An Active Retirement

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

“I’m worried about you, John.”

Mary is the Manufacturing Manager at Empire Industries, one of the city’s larger electronics firms.  She’d just gotten home for the evening and was standing in the doorway of what used to be my home office.

“Why’s that, dear?”

“Ever since retirement, all you’ve done is sit at your computer, surfing the web and playing game after game of solitaire.  Whatever became of the plans you spoke of spending more time fly-fishing, woodworking, and completing the maintenance and improvement tasks needed around this house?  I expected you would at least be spending some of your time in your shop, but you haven’t stepped through that door in months.”

“I’ll get to it.  I just haven’t been in the mood.”

“That’s a surprisingly childish response, don’t you think?

“We had this discussion months ago when you were first considering retirement.  The statistics are clear that a large percentage of men die within the first year of quitting work.  It is generally held that this is because too few of them retire to anything.  Instead, they give up the life they’ve known, a life with a purpose and a built-in set of demands, and replace that life with nothing at all.  I’m starting to believe that is what you’ve done.  Granted, the timing of your retirement was not voluntary, driven by the economy and the downturn of the communications industry, but I expected you’d take this as an early opportunity to start the next phase of your life.”

“Well, I didn’t anticipate they’d let me go the way they did,” John answered, “even though I knew the company was experiencing hard times.  It’s hard to face the fact you are more expendable than you realized.  You know I worked the job market hard for a good four months after the RIF, but I guess I’m seen as overqualified for most opportunities and too damn old for the rest.  Retirement was my last remaining option.”

“So, will brooding over it help?”

“I’m not brooding.  It’s just taking me a while to get my act together.”

“Now you are being childish.  It’s been six months.  I love you John, and I’ve decided I will not let you join the population of men who make up the Retirement Death Syndrome statistics.  As you are having trouble self-starting, I’ve a little project for you.  Here are the plans for an item I want you to fabricate for me in your shop,” Mary said, handing John a single sheet of paper.

“What’s this?”

“Surely my sketches are not that difficult to interpret, John.  It’s a paddle to be made of hardwood.  All the required dimensions are there, and I’ve even included notes listing the materials to be used and the finish I want on it.”

“I can see it’s a paddle, I’m not blind yet, you know.  What’s it for?”

“I would have thought that was obvious, dear, it is a woodworking project intended to get you active in your new life, and to provide adjustment if you are tempted to lapse into your current brooding attitude again.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am serious.  You’re important to me, and I don’t plan to lose you prematurely.  And, so you know how serious I am, you have a deadline.  I expect you to deliver this product into my hands by this coming Saturday afternoon, at which time you and I will do some practical testing of its efficacy.  You have another deliverable due at the same time.  When you present me with this paddle, you will also outline for me the plans you’ve made for the following week’s projects and activities.  Make them specific for each day and make sure they include a reasonable mix of recreational and constructive occupations.

“Your days of sitting around the house waiting to die are over, dear.  From now until I deem it no longer necessary, you and I will devote our Saturday afternoons to reviewing your plans for the next week and your accomplishments of the week just completed.  I will then apply the results of this, your first official retirement project, as I see fit to incentivize your efforts.”

John was taken aback by Mary’s announcement, and tried to laugh off or dissuade her from her course.  They had not played spanking games since they were relative newlyweds, and even then it was nothing more than a few moderate hand spanks as foreplay to more intimate activities.  True, John was usually on the receiving end (so to speak), but it was never serious.  One thing about Mary, though, she was not easily diverted once she set her course.  He had a few days before Saturday, however, so John wasn’t worried.  She’d come around.

The next day, John visited the local Hardwoods outlet to see what they had in stock.  He’d not been there in a while, and enjoyed browsing through the stacks and bins of common and exotic woods with their wide range of textures and aromas, from the dark figured walnut to the soft aromatic Spanish cedar.

Picking through the sale bin, John uncovered a piece of quarter sawn white oak that would serve well for the project Mary assigned.  It had some significant machine imperfections down one edge, but the board was sound.  What the heck, the price was low and there wasn’t any reason he could not humor Mary while he worked on changing her mind.  Just seeing him active in his shop again should do the trick.

Back in his shop, John used his bandsaw to cut out the basic shape, then dogged the piece down to his bench and began smoothing and removing any cupping with a facing plane.  He had always loved the feel of wood as it took shape, and he was soon back in the familiar mindset of the artisan that woodworking produced.  His router table could have made short work of shaping the edges, but John elected to use an edge plane and spoke shave.  He preferred the sensation of the hand tools as they glided and sliced their way along the board.  In a few hours, John fashioned a very serviceable-looking oak paddle.

For the finish, John mixed tung oil with a citrus solvent and rubbed it into the wood with a cloth.  He enjoyed this phase of any project.  The finish brought the wood to life, revealing all of its inner lights and character.  It would take several applications, and if he followed the accepted process, the piece would not actually be ready by Saturday afternoon.  The finish typically requires a week or two to dry.  As this was just a show piece, however, that shouldn’t be a problem.

That evening over dinner, John talked with some enthusiasm about his trip to the store and the time he spent with wood dust under his fingernails.

“I’m pleased to hear it, John.  Don’t you feel much better being active in your shop again and producing something?”

“Honestly, I do.  I’ve always enjoyed working with wood, creating something useful, and even if this paddle gets no actual use, it’s a thing of beauty in its own way.”

Mary smiled.  “I’m glad this activity is helping.  Your mood seems much improved.  Will you meet your deadline and have it completed by Saturday afternoon?”

“Oh yes, it’ll be done.  I’m having to take some shortcuts in the finishing process given the time constraints, but I think you’ll be pleased with the results.  I’m not sure what we’ll do with it once it’s done, though.  I mean a paddle looks like a paddle, and it would be embarrassing to leave it lying around for visiting friends or the grandkids to come across.  I was thinking once it’s done, once I’ve completed your project requirements, I could then cut it down for a small cutting board or cheese board.”

“That won’t be a problem, dear.  Don’t forget to give thought to what you want to work on the following week.

“Oh, I ran into Eileen at lunch today.  Dave has been laid off as well.”

“That’s too bad.  He’s not quite our age, but it’s still a tough market for a senior manager.  I hope he has better luck finding work than I did.”

The rest of the week seemed to pass quickly.  Finishing the paddle took little time from his days, so John pulled out and resumed work on a plan for a cabinet he started and abandoned more than a year ago when things were getting intense at his old job.  He also pulled out his collection of fly-fishing boxes, identified a couple of patterns in short supply, and spent time tying a few flies.  He’d gotten rusty from lack of practice, but he enjoyed the work.

Each evening, he and Mary would talk about their days, and John could tell the concern Mary expressed for his longevity was easing.  And although she still occasionally asked with a smile about his, “first official retirement project,” her interest seemed to be more in the humor of the situation.  John stopped worrying about the paddle being used as a paddle.

They spent Saturday morning doing odd jobs around the house, and typical fall cleanup in the garden.  For lunch, Mary made them bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches.  Nothing beats the aroma of frying bacon, and fresh tomatoes straight from the garden cannot be matched by anything you get at the market.

“I’m going to shower after lunch,” Mary said, “then you can have your turn.  Once we’re both clean lets meet in your office where you can show me the results of your efforts this week.”

“I could get it for you know, if you’d like,” John replied with a grin.

“No, that’s not necessary.”  Mary smiled.  “Let’s get cleaned up first.”

After his shower, John dressed in a t-shirt, dockers and crocks, suitable for spending a comfortable Saturday afternoon about the house, and retrieved Mary’s assigned project from his shop.  He gave it a last rub down with a soft cloth to remove any excess oil that might have leached to the surface, and admired its look and feel.  Confident his wife would be pleased, not only with the project itself, but with his general increase in activity during the week, John went looking for Mary.

John found Mary, already seated in a sturdy chair she’d placed in the middle of his office floor.  Even more ominous was the fact she had put her hair up and was dressed in business attire, with a nice dark wool skirt, a white blouse and practical heels.  The sight brought him to a halt in the doorway.

“You have something for me?” Mary asked.

“Uhm, yes,” John replied, resuming his smile and trying to establish a mood of conspiratorial playfulness.  John handed Mary the beautiful oak paddle, built to her specifications.

“This is very nice work, John, you should be proud.  Why don’t you drop your pants and your undies so we can give it its first field trial.”

“You’re kidding, right?”  John said, shifting from foot to foot.  “I mean, the whole idea was to get me involved in something again, and it worked, right?  The rest was just for effect, wasn’t it?”

“No, John.  I told you I was worried about you and I was serious about seeing that your mood and attitude improved.  The first phase of the plan to turn things around seems to have worked, but the progress we’ve made will be temporary if we do not take it seriously and follow through.  Have you made your plans for next week?”

“Yes, well, I thought I would finally build that cabinet for the bedroom I’ve been designing off and on for the past year, and maybe do a little fly-fishing up on the South Fork.”

“That sounds fine, dear, but what are your specific plans?  You know, the details of what, when, where?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“You remember, don’t you, I asked you to develop detailed plans, due by the time of this meeting?” Mary responded, somewhat more sternly.  “I thought I was clear that vague intentions were no longer the order of the day.

“First things first.  Come over here beside me so we can get you ready to try out this very nice looking paddle, and determine whether it is as effective in actual use as it appears to be.”

Hesitantly, John moved over to stand by Mary’s right side, and fumbled with his belt buckle.  “I stand behind my work, darling, and I assure you it is of the best quality,” John said, trying to change the mood, forestall the inevitable.

Mary smiled up at him, set the paddle on the floor, leaning against the leg of her chair, and pulled the hem of her skirt up to clear her thighs for action.  After which, she waited for John to get ready.

When John dropped his pants to his ankles, he looked again at Mary and asked, “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so, dear.  You’ve got to pay penance for the six months you’ve wasted.  And, it’s clear from your lack of concrete planning for next week that you won’t take changing your life seriously without a little direct encouragement.  Are you familiar with the acronyms DD or WLM?”

“No, not really.”

“Well DD stands for domestic discipline, and WLM, wife led marriage, just indicates who provides the discipline.  We are going to give it a try for a few months and see how it goes.

“Let me help you with these,” she continued, inserting her thumbs in the top of John’s underwear and sliding them down his thighs.  Mary then gripped John’s arm and eased him over her lap.

“I don’t think it would be a fair trial of your excellent looking product to use it on an unprepared surface.  So why don’t I warm you up first.”  With that, she spanked John’s nicely presented bottom with her strong right hand.

John had not been placed over Mary’s knees for years, and in previous trips Mary was much more playful and less business like.  Her hand stung him a little, but it was not a big deal.  The humiliation of being in his current childish position was far more difficult to bear.  With repetition, the steady spanking of his pinkening bottom took effect and John found it increasingly difficult not to squirm over Mary’s lap.

He was on the verge of asking Mary to stop, when she did stop and smoothed her hand over his bottom, assessing the heat.  “I think we’re ready.  Let’s give this new paddle a little test drive.”

Mary eased John a little further over her lap, pulled her right leg out from under him and clamped it behind his knees.  She retrieved the paddle from where she’d set it and glided it in small circles over John’s backside.  Without further comment, Mary raised the gleaming oak paddle above her shoulder and snapped it down with good wrist action to contact John’s left bottom cheek.  Without noticeable pause, she raised it again and provided a matching stroke to John’s right cheek.

John’s immediate gasp and subsequent yelp gave ample testimony to the quality of his craftsmanship.  The product trial did not stop there, but continued for some time, providing an extensive test of both efficacy and durability.  The product testing was far more extensive than John thought necessary.  Well before Mary was satisfied, John was struggling and pleading for relief, but she kept right on paddling his naked bottom.

When Mary was satisfied, John lay limply crying across her lap.  She set the paddle on the floor and went back to smoothing and cupping John’s now red hot bottom with her soft hand.

Once he’d had a few minutes to recover, Mary said in a sympathetic voice, “You did nice work with your first official retirement project, John, you should be proud.  You should be less proud of the work you did on your other assignment.  Your plans for the coming week are not up to the requirements I set for you, are they?”

“No, dear,” John responded, still choked up with tears.

“You’ll correct that shortcoming before bedtime tonight, won’t you darling.”

“Yes, dear.”

“And when we meet again next week, you won’t make the same mistake again, will you darling?”

“Please, Mary, do we have to…”

SMACK

“You won’t make the same mistake again, will you John.”

“No, dear.”

Mary was pleased with the quality, durability and effectiveness of John’s first official retirement project.  She was so pleased she used it regularly for many weeks thereafter.  She even mentioned the project approach to Eileen when she heard Dave was getting depressed by his unscheduled inactivity.

Needless to say, John became very active and much happier in his retirement.  And, for very good reasons, spent little time sitting around the house.

END

Copyright © 2012 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All right reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.