Prologue
Prologue Do you ever look back on the synchronicity of certain events that appear unrelated in the moment, but on reflection seem as if two versions of your life have converged, with barely a catch in your breathing? It is the morning of Thursday, February 29, 2024 – a Leap Year Day that will change everything. Just a few hours ahead of the monumental life change that is to come, in an impulsive grasp at creativity, I find myself doodling on my iPad using an app I had never even realized was there. Using my finger to draw crudely on the device, I sketch myself stretched out on my bed in my favorite blue tie-dye Macy’s PJs, golden rays emanating from my flat-screen TV on the opposite wall. It’s 6:30 am and, as I’m doodling, I’m also following the stock market on my computer, listening to the talking heads on TV, and absorbing the morning market news. It is my first effort at using the iPastels drawing app – and my last. This one rude attempt to capture the moment reveals my state of mind in that moment, more than I could ever have envisaged. You can see my clumsy drawing and photos that accompany this memoir at www.bluejacketpress.com. The odd-looking red object in my drawing is a wicker rocking chair. The rest speaks for itself. * * * A few short hours later, the biggest event of my retirement life begins to unfold. My creativity will be satiated in ways I could not have anticipated … Within days, I find myself distressingly short of people to talk to about it. There are several reasons for this. I can’t talk with this person because it isn’t them going and it might sound like bragging; I can’t talk with that person because they’re too busy and don’t have time; I can't talk with yet another person because they’re already tired of hearing about it! It's frustrating because I’m super-excited and I want to share my unfolding plans – but the pieces of my story that do make it to another human ear are politely, if impatiently, squeezed into the ditches of their day, a bit like runoff they didn’t really want to process. I imagine they either wish they, too, were going, or they are doubtful about the whole plan, perhaps even secretly thinking I am losing my mind, and feeling they should caution me against potential dangers. In my fourth year of an unexpected – though ultimately not unwelcome – retirement, after a lifetime of trying too hard to prove myself, being over-committed to my career and overly volunteered at my professional organization, I find myself in a somewhat uninspired state where I am trying to find meaning in not having to do much of anything at all. This new life is vastly different from my working life, when the job would spill over into my leisure hours, and weekends would be barely distinguishable from any other day of the week. In retirement, I give myself permission to spend the better part of a day engrossed in yet another Kindle Unlimited book; the ticker says I have read 116 weeks in a row. Other highlights are putting together a challenging jigsaw puzzle – especially now that my whole family has indulged my newest passion by providing me with puzzles for birthdays and Christmas. In the evenings, I multi-task, doing brain puzzles on my iPad while binge listening to (rather than binge watching) old-fave TV series like Cheers, Frasier or Bluebloods with my husband. During Covid, I am certain we watch every British crime drama ever produced, one rerun on demand at a time. I try to keep a healthy balance by working in the yard in summer, but in winter I find myself differentiating one day from the other by cycling through three pairs of PJs that double as a tracksuit should the need arise to answer the door. This particular year, where the story begins, the dreary, dark and at times exceptionally cold (then exceptionally warm) Eastern Washington winter seems to go on forever. Until … quietly and unexpectedly, the most welcome yet unforeseen opportunity drops into my lap and I am suddenly alive with nearly obsessive focus. Is it any wonder? We are, after all, on the heels of a worldwide pandemic, bad enough to live through without the added traumatic experience of being cut off from family in Canada when international borders closed – just when we had moved 1,200 miles closer so we could see them more often. I’d never been more ready to embrace such a startlingly fresh step out into the world. And I want to share. I simply cannot pass up the opportunity to tell the world about this part of my life story that, if history repeats itself, would never be written. I'm retired now, after all. I no longer have the excuse of lack of time or resources. I can put the puzzles away for another day. Nevertheless, my story is written not so much with the reader in mind – though I’ll certainly be exceedingly happy if it piques your interest. I suspect that at heart the reason I want to tell the tale is to capture for myself and for all time the journey that brought me to these days of exploration, surprise and
