Laundry Math

When I went off to college, I was given – not a new flashy computer, but a laundry bag. Once a week I lugged my full bag (cotton with a drawstring) down to the laundry machines in whatever dorm I was staying in. My Mom made fun of me once. She said, "Oh right. You wash your clothes once a week. I'll have to wash your laundry bag when you get home."

I was offended. I told her, "I wash my laundry bag every single time I do laundry."

She did not realize that I like to do laundry.

At that time there was an ad on TV (back when we only had 4 channels) that showed a woman (of course -- this was an ad about laundry, no men allowed) facing a giant mountain of dirty clothes. She said, "I've got a ton of laundry to do." After telling us how the laundry detergent was special, the ad ended with her happily folding a last towel and surrounded by tidy, folded clothes. She said, "One ton of laundry … done!"

I loved that ad! I loved that she could accomplish such a task and that it looked so well organized when she was finished. Wow! Magic!

All of my adult life I've done the laundry for my family once a week. I have a system that separates clothes based on how they're treated by the washing machine: cold and gently for permanent press (very new in the 70s), hot for jeans and underwear, and warm/normal for everything else. It's worked for me.

And I love at the end, folding that last bit of clothing, putting away neat piles for my family to wear.

Just recently I realized that laundry duty has changed in my house, and not for the better.

Our clothes pile up and pile up and pile up. A mountain of dirty clothes grows above the laundry basket. Then I think, "Well, okay. It may have been two weeks since I last did laundry. Maybe three?  I can't remember!"

Suddenly I'm doing two loads of jeans at a time, two loads of shirts, and an untold number of loads of underwear. Argh!

I'd like to blame this problem on faulty memory issues that come up among the silvering crowd. "Oh sorry. I seem to have forgotten how to do all that clothes washing stuff. Someone else will have to help me … do it, I mean, not just remember it."

But that is just an excuse.

It started when I retired.

It's as though I believed that retired people don't wear as many clothes as before, or that we wear much, much less. How is this possible? We still wear clean underwear every single day (if we remember). And we still wear clothes every day. Sometimes we can wear an article of clothing for two days instead of one.

And underwear … We've gotten to where we have three weeks of underwear items (I'm not going to itemize here). Then, someone must do laundry or someone else will have to go shopping for more.

In my mind, our retired state meant we would wear half as much clothing. Perhaps only half a pair of jeans, or the right half of a t-shirt, and the left half another time. Surely the laundry would be half as full as before we retired, so I could wait two weeks before washing clothes.

But this math doesn't work because it's not based on normal humans living normal modern lives no matter how old we are.

Today I realized I must return to my previous habit of washing clothes every week. I have not – sigh! -- retired from household chores. Maybe if I return to the once a week schedule, I'll go back to the joy of completing the laundry.

Hmm. We'll see. I'll let you know. [selfie of me in front of a ton of dirty laundry]

Letting Go

Last year, a man asked me, "Why don’t you take showers every day?"

I answered, "If I don't have to go out in public, why should I bother?"

(Remember that retired people are home more often than the typical working person. This is something you get to look forward to. 😊)

The man nodded thoughtfully, and replied, "So you let yourself go."

"Sure," I said, glad I was in a position to make this super important daily decision.

In retrospect, I should not have been so pleased, perhaps.

What does that mean, exactly: to let one's self go? Go where? Go when? With whom? Is this like being a teenager where you have to check in with someone more mature than yourself? (See last week's post, 23 Sept 2019, Second Adolescence.)

I'm pretty sure it's not about going anywhere. In fact, it's about going nowhere: not going to work, not going to church, not going to doctor appointments. Technically, as retired people, we are letting ourselves not go.

Therefore, if we don't have to go anywhere, we get the choice of showering, wearing clothes from the day before, heck, even wearing clothes!

Besides confusion about what "letting myself go" actually means, for me there is also a gender bias that is uncomfortable. It is usually women who 'let themselves go', rarely men. Can you imagine? "He's just let himself go. He doesn't shave, or shower, and he eats Spam all day." Heavy sigh. "I'm so envious."

See? It just doesn't have the ring as saying such a thing about women. RANT ALERT: With women, the implication is that we aren't trying to impress the world-at-large anymore. We no longer wear make-up, or skirts, or deodorant. If we don't do so, then we will not be attractive. Therefore, what use are we to a male dominant society that wants all females to be eligible for breeding? END RANT.

Maybe that sounds outlandish, but for me, all that make-up, dress suits and perfect grooming was tiresome. Whatever the reason for it, as a woman who is now at home most days, I feel relieved.

I have been relieved of duty, relieved of the duty of meeting outside expectations of my appearance.

So I am letting myself go, not because I have abandoned social norms, but because I am freeing myself of them. I'm letting myself go, letting go to be myself.

This week, try letting yourself go, just a tiny bit. You might feel better for it!

Second Adolescence

A few years ago I was chatting with a man who had been a third grade teacher all his life. I knew he loved teaching, and that he was considered one of the best in our vicinity. So I was surprised when I learned he had just retired.

"I thought you loved teaching," I said, a perplexed and potentially supportive smile on my face.

He shook his head. "There's so many new regulations and paperwork we gotta do. I do love teaching, and I love the kids, but I just didn't want to learn all that new stuff."

Truthfully, I was puzzled. In the field of education there are always new regulations and lots of paperwork. Every day sees a new teaching strategy that will change the world and classrooms. Out with the old ways, in with the new. This teacher had years of experience, so he knew this cycle and had always learned the newest to add to his stockpile of tried and true teaching methods.

What had happened that he suddenly – from my perspective – didn't want to do this job anymore?

Much more recently, my brother at a doctor's visit growled at the nurse who asked him to step on the scale to check his weight. "I don't wanna do any of that," he snapped. "You already have all that information."

I asked why he was so annoyed. He couldn't answer beyond, "I didn't wanna."

I asked him to at least be polite to the nurse who was just doing her job, and suggested he change the script a little. "Try: I'm going to be non-compliant today. Write that down, and the doctor can talk to me about it if she cares."

I was reminded of the teacher and my brother when I spoke to a friend facing retirement: "I can do all that stuff that they want me to learn about," she said, then sighed. "I just don't want to."

"Oh," I replied, hearing the echo of the teacher and my sibling. "You don't wanna."

"Exactly." She sighed. "I don'twanna."

"You know who you sound like?" I asked. "You sound like a teenager. Their refrain is: I don't wanna learn math, I don't wanna come home on time, I don't wanna go shopping with my parent ever."

"Maybe," I suggested gently, "you're entering your second adolescence."

"E gad!" she erupted. "You may be right."

This article serves as warning to the rest of humanity that people in retirement are a lot like teenagers. 

I know it's horrible news, but you all out there will survive. Someday you'll be in our shoes, whether you wanna or not.   :)

Retirement and Me

I am officially "retired" from paying day jobs.

At 61 I was working part-time at an assisted living facility as the Program Director. I really liked that job. I helped people every day and I was always learning something new.

For example, I learned how to set a banquet table (thanks Val!), how to conduct a book club and Bible study (thanks Carol and Martin!), and how to announce Bingo numbers without getting distracted (thanks Boogy!).

However, some of my duties were becoming boring, like making popcorn for afternoon movie time. And I was growing weary of folding and lifting wheelchairs into vehicles.

Someone mentioned to me that I could actually '"retire" at age 62 – that is, receive Social Security benefits. I don't recall exactly, but this person might have been one of the residents at the center, probably hoping, after another botched batch of popcorn, that I'd move on.

Anyway, a wee bit of investigation later, I discovered that:

1. I could begin receiving Social Security benefits at 62, and

2. The monthly amount I would receive at 62 was a few dollars less than what I would receive if I waited until 65, and

3. The monthly amount I would receive was equal to my salary at my part-time day job.

Hmm.

Quick calculations!

I could receive retirement payments at 62 and quit my day job, and stay home to do what I really love.

Down side?

Well, sure, if I stayed at work and received those payments, I'd make twice as much to take home. If I continued working and waited until I was 65, I'd fill my pockets with even more money.

What would you decide? Would that change for you at a different age?

If you read the first post in my blog, you know I'm 65. What do you think I decided?

Stop by next Monday to find out. Meantime, whatever your age, have a lovely, kindly week!