A Year Off
It has been a year since I retired from my "real" job and have not had to put on panty hose or go into an office. An interesting year... with some freelance writing, making of lists and budgets, lots of packing up of boxes, cleaning out of bookshelves, donating goods to charity, traveling, volunteering, and reassessing. I'm no smarter and no closer to knowing the meaning of life, but... I sleep nearly 8 hours most nights, have nearly eliminated back and knee pains, and have read a bunch of good books. I might get used to this unformed new existence... if I can just stop feeling guilty about not making any money and relax into the parasitism of being a kept woman, a volunteer, a learner, and a human being.
My latest project is coordinating the renovations of a sad, old bathroom and the big (semi-rotting and sagging) double porches on the back of our house. In addition to becoming something close to a tenant at the nearest Lowe's Hardware store and adept at picking up and returning paints, wallpaper remover, flanges, faucets, and other bits and pieces, I have built new muscles by lifting and carrying large boxes of plumbing fixtures. I have also learned the delicate art of hiding behind and between large pieces of furniture to get dressed or change clothes-- as there are often men of various sizes at a windows or doors. It's a bit like being a zoo animal-- with passers by always there, inhibiting your normal behavior. Makes me incredibly self conscious. I have been cleaning things more than usual. The kitchen sink sparkles. Is that so the carpenters and painters will think I'm industrious or because I just don't know what else to do with myself when there are these semi-strangers lurking about from 8 am until 4 or 5 pm? It's hard to concentrate on anything meaningful with bursts of hammering, conversations, and buzzing machinery that occasionally sounds like street repair up close and personal. Needing to be at home to let people in and out to measure, estimate, and do the work... it's a kind of limboland.
I now understand why some old people just sit in their homes and let them fall apart around them. It's not necessarily that they are crazy, cheap, or poor (although they may well be any or all of those things). It's beginning to seem like a plan.
My latest project is coordinating the renovations of a sad, old bathroom and the big (semi-rotting and sagging) double porches on the back of our house. In addition to becoming something close to a tenant at the nearest Lowe's Hardware store and adept at picking up and returning paints, wallpaper remover, flanges, faucets, and other bits and pieces, I have built new muscles by lifting and carrying large boxes of plumbing fixtures. I have also learned the delicate art of hiding behind and between large pieces of furniture to get dressed or change clothes-- as there are often men of various sizes at a windows or doors. It's a bit like being a zoo animal-- with passers by always there, inhibiting your normal behavior. Makes me incredibly self conscious. I have been cleaning things more than usual. The kitchen sink sparkles. Is that so the carpenters and painters will think I'm industrious or because I just don't know what else to do with myself when there are these semi-strangers lurking about from 8 am until 4 or 5 pm? It's hard to concentrate on anything meaningful with bursts of hammering, conversations, and buzzing machinery that occasionally sounds like street repair up close and personal. Needing to be at home to let people in and out to measure, estimate, and do the work... it's a kind of limboland.
I now understand why some old people just sit in their homes and let them fall apart around them. It's not necessarily that they are crazy, cheap, or poor (although they may well be any or all of those things). It's beginning to seem like a plan.
posted by Melinda | 7:28 AM
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