Wait! This is not the way it's supposed to be! Like it says in my favorite goodbye-retiree card, I'm going to Jupiter where I'm the Queen!
The day started out as planned. I lounged in bed with coffee and a book as B. left for work. Ah, sweet retirement -- no appointments, no commitments -- and my turn to send B. off to work as I loafed at home. (B. plans to retire again, really, sometime soon. Earlier this year I was going off to work and he lounging in bed.) So there I was, as they say, footloose and fancy free. Well, I had promised to mop the kitchen floor, but that hardly counted. Our shiny, white-tiled kitchen floor shows every spot. I have threatened to stop cooking, but am seemingly unable to give it up. So I shove a wet rag around the floor with my foot, rubbing out spots until I just can't stand it any more. Then I give in to the mop.
Presently I abandoned my book, and spent a most enjoyable hour planning meals and making shopping lists for this week's sojourn at our mountain cabin. We've planned a month of day-hiking and traveling the northwest, starting with a trek through Mono Pass and down Bloody Canyon with our friends E & J. What could be better than a great dinner after a great day in the mountains?
Lists made, I turned to the refrigerator to sort out items to take and items to discard. We had already gifted our friends with sauces, cheeses and the like, so the contents were relatively sparse. The transparent vegetable bins were nearly empty ... and littered with bits of dried leaves, dirt, and other unidentifiable debris.
"So," I said to myself (I talk to myself a lot, as you'll come to know), "I'll just clean the bins." Well, this was not quite as simple as it seemed. When I removed the bins, I noticed that the bin covers and the side walls needed cleaning as well. And in order to get to the side walls, I had to dismantle the bin support structure. I wrestled the unwieldy parts into the sink, washed, scrubbed, and dried. But then, as I put it all back together, I began to look at the refrigerator shelves.
It's astounding. I, who hate to clean, felt compelled. One thing led to another. My refrigerator is clean. Jars and bottles are neatly sorted and organized, and B. will never be able to find anything in the fridge again. The floor is mopped and shiny clean.
I'm still trying to puzzle out the symbolism in my first morning as a retiree. Is this just a winding-down phase? Am I now going to become a clean freak? Will I soon find myself cleaning out closets? The garage? Yikes! I might have to reconsider that post-retirement job offer.
