MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME – AND HE DID My husband and I were delighted when we finally retired and planned to move into our new home in sunny Florida. We carefully chose the lot and builder and in the blink of an eye, six months passed, and the house was halfway completed. Wanting to be sure the construction went as planned, we began packing. Our goal was to rent a small house until it was time to move into our own permanently. Three of our four children were married, three of them with their own families. One lived in Connecticut, two on Long Island and ironically, one on the east coast of Florida. While it would be heart-wrenching to leave three children and their families behind, we were glad we still had a son and his family close by. A three-hour drive and we'd be at their door – or vice versa. That eased the tug on our heartstrings. The excitement of doing what we wanted and when grew. No more rising early and commuting to jobs only to face traffic again on the way back home – and all do it over again the next day! Retirement was looking really good. However, we promised our children we would visit as often as possible but also, we wanted them to see our new home. We volunteered to pay the airfare for their first visit to Florida. “Our treat", we promised” The sad part was that we could not get all four children to make the trip at the same time. Their work schedules just didn't sync. When the time came for each to visit, we advised them to pack lightly. We had a new washer and dryer and saw no need overloading suitcases especially when two of them had small children to worry about. Our youngest son took that advice to heart. We made the arrangements for the visit for Richie and his fiancé. As promised, he called as he left his apartment for the airport. We mentioned we wanted to check the internet for flight information so we would not be late picking up him and Christie. He said not to worry about that because he wanted to rent a car to experience driving around Florida. Richie always was independent, so we agreed. When they pulled into the driveway, my husband and I hurried out the door to meet them and saw he rented a beautiful, red pickup with a hard-enclosed bed. They opened the bed cover and our soon-to-be-daughter-in-law pulled out a small carry on case. Our son on the other hand pulled out two exceptionally large duffel bags. Jokingly I said to him, “What did you do bring all your dirty laundry?” He looked from me to his father and then back to me. A wide grin spread over his face as he said, “Well you did say you had a new washer and dryer. I just thought you might want to check it out, and break it in, so yeah I brought my laundry.” There was about two weeks' worth of dirty laundry. We hugged and had a hearty laugh as I showed him were the laundry room was. I showed Christie to the guest bedroom and she unpacked her clean clothes. Looking back on that day still makes me smile. After all, we did tell them to feel right at home and make themselves comfortable. He sure did as he spent the next two days doing laundry and we spent the next two days entertaining him and his fiancé while he did.

‘crink crink' a pink Ladybird zoomed past the Renault Duster. “That's the fifth… no…sixth bicycle that overtook me today” told himself the sexagenarian who considered himself the soundest driver in the whole mortal realm as his car's speedometer never read a two-digit number starting with five. As he took the sharp turn near the placard that read “Faculty Parking Only”, a genuine frustration started clouding his face. A maroon Toyota had occupied the last parking slot. He muttered…probably cast some wicked spell. A crow from nowhere popped up and caricatured the Toyota's misfortune on its bonnet. As he ushered through the iron gate covered with Bougainvillea, like a wig on a carcass, he noticed an array of pink-violet-yellow shrubs lined along the corridor. He knew what it meant. The dark passage with faint yellow glows at the ends, like a prehistoric cave, occasionally got a flowery welcome like this. Today is a special day. Today is the day he retires. As he slowly turned his cabin key from 12 O'clock to 3 O'clock, a sudden gloom surged. For the last forty years, this archaic wooden door had been pushed open with a loud ‘thud'. But today it felt a bit too heavy. A sloppy hand swooped it open with a nudge. Resting his leather-satchel on the table, slowly, he walked up to the chair he held so dearly. He swiveled it around. The gold-plated Pierre Cardin was peeping through a pen stand. He reached for it. If only someone could endow this artifact with life, it would have written a story of its own. From signing the first pay-check to signing the last thesis, all those tender moments tucked inside this 6'inch metal body. He came out of his cabin and walked towards the lab. As he slid the heavy iron bolt and pushed the door, a gust of pungent stench hit his lungs. Ah! The smell of old books. He inhaled deeply. He recalled the day his first student stepped inside this room for the first time and how hard he tried to swallow the utter frustration. It was a mere storehouse then. He fondly remembered his last two students, probably because they were the age of his own two daughters. By the window, Aman had his desk. Done with updating his Facebook feed and editing the photos from his latest trip, which would shortly hit his WhatsApp status, Aman's cursor would hover over Amazon's latest shoe collection. Manoj was someone he could actually count on. He turned left. With circles around some dates, a 2018 calendar was fluttering. By its side, the chalk-board on the wall still had those scribbles by Aman. The board's frame was barely visible through the avalanche of sticky-notes glued to it. He picked up a green one. It read ‘Rajan Plumber' with a contact number. He grinned. An abrupt screech along the corridor alerted him. It reminded him of something. While bringing up two daughters rowing through adolescence to adulthood, he realized his students should also enjoy a fair share of privacy. So, one fine morning he came up with a radical solution. Instead of entering the lab like an unwelcome guest, he would stomp his boots while in the vicinity of the lab so that the students would get a message -'the terror is here, cover your misdeeds'. A fancy wall décor hung just over the entrance door. He remembered the day it came. 5th September 2017. His siesta being interrupted with a loud hammering, he peeped through the window. To his utmost surprise, Manoj was nailing a hook to hang this décor, and Aman was decorating a "Happy Teacher's Day" iced chocolate cake with candles. He was so lost down the memory lane, that a soft ‘Vasu' from Professor Samuel couldn't bring him back. ‘Vasu…Vasu? Let's go for a coffee' said his old friend, this time with a gentle tap on the shoulder. The clock struck one. As he turned the lunchbox lid slowly, his wife's earlier remarks this morning painted a broad smile on his lips. "Guess what's for the finale? The one I made you the very first day”. Condensed vapor from the lid dripped on the chapatis. As he reached for the second compartment, he already knew what it contained. Prawn-malai curry. And he was right. By the time he cast a final look at his empty cabin, the sun had long taken his farewell. A cool, soothing breeze passed by. He slowly marched towards the exit. A heavy leg and a heavier heart. Relaxing his back at the driving seat, he got lost once again. He had been around for forty years. So many things had changed and so many didn't. New faces, new bricks, old roads, old rocks. life went on. Like a cigarette. You light it up, and its journey to an inevitable end starts, burning slowly. Soon a layer of grey covers the top. You stroke it gently. The ashes get carried away with the wind. A new front comes up. Same with us. Time passes by. Slowly. Old days fade away, their memories lost in the deep. Comes a new beginning. Every day. You actually don't retire, you re-join. For a new cause, a new purpose.

They say love can make you do strange and peculiar things. Others say it's exhilarating. But my husband, Will, and I think of ourselves as much too practical when it comes to life's important matters, such as love. And then we took a vacation to Belize. We read, researched, and planned. But only a few hours into our itinerary, we had to abandon it. As darkness snuck up on us, rain poured, and a windshield wiper on our tiny rental car didn't work. We dodged dogs and people moseying along the highway. The highway had no lights. Will suggested a place to spend the night but I countered, remembering reading about Hopkins Village. Little did we know, it would take us a white-knuckling, breath-holding 45-minutes to maneuver the four miles of unpaved, crater-filled so-called road. “Are you sure there is a village at the end of this?” Will asked. No, I wasn't. I panicked silently, wondering what I had gotten us into and hoping I hadn't made the entire situation worse. This situation being our vacation. I thought about shouting “We should've gone to Costa Rico!” but refrained. When the village's twinkling lights emerged ahead, I managed to breath. As we approached, the rain began to let up. The sea was straight ahead, and we arrived just in time to watch the full moon rising over the Caribbean. It was magical. So magical, it didn't seem real but more like an Elvis Presley movie set. The restaurant had thatch roofs, waves softly lapping, and this amazing moon emerging from the sea. And that was our very first night! Listening to the faint drumming sounds over a meal of fresh fish, the rain turned to a slow mist, melting the stress we had brought with us. And then we did something strange, peculiar, and exhilarating. We vowed to move to this little fishing village in Central America. In reality, there would be several more trips, extensive planning, and a five-year plan. But really, it was that first night, with the tropical breeze, delicious food, rum-drinks, and rain-soaked hair, that we fell in love with a place. We gazed at that moon and each other until our eyes succumbed to sleep. We wanted salt air, tropical moonrises, and authentic living. We wanted to fall asleep to the waves of the Caribbean Sea rather than the planes of Love Field. We wanted to ride on beach cruisers instead of sitting in traffic. We wanted beach walks not side walks. We wanted slow and relaxed instead of frantic and frazzled. We wanted Belize. Belize is a small little country about the size of New Hampshire with an abundance of nature—both sea and mountains. The rural country boasts of no fast-food or big box stores and it probably has more chickens than people. This developing country has much the romance of the wild west, complete with chaos, dangers, and take matters into your own hands' kind of place. And what an adventure it was! We decided to “go west,” buying and building. We planned to live in a little wooden cabana--Belize's version of a mobile home-- while building our dream beach house. We were so full of optimism. We embraced our setbacks and challenges with unabashed enthusiasm. No bed? We will sleep in a hammock. Can't find parts for the bathroom door? No problem. We will hang a hammock up for privacy like some hippies from the sixties. It could be months before any of furniture is ready? We'll reminisce our younger days—crates for nightstands…concrete blocks and boards for dressers. Four months later, we took delivery of bespoke tropical hardwood furniture. We took our time, we went slow, and soaked it all in. If we weren't blessed enough, it turned out the oldest bed and breakfast, our favorite vacation spot, with Lucy, our favorite beach dog, may be for sale. We'd known Lucy, the Irish wolfhound mixed with something much smaller, over the years and enjoyed our walks together to our favorite beach hang out. She trotted the two blocks to our place frequently. Some mornings we'd open our front door only to discover Lucy laid across it like a welcome mat. Lucy reminded us of our first dog—smart and funny. Will and I day-dreamed of Lucy and the inn being ours. We talked of importing expensive mattresses and soaps…of expanding the verandas and having romantic double showers. We drank dark rum. We strolled along the beach. We made love without worrying about rushing off to work. We were happy in this magical, quirky, little village. And, I could say “the end.” But it may not be fair to finish the story like that without also including that it may have been a rash decision to purchase a bed and breakfast to get a puppy dog. I could also add that we didn't do things the way they've always been done, upset the status quo, and made a whole bunch of people angry. No doubt, there were twists, turns, and stumbling blocks on our adventure. But even so, our goal of adventure-seeking was reached in record time.