Retire? Thought I Was?

Hope all the Dad’s and Mom’s had a good Father’s Day. It’s hard, whichever role you have to fill. Be kind to one another.

The question in WordPress prompts today asked what would we do in retirement.

Our financial advisor said we’d likely spend the most money in the first ten years. Why?

We’d be traveling. That makes sense, as health is usually more conducive to travel the younger you are.

We relocated after the first few years. We moved to a ranch style home. It was necessary due to my sore knees and back issues. Much better!

My hobbies haven’t had near the attention I want to give them. That can change now, since Mom’s home sold, closed, and we now change utilities, close bank accounts. She had several, and all but one will cease.

These last couple years have seen many who needed extra support due to illnesses. I want that to change, not so we don’t have to help anyone but so bad things stop happening for people close to us.

Hope you have a good Monday to begin the week. Monitor your hydration and rest more often. The whole week will be summertime, for sure. Be safe, see you tomorrow!

Dear Dad

I wrote this on Father’s Day, 2023.

Dad, I remember the last time I called to wish you Happy Father’s Day. The year was 1988.

I took the kids to the Black Hills on a week long camping trip. We’d never camped before, and it was a lot of fun. And you were happy to hear the lesson(s) we learned:

During times of drought, pitch your tent near the top of the hill. Not at the bottom. Cloudbursts can happen, along with flash flooding. We had to take the tents and turn them inside out when we got home. And hose the mud off the tent floor, sides, etc. You laughed. I miss that laugh, but there are times I hear you laughing. If anyone could make you laugh, it was hilarious.

Frankie, Nick, Becky, and I huddled around the pay phone at the campground, taking turns wishing you Happy Father’s Day. I remember that every year. You told us to be careful on the way home. Just like always.

I’ll never forget the look on your face years earlier when Frankie drowned. You and I stood in the corridor as they wheeled him from the ER to the squad, to go to St. Joseph’s Hospital trauma. He had not recovered consciousness yet, and was in convulsions. He later totally recovered, and you were so relieved when you saw him walking around, playing with Nick. That little six year old boy was very special and still is. He has reason not of this earth. He has done good to so many people, quietly, with a good example, and quiet support. I’m so blessed.

It was one of the most horrible things in our lives as a family. God breathed life into him and he recovered. You know what a good man he grew into. I hardly can believe he is 52, Nick is 48, and Becky is 44 this year.

Nick drives a semi to deliver and move loads of groceries from one location to another. He is a very hard worker. He still has your brown eyes. Becky is married and has two little ones. Kayla and Cody look just like her and Brian, her husband. Talk about blessings!

And you know about the Babe. You two would have been best friends. Sometimes I can hear conversations you and he could be having. Similar work backgrounds, he was a diesel mechanic. You owned a Standard Oil Station before you and your brother Bob went on your Korean holiday in 1950. The Babe had an all-expense paid trip courtesy of Uncle Sam to the DMZ of Vietnam. Also very hostile area. You both came home, thank God.

You’d be proud of your kids, too. Tom worked at the World Herald for over thirty years, as you did. You’d be speechless at the Freedom Center, where the printing happens now. I’m so sad at what the newspaper has become. It’s a nationwide thing, not just Omaha.

I know you would be right in there learning how to use a computer. I even sometimes picture met setting up a laptop for you. You’d spend hours at it. I know you’d enjoy it and marvel at the technology.

Dad, yes, the world has changed so much. Your daughter was a Computer Systems Analyst. I had a career as a coder/analyst at both ConAgra and Mutual of Omaha. I was one of the few women working in the field. My experiences with a male-dominated household, and learning about; cars, and taking things apart and putting them together helped me get through. There was no “Me, Too!” movement back then. Once they realized they couldn’t bother me, the harassment stopped, and we worked well together. And it worked.

I took very ill with a giant cyst in my spinal column that nearly paralyzed me. The miracle surgery happened on December 7, 1995. Seven years after you died. I knew I’d be ok; just like when I was little, and you took me to the doctor. I entertained an image of you watching over the surgeon’s hands, and that ten-hour surgery was very successful. In fact, it made the record books. Photos and all.

Grateful every day. And now, I write and named my publishing company after you: Jewell Publishing LLC. I’m having fun. Thanks for your constant example of reading. It’s served us well.

Yes, I know you’re still with us. And you know right now, we’re taking care of Mom. She’s going through a lot. But you know her. Fighting all the way. The boys and I talk a lot of how you provided well for all of us, and especially for her now. We are grateful for that. And she is, too.

Even after all these years, I still miss you terribly. Only your sister Mary Ann is still with us on the Jewell side, and Mom on the Bobell side. We’re all grateful to you and your families for the example you gave all of us. Your quiet support meant the world to me. And still does. Until we all meet again, love and miss you.