A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  Well I never! Several years ago I changed the background and layout of this blog and in so doing and for no obvious reason lost the ability to reply to specific comments. Ever since, I've been obliged instead simply to make my own comment in response. Today and as a consequence of circumstances of which I profess no knowledge, my right to comment has suddenly returned. I know that as we get older, we are supposed to become more set in our ways and dislike change, but this is one alteration I certainly approve of and long may it last. Whilst referring to change, a main topic of discussion at the gym this morning was inevitably the weather. There was a general concurrence that this week we appear to be edging noticeably towards autumn. Now that's a change I honestly don't like too much, especially when we waited so long for summer sunshine to make an appearance this year. Of course August is rushing by, the nights are definitely getting darker sooner and before we know it,

  My vegetable patch has been notably absent from this blog and indeed my life this summer. Before we vacated our home, I planted potatoes and onions and then left it. Forays back to the garden have been made only to harvest new potatoes and shallots as well as from the fruit trees. Sadly whilst the trees are doing us proud, mainly because of the lack of wasps this year, the harvest from the ground has so far proved disappointing. It demonstrates, I suppose, that my regular presence is indeed required to administer tender loving care in the form of a watering can and fertiliser, as needed. That said, and however much I enjoy gardening, it has been a boon not to feel tied down in the servitude of peas and cabbages. So much so, that I have now even been devising plans for next years vegetable beds which might see two or three of them taken out of action. I have a feeling that displays of colourful blooms amongst the edible crops might be easier on the back, require less man hours to cult

   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, burn ou

  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

  Our final stop and the fourth out of the nine islands that make up the Azores was Terceira. We based ourselves in Angra do Heroismo, the most important city in the Azores historically and with a certain period charm and grace that we had not identified on our other stops.  All of the islands have their own individual characteristics and just when you think that you cannot imagine there being anything unique on another trip to view volcanic craters, you are proved wrong. This time, I actually entered a inside a dormant volcano vent and even ventured through ancient lava tunnels. The celebrations for the Festival of the Holy Spirit continued here too but unlike the parades in Ponta Delgada , we encountered White Night when everyone wore white and a band played in the town square.  Terceira is also known for its bull fighting and running where the bull remains tethered to a long rope and is not killed. Although there were instances of both taking place during our visit, we did not seek

   We made the journey to and from the Island of Pico by ferry. As well as its volcano, Pico is known for being the main wine producing island of the Azores. That volcano seems to attract cloud constantly, denying a view of itself and resulting, during our visit, in some rain. Many people stay on Pico with the aim of following a  guide to the summit of the volcano and the island has any number of walking trails. Obviously we walked a lot during our trip but if an island is known for its wine then it's fair to say that's what you want to see, or am I just strange? To cope with the sea air, thin soil and wind, the island developed its own technique for growing vines in a series of  "currals" which are small rectangles or circles constructed from volcanic rock. In fact it's claimed that there are so many of these structures on Pico that if laid end to end they would stretch twice around the circumference of the Earth. The salt and mineral content of the ground is obv

    Back in 1980, I read "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe," Douglas Adams' sequel to "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." Like most books that I've read, I now remember very little about the plot, but at the time and in the ensuing years it continued to evoke a feeling of a place perched on the edge of time and space which all manner of life forms from different civilisations frequented.   I recalled the reactions that the descriptions induced when visiting Jema el-Fnaa, the square in the centre of Marrakech. It provides a gathering point between two worlds at the threshold of the Sahara where the people, sights and sounds converge to create a unique encounter for the visitor.  Moving on from Sao Miguel described in my last post we arrived in Horta on Faial. Immediately that awareness of the boundary on the rim of the familiar world was invoked again. In the past Horta provided a stop-over for trade ships ploughing across the Atlantic Ocean