For those who have been following my stories, you know that my road to retirement has been a long one.  I’ve had more retirements than some people have jobs.  Back in 2014, leaving not only left a lucrative career as an ag loan officer after 20 years but packing up and moving to Southwest Michigan to begin a new life with a new last name.   The future was full of hearts and rainbows and happily ever-after.

Fast forward to August 1, 2022; when I left my job at Dairy Farmers of America after only six years of service.   We had been given the green light to retire by our financial advisor the year before but it didn’t seem right at the time.  I wasn’t ready.  However, less than a year later I found myself leaving a career I was very competent at to learn more about the medical field than I had cared to.  Ten days after retiring, Scott and I moved into U of M for his stem cell transplant; hoping to put this rare form of blood cancer behind us once and for all.      

By May of 2023, and over $1 million dollars’ worth of medical treatments later; Scott was feeling very good.  We decided that our desire to spend time together was more important than the rare moments of bliss resulting from owning my own business.  The prospect of change in our little village led to quite a buzz and allowed the store to basically sell itself in a matter of days.  Would the new owners continue to make fried chicken?  Everyone wanted to be guaranteed that everything would stay the same.  I’ll admit that while I was anxious to see it go, selling it caused a different kind of anxious.  Knowing that I had continued the most the traditions that John had built in his 32 years of ownership meant that we had maintained consistent product offerings for nearly 40 years and with that came pressure.

Despite heartfelt attempts to convince me that they were the right people for the job, my apprehension was getting the best of me.  Would the new owners really keep things the same?  Attempts to communicate with the buyers throughout the process were squashed by the realtor.   After months of not daring to get excited about the end being in sight; we went from having a notice of approval to a closing in nine days; well technically, eight and a half days.  We fried chicken right to the end; the real estate closing was at 2 p.m. and my staff served customers until 2 p.m.  The new owners moved in “over-night” and opened the next morning.  I had agreed to help with the transition for four weeks, but it was clear very early on that my help wasn’t necessary.  Rather than training and providing guidance, I spent my final three weeks as an over-paid dish washer.  I’m not proud of it, but I chose to head for the hills rather than fulfill the last week of my commitment. Certainly not the first person to leave a job feeling irrelevant nor the last.

Hard as I tried, my newly given mantra of “Not My Problem” wasn’t sinking in and I’m not sure when it will.  Having been with us through Scott’s illness, our customers and employees will always hold a special place in our hearts.  It will take more than a few days to let go of all the plans that never came to fruition there.   Time marches on and change happens. We roll with it or get rolled over.      

For what I swear was my last retirement celebration, Tal and Cindy stepped up again and hosted in Tal’s new party barn.    Friday night.  The weather wasn’t great but the company was.  I actually returned home the next day to put in another four hours at the store; my last day on the schedule.  I left that day like any other, eager to go to the concert we had been planning on seeing for a few months.  Come Sunday morning we would be headed to Batchawana to begin our lives in full retirement.  Whoop! Whoop! 

We headed out Sunday morning as planned.  All packed into Scott’s new ride.  Ready and excited to begin our first of many adventures in our newly unencumbered lives.  Despite the off and on rain, the drive was beautiful.  I’m not sure if fall colors get better with age or if we just appreciate them more each year, but this fall; they have been absolutely stunning.  We pull into the drive; and what to our wondering eyes should appear, but a tree down across the drive.  In a near sacrilegious move, Scott didn’t bring a chainsaw.  Nothing was going to dampen our moods.  We backed up and hit the road, headed to Wayne’s house in search of a chainsaw.  Thankfully, he and Mary were home and we grabbed the saw and headed back; anxious to get back and unpacked before darkness hit. 

Dawn breaks on Monday and Scott is up before the sun.  So was I; but thankfully that was after 8 a.m.  We placed the new liquor cabinet and tackled a couple burn projects.  By mid-afternoon, Scott was developing a headache.  We figured that wasn’t all that shocking with the wood stove in the cabin and all the smoke from the clean-up.  Maybe we need a carbon monoxide detector in there?   What did we bring for drugs?  Well, he packed all his own pills and I grabbed an old bottle of Dayquil on the way out the door but I hadn’t planned on us getting sick.  That really wasn’t exactly part of my retirement fantasy. 

So, as he sleeps his way through the supper hours, I begin to worry and start pouting.  Why can’t we have even a full day of rest, relaxation and happiness before reality smacks us in the face again.  I don’t think about all the great things in our life; our families and friends.  Our financial security.  I can only see the unfairness of the situation at hand.  I know I’ll be next; I just don’t know when.

After barely any time awake Tuesday and Wednesday he felt good enough to help pack and load on Thursday morning so we took the opportunity and left for home.  Mid-way home, it was clear I was developing the same symptoms and it was only a matter of time before this plague had its way with me too.   Sure as shit, my first free Saturday in six years found me testing positive for COVID.  It’s a little difficult to focus on being glad it waited until I had some free time.   

So, as I sat wallowing in my own self-pity, I started to feel a strange sensation in my nose and throat.   Yup, you guessed it – I was losing my taste and smell.  You would think that would make someone not want to eat.  Not me, I had to try everything just to see if I could taste it.  All the delicacies we brought back from our journey. Extremely burnt cinnamin raisen toast that I would never eat in a million yeras if it weren’t for the sake of science. Spicy, hot chili and creamy pumpkin whoopie pies.  Fresh squeezed apple cider and crispy fall apples.  The textures and temperatures were tantilizing but I was getting nothing on the flavor side.   I know some might want to disagree but I think this was my message from God.    A gentle reminder of what else he could take from me.  That this is only temporary and it could be so much worse.  To put on my big girl panties and suck it up.  Sit back and relax for just a few days. He still has many great things still planned for me; I just have to be patient.  Rome wasn’t built in a day and this is only week one of the rest of my life.