Harry has always been a busy person. However, after a steady 36 years of reporting to work at the factory at 6:30 every morning, retirement took a little getting used to. Now, after one year of retirement, Harrison Winkle has begun to embrace the benefits of sleeping in just a little bit longer, sitting on the front porch in the morning and lingering over a second cup of coffee, while catching up on the minimal extent of local crime via the police log in the morning paper.

On a busy night, the column may list several traffic stops AND a domestic disturbance – usually it just lists citations for failure to license dogs or car stereos with excessing bass thumping.

In the beginning, when asked the obligatory inquiry as to how retirement was treating him, Harry would joke, “Every day is a Saturday,” followed by, “and Saturday is when I mow the lawn, weed the gardens, and paint the house. It’s exhausting. I need to get back to factory work, so I can rest up.”

Now, Harry’s response is, “I have so much to do, I have to take an hour or two just to think about what I’m going to do first.”

Most of time, Harry’s daily deliberations are conducted on his big wrap-around front porch. The corner location of his property makes the big, covered porch the perfect place for planning the day, holding court, and over-seeing the comings and goings of everyone else in the neighborhood. Harry hasn’t finished reading the “retirement manual”, but he’s pretty sure it is part of the requirements of retirement to be in the know of what’s going on in the neighborhood. Fortunately, there is no mention of any responsibility to do anything about it.

Just as Harrison Winkle can usually be found pondering the human condition from his command chair at the porch’s corner confluence, his close friend (and regular feuding partner) Jimmy can be counted on to make his afternoon, two-block pilgrimage from his house to Harry’s front porch. Now that Jimmy is also retired, his “retirement manual” lists one of his main responsibilities as showing up regularly at Harry’s, and debating all the things that don’t really matter to anyone else but them – and, sometimes, not even to them. It isn’t the topic that is important – it’s the quality of the argument (and the facts be damned).

“Whatcha doing?” Jimmy will ask as he mounts the wide, curving, steps at the corner of the porch.

“I’ve been thinking about mowing the lawn.”

“How long have you been thinking about it?”

“Maybe a couple of hours.”

“How long does it take you to mow?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“Sssssoooo…you could have been done an hour ago?” Jimmy enjoyed pointing out Harry’s ability to ignore logic – or, at least, logic as defined by Jimmy.

“Maybe. Or I could wait until tomorrow and think about it, then.”

“Tomorrow is always the best day for thinking about mowing the lawn.”

“Maybe I’ll wait until Saturday.”

“Nowadays, it’s always Saturday.”

The discussion came to a momentary lull, as each silently searched for something to debate that hasn’t already been discussed over the course of the past year.

“Remember back when some weeks would have two Mondays and they were both terrible? I don’t miss them, anymore.” Harry broke the silence, as he refilled their glasses from an ice-filled pitcher of lemonade (made with Harry’s special fixins)

The two looked out over the neighborhood, belted back a tall glass, and contemplated life.

“I miss looking forward to Friday.”

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.