Today is my 2,569th day of retirement. It still feels a bit surreal. Yes, I am proud to say it does get better with time. I am the master of my domain and my schedule, though my schedule has been all too predictable for most of the past seven years. On most mornings like today, without the kids, I’m up checking social media and the various family chat threads and then I’m out. Not out as in back to sleep, I’m out on the town for the day. 

My destination for the duration is my park bench – more about that in a bit. It is a partly cloudy morning with temperatures expected to rise to 79 degrees later in the day. I used to take my hooptie on my morning forty weight run but since I’ve retired, I’m sporting the velocipede. I don’t mind the two wheeler especially in my suburban area getting to navigate the rail trails and byways around the reservoir system. 

Coming out of my fortress of solitude on the lake (which is really the reservoir and not an actual lake), I make a quick left onto the portentous Route 100 (which has a double identity as Stoneleigh Avenue). I pass between the hospital center on my right and the barns on my left. Passing the Drewville intersection the signage makes you feel as if you can reach any destination by going east or west but that going north, well, not so much as that is a return to civilization. Immediately passing the intersection, the roadway becomes enshrouded by trees. Both the town and the county have extolled the importance of trees, specifically defining the way trees help in “preventing soil erosion and flooding, absorb air pollution, provide oxygen, yield advantageous micro-climatic effects, have an intrinsic aesthetic quality, offer a natural barrier to noise and provide a natural habitat for the wildlife.” When the wind is still like this morning, the trees appear to be nothing more than wooded mannequins well-dressed in the latest greens and browns for some sensational seasonal showcase. 

With the posted speed limit topping out at 45 miles per hour and no dedicated bike lane I have often wonder the risk-benefit of this stretch of road. With parts of the reservoir now on either side of me, I approach Hughson Road for decision time. Do I continue straight which would cut my time (and scenery) significantly to my bench or navigate the serpentine asphalt adventure that is Hughson? As I make the right turn and wind around the twists and turns the scenery shifts somewhat and it feels like I have been transported to Dagobah (no offense Master Yoda). I quickly pass all the residential homes, condos and Lakeview and Kelly roads with little effort. There’s the Restoration Hardware office (or is it a mini-distribution center), the coal and wood pellets place and the pool and spa store I would frequent if I had a pool or spa. I finally get to the rail trail – it is my typical backdoor route to my park bench to avoid the vehicular traffic but something is motivating me today to take the long view drive this early morn. 
Continuing to pedal on past the plumbing supply, I see that their lot is already filled with their regular group of contractors and plumbers. That’s one business that’s success is always going down the drain – true story, true story. I speed up a bit and make it past the Tilly Foster General Store. In all my years living in town and raising my own family here, I just haven’t stepped foot in the place or that Morning Star Trading Company (just past Root Avenue). You know the place, they have the moccasins and Mexican blankets that are outside for sale year round. I’m surprised some of the local delinquents haven’t stolen the entire inventory as a prank (at least I have never heard or read about it).  

I make the turn left and begin the grind uphill on Route 6. As I reach the top, my internal battery acid meter is on flatline. I put my head down, shift gears and picture my park bench and a handful of varnish remover to fill my AM quota. I literally don’t even look up until I make the right turn into Put Plaza and there she was with the welcoming look on her face. My twin-tailed mysterious mermaid singing her siren song – calling out to all her caffeine fiends. It is here where you will find me for the duration on my park bench. 

If Starbucks in my town was Cheers, I’d have a leading role at best. At worst, I’d be a most memorable character actor, but looking a bit like DeNiro, they would never get out of line. There are some days that I think that it is something about the rubenesque icon that mesmerizes and hypnotizes each of us because we have all certainly had better cups of joe. I give the nod to the barista – she knows. I don’t have to even say a word. They script my name today – fancy, huh? They fill my cup (as a member, I’ll get the refill thing going in a few minutes after I upload this one) and then it happens. 

Time stops. No, not my watch. All of time grinds to a halt. Nothing is moving, not a “creature was stirring” except me. No more of that definitive sound of Sonny Rollins’ jazz tenor sax on the acclaimed “St. Thomas” tune. There is even silence from that godforsaken milk frother. I look around as if I were in a “Twilight Zone” episode – you can imagine the scene from a movie where the main character then breaks the fourth wall like in “Ferris Bueller” or the more recent “Deadpool”. That’s me but at this point, there’s no one to turn to. I’m literally now going through the regular salutations of the morning like the cordialities Will Smith’s character Dr. Robert Neville in “I Am Legend” does in the video store. I take my perch on my park bench to take it all in with my heavenly hot stuff handily in my grips. 

As I peer around I noticed one of the young ladies is sporting what appears to be an engagement ring. She’s a regular, her now fiancé is more infrequent. I believe she is a freelance medical writer and her now husband to be is a hospitalist or in hospitality up at the medical center. I can’t recall which. I give her the nod of acknowledgement, tip my navy cap with those easily identifiable interlocking white letters of N and Y and say “God bless” before taking my next sip. 

Don’t get me wrong, this is all just settling in for me and still nothing is moving in my coffee klatsch. It is a most unusual circumstance – but not concerning me in the slightest, at least not yet. It could get a little weird if these people don’t start to breathe or drink their lattes. I check my pulse to know that I’m not dead like some of these fellow fine patrons. I’m all good. The pulse is right where it should be for a Friday. 

Have you ever had that one moment where you are checking off everything you have either just done or were about to do? It wasn’t until I arrived at the airport to head out on vacation that I realized I forgot my swimsuit. This was that kind of moment for me. I reviewed the events leading up to this very second and still I just couldn’t place the trigger to this whole cascade of calmness. 

Then, it hit me. Rush.

No, I wasn’t in a rush and these fine frozen friends and neighbors were certainly not going anywhere! When the barista handed me my brewed prescription for caffeine withdrawal, she wrote “Rush” instead of “Russ”. That is exactly when time stopped in this contrapositive coffee conundrum! 

Rush? 

Was that a sign or something? What caused my entire world to literally come to a halt?

It was at that moment I felt my body twitch as if in a hypnic jerk. You know that involuntary twitch which occurs just as a person is beginning to fall asleep. It makes me wake up suddenly…wait a second. Was I coming out of some sort of dream sequence? 

I awoke in the coffee shop with my cousin tapping me on the shoulder. She was asking me if I were okay. I said to her “I’ve been rushing around the last few days and must have needed this even more than I thought.” I looked around to see the usual motley crew in their regular seats and yes, I was on my “park bench” but I had fallen to sleep. I looked down at my cup and there was my name in script and it was spelled incorrectly “Rush”. My unfinished reply to the text message from my cousin read “Meet at the park bench? Don’t rush.”