I just spent the eighth Monday that simply comes after Sunday.
For years, Monday has been my husband’s day off, to spend more or less as he pleases. Meanwhile, I spent Mondays immersed in deadlines, email, instant messages, and meetings. After over forty years in the workforce, I ended the new year by joining the ranks of the retired. These days, Monday is a day off for everyone in this house.
Fifty-two days into my updated employment status, I’m still frequently greeted with one of the following questions:
Are you bored yet?
What do you do with your time?
I’ve been thinking about a conversation my mother had years ago with the mother of an elementary school classmate. Mom worked at the local shoe factory until just before my older sister was born. She spent the next fifteen years as a stay-at-home mom and homemaker. As such, our teachers often asked her to serve as a “room mother” to help with class parties and activities. One of the other room mothers called one afternoon to discuss an upcoming party. As the conversation progressed, Mom realized she had agreed to several tasks to prepare for said party. When the caller paused, Mom asked, “Just what are you doing for this party?” The reply: “Oh, I’ll help, but… well, since you don’t work…”
“Work,” like beauty, is in the eyes of the beholder. The fact that one does not perform duties for an outside employer does not mean one is not gainfully occupied. My mother spent her days doing far more than cooking, dishes, laundry, and housekeeping. As long as she was home, she endeavored to make Dad’s load lighter. She mowed the lawn, fed livestock, and helped with things like painting and roofing the house. She also did things she enjoyed, such as playing the piano, sewing, and crocheting.
The one thing my mother never did was retire. She went “back to work” part-time a few months before my eleventh birthday, and within a year she was working full-time. For the next fourteen years she worked for the county, serving as Deputy County Clerk. She enjoyed the job, as well as the extra income that allowed her to splurge a little on her children and grandchildren. Dad suggested she retire, and she agreed she would work one more year. One evening not long after that conversation, she came home from work, ate supper with Dad, and suffered a heart attack.
Mom was fifty-eight, the same age I am now.
Throughout my working years, I endeavored to follow my parents’ example of a full day’s work for a day’s pay. I really enjoyed my job and career field and, in due time, I was compensated well for my work. As I reached retirement eligibility, I worried about timing. What if I missed something in the retirement estimates or the budget planner? Would we be eighty years old eating tuna and jelly sandwiches because I didn’t work a couple more years? What if (as some of my peers predicted) I wasn’t satisfied at home?
But, to be honest, I worried more that I might end up like Mom.
Now, here I am. When asked recently how I’m adjusting to retirement, I responded emphatically, ”I love it!” And I do. I haven’t missed my job one bit.
The extent of my adjustment was waking up that first Monday morning and realizing I command my own calendar. I don’t have to cram all my housework into a few hours in the evening or on Saturdays. I can focus on things I always wanted to do, like writing, music, and volunteering. Prayer and spiritual growth have more of my time and attention. I’m baking more, trying new recipes, growing celery and lettuce on my window sill.
Did I happen to mention I love it?
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