“You enjoyin’ your retirement?” Mark asked me, as he got into his service truck outside of Lee’s Store in Wannaska, with a pencil stuck between his temple and his ear in that casual application so many carpenters use to keep a marker close at hand. Mark is a local builder of some renown and seems always to be in motion.
“What’s there not to like about it?” I replied, opening the door to the oldest family-owned Roseau County business over one hundred years old, one of three important businesses in Wannaska, and one of two residing on the west side of State Trunk Highway 89 that intersects the tiny northwest Minnesota village. “You’ll have to try it someday, although I can’t imagine it’ll be as restful for the likes of you, as it is for me.”
“Oh, I’ll be retiring in about four years,” he said smiling, stepping up into the cab of the tall one-ton truck to sit heavily behind the steering wheel. “Hope you live that long to see it,” he laughed, his eyes behind his glasses twinkling, a broad smile across his sun-tanned dark face.
“Me too!” I said, turning away and walking into the hardware store, realizing the truth in what he said. I’d be seventy-one in four years.
We all know someone who worked for many long years of their lives and died suddenly after they retired, a seemingly tragic story, especially if they had waited for retirement to begin living.
Life isn’t something that a person can save up over the course of their life, I figure. Of course, I tried saving money toward that end and was lucky to have had that 401k program at the toy factory that automatically deducted money from my paycheck for it. I know that even with my best intentions I wouldn’t have saved so religiously. I would’ve weaseled a little bit out of it for different ‘emergencies’ and ended up with little to show for it at this point in my life.
However, I didn’t save living for later, not that I lived life large either, despite urgings from my adopted sister “J.J.,” who has traveled all over the world by herself, and has said to me more than a few times,
“ Bro, you only live once. Give it all you got. Some women collect shoes. I collect countries, and have always been independent. I wasn’t reckless or foolish as a kid, but I definitely knew my own mind and marched to my own drummer.”
She and I were vastly different. I am one of those people who, throughout my life didn’t make all the right decisions necessary to allow me the mindset of spontaneous flight to parts unknown and to stay there. I had bills and mortgages to pay, I thought. I had to eat or feed others. I didn’t want to be a quitter and bounce from job to job. I was old school, to a point, because I was never one for perfect attendance either.
However, this evening, when I couldn’t find any file or subject on my computer that contained “perfect attendance,” I knew I had at least a few times listened to my internal voice that would say, on occasion,
“Gee, it’s such a beautiful evening, I don’t feel much like going inside that building....”
Or, “This storm system or these clouds or this event is a photo op of a lifetime and I’ll never get another chance...”
Or, “You guys should’ve let me know you were only going to be up here one day, I could’ve put in for time off ...”
Or, “God, I hate working at this toy factory!”
I realized I had used the call-in number more than once in the 33.875 years I had worked there. Was I ever proud of myself!
(My wife, on the other hand, after viewing my copy of my personnel file, said she would’ve fired me years earlier, questioning beyond belief why the toy factory did not.
I think my employer became more surprised when I showed up for work than when I called-in. I quit wearing my time card on the outside many years earlier, so at a glance no one important would know who I was as I had grown too old to just run and hide. My infrequent sightings were explained away as ‘being just a floater’ and having a different job from day to day, and due to lackadaisical management at the time, no one bothered to follow-up on me either, I guess.
One time I was on volunteer layoff for five months, and when I called them to see if they were going to call me back, they said, “You're who?” Further digging in their personnel files did indicate I was an employee there and I was 90-days overdue for callback. No one missed me.
I did good. Well, at least I was paid well enough to listen to what my body was telling me, if not my employer.
The thing is, I don’t regret it.
The very few real friends I had at the toy factory are still my friends even though I’m retired. Seeing as Roseau is a small town with only one grocery store, and a big one at that, I often bump into people that recognize me and stop to visit a minute. One or two have contacted me since my retirement and we maintain communications. One guy my age, named Floyd, and his woman friend, even arranged to meet up with my wife and I in Bayfield, Wisconsin, for a festival in that beautiful town during October that we attend yearly. We had a good time. They saw some different country.
Serendipity.
On July 31st, our 8-year old grandson Ozaawaa was with us at the grocery store and after we left it, he got an upset stomach and needed to use a toilet--immediately--so being nearby, I drove the car to Brot’s Barbershop, where I get my beard trimmed periodically, and rushing in with Ozaawaa in tow, I asked if O could use the toilet there. No problem. Brot has kids himself so he knows how things happen as a parent. One of his kids has even taken up the barber trade with him in his cozy little shop across the street from the liquor store, much to my surprise, so realizing this, my attention was there, not to who else was in the shop.
“Hey! How’s retirement?” Gary asked from the window seats, extending his muscular arm and hand toward me for a handshake.
Gary was a longtime friend of mine at the toy factory. I am old enough to be his dad, but we had many long conversations about a great many things and I got to know him as a thoughtful, insightful, intelligent man, and a great loving father to his two sons, who, if but from a distance through pictures on Gary’s iPhones or photographs, I’ve watched grow up.
“Well, other than this little sidestep to the toilet in here,” I said smiling, grasping Gary’s hand and sitting down beside him, “Things have been great!”
“This is your grandson?” Gary said, nodding in the direction of the lavatory facilities where Ozaawaa resided momentarily.
"I remember you talking about him."
“Yeah, Ozaawaa is eight years old and a great kid,” I said, looking at Brot and his son cut hair, a few feet away.
“His tummy ain’t quite right just now, I guess.”
“You been having fun with him?” Gary asked, sitting as he was below Brot’s vast antique knick-knack collection adorning the rough-sawn wood paneled walls of the barber shop.
“How long is he visiting?”
“We have him until next week,” I said, looking over my shoulder, as Ozaawaa opened the restroom door and started looking about the shop. “We had him at the Splash Park yesterday.
“I’ll bet he likes the water on a hot day like we’ve been having,” Gary said, smiling at Ozaawaa.
“He does. We’ve been wanting to get him into one-on-one swimming lessons and haven’t had too much success,” I said. “We had someone lined up, but have just been playing phone tag with her, so I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re looking for someone to give your grandson swimming lessons?” a guy in Brot’s son’s chair asked me. “My fiance is a licensed lifeguard and has done one-on-one swimming lessons for years. She would do it.”
“FANTASTIC!” I said enthusiastically, turning to face the man, whom I had never seen before in my life and had just given me the answer to our problem.
“This would be GREAT! How can I arrange it?”
The customer gave me her phone number and name and said she would be available only in the evenings. Thanking the guy who said his name was “Ben,” then thanking Brot for the use of his toilet, and saying goodbye to Gary, me and O left there with both our tummies feeling good.
Calling the phone number and leaving a message about our strange turn of events lead to a quick call-back conversation and two one-on-one swimming lesson sessions at the Roseau School pool.
It even made me feel good about going to work at the toy factory if just for the day I met Gary. As a result, Ozaawaa did very well, gained tremendous confidence in the water and learned to swim.
Curiously, Ben and his fiance both work at the toy factory.
“What’s there not to like about it?” I replied, opening the door to the oldest family-owned Roseau County business over one hundred years old, one of three important businesses in Wannaska, and one of two residing on the west side of State Trunk Highway 89 that intersects the tiny northwest Minnesota village. “You’ll have to try it someday, although I can’t imagine it’ll be as restful for the likes of you, as it is for me.”
“Oh, I’ll be retiring in about four years,” he said smiling, stepping up into the cab of the tall one-ton truck to sit heavily behind the steering wheel. “Hope you live that long to see it,” he laughed, his eyes behind his glasses twinkling, a broad smile across his sun-tanned dark face.
“Me too!” I said, turning away and walking into the hardware store, realizing the truth in what he said. I’d be seventy-one in four years.
We all know someone who worked for many long years of their lives and died suddenly after they retired, a seemingly tragic story, especially if they had waited for retirement to begin living.
Life isn’t something that a person can save up over the course of their life, I figure. Of course, I tried saving money toward that end and was lucky to have had that 401k program at the toy factory that automatically deducted money from my paycheck for it. I know that even with my best intentions I wouldn’t have saved so religiously. I would’ve weaseled a little bit out of it for different ‘emergencies’ and ended up with little to show for it at this point in my life.
However, I didn’t save living for later, not that I lived life large either, despite urgings from my adopted sister “J.J.,” who has traveled all over the world by herself, and has said to me more than a few times,
“ Bro, you only live once. Give it all you got. Some women collect shoes. I collect countries, and have always been independent. I wasn’t reckless or foolish as a kid, but I definitely knew my own mind and marched to my own drummer.”
She and I were vastly different. I am one of those people who, throughout my life didn’t make all the right decisions necessary to allow me the mindset of spontaneous flight to parts unknown and to stay there. I had bills and mortgages to pay, I thought. I had to eat or feed others. I didn’t want to be a quitter and bounce from job to job. I was old school, to a point, because I was never one for perfect attendance either.
However, this evening, when I couldn’t find any file or subject on my computer that contained “perfect attendance,” I knew I had at least a few times listened to my internal voice that would say, on occasion,
“Gee, it’s such a beautiful evening, I don’t feel much like going inside that building....”
 |
| A sunset worth missing work for |
Or, “This storm system or these clouds or this event is a photo op of a lifetime and I’ll never get another chance...”
Or, “You guys should’ve let me know you were only going to be up here one day, I could’ve put in for time off ...”
Or, “God, I hate working at this toy factory!”
I realized I had used the call-in number more than once in the 33.875 years I had worked there. Was I ever proud of myself!
(My wife, on the other hand, after viewing my copy of my personnel file, said she would’ve fired me years earlier, questioning beyond belief why the toy factory did not.
I think my employer became more surprised when I showed up for work than when I called-in. I quit wearing my time card on the outside many years earlier, so at a glance no one important would know who I was as I had grown too old to just run and hide. My infrequent sightings were explained away as ‘being just a floater’ and having a different job from day to day, and due to lackadaisical management at the time, no one bothered to follow-up on me either, I guess.
One time I was on volunteer layoff for five months, and when I called them to see if they were going to call me back, they said, “You're who?” Further digging in their personnel files did indicate I was an employee there and I was 90-days overdue for callback. No one missed me.
I did good. Well, at least I was paid well enough to listen to what my body was telling me, if not my employer.
The thing is, I don’t regret it.
The very few real friends I had at the toy factory are still my friends even though I’m retired. Seeing as Roseau is a small town with only one grocery store, and a big one at that, I often bump into people that recognize me and stop to visit a minute. One or two have contacted me since my retirement and we maintain communications. One guy my age, named Floyd, and his woman friend, even arranged to meet up with my wife and I in Bayfield, Wisconsin, for a festival in that beautiful town during October that we attend yearly. We had a good time. They saw some different country.
Serendipity.
On July 31st, our 8-year old grandson Ozaawaa was with us at the grocery store and after we left it, he got an upset stomach and needed to use a toilet--immediately--so being nearby, I drove the car to Brot’s Barbershop, where I get my beard trimmed periodically, and rushing in with Ozaawaa in tow, I asked if O could use the toilet there. No problem. Brot has kids himself so he knows how things happen as a parent. One of his kids has even taken up the barber trade with him in his cozy little shop across the street from the liquor store, much to my surprise, so realizing this, my attention was there, not to who else was in the shop.
“Hey! How’s retirement?” Gary asked from the window seats, extending his muscular arm and hand toward me for a handshake.
Gary was a longtime friend of mine at the toy factory. I am old enough to be his dad, but we had many long conversations about a great many things and I got to know him as a thoughtful, insightful, intelligent man, and a great loving father to his two sons, who, if but from a distance through pictures on Gary’s iPhones or photographs, I’ve watched grow up.
“Well, other than this little sidestep to the toilet in here,” I said smiling, grasping Gary’s hand and sitting down beside him, “Things have been great!”
“This is your grandson?” Gary said, nodding in the direction of the lavatory facilities where Ozaawaa resided momentarily.
"I remember you talking about him."
“Yeah, Ozaawaa is eight years old and a great kid,” I said, looking at Brot and his son cut hair, a few feet away.
“His tummy ain’t quite right just now, I guess.”
“You been having fun with him?” Gary asked, sitting as he was below Brot’s vast antique knick-knack collection adorning the rough-sawn wood paneled walls of the barber shop.
“How long is he visiting?”
“We have him until next week,” I said, looking over my shoulder, as Ozaawaa opened the restroom door and started looking about the shop. “We had him at the Splash Park yesterday.
“I’ll bet he likes the water on a hot day like we’ve been having,” Gary said, smiling at Ozaawaa.
“He does. We’ve been wanting to get him into one-on-one swimming lessons and haven’t had too much success,” I said. “We had someone lined up, but have just been playing phone tag with her, so I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re looking for someone to give your grandson swimming lessons?” a guy in Brot’s son’s chair asked me. “My fiance is a licensed lifeguard and has done one-on-one swimming lessons for years. She would do it.”
“FANTASTIC!” I said enthusiastically, turning to face the man, whom I had never seen before in my life and had just given me the answer to our problem.
“This would be GREAT! How can I arrange it?”
The customer gave me her phone number and name and said she would be available only in the evenings. Thanking the guy who said his name was “Ben,” then thanking Brot for the use of his toilet, and saying goodbye to Gary, me and O left there with both our tummies feeling good.
Calling the phone number and leaving a message about our strange turn of events lead to a quick call-back conversation and two one-on-one swimming lesson sessions at the Roseau School pool.
It even made me feel good about going to work at the toy factory if just for the day I met Gary. As a result, Ozaawaa did very well, gained tremendous confidence in the water and learned to swim.
Curiously, Ben and his fiance both work at the toy factory.
 | |||
| Treading water is important |
 |
| Now we're at 10 feet, you're doing great! |
THANK ALL OF YOU FOLKS HUGELY!!!!
Looks like Ozaawaa found an excellent swimming instructor! Catherine and I are swimming in the Roseau pool on Monday and Wednesday mornings for a couple of weeks while the Warroad pool undergoes annual maintenance if he needs some extra lessons.
ReplyDeleteNice "slice" of life, 'er retirement life. Always glad to psychoanalyze you and the toy factory. Your vignette did keep me in suspense, however, regarding poor Ozaawaa and his tummy issues. I pictured the young guy waiting and waiting in the shop while you chattered away with your buds. I couldn't believe O was holding out so long. Aha! Then toward the end, it became apparent that somewhere in the conversation, O had slipped away to use the facilities. Whew! Was I ever relieved. I just knew you weren't the kind of Grandpa that got so involved in conversations that he neglected his grandson's bodily needs. No - never - uh uh-uh.
ReplyDeleteJP Savage
PS: Love your addition to Otto and Wink. Inspires me to join in, if I can finish the book editing I'm engaged in.