c. 2017 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-17)
Retirement.
I
expected to reach this auspicious point in life after a long career
and many hours spent pondering choices. But it arrived like an
unexpected house guest, as I was only in my mid-50’s. Preparations
made for shifting to a slower lane of travel were not yet complete.
It felt odd to confess that I had been sidelined from my management
career. Yet suddenly, there was time to pause and work on my writing
adventure. Though my household budget shrank, opportunities for
creative prose and lyrics were never more unlimited. In 2015, I
published my fifth book and decided that it would provide a
farewell-in-print as I abandoned my writing in favor of continuing to
earn a regular paycheck through business employment. But fate
shattered that paradigm as I was moved to an early exit from my
company. Suddenly, I was back where it all began:
“Leftover High
Life
Sparkling in the
glass
Leftover High
Life
Last night really
kicked my ass
Leftover High
Life
Sold for a
special price
Leftover High
Life
Retirement sure
feels nice.”
No longer working a preset schedule changed everything. Predictably,
around 4:00 in the morning, this mood seemed to gain the greatest
focus. As I stood before the refrigerator on such days, pondering
early breakfast options, one familiar sight gave me hope. That of a
busted-open 12-pack of Miller High Life. The remainder of a previous
night spent researching alcohol effects. It was my low-dollar,
retirement beverage of choice. A friend from long ago, when pennies
were few and dreams were plentiful.
How strange to think that the young man in his early 20’s had
transformed into a stooped, stumbling fellow of 56. Both with the
same zest for uninhibited living and cheap suds:
“Leftover High
Life
Not too proud to
drink up
Leftover High
Life
I’m thirsty,
fill my mug
Leftover High
Life
My friends may
disagree
Leftover High
Life
That means
there’s more for me.”
I
had maintained my mobility with the use of a cane for at least two
years. (Stylishly painted with Hot-Rod flames, like one used by ‘Dr.
Gregory House.’) This meant that upon entering my local beer store,
other patrons would sometimes hold the door open as I entered. This
small measure of kindness was something I could graciously accept.
But the purchase of a 30-pack would have me struggling to carry the
liquid monster while maintaining my balance. Inevitably, the cashier
would offer to have someone take my purchase out to the truck. The
embarrassment I felt couldn’t be hidden. And, I truly relished the
extra flavor from an easier-to-carry 12-pack of bottles. So that
became my choice variety for retirement living:
“Leftover High
Life
Champagne of
beers, it’s true
Leftover High
Life
Nothin’ else to
do
Leftover High
Life
I’m stretchin’
out my bucks
Leftover High
Life
I’m drinkin’
wish me luck.”
When
inspiration visited, I would take out a guitar, even in the wee hours
of morning, and begin to write about my new adventure. Each verse
reflected a rediscovered sense of wonder. Though my body had lost its
tone from earlier days, enthusiasm for being alive had returned. I
felt truly grateful to be at my desk in the home office, with a
clear, cold bottle of brew sitting by the computer. Each line typed
out revealed a greater self, waiting to be free. And more loose
bottles rattling around in the vegetable bin of my refrigerator:
“Leftover High
Life
Golden drink so
fine
Leftover High
Life
No headache from
T-bird wine
Leftover High
Life
I’m bound now
for glory
Leftover High
Life
Let me tell my
story.”
When
old friends appeared on Facebook, with stories from our adventures in
Ithaca, New York, during the 1970’s, the circle was complete. Utica
Club and Piels were staple brands in my drinking repertoire at that
distant time. Yet I remembered sneaking away from volunteer work at
Channel 13 (where I had a Cornell television apprenticeship) to buy a
six-pack of High Life, which would make the day of technology
immersion more palatable. While not officially approved, my secret
stayed buried under yards of video cable and studio props. No one
seemed eager to spoil the moment:
“Leftover High
Life
Back-shelf
oversight
Leftover High
Life
I’m ready to
drink all night
Leftover High
Life
This ol’ boy
feels no sorrow
Leftover High
Life
Gonna pop caps
until tomorrow!”
Retirement
is an experience I still struggle to embrace. But with the spirit of
Frederick Miller looking down upon my humble shack in Geauga County,
it is one I will continue to explore.
Comments or
questions about ‘Words on the loose’ may be sent to:
icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Write
us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024
Published weekly
in the Geauga Independent
No comments:
Post a Comment