If you pay attention to the publish dates on the posts on this blog, you might wonder what happened to the writer, and why is the most recent one several years old? Well, my friends, you probably can guess the answer because I’d bet you’ve had the same thing happen: life got “lifey.”

After my mother died, it fell primarily to me to care for my very elderly father, who, in all honesty, was pretty independent for a man in his 90’s. He lived alone in the home where I grew up; he played golf every weekend, and he drove his car safely anywhere he wanted to go during daylight hours. Still. He was 92, and he was lonely. Then Covid hit, and his loneliness and isolation multiplied. I took him meals and groceries, placing them on his back steps with gloved hands and masked face. The fear of transmitting an unknown virus that was swirling around us with, at that time, unknown transmission properties, was all-consuming, and I was so scared he would get it. Remember those days? We were washing our groceries, going to senior citizen mornings at the grocery store to get the toilet paper. The fear of COVID for those of us over 60 was intense, and even moreso for those past 80.

He lasted three years and died a month shy of turning 96. I set aside everything that was not required in order to serve him in his final years. Still teaching full-time, I drove the hour-long commute from my house to his multiple times a week and every weekend. I regularly reminded myself to make those decisions “with no regrets” because I did not want him to die when I had chosen to spend time doing something for myself instead of doing something for him. Those decisions kept me from my writing, from this blog, and from social activities, but here I am now two years past, and I. Have. No. Regrets.

Which brings me to now. I retired from teaching on May 31, 2024, after a 48-year career as an educator. I had just turned 69, and I knew that I was well-past the retirement age for most teachers, but I had not been ready to give it up before. I am glad I stayed during the very strange pandemic years that will be studied well into the future. The impact on students of virtual learning, then hybrid learning, then social distancing learning – all of these made deep and lasting changes to the way students view school. The impact on teachers, though, has seldom been mentioned. Maybe one day I’ll write about that, but as I look back, I’m glad I stuck it out.

I’m also glad that I waited until life was back to normal before I retired. Fear consumed me, though, as I prepared for life as a retired person. Would I know who I was anymore without the title “teacher?” Would I lose all of my friends? Would I become a sedentary couch potato? Would I have the courage to try new things and make new friends? These thoughts crowded my brain as I got closer to the finish line, and the finish line anxiety was overwhelming. The calendars and clocks don’t stop for fear, though, and time marched on with the steady drumbeat of chores: clear out my classroom, give away hundreds of books, empty the shelves, throw away the remnants of years past. Each of these things kept me busy, but they also took me on memory trips to years and students in the past who had shared a prom picture or written a note of gratitude. While I did not keep the physical mementos, I took digital pictures and a moment for each before the toss to reflect in gratitude for the gifts of their lives and their intersection with mine.

So here I am. Retired. I’m busier than I expected, having said yes to an offer to teach a course at a local college. I am also doing some deep diving on the issue of retirement and hope to have news on that to share soon.

Entering this new phase of life is both humbling and freeing, frightening yet comfortable. I am still navigating my path, and I suspect that will be the case for some time.

We are not yet at sunset, my friends, but we are past noon. I’m glad to have you with me on this journey.

There is a universal truth that the older you get in years, the faster those years go by. Every time I see a young parent post a picture of a child with the caption “Where does the time go?” I want to respond this way:

It goes away. The measure of time doesn’t change, but what makes it fly is the amount of things you fill it with that you then try to balance. If you want to slow it down, you take some things off the schedule. You take the phone out of your hand and you talk. You go outside and you play. You go to the beach or the woods or the lake and you sit around and play games and tell stories. When your children are grown, they will remember these times, and they will come home to relive them and bring their wives and their children to experience them. This is the joy of being older, never old.

As I write this, my grown children are home for us to celebrate my mother’s 90th birthday. I am blessed at age 63 with still-living and fairly healthy parents. I know how unusual that is, so it is that I am STILL in my role as a child to return home to visit my parents. I know what this means to them, and what it means to me. I know that the desire to go home does not happen automatically, but it comes with the investment of time in the life of children when they are young.

My paternal grandfather was old for the entire time I knew him. He sat in a chair, and that’s the only way I remember him. My maternal grandmother would get on a bike and ride with me or put on silly hats and play dolls. She showed me what it means to keep the child alive inside, and it is that child that attracts other children.

So, if you are wondering how to keep the time from flying or your children from getting away from you, I’d say it very simply: nurture the child inside of you now so that the children want to come and play with YOU.

If you’re in my generation or love Oldies, you sang that title and followed it with

“You got to make the morning last – just – kickin’ down the cobblestones – lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy!” (and if you need to follow THAT with a sing-along before you continue reading, then by all means, click here and take a little song break!)

I spent so much time playing this whole album as a teen that I cannot just sing a phrase. It’s the whole song before I can move on with even a thought – and that’s only if I can remember what I was thinking before the song started playing.

These words by Simon and Garfunkel came to my mind today when for the third straight day, I stayed in bed instead of teaching school as I’ve done for 34 years. It’s because of the fever, body aches, sore throat and cough — but, still, the take-away lesson for me as I look at this unexpected interruption in a pretty peculiar year of interruptions, is that the time is coming when each day will present the choice to get up or not.

For now, I love teaching high school seniors, although I admit that I have to move very fast to keep up. Sometimes it’s good to be forced to slow down, to stay in bed, to catch up on a favorite TV show, to read a good book. When you’re in full career stride, you move fast all the time, and even though most people think teachers have the whole summer slowing down, I don’t. I move just as fast, if not faster, during the summer months.

I wonder if I might have been healthier and been able to resist the flu if I’d been a little more rested. I wonder if a three-day break would be good for all teachers between winter and spring breaks (no brainer: the answer is yes!), but I wonder most of all what it will be like when the words “Slow down, you move too fast” are no longer relevant to my life.

When that day comes, I hope people won’t be telling me to “Hurry Up, You Move Too Slow,” but, if they do, I plan to sing my reply…

Got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.

True story:

I painted a small table to go in my remodeled kitchen to create a “keeping room.” I chose a dark charcoal eggshell paint instead of black, thinking that the dark black would be too dark. 

I put numerous coats of the gray paint on the table in all of the nooks and crannies, and being a wine rack table, there were many of those.  After I had covered the table with multiple coats, I decided that black would, indeed, look better. Back to the store for more paint and a new brush.

The black did look better, and for several afternoons in a row, I painted the legs, the sides, the undersides. I turned it upside down and painted the bottom sides that nobody would ever see. I made sure that every surface was not only covered once, but got a double coat.

Finally the table was finished and completely dry. I turned it, rotated it, flipped it – checking and double-checking to make sure I had not missed a section.

I did this for a week. It was right by the back door, so every time I went in and out, I checked it.

I brought the table inside, put wine bottles in it and a lamp on top of it. I stood back and admired it. I had a party. I had another party. The table was perfect.

Until today, when I discovered that I missed a spot. A big spot. A spot right on top, on the very first rung. 

And then it hit me. This is a lot like life. You think you’ve got it all covered. You check, double-check, twist, turn, rotate and flip. You’re sure you covered everything.

But you didn’t. You missed a spot.

And instead of calling myself stupid, careless, idiotic, I pondered what lesson I could learn from that. As I’ve gotten older, I’m finding there’s a lesson in just about everything.

Instead of being annoyed because I’ve put the paint away and tossed the brush, I’m going to leave that spot just like it is. Maybe to keep me humble. Maybe to remind me I’m not perfect. Maybe to remind me that when I think I’ve checked all I need to check, to look one more time.

Because as hard as we try in life to cover all the bases, the chances are pretty darn good that we missed a spot. And we have to decide whether to start over, patch it, fix it, or leave it alone. 

Sometimes I just don’t pay attention because I don’t want to be bothered. It happens with the dust gathering in the corners of the floor of my house or on my bookshelves, the stack of things I set aside to get to one day and eventually moved to a drawer or “holding place” that is out of my daily vision, the bathroom scales, or even my bank account. I don’t want to deal with that work, those decisions, that number, those responsibilities.

When I ignore them too long, though, they have a tendency to jump up and bite me. You’d think that after so many years of living I would know this, and in the deepest part of me, I do. Yet I persist in my bubble, believing somehow that if I ignore them long enough, they will right themselves or go away.

That happened to me yesterday, and today I’m struggling with how to fix it quickly – even though I know there is no quick fix. Once again I hear a voice from my youth saying, “You got yourself into this mess, now you get yourself out.” I think that’s my mother, but it could be a teacher, my grandmother. (Those lecturing voices get fuzzy since I clearly ignored their warnings!) Yet, here I am. Figuring out how to “get myself out” of the current mess. Realizing if I had only paid attention along and along I wouldn’t be in this mess. Kicking myself for yet again ignoring something until it bit me. Frustrated that the “fix” will require the sacrifice of something I didn’t really want to give up.

Making it to the prime of life (and by “prime” I mean 60+) does not mean you get all of the answers. Sometimes it means you just kick yourself harder when you make the same mistakes. “You KNOW better! You KNOW how to avoid this!” And the voice lecturing in my head is not my mother’s or my grandmother’s. It is my own. The one I used to teach my children – my students – myself.

I wish I could say that when you reach a certain age, you don’t struggle and the answers are easier. The truth is, it’s just more frustrating when you make the same mistakes. All you can do is make the sacrifices, vow to do better, and then continue the work.

If you have a similar story, advice, or sympathy, I’d love to hear it. Right now my backside is a little sore from the kicking.

-Carol