Saturday, November 3, 2012

Retirement Updates — The K-Series of Life

I remember when Chrysler announced its new platform, the K-Car, in the early 1980s. It was hailed as a major innovation in automobile design—a fuel-efficient 4-cylinder, front-wheel-drive vehicle. My father was proud to be one of the first K-Car owners and he had worked at a subsidiary of General Motors for much of his life.

More recently, we’ve seen the proliferation of innovative K-Cups. Not the bra size (though that does seem to be booming, too); the little pods of coffee or tea that pop into the Keurig brewing systems. They started out in offices; now you can buy Starbucks and Dunkin’ in K-Cups to brew at home.

As my retirement moves well into its second year, I seem to be developing a K-Body. This occurred to me when I was doing my morning floor exercises a few weeks ago. I’ve become extremely KinKy. Wipe off that smirk; I mean in my joints, especially my necK. Likewise my Knees, which are Knobbier than ever. Every part of my body feels KreaKy and KlunKy. While I’ve always been Klutzy, I’m getting Klutzier as the years pass.

The irony of this is that when your body gets less flexible, your mind and spirit need to be more flexible, but mine are going the other way. I’m getting more set in my ways. Yes, dear readers, I’ve entered the K-Series of my life. I’m KranKy and Krotchety and woe to anyone who crosses me when I’ve been deprived of my afternoon nap.

The good news (depending on ones point of view) is that I’m as KooKy and KwirKy as when I was younger, perhaps even more so. The not-so-good news, truth be told, is that most days I’m also more un-Kempt. All TMI, perhaps, but Knowledge is power.

My husband and I have always been big believers in positive Karma, but it’s hard to project that when I’m feeling KranKy, Krotchety and un-Kempt. In my condition, I’m more likely to start a Kerfuffle. This last sentence makes very little sense, but I love the word “Kerfuffle” and it starts with the operative letter for this post. My closest friends would probably say that I’m still KicKass. I’d like to think so.

I could go on all day, but I’ve already driven away most of you. So, before those of you still with me start shouting: “Release the KraKen,” I’ll say my goodbyes. My adieus. My ta-tas. I just wish there were a synonym that started with “K.”

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