Early in our careers, we’re excited to have a job and, more importantly, a paycheck. We might change career paths over the years, but there’s a big payoff at the end – retirement.

Our daydream is sleeping late and drinking coffee on the porch instead of being squeezed into a cubicle. In retirement, the dream is to do what we want, when we want and nobody’s bossing us around.

Magazine and television ads show genteel people in retirement, their beautiful white hair perfectly groomed. They’re often wearing a sweater draped around their shoulders as they ride bikes through Italy, climb mountains or drink champagne while admiring the view from the deck of a cruise ship.

Those scenarios are certainly true, but there’s other things about being retired that aren’t shown in print ads.

That beautiful white hair? Only a few people are blessed with those genes.

The rest of us have battleship gray hair with a mind of its own if it hasn’t thinned or fallen out.

Sweaters are necessary because we’re cold all the time. Forget cashmere – we’re wearing an old sweater we’ve had for years because we’re too smart to buy something strictly for looks.

Like a cliché, the music is too loud, and we can’t understand why this young generation believes morose and meaningless lyrics are worthwhile.

But then we remind ourselves that every one of us knew how to play “Wipe Out” with pencils on our school desk.

I see retired people exercising, either online or at a fitness club. Pilates and yoga classes are pretty popular among the over 60 crowd.

But let’s face it. If I vacuum too vigorously, I could throw out my shoulder, and my elbow aches for an hour.

I look at the dust on the ceiling fans and tell myself those blades need to be dusted. That chore requires me to get on a ladder, and there’s no way I’m climbing up a ladder balancing a cleaning wand.

Forget late-night snacking. In my younger days, downing a Coke and a bag of Doritos at one in the morning was no problem. Now, caffeine keeps me awake and eating anything that spicy is a message for acid reflux to come calling.

Forget skipping and running. Bad knees and arthritis require that we not only walk, but having a cane or a walker is often a necessity.

We fuss at people who drive too fast because we’re putting along in the right-hand lane. We get in the left-hand lane if we have a turn coming up, even if it’s half a mile away.

When I find myself muttering under my breath about reckless drivers, a voice in my head reminds me to find “Born to Be Wild” and play it. I’ll pull over, queue up the song and blast it on the radio.

Just because we’re retired and eating dinner at 4 p.m. doesn’t mean we’ve given up.

We’re sensible.

We drive slower because our reflexes aren’t as sharp as they used to be. That makes us smarter than we were in our 30s with a stack of speeding tickets.

We don’t climb on a ladder because nothing’s worth bruising a hip. That dust can stay on those ceiling fan blades until kingdom comes for all I care.

One day, I might find myself on the deck of that cruise ship. But being older, I know I don’t have to go back to work in a few days.

I don’t have beautiful white hair, but I have the freedom to color it, let it go gray or shave it all off. There’s no one I have to impress and there’s no dress code in retirement.

I’ll vacuum when my arthritis isn’t flaring up and, if I miss hauling out the vacuum cleaner for a few weeks, so be it.

I take the trash to the street wearing a robe and slippers, and I only wear make up if it’s absolutely necessary.

That’s what retirement looks like for me.

Time to sit back, enjoy the view from my air-conditioned living room window and look back on the mistakes and accomplishments in my life.

There’s still time for making more memories. I have time for friends and family, time to enjoy the things I enjoy, skip over what I don’t like and smile because I know the difference.

Maybe that’s what retirement’s all about – realizing what’s really important.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

 

One of my favorite songs is “For Good” from the musical “Wicked.” The first time I heard the song, the lyrics hit home because that’s how Bob Haenel was to so many of us.

“We are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them…”

This wonderful man passed away in the early morning hours of June 9. He fought a long battle with Alzheimer’s and finally took his last breath with his constant nurturer and wife, Denise, holding his hand.

I met Bob in the mid-1990s when I wrote a column for this newspaper highlighting the people of Pecan Grove. When staff writer Devoni Wardlow took another job, I applied for the now-open Thursday slot.

He gave me the job and, for over 25 years, so much more.

Bob wasn’t flashy. With his beige sweater, slacks and a tie, he seemed like someone’s favorite relative. He had a quick sense of humor and a sharp wit.

He kept a supply of Diet Cokes and his office was an organized mess. He was a paper stacker, but he could always put his hands on the needed piece of paper in seconds.

Bob was an avid golfer, and he loved their property in Caddo Gap, Ark. Photos of him in the creek with his boys and Denise were some of his favorites.

He loved sports, rock and roll trivia and bluegrass music. Most of all, Bob loved his wife, Denise. Whenever he talked about her, his blue eyes lit up. He adored his sons, John and Evan, from the little boys they were to the wonderful men they have become.

                “So much of me is made of what I learned from you…”

He inspired many of us who came to the newspaper as green reporters. Bob never berated nor did he micromanage. He’d point out where to change a story and let us revise. He quietly taught us journalism fundamentals.

Both sides count.

Less is more.

Stand up for the little guy.

That last line was a core belief of Bob’s. He said if we weren’t there for the people in the community, who would be? Throughout his long newspaper career, he never let the “little guy” down.

We worked with Bob, not for him. Writers left the open newsroom with more confidence, a deeper knowledge about the news business and a firm belief in the importance of good, solid journalism.

“Some people come into our lives for a reason.”

The reason you came into the community’s world is to make sure they were heard and to tell their stories.

The reason you came into your reporter’s lives is to remind us that the news is more than a line on a profit margin sheet.

The reason you came into so many lives is to remind us we mattered, from your family to the people you reported on for over 30 years.

“I know I’m who I am today because I knew you…”

In my darkest days, Bob was there with a lifeline. When I didn’t believe in myself, Bob, for some reason, did. He saw a spark in me I didn’t know existed. He fanned that spark with easy encouragement.

Although I’m a writer, there aren’t adequate words to convey how much I admired Bob Haenel, how huge an influence he was in my life and how much our hearts are aching now that he’s no longer with us in person.

He never realized how huge and powerful an impact he made on those of us who were lucky enough to know him. He was simply being Bob.

This dear man’s spirit will remain with all of us because he changed us. And as the song lyrics state, Bob changed us for good.

You fought the good fight, Bob. Rest in a well-earned peace, free of deadlines, free of pain.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally get to open that hot dog stand you dreamed about for so many years.

 

    This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Our grandson, Alex, is spending some time with us this summer. This evening during dinner, we started talking about movies.

Some of Alex’s favorites are the Harry Potter films and a few of the “Star Wars” movies.

In “Harry Potter,” Alex loved the special effects and the story line of how Harry defeated the “one who shall not be named.”

With “Star Wars,” Alex hadn’t seen the original movie from the 70s that introduced “the Force” to audiences around the world.

I told him how scary it was when Darth Vader first appeared on the screen. The heavy breathing, the dark, heavy cape and the mask combined to make one scary villain.

“But he’s nothing compared to the Wicked Witch of the West from ‘The Wizard of Oz,’” I told him.

Alex had never seen the movie, he said. I told him that “The Wizard of Oz” played on television every year at Thanksgiving. This was before cable and streaming services, I explained.

Every year, we all looked forward to being scared again by the witch and cheering Dorothy and her friends on to meet the wizard.

The more I talked about the movie, the more excited I got. I told him we were going to sit down after dinner and watch it. We left the dishes and found the movie.

As the opening credits played, I pointed out “The Wizard of Oz” was filmed in 1939. The special effects pre-dated CGI and modern ways of creating magic on the screen, I told him.

I gave him a heads up – I knew the lyrics to all of the songs and most of the dialogue. I would not be able to resist singing and talking along with the characters.

He was a good sport and allowed me to sing along with Dorothy on “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and with the Cowardly Lion on “If I Were King of the Forest.”

Like most of us, Alex said the Wicked Witch of the West was scary and he liked the special effects in the Emerald City, especially the Wizard.

I warned him that I always cry when Dorothy whispers to the Scarecrow “I think I’ll miss you most of all.” And tears were rolling down my cheeks when Dorothy clicked her heels together, just like they have every time I’ve watched this film.

When the movie ended, Alex said he could see why it was a classic. We talked about what makes a great movie, and the great ones, we agreed, are always about friendships.

Dorothy was supported by her friends the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion, and they, in turn, supported and loved her. Together, they made it down the yellow brick road and discovered the traits they wanted most of all were always inside themselves.

The same goes for Harry Potter. Without Hermione and Ron, Harry would’ve eventually realized his potential, but his growth was more powerful because he was surrounded by his two best friends.

Luke Skywalker achieved his legendary status as a hero with Leia and Han with him. All of them grew because they had each other.

The same is true for any hero or heroine in literature, the movies and especially us. We are more powerful than we think ourselves to be. When we have a friend standing by us, it’s easier to find what we’re really made of.

Especially when that power has been there all along.

I’m glad Alex and I watched “The Wizard of Oz” together. Sitting with my grandson, I once again was reminded that there really is no place like home, especially when surrounded by loved ones.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.