We had our big annual summer party yesterday (rain before, rain after); 35 cherished friends, clients, colleagues; superb seasonal farm-to-restaurant catered food (tomato-watermelon cold soup, e.g.); "Freedom margaritas" (1 large can of frozen limeade; mix with 2 normal beers; add the same large can filled with tequila -- instant favorite, mixes in seconds); 10 kinds of craft beer (people mostly emptied out the wine, so now I have a beer cellar); a raffle of all the junk Simone and I collected on the road over the year; and some pretty decent domestic-scale fireworks.
People kept asking, "When are you going to retire?"
The monetary answer is, "When they stop paying me for stuff."
The psychological answer is, "I'm actually at my peak, in my view. As long as I keep surprising me, why would I retire? Makes no sense to spend 40 years learning how to do things properly and explaining that to other people in ways they GET ... and then hang a CLOSED sign on the door. Hang a closed sign on my cremation urn."
The best answer I came up with, "Flying to places has become sort of a hobby. I mostly see tolerance on airplanes, interchangeable hotel bedrooms, taxis, and chandeliers with large groups of people spread under them. But at least I get to look out the windows. I have seen Saskatoon and eaten in a couple of its best joints. Have you?"