Flight of Fancy -- My Day as Sherlock Holmes

I have always been given to flights of fancy -- within an hour I have been a Sherpa in Nepal, a corpuscle in a trouble heart, a gargoyle on the west wall of Notre Dame -- and, in retirement, the opportunities to live inside my head have multiplied. And today, or at least part of the day, I was Sherlock Holmes. My objective: to observe the curious aspects of Max, my wife, to learn who she really be, what she's capable of, and why.

I started in the kitchen where I discovered the corpse of a Granny Smith apple, hacked to pieces, and a knife nearby. The scene played itself out in my head... the blade slashing through defenseless fruit. Sickening but elementary. 

The map on the table caught my eye -- she had circled London and Paris where she obviously had prepared her hideaways. A few inches to the side lay a travel brochure, apparently to distract my eyes from the map  It was an easy deduction: the murderous wench would be gone by end of day.

Twenty minutes later in her closet I discovered exactly 50 pairs of shoes -- not 49, not 51, but 50... precisely 100 shoes. "Oh my god," I said aloud. "The love of my life is a centipede."

"What did you say?" There she was, in the doorway holding the weapon that had mutilated that unfortunate apple. Her blank expression gave nothing away. She simply said, "I know that look. Who are you today?"

Rule number one when facing a felon with a knife: Don't agitate them. Tell the truth, which I did. "Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street."

She nodded as if she knew more about my day than I did. "Well, Sherlock, Watson and I are about to have a little snack. Come and get it or fix your own."

Thus ended my day as Sherlock Holmes. The fruit and cheese were delicious. 

Retirement Cookies -- Smoke Gets in My Eyes

These three survivors of batch number four still
weren't chew-able but did come in handy for leveling a shelf

Never eat the first batch of retirement cookies. Do not feed them to your dog (or the vet, for that matter). Do not throw out; call your local bomb-disposal unit. Having said that, let me add: Don't give up. I didn't, and it all worked out. Consider my recipe for success...

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees (preferably Fahrenheit)
2. Collect ingredients: 1 cup peanut butter, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup Splenda, 2 egg whites, 1 tsp baking soda (not powder), 1/2 tsp vanilla (extract, not beans)
3. Dump in bowl, smash well, making sure to spray evenly on flooring, walls and counter tops.
4. Put in oven until smoke alarms go off.
5. Call sister you rarely speak to. Beg for help. 
6. Bake batch after batch until one meets standards of American Dental Association.
6. Stack perfect cookies on large plate.
7. Say, "Of course, do you think I'm an idiot?" every time your spouse asks, "Did you really make these yourself?"

So, not only did I bake somewhat edible retirement cookies, today. I also learned that baking is nothing more than a combination of chemistry, heat, a patient sister, an incredulous wife and the ability to lie through one's teeth. Try it. It makes a tasty retirement treat.

Now What?

There was moment, shortly after waking on the first day of retirement, when a question at the back of my head made my eyes pop open: “Now what?”

I had great plans – lots of plans – that I’d been piecing together for several years. But it suddenly became clear that I had goals, not plans, which is like having a shoe without a foot – the shoe looks good but it’s not going anywhere by itself. I needed a foot to get from Point A, my first day or retirement, to Point B, my objective. And I needed to map a path between the two, which meant I had to ask and answer a few more questions: “Where do I start?” “What do I do, exactly?” “How much time should I give myself?”

My first response was to make a list. Unfortunately, item number one turned out to be “Make a list.” What followed was an hour of pencil-tapping, email-checking, snacking, followed by pen-clicking, snail-mail checking and more snacking, after which I wrote item number two: “Start a diet.” Number three: “Write down everything you want to do,” because objectives come and go when they’re only in your head, but on paper they’re a special kind of torture that doesn’t stop until you cross them off. Number four: “Share your experience.” I think retirement is going to teach me something, and the best way to reinforce what you learn is to explain it to someone else… which turns out to be the purpose of this blog – I’m going to let you retire with me. Maybe we’ll both learn something.