Beech Tree News Network

Someday, when I no longer have to live like my hair is on fire, and I actually do get to retire, the first thing I’m going to do is take the “I’m Retired…Don’t Ask Me To Do A Damn Thing” vanity plate that Ward Anderson has promised to will to me and nail it to my front door.
    The second thing I’m going to do is order complete series of BBC programs, like “Hamish Macbeth,” “Jonathan Creek,” and “Doctor Who.”  I’m going to play these programs on a continuous loop until I have seen every one of them at least three times, all the while eating popcorn, pastries and the occasional Marie Callender’s pot pie. 
    I will check my collection of P.D. James and M.C. Beaton mysteries for any I might not have read, and I will set about correcting that oversight, sitting in my recliner with my feet up, a cup of hot tea at the ready.  I will also renew my subscription to the “New Yorker,” because I will actually be able to read it.
    I will pay somebody to mow my yard, and I will sit in my swing under the big maple tree, sipping on a tall glass of lemonade while I watch.
    I will grow strawberries and tomatoes in raised beds in my back yard.  Any other produce, I will get at a farmer’s market or Kroger.
    I will travel to visit my friends in Texas and my friend, Jeanne LeBlanc, in California.  Jeanne and I will find a place that sells crab cakes and wine, and we will have a leisurely conversation about the fun times we had in Galveston.  I will take my granddaughter to visit her Aunt Nikki—wherever in the world her Aunt Nikki is at the time—so she can be inspired and remember that there is a world beyond her own.
    After I get my fill of myself and my hedonistic ways, I will help carry the load for my family (especially my daughter, Natalie) and for my friends who have too much to carry.  I will teach children to play guitar, at no charge; I will take elderly people to the grocery store; and I will volunteer at one of those animal abuse places for horses and dogs and all the other mistreated animals.
    I will live out my days smiling and listening and writing.  These are all best laid plans, of course.
    If you have noticed that I haven’t mentioned my husband, Garey, in my musings, it’s because he says he has the ten-toes-up retirement plan.  In short, Garey will never retire.  He loves farming and gardening and wood-splitting and such, and he will continue to engage me in his activities.
    I won’t be able to tell him no when he asks for help, so we’ll probably still be raising a three-acre garden and gathering tomatoes with buckets strapped to our walkers.  I’ll still cook dinner every night—maybe we’ll have the occasional Marie Callender’s pot pie.  I’ll still fall asleep on the couch while he’s watching boxing—not Hamish Macbeth nor Jonathan Creek nor Doctor Who.  But Garey is good company.  Maybe Jeanne could come visit us.  Anybody got a good crab cake recipe?