A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

Do birthdays become more or less important as you get older? I've had one this week but on the basis that it's not considered I've turned a significant age have pretty much downplayed it, or so I thought. Of course, there's always that red-letter day feeling and I treated myself by staying away from the gym (figure that one out, if you can) and avoided anything that could be deemed an obligation rather than a pleasure. Now I know cards aren't a thing anymore especially amongst the younger generations and throughout the day I received plenty of text messages to keep me buoyed, but our postman let me down big time. I think he must be carrying on  the postal workers' industrial action single handedly because we haven't seen him since Monday. That wouldn't normally bother me but this week I realised how much of a birthday tradition opening that array of coloured envelopes is, and missed glowing in the warmth generated by all the good wishes for my unique day

  Last week I handed over two large boxes of files, a laptop, scanner and other associated bits and pieces. My period as the Parish Clerk had finally ended. As I wrote in my last post, I have enjoyed undertaking the role but, after more than 7 years, am ready for a change. When I initially retired, I had a strange idea that I would wake up the next morning a changed being ready to embark on a new (to me) unconventional lifestyle. I wanted to shake off the decades of logic and pedantry; that world where you see both sides of every argument but are ready to present only one. A place where right and wrong can be very black and white and the need for focus reigns supreme. Of course, it didn't happen. In fact nothing altered for months or even years. I remained the product of straight line thinking and convoluted legislation. The inner Bohemian, if it existed, was buried deep. Try as I might, it simply wasn't easy to embrace new pathways and methodology. I followed advice on not com

  I am about to go through a second retirement. When the eldest and Dilly told us last autumn that, all being well, we were scheduled to become grandparents at the end of this month, I decided to relinquish my role as Parish Clerk. I have been in post since October 2015 and whilst a small salary is paid, it is very much a voluntary position in so far as hours worked and tasks undertaken double those contracted to be delivered. I have, however, enjoyed contributing to the community in this way and been able to put the skills learnt from my decades of legal practice to good use.  However, having been a working Mum for most of my career, I have absolutely no intention of being a working Grandma and so my notice of resignation was duly delivered. Sadly, there have been no enquiries from anyone interested in taking over the role and, honour bound, I have continued in position on the strict understanding that, replaced or not, I would not work beyond my grandchild's due date of 28th Febr

  Yesss! It's hard to know how to express my delight but today was my first time working in the garden this year. To be honest, I wasn't entirely looking forward to what I anticipated would be a somewhat chilly occasion but there are a couple of pruning jobs that have to be undertaken in February and I had resolved to start them this weekend. Conditions, however, were so delightful that I extended my time outside and did three times what I had planned. I was rewarded not only with a front garden that looks distinctly more tidy than when I started but that feeling of being alive and at one with the world.  Bulbs are peeping through, there are crocuses in bloom and tiny buds aplenty. The birds were singing loudly and I even sowed some seeds to germinate indoors. The season of rebirth is beginning and in another month or three the bare shrubs are going to be resplendent once again in green. It's hard to describe how completely uplifting the whole experience was. Spring eases i

  I know food inside packaging is shrinking as manufacturers try to convince us that the current round of price rises isn't as bad as we know it to be. But surely that shouldn't apply to books as well? "Brevity is the soul of wit," says Polonius in Shakespeare's Hamlet (an ironic point for a character who was somewhat verbose). Perhaps I'm just stumbling across particularly clever literature, but if a book length of 70 pages or so is gripping then, a little like the chocolates in the box on the supermarket shelf, I want more. Conversely if the writing is awful then you might think I've been relieved of the chore of turning too many pages. Since resolving not to stick with disappointing novels , whether it's a novella or trilogy I can, of course, just as easily ditch both at an early point. No, my complaint here is that for some curious reason the books I have been reading this year are much shorter than I had expected. I suppose that comes from taking

  It's quite common in some of the Yoga sessions I attend for the instructor to open the class with a poem. Something short and meaningful that we can hold onto. A calming theme to focus on during the practice perhaps. Maybe my mind is just too active because it doesn't always have that effect. Yesterday was one of those instances and on this occasion the poem was called "Joy Chose You," by Donna Ashworth. She has the whole piece on her Facebook page if you are interested in reading it but in it she indicates that we "usher joy away because (we) are not ready for it." Instead we can be too busy getting our home clean and tidy or trying to perfect our lives or earn money, all so that we can live happily.  Joy, Ashton points out, however, "cares nothing for your messy home, or your bank balance or your waistline." Instead she claims it works by sneaking into the "cracks of your imperfect life" so you cannot invite it in, but only be ready

  I've never been a great one for shopping although I imagine like most people I love a good deal or at least to believe that I am getting value for money. I suppose for that reason and in my previous pre-retirement life, the January Sales were always an opportunity to top up my wardrobe, linen chests and glassware too. In retirement, I still detest shopping but my relationship with stuff has also altered. I now appreciate the importance of reducing rather than accumulating and in recent years have tried various tactics in the fight against extraneous collecting.  In my wardrobe I dutifully embraced the "turn your coat hangers" method, with the intention that anything that had not been turned and therefore not worn would be recycled or donated at the end of a six month period. In so far as it worked, it was only with those items that I would probably have reduced in any event. I've also deployed the "one in, two out" system, but had to accept that buying a c