Can't I Just Retire?

This morning I'm thinking about books. On yesterday's "The Writer's Almanac", Garrison Keillor talked about Boris Pasternak and "Dr. Zhivago". Then this morning in my quick blog-scan, I read "A Commonplace Book", who spurred me to read the book.

This morning's "Writer's Almanac" mentioned "Wuthering Heights", another classic I've never read. And there's "Pride and Prejudice" and "The Grapes of Wrath". I've got ten books that I just retrieved from a long-stashed box. They were stacked on my night table in Tucson and now they're stacked on my Youngstown night table. And I think it was the blogger of "A Commonplace Book" who recommended "The Complete Idiot's Guide to American Literature". (I can't remember which of her pen names she uses for "Commonplace", so I'm not naming her, trying not to out her.) Once I can dig into "Complete Idiot", I'll find seventy-three more books I want to read.

(Oooh, and my new house has a lovely library, perfect for long afternoons with a book in my hands, athrow over my legs, a cup of tea by my side, and a cat in my lap.)

My friend Keith, when he was working at my company and very unhappy, would sit at lunch with me and we'd launch the topic, "What would you do if money was no object?" For both of us, education was a major part of that conversation. He would go back to school and study religion and philosophy. I would study English, writing, human-computer interaction (okay, I'm ever-the-geek!), music theory, weaving, pottery, and learn to play the harp. Oh, and I'd sew the stash of fabrics that fill container after container in my basement and sewing room.

I have so many things I want to do that, if someone handed me a million dollars—hell, even a hundred thousand would do—I could stay busy until the end of my life without missing a beat.

I frequently bemoan the fact that there's no significant other in my life. Maybe my significant other is my body of interests. Now if I could just retire so I could have time to pursue them!