A dark rainy winter that has filled the house with blue light. Not melancholy in tone, just still. Things are quiet, yet alive with the sounds of cat feet racing across the floors and diving from bookcases. Occasionally climbing window screens. I’m still here. Doing all the usual December, January, and now February things. I wrote an obituary. Am making a trip to Santa Cruz in a couple of weeks to collect some of Bobi’s ashes. I’ll scatter some in Joshua Tree in the spring. I still wear her old blue sweater most nights around the house. Whenever I’m in Lacy Park I imagine I can see her poking her head from around a large tree. Walking towards me. I replay our old video chats and laugh and laugh at how silly we were. I cry too. I knew this was coming. We both did. We talked about it. Knowing something will arrive is not the same as it arriving. Trying in advance to comprehend GONE isn’t possible. But I’m glad we talked about everything.
Oh great unknowable world! Filled with mystery and so much beauty and heartache. We do our best to prepare, but mostly we’re winging it. I am anyway.
I haven’t been drawing much, but I did crack open the sketchbook a few times to scribble a few things. Most of my drawing takes place during the Tuesday faculty meetings at school.
I started a sheep needlepoint. My first! It will probably take me 20 years to finish it. I think I have enough time, but you never know.
I sound morose, but I’m not. Although at times my heart feels like a marble rolling around in a cardboard box all by itself. I watch cindeemindy from New Jersey on Tik Tok and dance along with her. I go outside and crane my neck up to look at the stars most nights. Send smoke signals to Bobi which curl upward and disappear. I track the position of the moon across the sky. Collect shells on the beach. Walk up secret staircases in the hills. Look for clues. I meant to tell her about the vapors I see around plants at night in the summer, but I never did. She would have had theories. When I get home with my latest Trader Joe’s haul I see if I have picked up anything she’d want to know about.
Next year is my very last year in the classroom. I’ll retire in June of 2025. No matter what. I’ve decided not to hold out for more dough. I’ll take what I get and I won’t get upset. I want to enjoy as many years as possible NOT working. I’ll probably miss the kids a little, but I won’t miss grading papers, report cards, parent conferences, faculty meetings, evaluations, fire drills, hissy fits, broken air conditioners.
That sums up my February postcard to you, gentle reader. Let’s go forth into the spring and do some things we’ve never done before, okay?
I am very late to reply to this but I realized that maybe it’s because someone else was late to tell me their story about grief.
A friend of mine recently lost her twin sister (78 yo) and she told me that a nurse she didn’t know at hospice wrote her a post it and slipped it to her the day after. It told her that grief is like a red ball in an Amazon box (your comment about the marble made me think of this story). When it first arrives, it is big in its small Amazon box. It hits the sides often and with force because there’s no where for it to go. Over time, the box will get bigger, the grief will still hit the walls but there will be more time in between. One day, the box will be the size of the room and the ball will still hit the walls but the time in between will be even longer. But the grief will always be there, and it will still stop you when it does hit the wall.
Sending you love from up the coast in Bobi’s backyard … retire next year and don’t look back, you have entered your third act (listen to Wiser Than Me podcast with guest Jane Fonda – the Isabelle Allende episode is delightful too) and it’s time for you to live with all your heart.
Thank you for posting again-you were missed!
What a beautiful, beautiful post. I’m so full of so many words to say, I can’t say any except thank you.
Beautifully written. Grief is the price we pay for love, or so I have come to believe. Neither leaves us unchanged. My heart hurts for yours as you navigate this time.
I too retired at 62 and so many said ‘hold out to 70’ for more money!! No way. I have never regretted it and have never been bored. I enjoy listening to my own thoughts and remembering interesting memories that flit on through. My husband and I did get a surprise almost 4 years ago when our then 14 y o granddaughter called police on her mother and Social Services brought her to us that night. One cannot imagine the days that followed. Even raising 6 children between us in our former marriages didn’t even slightly prepare us. But oh the deep love I found for her -despite – and even though she still isn’t sure we really really care. Our time together has only been a drop in the bucket with her past trauma.
I am SO SO glad that I retired early and had those many years of total freedom, to travel, to read good books and junk, to watch tv, to rest my mind and body. To do nothing if I felt like it. That was a god given vacation to have us ready to live a new life chapter we could never have imagined. I think of all the people you have shared your life with on this screen. And if suddenly the money dried up, you surely would have so many unknown friends here who would take you for a month or so at a time. (That’s what friends told me when I had one of those financial panics when I was youngish and didn’t believe what can be…) Retirement is a joy! Be prepared to enjoy it.
Thank you Maureen for this wisdom. I have such fondness for so many of you who have visited me in the comment section over the long years since I’ve been blogging these last 17 years. I was in my 40’s then and many of you were in your 60’s. Look at us now! One never knows what lies ahead and we can’t imagine it. Probably a good thing. Surprises can be unexpectedly rich, can’t they?
What a huge decision to retire. I retired early with what felt like a significant loss in pay but I have never regretted it. My memory was getting worse from stress and I felt like I was losing my self. I retired at age 62 after working for 41 years, the last 24 years in the trenches as a lowly paid drug and alcohol counselor. I now know I did ENOUGH-the individual cost to being a helper is so high. I wish you healing. Jessica
always look forward to your postcards. love your sketches, love your heart and the way you express it. i hope this next year is good for you, that the precious moments urge you on. you urge me on, i will get my paints out, i hope you can hold hands with the stars tonight and the full moon smiles on you!
I’ve been hoping your would post one of these days soon. We’ve never met but I still feel deeply the thoughts you share. And, I love what and how you draw and paint. The changes at this point in life are coming more frequently so it’s an especially nice moment to see someone we know, even if from a distance. Glad you are going to retire “no matter what”. Until next time.
You’re doing fantabulous and I admire your devotion to yourself and your sister’s living memories. Be good to you
You have a true gift with words, and you painted a picture of her that brings her to life. I’m quite sure that those who have transitioned keep tabs on us, and she is most certainly still with you in every tree and every ocean wave. How very beautiful that is.
I’m SO glad you’ve decided on your retirement date – as everyone else has said, you will be dancing gypsy dances a-twirl in your living room, which will hopefully be by the ocean with lots of little plants and sparkly sunlight. Well deserved.
Beautiful obituary, MAM. V excited about your retirement! I am forced to retire next year myself. I used to resent it, but now I’m like, Bring it on! I want to hear about your plans. And the invitation to come to visit still stands! Am now in SW France, close to the sea and to Spain. You can be left to your own devices, to explore and paint or whatever. And to have 2 darling little Havanese dogs as your constant companions 😉
Hello Mary Ann : )
Thank you for this – I’ve thought about you lots, checked your website, in case I missed something, and keep/kept you in my prayers. Soooo good to hear from you. Your February is wonderful – full of sad and cheer – and hey “needlepoint” WOW I use to LOVE to needlepoint – have fun : ) Come on June 2025 !!!!!!!
Love and Light to you sweet girl,
Sandra in AZ : )
You’ve made Bobi live forever by speaking about her. That’s lovely, Mary Ann.
I find that when I look at something I made years ago – like your sheep tapestry – that everything comers back: what I was listening to on the radio, the weather that year, the people around me. Right back in the time and the moment. Your Cotswold sheep will call out Bobi’s name, if that isn’t too fanciful. xx
I read the tribute in the Santa Cruz paper that you wrote for your friend Bobi. It was beautiful.
May thoughts and prayers are with you Mary Ann.
Hi Mary Ann,
Am so sorry Bobi has gone where you can’t follow. Wish l could say or do something to help you in your loss, make you a cup of tea perhaps, ot hold your hand, but l cannot of course. All l can say is that my thoughts are with you, that l understand the pain and loneliness. You are not alone.
Yes, do retire next year! I am sure you will enjoy being able to get up when you want to. To stay up half the night to finish that book. Do something terribly irresponsible or something you have never done before. I am 87 years old now and have been retired for 15 years now. It’s lovely! 😁🌻 My one advice: hang on to your friends and the relatives you like – contact them as much as possible, even if you haven’t seen them for years or even decades, visit with them if possible, and make new ones. Talk to strangers at every opportunity. Oh and talk to trees. Reach out to them and it is amazing what interesting conversations you can have. So there – that’s all.
Love,
Tia (in Sydney Australia) ❤️
Dear Mary Ann,
I’m so sorry you lost your dear friend. Yes, knowing you’ll lose someone is not the same as losing them. You can’t do your grieving in advance. No matter how hard I tried to do that, I found out it isn’t possible.
Please continue to share your exquisite vision of the world. Your thoughts and images have been a gift to
me, and I know they were to your precious friend also.
Healing wishes,
Pat
No, Mary Ann, you will definitely NOT miss any of that. You’ll even get over missing the kids. I retired ten years ago and have spent the best ten years of my life. So happy to hear you’ll be able to do the same. Have a last great year.
Well done on the obituary. I feel as though I could have known her.
I am sorry for your loss.
Let’s do something fun this spring. That sounds grand.
Let’s do something fun this spring. That sounds grand.
Okay.
I have been so happy in my retirement. I’m also glad I retired a little early because it turned out that was the last year I had with my husband and we got to do some of the things we had planned for our retirement.
I will be going forth to Iceland this year, something I’ve wanted to do since I was 16 and my flight to Europe on Icelandic airlines made a stop there.
I love, love, love your Cotswold sheepies. 🥰
Amen to that you beautiful sista.
Hi Mary Ann!
Like a lot of the world, I love you blogs and have silently stalked and read everything and drawing over the past 12 or 13 or more years. I haven’t commented before as I see you have so many to go through. But today I laid on my bed and read today’s goodies and felt so in tune with your mood and feelings.
I am 82 and have lost four biggies in the last two years. You’re right and it seems like at this age I ought to have it down?
Anyway, I taught for 42 years and am glad you will retire for your reasons and not the money lure. I don’t think you will ever be sorry.
Lovely, touching words & photos. I’m sorry for your loss.
Sheila
Sending hugs and love. ❤️❤️❤️
KEEP A GREEN TREE
AND PERHAPS
THE SINGING BIRD
Your name popped into my head out of the blue today, and I wondered what you were up to. And then there you were. I just wanted to assure you (because Been There) that you will remember some of the kids and some of the fun times with a smile, but you will likely not *miss *any of it. And that first day of school that starts without you, you will dance in your kitchen.
Man, I’ve been retired for 10 years and I STILL have anxiety dreams the night before school is to start. You know the ones: the escalator is going too fast for me to feel safe, forgot to wear panties and the wind kicks up during duty, can’t remember what my lesson plan was, and the worst one-forgot all my materials at home.
But I do love being retired, so grateful!
What a beautiful obituary you wrote for your friend Bobi. I am glad that nothing important was left unsaid. That is so unusual in this day and age. My condolences on your loss.
Will you get one of those retirement clocks to count down the minutes? I remember my son had a teacher in high school who had one and it seemed like a really foreign and strange concept to him at that time.
Dear Mary Ann, It’s wonderful that you’ve made the decision to retire. My mom retired at 62 and never looked back. The school district made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. LOL I hope it is everything you hope it will be! XOXO
I’m so glad you made the decision to retire and not wait. You deserve to have all the time, and you’ll never regret it.