Retirement

Retired at last; twenty-somethings tell me how lucky I am to be retired. After all, living on a tropical island, having lunch on the beach is the good life. Aches and pains picked up along the way, for all my mistakes enough things went right to allow me to be retired.

During my working or productive years, I couldn’t imagine not working. Every job or career I ever had became a springboard for something I thought I wanted to do more.

In my first job out of high school, I worked as a reconciler for an insurance company.  Within a couple of months sitting at that desk all day, I lost my mind and went to look for it in a park. Any young woman can fall back on a job as a waitress; right? One shift of lunch hour madness showed me otherwise.

Talk about inauspicious beginnings, my next job as a kennel maid cleaning up after, scrubbing kennels, and feeding dogs tired my muscles and taught me a ton about dogs and people; something that would come in handy in about a quarter of a century. I’ve done many things because I thought I might like it; some worked, and then others not so much, but give the young me a challenge so I could chew it to death.

The real estate market tanked with interest rates at 18.5%; a help wanted ad caught my eye. TRUCK SALESMAN WANTED: base salary and vehicle. My husband was a truck driver; occasionally I went on the road with him. No Sundays for me made him smile; he hated competing with clients for me on weekends. I’d only be selling Scouts from the lot until one on Saturday.

My resume impressive, my background diversified, and I could sell. The sales manager hated me; he sneered. The female office staff had never before enjoyed looking down their noses and made that clear; huh, boss. I followed him around the office and shop, telling him about why he should hire me until he slammed a door in my face.

Smug, nasty looks from the women followed me to the door; “The nerve” was all I heard. Three evenings later the phone rang. “Hi, this is Glenn from Herschberger.” Having a door slammed in my face humiliated me in front of three women who would soon be so jealous.

“You were by far the most aggressive candidate for the job. There is a woman in upstate New York selling trucks.” He wanted me, so I negotiated to work every other Saturday. I could sell.

The second woman in the United States of America to sell trucks, that’s what I believe I am. My best career came from doing what I loved for free.

In 1983 we bought Carrvilla, our home, A Better Dog School, and the end of a rainbow in Yorkville, Illinois. I knew no one; why I think myself shy, I’ll never know. I placed an ad in the local paper: WANT TO PRACTICE OBEDIENCE OR CONFORMATION WITH YOUR DOG it began. Before long word got out that if your dog had a problem behavior, see Pat Carr.

“Dog behavior interests me; I do this for fun. Let’s play with it and see what shakes out.” You wouldn’t believe the shit people brought me. They weren’t going to spend another dime on it, but as long as it was free, here they came. By the time I needed to be income producing again in 1988 I had a wealth of experience.

Doing what you love for a living is priceless; owning your own business is heaven and hell. For almost thirty years dogs were the core of our lives, and then we showed dogs on the weekends for fun. I wouldn’t trade my life for a million bucks right now.

Thank you, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, for Social Security. Retirement means not working beyond your capacity to do so. It’s up to us how we spend it.