Trying To Find My “Retire By” Date

My self, that part of me which feels, perceives, thinks, wills, and especially, reasons, is divided.

I’m 2.5 years past the normal retirement age in my country of birth, and 12.5 years beyond the customary retirement age here in Zambia.

I have cut back. I work from 6:30 to 13. In the afternoon I read and putter and take a nap. Then, around 17, I get a second breeze (second winds are a faint memory) and do some writing and chores.

On days when I have no appointments or deadlines, I think “Ah, so if I retired life might look something like this. No pressure. Do whatever I like. This is what I want.” But on such a day, when I choose the activities I like, I often look back and think I’ve wasted the day. Or worse, what I’m feeling is boredom, despite all the ways in which I tried to be entertained.

Then on those days where there are lots of emails to answer, money to move for missionaries, book chapters and newsletters to edit, support work to be done for Debi and her troops, and handling of the person-to-person encounters necessary to minister and live and keep everything working in Africa, I get stressed. The work isn’t all that difficult, but it is enough to get me stirred up inside and to think, “If I retired I wouldn’t have to put up with this hassle.” Yet at the end of this type of day, I do have a feeling that I’ve accomplished something — that I’ve helped some folks.

So I’m not fully satisfied with a day under my control, and I’m not all that happy with days that put demands on me.

Most people who retire seem ready, and those who prefer to work past 65 obviously seem OK with that.

I want both. But I’m finding that it’s not easy, because circumstances guide me into an attitude in which the opposite of what I’m doing seems better. But when I get a steady diet of that “other” life, I reverse my preference.

That said, I think I’m at the stage where retirement often looks attractive, but deep down I feel I’m not quite ready for the highlight of my day to be back-to-back reruns of Law and Order.

He’s Old Enough To Be Her Grandfather!

Having a 16-year-old daughter is, I’m sure, an adventure for every parent. But when you are, as am I, 51.5 years older than she, it’s really something.

Every parent goes through what Katie and I are going through, but usually with about half the difference in age separating them.

I’ve been aware from the start that at times I’ve been the stern dad, and probably just as often, the kindly grandfatherly dad, to her. I don’t regret that – she’s gotten away with more than most children have, but she’s turned out pretty well nonetheless.

At 16, she is going through the tumult that goes along with that stage of life. She is half child, half woman. She wants to talk about deep things (interestingly, that desire usually surfaces at bedtime!) She wants to have fun. She is overflowing with questions about all aspects of life. She needs rides everywhere. Around me, she wears her heart on her sleeve; with Katie, it’s pretty much “what you see is what you get.”

For me, it’s basically hard to keep up.

But without Katie I would probably never have heard of Rhianna or Katy Perry. Without Katie I wouldn’t realize how much faster life makes teens grow up than it did in the fifties. Without Katie (and I know this is a cliché) I would not know how to set digital clocks, and I wouldn’t know about tabs, You Tube, or which cell phone to buy. I couldn’t get movie reviews and bios of every entertainer from 15 to 25 from her on demand. I wouldn’t know that there are a dozen categories of music (I grew up with one radio station that played pop and one that played western, period.) I wouldn’t know that today’s 9th Grade math is not the cake I got to learn.

What Katie gets cheated out of in this vibrant time in her life is a vibrant dad. I sometimes just don’t have the “oomph” to go to the mall or a movie with her (although I’m very, very lucky that I have a daughter who invites me to accompany her.)

She’s a true gift to me.

And life would certainly be much more boring for this 20th Century geezer if I didn’t have this 21st Century teen making every day both interesting and unpredictable.

English As She Is Writed

I’ve previously mentioned on this blog, and in a connected facebook post, the concern I have that I am beginning to turn into a curmudgeon, and furthermore, that I seem on course to becoming a stereotypical grumpy old man.

I seem to become most agitated by the writings of many. Yes, I know language is a living thing, which is why we no longer say things like, “Forsooth, dost thee indeed disputeth these immutable truths?” Language changes daily. That’s good. But it’s the sloppy way in which many write today, ignoring the basics of vocabulary, grammar, and punctuation, that disturbs me in a way in which it did not a short while ago. Certainly the fundamentals of written English were not simply cast away when this young century began.

I am not yet boring and irritating those around me by voicing my criticisms of the errors I come across, or of the numerous trends which disturb me. In my earlier post I even turned my concerns into a joke. Nonetheless, critical umbrage is far too frequently rolling around in my head like ping pong balls in a lottery blower.

There are many things disturbing me about this, but probably none more fiercely than that I dislike the fact that I’m having these judgmental thoughts at all, not to mention the time I’m wasting by internally rehashing them and getting myself all worked up. Yet I seem unable to stop.

I’m at a fork in the road.

I can take the road of hectoring, by writing snide columns and posts, and pouncing on everything I read which is not “up to standard.” I have considered and discarded that path.

Instead, I will pray that my indignation will cool down, and realize that the way I can best contribute to the situation is to endeavour to write as well as I can, hoping that if that writing is of any value, it will in some small degree lift the overall quality of the cascade of words which modern communication elicits daily.

Well, Time For A Nap

For ages, I envied people who could nap – power naps, two-hour Reagan naps, any kind of nap. I simply couldn’t fall asleep during the day.
Then about a year ago my body turned 67, and it did a 180. I can now fall asleep in the afternoon faster that you can say pillow.
I can even nap after drinking half a dozen cups of coffee from break of day to lunchtime.
A little over 20 years ago, when I turned 46, I suddenly found I couldn’t get to sleep at all if I drank much coffee after 5 PM. I’d be wide awake at 5 AM!
Not now. Heck, I can drink a Red Bull and take a nap or get a night’s sleep.
Just as infants change dramatically as they grow into toddlers, then children, I’m starting to think the same think happens after we turn 65. And I’m also observing that, in my case, the deceleration is at about the same speed as was the acceleration six decades ago: fast.

Letting Off Some Steam

I find myself getting constantly perturbed by the misuse of apostrophes, by the growing use of “Bill and I,” where the proper phrase is “Bill and me,” by people abbreviating every word in their facebook posts, by anything Kardashian…I could go on and on. So I have to often remind myself of Molière’s words, “It is a folly second to none to make it one’s own business to correct the whole world.”
I don’t think I can chalk this attitude up to becoming a cranky old person (although I clearly observe myself becoming an impatient old person,) for, alas, I’ve been a critic all my life.
Gotta go. The cop’s gave Matthews and I each speeding ticket’s when we were rshng home to see Kims l8st episode, but I tnk I still have time 2 catch it.

Contempt Prior To Investigation

Herbert Spencer wrote, “There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which cannot fail to keep man in everlasting ignorance — that principle is contempt prior to investigation.”

So true. I deprived myself for so long of experiences and places about which I had preconceived or hereditary negative blocks. Then, when I tried them, I was usually delighted. Two examples:

I had the impression of Kansas City as nothing but a cow town full of unsophisticated hicks. When I finally went there I fell in love with that city – it’s one of my favourites in the States.

Secondly, oysters. I couldn’t dream how anyone could eat those slimy things. Then I tried them. Now I am amongst a group of eight men who may hold the record for the most dozens of oysters consumed at one table in one sitting at the Grand Central Station Oyster Bar in New York City.

All that said, it still doesn’t mean I am going to try beans on toast.

A Weighty Dilemma

OK, if I lose 15 kilograms I will probably snore less, I’ll have lower blood pressure, I will make the surgery for my abdominal hernia easier and much more likely to last, the pain from my hiatus hernia may lessen, I’ll look better for Debi, and, bar being hit by an asteroid, I will probably live longer.

But if I stay at this weight, then I’ll continue to have plenty of material (no pun intended) with which to write jokes about myself.

What to do, what to do?

A Great Quote

As I gradually slow down and have to decide what to use my reduced energy for – you know, doctor’s visits, changing channels, etc., it’s great to run across heartening wise words, like those I posted on Quote Of The Week on 26/5/11. I encourage you to go over there and take a look.

Changes Coming

If you haven’t heard of our likely upcoming move to the States for an indefinite period, or if you want more details, check it all out at: thebigravenblog.wordpress.com

Recuperation

Feeling quite ill and recovering at home starts with tests, exams, and a lot of sleep.
Then there are a couple of days that are quite like a Johannesburg-Atlanta 18-hour flight. All you’re up for is movie after movie (I was borne through yesterday by the Bourne trilogy) after movie. Except that at home the Water Closet is way roomier and much easier to get to. And the attendants are prettier.
Next comes the day you are feeling better for the first time (where I am now.) Of course, you try to overdo it. Your body quickly says Whoa! You find the easiest thing to do is gush out a bunch of inane posts on facebook. You’ve gone from “Leave me alone” to impatience as you wish the antibiotic would work faster (should I double up?) and as you have a glimmer of what feeling normal is like. People seem to like you quite a bit better than they did yesterday.
How great that we have a God who heals.