Since I’m into it I always wondered about it. Wondered about the praised “Golden Years” when I finally have time to do all the things I had put off ‘til later’. When I’m retired I’ll book a fitness class. When I’m retired I’ll go on a cruise through the Panama Canal. (Actually, I did that one!) When I’m retired I’d volunteer for this and that and the other to get out and meet new people. When I’m retired I’ll have time to sort out books I don’t re-read anymore. When I’m retired I’ll organize my desk drawers and get rid of the outdated files. When I’m retired I’ll finally work on my Last Will and Testament to make sure my last will is going to be done and my earthly treasures – treasures to me but maybe not to my heirs –go to people who will appreciate them. When I’m retired…
So I thought and made plans for retirement. I didn’t know that retired people never have time. Retired people get so very busy and I did as well. I wonder how I ever had time to work and do all the things I did: Run with the dog in the early morning, keep a home, do the shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, some light repairs, have the most beautiful garden on the block, was the chauffeur for my husband when we only had one car, raise three kids and make sure they had what I didn’t have, ballet and painting classes, German language school, (which they hated!) do homework with them, darn socks and fix sheets, and I even took the children to the lake and camping. How could I have done all that and more without falling apart? I bet the days had more hours back then.
I’ve been retired for many years. I have been busy and I never have time just like other retirees. Being “re-tired” looked good from a distance but now I feel I’m mostly “tired”.
Laverne Brady, a writer friend of mine who is also a humor writer for the Huffington Post comes up with some funny ideas. Her book “How (the bleep) did I get this old” is one of the best summer reads if you like smiling while you read about light – happy – seriously funny and insightful happenings that you hadn’t even thought were funny. She sees the bright side of any situation! Let’s see what she thinks of retirement.
Author of “How (the Bleep) Did I Get This Old”? Syndicated Columnist, Huffington Post Blogger.
He says it would make sense to move dishes to a lower shelf, so I don’t have to reach so high to get them. And, pantry items would be easier to find if they were in alphabetical order. Also, if I wash clothes with cold water I won’t have to separate darks, colored and whites.
I like my dishes up high. I sit on my ass, at the computer, most of the day. The only exercise I get is reaching for dishes and repeatedly picking my cane up from the floor. I tell him alphabetizing pantry items is a good idea. When he’s done he should tape the list onto the pantry door. And, I’m pretty sure cold water doesn’t sanitize.
What he loves most is going out for breakfast. Every Morning. It was a treat the first 253 times but after eating eggs scrambled, eggs poached, eggs over easy, and eggs fried every day, I’m overdosing. Oatmeal makes me gag, and pancakes make me fat. I suggest we eat dinner out every evening, instead.
Holy #$@%, he’s a morning person! I don’t remember him ever being a morning person. At least not in a way that affected me. It seems mornings are when his creativity, energy, and libido are strongest. It’s when he most enjoys talking – especially about his dreams. Whoever said that dreams only last a few seconds forgot to tell him. His unabridged versions last longer than most movies.
Mornings are when he enjoys everything noisy: practicing his flute, practicing his violin, listening to classical music, and hearing television. Not watching it. Just hearing it, as he wanders from project to project, whistling.
I don’t do mornings. I do everything I can to bypass mornings. Generally, I struggle to lift my head from the pillow after a sleepless night during which I staggered to the bathroom at least three times. Mornings are when I need peace, quite, and…in a perfect world…solitude. I don’t talk and I’m not remotely interested in listening. It’s the time of day when I ruminate, marinate, contemplate and speculate. My head is full of fresh ideas I can’t wait to write about, but I’m tired and lethargic, and my arthritic back and neck hurt. So, if and when I’m able to focus, I need silence…without interruptions. Do not talk to me. Do not play the television and do not even think about acting on your libido.
Now that he’s home all day he likes to snack…just a little…not much…just something to tide him over until dinner. Like lunch. I don’t do lunch. Not for me. Not for him. I prepare one meal a day. Dinner. Sometimes.
He opens the refrigerator and asks, “Where’s the milk?” I point. He expected it to be behind the lemon juice, where it was yesterday. I remind him that the refrigerator isn’t alphabetized, and sometimes we have to move things to see other things.
I’m working at my desk. I hear his footsteps coming down the hall. They’re getting closer. He knows I’m working. He enters the room anyway, bends over and plants an impromptu kiss on the back of my neck. Not something I’m accustomed to in the middle of the day. He sets a cup of hot tea on my desk…flavored exactly the way I like it. Lots of lemon. He hands me a bracelet that I’d asked him to repair…if he could. A stone had fallen out. He fixed it. Also, he says our washing machine no longer dances across the floor. That’s fixed, too. As well as the latch on the front screen door. He asks if I’d like to take a break — drive into town and hit Dairy Queen. I grin. Broadly.
He has no one to play with. Yet. Until he finds a golf buddy and a weekly poker game, I guess I’m it. Which isn’t entirely bad. Maybe tomorrow we’ll take another break. One that involves his creativity, energy and libido.
Hah! See, there IS a “Silver Lining to the Golden Years”!