Holly Cusumano

I have spent my adult life being prepared, rarely, if ever, missing a deadline. Our son was born two days early. Over the years, whenever we've invited people for dinner, I'd like to sit quietly in a chair for a half hour or so before our guests arrived and simply blink my eyes. This made me feel powerful. At work, when I had to make a presentation, I'd go to the conference room well in advance and clean the whiteboards, line up the markers and erasers in the slim, silver tray, wipe off the table with wet paper towels from the ladies room, and rearrange the furniture. Like a girl scout, I was always prepared.  But lately I’ve been messing up. Here's a picture of my jeans drawer. Note the total lack of clean jeans. My sister, Kit, had to come over to my house yesterday morning at 6 a.m. and help me get ready for a First Friday event at our local Art Center . We worked for four hours and ten minutes making product labels and putting price tags on the stuff I made...

So far I don’t like retirement. I keep thinking of a well-known Hemingway short story called Hills like White Elephants . In it the main characters listlessly tour Spain .  She points out to He, “That’s all we do, isn't it -- look at things and try new drinks?”  For me, like for the woman in the story, “everything tastes of licorice.” What I mean is that everything is nice, but there is a sameness to it. I feel like an uninte res ted tourist, passively observing my own life. It’s only been a few months, but most days I’m watching the clock by 9 a.m . The wash is done, the spices are alphabetized, and the house plants watered and pinched to perfection.  I hate this. So around  noon  I start thinking, I could make a nice lasagna for our son, for one of our nieces, for an elderly neighbor … a nice lasagna for somebody. Maybe I could make a nice lasagna and simply freeze it?  It's pathetic. It turns out that work is my dream retirement...