Hauntings

Each year about this time, those ghosts of Christmas Past start floating around in my head. The things you could have done better, the things you wish had never happened, and the anticipation that always manifested as pressure instead of joy.

This year's spectres are different. For one, I'm not working full time (Look, everyone, look. See how Lee avoids saying 'retired.'). That automatically creates a smaller scale to preparations. No, the chief difference is these haints are retirement related. I see my father, who retired from the Department of Commerce, moved with Fern--his second wife--to Florida, and gradually fell apart. He didn't last ten years. Then my mother shows up. She lasted longer, her disintegration complicated by alcoholism. What I see is her apartments, all three of them, looking roughly as though she lived in rooms the movers never unpacked.

Now, remember, I just moved downstairs to save a bit of money (views cost--rather, lack of them doesn't), and for a couple of days I moved through my rooms by sidling around boxes, climbing over the vacuum cleaner. Locking the door and going for a walk seemed a pretty good way of dealing with the mess! Ignoring the kitchen seemed a pretty good way of handling the fact that, aside from the dishwasher, my first since 1997, it sucked. Much smaller and with less storage than my kitchen up on the seventh floor where the views were good, there was no way I could deal with this kitchen. O.M.G., I've become my parents!

Not.

With determination, I rolled up my sleeves and attacked that useless kitchen. I decided that I'd just put things away, starting with the most important items, until I ran out of room. Then I found two little wall jogs and installed shelves. Crock pot, yogurt maker, electric fry pan, blender, food processor went on top of the cupboards. The plates left over, that extra set of bowls, and most of the coffee mug collection went to the Resale shop at church. Then I did the same thing with the linen closet. How many sets of towels does a person need? Next came the wall art...not gonna rehang the faded prints, other pieces seemed not to reflect what I wanted to put on the walls now.

In short, I weeded. Stealing a page from one of those HGTV organizing shows, I made three piles: Keep, Discard, Donate. Closet, bookshelf, dresser drawers, even the spice rack. Most of those herbs and spices lose their oomph after about a year, and besides, many were purchased years ago for use in exotic dishes (I'm still wondering about the unopened bottle of Fish Sauce in the pantry--why did I buy it?). It is kind of fun to be ruthless with your extra possessions. And it has the salubrious effect of making you industrious.

OK. Becoming my mother? Only the good parts remain, like sense of humor, laughter, things like that.

Dad's ghost? That's taking some more time. Someone told me, just after I moved to Alaska, that unless you had a plan in place to be involved in some winter activity, you'd really be socked by the winter's length. That activity could be skiing or symphony concert, but the key was to have planned, scheduled activity on the horizon. So far, with the move and all, I haven't gotten out to my Wednesdays at Habitat. But I have been working my part time job on Thursdays, attending choir rehearsals on Mondays, showing up to support ordinance changes surrounding foreclosure in the city. The summer will find me back in Alaska; much of the first four months of the year will have me preparing. I'm working on it.

These strategies are not necessarily news. It's the action that keeps those retirement books coming. I spend a lot of time worrying about what to do, thinking about it, asking and trying to answer questions in my head. It would be easier, those books say, if I'd just step up to the plate and swing, but I'd bet good money that the on-deck circle is littered with worry and thought and questions. (Can we spell self justification?)

Self forgiveness would be a better thing to spell. The process of forming my retirement is, well, processing. For me, time and quiet are needed, required, to absorb change. With Christmas only a few days off, I've gotten the apartment to within a day of where I want it to be. I'll cook a dinner on Saturday for guests, we'll converse and laugh around the table, and the day will be full.

It's a good start.