One Week Into Retirement...

One Week into Retirement

Theology in the Trenches

By Kathleen Kjolhaug

The aftermath of last night’s supper sat in the sink and frankly, it irked me. The crusted on remnants were stuck to the stainless steel and as I turned on the faucet to liquidate the remains, my heart was about as stubborn as the mucky stuck stuff.

I remember choosing not to eat any of the charred ground beef which was cooked within the pan because by the time the chef decided to prepare it, I’d eaten. Leftover mashed potatoes slopped with chicken chunks, was what I ate. Minutes before I downed my dish, the co-cook made mentioned that he wasn’t hungry and thus wasn’t planning on eating.

And so, I made due. I made due with the quickest and easiest fixings there were.

Truth-be-told, I love the meals he prepares. They are innovative, creative, and whatever he prepares, tastes really good! He can make prestigious looking platters out of what appears to be an empty cupboard. Finding the only potato left in the bin, he’ll add a bit of butter, a dab of sour cream, place a few green olives within, and sprinkle sunflower seeds atop to make the taste buds roar.

Me? I’m happy with same soup served up for the next ten meals straight with little to no deviation. Goal met, food in stomach, the end. Him? He likes it steeped with a personal touch to shake it up a bit.  Although nothing fancy, the little extras always make it so much better.

He entered the kitchen mere minutes after I’d down my instant pile of mashed potatoes. I watched as he went to the freezer, grabbed a frozen package of ground beef and began to slowly thaw it out. Soon, he began slicing it into patties.

“So, you are making hamburgers?” I questioned.

“Yeah…do you want some?”

“Maybe. The protein always makes me sleep better.”

Thus it began. Turning the burner on low, he added lots of water and simmered each patty in the pan s-l-o-w-l-y.  Into the living room he nonchalantly walked to watch “60 Minutes” for a few minutes.

I stayed put.

Several times he sauntered back and forth from kitchen to programming. Time passed. Lots of time passed as he cooked the burgers to taste. The odor permeated the house. The ground beef was percolating away in that pan to perfection. A time or two, I walked over and stuck my nose near the glass lid watching the moisture bubble up and around each burger.

Time passed. Too much time!

Irritated by his methodical methods, I grabbed some watermelon to polish off my sweet tooth and nonchalantly announced that I was no longer hungry.

“Really?” he simply commented, totally unaware of my intense awareness.

“But do not forget this one thing, dear friends:  With the Lord, a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8).

Biblical configuration says that so far I’ve lived to the likes of seven thousand years during this first week of retirement. However, looking on the upside, the next seven thousand years ought to be like a week. And for this, I will be eternally grateful!  Amen.