Sunday morning under the big top

Today I spent the morning doing my volunteer gig under the big top.*  This was my second Sunday morning shift in a row.  The four hours went pretty fast. Both Sundays, I’ve been in a spot in the main Terminal where a lot of just-checked-in passengers walk by. 

When I’m out there I’m wearing the volunteer uniform:  a nice suede vest, blue jeans, white shirt, bolo tie and snappy white Stetson hat.  (The vest, hat and bolo tie are furnished by the airport.)  I’m there to answer questions and give directions.   It’s fun to have no agenda or purpose but to help people.  Mostly the people I talk to need basic directions: to security, where’s their gate.  I’m learning a lot as I go along although after working at the airport all those years I did know some things already.

The most common questions I heard last week and today, other than a request for basic directions:   Where’s Starbucks?  (Concourse B down at the far East end by the regional jet gates.)   Where can I find a TV to watch here in the Terminal?  (Red Rocks Bar and Seattle’s Best coffee for sure; walk by the other eateries and see if any of them has TV.)  Will there be places to eat after I go through security?  (Yes.) 

Today I got a new one.  Somebody asked if there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts in the airport.  There isn’t, but that’s not a silly question when you consider the crummy junk-food lineup slap in the middle of the Terminal, 6 East:  Panda Express, Domino’s Pizza, Taco Bell, and Burger King.  In an ug-lee old food court which sadly has one of the primo visible spots in the place. 

There’s a brand new spot in the Terminal: the Marketplace.  It opened the other day and has a coffee shop, a flower shop and a corner store with food and snacks.  Here are some pictures I took.  It looks fresh and new.  Lord knows the Terminal could use more of that.  (I’m not going to waste bandwith by posting any pictures of the crummy food court.)

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*Denver International Airport, aka “DIA”, airline code DEN

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Year of living ambiguously

Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.”– Gilda Radner

A year ago I grabbed the modest retirement I’d earned by sticking to a job for 17 years and achieving the age of 55 years.  (Well, over-achieving that latter bit, if you want to be picky.)

And headed out the door into a world quite new to me:  life without a full-time job.  No pets or people to care for at home, a little bit of money dropping into my checking account each month just because I’m still breathing, a bit of money banked in the “fun and travel” account, and no fixed schedule.

I found it was relaxing, healing, scary, and sometimes I was immobilized by a sense of infinite possibilities or at least more than I could handle.  I traveled, I snoozed, I took a lot of pictures and read a lot of books and walked for miles in the parks.  I also let my inner lazy slob out to play and gained ten pounds. Ouch. I wish I could say that I embraced life and all its unknowns with verve and style, but I’d be lying.  I’ve struggled some.

It’s been an ambiguous time, that’s for sure.  Four times, on an airplane, I was handed customs and immigration forms as we headed to a foreign country.   All asked me to state my occupation.  How I answered depended on my mood.  But I think I only wrote “retired” once because it didn’t seem right.

Now I’ve been working again for four months, this time self-employed.  I’m happy about it.  That ten pounds is gone.  And I’m over communing with my inner lazy slob; she can go away forever.

I’m still a little stymied for an answer when asked “What do you do?”

Sometimes I say I’m semi-retired.  Other times that I’m working as special counsel on a short-term contract without mentioning the R word.

In a couple of weeks I’ll probably say that I’m engaged full time in housebreaking a Shih Tzu puppy.

My hope for the next 12 months:  that I can savor life’s ambiguity.

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