After last weekend’s achievement of getting seven people on time from our house to a wedding three towns away, followed later by orchestrating three days of activities for the grandboys with the precision of a landing at Normandy, I’m learning to appreciate retirement all over again.
It’s just the two of us again, with absolutely no deadlines, no particular place to be, and no projects we can’t ignore.
When I retired, it took me a while to realize that my time truly was my own. If I wanted to stay in my pajamas until the ungodly hour of 10 am, well, gosh darn it, I could. No more papers to grade, no lessons to plan, and no more rationing TV time to one hour.
Things have slowed down again, and I’m appreciating the timelessness of an empty day. Still, I did fit in a walk and vacuumed out my car (my inner Puritan work ethic is hard to quell), but that was followed by an hour on the couch in front of the television.
At three in the afternoon!
If that’s not hedonism, I don’t know what is.