Interesting behavior I’m noticing in myself now with only being about a month and a half into retirement. It’s kind of a rebellion against having to do things—ANYTHING. Granted, there’s really not much that I “have” to do anymore. Yes, the dogs need to be fed each day, there’s general cleaning, laundry, that stuff and I’m fine with all that. No, it’s more like things that just come up to do. It can really be nothing much. It’s just a case of: If I’m expected to do it, even something I agreed to do, in my head I’m like a toddler who needs a nap, who dramatically starts slogging along, dragging their feet, whining, and I’m saying, “I HAVE to do THIS today!” I have no doubt this will pass, but right now, I’m giddy when I look out into the day in front of me and there is absolutely NOTHING I have to do so when something pops up, cue my toddler brain.
This past week I DID get to experience one of the days I was waiting for when I envisioned retiring. I like to cook, bake, etc., and I’ll be honest: I did NOT relish doing it on weekdays while I was working. On a Saturday or Sunday, it was fine, but when I came home from work, I had zero interest in diving into anything that took a lot of time in the kitchen. I was fine with breaking open a bagged salad “kit” and that was about it. Lucky for me, The Fisherman, who has been retired for about 5 years already, likes to cook so many times he would have dinner ready and the house would smell amazing when I came home, or he would be quick to say he was going to go pick up something for us or we would go out, but I was alway prepared with fast options right out of the fridge, because I knew cooking anything major wasn’t going to be in my gameplay.
One of the visions I had in my head in relation to retiring was a cloudy, rainy day, when I could go into the kitchen in the afternoon and cook something great for dinner. Well, that happened this past week. Being in Oregon, I knew it wouldn’t take long to get such a day, and sure enough, October delivered one for me and I made breaded pork chops and scalloped potatoes, just like my Mom used to make. I had seen the long-range forecast so I was pretty sure that day would be coming last week, so I made sure I had all the ingredients. The Fisherman loved it and kept thanking me for the meal. That’s one of the great things about him: He expresses his gratitude well. Hey, he made sure I was fed all those weeknights when I was working, so I’m happy to finally get into the kitchen now to cook for him.
He’s delighted anytime I struggle to know what day it is. Often, he doesn’t know what day it is, and Type-A me, always working ahead and looking out into the future, never able to live in the moment (working on that now) would say, “How can you NOT know what day it is? Days still matter.” His response was, “Just you wait–Once you retire and weekends aren’t all that important anymore and you have no gauge based on the Monday you dread, or Friday that you’re waiting for, you’ll find out. You’ll eventually have a hard time knowing what day it is.” I told him I was SURE that would never happen. Well, to be honest, I have to pause and think a little, but I am bound and determined not to admit to him that I’m struggling with it. He will read this with great satisfaction. If I slightly question the day, he pounces on it, “See!! Ha! It’s starting to happen! I TOLD you!” For the most part I’m on top of it at this point. I will admit Fridays are really no big deal anymore and honestly that’s a little sad because I’ve always held Friday in such high regard. It was a special day. Well, not anymore. I also want to know what day it is so I can know that it’s Sunday because THAT is a day that is still somewhat of a novelty to me now in retirement. That “Debbie-Downer” dread that would develop on a Sunday afternoon when that reminder would come in that the weekend was almost over and Monday and a new work-week is ahead is so fun to bat down. I’m aware it’s Sunday and retirement is still new enough that my mind will go, “It’s Sunday afternoon…….” and then I snap out of it and think, “Who cares?!” It’s a great feeling and I wish for all of you to get the chance to experience that someday.
The other thing The Fisherman told me I would get to experience was how many times the dogs have to be let outside each day. He said, “YOU are going to get to experience what I deal with everyday.” Boo-hoo. Of course, he likes to remind me that most of the dogs are under our roof because of ME and he’s right about that. It’s not an exaggeration though, that you don’t more than sit down and get situated, then along comes a dog who rings the bell at the back door (they are all bell-trained) and you have to get up and let them out and then let them back in. We have a one-year old dog who is also deaf, and I know for him a lot of it is he just wants to go out and play and it’s kind of a game. Of course he doesn’t hear the bell, but he quickly picked up on the idea that if he goes over and slams on this long thing hanging from the door knob, it makes the humans open the door. Equally, with his deafness, he THRASHES on those bells. It’s not a gentle nudge with his nose, oh no. It’s a full on slam, with his paws and then if you’re not there fast enough, he steps up the thrashing. It’s actually quite hilarious. But it never fails: You sit down and somebody rings that bell on the door. They do it, and when I sigh and get up, I’m sure The Fisherman is chuckling “I told her.” I just make sure that as I let the dogs out I know what day it is. Bwah-ha-ha! (insert evil giggle)
Observations on getting used to being one of those gray-haired retired people 