The Big Change: Goodbye, Car

Some people downsize their homes when they retire. I downsized my driving.

After three years and a whopping 5,000 miles, I realized my car was basically a very expensive lawn ornament. Once the daily commute vanished, my driving shrank to quick errands and the occasional entertainment day trip. So I let it go. Honestly, that’s probably the biggest shift in my life lately — and surprisingly, I don’t miss it.

The Weekend Mystery

Here’s the funny part: Even without a job, I still prefer weekends.

My routines don’t change. The schedule stays the same. Responsibilities remain exactly where I left them. And yet… Sunday night still ties my stomach in a knot like I’m about to face a pop quiz on Monday morning. Apparently, some habits survive retirement.

The IRS Incident (A.K.A. The Heart Attack That Wasn’t)

Let’s talk about the day I nearly met my maker.

I use USPS Informed Delivery — a free service that emails you a preview of your mail. Usually helpful. Occasionally horrifying.

At 8 AM, I opened my Daily Digest and saw it: A letter from the IRS.

The IRS! What could they possibly want? My taxes were filed. My refund was received. I hadn’t robbed Fort Knox or started a secret offshore casino. And yet there it was… a government envelope with my name on it.

The mail wouldn’t arrive until 1 or 2 PM, which meant I had five hours to imagine every worst‑case scenario known to mankind. I paced around the room, fretting over every possibility. At one point I even started mentally drafting my own obituary.

By the time the mail truck finally rolled up, I was a wreck. With shaking hands, I tore open the envelope and discovered…

A solicitation.  No audit. No penalty. And absolutely no summons lurking inside. Just a cheerful little note informing me I was eligible for a government match of up to $1,000 if I opened an IRA.

If I had extra money, I’d still have a car — so into the circular file it went. My hands needed a few minutes to stop vibrating.

Morning: Powered by Cats and Coffee

But let’s rewind. Before IRS‑induced panic attacks, my day starts with my furry alarm clocks.

Retired people supposedly need a reason to get up in the morning. I have two: Banner and Balboa, who demand breakfast no later than 6 AM. One of them will wake me — gently if I’m lucky, aggressively if I’m not.

They eat. They go back to bed. I log onto the computer and begin my morning ritual.

Step 1: Facebook Patrol

• Visit my personal page
• Vote for Joe in the Best of Florida contest
• Check notifications
• Make sure the internet hasn’t imploded overnight

Step 2: Creator Duties

I run two pages:

• Dusty Roads Photos
• Sights and Scenes of an Everyday Person

I check for:

• Posts that need to be made
• Tasks Facebook wants me to complete for “maximum exposure”
• Anything that belongs on my daily task list

Step 3: Blog Headquarters

Over to AroundDustyRoads.com:

• Add writing tasks
• Plan WMEO mayhem
• Make notes for future posts

Step 4: Adulting

• Check all four email accounts
• Check both bank accounts (because forgetting to log something is my superpower)
• Check my calendar: doctors, dentists, lawyers, Indian chiefs — whoever wants a piece of me today
• Check chore schedules: laundry, cleaning, errands

By the time I finish all that, it’s practically lunchtime.

Midday: The Domestic Intermission

I take a break from screen time to:

• Clean the kitty litter
• Bag the trash
• Hand out kitty treats
• Make breakfast
• Shower

Then it’s back to work — creator work, that is.

Afternoon: The Job I Love (Even If It Doesn’t Pay)

I tackle my task list:

• Post photos
• Write blog entries
• Manage pages
• Keep the creator machine humming

Believe it or not, this fills the entire day. Retirement isn’t lounging on a beach — it’s running a one‑woman media empire with two feline interns.

Evening: The Cozy Shift

By evening, I’m ready to unwind:

• A book
• The TV
• Balboa curled in my lap
• Banner stretched at my feet like a fluffy orange dog

People ask me all the time: “Aren’t you bored? What do you do all day?”

The answer is simple: No, I’m not bored. I’m busy. My blog and creator pages are my job…

Some people think retirement means I’m available 24/7, just sitting around eating bon bons and waiting for their call. Let me assure you: the only ones who get that kind of access are my cats — and even they have to wait until I finish my morning checklist.

I may not get paid, but the satisfaction is priceless. My paycheck comes in the form of joy, creativity, and that little spark of accomplishment when I finish a post or a project. I work for myself now — and let me tell you, I’m the strictest boss I’ve ever had.

 And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.