In a scarred, red leather folder, I keep a letter that my father wrote to me when I was 16.

It’s typed, tightly spaced on both sides of a piece of standard, white paper. It was his response to a weepy phone call asking him to extricate me from a miserable work situation to which I had, at first, happily agreed.

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One of the best surprises about retirement is time. Time to explore new hobbies. Time to visit with friends. Time to bake. Time to eat. Time to spend on myself. I have often written about this wonderful gift. But, now I have found time for something I never thought I’d try.

Over a decade ago, my adventurous husband suggested we get ourselves a yoga instructor. It would be something we could do together and it would help us stay strong as we aged.

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It’s February in the Midwest, a time of snow, wind and subzero temps.

That means there will be a few snow days when getting to school is just too hard. Some schools are still in session remotely. Do they need snow days, too? You bet.

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My grandmother lived with us. She was a strong, brilliant, determined woman who had come to America at 13 and immediately went to work to help support her family.

She was opinionated and stubborn and, she had earned the right to be so. I know she thought I didn’t pay attention to her counsel, but somehow, all that advice is still rolling around in my head half a century later.

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At the end of each year, we would sit down with our kids and create a very, very rough spreadsheet of their annual income and outgo.

We started this as soon as they could add and subtract. They received an allowance when they were in grammar school which they subsidized with gifts and sometimes money earned from neighborhood chores.

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I have worked steadily since I was 16, either parttime, all through high school and college, or fulltime when I was going to school at night. I liked working.

I liked all my jobs (sales, marketing, National Park Service Ranger, sailing instructor) except the summer I worked in a camp kitchen. I learned something from every job (even the hot, miserable kitchen job) and I made friends at them all. And, yet, I have never considered myself a successful, career woman.

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I have more time to bake and cook. I have more time for mid-week dates with my husband.

I have more time to travel, more time to read, more time to write. But…do I always use that time wisely? Of course not!

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Today, our three-year-old grandson learned to open the gate to his fenced yard.

He let himself out, but, he couldn’t get back in. So, he rang the doorbell and knocked on the garage door. His mother came out to find him sitting in the driveway crying. She was more traumatized by his escapade than he was.

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My first two books fall into two seasons – Do You Like Snow? is obviously about winter. Herbert Loves Sherbet sounds more like summertime treat. Well, it’s summer so let’s celebrate Herbert Clark and his plan to trick his babysitting grandma into feeding him only sherbet for every meal.

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