A good friend who stepped into the retirement abyss way earlier than the rest of us, was once asked, "What's retirement like?" and he famously replied, "Six Saturdays and a Sunday!"
Open to your own interpretation of course, but when I quit work back in 2009, my spin on it was this: Six days to linger over the crossword in the morning, sip a second cup of tea, go to exercise class, followed by coffee with the ladies, shower late, walk the dog, wash last night's dishes, tidy up, go on a lunch date, run errands, volunteer somewhere, write, walk the dog again, buy groceries, cook dinner, sip some wine, watch TV, go to bed. That left one day for other wild recreational things, like walking with the Mr. AND the dog, going to church occasionally, doing the Sunday crossword, and watching Masterpiece on PBS.
It was a sensible plan. But subject to change. When the Mr. retired in August, we moved, and that event occupied a lot of time and energy. Now that we have unpacked boxes, applied for free health care, and found a good local pub, we are approaching some semblance of a normal schedule. But I'm not sure what that's going to look like going forward.
Some retirees satisfy their thirst for travel. Others devote their time to hobbies. I admire such forethought and purpose. These folks clearly have a mission for their golden years.
The Mr. and I are more, let's say, "spontaneous." We're more of the, "What do you want to do today?" "Oh, I don't know. What do you want to do today?" ilk. It's a lot like date night. Or walking hand-in-hand off a cliff. (Which we can do, by the way, because there is a 106-step staircase next to our house down a steep escarpment to the ocean shoreline below.)
The Mr. goes to Home Depot on an average weekday and runs into a lot of other 65ish, balding guys taking their time, browsing the drill bits aisle, and having conversations about wrenches with other old guys. One trip to Home Depot always leads to three.
He is also dedicating some energy to developing a consulting business. He set up an office in the spare bedroom and goes there after breakfast. I show up at the door and he asks, "Yes? Do you have an appointment?"
"No. I just thought I'd hang out with you for awhile. I'll sit quietly. Like Yoko."
Everyone seemed so concerned that the Mr. would be getting in my way once he was home all the time. Apparently we've reversed roles.
We do stuff together, though. We walk on the beach, go to the above mentioned pub, shop for shelving, have lunch with friends.
We consider it a victory if our destinations are within a 15 minute drive from home. "And it only took 15 minutes to get here! How great is that!" This is a big win for seniors.
We're surprised to learn that restaurants are less crowded on weeknights.
Saturdays we join a bunch of other grey-haired couples in Subarus taking our wine bottles to the recycle depot.
Somehow my days seem to fill up. I exercise at the Rec Centre, walk, do laundry, grocery shop, cook dinner. And I haven't even started to sort photos and put them in albums.
Who's got time?
