A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

    After my last blog entry and the continuation of anxiety and consequent loss of sleep, I'd like to think that I employed that good old tactic known as distraction. Others might perceive it as being the evolutionary flight response. We spent two days in York, staying in a hotel overnight to make sure we well and truly escaped the issues haunting us. As well as taking in its ever growing Christmas Market and a fantastic evening meal out, it was a great opportunity to visit the Art Gallery and museums when most people were choosing to indulge in that popular December pastime of Christmas shopping, enabling us to enjoy crowd-free exhibits. The latest exhibition at the art gallery is entitled "The Art of Wallpaper: Morris & Co." Humour me, I wasn't sure what to expect, but we actually found the history of wallpaper and the framed samples fascinating. Amongst our various visits, we also called in at The Yorkshire Museum. I have to say it has changed significantly si...

  We can all go through life attacking imaginary enemies if we so choose. Don Quixote tilted at windmills, but I dare say today he'd have equally mistaken a row of pylons for evil giants.  In retirement my choice has been to avoid conflict, as I try to negotiate my way to a place of calm and stress-free Karma. Unfortunately in recent weeks, it has not been so easy.  There is one chance for the floors  of our home to be reinstated properly. We have no confidence that the insurance company's contractors can deliver. Would you employ a crew used to digging holes and trenches to put everything back together again with the finesse of a master housebuilder? We are understandably running scared. Work has ground to a halt and having sought expert advice have been left even more concerned. It's just like being back at work, waking in the middle of the night to confront the worries of the next day. Even then, I doubt I ever dreamt about filling in floors nor planned conversati...

  It must be a month ago now that houses around us suddenly began to be decked out with arrays of  pumpkins, cobwebs and spiders. The most amazing thing was that this decoration took place almost entirely during the hours of darkness, so we would awake on a morning to the sight of yet another house embellished by attempted creepiness. It's all been something of a change to the relatively staid, mundane and unornamented surroundings of October in our home village, all no doubt a reflection on the contrasting demographics of the suburban outskirts where we are temporarily residing and of rural hamlets. Last week we played host to Grandotty and parents, meaning that our age statistics were more in keeping with the rest of the street. Needless to say Grandotty revelled in constant walks to see the spiders.  "Spider! Quick, quick! Run, run!" became a constant refrain. I swear I've never enjoyed (or perhaps even noticed) the run up to Halloween before. That's the great ...

   It sounded a little too good to be true when we received an email at the beginning of the week from the remediation company contracted by the insurers, suggesting that we could feasibly be back in our home by Christmas. The day dreaming began and the pace of work in the rooms upstairs that we are decorating quickened. Little by little, however, we realised the serious pitfalls of such a situation, not least because notice to terminate the lease on our temporary accommodation would need to be given this month with no certainty that we would actually be able to return as indicated. Corners would need to be cut and/or we would be returning to somewhere only half finished with no prospect of entertaining family over the Christmas holidays.  Then nightmare of nightmares, because the tenancy end date would actually be 25th December, I had visions of cleaning and clearing two houses at the point when most people might be sitting back, slippers on, waiting for Santa Claus to p...

  We returned yesterday from one of our regular trips to the Langdale Valley in the Lake District. Oh my, how it rained during our week long stay; torrentially, for days or so it seemed. It started an hour or so after we arrived late on Saturday afternoon and then continued almost unabated until Thursday when we had intermittent showers. Sunshine finally arrived on Friday when we were at last able to leave waterproofs on the peg and don T-shirts instead. Years ago, when I was working and holidays were a precious resource, a week's drenching of that magnitude would have been viewed as a vacation disaster. Even in retirement and until recently, I might have viewed it with severe disappointment. These days, less so. Living temporarily as we are on an urban housing estate, plunging ourselves into the joys of woodland living, overlooking a roaring beck with a backdrop of fells (we couldn't see anything higher for the low cloud), was an absolute delight regardless of the tempest arou...

   I spent last weekend in a one man tent at the World Yoga Festival on the showground at Henley on Thames. I confess I've never been to a festival before but on the basis that meat, never mind alcohol, was strictly forbidden I knew it would avoid the excesses that the Youngest has described to me from her own experiences at Glastonbury and beyond.  All chanting and drumming stopped by 11pm; the weather was wonderful; the ladies I went with were great company; I was exhausted from all the Yoga classes and other activities; my appetite was sated from the vegan food stalls. Regardless, I slept terribly! Maybe it was that hard bump on the ground beneath my sleeping bag but I'm convinced camping gets harder as you age.  Why put myself through the hardship? It's another dimension to my exploration of Planet Retirement and that quest for the holy grail which if it's not the meaning of life must at least be the route to its fulfilment.  When I first entered retirement,...

  Disoriented and confused; is that how travelling is meant to make us feel? It's not jetlag, when Portugal is in the same time zone as the UK and the Azores are only an hour behind. Rather, after extending both our trips with sojourns with the family to maximise time with Grandotty, I reckon that we probably only spent 5 nights at home (correction: in the rented premises) in the course of a month. Coming back now to a house where I thought we had everything sorted and at hand, I've realised that the period of time away was sufficient to totally flummox me when it comes to identifying where anything might be. Is it here and, if so where? If it is being stored, just where exactly?  Goodness, I couldn't even remember the postcode  for the property and had to look it up. Today Mister E was certain that he'd brought head torches to have to hand at the rental; think boy scout mode for power cuts. Ultimately we established that they hadn't made the journey with us, but at...

  Now summer has decided to make an appearance, we’ve been taking advantage of the warm weather. It started with a trip to the beach with the Eldest who was visiting and who kindly appointed me as camera man for his surfing antics. Then we all travelled south to spend more time with Grandotty. At 16 months her vocabulary is obviously limited, but it is amazing how much of life can be condensed down to “more” and “gone.” She also provided an incisive perspective on living in the moment. When you are coerced by a tiny tot into noticing and acknowledging every bird and bug, with a pointed finger and either a “bir” or a “bu”, you begin to be so much more aware of the world around you. I’ve stared with avid interest at a snail crawling along the patio edge, watched a bee on a garden lily, spotted a spider in the corner and lost count of the number of pigeons I’ve waved my index finger at with glee. They all move on to an accompaniment of “gone” and a plea for “more.” As an adult, the jo...

    Remember telegrams that arrived within the hour? What about first class post guaranteed to drop through the letterbox by 8am the next day in an era when there were actually two postal deliveries every morning? Are these memories that make me sound as though I've stepped out of antiquity or am instead posing as a stereotypical senior grumbler? I guess if I was half a century older, I might even recall the day when you could post a letter in the morning and it was delivered that afternoon. Too often in retirement, no longer caught up in the world of instant business communication and all the pressures that brings, I've had time to witness what seem to be retrospective steps when it comes to longstanding means for connectivity. After all, how reliable even is the telephone system now, with its digital service and voice over internet protocol? Today, however, I was impressed. There are some things that can match those memories of speedy dispatch and arrival. I speak of Amazon ...

  When I made the transition into retirement I was captivated by the knowledge that I could plan excursions to avoid peak traffic, bad weather or whatever else might intervene to impede my journey. Presumably it is now a sign of maturity that, almost ten years on, I am simply ready to accept and go with the flow. It's not that I actively seek to join a queue of traffic but I'm probably not quite so diligent in my avoidance planning. Take mid-week for example when Mister E and I squeezed in a cheeky two nights away in a country house hotel on Lake Ullswater. Of course I knew Appleby Horse Fair was in the offing but no, I didn't think to check the exact dates. The net effect of that was, of course, that we crossed the Pennines on the A66 amidst a wave of horses and ponies tugging carts and caravans. One horse, in particular was struggling to trot in a straight line, regularly crossing the white lines down the middle of the road, causing mayhem and delay on both sides of the ...

 I have been working my way through children's games that I removed from one particular cupboard at our recently vacated home. This is an area that I've attacked a couple of times already in retirement, donating unused toys and other paraphernalia to charity shops. There remained, however, a mixture of well used board games, some stemming from my own childhood but also enjoyed by the Eldest and Youngest, as well too as their collection of game-consoles and the games that they loved to play on them. There will no longer be a place for most of them in our home when we return. Was it even rational to feel attachment to these games, no matter how long we've had them as a family? Those made in the 1960's were hardly vintage boxed originals from the 1930's, but could I let them go after so long? Pragmatism crept in when I lifted the Monopoly box and it almost disintegrated in my hands. The contents looked sad and crumbling. In Cluedo the Detectives' Notes had been fil...

  To be frank, moving as we have done is a little like finding ourselves on an extended self catering holiday. Freed from the shackles of being surrounded by onerous maintenance, projects and objects, there's so much more time to devote to the business of retirement itself.  Ten miles east from our permanent home, we are ten miles closer to the sea. Consequently we have already passed two very enjoyable days at the coast in recent weeks.  The first coincided with a visit from the family including Grandotty, as well as what was probably the warmest day we've experienced so far this year. The eldest grabbed his surfboard and the rest of us picnicked on the beach as Grandotty was introduced to the pleasures of sand and waves. Inevitably, the sand found its way into her mouth, whilst she thought the waves a little daunting. Experiencing the familiar sound, smell and scenery of the shore through the reactions of a youngster, however, is on par with discovering them yourself f...

  There are times when we all deserve a little whine. Today I am taking advantage and want to moan about the rain. I know that the British predeliction for speaking about our weather is well known, but of late it is also very much well-founded. The buds bursting into green in the hedgerows and trees; our resident hare running around the adjacent field; the Spring bulbs already fading; the lighter evenings. It should all be adding up to a rapid movement towards summertime. Unfortunately cool temperatures and constant rain are spoiling everything. Indeed the farm next door seems to be growing nothing more than a crop of mud and the number of hours (not even days) that I have been able to get out into the garden can be very much counted on one hand. Today, with a dry forecast, expectations were high despite the deluge overnight. Of course, in true British fashion we ended up with a mild day ruined by strong winds. Suddenly I'm feeling envious of those who make the decision to retire t...

  Oh my. I really am disaster prone at present. I am now a regular traveller to London in order to spend time with Grandotty who celebrated her first birthday at the end of February.  I have never been a fan of city living but sacrifices have to be made when the immediate family are all in the capital. Transferring at King's Cross onto the underground and then again onto an overland train are now normality for me and all changes are generally conducted without mishap, or so I thought. Last week changed everything when the small leather hold-all I was carrying was stolen from my shoulder as I boarded the overland train. Perhaps I looked like a vulnerable country cousin come to town and was specifically targeted. Hats off to the thief (or more likely gang who crowded around me as I prepared to enter the train), I certainly didn't notice until the moment it disappeared and by which time I was being carried forward by the throng of people also accessing through the doors with me. ...

  Like every new year, January started off with so much promise. After it did its best to impede my ability to breathe let alone exercise by knocking me down with a never-ending head cold and then spent most days tossing rainwater from the sky, I can't say I'm sorry to see its departure. Of course there were the good bits, like my nephew's wedding and our week away in the Lake District, but generally speaking  I confess I'm just glad it's gone. Restored and revitalised, I want to get out and attack life again. However, I've read so much of late written by people decrying the month of January that I can't help wondering if I'm simply living in an echo chamber. After all its hardly fair to blame a period of 31 days banded together under no more than the name of a month for either my woes or the weather. I may have felt that my role as an explorer of retirement was temporarily suspended but I still made headway with some serious decluttering, totally emptyi...

  2024 started in the same way that 2023 ended: with a family gathering. On New Year's Eve we met up for a meal with the more northerly branch of Mister E's side of the family. Then, on New Year's Day, we gathered again with the Eldest and Youngest at a holiday home for 3 nights in order to attend my nephew's wedding. Are there ever happier family occasions than weddings with the opportunity to catch up, in a joyous party atmosphere, with relatives you don't see as often as you would like? Unfortunately Covid intervened to prevent my mother coming, whilst my granddaughter succumbed to chicken pox meaning that neither she nor Dilly could travel. There must be something about weddings and viruses that seem intinsically linked for us in recent years, but at least Mister E and I were unscathed this time around. Mind it could also  have been much worse as the groom had unsuspectingly visited my mother the week before and was feeling so ill on New Year's Day that we w...

  No, it may be 9th December but I haven't yet been to a Christmas  Disco. I know there's something about regressing as you age but going back to those teenage years when the whole of December seemed like one endless party isn't something I've yet subscribed to in retirement. That said, the Fitness Studio at the gym was recently upgraded to include vertical fluorescent strip lights on the walls that can be set to flash and change colour. Far superior in fact to the projected colours at the local community hall that my 15 year old self  frequented. In Keep Fit to Music the other day, the memories came flooding back, even if I was lying on the floor at the time in a hip bridge. I assure you it had nothing to do with any historic attempt at break dancing (which, in my youth, certainly hadn't caught on where I grew up). Rather, I think it was inspired by the Christmas soundtrack that the instructor had introduced by way of seasonal gesture.  All those Christmas melodies...

How do the truly elderly navigate bureaucracy? Recently I had an uncomfortable experience from checking an older relative's energy bill. Her gas and electricity come from one of our largest providers and back in August when I had conducted the same check, I submitted meter readings for her, naively thinking that her direct debit payments would be reduced because of the credit that had built up. Now why ever would I think that an energy supplier might behave decently and do this, especially for somebody whom it has listed as a vulnerable person? Yesterday it was apparent that instead not only had the direct debit payment been increased but the credit was now running into 4 figures and so far as I could see approximated a whole year's supply of energy. Not wanting to telephone, because I really can't stand those awful "Your call is important to us," messages as you hold for eternity, I decided to try the chat bot. I succinctly explained that we were looking for a re...

  Hunkering down from the wintry weather, I've picked up a piece of embroidery that I must have begun over twenty years ago, possibly just after the youngest was born. I have a vague recollection of working on it again upon the birth of a niece or nephew but essentially it has lain untouched in a drawer for two decades. Memory plays tricks, so when I saw it there I was convinced that it was almost complete, only to unfold it and discover quite the contrary. On the basis that I'm always up for a challenge in retirement and there's nothing to entice me to venture out this weekend, I decided to concentrate on endeavouring, at long last, to finish it. Clearly you don't call it cross-stitch for nothing. In fact I'd go so far as to say you don't call it cross stitch because of its shape and intersecting lines. Rather the name must surely derive from the vexing nature of pushing needle through cotton and back at the exact points required by the pattern and all the whil...

  This morning I awoke in the Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park, at Crianlarich which is often described as the Gateway to the Highlands.  I had not been kidnapped, so rising there was no surprise as Mister E and I had travelled up as part of a pre-winter visit to the Retirement Project.   I always love waking in the Scottish countryside. It doesn't matter where, as inevitably you are surrounded by the vastness of  landscape. The photographs hardly do the location justice, snatched as they were quickly on my mobile phone at first light and before Mister E scraped the ice from the windscreen and we headed westwards to the coast and marina. Whenever I stay away from home, I never cease imagining what it would be like to live in that place permanently. Retirement is obviously the perfect opportunity to relocate to the perfect fantasy destination. Accepting that downsizing may be necessary at some point, where, with an almost infinite choice, would we downsize to? ...