Celebrating Florence
Poetry Night

Where I Want To Be

Before I retired, when the temperature plummeted, I left my bike in the garage and, reluctantly, took the bus to work.

Now, I don’t have to do that. I don’t have to do much of anything. So when the polar vortex came to Boston on Thursday, I decided that I would go out in the arctic chill only if my life depends on it. Well, not quite. I did keep a doctor’s appointment Thursday and on Friday we had dinner out.

But almost every other moment, I could be found on the sofa in our sunroom under my favorite (knit by me eons ago) hunter-green afghan, a cup of herbal tea warming my hands. And now that we’ve had our last learning-in-retirement class for the semester, the book in my hand is one that I chose, not one assigned by others.

I still miss the community I had when I was working, but when the wind chill factor brings the temperature below zero degrees and I am under my hunter-green afghan, retirement doesn’t seem so bad.


Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

The comments to this entry are closed.