, ideologically.

She is a bible-believing evangelical.  A deaconess, married to a deacon.  In Arizona.

Do the math.

Now, I have no problem with REAL Christians. I told her my attitude toward spiritual beliefs is that I am fine with whatever works for an individual, whatever makes them a better person.  And I expect that latitude to be extended to me in return. She responded that she is sorry that I don't believe that Jesus Christ is my lord and savior.  Face palm.

Still, I held out hope that she was the kind of Christian who had chosen the actual guidance of Christ over the ideological right-wing, Trumpian bullshit minefield. Hoped against hope that she would be one of those rare individuals who had not jumped into the political fray with both feet. Knowing the "her" of 40 years ago, I thought it possible this would be so. 

Yesterday, I convinced my husband, who is FB friends with my old friend, to show me her page.  I really just wanted to see a current picture of her, and maybe her new husband, and get some idea of her life.

She had four pictures posted on FB.

One of them was this:

So, today, I am sad.

I am glad to know that she's alive, and happy, and doing what she wants to do, fulfilling what she believes is her purpose on the planet.

But I am so, SO sad that she has been led to choose Trump over reality.  To choose the Golden Calf over the true way of Christ.

And I hate this ideological crevasse that has yawned across our world, cruelly separating those who should be connected by love and a shared history. 

Sometimes, it's better not to know.