Retirement | Life In Engleville

Adoxography of Eucatastrophe

This is the title that’s written on the cover of my journal.
Loosely translated (I’m assuming a few may not be familiar with) this means “a lot of words written about pretty-much nothing that describe a story with a happy ending”.

I’ve decided this defines my journals, my blogs, my writing in general. In fact it could stand as a definition of my life, I suppose. For what else do we have really, when we reach that ending? What do we have that “moth and rust do not corrupt”, as my dear friend Sparrow would say? We have this library in our minds, filled with love and loved ones, and remembrances of the beauty and wonder life has shown us during our brief stay. I’ve decided in advance that the story will have a happy ending. (Nod to Neil)

The making of a hermit

Quick bio: regular life, married, children, regular job. Kids grew up (6 grandkids BTW), my wife died a little over two years ago, and last year I retired from the working world in April, at the age of 63. I live in a 9-room Victorian farmhouse in the country with a dog and a cat. Until July of last year my adult son lived with us finalizing a divorce, and his two children were here often. This makes July 5th, 2022, the official date on which my hermitage began. Or would that be “hermitization”? “Hermitism”?

Defining “Hermit”.

Hikikomori is a term for a modern day hermit. From the Japanese hiki, meaning “being in solitude”. Hikikomori are folks that don’t prefer to leave their residence, limit social contact with the outside world, and keep a small circle of family and friends. Common definitions for hermit describe one who lives alone, away from society, often as a religious discipline. Its ancient Greek root eremos has two meanings; a lonely and desolate place or a state of being alone.

Defining my life.

As I entered this phase of my life, and being an armchair philosopher, I took appropriate pause to contemplate, in considerable detail and with many important considerations, a conscious course that would bring me ever closer to my lofty goals of inner peace, oneness with nature and harmony with the great cosmos. Talk about adoxography! We’re gonna see that word a lot from here on in, so get used to it.

What’s all that gibberish mean? Well, I found myself suddenly in a unique place , to wit: I had no job to go to, no one to answer to, no one to take care of (except the dog & cat). Honestly it was a bit mind-blowing for a while, owing to a paid mortgage and a frugal lifestyle, that my Social Security retirement benefit would support me comfortably. After the initial psychological shock of up-ending 50 years of routine, and leaping off the income cliff into the government stipend safety net, I awakened one day to the realization that I was totally free to define my days. Totally free. I would repeat Totally Free in bold and italics but that would be- you guessed it- more adoxography. And maybe overkill. Alright so CAP LOCK and bold it and italicize it all you need to, but the feelings that welled within me were akin to a man just released from indenture. It was, and is, intoxicating.

Bear in mind that a lot of this is still new to me. I make it a point to reflect on July ’22 as the real beginning of this adventure. Now we have turned the calendar page, and according to conventions (like income tax, for instance) it is a new year. A New Year. I’d put together a line that rolled the “totally free” bit with the “a new year” bit for dramatic reasons but you guys are prolly getting tired of the-don’t make me say it-adoxography. As I coursed through autumn and on into my beloved winter, I discovered little need to leave my Eden. I never tire of being here, I have no real desire to “go see” any place, and I am entirely contented. Do I need to bold and ital that? Truly contented.

Defining myself.

Now I think it’s important to point out that I didn’t choose recluse, because I think that connotates a rejection of the world. Part of my willingness to hermitize is motivated by aspects of the world that do not bring me contentment, but there are things in the world I like. My kids, friends. Dollar General. So I make a trip to the DG or the hardware store if necessary. And I have friends & family once a week on Wednesday for Tuesday Night Music Club. Another night (in the off-season) is typically dinner with daughter and her husband, followed by Rumikub or UNO. So I’m not a loner either, which I’m sure comes as no surprise to anyone that knows me. I wanted to call myself “monk of the pines”, but the definition of monk is a religious disciple. I like the terms artist and eccentric, too, but haven’t quite married them to “hermit” yet.

So my day-to-day life follows the whim that strikes me. I love to cook and bake, having professional experience at both, and run a tidy kitchen. I was always “Mr.Mom”, equal to my wife, when it came to the domestic service of home and children, laundry, bath times, bed times and meals, as well as the maintenance guy, which leaves me in good stead to care well for myself, the pets and the Ark. I have assembled a library in the second story, a music studio in the parlor, an art studio in the kitchen, and a cozy den for watching Dr. Zhivago or Sergeant Preston of The Yukon (and his wonderdog Yukon King) when the February blizzards call for it. A step out the back door and I am greeted with rolling drumlins and woodlands that would please Christopher Robin. Here Sassy June and I walk in all weathers, from the muddy and fragrant fresh spring through the rustling leaves of autumn, and on snow shoes through my favorite season.

And of course, there’s that journal. The Adoxography of Eucatastrophe.

And in summation

Talk about a waste of words. You’re not supposed to start a sentence with And according to an ancient convention we call English, and if you’re summarizing, why not summarize rather than telling us you’re going to summarize, which is a precursor to the actual summation? Okay, I’m guilty of starting sentences with And. Who makes up such stupid rules, anyways? And who cares? I’m not getting paid for this, y’know.

Well, the summation goes like: “there you have it.” I guess.

The thing is with writing the blog… I never wanted to make a blog that just talked about me and what I’m doing. It had to relate to others somehow. Or entertain them. The other thing is a post topic by itself, and that’s guilt. Have you ever heard of survivor’s guilt? It’s not uncommon, after losing a loved one, to feel guilty you’re still here, and they cannot share the joys of your days. I know it’s a bit abstract, but I feel that way about my blog writing sometimes. Truthfully, I can describe myself as living a storybook life in a fairy tale world inside a snow globe. But I don’t mean to just brag about how great my life is, even though I feel that way. I still bear hope that by relating these humble facts and sharing these experiences I might provide something that may contribute to another’s contentment, or pursuit of the path they choose. Or at the very least provide a few moment’s entertainment.

Hopefully, a eucatastrophe without a lotta adoxography, eh?

From the land of Happily Ever After
-Paz

On our way to Gloucester Massachusetts to meet a friend for deep-sea fishing, Joe and I made a slight detour to visit Walden Pond, made famous by Henry David Thoreau’s writings of his time in the woods along its shores. It felt like something of a pilgrimage to me in many ways. I had read Walden, and a few other compositions, and knew the author to be a naturalist and outdoorsman, and outspoken advocate of The Duty of Civil Disobedience. He spent time in the Maine woods on guided bear hunts, and wrote many short correspondence articles about such adventures. He would probably prefer to be remembered for his political essays, but just being remembered is the golden idol of creative people. I like to think I embrace Thoreau’s admonition to “Simplify!”. Not so much in the sense of minimalist living conditions, but in the way we choose to relate to our place in the natural order. Also the ways we choose to allow civilization, indoctrination, and the expectations of modernity to influence our behavior, our self-sense, and our outlook.

Thoreau and I shared so many things in common, I feel as if we would be good friends had we known one another. Nature and the outdoors, the Adirondack Mountains, my times in the piney woods at our remote and wild lake, all became fodder for my writing machine. There is often a philosophical bent to my poems and journal entries.
While I lived in the modern world and had a family to support, (and partly because of that!) a humble and frugal lifestyle suited me just fine. We had a huge old farmhouse in the country that we bought pretty cheap and before the real estate boom. To this day my car is simply a machine to replace my horse. When in need, I’ll choose something that makes sense and can be had used at a reasonable price. (A car I mean, not horse.)

Fast forward through a life of raising kids to fledge from The Ark and burning the mortgage (we didn’t really burn it, when the time came, we wanted to keep it) and through burying my parents and my wife, and retiring from work this year. Here I have The Ark to myself in a peaceful rural glen, with the woods backed up nearly to my door. The government dole we’ve partnershipped on over the last forty-five years is slim, but might just be adequate to support one old man and a dog and a cat if we live like old Henry this year. There are savings to subsidize the budget, but “tax burdens” make it inadvisable to tap into that before January 2023. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to cry “starving artist”, though it would play well to my painting sales. This really is a further incentive to embrace the spirit of simplicity, and even the minimalism to a degree. Wait, I guess you can’t have minimalism “to a degree”, but you know what I mean.

When one announces an intent to retire, or makes the rounds of goodbyes at work, the question is posited like clockwork; “What are you going to do?”. At first I was entirely unprepared for the question. I would begin to narrate a daytime dream of my retired life to the poor wretches yet slaves to ambition.
“Bake.” A moment’s thought. “Fish. I look forward to fishing. Playing music. Mowing.”
As their eyes glazed over I realized they expected some coherent answer. Some Big Thing to replace the Big Thing Of Work. Or perhaps some Big Dream of owning your own hot pretzel cart or trying out for a Broadway musical. Hobbled still in the trenches of the working, perhaps they worry for the old man that has quit his job. Maybe they want to know if an adult child will have room in their home. At the very least they expect to hear some modest indentures on your Forsaken Dreams.
“I’ll still have remotes with the station once in a while.”, they want to hear, or something like: “I’ll be riding herd on my nephew’s rutabaga ranch. You know, enough to cover the bills.”

Then it occurred to me. I do have a Big Thing to replace the Big Thing Of Work. I do have a Big Dream and I’m ready to audition. Like Henry, I am as free of the indentures of modernity as one can be. I have studied long about this very singular chapter of my life, and have journaled my way along the circuitous path that has brought me, perhaps through a series of unfortunate events, to this Now. A blank slate pregnant with promise and boundless beauty. With all that, I think people still remain puzzled when I answer their inquiries with a single word. I’ve Simplified my Big Thing, my Big Dream, and my retirement plan into a frill-free, direct-to-the-point, answer I like to think old Henry would be proud of.

When asked “What are you going to do?”
I’ll reply:
“Live.”