Open Writing

Just over four years ago Leon had the opportunity for early retirement from the company where he’d been employed for twenty-five years. After he applied for the very favourable ‘package’, we went on leave for a month. We returned to discover that not only had his application been approved, but that he could stop work at the end of that week. The thought of spending so much more time together was most inviting.

During his last working week, Leon arrived home each day with boxes filled with his books, documents and pictures. They all went into my study, the haven where I wrote at the computer each day and where I practised my flute.

Then suddenly, Leon was home. Every day, all day. There is a popular saying, quoted at men’s retirement parties, supposedly said by scores of wives of pensioners: “I married him for better or for worse – but not for lunch!” Lunch was the least of our problems.

I cannot say what frustrations Leon experienced, though I can speculate on the reasons: his working identity, Mr. Quality of an international corporation, was suddenly no longer his. There were no secretaries to chat to and ask for assistance, no staff to direct and train, no pressing matters to deal with on the telephone, no meetings to attend, no business trips around the country. In fact, with hardly any warning, there was no sense of urgency or pressure, no feeling that he was productive.

My life at home had become streamlined. I was up in time to say goodbye to Leon each morning; off to gym at seven-thirty; home in time to rush to rehearsals with other musicians, or to practise my flute alone in my study. Each afternoon I spent hours writing. Occasionally, I even found time to clean and cook.

I had not anticipated that Leon needed space and was most upset when I found him moving my neatly-sorted music into what became the ‘music room’ in more than name. My sheet music, instead of being organised in boxes of ‘solo’s’, ‘sonata’s’ and so on, was tidied on the shelf in size order. In the study, my bookshelves were re-organised to make space for the technical volumes Leon had used at work. He began using my computer.

Leon wanted to go to gym with me. But, “not so early, Isabel, I prefer it later!” He wanted to attend my rehearsals, but because we’d delayed going to gym, we arrived late, inconveniencing the other musicians. We went everywhere together, usually with me driving: to rehearsals, club meetings, concerts. At least once during each trip, Leon said something like, “Why don’t we find a different route?” or “Why are you going this way?” or with great urgency, “Turn here!” The disagreement about where we were going and the route we took was symbolic: Leon was searching for a new direction for his life.

Over the next four months, we both became extremely stressed, bickering frequently, something we had never done before. We were both acting on our own expectations without discussing them. Perhaps the problem arose because Leon’s retirement was so sudden: a week is not sufficient time to decide the way one is going to spend a new – and most exciting – part of one’s life.

Eventually, we communicated our separate frustrations to each other, stopped bickering, and slowly created a new lifestyle:

Leon rediscovered his enjoyment of metal-work, eventually spending many hours in his workshop. He helped our wheel-chair-bound neighbours with maintenance around their home on a regular basis and assisted a small company wanting to become ISO 9000 compliant. He accepted chairmanship of a large environmental organisation, which took up much of his time for more than a year. Leon acquired his own computer, and left me to my own devices with mine.

I spent a few days re-sorting my music, and grew accustomed to practising in the music room; I went to gym on my own, and Leon joined me at the appropriate time for rehearsals; I took on a couple of flute students, and found a secretarial job one morning a week.

Most importantly, we relaxed in each other’s company again and learned to enjoy and treasure our time together.

Now, our ‘retirement’ is so full that we wonder how either of us found the time to go out to work.

If you are fortunate enough to have time to prepare for retirement, life will be easier if you and your partner know how you are going to spend the extra eight hours a day together; considering practical matters such the as physical space you need will also ease the transition.

Perhaps the most important part of planning your retirement is to discuss every aspect with your partner, in depth, at length and often, so that you are both as prepared as you can possibly be to enjoy your life fully from the moment the retiree comes home to stay!

Until next week, “here comes Treble!”

By Isabel Bradley
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