The ambush
Jumped by nothing to do
by Ken Rummer
Well, it finally came, and when it did, it took me by surprise. My friend had headed for home after helping me paint the garage floor. My wife was off caring for a grandchild. And I was sitting in the reading chair watching the wind give the trees a good stretching. That’s when it suddenly hit me. I had nothing to do.
Getting the wood shop organized was on hold pending the paint drying in the garage. The library boxes couldn’t be dealt with until a decision was made about placement of shelving and what to do about the need for additional shelf space (minister’s library and all). The watering of the sod was done until late afternoon. The cable hadn’t been hooked up yet, and the few channels coming in through the jury-rigged antenna weren’t offering programs of interest.
Nothing to do!
I had imagined this moment as a quintessential retirement moment. “What are you doing today?” “Nothing.” “That’s what you did yesterday.” “Yes, but I’m not done yet.”
I had seen this moment coming, and even prepared a repertoire of activities as backup: a set of John Steinbeck novels, a beginning calligraphy kit, two wall-mounted tool cabinets needing tops, closers, stain, and finish; and a basswood blank with instructions on how to whittle it into a pair of pliers.
Maybe I had gotten complacent, dealing with what seemed like a never-ending list of decisions and activities centered on the new house and moving and settling in. Maybe I had started to believe that my retirement would be different, that I would be able to skip over the what-to-do-with-yourself-all-day question. No such luck.
Today at about 2 PM, surprised and a little scared, I found myself unoccupied.
In my school days I doodled on the note pad when my brain was running faster than the lecture. I also discovered that a library book was good insurance against boredom (though not recommended during the lecture).
Today I tried M & M cookies and four DVD lectures back to back on writing great sentences. Then I turned to the piano.
Finding the as-yet-unopened box with the music, I pulled out a few favorites: a Bastien adult beginner book with an arrangement of the “Going Home” theme from Dvorak’s New World Symphony, a French Noël arranged by César Franck that my mother used to play, and the Prelude in C Major from The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 by Bach.
Now I should confess that I am no whiz at the piano. I’m at that pre-beginner level where, with all the restarts and missed notes, a listener could be forgiven a hair-pulling “Aargh!” But even so, it felt good to dip my toe in the music-making waters. The familiar melodies gave my fears a way to be heard so they could begin to find their seats again.
The music did help, but what finally broke the spell was a single word finding its way down the stairs, a word carrying a splash of sunshine from my returning wife, “Hello…”
Oh, to be loved, with or without amazing accomplishments. And I am.
(There might be a sermon in there somewhere and, if I were still preaching, I might be tempted to go and look for it. If you are so inclined, you have my blessing.)
The long and the short of it? Boredom jumped me and I survived. At least this time. I suspect it will be back. But now that I know that no, my retirement experience is not immune to the big B, I’ll try to keep my doodle pad handy, and my library book, and the music for Kabalevsky’s children’s song,”The Clown.” (Those slapstick, dissonant chords always make me smile.)
And yes, I’ll keep my ear open for a word of love and sunshine.
Ken Rummer, a recently retired PCUSA pastor, writes about life and faith from the middle of Iowa by the High Trestle Trail.