Get a Life, Lady!

I spent a couple hours most days this week helping my teacher friends get some of their first-week-back chores done. I set up a printer, helped with some LMS courses, hung pictures and posters, answered questions, gave advice, suggested first-day activities and room layout, and put up a bulletin board. It seemed a shame to let this skill set I've built over 30 years go to waste, especially when I knew how busy and overwhelming the first week back can be. Plus, I did love every bit of teaching; it was just that all the bits put together became more time-consuming than I was willing to sustain.

As I pitched in, I was moved by the genuine appreciation of those I was helping. Collectively, we spun a fantasy where I would be on call to lend a hand whenever necessary. We imagined that I might set up an office in one of the hall storage closets so that I could offer support on-demand, including encouragement and advice. Maybe I would even have a sign that said, "The Teacher Task-Rabbit is In," and a can for nickels.

"Can you imagine, though?" I laughed. "The new sixth graders would ask, "Who is that lady in the closet, and why is she always here?" And worst of all? They would be right!"

Novice Blunders

On my first day of running errands as a retiree, I was surprised to find Wegmans full of seniors lunching and shopping. It was almost as crowded as a weekend but with a slower vibe. Then, on the way home, I was stuck in traffic for 30 minutes when I took a two-lane road that goes right by a high school. It was dismissal time, and the backup was phenomenal as student drivers, parents, staff, buses, and non-school traffic tried converging on the narrow road. We were also impeded by a light at the t-junction ahead, so traffic only inched along during the green.

I have filed the experience under live and learn. Still, as I piloted my cart around meandering shoppers and then again as I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, I did question whether this retirement situation is all it's cracked up to be.

And So It Goes

An unfamiliar number flashed on my screen this afternoon, and so I let the call go to voicemail.

Surprise!

The new fridge that was supposed to be delivered on September 2 has been delayed.

Fortunately, the old one is chugging along now that it's repaired, and the service company is on speed dial.

Preferred Pronouns

I went to school today to help Heidi set up her tech, unpack, and organize her stuff. We chatted as we worked, and I had to correct myself several times after referring to "our school," "my classroom," "my tables," or "my job." 

It's getting easier, though.

If It Is Broke

The refrigerator repairman came just when he said he would and texted a 20-minute warning as promised, too. He examined the old thing kindly, and his diagnosis was hopeful. For under 300 dollars, he could have everything fixed. It would be an hour today and a follow-up next Monday, but the fridge would be working when he left, and the ice maker would be working on Monday.

I hesitated for a moment. I needed it to work until the new one was delivered, and I didn't want to overpay. When I explained the situation to him, he gave me several options with estimates to go along with them. "It's a good machine," he commented. "They really don't make them like this anymore."

I considered my choices. What if we could keep this refrigerator from the junk heap for another few years or more? With a reliable repair company, it seemed very possible.

"Let's fix it all!" I said and crossed my fingers.

My New Life

 

Early Bird Special

We took my aunt and uncle to a matinee performance of Beautiful: The Carole King Story at a theater near their retirement community. The four of us agreed the show was terrific-- good performances and great music, although looking around at my fellow theatre-goers I noted that Heidi and I were among the youngest there.

Since we had purchased the tickets (3 seniors and 1 adult), they invited us to a meal afterward, so we found ourselves in a line of older folks waiting for a table at a nearby tavern at 4:30 PM, a good 3 hours before we usually eat. The college-age wait staff was friendly, patient, and deferential, and service was very quick; I had my salad within 10 minutes. 

Sometimes I chafe at such an interruption in my routine, and I confess to a moment of despair when I wondered if matinees and 4:30 dinners were what I had to look forward to as I approach my golden years. But tucked away in a cozy windowless booth in a corner of the restaurant, I realized that it could be any time of day or night, and I might never know unless I chose to look at a watch. 

Routines, like time, are just constructs, and it's okay to break them once in a while or even to let them evolve.