Yesterday, I wrote a Poetry Friday post on Thursday. While writing it, I truly thought it was Friday. My days are mixed up due to travel. Over the last week, we travelled home to Wisconsin from a trip to see my parents in Western New York, where they live in a small college town bordered by the famous Erie Canal.
Daily events no longer mark time for my husband and I. He retired in 2018 and I retired the following year (2019) from a very brief (nine month) return to work right after he left his job. The pandemic and its social distancing requirements have let us more easily adjust to a new routine as a retired couple. I’d go as far to say it has been an unexpected benefit of having to spend more time at home.
But when days are no longer defined by a work schedule or school schedule, they tend to blend together. Each day is a blessing, no less or no more. It is how we use those days that count not what they are labelled as being. It no longer matters whether it is a Sunday or a Wednesday.
On Being Retired
Days of the Week
no longer speak
to fill us with the
routine we once sought.
Time, you see, cannot be bought.
It travels with the Earth, as
Each rotation claims
Our day and night,
without an exchange.
Time to ponder,
Time to act,
Time to pet our pussy cat.
Being retired is unlabelled time,
that let’s you decide
what you
find sublime.
The constant of time is
not in its passing,
it’s choosing what
to do with it
that makes it everlasting.
© Carol Labuzzetta, 2021
Or totally dote on the cat.
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Yes! That’s always fun!
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