Purple Handcuffs and the Gift of Time

I think on occasion it’s nice to highlight a simple little pleasure of retirement—nothing earth-shattering, you understand, just something the gift of retirement time has allowed you to accomplish.

Late yesterday morning I found myself standing on a mile-long sandy beach, the Atlantic breakers sounding like a jet engine and the wind trying its playful best to knock me over. I was accompanied by eight other retired individuals as we marshalled ourselves to conduct a voluntary beach and sand dune clean-up.

We had a successful day together and unbelievably managed to gather nearly half a ton of discarded litter—a sad reflection on the attitude of some who visit our coastal retreats. We ran a fun little competition, keeping a separate small bag for our most unlikely find of the day.

I thought I’d clinched victory with a slightly battered and rusted can of fly spray bearing Russian Cyrillic lettering, but at the end of the clean-up, the winner was crowned: a pair of purple fluffy handcuffs discovered deep in the extensive sand dune network.

One can only imagine the story there. Though perhaps it’s best not to.

As we walked back to the car park, wind-battered and pleasantly tired, there was that satisfaction that comes from a job well done. Retirement has given us the luxury of time, and what better way to spend it than giving something back to the place that gives us so much?

We stood huddled around someone’s tailgate, passing around a thermos of coffee that tasted far better than it probably was, warming our hands on the cups and laughing about the day’s finds one more time. Then, with promises to do it all again in a few months, we went our separate ways—already looking forward to the next improbable treasure hunt along our battered but beloved stretch of coastline.

Retirement is a wonderful thing.