I am aghast to see that it is now October and that I have been retired for six months!
Yes time flies when one is working (and particularly always working with dates, as I used to) but now the hours scream by and literally, it is always 4 o’clock and by then there’s not enough of the day left to really be starting a new task when you could be tucked into the last bit of weak sunshine on the stairs with a book (and wine) or sitting outside (now in a cardigan) surprising an entirely different avian crowd than there is in the morning!
(In my previous life, I would be sorting laundry, washing the floor as I talked on the phone to someone and maybe doing some prep towards the next day’s dinner).
And this was after I got home from work!
Anyway, The General and I did decide to embark upon a decluttering of the basement this week and have already done a few runs to the thrift shop which feels amazingly freeing, just as Marie Kondo promised. We have been watching her show on Netflix as a kind of warm-up inspiration before we go downstairs although I have had to explain to The General that this does not count as “working on the basement” especially as a snack break was included.
It’s been almost two months to the day since I cleared out my desk and began my (super early) retirement. I have purposefully not shared this information here because it is has been such a churning and peculiar adjustment, full of highs and lows, more than a few bracing 3 am walks around the hardwood floors but mostly, because I fear being judged as old and irrelevant, there I said it.
Before and after the Easter holidays, I traditionally take a few days off to complete projects I have been meaning to return to (I’m looking at you, streamlined recipe binders) no longer flinging ragged sheets everywhere as I try to squeeze your gaping three rings closed with an arthritic crocodilian snap. But in-between bursts of energy like this, The General and I have shut the doors against the snow and wind and taken to wandering around with cups of scented tea and wedges of sticky Baklava, talking for hours about topics as diverse as Sidney Bechet, British trade unionists (to be fair, we were considering The Perfect Dog Name for a dog we do not have – yet) and soon to be perused Roberto Bolaño, the poet that Patty Smith mentions so often in M Train.
In short, it’s my idea of bliss.
The General and I were having our usual Sunday morning coffee discussion group today (only 2 people permitted, dressing gowns required) and listening to a superb documentary about “grey divorce” which caused us to sit exchanging (sometimes worried glances) as women discussed either having to leave their partners of many decades or being left themselves, each terrifying for different reasons. Of course, for the person who leaves, that ‘terror’ is often closer to excitement: the beginning of something new and a totally fresh start sponged clean of predictability, routine and the other assorted shackles of family life.