Retirement

One day I'll get to retire. Some days it feels like it can't come soon enough. And it is some time off, probably too far off to think about. But it makes me happy to fantasize about the day when labors cease and Judge Judy becomes a constant companion. Because on that day the world will move with new purpose. Birds will fly higher than they ever have and fish will lie down with sharks. Peace and tranquility will be the order of things as years stretch out in unending bliss. Days will acquire extra hours. Weeks will exist as a continuum. Calenders will become as unnecessary as shoes and electric razors.

Phrases like, "How's things?" and "Keepin' busy?" will no longer be uttered in my presence because the answers will be self evident and unchanging. They'll be "Great!" for the former, and "Yep, gotta go or I'll miss Guiding Light" for the latter. Because how can things be bad when your world is wholly and entirely your own? When you answer only to yourself, your significant other and the Must See TV lineup? When slippers and danish crumbs constitute formal wear and sunlight is something received entirely through double-paned replacement windows, if that's your desire for the day, life has reached its zenith.

C'mon 63 and a half!

Except for that part. I'd prefer to retire at 45. Thankfully, it turns out, beggars can be choosers.*


*No. No they can't. Not unless some well-entrenched publishing house decides to buy the rights to "A Year of Positives", the book. I'm willing to make a deal.

Getting the Credit You Deserve

Sometimes nothing feels better than getting recognition for a job well done, especially when that credit comes from people who understand just what it took to realize your accomplishment. My Mom got to have that experience last night, and I got to witness it.

After teaching in the Montgomery County Public School system for 13 years, and after a an exemplary professional career that started back in 1969 (I'm pretty sure that's what she said) my Mom is retiring. Last night the school system honored all of its 2009 retirees with a ceremony and reception. Luminaries and high-ranking officials from inside the organization, including the school superintendent and the county executive, showed up to honor the "graduates." Like any good commencement each retiree walked the stage as their name and position was announced, shook hands with the notables, and received a nice leaded glass trophy inscribed with the year of their retirement. Mom was very much touched by the whole occasion.

She's had a stellar career, with nothing but high marks and piles of praise from her colleagues, principals, parents and students. Until the last two years or so, she'd never gotten any sort of negative feedback about her teaching skills. Then a new, young principal, wet behind the ears and seemingly vacant in-between, started at her school. Ageist and determined to cut budget he began persecuting the older, more expensive teachers, trying to force early retirement. I'm not exaggerating at all when I say that he made my Mom's work life hell, with constant badgering, negative reviews, and horribly unrealistic expectations and demands. It was a war, and it strongly took its toll on Mom, mentally and physically.

Many times she considered taking early retirement just to put an end to the torturous days and undue insults her principal inflicted on her. A lesser person would have folded, and some of her colleagues did, unfortunately. But Mom was determined to follow her plan and retire when she wanted to, not when some pip-squeek megalomaniac with a Napoleon complex wanted. And, more than anything else, she wanted to make sure that his persecutions didn't affect her students' education. So she stuck it out, and as of this coming Wednesday, she'll be a retired teacher able to stand tall knowing she did her best her entire career. She weathered her adversities, kept her integrity and honor intact, and turned out thousands of students better prepared than they may have been otherwise for having had my Mom as a teacher.

Congratulations, Mom. I'm proud of you.

Saturday Mornings

I wake up.  Not to an alarm.  Not to any pressing engagements.  I wake up when my body is ready.  Or not.  In that moment, when you first open your eyes and realize that there's absolutely nothing stopping you from closing them again, that moment is bliss.

Saturday mornings are the crown prince of arbitrary time divisions.  Friday nights are a very close second, like the bastard brother of Saturday mornings, tainted only by the fact that they follow directly after a full work day.  And I haven't experienced this yet, but I suspect the King of waking daily segments would be the first Monday morning after retirement.  That is the Emperor of Mornings, a messiah to your misspent work hours.  I would imagine.

For now I'm happy with Saturday mornings.  It's not like the other six are all that bad.  Sunday is much like Saturday, although with a bitter punch line.  And Monday through Friday, while bothersome, have their charms.  Ultimately, I think all six of them exist as a foil for Saturday morning.  That moment, lying in my bed, relishing your freedom, is made possible only by contrast.

Only three more days to go.