There were a lot of things I expected to happen in retirement. Fun things I was looking forward to, like traveling and more time to write. And not having to dance to someone else’s piping or get up to an alarm clock. And, honest to God, it started out that way. My first move was to downsize my home which was a herculean effort and often a big nostalgic, but I did it with enthusiasm because I was headed off on another great new adventure. I moved to a fantastic little neighborhood in the oldest city in the US – which provided a whole new venue for my interest in history. I have a cozy little bungalow by the sea and I get to go for a walk on the beach any time I like, which is often and a whole raft of new friends, neighbors, fellow history enthusiasts and authors.

My bungalow isn’t new and there were lots of things to paint, repair, replace and fix up when I got here, and I got right into doing it. In between writing and visiting the beach. I got involved with the living history museum downtown and sewed myself several colonial outfits, learned how to do leatherwork as it was done in the colonial period, played a tavern wench at the fantastic little taberna that felt like you were literally stepping back in time and several other activities connected to historical reenactment. But then the Spanish Quarter was turned over to new management and volunteers, living history docents and any real feeling of being in another era was lost. I still love the downtown, but feel disenfranchised.

I still have a ton of neat things I want to try. I have lots of projects I want to get accomplished and, of course, I’m still writing books – especially now that four of them have been published and a fifth is on the way. I don’t know if it’s because I finally figured out that retirement is supposed to be leisurely, or, God forbid – I’m getting old. I still have places I want to visit, but lately I seem to do more talking about going than actually packing the suitcase and getting on the road. I have a huge tub of old photographs that need to be sorted and organized and Michael’s had a sale on photo files so I bought several. And there the project sits, right were I see it every day, but it’s not getting done. I promised my daughter-in-law I’d finish embroidering her Christmas tablecloth and it’s not done yet either. It’s a good thing I respond well to deadlines because she’s going to need it come December. I have another grandchild on the way and that means creating another teddy bear, but what do you want to bet, I’ll get to it two weeks before the new grandbaby is due?

I have become so proficient at procrastination if there were trophies for it, I’d have one. Not that I’ve been completely without achievement. I did publish four books since I retired. At the beginning of the year, I bought a FitBit and since have traveled over 2 and a half million steps since then - that's over 1,000 miles. In the six years since I retired, I've been to Ireland, France, New Zealand, San Francisco, San Antonio and Tonga, and that’s not counting my annual trips to New England in the summer and about three dozen jet-setting trips for family events. But there are still so many places on my bucket list to see. I want to go, really I do, but it seems harder and harder to get my butt in gear? Is this normal? Not that I’ve ever been what you would call normal, but still. It would be nice to know if there’s a club for procrastinators out there I can join. Somewhere, in a box of odds and ends somewhere, I have a Genuine Round Tu-It. Now if only I could find that box I might get around to all the things I want to get done.