Retirement

 

And so begins another transition. The paperwork is in and the word is out. By the time our Christmas cards are in the mail this year, Don and I will both be footloose pensioners driving each other and our kids crazy. It’s both exciting and scary.

 

Although the idea of a slower pace with fewer demands sounds great, we have never been alone together 24-7 for more than a week. There were always parents, kids, or jobs to chop up our time and steer our schedules. I can’t imagine how this transition will play out, but it is my grandest hope that we will survive it and come out the other side still friends. I’ll keep you posted.

Noel

 
Not more than six or eight weeks old, Ellie followed Sarah home one December day and hopped on my knee as I squatted down to paint the outside of our front window. She was bright, beautiful, and impudent. She took up residence on Dad’s lap until he died, traveled with Mom, and inserted her rights and preferences everywhere she went. She adopted two other kittens and allowed them to enter her domain, albeit with parameters. She loved to play a rousing game of tag, stalk the fish in the fish tank, follow yard intruders from window to window, and wrestle no-holds-barred with Joey. She snuggled on my shoulder at night, kneading my neck, sat by us if we started coughing until we were better, dug her way into cupboards, closets, and drawers to find perfect napping spots, and thoroughly enjoyed ruling the roost when she became the matriarch of the household. I loved Ellie’s companionship, her sense of humor, her independence, and her dedication to Mom. She never left Mom’s side the day she died and she mourned for days until little Maia bustled through the doorway, insisting that Ellie accept her friendship.

 

Thank you, Noel, for your feisty love, devotion, and companionship. You are greatly missed.

 

(1996-2013)