The Final Chase

My Saturday morning chores were finished…at least to my liking. My mom had descended the stairs to the basement a few minutes ago with a laundry basket of dirty clothes, leaving me to dust…and plot my getaway. She would have to sort the clothes into two piles, add soap to the machine, change the settings, and wait long enough to assure the old machine was going to function. I had at least 10 minutes to grab everything I needed and be on my way through the sheep pasture and beyond to the creek. I kept the guilt at bay by taking another quick swipe at the TV screen with the lemon scented rag.

“Mom,” I  hollered from the top of the stairs, “my chores are done, I’m going down to the creek.” I wouldn’t have had to announce my destination; she would have guessed. The creek is where I hung out whenever I could. But, if she had come up the stairs to find me nowhere around, it would have increased her suspicion of a haphazard job. I was pretty good, even at 10 years of age, at  piecing together how my parents would react to a situation. If I had gone AWOL, Mom would have pursed her lips and embarked on a mission  through the house, striking her investigative finger through patches of missed dust. It would have been pointed out to me later with a few consequences attached.  By announcing my departure, she might not think anything but the best of me and carry on with her morning chores, oblivious to the hasty dusting job.
I scooped up my Big Chief tablet and a couple of lead pencils, along with some corn from the freezer above the refrigerator. I stuffed the kernels into a sandwich baggie and then stuffed that into my pocket. My fishing pole and small tackle box had been strategically placed outside the back door, earlier that morning.

Most times it was easy enough to catch one or two…sometimes even three of the big carp that hung out in the deeper holes along the bank.  After threading a few kernels of corn onto my hook, I would plop down cross legged and wait for the big red and white bobber to disappear. On the occasional days when there was a lack of interest on the fish’s part, I wasn’t bothered.  Writing was just as good as fishing, and there wasn’t a better time or place to do it. The warm sunshine on my back and the gentle sound of water racing downstream triggered my imagination and soon a page was filled with poems or stories.  I dreamed that someday I might see my name in print; maybe I would even write books like Laura Ingalls Wilder.

My parents complimented me often on my writing skills; and my grandparents oohed and ahhed over all of it. But when it came time to think of college and a career, I began to hear promptings of what my elders considered a more stable line of work.  As graduation from high school neared, I heard less about my writing abilities and more about solid occupations like nursing and teaching.

I didn’t know what it would take to be either one of those, but when my grandfather became seriously ill and needed emergency surgery, I found myself enamored by the nurses that took care of him. They were pleasant, helpful, and beautiful in their white clothes – from the top of their heads to their white shoes. They reminded me of cheery angels and I made up my mind – I would like to be one of them. (  I’m sure I heard my Mom applauding and agreeing wholeheartedly.)

And so it was. I soon found out that nursing was much more than being friendly and beautiful. It was an intense, demanding job, but often rewarding. I always liked the idea of making a difference in people’s lives, and nursing gave me that opportunity. Writing was put on a back burner, but not forgotten.

Last week, I turned the pages to a new chapter. I removed my stethoscope from around my neck, hung it in the closet, and closed the door.  Forty-five years have marched by since my parents wisely steered me to a vocation they knew suited me and would sustain me.  On the last day of the job, I couldn’t help but shed a few tears. Four decades is a long time to have your identity secured in one thing.

It’s only been a week, but already, I’ve been asked numerous times what my plans are for retirement, and I have an answer. “I’m going to chase a dream – a childhood dream. I’ll be working at establishing my new identity – Author.”

As I consider my talents and blessings, it occurs to me that this isn’t a time to mourn what I’ve had in the past. This is a time to celebrate what I have in the present and what I will accomplish in the future. The following quote by an unknown person says it best:

You fulfilled all your professional ambitions.

Now is the time to achieve your personal aspirations.

Retirement is the start of life’s golden phase.

Give your childhood dreams one final chase.

Until next month…keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.