I have retired. Again. Not from paid employment, but from a part-time volunteer job.
A couple of years before Covid our town sponsored a Farmers Market. Less than 20 vendors signed up and braved the unknown retail environment. This summer over 60 vendors fill a church parking lot every Friday morning. A waiting list of entrepreneurs awaits an opportunity to put up canopies and tables at 5:00 am, unload boxes, set out their goods, and welcome customers. Stand holders endure heat, humidity, wind, and rain to sell local produce and handmade products, hopefully returning home with empty boxes and pockets full of cash.
I was not a retail vendor but spent Friday mornings at a stand with the slogan: old coots giving advice. Our group of mature adults answered questions from market customers of all ages. Whatever the question, four wise coots pooled their decades of experience and wisdom and offered advice on a wide variety of topics.
I enjoyed meeting and talking to visitors and tourists, part-time residents and full-timers, toddlers, teenagers, adults, and seniors. Questions ranged from – where are the bathrooms? What restaurants do you recommend for Italian/seafood/brunch, etc.? how will the Eagles do this year? – to the serious – I hate my job. Should I quit? Should I have another child? How are the local schools? How do I find a nice person to date? What is the best ice cream spot in town?
Sometimes life interferes and routines are disturbed. Suddenly Friday mornings filled with my husband Steve’s doctor appointments and other events, normally activities that would not affect my schedule. However he is temporarily unable to drive or maneuver easily.
On a sunny Saturday morning a couple of weeks ago, while walking outside minding his business, the sidewalk smacked into his body, specifically his right arm and elbow. What followed involved the police, an ambulance, emergency room visit, and doctor appointments, culminating in surgery.
Steve is currently in recovery mode and will be for most of the summer. I am his chauffeur and right-hand helpmate. Friday mornings greeting market customers and providing advice, information, and recommendations have been replaced by medical clinic waiting rooms, physical therapy sessions, and caretaker concerns.
After my recent stopover at an emergency room and follow-up visits to medical offices, I ponder a universal question: why, in this high-tech world of computers and nano-second timing, do most medical visits involve extensive wait times? Is there no app that can arrange reasonable schedules? Why do I find myself in a waiting area with enough time to play several New York Times puzzles?
I have wasted too many hours over the years, at times anxious or bored or simply tired, anticipating a doctor’s attention, waiting impatiently in a busy, packed waiting room. Finally a woman calls my name, my turn! my turn! Yeah! But my joy is short-lived.
I find myself alone in a cold office or cubicle. When will a medical person spend a couple of precious minutes face-to-face with me? Sometimes I am half-naked, having obeyed a medical assistant’s command to undress and slip on a light-weight, flimsy, easily torn piece of paper. I spend the wait time dangling my feet off a table protected by a slightly thicker sheet of white paper.
But doctors are a necessity and integrated into a senior’s life. Routine visits, emergencies, outpatient procedures, physical therapy sessions, and more are scattered throughout our calendars. I am amazed that many other things – the fun activities of a retiree’s lifestyle – are squeezed between and around a senior’s medical schedule.
No wonder I am tired. My husband’s medical needs, my medical appointments, social, recreational, and family events fill my calendar.
A life of leisure my life is not!
I would not want it any other way.