The day dawned clear and cool, with lots of sunshine and blue skies. My to-do list included baking bread and an online ukulele lesson. And when, at midday, I paused sorting through several banker boxes that had been gathering dust for nearly a decade to step out into the glorious weather and take Lucy for a walk?
I finally got a glimpse of what this retirement stuff might be cracked up for.
It finally happened.
When I tapped on my phone's email icon yesterday, September 1, I received an error message and a direction to re-enter my school mail password. Which I did, but without success. It soon became clear that I no longer had access to any of my school accounts.
I let go a heavy sigh, and then?
I let go.
Time to look forward.
"So what was your favorite part of our "baseball experience"?" I asked Heidi this afternoon, air quotes included.
She tilted her head in thought, and I laughed because, in truth, it hadn't been very fun. The weather, overcast and muggy all weekend, had turned hot and muggy as we arrived at the ballpark. Our seats, usually high enough to catch a breeze from the river, were sweltering. The section, often sparsely populated, was packed with Cubs fans sweating right next to us. And, the park itself, which I would have guessed would be pretty empty given the holiday weekend, was full; lots of families were taking advantage of the double promotions of kids eat free and Ruiz catcher jerseys for kids. Oh yes, and the team lost 14-1.
"Mine was the Metro ride there," I told her. "Going to the new Potomac Yard Station and seeing all the above-ground stuff was cool, and I liked paying the fare with our phones. The train was nice and new and not too crowded, too," I added.
She still had nothing.
"My second favorite part was when we stopped at the railing on our way up to our seats to watch Ruiz bat," I continued. "There was a light breeze, the bases were loaded, the Nats were ahead, and it seemed like it could be a great afternoon."
"It did," she agreed, "but it wasn't. I guess my favorite part was when you drove me home from the Metro, and the whole thing was over!"
I recently read about a state forest a little more than 30 minutes from here that, not only had I never visited? But I had never heard of it, either. After 35 years of living and hiking back in the area where I was born, I was pretty sure I knew most of the trails within an hour or so, but clearly, such is not the case. So when Heidi suggested taking Lucy somewhere for a walk in the woods, naturally, Conway Robinson State Forest came to mind.
According to the website, the property became a state forest in 1938, deeded by the Conway Robinson Memorial Park Association in memory of the late Conway Robinson. There was considerable reluctance in accepting the property, due to the belief that no one would ever use it.
At the time of the gift, Lee Highway (Route 29) was a single-track dirt road that was difficult to traverse, particularly in wet weather. Now, the area is one of the highest populated areas in Virginia.
When we arrived on an overcast Saturday afternoon of Labor Day Weekend, the parking lot had a scatter of cars but not a person in sight. The cloud cover kept the temperature down, but it was muggy when we set off on the Blue Trail that runs the perimeter of the park. Within a few steps, we were immersed in a forest. In the still air, we heard the clear and sweet call of Eastern pewee, and as I stepped into a pine-scented glade of Loblollys, Mary Oliver's poem, "When I Am Among the Trees," came to mind.
When I am among the trees
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
"This was a great idea," I said to Heidi. "Thank you."
I've been in a bit of a funk about my transition to retirement.
Despite a long list of things I've long wanted to accomplish, I feel rudderless without the outside demands of a job. And I miss all the things I loved about teaching, especially the community I was a part of for so many years.
But it's really only been a little more than a week of proper retirement, and in that time, the refrigerator and ice maker have been repaired, the leaky kitchen faucet replaced, my electric ukulele restrung, my grandfather's watch refurbished, my nephew's teaching career supported, my garden weeded, and a load of donations dropped at the thrift shop.
I guess I have been productive. So why doesn't it feel like it?
This afternoon, the temperature was 96, so I modified Lucy's new mid-day walk regimen. To avoid the excessive heat, we just meandered around the complex a bit, up and down grassy hills and knolls, so she could have a potty break.
But as we strolled, we were not impressed by this potentially record-setting heat. The sun's angle tinted the light golden, which seemed less threatening than those white-hot days of July. And it was considerably cooler in the shade, perhaps because we were coming off the unseasonably lower temperatures of last week.
At any rate, the takeaway for me is that a late August heatwave just isn't that hot. But perhaps the more significant lesson is that as our planet warms, we will probably all become climate connoisseurs and our extreme weather expertise may well be a survival skill.
