I retired from being a housewife a year ago. I’d been a house wife for 20 years. I’d also been a mother, a wife, a gardener, a painter and decorator, a project manager, a keeper of hens, a cook, cleaner, chamber maid, waitress, holiday home manager, lumberjack, carer, counsellor, events manager, engineer, carpenter and a multitude of other unplanned careers that landed at my door on a daily basis.
Last summer I retired. I retired from a very big house in the Scottish country side to a less big house in an English market town. I retired from all my careers and I discovered me. Me. Me who doesn’t uncurl from my duvet until after 8am at the earliest, me who sits at the farmhouse table in the orangery until 1030am drinking coffee and eating home-made bread toasted and topped with home-made Seville orange marmalade. Me who now belongs to the walking group, who enjoys time for a swim and a sauna and who is now the proud owner of half an allotment a stones throw, along the river, from home. This is me, reaping the benefits of a new life and choosing to launch myself into “aliveness”.