Retirement? I Have A Job!

I officially retired 10 years ago. For somebody often previously working 60 hours a week, occasionally in three jobs, it's been wonderful. Sure, my sleep patterns were screwed up for some time, once I didn't have to rise at 6AM every morning, and mostly dropped right off at night just to get 6 or 7 hours of sleep. But now I could choose, mostly, when to leave the house, when to stay home, where and when to go once I did head out. Then there was volunteer work, combined with learning/teaching some new skills for a new hobby. And of course there was Steve, so my plans had to consider our plans. It was a new combination of flexibility with responsibility. With very rare exceptions it was all fun.

After moving back north, not having the group setting for hobby work, and mostly working to put the new home in order, I was almost ready to declare that phase of the new life done. Accomplished. Sure, boxes still litter the occasional spaces, but most are unpacked or stored as is, out of traffic patterns. Books were again becoming a big part of my life, from organizing what tiny part of our former library remained and finding spaces for the overflow, to looking at incomplete sets from favorite authors and ordering used books online, to hitting the local library and getting a new card.

There is still a huge project ahead of me before fall closes it down, reorganizing the garden spaces around the house. I hate to say it, as some of you will consider it a kind of garden blasphemy, but rose bushes will become compost before the snow falls. They are too nasty a barrier to accomplishing anything else in their near vicinity, with hard, sharp, curved thorns. Whoever planted them seem to have purposely chosen spaces mingling with other bushes needing a lot of attention, while preventing the needed access. (Trees are growing out of way too many of them!) Lots of bulbs are already in new homes, with many more on their way, some end-of-season pruning NOT rose-adjacent is already under way, and the project will stretch about another two months.

All in all, things had been settling down to the point where we were looking at a nice cozy stay-at-home winter ahead of us.

Then I got asked to take a job. It will be fairly part time, often little notice of hours, and modest pay. There was also two weeks of (unpaid) training, mostly online, with a system not compatible with my laptop. This meant long hours in a very over-air-conditioned office, having to get up frequently to walk into the next office with a "OK, the computer did this, so now what do I do?" The trainer was happy to help and got me through it. (It didn't work with her computer either.) 

I now have three certificates, a new awareness of Minnesota laws specific to the task, and the ability to use the new knowledge and skills in any appropriate setting. I start tomorrow. Yes, Saturday, with the stipulation the weather holds.

I am now officially a PCA, or a personal care assistant. The person who asked me to take the job knows me, was less than thrilled with another person meeting their needs, and asked me to step in. HIPAA rules prohibit me to tell you any more than that. There are certain low levels of care I am now qualified to give, none of which are medical, but assistance is frequently needed. I don't have to do things like haul laundry up/down stairs, or cook. Other people do that. Some of what I do will be offering emotional support, without judging, and with plenty of listening, all of which my 14 years of trained support group facilitating, from way back when I met Steve, have put me in a position to give. Sometimes I will be needed to provide transportation, sometimes with little to no notice, and I can certainly do that, having nearly 30 years as a commercial driver. Other things that arise will be done as needed, often by others with different areas of expertise.

There is a bonus to this job, or at least a potential one. If, in the future. Steve's needs, getting older as we do, require the same kind of services, it is now legal for a relative to be hired to perform them. Trained, of course. And still non-medical stuff. I'd be first in line to apply, of course.