Retire

It’s probably bad for me. I should stop all this blogging stuff, and settle down to a nice, safe retirement. I must stop taking risks and getting impassioned about things in case I look ridiculous. I must not spend money in the hopes of making money. I must accept that as a woman past 65, I am - well - wrinkly and nearly dead.

Oh, must I? And who said? I resent the suggestion that I am intent on getting old disgracefully. I was never physically graceful in the first place, having been, all my life, at best a big tall woman. And why is it disgraceful to want to continue living as I always have? Does some kind of switch go off when you hit 60 that causes all the interesting urges you have to become somehow embarrassing?

I must stress, this is not about my family and friends. They are wonderful. They know and accept me as I am, encourage me to enjoy myself - even aid and abet me in doing dangerous things!

People in stores are inclined to call me ‘mam’ or ‘hun’ and speak to me in a somewhat odd tone. Someone even said, ‘Bless’ about something I said recently. They were not aware of how close they were to a white trash fit. I was so angry I couldn’t move for fear of getting arrested for assault.

Then there is the media version of how older people should be perceived. We are a drag on resources, not producing anything to go into the economic pot, and are costing more and more each year as the percentage of retirees in the population at large grows. Little attention is paid to how many grandparents are doing the main caring, and contributing financially to the education of their grandchildren while their adult children work all hours to develop and succeed in their chosen careers. Small mention is made of the number of retirees who are the main care givers for their own, very aged, parents and family, or even their partner. And it is seldom mentioned in the media that the major charities are practically dependant upon the services of post-retirement volunteers, who run charity shops, raise sponsorship and generally spend a lot of their time supporting them.

My generation, the post war babies did not fight in the war . But we did work for many years, paying all the time in one way nor another towards our pension. And now we are reaping the reward - the anger of the media and the resentment of those who are just entering employment with the knowledge that they will have to save for their own retirement. It isn’t as though my generation didn’t save. I never felt that owning stuff was my right! I’m not complaining that people have too much - I think it’s great. But a lot of how it is now, with everyone having more things than I could ever have believed possible, is because my generation worked like mad to make it happen.

So I’m not subsiding into silence in my little home. . I’m not repentant, nor embarrassed about being retired and enjoying myself. The future is such an exciting place, and for a lot more years yet I’m going to live in it.