Retirement Relapse

Where have I been since October 21, 2009--the date of my last blog. I have been in retirement relapse--or in more understandable terms--I've been working. Working?! After looking so forward to retirement why would I ever go back to work? Let me explain.

On a lark, I decided to work for chocolate--not money--at a friend's cottage industry chocolate company. Handmade fine chocolates. All the time, all day, day in and day out. Chocolate here and chocolate there. Oh, just the smells have calories. Yummmmm.

Needless to say, my job was primarily gofer. I filled bags with novelties and tied little tiny bows around the bags--ouch! my arthritic fingers! I filled little trays with four pieces of lucious, mouth-watering morsels of delight that each I had put in those cute brown fluted thingees. (The trays and thingees have "industry" names that I have promptly forgotten.) I then filled one pound and two pound boxes with chocolates in predetermined slots. After the boxes were filled, I then wrapped--again my arthritic thumbs especially gave me trouble. And did I mention that 90% of the jobs I did were standing up--for 3 or 4 hours at a time.

The nice thing about manual labor is that one's brain is allowed to wander--and wonder--about all sorts of things. I thought often of my mother and grandmother who worked long hours in New Bedford textile mills in the 30s and 40s. The heyday of the New England textile industry whose exploitation of the working girl has been well documented.

Filling boxes required picking pieces standing before a huge electric wheel that held the wonderous treats. One for the box, one for me. We were allowed to eat all the chocolates we wanted, and I now know why this rule applies--even chocolate can become nauseating! Did I say that out loud? And am I serious? Yes. Too much of a good thing can become tedious, nauseating, and definitely , well, too much. At first I had to try the various varieties. I soon found my favorites and munched solely on those over the course of my holiday work. The first day I think I ate about 6 pieces in my 4 hour shift. As the days went by, I think I ate about 4 pieces--an average of one piece per hour. That seemed to be my comfort level but by the end of my chocolate gig at Christmas, I could go 3 hours with nary a piece crossing my lips.

My friends and family shared in my largess--my chocolate wages. A few times a week, I would add my work hours and at minimum wage calculate how much chocolate I was due and "buy" pounds of the delicious stuff to share as gifts to almost anybody who knows my name.

Being a competitve person and complicated work-a-holic, no job is too small for me to have to do it 110%. I was competing against myself. How many boxes could I fill in an hour? How many could I wrap (according to a very specific model) in a half hour. I think I was pretty good at my job. No pee breaks; no rest breaks; no texting breaks-- constant work in filling, wrapping, storing boxes of chocolates--with the occasional ingestion.

I worked with a couple of young college students, one in particular who texted about a third of the time I saw her. She was not a multi-tasking person. When she texted, she did not work. I hope it follows that when she texts she does not drive.

After a short break at Christmas, it turned out my former real job needed me to fill in for a while. That continues as I write and looks like it may go another month or so. I am "volunteering" at this job. No pay, not even chocolates. The new Executive Director is in charge and I am just filling in with some grunt work. Do I mind? No, not really. The reason is a very good one that I cannot share because it's personal, but I really volunteered to "volunteer" and it's only a few hours a week.

It does feel a little odd, but I look at it as helping a friend in need. I try to keep my mouth shut because nothing is as it was. And, I really am okay with that. Sort of. Of course, I think I did it all better, but that's just one woman's opinion. And I have moved on. Sort of.

So, that's my "retirement relapse." I retired in September, am involved in three different on-going groups in my community, and still have time to "work." The difference, I think, between really working and working after retirement is the stress level. I have no stress! Isn't that wonderful. It may be the chocolate...and I've been called back for the Easter rush. Hmmmmm....now that I know my favorites, how many chocolates can I eat in the three weeks I'll be working?

Reluctantly Retired? Not Me!

I have a friend who repeatedly says she hates retirement because she loved her job and was involuntarily laid off because of the economy. She's a statistic of the times, but also unusual. She had what I thought was a cushy job, but I doubt she would ever admit that. Getting paid for doing what you love is always the goal. I loved my job, too, but the economy forced me to half time at half pay when, in reality, I did not work "half-time." I worked full time for half pay and that stunk! One can only give so much and I was feeling put upon. So, when I reached 66 and the Government agreed to start paying me, I jumped at the chance. I've yet to look back...I haven't had time.

Yesterday I went to three meetings! And being retired, I kind of resented that I had those three to go to although I signed up for each event. I am hoping that three in one day doesn't happen again any time soon. In between meetings, I had to organize some interviews for this coming Saturday--again a project I signed up for--but I spent about an hour on the phone and then emailing confirmations. It really seemed like I was "working."

As I look over this month's schedule of activities and events, I find I may have dived into retirement with a little too much gusto. On the other hand, I really don't want to sit around contemplating that cliched navel.

I like being out and about...I also like vegging out at home, just puttering...I like being a lady who can "lunch" if I choose to...or take a 20 minute nap if I feel like it. I like being involved in the community--especially my small, friendly town. It gives me purpose, makes me productive. What more could a retiree want?

And I like our local Council on Aging. There's a myriad of activities for all tastes. If you want to be an "active senior" that's the place to be. I'm not a COA snob--"Im not old like those people. I don't belong at the COA." I think those seniors who refuse to look into activities at COA are really missing the boat. There appears to be something for everyone. And, if you don't see a choice you like, they welcome suggestions for activities.

Today I did an hour in the weight room; first 30 minutes on the treadmill and 10 with free weights, ending with 20 minutes on the bike. This was the first time I had done any of these things and I loved it. With up-to-date equipment, I could see what my heart rate is, how fast and how far I "traveled." Can I say that this hour of exercise was one of the most fun and fulfilling I've had recently. I worked up a self-righteous sweat and the endorphins really did kick in! I was psyched for the rest of the day. And because I'm retired, I can do whatever I please.

Retirement Rat Race

You may have noticed that I haven't blogged since September 15--that's almost one whole month. Retirement is a rat race! Part of the problem is my work ethic. I no longer work--for pay, that is, but for some reason I feel I must be productive each and every day. What is retirement and who makes the rules? Do I even know the rules? Do I want rules?

My plan for entering retirement was to keep busy so I wouldn't miss going to the office. I set up an "office" in my dining room--printer and laptop with wireless inernet. Very easy to keep up with email, make copies,type letters, pay bills, print photos--do all the things I did when I "worked" (for pay, that is).

I also planned for some personal growth (actually to diminish my recent growth in girth) by exercising three times each week at the local COA. I didn't know my knees would object furiously to this new endeavor. My new plan is to eat less, try to walk to my morning obligation (remember my first plan--to walk more? Hah! Didn't happen--yet!). I might also try osteo prevention instead of strength training and Zumba (golden edition) both of which have lunges, stomping, twists, and other knee killing moves.

And, I might try Reiki! For those who know me, I am the world's greatest skeptic about non traditional medicine. I hate supplements. I have never believed in chiropractors and don't ever intend to visit one. Acupuncture? No way. And believe me I have been extremely skeptical about Reiki, having learned a little about it from a cousin who even traveled to Sedona, Arizona, to learn from a (supposedly) authentic Shaman. How great is that!

This cousin truly believes in the healing powers of Reiki and who am I to dispute this. There have been testimonials. She's earned money doing this. So on a recent visit when I was complaining about my knees--one in particular--I got a free treatment. "Do you feel the energy," she asked. "No, I don't feel anything." "You don't feel that pulsating?" "No, I don't feel anything." "I'll count the beat--maybe you'll feel it. Now?...now?...now?...now?... Do you feel it?" "No, I don't feel anything." Oh, well, as a skeptic--I probably can't be hypnotized, either--I really, really did not feel a thing.

But when the 10 minute session stopped--and I was glad it did, being somewhat embarrassed at not "feeling anything"--I got up to get a drink and lo and behold, no stiffness in my knee. Could it be? Could it be that Reiki worked? Amazingly, it appeared to and my knee that has stiffness and pain ALL THE TIME had miraculously felt fine. It felt fine for the rest of the night. It felt fine the next day. It felt fine after a two, almost three hour drive home. The "cure" lasted for two days. And believe me, I was really surprised. It did wear off when I got up on the third day. I wish my cousin wasn't three hours away.

But I digress--what about those Rules of Retirement that I haven't learned yet. Rule number one might be learn to say "No." As in, are you free tomorrow to stuff 9,000 envelopes; are you free to do this? Are you free to do that? Of course I am free. Free of time, free of pay, free to say "No." I have to learn to say no.

Rule number two might be it's okay to veg out and watch daytime TV once in a while. Well, maybe not.

Rule number three is probably it's alright to get engrossed in a new book and just stay in nightgown all day, stopping only for pee breaks and seeing what's in the fridge (hopefully, from now on, just lettuce, celery and carrots).

Rule number four (and the most important), there really aren't any rules. You kind of have to make it up as you go along. Yes, it's nice to be productive, but productivity can be exhausting. I need a break every now and then and so I'm trying to schedule stay at home days--sort of my vacation from the rat race of retirement.

Retirement Day Two

The one nice thing about not having to go to work is that I have plenty of time to work at home: i.e., making appointments, checking email, keeping my calendar up to date, doing volunteer work and all at a pace I want. Today felt good: Went to breakfast Rotary meeting (and signed sheet for three new members--whew! no fines there), dropped off some stuff at the old office, ran a few errands and since I live in a small town, ran into a few people I know to say hello to.

Lunch at home (the goal is to save money and not eat out except with friends occasionally. If I'm alone, I can always find something to eat at home).

Funny thing, though, my temporary bridge fell out while eating (as it usually does) so, since being retired and at home, called my wonderful dentist right away and within a half hour the bridge is securely (I hope) back in place.

Which brings me to the astounding cost of dental work these days. At 66, my teeth are in bad shape and have had all kinds of work done in the last three months (well, actually last year and a half when the temporary bridge was put in place). My dental insurance only gives me $1,000 a year and I guess I will have spent about $7,000 by the time all is done in January.

When did the price of an extraction escalate to $350 per tooth, not counting x-rays, anesthesia, and what have you. The estimate for my work in January is at $3,800. I am agast. What is a retiree to do? I know some people who have had implants who have spent $30,000 on their mouth. Is it that important to be able to eat corn on the cob? I know...I know...I've already thought about how I will no longer be able to eat a piece of pizza without using a fork and knife. I gave up corn on the cob when my first crown broke off (not fell out--big difference!). But I can still eat corn and there is something comforting about being able to eat corn freshly cut from the cob in the kitchen without all that buttery mess clinging so embarrassingly to my chin and cheeks. A fork full of corn is just as tasty and not the least bit messy.

Well, there I go, rambling on and on, but isn't that what retirees do? I have a friend who is miserable in retirement because she says she loved her job and didn't want to quit. She was a layoff because of the economic turn down. I also loved my job but not enough to keep doing it. But that's a story for another day. Now it's time for my nap.

First Day of Retirement: Remember Me?

Well, the countdown is over. Today is my very first day of RETIREMENT. (Yeah!!) I can hardly believe it but it's true. The countdown is over and I am now my own person. No more worrying about the "job."

So, true to the plan I had in my head, I took a 30 minute walk and here I am back at the computer and hope my many fans haven't decided to dessert the Retiredgal for lack of new posts. It's been a very, very busy few weeks trying to dot all the i's and cross all the t's before I could truly leave the office for good,.

There was a party and a gift (who doesn't like that!) and, of course, all the kudos about a job well done. Yeah, it was a job well done, so there! Now all I have to worry about is making ends meet on Social Security, a few small IRA's and a teeny tiny pension from one job I was at for 10 years. It seems to work on paper--hope it works in reality. I'd hate to have to ask my only child for retribution! (Although it certainly is due!).

Anyway, here I am...a Zumba course at 11 a volunteer committee meeting at 2 and the rest of the day is mine. Rotary tomorrow morning, followed by a walk and weight training at 8:45, then, perhaps, cribbage at 10 and a 5:30 p.m. meeting. What do you think? Too ambitious a schedule? I dunno know. Maybe I should go slower...

And sometime this week I have a 6:30 a.m. breakfast date at a little shack on the water. Better be a sun-shiney day for that! Then later in the week when the forcast is for rain I just may stay in and CLEAN THE HOUSE! (Just kidding!)

Thurday and Friday are so far up in the air--no plans; but, of course, I can make any plan I want--without worrying about work. As I've heard most retirees say,
"I don't know how I ever found the time to work, I'm so busy in "retirement."

After the winter, when I just can turnover and go back to sleep at the first hint of SNOW!, I may adjust my plans and try to fit in some paid work--maybe 10 hours a week. Just enough to have some extra walking around money. Who knows, I just might find a new career.

All you retirees out there (or those about to be), please COMMENT.

Reflections of a recalcitrant retiree

I've always like alliteration. I say recalcitrant because I'm still not sure retiring is such a good thing, but I am really, really tired of working. I am not lazy--I don't think you'd find anyone who knows me who would characterize me as lazy. But I do want to do nothing for a while. I think I just need a rest and a vacation is not what I have in mind. One or two weeks won't do it. I need a longer time to rest, reflect and rejuvenate! (How 'bout that alliteration!)

I'm down to twenty-eight days. This counts weekends which I guess I shouldn't count because I hardly think about work on weekends anymore. I used to. My type of job is not nine to five--it's been for a long, long time more like twenty-four/seven. But I have sloughed off to my second in command a lot of those problems. So, not counting weekends, there's only about 17 or 18 days left. That sounds both great and horrific because I still have a lot of "cleaning up" to do. And there do seem to be any number of problems that continue to rear their ugly heads.

I am, therefore, not so much as recalcitrant as ready, willing and sort of able (financially)to retire. Twenty-eight days, 17 days? Who's counting?

Rushing toward Retirement

Am I rushing or running--both, I guess. Twenty-nine days left. I'm working at home today and trying to "clean up" a few things.

I'm still doing my usual reading and Time, Inc. is one of my weekly standards. This week, I'm amazed at an article about "empty-nesters" who now need workshops and personal seminars to cope and get through that phase. Are these the boomers who need a 12 week workshop to reconnect with a spouse because all of a sudden the distraction of kids is no longer there? I don't think my parents' generation or my generation (the "tweeners") need someone explaining the process to them. Kids are born, you raise them (or rear them--I never remember the difference), they become more and more independent as the years go by and then they leave for college. Some summers they don't come home and we get used to them being gone and not having the day to day responsibility. We love them but we expect them to leave one day and we encourage them. Who needs a 12 week workshop to get that?

This, of course, brings me to the "personal life coach" syndrome. What the heck is a personal life coach? Aren't they our friends and relatives who are always trying to give us advice, solcited or unsolicited. Why would anyone pay a personal life coach and what parts of ones life are coached?

I've always been amazed at some of the letters Ann Landers or Dear Abby got. Granted some were excruciatingly difficult relationship problems probably best left to a stranger to straighten out. But some were so simple I would practically scream at the newspaper.

Is this all a symptom of the disintegration of the extended family and neighborhood? We have no friends or relatives to ask for help so we go to complete strangers for the simplest of life's problems. Can no one cope anymore?

My family is very small and I do admit to being jealous or at least a little envious of one of my friends who has a very large and close extended family. But the only part of my life when I remember having aunts, uncles, cousins and two sets of grandparents and a large, very large, extended family on both sides was when I was very young--from birth to about age 7. Those were the days of the late forties and early fifies when every Sunday meant a large family dinner (now called lunch)at someone's house.

But then the family started to pass on with a grandfather dying, then some of the aunts and uncles moved out of state and as far away as California. We wrote letters on thin skinned paper and mailed them a few times a year. No one called on a life coach to find out how to cope with our family's migration. We just accepted what was and moved on. And that's what I continue to do these many years later.