Many people have trouble with retirement. The abrupt change shakes them up. The sudden isolation, the lack of structure, the sameness of each day, the boredom -- it can all hit hard.
But for me, the switch to retirement was easy. Most law faculty juggle two substantive areas in their teaching. I was juggling four and two of them were fairly new additions. Keeping up with legal developments was so time consuming that I stopped reading for pleasure. Completely. I just read law. Weeknights, week ends -- it didn't matter. Law and more law. Retirement was one big exhale.
I had a retirement agenda for myself: travel more, read for pleasure, write more.
That agenda lasted exactly one month. Right after I retired, Ed backed out of travel, causing me to rethink my frequent departures. I became less adventures and never stayed away for long. So now it was a retirement filled with farmette work, occasional ocean crossings and plenty of reading/writing.
Then, within a year of retirement, Snowdrop was born.
At first, I would go over to the young family's home (from day one!) and give the parents much needed respite from child care. And when Snowdrop grew to be a year and a half, she started school and I began to bring her to the farmhouse after her mornings at Montessori.
I found that I loved having her here. Ed was around, of course, which gave the place a layer of mischief. But, too, it was our space and integrating her into our setting added a playful whimsy to this place. I began to acquire toys that I thought would suit Snowdrop's temperament. And books -- so many books!
Sparrow began coming here even earlier -- before he even started school. And over time, the front room became 100% her playroom, then their playroom, and the sun room, where Ed and I once ate a winter breakfast, now became their art room, and the living room, mostly free of toys (one has to preserve some order!) nonetheless has stacks of their books and puzzles everywhere. And a toy car, just because they like to occasionally mess with riding it around the living room floor. And a toy whistle, which has been variously used -- to wake up Ed, to announce the closure of the hair cutting salon, and just occasionally to be loud.
Upstairs, the guest room had a crib added (which is now switched to a little kid bed) and within that tiny space (it's a really small room!) we also squeezed in a pack-and-play, so now when Primrose visits or Sparrow stays over, everyone has a safe place to sleep.
Our kitchen has kid dishes and forks and cups everywhere. Our pantry has kid favorites on all the shelves. My grocery deliveries are made with an eye toward them: her beloved fruits, his broccoli cheese puffs, their heart shaped ginger snaps (they always take two each for the car ride home).
In other words, the farmhouse and more importantly, my life after Snowdrop was born (and then Primrose and then Sparrow) was transformed. The kids filled every corner, every little space, and they filled my days, and now the orange couch is their couch and the playroom carpets -- their carpets and my big desk -- their drawing table and I travel less and less and nearly all my days have become farmhouse grandma days.
Then along came COVID -19.
Most grandparents I know suffered terribly when it became clear that seniors are at great risk with this infection. Contact with young families became limited. For grandparents who lived a greater distance, just getting to their kids' and grandkids' homes became impossible. I know many, many granparents who haven't seen their young families since winter.
I was lucky. Both my daughters and their husbands could work remotely. Everyone was within driving distance. So long as the kids weren't going to school and the families could isolate, I was able to be with them. As you know, (because I've said it often enough here!) this now changes. With schools, sitters and work schedules in place, I have to fade to the sidelines. Kids can't come here anymore.
But for me, the switch to retirement was easy. Most law faculty juggle two substantive areas in their teaching. I was juggling four and two of them were fairly new additions. Keeping up with legal developments was so time consuming that I stopped reading for pleasure. Completely. I just read law. Weeknights, week ends -- it didn't matter. Law and more law. Retirement was one big exhale.
I had a retirement agenda for myself: travel more, read for pleasure, write more.
That agenda lasted exactly one month. Right after I retired, Ed backed out of travel, causing me to rethink my frequent departures. I became less adventures and never stayed away for long. So now it was a retirement filled with farmette work, occasional ocean crossings and plenty of reading/writing.
Then, within a year of retirement, Snowdrop was born.
At first, I would go over to the young family's home (from day one!) and give the parents much needed respite from child care. And when Snowdrop grew to be a year and a half, she started school and I began to bring her to the farmhouse after her mornings at Montessori.
I found that I loved having her here. Ed was around, of course, which gave the place a layer of mischief. But, too, it was our space and integrating her into our setting added a playful whimsy to this place. I began to acquire toys that I thought would suit Snowdrop's temperament. And books -- so many books!
Sparrow began coming here even earlier -- before he even started school. And over time, the front room became 100% her playroom, then their playroom, and the sun room, where Ed and I once ate a winter breakfast, now became their art room, and the living room, mostly free of toys (one has to preserve some order!) nonetheless has stacks of their books and puzzles everywhere. And a toy car, just because they like to occasionally mess with riding it around the living room floor. And a toy whistle, which has been variously used -- to wake up Ed, to announce the closure of the hair cutting salon, and just occasionally to be loud.
Upstairs, the guest room had a crib added (which is now switched to a little kid bed) and within that tiny space (it's a really small room!) we also squeezed in a pack-and-play, so now when Primrose visits or Sparrow stays over, everyone has a safe place to sleep.
Our kitchen has kid dishes and forks and cups everywhere. Our pantry has kid favorites on all the shelves. My grocery deliveries are made with an eye toward them: her beloved fruits, his broccoli cheese puffs, their heart shaped ginger snaps (they always take two each for the car ride home).
In other words, the farmhouse and more importantly, my life after Snowdrop was born (and then Primrose and then Sparrow) was transformed. The kids filled every corner, every little space, and they filled my days, and now the orange couch is their couch and the playroom carpets -- their carpets and my big desk -- their drawing table and I travel less and less and nearly all my days have become farmhouse grandma days.
Then along came COVID -19.
Most grandparents I know suffered terribly when it became clear that seniors are at great risk with this infection. Contact with young families became limited. For grandparents who lived a greater distance, just getting to their kids' and grandkids' homes became impossible. I know many, many granparents who haven't seen their young families since winter.
I was lucky. Both my daughters and their husbands could work remotely. Everyone was within driving distance. So long as the kids weren't going to school and the families could isolate, I was able to be with them. As you know, (because I've said it often enough here!) this now changes. With schools, sitters and work schedules in place, I have to fade to the sidelines. Kids can't come here anymore.
And though I am not complaining -- I've had a wonderful spring and summer -- nonetheless I am noting how abrupt and weird (and yes, sad) the change is for me: everything at the farmhouse is geared to having kids here. The structure remains. Missing are the kids.
The feeling of emptiness is familiar: when each of my daughters went off to college, the abruptness of that change was punishing. In Europe, you're not so cut off from family at the magic moment you enter the university. Most parents and kids do not have to hop on an airplane to see each other. In the U.S., we send our kids off and hope for the best, knowing that it will be a long time before we can reenter their lives in a meaningful way again.
Right now, it's obvious that this mega change in our lives has been brought on by the pandemic. But it is also true that mini changes were already on the horizon. Because Snowdrop is starting public school this year and Sparrow was still to be at Montessori, visits to the farmhouse would have had to have been adjusted. Snowdrop may have wanted more time at home. Sparrow may have rebelled against so much time in the car, scooting between his school, her school, farmhouse and home. I'm just guessing, of course, but it seems likely that the steady drumbeat of kids being dropped off here at the farmhouse most every day of their lives would need an adjustment in a year or two or three.
Still, right now I am lost in their world here of toys, of stacks of books, stacks of drawings (so many flying pigs!), with her babes -- Rosie, Bluebell, Clover, Apple, Moana -- and his "family of three" along with the two Frozen Duplo girls which he loves with a passion.
If I remember correctly from college drop off days, it takes 48 hours for the heaviness to lift somewhat, after which you start counting down the days toward the kids' next visit! So, I'm waiting for the heaviness to lift. Somewhat.
And what's cookin' at the farmette? Well, nothing is the same, even as to the outside observer, nothing has changed. We are bemoaning the disappearance (second day now) of the cat, Friendly no.2. Also, Ed has turned off the water and is attempting to fix the water heater.
We have a late breakfast where I stare sadly at the two flower stems picked yesterday by Snowdrop...
(What's blooming in the garden? A lot of gold!)
And the afternoon? Well, it sprinkled. Not much of a help to the plants out there, but the small weather front matched my mood: gray, with a chance of tears.
In other news -- Ed took on the water heater today. Several leaks and a death sentence.
How old is it? -- the manufacturer's rep asked the other day.
Twenty two years -- Ed replies.
You realize that the life span of these things is about ten year?
My personal views on such things as water heaters in the basement is that when you're nearing seventy and the average life expectancy in this country is low eighties, you should bite the bullet and get that new heater now. This is not Ed's view. He aspires to extend the life of the current leaky machine for another -- oh, I don't know -- week? Year? Decade maybe?
Still, machines are Ed's thing and so I agree to fill a couple of pots with water while he messes with pipes and sealants in the basement. And wouldn't you know it -- he pulls it off! For a week or a year or a decade, we will continue to have hot water.
In the late afternoon, I pull him out for a walk. I need to leave the house so that I can get my mind off of all the books I want to be reading with the kids and art projects I love to watch unfold in the art room.
The bugs are gone for the season and so we head out to our county park. Last time we were here the fields were covered with purple bee balm. Today? Oh, the goldenrod dominates for sure! With a heavy splash of tickseed.
I suggest a selfie. He has a yellow shirt, I have a yellow sweater, we pose before a field of gold.
No, wait, switch sides, he tells me. You're on the lower end of a hill. I'm even taller than normal.
I have to smile at that. Most of you know that Ed and I met on match.com. Except we almost did not meet. I'd put up a profile (you need some wine assist to write good stuff, though not so much that you will regret what you wrote in the morning). He was doing a search, having decided at just exactly the same time as I did that he needed new people in his life. He put in some filters. One stands out: only women over 5 ft 5 inches. Understandable. He's a big guy! Then he decided it sounded better if he wrote 5ft 5 inches or taller.
I stand at 5 ft 5 inches. Had he not edited (on an impulse!) his wording, we would have never met.
(Who needs to pay to walk through cultivated gardens when you have this, for free...)
(Riding the motorbike home, we note that there is that chance of rain. You can see it coming in from the west, right over the new development. Except.... we get nothing from it. Nothing at all. Just a cool breeze and pouting sky.)
So ends the first day of total farmhouse quiet. And here's something that hasn't changed: a Monday dinner of leftovers, a crime drama (though we're hooked on an Australian series at the moment), popcorn.
And here's another thing that never changes: my total love for my kids and grandkids. And of course that guy in the yellow t-shirt, currently occupying more than his fair share of the couch.
The feeling of emptiness is familiar: when each of my daughters went off to college, the abruptness of that change was punishing. In Europe, you're not so cut off from family at the magic moment you enter the university. Most parents and kids do not have to hop on an airplane to see each other. In the U.S., we send our kids off and hope for the best, knowing that it will be a long time before we can reenter their lives in a meaningful way again.
Right now, it's obvious that this mega change in our lives has been brought on by the pandemic. But it is also true that mini changes were already on the horizon. Because Snowdrop is starting public school this year and Sparrow was still to be at Montessori, visits to the farmhouse would have had to have been adjusted. Snowdrop may have wanted more time at home. Sparrow may have rebelled against so much time in the car, scooting between his school, her school, farmhouse and home. I'm just guessing, of course, but it seems likely that the steady drumbeat of kids being dropped off here at the farmhouse most every day of their lives would need an adjustment in a year or two or three.
Still, right now I am lost in their world here of toys, of stacks of books, stacks of drawings (so many flying pigs!), with her babes -- Rosie, Bluebell, Clover, Apple, Moana -- and his "family of three" along with the two Frozen Duplo girls which he loves with a passion.
If I remember correctly from college drop off days, it takes 48 hours for the heaviness to lift somewhat, after which you start counting down the days toward the kids' next visit! So, I'm waiting for the heaviness to lift. Somewhat.
And what's cookin' at the farmette? Well, nothing is the same, even as to the outside observer, nothing has changed. We are bemoaning the disappearance (second day now) of the cat, Friendly no.2. Also, Ed has turned off the water and is attempting to fix the water heater.
We have a late breakfast where I stare sadly at the two flower stems picked yesterday by Snowdrop...
(What's blooming in the garden? A lot of gold!)
And the afternoon? Well, it sprinkled. Not much of a help to the plants out there, but the small weather front matched my mood: gray, with a chance of tears.
In other news -- Ed took on the water heater today. Several leaks and a death sentence.
How old is it? -- the manufacturer's rep asked the other day.
Twenty two years -- Ed replies.
You realize that the life span of these things is about ten year?
My personal views on such things as water heaters in the basement is that when you're nearing seventy and the average life expectancy in this country is low eighties, you should bite the bullet and get that new heater now. This is not Ed's view. He aspires to extend the life of the current leaky machine for another -- oh, I don't know -- week? Year? Decade maybe?
Still, machines are Ed's thing and so I agree to fill a couple of pots with water while he messes with pipes and sealants in the basement. And wouldn't you know it -- he pulls it off! For a week or a year or a decade, we will continue to have hot water.
In the late afternoon, I pull him out for a walk. I need to leave the house so that I can get my mind off of all the books I want to be reading with the kids and art projects I love to watch unfold in the art room.
The bugs are gone for the season and so we head out to our county park. Last time we were here the fields were covered with purple bee balm. Today? Oh, the goldenrod dominates for sure! With a heavy splash of tickseed.
I suggest a selfie. He has a yellow shirt, I have a yellow sweater, we pose before a field of gold.
No, wait, switch sides, he tells me. You're on the lower end of a hill. I'm even taller than normal.
I have to smile at that. Most of you know that Ed and I met on match.com. Except we almost did not meet. I'd put up a profile (you need some wine assist to write good stuff, though not so much that you will regret what you wrote in the morning). He was doing a search, having decided at just exactly the same time as I did that he needed new people in his life. He put in some filters. One stands out: only women over 5 ft 5 inches. Understandable. He's a big guy! Then he decided it sounded better if he wrote 5ft 5 inches or taller.
I stand at 5 ft 5 inches. Had he not edited (on an impulse!) his wording, we would have never met.
(Who needs to pay to walk through cultivated gardens when you have this, for free...)
(Riding the motorbike home, we note that there is that chance of rain. You can see it coming in from the west, right over the new development. Except.... we get nothing from it. Nothing at all. Just a cool breeze and pouting sky.)
So ends the first day of total farmhouse quiet. And here's something that hasn't changed: a Monday dinner of leftovers, a crime drama (though we're hooked on an Australian series at the moment), popcorn.
And here's another thing that never changes: my total love for my kids and grandkids. And of course that guy in the yellow t-shirt, currently occupying more than his fair share of the couch.
