I'm getting very close to what many are calling my "retirement," although I don't agree with them. I AM cutting back work hours and work commitments, but I don't consider it retirement, per se. I guess because I will maintain a certain level of "gotta show up and perform" in my week, it doesn't feel or sound like "retirement" to me. It almost just sounds more civilized. People keep asking, "What are you going to do?" to the point that I am sick of that question. I want to scream I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'LL DO. I don't know any more than I know when I get up on any given Saturday. I don't want to plan right now. I want to experience the feeling of nothing to do. I want to willingly enter the unknown. I want to travel for a while without a road map. I want to take each day as a true present-day miracle.
The last two days I've been working outside and I'm always surprised how therapeutic gardening can be, not to mention, physical. I've got tons of weeds and cleaning out to do, which is truly the physical part. But the soothing part, the therapeutic part was planting some lavender, thyme, rosemary and basil. Oh, the fragrances. My oregano and parsley came back from last year so the oregano is already a nice size.
My garden has a new helpmate or muse or guardian this year. As my sister disassembled her life, she asked me if I would take care of Megan, a statuary that looks just like her very own daughter Megan when she was a young soccer player. Same number on her jersey and all. That may sound corny, but I think there's going to be something a little sentimental about having Megan out there in the back yard. Just this morning, as I planted and watered, she tumbled over and got her knees and face all muddy. I actually found myself saying, "Oh Megan. Look at you." She really looked like she just got off the soccer field. A little hose-down though and she was back to her perky self. Megan, if you're out there reading this, welcome to my world. I'll take good care of you.