When I asked you to contribute to a book about our class, our generation, as we approach retirement age, I fully expected that it might take two years. I have always been a fast worker and a relatively prolific writer, and this seemed like a project that would be write up my alley.
Well, as the Yiddish proverb quoted above notes, things don't always work out the way we plan them.
Things chugged along fairly well for a while, and despite it taking longer than I thought, I reached the point where I was about two-thirds of the way through the first draft of the book.
I retired early -- albeit involuntarily -- when the Southern California job market for newspaper reporters sort of imploded.
No problem.
More time to work on the book.
Stuff happened, though. With the loss of one of our two incomes, we decided to sell our house in suburban Los Angeles.
Luckily, we beat the collapse of the market and we moved from Los Angeles to a Del Webb retirement community half an hour south of Atlanta. We love it here, but our move here has roughly conincided with some serious health problems for my wife of 19 years.
I have spent much of the last year as a caregiver, and very little of it writing. But we are past the crisis now. Nicole is improving and my life is starting to get back to normal.
I have begun working on "When I'm 64" again and I expect to finish it and submit it for publication this spring.
Thanks for your patience.
I haven't forgotten about you.
