Was it a mistake, this retirement thing? Should I wait until the powers that be forced it on me? Was there a way back if I needed it? I didn’t know. I felt the same butterflies i experienced after high school when I realized I was on my own, and I could no longer sponge off the folks. Why did I feel that way? Maybe it was my good friend, Ted, ten years my senior, who planted that seed of uncertainty with his words of caution: “A job is five days a week. Retirement is seven.”
But I had a life beyond my work – amateur radio, writing, reading, fishing. These joyful pastimes usually starting before dawn, often as early as 0400 hours and are as varied as life itself.
It all begins with reading a chapter in the Holy Bible, a habit that rubbed off from Barbara. Then, there’s a group of us gather on the ham bands mornings. Most often, conditions are such that we each have a opportunity to make our weather reports and voice our general comments. However, sometimes the signals are absorbed and I have the urge to step outside to see If someone has stolen my antenna.
Writing: there is always something to blog, or post in my running journal. Or, a NaNoWriMo challenge. But sometimes it’s easier to read what someone else has labored over.
At about sunrise Barb and I schedule a half hour to swig a strong cup of Joe. The doctor recommends that we have only one, so we try to make it count. The first rays are streaming through the neighbor’s tree by the time we’ve thrown down the last drop and discussed the issues of the day.
Ted was wrong. I’ve never wanted my job back.