To regular readers of this journal, I owe a debt of gratitude and an apology. I hope I can express my thanks to you by writing a few journal entries that are more interesting and meaningful than some of my most recent writings. I apologize for the streak of self-indulgent whining in my journal about the ending of my position as Interim Minister of Faith Formation at First Congregational Church of Bellingham. I’m not quite sure what got into to me that resulted in days of complaints.

I have nothing to be whining about. Throughout my career as a pastor I have been fairly treated by the congregations I have served. They have all participated in making it possible for me to retire. Each congregation has contributed to an annuity that now provides a monthly income to support my retirement. I have been able to go from one position to the next without ever having a period of unemployment. My most recent position was, from the start, an interim position and I knew that it would end. The congregation allowed me to serve a full 24 months in a call that was advertised as an 18- to 24-month engagement.

Every day I see people who are experiencing substandard housing and homelessness. Communities throughout this country are struggling to deal with a housing shortage and people who are forced by high prices to live in terrible conditions. Meanwhile, I have a very comfortable home and the means to pay the expenses of home ownership. There are people experiencing nutrition shortfalls who struggle just to find enough to eat. Meanwhile, I have a full pantry, the ability to go to the grocery store whenever I need to, and no worries about what to eat. Many people my age face loneliness and isolation. I have the wonderful fortune of a healthy spouse. I am surrounded by a loving family. Our children and grandchildren are generous with their time and attention. I have a sister and two brothers. Susan is close to her sisters. Our recent anniversary celebration was filled with family. We are surrounded by a caring community. We have close friends in all of the congregations we have served. And we have colleagues around the world with whom we have shared ministry and meaning.

Furthermore, I am adjusting to retirement quite nicely. Yesterday was my 3rd day of retirement and I behaved exactly like a retired person of leisure. I got up when I felt like it without looking at the clock. I showered and got dressed after I ate my breakfast because no one cares if an old man eats his breakfast in his pajamas. I read a book at the breakfast table and lingered after I ate and before I did my dishes because I had time to read and enjoy a good book. When I had dressed I went out to my back yard and watered the plants. I deadheaded the blossoms on my dahlias that were beginning to fade and checked the tomato vines for ripe fruit. I spent a few minutes watching the bees on a hanging plant because I was in no rush and had time to just watch those amazing creatures. I grumbled to myself about my back yard neighbors as I trimmed the blackberry canes that creep through and over the fence. I wouldn’t say anything to them face to face, but I complain from time to time about their lack of care for their yard. I’d love to have a neighbor like Wilson in the old Tim Allen television show, “Tool Time.” But I realize that I’m the old retired guy. My neighbor has to go to work and put in long hours driving truck. When he has time at home it is mostly to sleep and get ready for the next day’s work.

When we were ready we got into the car and headed up into the mountains to scout campgrounds for adventures with our grandchildren. We took our time and stopped when we wanted. We paused for lunch at the edge of a beautiful reservoir. We went for a walk in a grove of old growth trees. The forest giants stretch 150 feet above our heads and the undergrowth is lush and green. The path we followed was mostly raised boardwalk and easily accessible for those who have trouble with mobility.

We stopped at a ranger station and information center for North Cascades National Park. The twenty-something rangers were polite and listened as I went on a brief rant about the days when I was a kid and we could find a camping spot in Yellowstone National Park without reservations. I can remember when campgrounds in the National Forest were never full and campers didn’t have to plan in advance. I’m sure that after I left the ranger station the rangers commented to each other about the old guy who was stuck in the past. They know how to use the reservation system to assure that people have places to camp and full campgrounds are an accepted part of their everyday lives. Old guys who go on rants are also probably part of their everyday lives.

In the middle of the afternoon we headed home and stopped at a Dairy Queen for an ice cream treat and a bit of nostalgic rambling about other times we’ve shared ice cream on hot summer days. We came home to a dinner of fresh-caught salmon and sweet corn. The salmon came from a tribal market not far from our home. Indigenous fishing rights are the result of treaties and critical to the culture and support of the tribe. The sweet corn came from a farm stand that is part of our local community.

After supper we went for a walk to the beach and watched the sun begin to set over the bay. There was time for quiet, reflection and I watched a video on the computer. I went to bed when I felt like it without needing to consult the clock knowing that I have no set time for rising today.

For the third day of my retirement, I’m doing pretty good. I behaved just like a retired person, with the proper amount of nostalgia and a few rants to anyone who would listen. Things look promising for today too. I’ve already found that I can use my journal to tell my repeating stories and go on my old man rants.

Thank you for your indulgence.