| Biographical Non-Fiction posted April 12, 2022 |
  |
While we make plans.
Life Happens
by Annmuma
“Okay. I’ll let you go for the evening. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Sure. Again, I enjoyed lunch today. It was fun to meet some of your friends and share some conversation. Bye.”
As I hung up the phone and turned to walk into the house, I was awash in a memory from long ago. It was 1988 that Ronnie and I began to mentally make our retirement plans. It was February 1, our twenty-fifth anniversary and, as we sat in front of our campfire, just outside our rented RV, we looked at the stars and sipped a glass of wine. Ronnie enjoyed a glass of red and I had a glass of white. We were just learning; ultimately, Ronnie became a fan of Madeira and I have an eclectic --eclectic is another word for 'drink anything put in front of you'-- taste, but I still prefer the white.
“I enjoyed the park ranger’s class on birds tonight. It’s amazing how little I know!”
Ronnie laughed. “Well, we must start somewhere if we are going to take on birding as a hobby. Is that what you call it? I thought it was just birdwatching, but that old lady standing next to me corrected me twice. I’m guessing she’s been at it longer than we have."
“I know! Did you catch that the one guy who was actually telling a story about us – without pointing us out?”
“No. What did he say?”
“Well, you remember yesterday morning when you asked the young man with the binoculars at the river what kind of duck we were watching?
“Yes, and he said, ‘That’s not a duck. It a grebe.’
And he said it as if he were talking to a five-year-old. Was that him standing over near the ranger like a teacher’s pet or something? I didn’t really get a good look at him at the Rio Grande. I was busy trying to find my duck-grebe in my bird book.”
We laughed again. “That was him”
And so, the evening went. As the fire was dying and a silence that is only heard in a near wilderness settled in, Ronnie spoke again.
“Ann, someday you and I will have the RV of our dreams and we’ll just travel. We’ll see every inch of this country and we’ll watch the sun come up in the morning and the stars at night.”
“Maybe we can make fun of someone who calls a vulture, a buzzard.”
“I’ll be happy if I can just tell the difference between a grebe and duck.” He replied with a smile.
As we folded our chairs and went into the RV, a plan began to form and, for the next fifteen years, we would work on it and perfect it and enjoy little pieces of pleasure as life happened.
And life did happen. I opened a business of my own. Ronnie retired and helped me with it. Over the years we traveled a lot in two motorhomes and one fifth wheel. Even took a ten-month trip, left on New Year’s Day, 2002, traveled down to the Texas coast, then up through the western states, across central Canada and came home for Thanksgiving.
By that time, we had perfected our plan. We had joined Workampers and we had volunteered in a number of State and National Parks during those fifteen years of preparation. We spent 2001 as volunteer camp hosts at Tawakoni State Park. While I commuted daily to my office, Ronnie learned the ropes of being a Park Camp Host. All we had left to do was celebrate our fortieth anniversary in Australia and complete the transfer of my business to our children.
And life continued to happen. Ronnie died of a massive heart attack on January 6, 2003, as we walked in a park and talked about Australia.
Time does not heal wounds, but it allows those wounds to become buried treasure of memories, memories to be taken out, enjoyed again and safely stored away. It took me a couple of years to learn that, but it was a lesson well-learned. In 2005, I was blessed again by meeting a wonderful man and we married in 2006. He wasn’t an RV guy and he only liked short trips; two weeks away from home and Randall got antsy for coffee on the back porch.
So, dreaming was revamped, and new retirement plans were made. He was a free-lance photographer and insurance inspector for the last few years of his life and he retired in 2018. I still operated my business, but we started to plan for that time when the days and the nights would belong to us alone.
Randall did not drink wine, but he loved a cup of coffee on the patio as the sun went down. We talked, we enjoyed drinks of our choice and we planned while he took pictures of the moon and stars with photography equipment purchased just for that purpose and, of course, for all those opportunities we would have in the future. Life was wonderful … until covid took him in December 2020.
Life continued to happen. I still went to the office most days, but, coming home, was not the joy it had been. Me-time is a lonely time.
I did not really know that until I tried it and although I’m sure that is not true for many, it is for me. I have friends and kids and grandkids and tons of other family, all who have families and lives of their own. Their friendship and support have been lifesavers to me, and I am thankful and more than grateful.
Still, there was that empty ‘watch the sun go down’ time every day that I worked to fill with something else. I rejoined Fanstory. I had belonged some years ago and I enjoy writing. Maybe I could change up a fifty-plus year routine of down time in front of the fire or sitting on the patio sharing thoughts, into a meaningful me-time through writing.
I met someone – another Fanstorian – who lives nearby. We often wrote about similar times in our lives and I don’t know how it happened, but it happened. We began to email occasionally and then we had lunch one day and, one day, he called at 5:30. He was having a drink on his balcony; I was having a glass of wine on my patio.
“Hey, did you read Jay Squires’ post today?”
“I did. I loved it! What did you think?”
“Well, what can I say? They are all good. I’m working on one about a cat. It’s for a contest. Zoe loves cats.”
Then he went on to tell me some stories about his late wife and I told him stories that I wanted to write.
“Look, we’ve been on this phone forty-five minutes! I’ve got to get going. Talk tomorrow?”
“Patio time? About 5:30?
“I’ll have my wine poured.”
“Good night”
Life continues to happen.
“Okay. I’ll let you go for the evening. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Sure. Again, I enjoyed lunch today. It was fun to meet some of your friends and share some conversation. Bye.”
As I hung up the phone and turned to walk into the house, I was awash in a memory from long ago. It was 1988 that Ronnie and I began to mentally make our retirement plans. It was February 1, our twenty-fifth anniversary and, as we sat in front of our campfire, just outside our rented RV, we looked at the stars and sipped a glass of wine. Ronnie enjoyed a glass of red and I had a glass of white. We were just learning; ultimately, Ronnie became a fan of Madeira and I have an eclectic --eclectic is another word for 'drink anything put in front of you'-- taste, but I still prefer the white.
“I enjoyed the park ranger’s class on birds tonight. It’s amazing how little I know!”
Ronnie laughed. “Well, we must start somewhere if we are going to take on birding as a hobby. Is that what you call it? I thought it was just birdwatching, but that old lady standing next to me corrected me twice. I’m guessing she’s been at it longer than we have."
“I know! Did you catch that the one guy who was actually telling a story about us – without pointing us out?”
“No. What did he say?”
“Well, you remember yesterday morning when you asked the young man with the binoculars at the river what kind of duck we were watching?
“Yes, and he said, ‘That’s not a duck. It a grebe.’
And he said it as if he were talking to a five-year-old. Was that him standing over near the ranger like a teacher’s pet or something? I didn’t really get a good look at him at the Rio Grande. I was busy trying to find my duck-grebe in my bird book.”
We laughed again. “That was him”
And so, the evening went. As the fire was dying and a silence that is only heard in a near wilderness settled in, Ronnie spoke again.
“Ann, someday you and I will have the RV of our dreams and we’ll just travel. We’ll see every inch of this country and we’ll watch the sun come up in the morning and the stars at night.”
“Maybe we can make fun of someone who calls a vulture, a buzzard.”
“I’ll be happy if I can just tell the difference between a grebe and duck.” He replied with a smile.
As we folded our chairs and went into the RV, a plan began to form and, for the next fifteen years, we would work on it and perfect it and enjoy little pieces of pleasure as life happened.
And life did happen. I opened a business of my own. Ronnie retired and helped me with it. Over the years we traveled a lot in two motorhomes and one fifth wheel. Even took a ten-month trip, left on New Year’s Day, 2002, traveled down to the Texas coast, then up through the western states, across central Canada and came home for Thanksgiving.
By that time, we had perfected our plan. We had joined Workampers and we had volunteered in a number of State and National Parks during those fifteen years of preparation. We spent 2001 as volunteer camp hosts at Tawakoni State Park. While I commuted daily to my office, Ronnie learned the ropes of being a Park Camp Host. All we had left to do was celebrate our fortieth anniversary in Australia and complete the transfer of my business to our children.
And life continued to happen. Ronnie died of a massive heart attack on January 6, 2003, as we walked in a park and talked about Australia.
Time does not heal wounds, but it allows those wounds to become buried treasure of memories, memories to be taken out, enjoyed again and safely stored away. It took me a couple of years to learn that, but it was a lesson well-learned. In 2005, I was blessed again by meeting a wonderful man and we married in 2006. He wasn’t an RV guy and he only liked short trips; two weeks away from home and Randall got antsy for coffee on the back porch.
So, dreaming was revamped, and new retirement plans were made. He was a free-lance photographer and insurance inspector for the last few years of his life and he retired in 2018. I still operated my business, but we started to plan for that time when the days and the nights would belong to us alone.
Randall did not drink wine, but he loved a cup of coffee on the patio as the sun went down. We talked, we enjoyed drinks of our choice and we planned while he took pictures of the moon and stars with photography equipment purchased just for that purpose and, of course, for all those opportunities we would have in the future. Life was wonderful … until covid took him in December 2020.
Life continued to happen. I still went to the office most days, but, coming home, was not the joy it had been. Me-time is a lonely time.
I did not really know that until I tried it and although I’m sure that is not true for many, it is for me. I have friends and kids and grandkids and tons of other family, all who have families and lives of their own. Their friendship and support have been lifesavers to me, and I am thankful and more than grateful.
Still, there was that empty ‘watch the sun go down’ time every day that I worked to fill with something else. I rejoined Fanstory. I had belonged some years ago and I enjoy writing. Maybe I could change up a fifty-plus year routine of down time in front of the fire or sitting on the patio sharing thoughts, into a meaningful me-time through writing.
I met someone – another Fanstorian – who lives nearby. We often wrote about similar times in our lives and I don’t know how it happened, but it happened. We began to email occasionally and then we had lunch one day and, one day, he called at 5:30. He was having a drink on his balcony; I was having a glass of wine on my patio.
“Hey, did you read Jay Squires’ post today?”
“I did. I loved it! What did you think?”
“Well, what can I say? They are all good. I’m working on one about a cat. It’s for a contest. Zoe loves cats.”
Then he went on to tell me some stories about his late wife and I told him stories that I wanted to write.
“Look, we’ve been on this phone forty-five minutes! I’ve got to get going. Talk tomorrow?”
“Patio time? About 5:30?
“I’ll have my wine poured.”
“Good night”
Life continues to happen.
“Sure. Again, I enjoyed lunch today. It was fun to meet some of your friends and share some conversation. Bye.”
As I hung up the phone and turned to walk into the house, I was awash in a memory from long ago. It was 1988 that Ronnie and I began to mentally make our retirement plans. It was February 1, our twenty-fifth anniversary and, as we sat in front of our campfire, just outside our rented RV, we looked at the stars and sipped a glass of wine. Ronnie enjoyed a glass of red and I had a glass of white. We were just learning; ultimately, Ronnie became a fan of Madeira and I have an eclectic --eclectic is another word for 'drink anything put in front of you'-- taste, but I still prefer the white.
“I enjoyed the park ranger’s class on birds tonight. It’s amazing how little I know!”
Ronnie laughed. “Well, we must start somewhere if we are going to take on birding as a hobby. Is that what you call it? I thought it was just birdwatching, but that old lady standing next to me corrected me twice. I’m guessing she’s been at it longer than we have."
“I know! Did you catch that the one guy who was actually telling a story about us – without pointing us out?”
“No. What did he say?”
“Well, you remember yesterday morning when you asked the young man with the binoculars at the river what kind of duck we were watching?
“Yes, and he said, ‘That’s not a duck. It a grebe.’
And he said it as if he were talking to a five-year-old. Was that him standing over near the ranger like a teacher’s pet or something? I didn’t really get a good look at him at the Rio Grande. I was busy trying to find my duck-grebe in my bird book.”
We laughed again. “That was him”
And so, the evening went. As the fire was dying and a silence that is only heard in a near wilderness settled in, Ronnie spoke again.
“Ann, someday you and I will have the RV of our dreams and we’ll just travel. We’ll see every inch of this country and we’ll watch the sun come up in the morning and the stars at night.”
“Maybe we can make fun of someone who calls a vulture, a buzzard.”
“I’ll be happy if I can just tell the difference between a grebe and duck.” He replied with a smile.
As we folded our chairs and went into the RV, a plan began to form and, for the next fifteen years, we would work on it and perfect it and enjoy little pieces of pleasure as life happened.
And life did happen. I opened a business of my own. Ronnie retired and helped me with it. Over the years we traveled a lot in two motorhomes and one fifth wheel. Even took a ten-month trip, left on New Year’s Day, 2002, traveled down to the Texas coast, then up through the western states, across central Canada and came home for Thanksgiving.
By that time, we had perfected our plan. We had joined Workampers and we had volunteered in a number of State and National Parks during those fifteen years of preparation. We spent 2001 as volunteer camp hosts at Tawakoni State Park. While I commuted daily to my office, Ronnie learned the ropes of being a Park Camp Host. All we had left to do was celebrate our fortieth anniversary in Australia and complete the transfer of my business to our children.
And life continued to happen. Ronnie died of a massive heart attack on January 6, 2003, as we walked in a park and talked about Australia.
Time does not heal wounds, but it allows those wounds to become buried treasure of memories, memories to be taken out, enjoyed again and safely stored away. It took me a couple of years to learn that, but it was a lesson well-learned. In 2005, I was blessed again by meeting a wonderful man and we married in 2006. He wasn’t an RV guy and he only liked short trips; two weeks away from home and Randall got antsy for coffee on the back porch.
So, dreaming was revamped, and new retirement plans were made. He was a free-lance photographer and insurance inspector for the last few years of his life and he retired in 2018. I still operated my business, but we started to plan for that time when the days and the nights would belong to us alone.
Randall did not drink wine, but he loved a cup of coffee on the patio as the sun went down. We talked, we enjoyed drinks of our choice and we planned while he took pictures of the moon and stars with photography equipment purchased just for that purpose and, of course, for all those opportunities we would have in the future. Life was wonderful … until covid took him in December 2020.
Life continued to happen. I still went to the office most days, but, coming home, was not the joy it had been. Me-time is a lonely time.
I did not really know that until I tried it and although I’m sure that is not true for many, it is for me. I have friends and kids and grandkids and tons of other family, all who have families and lives of their own. Their friendship and support have been lifesavers to me, and I am thankful and more than grateful.
Still, there was that empty ‘watch the sun go down’ time every day that I worked to fill with something else. I rejoined Fanstory. I had belonged some years ago and I enjoy writing. Maybe I could change up a fifty-plus year routine of down time in front of the fire or sitting on the patio sharing thoughts, into a meaningful me-time through writing.
I met someone – another Fanstorian – who lives nearby. We often wrote about similar times in our lives and I don’t know how it happened, but it happened. We began to email occasionally and then we had lunch one day and, one day, he called at 5:30. He was having a drink on his balcony; I was having a glass of wine on my patio.
“Hey, did you read Jay Squires’ post today?”
“I did. I loved it! What did you think?”
“Well, what can I say? They are all good. I’m working on one about a cat. It’s for a contest. Zoe loves cats.”
Then he went on to tell me some stories about his late wife and I told him stories that I wanted to write.
“Look, we’ve been on this phone forty-five minutes! I’ve got to get going. Talk tomorrow?”
“Patio time? About 5:30?
“I’ll have my wine poured.”
“Good night”
Life continues to happen.
 Recognized |
#20 April 2022 |
It is amazing to me how life twists and turns and still has so much to offer. I am blessed.
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