Summer, 1953 (6 years old)-- I spent hours playing in the bare patch of backyard that was officially my "sandbox". Oh, the things that came out of that sandbox, both good and bad. I would add leaves, twigs, water and stones to handfuls of dirt, and create culinary delights. Once, I threatened a kid down the street with a poisoned mud pie that I'd leave on her front doorstep. On one of my digs, I discovered a finely chiseled Indian arrowhead. I imagined a bronzed Narragansett Indian brave silently stalking a deer in my backyard. Another time, my brother Charlie and I decided we would dig a hole that would be so deep it would reach the children in China. We worked many, many hours, til we could fit inside that hole. While I was crouching in the bottom, digging out more dirt, my brother swung a hoe from above, and it caught me right on top of my skull, resulting in a trip to the emergency room, a couple of stitches, and a spot of my scalp where the hair doesn't grow. We never did reach China, but I never did give up my fascination with playing in the dirt.Just this morning, after the retired hubby and I finished our exercise in the park, I told him to go inside, ice the knees,and wait for me to fix breakfast because I'd be outside just a few minutes watering my tomato plants. The lure of the sandbox proved to be too much. An hour later, there I was, tomatoes plants unwatered, (hubby asking, "What are you doing??!!") and me playing in the dirt. Since I'm too big to make mud pies and such, I call it "weeding". The soil was so nice, softened up by recent rains. I attacked a weedy patch of lawn, freeing the runners of San Augustine grass from the choking weeds. There's something calming, soothing, and liberating about digging in the dirt ...... can hardly wait to put in my fall garden.

On the first full day of retirement, Carl followed me out to the yard, asking ,"what are you doing?" and "why aren't you ready yet?" We were about to go on our first joint errand as a retired couple. "Honey", I replied, gently, but as firmly as I could, "Please don't ever, ever say those words again. You are now in my territory. I'm the chief CEO of this corporation. I've been running it for more than 30 years. You are now in my territory, and you are just a peon." I thought he took it pretty well. He shrugged his shoulders, walked towards the back door, and said, "I guess I'll just have to do my own thing til you're ready". When I came back inside, here's what he was busy doing.
Our first errand consisted of getting Carl some real work-out clothes and new running shoes (see photo below). On Mon., Wed., and Fri., we hit the track at the city park first thing in the morning, putting in 3 miles, and do lap swimming at the city pool on the in -between days. I wish I could bottle how good I feel after doing this. (Unfortunately, it doesn't last all day, and I'm drooping like a wilted flower come mid-afternoon.) After a leisurely breakfast, we then do our own projects (Carl's is in the garage), meet again for lunch, and so forth. Our first two weeks of retirement have been relaxing and fun, and Carl has been great about obeying the rules, so far. To be continued...



