Ga-plop, ga-plop, ga-plop. That is the sound a tire makes when it suddenly goes flat. It is also the sound your heart makes when you contemplate life after work. And that is the sound my husband and I heard on our way home from an amazing week-end at a country music festival last year.
The Bi-Mart Willamette Country Music Festival in Brownsville, Oregon is one of the many opportunities afforded by our state, for local folks to enjoy great entertainment. During the festival, we filled up on my favorite Country singers, such as Alan Jackson, who was joined by others throughout the day. After the show, we spent the night at the Phoenix Inn in Albany, Oregon and were still basking in the glow of our happy time next morning when we headed home. We'd been on the road about half an hour when we heard that ga-plop sound and knew right away that we had a flat tire. And it was Sunday. Where would we find help anywhere on a Sunday? Plus it was hot--92 degrees, and humid--not the best environment for two Senior Citizens
I finally remembered we were members of AAA and gave them a call. A man would be out, they said, as soon as possible. That was not good enough for my husband. He started pulling everything out of the trunk and set up two lawn chairs. Now what, I thought, knowing my husband could be a stubborn man.
As I was sitting in one of the lawn chairs, contemplating our situation with a cool drink in my hand, my mind wandered to my recent retirement. In March I made the decision to retire--for the second time. I remember the first one vividly. It was another March, but in 2003. I was 63-years-old and felt like I could continue working another 10 years physically, but I was going blind. After 26 years as a nurse, I couldn't see to do my job properly. On the great road of my life, it was indeed a flat tire.
I was brought back to the present by a nice young couple cycling by. The young man asked my husband if we needed any help. I told him AAA was coming, but my words were ignored. My husband said, "Sure. I'm trying to figure out this jack."
At that, the young man took over. He got the jack placed properly, lifted the car, took off the flat tire and put on the spare. It only took him about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, I decided I better call AAA and cancel the truck. I was told by that helpful young man, "No problem, ma'am. The truck is on a call to an accident on the freeway. He wouldn't be there for quite a while, anyway."
We figured we were home free, so we thanked the young man with two cool drinks for he and his wife, and took off to get the poor flat tire fixed. The Firestone Tire worker informed us that the tire had five nails in it and was unfixable. We had to buy a new tire! And, the frosting on this cake was that we had to buy two tires in order to get even wear on one axle of the car. To this day, I don't know if it was just a sales pitch, but at the time it sounded logical.
While sitting in the waiting room, my mind again wandered back to my first retirement. I muddled through that one the best I could. I didn't like it. It didn't suit me. I took up hobbies, started walking a lot and spent the next two years trying to patch my "flat tire" by having one eye surgery after another. Like the flat tire on our car, I sought out the best doctors for my eyes. Despite three surgeries on my right eye, I ultimately lost vision and was quite disappointed. Like the tire, that eye was unfixable. On the other hand, I had two surgeries on my left eye and an amazing surgeon managed to save my vision. He was like the young man who helped my husband with our flat tire.
It took me four years and a lot of patience after those surgeries to retrain my brain to ignore the sightless right eye and concentrate on the vision I had in the good one. Sometimes it was nothing but frustration. I discovered in the process, however, that the brain is an amazing organ. We don't use it nearly often enough, nor do we use all of it. But, when we do and we really work at it, as those who helped us with our wounded tire, the things we can accomplish are phenomenal.
Those memories brought a smile to my face in the far away waiting room of the tire store. I felt this remarkable peace come over me. I couldn't figure out why (amidst all of this chaos) I could possibly feel so calm?
Finally, "re-tired," with all of our stuff packed neatly in the trunk (again), we resumed our journey west. It was now 3 o'clock in the afternoon and we were hungry. We found a nice little café where we could unwind from our chaotic day.
We had to scratch some sight-seeing activities on the way home, but the ride gave me the opportunity to recall how, at the age of 68, I had made the decision to get back to work. My flat had been fixed the best it could and I was road worthy again.
That was four years ago and in those years I had worked myself back up the ladder and into a position as an Intensive Care Nurse in our small community hospital. I have given my all and thoroughly enjoyed the ride, but when I celebrated my 72nd birthday, I realized the old machine is slowing down. I was tired. This time, however when I retired from my full-time position, it was because I was ready. It was time to "re-tire."
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