Two weeks in, I’m settling into a retirement rhythm.
— Sleep till 8. (Unless the landscapers crank up the mowers at 7:30, in which case cuss a blue streak!)
— Coffee, newspaper and computer games on the porch till 9-ish. (Essential to brain health!)
— Walk a mile or more. Smell the honeysuckle and new-mown grass. (Free aromatherapy!)
— Do something (anything!) productive. (So far, I’ve arranged a train trip with my granddaughter, paid bills and enrolled in Cobra — all tasks with deadlines of one sort or another. Still procrastinating on closets and dealing with Joe’s things — no deadlines, no urgency.)
— Eat dinner during the afternoon. Walk it off after the “CBS Evening News.”
— Retreat to the porch until dark.
— Write when the muse strikes.
I’m a Type A so this may be as close as I ever get to relaxing.
I do believe that the worry lines etched by years of newspapering and caregiving are softening just a tad. Will I ever achieve that rested, calm countenance that news refugees always seemed to have when they visited the paper? Probably not. Unless Cobra covers Botox. (But wouldn’t it be nice?)
Regrets? Of course. These are a few I’m trying to work through now that I have the time to reflect:
— Joe wanted me to retire. I wanted to squirrel away more money. I wish I hadn’t let my greed trump his wish for more time together. Who knew we had so little left?
— I wish I hadn’t been more attentive to career than to family over the years. So not worth it in the end.
— Most of all, I wish I hadn’t been so impatient and so unkind.
I pray God will help me let go of the regrets I can’t do anything about and that He will help me become a patient and kind old lady.
(PS: A little divine intervention with my worry lines would be welcome, too.)