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A Sea Change

June 21, 2011

I’ve heard it called a sea change – the ebb and flow of the tides, but that’s just smearing honey on it.  In fact it’s just advancing age.  I don’t adapt as well as I used to.

I’m three months down the road in a new law office, wondering whether this was such a smart move just to beat the pervasive boredom born of my two month stab at retirement.  This time around things are different.  I don’t have an older attorney down the hall chuckling as he sent down the cart with the broken office equipment and the files he was sick of.  Clients are slow to appear and I am only comforted by finding from my conversations with the few that have appeared that, like riding a bicycle, I still seem to know how to do this.

Two weeks ago I went to Washington, DC, and joined some other Sierra Club volunteers from around the country to lobby some of our Senators and Representatives.   It doesn’t seem that policy matters so much, nowadays we’re down to just trying to explain why we like to live in clean land and have our kids drink clean water.  At any rate, it was much more interesting than fun, therefore a valuable experience and a good trip. 

 My favorite highlights were running into the Navy Band giving an evening band concert on the rear of the Capitol building and finding a place in Union Station where you could still get a luxurious shave with a straight razor.  But they quickly took second place to my knee.  It blew all to hell from constant walking on concrete and marble, swelling and stiffening up nicely.  I got home late Wednesday night and was in the doc’s office by 8:00 a.m. the next morning.  He scheduled me to see a cutter next month, the dance of the artificial joint begins.

And finally, the unkindest cut of all.  The daughter moved off to be with her soldier husband.  And they had the temerity to take their son along.  I’m out my little buddy; not there to ride shotgun in the truck, order blueberry muffins with, hunt for trains with, or wander in the park with.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m told I’m lonesome; but I think I’m just getting old.

— Margadant

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One Comment leave one →
  1. June 21, 2011 3:57 pm

    You cannot be old. Must be grandpa loneliness.

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