Pauses.
I stop after brushing my teeth and sit in the rocking chair and listen, my crazy sweet old dog breathes at my feet, I gaze around the room and enjoy the mementos of my life, I look out the window at the clouds. Then (and only then) do I get up to walk downstairs. It's these little pauses that I never had before — when it was only work-cook-clean-organize-drive-park-shop-come-home-and-do-it-again — that I savor.
This was written early November 2010. See "more" for why it's late in getting posted.
I realize that it has been over six months since I have added an item to this blog. It's not that I wasn't thinking of things to say, it's more that I was "out there" living those things, and I was high on emotions. (I was in the euphoric first days of retirement.) I came up with ideas, but didn't stop to write them down into proper blog entries. I wasn't yet grounded. (See my next blog entry for my thoughts on grounding, and beyond.)
The first paragraph in this current blog entry is verbatim from an email that I wrote in early November of 2010, so it is sort of "plucked" out of that early retirement period. The last paragraph (below) is a sharp memory of at least one summer day in the early months of my retirement.
Even now, in January 2011, I soak up time like a sponge. Years from now when I've been retired for a long time, I might forget how amazing it is to have time to . . . pause. I don't want to forget.
(Circa June, 2010)
In the early summer, one day I got up and dressed and ready to leave for errands in town. The sun had begun to warm the stones under the chair outside. Looking for Lucy the big dog, I walked outside and found her, sitting in the sunshine. What a good idea. I sat in the chair and turned my face to the sun and listened to the leaves rustling, the birds chirping. I breathed deeply and relaxed back into the chair. There is no rush. Time. Armfuls of time.
This was written early November 2010. See "more" for why it's late in getting posted.
I realize that it has been over six months since I have added an item to this blog. It's not that I wasn't thinking of things to say, it's more that I was "out there" living those things, and I was high on emotions. (I was in the euphoric first days of retirement.) I came up with ideas, but didn't stop to write them down into proper blog entries. I wasn't yet grounded. (See my next blog entry for my thoughts on grounding, and beyond.)
The first paragraph in this current blog entry is verbatim from an email that I wrote in early November of 2010, so it is sort of "plucked" out of that early retirement period. The last paragraph (below) is a sharp memory of at least one summer day in the early months of my retirement.
Even now, in January 2011, I soak up time like a sponge. Years from now when I've been retired for a long time, I might forget how amazing it is to have time to . . . pause. I don't want to forget.
(Circa June, 2010)
In the early summer, one day I got up and dressed and ready to leave for errands in town. The sun had begun to warm the stones under the chair outside. Looking for Lucy the big dog, I walked outside and found her, sitting in the sunshine. What a good idea. I sat in the chair and turned my face to the sun and listened to the leaves rustling, the birds chirping. I breathed deeply and relaxed back into the chair. There is no rush. Time. Armfuls of time.
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