RETIREMENT
So, we're about 8 months into retirement now. So how is it?
Buggered if we know; we're too busy doing shit to think about that!
The house renovations have stalled; we simply haven't had time. And when we DID have time, the tradies didn't get back to us.
"Yeah, no probs. We'll get a quote back to you in a coupla days". Never happened.
So, OK ... next year maybe.
Meanwhile, since I last wrote, we've had two weeks in Broome, two weeks in Bali, an 11-day Cairns to Cairns cruise, 6 days in FNQ with my brother and sister-in-law. In 6 weeks we fly to the USA: LA, Vegas, NYC, WA State, home about 3/1/17.
Then 11/1/17 (That's 11 Jan, 1 November for my American friends!), we cruise from Sydney to South America (38 days).
Home on 22 Feb and out again for a cruise NYC up the east coast to the St Lawrence Seaway and Quebec and Montreal in early May.
But then ... NOTHING! :-(
Thinking we may have to ride the bike over east again in, say, August/September.
So, renovations and house sale?
Yeah, whatever!
30 October 2016
14 May 2016
Almost lost it!
We swore to each other that when we retired we would finally take the time to smell the roses and enjoy ourselves; enjoy just being together, as we've done since we first met.
Our plan was to continue to renovate the house, to enable us to downsize into something on a smaller block than we have now (1001 sq m!). It's too much, and we both no longer want to be tied to a constant round of gardening, maintenance, repairs on a house of 4x2, two-storey, formal and casual dining, family room, parents' lounge, formal lounge, games room/study/theatre room ... well, you get the picture.
So we went licketty-split into it. I finished repainting the interior, patched and repaired cracks, replaced taps and bathroom features, repainted bathroom cabinets ... we arranged for sparkies and plumbers, handymen and chippies; Dearly Beloved gardened her arse off; we sorted cupboards, filing cabinets, clothes ... you name it.
Then we got real estate agents in for appraisals and valuations, and started looking at possible houses. "This one's fabulous, but in a crap area!"; "This one's great but needs work and we don't want that"; "I'd give a left knacker for this one, but it's simply $100k more than we can hope to have"; "If you want this one, put in an offer because the owners are putting it out to lease this week unless there is an offer"; "This one's been repainted to sell by a left-handed, vision-deficient Parkinson's sufferer ... you'd have to repaint the entire house before you even started!"
And then today the penny dropped. We're doing everything we said we wouldn't do! We're putting ourselves under huge amounts of stress when we don't have to. There is no race to move. If it takes six months or nine months or a year ... who cares? We have the time. We can do something simple each day if we feel like it. If not, we can simply say "Screw it" and get on the bike and go away for a weekend or a week or whatever -- we only have to please ourselves.
We were both so happy with that realisation that I cracked a bottle of Ciao Bella prosecco tonight and we made a toast to us!
Now, let me see ... weekend accommodation in Albany ... or Geraldton ... or Kalgoorlie ...
We swore to each other that when we retired we would finally take the time to smell the roses and enjoy ourselves; enjoy just being together, as we've done since we first met.
Our plan was to continue to renovate the house, to enable us to downsize into something on a smaller block than we have now (1001 sq m!). It's too much, and we both no longer want to be tied to a constant round of gardening, maintenance, repairs on a house of 4x2, two-storey, formal and casual dining, family room, parents' lounge, formal lounge, games room/study/theatre room ... well, you get the picture.
So we went licketty-split into it. I finished repainting the interior, patched and repaired cracks, replaced taps and bathroom features, repainted bathroom cabinets ... we arranged for sparkies and plumbers, handymen and chippies; Dearly Beloved gardened her arse off; we sorted cupboards, filing cabinets, clothes ... you name it.
Then we got real estate agents in for appraisals and valuations, and started looking at possible houses. "This one's fabulous, but in a crap area!"; "This one's great but needs work and we don't want that"; "I'd give a left knacker for this one, but it's simply $100k more than we can hope to have"; "If you want this one, put in an offer because the owners are putting it out to lease this week unless there is an offer"; "This one's been repainted to sell by a left-handed, vision-deficient Parkinson's sufferer ... you'd have to repaint the entire house before you even started!"
And then today the penny dropped. We're doing everything we said we wouldn't do! We're putting ourselves under huge amounts of stress when we don't have to. There is no race to move. If it takes six months or nine months or a year ... who cares? We have the time. We can do something simple each day if we feel like it. If not, we can simply say "Screw it" and get on the bike and go away for a weekend or a week or whatever -- we only have to please ourselves.
We were both so happy with that realisation that I cracked a bottle of Ciao Bella prosecco tonight and we made a toast to us!
Now, let me see ... weekend accommodation in Albany ... or Geraldton ... or Kalgoorlie ...
06 April 2016
Now we're getting serious!
So, I've just turned 66 and I'm officially retired.
Everything is suddenly arse-about-face. I feel guilty because I'm not going to work. I still think to myself, "When I go back to work, I have to ... ", before realising I'm not and I don't have to! I almost said to Dearly Beloved one night when we were having a pre-dinner drink, "Remember this, because when you're back at work you'll look back on it" ... until it sank in. There IS no more work. I'm no longer employed. On my Immigration form under "Occupation" I can no longer write "Managing Editor"; it's suddenly "Retired".
Don't get me wrong ... I've been working for 49 years, and DB and I have made sure we're not going to be a burden on society financially. But there's still all this knowledge and experience inside me trying to find a way to get out. I will NOT sit around and vegetate exactly the way my father did when he retired!
What do we do, then? Well, we want to sell up and downsize, so there's a house to repaint and renovate and get ready for the market. (Did I mention I hate painting?)
And there's travel. Yes, as I've said, DB and I are addicted. Trouble is, of course, the income is no longer anywhere near what it used to be. Suddenly, I have to be a little more aware of "specials" and perhaps frills-free travel. But we'll still manage something.
Same with wine and scotch -- two of my favourites. Bit less quality, bit less volume and a whole lot less expense. Not happy about it, but reality is reality. (But don't expect to see me drinking Johnny Walker red any time soon!)
What would I like to do now? Ideally, pass on my love of language. I'd like to help people be more precise, more concise, more correct and more ... respectful of their language. So being a lecturer/facilitator on better writing, better English, more concise and precise English would be a dream realised. Or I'd just settle for volunteer work trying to pass on my love and respect for our language.
In the meantime, I'll sand and paint and scrape and fill and smooth ... and wish I was doing something else.
As for the bigger picture -- growing old with its inevitable physical and mental decline -- may I just say "Fuck it!"
I am reminded of this:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I'm not going anywhere gently!
So, I've just turned 66 and I'm officially retired.
Everything is suddenly arse-about-face. I feel guilty because I'm not going to work. I still think to myself, "When I go back to work, I have to ... ", before realising I'm not and I don't have to! I almost said to Dearly Beloved one night when we were having a pre-dinner drink, "Remember this, because when you're back at work you'll look back on it" ... until it sank in. There IS no more work. I'm no longer employed. On my Immigration form under "Occupation" I can no longer write "Managing Editor"; it's suddenly "Retired".
Don't get me wrong ... I've been working for 49 years, and DB and I have made sure we're not going to be a burden on society financially. But there's still all this knowledge and experience inside me trying to find a way to get out. I will NOT sit around and vegetate exactly the way my father did when he retired!
What do we do, then? Well, we want to sell up and downsize, so there's a house to repaint and renovate and get ready for the market. (Did I mention I hate painting?)
And there's travel. Yes, as I've said, DB and I are addicted. Trouble is, of course, the income is no longer anywhere near what it used to be. Suddenly, I have to be a little more aware of "specials" and perhaps frills-free travel. But we'll still manage something.
Same with wine and scotch -- two of my favourites. Bit less quality, bit less volume and a whole lot less expense. Not happy about it, but reality is reality. (But don't expect to see me drinking Johnny Walker red any time soon!)
What would I like to do now? Ideally, pass on my love of language. I'd like to help people be more precise, more concise, more correct and more ... respectful of their language. So being a lecturer/facilitator on better writing, better English, more concise and precise English would be a dream realised. Or I'd just settle for volunteer work trying to pass on my love and respect for our language.
In the meantime, I'll sand and paint and scrape and fill and smooth ... and wish I was doing something else.
As for the bigger picture -- growing old with its inevitable physical and mental decline -- may I just say "Fuck it!"
I am reminded of this:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
I'm not going anywhere gently!
27 March 2016
Ugly Aussies
I've always been, quietly, proud to be Australian. I don't wave flags or tattoo myself with the Southern Cross or put a "Straya: Love it or leave" sticker on my car. I was just proud of what we were and what we had done in the world.
Dearly Beloved and I have just returned from a 26-day cruise: Fremantle to Fremantle, including Bali, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and Malaysia. We're both disappointed, and appalled, by what we saw on the ship. We saw the Ugly Australian.
Let me say I'm no middle class snob: I was born very firmly working class Australian. But my Mum and Dad were also very strict on the "right" way to behave in society.
So let me make a few observations:
"Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi" is a bloody abomination. Stop it. You do NOT shout it out, very loudly, in a ship's dining room to see which moron answers.
"Smart casual" dining wear is NOT the black thongs and Bintang T-shirt.
Tatts are definitely your personal choice ... but I don't want to see them, especially, ladies, if they're in places that could be described as "intimate".
It's not really OK to walk around the ship with a beer in a stubby cubby and another one tucked in a pocket or (even worse) under an armpit. FFS, if you want a drink, buy one at the bar, like normal people.
Shouting does not make you funnier. Nor does dropping the "f" and "c" words in front of my wife. Next time, I WILL react, even if it means I'll get punched out.
No, you did NOT "bargain the little Bali c**t" down to $30AUD for a genuine Apple watch. You're a moron; it will not work, and somewhere a Balinese merchant is toasting your utter stupidity.
If you must wear thongs, at least have a pedicure!
No, the crew are not "funny little people" to be patronised and patted on the head; they are human beings like everyone else, with families and worries and concerns the same as the rest of us.
No, it's not OK to "touch test" the fruit and vegies in the buffet to see if they're "OK".
Pushing someone (quite literally) out of the way to get a glass of free champagne at the Captain's speech night is not acceptable. Nor is taking 4 or 6 glasses and "stockpiling" them. When did greed become King?
Enough! Basta!
I know I shouldn't whinge because I am privileged enough to have been able to afford the trip in the first place.
But, Dear Lord, must we demean ourselves quite so much?
I've always been, quietly, proud to be Australian. I don't wave flags or tattoo myself with the Southern Cross or put a "Straya: Love it or leave" sticker on my car. I was just proud of what we were and what we had done in the world.
Dearly Beloved and I have just returned from a 26-day cruise: Fremantle to Fremantle, including Bali, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and Malaysia. We're both disappointed, and appalled, by what we saw on the ship. We saw the Ugly Australian.
Let me say I'm no middle class snob: I was born very firmly working class Australian. But my Mum and Dad were also very strict on the "right" way to behave in society.
So let me make a few observations:
"Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi" is a bloody abomination. Stop it. You do NOT shout it out, very loudly, in a ship's dining room to see which moron answers.
"Smart casual" dining wear is NOT the black thongs and Bintang T-shirt.
Tatts are definitely your personal choice ... but I don't want to see them, especially, ladies, if they're in places that could be described as "intimate".
It's not really OK to walk around the ship with a beer in a stubby cubby and another one tucked in a pocket or (even worse) under an armpit. FFS, if you want a drink, buy one at the bar, like normal people.
Shouting does not make you funnier. Nor does dropping the "f" and "c" words in front of my wife. Next time, I WILL react, even if it means I'll get punched out.
No, you did NOT "bargain the little Bali c**t" down to $30AUD for a genuine Apple watch. You're a moron; it will not work, and somewhere a Balinese merchant is toasting your utter stupidity.
If you must wear thongs, at least have a pedicure!
No, the crew are not "funny little people" to be patronised and patted on the head; they are human beings like everyone else, with families and worries and concerns the same as the rest of us.
No, it's not OK to "touch test" the fruit and vegies in the buffet to see if they're "OK".
Pushing someone (quite literally) out of the way to get a glass of free champagne at the Captain's speech night is not acceptable. Nor is taking 4 or 6 glasses and "stockpiling" them. When did greed become King?
Enough! Basta!
I know I shouldn't whinge because I am privileged enough to have been able to afford the trip in the first place.
But, Dear Lord, must we demean ourselves quite so much?
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