Freedom sixty-one 2

Tales of Retirement

By Pauline Hodge
Airline Reservations Agent
Retired April 1, 2013

If time is money, I became extremely rich two years ago. On April Fool’s Day, 2013, I retired. The pit pony had been released from the mines, and danced skittishly, blinking in the light. Suddenly I had about fifty extra hours in my week to do whatever I wanted to do.

Impulsively, I jumped on my bike and went for a spin around the neighbourhood. Without gloves on. It started to snow. (This is Canada, after all. And it was April Fool’s Day.) By the time I got home again, my fingers were numb and clumsy and painful with cold. But I was happy.

I have worked full time for roughly thirty-five years. That adds up to a lot of packed lunches, and countless bus and subway commutes. For the last twenty-eight years (which includes three maternity leaves), I worked for one company. Over the years there, I got to know a large, diverse, talented group of people that became my work family.

The evolving schedule

Two years have flown by since the farewell party on my last day. I’m still adjusting to this drastic life change. I now wake up a bit later in the morning, and have the luxury of dawdling over the newspaper. Most mornings, I take a short walk through the park, followed by a bit of outdoor Tai Chi while the birds chirp in the trees. I continue to take the martial arts classes that I was doing before retirement, and have added a couple more. So you will find me doing an hour of karate, kobudo (weapons) or tai chi at the dojo five days a week.

Sundays start with a 7K run, followed by breakfast and a shower. Then I attend church services, where I have temporarily taken on the responsibility of organizing the various volunteers for the 10 a.m. Mass.

This still leaves quite a bit of free time. Having no externally imposed schedule is a whole new ballgame. Our three children are in their twenties now. Two have left home; the youngest is teetering on the edge of the nest, preparing for lift-off.

I now share my days with my musician husband, who practises several hours a day on various instruments, and plays in about four different bands. He and I seem to have adjusted well to spending more time together. We often go out for lunch or catch a movie matinee. We’ve bought an art gallery membership, so we can visit any exhibit that appeals to us. I chauffeur him to some of his practices and performances. (His preference in instruments leans toward the bulkier, heavier ones like tuba and bassoon. “Play flute!” I suggest, but he doesn’t listen.)

Stuff we’ve done

Last summer we added two raised beds to our backyard garden, and planted a variety of veggies, herbs and flowers. We also participated in a week of music camp—a stimulating experience we hope to repeat this summer.

I have joined a book club, which meets once a month for lively conversation over coffee. I often meet up with former colleagues, some retired, some still working. I still attend parties at my old workplace, and catch up on gossip.

When my father became terminally ill the summer after I retired, I was able to visit frequently and assist in his care. It was a difficult, emotional time, but I was glad that I could share the caretaking and sadness with him and the family. This was not possible eleven years previously, when my mother was going through her last illness. As the main breadwinner of my family, I was unable to travel to her bedside as often as I would have liked.

It has been great having the freedom to attend a happier event… my stepson Harry’s wedding in Vietnam thirteen months ago. As of January 12th, we have a new little grandbaby in Ho Chi Minh City to enjoy, although so far we’ve only seen her via Skype.

However…

We are adjusting to a reduced income now that I have retired. The health and dental benefits are also reduced, which seems like the wrong way around now that we are getting older. It’s a great blessing to have a mortgage-free home. The house needs many repairs, though, and our vehicle is now fifteen years old.

At almost sixty-nine, my husband’s health is not wonderful. He pants after climbing one set of stairs, and his arthritic knees give him chronic pain. His walking speed has slowed dramatically in the last few years.

My plans to travel, paint, join an acting group of some kind and write have not yet materialized. Inertia is powerful; it’s easier to do all the puzzles in the newspaper and watch a TV show than get down to some creative endeavour. The deadline for a short story contest came and went, and all I had to show for it was an opening paragraph. Signing up for a class would likely help me to get started.

As a retiree, I sometimes feel like an outsider peering through an invisible window at the world of the employed. Already I have forgotten procedures and transactions that I used to use daily. Unlike those in the working world, I now have the luxury of choice; on the coldest, iciest days of winter, I can choose to shovel snow, scrape the car windshield, negotiate slippery roads during rush hour, trudge on foot through snowbanks… or I can simply stay at home. The stresses associated with a full-time job have disappeared; I no longer have to remind myself to relax my shoulders and breathe deeply.

But too much free time makes me restless. I’ve contemplated finding part-time work, to add a bit more structure and social contact to my days, and provide a little extra pocket cash.

Meanwhile…

Meanwhile, I enjoy the freedom to make last-minute plans and act impulsively. I flew to Ottawa last winter to see our daughter perform in a play, and the next day fulfilled a long-held ambition to skate on the Rideau Canal. Such fun! So cold! In summertime, in the middle of the week, I’ve been able to stroll by the riverside in Guelph with two of my sisters, all three of us licking ice cream cones.

Recently, things came full circle. Before breakfast, I got the bike out for the first ride of the year… an hour-long cycle through a large nearby park. Ice and snow still clung to some parts of the trail (this is Canada, after all). One trail-walker eyed me dubiously and murmured with a smile, “Crazy!” Not so crazy, really – I was wearing warm gloves this time.