The Countdown

Again, I begin the countdown to retirement.  This time it is for real.  My contract as interim director at the university ends on December 31^st.  As that date approaches, I have been doing all the necessary paperwork . . . HR forms, Social Security, state retirement paperwork, and lining up my Part B for Medicare.  I have been doing all the healthcare stuff before my university insurance expires . . . dentist, optometrist, medical doctor that resulted in a colonoscopy.  Retiring is no simple task . . . too much paperwork, hoop-jumping, and running around.  You would think that once you said you were “done” that that would be it.  Hand you a gold watch and push you out the door. 

This time I am ready for retirement.  The hardest part of retirement (besides all the hoop-jumping) is having to deal with the bombardment of questions about my plans once I am retired.  Seems like everyone wants to know . . . after the congratulations comes the barrage of inquiries of what I am going to do once I am out to pasture.

 

I have a friend who retired from the ministry several years ago.  He was meticulous in planning his retirement.  He did it for years.  He wanted to be prepared.  One of the things that he talked about in planning his retirement was the “seasons of life”.  Like many, he saw life as four seasons . . . spring, summer, autumn, and winter.  He viewed retirement as the doorway into the final season of life . . . winter.  He wanted to be ready for his last hooray.

 

Spring is the first season of life.  Spring represents new beginnings, youth, and renewal.  Summer is the peak of life, filled with passion and growth.  Autumn reflects change, maturity, and harvest.  Winter brings rest, reflection, and endings.  In this pattern of life, one moves through each season until the journey is complete.  I guess in a sense I can see this, though I can also see that there are no distinct and definitive boundaries between the seasons.  I believe there is a blurring between the seasons where they mix and mingle.

 

I can attest that I can see these seasons in my life adventure.  I’ve experienced each of these seasons as I prepare to enter my “final season”.  Yet, at the same time, there are bits and pieces of the seasons showing up unseasonably throughout.  Spring may represent the start of my life journey with all that it represents, but through all of the seasons I have had new beginnings . . . new starts.  Isn’t that what I’m doing as I enter the season of winter?  Starting over, yet again?

 

Even as I enter the season of winter, the passion found in summer is lurking around.  Now I will be able to jump in with both feet and broadly explore those “passions” I never had enough time to do during the other seasons of my life.  Winter may represent the “end”, but there is still plenty of growth yet to come.

 

Autumn . . . change, maturity, and harvest.  The transition between seasons is “change”.  Maturity . . . no one ever said I was mature.  Quite the opposite.  I imagine it probably should be something I strive for before it is all over.  The harvest has been and will continue to be bountiful.  Life is not stagnated and neither should one’s embracing it. 

The final season—winter.  A time for rest.  Finally, I will have time to actually rest.  Naps abound!  Reflection is a toll for all seasons. If not, I doubt I would be here now.  Winter would have come a lot sooner.  It is true that there will be endings, but endings can be new beginnings.

The four seasons is a nice model, but I have looked as life that way.

Someone else said that the four seasons of life are: single, married, children, and empty nest.  I guess this model is a little more practical.  Though an acceptable model, not everyone follows this model.  Now everyone will get married.  Not everyone will have children.  Even though it is not perfect for everyone, I cam jam my life into this seasonal description, yes, I was single . . . it was an adventure . . . it was fun.  Marriage kind of threw a wrench into it. Yup, I got married and I am still married.  For some marriage is a good argument for staying single.  I can’t complain.  Marriage has been good.  I’ve got children—still do and it has been amplified with grandchildren.  Tumultuous at times, but they have and continue to be worth it.  Empty nest is a fallacy . . .once you have children, you always have children.  They never really leave even though they leave the house.  They are always my children, and they need me less and less, but they still need me.  We are connected. 

This model explains things on paper and in theory, but it is not a neat and clean model for me.

Of course, none of these answers the question about what I plan on doing when I retire.  Inquiring minds want to know.  People are curious.  My wife wants to know . . . I think she believes I am going to be a stick in the mud messing up her retirement routine that she has had for over a year.  She shouldn’t worry.  She’s an extrovert.  I’m an introvert.  Her routine involves too much going with too many people.  That is not me.  I don’t need lots of people.  I have my dogs and I am happy.

The children want to know.  I think they are scared that I am going to camp out on their front porches or down in the basements.  It could happen because they hold the keys to the grandchildren.  But it won’t.  They need to go through whatever seasons of life are a part of their journeys.  They have no need to build a grandparent’s suite to their houses.  When the opportunities arise, I will be there loving and supporting them.

For everyone else, asking the question is a curtesy.  Most people are just being nice and really don’t care what I am going to be doing once I retire.  They really don’t care.  And that is okay.  As I said, I am an introvert.  I don’t need a lot of people in my life.  At the same time, there are those who ask because they are fearful that I am going to disappear.  They think that I have too much to offer to retire.  Again, I appreciate the trust and belief they have in me, but someone always steps in to fill the shoes.  If I kept doing what I am doing I wouldn’t be retiring—right?

So . . . what am I going to do when I retire?

Time will tell.  I will read.  I have lots of books stacked up on my nightstand and throughout the house.  I will write.  I like to write and now I will have more time to write.  I will walk . . . especially my dogs.  Working at a desk has made my presence bigger and waling will slim that presence down.  I will photograph . . . I love to play with my cameras.  Now I will have more time to do so . . . especially critter creeping.  I will finally get around to emptying the basement and garage of all those boxes of stuff that have been hanging around for 17 years!  I will make trips with my wife especially to see the kids and grandchildren.  I will explore the area I live in and the rest of Montana . . . my list is long.  I will sit on the deck and enjoy the small chunk of paradise I call home.  I will continue to put mini-stories and profane thoughts on social media.  I will surely be approached with a “honey do” list that will have to be done.  And I will take each day as it comes.  That should be enough adventure as this is Montana . . . the sky is the limit.  Montana is the “big sky” state.

As the countdown ebbs towards that final day, I am not worried about what I will do once I am retired.  It will be what it is and if it is anything like what precluded it . . . well, it will be an adventure!  It won’t be the end . . . the journey can continue and you can find me on the deck watching the sun set, enjoying a cool beverage, and being thankful that I actually made it.

 

Sleepless Nights . . . Pondering

The great mysteries of life keep me awake at night.

Hot dogs come in packages of ten.  Hot dog buns come in packages of eight.  Doesn’t seem quite congruent.  What’s a person supposed to do with the extra two hot dogs?  Growing up we didn’t always have hot dog buns in the house.  The solution for hot dogs was Wonder Bread . . . the hot dog was laid from corner to corner diagonally with the bread then folded to make a triangle, and there you had a poor person’s hot dog bun.  A temporary solution for an age-old problem.  I ate a lot of hot dogs like that growing up.  Ten hot dogs . . . eight buns.

 

Why!

 

I recently stumbled upon the issues creating this dilemma.  It comes down to industry standards and “that’s the way we have always done it”.  Prior to pre-packaging meat, people had to go to the butcher to get hot dogs.  A person would tell the butcher how many hot dogs were needed.  They were weighed and sold by the pound.  That was back in the good ol’ days.  Today, hot dogs are pre-packaged.  A typical hot dog weighs 1.6 ounces.  It takes ten hot dogs to make a pound.  Meat is still sold by the pound thus hot dogs come in ten count, one-pound packages.

 

That explains the hot dogs, but what about the buns?  Why eight?  Because bakeries are systematic and designed to be efficient.  At some point buns were made in clusters of four in pans designed to produce eight rolls a piece.  It has always been that way, and it costs too much to change it.  They aren’t going to change it now . . . costs too much and is a pain to change.  Eight is what you get.

 

Well, at least in the United States of America.  In Canada producers or hot dogs and hot dog buns have decided to solve the problem.  They have brokered a deal to produce ten-packs of buns . . . a bun for every hot dog!   At least in Canada life makes sense.  In the meantime, the bigger issue is for us Americans to figure out what to do with those extra hot dogs.  Or we can wait for the president to annex Canada as the 51^st state and write an executive order declaring eight buns to a pack!

 

Just when I thought I’d finally get a good night’s sleep, my mind has shifted to those extra two hot dogs.  I guess there’s always “beans and weenies”.  I hate “beans and weenies” . . . makes me flatulent.  People already say I am too full of “hot air".  Thank goodness there is Wonder Bread!

 

The President and I: Dozing

Though I don’t like to admit it, I am well into being “old”.  There is no universal age that defines when one is “old” as it is subjective.  Generally, 60 or 65 years old is often used as the threshold.  The United Nations defines “older” people as those 60 years or older.  In the good ol’ U.S. of A., the Social Security Administration considers anyone 65 or older to be elderly.  The Older Americans Act (1965 and then reauthorized in 2024) defines older adults as 60 years and older.  Under these parameters I am well into being “old”.  In two weeks, I turn 67 or as my children and grandchildren say, “Old!”

Of course, age is a matter of perception.  Perceptions change all the time.  I would say that much of the time, I do not feel “old”.  Far from it.  I may be a little wonky in my opinion as I like to imagine myself as an older Brad Pitt.  I may be off in my perception, but it gets me through the day.  Despite what I might think about my age, the truth is that my body has a whole bunch to say about that reality.  My body tells it like it is and mine keeps reminding me that I’m “old”.  So do my children who are always telling the grandkids to remember, “Papa is old, so take it easy on him.”  They are not the only ones . . . considerate strangers who offer to open the door for me because I’m “old”.  Senior discounts.  Young people call me sir.  They are all reminding me that I am old.

 

But there are other “signs” that I am getting “old”.  One of the biggest and most obvious is “nodding off’ and catching myself dozing throughout the day.  It happens more often than I like to admit.  If I sit in my recliner too long, I am soon sawing logs.  Numerous times throughout the day while at my work desk I nod off.  Put me in front of a television and LaLa Land beckons me to come and take a romp.  I used to zip through books, but now it takes me forever as reading is a trigger for dozing.  I can’t deny the ageism of “nodding off” because the evidence is overwhelming stacked against me.

 

And . . . it makes me sad.

 

The other day someone posted a meme on social media of our “wannabe king” in various stages of public “nodding off”.  You see, our president is “old” and soon to be 79 years old.  I have noticed that more and more pictures and video are showing up of the “great orange one” dozing in public.  It seems his dozing knows no boundaries as he falls to sleep seemingly everywhere.  He dozes at Cabinet meetings.  In meetings with world leaders.  When he is being tried and convicted in court.  Even at the Republican National Convention.  I was shocked in watching footage of him dozing in the front row of Pope Francis’ funeral on international television for the whole world to see.  Trump is “old” and he cannot deny the evidence—its on film—he’s a dozer!  And to think he has the audacity to call the former president and thorn in his side “Sleepy Joe”.

 

Witnessing all of this made me sad.  Sad to realize that I, too, had this “old age trait”—I nod off.  Making me even sadder was the realization that I had something in common with Donal Trump.  Eww!  Yuck!  Yuck!  Yuck!  I do not like Donald Trump.  I can’t stand Donald Trump.  The guy represents and is everything reprehensible in humanity and what I believe in.  Any connection with this individual makes my skin crawl.  Yuck!  Yuck!  Yuck!

 

The thing is that we are both “old”—Donald “the would be king” Trump and me.  Our proclivity to “nodding off” and “dozing” is a thin thread that binds us together.  But I’m not the only one.  There are lots of others in the boat with Donnie and me.  If you are over the age of 60 and catch yourself “nodding off” throughout the day . . . welcome to the club.  Unfortunately, we can’t always pick who we want to get “old” with . . . “the Donald” is one of the members of the club no matter how much it makes our skin crawl.

 

This sudden understanding made me pause . . . why have I been picking on one of “ours”—the elderly?  He is old.  I am old.  We are all going to experience old.  Thankfully I did not “pause” in the revelation for too long and came back to my senses.  The one who dreams of kingship . . . or authoritarian rule . . . and thinks only of himself—he is not one of “us”.  No, he is far from being one of “us”.  His words betray him.  His actions condemn him.  Despite the thread that stitch us to him—he is not one of “us”.  He never will be.  The facts and records show this over and over again.

 

I do have a suggestion for him . . . and, maybe for all of us.  “Nodding off” and “dozing” is notorious in religious worship and services.  People do it all the time.  Forty years in the active ministry serving congregations—big and small—people fell asleep.  At the start of my ministry, I thought I was connected with the congregation as their heads bobbed up and down . . . then someone snored.  It was at that point I admitted defeat and resigned to myself that people slept through my sermons.  Granted, I would probably be sleeping too . . . I was not the best preacher.  Besides that is why I went into the ministry . . . to keep awake. People slept through my sermons.  Besides, they probably needed the sleep more than my sermonizing.  At every church I served, I told the people that it was okay to “nod off” or “doze” but to remember that in that moment of sudden awakening to utter loudly, “Amen!”  In the uttering of “amen” everyone assumes the sleeper was praying.  It gave off the “air” of piousness . . . of holiness.  It’s less embarrassing than being caught sleeping.  I heard a lot of “amens” in 40 years of preaching.  Witnessed a lot of praying.

 

A simple “amen”.  That is all it takes.  The evangelicals would love it as they point to the evidence of the president’s depth of faith.  They would be ecstatic if Trump displayed any depth of religious faith.  Journalist would proclaim that the president was deep in prayer and contemplation as he nods off . . . that he is even speaking is some sort of “tongues” and he saws away on those logs.

 

Nah . . . the “Great Orange One” doesn’t have an ounce of religious faith.  We all know that it is what it is . . . nodding off” . . . “dozing”.  Whatever the case, for those of us who are “old” . . . for those of us who will become “old” . . . it sucks!  Sucks to have any sort of connection with someone we cannot respect.

 

Excuse me . . . all this hooping and hollering has made me tired.  I hear my recliner beckoning me . . . calling me by name.  I’m starting to nod . . . I feel prayer coming on.  Ah, the joys of growing “old”.  Amen!!