THE WINK OF AN EYE: Some Thoughts on Retirement Ten Years In

 "I've been aware of the time going by

They say in the end it's the wink of an eye."

                                    _ Jackson Browne, The Pretender

Ten years ago, I cleared my desk and walked out of my downtown office into the world of retirement.  In truth, I didn't retire all at once.  I eased in, working from home a few hours a month for three more years.  And then I walked away from it all.

I have never looked back.

In the early months, when I started to speak of my retirement, the word graduation would come out instead.

Freudian slip?

Well, maybe.  It did, in fact, feel like a graduation.  A graduation into a life of choice.  Of available time.  I have filled the available time with occupations of my own choosing.  Writing.  Gardening.  Learning.  Walking. Volunteering.  Puzzles. Outings with my husband or friends.  And, most recently, play with my grandchildren.

To be honest, play has not come easily to me in adulthood.  I have, I confess, approached life rather seriously.  What a wonder it has been, then, to relearn play side-by-side with my granddaughters, to partake of their joy in every new-to-them experience.  What fun it will be when my grandson is old enough to join the pack.  How fortunate I am to have lived long enough to experience this pleasure.

When I retired, I told myself I would be lucky to have 20 more years.  And now ten years have passed in a heartbeat.  I suspect the next ten will go by even more quickly than the first ten.  The only days when time has dragged have been days when I have been down with a cold or a flu.  And given that I don't invite illness, there is nothing for it but to embrace the rapidly passing days.

Of course, those rapidly passing days bring my end ever closer.  I don't dwell on this, though; I do not expect an early death.  If I follow in my mother's footsteps, I could be looking at not ten years, but twenty.  Still, I know my days are numbered, so I will fill my cup to the brim for as many years as I have left.

And when my time comes, may the gift of these post-graduation years glide me gently into the mystery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OH, CHRISTMAS TREE

I used to love Christmas. 

Of course, I loved it as a child, but I kept my sense of wonder well into my twenties, and it came back with a vengeance after my daughters were born.  I took such pleasure in their pleasure and excitement during their early years.  I confess, however, that my interest in the holiday was much diminished after they grew up and away. What would be the point of decorating a tree without little ones to enjoy it? I didn’t have it in me to do much more each year than buy a small potted tree or decorate a large house plant.  

 

Indeed, the most “Christmassy” I have felt for the past few years has been while visiting granddaughters on my husband’s side, and enjoying their excitement.  But, now, those girls are 10 and 14 -- nearly past the age of wonder, and my Christmas doldrums might have snuck back in, had it not been for the arrival during the past two years of four grandchildren on my side.

 

I am happy to report that the delight of my toddler granddaughters, aged one-and-a-half (twins) and two, has revived my own latent excitement over the season. 

 

Although the girls aren’t old enough yet to be anticipating presents, 

they talk excitedly (in their fashion) about Santa Claus and reindeer. And they are entirely engrossed in shifting ornaments on and off their trees.  (My grandson, aged two months, will join in the merriment next year, I am sure.)

 

So, of course, we had to have a tree this year.  A few days ago, my husband and and I and the two-year-old brought home a four-foot-tall fir—just the right height for two senior citizens to fit in our car and carry into our living room.  Yesterday, I put lights on the tree.  (I will wait for the granddaughters to help me add some ornaments.)  

 

Which brings me to today, when, after being awakened by stormy weather at 5 a.m. I lay in bed, listening to rain and branches land on the roof, and telling myself I would fall back asleep any minute. Sometime after six, I gave up on this notion and got out of bed.  Downstairs into the darkened living room I went and turned on the tree lights.  

 

Sitting there in the dark, I was immediately transported to a Christmas long ago.  Was I eight or 18?  I don’t know.  Maybe it was the amalgamated memory of several Christmases.  In any event, there I was in the early evening gazing at my family’s tree, mesmerized by the colored lights and tinsel.  (Yes, those were the days of tinsel, and the perennial argument over whether to place it stand-by-strand or throw it on in bunches.)

                                                          (With my bother Jim - can you see the tinsel?)

In memory, I am sitting in front of that tree, with its large and clunky lights, for hours.  Perhaps it was ten minutes that are stretched by recollection.  I do know that I felt peace staring at those lights, and sitting in my living room this morning, I wondered what had become of the girl and young woman who had taken such delight in a tree.  

 

Could I bring her back?  

 

Surrounded by toddlers, I think maybe I can.

 

And you?  What will it take for you to bring back childish delight in the season?  I know some of you have never lost the gift of wonder.  

 

May it be so for all of us.

 

May we see the world through the eyes of a child, and may we know peace, love, and wonder this year.