Why Don't You Just RETIRE?!?

Monday morning, lying in bed, about 5:30, waiting for the digital clock across the room to declare it was 5:38 (the time I drag myself out of bed every morning--and, yes, I can still, sans glasses, read a digital clock from across the room--and, no, it's not got huge numerals), I asked myself a dire (!) question: Why are you getting up? You're 74 years old! Why don't you just, you know, retire?!

Good question, especially in this epoch when we constantly see ads--print, TV, Internet--that show pictures of happy (older) couples frolicking on the beach, sipping Mai Tais, checking the status of their 401k's, the man maybe popping a Viagra before the two of them, hand in hand (sly smiles upon their expectant faces), head off to the lush bedroom of their Airbnb, where ... [fade to black].

I feel that I'm busier than a Retired Guy ought to be. I have two blogs (this one and Daily Doggerel); I review a book a week for Kirkus Reviews; I'm in the process of converting to paperback one of the Kindle Direct books I've published (a YA bio of Poe--soon to be available in a print version via Amazon); I'm frantically reading through the complete works of a writer I love (Kate Atkinson); I'm reading Books I Should Have Read a Long Time Ago (now: the Leatherstocking Tales by James Fenimore Cooper); in bed, before Lights Out, I read a chapter or so from each of a half-dozen books; I work out at the health club just about every damn day; I do the weekly sourdough baking for the family; I do much of the daily cooking; I ...

What the hell is wrong with me? And where's my Mai Tai?

Part of it, I know, comes from the Puritan Work Ethic that my mom and dad worked tirelessly to instill in their three sons. Mine was a little ... slow ... to kick in (just check my high school and college transcripts), but once it did (about 1966, when I began teaching in a middle school), I found myself transforming into some kind of secular John Winthrop.

Let's blame my wife, Joyce, a bit, too, for she is the hardest-working human being I've ever known. She never just does ... nothing--or "kills time"--or wastes time--or whatever. She's always reading, writing, thinking, planning. I practically have to drag her downstairs for meals (she's working on a new book right now--and I mean working).

So ... what I'm saying: How could I goof around (as we used to say Back in the Day) when Joyce is around? It would seem, you know, disrespectful.

But as I've gotten older (and have had to deal with some medical issues), I've begun to understand more and more what I of course have always known: I'm mortal. Very much so. And if I want to write some things I want to write--read some things I want to read--well, I'd better get to it. Father Time is looking at his watch; the Grim Reaper is checking his schedule; Satan is (never mind).

And as I think about it, some of the people whom I've most respected, most loved, have not gone gentle into that good night. I think about Stephen Crane, Edwin Arlington Robinson, John Updike--all quite literally working while lying in their deathbeds--working until they just absolutely could not.

Which is what my mom did. Until her health commanded No more! she worked on her computer, read books ferociously. In her mid-90s she reached the point at which she could no longer read. But she kept on a table in her assisted-living unit--in the living room, visible to all visitors--the book that she was reading when she realized she couldn't read. The bookmark poked out about halfway through the text. It was a tacit message from my mom: This matters.

I really can't imagine just doing nothing. In fact, Satan (if you're listening--which, of course, you always are), a Perfect Hell for me would be a place where I couldn't do anything I love to do.

Despite these noble sentiments, I still stare at the clock each morning about 5:30--and even curse (politely, softly) when I realize It's Time Once Again. And I throw back the covers, swing my legs over the side, take a deep breath, and feel, at last, a tremendous gratitude that I get to give it a go for one more day.