WAITING FOR RETIREMENT

This was the first item that was published in my column Musings of the Amused for Purpose Magazine.  The theme of that particular issue was RETIREMENT. I'm pretty sure my parents have forgiven me for making them my very first published guinea pigs. 

I had serious concerns about the ability of my parents to cohabitate peacefully in a state of retired bliss.  Both spent years in management.  There were schedules and regimens.  How these two worlds would mesh, I had no idea.  I held my breath.

Years later, I am pleased to say that not only are they managing a serene coexistence, they are enjoying their shared freedom.  And they are laughing.  Sometimes with each other, more often at each other.  It is a scientific reality that laughter relieves stress and boosts the immune system.  Calculating the rate at which they make fun of each other, they could live to be 150. 

That is not to say that there aren’t occasional blowups about which route is most direct from the flea market.  (I believe they even argue with their GPS….)  Maps are pulled out, geographic lessons are offered, and somehow after a good deal of spar and rebuttal, they are still both “right.”

I have great plans for my own retirement.  I wish to see the world.  I’ve got enormous aspirations to make the 7, 463 recipes which I have meticulously clipped and stuffed into my straining recipe box.  I shall read that wall of books I own, and perhaps take up watercolors.  I imagine myself an efficient cashier at the local MCC thrift shop.  While I volunteer, I will peruse the racks and purchase large bags of ridiculous attire for my family members.  I’ll buy wonderful things that they would never consider wearing.  I long to dote on my currently nonexistent grandchildren, baking them cookies peppered with chocolate candy bits to make them smile and make their parents (my own dear children) groan.  Doesn’t it sound heavenly?  I suspect by the time I achieve retirement age, a well-intentioned bureaucrat will pass new legislation requiring me to work until I can no longer see my travel brochures, read the fine print on my aged recipe clippings, or choose wildly colored neckties with which to annoy my husband. 

And so I will enjoy employment.  And maybe get started on those watercolors. 

FINE PRINT

Downright smug in childhood with my nearly bionic ability to read fine print on tiny objects, I considered my vision impervious to decline. I regularly congratulated myself for being the only person in my family without corrective lenses. My unearned superiority was shameless.

Those were the days.  And now I am eating humble pie as I try to make out fuzzy sentences in the church bulletin. And what cruel joke is the phone book?  My arms are no longer of sufficient length to grasp the hymnal as I try to discern lyrics.  My long-spectacled husband occasionally feigns helpfulness, moving back the hymnal a full yardstick-length so I can see more clearly.  His helpfulness usually paves the way for his being whacked squarely by said hymnal. I know I should consider my nonviolent beliefs, but his mischievous smirk causes an unfortunate impulsivity to rise up behind my straining eyes.  I need to work on that. 

My Dad found a good deal.  Now there are 99 cent reading glasses scattered strategically throughout my house.  I’ve got a pair in every room so I can circumvent wearing a telltale ‘middle-aged necklace.”  My family finds amusement watching me run for a pair when I am trying to cook, work on the computer, or read.   My daughter, a glasses-wearer since age 3, cannot abide the way my glasses hang precariously on the distal edge of my nose as I peer at her above them.  Just like Grandpa Stroehmann.  She does not understand that she becomes a swirl of nausea when I try to see her through the lens.

So I’ve experienced a little loss.  Something I once had, failed to truly appreciate, and now it is gone.  We humans are renowned for our ability to take things for granted. 

The loss of near vision is nothing in comparison to the loss of a job, a home, or a loved one.  So I’m trying my best to start recognizing blessings.  It’s too late to value fine print, but there are lots of more important things to appreciate.  And I can see them pretty clearly with my 99 cent glasses. 

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

When parents arrive to pick up children at day care, it is not uncommon for a child to burst into tears. To the untrained eye, a small unassuming child suddenly morphs into a frightful whirling dervish, sporting Dennis the Menace tendencies and other traits which appear to require some serious parental intervention.  But a hug will usually do it.  Because this sorry display is probably a reflection of the child’s eternally grateful relief.  He's been trying to be good for these strangers ALL DAY.  He's been sitting precariously on a little volcano of fear, uncertainty, and pent-up emotion. The eruption is pretty much inevitable upon seeing a person with whom this little peanut can gratefully and finally be himself. That is not to say he didn't have a fabulous day with his caretakers. It is more a matter of acknowledging the truth in Dorothy’s post-Oz declaration. There is no place like home!

Like it or not, our families get the very worst of us. We walk around the house looking a fright. Hair standing on end and sweatpants from our college days stretched beyond recognition. Some of us are too grouchy for conversation until after the second cup of caffeine. Others, who have been productive and engaging members of society all day, arrive home and beeline for the recliner to recharge before any helpful interaction with family members can occur. Yet with a foundation of love and acceptance, there is something wonderful about a safe landing pad. And that’s the beauty of family. They know you. And they love you anyway.

My husband and I were enjoying a nice dinner together last night. Our firstborn is in his twenties and living out of state. Our youngest was off with her youth group to a music festival. Unwinding from his day, my husband indulged in a sigh of contentment. He looked over at me and said, “I’m glad you’re the person I married.” Well I thought this was about the sweetest thing I’d heard all day. Fishing for more romance, I unwisely asked, “Why is that?” His answer was honest and remarkable. “I just find most other people SO annoying.” I do love my blessedly straightforward man. 

And how awesome is that? God has given us our own little circle of people to love AND ANNOY! Whether it is your parent, your brother, your spouse or your child, remember to be thankful for the amazing gift that is your family. There is certainly no place like home. 

DISOBEDIENT WISE GUYS

Dumb as a box of hair.  A surprisingly accurate descriptor for my miserable cat Harley…

Not unlike a human, disobedience comes quite naturally to him.  For over twelve years we have attempted to correct him with swats and shouts when discovering him on the kitchen counter.  His startled tail expands appropriately each time he is caught trespassing.  Wide-eyed, he skids unceremoniously across the laminate flooring in his remorseful attempt to flee.  I am certain his heart rate doubles as well.  Yet somehow despite repeated attempts, we have been unsuccessful in any long-term persuasion. There is daily proof of his impropriety in the telltale paw prints across our shiny black stove cook top. He is without a shred of wisdom.  His mind is a sieve.    

Though I don’t customarily walk inappropriately across the counters of my home, I would argue that at times I am as dense as Harley. And risking insult, I suspect you are too.  How many of us have had to learn the same lesson repeatedly before something clicks and behavioral change follows?  One needs to accumulate a good collection of ‘clicks’ before wisdom can ever tag along.  Some call this knowledge.

When I think about wisdom, I think about Solomon.  He had the gift of discernment and the wherewithal to do immeasurable good with what he was given.  Most times he used the gift well.  Does the church seek God’s wisdom or is our seeking lopsided because our pews are packed with disobedient wise guys?

I, for one, am thankful that my heavenly father loves me infinitely more than the love I profess for my tiresomely noncompliant cat.  God doesn’t swat me and he doesn’t shout at me.  Instead, he sends gentle and persistent reminders of his love and forgiveness.  And with a thankful heart I store that precious learning in my growing bank of knowledge.  Priceless souvenirs collected over years of trial and error, and most times despite my own foolishness. 

I am told that wisdom makes good use of knowledge.  And I’m hoping someday my collection comes in handy. 

It may be time to forgive the cat.