

Retirement Journal: The Time Has Come, Today
After 45 years of working for a living, I hung out the “Gone Fishin’” sign. On the evening of my first day of retirement, a good old friend, still working (his problem), texted me:
After 45 years of working for a living, I hung out the “Gone Fishin’” sign. On the evening of my first day of retirement, a good old friend, still working (his problem), texted me:
Eradicating the scourge of Customary and Imperial units of measurement from all textbooks and ancillary learning materials for all students in all grades is getting a little too high on the “to do” list of American schools. “Metric is the only way now,” say our educators, pointing to the dire need for science and math skills in the increasingly competitive global job market. However, I would recom
The week before I retired, I attended a modern art exhibit. I found myself in front of an installation that displayed hundreds of ties of various types, as well as tie clips, tacks, and pins. It brought home that I was indeed retiring. After 40-plus years of working in an office – where a tie was de rigueur for many of those years – the jumble of repurposed ties instilled in me a sense of relief: I no longer needed to endure the literal and figurative constraints of a necktie. And it inspired me to contemplate the freedom that was about to be mine.
It had been 55 or more years since someone had asked, “Can Jeff come out and play?” Actually, those weren’t the exact words uttered. In fact, technically, they weren’t even uttered. But I recognized the gist. And the earnest tone. Of being needed. Wanted. Me! On Monday afternoon, my wife received a text from her friend Patty. “I played pickleball with Jeff yesterday and we’re playing again this af
I’m at an age now that no matter how successful I become from here on in, I’ll never be called a Boy Wonder! Even if my cumulative youthful accomplishments to date are finally recognized as brilliant by someone other than my reflection, I’ll never, ever be called Boy Wonder! Even that reflection, which, admittedly is prejudiced for me, is not blind. Rather, I am at the age where a colonoscopy is n
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