Retired now for 7 years. I took to it like a dog to water (mine's a labrador 😊) despite having a Very Important Job, but no fame. I was an English teacher and loved my job with a passion. I thought I would miss the buzz of teenage angst and discovery but no - my time had come. I've learnt to sail and got my Skipper's ticket; gone up the Amazon and over to the Galapagos; and got myself a puppy. I've always had dogs but always adult rescue dogs. I had promised myself a pup to train when I retired. Rescue dogs often confront you with other people's dog-rearing mistakes. Sula, the fox red labrador, was a handful but is now my best friend and one of the most empathic beings I have ever met. No wonder labs are guide dogs. We have had considerable family trauma in the last few years and she is there for everyone in the family with her unquestioning love and kindness.
Now you can immerse yourself in your own angst and discovery (can’t have one without the other). I’m sorry for your family’s suffering, glad you have a steadfast companion to console and steady everyone.
I related to your dog and the trauma. I’m telling you I would miss my dog more than many people. I, too, spend a considerable amount of time teaching English, but I don’t love it like it sounds you did. I’m a long-term sub. I LOVE the teenagers with all of their volatile emotions, their low baggy jeans, nose rings and studded nails long enough to give a hawk’s talons a run for its money. What stories! What a gift ❤️!
I love teenagers, too. When our youngest left home for college, I didn’t realize how much I would miss having her friends around, too. So funny and dramatic, so much laughter.
Retirement doesn’t feel so retiring with my mother living with me. I am her caretaker and she needs more and more of my time. My awesome black lab mix gets me out of the house and away from the stress for breaks and walks. He keeps me sane.
It’s quite the thing, picking careers when you are young and having no idea what’s coming. Everyone who could give you advice from that industry won’t know either. They most likely had different lives and different circumstances, so what they have can’t be yours anyway.
The world is changing. Print things can be hard to get. My mom, who is 86, asked me to pick her up some magazines and a calendar.
I struggled to find either. Eventually, I got a couple magazines for her at Shopper’s Drug Mart. But good luck buying a wall calendar. After 5 stores I gave up and ordered one on Amazon.
You told a group of former colleagues that your life had been transformed and none of them heard you, just like you couldn't hear Annie's words. You told your "friend" Audrey you were changing your life, and she didn't hear you, either. So many humans not listening to one another! But thank god, you listened to yourself which is all that matters EVER. At this stage of life, it can be hard to hear our own thoughts--we are not used to being alone in this way, no longer a part of what used to constitute our lives, no longer producing what we used to think was important. Now you produce a doggy bag and two happy walkers. I don't think you can beat that, really.
Your post/excerpt (beautifully put, as always) reminded me of something else, that whatever we choose, we are not choosing something else. Somehow I felt that a lot more strongly in the early parenthood years (stay home? Work part time? Can I make freelancing work?). Now, as a more or less full-time writer, I imagine I’ll keep writing long past retirement age. Or maybe not! Maybe it will be enough to read, garden, hike, ski, etc.
Mmm... doubt it, Sarah. If you are a writer, you can't choose NOT to be a writer. You can be a writer who writes or a writer who doesn't write and is unsettled by her silence. That's the choice. Trust me on this. I have tried my hardest not to be a writer, but here I am, slowly writing real good for free.
Yes, true, thanks for the reminder. Which in turn leads to a whole bunch of if onlys, if only I were a faster writer, more productive, more lyrical, more story-driven… 😭😂 I know you know the feeling!
That liminal space between one stage and another , or one identity and another, is a strange, unsettling,and magical place. When I began my transition ( from a way Jess important position but corporate one) I felt layers dry up and fall away leaving me so exposed. We ,too, took in dogs. They have all kept me company over the years as I write. When we walk, I sometimes think out loud with them about my current project. They are good listeners and when I see them happy I feel important.
I have a picture of me and the king when he was a prince.I was dressed in a sweat shirt and jeans and standing in a pen with sheep. We had sheep but these were not my sheep. I think he thought he was talking to a real shepherdess. Not a nonsense poet hobby farmer recently moved from D. C. after my husband retired from a VERY IMPORTANT JOB. Or so I thought. He said he just plugged things in and fixed cables. I volunteered at a gym during those years and worked as a writer in secret except when I came home to Canada and told stories. We waited until his retirement and the move to get our dogs. And sheep and donkeys. etc. . The first dog was a wee one. My last two dogs have been sheep dogs. An aside -- when her highness Camilla came to fetch the Prince as he had made this unexpected stop to chat with me about the sheep - I had to curtsy and take her hand . ( We'd been told what to do in case they stopped. ) When she smiled at me her smile did not quite reach her eyes. "Come along now, Charles. " I do a good imitation. I'm quite irreverent at times. I guess that is when I realized the decisions I made along the way that landed me on a dirt road road with critters still led me to meet a prince and gave me stories I could not ever make up. Ah, magic sometimes I think, Magical! I married a real prince of a man who took the picture. True. I did. HE is French. We joke I kissed a frog and he turned into Prince. These things amuse us. I loved loved loved this piece. And by the way, I loved talking to the Prince who would be king. He was quite lovely. His eyes were kind. It's such an adventure this life and in such a crazy world, my dog my dog my dogs! Such love they give.and they give no advice. Sometimes, judgement, but no advice. Thanks for my Read of the DAY! And happy place. And great memory your writing triggered. And chat I must have needed!
Not quite to retirement yet, but I can relate to having a dog as my constant companion. Walking five times a day for fifteen to twenty minutes is the prescription to good health, no? My dog walks me.
What initially caught my eye - the phrase "my starter dog." No childhood dogs were allowed growing up; I adopted my first dog after I retired from my important job. That's when I discovered what I had missed and what was really important. You hit on something real that resonates with many and discovered a new tribe as a result. I am now on my third rescue dog, having shared home, "walkies", and love with each one in succession.
The transition to retirement is an ongoing part of life for me nearly six years into said retirement. Enjoying your writing as I sit here on the sofa with my favorite guy (our trusty springer spaniel) in my pajamas.
I love this and your descriptions of Very Important Jobs. For me-still working it out…
In 2018, we were anticipating my husband’s retirement and, as he was able to work from anywhere, decided to make our move west a year in advance. While I was looking forward to being closer to our daughter, packing up my art studio of 12 years was hard. Over the last 25 years, I’ve had 2 studios outside of my home, one on my property and the other within walking distance of our city condo. In each one I found my ability to focus, experiment and produce above and beyond what I am able to do now. Even with a dedicated space in our home, spacious and bright, I have struggled with this. I knew as I was leaving the very unique building for the arts in Chicago that I would never have that again. Indeed, I am so very grateful I had such an amazing opportunity but there is a kind of grief involved. We have a large arts community where I live and I fully expected to become very involved. Perhaps because of Covid with so many things shut down, I never really formed that connection. On a positive note, the work I have done in the past, which has an online presence, has been a benefit in that I have received requests for my paintings from out of the blue, reminding me that what is past is not really over. It gives me the occasional boost of confidence. I need to see what is next-what kind of challenge. To that end, I make a point of observing the amazing land and seascapes that surround this island I live on. What can I do that I haven’t already done? As writers need to write right up to the end, painters need to paint. Hoping the muse will soon show her face.
There's something very special about a creative community. Maybe you can find one here on Substack? In the meantime, I have a mantra for you, from Gerard Manley Hopkins: "Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain."
Yes, grateful indeed for art making friends past and present online. We keep each other going. I will repeat that mantra during the dry spells. Thank you!
I am 76. I adopted my first dog from a shelter as part of a free seniors adopting seniors program. She was an eight year old Cavalier King Charles spaniel who was in bad shape when I brought her home. With care, she regained her health and became my little shadow. She lived to age 17 years, rare for a Cavalier. Losing her broke my heart. My next rescue was a 12 year old ailing Cavalier with a heart murmur whose owners had died. She curled up under my chair while I signed the adoption papers. We were together for a year thanks to veterinary cardiologists until her heart finally gave out. Losing each was painful, but by this time life wasn't complete without a dog. My latest rescue is a bouncy papillon mix who keeps me laughing at his diva antics. Dogs ground us firmly in the present, calling attention to the wonder of squirrels, birds in flight, sunshine, toys, pets, and treats - visible and invisible.
How encouraging to hear from a senior who's adopted three dogs. I've heard of age discrimination in some rescue organizations. There's powerful evidence that animals help keep older adults happier, healthier and more connected to the world.
As Sheree said, thanks for my read of the day. I’m so very grateful for your presence on Substack, and the support and encouragement you’ve given me, and so many others. I hope to follow your lead. And you look divine in Mexican silver and rubber-soled shoes.
The necklace was my mother's. I wear it almost every day. I always enjoy seeing you on Substack, Mary, in your place, mine or some other lucky writer's.
As one doggish writer to another, thanks for restacking.
Terrific piece.
Thank you!
Retired now for 7 years. I took to it like a dog to water (mine's a labrador 😊) despite having a Very Important Job, but no fame. I was an English teacher and loved my job with a passion. I thought I would miss the buzz of teenage angst and discovery but no - my time had come. I've learnt to sail and got my Skipper's ticket; gone up the Amazon and over to the Galapagos; and got myself a puppy. I've always had dogs but always adult rescue dogs. I had promised myself a pup to train when I retired. Rescue dogs often confront you with other people's dog-rearing mistakes. Sula, the fox red labrador, was a handful but is now my best friend and one of the most empathic beings I have ever met. No wonder labs are guide dogs. We have had considerable family trauma in the last few years and she is there for everyone in the family with her unquestioning love and kindness.
Now you can immerse yourself in your own angst and discovery (can’t have one without the other). I’m sorry for your family’s suffering, glad you have a steadfast companion to console and steady everyone.
I related to your dog and the trauma. I’m telling you I would miss my dog more than many people. I, too, spend a considerable amount of time teaching English, but I don’t love it like it sounds you did. I’m a long-term sub. I LOVE the teenagers with all of their volatile emotions, their low baggy jeans, nose rings and studded nails long enough to give a hawk’s talons a run for its money. What stories! What a gift ❤️!
I love teenagers, too. When our youngest left home for college, I didn’t realize how much I would miss having her friends around, too. So funny and dramatic, so much laughter.
I know the feeling. Our house was the clubhouse.
Retirement doesn’t feel so retiring with my mother living with me. I am her caretaker and she needs more and more of my time. My awesome black lab mix gets me out of the house and away from the stress for breaks and walks. He keeps me sane.
That’s hard. Good boy!
It’s quite the thing, picking careers when you are young and having no idea what’s coming. Everyone who could give you advice from that industry won’t know either. They most likely had different lives and different circumstances, so what they have can’t be yours anyway.
The world is changing. Print things can be hard to get. My mom, who is 86, asked me to pick her up some magazines and a calendar.
I struggled to find either. Eventually, I got a couple magazines for her at Shopper’s Drug Mart. But good luck buying a wall calendar. After 5 stores I gave up and ordered one on Amazon.
You told a group of former colleagues that your life had been transformed and none of them heard you, just like you couldn't hear Annie's words. You told your "friend" Audrey you were changing your life, and she didn't hear you, either. So many humans not listening to one another! But thank god, you listened to yourself which is all that matters EVER. At this stage of life, it can be hard to hear our own thoughts--we are not used to being alone in this way, no longer a part of what used to constitute our lives, no longer producing what we used to think was important. Now you produce a doggy bag and two happy walkers. I don't think you can beat that, really.
It hadn’t occurred to me, but yes, a river of unhearing runs through this piece. Attunement to oneself is another form of hearing.
I thought you might like this post from some months ago. No, it is not about dogs but it is about life after 65. https://arichardson.substack.com/p/all-my-future-is-behind-me
Your post/excerpt (beautifully put, as always) reminded me of something else, that whatever we choose, we are not choosing something else. Somehow I felt that a lot more strongly in the early parenthood years (stay home? Work part time? Can I make freelancing work?). Now, as a more or less full-time writer, I imagine I’ll keep writing long past retirement age. Or maybe not! Maybe it will be enough to read, garden, hike, ski, etc.
Mmm... doubt it, Sarah. If you are a writer, you can't choose NOT to be a writer. You can be a writer who writes or a writer who doesn't write and is unsettled by her silence. That's the choice. Trust me on this. I have tried my hardest not to be a writer, but here I am, slowly writing real good for free.
Yes, true, thanks for the reminder. Which in turn leads to a whole bunch of if onlys, if only I were a faster writer, more productive, more lyrical, more story-driven… 😭😂 I know you know the feeling!
You forgot “luckier!”
Luckier, exactly!
That liminal space between one stage and another , or one identity and another, is a strange, unsettling,and magical place. When I began my transition ( from a way Jess important position but corporate one) I felt layers dry up and fall away leaving me so exposed. We ,too, took in dogs. They have all kept me company over the years as I write. When we walk, I sometimes think out loud with them about my current project. They are good listeners and when I see them happy I feel important.
Did you know Emily Dickinson composed poems while walking her Newfoundland, Carlo? Details here in this wonderful book. https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/734/shaggy-muses-by-maureen-adams/
I have a picture of me and the king when he was a prince.I was dressed in a sweat shirt and jeans and standing in a pen with sheep. We had sheep but these were not my sheep. I think he thought he was talking to a real shepherdess. Not a nonsense poet hobby farmer recently moved from D. C. after my husband retired from a VERY IMPORTANT JOB. Or so I thought. He said he just plugged things in and fixed cables. I volunteered at a gym during those years and worked as a writer in secret except when I came home to Canada and told stories. We waited until his retirement and the move to get our dogs. And sheep and donkeys. etc. . The first dog was a wee one. My last two dogs have been sheep dogs. An aside -- when her highness Camilla came to fetch the Prince as he had made this unexpected stop to chat with me about the sheep - I had to curtsy and take her hand . ( We'd been told what to do in case they stopped. ) When she smiled at me her smile did not quite reach her eyes. "Come along now, Charles. " I do a good imitation. I'm quite irreverent at times. I guess that is when I realized the decisions I made along the way that landed me on a dirt road road with critters still led me to meet a prince and gave me stories I could not ever make up. Ah, magic sometimes I think, Magical! I married a real prince of a man who took the picture. True. I did. HE is French. We joke I kissed a frog and he turned into Prince. These things amuse us. I loved loved loved this piece. And by the way, I loved talking to the Prince who would be king. He was quite lovely. His eyes were kind. It's such an adventure this life and in such a crazy world, my dog my dog my dogs! Such love they give.and they give no advice. Sometimes, judgement, but no advice. Thanks for my Read of the DAY! And happy place. And great memory your writing triggered. And chat I must have needed!
Always a delight to meet you here with one of your stories, Sheree.
Not quite to retirement yet, but I can relate to having a dog as my constant companion. Walking five times a day for fifteen to twenty minutes is the prescription to good health, no? My dog walks me.
Yes. My husband’s blood pressure numbers improved greatly when started walking Casey.
What initially caught my eye - the phrase "my starter dog." No childhood dogs were allowed growing up; I adopted my first dog after I retired from my important job. That's when I discovered what I had missed and what was really important. You hit on something real that resonates with many and discovered a new tribe as a result. I am now on my third rescue dog, having shared home, "walkies", and love with each one in succession.
We are 74 and Casey is 10. There might be another dog in our future, although losing our Casey will be hard to bear.
The transition to retirement is an ongoing part of life for me nearly six years into said retirement. Enjoying your writing as I sit here on the sofa with my favorite guy (our trusty springer spaniel) in my pajamas.
Why does anyone say the transition takes three years? For me it was more like 10.
I love this “The Starter Dog” because my husband says dogs are like cookies, you must have more! Great story, Rona!💙
We’ve got our hands full with Casey, now 10 and still rambunctious, but I get it.
Our Paddy is 11 and he rules the routine! We love him!
Long may he reign.
I love this and your descriptions of Very Important Jobs. For me-still working it out…
In 2018, we were anticipating my husband’s retirement and, as he was able to work from anywhere, decided to make our move west a year in advance. While I was looking forward to being closer to our daughter, packing up my art studio of 12 years was hard. Over the last 25 years, I’ve had 2 studios outside of my home, one on my property and the other within walking distance of our city condo. In each one I found my ability to focus, experiment and produce above and beyond what I am able to do now. Even with a dedicated space in our home, spacious and bright, I have struggled with this. I knew as I was leaving the very unique building for the arts in Chicago that I would never have that again. Indeed, I am so very grateful I had such an amazing opportunity but there is a kind of grief involved. We have a large arts community where I live and I fully expected to become very involved. Perhaps because of Covid with so many things shut down, I never really formed that connection. On a positive note, the work I have done in the past, which has an online presence, has been a benefit in that I have received requests for my paintings from out of the blue, reminding me that what is past is not really over. It gives me the occasional boost of confidence. I need to see what is next-what kind of challenge. To that end, I make a point of observing the amazing land and seascapes that surround this island I live on. What can I do that I haven’t already done? As writers need to write right up to the end, painters need to paint. Hoping the muse will soon show her face.
There's something very special about a creative community. Maybe you can find one here on Substack? In the meantime, I have a mantra for you, from Gerard Manley Hopkins: "Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain."
Yes, grateful indeed for art making friends past and present online. We keep each other going. I will repeat that mantra during the dry spells. Thank you!
I am 76. I adopted my first dog from a shelter as part of a free seniors adopting seniors program. She was an eight year old Cavalier King Charles spaniel who was in bad shape when I brought her home. With care, she regained her health and became my little shadow. She lived to age 17 years, rare for a Cavalier. Losing her broke my heart. My next rescue was a 12 year old ailing Cavalier with a heart murmur whose owners had died. She curled up under my chair while I signed the adoption papers. We were together for a year thanks to veterinary cardiologists until her heart finally gave out. Losing each was painful, but by this time life wasn't complete without a dog. My latest rescue is a bouncy papillon mix who keeps me laughing at his diva antics. Dogs ground us firmly in the present, calling attention to the wonder of squirrels, birds in flight, sunshine, toys, pets, and treats - visible and invisible.
How encouraging to hear from a senior who's adopted three dogs. I've heard of age discrimination in some rescue organizations. There's powerful evidence that animals help keep older adults happier, healthier and more connected to the world.
As Sheree said, thanks for my read of the day. I’m so very grateful for your presence on Substack, and the support and encouragement you’ve given me, and so many others. I hope to follow your lead. And you look divine in Mexican silver and rubber-soled shoes.
The necklace was my mother's. I wear it almost every day. I always enjoy seeing you on Substack, Mary, in your place, mine or some other lucky writer's.
I zeroed in on that necklace, too!