As Gladys Knight and her Pips sang, lo, those many years ago, we're gettin' "right down to the real nitty gritty," folks.
Only 24 days left until retirement! I don't want to seem anxious or anything, but I AM READY!!! I've had to meet deadlines for, let's see, 44 years or so, and I'll be happier than a puppy in a roomful of rubber balls not to have to worry about them anymore.
Of course, some people think that when one retires, one stops any sort of activity whatsoever, shrivels up and then dies. In my humble opinion, those are the individuals who live to work rather than work to live. Most of my career, I have enjoyed what I have done for a living, but generally I am a work-to-liver. Early on, I was a work-to-appendix, then a work-to-gall-bladder, but after a time I got promoted....
My friend James says he'll never retire; he couldn't stand doing nothing all day. I tell him I probably won't be able to stand doing nothing all day, too, but I'm certainly open minded and willing to give it a try -- at least for a couple of weeks or until Patmywife gets fed up with having to vacuum me off the furniture every second Thursday and flyswatters me into moving from the recliner to the sofa. Whichever comes first. Plus, I tell James, I'm not retiring just so I'll never have to move another muscle again. I'm retiring to focus my muscle movement on other things.
I want to write the Great American Novel, or if not that, perhaps the mediocre Norwegian crotch book. I want to pass along to young people my vast storehouse of experience in ways NOT to do things. I want to learn to speak Spanish that's at least a little more acceptable for polite company than what I picked up in the clubs in Old San Juan. I want to make love under the palms among the sand fleas on the beach in Isla Roatan -- preferably to Patmywife.
Or, maybe we can just dance....
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